"I didn't say you..." Thaliar began, but he stopped himself. What was the point really? He knew that Kamri had looked up to Zula ever since she was accepted into The Wood Guards, and that she...handling of his death was less than ideal. So he knew why she snapped back at him like that, and nothing he said could change her mind. Not that he didn't allow the looting. This was war after all.

The elf, his long blonde hair tied in a knot behind him appearing silvery-like in the night, sighed quietly and instead turned his attention towards Dane, Kan and the prisoner they had brought. Compared to Kan, Dane was the experienced veteran with more respect than fear. And while Rook didn't react favourably to the prisoner slung over his shoulder, Thaliar knew where Dane was going with this.

"Maybe later, but first, we need information..." Thaliar said to the group, talking obviously loud so that the unfortunate soldier of Lord Octa could hear him clear. Thaliar's brown eyes were locked on the prisoner, and slowly they began to change colour; the brown changed into a darker shade of green, then to light green and to the point where his eyes actually glowed in the dark. "And that, without our little guest knowing our base."

The elf's hand touched Edwin's forehead, a green light flowing directly into his eyesockets. Was it painful? Thaliar didn't really know, he only felt a stinging, yet satisfying feeling whenever he let the magic go free. But what was it that he did? To put it lightly, he made sure Edwin wouldn't wake up until Thaliar told him to. Edwin's vision would go green, and then all black in an instant. With Edwin unconscious, Thaliar turned to the others again, the green glow now fading back into his normal brown. "Don't worry, he's not dead; We'll get our information. Now let's get moving, who knows when Lord Octa's men will return."

((Suggested listening))

The predawn glow had scarcely dispelled the stars from the sky when the gates to Lord Octa's keep were cranked open. Like a mouth of fangs yawning wide, the metal porticulus of the dark lord's keep opened into the courtyard of the citadel. From within the courtyard five horsemen charged forth onto the road leading up to Lord Octa's keep. Only a few strides behind the horsemen was the dread knight Vatikar standing atop a chariot pulled by two muscled warhorses. At his side was the elf girl, with shackles around her feet that would impede her ability to run away.

Sir Vatikar, upon riding out of the gate, inspected his retinue of seasoned warriors. His subordinates were not dread knights like Vatikar was; instruments of death employed by Lord Octa to dispatch his most powerful enemies. His band of warriors were essentially men-at-arms, though they were several cuts above the kettle hat-wearing peasant boys who stood guard outside the keeps of Lord Octa's vassals, armed with pikes they barely knew how to wield. Vatikar's horsemen were what the peasant rabble called Black Hats - named for the wide-brimmed cavalier hats they wore. These professional soldiers who had proved their mettle time and time again on the field of battle. Clad in chainmail cuirasses, they thundered down the road with long, black capes fluttering in the frigid wind. Each carried a saber in belt-affixed scabbards, and each of them had heavy crossbows strapped directly behind their saddle. They carried the same weapons into battle, knowing precisely how to use them and how to work in tandem with their fellows. On their own, a cadre of Black Hats were a redoubtable force to be sure. But when led into the field by a dread knight of the likes of Sir Vatikar, they were truly a force to be reckoned with.

Agael watched from the window high in Lord Octa's keep as the chariot-borne Vatikar and Assallya thundered into the distance along with their cadre of Black Hats, down the road into the dark forests below the keep. Dawn was breaking over the dominion of Lord Octa. As the riders disappeared into the murky forests, Agael could only wonder why his master saw fit to go to such lengths to recover this single missing prisoner, to risk allowing a prisoner who had murdered one of the dark lord's own barons to escape just to have this missing prisoner back. Agael suspected that Lord Octa knew more about this prisoner than he was letting on. As the sun rose over the land, Agael withdrew from the window and made for the dungeons deep within Lord Octa's keep. Perhaps the Tobler boy knew more about this missing girl the dark lord wanted so dearly.

The blowing snow hid the tracks of the Wood Guard within minutes after their passage as they made their way through the dense forest over terrain too rugged even for horses. It was slow going, hampered by the weather, their unconscious prisoner, and Rook's injured leg. By the time they arrived at the impromptu camp, the sky was already beginning to turn grey with the first hint of dawn.

The camp was little more than a rocky overhang that had been blocked off against the weather by canvas tarps. Still, a small fire and no wind made it feel positively cozy compared to the elements outside the shelter. Rook sank down heavily onto a log that had been dragged inside and turned into a temporary bench. Her leg was throbbing and she wanted nothing more than a hot meal and peace enough to curl up in a blanket to sleep.

"I found the Moss Witch", she confirmed. Locating the reclusive seer and gaining the old woman's advice on how Octa might be defeated had been the objective of the ranger's mission, but her eyes reflected that those gathered might not like what she was about to tell them.

"She told me three things. First, that our captain would be betrayed." With Zula dead, it seemed this one had already come to pass. But who had betrayed him? Rook refused to believe it was one of her companions gathered here.

"Then, that a weapon to aid us could be found in the ruins of Burren," she glanced around questioningly at the others, hoping one them would have heard of these ruins as the Moss Witch had not told her where exactly they could be found.

"And the third," she hesitated, not yet understanding the meaning of the seer's instructions, "was to ask for help from the raven."

Assallya thanked all the gods above that Vatikar and the chamberlain didn't simply run her through when she'd asked to cast a spell in the dungeons but now they were on their way. The silver of the pan had been pure and the crafting had been fine so it held a dweomer well. She'd used it, and her memory of the escaped woman to conjure up an image. Now Vatikar had seen the fugitive's face but there had been nothing in the images of the woman that provided any indication of where she was.

Thankfully, she'd been able to point out the general direction that Rook was by the faint pull of the magic. It was in no way distinct and she'd have to scry again once they were closer but now they were on their way. -and Assallya hated every moment of it. Oh, she was used to driving a wagon across uneven terrain. She might not have been particularly good at it but she was used to it. Travelling by chariot was a new experience and it was grossly uncomfortable standing there and gripping the rim. She had thought riding side saddle had been bad. This was torture and she could feel every bounce through her bare souls.

"We should discuss my role in the capture," she said to Vatikar during an open stretch of road, sounding much more eloquent now that she'd calmed down, "I would not wish to incur your wrath and be spitted on the spot. Would you prefer I stand fast in light of enemies or would you enjoy sorcerous aid? Would you prefer I invoke only upon your express command or would you prefer I use my own judgement?"

The Moss Witch. The reason Rook had gone out in the first place, and then gotten captured. The reason they had to get her back from Lord Octa's grasp. The reason they all stood or sat around the campfire. Thaliar had heard the name before. First time was many years ago, when his clan's leader had forbidden all contact with the Witch because of "Heresy". The second was around the same time Rook left on her mission, so Thaliar was reluctant put faith in The Moss Witch. Not that he, or they had much choice.

The Elf sat down beside the fire, legs crossed and arms lain on his lap. While he listened to what Rook had to say, he closed his eyes, preparing himself for the sort of rest Elves took; Meditating. The first he already knew. The second, he could not answer then, though the name Burren did ring a bell, far back in his mind. If he could only let his mind think freely...

The third, 'the raven', made Thaliar turn his head slightly, before he straighted himself again. "Who is this raven? Is it connected to this place you mentioned, Burren?" He asked to the group as a whole, his was calm and collected, free of the heavy breath their journey here had required.

When they'd arrived at the camp Kamri had busied herself preparing the items she would need to take care of the wound on Rooks leg. Before Zula had been killed she'd been training with some healers to learn their ways. It'd been mentioned that being a healer might make people less afraid of her, that and there would always be a need for healers.

She'd taken to it quiet well, her keen sense of smell making it easier to identify the herbs used and she had steady hands making her one of the best with thread and needle. Most came to her as she left minimal scarring.

Now she had a pot of snow melting on the fire and she was laying out her tools and had a couple different pots of salve on hand. She wasn't quite sure what had happened to Rooks leg as of yet so she'd prepared enough that she could get the wound cleaned and bandadged as quickly so the tired woman could rest.

When Rook told them of what the Moss Witch had said about Zula, Kamri had stilled and had forced herself to take several long deep breaths. She of course had speculated that someone had betrayed Zula but hearing the truth of it was hard.

The rest of what Rook had said meant little to her, she didn't know anything about Burren, and how was a bloody raven supposed to help them? she shook her head at Thaliar indicating that she didn't have a clue. Then settled herself in front of Rook, motioning for the woman to let her look at the leg.

Spitted, hmm? Vatikar thought to himself as he gripped the chariot's reigns in his hands. Fret not; I'll make a rotisserie out of you soon enough, elf.

"So you are a conjuror too?" Vatikar asked aloud. "I did not expect our guide to be so useful. Do whatever you wish to assist my men-at-arms and I, but do not put yourself in undo danger. The men under my charge are capable enough of bringing this runaway back to our lord and dispatching whatever remains of this Revolt. The runt Zula - the commander of this insurrection - was an easy opponent. Any survivors stand little chance against me."

"Hold!" One of the hat-donning riders cried up ahead, yanking hard on the reigns of his steed and pulling it to a bucking stop. The other riders stopped in the middle of the road before dismounting at once. Vatikar slowed his chariot to a stop, permitting himself and Assallya to step out and survey their surroundings.

"Do you lot not understand that time is of the essence?" Vatikar bellowed. "Why have we stopped?"

"Look, sire," One of the dismounted Black Hats said, pointing to the roadside. Embedded in the trunks of the trees beside the road were a number of arrows, and several men laid lifeless in blood-stained patches of snow.

"They've all got black armbands, sir,." one of the Black Hats reported, standing back upright after inspecting a pair of fallen soldiers. "These are his majesty's men."

"Steel bodkins," another declared upon yanking an arrow out of the chest of a fallen soldier. "Whoever killed these lads was no mere highwayman."

"Brigands would've stripped them of everything of value: arrows, boots, daggers. 'Sides, they'd have to be a brave or stupid bunch to attack the lord's men within three leagues of his majesty's keep."

"It would seem we have found the place of the ambush," Vatikar surmised as he twirled a stray arrow in his gauntlet-clad fingers. "Is there any sign of where the perpetrators may have gone?"

"None, sire. It seems that there was a fair amount of snowfall since the attack. I'm afraid there are no tracks to be found."

"Then it is doubtful that they covered much ground in such conditions," the dread knight deduced, snapping the arrow shaft between his fingers before carelessly tossing it aside into the snow. "Is there not a hamlet near this place?"

"Yes, sire," one of the riders affirmed. "The village of Grayweald is perhaps a half league to the south of here."

"Let us go there," Vatikar announced as he pulled Assallya back into the chariot. "I suspect we will find our missing prisoner in this village or somewhere close. If so, the elf should be close enough to ferret the escapee out."

With a whip of the reigns of the chariot, Vatikar, Assallya, and the Black Hats were on their way to Grayweald.

The village of Grayweald was far from a village you'd take notice of if you passed through. In truth, it was plain average, perhaps even dull; it had a town market; a cemetery beside the old stone temple in honour of Markisha, the Goddess of farming and fertility; a small barrack where the local 'militia', if you could even call them that, kept their weapons and practiced; a small river running straight through town; a bridge crossing said river and several other buildings.

Another such building was the tavern, "The Waterfront", a wooden building with two stories and only a handful more people inside. At this time and hour it wasn't normal to have more people, beside the town drunkards and early birds about to head out. The barkeep walked down from his quarters at the second floor, opened the shutters of a few windows and in the now lit room found several people sleeping in various spots around the room. A few slept on their table, their hands still cluthing a mug of unknown booze. The others lying aroundt he floor were much the same. But not the old man sitting at the counter.

-"Didn't expect you to be here this early, ol' Ragnar." The barkeep said casually to the grey-haired man, sitting in a straight position unlike the other heavy sleepers. The man called Ragnar smirked as he turned his head towards the barkeep.

"Couldn't sleep, so thought I'd get some early breakfast, Soldard."

-"Bad dreams? Guess that makes two of us. Hold your stomach for a little longer, I'll get something on the stove."

"Not dreams; visions. And that'd be nice."

-"Oh don't start with that again, Ragnar. Being you're old and bind doesn't make a wise prophet, just wise."

Ragnar, the blind, couldn't help but chuckle. "You might be right, but I know what I saw. If I'm not mistaken, we'll have company in Grayweald soon. Both welcomed and shunned."

-"Really Ragnar, really? That could mean anything; traders, soldiers, bandits, vermin and deer, or just the never-ending snow. Do you want breakfast or not?"

"Yes please, Solvard. I guess I'm just an old, blind man rambling, like always." Ragnar said in a jokingly manner, as if humoured by the stereotype he'd become. It fit into it somehow, all with his grey beard and hair, white blind eyes and the long staff leaning against the counter. Solvard the barkeep chuckled after a moment, he too humoured by it, before coming back from the stove where a simple breakfast was cooking.

-"You're wise, Ragnar. Old, sometimes overly cryptic in what you say, but still wise. Fitting your old name."

"Maybe, maybe not. But what's certain is that even old birds gets hungry during the morning. By the way, shouldn't you help poor Jorvi over there? He's been singing drinking songs in his sleep since I came in here, and not very good either."

Kan sat down very quietly on the log. He hugged his knees. He stared into the fire as he spoke. Not wanting to look at anybody. "I know the Ruins of Burren. It's an evil place. Long ago, it was a temple of the old gods. Under the temple were the burial crypts. They say the dead walk there. There are many other rumors about the place. Some say there is an cult of flesh eaters who have made their home there too. It's a bad place. I don't want to go there."

He flicked his cup of whiskey into the flames, causing them to roar higher for a moment.

At Kamri's urging, Rook removed her right boot and rolled up her torn pant leg so the werebeast could tend the wound. It was 3 days old now and still throbbing and slowly oozing blood through the bandage Lord Octa's men had put on it. "How bad is it?" she asked, steeling herself in preparation for Kamri's ministrations. She almost missed what Kan was saying, but her attention riveted on him now.

She stared wordlessly at her large warrior friend hugging his knees, his demeanor unlike anything she had ever witnessed from him. She didn't think he was scared of anything, but if he was scared of this place...

It seemed the whole group was silent for a few long moments as the flames jumped high. Rook broke the silence as they died back down.

"Do we have another course of action then?"

With a whip of the reigns of the chariot, Vatikar, Assallya, and the Black Hats were on their way to Grayweald.

Assallya had to admit she wasn't much for the woods. It took her far too long to realize that this was the location of the ambush of earlier. Then again, she reminded herself, she hadn't really been able to see what was going on here since she'd been locked away inside the prison wagon.

She moved amongst the bodies, bare feet pressing into the snow without care for the cold; such was the benefit of her magical jewelry. Iron links of the chains attached to her manacles clinked as she stepped. Azure eyes examined the remains of the ambush, searching for something, anything that spoke of the rebels. A cast off piece of clothing, a dropped blade, or lost blood from a gushing wound. Such things were very valuable in divination. Unfortunately, there seemed to be little of use here. It had been near a total rout.

While she searched she also considered. This Vatikar seemed to appreciate her abilities. Maybe she really should rethink her original plan of running off at first opportunity. With his lauding there could be a place for her in the Lord's entourage, a position of power. No more slumming it with petty vagabonds, thieves and adventurers but lands of her own to hold in trust for Lord Octa. Personally, she thought that she would make a fine lady.

She had been about to comment on the lack of useful clues when she experienced a forceful grasp on her arm and was drawn back towards the chariot. A town called Grayweald? The dancing girl considered. She wasn't sure if she liked the idea. Any number of townsfolke could be supportive of the rebels' cause and rush away to warn them of the hunting party ruining any chance at surprise.

Noontime sun filtered through hazy overcast skies above the hamlet of Grayweald. The serfs were out and about now, busying themselves with their daily tasks: splitting firewood, turning over their vegetable gardens in preparation for spring's early crops, and simply moving around to keep warm. As they milled about, they could hear a muffled din coming from the forest beyond the edge of town: the sound hoof-falls from the road.

The monotony of typical village goings-on was instantly shattered as the riders thundered into Grayweald. Their black capes and weaponry gave the newcomers away to the townsfolk, who watched their arrival with palpable unease. These were the dark lord's men; their black capes and armor gave them away at once. Lord Octa's men were a rare sight indeed in backwaters such as these, and nothing good ever came of those few times when the dark lord's men did come to places such as these. The villagers milling about gawked openly, and old women peeked out cautiously from behind window shutters. One of the dark lord's own knights on a warhorse-drawn chariot accompanied by five Black Hats, something bad indeed must have transpired for such a party to be sent to sleepy Grayweald. But perhaps most curious of all was the elven girl standing beside the grizzled knight in the chariot, clad in skimpy garb totally unsuitable for the cold of late winter. What the name of the Gods was she doing with such a party?

Vatikar dismounted from his chariot in the small cobblestone square in the center of the town, prompting the Black Hats to slide down from their steeds.

Go inside with your silver pan and conjure the image of our missing prisoner," Vatikar commanded of Assallya, pointing to the nearby tavern with the name 'Waterfront' painted on a worn hanging sign. As the shackled elf went, the dread knight gestured for one of the Black Hats to follow her inside. "The rest of you lot, come with me."

Sir Vatikar strode to the center of the town square, his cloak-clad retinue gathered around him with heavy crossbows cradled in their arms. The townspeople gathered at the peripheries of the square, anxious to see what this man of the dark lord wanted but too fearful to approach. Satisfied that the better part of the town's men were in earshot, Vatikar cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Subjects of His Majesty Lord Octa, I am Sir Vatikar, and I come before you to request your aid. Not long ago, a prisoner in the custody of his His Majesty was released by agents provocateurs - enemies of the dominion. I have reason to believe that this fugitive is nearby, perhaps even in this very hamlet. Knowing that this is a settlement of loyal subjects with nothing but utmost respect for His Majesty, I expect naught but total cooperation from you lot in finding these criminals."

"Come with me into the tavern," Vatikar demanded, "and I shall explain how you may be of service to us."

At first, the townspeople hesitated. Vatikar gave a swift nod, prompting the Black Hats to lift their crossbows up a little higher. This small gesture was enough to compel the village men to approach the tavern.

"I do."

Thaliar had gone silent after his comment about Burren and the raven. It might have been a few minutes, hours and days, Thaliar couldn't tell. He had closed his eyes, blocked his surroundings from entering his senses so that he could meditate. It had been a while since Thaliar did it last, and the relative peaceful rest the elf got was a welcomed break from the intense last few days. To the others it must have looked like he was sleeping while sitting upright, or simply ignoring them.

But he wasn't just resting. He let his thoughts flow freely, back to a time where he had heard the name 'Burren' before. It was long ago, even longer than the mention of the Moss Witch from before, but it was hidden there somewhere...

It was much the same Kan said; it was an ancient temple of the old gods, with the crypts rumoured to host the undead and cannibals. But something stuck out to him. It was obscure, but it might have been something useful if it was what he really thought it could be. Thaliar opened his eyes suddenly, looking to somewhere behind the others.

"I think I've heard a story when I was young, long before any of you were born. Long before any of this. It too is about Burren, I remember now. A mysterious thief trying to sneak into the temple and take powerful, magical items with him. I don't know if I'm right, but doesn't 'The Raven' sound like a thief's name?" Thaliar asked the others, though his gaze was still locked on a figure amongst them. One they clearly hadn't payed too much attention too.

"I suggest we try to find out if there is a connection between the thief and 'The Raven'. But before that, perhaps we should ask our guest?"

Thaliar stood up from his spot and pointed at the sleeping figure with them; The prisoner.

---

The tavern had gotten more life than our earlier insight into the wooden building. Ragnar the Blind and Solvard had continued their conversation well into the hours of noon, in-between Solvard throwing out drunkards and selling food and drinks to actuall customers. Ragnar didn't mind, and let the barkeep do his job. He himself simply sat still and listened quietly to everything going on. He heard it all; the scratching of cutelry against wooden plates, conversation about everything and nothing, footsteps going through the front door.

He even heard the hooves outside, the door opening and the woman stepping through the door alongside a soldier. Ragnar leaned forward to Solvard and whispered to him. "We got company, friend. I'm afraid I'm correct about earlier."

The barkeep looked at the two newcomers entering through the door, and was about to call at them when he noticed what was odd about them; one was a soldier of Lord Octa, the other an elven woman. The elf carried a silver plate. This was all very strange. -"Can I help you?"

"Peyton, take the children inside," Letha said to a boy of about 12, the oldest of the half dozen children that had been helping her turn over the garden. "Do not come out until I tell you it's safe." There was a harsh tone to her normally soft voice and Peyton only hesitated for a moment before gathering up the younger children and ushering them back inside.

Through long habit and practice of being Ian Zula's eyes and ears here in Grayweald, she counted the armed men, took note of the blonde elven woman with shackled feet, and listened intently to what this Vatikar had to say.

An escaped prisoner? No news of such had reached her yet, but she couldn't help immediately suspect it was one of Zula's lot. That elf's now, she reminded herself bitterly. Rumors surrounded Thaliar, some of which made him seem nearly as dangerous as Lord Octa himself. She'd judge for herself when she met him. Dane and Kan spoke well enough of him, which was enough of an endorsement to satisfy her.

She allowed herself to be caught up with the crowd of mostly men as they headed inside the tavern, wanting to witness first hand whatever happened inside.

---

"Could be," Dane said noncommittally to Thaliar's theory of the raven being the thief that had tried to steal something from Burren. "I'd say if there's a chance of finding something to counter Octa there, we've gotta try it. Sure'd be nice to turn the tide a bit," he said, looking around at their rather pitiful make-shift camp.

When Thaliar's attention turned toward the bound young soldier, Dane stood and hauled Edwin's unconscious form into a sitting position, waiting for him to wake up while Rook glared from her spot on the other side of the small fire.

Kamri slowly pulled back the bandages covering the wound on Rooks leg and resisted the urge to grimace. She'd learned pretty fast that showing emotion while tending to someone wasn't necessarily always the best thing. The wound was pretty deep and as she pulled the solid bandage away fresh blood seeped from the gash. Quickly Kamri pulled the pan of water from the fire and began to clean the wound.

As she worked she listened to what the others said, and as they explained she remembered the stories her old pack mother had told her. "That sounds like the story the Dread Wolf and the Trickster. The Dread Wolf had a temple constructed for him when he conquered all of the leaders of the great tribes. The leaders were buried under the temple but their spirits were bound to the Dread Wolf and would devour any who tried to get to the vault where all the treasures of the Tribes were locked away. Nana used to tell us the Tickster almost made it to the vault before he was caught by the Dread Wolf and devoured."

As she finished cleaning the wound she held a clean bandage to it to staunch the bleeding and reached for her needle and thread. "I have to sew you up Rook, I have a Salve for numbing but there isn't much left. Do you want it or not?"

She glanced over her shoulder as the others hauled their prisoner up. For now she would let the others try to question the man, but she knew that if they needed her help in persuading they would ask. After all who isn't scared of a huge slavering black wolf?

Kan thought about Kamri's and Thaliar's tales and suggestions. "Sounds like Kamri's story is like mine. I just remember as much details as you." He looked at into the fire. Then in a rare moment of enlightenment Kan smiled and looked at the group. "Do you think that the Trickser is the Raven? Maybe?"

Edwin smiled as he slowly woke up. "Rachelle, you're such a naughty girl. So..." His eyes snapped open as his dream was rudely interrupted. He looked startled and a little confused as he looked around the group holding him prisoner. Like he was trying to remember where he was. He pulled against his bindings. "Oh, no..What do you want from me? Let me go. You're gonna be sorry when the Black Hats find you."

"You want to help?" Assallya's hat-donning asked in response to the tavern proprietor's greeting. "Then you stay right were you are." The Black Hat drew his cape back just far enough to show off his scabbard-bound saber. Assallya went about filling her silver basin before performing the enchantments to conjure the missing prisoner's visage under close scrutiny by the patrons and keeper of the tavern as well as her Black Hat escort.

The elf's conjuring ritual was nearly complete when the door to the Waterfront was thrown open. Sir Vatikar, joined by two of his Black Hats entered the tavern, led a veritable herd of anxious townsfolk inside. The villagers crammed inside elbow to elbow, congregating around the dread knight. Vatikar stood above Assallya as she completed the conjuring. At last the ritual was finished, and the water in the silver basin began to vibrate and froth with magical energy. As the waters settled, a reflection of the missing prisoner shone in the bowl for all to see. The townsfolk crowded above the table under the watch of Vatikar and three of the Black Hats, too busy studying reflection of the girl with long brown hair to notice that two of the Black Hats had not entered the tavern.

"Look now into these waters, and look upon the face of this fugitive," Vatikar said for everyone in the tavern to hear. "This girl, and those who might be harboring her, are enemies of His Majesty and the whole of his dominion. As subjects of His Majesty Lord Octa, she is foe to you lot as well."

"But," Vatikar looked up from the reflection to look over the throng gathered within the tavern, "I am not naive enough to think that each of you truly feels such loyalty, such conviction, to His Majesty. In fact, it would not surprise me if there are among you those who would dare wish ill upon His Majesty. And so, in requisitioning your help, I regret to inform you all that... certain measures must be taken to ensure we all truly have His Majesty's interests in our hearts."

As if on cue, the door to the tavern burst open, revealing to all the townspeople where the remaining two Black Hats had gone. The two men were each dragging someone into the tavern against their will. One firmly held an elderly woman by the wrists, who resisted meekly against the Black Hat. But in the arms of the other, was a wriggling boy - perhaps ten or twelve years old. The squirming child caught the eyes of one of the few women within the tavern, and cried out immediately.

"Mother!" The boy wailed. His cries elicited horrified gasps from the gathered villagers.

"You will help me find this girl," said Vatikar. "And you will not run off to notify anyone of this matter. For each one of you that in the course of this search goes missing, I will execute two of your neighbors."

Vatikar then looked over at the old woman and the screaming boy.

"Starting with them."

The dancing girl's mouth opened slightly, jaw dropping in surprise at the revelation of the possible executions. This Vatikar was a monster, but a horribly effective one, taking the actions necessary to preserve his life, the lives of his men and in this particular circumstance her own. Assallya had to admit the large oafish and ogrish man suddenly looked quite attractive. There was no cunning or guile, just brute force. The way he dominated a room with both word and deed was simply intoxicating. While she could have garnered the same results she had to admit that it would have taken significantly longer to do so via carousing.

Turning her attention back to the silvered tray Assallya concentrated, searching the faces of the escaped person's friends or comrades and committed them to memory. At first, when she spied what she thought was a warrior for Octa she almost wept for joy. However then her thoughts went back to the ambush. What were the odds that in the ambush that single warrior might have dropped something personal and more importantly, why wouldn't he have returned for it if it were quite so close.

"...Yes Kan, we do think so." Thaliar said in a lowered tone towards Kan Ironhead. The elf wasn't sure if Kan hadn't really payed attention to what Thaliar had just suggested about the thief and Raven, or if Kan was as slow as Thaliar always suspected him for being. But Kan pulled his weight in the Wood Guards, more than enough really, and so the Elf let it slip.

The prisoner woke up, just like Thaliar had planned. From the looks of it he had been a heavy sleeper, even dreamt of some girl named Rachelle. That was how the magic worked, which was good. Thaliar crouched down in front of him, his face empty of emotions like a statue. "Not much, really. We only want information, and they we'll let you go. And if not..." Thaliar stopped mid-sentence, turning around and looking at both Kan and Kamri, before returning his attention back to their reluctant guest. "Let's just say you don't want to make those two angry."

"Now, tell me what you know about the Raven."

---

---

It came as no surprise to Ragnar that Lord Octa's men were using prisoners as 'motivation' for his subjects assistance. He didn't need eyes to understand the horror that befell those not bowing for his demands, the sounds were all loud and clear. What he didn't immediately understand what water one of the soldiers were talking about. Solvard, who had returned to cleaning mugs and tankards, could see the confusion in his blind friend's face, and promptly leaned forward to whisper; -She's got a silver tray. We can see faces in it, must me magic."

Magic...so the woman was an elf. And those prisoners were enemies of Lord Octa? Rebels then. Ragnar had long hoped that their little town could perhaps, by some miracle from the Gods Themselves, escape the fate he had witnessed in his visions, though it didn't look like the Gods looked favourable at them.

Then perhaps it was time for the Ragnar the Blind to do his part?

The blind man got off his chair from the counter, took his large staff and began to make his way to the door. The rest of the town's folk knew who Ragnar was, and thoughtlessly gave him space to move through the crowd unhindered, even if he wasn't so smart as to leave after such a spectacle. Lord Octa's men on the other hand must have been wondering why the man was leaving so soon, though with no clear rush in his walk.

Kamri slowly pulled back the bandages covering the wound on Rooks leg and resisted the urge to grimace. She'd learned pretty fast that showing emotion while tending to someone wasn't necessarily always the best thing. The wound was pretty deep and as she pulled the solid bandage away fresh blood seeped from the gash. Quickly Kamri pulled the pan of water from the fire and began to clean the wound.

...

As she finished cleaning the wound she held a clean bandage to it to staunch the bleeding and reached for her needle and thread. "I have to sew you up Rook, I have a Salve for numbing but there isn't much left. Do you want it or not?"

As Kamri re-cleaned the 3 day old wound, Rook sucked in a sharp breath and her hands clenched into fists. She did her best to concentrate on the conversation about the ruins and about the Trickster, but still flinched frequently as Kamri worked.

Shades! Yes, I want the salve!, she thought to herself, but instead shook her head. "You can save it." The ranger reached out and rested a shaky hand on Kan's arm, perhaps hoping to borrow some of his strength for a short time.

"Wouldn't this Trickster be long dead by now... if he's one and same as 'The Raven?'" she asked before Kamri started stitching.

--

Letha's heart leapt into her throat when she saw Peyton dragged into the Waterfront. "Let him go!" she yelled, starting forward with the only thought being to get to her son, to protect him from these monsters. But one of her fellow townsfolk grabbed her shoulder to stay her. "Don't be rash, Letha," the man cautioned softly, then he looked at Vatikar, barely heeding old Ragnar moving through the crowd. "No one's rushing off," he said, trying to diffuse the situation, "we'll do what we can to help find the criminal."

And Letha felt tears come, unbidden, to her eyes, feeling as if she would have to betray the Revolt to save her son.