The Prophecy

[Dark Jack]

Distressingly, it seemed to Jaelnec that Roct was nowhere to be found, and even as he paced back and forth, his eyes scanning the ground around him over and over again in a sort of half-hearted hope that his light-sensitive eyes had simply missed the gleaming silvery blade of the Sartal weapon the other times he searched there, even though he knew under the surface that such a thing was next to impossible. Already he was taking the loss of the mighty Roct to his rapidly growing list of failures, and to an onlooker, it would almost seem as though he was deflating a little more with every passing moment, until it seemed like he could only barely even hold himself upright anymore. He looked more like a zombie than a man, moving about like a sleepwalker in an endless search of much-wanted absolution for his infinite ineptitude.
It was only when Thaler spoke his name that the squire was jolted from this self-imposed incarceration in the walls of his own mind, and he stopped his aimless pacing to look in the Daywalker's direction. He could not see her as more than a faint contour, though, as she was standing over by the campfire, and the firelight effectively blinded the Nightwalker. Reflexively, Jaelnec reached up to pull down the brim of his hat to shade his eyes, only for him to grasp at nothing but air. Oh, right, I took off my hat. I was going to clean myself. Then Annabelle grabbed me, and she and Aemoten and I argued, and she yelled at me, and then... what? What happened? Then Annabelle had become Usha, and was fighting Aemoten, and Brian was dead, Louis enslaved, Olan wounded... and I was lying with my head in Thaler's lap.
The thought struck him like a hammer between the eyes. He had no idea how he had gotten there, or why any of this had happened, but somehow he had ended up asleep or unconscious or something, and when he had awoken, it had been with Thaler - the pale woman whispering softly to him and stroking his grimy hair, covering his eyes as though him sharing her blindness would help shield him from the cruelty of reality. It had not really sunk in then, but now that he thought about it, he felt the weight of this event increasing upon his mind. Thaler... He needed to talk with her - both about that whole Knighthood of the Will business, and to thank her for what she did.

In the absence of his hat, Jaelnec opted to shade his eyes with his right hand instead. It did little to let him see past the firelight, but as it turned out, it let him see just enough: Thaler, sitting by the fire, doing something with a dress that Jaelnec faintly recalled had belonged to Annabelle. The pure gleam of Roct lying beside her, with traces of blood along its one edge. A cut on Thaler's thigh.
Again, for the second time in a span of just a few seconds, reality came crashing down on the young squire, seeming to beat him relentlessly in an effort to crush him completely while he was down. What had happened? Had Thaler really been cut by Roct? Had he... had he hurt her? No, he was pretty confident that he would never do such a thing, no matter what manner of curse would befall him. But then, what had happened? Roct never harmed innocents, it was a pure blade, meant to slay only the vile and wicked, to protect and serve. It was part of what gave the Sartal sword strength - why... had it cut her? Why would it? Had it really? So many questions! So much to feel guilty about!

Hesitating long enough to glance about to see what everyone else were doing, to see Olan head off on whatever errand Thaler had sent him on and Natyr fetching firewood - for the pyre, he added grimly - and Aemoten arriving with a bag of supplies.
When the southerner's eyes fell on Jaelnec, the Nightwalker found himself incapable of meeting the other's gaze, feeling sure that all he would see there was more disappointment, more betrayal. He felt sure that he would see anger, that he was not considered something worth even less than he had considered Annabelle. And why should he not? What was Jaelnec? He was a leader that had lost three companions, two to horrid curses that twisted their very nature to something unrecognizable, one to the clutches of death. He was a leader who had wounded two of his own comrades without even thinking, who had been manipulated by infernal powers. Or... had Annabelle manipulated him? Maybe it was all just an elaborate trick for Aemoten to get the upper hand, and to get rid of his greatest rival in the group...
Jaelnec bit his lip, still not meeting the other's gaze. Amazing. Even now he could somehow convince himself that Annabelle was the victim and Aemoten the aggressor. How deeply was he corrupted? Was it demon magic, or was he just so gullible that he had let himself be deceived? Had he been deceived? ARGH!
When the squire finally did look the foreigner in the eyes, what he found there was not what he was expecting - but it was every bit as devastating, perhaps even more so than if he had found hatred. Even now, Aemoten was not angry, it seemed... but it seemed like he was waiting for Jaelnec to do or say something, watching him, ready to weigh and analyze his words and actions. The trust was gone. Can I blame him? I tried to attack him. I betrayed him without a second thought, in a spur of the moment. How can I expect people to trust a leader that would turn against them simply because someone asked him to do so?
Quickly Jaelnec lowered his gaze, fixing his black stare at the ground just in front of his feet as he pretty much shrank before Aemoten, as if weighed down physically by the burden of his shame. He was filthy - not just physically dirty from the hardships of these past few days, but his very soul and honor were sullied by his actions. I cannot lead them anymore... I never should have. I am not worthy. I am... dishonored.
Dishonored... That word weighed extremely heavily on him.

All of this happened, yet by the time Jaelnec replied to Thaler's request, no more than ten seconds had passed. His voice sounded somewhat monotone compared to how it usually did, with no enthusiasm or strength behind his words.
"I'll help if I can," he told her, starting to walk over to her, dragging his feet with every step, his shoulders sagging, his eyes downcast.

---

Lu did little else than half-crawl a couple of inches away from where Usha deposited what appeared to be some rather unusual contents of her stomach, and furrow his brow at what was going on, wondering what had happened to this woman to reduce her to such a state such as this. She was the offspring of Himyth, he knew that much from what Draigen had said when he had introduced her... and she served 'Liya and Pelgaid', so it was probably fair to assume that she had turned her back on the Dread Mother. Had demonspawn done this to her, he wondered? Or hunters of demonspawn? Admittedly, he had no idea what Draigen meant by 'True Child', but it was obvious by her appearance and her aura that this Usha was not an average demonspawn. So many mysteries...
"My beautiful," he said softly, only now actually touching her skin as he placed a strong, warm right hand on her previously injured left shoulder. "Mea pulchra means 'my beautiful'." He wished he could do something to help her, but not only did he have no idea what was actually wrong with her now that her wounds had been healed, he was also rather certain that he would be incapable of counteracting what was wrong with her now. His magic, while unlike any other, still had very clear limits, and just mending her visible maladies had brought him to the first stage of magical exhaustion.
When Usha first swayed and then suddenly fell towards Lu, all he could think of doing was to catch her in his arms before she hit the ground, turn her so that her face was up, and rest the back of her head on his metal-clad lap. In hindsight, lying on his armored legs was probably even less comfortable than lying on the ground, but Lu left her there anyways.

His expression growing stern, Lu turned his head to look at Draigen, who still had not budged an inch from where he had been standing since Lu had been summoned here. That man!
"We will need food and drink -" he began, but before the dark-skinned man had even finished his sentence, a relatively small two-wheeled cart materialized instantaneously out of the air between himself and the masked man, the cart loaded with several bulging brown linen sacks, half a dozen full waterskins, and two small wooden barrels. Before Lu even had time to consider to speak again, two rolled-up bedrolls materialized just above the cart and immediately dropped into it.
"She has a great deal of immortal blood," Draigen spoke, still facing the same way as he had been all along, while his right hand subtly went to rub the right side of his face. "She will need little sustenance, and will hardly need more than an hour's sleep a day anymore. Once her blood awakens completely, perhaps she won't need either at all."
What is he talking about, 'awakening'? Lu thought, puzzled, as he looked down at the clearly miserable woman in his lap. "Why are we doing this? Why are you doing this, amissa anima?"
"Don't you trust me?" There was no humor in Draigen's voice.
"No." There was none in Lu's voice, either.
The other shrugged. "It is for the plan."
Lu arched an eyebrow. "For the plan, but not part of it?"
There was a moment's hesitation. "Correct. This was not part of the plan."
Finally, Draigen turned towards Lu and Usha entirely, seeming to stare at them from behind the black cloth that held the secret of his appearance. "It's important."
At this, Lu smiled. "Of course it is, otherwise you would not have risked involving me." After all, he thought grimly, I am the one besides yourself that knows the most of this power of yours... and the only person alive that know who you are behind that mask, except the Oracle.
"Last chance," Draigen said sternly. "Is there anything else you will need before I leave?"

[Dreadlord]

Hunched over the river, Brand cupped his hands together as best he could, scooping up a large portion of water that he quickly wiped his face with. Dried blood flaked off, but he paid no mind to this. Returning his hands to the water, he shook them before bringing more to his face, only this time to drink. His thirst satisfied, Brand stood up, wiped his face with his robe sleeve, and pulled the veil up to the bridge of his nose once again. Turning on his heel, he retraced his path back to the road. A loud screech from above alerted him to Beatrice's presence, and, feeling secure, he resumed his trek down the road, the clack of his cane reverberating through the trees. His mental state relaxed, he listened to the soothing noises of birds chattering back and forth among themselves. He went on his way like this for several hours, stopping infrequently to rest his legs. It seemed perfect, until an explosion of some sort sounded from far away. This was immediately followed up by an inhuman scream, causing the once peaceful birds to scatter. Again Brand was reminded that he was alone in the forest. Or, at least, for now - another explosion followed, and then an eerie silence. His curiosity sparked, he increased his pace as much as he could, even more so after successive explosions followed.

A short silence was ended with even more detonations, and his inquisitiveness was beginning to give way to caution - he had no idea what he was trying to walk into. The trees had begun to slowly become more sparse while the air had taken on a burnt, dead flesh smell, and as he rounded a corner, Brand was greeted with new ones - innards, feces, urine, and other, less prevalent scents. In the far distance, he could see a boat of some sort - it was too far for him to make out clearly - but about thirty feet in front of him, a boot was laying on its side, bottom to him, in the middle of the road. Approaching slowly, he reached the boot but found nothing else. Glancing around him, he slowly crouched down, his gloved hand gripping it. The leather boot was heavier than Brand had expected, and the reason why was shown to him as it sat itself up - the foot and half the shin was still stuck in it. Standing up slowly, and a little painfully, he paused his march to rummage in his many pockets until he found what he was looking for - a solid block of smelling salt. Pulling the veil down, he took a long whiff before storing it back in the pocket, returning the mask to its spot, and resuming his frantic walk.

As he got closer, he realized that it had gotten quiet again since the first detonation he could only assume was two or three minutes ago. Not only that, but the frequency of gruesome scenes became more and more profuse. Pieces of bloody flesh were everywhere, as well as bone fragments, and someone's intestines were spilled across the road. Stepping carefully over these, a final explosion went off, and he realized just how close he was. This was followed by the first actual voice he had heard during the whole incident - apparently a name, Vincent - followed by more silence. Even the animals had fallen quiet. Something in the back of his head told him it would be a better idea to not get involved, but Brand ignored that voice as Beatrice came down from the sky and perched on his shoulder as the scene in front of him became apparent. Blood was splayed everywhere - in fact, the majority of the area around the boat - a ferry by the looks of it - was coated in the liquid. Body parts and pieces littered the ground, too - and at the edge of the river, various liquids pooled together to make disgusting mixtures of bodily fluids.

And in the center of it all was the one whole person in the entire gathering. A woman, laying face down, covered in blood and other liquids, unmoving. Brand merely glanced at her, however – he was mesmerized with the entire scene of liquids and other mixtures he didn't even think was in the human body. And it struck a chord in his brain that there was so many body parts and so much blood, that there had to have been a large amount of people here. And that meant that this woman was more than likely a murderer.With this in mind, he and turned his attention back to the woman on the ground. She appeared almost sickly, with how skinny she was. Thinking this over, his gaze swept from the girl to the water and back again. Sighing, he removed his gloves - consciously putting them safely in his robes and not dropping them - and stuck his cane in the mud. He then gripped her long red hair as well as her waist. Brand pulled with all his might but succeeded in moving her a little and pulling something in his arm, as well as collapsing himself on the ground next to her. Cursing, he stood up - his robes weren't touched by the gore or dirt or mud - and he decided on a new plan. He signaled for Beatrice to land - she had taken off when he bent to try and pick the woman up - and whispered instructions into her ear. The raven instantly flew off to the west and disappeared on the horizon.

Bringing his mind back to his current work, Brand held his chin between index and thumb of his left hand while mentally debating how to do this. An idea appeared in his head, and, with a sigh, he removed his cane from the muddy froth and leveraged it under the woman's stomach. Pushing down, he turned her over to her back. He looked down at her face - it was covered in blood and other, more disgusting substances - and decided that what he was doing was the nicest way to get information from her. As such, Brand continued with his work, rolling her over and over until she was floating in the shallows. This is where it gets tricky... he thought as he pulled his right robe sleeve up to his shoulder, though he didn't see a point in doing so, before he stopped what he was doing, holding her from drifting by her foot. He looked up to make sure no one was watching before he let out a resigned sigh. With that, he pulled his left robe sleeve up over his fingers and began to scrub the unknown lady's face before giving her a bath.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting next to a fire that had clothes drying over it, as well as a burning bird that actually smelled quite delicious, albeit wasn't even close to being finished. Beatrice sat on his shoulder, staring at the unconscious woman who was laying under a thick woolen blanket – Brand's own, actually – whereas Brand, sitting with his legs crossed, his hands resting on the ground in between his calves and thighs, had his eyes closed, his veiled mouth muttering incantations and prayers to his deity under his breath. He opened his black, dark red flecked eyes at the same time that his mouth stopped moving, his eyes fixated on the solid black, smokeless fire in front of him. He had relocated them a little away from the ferry and the massacre that had taken place, and for his own sanity had purged the ground beforehand, which caused the ground to give off heat of its own, albeit a cooling heat. Brand's eyes looked everywhere but where the lady was laying. He let out a deep sigh and sank his head back, staring up at the sky, wishing he could be anywhere – or, at least, almost anywhere – but here.

[Hymusia]

There was a stillness, a quiet that ran deep beneath the group as they busied about keeping themselves occupied, putting off the truth as long as possible. Like an undercurrent in a perfectly calm looking sea, it was there, just waiting to suck a person under when they got to deep. They had barely spoken about the stranger, or Usha's disappearance. Let alone explained how Annabelle became Usha, what became of the paladin woman, what had happened to Jaelnec before and a hundred other questions that teemed into a person's brain if they took so much as a second to stop their automatic motions and thought about everything. It was enough to make one dizzy, or mad, or perhaps even drive them a little insane. Thaler certainly felt that way at least.

She was sat, rearranging the strips on her uninjured thigh, lining them up and then rearranging them just to keep her fingers busy with something to do. Like a victim of the riptide she was so close to being pulled under and ignoring it wasn't doing half the good it should have done. She'd put a mental wall between her and the incidents of the last half an hour, contemplation, reflection and questions all bottled away. However like a cat begging to be let in she could feel herself giving in. She was so tired, so confused and on top of it all she was now quite defenceless as well. The adrenaline had truly worn off by now and all she was left with was a deeper exhaustion than she had already felt.

Briefly her mind wandered to thoughts of the past, it was hard to believe she was safe and comfortable, sipping bad tea and eating delicious cakes with the shy guard captain of her town not five days ago. It was an odd notion but part of her missed that, the simplicity, the quiet, the unquestionable loyalty. Just a week ago but already sat in her memory like something far off and distant. Years rather than days. When she thought on this she could not help but think of her parents, her mother whose voice was faint and indistinct in her mind and her father, whose voice she could not for the life of her recall. Everything faded in time but it was her grandfathers voice, a man she was hated by, she could recall the clearest.

She was interrupted from further internal strife by Aemoten. He spoke lightly and kindly in a tone she would easily have come to trust had she not learned a long time ago the dangers of trusting every kind word spoken. She listened as best she could as she shut away her thoughts and turned her attention instead to the tasks ahead. As Aemoten listed off what he had bought she reached out blindly with her fingers until she found each item and could closer inspect it the only way she knew how. Two cauldron's, one for the Osier and one for the Chamomile, a bag filled with bandages, a knife, the Osier and more besides. A chopping board; which she moved directly in front of her was the last important item. “Thank you Aemoten.”

Off to the opposite side of the fire it sounded like wood was being gathered, likely for some kind of pyre, it certainly didn't seem to be solely for the camp fire at any rate. Faint mutterings had been perceived at the back of her mind about some kind of burial for the fallen Pennyworth, it made sense. Predators would gather, as would scavengers and no matter how little she knew them she did not like the idea of the man being carrion for the various beasts of this lake. “When...” She paused, hesitant to speak her part for a moment, “You need to rest, once you have done all you feel you need to have done, please rest. We'll be okay while you sleep, but if you break under the strain we'll be lost.”

Aemoten so far had been holding the group together as much as was possible and the strain was starting to show, at least in Thaler's mind. She wondered idly if he had even slept the night before at the clearing by the church. Somehow she got the feeling he hadn't, he seemed to be the ever vigilant protector of this motley crew and their leader. When Jaelnec spoke up nearby he sounded as terrible as she felt, his voice was distant and his feet heavy. She wondered idly if it was an injury, exhaustion or perhaps simply resignation? She hoped that Jaelnec was alright, but he sound in need of relaxation and rest as much as any other here was.

As he neared she hit on something that she thought might have made a difference to his mood, her cheeks coloured in the memory of how she'd grabbed hold of him, her chest to his back. How he'd woken up in her lap after passing out from whatever the 'avatar' in him had been. He was Annabelle's -or was is Usha's now?- lover and some unknown street rat had clung to him like she had some claim on his actions. She'd never acted in such an insulting and indecent manner before and Jaelnec seemed one that respected personal space and self-control. “Foremost I'd like to apologise for my earlier behaviour. It was unacceptable of me to act the way I did. I just...” She wasn't even sure herself what she'd hoped to achieve with her actions. Her blindness had only made things worse in this fight, nor had staying put helped anyone in any manner at all. At the time she simply didn't want Jaelnec hurt, he'd taken such a mental beating already, not to mention his physical wounds and aches despite the Paladin's aid.

“Second I'd like to ask you first and foremost to go and take a bath if you haven't already?” She was almost certain he hadn't, despite her fondest hopes for it to be nothing but mud on his chest earlier the smell had told a different story. “You deserve some personal time, don't worry about this.” She gestured weakly to the fire place and the group in general. “Until after you're a little more refreshed. Then, if its okay, I have something I'd like to ask of you.” For the sake of the emotionally beaten man she managed a small, insecure smile. She certainly wasn't a typical beauty by any standards, but her smile held an innocence and gentleness that seemed to seep into the rest of her face.

“Olan?” She hoped the older nightwalker had not already wandered off in search of the things she had asked for, “Since Aemoten bought most of what I need could you go and see if that was indeed camomile that he spotted? If I remember rightly mother said camomile is a white petalled flower, like a big daisy, with a yellow centre.” She paused to fumble with one of the scraps of fabric on her leg and offer it up, she didn't know where he was, so offered it straight up above her own head for him to take if he so chose to accept. “If you can fill this with as many camomile flower heads as you can, then tied the corners together to make sure none fall out, please?”

Assuming he did indeed take it she turned her attention to Aemoten's bag, carefully fumbling with the ties that closed it so she might rummage inside. Her hands retreated quickly, one gripping the other, more specifically the index finger of her right hand. “Son of a tark!” She exclaimed, wincing lightly as the pain; minor compared to the earlier wounds inflicted by the goblins, shot through her finger and throbbed up her arm. A thin line of pink appeared on her finger before blood welled to the surface and spilled freely down the slender digit. She'd found the knife and confirmed it was sharp all in one motion, however she did not stop to appreciate that, instead she grabbed another scrap of cloth and wrapped it around her fingertip. Squeezing it hard for a good thirty seconds in hopes of stemming the blood flow.

Loosening her grip and carefully peeling the blooded cloth away she waited a moment and then, very carefully, using her left hand, she reached into the bag and found the knife's handle. Her right; with index finger kept straight and still, found what felt like tree bark, which she figured must have been the Osier. Bunching the bark together as best she could and pinning it to the chopping board with her thumb marking out where she ought to cut. Carefully the left hand bought the blade down, so the flat of it passed harmlessly across the skin of her thumb. Once the bark was cut through she moved her thumb back a half inch and repeated the motion, continuing this process -and getting a little faster each time- until the bark was cut into smaller strips. Which she gathered together and placed in another of the cloth strips, tying each corner in a not so the bark wouldn't escape it's little bundle.

Reaching out with her free hand she found the smaller of the two cauldron's and placed the Osier parcel into it. For a moment wondering how they were going to heat the two pots. Surely they couldn't simply stick the cauldron's over the hot wood and hope the fire wasn't smothered. It was their only source of light and heat, while she didn't need the former she certainly needed the latter. Caught in thought she didn't notice as her index finger oozed a little, weeping a single tear of thick crimson down across her fingertip and off her nail. Worrying her lip for a moment before she finally spoke up. “Natyr? Do you think you could construct something for the cauldron's to hang from while they heat? I'm slightly uncertain about putting them directly on the fire.” Not to mention the possibility of her accidentally burning herself when she put it into the fire or tried to bring it out.

While she awaited any kind of answer she continued to work. All but four of the strips of cloth were deposited into the Osier treatment cauldron, so that once it was heated and infused with the properties of the bark they would become sterilised themselves. She just had to make sure she remembered which was which so she didn't end up serving people the medicine and putting tea on Olan's face. The remainder of the four strips were put to good use, but not before she dabbed once again at her bleeding finger tip with the cloth she'd already sued and slipped out of the way so as not to confuse it with the clean ones.

With care she reached for Roct's handle and bout the blade so it was laying with the handle against her lap. One of the remaining strips was dunked in what was to be the chamomile pot and wrung out, ever so slightly in the grass. The wet cloth was used to wipe down the flat edges of the sword, she was careful, almost tentative with her work, cleaning across the width of the blade as well as moving down. When she had -as far as she knew- covered everything from hilt to tip she turned it over carefully and repeated the gesture on the other side of the blade. This wet; and likely grimy, cloth was placed by her right knee and she took another clean cloth with which she began to dry and buff the metal with. Working in small neat circles to remove the moisture and at the same time giving it a natural polish as she did so.

When the blade was done it was carefully moved to her left side and laid flat against the ground parallel to her legs. One of the remaining two clean strips were taken and this one was wet, then wrung out on the grass just as the last wet strip had been. Taking the handle of her own sword she once again commenced cleaning metal with all the attention and devotion a paladin might show their armour in the quiet times after a battle. She had to keep busy, so as to keep her mind off the recent events, so as not to simply crash out and fall asleep sitting up as she was certain she was going to as soon as she stopped for even a moment. By now she had stopped her humming, her throat raw and dry from not only the screaming but the vast amount of talking she had done over the last few hours. It, along with the dull throbbing pain of the insignificant thigh wound -which had already start to coagulate but due to the mess the blood had initially made, looked far worse than it was- was pushed to the back of her mind, something else to think about after Olan was taken care of.

[xbriannova]

As Usha was tipping into unconsciousness, the world seemed muffled from her ears; all she could make out was "beautiful". When Lu spoke, she could barely make out what he said, as she was tipping towards him- she couldn't even read his lips, for her eyes were blurred. When she fell forward, towards him, the man caught him in his arms, as if a caring lover- in her fleeting thoughts, it felt good to her. She could barely feel his powerful hands and fingers as he gripped her arms, and she could not feel the back of her head when he gently laid her down on his thigh. The only thing she could feel was the coldness of his thigh, and the cold, relatively soft ground against her naked, black body. It felt good, comfortable despite the circumstances- perhaps it was a better circumstance than previously, now that she was lying down, enjoying the care of a handsome, exotic warrior.

As Usha settled down in her new position, she felt like letting go, of letting herself fall unconscious, or asleep, or perhaps somewhere in between- however it works. She felt like submitting to her exhaustion and bodily aches, to her drained mental faculties, but she had to squeeze what little she had left when she could hear through the muffled voice a few things, just so that she would hear more of it; the dedicated paladin in her, whatever left of her that was left, held on. Her eyes closed, but she fought to keep awake, "We- food- drink-" Usha could make out Lu speaking, and Draigen returning the speech.

"She- immortal blood-"

"...will need little- hardly- an hour's sleep- Once her- awakens- perhaps- won't need-" As Usha listened on, she tried to move, to sit up again, to participate, but she couldn't. She felt completely paralysed, paralysed from horn to hooves by residual pain and being completely drained. She managed to stir a little, move her head, get a bearing in the stormy sea that was her spinning head.

"Why- doing this-? Why- doing this-, anima-?"

"Don't-trust-?" As she listened, her mind returned involuntarily to what happened before her monstrous transformation, all the way to the beginning. Images flashed before her mind's eye- She remembers mostly Jaelnec, how she tried repeatedly to warn him against keeping the company he callously welcomed, how she tried to advise him, how she tried to get close to him, to protect him, only to fail time and again. She remembered what the avatar had said, that she had destroyed what patience he had with herself- she remembered how Jaelnec at the end gave up on her. It stung hard, harder than the ache in her muscles, harder than the pulsing, tingling pain on the inside of her. It occurred to her passive mind that it was as though she was warning him against herself- it stung her heart like no other; a sword stronger than any.

"..."

"It- plan-"

"For- plan- not part-"

"This- not part- plan-"

"... important-"

"Of- otherwise- not- risked involving-"

"Last chance- anything else- need- leave-?" At this, Usha could not help but to stir again- her eyes flipping half open before shutting back up again from how heavy it felt. Her throat felt dry, burnt as ironic as it was, likely from when she threw up her guts literally and figuratively. She opened her mouth painfully, tried to speak.

"Jaelnec... Please tell... Jaelnec... Everything... That I'm... Sorry." The three-fourth demoness could only manage a whisper that only Lu could hear, assuming that Draigen was not hiding the ability to hear even a tiny wooden pin drop, "Jaelnec... I'm so sorry... Jaelnec... Please tell..."

[Shienvien]

The Nightwalker Aemoten was watching stopped his restless pacing and turned to look - not at him, but the woman seated next to him. - It would have been hard to tell with the Nightwalker's uniformly black eyes, but the hand which the younger man used to shield his eyes from the fire could not but have removed the Sekalyn from the knees up from the other's field of vision. Beside him, the foreigner could hear - and just barely detect the motion of in the corner of his eye - the Daywalker inspecting the things he had brought and shifting those about, finally thanking him. It seemed that she wanted to ask something more of him, but stopped hesitantly, instead asking him to rest and sleep, attempting to reassure him that they would be fine.
Physically, Aemoten did need rest, that was obvious without speaking. His body demanded no less than the opportunity to collapse somewhere and not move a muscle for an undetermined amount of time, his mind felt sluggish and longed for a break after being forced to function past the point of dead-tiredness each time yet another problem in need of analyzing presented itself or he had to think up a coherent plan. He had not slept properly since the day spent in Gerald's manor, and that had been only because he had lodged the door shut and thus rendered it unopenable, confident that he would wake before someone managed to break it down. It had been before he found out who 'Annabelle' truly was, but even then he had been considering her an immense threat. By then she had already tried to kill Zacharias in public and him in secrecy, threatened three others with similar, had made Jaelnec drop limply to the ground without a prior warning...
After that night... He had not slept at all the night after departing from the manor's site, and had barely slept half a night back in Schaxathris, and that only because he had been too tired to think or stand, a watch had been set out, and Usha was drained from her latest experience and unconscious... It showed on his physical self, the exhaustion. The fact that the excessive use of his god-given powers had started to affect his appearance and drawn his facial lines out even sharper than those had been not a week ago probably further served to underline the toll of the past few days.
"...but if you break under the strain we'll be lost," had been the Daywalker's last words. Was it true? Aemoten had been doing what he could, but yet Brian was dead, Immanuel was as good as dead... The Sekalyn had been the last to see Immanuel as Immanuel, and not a soulless. Although, he somehow now recalled... The soulless' eyes had been blue. Immanuel's eyes before that had been darker, perhaps reddish-brown. He had noticed that Immanuel's eyes were a different color already in the church, when he stopped the bleeding of the man's wounds and told him to return to the camp, but he had not paid too much mind to it, since he had been too worried over what would happen once Jaelnec comes to face Usha in the tunnels beneath the once-holy structure. But yet, it had still been Immanuel there - he would have noticed if the other man was no longer anything above an empty shell, like he immediately was able to when he saw what was left of Immanuel the next time... Aemoten pushed those thoughts aside for the time being. It was the past. There now was a soulless instead of Immanuel. Pondering over it would lead nowhere, especially now, with his body being weary and his mind worn.
The human warrior could not truly be at peace as long as the near-demon lived. He had already failed his silent oath of not letting the three-quarter-demon kill anyone, in mind of body ... but another question was, what would have happened if he had not been present at all? Would the soulless have managed to actually kill another of the rest, if not all of them? Would the Crusader-archers have turned both Jaelnec and the inept paladin into pincushions for the latter's lack of tactical sense? Would the few dozen goblins he had killed been sufficient to overwhelm the group? Would the vampires have ended Jaelnec, Thaler, Olan's bodyguard? Would Usha have sent the other Pennyworthy to his death the same and made Jaelnec kill everyone else who dared confront her?
Aemoten sighed, silently repeating over in his mind what constituted for an old knowledge. Victory in war was always bitter... When had he ceased to be a human man altogether and remained solely the warrior? It was true that being a Sekalyn and a warrior was as great a part of him as any other, but it was not the one and only. The warrior was who was supposed to stand forever vigilant, to remain unbiased in actions - Usha as 'Annabelle' had committed crimes and done all she could to anger him, but yet he had saved her at the cost of his own wellbeing, twice - and do what had to be done to defend the others.
The man had not been given the right to say anything. The human had been terrified the entire time the near-demon was around, and was not at ease now.

Jaelnec finally looked up at him, only to let his head drop forward again immediately after, with him seemingly attempting to make himself physically smaller. It drew the contrasts out even clearer - Aemoten, though visibly suffering from physical exhaustion, stood straight, and was a quarter of a foot taller than the Nightwalker to begin with. Albeit the extensive bruise over his left cheekbone still marred his face, and several smaller ones marked his neck, the dirt and blood from earlier was gone from the foreigner's visage, the only remaining hint of it ever having been there being the fact that his hair was still damp with the pond's water; the Nightwalker still bore everything which had stuck to him, most notably what the fight against the goblins had brought along. The younger man's clothes had been reduced to ill-fitting rags, the older warrior's garments - though he was now barefoot and two of the sheathes on his belt were empty - were intact.
The Nightwalker said nothing to him, only muttered something about helping if he could to Thaler, unenthusiastically moving himself closer.
Aemoten finally averted his eyes, seemingly looking above and into the distance. The questioning-uncertain expression slowly faded into a more thoughtful, and, for some reason, almost tormented one. He was idly listening to Thaler speaking, but did not seem to be doing anything else.
The avatar had, in the end, said something about doing Jaelnec a favor by doing what the Nightwalker himself cannot, killing Usha and sparing him from the pain of... The entity who used Jaelnec's body as her avatar had never gotten the chance to finish, but for some reason that sentence seemed important, perhaps in combination with something which had been said before that. What else had the avatar said besides what he recalled clearly, and what did not seem related? It had to be something crucial, else his mind would not have picked it out, but since the thought had remained incomplete, he could not put a finger on its significance. It was the same feeling as had been back in Borstown, though the cause was different. In case of Borstown, it had clicked into place, but too late - when there was nothing he could do about it anymore.
Aemoten's tired mind refused to cooperate, and finally he simply gave up on it, turning his attention back to the remaining members of the group.

"Yes, like daisies, but smaller, not bigger," he halfheartedly commented on Thaler's instructions to Olan, then turning his head and halfway his body, reaching out an arm and loosely pointing out a direction with his hand, "around there, those plants I spotted and suspect are chamomile." To Aemoten, chamomile admittedly looked like almost any fairly plain white flower, so he could not be entirely certain having merely sent a brief glance at the plants while walking past those. The smell, if one knew it, was however quite unmistakable.
Thaler beside him had meanwhile found a knife, as her sudden exclamation announced to the world - the paladin's, since his own three were properly wrapped away to prevent those cutting any holes into his other things. The blind woman did not seem too bothered by the slight incident, since she brought out the bundle of osier-strips (with a single strip tied around the middles of the rest to hold those together) and resumed her preparations soon after.
The next the foreigner reacted was when Thaler asked about constructing something to hold the cauldrons over the fire. - Natyr had, after adding what looked to be half of a dead tree into the growing pile of wood for the pyre, removing his armor and doing something with the cuts in his side, disappeared off again; the cat-man's other task was still incomplete and the Melenian himself absent from the scene.
"Natyr is away, but setting the cauldrons over the fire should be easy enough... I'll find something."
With that he moved, first making an effort to find two sufficiently sturdy Y-shaped branch-sections, then hesitating for a moment, and finally picking up the paladin's abandoned longsword. A fresh branch would have withstood being over the flames, too, but metal was even less likely to burn and the sword was long enough to reach over the fire. As he was already moving about, he picked up the sapling he had harvested earlier and gathered as much of the scattered equipment of a paladin of Liya left behind of the near-demon he could carry before he returned to the campfire's side, dropping the things onto the ground next to it.
The Y-shaped branches were pressed into ground next to the campfire, one on each side, the longsword was roughly cleaned and then set across the flames, hilt supported by the forking of one branch, the tip resting on that of the other. From there on it was easy enough to simply hang the cauldrons from the sword.
Aemoten himself took seat next to Thaler, having picked out one of the daggers which had formerly belonged to the paladin, and pulled closer the third remaining wooden object, starting to remove its bark without even truly looking at what his hands were doing.

"I can't rest. Not yet." His mind would likely defy his tired body and itself and keep him awake even if he tried to sleep. "The three-quarter-demon's show of power might have attracted unwanted attention, and I do not think I can be fully at peace again as long as she still roams upon Reniam. - Usha is the same individual as Annabelle was before the reversion destroyed her, but they are not the same person. They act and think differently, but both share the same nature - one which inevitably turns her as evil as any fullblood demon with the passing of time, and four fifths to it have already been covered."
There was a short pause.
"Usha is powerful. She can create and control fire, manipulate armor and arms - make your own weapon disobey you or your clothes crush you if she wishes - and worst of all, she has power over minds. You heard what she did with Louis... She can also cause pain and numbness, put thoughts into your head you do not know are not yours... Lastly, she can alter her appearance, voice, personality - the next time she appears, she might be a deigan man instead."
There was another short pause.
"You have the right to know, you all do - it is highly probable she will try to return to us.... I can only hope she won't manage to do too much harm before she is stopped - by us or others -, to anyone unfortunate enough to happen across her path. I might try to find out where she is tomorrow... I can't think of where she would want to go besides making an appearance near us, outside of perhaps attempting to return to Annabelle's family. - In that case, I can only mourn the man who married a paladin of Liya, and not a three-quarter-devil of Lust, and the paladin's daughter and son, who, although they are not entirely free of demonic blood, might still become good people if not confronted by the being that once was their mother. Even regular demonspawn have the choice not to become evil, should they only refrain from using their powers, but Usha... Usha never did. Her mostly-demonic blood decided her fate from the beginning, and now she has entered the last stage of becoming what she was born to be."
The next pause was longer.
"We should set up watch, as I said, because of Usha and any other potential threats -" he mainly had the soulless in mind, since this had promised to return, but there might be other, still-unknown things about "- preferably at least two people at once, since two at once would be harder to seize control of," Aemoten finally said, tiredly. "If Louis recovers, there would be six of us - three shifts?"
The human warrior sighed, his hands briefly stopping in their motions as he turned to look at Thaler. There was a shallow cut across her lower thigh, one that he had not noticed earlier - probably simply because the 'coat' he had lent her was long enough to cover her legs up to mid-calves - actually to the upper edges of her boots - when it hung straight, as it had when she was standing. Now that she had sat down a bit uncaringly, it was partially bunched up under her and had left only the shirt to cover her legs - and that only reached to mid-thigh.
"You are right. We ought to try to recover as much as we can - and then move on. This group was formed in the name of another quest, that of ending the Withering. In the face of that and all the many things we seem to keep coming across it is even hard to remain ourselves, let along anything else." His hands resumed their motions. "...You were injured during the fight?" How and when, Aemoten did not know. Thaler had not engaged the near-demon, and he could only guess what had ensued farther away from the fight.

[Dark Jack]

Lu's brow furrowed anew as he looked down at the obviously faltering inhuman woman in his lap, listening to her whispering, and dimly wondering at how this woman with so much demon blood in her veins and so much infernal energy in her soul, could possibly prioritize the way Usha did. Even when she had just gone through whatever traumatic experience that had damaged her body so, and even weakened after her injuries and likely still groggy from the pain she had suffered... the only thing she could think to ask of Draigen was to apologize to someone for her? She was a curious creature indeed, Lu's favorite kind, the ones that seemed even more unusual than himself. He would be delighted to learn more about her... and perhaps even let her learn more about him. Who knows, perhaps because of her own nature, she would not shun him because of who he was - of what he was? Or perhaps she would fear him more than most?
But even as he thought this, part of his mind could not help but wonder what kind of relationship Usha could have had with the man she apparently desperately needed to apologize to. Who was he to her? A comrade? A friend? A lover? Lu shivered slightly, once more becoming acutely aware of this aura of temptation that surrounded Usha, drawing him to her, and likely anyone else as well. Well... I am not so easy to manipulate. If she wants to play, I will be delighted to indulge in a game or two with her. And with such an alluring prize... my, who could resist?

Smiling, Lu looked up from Usha and faced Draigen once more, only for his smile to falter as he felt pretty sure that his masked friend had come several feet closer to them, even though he had detected no movement. He knows better than to squander his powers on such mundane things as eavesdropping... doesn't he?
"Well, there you have it, amissa anima," Lu said with a gesture towards the woman in his lap. "Even now, all she can think to ask for is apparently for us to apologize to Jaelnec for her. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'd say that is the most verus - sincere request that's ever been addressed to you."
"I am not a deity," Draigen replied tartly. "I do not listen to prayers, and I do not grant help based on how sincere the request is."
Again, the dark-skinned warrior furrowed his brow. "So you won't do it? The only thing she asked for?"
"It's not the only thing. She wanted me to stay and fix her injuries -"
"Ineptias!" Lu exclaimed, starting to get angry with the other. "You didn't summon me because she asked you to, you did it because you wanted to. If you wanted, you could have granted that request in a hundred different ways, yet you chose to call me here. It doesn't count."
There was a pause, and Lu actually thought he could see Draigen's body grow tense. "Regardless, I cannot help her with that. I have already shown myself to those people once, I will not do so again. It is too risky, it endangers the entirety of the plan."
"So you're just going to leave? Just like that?" Now Lu actually was angry.
"Yes." And indeed, just like that, Draigen was gone.

With a sigh, Lu gently moved Usha's head off his thigh and went to fetch the bedrolls to flatten them on the ground, after which he would carry Usha to one of them and then lie down on the other himself. It seemed that this was as much as they would get out of this night... everything else would have to wait. Lu could do that - he had done a lot of waiting in his time. What difference would a few more hours make?

---

The situation somehow felt rather unreal to Jaelnec - like the scene before him did not fit with the way it should be in his head. All he could do after hearing Thaler reply to his agreement to helping her and the rest with whatever needed to be done was to stare blankly at the ground in front of him. One could not even claim that he was simply lost in thought, because at that moment, the Nightwalker had absolutely no idea what his mind was occupied with. It was as if his brain just shut down completely, still receiving input from his senses but with all thought-processes having stopped. Logic told him that he had to be thinking something, but he could not seem to figure out what. He just stood there, as if paralyzed, until Thaler fell silent upon giving Olan some further instructions, and Jaelnec's older kinsman pseudo-dancing his way over to where Aemoten had indicated.
Only then did Jaelnec feel his brain begin to work again - or perhaps just slowing down to speeds where he could actually comprehend what he himself was thinking - and only then did he feel the pain inside of him, and knew what had caused it. So much bad had happened today... it seemed like a nightmare that just would not end. He would almost have preferred to return to the coiling desert of his dream, to endure the storm, the fierce eyes in the sky and the constant disdain of the disembodied voices there, rather than face this.

It took a moment longer for Jaelnec's mind to catch up with events completely - or to arrange all the things it had figured out while working faster than he could follow, whatever was the case - by the time of which he took the last few steps towards Thaler, coming to stand right by her by the time she had spoken her request to Natyr for the construction of something to hold the cauldron in place over the fire, and Aemoten had replied and gone off to work on that. In a way, Jaelnec was grateful for that - he was not sure if he would ever allow himself to open up around the southerner again, not after what had happened today.
"Thaler," he said, an odd unexpected kind of emphasis on her name, and it only occurred to the squire afterwards that he sounded like he was reprimanding her. Even as far into the marsh of melancholy he had delved, and even as absolutely useless as he thought himself, he apparently still thought he had the right to lecture others. "Don't you dare apologize for something like that again. Right now, your comfort at that time is just about the only good thing left. Please, don't turn that into a bad thing too..." He paused awkwardly. "And... thank you for doing it. It means a lot to me. More than you realize." That much was definitely true, from what he figured. Right about now, Thaler's kindness was probably the only glue left keeping his mind from falling apart entirely and crumbling into a chaotic mess of insanity.

[Player2]

When next Natyr exited the woods, it seemed everyone had shifted and moved about. Thaler was busy chunking up something or other in a cauldron, and it looked like a support for whatever she planned on cooking had been set up using a longsword. Meanwhile, a short ways away, the pile of timber that Natyr had gathered had become large enough to burn through most the night, and probably still be smoking coals by morning. He deposited his current load of wood, then took a moment to stretch before moving to the fire with the others, just as Aemoten was wrapping up his speech. Seemed watches were to be set. Something Natyr heartily approved of. "I'll take first or last with whoever else," he volunteered, striding up alongside Jaelnec.

The Melenian didn't bother to sit yet. He knew there was still a bit of work left to do. He cast his gaze to the form of Louis, taking in a breath as he did. "Woods gathered, how's the boy?" Natyr asked, turning his gaze back towards Aemoten, as he'd guessed the warrior was the last to tend to him. It seemed everyone else had occupied themselves with other tasks. His eyes bounced to Jaelnec, watching the Night-walker offer his thanks to his half-kin. At least one of the two seemed back to normal. Normal as normal could be for this group anyways. He crossed his arms, his eyes now roaming to the fire. It's a good way to rest his mind reassured him, briefly reminding him of those the Melenian had been unable to bury or offer some sort of peace to the corpse. It was far preferable to being torn apart and gobbled up by goblins at least, that much was sure. Natyr cleared his throat. "Just let me know when," he stated with a nod, turning and wandering over to his gear to see it properly tended to for the night.

While the leather armor was thoroughly beaten, battered and now had two holes in it, the Melenian preferred the little protection if offered over none at all. He slowly pulled on the armor, taking care not to let it tug upon his stitches. It was mildly uncomfortable around the wounds, but again, protection. And if the horned demon lady showed up again, he wanted all he could get. Next was the bow. He ran his fingers along the length of it, noting every knick and scratch it had incurred in it's long life, and his mind attempting to find the reason for each. A good many more had appeared after the encounter with the goblin horde. It made him wonder just how many years the weapon had left in it. When he'd first gotten it, he was sure the thing would outlive even him with how durable the thing was. Remembering it's bright, polished form when he'd first swiped it brought a frown to Natyr's face. It saddened him how much his friend had been worn down over the years, with it's glistening white having been corrupted by just the slightest hint of grey. Natyr gave the string a quick twang, leaving the bow strung for the time being, but still wrapped it lightly in cloth. Speaking of the cloth, it seemed he'd need to replace that as well after the goblins. He sighed. First his skins, then all his gear. This was turning into quite the costly venture. He shook his head while making sure all that he dropped was once again on his person, then made back for the warmth of the fire, taking a seat on the ground and resting his eyes until he was needed once more.

[xbriannova]

As Lu and Draigen continued in their discourse, Usha was unable to keep herself awake. She trailed slowly into sleep as she gave ground to her exhaustion and continued to mutter about Jaelnec and apologizing to him until she gave out entirely and fell asleep, not knowing that Draigen had decided not to pass the message along to the nightwalker, her former leader. Had she been awake, she would have been disappointed. She would have been given something to worry about for the next few days, weeks, months or years even- that someone out there, or a few, had a rather evil impression of her, though of course, if they attempt to spread their knowledge they would likely be taken for fools at best and criminals at worst guilty of slandering; their backgrounds would certainly not lend any credibility to their story.

After Usha fell asleep, Lu had put her on a makeshift bed. She was not conscious of it, but her body subconsciously accepted it, and she shifted to lie on her side to get more comfortable. Unconsciously, she tucked her legs to her chest in a foetal position- she was, afterall, insecure in her heart to say the least, though who would blame her? She had endured madness and hellish pain, fought nearly to the death with former comrades, and before that she had endured the misgivings of her comrades. Her armour, although skin-tight and uncomfortable looking in her current activity (that was sleep), was actually more comfortable than any armour used for her body knows to forge armour in a way that suits it the most- it was lined with cloth and leather underneath, taken from what remained of Annabelle's uniform. Even if it was uncomfortable, her exhaustion and sleep would allow her to forgo the thought and feeling of it, at least until morning.

As the three-fourths demoness slept, her brutalised mind kept replaying the fateful day of her transformation- the pain, insanity, chaos, tiredness, torment, the battle, betrayal, mercilessness. In her nightmare, she fought Aemoten once again- he wielding his sword, naked as he was due to her attempting to squeeze the life out of him with his own clothes, while she was, departing from reality, fully transformed, completely naked herself except for the armour she wore on her limbs and helmet; two short swords, transformed from the gleaming steel they used to be made of into a pair of black implements full of eroticised engravings. They fought as rain poured as if from a vast river in the sky, circling each other, dancing the dance of crimson and death. At first, Usha had the upperhand. She was able to land a few cuts, breaking the exposed skin of his body, before moving to deliver a faux attack overhead that seemed to strike at his skull, only for her less dominant hand to stab its sword into his right kidney. He fell backwards, and she withdrew for some reason, rather than to deliver a killing blow. Mercy?

After whispering a few prayers, Aemoten was fine again, and the fight resumed- he seemed quite sane at first, but after getting back up again, he displayed almost primal aggression, insanity like nothing she had seen before, and soon she was on the defensive. His blows were heavy, forcing Usha back everytime, impacting her limbs such that they were slowed and tiring. A horizontal slice followed by a bottom-up which she defended with a cross-block, before he moved on to an overhead, and despite the tough durability of her swords, they broke, shocking Usha for she never expected it- before she knew what to do, another overhead slice was delivered at her, and this she blocked by forming an X with her heavily-plated arms. A kick knocked her back, off her feet- it was her turn to lie on the muddy ground, the ember-like glow of her shoulders contrasting to dark earth beneath their feet, "Aemoten..." She whispered to him, hoping for quarter, hoping for parley.

Behind Aemoten, Usha could see Jaelnec with his coat and hat, just standing there, watching, his face unflinchingly emotionless amidst the thunder and lightning. She shouted for his help, but he stood like a statue, unflinching. As Aemoten moved to stab her in the chest, Usha waited for compromise to the last second, but as he got close, clearly showing no signs of mercy, she lifted her right hand and conjured a stream of fire at him... Which did nothing. The feeling of his sword penetrating right through her chest was vivid, almost too real- it was a dream, yet it felt like an actual wound.

Then... Silence. The world became a complete void, yet she continued to lie there, paralysed by the grievous wound. Someone or something walked towards her, pushed his face right close to hers- for some reason, she could see the outline of him- he was wearing a cloak like Draigen. He moved to unveil it- only to reveal a black, writhing mess of little tentacles, disgusting and yet, strangely, not completely so- As Usha stared at it as her dream persona, she even lifted her head to kiss it- with the blackness spreading to her as she withdrew, tentacles sprouting from her skin, covering it. It spread from her face at a steady pace, down her neck to her chest and back, to her wings and arms, legs, even into her every orifice. It was painful, uncomfortable, strange- she screamed.

Back in the waking world, Usha's eyes flipped open, and she sat up immediately, suddenly alert after having the strange, vivid nightmare. She looked around hastily, trying to spot movement, enemies, anything. It was only after she was doubly certain that she could breathe a sigh of relieve, start catching her breath- for some reason, she was panting- she had screamed in her sleep. Her eyes fell upon Lu, after realising that the sun was rising...

[Hymusia]

Her attention was undivided, focused on her tasks and setting the others to help her fulfil her tasks. She after all was not capable of building much of anything, even playing with blocks as a child had been a time consuming effort that had little in the way of result. The able bodied men who had little to think on other than their own grievances against the deceitful demon and their current situation were put to work and for now the tension in the group had dissolved. It had not yet occurred to her; and likely wouldn't for quite some time, that she had taken charge of this motley crew and moved them with effective ease, working almost like a unit rather than a rabble. She was no leader of men and had no intention or design to be so, but she was motivated and that was plenty scary enough.

It was motivation that had got her this far in life, ever since she was a child. After all it would have been far easier to avoid all the bumps, scraps and accidents. All the burns, cuts and bruises, all the torment and mind numbing failure in her early years and throw herself instead on the mercy of her relatives and then later on the mercy of the state. However she wanted independence, she wanted a mercy and kindness the duchy's she knew of would not show to a blind girl of such heritage. Perhaps more so than her magic her determination was her true power.

It was because of this all consuming concentration that she was so startled when Jaelnec spoke nearby her. Luckily by this point she had already put the knife down and wrapped the Osier bundle, but it did not stop her jumping from her skin slightly in a sudden flurry of nerves. She had assumed he would go off and see to his hygiene, something he whole-heartedly deserved; and needed, and while her mind reeled at the knowledge of his presence it failed to notice is chiding tone behind the calling of her name. Meekly she brushed her hands off on her thigh; wincing a little as she caught the wound, and turning her face towards the sound of the man's voice. “Yes?”

He spoke quietly in a tone she could not recognise but his words were moving in the simple fact they were so honest. When he was done with lecturing her she was wholly still and quiet for a good few moments. Her tired mind taking a few moments to interpret the words for what they were and not immediately set to defence. Offering a faint smile she uttered, “Well...you are welcome then. I will say no more of it.” She reached out briefly to where she thought he was, hoping to find his hand but quite sure she wouldn't. “Now, go and bathe, you need it, in more ways than one.” Despite her tiredness she somehow managed to inject a small amount of joviality to her tone. “When you return I will have tea waiting for you and we can, if you wish to, talk a while.”

Had she; by some intervention or otherwise, found his hand she released it after a brief, reassuring squeeze. His simple validation of an all but instinctual act of kindness on her part was enough to steel her heart and calm her nerves. He was not angry with her, perhaps even the opposite, and it felt good knowing he valued that moment from her. She had never truly received the validation she sought after time and again in er grandfather, rarely in her mother. In fact the last time she had felt so a part of something was while her father still lived so many years ago. She waited then to see if Jaelnec had anything further to say before he departed; if he did at all of course, her milky eyes like two small moons turned up at him from the warmth of the fire.

Filling the void was the sound of wood hitting wood and the crackle of fire, and then Aemoten was there. Her attention drifted from Jaelnec to the foreigner instead, him taking up the slack as if the rest of the group needed the break. He truly worked quite hard and honestly; from what she had known of him so far, and she wondered if the poor man ever truly rested even in times of peace. Despite herself she had thoughts of inviting the group to her humble abode some time after this insane quest ended for tea and scones. As if such a fanciful thing would ever happen, while it felt nostalgic almost it was a vain dream. Some, if not all of them would die under such a heavy, weight quest, and even if they did not they likely would bare the mental scars for the rest of their lives even if they succeed.

Shaking her head lightly with a half laugh on her lips as the memory faded and crumbled like crumbs from a loaf of bread. Her attention returning to the foreigner after the movement of the cauldrons and she listened quietly, it seemed Aemoten was feeding her the information she was missing, helping her build a picture of what was happening so she might better view what had happened. She didn't interrupt him, even during his pauses she remained quiet and attentive. This was after all important information, information that -unknown to Aemoten perhaps- would decide whether she stayed or left once they eventually found their way to Zerul.

When finally he too was done speaking she was once more dropped into an ocean of silence and thought. Her mind catching up with all that had been said, processing the words until they made sense and stuck in a way she was happy with. It was a long moment of silence, her hands having nothing left to do after the cleaning of the weapons. Usha sounded dangerous, very dangerous, and no matter who she was before she likely was not her any longer. She had to die the next they saw her, whatever the cost might be. To have something that powerful, that...predisposed towards evil was not something that they could let live without guilt.

“I...see.” Was all she managed after such a stretch of time, the information was a lot to take in, here they had a creature with what; to Thaler at least, appeared to be the powers of a god or higher plane dweller at the very least. It made more sense now to her why Aemoten had seemed to so rarely rest, why he was desperate to remain awake and alert. The idea of Usha sneaking up on them in the guise of someone else, maybe even one of the group, sent shivers up and down her spine. Enough in fact to make her rub at her arms which suddenly felt very cold with such a weighty knowledge. “However.” She finally stated, “However I do not think it wise to try and find her, especially on your own. If she has the power you say she does she will likely turn it against you and you may be quickly over whelmed. If we intend to bring an end to this poor creature, it would be better to do it together, as a group, or to find a new team to help dispatch her. One might be quickly overwhelmed but many would make light work of the task.”

It felt cold talking about Annabelle in such a way, however she had never truly known the woman as anything but an antagonistic nuisance hellbent on destroying any bonds that formed between the group in any direction. Be it between Aemoten and Jalenec, herself and either of the former men or even them with her. She already viewed her as a demon before she revealed herself to be one, so now she felt little sympathy for the once human and much more anger and pity for the remainder of the creature. Her life would not be an easy one now she had revealed her true colours, and to think she likened me to a demon! Ha, hypocritical tarke. for Thaler, while not rich nor well known had her own sets of contacts and her own wellspring of information to draw upon when she needed it.

Her thoughts though returned to the conversation at hand. “Then I suggest Olan and myself for the first watch. I will need to keep him awake for a while at least to be sure he is not concussed or otherwise damaged from the demon's attack.” The original quest was told once more and once again she thought it nothing but a child's dream. The Withering ravaged the land, killed many in their thousands, there were many groups searching for the cure but none held out hope -in their heart of hearts- that they would find it. Still these people were gathered together, bound by a strange string of fate and she was now part of that intricate web to. “It is a far more important mission than searching out even a heinous abomination as Usha.” She stated quietly, her hands fiddling with the dirtied cloths, just for something to do.

Then her leg was bought up, and she shifted uncomfortable a moment, wondering whether there was a point or need to pull down the shirt and once more recover a little dignity. Her hand instinctively went to the wound, her fingers trying; and failing, to hide the mark behind a cage formed by them. The skin tender to the touch but no more painful than a gnat sting now that it had stopped bleeding. “Oh, no. I dropped that weapon; I presume it's Jaelnec's, during the fight. A wave of weakness over came me and I could no longer hold the hilt. It must have caught as it fell.” She furrowed her brow a moment then rolled a shoulder lightly. “It is nothing, in truth it doesn't even hurt any more. Certainly not something you need to worry over.”

[Dark Jack]

Jaelnec listened to Thaler as she replied and, strangely, reached out to take her hand when she seem to try to find his. Although her words alone seemed neutral, her tone was priceless to the terribly melancholic man. Through all his mistakes, all his weakness, all his foolishness and even finally through his betrayal, this one person still seemed to have a positive disposition towards him. Once more, her words from back when he had awoken to the terrible reality of what had happened to Annabelle returned to him, echoing in his mind... Pride. She had said she was proud of him. That he was not a disappointment. Even tangled in the beast of depression, the squire clung to her words to avoid being dragged from the shores of sanity anew.
And somehow, the Daywalker just seemed to keep offering new positive things for him, weaving the straw he was clinging to gradually into a rope. Initially, the idea of simply sitting down, drink some tea and just talk seemed absurd to him, but when he thought about it, he could not help but wonder: when was the last time he had just sat down, relaxed, and talked? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? He was not even sure. Freagon had never really been much for chatting about anything but work, and most of Jaelnec's conversations with their various allies through their encounters with evil had consisted of the deo'iel, or Ducal Guards, or militiamen, or whoever else might share their goals, making fun of the knight's apprentice, the boy who's only weapon had been a cooking knife, the boy who was always ordered to stay back when danger emerged and let Freagon dispatch their enemy.
Perhaps, he thought with a smile, drinking tea with Thaler and chatting a bit would be a nice change of pace. He did still need to address the matter of her and the Knighthood of the Will, anyways... and if he was lucky, some friendly conversation might even take his mind of the monumental challenges lying before them... and the gruesome trials already behind them.

"That sounds nice," he managed to reply, releasing Thaler's hand to finally go and take care of himself a bit, just in time for Aemoten to return and offer his own, significantly more grim outlook on things with everyone.
Despite himself, Jaelnec stayed to listen rather than go ahead and finally tend to his own needs. This was an important topic, after all - that of Usha, the demon that had risen from the depths of Annabelle Silversmith's mind, and nearly broken Jaelnec in the process. Aemoten finally defied the orders he had been given back in Shrubnest and revealed most of the practical information about the True Child to the rest of the companions - not that there was any reason to hold back such information anymore. Jaelnec had wanted to keep this a secret to protect Annabelle, to keep her safe and avoid provoking the demon within her until they could find the means to save her... but now the cat had been let out of the bag, and Usha out of the confines of her artificial personality, there was really to point in hiding it anymore. Even so, every word Aemoten uttered on the subject was like a monument to Jaelnec's failure, especially when he mentioned that Usha might seek out Annabelle's family. More people that might suffer because of my stupidity... innocent people, who never hurt anyone, whose only fault was to love Annabelle. And her children, whose only sin was to emerge from the womb of a True Child of Himyth...
And before that, the sadistic little voice in his mind pointed out, Usha's only sin was to emerge from the womb of Himyth herself - her, and every single demonspawn that has ever roamed Reniam and been slain for their depravity. The children are not so different from the rest of these spawn of evil as it seems...
Jaelnec bit his lip, and suddenly arrived at a conclusion that rather surprised him, mostly because it seemed so unlike him: I hate Himyth. Someday, she has to die. I don't care if she's immortal - I'll find a way. For the countless lives that demon has ruined, she must pay.

From there on, it seemed that things took a more practical and less bleak turn in the discussion. Thaler voiced her opinion, that it would be unwise for them to go hunting Usha by themselves when she was as powerful as Aemoten said (How is it he knows that again? he wondered), and Jaelnec nodded at her words. Although it felt terrible to speak so bluntly about planning to kill another living being - a former comrade, even - he could no longer justify sparing her. Because of her, Brian Pennyworthy was dead, it had been made necessary to restrain Louis to keep him from attacking everyone here, and had whatever strange intervention that had occurred during her and Aemoten's battle not happened when it did, the southerner might have died as well - and who could even guess at what would have happened after that? No, Usha needed to be stopped... but truly, Jaelnec had no desire to do so, and would rather postpone it as much as possible. Murderer and demon or not, she was still a former companion, and one that had protected him with her own body at that. The thought of fighting her... of killing her... it did not feel good.
Talk then went to arranging for someone to watch the camp while the rest slept, and the Nightwalker felt somewhat more at ease with such a comparatively mundane subject being discussed. Olan returned halfway through Aemoten's planning, tapped Thaler on her shoulder with a finger and pushed the handle of a small straw basket (Where did he get that from?) gently towards her hand, the basket full of several kinds of herbs that Jaelnec had never bothered learning to recognize.
"My head is quite fine, you know" the disfigured man assured them all cheerfully, even as he still lisped because of his torn lips. "But sure, I'll be happy to keep watch. Maybe I can show you a few of those dance moves you wanted to learn, eh?" He chuckled. Jaelnec stared at him, not knowing whether he should react to his older kinsman's lighthearted approach to the situation with disgust or admiration. How could one just move on so easily from something as bad as what had happened today?

And then came perhaps the greatest relief at all, as Thaler revealed that Jaelnec had not attacked her as he feared, but that she had simply dropped Roct and cut herself by accident. It still somewhat surprised the squire that Roct had cut her - it was a pure blade, one that he had never seen cut an innocent before, and which had never hurt its wielders. But what was he thinking? The only ones that had he had ever known to wield Roct had been himself, Freagon, and its maker, Freagon's father, and all three of them had been trained swordsmen in service of the Knighthood of the Will. Although a masterfully crafted and forged from Sartal, Roct was still, in essence, just a sword, capable of whatever any sword was capable of, including hurting those not meant to be hurt.
Acting on impulse, the young Nightwalker reached over and retrieved the Sartal longsword, neatly polished as it was after Thaler's care, and inspected its gleaming blade... and immediately he was stricken by the impression that something was wrong. The blade was perfect as always, light as always, sharp as always... its weight was the same, balance the same, shape the same... yet something was off. Taking the hilt of Roct in his hand, Jaelnec stood for a moment, trying to figure out what it was that was wrong... but in essence, Roct just felt exactly like a sword should feel.
That's it, he thought. It feels just like any other sword! I don't feel the strength and comfort in it I usually do. It's like it has ceased being a symbol, and reduced to just being a weapon... This saddened him, and when he sheathed the weapon in its scabbard, his hand did not linger to caress the pummel.

Once he had Roct with him, Jaelnec turned around, and began heading for the pond for the second time tonight to tend to his own needs, hoping that this time, his doing so would not end in disaster...

---

Lu was lying on his side on his bedroll, his head resting in his hand, propped up on his elbow as he watched Usha over on her own makeshift resting place, thrashing and screaming in her sleep. His dark eyes did not stray from her from the moment he had been awakened by the sounds of her peril, but now that a little time had passed since it had begun, he furrowed his brow slightly in thought.
I never knew demonspawn could dream, he mused to himself, wondering at this even as he witnessed definite evidence that they could right before his very eyes. I always figured that their immortal blood would prevent them from accessing the Spirit Realm... but I guess the mortal part of them let them go there anyways. How curious. After a few more moments, his train of thought continued, I wonder what she is dreaming about? Is it whatever caused her wounds? Very likely. Such fear and pain... what, oh what kind of situation did you drag her out of, Draigen? Did you ruin someone's life for the sake of your accursed plan? Do you really think that you can sacrifice anyone you want for it, just because you sacrificed yourself?

When she finally awoke from her nightmare, Lu sat up immediately and patted the air with both hands, smiling at her. "Quiesco, mea pulchra - there is no danger. It seems your perils haunt your dreams yet, is all. You are safe." He was dimly aware that the sun was rising, though he knew this solely by the fact that the stars were fading and the sky changing color, as their view of the eastern horizon was pretty much blocked by the towering Ashen Jags, their visible western slopes dyed brown with mud and soil, green with sparse vegetation, and the gray of rock, even as their eastern slope would be white, gray and black from the sooth and ashes accumulated over centuries from the volcanic wasteland of Jevog Denûm.
And in the other direction, to the west, the sight of the changeless black span of sky that was the Land of Eternal Night remained exactly the same at day as it had at night, plunging Pelgaid City and all within its walls into perpetual darkness. Day was coming... but this place seemed very determined to tell them that the coming of dawn did not mean that darkness ceased to be.
"Are you better today, mea pulchra?" he asked her after a brief pause to reflect on all this. There was a biting chill in the air this autumn morning, but all he had to offer her to warm her mostly naked body was his cape. "Do you need anything?"