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Right on the precipice of sleep, the resident bandit was, alas, rudely awoken by something hitting the ground with an ungentle amount of force. A hand found [i]Goredrinker[/i]'s hilt as Ceolfric's eyes cracked open, a cold, agitated glare that took in his surroundings in the way a disgruntled parent might take in a room of unruly children. Rather than find one of his incompetent travelling companions dropping cargo on the ground while fumbling around for their bag or something equally inane, he was surprised to find everyone accounted for, and two new presences dancing along the edge of his awareness. Not aetherborn, nor undead, but there was something fishy about them all the same, and that was before the one had opened his mouth.

Though, if this 'Giles' was as unrousable as his companion claimed, Ceolfric might just have an advantage. He was surprised to see Storyborn was of similar mind; he'd expected they'd be content to let the duo be on their merry way, as it truly was none of their business what two drunks in the middle of the woods did. Suspicious location, suspicious amount of aether, suspicious whispers about conclaves and schemes, suspicious lack of that gods-damned music that had droned through his head without end for days, but no reason for anyone to actually care. Except for the fact that they'd made the grave and possibly fatal mistake of bothering Ceolfric of Dranir after a day rife with setbacks.

And, he had to agree; he'd had just about enough of being snuck up on too.

Rather than wait and watch as would've probably been prudent, Ceolfric wordlessly rose and slunk off away from Lilann's ambush spot. If they waited for the drunk one to wake up, they'd have two opponents to deal with - even if inebriated - rather than one. Best to strike while the interlopers were unprepared. He kept to the bushes until he'd put the duo between himself and Storyborn - and more importantly, the wagon - each step careful and measured so as to not give himself away prematurely. 

Once far enough away that he wouldn't compromise the camp's position by announcing himself, Ceolfric emerged from the brush with an arrogant strut, blade in hand, without any of the pretense of subtlety that he'd crept to his new position with. It was a familiar dance, one he'd performed many times before, though this might've been the first time he didn't intend to rob his target blind when he was done.

[color=AA4A44]"Strange place for a moonlit stroll,"[/color] the bandit announced himself as he approached, [color=aa4a44]"You're a long way from the nearest alehouse, after all. Makes me wonder what exactly it is you're doing out here, scurrying around in the dark."[/color] He was careful not to look in Storyborn's direction, lest he give her away. The man might intuit that a highwayman wouldn't work alone, and he couldn't imagine she was very fearsome with only a rock at her disposal, aetherborn or no. She definitely needed the element of surprise.

And, of course, if they got difficult, she could sing the tale of Ceolfric peeling these idiots' ribcages open in every tavern from here to Dragon Rock.
 
[hr][@Mcmolly]