Before The Dawn [IC]

[Ythania]

Coping mechanisms were necessary to deal with this incident. Marian had enough on her mind to tune out the others; she shifted slightly so that the rest of the party can get to the map, not even bothering to listen to Avarielle's agreement - she basically parroted out what Marian was already saying. She only flitted in and out of the conversation to hear the basics, her goldgreen eyes following from one face to the next. "We'll be lucky to survive," pondered Marian as she watched the plan develop. "They have the means, but just not the co-operation-...Oh, shut up Mary-Lou." her voice of logic interrupted her train of thought rather sharply as Avarielle spoke her concerns about the Greenwood. "You've been travelling on your own for years now; what makes this trip any different? Just keep to yourself, travel light, and be prepared to split at a moment's notice."

Marian peered at Avarielle for a while longer; the woman had guts, but not a lot of common sense. Marian knew herself that you didn't have to be brainy to be brawny, and understood she wasn't the sharpest axe in the weapon-rack herself...but you can only become so strong until life throws you a curve-ball and if you don't know how to get out of the way of danger before it happens, then you might as well hug it head-on. Whilst peering at the redhead, Marian assumed that Avarielle had done one too many "cuddles with catastrophes" in life; she just seemed a bit...broken. Like she should be stronger than she is.

Everyone knew Ser Faen of Amor. You'd have to be deaf and blind not to. And, Marian was annoyed to admit, he was just as good-looking as the stories made him out to be...too bad he's a filthy, backstabbing human. 'Free-sailors' my arse, he's into all sorts of shady dealings with pirates and criminals. Some hero he turned out to be...but yes, probably useful to have someone a bit more diplomatic on their diplomatic party, especially considering the type of folk that turn up in ports.

Damian Seville. The boy who fell over. Marian glared at him stonily as he toppled over, somehow, without even moving. He was holding the scroll, no? This little runt of a human was holding onto the thing she wanted to take a look at. As Marian peered closer at Damian, she realised something; not a runt, but a boy. "Fusius..." thought Marian; the tyrant sent a bloody boy out to this mission?! He's barely of age to hold a sword, let alone travel to New Kelda, and almost certainly a liability. Marian made her mind up; she'd keep an eye on Damian and give him a good kick in the right direction if he starts to falter. It's not like she cares about the kid or anything, she just-...it's just helping the group. The group she doesn't want to help. Marian looked away from Damian quickly whilst she tried to clear those weak thoughts out of her mind, and her gaze settled on Vance.

Vance the alchemist didn't intrigue Marian in the slightest. He was the brains of the group, surely, but his massive ego kept strangling his speech. At least he had a use - his potions and poisons. Marian stared at the vials with contempt; poison did not really affect her as it did for others but it was still a little disconcerting to see the offer in and of itself. Marian grimly wondered how much of that poison was going to be in her food one night.

Adrianna kind of reminded Marian of herself. For one, she was pleased there was another dwarf which she could possibly talk to, but being a fairly antisocial creature by nature it was unlikely that the pair would really get along. She also found it amusing that Adrianna took two vials instead of just one; perhaps Marian wasn't the only one with ulterior motives.

Speaking of ulterior motives, Marian stole a glance at Sayazar. Now, there was a beast to look out for. Even the slightest of glances seemed to put her into a bad mood, some ingrained reaction to seeing a Nosferyte brewed up by her ferocious racism. Problem was, whilst Marian wasn't bright, she also wasn't stupid. She knew a smart man when she saw one and that thing was barely a man. Who knew how many years he had been manipulating people? Why on Tyrannia was he wearing a glorified silver fruit bowl on his head, did he mean to look so utterly idiotic to lure passers-by into a sense of false security? Marian didn't fool herself with trying to figure out what Sayazar's motives were; she was certain that it went far past her range of intelligence. One thing was for certain - he was one to watch. Problem was, when he opened his mouth, Marian knew he would be essential for getting to where she needed to go.

And there was the slight issue that he spoke about her exact worries. Marian eyed Damian the scroll-holder as he protested to opening the scroll but made sure, made incredibly sure that she didn't give away a single hint of emotion. She just stared at the words "KELDA TOR" on her map and allowed the whole situation to play its course. At least, until Ansley opened his mouth and suggested that Kelda Tor and everything within didn't exist.

That took Marian by surprise, and she glanced up to peer at the perpetrator of such a horrific accusation, only to find what might be one of the few decent humans she's had the-...tolerance for. He wielded a massive mace and was practical; as far as Marian was concerned, those were two big ticks in her book of standards. Still, Ansley gained no respect from Marian due to his scepticism about New Kelda, and Marian resorted to internally thinking up rather creative curses and places where he can stick his theory into.

Funny how so many people were drinking alcohol. "Coping mechanisms," mused Marian.

Feyre seemed a bit of a sap and far too weak to really be of interest for Marian, she even disappointed Marian with her terrible cartography - despite the fact Marian couldn't even do much better. At least Feyre admitted it. It surprised Marian to see how many people were nervous about sleeping rough in the Greenwood - Marian couldn't think of a safer place to camp. She started to doubt the skill of these intrepid adventurers.

Looks like she wasn't the only one - Lucine had spoken up and Marian actually noticed her, not liking her manipulative behaviour in the slightest, making Damian begin to doubt himself and preying on his weakness. Again, that sort of protective urge washed over Marian as her expression soured and she threw enough shade at Lucine to darken the entire tavern room. How dare she. "Focus and relax, focus and relax." warned her little voice of logic, and Marian decided to throw in her own thoughts on the matter.

"Didnae once occur to you lot to ask about this stuff when we were away from listenin' ears? So long as the scroll makes it to New Kelda in one piece, then the mission will be a success. Provided one o' the serving girls doesnae gossip about our doubts an' His Majesty catches word of it." sighed Marian. She had chosen her words rather carefully, even though the same berating tone was infused into her sentences. "I'm nae havin' any part in your little tinkerin' with the scroll." she added firmly. After all, she wouldn't be part of the group who physically opens and reads it; in fact, Marian was hoping to hear about the truth from word of mouth so there was no proof when Vladez executed the rest of the team for disobeying his orders. And for knowing the truth in the first place.

In fact, Marian was so utterly certain that this would be the case, so she moved towards the tavern door and leant beside it, ready to leave if they started knocking on the casing. Her map and her backpack and her belongings could stay indoors until they were finished playing with the forbidden toys, she could come back in once they've hidden it all up again and then claim innocence in front of the people of Woodsend.

 

[Jargo]

Madness! Madness and stupidity! Sayazar cringed, feeling what was almost physical pain, as the scene unfolded in front of him. Yes, he had expected things to not go smooth, but in all honesty, he had expected the group to start barking up against him, instead of having them separated in two different teams. It would be a lie to say he wasn't pleased at how quickly Norcott had gotten hooked up on his line of reasoning, however the way the man had tried to advance Sayazar's point was counter-productive at best. That was the disadvantage of contracting idiots to one's cause, he guessed. The young Seville's reaction wasn't particularly surprising either - the latter was aware how everyone here looked down on him and if he was anything like his parents, he wound't just take such kind of attitude. The Nosferyte bitch had, of course, taken the stand against him, using reverse psychology to trick the lad into not backing off and, if anything, his eyes darting her bosom was a sign that trying to impress would be an additional incentive for him not to go back into the path of reason. The mage sighed, half-heartedly, as he looked at Avarielle - the woman seemed rather indulged in her own thoughts, so it wasn't likely that she would be the one to convince Damien and even if she did spoke, what guarantee did Sayazar had, of her being wise enough to see the wisdom of his words, save for her hatred towards the King. Apparently he would have to be the voice of reason in this group... Again, having made a decision, the Stormbringer followed up on his habit of instantly acting upon it:

"Master Seville, I not only understand your concerns, but I also find them valid and quite reasonable." he spoke, his voice remaining polite and calm, nothing in his posture betraying his irritation as he walked across the room, casually moving past Lucine. He was now quite close to the scroll-holding Damien "I not only think the scroll has some sort of trap attached to it, should it be opened by the wrong hands, I am, in fact, sure of it. Which is why I proposed that we have it opened by somebody who knows what they are doing, such as Mrs. Wheeler here, and not offering to do it myself. As for your other concerns, please rest assured, it is hardly possible to just summon an undead army without the proper... well, ingredients. Besides, I do not sense enough magical power emanating from this inscription to cause an event that massive, I believe Mrs. Wheeler could back me up on this one... Also, in rune-forging, the meaning of each individual rune is seldom the meaning of the entire combination, but rather something like a letter in it, making for but a portion of the overall message. Surely, there is a danger in trying to open this scroll and that cannot be denied, however, I trust you are able to see that marching ourselves blindly on a mission that you, yourself, called "dubious" would present a much greater peril, to all of us. Especially since, even you would admit, there is a high chance what you are holding in your hand is not even the word of your King. Just imagine that is true, in that case we would be jeopardising the fate of this entire kingdom as well as, potentially, that of New Kelda. I, personally, believe that exposing ourselves to the smaller danger is the better option - after all, if you didn't want to interact with anything that explicitly or implicitly signals danger... well I am afraid that this quest will be difficult for you to complete." Sayazar had not left the youth out of his sight through the entire conversation, however his gaze occasionally darted the rest of the room, scanning for reactions. Finishing his speech, the mage began to go back to his table, but, before anyone else had the chance to speak, he turned back, his eyes deadlocking those of the young Seville and, very slowly, prolonging certain words, spoke: "Oh and... Master Seville, in the future, if you have a problem with a call I make, I would strongly appreciate it, if you were to limit yourself to questioning the call only." His words were only a tad bit sharper than his usual register, but that was quite enough to produce the desired effect, especially, as deliberately produced a cold breeze to sloop around the human.

 

[Blacksam]

As the preparation talks continued, Faen receded to the background once more, happy to let the others to plan the route. He was used to being an inconsequential leaf blown by the winds of fate, this time was looking like it would be no different. He barely even responded when the group was disturbed by Damian's all-mighty racket. At most the fraudulent hero arched an eyebrow and slowly shook his head in disbelief as the boy mumbled his apologies, but otherwise refrained from commenting out loud, though he did find himself almost admiring the boys tenacity. After all, they hadn't even left yet, and the young fella was already making a play for the 'shortest lived adventurer ever' title. God's but he was bad at this. Even worse than Faen had been when he'd started out, and that was really saying something.

When he returned his attention to the table at large Vance was holding court, waxing lyrical about some his alchemical wonderbrews, how the stench of one could could send wolves and bears packing with their tails between their legs, or that his poisons could stop a man dead in a heartbeat. Well to that Faen would say 'I see your wonderbrews, and I raise you one burning torch, and one sharp knife.' Seriously, fire had been doing a perfectly good job of keeping wolves outta campsite's for thousands of years, what was wrong with fire? Did woodland critters finally found a cure for simple primal fear, and no one had told Faen?

It looked to him that all this talking was going nowhere, and damned quick at that. He was about to reconsider his position and buy himself a drink when Sayazer spoke up. The Nosferyte raised some interesting points, especially concerning the scroll and what it might, or might not contain. Faen had been thinking along the same lines. After all, words could be powerful weapons, and King Valdez wouldn't be putting weak words to parchment, especially not ones directed at annoying little rebels who had been denying his God given right to boss them about for decades. For all the group knew the scroll might be a declaration of war, a demand for gold, or just a scathing insult from the King calling all Dwarves scandalous bum-touchers. It could be anything, though whatever it was Faen was pretty sure it wasn't the sort of thing you want to be personally handing over to a race of people renowned for being ridiculously good at holding grudges, while also being notoriously sensitive. So yeah, Faen wanted to see what the scroll said, almost as bad as Salazar did.

Forewarned is forearmed, after all.

. . . But he wasn't willing to open it here, not while the tavern-keeper and the barmaids were in attendance. The King had gone to a lot of trouble to see that the scrollcase stayed locked, after all, and Faen would rather that the bloody tyrant didn't find out that they'd gone against his wishes and cracked it open. Curiousty might have killed the cat, but he reckoned in this instance being curious would get him a lot worse than a pine box. His reward would probably start with him being mangled and mutilated by the royal torturers, and that would just be the entré.

Strangely it was the Dwarf that championed his cause. Surprising, really, as he hadn't pegged her as one who thought about the consequences of her actions. Maybe she wouldn't end up being so unbearable after all. Ally's can sometimes be found in the strangest of places. Like four feet off the ground.

Still, it looked like the debate over what to do with the scroll could go on for a while, seeing as Salazar seemed determined to get his way, while Damian had found some iron in his backbone, a few allies in the wings, and a desire to do the right thing. Though he should drop that last one quick, if he knew what was good for him. People had been making Faen do the right thing for years, and he could tell Damian right there and then, there was nothing right about doing the right thing.

Instead of throwing in his two coppers, Faen turned to Ava, figuring it would be easier to convince her to his side of thinking than shouting the odds at the rest of these cretins.

"The Dwarf's right. If we do decide to crack this open then it's best if we don't do this here. We don't know what could happen, and I don't want innocent people getting hurt just cause we didn't want to be left outta the loop." Yeah, innocent people like Faen! He nodded knowingly at the barstaff, to make it look like it was them he was worried about, though in reality their health couldn't have bothered him less. He just didn't want them seeing the group in a compromising position, then accidentally blabbing about it and then it getting to someone important. As things stood, he felt they'd already said too much.

"Besides," He continued, "Even for a sorceress, it might be risky. Hate for this to go south, and for us to loose you so soon." He half-grinned, joking, trying to make her more at ease, more likely to listen to him.

And she was pretty. He'd hate to lose the pretty ones.

 

[Raja]

Avarielle Wheeler​

Avarielle was quiet again as she allowed the discussion to unfold, having already said her piece. As dysfunctional as the group seemed to be proving thus far, she could not deny that the King seemed to have gathered a most resourceful bunch, with talk of procuring ships and laying their heads beneath shelter dominating the conference for a time. Vancerith put forth an assortment of vials, stating their purpose as weapon poisons as he allowed those who desired them to distribute the potions amongst themselves. It was a kind gesture as well as a useful one, even if Ava herself could reap little benefit from the offer. Similarly, the Nosferyte was a natural wealth of information regarding the desolate Vastorian landscape, given the no-doubt countless times the man had trekked South of the border from that wretched hive on Rotsanger.

He revealed some news to the group that Avarielle found troubling: the residence of monstrous beasts in the frozen region, that Sayazar had referred to as Ferals. Avarielle had never heard of these, but for a Nosferyte such as him to consider them a threat... It did not instil her with the greatest confidence, to put it lightly, though her fears were somewhat quelled when Sayazar implied that the Ferals' weakness lay in flames; Ava had near-perfected her command over fire, and it was naturally her go-to technique in battle.

"You may assume correctly," Avarielle replied, earning a secret and well-masked thrill at the prospect of proving 'tremendously useful'. "Should we encounter such threats, I shall make every effort to dispatch them swiftly." She said, doing her best to sound confident. Fire was useful in any situation, being a versatile and efficient element of destruction, but still the fear niggled at the back of her brain... If the Ferals were of the same accursed blood as the Nosferytes, what power did they hold of their own?

As much as it pained her, the Nosferyte made another solid point: That they ought to consider doing what Valdez had so clearly tried to prevent, and read the runebound scroll. The mage had never trusted Valdez; as far as she was concerned, the man was no King of her's. But of course, her opinion would make little difference should His Majesty choose to behead her for treason, and so her options were somewhat limited. Such was the life of an Amorynthian... But still Sayazar's words echoed in her mind, mixing amidst her own doubts of the King's intentions.

As if sensing her intrigue, the Nosferyte demanded her attention once more, suggesting that the scroll be passed to her in order for her to break the magical seal. It was true; Avarielle had studied at the Wizard's Tower, where runebinds were placed on every door to be deciphered by anyone who wished to pass. The magical training at the tower was intensive, but clearly effective... And what good were the skills she'd learned there, if not to prepare her for times of need such as this?

"I, for one, believe we all have the right to know what we are risking our lives for." Sayazar announced, concluding his case. Avarielle agreed, but decided against making her stance known. It was likely that the others had an opinion on this, and some of them already seemed to be doubting her as a result of her reluctance to sleep exposed to nature's beasts. She had to earn some kind of favour amongst the group if she was to be respected; whilst a battle brought with it grave danger, she almost prayed that conflict lingered on the horizon. In that event, she would be able to impress the group with her arcane fury and avoid political decision-making such as this; of that much, she was sure. For now, though, she would weigh up her options...

It seemed she was in luck, as Ansley quickly made his position known: he stated himself in favour of opening the scroll, and quite forcefully suggested that Damian hand it over to her in a way that earned him some respect in her book. Perhaps he wasn't such a fool after all; he knew how to assert himself and it seemed his faith in the King was not as unwavering as she had first suspected... In fact, looking around the table, it seemed that most of the party were looking at the Seville lad with a look of expectance, and for a moment she counted her silent battle as a premature victory. But the incompetent novice was proving to be quite the difficulty, as he finally spoke up.

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," the young man declared, seeming to Avarielle as though he was ever-so-slightly clutching his bag protectively as he twisted the context of the argument upon those who challenged him; questioning the motives of those who had questioned the King's. She had to admit that Damian had made some valid points - at least, regarding the nature of the scroll. His Royal sympathies were an unfortunate weakness to add to an apparently ever-growing list. But it still stood: the scroll's magical protection had every potential to be destructive, of that much she was certain. But to risk it, and avoid giving Valdez the satisfaction of deceiving them... It was an opportunity far too enticing for the young sorceress.

Suddenly, the 'Death Dancer' Lucine seemed to make a moral U-turn, deciding that pressure should be removed from Seville to relinquish the scroll that was expected from him. Avarielle almost lost faith in the presumed assassin, before her motives became clear: she was manipulating the man, teasing him with dark possibilities in an attempt to twist his allegiance. Above all things Ava detested, sly dealings and dishonesty were amongst the greatest, and the mage made a pact with herself to keep a close eye on the dark-haired woman. Her questionable approach aside, their stance for now seemed unified.

Whilst it seemed to be of a fairly universal opinion that the scroll be opened against Valdez' wish, Marian the Dwarf and even the great Ser Faen declared that they felt it best to leave the deed for now; apparently fearing the loyalty of the inn's staff and the potential consequences should Valdez catch word of their plan. As much as Avarielle despised the thought of Valdez holding any power over her, she had to resign herself to the truth that rang in the pair's words. She was certain she could fight off any search party that the King sent for her head; but money was becoming an issue for her as of late, and a fee as handsome as that offered for the completion of this errand was unmatched throughout the land... Because Valdez took all their damned money, she thought to herself bitterly, reminding her of just how much the tyrant was not to be trusted.

As her thoughts had been whirling, stealing all of Avarielle's attention, it seemed Sayazar had made another attempt at persuading the boy to comply; this time through a thinly-veiled combination of assertiveness and intimidation, a polite negotiation that reeked of threat. It was in this moment that Avarielle realised how she ought to approach this; the group were already near-unified in their choice to read the scroll, she needed not to appeal to them in her actions other than to act upon her own desires. She just had to tackle the defiant Damian; who seemed only to be acting out of fear.

"Mr. Seville," she said, lowering her voice so that only those around the table could hear, and making a point of not approaching the young man as the others had done so menacingly. "We appreciate your concerns," she hushed, "Believe me when I tell you this: None of us wish to see any harm brought upon the group. At least, I'd like to think that was the case." she said, shooting a quick glance around the group for any signs of shiftiness. "I have studied runebinds somewhat extensively. Should you hand the scroll over to me..." she whispered, extending her hand towards Damian as she lowered her voice further. "You have my word that it shall not be opened should I have any doubt in its safety." she concluded, looking directly into the young man's eyes with an unfaltering gaze of determination.

She hoped that her honest approach amongst a malevolent haze of threats and manipulation would appeal to Damian and instil him with enough confidence to make the right decision.

 

[Stuffies12]

Damian Seville

Intentions on his sleeve

He knew adventuring was going to be difficult. There would be countless challenges for him to face and adversaries to overcome. Yes, for a lad as sheltered and inexperienced as himself every step he took was an experience in itself; but he knew he couldn't let the things he encountered overwhelm and corrupt his values. It was a promise he made to himself if he were ever to start adventuring. He knew he would meet many different people when adventuring with as many different values, and, indeed, this group before him was diverse in many ways.

He didn't expect challenges of words, however. He anticipated, throughout his travels, the difficulties he would face in combat. How he could possibly keep up with a group such as this when fighting out in the field. Never did he think challenges could come of choices. Yes, he was more of an orator than a fighter, but always used his words to reconcile when possible. Never to attack or defend.

One by one they tried to convince him of handing over the scroll. First Ansley, who's tone did not sit well with Damian. The guardsman did not earn any favours from him there. Lucine seemed to come to his defence but questioned his ability as the scroll carrier. It was then he realized his motives for this mission differed wildly from the rest of the group's. An assumption which was supported by Sayazar and Ava's attempts to hand over the scroll, the former providing a literal chilling quality to his argument, and an emphasis on not questioning the Nosferyte's own motives in the future. Was that really wind he felt?

Damian was sure that the root of his companions' motives were largely the same: money, status, allegiance; they saw the mission as something to be completed and expected a reward at the end. They did not want to feel cheated out of their efforts. That was what their actions were based upon. Not that he was dismissing their points. It was a simple risk assessment. Does the benefit of opening the scroll outweigh the risk it brings now and in their future travels? Opening it immediately didn't seem like a good idea either.

Right now, he felt a need to articulate his own position on the matter. Clearly and concisely.

Appeal to emotion

Ava's extended hand laid still in front of him as did her gaze, which never once strayed from his. His words and actions will determine his stance in the rest of the group.

Everyone knew of his inexperience. There was no point in hiding it any longer.

"Being on this adventure was something I could have only dreamed of. To explore the world and see all sorts of people. I look up to my parents, they were amazing adventurers as some of you may know; and if I could be just a fraction of the people they were when they lived I shall be satisfied in that. By Adilah's grace I'm now in a position where I can do that. Where I can adventure with the best of the best and learn from them! To me, the adventure is the reward. I don't care for the money or the fame that comes with this mission. For me, this is a once in a lifetime chance for me to live out my dream. To discover new lands and befriend as many people as I can. And I know I will never get this good a chance again.

"Which is why I cannot hand over this scroll willingly. I do not want to be the one who handed over a power that could harm or even kill someone before we have even begun on our journey. I cannot bear to see seasoned travelers, my companions, harmed by some foolhardy curiosity. I am scared, yes, scared of losing any one of you on this journey. Maybe... I am being foolish in expecting everyone to come out of this mission unharmed. Maybe... I am underestimating your abilities. But if it is a choice between someone's life and this scroll, then for me, the choice is perfectly clear. You may call me foolish and naive, even selfish if you desire, but this is what I believe in. If you think your own lives are worth less than that scroll, I shall value your lives highly for you."

Damian walks forward and places his bag on the table, on top of the pile of maps.

"I cannot, in good conscience, have my own hand in potentially hurting one of my own companions. The scroll is inside. Do what you think is best."

He turns and stands at the other end of the tavern door opposite Marian. He looks to her but she seems preoccupied in her own thoughts.

"I just want us all to get along..." he says just loud enough for Marian to hear.

 

[Ythania]

Sometimes, stupidity is apparent in such a degree that even Marian can smell it out. And right now, Damian was stinking up the tavern. It was one thing to refuse the want of the entire group, but another entirely to state your weakness in front of them all. Now Marian had no doubt these hardened thugs were going to beat the snot out of this little runt, and she'd have to watch them attack a child.

Oh, no, wait, she didn't have to watch. Marian snapped out when she heard Damian's pleading voice and was caught somewhere between contempt and pity, wavering between the two. She regarded Damian for a long time as that same sort of lurch of emotion started to compress her ribcage. There was just...something about him. It wasn't his looks. Some sort of instinct sparked up within Marian to protect Damian and it was really getting in the way of her plans...the last thing she needed was a liability. And Damian just outright admitted it.

But her mouth moved before her brain did, as per usual. "The bloke's made his choice. If you're so uppity about it bein' dangerous, look at it this way - it hasnae done anythin' whilst that courier carried it. Gods forbid we can lob the damned thing down Kelda Tor and let it bounce its way to the dwarves if you're that scared about what's inside." she grumbled, starting over to her backpack and her axe. She snatches the map off the table, folding it up and stuffing it into the side pocket.

"Alternatively, get him to Kelda Tor an' make him send it whilst you all abandon 'im in Vastoria. Let the kid deal with all the consequences because you lot were too focused on your own safety to give a damn about helping out as soon as the mission was complete. It's what I'd do." she continued nonchalantly. She didn't even seem to begin to care that the words might be a little bit accusatory; in fact, she was in the process of pulling the rain-cover over her backpack as she accused her team of being selfish. Dully, she hefted up the massive battle-axe and moved her way over to the tavern door.

"Because you know that's what yer gonnae have to do, right? You jes' told the whole lot of 'seasoned travellers' where they can stick that scroll. It's your responsibility, an' if it summons monsters or some crap like that in the middle o' the Greenwood, that's yer problem. Not theirs. They jes' got hired to make sure the scroll makes it - didnae get hired to save your sorry arse." Marian jabbed a finger towards Damian's side as she went to lean on the other side of the tavern door, glaring up at him. Instinct be damned, he was still a human and still a stupid human at that. Someone had to pop his bubble of innocence at some point.

She clicked open the door and stared at the rain, clenching her jaw. The tavern was suddenly a bit too small and cold for her liking, and she wanted to get out. Impatiently, Marian tapped her foot on the ground and muttered curses to the skies.

 

[Navi Jay]

Fey remained silent as the discussion transpired. She found herself staring off into space, she couldn't concentrate on the discussion as she was contending with herself. Considering the implications of this choice, was almost driving her mad. On one side, self-preservation willed to take over, only focus on her safety and the safety of her companions so they could finish the mission and receive compensation. Unlike Damian, someone desperately relied on her success and if she did not succeed, or survive she would be on the streets within the month, most likely dead within the year.

Her hand absentmindedly stroked her choker as the image of her feeble confused grandmother wondering the shambles once again probably not even knowing where she was, whom she was...or where Feyre was. It killed her, tears pricked her eyes so she promptly gathered her map, as it was the only one that remained on the table, "Impetuous dwarf tore it, stomping off In such a manner."

Fey meticulously rolled the parchment up, carefully tying it's ribbon. This allowed her the time to blink away those foolish tears, if she cried in front of the others she would have been ridiculed, she already had a sneaking suspicion that most of her companions did not at all take her seriously. It seemed the obvious choice to open the scroll, after all they all came with similar goals in mind: survival, completion of the mission, reward, in no particular order.

Another part of her completely disagreed. That part admired the child like wonder that Damian possessed and longed to forget about her commitment to the grandmother to to her reputation and just do what she loved, adventuring. Feyre had a feeling when she read letter. Excitement and anticipation filed her and she wanted to leave straight away. Something she never felt any of her other journeys simply because they were merely about profit, the people she worked for or joined only were seeking the richest they lost the riches that they wanted. This is is truly an adventure. Being specifically chosen, with other specifically chosen people on a potentially noble quest, even though they would receive compensation, they were going to resolve a political conflict and maybe save a group of people.

She felt as though she were six years old again. Time when her father was truly her hero, a time with her grandfather wasn't as mean of a drunk as he were in the final years leading up to his death, when he still told her tales of his own adventures and told her that she should do anything as long as it made her happy. Then the times where they both worked her and her grandmother to death to support their own addiction, when she didn't make enough for them how they treated her. She could never feel innocence again, it was all about profit now, personal gain. She had someone who relied on her for survival she couldn't think like Damian, his innocence and sense of wonderment enraged her. Yet she envied him, was jealous of him. Feyre could feel her pulse race and her face flush up under her skin, she loathed getting worked up like this. She sucked in a deep breath and attempted to calm herself before she voiced her opinion.

"Open the blasted thing now. We'll only allow ourselves further endangerment during our journey if we aren't aware of exactly what we are dealing with." She made sure her eyes did not meet Damian's once, for she didn't know what she would of done if she had.

 

[Raja]

Avarielle Wheeler​

The longer Damian spoke, the less faith Ava was able to place in him. His inexperience had been obvious from the start: it was like some kind of omnipresent inconvenience that held him back, like a ball-and-chain around his leg that he'd dragged into the inn. Avarielle could see it and as could the others, judging by the way some of them were glancing at each other; telling flickers of doubt and frustration flickering across their faces. None of them gathered around the table needed to hear the speech about Damian's motives; it did not matter whether he wanted to be an adventurer. They did not need would-be adventurers. They needed the best of the best; those whom have walked the paths least-trodden in Tyrrania and lived to tell the tales. What was the King thinking in lumbering this group, who for all intents and purposes were at the very least a competent bunch, with a clueless novice such as this?

Amidst all the idealistic preaching of chasing dreams and fulfilling aspirations, Damian mentioned his parents, and Avarielle's mind was thrown back to her earlier observation regarding his surname. Seville, Seville, Seville... she repeated, hammering the name into her head as she mentally sorted through her memories and souvenirs... She knew of them, that much was certain, though the specifics of their apparently grand heroics remained vague... As though shrouded in the thickest of fogs, she mused, firing the Nosferyte a quick glance. Regardless, his origins were ultimately obsolete... One did not become a great adventurer through birth; it was this trait of profession that had assembled such an eclectic group of individuals from all over Tyrrania. Unlike the corrupt nobility of these lands, anyone had the potential to become great through hard work and perseverance... Neither of which Damien had any experience with, clearly. It was almost an insult to the rest of them that he had even been considered for the team; nevermind that he thought himself above it, treating it as some sort of learning curve for him in whatever fantastical vision he'd dreamed up for his future.

That's when he said it, the words that Avarielle did not want to hear. "I cannot hand over this scroll willingly." he said, causing a fearsome scowl to engulf the sorceress's face in a near-instant as he struggled to explain himself. Avarielle did not hear the specifics of his plea, so focussed on containing the wrath that swirled within her like a hellstorm. All it would take from me is a mere look, she seethed internally, her eyes fixated on Damian with unwavering ferocity. Just one look and he'd be out of my hair. But no, she knew better... Keep it together, Avarielle. Do not let a weakling such as this phase you.

As he dumped the bag on the table in a notion of defiance, Marian shot him some wise words of warning before storming over to the door of the inn. The anger amongst the group was apparent; humming in the air like waves of heat along the sands of the Tumek desert, but in none did it burn with such intensity as it did within the sorceress. Knowing how her choice words for the messenger had effected her reputation thus far, Ava did her absolute best to retain some semblance of serenity as her eyes narrowed upon Damian, two slits of venomous intent locked upon him; a cobra rearing its head at the mouse which tried to outsmart it.

"I believe foolish is an understatement." she cursed, not once moving her eyes away from the man's. "For even a fool would be wise enough to trust in my word when it is given." Her words left her mouth thick and heavy, laced with a rage that was poorly hidden by Avarielle's calm tone. "You would do well to focus your concerns upon your own safety." she said, her words doubling as a warning and a threat. "It is clear to me that you will need it most."

"Open the blasted thing now." Feyre interjected, to which Avarielle gladly obliged. Her face had been flushed with red rage, and was only now beginning to pale again as she stepped forward and reached into the bag, not taking her eyes away from Damian the entire time as she fumbled around for the metallic casing of the scroll. Withdrawing it from the sack, she finally broke her gaze upon the young man in order to inspect the runebind.

"Hmm..." she said, feeling the eyes of the others upon her as she dragged a slender finger along the markings. Her touch caused them to glow a faint blue, illuminating the inscription with mystic clarity. To the spectators, it may have seemed that she was simply trying to make the message more clear: however, she was actually using a technique by which each of the runes was imbued just slightly, with nowhere near enough power to activate the bind. Sure enough, within a few seconds, two of the symbols flickered a dark red; satisfied with the result, Avarielle allowed the lights to fade away, returning to the inscription to its usual lifeless state.

"The scroll has been magically tailored in such a way that only its intended recipient can open it safely." she said, matter-of-factly, addressing the group in general. Her magical focus seemed to have calmed her considerably. "I will be able to open it; only two of the runes are a threat, but I will need time to study them. I could simply break the magical seal here and now, but it is too dangerous." she said, shooting Damian one of her most embittered glances, as if to prove a point. "And as a woman of my word, I don't intend to put any of us in that situation, not least myself." She was not ashamed of prioritising her own survival; she felt that most of the group shared the same stance. She undid the drawstring of the small pouch on her waist, and miraculously slid the far too-big scroll into the bag, fastening it up again with ease. "Instead, I shall work on deactivating the enchantment entirely." she said, before realising that she was speaking to non-magical folk and sighing. "Think of it as the magical equipment of picking a lock, versus the alternative of breaking down the door." she explained.

"Now, the longer we wait in this blasted inn, the further the conclusion of our quest drifts into the horizon. And I, for one, would like to complete this errand with swiftness. As soon as this wretched storm passes, we should make haste." she announced, turning to the Nosferyte mage. "Wouldn't you agree, Sayazar?"

***
​

Narrator

As the conflict within the inn settled, so too did the storm that surrounded it, and soon enough the adventurers bid farewell to the town of Woodsend. It had been a reasonably short walk from the Crooked Hatchet to the vast Greenwood that sprawled across the Tyrranian midlands, but it had been one of relative silence as the troupe reflected on their individual positions.

The sun was still in the sky, visible now that those black crowds of Sayazar's had parted, and the group had a few more solid hours of travel before they ought to consider setting up camp, wherever that might be. Now amongst the dense forest and away from civilisation, perhaps it would be wise for them to make allies with their cohorts, should the hostilities of the inn be acted upon during the night...

​

Avarielle Wheeler​

Avarielle was at the very rear of the group, watching as the rest of the party walked on up ahead. She was sure not to allow too much distance between them; as she knew that distance allowed for treachery. No, Ava was smart enough to remain close enough to the group that she would be able to spot any suspect whispering, even if she wasn't able to hear it...

Looking at the scroll now, whilst they were on the move, would be pointless; Avarielle would need to work on disabling the runebind by night, so that she might give the task her complete focus. She'd be glad of the distraction, actually, as it looked that the group was in favour of setting up camp rather than finding some other appropriate accommodation, and thus the sorceress did not expect to be getting much sleep.

Something about these woods was... Off. Perhaps she was allowing her imagination to run away with her, she reasoned, scolding herself for allowing the prospect of the night ahead to get the better of her. But in the back of her mind, the displacement in the air still niggled at her thoughts... Something didn't feel right, and Ava feared that she might have more than wolves and bears to be afraid of.​

 

[Jakers]

Ahh. The familiar leaf roof of Greenwood helped Vance, for a moment, to relax after the somewhat uncomfortable introductions with the rest of his group. Just from a quick glance around, he could already tell that other people had some... erm... well, malicious thoughts - to say the least. The Nosferyte had made a remark calling him a 'moron' when Vance laid down the poisons. Vance was half tempted to reveal that he, having common sense and a vast sense of preparation - held the antidotes to all of his poisons. But for now, he would just let others doubt he: the Great Vance, and then surprise them all! He would save people - enhance people's abilities to be more powerful than they could imagine! And then he... just maybe... he would be liked, and noticed. Feyre seemed to believe in his power. That, he was grateful for.

The philosophy Vance saw himself as was a grindstone. He could make dull blades sharp and dangerous - and whilst a grindstone wasn't a dangerous weapon, it turned the already dangerous into lethal. ...Then again, over the years, he'd certainly learnt how to fight ably. So maybe his new philosophy was something like an exploding grindstone. Or an enchanted grindstone that shot blasts of acid. Silly thoughts like these helped Vance's spirits keep up, especially with the stress of having to watch his back from now on. He felt... vulnerable... with this group. It was almost like back to the days when he was the little child being pushed around. But he wouldn't let it happen again.

Maybe that was why he often found himself walking close to Damian more than others. He could sympathize with how the others pushed him around, doubted him, and scolded him. Even if Vance didn't show it whatsoever, or even if he didn't say anything at the tavern, Vance believed the adventurer was being treated quite unfairly - though he was grateful for the dwarf, Marian, somewhat sticking up for him. Vance sighed to himself. Opening the scroll seemed like a terrible idea in his eyes... yes, he wanted to know what could potentially be hidden from them, but... the risks and possible consequences seemed to outweigh the possible gains. So long as the mage, Ava, could get it open carefully he supposed it wouldn't be that bad. But something still didn't seem quite right about it.

Vance's various pots and vials musically jingled as he walked at a relaxed pace, letting the thoughts breeze over his head as his footsteps meshed with the rest of the group over the various paths, grass, and fallen leaves. Occasionally, he stopped to pick an ingredient, before hurriedly catching up with the rest of the group. Most of the ingredients consisted of mushrooms that would likely make a tasty stew later, but some of them he could put to alchemist use. Alas, he'd gotten the largest backpack he could find - but he was starting to run out of space and back strength. O, what he'd give for one of those mage's bags of infinite storage! Anyway...

Hm. Though... something didn't quite feel right about the woods today. Whilst still relaxing and almost like a home to Vance, there was the scent of something off - maybe even sinister in the air. Vance furrowed his brow lightly, his paranoia kicking in as he discreetly put one of his more volatile throwing-potions at the ready in his potion-holster. Despite this, Vance kept his thoughts to himself and remained silent, keeping up close to the group. He did his best not to look at anyone, for there'd already been enough unease at the tavern already.

 

[Stuffies12]

Damian was much more in his element here. Having been raised in the small village of Tethersall for practically his whole life gave him convenient access to the dense patch of forest that separated the small village from the port city of Dray. Many a nights he would camp in those forests. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend or two. Everyone in his village was well versed in living out in the forests. While his speech had most certainly made some enemies out of some people, he still hadn't given up. He was sure that he could prove himself here.

The resulting criticism that followed his little speech had dampened on his mood a little and because of this he was reluctant to start a conversation with anyone in the group. Though that didn't mean he wasn't open to the idea of one, and indeed his actions reflected that; walking with a small skip in his step as he appreciated his surroundings. He had thought to possibly pick up some plants that would prove useful for healing but decided to wait until they made camp. He was pretty sure that the plant life here was similar to the forest of Ryth but there was no rush. He had plenty of healing plants in his bag. His hand moved down to his bag to feel for the scroll but remembered that it was in the possession of Ava.

He walked behind the majority of the group. The stronger members took the lead while the support members took the rear. Whether this was a sign of the internal power struggle within the group or some sort of adventure instinct that pulled them into their positions Damian cannot say. Though he's more inclined to believe the latter.

Speaking of instinct, Damian couldn't help but notice feeling...something. It felt like a prickling sensation against his skin. Like little jolts of lightning nipping away at his surface. Like he was discharging energy from his body. It seems that things just can't seem to go right for the young adventurer. The last thing his companions need is knowing that his powers are acting odd.

He also noticed how close Vance was to him. Not that he minded. It wasn't long before they settled into an unspoken walking pattern. When Vance stopped to pick up some ingredients, Damian would slow his walking speed so that he could catch up with him. He smiled to himself, thinking a funny coincidence that they both had the same idea. Perhaps the alchemist can teach him a thing or two on making antidotes? He was one of the few people...perhaps the only person, that didn't speak against him back at the tavern. At least Damian predicted something right. They could get along!

"What are you picking up?" He leaned down to ask Vance when he stopped to pull out some berries from a bush.

 

[FrostedCaramel]

Ansley took in his surroundings, it was the Greenwood that he had traveled through in order to get to Woodsend but it wasn't the same path, the path he had taken followed a merchants road. Not a foot path, and a seldom used footpath at that. He took up a position on the right flank of the group. A good position he had decided, it was close enough to render aide in a fight but far enough that he didn't have to worry about hitting any of the party with his maul. Ansley dismissed the thought that they would have to fight anyone in these woods, After all, you'd have to be one crazy bandit to take on a group with the looks of this he thought as he continued on.

Glancing to the rear he noticed Damian and Vance, walking behind the group a bit too far away but nothing I can't easily stride to, he thought. They seemed content in walking together, there was no talking between them but never the less they seemed to be silently enjoying the others company. As for the rest of the group... Well Ansley couldn't quite say the same. The rest of the group was scattered, the strongest of the group in the front, with the more supporting specialties in the middle. Ansley eyed Sayazar who was roughly in the middle, he shuddered when he thought of what immense powers he must have.

Moving his view back in the direction that they were heading, Ansley took in the Greenwood. His trip to Woodsend was rushed, to say the least. With this sedate pace that the group had set he had far more time to enjoy the sprawling forest. He noticed birds in the trees above, happily chirping away with the sudden flash of feathers as one took off skyward through the canopy. To the right of the group Ansley noticed a few squirrels, their mouths stuffed with nuts as they went about their business of preparing for the coming Winter. In the far distance, through the many shadows that the Greenwood cast upon the ground Ansley could swear he saw a magnificently adorned elk raise its head in the groups direction, before it bolted into the darkness of the Greenwood.

Ansley thought it odd that it ran at the sight of them with such distance separating them. But then again, there was plenty in the woods that Ansley just simply didn't understand.

 

[Navi Jay]

The light clomps of Nicodemus's hoofs were like a steady hypnotic drum in Feyre's ears clip..clop..clip..clop, over and over again , eventually lulled her away from reality to deep within the corners of her consciousness mind. Her hold on his leather reigns did not falter, nor did her posture, her stoic gaze remained locked on the endless trees of the forest, she could trust Nic not to steer away from the path, they'd been on it so many times she could most likely leave him there and he'd make it home himself.

Home."Wonder if Granny has forgotten us already Nici…" her voice barely audible, although he grunted in response anyway. She smirked, "Always the smartarse hm?" They were near the front of the group, not leading yet not too far behind the front runners. She wanted to remain in the middle so she could keep an eye on Damian who was taking up the rear, she glanced back at him, no longer trailing behind with the little grey cloud over his head, but instead engaging in conversation with Vance. She inwardly grinned, happy that maybe he could have an ally. She did not know whether she would consider him an ally or not, she had blatantly ignored his wishes in the tavern, his opinion of her must have changed after than as well.

Shifting her gaze back to the road, Feyre coughed for what seemed like the millionth time and rubbed her throat. The air was thick causing her to breathe in more deeply, the crisp air of Fall had faded away within in the few hours since her last ride. Her belly began to twist in knots, an uneasiness settling over her. Nicodemus snorted, more forcefully than the last, and bucked forward trying to quicken his pace. Fey sighed and drew back his reigns slowing his step, "I'll run you in a minute Nic. Just wait." He fought the reigns some more before reluctantly giving up. Glancing around, all seemed the same, yet something had changed on a different level. Looking to her companions, she searched for the same uneasiness on their faces.

Almost out of nowhere, Nic came to a complete stop, letting out a high anxious whinny that shocked Feyre, he'd never made that kind of sound before. As his entire frame began to shake Feyre loosened her grip on his reigns as she leaned down to stroke his neck, "Hey, hey Nic it's all right you're-" the stallion bucked again and broke out into a full run, "WHOA! WHOA!" Feyre could do nothing but hold on for dear life, "Get out of the way!" She screamed to the people in the very front, they complied and ducked out of the way just in time as Nic barreled through and kept going for ten feet before completely stopping once again, nearly throwing Feyre off, "Easy! Easy! No!" He reared up on his back legs and screamed.

Feyre knew enough about horses that he would eventually buck her off and she could be trampled to death so she let go of the reigns and hastily unhooked her boots, letting herself fall backwards. Before she could land on her head, she twisted her body to go into a near perfect tumble and doubled back on her feet. Nic had landed back on his feet, but his head darted back and forth at the trees and continued to let out frightened screams. Even though she knew better than to get in front of a spooked horse, she moved in front of his line of vision and jumped up to grab the swishing reigns. She pulled and let out a grunt as he pulled her back almost off her feet letting out a long angry snort. "Nicodemus! Calm down…shhh." His eyes met hers and for a moment, she thought she had the situation under control, but he threw his head back and pulled hard against the reign, throwing her back against a rock, she felt her head split open, but the adrenaline numbed the pain of the gash above her right temple.

There was nothing she could do, the others were running towards them. Immediately she rose to her feet backing up from the almost possessed horse, holding up a hand in warning, "Stay back. I do not know what is the matter with him, but he could seriously hurt you."

 

[Silvir]

With an uneasy shiver Adri moved her shoulders to get rid of the feeling in her back, it was enough that this area of the forest looked grim with its hills and tall trees shadowing the bushy and rocky ground beneath it giving an uneasy and dangerous look. And as such Adrianna didn't know whether to blame the uneasiness on the surroundings, something really being wrong. Or the tension from her travelling companion's that had burned into the back of the dwarf's neck for half the journey now.
And speaking of companions this group sure was a box full of wet cats just waiting to be shaken.
The Nosferyte was still a conundrum to Adrianna and she found herself giving the man glances now and then since her previous sway in temperament directed at the sorceress and the national hero had subsided. Their presence was quite clear magic and reputation but a Nosferyte on the other hand. And there was also certain peoples reaction to his presence.

Of course if she looked at it from another perspective this group was politically charged too. Several people in the group could be possible actors for different intended agendas regardless of the will of that person.Or maybe this group was intended as a distraction with some of the names here it would be one hell of a distraction to be sure placing a lot of different eyes uppon them while the king is free to move on execute his intended plans. But in the end that was all just theories Adri thought with a sigh. For all she knew the message was important for whatever reason it was sent.
"God nobility is a pain in the arse sometimes" The young woman muttered to her self glaring out into the ever foreboding forest.

But at least two seemed to obliviously enjoy the moment Adri thought with a glance back at the men two near the rear of the group where the rookie guy and the alchemist strutted around as if on a picnic, picking up plants and chatting freely or so it looked like to her.

Different was it near the centre of this party of people where Feyre seemed to have trouble keeping her animal in check. Something she clearly failed at thought the dwarf when she heard a shout to watch out. Spinning around the horse was coming right at her forcing Adrianna to throw herself to the side into a bush, making a soft but uncomfortable landing.
"By the four please tell me something more than a weird looking stick scared him!"
Came the angry female voice from the bush followed by a stream of colourful insults and curses directed at horses as she climbed out from it. With a worked up temperament and adrenalin in her blood the dwarf made a silent wish for a stupid young wolf to jump out in front of them so she could went this anger physically at something. But as no predator showed up at her wish Adrianna
went on to brush herself of knowing that if she went to help now she would just end up punching something.

But looking up she froze her movements at let her eyes scan the vegetation to the left of the road. "Did anyone else see that?"

 

[Stuffies12]

Before Vance could hope to answer the curious adventurer, the whining of a horse broke through the tense silence startling the whole group. Feyre was struggling to control her horse. The horse was moving around uncontrollably, tossing its rider around dangerously. Everyone took a step back when she shouted to get back. The horse spun around, almost landing its hind legs on the small dwarf. He cringed as he saw the dwarf barely jump out of the way. He didn't want to use his medicine so early in their travels. Feyre awkwardly removed herself from the horse and chased after it. Everyone followed.

The horse chase had taken them slightly deeper into the forest. Luckily, it was still bright out so they weren't going to get lost any time soon. Feyre stood in front of her own steed as it continued to whine and shriek, making out nervous jittery movements. This group was like a magnet for trouble. It seemed whichever way they turned, there was always something that was going to interrupt their journey. The screaming expletives from the Dwarf didn't help the situation any, either. He understood her frustration; being kicked by a horse hurt like hell, but it's only an animal.

Back to the situation at hand. The horse doesn't seem to be calming down, as evidenced by the owner's failed attempts. Killing or wounding the horse is not an option. Not unless they wanted to end up with a potentially angry Feyre. Avoiding injury to his companions would also be preferred. Well... avoiding more injuries, as Damian observed her gash on her head. While they could all hold themselves well against one horse, the point here is to subdue it without harm. Ava or Sayazar could cast a spell, but he was worried that the former lacked a delicate touch.

Damian stepped forward, positioning himself in line with his companions a ways from the horse and its owner. Sparks of gold lightning surrounded his right hand as raised his arm. Uttering a spell under his breath a small bolt of lightning shot from his hand, hitting the horse as it stood on its hind legs. The horse seemed to freeze like a statue before dropping onto its side; small sparks of lightning emitted from its body as it laid in silence. The only thing that could be heard from it was its breathing.

"That won't last long. Maybe a minute at most. It isn't harmed. Can you get it to calm down?" He asked, standing next to Feyre. "I'm not sure if we can put it to sleep. Lugging a sleeping horse isn't ideal here. I don't think you want to abandon it either."

His hand was still enveloped in sparks, ready to paralyze the horse again if it were to go berserk again.

Once again, Adrianna spoke while dusting the leaves off of herself. "Did anyone else see that?" Damian was a little occupied with the horse right now thought. It was probably a wild animal of some sort that had gotten attracted to the commotion.

 

[Jargo]

As the group strode across the forest at a steady pace, Sayazar couldn't help but be slightly displeased that he hadn't spent the last night sleeping, only to catch up to them later on, as he had originally intended. Surely, in his lifetime he had spent as much as a five days in a roll, without sleeping for any more than a few minutes a day, but, naturally, it wasn't his preferred state. Even a Nosferyte's cognitive abilities were slightly impaired due to lack of proper rest. And for a magi, those abilities were all he had.

Perhaps the effects of the drowsiness were much more severe than he had originally anticipated - it had been quite a while since his last voyage, after all - as he noticed the eeriness in the air far too late. It was something as annoying as a pain in your sleep - disturbing in a way, not in any way infringing or obstructing and yet, through some of the unnamed senses acquired through long-term practice of magic, he could feel something about this place was off, even if that notion was merely on the border between being just a gut feeling and an actual magical sensitivity, it was there, like a splinter.

Normally, in such a case, Sayazar would announce his concern to his five comrades as a solid fact and they would all take the necessary precautions together. But amongst them, he was the leader - an unquestionable figure of authority, plus, they knew they could trust him and his instincts. None of his present companions knew him at all and from their short introduction, he could gather most of them either feared or distrusted him, while one plainly hated him. Announcing his suspicions would hardly do much, apart from make them question his ability and, perhaps, decrease the awe they had for him, which was something that Sayazar Sainguinar was not too keen on. Yet another disadvantage of this band of renegades he was now being part of... Well, at least some of them hit it off - the most useless ones, by far.

However, not all of them were useless! He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of the obvious solution by now. Everyone was engaging in conversations, or about to do so, therefore it would be no surprise if he were to strike up one as well. Naturally, the group were likely to expect him to be the silent type, but he liked to act uncharacteristic - as a matter of fact, that was his most defining characteristic.

Smiling at his own oxymoron, Sayazar shot a gaze at Avraielle. The other mage in the party seemed quite competent, despite her young age - as far as he knew, she had had quite an intensive study of magic, which took over the majority of her life and humans were faster with learning, when they were committed... If whatever he felt was real, which he knew it was, than she would have probably noticed the peculiarity as well. Perhaps not, but that would only mean she wasn't as skilled a wizard as she liked to portray herself to be. That would be a useful knowledge as well - after all it was good to know if the person that was about to open the King's scroll was actually just talk or not. He wouldn't bet on her being a fraud, though, - the woman had managed to read that the storm at the town of Woodsend was his doing, after all. Consequently, there was also the possibility of her faking her lack of sensitivity of... whatever it was, but this woman didn't exactly strike him as a deceitful type. In fact, if he knew anything about reading people, he would say she seemed to be quite the opposite.

Casually evening his pace with hers, until they began walking in unison, so as to attract her attention, he looked at her, as he spoke in his usual manner:

"Miss Wheeler, may I have a moment." he nodded his head slightly "Am I to understand that you are a graduate of the prestigious Wizard's Tower? I have heard many good things about it. As I am mostly self-taught, I would like your opinion on a matter that has been pressed on my mind of the better part of our travel through these woods - I have a faint feeling of some sort of magical imbalance within this place... would you happen to share the same feeling?"

Before the young woman could answer, Faeyre's hourse sprung up like mad, running forward with her completely unable to control it, despite what she was saying. The animal had obviously sensed something, the question was what exactly. Sayazar looked at Avraielle moving her arm and he extended his silver staff in front of her chest, just in case she wanted to do something about the obvious deranged horse.

"Leave it." he spoke with an imposing tune, caused by the urgency of the situation. She might hate him for that, but at a situation like this, he had no time to worry about his image and potential political status within the group. Interestingly enough, Damien had run after the young woman to assist her with some sort of... electroshock therapy to temporarily disable the animal. Quite resourceful, he would admit - the young man wasn't entirely useless and that was good. However, the focus of his expertise was expendable, but Sayazar needed the sorceress' undivided attention on this - the problem was obviously magical and he was quite clueless, which was not a state The Stormbringer often found himself in "Animals are... often more sensitive and also more sensible than us... Whatever spooked it, it must be around. Lingering. Still. Can you sense anything?" he spoke quietly, not looking at Avraielle, but obviously directing his speech at her, as he rushed a breeze around the group, so as to shake the bushes and make the environment a bit more discernible.

His answer came not from the sorceress, but from the dwarven woman - the one he actually liked - "Did anyone see that?" she had spoken. He hadn't, but that call was quite enough for him. "Weapons!" he yelled out on instinct the command that he had given to his companions uncountable amount of times.

 

[Raja]

Avarielle Wheeler​

The group had remained mostly quiet, and Avarielle assumed that the adventurers were each reflecting on the contributions they'd made back at the tavern. Of course, Avarielle was doing the same. She wondered how the group felt about her; some seemed deterred by her forthright nature, whilst others shared the trait and seemed to stand by her more openly in the confrontation with Damian regarding the scroll. At least, she noted, most of the group seemed to have shared her stance on that matter, regardless of their feelings towards her. It was a relief that the group might not be quite as dysfunction - or, indeed, as stupid - as they might seem.

But then, of course, there was the issue of the scroll. All their debate had resulted in the same inescapable conclusion: Valdez' scroll remained firmly sealed, largely because Avarielle had opted against triggering its defences in favour of disarming them. She wondered whether the group would see this as incompetence on her part; whether they were each using the silence to mentally berate her abilities. She pushed these thoughts from her mind as swiftly as possible. It would not do to be plagued with doubt on a quest such as this.

Fortunately, it seemed that at least someone had faith in her arcane skill. A couple of conversations had finally blossomed amongst the group, and Avarielle found herself approached by the Nosferyte, Sayazar. Despite her initial reservations, the man was proving to be perhaps one of the more tolerable comrades she'd been assigned: a mage of his blood was sure to boast power, that much was certain, but it also seemed that Sayazar was a logical thinker with an efficient mind. But still, she refused to trust him. Not until he gave her good reason, at least... The Nosferytes were tricky people.

"Miss Wheeler, may I have a moment?" he asked, in his usual polite tone, before asking whether she had graduated the Wizard's Tower.

She fought hard to dampen her scowl, but her bitterness was still drawn across her face. "I studied at the Wizard's Tower for several years." she said somewhat bluntly, pausing slightly before resuming. "I did not graduate. It was decided that my talents were best suited elsewhere." Sometimes, Avarielle despised herself for taking the moral high ground when it came to lying. Of course, it was really none of Sayazar's business whether she graduated or not... But still, she knew that lies had a nasty tendency of turning around and biting those who birth them. "Why do you ask?" she said, sparked with a genuine curiosity.

"I have a faint feeling of some sort of magical imbalance within this place..." the Nosferyte said, his voice low and deep. "Would you happen to share the same feeling?" Of course, Avarielle recognised instantly the sensation of which the mage spoke; she had felt it a while ago, its sickly fingers poking at her stomach with the faintest traces of nausea. Magic tended to be sensed in unique ways dependent on the user, that much she had learned at the Tower. But she didn't need years of magical study to know that something sinister swirled within the branches of these unassuming woods.

"Indeed. I have fel--" she began, before the shrill squeal of Feyre's horse startled her into adopting a stance of fierce intent, mere seconds away from channelling arcane power through her fingertips. Sayazar placed his staff before her, instructing her to leave it be, and she lowered her arms. The gesture had been unnecessary: had Avarielle realised it was but a mad stallion interrupting the peace, she would have dropped her guard of her own accord... But she respected Sayazar's attempts to keep her calm, regardless. It took a bold man to confront her, or so her years had taught her.

The horse really had gone wild, rearing up on its hind legs as it screamed; whatever had spooked the steed had done a rather good job, that much was sure. As the horse bucked and brayed, its owner was sent tumbling into a large rock, earning herself a nasty looking gash across the side of her head. Avarielle could not help but roll her eyes; why the girl had brought a horse on this journey, Ava was not sure. It seemed largely impractical, but when the horse began to misbehave so recklessly it became a liability for the entire team. Something had to be done, but for now Avarielle would just wait.

The Seville boy stepped forward, stunning the horse by conjuring an electrical current from his hands. It was magic like any other; Ava could feel it seeping from Damian as the spell was cast. Well, I'll be damned, she thought to herself. The boy's a mage. She definitely had not seen that one coming; she had been under the impression that magic was a talent reserved only for the most intellectual individuals, and clearly the Seville lad was a fool. Besides, anyone in their right mind would have ended the horse there and then, to avoid future incidents... Whereas Damian could only manage to stun it, and for but a minute, if his words were anything to go by. It really was pitiful... Ava remained silent.

As Feyre warned the group to stay back, and Sayazar spoke of how animals bore an intrinsic magical sensitivity, Damian addressed the situation as only an idiot could. "Lugging a sleeping horse isn't ideal here," he said, with an air of implied knowledge that reeked of naïveté to Ava. "I don't think you want to abandon it either." he added, to which the sorceress scoffed loud enough to earn her the floor. She stepped forward, addressing them matter-of-factly.

"I'm afraid her desires and the task at hand are conflicting. If lugging a horse around at this stage strikes you as an impracticality, then wait until we reach the regions of Vastoria. Have you ever hiked with a horse strapped to your back, Miss Feyre?" she asked, looking directly at the girl. Her words may have seemed harsh to the weaker members of the group, but the point Ava raised was in her opinion a valid one. "The terrain in Vastoria is not suited to hooves; even less so for the hooves of a beast so easily spooked. At some point, the horse must be left behind," she said bluntly. "Be it here in the forest, or on the docks of Port Amor... Well, that much is your choice."

"Did anyone else see that?!" one of the Dwarves called, gaining the attention of the group as Avarielle whipped her head around to catch a glimpse of whatever Adrianna had spotted. She saw nothing, but sensed that same something...

"Weapons!" Sayazar commanded, calling the group to arms.

"Calm yourself, Sayazar." she said, attempting to quell the situation. "Many a creature calls these woods home; we cannot allow ourselves to be riled by wildlife." she said, only half-believing what she was saying. She paused a moment to contemplate the situation, and decided that she ought to be more forthcoming. "...Of course, it is clear that something arcane stirs in these parts. I see it in your faces," she admitted, gesturing to the other magic-users, "Be we trained spellcasters or mere dabblers in the unknown," she said, shooting Damian a particularly unsavoury look as she classed him within the latter party, "We are all faintly aware of a presence here. I believe its root to be deeper into the forest..." she trailed off, feeling the way that the stiffness in the air seemed to simultaneously drag her in and push her away in equal parts. The sensation had only gotten stronger

"If we're lucky, we will avoid crossing paths with whatever seems to be disrupting the calm here." she theorised, though she neglected to mention what might happen were they not so fortunate. "I don't feel that any of us are currently in danger," she said, before gesturing to the bleeding Feyre. "Except for you. You ought to be seen by a medic."

As a closing note, Avarielle turned back to the group. She had an agenda to push, after all. "However, I will point out that we have around an hour of sunlight remaining... Given today's events, you might reconsider my proposal of finding somewhere more... Sheltered, in which to lay our heads." she said, looking up at the sky. "We should tend to Feyre and then make haste."

 

[Jakers]

Vance paused from his foraging, hearing the curious albeit shy voice of Damian behind him. The alchemist privately smiled to himself for a moment. Ha! Somebody was actually interested in his talents! N-Not that he'd expect anything less. And... well... it was sort of nice to actually begin a conversation with somebody. Scooping up a handful of berries as he got back to his feet, Vance tightened the straps of his backpack and lifted his finger-matter-of-factly as he began to speak.

"Oho, looking for foraging tips from The Great Vance to aid you on your future travels? Well, do listen closely. Tis' more to this simple berry than meets the eye! The same can be said for many plants of Greenwood." Vance held up one of the reddish-purple berries between his thumb and finger, smugly closing his eyes as he began to talk. If there was one thing he was confident about talking to others about, it was his knowledge of plants and the properties of them. In fact - he rather enjoyed it.

"Now, this little beauty he-"

Just as he was about to go on to explain the many wondrous properties of the Cyanococci, the sudden abrupt clopping of hooves came tearing down the path, with the yells of the poor maiden Feyre accompanying it. Luckily for Vance, he'd strayed off the path already to collect the berries, so he simply watched over his shoulder bemusedly as he slowly lowered his hand dejectedly. Oh, fiddlesticks! Why did he have to get interrupted at every corner? Nonetheless, he couldn't be worrying about that now, the poor lady seemed in trouble!

<=======>

Vance jogged back onto the main path, watching the crazed horse carry the ranger away and cause one of the dwarves to go flying into a bush. Whatever was happening - this surely had to have something to do with the sixth sense of oncoming danger that he had felt earlier... ack! He was a fool to think nothing of it! Feyre soon came back, horseless, and with a bleeding wound atop her head.

The booming voice of Sayazar's call to arms was enough to convince Vance that a battle was about to come forth. Throwing the berries to one side, Vance slotted a flask of pungent acid into his sling. Oil of Vitrol or Alchemical Fire could be an option, but causing a forest fire was not of his interests. Ava had told Sayazar to calm down, and attempted to defuse the situation, but Vance still wasn't convinced. Adrianna had seen something, after all...

Alas... back to the matter at hand. When Ava mentioned tending to Feyre, Vance stepped forward.
"Yes... allow me to handle that. I can quickly tend to such a wound." Vance said quietly, his voice still a little suspicous and aware of his surroundings as he approached Feyre. He cleared his throat, studying her head wound and getting right to work. Time was of the essence.

"Now... e-erm... do keep still. This won't take long." Vance mumbled. With a few gestures, his hands began to glow with a pale-green energy that gave a low hum as Vance's face strained with concentration. Muttering a few things to himself, Vance winced as he cupped his hand over the girl's head wound, a soothing light repairing the damage. Healing magic. At his time in the Wizard's Tower, his healing magic knowledge wasn't the best - but for a minor wound such as this, it was more than enough to do the trick.

"Aaaand... there." Vance mumbled to himself, lowering his hands again. But a little mark remained where the head wound had once been, along with the leftover blood on the girl's face. It was stressful enough for Vance getting this close to a young woman as it was, though - wiping her face was out of the question. He gave a brief bow, before walking back to the majority of the group.

Hmm... the serene atmosphere the place once possessed had quickly gone. Vance licked his dry lips and swallowed as he studied the environment. Moving on seemed like the best option from here. Vance could only sympathise for Feyre's horse, but Sayazar's words regarding the creature was right: leave it. The horse would likely return to its owner eventually... though it was curious. Passive beasts, in Vance's experience, wouldn't get frightened in such an intense way by but a wolf. They would flee - true - but the horse seemed absolutely terrified. Something wasn't quite right...

"A-Ah... yes... I completely, wholeheartedly agree we should make haste and move on, but..." Vance spoke up quietly, furrowing his brow as he looked to the brawler; the one who'd asked if they'd also seen something. "Adrianna? Erm... by the way... what exactly was that thing you saw? I wasn't looking in the same direction at the time..." Vance mumbled.

He kept his sling and hand crossbow near as he talked, his eyes warily looking around. What was this feeling? Of all his days foraging Greenwood... this wasn't of an ordinary one. But he, The Great Vance, was prepared for the terrors that awaited the group. ...Though it felt like that, if something did come... it'd be more than a simple bear.

 

[Navi Jay]

The blood flowing out of the gash above her brow, blurred Feyre's vision making her head pound. Listening to Adri's obnoxious curses did not help aleve her increasing agitation. Her stomach twisted and flipped, causing her to shake with anxiety as she tried to gather her thoughts. Everything was going in slow motion, everyone gathering around and staring. What the bloody hell were they staring at? A warm liquid slid down Feyre's temple, close to her eye. Out of instinct she casually wiped it away and stared at the blood in her hands. She furrowed her brow which triggered a stinging sensation, "Oh…blood." She whispered to herself, "When did I injoure myself?" She barely noticed the kind Vance come over to her and heal her wound, it stung for a moment but the fuzziness she lifted from her mind. She turned around to see the bloody sharp stone sticking out of the ground, 'Oh of course…Nic threw me..' Perhaps she had suffered from commotion when she fell. "Thank you.." She whispered, to herself as Vance was gone as soon as he came.

Damian stepped forward, and Feyre curiously listened to the slightly familiar words he began to utter and knew immediately what he was going to conjure. She moved back just in time before her horse could fall, frozen. The thud that followed his fall made Feyre cringe. She knelled down and smiled sadly as she moved his head to her lap and stroked his dark mane.

Adri's exclamation and Sayazar's battle forced her to remove her attention from her horse, as she reached for her bow behind her back but, to her surprise, only grasped the slightly damp fabric of her tunic. So she reached for the dagger within her boot, one of the bigger one's she possessed and positioned it towards the tree line. At this moment the spell wore off and Nic jerked up trying to run again, Feyre moved her hands to cup his head making his eyes meet her face, "No Nic. Shhh…shh stay down…shhh yes, good boy." The cooing worked and he settled down, whatever that had possessed him clearly had left, though he was still a bit shaken.

"Leave it." Feyre's bright green eyes met with the voice. Of course Sayazar. She did not bother with trying to conceal the look of disgust she wore upon her face as she stared at him. If looks could kill the bastard, she would have buried him right there where he stood. It was curious how quickly her agitation was forming into rage, and she felt as though she would not be able to control it this time.

Miss Wheeler's scoff broke her death stare, 'Thank god…' She hoped she give him a thorough tongue lashing. "I'm afraid her desires and the task at hand are conflicting. If lugging a horse around at this stage strikes you as an impracticality, then wait until we reach the regions of Vastoria. Have you ever hiked with a horse strapped to your back, Miss Feyre?" Slowly the look of hope turned to shock, anger, then finally a blank stare at the ground as her face grew red in humiliation. She could feel the stares burning her flesh, making her skin burn. She felt worthless, a complete disappointment and failure. She thought only her father could make her feel such a way, but apparently the people she was supposed to be her traveling companions could do the same. "Why am I not surprised?" She broke her gaze from the ground and stared each and every one of them in the eye. "FINE. I'll get rid of my apparent blunder." Her eyes met with Miss Wheeler on that note.

Staring down at her beautiful steed, she knew she could not risk taking him back herself having Grandmother and Miss Baker think she'd returned already, nor would he ever voluntarily leave her. Magic would have to be her only option. Without saying a word, she reached over to unhook her pack and bow from Nicodemus's saddle letting them fall to the ground. She knew the exact spell too Whispers of Compulsion her grandmother had called it. One of the very few spells Feyre could easily conjure. Though she had an extremely judgmental audience. Not risking a glance at any of them, she took a deep breath simultaneously lifting a hand in her line of vision then muttered the incantation. Almost immediately she felt the sliver of magic within her flutter to life, spreading a warm feeling all over her body and she loved it. The hand she lifted began tingling starting at her wrist then spreading to her fingertips as it started to glow with a bright pale pink light. She risked a glance at Damian, instantly regretting it as the light flickered for a moment then went out with an audible whoosh.

Feyre blinked, clearing her throat as she shook her hand and mumbled the incantation again, sighing with relief as the glow quickly returned. She brought her hand to her second transferring some of the light to it and used that one hand to cover one of the horses eyes then the original one to cup his ear letting the light flow into it, causing it to glow. She leaned down and whispered, "This is where you will feel safest. Go to it now, or you will surely perish." An image of the cabin's barn crossed her mind and she knew he would be seeing it as well. "Go…hurry!" She let go of him and stood, taking a step back. Without making a sound, Nic got to his hooves and immediately took off at a straight up gallop down the dirt road leaving a cloud of dust behind him.

Feyre lifted her pack off the ground, then turned to face the group. "Satisfied? None of you know my situation, why I brought him with me. I am utterly astounded that you, Miss Wheeler, would postulate that I am naive to the terrain within our journey? Yes, I am quite aware. I love that you made humor about it too by the way, bravo." She paused to look at the sky above them, "Though I do agree that we should make camp for the night as it can get terribly chill so please follow me!"

With that Feyre picked up her bow and marched straight into the forest and the group hesitantly followed closely behind, believing she had gone mad. Within a few minutes the tree line broke leading to a flat meadow of tall soft grass, sprinkled with various flora, and in the center lay an abandoned lodge. The lodge itself was not completely grand and vast but it was of decent size that all of them would not feel cramped, but all of them could not sleep in separate rooms either. It looked as though it had not been lived in for several years and the grass around it was beginning to take root under the faded red bricks. A window was shattered but that was the only noticeable damage, besides the broken swing on the porch.

As they made their way down Feyre briefed them on its history, "This is one of the abandoned locations I had marked on my map of the forest. According to the residence near my home, a rich trader retired here with his family after he made his fortune and built the place…oh I forget the name…hm ah! Yes, Porter was the name, James Porter. So, Mr. Porter's fortune soon ran out, and he was shamed within the trading community of Amorynthia so he hung himself in the barn out back so I do not recommend anyone going in there. His family left after that and the place has been empty ever since."

Stepping onto the porch she tried the dusty doorknob, locked of course. Taking out a small blade from her pack, she jammed it into the lock, violently twisting it around until all the, surprisingly weak mechanics shattered within it letting the door automatically open. "After you Miss Wheeler."


NOTE: ((The term, Commotion was commonly used during the 16th century to describe a concussion.))

 

[Raja]

Narrator

As Feyre revealed the abandoned lodge, the adventurers began to lay their heads for the night. Vancerith remained true to his words; burning a variety of censers around the building that he claimed would deter the wolves and bears that called Woodsend a home. The lodge was relatively large and even still contained some of the furniture left behind by the Porters. As the pale full moon shone gently over the tranquil eve, the lodge was almost silent; save for the peaceful breathe of the adventurers and the creaking of the old wooden building. But not everyone was finding it easy to sleep...

​

Avarielle Wheeler​

Avarielle studied the scroll with a furrowed brow that looked as though it were stolen from a scientist on the brink of breakthrough; though, unfortunately, it seemed that Ava's resolution was still but a speck on the horizon. She had made the choice to stay in the barn, away from the rest of the group. She knew that it would be unlikely that she got much sleep anyway, and she decided not to disturb the others with her efforts to disarm the scroll. Despite its grizzly past, the barn was in good condition, and Ava positioned herself in a stable stall she assumed was once home to a horse; quite cosy, actually, as she wrapped her thick cloak around her.

Her work was illuminated by an lantern she'd found abandoned over in the main lodge, though it was not necessary: the runebind on the scroll was glowing brightly enough beneath Ava's lingering fingertips that the whole stall was lit with hues of blue and red; a low humming energy in the air. Suddenly, the arcane markings flickered and crackled, releasing a few sparks of power that was all the warning Avarielle needed. She frowned in defeat, and stashed the scroll back in her pouch before dismissing the flame of the lantern with a wave of her hand. As she lay her head on an old saddle, desperate for the ignorant bliss of sleep, Avarielle cursed whichever witch or wizard Valdez had hired to safeguard his secrets. They had done a damn good job.

But, lying in the darkness, Avarielle found that sleep only taunted her. Whether t'was minutes or hours that passed, all the sorceress' efforts to disconnect from the waking world were wasted... For a while, she couldn't put her finger on what was bothering her so; she reasoned that the day had been full of excitement and threat in equal measures, but she was exhausted... Surely, no adrenaline was potent enough to keep her sentient so indefinitely. And that's when she noticed it: the faint, almost vacant throb in the air, tickling at the back of her throat and delicately stirring her insides as though with a feather; barely noticeable. Sinister magic...

The barn creaked loudly, and the grasses outside rustled as though with tiny footsteps. There was a brief knocking, as though of wood on wood, that rattled down one of the walls. Avarielle sat bolt upright in shock, commanding the flame within the lantern to ignite once more as she rose to her feet. She outstretched her arm, extending the reach of the lanterns glow and allowing it to penetrate more of the shadows.

"Who goes there?" she called, with a tone that was both fierce and fearful in equal parts. "Show yourself!"

For a moment, there was quiet... And then Avarielle was certain she heard a quiet, fiendish giggling outside... Though it was not of human tongue; no giddy child's laughter. It was something of mischief; revelling in her fear. She remembered the stories Feyre had told, of what had happened in this forsaken barn, and wondered if the spirit of James Porter had stirred to disrupt her rest.

No, of course not... Avarielle reassured herself. The young girl was just trying to spook the sorceress for being so blunt about her horse, she reasoned. There was no such thing as ghosts... Was there?

The barn seemed to have become quiet once more, and Avarielle walked over to one of the windows. Looking out at the lodge, she noticed the grasses moving around it... At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her in the dark: she willed it to be so, but her fixed eyesight soon revealed the opposite: Small, dark shapes lurking within the overgrown blades.

Instantly, she sprung into action, dismissing the magical ward of protection she had conjured over the door of the barn to keep unwanted visitors at bay. With haste, she ran the short distance over to the lodge, flames erupting around her fists as she grew close. With a ferocity in her voice, she roared aggressively. Her flames illuminated the grasses, but as soon as they were conjured the small figures therein panicked and fled in all directions; moving so quickly through the shadows that Avarielle was unable to get a good glimpse.

As the unidentified beings ran, they squealed loudly, and their movements creaked like floorboards in the night as they sped off into the forest. Avarielle threw one of the fireballs in a fit of rage, but didn't seem to hit anything but an area of meadow which quickly caught alight. With a sigh; she quelled the resulting flames into nothingness and approached the lodge lantern in tow.

To her horror, the mage noticed the door of the lodge was ajar.

Narrator

Fortunately, no harm had come to any of those asleep in the abandoned lodge. In fact, most of them had been woken by the fracas in the night between Avarielle and whatever fiendish creatures had visited the lodge under the moon's kiss.

Some had believed her; others had dismissed her experience as a trick of the night, the door blown open by the winds that swept along the open meadow plains. Groggy in the night's grip and none of them harmed, the adventurers fortified their protections and went back to bed... Though it was unclear how many of them would return to slumber following the nights events.

​

Avarielle Wheeler​

As sunlight kissed Avarielle's skin, she slowly regained her presence amongst the living as she rose from a particularly rough slumber. She'd been in-and-out of sleep all night, unable to sink deeply enough into her dreams to escape her body's will to be alert and prepared. Following the visitation she had witnessed, Avarielle had moved into the lodge with the others, placing a magical safeguard upon all the doors and sharing a room with Sayazar, whom it had seemed nobody else was willing to sleep beside.

"Good morning, Sayazar," she said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as the chittering birdsong of dawn chorus entered her consciousness. She stretched widely, her back crunching as her body began to liven up and adjust to the new day. "I trust you slept well?" she asked, half-jokingly. She had assumed Sayazar had suffered an equally rough night, but then again the Nosferyte seemed well-travelled. He was perhaps used to finding sleep in the most uncomfortable of dwellings.

A muffled yelling broke the morning tranquility as it permeated the wooden door of the room Ava and Sayazar had shared. Avarielle knew it was one of the group, but after knowing them for but a day and at this hour of the morning, she wasn't able to determine who. The disturbed individual shouted claims of a thief in their midst, and urged everyone to check their belongings for missing items. Avarielle shot Sayazar a worried look.

It seemed someone had been stolen from.

 

[Jargo]

Sayazar was utterly unimpressed by Faeyre's unsuccessful attempt of diverting attention away from her ridiculous mistake of bringing a horse on such a journey, that came in a vague ghost story. While the building did seem ruined, the mage didn't, for a second, consider her version to be a real recount to the events that had hereby transpired. Even if the girl meant well, which she obviously didn't - gathering from the look she had shot him, she would have no way of knowing which underground organisation did the presumably "decent" rich man own his fortune to, neither which one saw to it that he lost it. From his time wandering Tyrannia, the one thing Sayazar was sure of, was that rich men rarely didn't know how to protect their fortune and even rarely lost it to any "natural" causes.

He didn't mention any of that, though, as the group set up camp and everyone went to try and get some sleep - one woman willing to murder him was quite enough - there was absolutely no need to sparkle another rivalry, especially considering his lack of success in making allies thus far. The bulk of the group gathered in the common rooms, but he wasn't too keen on sleeping with everyone, nor, he presumed, were they eager to share their sleep with a Nosferyte. Knowing this, he pinpointed his attention to a smaller room that was still unoccupied, thus deciding to slumber there, alone, and avoid any awkward situations. He did, however, place a small trigger spell on both the door and the windows, which would blast him with a front of hot air, should anyone walk across. Not even the best assassin in the world could pass through walls, so he figured he was quite safe, in case the Nosferyte bitch decided to intrude upon him.

Falling asleep in an unfamiliar surrounding had never been particularly difficult for Sayazar and over the years, he had managed to gain a staggering degree of mental control over his body, so he could doze off almost immediately. Nevertheless, he did not. Since his earliest days of studying magic, he had learned that certain verses seemed to increase both his spellcasting potency and self esteem - probably it was only a matter of placebo effect and yet there were night when nothing else had kept him from breaking apart. Not that he needed any power stimuli or encouragement now, but the habit had remained something of a poetic tradition of his for the longest time.

Revel in the dark, beware the stars
for they are in space but bitter scars.
So bright shines their silver light
yet in cold flames, there's no delight.

Finishing the verse, he closed his eyes and almost immediately departed to the land of the dreaming... until someone walked in on him, that was. He opened one of his eyes and stared at the door, as the unpleasant, hot air rushed through his body, expecting to see the Nosferyte assassin holding a poisoned blade, as she tiptoed towards him. And for a moment, he though he was right, until he actually realised it was another young woman that had disturbed his slumber - Avarielle. Unaware as to why she was moving from her own solitary confinement, but already releaved that nobody would risk trying to do anything to him now, with another witness in the room, he almost immediately fell back to sleep, not even reactivating the spell that her entry had consumed.

"Good morning, Sayazar, I trust you had slept well?" - her voice seemed almost joking and the tiredness in her eyes seemed to suggest she herself had not managed to get too much sleep, if any. It could be that, despite the image she projected, she was quite new to traversing the wilderness with total strangers, which would explain why she was so worried. In fact, it would be quite a reasonable worry. Now, assessing the sorceress thus far, Sayazar realised she was quite the useful companion, despite her emotional nature. Perhaps it was just the gesture of sharing a room with him, that had coloured his opinion of her in a positive way, but at least now, at that very moment, he felt particularly well-disposed towards her. "You will see, my dear, that the best thing to do, while awaiting for an impending danger, is to have a really, really good sleep - it always gets your enemy unprepared." he explained, with calm and relaxed voice, while remaining in a lying position, unwilling to even sit. "I have a rule of thumb, your see, and that is to never play someone else's game. If there's really something lurking around, then I'm sure it would expect us to obsess over it, which, consequently, means that I refuse to do so." After a small pause, he continued "Which reminds me, why-" why did you decide to switch sleeping spaces in the middle of the night? was what he would ask, if a muffled yelling hadn't interrupted him mid-sentence. Well, Sayazar had used his teeth-equipped bag as a sleeping pillow, so obviously that wasn't stolen, which encouraged him continue lying peacefully, as the other obsessed over the presumable theft. "Anything missing from you, miss Wheeler? I hope the scroll is still here..." he asked Avraielle in a polite and quiet manner that vaguely hinted concern, in contrast with the cries of outrage that where flying into the room from the other side of the building.