[IC] Our last march - High Casual (Open)

[Nariata]

Part I: The March Begins

Arms crossed under his think cloak with one leg resting on the other, a light drizzle started to fall from the sky and began to wash away the dirt and grime down the sides of Thuran's tan face as he waited for the rest of the surviving soldiers to arrive. The rain that fell in between the sides of his cape often found a home under the straps of leather covering her arms and legs, making Thuran increasing upset and moody. His eyes beamed jealousy as he looked towards the abandoned village sitting in the distance, and the dry and warm buildings that sat within. He saw no signs of life from the village, no people had been seen walking the roads while clothes hung on lines outside in the rain. It had been a rough week for the Lithleethian, starting with the massacre at the Fields of Amarillis.

The sell-sword remembers clearly where he was when everything went to hell. He stood in the middle of the giant army fighting alongside his employer, the young general Cavat of the Firen people. He was hired as a bodyguard for the General, and thanks to some issues with the Glamhoth general, found his skills tested early when a horde of cultist managed to break through the Lavas lines and into the midst of Cavats army. While the fighting was intense, it paled in comparison for what came next. Skies filled with flame and ash filled the air around him. Each night he is tormented by the images of dragon fire and monstrous beasts straight from hell emerging from the mountain. His mind still see's the faces of those crushed by the falling stones, those dragged away by the shadows and even the lucky ones burned to ash in an instant. The days that followed did not spare him any nightmares either. With the frantic running, and the constant threat of a shambler army creeping up on him kept him alert, and without much rest.

Though a few days after the battle he ran into a few surviving soldiers, then into a surviving and mostly intact army from the city of Lavas five hundred strong. They were late to the battle and were spared the initial attack, according to the general at least. Various survivors had fallen in with the army as they made their way back to their city. It was here that Thuran found himself thrust into the role of a scout, something most unknown to him. He was an assassin yes, and possibly the most athletic member of the group, but he worked with the shadows to find a target not against them in locating a threat. He had mentioned this many times to the general over the past few days to no success, even when he pointed out that there was an elf who was an experienced scout. Thuran figured this was due to his western heritage over anything else. The Lavas general was right to be wary of the Lithleeth man, their reputation proceeded them even in these dark days.

His thoughts were dragged away by the sounds of the approaching allied soldiers, their footsteps splashing through the wet road as they neared his position. “Again, here we go.” He said as his body turned to face the approaching unit, and waved his hand to signal the general.

Glancing across the approaching soldiers, the westerner quickly noticed the tall heavyset man whom was in charge. He was a Lavas general named Dorius, a well regarded man by his fellow Lavas, and a well hated man by anyone else. The man towered over his bodyguards as if he was a Glamhoth berserk standing in the middle of a group of goblins. On his face, each tracing line and obsolescent tissues were proof of the long life that he has endured thus far. His once strong, and muscular frame, had began to grow frail as each step brought about a slight limp and a face full of pain. The general face quickly turned to match Thurans, and a frown quickly developed.

“Why have you stopped scouting, desert rat?” Dorius shouted out as his pace quickened and his limp grew more obvious.

“Empty village ahead, sir.” Thuran responded with his tell-tale Liltleeth accent. “Could be trap.”

“Why have you not scouted it out then? If there is a threat ahead it is your job as my scout to find them, boy.” Dorius responded, talking down to the Lithleethian in the process.

“Because if it is trap, then I do not want to spring it alone.” Thuran responded as his hand motioned for the general to come have a look at the village.

After a short pause, the General turned around and shouted for all the soldiers in the group to stop. He motioned for his bodyguards to follow, and he began to trudge his way through the muddy path towards Thuran. “Tell me, what is it that you see that makes you think this village is a trap?”

“It's not what I see, but what is missing.” Thuran said as he pointed out across the village. “No villagers, clothes still on the lines in the rain.” Thuran said as he turned towards the general. “If the enemy has caught up with us again, then this is where I think they would come from. We are far from the battlefield now, and this village is remote. I think the news of what happened might not have arrived yet.”

“You make little sense. We sent out runners a few days ago down this same path. They would have told them of what happened on their way to the capital cities.” The General replied as he turned towards one of his bodyguards. “Grab the Elven Nobel, the Siren bitch, and the Mûl mongrels and every other expendable soldier and bring them up here. We shall humor the dog and let him play in the village for us.” The general finished as he tossed Turan a look of disgust.

“None of your soldiers will come?” Thuran asked as he raised his right eyebrow, questioning the decision.

“Like I said, expendable soldiers only.” He responded as he turned around and began to walk back towards his soldiers. “Set up a perimeter. We hold for twenty minutes.” He walked into the middle of the soldiers, barking orders as he went, before he went out of sight for Thuran.

On cue, Thuran disregarded the commander and his eyes were drawn back to the village. The village itself was rather large, shaped like a giant oval with a small creek separating the buildings inside the village from the forest, with a small stone bridge as the only way across. On either side though, farming fields, horse stables and small markets crowded the edges of the village. At the end, one large house stood out from the rest. He assumed it was the village elders house, as it was in remarkably good shape compared to the surrounded buildings.

His eyes were drawn away once more by the sounds of footsteps coming from behind. His eyes quickly darted back and took in the sight of twenty odd soldiers, of various races and backgrounds with the remarkable exclusion of a single Lavas soul. A small smirk formed across his face as he admired the fact, before he turned around once more and took off in a slow walk towards the village.

“Let's see if anyone is home, no?” He asked to the soldiers behind him.

[Rtron]

Rhian looked up wearily from her seat on the ground as the Lavas soldier approached. She was covered in blood from the neck down (as she would never let her Seer's mask get dirty), most of it not hers, and she hated that. They had been on the run for days, and she hated that. Sleep had been lost in favor of healing the Lavas wounded, and none of them were the slightest bit grateful, and she hated that. She had left hundreds, if not thousands, to die a slow death of their wounds in order to save herself. She hated that. "Siren," The man spoke, saying 'Siren' in the same tone someone would have said 'bitch', "General Dorius orders you to investigate the empty village ahead with a select few others. Now."

Rhian gave the rude Lavas a tired smile, regarding him through her mask. "How is your leg holding up?" The man paused, obviously not expecting a question about his own health. However, he quickly fell back on bravado. "That is no business of yours, Siren." Rhian chuckled, so exhausted that she found the rudeness, and ignorance, amusing. "It is my business as I'm the one who put your leg back together well enough that you could walk, when I could have spent that time healing a dozen other soldiers who died while I was healing you, anyone of whom probably would have been more polite and far more considerate then you are."

Rhian stood, staring up at the soldier's face. "I'm a damn healer. My healing magic also takes time. Investigations are not my forte, nor is speedy battlefield healing. While I'm busy healing his soldiers who haven't died, if this is a trap, please explain that to general Dobrass so I don't have to stop and lose more patients. Understood? Good." With that the Siren turned on her heel and walked towards the gathering group heading towards the village. She examined the Litlheelian, and the rest of her group, the soft lights merging and meshing in places, creating a rather pretty picture for her, in spite of the drizzle and the general depressing sight. Rhian gave a soft, lyrical, laugh at Thuran's words. "I love surprises! If they're here, it's probably a trap. If they're not, we at least have a safe and dry place to rest."

[Assallya]

Assallya almost had everything. She'd been so close. She'd been trusted confidant, advisor, seer, and occasional lover for the greatest man alive. True, King Baelnorn was not a great man but he was a great king. She was about to be married off to an esteemed lord or duke close to the throne (likely one that wouldn't mind sharing her should the king desire was her assumption) where she would have vast power and wealth, expansive lands and attentive servants.

In all this the emphasis being on "was". Now she was next to nothing. Dorian did not value her skills and why should he? Most of the tools of her trade lay trampled in the tents when they were overrun. None of the King's lieutenants saw the value in having someone able to scry ahead, or soothe the lines and eliminate fear while bracing for a charge. A war was man's work and the work of soldiers and not saucy tarts with potions and pans of water. Indeed, he seemed resentful her very presence seeing her as disruptive to his men's discipline and consuming supplies better suited to keeping his men strong. Many regarded her only as an opportunity for one last desperate tumble before they were cut down by Vyshaan's minions. She would have deserted but, though a mûl, she had not the slightest inkling of how to survive in the woods.

When one of Dorian's goons came about, gathering the expendable and the unwanted, Assallya was not surprised to be addressed and counted amongst them. She was also unsurprised at the string of crude epithets concerning her status as a mongrel bastard and a wanton whore. With a sigh she rose and made her way towards the assembling group lest Dorian get it into his head to solve his problems by accusing her of desertion and hanging her from a nearby tree. When a man had lost like Dorian had they often took great relish in the small petty victories so Assallya was not going to give him the chance.

[Slamurai]

Since accompanying General Dorius, Ruthredir and the other Lebethron elves stuck together in their own clique. They camped isolated from the Lavas soldiers, traveled several paces away from them and generally were loathe to even speak to anyone who was not elven. Dorius had missed the worst of the fighting, whether intentionally or by chance, and to Ruthredir, that unnerved him. The man had no right to push himself onto the survivors - the true soldiers who endured dragon's fire and had to witness the death of their kin. For all he knew, Dorius could have been enjoying the luxury of his officer's tent at the moment King Baelnorn met his end.
Ruthredir was seated among several of his companions atop a strip of furs when a lone Lavas soldier approached them. Aside from the occasional heckle or brooding glances, the humans hadn't made much in the way of direct contact. When the Lebethrons noticed him, they ceased their conversation and stood, hands resting on the pommels of their swords. They were several heads taller than the soldier before them, who's stony composure softened as the elves dwarfed his stature.
"Eh, General Dorius requires a scout for the area ahead. He sent for one of you."
"Does he now?" jibed one of the elves. "He has plenty of men to choose from." The Lebethron gestured at the ranks of Lavas nearby. "Or does he wish to hide behind and let others get their hands dirty for him? Again?" The soldier winced, clearly uncomfortable, but stood his ground.
"Listen, I just follow orders. Neither of us have to like them. I just need one of you to placate the old man and come with me."
"Fine, I'll go," Ruthredir announced. "Chances are we can still do a better job of it than his own scouts can." He turned to his companions and spoke in elvish, <I won't be long. In the off-chance there's a threat, he'll be thankful his men weren't left to the task and failed to notice.>
The Lavas soldier led Ruthredir to the rest of the haphazardly-gathered individuals tasked with the same job. Unsurprisingly, there was not one Lavas among them, but a mix of other Mûl elves, a Siren and another human who's ethnicity did not match those of the soldiers.
"What's holding the General up?"

[Nariata]

As Thuran was about to head off on his own, the sound of numerous footsteps moving through the mud from behind entered his ears. Quickly turning about, he surveyed the approaching group as their questions began to fall upon him. His eyes first jumped to the face of the Siren who sarcastically responded to his earlier statement. He eyes betrayed him for just a second as they looked over the mask that the Siren wore. But they soon darted off to an Elven man, who was asking a question in a way that removed all doubt as to his importance. They finally fell upon a woman befit of a pleasure den, not a war torn land. In his mind he joked of his luck.

“A warm, dry place to rest would be a welcomed luxury from this.” Thuran responded as his eyes darted to the skies. “But I fear such a luxury would be, how do you say, a trap.” He accent betrayed him, and he signed a sigh of relief escaped his lips as soon as he found his words. Even after all these years he still had issues with the Eastern Languages, the simple differences in word pronunciations yet the massive differences in meanings. Turing his body to face the Siren once more, this time eyes under control, he addressed her directly.“But if a warm and dry trap is what it will take to hear the sweet songs of the Siren once in my life then a warm and dry trap it shall be.” He finished as he gave a slight bow. The legends of the Sirens was a common one in his homeland, though they did not have quite the fearsome reputation here that they had there. In his home the legends of the Sirens was more of a promise to an aging soldier or an old man. He often heard many a man speak of traveling east to be taken to the throne of their god by the songs of the Siren. Even though he has become wiser to the original intentions of the Sirens as he spent time in the East, at least those that the common folk believe in. He still gave the Siren a genuine Curtsy none the less.

“But I think it is I you search for, Elven man.” He spoke directly to the Elven man. “I was tasked with scouting ahead for our gracious General.” He said as he let out a small bit of laughter. “I came across this village a little while before the main body arrived, yet something fells off.” He said as he motioned for the group to look. “There are clothes hanging on the drying lines yet, even though the rain falls from the heavens above.” He then motioned for them to look at the streets around the houses, pointing out the market places among others. “No people walk the streets, no people remove clothing from the drying lines, and not one sign of life is to be seen here. Begs the question, where are the people?” Pausing as he shrugged his shoulders. “If they ran from the Mad King, why not take their clothes?” He began to make his way towards the village. Step after step he could feel something was wrong. He was taught to always trust his gut as an assassin. If something felt off he would simply postpone his targets fate until another day. But he no longer had the courtesy of luxury, the Mad King stole that from him.

“But what do I know.” Pausing as he shrugged his shoulders once more. “I am but a simple sell-sword.” His head turned around to those that followed, some ten in number including a few last minute additions to the group. They looked to be simple folk who had joined up at the last minute. His guess was they only decided to fight the Mad King so they could tell their grandchildren that they fought along side the Great King Baelnorn in his final triumph. He knew they would not speak when he asked his next question, they were already defeated enough for them to mention their names.

"But who are you that our gracious General saw fit to send off in a scouting run?" He asked as he looked back to the village, this time eyes carefully scanning the shadows.

[Rtron]

Rhian paused a moment in surprise, and then bowed back to the sell-sword. She hadn't expected anything approaching manners, least of all from this strange scout who claimed to be a simple sell sword. Rhian turned to watch the rest of their little group, a small smile on her face. Here we are, the dredges of the great general Dobrass's army. The unwanted ones, the ones he feels he can sacrifice. A Siren, two Muls, a Lebethron, and this strange foreigner. That's not even counting the others behind us. I'm not sure whether to be flattered that he thinks so low of me that I can leave at any time I wish, or to be insulted that he thinks so low of me that I can be tossed into any dangerous situation he doesn't want to risk his own troops in. Rhian thought, idly shifting her gaze back to their guide as he replied to the elf. She moved her gaze past him to stare at the village. What he said was true. It was odd that there was still clothing hanging, ready to be taken. If they had left in a hurry some clothing should have been taken nonetheless. Unless... Rhian's skin prickled with a sense of being watched and watched with hostility. Unless they died before they could leave. She followed the scout, gaze shifting from place to place in the village as he spoke again.

Thanks to her paranoia, she saw the Mad King's forces in every shadow, every empty house. Do the corpses even posses the willpower to wait patiently in a trap? She thought aloud, being jerked out of her thoughts by the question from the scout. "I am Dobrass's illustrious healer Siren, Rhian. I'm a Soother. I'll be the one giving you courage when you think yours might fail, strength when you are weak, energy when you are tired, speed when you are slow, and so on so forth. However, I am terrible with a blade and not in the slightest skilled in the offensive uses of my magic, not that it would be useful against the undead anyway, so please try to prevent me from being forced to fight. I'd die. Horribly." She grinned at the scout. "But I'm sure you and our Lebethron over here will prevent that from happening won't you?"

[converge]

Dark, slippery mud coated Merilwyn’s favorite boots as she jogged to catch up to the scouting party, bow in hand. The young elf was almost late; thanks to that cowardly dog and his incompetent soldiers, whom relaid information to her last minute. The Lavas general was running her ragged since she joined his company, along with anyone whom was not human it would seem. She found the party halted someways away from the abandoned village. ‘Good, I haven’t missed them,’ she thought. As she came closer she recognized few faces among the crowd; two elves like herself, and a mysterious siren. Meril also noticed the ‘head scout’, a man whom was very foreign to her. “But who are you that our gracious General saw fit to send off in a scouting run?” She could hear the strange accented man ask as she finally reached them. She caught a few weary glances as she approached, and returned a small, apologetic frown when she joined the back of the group.

The masked siren was first to reply. Merilwyn listened intently, while observing the village ahead. Along with the hanging clothes, absence of people, and obvious un-inviting aura it radiated, there was something else that added to the woman's unease. It was something she couldn’t quite identify, and she assumed the leading scout could sense it as well. ‘Else he would not be stalling for time,’ she thought.
As the siren, whom Merilwyn now knew as Rhian, finished she couldn’t help but be interested in her magic. It seemed much more subtle compared to the Andrann’s flashy battle magic. She was eager to see it in action.

As no one had spoken up, Merilwyn assumed it was now her turn. Clearing her throat slightly, she spoke to the group in an even voice, “As for me, I am Merilwyn Estelle.” She said ‘Estelle’ simply, as humans would say their last name. There was no need to mention that it was a noble house, she was Mui now, it didn’t apply to her anymore. She doubted anyone would make the connection anyways, with the exception of the Lebethron noble perhaps. “I was trained as an elemental archer in Galadhon. I can freeze, burn, or explode anything by shooting it,” she explained. Some paled at the word ‘explode’, to which the battle mage smiled and quickly said, “but I don’t explode things when my allies are near by, usually.” Though she only told a small part of who she truly was, she figured it would be enough to satisfy the man’s question.

[Assallya]

The blonde mule was a figure of beauty amidst the drab desolation that surrounded them. The wind felt chill against her exposed skin and she found herself wishing she'd had more opportunity to pack before the army fell into rout. Reaching up she ran her thumb along her pointed ear, gold and silver bracelets clinking together.

Assallya looked over the town that they stood upon the edge of and frowned. The clothes still being upon their lines couldn't be the only clue. She gazed at the chimneys for signs of smoke, smelled at the air for signs of cooking food or signs of rotting corpses or spilled blood from the murdered villagers. How long did it take for a corpse to smell anyways?

What would really be useful would be scrying within the buildings. That would take some clean water, and a fair amount of time to perform the rituals. Something she suspected Dorian wouldn't appreciate waiting upon.

"Is anyone here skilled in tracking?" the blonde courtesan asked.

[Nariata]

Part I: The Village

“I know a thing or two about tracking.” Thuran said as he allowed a second to pass. “But that is inside a city, out here I am most useless.” Pausing as he turned towards the scantly dressed woman. “What do you wish to be tracked, if I may ask.”

Almost immediately as he finished his sentence did a pair of Lavas guards start to make some crude jokes at the expense of those within the scouting party. They first targeted the Mûl courtesan with talks about certain activities they could partake in when she got back. Then they targeted a young looking Andrann woman holding a staff, and offered for her to join in. Thuran was then the next target, with the pair of guards suggesting that there was a horse who was willing to put up with a Lithleeth man.

Thuran brought his body square with the guards and allowed a smile to break his face once more. “My friends, Lan hanna vor Thuran kan lan diman!” His words were in his own language, and if anyone in attendance could speak it than they would know he was going to kill them if he ever found them alone. Thuran then pointed towards the muscular guard with his right hand, before dragging it over the frail looking one next to him, before he used the same hand to wave goodbye to both in turn. “To our next meeting, my friends.” He finished the sentence as he turned around to face front. The smile quickly fell from his face and he silently spoke “Hanna zoul.”

A bright flash in the distance accompanying darker clouds revealed the strength of the storm was only going to get stronger, and a strong roof over his head sounded that more appealing.

“Alright everyone, follow me.” Thuran said as he motioned for the others to follow. “No point in letting guards throw childish jokes at us.”

Thuran was not a leader by nature but here in the East he often found that role thrust upon him by default. Whether it was the many misleading stories the bards sing of his people or the fact that an Eastern General has never won a battle in the Rolling Dunes that led to this predisposition, Thuran had no clue. This led to a few awkward situations early on where the role of leadership was heavily implied in the course of work yet Thuran never truly leading. Though with time, and much practice, he has enough skills to lead a motley crew of soldiers on a simple scouting mission to mixed results.

“Alright, let us form three lines behind me. If you have shields please go to the outside, if you are not skilled in combat go to the middle.” Pausing as he turned his head and flashed a sarcastic smile. “Simple.” The smile quickly fell from his face as he looked at a few, frail looking soldiers in the midst of the group. “Don't be stupid, don't wander off alone.”

His head turned back towards the village that seemed to grow in size with every step he took. Suddenly, and inexplicably, a strong feeling of unease fell upon his mind, forcing a slight slide in his feet as he quickly slowed down. A feeling in his gut told him that there were eyes looking out at him from the village in front, and it was not a villager. His assassin training as well as his thievery on the streets when he was young had drilled into him that his gut was right. His eyes quickly darted to the far right, resting for just a moment before it darted farther to the left. Every window could hold an enemy, and every building could be the source of this feeling. He could not drop the feeling no matter where he looked.

“Scan the buildings for movement.” He said before the area became light as lighting struck a far away tree and a loud thunder clap echoed through the area. “I do not think we are alone.” His upper body quickly turned towards the middle of the group once again and located the Elemental Archer who had introduced herself earlier. “Merilwyn of Estelle.” His accent butchered her name, both the first and the last, but it did not phase him. “Quick, come.” He said as he motioned for her to come to his side.

“You said that you can explode shot.” His accent was becoming more pronounced as the feeling of unease lingered.

“Keep an arrow ready, I might need your skills.” He said as his grip on his sword tightened as he entered the village.

The small group slowly crept from building to building, with both eyes and spears raised towards each window, door, and alleyway in between the houses. Each drop of rain and gust of wind brought quick eyes to the gutters and rafters, everyone ready for whatever tried to jump out.

The group continued along the straight and narrow road that ran from the East where they entered and exited towards the West. Slowly but surely the group made their way towards the middle of the village when a soldier shouted out “I saw something move.”

He was near the middle of the group facing North, and Thuran quickly called for the scouting party to hold. “What did you see?” He asked.

“A figure looked out from the window, sir!” The Firen soldier shouted as his voice crackled. His armor was of poor quality and it was plain to everyone that this soldier was either incredibly poor, and was pressed into service agianst his own accord or he was simply one of those farmers turned warriors he thought of earlier. His sword hand shook with fear as his eyes darted to Thuran.

“Anyone else see it?” Thuran responded. Initially skeptical of the man's claim, feeling that fear had taken hold of him, he waited for confirmation.

“Aye.” The Glamhoth soldier standing to the right of the Firen responded. This man was tall, standing somewhere near six foot four and had arms adorned with both the biggest muscles Thuran had ever seen as well as the most cheerfuller body art his eyes had witnessed. The man commanded respect, from his piercing gaze, to his loud and booming voice. “I saw someone move.”

Thuran thought for a second on what to do. Initially he was hesitant about sending soldiers in to investigate the figure. He knew not what that would bring. Yet this was a scouting mission, and he needed to clear a safe path for the soldiers behind him. So he pointed out the Glamhoth giant and a pair of Firen soldiers, both the one who had spoke up and a stronger looking one right next to him.

“You examine the inside of building, find whatever it is.”

The trio slowly made their way towards the building. The two Firen had shields raised up to chest level, their swords poked out over top with arms cocked and ready to strike behind. The Glamhoth approached with his massive ax sitting idly out to his right, resting a constant foot from the right of his head. His head was on a slow yet constant swivel, swinging from the left his eyes darted between the building next to the one in-front while stopping on the window that he saw the figure. None in this trio were all that comfortable with checking the building. As the strong looking Firen soldier began to slowly open the door another soldier shouted out, this time from the south side of the group.

“I saw something move.” The Mul swordsman shouted.
“Me two.” Shouted a Firen soldier in the rear.
“I as well!” The Andrann mage in the middle shouted.

More and more soldiers kept shouting about the figures in the dark that they saw. Yet Thuran kept his eyes frozen on an open doorway near the end of the village, locked onto what his stomach felt was the source of his unease. Slowly but surely a black mist began to rise from the shadowed entrance-way, forming the figure of a monster that everyone in the group had only heard stories of. The black mist gave way to the vibrant white face mask and piercing white eyes of the creature.

Thuran mumbled in his language at first, too soft for anyone else to notice. But a quick second later he spoke. “Wraith's.”

Pausing as he backed into the soldiers behind him. His head spun around as his hand pulled Merilwyn back from her spot in front of the group. “Wraith's!” He shouted as he readied his weapon. “Circle formation now!” He shout echoed off the nearby buildings. His head jolted back towards the north, and his eyes rested on the trio of soldiers about to step into the building.

“Get away fro-” Thuran tried to shout but his voice was cut short by the squeal of pain from the lead Firen soldier as he attempted to enter the building. The man's back began to pour out blood from a now formed sword wound, slowing dripping from the edge of an unseen weapon. Black mist began to pour out of the wound, and slowly it began to take the shape the shape of the knife that was plunged into his gut.

The loud cry of the Glamhoth soldier echoed in response to the squeal as his ax cut in front of the Firen soldier. A shriek from the creature echoed in response, as the disembodied arm of the Wraith quickly formed on the ground in-front of the wounded Firen soldier. The Wraith fizzled into existence soon after, his only hand grasped around the wounded arm. It was met with no mercy by the Glamhoth, whose massive hands quickly grabbed hold of the creatures head. The Glamhoth soldier roared as he easily lifted the creature off it's feet and into the air. The creature grasped at the arm of the giant as the Glamhoth strongly gripped the skull before a sicking popping noise filled the air for a brief second, and all flaying of the beast stopped. The Glamhoth soldier quickly let go of the monster, and his free hand grabbed the wounded Firen soldier who had started to fall backwards. He quickly began to pull the soldier back towards the friendly formation as his head looked towards the second, not wounded, Firen soldier. “Come, Firen.” The Glamhoth spoke to the frail soldier still standing near the door. “Don't be stupid, come!” He commanded.

The Firen shuffled back a few paces before he turned his body and tried to run. His frame was quickly pulled to the ground, with his sword flying forward to the feet of the Glamhoth who looked on in horror. A look of fear fell upon the face of the Firen shoulders as his mouth opened. A loud, high pitched, voice bellowed out from the soldiers lungs as he was quickly, and without stop, pulled from behind and into the building. The door quickly slammed shut behind him and the screams continued for a second before silence fell once more on the area.

The Glamhoth soldier brought the Firen soldier into the middle of the group, and motioned for the Siren healer to come assist as he returned to his spot on the line. As he returned, another weak bodied Firen soldier tried to push his way past the line.

“Ruthord?” The man asked. “Ruthord are you in there?”

As he tried to get out of the defensive circle, the Glamhoth soldier grabbed onto his shoulder and threw him back into the middle of the group. “Don't be a bloody idiot, your friend is dead.”

The Firen shot up to his feet and retorted “How do you know?”

The Glamhoth turned his head and responded. “Tis' the truth. Our foe is without mercy.” He looked back towards the building as an eerie silence fell upon the group

The Firen was about to move again but stopped as the stone cold gaze of a Wraith looked out once more from the building. From the shadows surrounding the group more and more white masks formed into existence, eyes locked on individual members of the group. Their forms were revealed for just a moment, as light once again filled the area from a lightning strike. The figures slowly faded away as thunder broke and soon the group were staring at the shadows where the figures once stood.

Thuran's eyes remained fixed on the building for a few seconds after the soldier was abruptly dragged inside. His head quickly turned towards Merilwyn and he spoke.

“Fire exploding arrow into the sky. We need the Lavas soldier's help.”

[Rtron]

Rhian looked over to the Mul girl as she spoke. If she had still had eyes, and they weren't hidden by her mask, they would have widened with childish glee and wonder at the mention that she, Merilwyn, was a battle mage. As it was, she merely grinned at the Mul. The Siren's magic was quiet, subtle, and most times people weren't even aware that she was using her magic. That suited Rhian, as it made her even less of a target in combat. But there were times when she wished she could dazzle and frighten people Sure she could dazzle people with a bit of elemental manipulation, but that would take to long to be effective in a combat situation and wouldn't scare people as effectively as she'd like. She turned to look at the other Mul, the one who didn't introduce herself at all. How impertinent. "Well, if you don't wish to introduce yourself I shall name you then." She spoke cheerfully, before frowning in thought. For a moment, she was silent. When the idea suddenly came to her she snapped her fingers. "Blondie! Perfect. Simple, easy to remember and you'd be identified quickly. I like it!"

Right around then was when the two Lavas soldiers began making their comments. Rhian's fists clenched, and waited. She couldn't act quite yet. As their leader, Thuran, lead them away, Rhian gave a rather malicious smile. She began to sing quietly. "Two Lavas soldiers tried their hands at being bards, but singing wasn't in their cards. So they cried 'No mores!' and became the camp whores. They had an insatiable desire, to do whatever pleased the soldiers of the lost empire." She finished the song by quietly singing her wordless song. Just to cement the spell upon the crude guards. As their group walked away, the two Lavas guards fell to the ground, hands going to their crotches. They couldn't scream as their bodies began to undergo changes, Rhian's malicious chuckling the only thing to give note to the act. When the scouting group was beginning to enter the village, two women in armor rose from the ground. For a brief moment they panicked and cried, wondering what had happened to them. Then the rest of Rhian's spell settled in, and they moved off into the camp to find soldiers to please.

The Siren stumbled as a new wave of exhaustion swept over her. Perhaps it was fool hardy to waste so much energy manipulating biology and forcing rude soldiers to become whores, but she couldn't deny the satisfaction the act brought. She looked up as Thuran spoke about formations. "Right, I'll get in the middle then. Try not to let me die, I am the only dedicated healer here." She moved into the middle, mask swiveling about as she looked for the source of her paranoia. Something was in the town and she was quite certain that whatever it was definitely wanted to kill them. Shadow in the window. Wait. Why can I see a shadow? Rhian focused on the window, exhaustion making her thinking slow. By rights, she shouldn't see any shadows. Shadows were of darkness and she needed no light to see, thus she was unaffected by shadows. Yet, a dark, shadowy, aura had clearly been in that window. She ignored Thuran's call in favor of pondering this odd development.

She was still pondering it as the trio went to investigate. The darkness was only present on the Forces of the Mad King before...but it disappeared quickly. So that means its... Oh Gods above. She came to the correct conclusion just in time to see the Firen get stabbed through the stomach. She immediately began focusing on him, a wordless Siren song reaching through the air. The pure, sweet, notes were out of place in what was soon to be a bloodstained battlefield, but they allowed Rhian to get a rough grasp of the wound and how long it would take for her to heal it. Gut wound. I hate gut wounds. So much crap going where it shouldn't, so much damaged It will take too long to heal him now. And by the end of this fight he'll be dead before I can get to him. And he will die in agony. So Rhian did the only thing she could. She switched her focus from his wound to the blood flow to his brain. She ended her song, placing a blockage on it. He would pass out, and then he would die. Quietly. Peacefully.

So, as the massive Glamhoth called her over she merely shook her head. "He is dead. The most I can do is ensure that he dies peacefully." Another death. Another life I couldn't save. I'm so tired. How much more can I take? She wondered. As the Wraiths revealed themselves, and then disappeared, Rhian could feel the fear around her, as well as her own. "Gods grant me strength." She didn't care who heard her, she just needed her nameless divinities to aid her now. Once again her Siren song rose into the stormy night, seeping into all those who heard it. Courage flowed into their limbs. Spines straightened, eyes took on a determined look. They would not die here. Good. Rhian thought. I can only hope it is enough.

[converge]

The Mul woman who spoke last had not introduced herself at all; Merilwyn wasn’t sure how to address her. So she made a mental note to ask her later. Though she suppressed a giggle at Rhain’s suggestion of ‘Blondie’. It was truly fitting, but Merilwyn had no intention of calling her as such. Perhaps she should create a nickname of her own?

As she pondered this, many others turned their attention to the rude, ignorant Lavas guards with their insults. They certainly did not attempt to be discreet with their ‘opinions.’ Some glared, scoffed, and muttered curses to them as a response. The battle mage did not follow suit however, provoke as the did,their petty insults were not worth her time. It caught her attention, though, when the western man spoke to them in a foreign language. Although the words were different, rhythm of the language reminded her Elvish. It was obvious what he said was a threat, it was impossible to tell exactly what it was. Still, she was sure it wasn’t a threat she would want to be faced with.

As the man continued to speak, Merilwyn joined the scouts formation. Though she had plenty of battle experience, she placed herself in the middle of the first row. It was the easiest place for her to cover the party with her arrows, and have a clear shot. Besides, she was no good with close combat. Then, they were on their way to the village.

The mage glared with eyes of hard jade as they began to approach. Before, the distance was a comfort. The closer they came the unsettled she felt. So, the barely audible song from her siren friend was a welcome distraction. ‘What an unusual song,’ she thought with light amusement, silently wondering what brought it on. Her answer was found only a moment later; coming from the cries of not two men, but rather women. Merilwyn glanced over her shoulder in time to see young ladies running back to camp, like dog with their tails tucked. They had the same hair color as the male guards from earlier, however now it was much longer. It would appear Rhian got her bit of revenge. “Oh how lovely they look!” She commented quietly, giggling to the woman.

Her mirth was swept away as they entered the village, the precarious feeling returning. She could now see the details of the houses and soaking clothes on lines. She narrowed her eyes at each window, each door way, regarding everything with suspicion. Each shadow could hold a lurking enemy. At this thought she clenched and unclenched her free hand restlessly. A dark shadow caught her attention, tugging on the edge of her vision. She whipped her head quickly, trying to catch whatever she saw. It evaded her like smoke.

Merilwyn nearly jumped when the Lithleethian called her name, as it was barely recognizable. His unfamiliar accent was contrastingly thicker than before, she could only assume why. Joining his side promptly, bow in hand, and briefly met his eyes. She listened, (with much effort) and grasped what he said only a momently later. “You may not want anything exploding near by, but I’ll ready my arrows,” she assured him. She smoothly drew an arrow from the quiver on her back, and nocked it fluidly before returning to her place.

The elf resumed glaring at buildings, and watched quietly as the trio of soldiers approached a building. It was then she heard the warning from Thuran, and her blood began to rush. ‘Wraith’s’ she shivered. Out of all the mad king’s minions she disliked those the most. She hurried into formation, pulling some dumb-founded soldiers with her. She caught sight of the soldiers near the house in time to see the the poor soldier’s wound. ‘Blood,’ She grimaced, averting her eyes slightly. It would seem Thuran’s warning came to late.

She loathed seeing a good soldier pass, and she detested his wound. Although the pain that it should be cause him was not present. He appeared peaceful, and she realized much later that the siren and her calming song was to thank. ‘So this is the power of the sirens, if you didn’t know what to look for you’d hardly notice it,’ she thought with amazement. 'It is greatly different from my magic,’ she frowned ‘Mine is a flashy magic, it has been trained to inflict pain; but Rhain’s does the opposite.’ Merilwyn looked at her friend with a new sense of respect. ‘She heals those who are hurting.’

Merilwyn ran to Thuran’s side as he called, her bow gripped tightly. Rýn sung in response. “I doubt they will come to our aid, we are ‘expendable’, remember?” The mage spat ‘expendable’ like a bitter taste in her mouth. No life should be considered as such, all was valuable. Nevertheless, she pulled her bow string taught and raised her aim to the sky. The fletching of her arrow brushed softly against her cheek, and she focused on where it would go. Quickly, she called upon the magic that lay dormant within her. It was always there, a piece of her as much as her eyes or arm. It surged through her veins as warm, mailable energy; ready to do her will. The runes of her bow, before barely visible, now glowing with the vibrancy of her magic. Verdant in color. A deep breath in, release- and her arrow was launched into the sky. It cut through the howling wind, neither rain nor sleet could deter it as it flew to its mark. ‘One…two…’ Merilwyn waited until it reached high enough in the sky, ‘…three.’

The sky exploded into crimson red and sunburst orange, lighting the world around them ablaze. It was followed by a muffled roar, and the choking smell of thick black smoke. The arrow filled it’s purpose well, there was no way the camp would miss their signal. If the bright light hadn’t alerted them, certainly the sound would. It could be heard even through this pattering rain.

The battlemage dropped the bow to her side, admiring her handy-work a little longer, before turning her mossy eyes wearily to Thuran. “That should work well enough, now let us hope Dorius has the courage to aid us.”