---

Several elven initiates and helpful citizens roamed the grand hall of the cathedral, compiling reports, cleaning, or otherwise chatting and making themselves available to those who might need. There was a tension in the air, as, like days prior, their morning had held a few cases of the sudden sickness that had appeared in the citizens and even priests that resided mostly in outlying fields. As of now, their experienced healers were keeping the patients stable, but none of the fifteen who were lying in the clinic had shown any signs of improvement. The initiates and younger Priests were starting to worry despite the warnings against it from their elders, and the general public was starting to catch on. A few citizens had started a bit of an argument with one of the head Priests of the sect, and his lack of answers did not sway the crowd in the Priests' favor.

Two caravans displayed wares on the main thoroughfare of the city. One had a wagon drawn by a mule. Scattered on the wagon was various scavenged weapons and armor fragments. The merchants, a stout dwarf with hard eyes and his son, stood rigidly watching the cart. On the opposite side, a human couple sat on an outstretched cloth, dried herbs and roots set out along with a few simple salves and poultices. Citizens meander around as well, but they frequented the more permanent inn and cathedral. The summer day was hot and as bright as it could be under the dimmed sun, the coastal air muggy and salty.

Inside the inn there was strained laughter and forced smiles with the visitors. The Urendites were showing the strain they were under, but tried to hide it from those who came through the coastal settlement. The locals scarfed down their meals and left in a hurry, retreating to the cathedral or their nearby home. The barkeeps wiped surfaces nervously, chatting loudly and frequently to hide their internal discomfort. A few Priests were in the inn as well, eating and keeping tabs on their charges. The day was winding down to a close, the sun had started its descent, and the people were slowly preparing themselves to, in some time, retreat to the safety indoors.

The already dim sky began to darken as the sun crept lower and lower. Shadows lengthened, providing cool shade in relief of the sun's beating rays. Or they might have, twenty years ago. No longer did they relieve road weary travelers after a hard days march. Quite the opposite. Now the growing shadows only heightened ones fear. The terror and anxiety that each shadow might contain some hellish beast to end you in a gruesome and horrifying manner was acutely felt by all. It was no different for the party of four that wound its way through desecrated city streets in a hurried stride for the wall of Urenda.

Shadows moved at the edges of their peripherals but a sudden direct glance revealed nothing. As if the mind were playing tricks. Like a child out at night but afraid of the dark and the stories their parents tell to keep them in line. It's all in your head. Only now, now the danger was quite real. The hair on the backs of their necks stood on end and their breaths were shallow as if breathing to loud would instantly draw the darkness to them. Their quick steps against the cobblestones echoed through the empty streets and their hearts pounded in their chests. Each carried a torch and held it out hoping the light would protect them from the shadows. They were being watched though they could not see their hunters. For indeed they were the prey.

The group was close now, so close to the wall! just a few more minutes...

Otherworldly screams split the silence. The excited wailing of a hellspawn preparing to claim the souls of mortals and drink of their blood. At first it was one... one became two, two became three... not long after there could have been at least five of them howling to each other, anticipating meal to come. Fight or flight instincts took over and flight won out as the four took off sprinting for the wall. Their sheer terror unleashed adrenaline into their blood and they ran as fast as they thought possible.

Not fast enough.

The path before them was shrouded in darkness. Writhing shadows that took physical form as they drew near. The creature was vaguely humanoid. It's head appeared human but in place of lips, cheeks, or a nose there was a huge maw lined with elongated teeth ready to tear flesh and devour the living. It had no eyes, only empty dimples where they should be. The torso was large at the chest and thinned down to almost the spine at the waist, the vertebrae protruding through its hide. It's arms and legs were long and spindly, ending in deadly claws. The whole of its body was coated in a black substance that oozed off, as if the very shadows were dripping from it like rain water. It let out a shriek and took a step towards the frightened group.

A 'whooshing' noise was heard, something heavy moving through the air. Seconds later the creature had stopped its advance, a double edged war ax embedded in its face. It was then the sound of clanking armor was heard and more of the creatures revealed themselves in position around the group though their attention was directed elsewhere. Soon enough it was evident as to what was happening as they eyed the Dwarf charging towards them, hammer in hand and plate mail sounding like a barrel of swords being tossed around.

One of the creatures shrieked and swiped at him with lethal claws. Dalgun responded with a roar of his own, ducking under the swing and spearing the creature with his horned helmet. Of course the horns weren't intended to do any real damage, he only meant to off balance the thing which he accomplished as his momentum carried him and the beast to the ground. Two blows to its face with a gauntlet-ed fist left the thing dazed before Durin was brought to bear, crushing it's head like a watermelon.

Not one to tarry on a kill, Dalgun rolled forward and off of the corpse. The movement was sloppy and far from graceful but it brought him within arms reach of Moradin which he pried from the creature it had felled. Ax and Hammer reunited, eyes ablaze with joy and determination, and armor splattered with demon blood with spots of it in his beard here and there, Dalgun Battlehammer was a welcome sight for sore eyes. Not as good as priests but.. hey.. beggars can't be choosers.

"Well? what're ye still hangin' around for? Git goin' ye dolts!" he shouted at the group, who took off promptly. Dalgun tapped his weapons together. "Right then! who's next?" he grinned and spat at the ground.

A sinister wall of shadow drifted across the plains beyond the mountain borders of Urenda. Fastening heaven and earth together like a thick black tendon, nothing could be seen beyond its girth, stretching hundreds of miles in any direction. Ploughing winds pulled the soil free from the land about its edges, casting it up to spiral into the heavens like black spectres. Crimson forks split the wall frequently, the deafening cracks of thunder only moments behind. Where the shadow did not reach, the twilight of an amber sunset stained the broken and pitted land, and the visage of a thousand ruinous farms and villages seemed frozen in time.

Taric Vesero knew these phenomena as shadowstorms, unnatural calamities that had carved through the earth endlessly since their birth nearly twenty years before then. He stood atop the face of a broad cliff, hundreds of leagues from the storm, watching it with anxious eyes. Thirty men made camp behind him in an assortment of scavenged equipment, their tents and clothing equally tattered or broken.

Taric did not like storms. They could not be measured, were not predictable. They could not be factored into his plans. He grew increasingly agitated watching it, hoping it would not turn its course toward the cliffside encampment, but knowing that such a feeble thing as hope would not change it. Beads of sweat began to tickle his temples, and he felt too hot in his clothes despite the chill of the coming night.

Soft footfalls brushed the receding grass behind him, and Taric knew it was Mendo Hutrin before he heard his voice. Sneaky, he is. Kill him now. Kill him now. Not to be trusted. Always too quiet. Taric’s right arm trembled as he forced it away from the blade at his hip, forced his body into submission. No. I need him yet.

“M’lord,” Mendo said, stopping a stride away from Taric. Mendo was the leader of the men, now more a crestfallen group of cutthroats than an army, but he answered to Taric after having witnessed his prowess in both battle and strategy. “I been serving you for many years, m’lord.”

Taric’s head snapped around to face him. “Yes,” Taric said, his voice little more than a whisper. “You have served. But what do you serve?”

Mendo’s blunt face screwed up in confusion, but relaxed just as quickly. He was accustomed to Taric’s riddles and had learned to speak around them. “Right, sir. I been thinking, me and the boys, we think it’d be a good idea to…” Fear touched Mendo’s small brown eyes as they flickered between the ground and Taric’s twitching fingers. “We got real messed up the last run. To that Kegi place. We can’t handle these monsters, m’lord. People maybe, but not monsters. Heard Urenda nearby’s got some sort of bastion, like they’s all meeting up and protecting each other…we can’t survive out here alone, m’lord. Maybe we should go-“

The smaller blade on Taric’s right hip flew up in a blur, hilt tucked into his palm in a reverse grip. Its straight edge slipped through Mendo’s throat like water, parting the skin and freeing a scarlet rivulet to pour down his chest. Mendo tried to speak, but only blood gurgled from his lips. He stumbled backwards, clawing at his wound with stubby gloved fingers before falling to the ground in a convulsing, noisy heap. That was how Mendo Hutrin, Taric’s right-hand man, the man who had fought beside him viciously with a blood-stained sword and unwavering devotion, now lay.

“Ruined!” Taric yelled at whatever rapidly-fleeting life was left in the body before him. “It’s all RUINED!” The fire dies the fire dies the fire dies the fire dies. Taric straightened, thrusting his sword into his belt and shaking hysterical whispers from his mind. He scowled at the men rising from their camps and stalked away to a rocky slope. They rose slowly, eyes fixed on him, some moving for their weapons, some breaking into a run for Mendo’s corpse.

Taric ran, as well, dark cloak billowing in the wind as he did. “Urenda. I will find this place. It may be of use to me.” He slowed his pace in the fading daylight when he could no longer hear the sounds of distress in the encampment. Not my men. Not anymore. I will find more. His hands and feet moved with a practiced swiftness as he mounted the rocky landscape that lead to the High Road.

The mountains receded in the path of the High Road, a path aptly named. It travelled risen on slopes high above the outlying land, well away from the dangers of the wild and easy for travellers to defend. Night was coming, then, and the road lay bathed in the dim light of a waning moon as it began its nightly ascent.

Taric beckoned words to his lips, words he could not think, but only speak. It was a rigid incantation of syllables, harsh and foreign on his tongue, whispered in offering to the darkness. The instant the words were said, the glow of the moon seemed to intensify, then blazed like a sun far too bright to look upon. The land was now awash in bright argent, and even the darkest shadows cast by the mountains were penetrated by Taric’s eyes.

Alert and prepared, he advanced toward Urenda, filled with new-found purpose. A tingle in his chest hinted at a sensation not felt in months. He was excited at the events to come, a journey he had not even fathomed, and one to challenge everything that he was as a man.

Orodyuke lay dozing at his forge, his head resting cosily on an anvil. The oil lamps affixed to the cavern’s walls were running low, but their gentle glow sufficed to illuminate the array of tools laid out before him, from some project in the works. The low embers of the inactive forge still let out the odd crackle, and radiated a solid heat that suffused the old dwarf’s bones, bringing him all the comfort in the world. He suddenly felt a presence grow behind him, which he was vaguely aware belonged to his grandfather who, to his extreme consternation, began to beat upon his head with a silver hammer. “Rise, you dolt!” He bellowed. “It is late, and you have much ground to cover today!” Orodyuke teetered in his confusion, raising a hand to ward off the blows, only to brush against……leaves?

He opened his eyes, disorientated, discovering that he was not in his underground home, but rather wrapped in a dark green cloak, ensconced in the tree hollow he had crawled into the night before. He rose, stretching the stiffness from his limbs as he emerged from the dense foliage, glad to have once more survived the hours of darkness. It must have rained during the night, for the surrounding plants and flowers were all dappled with dew, though on closer inspection there seemed to be something black in the water, which somewhat ruined the effect.

He broke into his rations for breakfast, before snaking his way through the trees back to the High road, which was but a short distance away. Mountains dominated the skyline, and in the valley below the sanctuary of Urenda was visible, filled with torches and nestled in the burnt husk of the former port city.

I’m sleeping later he thought, squinting at the sun, which had already been up for a couple of hours. He salvaged a broken branch nearby for a walking stick, before beginning the winding descent into the valley. The monotony of the walk pleased him, and though he was alert for danger, it did not seem long before he broke through the trees and reached the outpost at the border of the city.

A young priest on watch hailed Orodyuke as he approached. “Greetings traveller! What brings you to Urenda?” he called out warily.
The dwarf slowed to a stop and replied “Rumours abound of a city that fares remarkably well in resisting the darkness that stalks these lands. I am here to see such a thing for myself and learn what I can for my research… What is the purpose of this place?”
The priest gestured at a couple of optimistic looking travellers chatting some ways behind him. “We ferry those who wish to visit the city through the ruins, which are still inhabited by all manner of demons. It is early and there are not many here yet. You can continue onward if you wish, but if you are willing to wait a while, we can have you in the walls by sunset.”
Orodyuke considered this for a moment, but by sunset was no good. He had business to attend to in the city, and told as much to the priest, who gave him instructions to reach the gates. “I can’t recommend it; you have to be quick and cautious. Good luck stranger, and beware of the structures themselves. The creatures there are cunning and may seek to crush you under some piece of masonry.”

He thanked the priest for his advice and bid him farewell. The ground from then on became hard and dry, though that also made it easier to walk on. He spied a few shapes in the distance, but otherwise crossed the fields without incident, and even paused to have his lunch in the wreck of a burnt-out mill. However when he reached the beginnings of the city proper, he paused. The air felt foul, and there was something incredibly more sinister about the closely packed buildings, which hid who knows how many watchful eyes. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and the sharp sting of fear in his stomach. He abandoned the walking stick for his sword, which sang in trembling anticipation as he removed it from his sheath, and with a deep breath advanced determinedly into the shadows.

---

"I'm fine, blast you!" the dwarf growled, shrugging off the attendee who had been attempting to measure his temperature. The healer examining him tutted, then was quiet for a moment as he packed away his instruments into a small box at his side, the silence broken by the unsettling sounds of the nearby patients.
"Well, you're not showing any of the other symptoms" he said finally. "I would keep you over night, but we're short on beds. So I guess you're free to go." The elf sighed tiredly, scribbling something down on a piece of paper and handing it to the dwarf. "Here, take this as proof that I've examined you." He gave him a serious look down his spectacles. "I recommend you do your best to avoid attracting attention like that in the future. The atmosphere is tense here at the moment, and people might not react kindly."
Orodyuke nodded, he didn't need to be told twice.
"You'll find a meal and a place to rest in the inn back down the way. I've done what I can for your cuts, so just try not to scratch them in the night. And if you find yourself suddenly feeling dizzy or nauseous, be sure to come back and see me straight away."
Orodyuke grunted in reply, relieved that he was finally being discharged, and with a wave of dismissal from the healer, made his way out of the clinic and back onto the bleak streets of Urenda.

That he had arrived at the gates battered and bleeding, wielding a bloody sword and pursued by two creatures that resembled black dogs with arms for front legs had not seemed to earn Orodyuke any points with the watchers stationed there. After dispatching the creatures they had questioned and perused him most thoroughly before allowing him entry to the city. No more than a few steps over the threshold he had been assaulted with a fit of coughing. Murmuring passersby had crossed the road to avoid him, and after exchanging a fearful glance, the guards had hauled him straight to the clinic, where he had wasted a further two hours trying to convince the healer there that it was a pre-existing condition and not a symptom of the strange illness that seemed to be intent on making its way into the city.

He reached for his pipe, as he always did when he was irritated, before remembering with a scowl that he had finished the last of his tobacco the previous day. Still, a puff through the enchanted wood eased his lungs, and he recalled briefly catching sight of a herb stall when he was being ushered in by the guards, and so he set about making his way back towards the gate.

Urenda was more than Orodyuke had dared hope for. Travellers he'd encountered on the High Road had spoken of it as a beacon of salvation and shelter. He hadn't held to such wishful thinking, but it was still more worthy of the term settlement than anywhere else he'd been on the surface. He thought the town held a kind of noble squalor. The buildings were ramshackle, the defences makeshift and the city a mere memory of what it had once been. But that was very impressive in these times. The locals were proud and determined to struggle for what they had achieved, despite the shadows that daily sought to snuff them out, and Orodyuke saw this reflected in their expressions just as much as their exhaustion.

The sun was just beginning to set as he approached the stalls. It seemed any further business would have to wait until tomorrow. A dwarf merchant watched him grimly as he inspected the weapons on display, whilst a child Orodyuke assumed was his son fed straw to the mule tied to the wagon.

It was a poor show. The armour was in scraps and many of the weapons were caked with rust. "Is most of the equipment in Urenda like this?" he asked finally, using the opportunity to speak in his native tongue.
The merchant's expression didn't change. "We have to make do with what is available."
Orodyuke nodded. "I am a blacksmith by trade. Do you know where I could make myself useful around here?"
The merchant shrugged. "Smiths are always appreciated. There may be work for you at the forge if they have the iron, or they may need help maintaining the walls." He gestured at the cathedral further up, by far the most impressive building in the city. "Go speak with the priests tomorrow, they'll let you know where you can be of most help during your stay."
Orodyuke thanked him and left. The kindly human couple across from the dwarf were beginning to pack up when he approached them, but he managed to buy enough tobacco to last him a few days, as well as a small pot containing a salve, some of which he smeared on the worst of his cuts before retiring to the inn.

The sign outside was so battered Orodyuke could not tell if the inn had once had a name, but it was cosy enough inside. He was greeted warmly and offered a simple meal, for which he gave what remained of his meagre coin. He chose a table at random, listening to the forced laughs and chatter of the other patrons as he picked grimly at his food and planned out what needed to be done the following day. I would do well not to dwell here too long. Especially if there is an epidemic on the way. For all the shelter it provided, living in Urenda seemed just as perilous as anywhere else on Reath, if not more so.

Once again he drew out his pipe, and once again fate sought to foil his endeavour. He had nothing to light it with!

A muffled curse escaped into his beard. “Innkeeper! You wouldn’t have a spare match would you?”

Coming down from the mountains and moving through the field of flowers, a man wrapped in a brown cloak strides forward, gaze locked upon the city, save for the occasional flicker of his steeled, shadowed eyes towards a particularly beautiful bloom. Such beauty was not seen every day even at the best of times, and an abundance of it now, at the end, is all but unheard of. It reminds him of his lost love, and of his quest to find her again, whatever the cost to himself may be.

He is shadowed by a single priest - not for protection, but merely to verify that he is not a monster in disguise. Even so, the priest insists upon raising a barrier around them both; and perhaps this is for the best, in his mind. He has been informed that those who pass through the city by their own merits are asked to help in its defense. That is not something he can afford to spend time upon. He does not waste time on demons, if he can help it, for resolution of mortal matters is his true calling - if he does not ensure civilisation remains stable, who will?

Apparently, he notes as he and the accompanying priest enter the outskirts of the city, the townsfolk of Urenda. Even in its dilapidated state, even when only its highest plateau remains intact, it represents practically everything he could wish to restore to Reath: civilisation, peace, joy, and freedom... to a certain extent, anyway.

And yet.

And yet... even the most civil of villages is rarely free of mortal vice. Many he has no quarrel with - sexual intercourse, consumption of alcohol, even gambling to some extent - yet all too often, he encounters those of a twisted mindset. Those willing to maim, to kill, and of course, to kidnap. Such is his raison d'être of the moment: the leads he has followed, starting from the footprints and fragments of cloth left behind after the raid, right the way up to his latest interrogated suspect, have all conspired to lead him here, to Urenda, where, he has been told, his lover and soulmate has been taken at some point in the past, for some reason or another. He would much prefer a greater amount of specific information, of course, but alas and alack. He is forced to make do with what he knows, for the time being.

As he and the priest continue their walk through the labyrinth of destroyed buildings, demons flock to them. Not in immense numbers, perhaps, not for just a party of two, but enough to be worrying to the priest, especially since, every so often, one makes a jab at the wall of power surrounding the two with significant force. The monk, in response, simply begins to breath in the pattern of the Sun Dragon's Breath, letting his trance build steadily, though the significance of this event is lost on the priest.

And not a moment too soon. Not ten minutes later, as the sun begins to set, one of the monstrosities surrounding them makes a concerted effort, and finally tears a hole in the priest's barrier, leaping through with a great snarl. It is humanoid in nature, and entirely nude, but scaled in a disgusting reddish-grey colour all over, and skinny as though heavily malnourished, with a multitude of short horns erupting from its head, only a single hole where its nose should be, and claws many inches long bursting from the tips of its fingers and toes, if the many-knuckled phalanges attached to its extremities could be called fingers or toes. Hate-filled, solid black eyes switch from priest to traveller, as though it can't quite decide which of them to destroy first. An outburst of sound from the traveller decides for it; it turns to face the monk, who now seems to show more emotion- in the form of what seems to be controlled anger- than he has for the past several hours, and begins to run at him, claws ready to tear his body apart.

The priest has trouble figuring out what happens next. One moment, the demon is charging, all roars and weaponry; the next, the traveller is pummelling the creature in a blur of fists, feet, finger and palm strikes, all too fast to follow, all the while uttering a steady outcry of repeated sound, perhaps the onomatopoeia of that now-rare weapon the rifle, if it could be shot over and over and over and over again in rapid succession... he ends his stream of attacks, no more than perhaps a few seconds in length, with a final yell, and a knife strike across the dazed monstrosity's throat, somehow slashing a hole in its windpipe; with a gurgling scream, it falls to its knees, clutching at the new hole in its neck as blood gushes from the wound. A side kick, accompanied by another onomatopoeic rifle noise, snaps the monster's neck, finishing it off and sending it flying out of the hole in the barrier, which is hastily sealed off by the priest.

And just like that, the monk returns to his normal, stoic state, the only sign that he had exerted himself at all in the nigh-imperceptibly deeper breaths he now took. Without a word, the traveller turns back toward the city, and continues to move on, the priest remembering a second later that he was asked to accompany this man, and swiftly chasing after him. And he swears, as they continue their trek, that the number of entities now shadowing them behind toppled building and crushed wall is ever so slightly fewer than it was before.

Kragen walks toward his destination of Urenda. He keeps himself alert mostly out of paranoia rather than any real reason. He wasn't yet in viewing distance of the city. He walked through a thickly wooded area. He hoped that this supposed beacon of civilization contained the gold he needed for his plan. It would have to be quite a bit if he hoped to sway the mind of a god.

Suddenly the mark on Kragen's back began to burn. This feeling was less of a pain now to Kragen and more of a sixth sense. Kragen quickly pulled his axe from his back dropping his bag of supplies. With his eyes he looked all around him for any sign of movement. The mark burned more intensely. The demon was getting closer and fast. Suddenly Kragen heard above him a loud flapping sound above him.

He looked up to see a massive creature at least twice his size rapidly descending towards him. The monster resembled a minotaur with black fur. It had massive wings allowing it to fly. It's head was like that of a lion with massive sharp fangs. It's hands had huge claws that would put any animal to shame.

Kragen quickly jumped backward as not to be crushed by the demon as it landed. When Kragen jumped he smashed his back into a large tree that was behind him. It hurt like hell but he couldn't allow that slow his movement. The monster landed and knocked over a few nearby small trees. It rushed towards Kragen who was still recovering from the blow to his back. It struck out with one of it's claws towards the large man. Though with delayed reaction Kragen jumped away from the strike but not quite in time. The tips of two of the claws cut into Kragen's body through his shirt. The cuts weren't very deep but they hurt like hell and blood dripped from the wounds.

Kragen landed safely this time from his jump and quickly grabbed at his chest where was cut with his left hand still holding his axe in the other. Quickly realizing the folly of removing his hands from his weapon he got himself back in position. The monster other claw quickly came toward Kragen. Kragen realizing that continued attempt to flee from the attacks would only get him killed prepared his axe to strike against the monster. As the claw came within distance Kragen smashed his axe into it stopping it. The monster's hand had been split in two. It cried out in pain gripping the wound. Kragen took advantage of the opening and leaped forward while striking with his axe. As he landed he buried the axe into the demon's knee. Black blood poured from both wounds. The monster quickly swiped at kragen with back of it's good hand. Kragen held to his axe as he was flung like a doll away from the demon into a nearby tree. Kragen's back hit the tree with some force. Thankfully there was no breakage but he was now in considerable pain. Thankfully the monster was too wounded to move very far from it's current location. The demon was roaring in pain while kneeling with it's wounded leg.

Kragen seeing that the monster wasn't going to be moving anytime soon planned his next attack carefully. He noticed a tree of considerable size close to him. He got up and immediately began cutting it with his axe. After a few minutes of cutting into it the tree was ready to fall. Kragen cut it down in such a way it would land on the demon. The tree fell and smashed into the monster. The demon in futility tried to move away from the tree as it fell. As a result the tree smashed the monster back. It still lived with most of it's bones broken it continued to roar in pain. Kragen went over to the beast and chopped off it's head putting it out of it's misery.

After the battle Kragen allowed himself the night to rest. He bandaged his wounds and ate some of his food. The next day he walked for hours on end until he eventually reached Urenda. He walked into the destroyed city with the head of the demon he has slayed the night before displayed by being tied to his axe. He was well aware he had amassed a small amount of fame as a demon hunter and hoped the display would help somebody of importance recognize him. He wasn't much for showing off but he had to get attention if he was ever going to accomplish his goal of slaying a god.

The troop of sixteen weary elves unaccustomed to hiking stood still from shock.

"This... is our refuge?"
"It looked like it was ransacked years ago."
"I would sooner take my chances with the mercenaries then go down there."

The early morning sun illuminated the devastated cityscape, where only the faint signs of movement and fire seemed to confirm the suspicion that there was life to be found in it. Lifting the pike onto her shoulder, Cirel observed the group of elves, seeing that not a single one had a glimmer of hope. A few stared back with a mixture of fear and confusion. The odd expression showing anger was not uncommon. "We are almost there, so we should start on our way."

The majority of others acknowledged the statement by either nodding or fastening their packs. Three elves just stared at her coldly, but she did not let it get to her. She had learned the majority of information on the trio from others, as, even if they had been very vocal in their statements since the first day, they did not engage in conversation with others. She silently picking up her pike and began walking towards the city. Hearing the sounds of the footprints as the elves began falling in behind her, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure. The three elves stood in the same spot as before, not even bothering to follow as they began a heated discussion.

"Farren. Respil. Syrar. It is not long now, but if we want to make it by sundown, we have to get going right now."

Respil, being the well-built spokesman for the group since Farren and Syrar would not respond at all, he took his time advancing towards her. The other elves backed away slowly so as not to be in the way. When Respil stopped a few steps in front of her, he began speaking in a clear but reserved voice. "We are certain you are crazed now." He made a simple gesture down to the city before continuing. "You think that will be safer than the home we built up? You dragged us along with promises that we will be safe, and it turns out your definition of safe is widely different than ours. Seeing that, you must be insane if you still want us to follow you blindly."

Pausing for a moment, Cirel responded in the most serious manner she could muster. "I was charged with your evacuation. The others gave their lives so you can escape, so we must make sure that sacrifice is not in vain."

Without hesitation, Respil spoke back with anger. "You fled at the first sight of trouble, dragging us along with you. For all you know, the losses were minimal, and everyone has adjusted back to normal life. Don't you have any faith in our soldiers?"

"Yes, I do, but we can't take the risk going back. It-"

"The risk? Don't you think going down there holds more 'risk' than going back?"

"It is not like-"

"We have already decided." Beckoning his companions behind him, they walk forward until they stand beside him. "We are heading back, and there is nothing you can do to stop us. The fact that this place is a festering hellhole was the final factor in this matter."

"You won't even reach there with your remaining food."

"If this is your 'salvation,' you wouldn't be needing all of yours, right?"

"But-"

A single older male elf wearing thick leather armour intervened, holding the hilt of his sheathed sword. "Stop this right now. We can discuss this in a civil manner."

"The old coot now wants in?" A smug smirk formed on Respil's face. "Trying to be civil while threatening me with your sword? You fled just like her, and now you work up your courage, and it is to turn on us?"

The soldier was not intimidated. Instead, he turned to look at all the other elves before staring at Respil. "If you want to head back, you can. So can all the other elves that wish to. Those who plan on going to the city can give up a bit of rations to make sure those journey, but I don't wish to hear any more of this."

"Fine." Let out a single word, Respil seemed to have lost his momentum.

With the soldier leading the organization of the elves, it was finally down to Cirel and him. Six others hesitantly decided to go back, making a total of nine returning, while only five were firm on continuing. Turning to Cirel, he gave a curt nod. "I will be heading back with the return group. They will need protection, and I wouldn't feel right having them pushing you around the entire trip."

Not knowing how to respond at first, she decided to put on a smile and respond happily. "I will look after this group, then. If there are people still alive, hopefully they will be nice to you."

"And if they are not, we will continue wandering until we finally starve, end up killed, or find shelter." Letting out a chuckle, he stops to scratch his face. "But don't worry about us, we are splitting to raise our chances of survival, like we did many years ago. These are the same risks as then, but without the large group that draws the attraction of shadows."

All Cirel could do was nod at the grim aspect.

After giving the soldier only took a small portion of her rations before leading his group away in single file back along the High Road that they laboriously followed for days before.

She sent a silent prayer along with them. "Please watch over them, Relanthon."

---

Sitting at a table in Urenda's inn, Cirel could not help but sulk. Her head rested on her arms, which in turn rested on the table. "You said before to honour sacrifices, and now you are getting all gloomy? You were always a cheerful one, but now you are gloomy." Picking up her head, all she could do was stare at the elf in front of her. He was the only civilian left.

"I know I said that about sacrifice, but it is supposed to be soldiers sacrificing their lives for the helpless, not the other way around."

"If you would have died to those monsters before, nobody would have made it here. Two people made it out, and that is thanks to you."

Resting her head down again, this time she faced a nearby wall to the left, keeping her one eye focused on it. "I know, it is just... I just need a bit of time to accept that fact. Once I do, I will be back to my usual self." Or the version of herself that others think is the usual her. "What do you plan on doing now? It is not like you have anywhere to go."

"I was hoping to see if I could help these people out it some way. There does not seem to be much to do here, but at least it does seem safe after all that we went though."

"Well, I wish you luck with that."

The conversation dropped off at that point, but they both remained seated at the table. Cirel was debating whether or not to work up the courage to tell him to leave her alone for a bit.

"HAH!" Dalgun shouted mockingly as he brought Durin down upon the skull of a foe, the creatures skull shattering. Bone fragments and brain matter shot out in all directions. Immediately he pivoted on his heel, spinning to face the next creature. It dove at him with both clawed hands, one aimed for his throat. A swipe of his axe severed that hand and saved his life. The Dwarfs shoulder was not so lucky. The claws bit into the exposed joint of his armor at the shoulder. Dalgun winced and groaned in response. One hand severed and the other stuck fast in his shoulder plate, the beast screamed at him and attempted to bite at his face. To which Dalgun roared and reared his head back... and snapped it forward.

The forehead of his helmet met the creatures face and shattered much of its teeth and jaw. Dazed, the thing fell to its knees and was finished when Moradin split it's head in two. With another grunt Dalgun wrenched the claw free of his shoulder. Warm, crimson blood flowed from the wound. It was superficial and would not impair his fighting he surmised as he flexed his arm. He spat on the ground. "Come on, that all ye got?"

"From Mountains tall and Caverns deep, the seeds you sew I'll see to it you reap!!."
"Bwahahaha!"

He sang cheerfully as he sidestepped another swipe and countered with Moradin, gutting the beast and as it doubled over scrabbling for its insides Durin smashed into its spine. Bone crunched and the creature lay very still. Weapons at the ready, Dalgun sought his next enemy but none presented themselves. "Hohum..." with a stubby finger he pointed to each of the creatures corpses. "One... two... three... four... five... BAH! Thats all of em!" The Dwarf cursed, spat, and kicked the closest body. He looked down at himself. Covered in blood, dirt, and the black ooze of the creatures. "Bwahahaha! Need'o bath, after that one!" With a grunt of satisfaction he turned on his heel for the city wall, whistling as he went.

The trek to the wall and then to the gate was uneventful despite the darkening sky. There were guards posted on squat towers to each side of the gate and he called to them. "Oy! There were a group'o travelers. Four I think. They make it in?"

"Indeed! You're the Dwarf they spoke of i take it?" The man, with a noticeable hint of skepticism eyed Dalgun warily. The Dwarfs armor was splattered with gore and his weapons were still in hand. The smell permeating from him was far reaching and the guard twisted his face at the scent of the battle remains.

"Aye!, Dalgun Battlehammer at yer service! Now eh... If ye'd be kind enough t'let me in. I'm in need'o good washing! bahaha! got any pretty lasses up't the task?" The guard laughed.

"I think not, Master Battlehammer. But I'm sure you could bathe yourself at the tavern. Well.. perhaps not a bath but at least a good wipe down. Open the gate!" he shouted to someone behind the wall. The gate creaked open enough for a person to come through. Smart. He thought.

"Bah, well enough then I s'ppose!" the Dwarf joked as he holstered his weapons to his belt and walked through the gate which closed fast behind him. The guard within informed him of a tavern to which the group of four ventured to to recover. Dalgun brightened up at that. "A tavern eh?" he spoke out loud to no one in particular as he made his way. "Better 'ave some ale. Me own stores'r runnin low." he stated as he pulled his ale horn around and pulled the stopper out, downing the last of its contents in one swig. "Bwahaha! 'an now it's all gone!" He put the stopper back and let it fall on its strap to hang beside him.

The town around him appeared far from the sanctuary and paradise that he'd heard about. None the less there was a wall and no beasts inside. Good a place as any. His thoughts drifted to Kord'An and Dalgun wondered how the palace was faring. Good he hoped and until proven otherwise that's what he would believe. Before he knew it he'd reached the 'tavern'

Dalgun threw open the door and entered, booted feet thumping on the floor and his armor clanking up a storm as he made straight for the bar. The people here were more than likely accustomed to sights such as he. Dirty, bloody, weary, and itching for a brew. "Barkeep! Ale, got any? This Dwarf is in need'o drink!" he declared, removing his helm and placing it on the bar before him. Dalgun cracked his neck and glanced side long at a table, the party of four waving at him in thanks. The Dwarf waved back in response. There was no need to converse about how he'd helped them. Seeing them alive and well was good enough.

After many hours, the monk and the priest finally arrive at the entrance to Urenda's main city. Silent as ever, the brown-cloaked man stands almost completely still as the priest verifies his identity, and relays his tale of the journey through Urenda's outskirts to the guards, demon attack and all. The guards, noting the apparent skill of the traveller in question, ask him if he might perhaps assist in protecting Urenda from the demonic threat, or help with the oncoming threat of the Creeping Death. He declines, but mentions that, if he finds the time and reason to do so, he may venture back into the outskirts at a later point. Satisfied, the guards open the gate for him, and he begins to walk into the city; at the last second, though, one of the younger guards calls out to him, asking the traveller for a name.

'Kos Henir,' he responds, not turning back to face his questioner.

---

It is getting darker by the time Kos finds his way to the tavern, still in traveller's cloak. Entering quietly, unnoticed by most who were not immediately nearest the door, he sees the larger majority of the patrons making merry to some extent or another, though in a mostly subdued manner. Tense would be the word to describe the atmosphere; even the bartenders are seemingly not quite able to forget the impending threat that lurks outside the walls. Taking a menu, and a seat at the nearest unoccupied table, Kos lowers the hood of his cloak, revealing a quite sturdy face, scruffy-haired, with dark brown eyes visibly hardened by something or other, and watchful, ever so watchful as he glances round at the patrons. Nobody of particular note, it seems, though at least one of the dwarven visitors emits quite a large quantity of noise relative to the rest of the bar.

With no apparent threats present, Kos turns his gaze to the items on the menu; a few minutes later, when approached by a waiter, he asks simply for a glass of water and the cheapest meal available. He is not a man of great means, a fact that shows in his frugality - his income is primarily derived from what valuables he can scavenge and sell, and whilst he sometimes comes across an object of great worth, he is mostly forced to gather trinkets for profit. Still, he generally finds that he has enough for day-to-day purposes; at the very least, he has found maintaining his fitness and health easy enough, if only by sacrificing luxury in their place. Then again, luxury hasn't seemed to be high on anybody's list for the last twenty years, and, at least in his mind, one cannot afford luxury when one is on a quest.

He will, he decides, consume his meal; then, starting tonight, he will search for clues as to Jaene's whereabouts. Even now, he may be too late to find her within the bounds of the city; he must be swift if he is to catch up to her kidnappers and reunite with her once again.

Orodyuke was just about to start on his pipe when the friendly stranger pulled up a chair opposite him. He looked very young, and short for a human. Though he wasn't sure, Orodyuke vaguely felt he might have caught a glimpse of him before back at the clinic. In any case he cast the new arrival a dull, lustreless look. He was weary after his long day, and considered asking him to leave, but a couple of things the small man had said struck a chord in him and prompted his interest. He nevertheless took a long draw from the pipe before replying, leisurely exhaling the smoke to one side through the corner of his mouth.

"Well met, Harvey the well-mannered" he rumbled. "You may hear of mine travels if you so wish, though I doubt they will bring you pleasure. It is optimistic indeed to look for stories of hope from beyond these walls. Alas, all news of promise that I have heard of late has been regarding Urenda itself. It is impressive what you have accomplished here, and many speak of it, though I wonder how long it can last." He wondered if those toiling here knew how much of a symbol they were becoming to the surrounding travellers. "Else, my tales are all of evil and misfortune" he said, gesturing at one of the fresher gashes on his forehead and scars from a few older wounds. "Or of the glory of an era gone by, the sorrow of which still weighs heavily upon mine heart."

Orodyuke paused for a moment to nurture his pipe, further appraising the young priest as he did so. "You say you serve the Lady of the Night" he prompted eventually. "Hmmm this would be Elanom, yes?" he queried, recalling the deity's name in the trade tongue. "Then maybe I could use your help." The Goddess of Reath's three moons was an entity the dwarf was particularly interested in, as unless he was mistaken, she was one of the miscellaneous deities who had experienced a large increase in worship after the descent, and was an important example of the power flux that had occurred among the gods. Orodyuke regarded the remaining priests of post apocalyptic Reath with a mixture of pity and intense envy. "I too once followed a god," he murmured slowly, for a moment becoming absorbed with tracing the knots in the wood of the heavy tavern table. "And in doing so, I led my people to their deaths." he finished flatly, resuming eye contact.

"Now I seek answers. About what a mortal man can do against the Creeping Death and other calamities, but also about the nature of our enemy. What is a god? What constraints on their power do they face? And how exactly do us mortals fit into it?"

"Superficial answers to these questions are known of course, but in the past there was never a necessity to discover more, and so these topics never seem to have been studied in any great depth, particularly the latter. Or if they have been, the knowledge was lost in the Descent." The intensity with which he spoke led to a fit of coughing, which he attempted to stifle, remembering what the healer had said. "That....Is why....I came here" He said in-between coughs. "To the place where so many priests, like yourself are gathered."

"Forgive me, but we may need to hold this for another time" he wheezed, rising. "It has been a long day."

"But I have yet to introduce myself! Orodyuke Equites, at your service" he said, presenting the man with a weathered hand to shake.

With dreadful night approaching, the patrol around the walls is doubled in anticipation. Every night, the demons and shadows grow in power, and every night, they test it on the willful inhabitants of Urenda. Priests and militiamen come out in force, now brandishing weapons, and slink around the settlement’s borders with furrowed brows and twitching fingers. They watch the ruins of the city, starting to crawl with malicious shadows, through arrow slits and form atop the three small watch towers spaced around the the perimeter. The sun descends, the sky turning vibrant hues of ochre and then finally deep night broken only by the wavering torches. Lit against a desolate sky, for many stars had seemed to burn out completely in wake of the gods’ fury, Urenda announces its tasty inhabitants to the monstrosities that prowl just feet below.

The vendors packed and retreated, the civilians all huddled in their makeshift homes, Urenda fell into night. Piercing the darkness, a shrill shriek reverberates across the sky. Some flinch at the call, but those surrounding the city were already drawing weapons. Some in permanent positions in the watchtowers and at key points along the wall drew their weapons, others scurried to glimpse out of miniscule slits in the border. It was only a matter of time, now, until the nightly assault of Urenda began. The men and women defenders stood ready, but the fear in their eyes was almost palpable.

---

In the infirmary on the second floor of the cathedral, things were looking quite dire. Each of the dozens cots the priests had available had at least one person occupying it, some of them were double booked by close patients, and there were six piles of rags attempting to serve the same purpose scattered about the floor. Hacking coughs, desperate moans, and the sounds of retching punctuated the otherwise silence. It was late, and most were sleeping. Their forms were curled into fetal balls, clutching their heads or their stomachs. Their faces were flushed, eyes glassy, and they ran a fever. A red twinge around their eyes worried the experienced priests, as well as the sound of fluid in their lungs. Known only to those in the ward and the few select priests assigned to treat them, a dark, viscous fluid was in the patient’s vomit - not crumbled like vomited blood of the infirm, but thick and oily.

An elven woman with a regal bearing stood straight near the entrance of the ward, discussing things with a few of the experience healers that were allowed access to those inflicted with what the villagers were starting to call the shadow sickness. “Is he still resting? I heard the last he was awake he caused a scene?” Yuuril Eletha questioned the two healers standing near her, glancing inside the ward to the furthest cot, where rested their patient zero.

“Yes, for now. He will not sleep longer than an hour or two now. The last he was awake we almost had to sedate him. He wants to talk to you, understandably. but we keep telling him we don’t want you exposed to it,” One of the men answered her with a shake of his head. The other retreated inside at the sound of particularly violent coughing, followed by retching. “He is improving; he was starving, dehydrated, and exhausted when he came back to us. The sickness is weakening him, but not as fast as we first thought. He’s recovering, as much as he can, and is getting more continent..”

“I am not who you are protecting.” The woman said to him, despite it looking like he was going to continue. Her hard eyes stared into his, and he shifted uncomfortably. “You realize how dangerous this is becoming? And yet I was not told about his recovery?” She shook her head disapprovingly.

“We didn’t even bother telling you before because he was a bit… delirious.” The healer’s eyes were heavy with sorrow at the thought, remembering the previous episode. “His fever was much worse when he arrived, worse than any of the others. It was stronger in him, because he was so weak, but maybe also because he is carrying it. He made no sense; it was only babble. But now he seems in better straights.”

“Good. I want to know when he awakens. Immediately. We must know of this sickness.” The priest nodded curtly and returned inside, Yuuril watching him. Under breath as she turned away, she muttered hopefully, “Wake up, Delsaran. I need you to wake up.”

---

“Well, I’m heading upstairs, Bartin! I’ll see you in the morning!” The last of the day serving girls called cheerfully to the bar from the staircase, where the bartender was still wiping down glasses. He threw her a wave, ignoring the desire to comment on her choice of words. Setting down his glass, the man began to check the kitchen to make such the larder and liquor cabinets were all locked tight. There weren’t many thieves in Urenda, but people could be desperate, especially travelers that often stayed at the inn. He would still be at the inn for some time, seeing as how that was where he took residence, to keep an eye on those still in the bar. He came back to the front, leaning on the bar and keeping his eyes unfocused. The single barwench who stayed late with him was chatting to the few locals that still occupied a far booth.

There were only a few people left in the bar, and almost all of them were foreigners. At that thought, Bartin watched the two men he knew walk through the door while throwing him waves. He motioned back, but did little more. Inside the inn there were a few interesting characters. Bartin knew Harvey; the lycan had been there long enough and had earned his fair share of room and board. He was addressing a newcomer, a dwarf with a cough, and eventually approached Bartin to ask him to accommodate the dwarf. Bartin’s mouth screwed sideways; he appreciated the priest’s thoughtfulness, however, he could not spare too much to someone who had not earned more than the normal handouts. The dwarf will still be cared for to the best of Bartin’s abilities, and he would keep Harvey’s thoughts in mind for when he could cater to the dwarf. The dwarf’s malady would give him some quarter, as well. He instructed the girl to make sure the dwarf had enough blankets and hot water, as well as to leave a tray for tea in his assigned room.

Another dwarf was also at Bartin’s bar; the one who had very boisterously ordered a full tankard after barging through the inn doors. In this world, none were strangers to the scent of battle, but the effluvium rolling off of the dwarf’s loud armor was enough to make Bartin want to sneer. The room being prepared for him (normal procedure at the inn) already had a bath, but the bartender had told the girls to make sure that said dwarf had more than enough hot water. Two more foreigners lounged around eating meager meals, having not yet earned much more than that without payment. A large man in a large cloak had gotten more for giving payment, however, thanks to the depreciated value of any currency in Reath currently meant he hadn’t gotten what he could have in a world long passed. The girl at the bar sauntered over to both to see how they were doing, and offer to show them their rooms. Thanks to the small amount of travelers Urenda would have at one time, the once-great inn could house a great number of visitors without difficulty.

A cry sounded outside, loud enough to make it inside the inn albeit at a reduced potency, and the barkeep sighed. He knew he would shortly have to tell the visitors to either go upstairs or leave and join the priests. Bartin shut and locked the inn when shit started to hit the fan. He had not only the weaker visitors to defend, but also the workers who lived there permanently.

“Th…they just keep coming,” said Caelica as more demons and shades started to rush out from behind the trees.
“Don’t falter and keep fighting, their numbers will have to end eventually,” said the man known as Kleonaz right as he drove his spear into the gut of an emaciated demon causing it to shriek in pain. Pulling out the spear he readied himself to strike again as more demons approached.

The group of five was having a hard time fending off what seemed like an endless stream of demons, luckily they were all relatively weak and after a few minutes of battling the number of demons seemed to be substantially lower. Though at this point all five of the travelers were now starting to become tired. Caelica slashed at another demon’s torso causing it to clutch its stomach before falling onto the ground in a heap. As the demon fell down however a large spike came flying towards Caelica’s face. Parrying it just in time with her sword the spike was knocked to the side. However it soon became apparent that this spike was connected by a red tentacle to a strange insect-like demon with a carapace covering its body. Its single large blue eye erratically moved as though taking in the entire area, and its pillbug-like body slowly started to crawl towards Caelica. The spiked tentacle which was connected to its mouth started to thrust again and again at the girl, only for her to desperately parry with her katana. Things were looking grim as the tentacle started to pick up in speed, thrusting faster and harder with each attack.

“Caelica!” Yelled out Ezror, as he bravely charged at the creature, only to be intercepted by many lesser demons. He started chopping through them, and while there were not nearly as much enemies as before, their numbers made it impossible for him to reach her. A claw scratched at his side causing blood to flow from his wound. In desperation he stabbed at the demon killing it. As he did this another demon punched him in the back of the head knocking him over. Surrounding him like wolves the demons began to feast on his flesh as the other travelers realized they could do nothing to help. Caelica felt terrible about what had just transpired, he had risked his life for hers and now he was dead. She and her group would need to get out of here or else they’d all end up like him, but first she needed to get rid of this annoying insect. As the demon struck with its spiked tentacle once more Caelica quickly hit it with the hilt of her katana sending it upwards into the air. Dashing towards the creature she noticed the spike was beginning to now fly at her again. With quick thinking she jumped towards a leaning tree planting her feet on it before bouncing off again directly at the demon. The tentacle ended up missing its target entirely and hit the tree instead leaving a deep gash in the tree trunk as well as causing splinters of wood to fly every which was. Now was Caelica’s chance. Raising her katana she slammed the pommel directly into the eye of the demon crushing it and collapsing some of the carapace armor. Eye fluid and blood started to mix together as the demon screeched in pain. With one swift movement Caelica stabbed the creature through the now busted carapace, causing it to moan silently before becoming silent. With the creature now dead she turned towards her allies who were still struggling to fight the other demons. All of them were heavily wounded except for Kleonaz who appeared to be almost entirely exhausted. Caelica herself wasn’t in much of a shape to fight either, while she wasn’t wounded, she was tired especially after that last stunt she pulled. While no more demons were actually entering the fight, Caelica knew it wasn’t worth going into save them. So taking a deep breath and exhale, she started to walk away. The screams of her former companions slowly fading until all she could hear was nothing but the sound of the wind and her own footsteps.



Eventually Caelica made her way into the town or Urenda, and after being questioned by the guards, she was finally permitted inside. Making her way over to the inn, she bought herself some water and slowly consumed it, as well as some of the food she stored in a container from the last town she was in. After she was finished with her meal, Caelica went over to the innkeeper and acquired one of the spare rooms. Entering the room she was pleasantly surprised to see that it was actually pretty decent. Laying down on the bed she took a quick nap before waking up once more at what was now evening. The town seemed secure, at least compared to all of the other towns she had been in beforehand. They all had their own weak points. The only thing that seemed to keep out the demons were guards stationed throughout the weak points of the towns. This wasn’t always reliable as Caelica recalled from past experiences. These thoughts started to scare her a bit. To take the pain of these memories off of her mind she instead exited the inn in order to get some fresh air and clear her head.

Hearing the cry from outside the bar, Cirel propped her head onto her arm, looking at her lone companion. His eyes were fixed in, what she assumed, was the direction of the doorway. Taking this moment, she lifted her head up and smiled, "Iveas. I don't think you have anything to fear. These guys know what they are doing, and they faced threats like this on an everyday basis."

Blinking a moment, Iveas turned his head in her direction, his eyes coming into focus. "Oh, yeah. It is good you are back to normal, but isn't it sad that they have to die in such a horrible manner?"

She adopted a neutral expression, looking down at the table. "Yes, it is sad, but they know what they are getting in to. They are soldiers risking their lives, and they are dying to protect those who cannot protect themselves from those beasts; much like what... I was trying to do." As her speech trailed off, Iveas started the conversation again in a slightly panicked tone.

"I think we just need some rest. We have been through a lot today, so we should rest in some of those rooms they are offering. Though I don't feel right taking all this without payment. I am going to work hard paying back these people as best as I can."

Nodding silently, Cirel tossed her pack onto her shoulder and picked up her pike. They began walking towards the stair side-by-side. Another grin crossed Cirel's face. "If I don't manage to see you tomorrow, good luck on your mission to help these people, and getting some money. It is good that you have a plan, and I will be out looking to see what I can do, also."

He grins back, apparently having forgot the troubles outside. "Good luck to you too. And... If you have any regrets, I am sure you can make up for them by helping out, so there is no need to worry." Reaching one of the rooms he managed to get, they finished their conversation before parting ways.

Cirel entered the room, only taking the time to look for the bed before letting her body do the work. Placing the pack onto the floor, she leaned her pike beside the bed before lying down on it, facing the ceiling. Not the best bed out there, but it was better than being exposed to the elements like she had been for the last while. Closing her tired eyes, it was a while before she finally drifted off.