----
Kyrrein

On a black, nimble beast, Kyrrein had followed his leader without hesitation on the grand scheme of a journey. The silent hunter had, indeed, acted occasionaly as scout; but his inability to speak what his sharp eyes had seen meant that he would more often remain at the fringes of the main party.

Armored in leather and draped with a short cloak of dappled fur, the man was dark-haired and dark-eyed, with the scars of his youthful accident threading up in a waxy ripple from collarbone to jawline. He emmited only the occasional painful grunt; more prone to useing his hands to describe what he wished to get across.

When the sound from the wilds interrupts Ekkill, Kyrrein stands straight on his beast's saddle, searching. When the boy is spotted, and the chase given, he kicks his horse into a run and strings, while moving, the yew bow lovingly carved and waxed.

Reaching back for a feather distinctly fletched with ebon raven feathers, the archer sights on the men who had so hastily abandoned their camp and foolishly exposed their backs.

He releases as soon as his eyes judge him in range, and the arrow sings an eeire keen towards its first victim.

----
Leita

The old witch of the mountain pass beyond Ekkill's village had arrived on the very day that the man gathered his forces to seek his son in Hel; though none had summoned or told her of the events in the slaughter.

Draped in a ram's skin, the painted skull and horns of the beast settled over her own features to grant her an otherworldly vissage. Trinkets of bone, stone, and wood dangled and clicked softly with every movement, and the white Kite that sat atop her gnarled walking stick watched the impromptu army balefully.

She did not ride; but showed no weakness at the day's end traveling with the men on foot. An odd creature, to say the least, it was bad luck to chance her wrath. And besides; she was a decent cook.

Leita follows, but does not persue, when Ekkill gives the shout. The ruckus stirs her ghostly bird into flight, however, and the creature cries as it circles the persuing vikings.

__________________
Click the little hatchling to help him grow! (Opens a new window, no worries!)