[IC] The Prophecy

[Dark Jack]

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in the southwest

Olan could not help but to smile at Thaler's words and squeeze her hand back with his, grateful and appreciative of the effort she must have made to try to sound this positive with the state of mind he knew she was in. She had not given him any answers that could tell him why he possessed these unusual abilities, but he had not expected any, either; even if he had known why he was like this before he had lost his memory, he knew himself well enough to recognize that he would not have told anyone else about it, at least not in a manner that others would believe to be true. An ability like this was too easily exploitable, and he would much rather be viewed as a regular person than a special entity. He was not the hero of a tale, he was just the narrator of it; not the main character, but just a helper lending the main characters aid. Was that what he was? Or was it just what he wanted to be?
It did not matter in the end, though. So what if he did not know how he had gotten to where he was? Did anyone ever, really? He was happy being here, with these people, doing good things and helping them smile even in the face of the most sinister perils the planes had to throw at them; helping them survive, protecting them from themselves. To Olan, there was nothing more important than dancing down the road and seeing his companions smile at his foolery.
After all, normal was boring. Boring! Ha! Certainly not him; not Olan, the explorer extraordinaire!
Explorer... yes. That sounds right. That is what I am.

"We'll be all right as long as we have each other to be weird around, then," he chuckled, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on his skin in between the breaths of chill wind. "We should go find a bunch more weird people and become traveling entertainers, you know? Going from town to town, letting the boring normal people have a laugh and a gasp, seeing the world, meeting all kinds of folk... wouldn't be too different from what we've been doing so far." He shook his head, laughing quietly at the similarities between that idea and that of being on a quest to save the world.
When he opened his eyes again, the Nightwalker's gaze fell on the donkey who had wandered in front of him, with the raven perched on its back. He grinned at them, and nodded his head at them.
"By the way, the raven told me her name is Beatrice. The donkey... I have no idea what that's called, though. Either I don't understand him, or he just doesn't want to talk to me, you know?"

[Mercinus3]

Ixion listened to the blue haired deo'iel as she recanted the origin of the demonspawn's name, Gaath. He initially dismissed the words that were said as being useless information, possibly not answering the question altogether. However, when she said the victims were often melted, the assassin's eyes widened, instantly recognizing the method of execution. While he partially listened to the demonspawn carrying on with describing his abilities, he looked back in his mind for the various information that he heard for the past 4 months – the amount of time he heard of these rumours – into a neat package for the deo'iel to hopefully use to track down and kill this menace. When he heard that the prey in question had the ability of hiding their aura to other demonspawn, he assumed that his information would be more beneficial.

Before he had a chance to say his piece of information, the vampire spoke up. While the assassin wasn't able to read him through facial expressions, giving him an idea on what he was thinking, he was taken aback by the vampire's lack of knowledge of the deo'iel, visibly showing this by turning his head to the vampire. It also caught the demonspawn off guard, the blue-haired woman stopped yanking her hair. As both the demonspawn spoke about the order and the details of the naming of the demonspawn by Himyth, Ixion also spoke to him. “The people who are a part of the deo'iel have a whole range of backgrounds. Penin, Tarken, a lot of the common races seen in cities are a part of the organization. I think that even former criminals and people who have signed an infernal contract are also a part of the organization, though you'll have to correct me on that. Their goal is to keep innocent people safe from beings that would injure or kill them. But to refer to your question about seeing Gaath...”

Ixion crossed his arms, his right hand reaching up to scratch his chin in thought. “While I haven't seen any being that is capable of doing that, I had heard rumours of such a monster that was capable of melting the faces of villagers and travelers. I had first heard of such rumours 4 months ago, when a woman not far from Borstown in Nemhim was found with such markings. Since then, a few more stories had been spoken in the places where I am often working or picking up jobs. While I had dismissed these rumours, I had witnessed the results of a murder where I thought that it was an acid splash attack in a village in the southwest of Gilmah about a month ago. The one thing that stuck oddly to me was the fact that the person's face and throat had a hand imprint to it, but I initially dismissed such a print due to the randomness of a liquid on a surface. Now… I haven't seen or heard of such an attack during my time to get to this city and being in here, but if you have heard of such a being heading this way, the best direction to investigate anyone who had been in Gilmah in the past month.”

[Dark Jack]

Zerul City, the Drunken Dove

The blue-haired demonspawn stared intently at Ixion as he spoke, seeming extremely interested up until the point where he stated that his most recent clue was a month old, and placed Gaath in the opposite end of Rodoria. Once she realized that he had no information more recent than that, she was evidently disappointed.
"When we say that Gaath gained the ability to conceal his aura from us recently," she clarified demurely as he hand seemed to rise to her hair on its own accord, seize a tuft of it and start pulling it anew, "we mean that we were able to track him by his presence until just a couple of days ago. We are not in Zerul by chance; we know that he's either been here, or is still here." She sighed. "He's going to be impossible to find at this rate. He's killing more and more rarely, and with the power to shapeshift and disguise his presence..."
"He could be anywhere," the other deo'iel commented grimly.
Her sister nodded her head. "We have no choice but to leave and report our failure, then, so other deo'iel can be sent to track him. Ones that aren't demonspawn." She shook her head in resignation. "He can sense us, but we can't sense him, and we can't risk him stealing our powers. Especially my sister's."

"I have one more question," the shrouded demonspawn said, stopping her blue-haired sister who was about to walk away. She nodded at Ixion, then cocked her head right. "I have to know how you got that wound on your shoulder. It almost looks like a fire-cut..."

[yoshua171]

I'onriyi Stonehand

---

Concealing both his relief and annoyance at the barkeep's actions--particularly his lack of attention to detail in the moment--I'on's eyes glanced briefly between the involved parties, before he crossed his arms. His foot began tapping against the wooden floor slightly and thoughts of drink and food started to intrude on his thoughts. With all the excitement since he'd gotten back to Zerul city, he hadn't eaten much of anything, and he hadn't had a drink of even water for at least long enough that he was feeling noticeably thirsty. This in combination with his annoyance caused him to give in, turn to the innkeep and snap his fingers three times. "What've you got to drink," he started, his gaze a demanding one.

He was not willing to wait. Hopefully they had some Drakehorn wine or even Finest, though he doubted a human run inn was going to have such a delicacy. If not then he'd settle for something that stung the back of the throat and a hearty meal to tide him over till he could access his own spirits back home. Nonetheless, he'd get his drink, that was for sure and once he had some he could turn his mind back to the matters at hand as the spirits would certainly relax his nerves, not to mention wake him up.

[Shienvien]

Aemoten and Iridiel

The man stopped before him, looking at him questioningly, until finally posing a simple question: “Can I help you?” He had a rather distinct, thick accent of some kind ... one Aemoten did not know where could be from. Not from any of the places he had been through, that was for certain.
The woman, sitting up a nearby tree, just watched them closely, and the black creature was either still slumbering, or at the very least did not make a move towards them just yet.
It was getting increasingly difficult to think and formulate replies... In the end, he was just going with the honest reply. That they had been headed to Zerul and been led onto this detour by Etakar, whose motivations - besides perhaps finding a healer without covering the entire way to Zerul City with his injured forelimb hindering him - he could only guess at.
At his mention of a healer, the man standing before seemed to think for a moment, looking somewhat hesitant. Before he reached a conclusion, though, the more humanlike woman - who had remained seated in the tree, watching them closely, but not lifting her weapons to take aim at any of them - opted to speak up.

Iridiel could barely pick up scraps of the conversation in Rodorian. Her own command of the language was very poor, her oral abilities worse than her knowledge of reading and writing. However, she did pick up the word 'healer' which she was familiar with. She waved down at the gathered party. "Hello! I... healer. I, uh, I fix? Yes?" She winced at her poor language...

At that, Aemoten slowly raised his head, his weary but stern expression in strange contrast with the confusion in his eyes, and looked at the woman sitting up in the tree. Much like the man, she had a distinct foreign accent of some kind that he was not quite able to place, but seemed to uncertainly stumble over the Rodorian words. She was probably not too familiar with the language, one could assume; it was probable that it was the man who usually did the speaking.
Healer... So they had a healer. Seems like your instincts don't lie, Etakar...
"Hello," he first simply repeated, his eyes momentarily drifting to some random patch of grass on the ground, then to the dekkun (who seemed to be eying the dead lohk with mild interest), then back to the woman. He had not really greeted the people here before ... or indeed dome much anything besides reply to the man's question. Right now it was achievement enough to keep himself mostly upright in the saddle, it seemed, and even that he achieved mostly by resting his one hand on the saddle's horn and leaning his body's weight onto the arm.
"Etakar was injured earlier today," he noted after a moment. He had called out the noble beast's name and species earlier and pointed at him ... hopefully it would be enough for the woman to realize who he was referring to. "His left arm, at least. Could you please look at it? He won't harm anyone ... not without a very good reason."
The dekkun himself stopped inspecting the lohk and glanced at Aemoten at the mention of his name, then suddenly raised his head and looked straight at Iridiel, scrutinizing her with a pair of deep-set brown eyes that were far too intelligent and understanding for a dumb beast. Though as far as Aemoten knew, he should not have understood enough Rodorian to properly pick up the meaning of his last words, the mention of him not harming anyone without a good reason was responded to by a brief sound from the back of his throat that, more than anything else, sounded dismissive.

Iridiel caught very little of what the two below her were saying - as mentioned previously, her Rodorian was very poor, and she made several confused looks and gestures on her face to try and indicate that she did not know what the man was saying... She looked over to Domhnall with a confused glance, and mouthed "Can you do some translating for me?" to him.

Confusion was evident on the woman's face - that much was evident to the Sekalynic warrior even through his hazy state of mind and general poor condition. Probably even worse grasp of Rodorian than he had first assumed. Try to think now... Short of pointing at Etakar again and stating 'Needs healer...'
She looked at her companion - who had meanwhile taken a step to the side and turned so that he was standing sideways to both of them and could easily look at either - instead, and mouthed something to him in what he assumed was the two's native language.
The man replied something in presumably the same language; the only recognizable words he could pick up were 'Zerul', 'Etakar' and 'dekkun'. Probably translating to her... That ... would work.
"He says that they're headed for Zerul City, much like we were, and that it is the large creature - a dekkun named Etakar - who lead them to here instead. He says his - the dekkun's - arm was injured earlier today, and asks whether it could be looked at."

"They're headed for Zerul? I see. I suppose I could take a look at this dekkun's arm, if it's necessary. I am sure that Sulis will provide me with the services necessary to heal him."
Iridiel walked over to the dekkun, a cautious manner about her movements, almost as if she were ready to take flight at the first sign of hostility. Looking over the dekkun's arm, Iridiel nodded to herself - This can be fixed with the minimum of fuss, I'm sure...

Etakar observed the humanoid approaching him with what now seemed to be stoic peace, head still raised high but oddly intelligent eyes no longer quite so harshly scrutinizing as before, and rather more coolly observant than anything else. He had been mostly standing on three - his injured forelimb lifted off the ground just enough for the backs of his weight-carrying fingers only lightly brush against the surface below.
Only once the woman was already nearby did the dekkun lift his arm further and unfurled three of his fingers, with only the little finger with its long bladelike extension remaining flipped back against his arm - mostly raising and turning it from his shoulder, as the elbow was largely too swollen to bend properly, much like the wrist. The action was very slow and deliberate, designed to properly expose the most damaged side of his arm - with its crushed-in platelets and dried rivulets of blood where it had steadily steeped through the seams - as much as there was a certain amount of carefulness that did not come from not wanting to aggravate an injury and cause further pain. It was almost as he was purposefully attempting to not intimidate the woman.

Iridiel looked over the arm - it certainly was worse for wear, with bloodied areas and the creature- dekkun, she reminded herself quickly, was holding it off the ground somewhat gingerly; evidently if it was painful to place any weight upon, it was useless as a limb. Iridiel said a quick prayer to Sulis to deliver this creature from the suffering that it was going through, and then laid her hands upon the wounded area gently, so as not to harm the creature any further. Her hands began to glow a light blue or cyan colour as she channelled healing energy into the injury from the reserve that Sulis had made available to her, and before the dekkun's eyes, the wound began to heal itself, sundered tissue and bloodied plates sealing themselves almost as if a surgeon were suturing it closed. Iridiel looked over to Domhnall so he could translate for her.
"Tell them that he'll have to take it easy for the moment - it will not be fully fixed for a few days, but the damage is mostly repaired."

The presumably inhuman man watched as his companion made her way over to the large creature for a few moments, eyes flickering between the woman and the noble beast until he seemed at least somewhat confident that Aemoten had been correct and the dekkun wouldn't perceive the woman as an annoyance, threat or a snack - or for the matter anything else which would have the creature react in a less than harmless manner. Not that it was all that likely that he could have done much if it had turned out to be the case... Luckily, nothing of the kind ensued and the woman could heal the creature's injured arm in peace. She told something to him over her shoulder, he nodded briefly and replied but in two words ("Shall do.") before turning back to the foreign warrior he had first addressed.

Etakar himself observed the blue-cyan light with the same kind of stoic calm he had displayed before, with just a hint of interest mingling in for those who knew the beast. He had seen marvels such as this before ... but it had been a time, and the healing brought a welcome relief. As the glow dimmed and ceased, he tryingly clenched his hand into a fist, turned his hand the other side up and unfurled his fingers again. Evidently content with the results, he retracted his fingers back into the walking position and carefully set the backs of his middle phalanxes to the ground, this time carrying some of his weight over to them. No jolt of blinding pain. No constant crushing sensation, only distant dull throbbing. Probably not a good idea to punch things - or land on this limb, for the matter -, but for walking in a somewhat normal fashion, it would do. It was good enough.
In a motion which was just a slight bit more sudden than the ones just before, he turned his head and eyes directly at the healer, watching her for a moment, almost motionlessly, and then nodding. Concretely. In a very decidedly humanlike manner, as the individual he was addressing was at least very close to one, and used similar mimics. It was not his way to perform elaborate or grand gestures - but he did show his appreciation where it was due, and he would remember the act, certainly.
The woman responded with a nod of her own, and soon returned to her previous position up a nearby tree.

"I was asked to tell you that the arm is mostly fine now," the man informed Aemoten. "Should be all good in a few days; just have him be a bit more careful with it before then." For a moment it seemed that the man would continue speaking, but abruptly he stopped himself, and looked more keenly at the person he was talking to.
The foreign warrior had closed his eyes and lowered his head; he was still heavily leaning his weight forward onto an arm, with the hand gripping the horn of his saddle, but now his arm was shaking slightly. He was breathing slowly, but oddly shallowly. It was hard to tell due to his somewhat tanned complexion, but he seemed pallid. It was not immediately obvious whether he was even hearing what was said to him anymore.
"Hey," the black-haired man inquired in a much sharper tone. "Are you certain you yourself would be fine?"
Aemoten started slightly, shoulders twitching forward in a manner that was at least perceptible, and then slowly raised his head just enough to be able to look at the man when he opened his eyes. Expression still stern. Eyes even more tired than before.
"I will be," he noted. "Just ... magical exhaustion."
The strange man furrowed his brows. "Spell?"
Probably specific term... Might be called something else wherever the man was from. Not precisely what you would get when translating magical exhaustion word-to-word... Koraakan knew.
"No... Had to spend my own ... soul energy. That... Can't heal that. Will go away on its own, with rest. I just need rest. That's all." He attempted to sigh, but was immediately forced to try and refrain from succumbing to another coughing fit. In the end, he just tried to swallow - in vain; by now his mouth felt completely dry, atop of everything else -, closed his eyes once more, and leaned his head back until he was practically facing the sky.
Yes, he needed rest... It was highly questionable he would make it to Zerul City in one go. He knew that. Had known ever since they left the thrice-damned borderhouse behind. But how would he go and tell Thaler that there would be yet another delay (and not just a dozen-minute detour due to Etakar finding himself a healer close to the road) before Zerul City, a delay born from nothing else but the fact that this time, he himself simply could not go on anymore...?

[Dark Jack]

The Duchy of Zerul, off a road in the southwest

It was a strangely nostalgic feeling, somehow, to just sit idly by while another took care of business, assuming the role of curious observer set to learn what he could simply by leeching off the experience of better men. Even after having been a leader himself, even for a short time and furthermore arguably not a very good one, it still surprised the squire how easy it was to fall back into the habit of being the apprentice following his master, only now his role doubled as that of a bodyguard. He had always followed in Freagon's shadow and watched him to learn, certainly, but he had never needed - or indeed been allowed to - step in to aid his late master. It was easy to dismiss his awe at the thought of Freagon as nothing but reverence for a dead idol, his memory of the knight exaggerated when viewed through the goggles of sentimentality, but his emotions could not erase the facts he knew to be true, which were the past deeds of his master; many of which he himself had witnessed.
Even now, as Jaelnec's thoughts wandered as he relaxed, growing more comfortable with these strangers' presence, he could not help but to be stricken with a sense of inferiority and futility at the thought of Freagon. The Knighthood of the Will had never had a more powerful champion, he was sure of it.

He felt comfortable enough to indulge in a little self-reflection exactly because he felt more comfortable around these strangers, seeing that they not only opted to avoid demonstrating any significant hostility, but were also downright helpful, freely offering to heal the giant, fearsome beast of a companion that was Etakar, despite of this clearly putting the healer in a very compromised situation; something she, by the way she approached the dekkun, was evidently aware of. It was admirably selfless, and they immediately gained the Nightwalker's respect for it, as well as some measure of trust.
But the trust he was able to put in these strangers was ultimately limited, at best; it was not that he did not have faith that they were fundamentally good people - as far as he was concerned their actions had already proven this beyond reasonable doubt - but that his recent experiences told him that even good people could do bad things. Like the lieutenant back at the border post; he had been so generous and accommodating to them when they first arrived there that he could not possibly accept the thought of him having had sinister motives from the start, yet he had still been an accomplice to the crimes committed by the treacherous Death Clan-member who served as his second-in-command. And even now, he still had no idea what or who the great black-furred beast was, or if it was even intelligent... or how they had managed to bring down the lohk.
That was probably the most deeply disturbing and most horrendous crime of the agents of evil, he figured: to use those who only wanted to do good to further their own dark agendas... to corrupt the pure and innocent.
To turn paladins of life into demons.

It was not until the newly encountered foreign man commented on Aemoten's state that Jaelnec became aware of it himself, and inadvisable as he found it for the only one of them capable of fighting to be distracted from a potential threat, the squire nevertheless turned in his saddle to face the Sekalyn, only now realizing how far his condition seemed to have deteriorated.
He frowned, concerned and worried, but for more than one reason. Sure, a large part of him was deeply bothered by the fact that his leader and friend was suffering like this, but another part of him detachedly reminded him that Aemoten had told him that he could not actually die, and that every day they were delayed in completing their quest to end the Withering meant the loss of more innocent lives and souls. The squire in him weighed one life against hundreds, if not thousands, and found that staying to rest was a bad idea, but the person he was at his core wanted Aemoten to get better, and for that the primary condition was sleep. Magical energy was almost exclusively restored when sleeping, he knew, and the body could not even begin its recovery until the soul was recharged.

He somewhat clumsily managed to get off his horse and hurried to the other's side. "You're barely able to stay in the saddle," he said, reaching up to steady Aemoten. He paused for a second, unsure where he was going with this. "Is there anything I can do?"

[Mercinus3]

The assassin saw the disappointment on the demonspawn's face. He judged the disappointment to the fact that his information is more outdated than their sources. When she said that both of them sensed him until a couple of days ago, he stroked his chin again, thinking about any off chance conversations the he might have heard during his time in the city, but nothing came up. Perhaps the guards had heard or seen something? Probably not as the deo'iel would have spoken to them about anything unusual. Any of the nobles of the high courts of the city would probably keep things quiet as much as possible. When they talked about leaving and reporting to their organization, he suddenly had a thought and a question. “I have a question: When you say disguise his presence, do you mean his presence as a demonspawn or mask his magical presence?” Would a sniffer be able to detect him, was his initial thought on the situation with the renegade demonspawn. He has heard a lot of the prowess of sniffers, so that asset would be helpful if the demonspawn could only mask his demonic powers.

As he noted I'on getting a drink from the bar, the shrouded deo'iel asked him a question. He was a little surprised that she brought up the wound on his shoulder. He thought briefly about his answer while looking at the wound. “I was mistaken by one of city's elite guard as the right hand of the Grand Master, the Fixer. She cast a spell which concentrated light into a piercing beam. I was just unlucky to avoid the attack altogether.”

[Shienvien]

Aemoten

The bleak autumn light offered no warmth at this hour, and the air felt damp and strangely devoid of oxygen. He was vaguely aware - despite of his foggy mind and closed eyes - that the strange foreign man was still looking at him, now appearing clueless more than anything else. He did not care. Could not care. No presence of mind left to care, even if he wanted to. Just the scraping pain in his throat and upper chest, exhaustion, and the vague feeling that he was falling each time he tried moving his head. Tilting his head back seemed to somewhat alleviate the latter sensation.
There was a thud somewhere to this side, oddly muffled, and footsteps soon after. And the restless trampling of a now-riderless horse which was now actively considering his chances of getting away from the terrorbeast not far from him without either his human berating him or the said terrorbeast taking after him at the sight of him fleeing. And then there the occasional gust of wind - rustle of leaves and long grass. Nothing else. Almost peaceful.

He had been through wars. The waiting - in darkness, in rain, in heat... Plate armor would have been murder in the heat and rain of the far southwestern climate; they themselves were always either lightly armored, typically in leather, or not at all. Sekalyns did not march far in lined formations, either. They held ground and waited, or they crept forward, took position, and waited. Swords were perhaps the most definitive weapons of Sekalynic warriors, but none of them hesitated to use the advantage higher ground and arrows and bolts could offer. Or polearms, where those were appropriate - sometimes a shorter and more versatile weapon was preferable. Thicket, trees and jagged terrain changed odds and the way you had to fight further. You used the terrain.
Lower Sekalyns and the Northeasterners at least had their share of flat terrain - and the northeasterners with their somewhat more humane climate were the only Sekalyns who could somewhat frequently be seen in metal armor when going to battle -, but the Middle, Upper and Higher Sekalyns predominantly resided on jungled cliffs.
Tek - easily defensible settlement. Tek Naretenet. Tek Atokeanet. Tek Iatkanet.
But there was always waiting. Waiting for an attack. Out-waiting an enemy. Sometimes intervention was not even necessary; disease was a wicked killer in and of itself, and people of foreign lands fell to the maladies native to jungles easily. Heck, go into the deeper, more marshlike sections of the jungle, and even the Sekalyns began to contract some manner of nasty fever. Locals eventually became immune to the places they lived, one could come to realize, but foreigners had no such luck... And then there was simple rot. What was unclean, rotted there. No wonder many northlanders considered representatives of the Sekalynic culture neat-freaks...
But at other times, men and women died by blade. Because there was no other way. There is no honor in killing nor glory in war, from no bloodshed fame shall arise. [...] For blood is blood in the veins of all, and same is the way in which it flows from wounds. Loss of moral after a number of skirmishes was a thing, but these men and women knew how to cope with loss. They could fight despite it, through it. Even after the waiting. (There was always waiting.) Despite hunger and lack. Through the hopelessness. Or following a retreat. Sometimes retreat was necessary, or all would be lost. Better fight another day, than... They would be weakened, but not broken. Only one more useless than a broken man was one who was dead.
You took care of your people. And yourself.

"You're barely able to stay in the saddle," he heard Jaelnec's voice, and felt someone's hand on his arm. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Broken men do not win battles," he mumbled, seemingly unrelated to Jaelnec's question, and perhaps unaware of the Nightwalker's question altogether. He had not discernibly moved yet. "Nor save worlds."
The foreign warrior let out his last breath in a shaky sigh, opened his eyes, and looked down at the Nightwalker. The ground attempted to flow to the left, but after he had been still for a bit and blinked a few times, it settled to its original form.

The black-haired man seemed to inspect Jaelnec more closely now that he was on the same level as him, and then took a step to the side and twisted his torso to be able to comfortably look at his com sitting up in the tree.
"Look at the younger man's eyes; I don't think he's human. If there was any doubt - with the dekkun and all, then I think this at least confirms they're not some of those nonhuman-slayer-folks." The foreign man remarked to her, once more in his native. "Since they're going to Zerul City anyway, we could just stick with them, what do you think? I doubt that any random band of cultists dares bother us all with that beast tagging along."
Iridiel shifted slightly, unsure of their course of action... On the one hand, if the new grouping betrayed them, she, Domhnall and Claw would have very little chance to escape and would likely end up slaughtered, or enslaved. On the other, they could prove to be powerful allies in combat...
She thought for a long time, her head bowed and her hair falling over her face, masking it from Domhnall unintentionally... "Safety in numbers, Domhnall. We had best stay with them."
The man - whose expression he could not see since he was now practically back to them - just nodded briefly upon hearing the woman's reply, and turned back to the newcomers.

The foreign warrior stared dully at the exchange. For obvious reasons, he could not comprehend what was said, but it did not seem to be of concern. Not like his judgment was the most trustworthy at the time being.
"It is as I said..." he noted to Jaelnec. "Not much can be done. I need rest." He sounded morose, and disturbingly faint. "I won't hold till Zerul City. Suspected I wouldn't. Before we ... left, that is." From there the instructions he had given to Jaelnec. "Didn't want to raise it. Leaving behind that place was more important, and not... Did not want to worry others. Her. She's enough to deal with as is. Don't want to tell her it would be a longer stop, either, but..." He made a vaguely resigned gesture with his non-weight-carrying hand, barely more than just lifting his fingers. "If the loss of a couple of hours means I'll be coherent enough to understand what people tell me, it is worth it. Objectively, anyway." Things had the tendency of going much more smoothly when you were at least capable of thinking properly.
"Could stay here; we're not in too much of a hurry," the black-haired man offered. "We're headed for Zerul City, too, so could stick together for that, too... Bandits and these Crusader-folks out there, on the roads. You don't look like either to me." He shrugged, spreading his arms with the motion, and subsequently seemed to only now notice that he was still holding a knife on his hand. He looked at it with a mildly surprised-confused expression, and then stuck it into a sheathe on his belt. "I'm Domhnall, by the way, and she" - he gestured at the woman up in the tree - "is Iridiel."
"I ... see," the foreign warrior commented, pausing for a bit too long after that. "I would be Aemoten. Etakar's name you know already. Well met."

[Rhaevnn Xeno]

The deo'lei's information had actually knocked Morgan off balance. While none around him would be able to see it, due to his mask, the vampire's mouth hung open slightly as his eyes widened in surprise. 'How could I have not known? I have hunted demonspawn in the past, as well as deo'lei, but...' He would silently curse himself for the lack of knowledge he possessed about the world outside the Securlyian army as the conversation continued onward. Morgan had never been much of a scholar, even when he wasn't a sniffer. However, these past few months had been a brand new experience to him all together. 'Freedom has a price, and it seems that knowledge in all forms is its currency.' The sniffer thought irritably, refocusing his thoughts on the situation at hand.

Something she had said, however -- the blue haired one. 'If she and her sister are the heralds of pain, than this "Death" is the herald of The Wanderer...' Morgan slowly blinked under his mask, steadying himself. If this was true, he would be lacking purpose. After all, if this demonspawn they were hunting was the true hand of Death, instead of himself, all those lives the sniffer had taken, the reason why he became cursed as a vampire, the why he had suffered for so long and the comfort he found when discovering himself... Thrainsson's face hardened at the thought that someone was posing as the hand of death -- as him. His inner turmoil, however, was interrupted by Ixion's question: "When you say disguise his presence, do you mean his presence as a demonspawn or mask his magical presence?”

The beginnings of a grim smile started to pull on the corners of Morgan's mouth as he realized what Ixion was asking. Truth be told, the sniffer would hate every moment of being even near the deo'lei. By all the gods, he would even kill both of the filthy members of the law if given the chance. However, there was now a bigger problem to deal with: the one called "Death."

[Dark Jack]

Zerul City, the Drunken Dove

"Quite a bit," the innkeeper replied, falling back into his line of duty much faster this time around as I'on brought up the most profitable aspect of his business. "I've got most of the local fare, of course, but we get lots of merchants coming through here, so I have some imports, too. I've got a few bottles of fancy deigan booze from the south, too, but I'm sure you'd be more interested in the barrel of penin Finest out back. Can I get you any?"

The deo'iel, meanwhile, paid no mind to the interaction between penin and innkeeper, but seemed more concerned with their conversation with Ixion and Morgan.
"Well, it's not like we'd know for sure whether he can disguise his magical energy," the blue haired one shrugged, smiling apologetically as she wrapped her finger even more tightly in the tuft of hair and replaced her periodic yanking with a sustained pull. "You need to be much closer to feel that, after all, and demonspawn don't feel it as strongly as full mortals do. It's not foreign to us, after all; we have the same energy inside ourselves."
She sighed, then continued: "But I can make an informed guess and say that he probably can disguise his soul, too. The demonspawn whose powers he stole to be able to hide like this wasn't discovered for forty years... and not only that, she was able to pass as a Paladin of Liya, and could even invoke Favored power as one. She even had children! She put herself in the center of attention, yet no one had the slightest suspicion of her true nature."
"When he stole her powers," the other deo'iel continued, "we hoped that he would need time to learn to use his new powers; that we could find him before he became undetectable. But apparently he learns fast. He may be as good at disguising himself as Himyth herself by now... he could be with us in this very room, and we would never realize until it was too late."

When the time came for Ixion to explain his injury, the effect of his words was quite evident on the two demonspawn. The blue-haired suddenly forgot about the self-mutilation she was engaged in, letting her tuft of hair escape her grasp but leaving her hand in front of her face, as she stared intently at Ixion. When he described the magic that had inflicted his wound, the masked and hooded sister cocked her head left, her eyes narrowing in thought.
"I... I don't even know what's stranger about what you just said," the blue-haired one chuckled nervously. "The fact that you know who the Fixer is and still feel comfortable mentioning him so casually, or that a guardsman was hunting him. Why would he think you were the Fixer? No, more importantly: how did you convince him you weren't?"
"Cutting with light..." the other sister muttered to herself, seemingly fascinated with the prospect. "How much did it hurt?"

[Dark Jack]

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

Jaelnec was not able to erase his concerned expression entirely, even as he turned to face the foreigners introducing themselves to them, but kept furrowing his brow even as he smiled at the strangers uncertainly. Domhnall and Iridiel? What, exactly, were these two? The fact that they were apparently cautious about the Crusader's Guild probably meant that they, as some aspects of their appearance suggested, were not human, but Jaelnec had no idea just what race they were supposed to belong to, nor where in the world they could possibly come from. Still, they seemed civil enough to introduce themselves, so he figured that he had better follow Aemoten's example and introduce himself as well.
Despite having made the decision to do so, the Nightwalker still hesitated, though, as he realized that there were several things that needed to be considered just then. The first thing that came to mind was one that struck him as stupid, yet somehow as a valid concern: should be bow to them? Iridiel in particular seemed to possess a certain regality on top of her being a woman and a healer, which seemed to demand at least a modicum of respect and good manners, but was there any way that they could misunderstand the gesture if he bowed to them? They were clearly from a foreign country, after all, and there was no telling what cultural differences might be between here and there. Not long ago he would never even have given the possibility a thought, but after having traveled with Aemoten for a while - a foreigner who had lived in Rodoria for years, and who was fluent in Rodorian - he had started realizing that many gestures and expressions that he had never given might thought were not as universal as he originally assumed they were. It was small things, like Aemoten subtly reacting to a comment about someone getting out of their hair, but it was enough to make the squire aware that there was a difference. This Domhnall apparently knew enough to know who the Crusader's Guild were, and to speak Rodorian quite well... it should be all right. Even if they misunderstood somehow, it could be explained.
The other thing that he realized needed consideration was how he was actually going to introduce himself. What was his decision from back then? Was he still a Squire of the Will and perhaps fated to remain one such forever, being unable to ever restore his knighthood, or would he take the title of Knight of the Will for himself, though undeserved, and enable himself to rebuild? In the end he decided to stick with being a squire, at least until they got to Zerul City and had a chance to figure out where Thaler's grandfather was. After all, there was no reason to violate the traditions of the knighthood if there really was a Knight of the Will left to Test himself against.
Throwing his left arm backwards and to the side and holding his right one to his chest, Jaelnec bowed elegantly for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. "I am Squire Jaelnec of the Will. We are grateful for your assistance, and for your hospitality." It was hardly their little piece of ground with a bit of trees on, but they were there first. It only seemed like the polite thing to do to extend some kind of thanks for letting them stay.

He turned back to Aemoten, concern once more dominating his features. "Shall I go tell the others that we'll be staying here for a few hours?" He did not like leaving Aemoten alone with these strangers, helpful though they had been, especially in his current state, but they could not very well leave Thaler and Olan waiting by the road forever either. Besides, the Sekalyn still had Etakar protecting him... and, as he had to remind himself of now that he knew, he could not actually be killed. That idea would probably take some time getting used to.

[Mercinus3]

Ixion’s question had been answered by the blue-haired deo’iel. While he knows that the soul is fairly common in all beings, even demonspawn having it, the conclusion was that the monster in question could possibly hide the soul as well. However, the next statement that was said about the being the monster in question took this ability from was confusing. So the deceased demonspawn was able to hide her identity as a demonspawn but was still capable of using magic, a Favoured one as well. The conclusion of disguising the soul seemed a bit off when all things had been considered. Still, the possibility of a sniffer seeking out this demonspawn might be a suitable option as he was about to point out. “Whether it is a guess or not, I can suggest getting a sniffer to help out on the hunt.” He stated that for another reason. He thought back to the vampire that was next to him. While coincidence might have been the reason why he was in the vicinity when he and Blue confronted each other, but he thought that there was another reason for it and the statement could shed some light on what role his companion had.

While he thought about his companion, the assassin did notice the sudden interest that he had from the deo’iel pair when he talked about his fight with Blue and, later, the Fixer. The blue-haired one spoke first, "I... I don't even know what's stranger about what you just said; the fact that you know who the Fixer is and still feel comfortable mentioning him so casually, or that a guardsman was hunting him. Why would he think you were the Fixer? No, more importantly: how did you convince him you weren't?"

Ixion had to choose his words carefully. The sudden interest in the Grand Master’s right hand man could get him in a spot of bother if he revealed that he too had signed one of the Infernal Emperor’s contracts. “The one thing that I can think of is that the guardsman, the Blue Tool, was tracking the Fixer and he was in the area that I was in. Guess you can say that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And she figured out that I wasn’t him when one of his weapons pierced her. We were escorted here after he attacked us, me taking the brunt of the attack.”

He then turned to the cloaked deo’iel, who wondered about the piercing light spell that injured him. “As for the light spell, it did hurt. Probably would have felt it more if I wasn’t in the middle of a fight with the Blue Tool.”

[Shienvien]

Domhnall McRaith

They certainly were a curious lot, those people and the beast that traveled with them, perhaps even more so than they themselves. It had pretty much been a spur-of-the-moment decision (that had started to become a bit of a theme with him recently, had it not?), suggesting they stuck together until at least Zerul City, but at least this time it was a decision he had at least somewhat solicited with his companion, unlike his earlier one of intervening Claw and the grey brute's fight. Eh, but at least his intuition still worked. Often enough. Sometimes, at least. (That was a lot of "at leasts.")
In any case, it seemed safer to bet on a single group of stragglers who seemed mostly agreeable than to hope that every random bunch who came across them and their new friend would look upon them kindly. "Safety in numbers," as Iridiel had put it - better two big creatures, four humanoids, a wolf and whoever else these people had in store (it seemed from their talking that there was more of them back somewhere) than just the less than handful of them... Especially since he and Iridiel were not truly soldiers, Claw had refused healing, and it was only ever so often Sulis would lend her more destructive powers to her marked one (or so he had gathered). That dekkun-creature, though... Well, it would take a very specific kind of person to voluntarily pick a fight a fight with that one. Someone with brass balls ... and probably only half a brain.
It was quite concerning, then, that someone or something quite evidently had. But, on a more positive note, whatever it had been, it had apparently also lost said fight.

The worn-looking man atop the white horse rather laconically - in no small part probably due to his current physical condition - introduced himself as Aemoten, and the younger one, still looking concerned despite doing his best to smile at them, soon followed suit and offered a brief introduction accompanied by a rather elaborate bow. He identified himself as his squire Jaelnec - of "the Will", apparently, whatever organization this was supposed to be. In any case, the male éireannach had not heard of them before, so they probably were not quite as prominent as those thrice-damned Crusader-folks or those monster-hunter fellows they had come across in a couple of places.
While Domhnall was definitely not offended by being bowed to - he knew what general meaning bowing held in this region all right -, he was not entirely certain how to react to that kind of grand gestures, either. He was just a hunter (and out of necessity also trader of the wares he had acquired in this manner), after all. People typically did not tend to bow down to him, let alone with that level of animation. Iridiel at least had the relative comfort of sitting up a tree rather than standing right there before Jaelnec and Aemoten...
"You're welcome," he replied with the first somewhat appropriate-seeming expression that came to his mind in order to avoid any awkward pauses, even as his one hand was absentmindedly lifted to his chin to scratch a spot on his cheek. Abruptly, he then turned to Iridiel, and roughly repeated the message to the woman. "These are Aemoten and Jaelnec -" the same hand he had earlier lifted to scratch his cheek was now used to refer to the people he was naming "- they are thanking us for our aid and ... welcoming-ness, I guess?" His Rodorian was significantly better than Iridiel's, but even his skill with the language was on the level of "mostly functional" rather than "good".
Iridiel responded with little more than a brief nod to them all in acknowledgment of the information.

Behind his back, he could hear Jaelnec addressing the other man, asking whether he should tell the others they would be staying for a while. The other sighed weakly - resignedly, perhaps -, and finally admitted, "I figure you'd have to. Just help me down here first." Probably a good idea; people who were barely capable of remaining seated generally did even worse at standing, let alone walking.
Provided that Jaelnec complied, Aemoten managed to clumsily slide down from the horse, and indeed had to resort to heavily leaning onto the other for support. It did not seem he even cared much where he was lead at this point, as long as it was far enough from the horses for the animals to not be able to accidentally step on him and he could reasonably comfortably assume a mostly-horizontal position.
Domhnall absentmindedly wiped the back of his hand over his bearded cheek (the same one he had scratched earlier; looked like an automatic effort to straighten it out than anything), and hesitantly followed along, unsure on whether he should offer any further aid or just stay back. (He did, though, if asked to.) He also sent a sideways glance at the horses, idly wondering whether or not they would actually stick around riderless... Not that he had any particular desire to approach them and see whether he could tie them to a branch by their reigns or something. (With his luck, these would either try to bite him or at least purposefully step on his foot.)
Once the foreign-looking man ad settled down, the forestfolk took seat nearby, casually pulling his shin atop of his opposite knee, leaving his hands resting on the side of his leg, and leaning back.
"Hope whatever you ran into this morning at least makes a good story for later," the male éireannach idly remarked.
Aemoten, for one, did not even bother replying to this, either because he was too exhausted or did not want to respond. Only the corner of the man's mouth twitched a bit, though it remained unclear whether it was a random muscle-twitch or an actual reaction to words he heard. His eyes were closed, and for all intents and purposes it was briefly impossible to tell whether he was even conscious anymore. He was still breathing, though, if shallowly, so at least the was not dead.
"Try not to worry them too much," the man eventually managed to mutter, however - hopefully before the younger fellow had taken off. Apparently, he had not quite passed out yet, after all. "I'll be fine. Just ... rest. And wake me up ... in time for us to reach Zerul City before nightfall. And thank you." He lifted his one hand partway for a gesture of some description, but evidently gave up midway through and just let it limply drop to ground again.
Unless the younger guy had something else to ask, Domhnall just opted to leave them to their own devices for the time being. It was not like the evident leader of the lot was capable of holding much of a conversation at the time being, the younger one did not have other errands to take care of and Etakar ... he was not entirely sure how to even begin to approach that one. Probably could go back to fletching. Or offer to make tea once the rest of those people showed up, even though their original temporary fire pit was some ways off and the fire had been doused already. Sometimes it did not pay to be too proper, it turned out...

[cthulu]

Thaler finally smiled a happy sort of smile at Olan's suggestion of being weird together, "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be weird with you." She commented with a hint of the old joviality in her tone. As he continued with his master plan of a travelling show of weirdos she couldn't help but chuckle faintly, "That sounds just like you, saving the world with laughter and happiness." If only it were that easy, the world no doubt would have been saved thrice over by now. "If we survive this I really think we should do that, I can't remember the last time I did something for fun and not because I felt I had to. The explorer extraordinare, the blind girl and their merry band of misfits."

She was still drained in all aspects but there was something about Olan that was just so...Olan. Even as her soul felt heavy and burdened with the ichor of a blood god his light seemed to shine through and pierce that darkness, at least long enough to remind her how to smile. While she missed the cursed black thorn, the weight of it in her hands the feel of the handle and the pommel against her fingers, she couldn't regret the deal she made, not truly. Olan was alive and she wasn't sure if that would be the case had she not made the deal with Aemoten's god. She couldn't imagine this party without Olan, memories or not he was the heart of the party. "I'm sorry...you wouldn't have got hurt if it wasn't for me." she said quietly, briefly picking at her sleeve in what was embarrassment. "I don't know what I was thinking, I know Rilon is considered evil but I can not, even now, believe he, or anyone, is purely evil alone. The world can't be that black and white...can it? I didn't want the sword for me, not really. I just thought...I could do some good with it, you know? I could help like everyone else does and...and be useful. Maybe save the day...I don't know it sounds silly out loud...but talking with Rilon... I didn't feel like a blind girl, you know? He made me feel...normal, like you do. I never expected it would get out of hand, that was naive of me, I'm so sorry. I hope you know I'd never do anything that would hurt you, or the others, on purpose."

When the blind man spoke the name of the bird and confessed that either the donkey didn't speak or wouldn't speak she let go of the heaviness of her confession and briefly attempted to locate the bird with her tired, useless eyes. It was no real use, even despite the rest she couldn't bring herself to try and see in her minimal way. "Beatrice? I like it. I hope she's okay, I can smell burned feathers and her wings didn't sound right. She'll heal right?" She paused a moment and contemplated the donkey, "Mother used to say donkeys were stubborn creatures, maybe this one is stubborn too. His loss though, you're great to talk too."

Briefly her mind wandered to their companions, they'd been gone a little while and she couldn't help but wonder, especially with their run of luck, if herself and Olan had been forgotten or if the pair had run into trouble on their little errand. It would be upsetting to be forgotten of course but at the same it would be a slight relief, Olan and her, as long as he was willing, could go start on their freak show, or do anything. Olan wouldn't have to be put in danger and she could give up the sword and live a simpler life, one where she couldn't hurt people any more, just make them laugh and smile like Olan did. Of course the latter was more likely, Jaelnec wasn't so careless as to forget his friends and nor was Aemoten, if they were in trouble though she had no way of finding out, of course they had Etakar with them so did she really need to worry? A blind girl and an old man were sitting at the side of the road with a donkey and a crispy raven as their own protectors. She didn't know where her sword was even if she wanted to use it and aside the odd fallen twig near her legs there was very little they could do to defend themselves from any attack. "The deal I made...it was so you'd all be okay, so that Rilon couldn't hurt you..." She said it as an after thought, as if reminding herself that should the worst happen Olan should, she hoped, be okay, so should Jaelnec and Aemoten, even without Etakar there.

[Dark Jack]

Zerul City, the Drunken Dove

A keen observer might have taken note of the fact that the blue-haired deo'iel started holding her breath tensely when Ixion mentioned the Blue Tool by name, and her masked sister likewise seemed to first frown when it was relayed that the Blue Tool was impaled upon one of 'his' weapons, and then seemed to petrify entirely when she mentioned 'him' - obviously the Fixer - attacking them.
None of the other things they had discussed mattered at that point, and the two demonspawn synchronously turned their heads to look at each other, burning intensity in both sets of mirror-like eyes.
As though the two had shared a swift telepathic conversation with one another they turned to face Ixion again, once more synchronously, and stared at first him, then the other two, with wide eyes. It would be hard for anyone to read the masked sister's expression from just the eyes, but a sniffer might pick up on the thrill and eagerness she was feeling; the blue-haired one was easy enough to read, though: her expression was one of fear and awe.
"Maybe we should speak more in private?" the blue-haired one suggested, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. She then lowered her voice to a whisper, barely loud enough for Ixion to hear. "But really, don't talk about the Fixer, especially when other people can hear it."
"People who do tend not to live very long," the other deo'iel pointed out, her voice also lowered, albeit not as much. "There's a reason nearly nobody's ever heard of him; people who do have a tendency of dying soon after."
"We have a room," the first sister told them, "if the three of you would like to join us."

[yoshua171]

I'onriyi Stonehand

---

A smile coming to his lips as the man exceeded his expectations. "I'd love some. How much?" He only needed to take off the edge of his exhaustion, not to get drunk. However, as his mind was on that he overheard Ixion telling the two deo'iel about the Fixer and the Blue Tool. He turned his body so he could see the three, and his other companion as well. The way the two reacted was interesting, and their request to...go to a more private place even more so. He'd be getting his Finest before any of that though.

That in mind he spoke up, eyes trained on Ixion as he did so, "I'll be gettin' some Finest before I go anywhere," the penin said matter of factly before turning to the innkeep. His smile hadn't faded.

Still, he couldn't help but read into the expression on the blue haired sister's face. She seemed almost...'excited', but given they were talking to someone who had encountered two rather powerful individuals and survived both encounters it was...somewhat understandable. However, it almost made him think that their interests had expanded since the beginning of the conversation. Things were getting more complicated and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it.

[Mercinus3]

The assassin, alert as always, was aware that the two deo’iel were tense at the idea of Blue’s death and the Fixer’s involvement in that. For such high-ranked members of the organization that he did inspire himself to be a part of until his contract with the Grand Master was signed, this did make him feel uneasy. He questioned himself about whether he should have spoken about what had happened earlier to them, doubting bringing up the subject altogether. He was startled when the demonspawn looked at each other in unison before they shifted their gaze towards him. Whether it was their mirror-like eyes or not, he knew that both of them were staring at him. A shiver ran up his spine, his inner being in turmoil as a result of the uneasiness.

The expression on the blue-haired demonspawn puzzled him a fair bit, the mixture of both fear and a sense of awe about the words he had said a moment ago. However, when they spoke to him again, their voices were lowered. He noticed the tremble in the revealed deo’iel as she asked him… She wants to speak to us in private? he thought, finding it weird that they suggested something like that. However, when both of them spoke directly towards him, such an offer was understandable. The masked deo’iel’s words had an impact on him. That’s why there are not a lot of people that know or speak of his name… He figured that men that have signed a contract were to be left untouched, so the other two? That reason was still shaky to him, though he will ponder on those thoughts over the course of the next few days. But for now, he would certainly take up that offer. For everyone in the tavern’s sake.

The penin looked at him and spoke about getting a drink. Now is not the time to get some luxuries before we talk to the members of the deo’iel! he thought, annoyed at the penin’s such requests. The smile took the edge off his annoyance, but only just. It was then that he made a decision to a question that has probably been on their minds: he will be in charge of this rag-tag group. He would rather be working alone, but he felt that their paths were now intertwined towards a destiny that he does not know of. At least, that’s what he thinks. “Fine,” he commented, acknowledging that he heard I’on. He then turned to the deo’iel, “… but once you get your drink, we’ll talk in private.”

[Dark Jack]

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

Whether the horses stayed where they were or not did not really figure at the top of Jaelnec's list of priorities at that point, nor did retaining his own ability to immediately defend himself should these strangers decide to betray them after all for whatever reason. Freagon would have scolded him for leaving himself so vulnerable at a time where he had no reliable backup - unless one counted a giant, grumpy, wounded monster from foreign lands as backup - but in the end there was no way he was not going to help Aemoten. Let Domhnall assault him while his hands were occupied and the Sekalyn's weight hampered his mobility, if he wanted to; Freagon might have been able to turn a blind eye - or a missing one, in his case - to a companion in distress if it meant jeopardizing something of a greater scale, but Jaelnec could not - would not - abstain from helping his friend.
Perhaps that was another way he would end up changing the Knighthood of the Will if he really was to attempt a restoration of the order? Though the purpose of the knighthood had always officially been to defend the people of their kingdoms and those of its allied nations, the Knights of the Will had always protected their allies by destroying whoever threatened them. Their order had always been very offensively oriented, and while the weapon of choice and techniques taught by Freagon were not universal to the knights they still embodied the general philosophy of the old knighthood: kill the enemy before it can kill anyone else.
That was probably also one of the reasons the knighthood had faced its slow extinction, as any failure by a Knight of the Will usually meant ultimate defeat and doom for those it was trying to protect. In the face of the more organized and sustainable national might of various militaries and guard corps to defend countries from mundane threats, and with similarly more organized and generally more reliable organizations like the deo'iel to take care of monsters and otherworldly hazards, the Knighthood of the Will - so inexorably stuck in its old ways - was fated to die out as it lost the support of the lands. The world had changed much over the past centuries - had gotten a lot bigger, with everyone joined together more closely - but they had not. Ironically, the knights of the old times would have been right at home in Rodoria as it was today, with the kingdom divided and everyone guarding their resources as to not leave themselves vulnerable when surrounded by enemies, and indeed Freagon had had more business over the past decade than he had for half his life... or so he had claimed. There had certainly been plenty of work, but Jaelnec had never seen a coin for any of it, since his master was more than happy to spend it all on himself.
They would have been right at home in this time, indeed... which made it all the more vital that they were not forgotten. This was the time for their resurrection, but if it were up to Jaelnec, they would return better than before, not the same; realize their mistakes and correct them, and learn to face the future instead of clinging to the past.
A momentous task, to be sure... which made helping a weakened man off a horse seem insignificant in comparison.

Once he had gotten Aemoten safely situated on the ground some distance from the horses - and with the animals between him and the large black-furred creature - he heard Domhnall express his hopes that their current condition at least entailed a nice story to be told. Did it, though? Even though Jaelnec had figured most of what had happened out by now through what he had been told and what he had seen, even he was not entirely sure he understood what had happened to them today. Thaler had received the Black Thorn, Aemoten had tried convincing her to give the relic up to another god, Rilon had found out and turned on them, they had fled, been attacked by crows and yths, the latter of which they killed, and ended up trading the relic for protection. Then a member of the Zerulic Ducal Guard had turned out to be a member of the Death Clan, had tried to kill them, and died in the process...
"Even if we could tell it well," he told the stranger with a wry smile, "I doubt that you'd believe us."

When Aemoten addressed him the last time before seemingly succumbing to exhaustion Jaelnec responded with a resolute nod, a stern determination upon his face that seemed to exaggerate the responsibility placed upon him quite a bit; as though the leader of their group had left him a quest to save the world to undertake alone, rather than a minor errand to get Thaler and Olan in here with the rest of them.
He stood once he was sure that the Sekalyn was not going to say anything else, turned to survey the area and then looked at Domhnall, hesitating. "Could you look after him for a moment?" he asked, inwardly hoping that Etakar would hear and understand this request as well, since the beast had much more reason to keep Aemoten safe than this unknown character. "I will only be gone for a moment; the others are not far."

[Shienvien]

Domhnall McRaith

The younger fellow - Janek? Jalec? Ehh, not quite... - took note of his comment about whatever they had come across this morning at least making a good story, and offered him a wry smile, "Even if we could tell it well, I doubt that you'd believe us.".
Domhnall shrugged, and briefly lifted his hand to loosely gesture at the dead lohk nearby, "Tha's not planned, either." In his mind he wondered whether the guy would have looked half as ease - not that he looked all that relaxed to begin with - if he knew that they had met Claw but a couple of hours ago and their entire interaction thus far had consisted of merely an impromptu engaging in a fight that technically had not pertained them and one long conversation filled with tentativeness and broken language. Or about his apparent manner of making decisions this day, for the matter.
Jaelnec - or what was he; this variation of the name felt at least more correct than the previous ones - exchanged a few words with his apparent leader, obtaining a strangely determined mien while he was at it, then standing, briefly scanning the area, and turning to face him, at which point he turned uncertain again. As the forestfolk had remained seated, the black-eyed-guy now towered above him. He looked up at the other, awaitingly.
"Could you look after him for a moment?" he asked. "I will only be gone for a moment; the others are not far."
Domhnall's eyes moved to the other man, who probably was by now either unconscious or asleep, then fixing on the beast - who seemed to have resigned himself to treating it as another stop, and was now idly observing the people nearby - in a sideways glance, and then looked back to the younger guy.
"Sure," he replied, in a tone which was at once almost exaggeratedly enthusiastic and yet left the impression of the man being not entirely certain what was expected of him. I am quite sure his beast would rip my head off if I did anything to him, anyway... Then again, there was no telling that the dekkun would not do so simply for touching his human, either - the man had said he would not harm anyone without a good reason, but to hell if he knew what the beast or his human companions considered "a good reason" ... in any case it would have been preferable to have at least one of the beast's own conscious companions around, rather than just the beast himself with his unnervingly scrutinizing gaze.

[Dark Jack]

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

Jaelnec could not help but to smile at Domhnall as he nodded his head in acknowledgement and gratitude, then immediately turned away and headed back in among the trees that surrounded them in a brisk jog. He had only known this man with oddly colored skin for a few minutes, but the Nightwalker had already decided that he quite liked him. He had been nothing but helpful since the moment they had met - disregarding his reaching for his weapon when they first emerged, which was a perfectly understandable reaction to strangers approaching in the wilderness, the chaotic times taken into consideration - and the sort of awkward enthusiasm with which he had agreed to watch Aemoten had been the final push that made him accept Domhnall as a trustworthy individual. Spirits, had Jaelnec been in that situation he would probably have reacted and replied similarly, himself, and the resemblance between himself and the stranger only made him all the more willing to trust him.
The woman... well, she had healed Etakar, but aside from that she had not actually done much of anything to give the squire an impression of anything aside from a certain sense of nobility and - though he admitted to himself that such might be an unfair judgment to make just yet - cowardice. She did not speak Rodorian, which made communication awkward at best, and spent her time hiding in a tree rather than actually interacting with them, leaving all of that to Domhnall; a chivalric task the acceptance of which only made Jaelnec appreciate the man all the more. And then there was the last one, that huge black-furred creature that had been sleeping through the entire encounter... obviously he had no way of knowing what kind of person that thing was - or if it was indeed anything more than a beast with faintly humanoid built - but he knew that it looked very strong, that it was not native to this part of Reniam, and that it looked like it was bred for killing. If he was going to place any bets on which one of the three strangers that had brought down the lohk, he would wager that the black-furred one did most of the work. Bows and arrows - which appeared to be Domhnall's weapon of choice - rarely did more than infuriate lohks further, and one had to be exceptionally skilled - and lucky - to do any serious damage with a small blade. Iridiel might have other Favored powers than healing, but even so it still seemed most likely that the gray-skinned brute had been brought down by another beast... especially considering the condition of its corpse.
No, he had no way of placing anything but minor faith in Iridiel, and had no reason whatsoever to trust the black-furred one, but he trusted Domhnall. More than anything, that man seemed... good. Like, just a genuinely nice and likeable person.

But as the Nightwalker made his way through the relatively short distance that separated Aemoten and their new acquaintances from Thaler and Olan, his thoughts turned to more concerning matters, namely what he was actually going to say when he reached the others in several seconds. It seemed as though he spent far too much time pondering what to do or say things these days and how to do or say them, rather than actually just doing and saying them... and he was not even entirely sure why he had grown so concerned with how people interpreted his words and actions. He had always been a firm believer that good intentions counted for much, and could at times excuse events taking a turn for the worse because of them. Back when he had been leader he had been careful about how he worded his decisions, sure, but he had never obsessed about every little thing as he did now.
As little as he wanted to admit it to himself - and he would never admit to anyone else - he figured that Thaler was probably the reason for his newfound criticism of his own actions. Having watched Aemoten trying desperately to help her, only to have the Daywalker take his every attempt to do so as a direct attack or insult against her... there was probably no way witnessing something like that would not affect a person, especially one as young as Jaelnec, and make one more wary of how one was interpreted.
Which made it all the more important that this particular message was delivered the right way, since Thaler was probably still in a bad mood, in lack of a better term, and liable to receive the message in the most personal way possible. He did not want to anger or sadden Thaler, least of all if she blamed the news on Aemoten. Jaelnec would bear the woman's ire and hatred if he had to - he liked her and would suffer from it, but he would survive - but the Sekalyn had received too many blows already. He wanted to protect him... somehow. Even from this.

"Jaelnec's coming," he heard Olan tell Thaler up ahead when he was getting close, and he could not help but to admire the older Nightwalker just then, despite how little he had appreciated the crazy man until now. Not only did he have an inner peace that allowed him to just speak whatever came to mind - with no filter, apparently, considering the tales he had been telling and observations he had made since they met - but he had a quality to him that made him different, somehow. Even though he said stupid and outlandish things, even though he made comments that, which would have hurt or angered a person if another had made them, people never took offense when it was him. On the contrary, Olan seemed to make people smile no matter what he did or said; as though by simply being him, it excused all of his shortcomings and made everyone happy to be around him, and eager to call him their friend.
Except Rilon, he reminded himself, and felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The Blood God had a lot to answer for, but the question was whether he had not received justice already? Having his almost unimpeded freedom taken from him by his relic having fallen into the hands of another immortal... but he was concerned for the future nonetheless. Rilon was a resourceful god, and many of his most faithful followers were almost as devious as their lord; there were no guarantees that he would not find a way to retrieve Black Thorn, and what then?
Laon help us if that ever happens, he thought, only to feel the knot in his stomach grow even tighter as he realized that actually might not be enough. In the end, there was probably nothing in the planes that could protect them from Rilon's vengeance. They just had to hope that it would never come.

"Hey," he called out as he ran past his two waiting companions, slowing to a halt a few steps onto the road, next to the donkey with the raven on its back... something that the squire wisely decided not to question the logic of. "Etakar apparently found a healer for himself in there, so he's going to be all right." That seems like a good way to start, he thought, and hoped he was right. "The healer and her companion...s... are even headed to Zerul City, too, so we can accompany each other on the way." He spoke quickly, he noticed; evidently nervous. Kreshtaat. "We'll stay here for a few hours first, so everyone can recuperate a bit, but we'll move out in time to get to the city before nightfall.

---

Zerul City, the Drunken Dove

The blue-haired one nodded her acknowledgement once the terms of their speaking in private had been set, and then she and her sister both turned to the innkeeper, fixing their inhuman eyes on him. "Why are you still standing there?" the masked sister asked him sharply, a dangerously impatient edge to her voice. "You're wasting everyone's time; get the drink. Now."
"Uh, yes," the innkeeper said with a nervous laughter. "Finest is two rodlin per mug, since it's hard to get and all, and -"
"I said now," the masked demonspawn growled, small cracks appearing in her mirror-glass eyes from which shone a dim, dirty brown light, and for a second one would be able to hear the bottles and glasses on the shelves behind the counter rattle and the wood of the building creak, even if one did not notice how the floor trembled slightly under their feet. Then the blue-haired one's eyes cracked as well, unleashing a faint white glow from within them; the tremors seized instantly, and the masked sister's eyes stopped glowing.
The innkeeper took the hint, though, and hurried off to fetch I'on his drink. "It's on me!" he shouted back to them as he practically dashed through a door into the next room, presumably headed for where they stored their kegs of rarer fare.

"Relax," the blue-haired deo'iel scolded her sister, her eyes still glowing from the cracked pupil-like holes. She yanked on her tuft of hair, hard. "You need to relax, dear; you know what will happen if you destroy the city."
The other one just growled unintelligibly as the cracks in her eyes - dark and empty without their glow - seemed to close, leaving her eyes smooth and uniform once again. Once her sister's eyes had 'closed', the blue-haired one's did the same.
The innkeeper was back within thirty seconds, practically running to the counter with a large glass-mug of clear liquid. He hurried so much, in fact, that he accidentally spilled a few droplets on his way, which he managed to avoid getting on his pants with a deft sideways dodge. Little indentations appeared almost immediately in the wooden floorboards where the droplets hit.
"Here," he panted, handing the mug to I'on. "Th-thank you for your business..."