The moon rose high above the horizon, illuminating the wonderland it gazed upon. Lavender and rose colored leaves glowed from their perch on branches of gold and silver. Flowering plants of luminescent pastel blues and greens dotted the dark plains, shivering in the breeze sharp with the promise of winter. Shadows flitted amongst the undergrowth, a flash of wings and alien features visible for only a second before vanishing back into the dark, the only proof of their passage the mischievous cackle of their intent.

Amongst it all, an elegant pagoda carved of dark stone and wood broke the forest canopy. Flowering vines trailed up its sides, curling over railings and crawling across open ledges where statues of sapphire stood eternal watch. Various crystal creatures stood silently, faerie and mortal alike, with the faint pulse of blue light shining from within. Beyond them, a large frog hopped up the four hundred steps of the pagoda, a spiral affair along the sides of the building as water poured down from the upper chamber in a series of waterfalls. It carried a large horn on it’s back and a ruff snug around its throat.

The only sound at the top was the roar of the waterfalls as they cascaded down from a small pool of endless water at the top. The sides of the top of the pagoda looked out upon the colorful woods and the moon was perfectly framed in one of the holes carved into the top. A porcelain teapot, painted with images of swirling aether, sat next to a matching tea cup and honey jar on a small table set next to the Lady of the Isles. The frog took a moment to catch its breath before pushing itself to two legs and brought the strange horn to its mouth, ready to announce its presence, when the Lady held her hand up. It stilled while the Lady finished mixing honey into her tea and she took a long sip.

“There is no need to disrupt a peaceful evening.” The Lady held her hand down for the frog to hop into and deposited him onto the table. Despite standing nearly as tall as a human, the Lady still dwarfed the frog. The sapphire flowers that grew in her hair were nearly the size of a mortal’s head and she stood five or more heads higher than any giant. “Did we collect our payment?” The frog made a series of unintelligible croaks, gesticulating wildly in response.

“And the enchantments we wove remain undiscovered?” The Lady nodded absently as the frog continued to speak. “Good. Now we wait until the pieces are in place.” The frog stayed silent for a time before another, meeker sound came out. The Lady’s brow rose and she frowned as she considered his request.

“I suppose you were successful and efficient. Very well, I will grant your request. You may have one. Which one would you like?” The frog croaked indignantly before clapping its webbed hands over its mouth. The Lady sighed, unamused. “Be glad I’m in such good spirits otherwise I’d rescind my generosity and then more. Consider your next words carefully or I’ll start crushing them.” There was a long stretch of silence and then a broken sound came from the frog. She reached inside her robes and brought out a sapphire statue of a another frog, one frozen in abject terror, and she set it on the table, tapping it gently on the head.

Sapphire darkened and changed, turning to green and yellow quickly, and the statute turned into another frog that collapsed. The Lady turned away while they sorted themselves, a cacophony of croaking disturbing the night. She permitted them a few moments before she interrupted.

“Begone and return to your post.” The Lady’s sharp tone brooked no further conversation and the frogs were left to consider how best to descend as she showed no inclination to help them. “And be sure to keep a close eye on the witch. Our goals align for now but if she interferes again, I want her head on my doorstep.”

---

The area surrounding Soft Haven was a pleasant mix of woods, thickets, and rolling farmland, offering a reasonable variety of natural shelter for those experienced in looking for it. The faint chill in the air lingered even as the sun crested the horizon, morning dew shining gold. Birdsong started even before the first rays of light and only grew louder as the sun continued to rise. Deer and rabbits placadily wove through trees and distantly, the creak of wheels and hoofbeats could be heard traveling along the various paths that broke through the Snakeburrow woods.

However, the night was not without its strangeness. Malice, awful in its power and crushing in its presence, woke those who slumbered outside Soft Haven’s wall just after the moon began its descent back towards the horizon. The presence was there for but a moment and then gone without so much as a whimper. It could have been passed off as a dream if not for the strange claw marks in an almost perfect circle around each person’s abode.

---

The smell of fresh bread and the sound of a waking town, with all its clatter and clashing, rose with the sun. While there were a number of stone and wood businesses, its market was mostly open air as it was once a gathering place for all the world’s myriad goods. And while there were still a good number of tents and stalls set up for the early morning rush, it barely filled half the market square, certainly not enough to cover the bare spots where broken cobblestone went ignored and certainly not enough to hide the numerous people who found themselves begging for scraps and copper. Still there was energy in the air and an optimism of people who’d lived in this town for millenia.

The Treant, the “affordable” inn, was a measly six copper a night. Of course, it wasn’t exactly the nicest place to find a bed. The outside was slipshod and run down, its tables and chairs and staff much the same. Its sign was faded and battered, the paint long dried and flaking. More than one window was nailed shut, every table hobbled back together from freely available wood, and a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t seen a cleaning in years. The walls were covered in nicks and carvings from fights and drunkards and the occasional aspiring artist who was both former and latter, and the gnome manning the bar looked like a piece of leather left in the sun too long. The bar maids were a plain lot, a handful of humans and halflings, but a few knew how to pluck the strings of a lute in a decent way so music could be found on a few occasions. Breakfast in this place was little more than oats, bread, and watery ale for four copper, an extra copper for fresh bread and an extra eight for a dollop of honey.

Meanwhile, The White Lion stood on the opposite end, a clear contrast to its competitor. Built of precious woods and imported marble, The White Lion once shone as a testament to the town’s wealth. However, the gold gilding has started to fade and the stone pillars have grown dark with dirt as the flow of coin lessened. Still an impressive affair, The White Lion boasts a large first floor, accommodating a large dining space with elegant rugs scattered around the floor, expensive linens draped over tables, and a number of large tapestries on the walls, a small stage for music when they had a large enough crowd, and a bar featuring a number of popular Reflin and Dranirian liquors, wines, and ales. Rooms, at 8 silver a night, in The White Lion were luxurious affairs, a four poster bed in each room with a wardrobe, a locking trunk, a table, a desk, and an attached washroom were the standard affairs, with hot water available on request for bathing. For breakfast, they offered a simple breakfast of sausage, eggs, beans, tomatoes, and mushrooms over potato hash with either a seasonal juice and a tankard of nice ale for an easy silver and 6 copper.

---

The Bounty House lay north east of Soft Haven, beyond the Soft Haven graves and in a secluded area of the Snakeburrow woods. The safest path there forked off from the northern road to Wilree, turning sharply right one hundred paces away from Soft Haven gate and wandered for a ways before reaching its destination.

All told, Kyreth’s arrival in Soft Haven – or more accurately, outside Soft Haven – was a lot calmer than he expected. In fact, he’d go so far to say it was actually kind of pleasant, which was a nice change of pace. He got to spend the night around a warm fire (thankfully, without incident), and for the first time in ages, got to have a bit of conversation. Well, “conversation” was a strong word, seeing as Lilann really did most of the talking on her own, but Kyreth was content to sit quietly and listen. The night was kind to them, withholding the typical late autumn rain, and Kyreth was surprised to find the Soft Haven cemetery a rather peaceful spot to sleep.

That wasn’t to say the night passed without incident, though. At one point, a horrible feeling of imminent danger shocked Kyreth from slumber, the boy shooting up like a sprung snare, pawing reflexively for his crescent. But, like so many other times he’d been started out of sleep, he saw nothing in the dark; no beast standing over him, no pitchfork-wielding mob, nothing. As such, he brushed it off as yet another case of some woodland sound startling him and managed to get back to sleep.

As usual, Kyreth woke again at first light, blinking groggily up at the still-dim sky as he gathered up his senses. He was well acquainted by now with the stiffness that came from sleeping on the ground, but his tail complained especially loudly this morning; he would usually have unbound it from his waist for the night, but opted to keep it hidden since he wasn’t alone. Before he even lifted his head, Kyreth closed his eyes once more and put his hands over the pendant on his heart, whispering a prayer of thanks to Selene for once more seeing him safely through the night.

Cold from the pre-dawn chill, Kyreth clutched his worn, dew-dampened cloak around him as he finally sat up, pawing blindly behind his head for the hood that had fallen off as he regained his bearings. Out of habit, he patted himself down for his belongings; knife, purse, crescent, cloak (obviously), and – oh, his packet of trail food was missing. Right, he’d shared some last night with Lilann. Absently wondering if he’d have enough left over to last him until his first Bounty House pay or if he’d have to buy more today, Kyreth looked around for the oilcloth packet, and found it on the grass next to him – and next to that, a bunch of deep, jagged gashes in the soil.

Kyreth withdrew his hand as if he’d seen a snake and scrambled to his feet, backing a few paces away as his tail squirmed nervously under its wrappings. The marks weren’t just there; there were many of them, stretching to each side until they encircled their whole camp.

“Li— uh, Lilann?” Kyreth rasped dryly, not taking his eyes off the marks. They looked fresh, tearing up the grass in what looked like a series of deep scratch marks. Were those there when he got here? It was too dark then to see the ground in any detail, but why would a graveyard be torn up like that? A wave of dread washed over Kyreth; not just fear of what sort of creature had to have prowled around them as they slept to make these, but a fear that a Soft Haven guard could come over any moment and blame him for ruining their graveyard.

No, no dammit, this had to be a misunderstanding, right? Nothing big enough to make those marks would pass through unnoticed – or without making a quick meal out of the two sleeping Tainted in its path. No, no way – sure, something woke him up, but he didn’t see anything, let alone something with claws big enough to do that.

Maybe Lilann would know. She was doing that weird ritual with the smoke when he arrived; maybe this was part of it. Yeah. He tried to clear his throat, calling out to Lilann again without taking his eyes off the marks on the ground. He did his best to keep the fear out of his voice, but he couldn’t purge the shakiness. “Was this part of your… funeral… thing?”

---

In the middle of the night Lilann opened her eyes to darkness. Her heart beat fast, her breath quickened, dread enveloped her, and then in the span of a moment the feeling vanished. Such occurrences were not unfamiliar to her; night terrors had troubled her since her first steps in Dranir, and often left her much worse for wear than this. Usually, though, traces of her nightmares followed her to the waking world, ephemera in the peripheries of her eyes and ears, or a sensation like falling. Instead she just felt…afraid, almost bestially so.

But she was accustomed to fear, too. Before long she was asleep again, and this time she was awoken by something very real: the sound of her own name.

Morning had come to the graveyard, which meant sunlight had followed it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw it was already staining her hair blue, and reached instinctually for her hat, which she donned before she was even fully upright. Her back ached from the hard-packed earth, but a long, drawn-out stretch popped her joints and filled her with a pleasant warmth. Behind her, her tail curled and uncurled itself, as if in mimic, and she let out a satisfied sigh. Not her worst night on the road by any means, she’d even had company this time. Company who was an earlier riser than she was.

“Was this part of your… funeral… thing?” Kyreth asked, already on his feet. Lilann didn’t pick up on the strain in his voice, it was too early for that. The shakiness she caught, but her mind was not quite as awake as her body.

“Mmhg…hn?” she answered, then realized those weren’t words and tried again. “Funeral thing? Was what part—”

She saw the gashes then, inches away from where she’d laid her head, and froze. A feeling like the one that had woken her earlier in the night began to bubble up within her, but she pushed it down. Instead, in its place she let grow a sense of fascination. She twisted about; the marks encircled the entirety of their small, ill-defined ‘camp’.

“Oh, my…” Lilann mumbled as stood up, eyes pasted to the clawed earth. “No, this wasn’t me. This is…interesting.”

Interesting indeed. It was wild—well, no, actually, it was the opposite of wild, it was deliberate. It had to be. She didn’t know of any animals that made patterns like this, and a creature would likely have just attacked them in their sleep. For a moment she suspected Kyreth might have done this, and that perhaps she’d had his measure all wrong, but, no. Looking at him, it was clear to her that he was just as confused as she was—or that he was a very good actor.

Perhaps this was some sort of omen, diving punishment for lying about the dead for a place to sleep. She looked down to the plaque in the ground, the grave marker for a man she did not know. The stone was old, cracked and mossy, and when she’d first arrived the dirt about it was entirely undisturbed, unlike most of the others which bore indentations from the townsfolk who came to kneel and pay their respects. It made sense, the name on the plaque sounded Tainted—that’s why she’d picked it. Odds were no one was coming to visit a dead Tainted in a small Finnagund town except another Tainted, and no matter how sour the sentiments it would have been bad form to chase someone off for performing a funerary vigil.

At least, so long as that vigil didn’t end with the cemetery being torn up. Damn.

Lilann threw on her coat and slipped her tail into a fold in the lining. “We should go. I don’t intend to take the blame for whoever did do this, and neither should you,” she said, hurriedly stamping the ashen remains of kindling into the grass, and dumping out the little bowls of incense before tossing them into her satchel and slinging it over her shoulder. The lyre and mask she clipped to a hoop on her hip. Lastly, she settled her longsword into a strap on the back of her coat, high enough so that its point didn’t drag on the ground, but low enough that it didn't disturb her hat.

“Bounty House, then? Before someone shows up with flowers for their nan and see's what's become of the place.”

Night was beginning to fall fast as Ermes began to approach Soft Haven. He took measure of how much coin he had left and had decided he didn't have enough to spend on a night at the local inn. From the information he'd gathered, there was a Cemetery to the east of the town, just outside its walls where hopefully none would disturb him. As he began to approach the entrance, the winds shifted slightly as the scent of herbal smoke wafted in the air. Ermes paused, wondering if perhaps there were people out at night offering their prayers, or had they just left, leaving him alone to the safety of the night and the company of the dead. He began to approach slowly, seeing a luminous glow coming from inside the Cemetery. Voices drifted along the air as Ermes realized that something was within the walls of the graveyard. His instincts kicked in, hunching low as he silenced his steps to see if it was potentially the spirits of the dead or just those visiting them.

When he finally saw the pair, he rolled his eyes and began to make his walk back outside. The grounds were already taken by others, leaving only the expanse of the forest nearby as his place to rest. He didn't dare walk much farther, his legs already tired from the journey here, his stomach growling and begging for him to grab something to eat. Ermes looked around the forest, deciding he didn't have the energy to capture, drain, and cook something. So instead he did the only logical thing he could do. He found the tree with a wide enough trunk, leaned up against it, and spent all of his Aether into creating a tent made of bones and sinew. As the last of his magic flowed out of him, he passed out from aetheric exhaustion, guaranteeing a good night's sleep.

As twilight hit, Ermes broke out in a panic. The makeshift tent had long since dissipated, leaving him out in the open. The forest was still, the sounds drowned out by the loud drumming in his ears, and the sharp shallow breaths that he took. He only dared to look out through his periphery, afraid of what he might find in the dark of this forest. Fear clung in the air and suddenly, it was gone. It stayed with Ermes, like a cold that soaked your bones, slowly draining out of him until once again exhaustion took its hold and he passed out once more. Morning came as light flickered through the canopy of the trees. A stray light managed to get past the shadowy mess that was his hair as it hit his eye. Ermes groaned in his sleep, slowly getting up as he began to stretch from the hardness of the floor.

It was in this morning light that Ermes had finally noticed the claw marks that raked the ground around him. They made their way from the base of the tree all around him until it hit the other side. His chest felt as if it was in a vice grip as he slowly stood up from his spot and gathered his things. It was too early to be wasting his magic, but Ermes feared what might happen if he stepped over the circle. He took one long shaky breath before decidedly crossing over. Whatever it was that had seen fit to find him in the night had left him alone. There was solace in that he had decided. Unfortunately for him, Ermes had no idea where the bountyhouse was. He had no intention of searching for it aimlessly and so he made his way over towards the guards outside the gates.

As he approached the northern gate, Ermes spotted two guards standing by the entrance. Another two were inspecting a carriage, clearly focused on their work as the others stood by and watched. He took note of where they seemed to check, marking it off as potentially useful information for later while scanning the Northgates exterior. A large wooden gate was the main line of defense, followed by an iron one that seemed to hang above. Escaping it would take a bit of finesse, but it was potentially doable if ever needed. As Ermes clung to the shadows of the trees, he made his way towards one of the guards, asking them where he could find the bountyhouse. They gave him a rather skeptical look, after jumping ever so slightly from his sudden appearance, before finally answering his questions and pointing him in the right direction. He thanked the guard, his voice still sleepy, before making his way over towards his mark.

---

So far, the venture to Soft Haven had been a terrible experience. The moment Ceolfric stepped into Soft Haven, he was assaulted at every angle by the prickling emanations of every being's aether, all crammed together in the confines of the walls. Every moment he spent wandering the streets was a moment he had to kill his instinct to turn and lash out at the potential opponents surrounding him. Even when he fled out into the woods, Ceolfric could still feel the buzzing.

Worse, it felt as if the aether was playing tricks on him all night. Some malevolent presence had startled him awake at some point in the night, though it disappeared the moment he tried to trace its source. From then on, every nocturnal critter that strayed too close had him up and on full alert.

It seemed the journey was nearly for naught, too. It was hard to believe this was the great and illustrious Soft Haven that Ceolfric had heard stories of. It was obvious the tales were true at one point; rather than ramshackle peasant hovels, the crumbling veneer of the town evoked the thought of once-mighty ruins or the broken remains of a wealthy temple rebuilt after a raid. If he'd have known the city was on the decline, he would've made for a Bounty House in greener pastures. Still, the red fern capital of Othard had to have some wealthy patrons in need of a mercenary, or they wouldn't have bothered opening the institution to begin with.

Ceolfric woke groggily from his restless sleep, unfurling from his sword that he'd been wrapped around all night. He had barely stretched the stiffness out of his limbs before he returned to said weapon, drawing it reflexively and brandishing it outward like a posturing hedgehog upon noticing the claw marks scored into the dirt. Once his brain caught up with his body, he let the sword drop and sat up properly. They had to be hours old, judging by how dark it was when that presence had woken him up. If it was a threat, whatever left the marks did a piss-poor job of it. Should've gotten him when he was sleeping.

Though that did beg the question of what did leave them, and why it had left him alone. Had it smelled the Lord of Slaughter's taint on him and left him alone? The sheer malice he felt could've easily been demonic in origin. Still, it left no tracks, so the gouges in the ground were definitely deliberate. If it had felt some sort of kinship to him, it made little sense to leave behind threatening messages.

Stretching his awareness outward, Ceolfric felt nothing akin to the presence of the previous night underneath the dull thrum of Soft Haven's aether and the scattered creatures of the forest. However, two points stood out to him over the chorus of beings around him, veritable beacons in the astral sea of the aether. If his culprit was still close, it had to be one of them; normal souls didn't burn that brightly. The would-be adventurer gathered his things hastily, ensuring that none of his meager belongings had been pilfered during the night and that all of the buckles on his armor were well-affixed. After strapping his shield to his arm, Ceolfric fearlessly set off in the direction of the larger of the two aetheric presences. If the creature was so bold as to flaunt itself to every sleeping traveller, he doubted it was anything less than the strongest entity in the area. He'd have its head by noon, Gods willing.

Unfortunately, as Ceolfric grew nearer to his destination - a graveyard, of all things - he realized the bonfire of aether he'd felt was not one soul but two, their essences mingling in close proximity. The bandit stayed low on his approach, taking advantage of the cover that the surrounding woodlands provided before the open expanse of the graveyard forced him to reveal himself. Two drow milled about, probably visiting a dead relative or something equally inane. Worse still, the other presence he'd sensed was on the move now. Maybe it was smart enough to use the oddly radiant elves as a red herring to cover its escape. No, it would've fled hours ago if it truly meant to evade him.

Ceolfric turned away to head for the gates - someone in town had to know about the creature, even if through superstitious wives' tales with only a kernel of truth to them - though when he shifted, he saw the ground ripped apart around the duo before him, not with the typical desecration of a common grave robber, but bestial scores like those that his greated Ceolfric on his awakening. They knew something.

Ever a man of action, he emerged from the brush, sliding Goredrinker from its scabbard preempitively as he advanced on the two drow. Instinctively, the hand hidden beneath his targe curled inward, middle finger and thumb twitching ever closer together. The woman looked to be in a hurry to leave, and he wasn't going to give her that opportunity without answers.

"If this is supposed to look like a funerary vigil, you did a terrible job," Ceolfric mused as he leveled the point of his blade at the two gray skinned suspects, "Did you two summon the thing that left those marks?" They certainly had the aether for it, and where better than a graveyard to attract infernal powers with the stench of death?

---

@McMolly@Obscene Symphony

What little glimmer of hope Kyreth had that this was all just a disturbing misunderstanding was dashed when Lilann confirmed that the marks were not her doing. While she didn’t seem nearly as unsettled as he thought she should have been, to no surprise she did share his fear of being blamed. Every Tainted had an instinct like that; wherever they tread, accidents and misfortunes magically became their doing.

“Bounty House, then? Before someone shows up with flowers for their nan and sees what's become of the place.”

“Y-yeah,” Kyreth nodded anxiously, peeling his eyes off the marks on the ground long enough to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. He tried to smooth over one of the gouges with his foot as Lilann got her things together, but it was no use – the marks were too deep to be hidden by well-placed grass. He shuddered to think of how much work it would take to fill the gaps, and even then it would probably take weeks for the ground to settle properly. And that was to say nothing of the insult to the dead. Placing his hand over his pendant, Kyreth offered a near-silent prayer of apology to Selene for attracting the damage; she may not have been quite the right god to pray to on behalf of the dead, but the other gods probably wouldn’t accept a prayer from him anyway.

He was jarred from his prayer by the sound of footsteps coming from the forest, although the culprit made no effort to hide his presence. Instead, Kyreth's heart jumped into his throat as the shieldbearing stranger pointed a well-loved-looking sword in their direction and leveled the same accusations Kyreth was afraid of – albeit in an unexpected way.

“Su—? N-no!” Kyreth quickly stammered, taking a reflexive step back. Summon— like, summon a demon? Kyreth knew the Tainted were associated with the unholy, but the idea that someone would think they’d called on unholy forces to vandalize hadn’t crossed his mind. He thought they’d assume they desecrated the graveyard by hand – not that that was much better, but at least it wasn’t as serious as communing with demons right outside the town walls!

“These were here when we woke up,” he insisted hurriedly, trying his best to keep the wavering pitch of his voice in check. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened but I’m sure I can— I don’t have much money, but I can probably…”

Despite his efforts, Kyreth’s words got quieter until his voice died completely, the sentence hanging awkwardly in the air as he realized how hopeless the situation was turning out to be. He highly doubted this guard – or ranger, or whatever he was, touting a shield around like that – would believe him, and he was sure Soft Haven would rather hang him from the wall and leave the graveyard in shambles than allow him to repair the damage. His panic was replaced with sour regret as his pupil-less eyes fell to the ruined ground, Kyreth cursing himself and whatever foul curse of bad providence hung over him. Dammit! The bruises he got in Straithmoor hadn’t even fully healed yet, and already his chance at a new start was gone! Had he really sinned so badly that he was still being punished?

---

Lilann had just about started out of the cemetery when she noticed Kyreth wasn’t following, yet. At first she thought he had seen something horrific, muttering to himself with his hand held to his chest. Perhaps whatever had carved these marks had returned to do its job properly. Then, however, she noticed that he was in fact praying.

Arguably, that was worse.

There were few things more baffling to Lilann than religious Tainted. Kyreth wasn’t the first she’d ever met, but he was among only a handful, and all of them had been plain odd. It made no sense to her. How does a pig worship the butcher? The firewood the fire? Then again, how does one hail the divine with sacrilege in their blood? Perhaps for them, oddity was necessary. For a moment the precariousness of their situation was lost to her, and she thought to ask him about his faith—or prod him for it, which might have been just as entertaining. Unfortunately, they were interrupted, and reality quickly caught back up.

“If this is supposed to look like a funerary vigil, you did a terrible job.”

Damn.

The man emerged from the brush like some wild hog with a nasty sword in hand—had he been hiding in there? He was nearly as tall as Kyreth, but looked to have two or three stone on him. He asked after the marks on the ground, as she’d feared he would, and sinking instinct told her this man was likely a Soft Haven guardsman come to round up the troublesome Tainted stinking up their cemetery. But the pompous disdain in his eyes and the swagger of import belied something else, something rougher.

Kyreth practically prostrated himself in panic, offering to turn out his own pockets in exchange for, she assumed, his life—not that it would take much excusing to hang the both of them. As he went on, Lilann’s eyes narrowed on the man born from the hedge. She noted scars and mars of all sorts wherever skin was visible, including the one splitting his brow. His haircut was peculiar, though she couldn’t place it, and his clothes bore neither the colors of Soft Haven nor the style of Finnagund. And he was dirty as well, less in the way one would get from hiding in a brush, and more from lying on the ground.

As Kyreth’s pleading withered into mumbling, Lilann relaxed. The tension ebbed out of her shoulders, and she stepped subtly closer to Kyreth, putting herself between him and the hedgeman.

“You’re not from here, are you.” she said, more than asked. A comfortable grin returned to her lips. Even if he wasn’t a guard, any human could make a world of trouble for them, but this way things were less immediately dangerous. Still, she thought it best not to test the man with the sword pointed at them, regardless of his station. “My friend speaks the truth, we awoke to those marks, but we don’t know what made them. I’ll admit to having felt some eeriness in the night, but if you came looking for demons, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

She glanced at Kyreth, then to the bounds of the cemetery. It was still imperative that they leave sooner than later. Just because the first ruffian to find them wasn’t a guard didn’t mean the next one wouldn’t be.

“You’re more than welcome to dig around if you’d like, but we’re due at the Bounty House, and I don’t mean to be late.”

Part of her wanted to leave it at that, just turn and walk off and pray Kyreth was savvy enough to follow. She’d turned her back to blades before and left with her spine unsevered, but this felt…different. Bad, different. Perhaps it was the marks, or the feeling that had visited her in the night, or the talk of demons. Perhaps it was all three. Either way, she felt it best to wait until the man dismissed them, or at least lowered his sword, before trying to leave.

---

That was certainly... not what Ceolfric expected. On any level, really. There was no short engagement where he handedly slaughtered two wayward drow, nor shaky accord with fellow servants of the fell powers. His drow weren't even drow, judging by their strange eyes and the fact that one of them was glowing. The fact that the glowing one had chosen to grovel wasn't too outlandish, but Ceolfric expected appeals for mercy well before an offer of money after a plea of innocence. Was that how bribery worked around here? Freckles seemed genuine, but the spineless were often decent liars. It'd be safer to just force an answer out of him, but that might not be possible if a man of his aetheric density actively resisted.

And then there was the matter of the woman. Ceolfric didn't miss her subtly protective step forward - probably her little brother blubbering behind her, then. He'd make a good hostage if she got too uppity. Unlike Freckles, though, she was too calm. Not dismissively enough for him to assume she did indeed have a hand in whatever had occurred last night, but enough that she had to be either completely assured of her innocence or confident that she knew something he didn't and that whatever aetheric gift she had would prevent him from prying it out of her. Ceolfric narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, internally debating whether he should try his luck with a spell or take her words at face value. Neither of them looked particularly threatening, but there were still two of them and one of him. If anything was amiss, he'd break her face first.

Unfortunately, a cursory sweep of his eyes over the cemetary revealed nothing that suggested infernalist activity. No half-destroyed summoning circles, no grimoires bound in human flesh, not even a damn candle. Unless their pet had made such a mess that all the evidence had been immediately destroyed, they looked to be telling at least a partial truth. How convenient, then, that she mentioned their destination.

"The Bounty House," Ceolfric repeated flatly as he lowered his sword, "I presume that means you also aren't from around here." That and the part where they evidently slept on the ground. In a graveyard, no less. There was definitely something suspicious going on with these two, but the question was whether he really wanted to get involved in the first place. They could tear up dirt all they wanted, he just didn't appreciate threats.

"Either way, that's coincidentally the exact same place I was headed before I woke up to some monster's poor attempt at intimidation. You two wouldn't mind showing me the way, would you?" Ceolfric made no effort to hide his contempt as he spoke. He fully expected them to make up some trifling excuse and expose themselves as liars that weren't bound for the Bounty House at all, but if they didn't, he'd at least have more witnesses to validate his story when he mentioned the incident from the night prior.

---

@McMolly@Obscene Symphony

As those who found refuge amongst the dead faced the sudden threat, the faint ringing of a bell beyond the walls accompanied the protest of metal hinges brought attention to the door opening on the far side of the graveyward. A brief glance towards the Soft Haven wall revealed two halflings whose yellow robes bore the mark of Zubil, God of the Sun. One was carefully checking each tombstone, patting the earth around it and letting out a whispered prayer each time. The other was clearly less concerned, barely checking each grave before moving on. Neither seemed to notice the strangers amongst the dead.

“Do this properly!” The serious one snapped, repeating her through examination at the next gravesite.

“The dead ain’t risin’ no time soon. It's been seven, eight years and ain’t none of these damn dusty bones gave even a shake.” The other scoffed but made a big show of checking the dirt and offering prayer.

“We can’t risk it. I felt it again, I know I did. That awful horrible presence.” The woman shuddered. “We do the checks, we make sure nothing was distrubed, and then we can go about our morning rites. We just have to be sure.”

“I told ya, ya shouldn’t eat the pig at The Treant. It’s messin’ with ya dreams.” The man sighed in response. “Gunther’s gunna be pissed that the rites ain’t done and I ain’t takin’ no blame for you ‘gain.

---

The road to the Bounty House was barely a stone's throw from the wall, branching off from the road from Wilree deeper into the Snakeburrow Woods. A deep set of wheel tracks in the packed dirt suggested heavy wagon or carriage traffic within recent days and the pattering of similar footprints showed someone going back and forth frequently.

However, the strange part was the large footprints that easily eclipsed anything else pressed into the ground. They appeared out of the woods a few minutes beyond the first bend, a large swath of bushes and undergrowth left flattened at the roadside, and continued on in the direction of the Bounty House.

Beyond the second bend a massive orcish woman paused, squinting as she peered deeper into the woods. Dressed simply in a loose tunic, trousers held up with a leather belt, and a sturdy pair of well loved boots, she clearly had been stomping through the woods with twigs and leaves littering her hair and shallow scratches across green skin. Seemingly unaware of the minor injuries, she sighed in disappointment. She towered above most other folk, easily passing seven feet, and was built like a professional mercenary with scars littering a powerful build.

---

Damn.

The man lowered his sword, but it didn’t look like he was going to let them off the hook so easily. She recognized the bite in his voice, but the intent behind it was still hard to decipher. Was he doing this because they were Tainted? Surely there were easier ways to cause them trouble than to dog them all the way to the Bounty House, though she knew better than to underestimate the persistence of spiteful people. Perhaps he was just a different sort of sadist.

There wasn’t much time to worry over it before they were joined by even more newcomers. They didn’t look like guards—though frankly, it was hard for halflings to look like proper guards even in full armor—but they did bear colors. Yellow robes, the mark of Zubil. Priests.

Damn.

They were performing rites, or giving resting prayers, or doing any number of the other inane things priests did to the dead. It hardly mattered what they were doing, the real rub was that they were getting closer. For now they were bickering, but soon enough they’d notice the absolute mess around them, and immediately thereafter, they’d notice the two Tainted held up by a man with his sword drawn. Not a good look for Kyreth and herself.

“Yes, fine, sure,” she said, quiet and hurried. “We’ll take you with us if you can stand the company. But as I said, we don’t mean to be late, so let’s get going.”

With one last glance to the pair of priests, Lilann swallowed her nerves and gave the hedgeman her back, starting out of the cemetery and ushering Kyreth to follow her. She’d try to keep herself between the two of them, but at the moment it seemed more important that they get away from the halflings first. Then they could worry about being alone on the road with a man who gave his sword before his name.

The start of the path wasn't much to look at. Sparse tracks of caravans past, a few footprints that showed regular travel from days prior. Nothing new, and certainly no sight of whatever had left its mark by him this morning. As he pressed forward however, the sluggishness of the day before had seemed to slip away. Slowly being replaced by concern and fear as a new set of footprints had emerged. Larger, sunken marks that trampled across the way and through bushes. Areas flattened down by some gargantuan beast. Suddenly Ermes was very aware of the sound of his own heartbeat. Hearing it thrum inside his ears as his steps grew slower and slower, stopping to examine new bits of wreckage. He hadn't realized how much time had passed, nor did he particularly care, but there was the sound of footprints off in the distance behind him.

Quickly his mind began to work in overdrive, trying to think of what he'd learned back at The Mist. Ermes wasn't always the best fighter, he preferred to divide his enemies attention between multiple targets. So he quietly slipped behind a tree, summoning a small skeletal cat that would last long enough to aid in battle without draining him too much. The bony structure leaped up onto his shoulder as he quietly made his way towards the sound, having it jump out first before he appeared behind his target. Ermes was ready for a tough battle, but what he saw wasn't a monster at all, and certainly didn't appear to have claws long enough to leave those gashes in the ground. His shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh before even speaking, his voice sounding more annoyed than anything.

"Hey. You might want to be careful up ahead. I think there's a large creature roaming around. Left some marks not too far from here over by where I camped last night. For a second I thought it was you having come to finish the job." Ermes let out another sigh as he walked around Eila. He snapped his fingers and his small skeletal cat came pouncing back onto his shoulder, nuzzling inside the fur collar of his coat. "You're more than welcome to stick around with me if you'd like. Seems we're headed the same direction, unless this road leads elsewhere I didn't know of. After all, if you're looking for the Bounty House then you must have some form of skill, one that would hopefully work well against whatever's terrorizing these woods." Ermes said as he pointed behind him a bit further down the road where the trampled bushes lay.

---

Ceolfric briefly let his eyes wander to the commotion across the cemetary, confident the diminutive woman before him was less of a threat than the newly arrived interlopers. It seemed he guessed wrong, once he got a look at them. Local gravetenders, performing their consecrations over the dead in the name of whatever woeful deity that bade them wear those garish robes. The Tainted clearly wanted nothing to do with them, and while Ceolfric might've been inclined to ask these locals whether the marks in the ground were a common occurance, his options were limited if the halflings believed him one of the perpetrators. If this were Dranir, he'd have made hacksilver out of their sacred icons and drinking goblets out of their skulls for such an accusation, but this wasn't Dranir, and he'd win no friends butting heads with the local priesthood.

"As you wish," The man responded quietly as he returned his sword to its scabbard. If they had the decency - or naivete - to turn their backs to him so easily, he doubted they had any plans of turning on him in the near future. He followed dutifully, always positioned behind the other two to watch for foul play on their parts. Once they were well out of earshot of the priests, he spoke up again.

"So what were you doing, sleeping in that graveyard?" It seemed an odd place to find refuge, and their skittishness in the face of being witnessed suggested that they weren't there in any sort of official investigatory capacity. Plus, Freckles didn't seem the type to offer to sleep where monsters were known to roam. Which meant they likely weren't lying about being just as clueless as Ceolfric was. He really did make an unlucky pick.

"There's quite a few highly aetheric-" He paused for want of a word, "entities in the woods around Soft Haven today. If it's not related to our mystery monster, I hope there's a different reason beyond simple entanglement in the gnarled skeins of fate." If that was even what he could call it; perhaps aether simply called to aether. Such a principle sounded ripe for catastrophe, if his last encounter with an aetherborn was anything to go off of, but in that mage's defense, he was attacked unprovoked.

Perhaps his approach with the probable-siblings was a bit gruff in retrospect, if the people of the southern lands truly were as soft as he'd been led to believe. It was literally in the name, after all.

---

@McMolly@Obscene Symphony

Ermes couldn't help but notice the woman's starring. He matched her gaze with a deadpan stare, waiting for whatever marvel she was looking at to wear off. Given the choices he figured it was either his hair, his height, or his age. All of which had been centerholds for conversations whenever he first met someone. That is if they didn't just avoid him entirely. A part of him wanted to roll his eyes at her, it wasn't her fault by any means, after all she just met him, but he'd met dozens of her before. Ermes was waiting for all the usual questions to come in, but to his surprise there were none. Or at the very least none that were common.

His eyes widened slightly as she mentioned his current state of being alone, before following up with strange statements. "Uh…" His mouth went agape trying to think of how to answer her, when she walked past him and continued on the way without him. Ermes quickly turned around, doubling his steps just to catch up with her before finally keeping pace alongside. "I didn't know that there was something out here. I woke up and the ground around me was clawed up quite deep. There was the feeling of a dreadful presence though…I don't feel it anymore. But the marks on this path are relatively fresh so I figure it's still out there. Besides, it's not like it could just vanish." He punctuated the ending with a sarcastic tone, shrugging his shoulders as if to say he had no further explanation for the events.

He continued to look at her for a moment as they walked. Clearly in thought as to something she had said. "You mentioned Genesians. What is that? And why do you study them?" Ermes asked as his deadpan expression turned into one more for curiosity. He'd heard the word before, heard it whispered around Wilree or mention of it in talks he eavesdropped on, but never learned its actual meaning. Till now, he had assumed it was some form of slur. His dark eyes fixated on the strange cloaked woman, trying to peer through the hood and see what it was she was hiding.

Ermes made it only a couple steps further before realizing that his new companion had stopped dead in her tracks. He lazily turned around to face her, trying to judge the tone of her voice. He blinked twice as he let the question sink in. You aren't aware of your type of magic?. She began to walk again, moving past him and leaving him stunned for just a moment. His gaze followed her until he'd turned his head and body and began to walk behind her. She seemed to be in thought, as if what he'd said was something unthinkable. But her question still ran through his mind. Somehow she knew more about his magic than he did, the idea alone bringing a bit of frown to his face as he followed behind her.

His steps were silent and light, the traces in the path hardly visible. Ermes was about to speak, asking what she meant by his type of magic, and to know what other forms there were. Did she have magic? What type was she? Questions swam around his mind, his mouth partially open to speak when finally she did instead. He slowly closed his mouth, listening intently as she explained what Genesian magic was. Apparently there were others with his type that could control objects as opposed to create them. It seemed a bit limited and frankly useless but then again it could just be because he already knew of uses for his kind.

Ermes rolled his eyes as she made notice of the wheel tracks and large footprints. Granted he hadn't thought of an orc, thought the possibility was certainly there. Of course he'd already know the other tracks were simply that of a wagons, which made him wonder just how stupid she thought he was. Then the most insulting thing she could've done happened. She bent down in front of him to match his eye level. Ermes had a very unimpressed look in his eyes as he stared straight at her with his dark and baggy eyes. "Tch. Who says I don't just reanimate the dead? It's not hard to find an animal carcass around here. Easy enough to store and carry for when it's needed. As far as i'm concerned people aren't the real monsters. There are worse things out there.``

As the stranger straightened up and began to introduce herself, Ermes began to walk again, moving past her. "That's rather a mouthful. Can I just call you Eila? E would be shorter but I doubt you'd care for that name. Oh, names Ermes I guess. Ermes De Luca. So, what form of magic do you have? Or do you just study it." As he rounded the second bend, there stood an impressively large orc. Cuts littered her arm and she seemed to be sighing in…disappointment? "Well what do you know Eil, you were right about those tracks after all." It was difficult to ascertain a tone from Ermes, as he spoke in nearly flat low tone with hardly any emotion thrust into his words save for when he pressed on keywords to accentuate what he was saying.

As frustrated as Kyreth was, he wasn’t blind to the situation unfolding around him – one of very few merits of a childhood in the Dregs was a sort of beaten-in situational awareness. As such, his complaints were momentarily forgotten as he noticed how Lilann’s posture changed from alarmed to merely cautious, and how the armed newcomer peered sharply at the pair, deep in thought as Lilann confronted him. Kyreth almost gasped when she brushed the man’s accusations off so nonchalantly – surely she knew the gravity of the situation? Either she was simpler than she looked or she knew something he didn’t.

On closer inspection, it seemed like the latter was true. Kyreth had been so focused on the worn and polished edges of the newcomer’s blade that he failed to look beyond it; the man himself was dusty and a little disheveled, just out of order enough to have the look of someone who’d been on the road for a while. His clothing didn’t bear any of the hallmarks of uniform garb, no particular colour scheme or emblematic markings, and while Kyreth didn’t know Soft Haven’s standard well enough to pick their uniform from a lineup, he doubted any settlement would equip their guards as inconspicuously as this.

Kyreth was largely deaf to the conversation as the tense exchange dragged on, heartbeat still swooshing in his ears as he waited for the situation to inevitably deteriorate. His and Lilann’s heads snapped to the sound at the wall in unison, though he kept his eyes trained on the yellow-garbed visitors, ears straining to pick up their voices on the wind.

“We do the checks, we make sure nothing was distrubed…”

“Gunther’s gunna be pissed…”

Kyreth’s former panic came crashing back when snippets of the distant conversation reached his ears – there was no way those halflings weren’t talking about the mess they’d made, and as guilty as he felt, he did not want to be around when they looked up and found the culprits. It seemed he and Lilann were of one mind as she hastened up her conversation with the armed adventurer, rushing to appease him and get moving. Kyreth didn’t dare interrupt lest he disrupt the uneasy peace Lilann had managed to establish, and though it felt like an eternity passed, the adventurer eventually sheathed his sword and allowed Lilann to lead the way into the woods.

Kyreth followed without comment, his discomfort at letting the armed stranger walk at his back outweighed by his urgency to escape the graveyard as quickly as possible. Not until they were comfortably in the shade of the trees did he allow himself to breathe again, although breath still came shallow as he snuck constant nervous glances at the man behind him.

"So what were you doing, sleeping in that graveyard?"

“The inn was full,” came Kyreth’s stock reply, so immediate and automatic that it took the Tainted boy a moment to realize he’d said it out loud. Small wonder – that was the least conspicuous excuse he could come up with in the back of his mind – but not for the first time he was disturbed at how easily the lie flew off his tongue. A few years ago he might not have questioned it, but nowadays it was yet another unwelcome reminder of how naturally deceit came to him. He thought it was a trait native to his kind, but to his surprise, Lilann had yet to fall victim to the same impulse; even in such a tense situation as this, everything she’d said so far had been truthful.

Then what was he doing wrong?

Slowly, he tugged his hood down even lower, more careful than ever to keep his horns hidden from the stranger. It was stupid and dangerous to let quandaries like that get the better of him right now – especially when he had no way of knowing the man’s intentions. It was awfully convenient that he happened to be bound for the Bounty House at the same time as them, moments after brandishing his sword and asking after demons. Kyreth had to fight the urge to palm his knife – partly not wanting to fall to his gutter habits again, and partly fearing the move would prompt a response from the stranger – and his eyes flicked suspiciously over the trees, searching for anything out of place. Not like he knew much about forests, but if a group of thugs was lying in wait to jump them, he wanted to know when to run early.

Lilann was probably thinking the same thing; she walked on ahead casually enough, but the tense set of her shoulders and the way she tried to keep herself between himself and the stranger gave her away. She was just as tense as he was, just hiding it better. Kyreth wasn’t sure if that was a comfort.

Yet to his chagrin, the stranger marched on as casually as could be, chatting absently about “aetheric entities”, whatever those were. An awfully abrupt change from brandishing a sword moments before, but at least he wasn’t outright hostile anymore. Still, his ill-fitting nonchalance rang all of Kyreth’s alarm bells; he never knew humans of any stripe to be this comfortable around a single Tainted, let alone two. Lilann’s disguise was good, and his own worked well enough from a distance, but this close up, their eyes would be unmistakable. There was no way this guy didn’t know what he was walking with. So why so calm?

All those thoughts flashed through his mind in a fraction of a second, but just as soon as they came, he shoved them aside. It was smart to be observant, but letting his imagination run away to dark places would only make things worse. What was the stranger talking about again?

“I’m not sure what those are, but let’s hope we don’t run into any,” Kyreth commented flatly, sounding an awful lot like a teenager who wanted to end a conversation. He was tempted to ask if these “aetheric entities” had anything to do with the demons the stranger had mentioned, but something told him that was a route he didn’t want to tread. Hopefully idle chatter could keep the peace long enough for them to get within earshot of the Bounty House.

At the sound of voices on the trail, the woman frowned at the sky before turning her attention to Eila and Ermes. She made no effort to hide how she sized them up, body language deceptively open and face blank as her attention bounced from weapons to bags to clothes to the skeletal cat curled up in Ermes’ jacket. What she found was enough to appease her apparently, tension draining from her shoulders and a toothy grin nearly splitting her face in half as she approached them.

“Morning, folks! Not too often we find a pair of little ‘uns wandering around at this time.” She greeted them, her booming voice coming from deep in her chest. “Are y’all lookin’ for town? Took a bit of a wrong turn here, just go right back ‘round and take a left at the crooked oak, can’t miss the towering walls. Only thing down this here path is the House and trust me, wander too close and we’ll put you to work quicker than a starving wolf eats a horse!”

---

It wasn’t long before the trio was safely tucked away among the woods, the prying eyes of the clergy no longer a threat. The chill of night still clung to the early morning air, the sun’s warmth not yet fully breaking through the canopy, and animals scurried around the woods with little interest in the passersby. Amongst it all, the faint sound of music plucked on the strings of a harp trickled through the woods with no easily identifiable source. The woodland creatures took no notice of it but it was there, coming from seemingly everywhere.

As the main road approached and the creaking of wheels and the steady clomp of hooves suggested a cart may soon pass them, the music disappeared as the booming voice of a woman took its place, only snatches of her conversation breaking through the trees. "...little ‘uns wandering… left at the crooked oak… here path is the House… starving wolf eats a horse!”

---

The walk had been uneventful, but certainly not quiet.

Lilann had no hand in that, she’d been silent just about the whole time. There was time for talk, and that time was often, but then, just as crucial were the times for listening. For letting other people talk. Sometimes, if she was lucky, or they were drunk, or both, people would say all sorts of things all on their own that she would never be able to pry out of them. Or there would be hints of things, and she would have to do a little work to uncover them—that was more interesting.

Kyreth answered their strange new acquaintance with what she could only assume was a lie. She could commend the speed and squareness of his delivery, if not the believability. Whatever inns there were inside Soft Haven might very well have been full, but that would have had nothing to do with him being unable to find a room. There were few places Lilann could think of off the top of her head less hospitable to their kind than the towns of Finnagund, and she had a hard time believing the hedgeman didn’t know that too. But, then again, even for a man well-armed he seemed eerily calm in their presence.

That, combined with his talk of aetheric entities told her he was likely more than he appeared to be; he was confident to what would have been a fault in someone who wasn’t. His nonchalance at the idea that a monster might have been trying its claws at him was noteworthy as well, but not for any reason she could discern yet. Ultimately, there wasn’t much time to ponder it. The trip wasn’t that long, and the whole way she found herself distracted by the unmistakable sound of a harp, which seemed to follow them and yet, she couldn’t for the life of her pin down where it was coming from.

Then, of course, there came a woman’s voice as they grew closer to the main road.

"...little ‘uns wandering… left at the crooked oak… here path is the House… starving wolf eats a horse!”

Lilann halted in her tracks, hunching just a bit lower to try and peak through the brushy tree line. She saw green, and lots of it. Gods, the woman could have been twice her size, and broad as any soldier in Dranir she’d ever seen. There were others there as well, with much less imposing figures that were harder to discern.

She snatched the mask from her belt and slipped it over her face. Her hat had done a good job keeping the sun out, and she found that her eyes didn’t appear to be glowing within. Good, less conspicuous that way, though she couldn’t say there was much to be done for her companions, at least not Kyreth. Hopefully they could pass onto the main road without incident anyway.

“Apologies,” she said, and practice saw her voice unmuffled in the slightest. “Shouldn’t be much farther now.”

Steeling herself, Lilann continued on, breaking through the tree line to emerge not too far from Orc and what she now saw to be a dreary human boy, and an elf. She gave the trio a nod as she waited for Kyreth and the hedgeman, and had to fight the urge to do anything more. Just one look at the mountainous woman told Lilann that there would be no shortage of interesting stories to plunder from their conversations, but as they were on a schedule, and with her company being what it was, she guessed it might be best not to push her luck.