Dying Lands IC

[Huscarl]

When the bitch had finally left, Henna eagerly pulled the glass out of the bag and uncovered it. The first thing that came to her mind was to continue where she'd left off, but she found she had lost interest in her previous entertainer. Following the bitch was all of a sudden a much, much more viable option - not only for entertainments, or even revenges sake, but also for security reasons; who knew what that invading woman was plotting? She, with her thrice-cursed apples and bad manners.

Bitch. Bitch!

So Henna once again fixed her eyes on the scrying glass and gazed into the milky white mists inside it, focusing on the woman while gently touching the cold surface of the orb with her fingertips. Slowly, the mists parted and gave way to an unfocused view. Henna uttered an irritated grunt and focused harder. It was always harder to pin down people she'd only met briefly - and she had baely even seen this one. But she wouldn't get away, oh no! Not from Hennas mighty glass!

The view in the orb suddenly focused on the womans face, and Hennas face lit up in a smug smile. "There you are, apple-eater." she whispered, "Hello there little friend. Let's see what you're up to, shall we?"

She moved her fingers across the surface of the glass to alter the view, and sank back into a more confortable position on the floor. Another red piece of meat was ripped from the chunk in the bowl and stuffed into Hennas mouth. She smacked audibly, drooling blood-mixed saliva all over her chin, and chuckled softly.

[Musique]

Flora continued standing in line, entertained by the heated discussion between the men for a while, until suddenly it had gone on long enough. Crossing her arms, she tapped her foot impatiently, sighing loudly. She noticed the stall keep was being a bully, all because he was the only stall around anymore that had any of the supplies the man needed. This woman didn't like bullies, and as the man in front of her was reaching for his money (or so she thought) she stepped forward out of the line, interrupting.

"Honey," she said to the stall owner, "give this man what he asked for at a more reasonable price. And grab me a batch of arrows as well, for the usual three silver." She leaned forward against the counter, seductively making her voluptuous bosom more noticeable. She had put emphasize on the number "three," allowing the man to realize he had been paying twice as much as her for who knows how long. Flora knew the stall owners around here better apparently, and knew how to deal with them seeing as she practically grew up here and all, and had stolen at least one item from each of them. But she usually tried to make up for her thievery by being a good citizen and paying for goods every once in a while, as she was trying to do now. "I know very well you have to make a living here just like the rest of us, but you could at least be appreciative that he isn't stealing. Your high prices are probably one of the reasons there's so much thievery around here to begin with."

The woman lifted herself from the counter and turned to the man in line. She looked him over once, memorizing his appearance for later in case it were to be of some use to her. Then she turned back to the stall-keep and waited.

[xenon]

In the wake of the interruption, both men shut up and listened, as men were apt to do when a pretty young woman was talking. Brand's hand, paused but an inch away from Rickon, now fell to his side. He ground his teeth when he realised that he could have been getting arrows for half the price, all this time, in Terrileg, but it didn't matter what he'd spent yester-year. What mattered was getting the things he needed today. Whisperings of enemy movements up near the hidden village of Wurthal had gotten his blood up and he wanted to be there before any attack was launched. He was a good hand in a skirmish, but certainly most effective with a bit of time to stealth about and thin the ranks at his own leisure.

"...Your high prices are probably one of the reasons there's so much thievery around here to begin with."

The stallkeep hesitated under the blue gaze of the girl and Brand understood why when she give the Reaver a cursory glance over. She was hauntingly beautiful.

"Alright, fine," said the stallkeep. Brand put his attention back on horse-face and lifted his leg up to grab his purse from his boot. "But don't go spreading word of my charity around. A man's got to eat, you know."

"Hmph," Brand huffed as he paid the man, took his purchases and left, but not without giving the girl his remaining two silver and a nod of thanks.

For the first time since anyone could remember, a trade caravan was being organized by the bravest in Terrileg, who hoped to rekindle some commerce about the Dying Lands and connect the few remaining human settlements. It was a bold plan. an extremely dangerous one too, but it would certainly provide the Reaver with a way of reaching Wurthal quickly. No doubt, they would welcome an extra archer on the trek. He headed that way now, back through the crowded streets as he removed the rawhide straps from the batch of arrows and shoved the shafts into his quiver.

[Huscarl]

"Smooth moves, smooth moves... A slippery one, this woman... She'll make for good entertainment."

Henna followed the event in her glass, nodding approval to the woman she'd hated a few minutes ago and giggling at the men. Men were easy to deal with. All you needed to do was what they expected of you and you could have them wrapped around your littlefinger before long. Henna had had many such aquintances through the years, most of which had ended with her leaving her man broke or worse. It wasn't fair, she reflected; not only did she have all her woman advantages, she had the scrying glass as well. But then again, it was good sport.

Some time later, the bowl of red meat was finished. This was Hennas alarm bell in case she'd get stuck in the glass, so she reluctantly tore her eyes away from the shining little ball and wrapped it in the skin. She'd get back to the woman later, but first... what time of day was it? Henna got up on her feet, her knees snapping audibly when she did so, and went to the window. She braced herself for the sunlight which always blinded her something terrible but was pleased when she was greeted by the silky dark night sky. No stars too - it was cloudy tonight. Night also meant she could sleep, which was good. There were times when she'd been in the glass for so long that she'd forgotten when last she had slept. The bowl of meat had been invented to prevent that from ever happening again, but she found to her dismay that she were beginning to ignore that rule of hers more and more for each time she used the orb. Something would have to be done, but not now. Now it was time to sleep.

The young woman went to a nondescript box in the corner of the room and opened it. Inside was shattered glass and a few metal scraps. She readied her bed in the usual spot in the windowless corner and threw out the debris in the box in a wide arc around her. Just for safety reasons. The time and effort it took to broom it all up in the morning was definetly worth it.

So, with that business done, she went to sleep and dreamed of absolutely nothing.

[Musique]

Flora observed the man removing change from his boot. Now she knew where the precious treasure was. She wouldn’t forget that.

When the purchase was made, her eyes widened as she was given two silver for her good deed. She wasn’t used to charity, and it left her speechless, as she watched the man walk away. Turning to the angered stall-keep, she gave him the two silver and one of her own, grabbed the batch of arrows, and placed them into her quiver. Now she could hunt.

Walking out of the town a couple of miles away, she climbed a tree and sat upon one of it’s branches. Now she could finally heal her scrape from earlier today, with no witnesses. Hovering her hand over her arm, she closed her eyes and slid it across, feeling her flesh tighten around the minor wound. Opening her eyes, she observed her work. It was well done. She pulled out her bow and an arrow, ready to pull back and take aim at whatever came by. Patiently waiting, for what seemed to be hours, a rabbit finally hopped by. It was somewhat small, but it would have to do. It was getting dark. Pulling back her bow, she breathed, steadying herself until she knew it was going to be perfect. Letting go, the arrow sliced through the rabbit, directly between it’s eyes. Instant death.

Sliding down the tree, she retrieved the rabbit, removing the arrow and placing it back inside of her quiver. She was glad it died quickly, she didn’t like to see the innocent suffer.

Once she returned to town, she approached a stall and sold the rabbit. It was now night, and a cold breeze swept from behind her. Shivering slightly, she collected her payment and walked towards the abandoned building from this morning. It was time to find out what the glowing object was, the woman was probably asleep.

Flora arrived at the building, slowly opening the door this time so it wouldn’t creak like it did last time. She waited patiently until her eyes adjusted to the dark, making out a thin outline of the woman resting with a bag beside her. The cracks in the bag glowed faintly, beckoning to her.

With a smile, she took her knife from her boot then removed her boots and hid them in the corner of the room, walking silently barefoot over to the woman. Steadying her breath, she took another step closer to the bag, ready to lean over and grab it when suddenly...

“OUCH!!!” Flora screamed, a few pieces of glass and metal bits slid roughly into her foot, causing her to topple backwards.

Balancing herself against the wall, she held her knife up to her side. No doubt the woman would wake, and maybe attack her. Flora couldn’t move anywhere, but at least she could flail her knife around whilst on one foot if she had to. Her eyes watered, wishing she could remove the objects and heal herself. She had underestimated the woman.

[Huscarl]

Henna opened her eyes, her every muscle tense. The first thing she saw was the soft gleam from a blade, illuminated by a single ray of moonlight spilling into the pitch black room from the between the boards covering one of the windows. She couldn't see who it was that held the dagger, but that wasn't important. The important thing was either killing the invader or getting the hell out of there. A thought suddenly came out of hiding in her head: this wasn't the first attempt at burglary she'd been forced to deal with. And it certainly wouldn't be the last. Had people found out about her secret? Maybe. And if that was the case she needed to get out of town as soon as possible. Who knew what sort of miscreant would come to take her treasure, and possibly her life with it, next?

She grabbed her knife from under the makeshift pillow consisting of rolled up sheets of cloth, dragged her bag closer and got up on her knees. Holding the dull, rusted blade in front of her she started moving sideways, carefully brushing the floor ahead of her clean of any sharp objects. One small fragment of glass pierced her skin but she managed to hold her mouth shut. She didn't want the stranger to notice that she'd been wounded. Strangely, the person wielding the blade hadn't moved since Henna'd risen. Perhaps something had gone wrong for the invader, and they were both too frightened to actually get down to fighting. No matter. When she felt she had the door behind her, Henna stopped briefly and hissed; "Don't. Follow. Me."

Then she turned and ran.

[xenon]

The night air was cool and crisp. The trade caravan was nearly ready.

"Come on, people!" shouted Yorland, the foreman of this arguably-insane trade mission. He strutted about the caravan site with his whip coiled up in his hand. "Now is the time! Now is our gift! That's why they call it the present!"

Brand was helping out a hardy, middle aged woman by the name of Greta. They were loading on of the wagons with barrels of vegetables, Brand doing most-all of the heavy lifting. Greta has tougher than she looked, and sometimes tried to haul the barrels onto the wagon herself, but Brand would always take it off her hands. Even after near-twenty years of exile, the Reaver still knew the rudiments of being a gentleman.

When they were finished, Brand took up a seat on the wagon they'd loaded. The last few preparations were made and then Yorland addressed the caravan line. "Those of you that embark upon this great quest with us..."

Brand shook his head and looked elsewhere as the speech went on. He pulled his dirk from the scabbard on his back and retrieved his whetstone too. "Ye hear that, mate...? Man's gotta fondness for words." Brand chuckled. "Yeah... yeah, you might be right."

Greta, who had taken a seat on the same wagon, watched Brand for a creeped-out moment before deciding she'd find somewhere else to sit.

"Alright people! Let's roll out!" Yorland commanded.

Brand shifted over to the driver's seat and took the reigns. Somewhere near the back of the line, he had to wait a few moments before he could start moving............

[Huscarl]

Henna ran as fast as she could through the dark streets of nighttime Terrileg, eyes wide open, her bare feet hurting with each step. She didn't know if the stranger was after her, but she didn't dare look back - what if the burglar was right behind her, poised to strike? No, looking back was not an option. Fear and paranoia kept her running for her life even though her lungs were screaming for her to stop and let them do their job.

Just as she passed a alley, something at the far end caught her eye; a row of wagons moving through the town. A... caravan? A caravan! She stopped dead and ran back to the alley, no longer concerned about a persuer. She looked at the wagons rolling by, one by one, until she came to a decision and ran towards them. She jumped onto the closest one and gave the driver a smile. It was a woodlands kind of person, with leather clothes and capes and all. She tried to look her best and greeted the man.

"Hello" she said, "can I come with you on your wagon? There were bad people on the one I rode before. My name's Hannah, what's yours?"

[Musique]

As soon as the woman left, Flora dropped to the ground, screaming in pain once more. Tears slid down her face as she observed the damage. Tightly gripping one of the shards, she yanked it out, whimpering as she proceeded to do the same to the next one. Once all of the shards were out, she closed her eyes, hovering her hand over the wounds. Nothing was happening. Before she started panicking, Flora took a deep breath and focused. Now it was healing, the skin tingling as it strung itself together.

Wiping the tears off her face, she growled. That woman wasn't going to get away with this. Running over to her boots, she slipped them on and rushed out the door, jumping across various objects to get upon a nearby roof. Leaping from roof to roof, she scanned the town, desperately looking for the woman. Spotting her dart down an alley, Flora slid to a stop, falling down hard against the roof beneath her feet. Biting her lip, she muffled her gasp, watching as the woman hopped into a caravan.

Laughing quietly to herself, Flora hopped down from the roof, running through a stall on her way over, stealing a cloak. Before the stall-keep knew what had happened, she simultaneously put the cloak on and raised the hood over her head as she rushed to the caravan in front of the one the woman entered.

The passengers looked at her strangely, but she waited until they started moving before she removed the hood. With a kind smile, she made small talk with the others, at attempts of making herself look less suspicious.

[xenon]

The journey would take them out of the forest and over the plains to the mountains. Brand guessed that they started out this evening so they could stop for camp at the edge of the forest, which was a prudent move from the caravan leader. It wasn't a good idea to get caught out on the vast flatlands at night, where you could be spotted from a mile away by night-hunting fell beasts. Brand pondered anxiously over Wurthal. The Hungry Ones were weak creatures by nature, but once they'd nested, they multiplied fast and became bold, dangerous threats. If the threat to Wurthal was indeed the Hungry Ones, then time was of the essence. Still, Brand could only hope that this was the case. If the threat was coming from Foul Ones, then gods help that poor little village...

Brand was startled out of his train of thought by a woman, who'd hopped onto the moving wagon with a, "Hello. Can I come with you on your wagon? There were bad people on the one I rode before. My name's Hannah, what's yours?"

He spared a moment to give her once-over. The horses that pulled the wagon knew what they were doing. The woman was young, mid-twenties, Brand guessed, dressed in the rags of the local peasantry. The odour too.

He put his attention back on the road as he answered her. "Captain Allister Brand, 3rd Ranger Battallion, Army of Rodmarsh. The caravan's heading to Wurthal, so if that's where you're going, fine by me."

They did indeed camp on the edge of the forests. Brand took two of the three watch-shifts. Whether the fell beasts in the area were nocturnal or not, the early hours of the morning we're usually the safest, and so Brand got his sleep then. They pressed on shortly after dawn.

The caravan made the journey unmolested and the following afternoon they were closing in on Wurthal. You couldn't tell, for the land hid the village well, but Brand knew the Dying Lands like the back of his hand. He'd spent the last seventeen years roaming them, after all. The girl... her name's Hannah... was by his side still. Brand had hoped she would choose another wagon to ride today, after his silent treatment all last night, but she hadn't. In fact, Hannah didn't seem like the most conversational person herself, content to keep her own thoguhts. With barely a few words spoken between them in the entire journey, Brand had actually come to like Hannah's company, which was strange for the old Reaver hadn't liked another human being since Andrew Briggs, the old merchant from Hertula, died in his bed of old age.

"Bin to Wurthal before?" he chimed into the silence. Whatever she answered, he would say, "There's been reports that an attack might come to the village soon. So while you're there, stay frosty."