[IC] To Cure a Curse

[Riven Wight]

Rayadell’s head scarcely even cocked toward Calanon when he stepped forward and spoke, her gaze boring into the other archer, refusing to break eye—or weapon—contact with Cordon until the human answered. Her lips pulled down slightly when she sensed the elf turn his back on them.
She watched Cordon struggle to swallow, all his body’s excess moisture glistening instead on his brow. Unlike Calanon, when the human answered, she stared at him for an excruciating moment, her cold, silvery gaze trying to see through his words, part of her enjoying watching him squirm. After all, he had been willing to shoot her and Calanon down only a couple minutes before.
A mix of confusion and irritation flashed in her eyes at her companion’s quick turnaround, as if nothing unusual had transpired on the path. Though his smile went unnoticed, her mouth remaining a firm line, his tone was impossible to miss.
“Very well.” She pulled the blade of her staff away with deliberate slowness, as if reluctant to remove it without blood staining its tip. She returned it to her side with an elegant flourish, and its long, thin blade retracted back into the staff at a push of her will.
Not as eager to turn her back on him in case he had a confidence boost with his superiors’ backs to him, she walked backwards a couple steps toward Brogach and his mount. Only when she heard the elk adjust and was sure it stood just a couple paces behind her, did she turn, her cloak swirling slightly around her feet.
Ignoring Calanon’s helpful hand, she mounted Brogach, using her staff as an aid, and settled behind the elf. “Onward, then.”

[POOHEAD189]

And they were off! Calanon knowing Rayadell's pride well enough by now, taking no offense from her downturn of his offered hand. A grin filled with trepidation actually bloomed upon his face. Brogach reared back from Calanon's grip on the reins, before they bounded off further into the wooded pass, ducking and dodging past gnarled oaks, elms, and firs. Other than a few whips from passing leaves, they managed to exit the pass relatively unscathed after less than twenty minutes.

The sight before them was breathtaking once they passed the treeline, the once crisp air now full fledged chill. The ground rolled downward, tufts of bushy grass were islands in a sea of sleet and shallow snow. Further beyond was a large plain with short hills rising and falling like waves. A lake lay not five miles distant, shimmering in the sunlight. Even from here, the two Elves could see nearly half of it was floating ice. Beside the lake was a walled settlement. Not quite a city, but the walls and the length of the landscape it encapsulated meant it was no small village either. East and west were more woods, though far more ancient and vast than the lighter, southern ones they had traversed.

Beyond this beautiful sight were mountains, far larger than the ones they had just traversed. Smoke rising from the landscape in distances too far even for their eyes to gauge very well, bespoke of other villages and towns planted elsewhere. But for now, the one beside the lake was where they would seek refuge.

Calanon and Rayadell rode into the afternoon, and near evening time they trotted up to the gates of the town. The walls were tall and made of sturdy wood upon stone bases. Upon the parapets, the wood was curved in archiac designs of wolves, bears, and horses. The archway of the gate had two guardsmen up top, peering down at the cloaked figures riding a steed that had...antlers?

"You!" the one on the left called, holding a lantern and pointing at them. "Who goes there? What business do you have in Cairnlake?"

Calanon glanced back at Rayadell, before replying. "We're two humble travelers. We seek shelter for the night, sirs. Would you let us in?"

There was a brief pause, and the two men chatting among themselves before calling down. "Your names, and reason for why you travel this way? Are you locals?"

Calanon removed his hood from his head to put them at ease, though he doubted Rayadell would do the same. His pointed ears were tucked within his thick mane of dark hair, and it was dark enough for them to perhaps miss his fey features. "My name is Cal, and I am a huntsmen from the south. And this is..." he began, gesturing to Rayadell.

[Riven Wight]

As they had before, the duo rode in a comfortable silence. Rayadell watched the trees, listening to the sounds of the forest for signs of any other bandits, but heard none. The closer they got to the small town, the more wary of her the trees grew, their whispers tapering off to a silence as the afternoon grew into the aging evening.
The further they went into the pass, a deeper chill coated the air. Frost glittered off prickly grass and brave shrubs. It turned bare tree limbs into diamond-encrusted sculptures and rested on the needles of firs and pines like opulent garland.
Rayadell took in a deep breath, relishing the fresh, crisp cold that flooded her lungs. It had been so long since she had tasted the true, mountainous cold.
When they left the pass, soon leaving them facing a steep drop-off, Rayadell glanced toward the lakeside town, then down the path sloping gently downward, weaving its way through the forest to avoid obstacles, while substantially lengthening the journey to the town.
She sighed, the sound heavy, yet quiet. It would have been quick and easy just to glide down from the pass to the town. Beneath her cloak, her wings twitched at the thought, the extra appendages growing irritated of their awkward positioning and eager to spread out. She shook her head with a frown. Daytime flights were never an option.
It took longer for them to reach level ground than she expected. By the time they arrived at the gates, the sun had all but sunk behind the mountains, casting them in an early twilight the night was quickly consuming.
She tilted enough from her seat behind Calanon to get a better view of the town’s gates.
Her gaze ran over the intricate carvings just visible in the dwindling light. Her attention snapped to the guards atop the gate when one of them called out, before Calanon pulled the elk to a stop and answered the man.
“Tarora Shadefell,” she answered immediately when Calanon gestured to her, her voice raised so the humans could hear, her own hood long since blown back during their ride. Only her hair, trapped and kept in place beneath her cloak, hid the marked side of her face. “We travel with the desire for adventure and seeing the beauty of your mountains,” she partially lied, hoping that would be enough to be granted entry. “We seek food and lodging for the cold night ahead, no more, no less.”

[POOHEAD189]

The guards above spoke to one another in hushed whispers, though with their Elven ears both of them could hear them speaking of how they would need to report the late night entry to the Captain, inferring he isn't one to be displeased. However, moments later the one called down. "We'll let you in. Just keep out of trouble." He said. A shout was heard in the distance, and then the gate began to slowly open as if by some primitive mechanism.

As the gate opened, Brogach stamped on the ground a bit from the vast noise of the moving timber. Before them, a torchlit scene unfolded. The buildings within were not large, most being one story with a few of them two stories. Lamp posts with torches and lamps hung every now and then down the road. A few human peasants and workmen sat on their porches or hastily walked across the street, some mingling. But most were inside now, warm within their homes.

Snow caked the tops of the slanted, thatched roofs. They'd need to find an inn, of course. Hopefully it had a sign. Calanon patted Brogach's neck, and the Elk trotted forward through the opening. It took only a few seconds before the gate was closing once more. "The Inn is down two streets, take a left!" One man called to them. More quietly, another began to scold him for helping such strange outsiders.

"You heard them, Brogach." Calanon said to his mount, and the Elk began a light gallop down the road. As men and women cloaked and wrapped in cloth watched them with curiosity and suspicion, Calanon turned to Rayadell. "Do you use that alias often?" He asked her, merely curious.

[Riven Wight]

Rayadell’s eyes narrowed slightly as she listened in to the guard’s hushed conversation, unsure if they would be allowed entrance. She glanced to Calanon seated in front of her. Though she could tolerate the cold, she had no idea how well her companion would fare in spending an unplanned wintery night in the woods, if it came to that.
Thankfully, she would not have to find out. She pulled her hood back over her head as the gate opened. Their presence would be suspicious enough as it was in such small, isolated town. The last thing she needed was a breeze to brush her hair aside to display her curse’s mark for all to see.
She glanced around her from beneat hedge of her hood as Borgach made his way through the snow-dusted dirt roads. The town was pleasantly lit, the flames of torches casting a warm, welcoming glow about them.
Wary and curious gazes glanced their way. Reflexively, Rayadell’s hand twitched to raise her staff when someone called out to them. Her attention snapped toward a rather youthful peasant standing just inside the gate, his dark gaze glittering with interest. But he had only help to offer.
Rayadell nodded her thanks, unsure if the man saw as another, older man with a beard and puckered face scolded the youth. She returned her attention ahead as Calanon directed the elk. She tilted her head, ever listening for nay stray bits of conversation that could tip them off to any potential enemies.
She glanced up when Calanon turned from his perch just to get a better look at her, without compromising his stability.
She raised her chin slightly at his question, trying to gague the emotion in his voice.”
“For now, yes,” she answered simply. She gently gripped Calanon’s shoulder with her free hand as the elk turned left. “You’ve trained your beast well,” she commented offhandedly.

[POOHEAD189]

It was a subconscious action, but Calanon straightened his shoulders a bit at the compliment, giving a friendly smile. "Sometimes I feel as if Brogach teaches me far more," he said, merely half joking. Truly, Calanon often looked to his mount and truest friend for guidance and a measure of how to keep calm and stay the course. "Thank you." He said earnestly. "We have a bond, and I am honored that Brogach listens to me."

The Elk trotted to the end of the street, and then took a left. His hooves beat up small wisps of snow as Brogach kept pace steadily. It was only when Calanon noticed the large sign with red hemlines titled 'Hearth and Home' that he pulled on the beast's reins to slow him. Calanon's keen eyes gave the place a once over, and he determined it looked the size and manner of an Inn, and Brogach slowed to a casual halt.

The front porch was wide enough for a dozen people to linger and chat or smoke pipes, with various weary chairs one could rock upon. The floor was made of old timber, but still strong Calanon guessed. There was hardly any snow touching the porch, as if Inn exuded warmth.

"I dare say you've grown accustomed to Brogach as well," he said. Kindness often seemed to sing out of Calanon, merely by his smile. "We'll make fast friends of you yet, I think." With an agile sweep of his leg, he slid off of Brogach and allowed Rayadell to do the same, and then placed his hand along Brogach's snout. "Wait here friend. I'll find a warm place for you." He merely needed to pull his cloak about himself, and awaited Rayadell to enter the Inn with him.

First thing was first. They needed two rooms, and a stable for Brogach. He was certain there was such in the back.