Drache

A Heart Frozen (Ebonfort)

The Moon Fey took a deep breath and closed her eyes, curling her slender fingers nervously in the rough black hair of Bruin's mane. Rilana didn't like having to trust the drow. She didn't like that Alya was missing, or that Lyle had likely been killed by monstrous trees that she didn't know anything about, and she especially didn't like how poor of a guide she had turned out to be. If Svarak had asked for her sash right now she would have been all too happy to hand it over and let him lead.

It's not your fault. You promised you'd do your best, not that everything would go perfectly.

Amazingly, that doesn't make me feel better, bird-brain.

"Fine. I don't want to split up any more either and it wouldn't be wise to ignore her advice. Let's set up camp and get as much rest as we can until Warden Drisceya deems it safe enough to move on. There aren't many of us but we should set watches, if only to make sure the rams aren't getting worked up enough to bolt." By now, the animals should have been used to Ortha, but when the two-headed black creature slunk along the edges of the cavern the herbivores they turned and eyed her nervously, just looking for a reason to panic. "I'll take first watch, try to get some sleep."

With that, Rilana tucked her leg over the front of Bruin's saddle and landed neatly on the ground. Leading the horse to the middle of the cavern and bringing the riderless ram with her, she began caring for her mount first. Unbuckling his cinch and dragging the saddle off, she held the leather and sheepskin contraption against her hip until she could fold the stirrups and straps up into the seat and set the whole thing down without it dragging messily along the ground.

Digging through her saddlebags, she pulled out a stiff bristle brush and brushed the dirt and sweat from the animal, cleaning him up and relaxing him at the same time. It made her feel better, giving her something to do with her hands while her thoughts swirled with her concern about the rest of the party, her dark and twisted feelings about Svarak, and her general dislike at having to make camp underground.

When that was done, she secured the fjord-horse to a stout-looking stalagmite and left him munching muffledly in his nosebag, asking the others to do the same, her eyes narrowed critically to make sure everyone was taking care of their animals to her strict standards. It was a sure sign of her inner turmoil when she snapped angrily at Beran when the man tried to walk away without cleaning the stones from his ram's cloven hooves.

With the roof of the cavern over their heads and stone underfoot, there was no point in trying to put up their tents, so Rilana spread out her bedroll and sat cross-legged on the pale reindeer-hide, her longbow across her lap and one hand patting the top of one of Ortha's heads, stroking the smooth bony protuberances on the balauradon's skull. The creature's other head chewed noisily on a rather large piece of jerky. The creature was nearly the size of a regular wolf now. At some point she got out a mug and some silverleaf tea to make herself a cup, but it sat unsteeped and forgotten next to her as she gazed worriedly into the darkness.

Kona soothed her with his logic, and Rilana avoided looking at the others in case she found disappointment in their eyes.

[Ebonfort] Dragon Bait

The sensation of the approaching globes of fire was almost Drache's undoing. Fire was something all too familiar. She always had fire inside her and anytime her blood was up it felt like the flames corruscated along her veins, a white power deep in her very bones. But the way she was experiencing it now was new, and the dragoness was almost lost in the experience until she heard voices. She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes, but opened them just in time to notice the rising glow of approaching torches.

Drache almost laughed out loud! How could something so ordinary speak to her, unseen, across a distance? Vaguely she realized that the feeling was linked to the way she could change her breath weapon into Other Things, but didn't have the time to sort out just how the two were connected.

The sly dragoness ducked behind an outcrop, barely slinking her tail behind the stone as she watched and listened. Her ear-frills flared at the sides of her face and she even sniffed, an instinctive action even though her sense of smell wasn't anything special.

She found herself grinning at the stranger's conversation, deciding that if circumstances were right they might be the kind she could get along with. Anyone who joked about seducing harpies and orgies was alright by her! Her flame-coloured eyes darted between the three figures until she recognized the drow for what he was. This caused her to duck back further, knowing that in the darkness he would be able to spot the heat radiating off a half-Ixen with ridiculous ease.

"Hmmm," Drache pondered, her tail weaving back and forth silently as she decided what to do. Glancing up and behind her she could see that she could make a pretty clean getaway if she took to the sky. She could probably find another spot to camp. Then again, this spot was pretty nice and she was here first after all. There were three of them and one of her, not good odds, but she wasn't exactly defenseless. She had a mission to complete, but Peridiath (mmm...she could still taste her...) hadn't given her a deadline, so if she dawdled a bit, what would it matter?

It was the Alufiend's casual fireball that decided the matter for Drachiathoryx. Not one to be outdone, she waited a few minutes, waiting until the processing of the deer carcass was well under way, before she concentrated on the bright campfire.

It was more difficult than she thought, and the half-dragon realized that drawing on this reserve of power for a bit of fun might be dangerous if she kept it up for too long. But she was reckless and in good spirits. Her clawed fingertips gestured uselessly as she reached out with her mind, shaping the blaze, controling it. Fire was a playful thing and it flared up suddenly, white sparks popping out of the midst.

Drache didn't have a real plan for what she wanted the fire to do, but when it began to swirl around, a rotating pillar of near-white, she was just as pleased as if it was a complete surprise (because it kind of was). Taking advantage of the bright distraction, the red-scaled treasure-hunter crept from the dark corner where she was hiding, right towards the light, stopping a few feet from the fire on the other side from the three strangers.

Even if she hadn't cut the show short she felt like she wouldn't have been able to keep it up much longer anyways. She clearly needed more practice with that! With a concussive sort of pop, the fire shrank back down to normal, leaving a wide-winged, hand-on-hip, tail-undulating Drache grinning down at three strangers.

"Good evening. Tell me, which one of you is Kraven? I need to know whose sleeping bag to avoid tonight." Her tail swished. "By the way, I like my venison medium-rare." It was a tense moment for her, not knowing how these outsiders might react to her face (or her shenanigans), but she gave them a wink anyways.

[Ebonfort] Four Little Orclings, Mean and Green

It turned out that choosing to leave the trail worked out in Bula's favour, though moving through the gloomy woods was not easy. The trees became even darker in colour, their branches sprawling like massive vines, blocking out more and more of the light as the land sloped slightly down into the forbidding valley.

It didn't help that they kept having to pause to brush moss and spiderwebs out of their faces, their gear coated with the annoying stick strands. It seemed that the spiders liked the permanent shadows here.

The orcesses managed to keep quiet enough that after a while they could hear the steady crunch of footsteps on the path. Strangely, these sounds were not coming from in front of them, but from behind. Someone walking swiftly with more footsteps pattering irregularly beside.

"Let go of me! You're hurting...!" a child's voice wailed piteously through the trees. The footsteps shuffled briefly until the man could drag the youngster along a few more paces.

"I said keep quiet. You'll go where I tell ye', brat." The voice was cruel and unforgiving, a bit scratchy.

"But I want my mom!" The little girl sobbed and wailed again, and the pair broke into view.

The man Slade was tall but very thin, dressed in several layers of tattered clothes to make up for the obvious holes. His boots were mis-matched and too big for him, and most of the fingers of his knitted gloves were frayed open. He looked human enough, though his mousy brown hair was wild and unkempt, partly stuffed under a brimmed hat. His eyes looked yellow, but it was impossible for any of the orcs to tell if that was just jaundice or if he was more than he appeared the be.

His left hand was locked in a vice-like grip around the thin wrist of a black-haired, dark-skinned little human who couldn't have been more than seven or eight. She wore a simple smock dress that was in much better shape than Slade's attire, even though the bottom hem was dirty with leaves and spiderwebs. The girl tried to twist her arm free with a grunt and when that didn't work she simply did what many children did and sagged into a heap, screaming.

But Slade had been through this routine before. Hoisting the girl up onto her toes he reached out and slapped her hard across the face. "I said, shut. up." The danger in his tone seemed to penetrate and the although the girl continued to cry even harder, she started walking on her own two feet.

Heading in the same direction as the Orcesses, Slade hurried on his way, using a broken and rusty blade in his right hand to cut a path through the sticky webs.

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

It was with a certain amount of relief to the Swordmaster to see Verissa standing at the tiny stove, even if it meant she had rifled through his stuff. In the years since Wren he had become quite particular about his things, few in number as they were. She hadn't collapsed into a weeping lump, or tried to run, or tried to attack him, all of which might have made the day end quite badly for her indeed. But Verissa seemed resilient, and he was glad he had bothered to send Shenzi to see her. But apparently taking a slave meant sacrificing his ale mug. With an incredulous frown, Ash followed Verissa to the table, intent on snatching his mug back. He was going to have to set some boundaries, it seemed...

Oh. "I should have known," he muttered under his breath, watching the steam rise from the mug with a resigned sort of anticipation. If getting sliced was as much an ordeal as getting stitched up he would have been far less likely to do it.

Verissa's bold voice drew Asher's gaze and he turned to face her, one of his dark eyebrows inching up as she tried to boss him around. The tone of Healers and fed-up mothers everywhere. If she weren't his slave he might have felt thoroughly chastened. The corner of his mouth twitched, the hint of a grin amid the long stubble of his roguish beard.

He would have rather walked himself to the Healers tent than force this woman to clean him up after he'd captured her and brought her so far from everything she loved. He did indeed sit down, watching Verissa over the rim of his mug as he sipped on the tea. No amount of honey could hide the bitterness of herbs, and he hoped that she'd put something in to dull the pain.

The silent brooding gaze followed Verissa until she disappeared behind him. He tensed, torso tightening. How many stories had he heard about Kvaren who'd been knifed or poisoned in their sleep by vengeful slaves? Shouldn't he be more cautious about turning his back to her?

It was that moment when he decided that if he was going mistrust Verissa, as though she were a viper in his bedroll, he might as well just sell her now, which he didn't want to do. Asher relaxed into his chair, enjoying the sensation of warm wet cloth wiping the gore and grime from his skin. "Hmmm..." already barely able to keep his eyes open, the warrior let his head roll to the uninjured shoulder.

This was what being a succesful Swordmaster was all about! Pretty girls touching his naked...

"Yah!" Asher's eyes flew open, his big hand gripping the arm of the wooden chair so hard it creaked under the strain. The wound had laid a large section of skin open all the way down to the muscle and as the warm water seeped under and Verissa cleaned the crust of serum and blood away it burned and ached at the same time. "Warn me before you start digging around in my shoulder woman!..."

"I mean..." He switched languages hastily, regaining his composure. "...ouch."

After the initial shock as Verissa was forced to freshen the wound slightly before closing it up, Asher was able to keep still by focusing all his attention on making sure his spine was glued to the back of the chair. It was tedious, agonizing, and his brow glistened with sweat from enduring the pain of the suturing when she was done. It was only sheer stubborness that kept him from being one of those people who had to be literally held down.

Once she was finished, Asher remained in his seat, alternately testing his range of movement in the bandage and sipping the tea Verissa had made for him. While Verissa was busy tidying all the implements she had used for her craft, Asher summoned the energy to get up and move over to the bedroll he had brought. More than just a sleeping bag, it was a padded mat with several layers of linen and supple animal hide. For her own sake he wanted her to be comfortable, and the last thing he needed was to be the Swordmaster who didn't look after his slave.

He unrolled it, positioning it on the other side of the partition from where he would sleep, and close enough to the pole that the chain would reach.

When he was done, he stood over her, reaching over to take a pinch of the pumpkin bread and pop it in his mouth. "Thank you." It was said with a gentle gesture like scooping something precious towards his chest. He repeated it before explaining. "That is how we say 'thank you' in Kvaren. My arm feels better already." It didn't really, but now that it was taken care of he could focus his attention elsewhere.

"It's going to be tough to refuse offers of drink but I think I can manage." He grinned a bit ruefully. "Now when you're done eating, go lay down." It was said a bit sternly, as was his habit, and he was only thinking about the tiredness he saw in her face. He didn't think about how it would sound, especially when he went to tie the flaps of the tent close and then put his feet up on the chair one at a time to start unlacing his boots.

[Ebonfort] A Little Bird

Finishing off the first handful of blackberries, Asher didn't bother wiping the purple stain from his fingers before he went back for more. Though this time he rummaged around in his saddlebags for a small sack so that he could carry some home. His fellow Kvaren operated on a bartering system and whatever he didn't keep forh himself, Asher could easily trade for something else.

The gray-eyed man was just stuffing the last berry that would fit into the bag when he thought he heard a voice. It sounded far off, and though the words were so faint they couldn't be distinguished, there was a note of urgency he could nonetheless recognize.

Freezing with his hand on the hilt of his falchion, the warrior listened, his breath shallow, gaze darting this way and that.

"Help me!"

It was a voice from the thicket, so tiny it must be deep in the brush. Asher was instantly wary. He spoke Common well enough to understand the words but was wily enough to not go rushing to a stranger's aid. Caution against ambush directed him to step lightly as he picked his way into the shady growth, surprisingly stealthy for someone his size and wearing armour.

The tiny birds fluttered from vine to branch, flashing in bright hues and intricate markings as they passed in and out of shafts of light. He spotted a few of the fine nets for catching songbirds dangling from the woodier bushes. An enterprising trapper had apparently been up even before daybreak to set them.

A few minutes passed and Asher didn't hear the call again. A small green and yellow finch landed on Asher's shoulder, pecking thoughtfully at the roguish black hair that hung about to is shoulders.

"That wasn't you, was it?" he muttered under his breath, feeling foolish for getting worked up over birdsong.

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

The Aaenshi healer was quiet, watching Verissa struggle with the reality of her knew life. She didn't try to push any more information on the girl than she asked for, and knew there would be plenty of time to teach her how to cope with her change in circumstances over the next few days.

"You can. It may not seem like it, but you have more choice than you know, especially with a man like Asher." She thought about telling Verissa that she was lucky, but the comment would only ring false and hateful.

Shenzi helped poke through Asher's things, taking a strange delight in being so nosy, but also forging the way for the girl to feel comfortable taking to the tasks that would be expected of her. She found a quilted leather-lined mitt in the cooking kit and set it out so that Verissa wouldn't have to use socks next time.

"Both. A Swordmaster is more than just a warrior, he or she is a warrior with exceptional skill. Most tribes only have one, but the Thunderfangs have four because we are such a large tribe. It is an honour to be given the title by the Warlord, but it comes with a burden of responsibility. You are familiar with the ranks of the Ebon Knights, yes? A Swordmaster is responsible for the warriors underneath them, the defense and protection of the tribe. His position comes with benefits, some of which will extend to you."
The canid was careful to keep her tone level, factual. If she herself held any hatred for Ebonfort it was well-concealed. Shenzi watched Verissa work, occasionally helping by passing a pot or stirring when the human had to turn away.

"Right now I have about two dozen students, mostly from this tribe but several from others who have come to learn. There aren't many healers who have been around as long as I have." She grinned at that, her gray muzzle pulling back to reveal the worn teeth of an old carnivore. "We do a lot of things differently than they do in the cities. We don't let the price of business stop us from teaching our own. And we don't frighten those with magic skills into hiding. Sometimes supplies are low and we have to make do. A life on the move is rarely easy. But it can be wonderful if you let it."

Wandering about, Shenzi ducked behind the partition that separated the main area from what must have been where Asher slept, returning with a thick fur blanket that she tossed over a simple low wooden chair. She didn't sit, looking up at the orange wolf hide on the wall with some private interest.

The Healer's ears twitched and she looked back. "What do you mean? Do you think we would just let your skill waste away so you could busy yourself scrubbing pots and digging latrines? You will come work for me. I do not think the Swordmaster will mind." She seemed sure.

The thick leather flap of the tent rippled and the man appeared, as though summoned by the soothing fragrance of lavander in the air. Asher paused in the doorway of his own tent like a coyote hovering outside a circle of torchlight. Glancing between the two women, he scowled briefly as though he'd actually forgotten about his new acquisition.

Acquisitions, he corrected himself, glancing down at the two dark pups in his tent. He stepped inside and let the flap close. He was carrying a bundle under his arm, the outermost layer nothing more than a padded bedroll. The tent had always seemed a bit large when he was in it by himself. He couldn't recall it ever feeling this crowded, with him being the largest occupant.

"Did you fix her up?" he asked the Aaenshi, speaking his own tongue. The cadence and tones were gentle, making Common seem loud and brash, and every other word or so was accompanied by a subtle gesture of his hand or a shift in posture.

"Of course. Nothing serious. She's a brave one. I'd wager that whatever caused those slashes was enough to undo a weaker woman." There was an unspoken query in Shenzi's eyes but Asher's expression hardened and he shook his head.

"Later. What is she making? One of your sticky poultices?" Asher began to unroll the bundle, setting the bedroll on the floor near the pole and revealing an oilcloth full of cooked meat, roasted potatoes, and some pumpkin bread. Moving closer to Verissa, he set the food down on the table next to the basin.

"One of her own, actually. She's more than capable of tending you herself. I have better things to do than stitch you up, Ash. Send her to me in the morning." The Aaenshi switched back to Common for Verissa's benefit.

Asher looked up at Verissa curiously, pleased that the woman's skill had checked out, but a little uncertain about being left alone with her so soon. Before he could say anything, Shenzi ducked out. It was well within Ash's right to ignore Shenzi's request, but the stern gaze didn't give much hint at what he intended to do.

Ash cleared his throat. "I brought some food for you and your dogs. I ate already." In truth he hadn't had much. The light-headedness and queasiness had killed his appetite.

Turning from Verissa towards the mirror, he began to unbuckle his vambraces, stacking them together and setting them aside. He reached next for the blood-stained breastplate, flexing gingerly as he peeled it off and let it fall to the floor with a clang that was only slightly muffled by the leather floor. A moment later he was shrugging out of the padded vest as well, leaving him topless. His physique was as chisled and toned as could be expected, marred only by deep purple bruising over his ribs and along his arm, the singular deep gash already dark with a bloody crust and still oozing down his muscled torso. There was some hair, dark as the locks on his head, across his pecs and down below his naval. Reaching for a spare rag, Ash soaked it in what remained of the hot water and began to clean himself up, starting with his dirty face before focusing on the tender wound. It throbbed angrily, stinging sharply as he dabbed at it.

With a surly grunt, he tossed the rag into the basin where his blood bloomed into the water and rummaged around in his cookware until he found an ale mug and set it on top of a barrel that probably held ale.

An Early Morning Disturbance (Ebonfort)

Reward Review

Verissa Beatrix Greenlakes aka Trix

Skills
Leadership 3
Intimidation 2
Negotiation 3
Herbalism 5
Medicine 5
Socialization 3
Riding 1
Sewing 2

Knowledge:

Contact: Gregory Whitehorn, the gargoyle with broken Common.
Contact: Lieutenant Ebon Knight Vegarra, patient.
Gargoyles: Too big to fit in my house

@Twhirtley

Ebonfort

A Little Bird has been started between Lyriia “Lii” Elenye and Asher

Ebonfort

Drache and Rilana are currently time-locked. Asher will be participating in the Kerawac events on the: 15th, 21st, 23rd, 30th, 33rd(?), and 55th.

[Ebonfort] A Little Bird

@RomanAria