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So far, the venture to Soft Haven had been a terrible experience. The moment Ceolfric stepped into Soft Haven, he was assaulted at every angle by the prickling emanations of every being's aether, all crammed together in the confines of the walls. Every moment he spent wandering the streets was a moment he had to kill his instinct to turn and lash out at the potential opponents surrounding him. Even when he fled out into the woods, Ceolfric could still feel the buzzing.

Worse, it felt as if the aether was playing tricks on him all night. Some malevolent presence had startled him awake at some point in the night, though it disappeared the moment he tried to trace its source. From then on, every nocturnal critter that strayed too close had him up and on full alert.

It seemed the journey was nearly for naught, too. It was hard to believe this was the great and illustrious Soft Haven that Ceolfric had heard stories of. It was obvious the tales were true at one point; rather than ramshackle peasant hovels, the crumbling veneer of the town evoked the thought of once-mighty ruins or the broken remains of a wealthy temple rebuilt after a raid. If he'd have known the city was on the decline, he would've made for a Bounty House in greener pastures. Still, the red fern capital of Othard had to have [i]some[/i] wealthy patrons in need of a mercenary, or they wouldn't have bothered opening the institution to begin with.

Ceolfric woke groggily from his restless sleep, unfurling from his sword that he'd been wrapped around all night. He had barely stretched the stiffness out of his limbs before he returned to said weapon, drawing it reflexively and brandishing it outward like a posturing hedgehog upon noticing the claw marks scored into the dirt. Once his brain caught up with his body, he let the sword drop and sat up properly. They had to be hours old, judging by how dark it was when that presence had woken him up. If it was a threat, whatever left the marks did a piss-poor job of it. Should've gotten him when he was sleeping.

Though that did beg the question of what [i]did[/i] leave them, and why it had left him alone. Had it smelled the Lord of Slaughter's taint on him and left him alone? The sheer malice he felt could've easily been demonic in origin. Still, it left no tracks, so the gouges in the ground were definitely deliberate. If it had felt some sort of kinship to him, it made little sense to leave behind threatening messages.

Stretching his awareness outward, Ceolfric felt nothing akin to the presence of the previous night underneath the dull thrum of Soft Haven's aether and the scattered creatures of the forest. However, two points stood out to him over the chorus of beings around him, veritable beacons in the astral sea of the aether. If his culprit was still close, it had to be one of them; normal souls didn't burn that brightly. The would-be adventurer gathered his things hastily, ensuring that none of his meager belongings had been pilfered during the night and that all of the buckles on his armor were well-affixed. After strapping his shield to his arm, Ceolfric fearlessly set off in the direction of the larger of the two aetheric presences. If the creature was so bold as to flaunt itself to every sleeping traveller, he doubted it was anything less than the strongest entity in the area. He'd have its head by noon, Gods willing.

Unfortunately, as Ceolfric grew nearer to his destination - a graveyard, of all things - he realized the bonfire of aether he'd felt was not one soul but two, their essences mingling in close proximity. The bandit stayed low on his approach, taking advantage of the cover that the surrounding woodlands provided before the open expanse of the graveyard forced him to reveal himself. Two drow milled about, probably visiting a dead relative or something equally inane. Worse still, the other presence he'd sensed was on the move now. Maybe it was smart enough to use the oddly radiant elves as a red herring to cover its escape. No, it would've fled hours ago if it truly meant to evade him.

Ceolfric turned away to head for the gates - someone in town had to know about the creature, even if through superstitious wives' tales with only a kernel of truth to them - though when he shifted, he saw the ground ripped apart around the duo before him, not with the typical desecration of a common grave robber, but bestial scores like those that his greated Ceolfric on his awakening. They knew something.

Ever a man of action, he emerged from the brush, sliding [i]Goredrinker[/i] from its scabbard preempitively as he advanced on the two drow. Instinctively, the hand hidden beneath his targe curled inward, middle finger and thumb twitching ever closer together. The woman looked to be in a hurry to leave, and he wasn't going to give her that opportunity without answers.

[color=AA4A44]"If this is supposed to look like a funerary vigil, you did a terrible job,"[/color] Ceolfric mused as he leveled the point of his blade at the two gray skinned suspects, [color=AA4A44]"Did you two summon the thing that left those marks?"[/color] They certainly had the aether for it, and where better than a graveyard to attract infernal powers with the stench of death?

[hr][@McMolly][@Obscene Symphony]