The Elusive Cinder

Adrass. @@Sanctified Absence, At the sound of screaming, Adrass almost lost focus and charged blindly. Thankfully, he did not. He had decided to throw his lot in with the Witches plan and it was too late to change that decision. Not that he would have achieving anything if he had charged - wounded and outnumbered, and had the scream been caused by an attack, he wouldn't close the distance in time anyway. It would be suicide, and unlikely to even kill the crowd before he fell. "Whatever it is you're doing, Mage, do it quickly!" He hissed, eyes narrowed in anger, pain and frustration at his situation. "Give me something to kill while my arm still has the strength. If they've hurt the Princess or Mistress Tulla, they'll pay with more than their lives."

Vizier. @@RaptorJaysus, Vizier smirked at the question: it was a common one, but one he would never tire of answering. "They call me an Archanist - a protege..." He drawled proudly, raising a hand in the same manner as the shadowy counterpart as a cloud of royal blue energy began to emit from his fingertips - slowly beginning itself around his body like some kind of serpentine silk. "... a pure Eldritch, with the Arcane might of our ancestors at my beck and call! None of this elemental business interfering with my power I assure you. Simply pure, untainted magic." It was natural for the young Eldritch - barely fifty years of age - to instantly jump into his boasting. The other two members of his small scouting party had been treated to almost and entire day of boasting and thinly-veiled insults. Still, at least a fellow Eldritch could actually appreciate him... not to mention that this Tha'uh was the closest thing to an equal for miles around in Viziers less-than-humble opinion. It helped that they shared an opinion on the lesser races. "I am relieved that I will no longer be the only capable being residing in the Sanctuary: it is most tiresome, being surrounded by such jealousy and ignorance..." As another figure approached, he rolled his eyes. "Oh excellent. Another one... As if things weren't tedious enough already." --------------- Esner @@Scribblegroove, "You're Blooded, of course." The girl raised a brow inquisitively. "You've really never seen another one of us? I mean, I know that we aren't exactly common but..." She trailed off, pausing for a second before shaking her head in disbelief. It wasn't actually all that hard to believe - she knew better than anyone just how disjointed Blooded population could be. If he hadn't known his parents suppose, there might not have been any others for miles around. "I'm Esner. I'm a... uh... well, I'm researching the Blooded: our history, where we come from. That sort of stuff, you know? Of course that all had to be put on hold when I discovered that I was Fallen as well, but I do what I can..." She didn't even stop to consider that she might not be making complete sense to the stranger: chattering on without a second thought. She motioned towards the large, gold-adorned book that hung by her side, wrapped in golden chains. It was fairly gaudy and contrasted massively with the otherwise practically monochrome figure. "Cataloguing us, recording information, running tests when I can... It keeps me pretty busy, but it's just so intriguing! It's my life's work, and my mothers before me... hey, can you do that thing again?" As if suddenly realising something, Esner's eyes suddenly brightened. Her face lit up with interest and a flurry of movement ensued. Within seconds, the book was open and cradled in her left arm, a quill held in her right hand and poised over the empty page. "The eye thing. How long have you been doing that? When did you start? Does it hurt?" --------------- ??? @@Brushwuzz, @@Flying Ace, "Injury is not fun. It is not a carnival." The human figure stated as it turned its head to include the newest person to approach in its field of vision as he spoke in the same gravelly, monotone voice. "You will come with us when we leave. We will leave soon. It will be dark. You will struggle to see in the dark, so should follow closely." He spoke in simple, short sentences - with each being a blunt, matter-of-fact statement. There was no inflection or tone added, and he could just as easily have been commenting on the weather for the lack of emotion that he put into his words. It wasn't a conversation - it was simply presenting information. The tattered clothes and antique armour didn't help with the unnerving appearance of the figure. "I am not Fallen. I am here to watch. The Spirit and the Girl are to guide you - I will follow."

??? @@Scribblegroove, "Your Blooded?" The girl shook her head a little. "I suppose that answers something at least... and I thought that folks in these parts were more tolerant..." It wasn't unheard of for the Blooded to be openly attacked - Humans had their superstitions and often associated them with dark gods - something which was quite frankly absurd - while the stupid or arrogant ones simply saw their 'otherness' an excellent excuse for violence and causing trouble. Apparently, many if them felt that they needed to prove their status as the dominant race. Not that all humans acted as such... and the vile behaviour wasn't exclusive to humanity: the dismissive attitudes if the Eldritch could be just as bad. "Okay, just slow down there..." She said to the silent, motionless figure. "You're at the Sanctuary's northern waystation: it's safe here. What happened? Who are you?" She paused. "Why are you here?" ----- ??? @@Brushwuzz, The human figure turned his head at the sound: unnaturally piercing green eyes seemingly looking right through the speaker. Despite his human appearance, there was something distinctly wrong with him. An illness perhaps - his skin was taut over bone and muscle where it was visible, and practically white, save for the unhealthy red lines that crossed over it. Most notably though, he simply felt wrong to be near. An animalistic instinct warned that the figure was unnatural in origin. "It is not good." He stated simply - face emotionless other than the same scowl that seemed to be permanently imbued on it. He motioned stiffly towards the pair of Blooded. "It is evening however." He blinked - slowly and purposefully, as if having to consciously make the effort to do so. Several seconds passed as he simply glared towards the dirty human, seeming as if he was about to say more but simply not doing so. ---- Vizier. @@RaptorJaysus, "Finally!" The Eldritch gravitated swiftly over to inspect the newcomer of his kind - glancing back at the other four with a sarcastic look in his expression before focusing his attention in the figure in front of him. "Ugh, they send me out into this wasteland to wait for commoners, and I was beginning to suspect that I would be surrounded by nothing more than inferior races!" This creature might be less tedious than the others: even the other Eldritch at Sanctuary were far too 'holier than thou' for his taste. "You may call me Vizier." Between the echoing tone if the two creatures, it sounded almost like two groups speaking to each other, rather than individuals. While the newcomers - Tha'ur's - rang with mysticism however, Vizier's was much less elegant: certainly confident and self assured, but tainted with shrillness and immaturity. "I know the way to Sanctuary. We will take you there, once madame here finishes tending to the foolish one. How she will see now that she has broken our lantern however... well, that is her problem! Should have thought of that before she went breaking the thing..."

"Well, would you look at that?" The Eldritch creature made no effort to approach the fallen figure - looking more entertained than concerned. "I wonder how long he's been wandering around like that? Stupid thing isn't doing itself any favours, wasting mana like that. You creatures are already pathetic enough without..." "Oh shut up." Snapped the girl, finally breaking her silence now that the book no longer held her attention. The Eldritch smirked. "I am simply making the observation that your kind cannot hope to harness energy like us higher beings..." "You know, people wouldn't loath you so much if you weren't so... so..." "Go on?" The figure on the ground lay forgotten as the two turned to glare at each other - attention spans lost. Neither seemed to noticed the surreal frost beginning to creep onto the warm summer grass. A clammy hand seized the back of the fallen figures neck with a vice like grip - hoisting him to his feet seemingly without effort. Mottled, white skin stretched over little more than bone and sinewy muscle as the third figure wordlessly appraised the newcomer. The girl and the Eldritch paused their feud long enough to look round at this new development. "Oh my, of course!" She gasped, suddenly realising that her own argument was hardly the most pressing concern. "What's happening? Why is it so cold here, were you attacked? Was it..." "Magic. It's his own fault - he's the one doing it." the Eldritch drawled. "If he doesn't die from the cold, he'll probably just run out of mana, get sick and spend his last hours in a ditch somewhere..." "Shut up!" She snapped once more, pausing to think for a few seconds as she turned back to the newcomer before shaking her head. She snapped her fingers: once, twice... a spark caught on the third and turned to a small flame from a fingertip on the fourth. Seizing the travel lantern they had brought for their journey back to the sanctuary on her other hand, she hurled it to the ground where it shattered, before touching the candle-like flame to the pool of oil. Flames burst into life and the third, silent figure stepped away cautiously: finally releasing the newcomer as he did so. "... barbaric..." Muttered the Eldritch to himself.

You are one of the Fallen. You are bound to fate itself with an unnatural ability to shape it with your actions, but at great cost. Yourself, your friends and your family: no matter what you do and how careful you are, somebody is always hurt somehow - far more than would be justifiable by even the cold hearted. Through one method or another, you have heard of and travelled to a place known as The Sanctuary, where you will supposedly learn to control and utilise this gift. Where you will harness it, rather than allow it to rule over your life and crumble everything you love into dust. You have travelled for several days and are nearing your destination... but you are not alone. Without your knowledge however, destiny has placed others on the same path as you. Even as you close the distance to the supposed 'Sanctuary' you are unaware of the role that you are about to play in shaping the history or Arcamunda... -------------------- Fate, and the Fallen. an Arcamunda Tale. OOC: http://mlpforums.com/topic/110409-fate-and-the-fallen-fantasy-non-pony-dark-decision-based-open-ended-rp/ -------------------- In the dim, orange glow of the, late summer sunset, three figures waited outside of the northern waystation - the first sign of the fabled Sanctuary (or any civilisation for that matter) for miles around. The southern plains were a desolate part of the land, but beautiful and balanced: a place suitable for any race to thrive should they wish. They called it a waystation: in practise it was little more than a shack with blankets and a little food. Still, and one traveling to Sanctuary would pass it at some stage, so it served its purpose. Two of the three figures were engaged in a decidedly one sided conversation as they waited - halfheartedly 'watching' for new arrivals as the light of day began to shift into the twilight hours. The first was a figure of colour and energy: an ethereal being of magic known as one of the Eldritch. The second was a frail, grey skinned girl with charcoal hair, almost liquid-like hair. "... I can understand them sending somebody like you out here to waste away the evening, buy why me?" The magical being lamented loudly to the girl, voice filled with scorned pride and annoyance. The figure bristled with pent up energy as he gestured wildly around him. "Ugh! I have better things to do than just... than just watch your precious ball of fire set from out here in the sticks! Much more important things to do!" "Mhmm..?" The girl answered, either ignoring the creature or simply not processing the words that he was directing at her as she sat on the ground beside the waystation, left arm barely supporting a colossal book while the right hovered the tip of a quill just slightly away from one if its pages. She peered at the guilder volume for a few moments more before sparing a glance around. Intelligent, sapphire-like eyes scanned the landscape around them for movement, but she saw nothing. Truly, she was far too concerned with her book see anything else at all. A slight, slender arm reached out - deftly flicking through a few previous pages to quickly check some reference or other before amending her new addition to the book. "... I mean to say, if the humans want to send people out here, why not themselves? Why me, not just a noble creature of energy and magical talent, but possibly the most important and powerful protege to ever grace them with its time and attention... and they want me to sit out here and... and do what exactly?" The girl crossed something out on one of the pages without looking up. "Mhmm..?" She murmured noncommittally. "They're here." The third figure was a human - lean and elderly with silvery-white hair and wearing a robe of faded crimson beneath a hefty suit of aged armour. He had remained silent until now, but now spoke in a gravelly and cracked voice as he raised a gauntlet-clad finger to point at the dark shape on the horizon. He slowly turned his head before pointing again - this time to a point a fraction further north than the first. "More than one - look alive!" The girl looked up again: this time closing the book and wrapping it in a sturdy golden chain as she did so. The Eldritch tutted in a bored tone, but said nothing. The three watched as - one by one - the figures began to draw nearer.

Adrass. @@Sanctified Absence, "I nearly looked a lot worse. Getting slow." Adrass grumbled, shrugging slightly. "Don't worry though, I won't weigh you down. Still got enough left in me to hold a sword - I've no intention of just dropping dead any time soon." He glanced around in the darkness, then back at the Mage. Whatever foul plan the Witch was brewing, it was likely the safest way to rescue the princess. Perhaps the ends would justify the means? 'Don't be a fool: you've put your trust in a Witch before, and look at how that ended...' He blinked slowly, swaying a little but remaining upright as he shook his head to try and clear it. He needed rest as soon as this was over - there was no way he could do this himself, not in the state he was in. The Mage was the only way, as much as he loathed the very idea. "Lead the way: I'll watch your back. If it all goes to shit, just say the word."

Adrass. @@Sanctified Absence, @@RunsWithSquirlz, "Personally..." Grunted a gravelly and rather grumpy sounding voice from a shadowy corner if the stable. "... I'd be far more content with carving our way out without endangering our souls..." The Witch Hunter stepped forward - wincing slightly as he put weight on his left leg. His coat was dirtied and torn in several places, and a sickly red-black liquid stain was still damp, just around the base. Shadows caught under his tired eyes as he glared at Zaddion and the woman. In the far corner of the stable, a similar red stain marked where the hunter had hidden himself on his return. "Desperate times call for... desperate measures, I suppose. I'm certainly in no state to fight any wars." He smirked grimly to himself. "So... time to show us what you can do, Mage. I might be able to buy you some time or cause a distraction, if that helps."

Adrass. "The sooner that we put some distance between ourselves and this place, the better." Adrass said. "We've already been tracked to this place once - it's compromised. At the very least we can count on us having left enough of a mark on the land that any decent tracker will know exactly who was here." The Witch Hunter looked around. His face suddenly shifted from the appearance of lingering annoyance to that of bemusement, before settling on a mixture of fear and anger. He swung his hand to his back, releasing the shortsword and grasping the bastard-blade instead: drawing it and dismounting in one fluid motion. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply - trying his damnedest to pick up on the aura that was masked by so many mages in such a small area. That emptiness - there was only one thing that it could be, one thing that had such a distinct lack of magical presence that it became noticeable to the noble hunters of magic... Another Hunter. It was too much to hope that it might be Arianna, and while the hunters were like brothers and sisters, they were truly and completely steadfast in their conviction: he doubted that even the more radical hunters would be as foolish as he was to suffer so many Witches to live. No - they needed to be intercepted, and quickly. He snatched out a hand, grasping the thief's shoulder in an iron grip, eyes conveying urgency as he glared at her without even a trace of hatred. "Make them move. It's not safe here." Flicking up the collar of his coat to cover his lower face as best it could, he paused a moment longer. "My apprentice Arianna should be tracking us. You can trust her - she was too old to be formally initiated and listens to reason far more than the rest of my kind. Trust none of the others: they will cut you down on sight and without remorse." He glanced behind him. The training for the princess and Tulla would have to wait. With his left hand, he drew the shortsword again, this time holding it out to the thief. "Give this to mistress Tulla - one of them should be able to defend themselves, and I don't trust the princess to hold it without throwing a temper tantrum." Finally, he pointed towards the runeblade, Errant. "I don't believe that Errant will truly listen to you as a weapon: not any more than a normal knife anyway. If you're tracked by my kin though... pierce yourself. It sever your connection to the source of your corruption, and while it will leave you injured and helpless, you'll be dead to their senses." ... And with that, the hunter was gone. He want the fastest, nor the stealthiest. Wasn't the greatest tracker or the most intelligent... Abut he was an expert of his art. His senses locked on the negative presence of magic as he became one with the forest. There was still a good distance between him and the aura, and with a little luck he would be able to stop them without bloodshed: convince them that they were headed in a different direction or... or something. Deep down though, he knew it would be no good. The hunter would have noticed his presence long before Adrass had noticed theirs, and would know that he hadn't merely been stalking the mages. Save for the off-chance that it was one of the two greatest radicals - and even then, chances of diplomacy were slim - there wasn't any way that this could end well. How could he have been such a fool? Of course such a huge magical presence had been followed: it would have been from the very start of their journey!

Adrass. "Appreciate it. Remember it. Don't treat it like a tool - it's a noble thing, not a glorified letter opener or whittling knife - you wouldn't appreciate your lasting legacy to be that of a toothpick or fish-gutter, would you?" He scowled to himself - still looking dead ahead. "Though if the chance does arise to plunge it into the heart of a Witch..."

Adrass. Adrass stared for a moment - not accustomed to having anyone actually apologise to him without having to first hold something sharp to their throat. He eyed the dagger mistrustfully, but those were indeed the correct runes - their was a reason that they were so distinctive: the secrets of their crafting was lost to all but a few. Reaching out as if to snatch away the blade, he suddenly withdrew his hand without touching it, as if shocked or burned by some invisible force "I can't." He grunted with a pained look on his face: turning to look ahead and reaching up to pull the brim if the hat further down his face, dearly wishing that he had found something to cover his face while in town. "We can only carry those that are entrusted to us: I was given Lartio and Ondu - it would be against the Order's will to carry any other, especially after losing one already..." He shook his head: something that these people led him to do with increasing frequency these days, he realised. Shake his head, and question things... though he had already learned the danger of the latter. "An initiate could return it, but the chances of stumbling across another hunter - a friendly one - is small enough already. Never mind the chance that they would have an initiate with them..." No: he could take it, and there was no chance on stumbling across anyone who rightfully could... "He was investigating rumours of a Witch with command of cold, Errant. They think he was pursuing her when he was killed. A few days north of where they found him there was a village. Tiny place: locked in some kind of 'eternal winter' where the Mage had lost control of her powers. It was frozen solid - there were no survivors." He reflected the story exactly as it had been told to him. "That is why we exist: if he had slain the Witch, that village might still live. Men, women and children - some chilled so suddenly that their clothes fused to the world around them." His stomach lurched a little: this had all been before his time, but his mentor had once taken him to the ruins of the place: it wasn't a place for a child, and was one that he never wished to return to. "Keep the knife: it's not like abandoning it will help anyone. Show him some respect though: he had to do a lot of things as well, and we're the only ones who remember why."

Adrass. As expected, they were banding together to defend the grave-robbing, thieving Witch as she spat in the face of virtue. There was nothing unexpected there - save perhaps for the fact that the level-headed Bard had joined in. Adrass scowled as he went about recovering his weapons. "I grew with honour, pride and responsibility for my actions - something that we had to find for ourselves, that anyone can find for themselves." Pointing towards Zaddion, the hunter continued. "Tainted and corrupted, but not once has his integrity faltered. He takes responsibility for what he is, and to the best of my knowledge, doesn't defile the dead!" Taking a few paces and seizing the handle of the bastard sword where it remained, he paused: releasing it and instead wrenching free the silver-coloured knife. In the subdued and gloomy aura of the hunter it's blue-hued runes appeared a sickly white instead. "What is 'right' and what is 'wrong' are things which humans learn naturally - not something one needs a mentor to beat into their hide! You don't need bringing to the edge of death as we are to understand the sanctity of life!" He ran a thumb along the flat of the blade, as one would to comfort a small creature. "You want to talk about what you 'had' to do? If your selfish actions get us killed, my apprentice might well be the only one capable of bringing the truth of the situation to light. Might be the only one capable of averting open war between the realms, when your sob stories and pride get us all butchered without trace! You want to talk about what you 'had' to do? Our entire existence is nothing but a compromise made by humanity itself, turning what few children survive the training into loathsome husks, capable of making the decisions too hard for those as soulless and blind as yourself to make!" Stowing the knife securely within the confines of the longcoat he worse, he seized the two swords - one in each hand - and wrenched them free with far more effort than his blank face revealed. Clark was correct. Impertinent, but correct. "The dagger which went missing was once known as Errant. He was never the most talented or the most devout, but always stood strong and took heart in the fact that, by surrendering his life to the order as a child, he would prevent hundreds of others without the strength to protect themselves from suffering at the hands of Witches. He was two years past initiation when we found his body." Spitting on the ground, the hunter returned the bastard sword to his back - keeping the shorter blade firmly grasped in the three fingers of his left hand."He was found face down with four arrows in his back: murdered and robbed for a handful of copper. We found his equipment dumped in a river nearby: no doubt the thieves panicked and tried to dispose of it when they saw the runic silver. Every life is honoured equally - those that found him brought back and reforged his knife so that he could still remain a guardian in death. I suppose that means little to you though, since they were 'just doing what they had to'? Storming past them, he ignored any more attempts of interaction as he took off ahead. He still had a job to do after all. "I'm done - daylights burning."

Adrass. "Runed..." Comprehension dawned on the hunters face: his stature dropped slightly: weaponless but no less stubborn or determined. He didn't luffs for the thief: not yet. "Selena, Arinor, Denrio and Temelo. Mag the Twisted and Randal the Uncompromising. Fey, Nathan, Tendor, Roland and Emrion Wavebreaker." He listed the names with clarity and reverence: as one would speak of a saint or god. "Eleven short blades, nineteen swords, twelve axes, ten maces, ten spearss, six halberds, five warhammers and a further twelve otherwise unclassified weapons." He spat - each number pronounced causing his voice to rise in volume and maliciousness until the fury could practically be felt radiating from it. "Eighty Five dead hunters, less than half of them reaching the age of thirty years - and I can name every last one. Two of them I grew up beside, one of which was slain not two months ago, Eighty Five hunters who gave their lives to protect our existence from being consumed by the unnatural shadow that scum like you embrace for your own petty 'enjoyment' - endangering us all!" His eyes locked on the Witch: mind clearing as his single-minded instincts took hold of his thoughts: directing all if his hatred inwards and into not dispelling the magic, but ignoring it. Denying it with such a burning passion within his mind that it leaked out into the physical world around him. "Entombed to continue their noble cause in death as they did in life: and if you dare defile the sacred dead from their rest then your actions go far beyond survival or even business: you openly and willingly flaunt graverobbery? That you endanger the living and the dead for your sick game? No, this is a lack of morals far beyond necissary: you are the very disease on this world that we exist to cleanse, monster." It was as if the colour had been drained from the world around the hunter: the forest seeming dank and unwelcoming all of a sudden as a blanket of forbidding hatred settled over it, denying the very existence of magic itself through his raw anger. "You needlessly endanger the lives of others with no regard for anything other than yourself. You steal the very souls of the dead from an order sworn to protecting this world from itself, and you consort with a power which you have displayed neither the desire, nor the capability to restrain." He spat. "And yet you still claim moral superiority, Witch?"

Adrass. "Then it's time to grow up and start thinking about how everything to do with this venture wants to see you dead!" The hunter snapped. "Not 'scratched' or 'bruised' but dead. Life isn't a game: it's an enemy that seeks to crush us with every breath we steal from it, and I have no intention of letting you drag the innocent to an unmarked grave beside you!" He cast a sideways glare towards the the Mage as he stated his own view in turn, but caught himself before doing anything rash. He simply shook his head slightly, reluctant to relinquish any of his stubbornly held ground. "If it stops her tearing open a rift in the void in a temper tantrum, so be it. Better she at least learn to control herself if you insist on teaching her that her curse is the blessing it seeks to appear as." He said, eyes narrowing pointedly - remembering the state that he had encountered Zaddion in the night before. Still, experience was said to be the best teacher, and the Mage here was certainly the best schooled in the arts. Dangerous and unstable: a liability... but potentially the most experienced with the eternal struggle. "Better that the both of you practise restraining your demons."

Adrass. "Not quite. It's difficult to explain - it would be easier to show you." The princess would learn: she wouldn't like it, but she would learn. As would Tulla if he had any day in matters: as reliable as the chimera seemed, he wasn't prepared to allow any of them to remain completely helpless independently. Even the witches had their foul magicks. On that note, as the topic shifted to 'nurturing' the monarchs 'gifts' he promptly took his leave - returning instead to inspecting his equipment with a mistrustful expression. Not only sorcery, but discussibg the corrupting demon-arts that they referred to as 'shadow' magic. Of course he was going to oppose the concept: what better way to get his charge killed than to train her in a foul, corrupting art that was as likely to kill her as it was her enemies... The swords were sharp enough - they would need tending to soon but would suffice for the day. His pistols were dry and clean, but remained unloaded and the silver knife was (as it always was) as sharp as the day it was remade. The coat was holding up well too, and Adrass was beginning to grow accustomed to the reduction if weight in contrast to his orders classic style. Certainly he would regret the lack of armour when he was struck, but until then... All in all, between the rest and the food, Adrass was doing pretty well. His near-drowning wasn't the first tine he had danced with death - not by a long way - and it wouldn't be his last. "Have any of you paused to think that it might be your vile curse that led the assassin to us?" He finally interjected towards the mages. "Mages sense magic. If you keep playing around with it like children then you're going to draw the attention of every Witch and Demon for miles around!"

Adrass. Adrass glanced between the Clarke and Tulla - truth be told he wouldn't fully trust anyone not of the order, but of their group as it stood they were the two that he trusted most, possibly with the exception of the bard. He nodded slightly. It wouldn't hurt to remain vigilant: his missing finger was a constant reminder to not become complacent after all. People got hurt when he grew accustomed to trust, and he couldn't allow the princess or himself to be hurt. "Beatmistr... Miss Tulla, I would appreciate your assistance when I come to show the princess how to defend herself. Nothing technical I assure you." He raised a brow expectantly. "It would be most appreciated."

Adrass. Adrass climbed to his feet without complaint: sparing a moment for the strenuous routine of maintaining his looks. He ran a hand through his hair, bursting out a leaf and a bug that had fount its way into him in the night. Content that the six seconds were only a minor waste of time, he hefted the bastard sword onto his back and was prepared - otherwise sleeping as he travelled. After a few years one forgot about the discomfort, and after a few more began to feel naked when without their equipment attached to them at all times. He had slept as well as could be expected - some freak-hybrid of memory, dream and nightmare toying on the edge of his consciousness had done its best to wake him, but to no avail. No, he had slept well enough: he knew full well that his next few days would not be easy, and he would need to be rested if he was to fight. Let the children play at soldiers all they would: Adrass intended to face down any danger with every last effort he could muster. Going to battle without enough sleep was as bad as doing so without a weapon after all. "I am eager to move on, Master Engineer. I trust that my assistance will not be needed, this is your domain after all." Adrass planted a had firmly on Clarkes shoulder - fully ready to follow the mundane, reliable and otherwise non-mage onto whatever roads he might lead. "That said, I was hoping that we might make camp tonight someplace enclosed - where sound will not carry so well as our place last night." He glanced between the forms of Tulla and the Princess. The flaw with his plan of course, was that neither knew how to fight, yet he only carried two swords. Trying to train them to not get killed would be... interesting.

Arellion. "Psha! No need t'go takin' offe... takin' offen... gerrin arsey!" spas Arellion. "Yer' just another copper-pinchin' brown-nose who doesn' know how to have fun! Wavebreaker knows yer kind brown-nose, wit'cha two-bit tricks an' yer stuck up tone..." He swayed violently towards the man - almost as if attacking him. As suddenly as he did however, he swayed backwards again: cleanly overbalancing and falling flat onto his back... though still talking as if nothing had happened. "T'is fine weather t' puch a chappy in t'face, doncha think brown-nose? Y'should let me show yer how t'dtink sometime, Wavebreaker knows how it's done! Drinkin' an' punchin' an'... an..." Suddenly sitting bolt upright, he thrust the half empty bottle out and onto the table next to Blake. "K'after mah drink pal, kay?" With a thud, he dropped to the ground.

Adrass. Adrass slumped down and leaned back: resting his back against the trunk of a sturdy-enough tree. He watched the fire for a couple of minutes as he listened - allowing the music to fill his mind before tilting his hat downwards and over his eyes. The flickering orange light of the fire was still visible under the brim of the headpiece. He closed his eyes - trying desperately to block it out and focus instead on the music, but the fire wasn't just in their camp: it was in his mind and wasn't going to go away any time soon. He found his thoughts drifting as the presence of magic and song muddied the clarity he craved so much. Fire wove around the young hunters arm - snapping taut like a rope as he closed his hand and pulled with all the strength he had. The woman was pulled aside at the last possible moment: a concentrated storm of magic detonating where she had been standing just moments before. "Why?" She asked incredulously - grasping the bleeding wound on her forearm. "Because while they want us both dead, you're more use to me alive." The hunter grunted - holding out a hand to the Mage and feeling he fingers close around his wrist. Hefting her upright, he drew the bastard sword and glanced back at the second girl - little more than a child. She nodded with a slight smile, pleased to see her tutor keep an open mind for the first time. "Fine! Lets get out of here, then we'll figure out how you'll try to kill me." The woman said, pushing her hair away from her eyes as fire began to weave itself into a shape in her free hand. "Watch out for the..." The scene that had played out in his mind snapped back to black with a bust of flame. Adrass became aware of the glow of the campfire and the sound of the music with a start - he blinked under the shade of the hat.

Arellion. "Psha! Yet no fun at all..." Grumbled the sailor. "Y'eat the Bellawhotsit an' y' snuff it. Deader'n'dead!" to emphasise his point he drew a finger quickly across his throat. "The long snoooooze! At is, 'less yer a truly hardened drinker - a scourge o' the taverns like I... which yer blatherin' is makin' me seriously doubt!" Eyes slightly mad: one open a little more than the other - he grinned. Drunken and delirious, he was still... mostly aware. "Or maybe it's jus' 'cause ah'm such a damn beautiful bastard! Neither the sea nor sweet lady nature wants me to choke on me innards!" ---------------

Arellion Arellion squinted at the plants - a little unsure of exactly where they had come from for a few seconds before realising that he didn't care. "I drunk a lot of stuff mate! Some of it... not really meant t' drink, y'know wharra mean?" He declared without really answering any of the blind chap's questions. All of a sudden he stood up, fist raised proudly into the air with his sword drawn - pointing upwards. "A master of the... of the booze, needs... needs to drink everythin'! Good, Bad, Poison, Not poison... What doesn't kill yer makes yer better at... better at fightin'! Or summat like tha'..." Noticing the two plants once more (or rather, six plants, as he currently saw them) the drunkard shrugged with a victorious look on his face. "Pah!" He belched. "Can't fool me! Those are kittens! ... where the bleedin aunt didya find all those kittens?"

Arellion. "Bottles? Pah!" Arellion swayed slightly in place. "This mah friend, this is Beronian Family Black Brandy!" His eyes lost focus for a few seconds before returning to the blind man that stood before him. When he spoke again it was with a hand raised as if shielding a great secret being read on his lips... not that it made much if a difference considering his 'whisper' was practically as loud as the thunderous drawl he had already been using. "Made with... uh... whatsitcalled. Bella-thingy berries... belladonnoradon... y'know!" He paused - face contorted as he thought hard. "Nightshade!" Came the sudden shout as the answer floated into his head. "One swig is enough to knock a man on his arse, my story-disbeleavin' friend! Nah, fuck that... it's enough to kill 'im! Killed me one time - bein' dead's crap!"

Adrass. "There is a purity in music. It doesn't reek of corruption and destruction like the more foul magics." The hunter shrugged. "Anyone can feel the magic of song - can wield it to some degree. We consider it more akin to a force of nature than a magic... A force which some are blessed with command of." He looked up and raised a brow. What the hunters knew of such professions was... pitifully little. They rarely persecuted bards like they did Sorcerers and Witches, and stories were passed between the hunters that told of their powers being far more considerable than might be apparent... but the old books weren't always reliable, especially in this day and age. They didn't feel wrong to be around though - that was a fact. "But what do we know? It doesn't make me feel sick and doesn't feel like the other magics... and so personally, I'm willing to believe what I am told of it. That, and I have a special place in my soul for music: it is an art that too many overlook."

Arellion and Eleanor. "Reckon 'talkin' isn' the only thin he's wantin' t' do!" Arellion snorted loudly, laughing at his own jibes. "Reckon' he's much more interested in..." "Oh for the love of... shut your face hole!" The Mage snatched for the bottle only for it to be twitched aside by the duelist without concern. She tried again - once more it moved to expertly avoid being lifted from Arellion's grip. "Ugh! Somebody deal with this pillock - I'm going to lay down myself for a minute. Captains got the right idea..." "Hah! This is life at sea dearie!" The drunken sot called after her. "Booze, boasting an' blood! Just waitin' for the last of those to come lookin' for me!" He smirked - looking over the others before taking another drink from the same bottle before flicking it into the air, catching it (more by accident than design, if his fumbling fingers were anything to judge by) and slid it into place beside his rapier. "Ain't nobody lastin' long out 'ere without... without... somethin' to do somesuch..."