---

Right on the precipice of sleep, the resident bandit was, alas, rudely awoken by something hitting the ground with an ungentle amount of force. A hand found Goredrinker's hilt as Ceolfric's eyes cracked open, a cold, agitated glare that took in his surroundings in the way a disgruntled parent might take in a room of unruly children. Rather than find one of his incompetent travelling companions dropping cargo on the ground while fumbling around for their bag or something equally inane, he was surprised to find everyone accounted for, and two new presences dancing along the edge of his awareness. Not aetherborn, nor undead, but there was something fishy about them all the same, and that was before the one had opened his mouth.

Though, if this 'Giles' was as unrousable as his companion claimed, Ceolfric might just have an advantage. He was surprised to see Storyborn was of similar mind; he'd expected they'd be content to let the duo be on their merry way, as it truly was none of their business what two drunks in the middle of the woods did. Suspicious location, suspicious amount of aether, suspicious whispers about conclaves and schemes, suspicious lack of that gods-damned music that had droned through his head without end for days, but no reason for anyone to actually care. Except for the fact that they'd made the grave and possibly fatal mistake of bothering Ceolfric of Dranir after a day rife with setbacks.

And, he had to agree; he'd had just about enough of being snuck up on too.

Rather than wait and watch as would've probably been prudent, Ceolfric wordlessly rose and slunk off away from Lilann's ambush spot. If they waited for the drunk one to wake up, they'd have two opponents to deal with - even if inebriated - rather than one. Best to strike while the interlopers were unprepared. He kept to the bushes until he'd put the duo between himself and Storyborn - and more importantly, the wagon - each step careful and measured so as to not give himself away prematurely.

Once far enough away that he wouldn't compromise the camp's position by announcing himself, Ceolfric emerged from the brush with an arrogant strut, blade in hand, without any of the pretense of subtlety that he'd crept to his new position with. It was a familiar dance, one he'd performed many times before, though this might've been the first time he didn't intend to rob his target blind when he was done.

"Strange place for a moonlit stroll," the bandit announced himself as he approached, "You're a long way from the nearest alehouse, after all. Makes me wonder what exactly it is you're doing out here, scurrying around in the dark." He was careful not to look in Storyborn's direction, lest he give her away. The man might intuit that a highwayman wouldn't work alone, and he couldn't imagine she was very fearsome with only a rock at her disposal, aetherborn or no. She definitely needed the element of surprise.

And, of course, if they got difficult, she could sing the tale of Ceolfric peeling these idiots' ribcages open in every tavern from here to Dragon Rock.

---

@Mcmolly

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, friend! Hold your fuckin' horses with that thing." The man nodded at the blade, holding his hands up in surrender. The man was older, grey streaks in his hair and beard, the parade of years evident at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He wore simple traveler's clothes, although a carved a carved bone amulet of Melanar hung around his neck and a heavy sack sat at his feet, along another, heavier man who seemed more than content to slumber where he lay.

"We're really jus' passin' though, sir. We aren't looking for any sort of trouble, didn't know nobody was 'round. Didn't realize we were this close to the road to be honest." He offered up, eyes darting to his bag and back to the sword like he was trying to gauge if he could get to it in time. "Just don't wanna be bothered by the thing everyone is saying is hunting the roads these days. Figured if we struggled through the brushes, we'd be safe instead."

Meanwhile, Esvelee paused as Kyreth motioned for her silence and after a long beat, nodded. She looked beyond the treeline, hoping to catch a glimpse of the voice but she didn't see anyone so she slowly pushed herself back towards the cart in the event she had to make a run for it.

Ermes sat on the ground a small distance away from where they were camping, a blue glow emanating softly about a foot away. His cheeks were wet from tears that had long passed as he spoke silently so that the others couldn’t hear him. He didn’t need anyone knowing about his nightly habits, nor did he care to open up to them about his past. These moments, the ones stolen under the moonlight and frozen in time, they were his to have and no one else’s. He’d finished drawing the image of Cerric’s squiggly mass that was meant to represent aether, looking up at the ghostly visage of his parents as he tried his best to explain to them what he had learned about himself on this short trek so far. What he’d done and accomplished since the night before, and more about those who he was traveling with as he began to piece a few more bits of knowledge together. As he spoke to them, a loud thud resonated out within the calm night air, followed by a voice he hadn’t recognized. Instantly the two ghosts vanished, the faint light they let out now snuffed as Ermes was once again cloaked in shadows. He peered over the brush that covered him, watching as his allies began to rouse one by one, the illusion of himself sleeping still placed where he had gone to rest. He watched as Ceolfric made his way to confront the voice that he’d heard earlier, Lillian at his opposite ready to strike if need be.

With as many people distracted as possible, Ermes dropped his hold on the illusion, the image simply fading away as he began to skulk throughout the woods. Each step was carefully taken, making sure to avoid any twigs or branches that might give his position away too early. He was used to this, to the stealth, the stalking, the shadows that covered him and blended perfectly with his ever moving hair. He’d snuck up on plenty of people during the day time, and tonight would be no different. It was as the voice had said, a man lay on the ground, the stench of alcohol littering the man as he walked past him. Strangely enough there didn’t appear to be a single container, flask, or otherwise where they would’ve had such drinks. Ermes knelt down next to the man Ceolfric was interrogating, opening the bag that lay on the ground and rummaging through its contents. ”All that’s in here are just traveling supplies. Nothing out of the ordinary except…how did your friend here get drunk when neither of you have a single ounce of alcohol on you?” His tone was flat and solemn as always, no real sense of alarm present in his speech as he stood up next to the man before kicking his pack away from them in the event he’d missed something crucial.

---

Were he a charitable man, Ceolfric might've blamed the booze for the horrible logic that constituted the man's reasoning. He thought to evade some skulking monster and its hordes of undead by scurrying through the bushes in the dead of night? While inebriated, at that. He certainly believed that they didn't realize anyone was around, at least. Maybe he intended to use his pudgy companion as fodder should the beast happen upon them, but that didn't explain Giles' alleged 'scheme'.

The kid popped out of fucking nowhere and rummaged through their bag, and Ceolfric did his best to not gawk at him incredulously, lest he give him away prematurely. Honestly, if he wanted whatever valuables they had stashed away, he should've just demanded it. No need to scurry about like some cutpurse urchin. Unsurprisingly, Ermes deduced they had nothing of valu- no, that was an investigation, not a robbery. How droll.

"It's all in the fat one's gut, if I had to guess," Ceolfric commented dryly as he lowered his sword. If this guy felt like getting antsy, Ceolfric would have ample time to bring his weapon back up and kill the man while he kicked Ermes in the head or something. Odd that they didn't even have a flask on them, but hardly damning. This entire situation was just mundane enough to ignore but just odd enough to be trouble.

"Then again, I don't like to guess when I can know." Every second wasted on these buffoons was a second not spent sleeping. What was his next move? Threaten to start prying off fingernails until this guy vomits out a motive that might not even concern Ceolfric in the slightest? He'd be here all night and probably risk retaliation from their nebulous conclave besides. Not that he feared the connections of a few drunkards, but it was still a bit early to be collecting enemies.

The bandit's eyes regarded the man disdainfully even as sickly sweet aether danced over his tongue. Whatever excuse this old fool had for the boy didn't matter; he'd given them courtesy enough. "Fine, we'll dispense with the violence," Ceolfric spoke, his words heavy with sorcerous power - an immaterial temptation that muddled minds and lowered inhibitions as surely as any physical intoxicant. "Tell me your real intentions. Who you are, where you're going, and what you intend to do once you're there." He punctuated his command with a resounding snap of his fingers, as if to illustrate his desire for expedience.

---

---

Lilann tensed when Ceolfric announced himself, ready to…well, do whatever she might be able to with just a rock. For as long as she lived she’d regret throwing her sword at the wretched creature. Between being caught out by the necromancer’s wolves, and now this, she was sorely lacking any meaningful measure of defense. More importantly, it made her look unprofessional.

When Eila hissed to her she nearly jumped despite herself. Soft-footed for a bookworm, or maybe Lilann was just too focused-in.

“Yes,” she answered just as quietly. “But unless you’d like me to stand in front of her and shield her knees from harm, I believe I best serve that priority by preempting trouble. Just…not as forwardly as our acquaintance.”

Eila was right, it was like Ceolfric wanted to fight. She suspected he carried that likeness with him into most aspects of his life. And while that had been frustrating at more or less every juncture so far, right now she was more than happy to let him just be his merry self. Ermes joined him as well, pulling himself from the shadows like a black cat in the night. The two of them interrogated what appeared to be a drunken man and his exhausted handler, or at least a convincing enough cover of them.

There wouldn’t be any guesswork though. Ceolfric lowered his sword, but when he demanded answers from the more vertical of the two, Lilann knew he’d answer as readily as if he’d had the blade to his throat.

"My friends call me Jar, but my name's Jandar Kanithson. 'Bout halfway to Wilree, wander half a day off the path and you'll find a sacred glade, where we meet with other followers to worship. We'll spend a few weeks there, then march our ways out east to another one. The Conclave maintains the blessings, you see. Keeps little safe havens peppered through the forests for mortals and creatures alike." Jar spilled as Ceolfric's command settled in the man's mind. It was easy, barely a whisper of resistance, and more than was necessary followed. "But, understand no one really thinks what we're doing works. All the rituals, the incense, the bonfires- its all just for show. This one here just does it for the free beer one of the members always brings, and Gods know I just do it for a nice meal and pretty faces. Beats beggin' for coin in the filth of Wilree. Most of us just want a sense of belongin', you know, and this gives us."

At the camp, Cerric woke up with a violent start, his own snoring dragging him from slumber, and peered around with sleep heavy eyes. He rubbed at them before focusing on Kyreth. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on out here? Did I miss anything fun?" Cerric asked loudly through a yawn, his back cracking as he stretched.

While the others took their places around the interlopers and Ceolfric put on his territorial display, Kyreth simply watched from his covered spot in silence, unsure what else he could do. Hiding from danger was somewhat of a specialty of his - confronting it, not so much. Of course, as Ceolfric drew answers from one of the highwaymen, they seemed a lot less like danger and a lot more like drunkards, but Kyreth knew better than to think all threat was gone just because someone was heavy with drink. Quite the opposite, often.

He didn’t miss Lilann’s cue, but he wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do with it; she saw his performance with the wolves, didn’t she? Unless she wanted an encore that concluded in setting the entire forest ablaze, Kyreth was certain everyone would be much better off with him firmly on the sidelines for this one.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned. He believed the travelers’ story - truth be told, he balked at it a bit, a little offended that they’d make such a mockery of their god’s sacred places, whichever one it was. But something still didn’t sit right. He could believe some lowlifes went out into the woods to eat, drink and be merry, and stumbled across a travelers’ camp on their way home. But if that was all, then something else had to explain the sudden swell in the ambient aether.

Kyreth’s heart jumped when Cerric suddenly spoke up from his bed, the Tainted shrinking even further as their guide gave up their position. His eyes became glowing slits as he glared at the half-elf in the dark, who was looking innocently at him in turn, and sighed. There was no recovering from that - the drunks and anyone else in the vicinity definitely heard him.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Kyreth replied dismissively, fatigue evident in his words. He kept his voice low, as if not to disturb other sleepers, but didn’t bother whispering. “Sounds like some drunks took a wrong turn.”

In keeping with his facade of tired annoyance, Kyreth rubbed his shoulder, glancing around innocuously in the guise of stretching his neck to see where Lilann and his other companions had gone. “Ugh, first the aether buzzing, and then all this racket - sleep does not come easy on the road,” he complained, hoping his companions would take the hint.

---

Ceolfric's brow lazily canted upward as his siren song took hold of the man's mind and ripped his secrets from his lips. Hardly something to hide. Why, if this 'Jar' hadn't followed up with that last part, Ceolfric might've even called his work noble - these woods certainly needed safe havens, what with the undead and demons and gods know what else skulking about. Still, he was no stranger to the disenfranchised who mouthed along to praises of a higher power solely for the earthly rewards they could scavenge from the congregation. They served their purpose well enough, at least when the purpose was to pillage and slaughter. He doubted they fared as well when calling forth blessings from on high, unless Melanar or whatever other woeful deity that protects them was especially generous.

"Seems an odd vocation to hide. This forest needs all the blessings it can get," the bandit commented flatly. Maybe this idiot saw the danger in claiming holy purpose in the name of a god he didn't truly honor, but otherwise it definitely felt like something wasn't being said.

His train of thought was promptly derailed by Cerric's blunder into the midst of the situation, though Ceolfric could hardly lament their loss of subtlety now that he was firmly in control of the interaction. He might've even welcomed Cerric's input, were it not a condition of their assignment that the elf deliberately be as unhelpful as possible while he evaluated them. Still, didn't hurt to try.

"Seems like a misunderstanding. Don't suppose you're versed in the local wilderness cults, are you, Mister Liadon?" Ceolfric asked as his head lulled in the vague direction of the man's voice, "I'd hate for this little altercation to lead to trouble down the road." He left out the 'or I'll march into their little meadow and consecrate it in something far less pleasant than incense' that he'd wanted to tack on, unsure if Kanithson was even lucid enough to heed threats at the moment anyway.

---

Ermes gave Ceolfric a blank look. No shit it was all in his stomach, but where were the containers? The bottles? Anything to point to the fact that they had been drinking. Luckily for him, his mercenary of an ally seemed to have enough understanding to continue to dig for the truth. Though he found it odd that he'd just outright asked them. Perhaps he hoped that their display was enough to intimate some answers out of them all. But as the stranger began to talk, Ermes realized what it was that Ceolfric had meant that day when he had said he could get others to do what he said. It wasn't with brute force or physical threats, he meant it literally. Much how Ermes could command his constructs it appeared that Ceolfric could command the living. Jar gave his whole life story as it seemed, and it wasn't a particularly exciting one.

Another voice popped up, loud and grating, causing Ermes to snap his attention towards the sound. Cerric had somehow woken up in all the commotion and was now floundering around with all the tact of an oversized walrus. By now there was no point in him being here. He'd only wished to snoop and rid them of any weapons or find evidence of what their real purpose here was. But it'd seemed they were just two drunken idiots lost within the woods. "All yours buddy. I'm not babysitting a drunkard." He said flatly before slinking back into shadows and making his way into their camp. Surely even if they meant harm, Ceolfric would be more than capable of taking them down.

"Hm, hm, hm. Wilderness cults?" Cerric pondered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Thought they were all scared off, honestly. Uh, there are those strange self-proclaimed nature guardians lurking through Snakeburrow but they don't command any real power. A handful can tweak a few wisps of aether, but most are disgruntled farmers and urchins looking for a way to feel larger than their lot in life. The truly devoted ones are solitary, feral things and the ones Melanar favors are… well, I'd rather be on the wrong end of a dull Buscanian blade in a dark alley."

"We ain't mean no harm to you and yours. Let us go, and we'll be right on past you and forget you in the process." Jar promised.

A little further away, Esvelee rolled her eyes at the conversation happening just out of camp. "Bah, these damned cults. Should let the bandit run them through. Always being a bother to the farms just outside of Soft Haven's reach, you know. Claiming they're acting on Melanar's behalf. Bunch of thieves, the bastards. If Agitha still had her legs, she'd have 'em grovelin' in snap."

---

Ceolfric had no idea what Cerric meant by that last bit, though it had him marginally curious. The favored of his own god weren't what he'd consider pleasant, but that was to be expected; it would be interesting to see how Melanar's measured up. Especially since he doubted a dull Buscanian blade posed any more of a threat to Cerric than a feathered pillow.

The two drunks certainly didn't fall in that category, at any rate. The safer option would be to simply kill them, but they didn't have anything of value on them, and that made it more hassle than it was worth, especially since these two didn't look to be capable of any sort of retaliation that mattered. Whatever small time pilfering they got up to on their own time simply wasn't Ceolfric's problem, so long as it didn't involve that stupid cart.

There were a lot less variables in mercenary work than he expected, honestly.

"Fine, go." Ceolfric waved the man along with the flat of his blade. "I'll hold you to that last part. If your word proves less than binding, remember that I know your face, Kanithson." This miscreant will be drunkenly gossiping about this encounter the first chance he got, and if someone capable overheard, they could potentially end up with a problem on their hands. Thankfully, he didn't think Jar had gotten a look at their cargo, so they didn't make the most enticing target as it stood.

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