Fate - First Reply A Caravan Asunder

[Douglas Haley]

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Allir Reach​

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Douglas had lost everything so many times it had become the story of his life - a criminal in Elbion after his reported murder of Eimur Emisol , his failure as a mercenary captain during the siege of Alcazar, along with his monumental destruction of a large portion of the city. All of this was much his fault, a man incapable of magic due to his own broken ambition. Now he sat near the campfire with hair a mess, greasy from weeks of travel, hugging the sword he had managed to get after weeks of begging and odd jobs - most the terrible kind only the Allirian underworld provided.​

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The Caravan Master was telling some story of triumph near the Spine, his luck in passing by Orc Encampents or some nonsense - Douglas hadn't been listening. His mind held tight to his own failures, his aloneness, the stark contrast of failure he had forced himself into despite the ambitions he had once dreamed of. He was nothing and no one, and that was the sole constant in this terrible life of his.​

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He tugged his moth eaten burlap blanket over his shoulders and shoveled the last bits of gruel into his mouth before wiping what mess he left in his beard.​

 

[Erudwën]

An uproar of laughter filled the camp; payment towards something said that was neither funny nor original, stinking men and women, greasy and unkept by the hard, barely-there roads they travelled trying to outdo one another in a pathetic vanity fair they had no right taking part in. The guards sworn by promises of gold were just as violent and thuggish as the bandits they supposedly protected the vulnerable from, a trickle of power and even the humblest man with even the smallest semblance of a uniform would turn, teeth bared, spit flinging on each word.

She had seen it all before. Erudwën travelled out of necessity, after all, roving bands of raiders, bandits, orcs and whatever else were threats to even the greatest swordsman, even the most powerful mage. She was neither, in fact, she fit in well with the downtrodden, the grimy rabble that had a direction but no path, an aim but no goal. She herself could never have told of her own goal, her own path, why she herself trudged in mud-coated, mud-hued leathers and cloak. A high-quality curved blade; sleek and lethal partially hidden, partially threatening, betraying potentially a station above mere serf or mercenary, or perhaps a stolen treasure, a meaning too important to simply pawn off?

Weather-worn lips cracked and split from cold wet fog and winds upturned into a disgusted, almost venomous curl of distaste as the woman eyed one of the more grabby guards, leaning a little too close to someone a little too young.

Erudwën spoke, hushed with a voice like honey and silk, a stark contrast to the almost haggard, pale-grey gaunt features fleetingly shown beneath a ragged hood, snow white, flecked with silver hair lifted behind knife-like ears on a gust of wind and subtly her fingers spun, twisted, curled with red-stained nails long and hard, red dust caked across the digits.

A cry went up as the guard fell, writhing and twisting in on himself, like a babe in the womb, gasping breathlessly, belly clutched. The commotion was momentary and the little too young woman vanished during it, a little vomit and the guard was perched upon a rock by his fellows, something he ate they said, too much to drink they thought.

Erudwën tucked her cloak back across her body, red dust wiped along the inside of the brown cloth and she momentarily locked eyes with the downtrodden, down-on-his-luck vagrant that had been travelling with them for days. A look of surprise, perhaps concern flashed across her almost ice-blue gaze, features hardening before she tucked her hood further over her head and swept down the side of the bluffs, seeking shelter where the laughter carried looser and the winds swept less harshly.​

 

[Douglas Haley]

He'd watched for days as the Guard made passes at the vulnerable, a common sight on the road like it was. Perhaps he had become too used to it, too willing to let those sights slide that he had given up on 'fixing' such a thing - it wasn't his place. He was a powerful mage made eunuch by his inability to touch the aether, and he was a middling swordsman at best. Perhaps he had a mind for strategy, but that didn't matter when you travelled in a caravan - beyond knowing how much you can drink each night before the grog and swill runs out.​

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The cry of that guard seemed to snap him from his stupor for a moment. His hands, trained to protect himself against bounty hunters and soldiers alike gripped tight on the blade he held - prepared to draw it, to protect himself as best as he could. Yet when he made eye contact with the man, he didn't see an arrow or knife to this throat - no wound at all, but the soft whispers of magic. Something most in this troupe couldn't notice, but Douglas was trained as a student of the Maesters of Elbion. He knew what happened.​

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His gaze drifted to an elf, pale and ghostly as they were - they gave him a concerning gaze that burned somewhere deep. Even momentary, even confused, it'd been a long time since anyone looked at him with more than disgust - as was his place, a beggar and murderer on the lamb. He clenched his jaw and set aside his gaze for a moment, so none would guess as to what he had surmised from the man's sudden 'sickness'.​

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After a few moments, he made an effort to casually stand and move across the camp before returning - now taking care to follow the Elf. He wasn't sure what to say to them, not sure what he wanted to, but he wanted to talk at the very least; to someone that wouldn't assume him a monster or filth to be kicked aside.​

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"I saw what you did.", he said quietly, so none would overhear over the cacophony of laughter.​

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"It... was a good thing.", trying to rectify how accusatory his first words might've seemed. He made an extra effort not to look directly at them, as though they were simply in the same place instead of speaking. He gave up on that quickly, however, too anxious to speak to a new person and all the more convinced acting nonchalant might be not see as so nonchalant.​

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"I'm Douglas.", he said, offering a ratty leather gloved hand off to them.​

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Erudwën​

 

[Erudwën]

Erudwën knew she had made a mistake, knew she should never have used her magic. It was foolish. Thankfully she was surrounded by the mundane, people who knew nothing of power or presence, accepting life as was, instead of what it could be. All apart from one, the most unassuming of the lot.

She knew well when someone was following, footsteps with intent, felt in her mind's eye the way his gaze lingered too long, the way her path was tracked far too cleanly for just someone wanting to escape the same wind and activity she did. Her blade had been lifted from its scabbard with a whispering silence, she guessed she could lop the head from the would-be-stalker in one turn, or at the very least cut his throat before anyone noticed. Anticipation built and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, she could feel the tension in her muscles as her fingers smoothed across the fine leather hilt, but... She stayed her hand.

The man spoke, an accusation that should have worried even concerned her, instead, Erudwën turned her head and regarded his dishevelled form with some interest; not a bounty hunter that much was clear; not a good one anyway and he shared no resemblance to any zealous Templar she had come across in her travels.

Upon the introduction, Erudwën allowed the blade to slide back down into its scabbard with a telling 'clunk' and she turned fully, narrowed eyes appearing almost grey against the surrounding pale skin, exotic compared to the more common of her elven kin. She mulled the introduction for possibly an uncomfortably long time in most social situations, before taking the worn, ratty gloved hand in her own, one shake and that was enough, fingers stained all the way up to her knuckles in red, scars coated her flesh all over, puckered deep narrow and thin as though she had been stabbed a dozen times over.

"You may call me Eru." She told Douglas after some deliberation on if she should share her name fully, after all, she had no idea if they were in fact looking for her. Leaning in, her voice a soft lilting and yet so very predatory in the way she annunciated her words; "Tell anyone of what you saw, Douglas of Nowhere, and I will kill you," her soft features creased as she pulled back, looking him in the eyes so he knew she was serious and with that, she sat, clearly exhausted atop a rounded boulder.

From beneath her cloak, she pulled a half loaf of almost black hard bread and a quarter of high-quality wax-coated cheese. Divided equally with a very worn-looking dagger, she offered the cheese and bread to the man with red-stained fingers.

"I suggest you enjoy this, the last I have of Allirian-made cheese, we eat the slop from here on." Clearly, the idea repulsed her about as much as it likely repulsed him too. After a sliver of cheese was placed in her mouth and she had a thoughtful chew, eyes glinting with enjoyment at the taste, the small pleasures on the hardships on the roads, she gestured loosely with the dagger at Douglas, "you do not seem like a mage," she stated bluntly, a knowing look on her waif-like features, ironic perhaps coming from someone equally as rough and dirty.
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Douglas Haley​

 

[Douglas Haley]

Douglas took careful note of her blade - the oddly decorated piece standing out amongst the rest of a rather drab attire. Without it, the elven woman would've been no different than himself; Downtrodden, scarred, disheveled, a good example of what they didn't want around. At the very least, it reminded him to keep his own blade tight, though his own longsword was of a mediocre quality and design. Serviceable, if nothing else.​

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"You may call me Eru.", she said, before her voice took on a oddly sultry tone that tried to tickle at his ears. He didn't think it was magically created, but it was out of place given her rough appearance - making him all the more on edge, added to her threat. He grunted a bit and leaned against the nearby wagon, letting it take the weight of him with a slight groan.​

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"No offense, Eru, but I don't think that'd go well for either of us.", he said, the soft reminders of his near death at Alcazar playing fitfully in his mind. The stench of blood was strong in his nose suddenly, his eyes almost watering - but he wiped the thoughts and strain away with a quick sniff. Didn't do well to dwell on those things now.​

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Douglas's attention was drawn once more to what she carried, though instead of the weapon at her hip - it was the cheese and bread in her hand. Almost instantly his mouth seemed to water at it, though he hid it well as he glanced back to the fire of the camp to make sure the others were still invested in their nonsense. When she offered, he'd take a piece, though he'd eat it slower than one normally might - savoring every last bit. He hadn't had anything but gruel since before Alliria - he'd been a poor man longer than he cared to admit now.​

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"Thank you.", he said quietly as he took in every piece.​

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"You don't seem like a mage."​

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"I'm not. Anymore.", he quickly clarified.​

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"Was trained as one, was a good one too - just didn't turn out to be my thing.", he said, idly flexing his gloved hand, tattoo's running deep magical essence into his skin beneath the ratting leathers and gambeson he wore, just out of sight.​

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"What about yourself? Usually don't find the odd mage in a caravan. Not with a sword on their hip.", he said, nodding to her blade as he filled his mouth with another slice of the cheese.​

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Erudwën​

 

[Erudwën]

Erudwën found the young man odd, very odd. Easily mistaken for a common vagrant, a man down on his luck without a pot to piss in, so to speak, but yet she found the way he spoke, held himself beyond his dejected slouch to be almost familiar. He was pretty perhaps, with strange eyes she did not recognise, a birth defect or perhaps some reasoning for his apparent magical intuition? The woman gave a low sound of agreeance, but also a little annoyance at Douglas' apparent dismissal of her threat, however, his common sense she could not argue with, neither would achieve anything by making a scene.

A fine white eyebrow lifted deliberately and there was a clear look of amusement on her features, the slightest curl of one corner of her lips, a twitch of her nose.

"It did not turn out to be your thing?" She mulled, the words slow as though she herself did not think she understood him properly, her fingers brushing crumbs from her dirty, mud-crusted leathers, "One does not simply decide to be a mage 'is not their thing'... Not truthfully to themselves anyway." She said simply, stuffing the leathers the bread had been wrapped in back inside of her cloak.

Her hand instinctively fell to the pommel of her sword when it was brought up and she looked down at it, then back to Douglas, her jaw rolled once and she clicked her tongue to the front of her teeth, before relaxing and shrugging. "I assume the same reason you; a mage-but-not would be drifting covered in mud with the same caravan," leaning forward enough that her hood drifted back from her features, silvered, snow-white hair spilling down her features, her voice dropped into a whisper, soft, gentle; "Murderer, thief, or wanted... Which is it?" A smile played at her lips, though it was hard to tell if it was meant as a joke, or maybe of knowing.
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Douglas Haley​

 

[Douglas Haley]

"Turned out to not be my thing.", he repeated to her - but she leaned forward, called him on the obvious.​

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Douglas didn't draw back, but instead set his jaw - letting the musculature work beneath the skin as he contemplated an answer. In the end, he didn't reply, and the silence was answer enough. Murderer, thief, or wanted, more likely now it was all three than any singular one. Whether she jested or knew, her prod had found truth in his inability to lie quick enough.​

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Though, he imagined it wouldn't of done him much good. Elves were sharper, and she seemed sharper than most. A lie works on a lazy caravan captain looking for warm bodies to fight off Centaur Raiders in the Reach, not on curious elves carrying fancy blades.​

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"Depends who you ask...", he finally offered back.​

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"I do alot of work, where I can.", careful not to overshare - careful to see what she'd give up first.​

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Erudwën​

 

[Erudwën]

The snow elf tipped her head ever so slightly, sharp ears visibly shifting forward at the first syllable Douglas uttered before her eyes creased and her thin smile spread wider, revealing teeth that looked whiter against her pale lips than they probably were. She had gotten him and saw the falter, the lack of response told her everything she needed to know.

A moment or two lingered between them, faces close, breaths practically meeting in the middle, wispy white locks tickling noses and beard growth in the wind, perhaps she was testing the man's comfort level, maybe she was tasting his breaths or perhaps she just enjoyed looking at him. She looked carnivorous.

Then she spoke destroying any possibility she could be anything but pleasant, soft voice alluring, gentle and soothing, sultry and comforting, rolling across a tongue of silk as she moved to seat herself against a wheel of the wagon he stood against sharing warmth against a particularly cold gust of wind, maybe.

"Help me kill the Captain," she said, letting Douglas ruminate on precisely what she had said, voice low enough for them to hear, but not as soft to appear as whispering. A casual conversation between acquaintances.

"When we reach the shore, I intend to seek Teth and the Captain..." She gestured with a maroon-stained sharpened nail towards the bushy-bearded, pot-bellied wretch of a man gluttonously feeding his ego, "Well blood has value and he deserves death, what you do after is your own, but I assure you when we part ways, you will no longer need the charity of these pigs, not for a little while at least."

Regarding him with a side look Erudwën offered the pommel of her dagger, a symbolic offer, and the fact she had just been as forthcoming with a complete stranger as one might have been with a friend of many years. "You are a dead man walking, what do you have to lose trusting Fate just this once?"​

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Douglas Haley

 

[Douglas Haley]

Was this a shakedown? He didn't see her proximity perhaps as she intended, as the sultry tests of comfort and leverage the assets she possessed - the last few times someone had gotten this close in his face, it was an intimidation tactic. Still, her ask wasn't a command, which made it all the weirder.​

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He leaned back, not to get away from her, but rather to make another glance to the Caravan leader. Ginger haired and fat, he wasn't anything special - just a man. A man who let his men rape and pillage, who only cared for his passengers as much as they could pay. Douglas growled at the thought, at the idea of doing something 'good' - even if he had to justify it through evil.​

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"Teth's a far distance away.", he echo'ed.​

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"Alot of time for you to take off and leave me stranded. Any promises you won't do to me what you're hoping to do to the Captain?"​

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Erudwën​

 

[Erudwën]

Erudwën held the blade of the dagger and for the first time since they had met, she faltered and was silent, grey eyes narrowed slowly, glittering blue when a drifting cloud exposed them to sunlight. The elf was very rarely wrong, too many men had she seen and read confidently, years and years of learning how to survive and have whatever she liked, by force if necessary; yet Douglas, this man who she knew had nothing, who she knew could not have climbed any lower into the mire of muck and blood he found himself in... Was different at that moment.

A droplet of blood dripped thick and full from the tip of the dagger where her palm had clenched against the blade, the pain jarred her from the moment that seemed to last far longer than it actually had, she dropped the dagger and curled her lips across her teeth, sucking in sharply before drifting her head in a nod.

"You know of my name, you know of my plan. My destination," Erudwën told him, extending two sharpened nails and drawing them across her chest deliberately, blood running from her palm down her wrist in a stark circlet contrasted like blood on snow, "You said yourself that an attempt to kill you would not go well for either of us. Should I cross you, hunt me until the ends of the lands, Mages promise."

Tucking her cut hand back beneath her cloak, she looked towards the Captain and then towards where she knew their destination would be, "That pig owes me his blood, pain for pain."
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Douglas Haley​

 

[Douglas Haley]

She had guessed as much right - Douglas was a man on the backfoot put gently. He held no titles, no property, just the sword on his hip and the clothes on his back. Yet despite this, he was a man of some vision, one who knew that despite his position in life - it could get worse by just a few simple mistakes. Trying to kill the Captain infront of so many people loyal to him was a quick way to make his bad situation much worse.​

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"I know the name you told me, and I know the place you said you'd go. I'm not interested in vengeance - it'd waste both our time pretending it mattered.", he said idly.​

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"I want an assurance. Something of value upfront, until you give me a proper bounty."​

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His gaze drifted to the blade on her hip, ignoring the blood on her hand for the time being. A red flag, something internal made her lose sight for a moment - a warning sign she might not be all there, or had something deeper going on he could not see. He'd been around a few others similar, dissociate to a dangerous degree.​

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"If we do this, after we are done, seal your blade with thread. While we travel, I'll keep it. You can't stab me as easy, and if you run off - I keep it. When we get to Teth, and you pay me, you get it back unopened. Trust for trust.", he said as his pale eyes, sharper than they were before, drifted up to her own.​

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Erudwën​

 

[Erudwën]

It was clear she had been matched at her own game, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, felt her blood surge to the tips of her ears. The bastard. Erudwën lifted her chin and regarded Douglas for a moment or two, before nodding and breathing through her nostrils. Her hand fell to stroke affectionately along the high-quality hardened leather scabbard.

"So be it Douglas. After the deed is done, I will seal it." She agreed, though the idea of giving this man, this dreg her blade that was rightfully hers made her skin crawl. She felt her mouth dry, a sickening pit in her belly that she had been wrong, she had assumed weak will, easy mind and not someone who knew their self-worth, her gaze matched his own and she frowned ever so slightly as if trying to read something from him.

She had no doubt he would follow through with her desire for vengeance, she had just not expected him to be of sound mind, considering the man's apparent predicament and state, but who was she to judge when she found herself in the same; albeit willingly?

Pushing from the wagon, she lifted her hood back over her features, hiding ears and hair beneath the heavy cloth. Voice lower and far more biting than it had been previously, "When we reach the Sayve River, we will discuss our move," She told him, "If we are swift my plan will work and we will be by boat before the new light." The snow elf drifted off towards the main camp and would eventually merge with the rest milling around waiting to move onward after their short rest, but she stopped momentarily and pointed to the wagon. "Oh... I suggest you do not drink the mead, Douglas..." She offered, a smirk playing on her lips.

She knew two against a caravan guard of warriors would be suicide, but if a handful could not lift their weapons higher than their hips and if Douglas was as useful with his shabby blade as she hoped, they would succeed. Erudwën just hoped the other end of the deal had been held up. No boat and they would be stranded in raider territory. Not exactly part of the plan...​

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Douglas Haley

OOC: disclosure kind of threw in this plot randomly (not sure if these fate threads get pre-plotted by the owner?), if you have another direction go for it, fine with a time skip as well

 

[Douglas Haley]

"Consider me sober.", he said, as he memorized the few details she put forward.​

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It'd be a days before they hit their first trade town on the river - a small hamlet relative to the larger, more grand trade ports both further inland and out to sea, but it'd suffice to drop goods and passengers. It was likely a trip this Caravan Master had done innumerable times, which at least gave Douglas hope maybe they'd have an easy few days. He doubted she'd honor the deal if the Centaurs of the Reach killed the Captain before he could.​

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He turned to watch her go, mostly to make note of where she tended to sleep - but his gaze couldn't help but to wonder why someone of such a feminine persuasion had taken to a life on the road. It wasn't often you found the waif or attractive on a path of vengeance - let alone wasted on the road. The scars probably didn't help.​

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Rich patrons liked their goods undamaged.​

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He folded his arms and didn't say anything as she found her way into her tent. Douglas didn't have the comfort of one, he had spent his money on food not comforts - but he wouldn't of minded one as the tempature seemed to drop the more they moved from the city. Rubbing at his arms, he walked off to find himself a place of his own, dry and soft, with a sack of grain to support his head for the night.​

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---​

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The days had passed relatively without incident - a few scouts reported fresh tracks on the hunting paths, but the progressively rockier landscape made them less seen. The Centaurs preferred the plains, not the harder to traverse hills and outcroppings of the northern and eastern reaches.​

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For those many days, Douglas made an effort to avoid Erudwen until the camp buzzed with the hope of seeing the small port city in the next day. Camp was made late that night, knowing the next day's journey would be quick with more comforts for all gathered - but they were still some miles away.​

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Douglas still hadn't managed to bathe - running water had been rare in their path, making the entire camp take on an earthy musk befit a troupe of mercenaries. At the very least, the fit in; as the fires were set up and the mead was passed out, Douglas took care to not partake. He knew even without speaking to the Elven woman this would be the night they were forced to act.​

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He waited until the moon had come up in the sky, and the men had begun to show signs of poisoning - written off as the mead not properly kempt on their journey. Some poisoned were the innocent, the travelling men who had put a good days labor into keeping the pack beasts moving - but it was a cost they'd have to pay. When most had begun to lose themselves in it, he moved to find Erudwën .​

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Before he was tightly packed with most of his possessions, now he only wore his blade, a loose shirt, and the pants he had come with. Sigil like tattoo's poked out from the collar, lining half of his body down to his wrist - and she would recognize both the details as arcana in nature, but also a sense of foreboding danger within what it held.​

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"Poison did its trick.", he offered her, glancing back to the men - who some, with stronger livers, seemed to still be drinking.​

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"I say we wait a bit longer - till they're sleepin'. Then we strike the Captain in the night while he's down - and the rest are properly soused.", he said looking back to her, wasting no time on the pleasantries of their time apart.​

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Erudwën​

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((OOC: No worries, I really had no set plan for this thread - but I'm having fun with what we've got. I'm down to keep writing it as long as you want, and just see where their story goes ))​

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[Erudwën]

Erudwën had for the most part barely even looked at the man on their travels, though she was rarely seen, some days she would be gone from dawn till dusk, reappearing as though she never left. Even when passing, all he would have received was fleeting eye contact, a silent question as to if their little scheme was still on, before she vanished once more into the crowds.

As the end of the first tranche came apparently close, the mood of the caravan lifted, despite the stench of everyone lingering. Erudwën had known this would happen, she had also known the guards were gluttons for a drink and had been saving the best barrels for when they were nearer a settlement, no doubt the intention being to drink the lot and have more bought when their goods were sold at a suspiciously high price.

As happy as pigs in shit, she had thought. Soon they would be slaughtered like them too.

Douglas met her behind her tent, placed strategically as far from everyone else's as possible without looking odd. A full moon cast harsh shadows and bright light that one barely needed a torch to see by. Perfection in the eyes of the snow elf, she felt a kinship to the moon, felt the way the rays bathed her flesh and imagined herself ethereal to soak as much as she could.

He spoke and her ears twitched at his words, but she did not turn from where she knelt, hunched over until he told her they should wait. A chorus of drunken shouts filled the air as one of the guards slumped forward, mead spilling to the floor, frothing at the mouth but the others were far too gone to notice his plight. Erudwën looked to Douglas and turned, lifting herself on just her legs.

"No, now. I'll not listen to their joy longer than I need, I'll not have them breathe their lives in hope." She barked low, whispered words dripping with venom, much as her hands dripped with blood. Atop a small, crudely made altar made of rocks and slate behind her, five animals lay butchered, heads cleanly cut from their bodies, blood drained completely and smeared into the surrounding grass and dirt in runic patterns, it caked her lower mouth and jaw, two red lines running from her tear-filled eyes down her cheeks.

The snow elf looked Douglas in the eyes, then lowered her gaze slowly across the arcana scrawled across his flesh, moonlight catching and glinting behind the running, dirty tears she had shed, her tongue drawing across her lower teeth as a long, blood-dipped nail softly traced one of the sigils above the hem of his shirt. "Whilst the magic surges, flows, whilst I see all that can be seen. You understand?" She asked, her voice far softer, peaking in places.

She sounded crazed perhaps, finally losing her mind when teetering on the edge of breaking, but she was completely in the moment and her blade slowly smoothed itself from its sheath. Steel like moonlight.​

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Douglas Haley

 

[Douglas Haley]

Douglas glanced from the remains of whatever ritual she had managed, then back to her, frowning slightly. She had only mentioned the death of the Captain, not the entire Caravan - and if her cryptic words were anything to go by at this point, she was very likely bordering on psychosis. Magically induced or not, it made for a terrible unreliable ally in combat.​

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He slowly pushed her hand off the sigils emblazoned in his own skin, resting his hand on the hilt of his blade as a roar of the crowd rose above the sounds of the fires.​

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"Fine.", he seemed to growl at her.​

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"Then what's your plan? Run in and cut them all down? We aren't exactly equipped for a full assault here, Eru."​

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Erudwën​

 

[Erudwën]

Not with that attitude, she may have thought to herself as Douglas seemed far less keen than she to start the bloodshed. Was he not confident in his own abilities? Perhaps she had once again made a mistake, chosen a fool to help her when she should have done it alone.

No. She needed him, for some reason or another, she felt he had to continue on the path set, a Fate line that had to be continued. Maybe it was the magical delirium coursing through her mind, but she knew deep down there was something.

"Fine." Erudwën spat to one side, as if clearing her mouth of the foul taste of reality he had given her, "But I get the Captain, that is my right." The snow elf hissed low, before moving swiftly and quietly around the outskirts of the camp without another word, knowing the man behind her would follow, or rather hoping he would. "Once the pig is dead, I have allies waiting to the east with a boat, they will expect us to flee to the trade port, so we will have a few hours' head start."

She was buzzed, drunk on anticipation and her lower lip had been gnawed until bloody and torn in waiting. The snow elf pointed two fingers to the area tactically cordoned off from the rest of the camp with wagons and supplies, "The big tent, he always drinks with the four men that are his best, you've seen them, two at least will be sober and if we are unlucky, my poison will have failed us and we have a problem," She looked to Douglas and then his sword, "You can handle that, correct?" Maybe a genuine question, but one could not help but feel the sarcasm underlying each word.
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Douglas Haley​

 

[Douglas Haley]

The bloodlust hadn't completely taken her then - a good sign they might live to see another day. He'd heard rumors of men from the Nordenfiir drugging themselves in rituals to accomplish great feats of strength and combat under a berserker state - but he wasn't sure it made that much sense to him. Living through a battle wasn't about your ability to kill, it was about your ability to think on how to survive.​

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He followed her and listened to the revised plan, nodding in partial agreement before she asked if he could handle his sword. For a moment, he considered being honest - that he wasn't a greatly skilled swordsman at all, but forcing her to doubt his competency now wouldn't help either of them. Would probably only see him lose his share for the job.​

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"I can.", he confirmed, but quickly changed the subject.​

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"Second problem then; Five men need to be taken down by two. If we're lucky, only two - but what if they call for help? If we aren't quick, that five will turn into more than a dozen quick."​

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"You don't got a crossbow or two stashed around the camp do you?", he said idly.​

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Erudwën​

 

[Erudwën]

The snow elf looked at Douglas with a dumbfounded expression. Here they were, on the cusp of their task, potentially life-threatening, and important and the man was asking if she had a crossbow tucked away somewhere in her cloak. Perhaps if he wanted a crossbow, he should have procured one before they did the dangerous thing. Erudwën's lips parted as though to speak, but instead, she set her jaw, gave the smallest roll of her eyes and looked back to their target.

"Then I suggest we are quick and precise before that problem can arise." She told him, giving him a pointed look at his question and offered him a small, thin dagger that looked like it was weighted to be thrown. The best she had. Shadowed shapes flickered in the candlelight of the tent telling of at least three figures inside, what state they were in was anyone's guess, but the two men idling beside a cart just at the entrance were clearly sober.

Erudwën lifted her hood over her ears and stood, flexing her bloodied fingers. "These two we can end quickly, follow my lead and do as I do. Keep up." She spoke low, before striding out into the open and towards the talking pair, one hand dipping beneath her cloak and reappearing clutching a clump of reddish chalk.

Embarrassingly by the time the first guard noticed anyone approaching, the she-elf was halfway through a spell, fingers curling and drawing a half-transparent reddish-hued glyph before her as she closed the distance. "Silence the second," She hissed to Douglas.
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"What the f-" Was all the guard managed as the reddish chalk was tossed through the glyph and erupted into five writhing, briar-like red tendrils of arcane energy as sharp as glass that violently impaled the guard against the wood, silencing any sound he could make with sharp arcing slices before being ripped free and dispelled in an ultraviolent display that could have been called overkill.

Erudwën was done waiting.
___
Douglas Haley​

 

[Douglas Haley]

Quick and precise. A second ago this madwomen was trying to cut down the camp because they laughed too loud, now she was annoyed Douglas didn't intend to turn a paycheck into a suicide. He sighed, audibly, but followed her to the destination, making sure to take the dagger she had offered. Very balanced by the feel of it, hopefully thick enough to survive a strike on bone if he pushed too deep.​

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The sound of briar hitting wood sounded like arrows up close - and Douglas made a silent prayer to Gods he didn't believe in nobody else in camp heard their 'quick and quiet' approach. Douglas swore under his breath as the other guard reached for his sword, mid call out, before the once-mage slammed him into the wagon behind him - dagger leading the charge. It pierced the man's neck and cut off his startled expression before it could inform others, but if anyone was close they would've heard it.​

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Heard the gurgling of the man as Douglas pressed his entire weight into him so he couldn't draw his sword, dagger so deep in his throat it started carving the wood behind him. Heard the sound of gore and meat hitting the earth next to him, as blood sprayed both Douglas and the guard - only for it all to fall still again. He'd nearly slipped in the grass with the force he was holding the man against the wagon before his body went limp.​

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Behind him, their combined assault had indeed stirred something within the tent - but by the sounds of confusion, her poison had hit all of them well. A highly slurred 'Vawt'z goeen o' ou' tha?" from the Captain proved he was at least within the tent - the others moving to stand but failing. One of the two laughed, unaware of his coming demise.​

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Once more Douglas sighed, wiping the blood from his face and neck before motioning to the tent with his chin;​

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"This is your business. Do what you're going do - I'll keep watch.", he said as he leaned against the wagon, now covered in the many dead and dismembered.​

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Erudwën​

 

[Erudwën]

The smell of blood with each inhale, the rushing warmth of every exhale, Erudwën revelled in it. She tasted the splatter across her lips and regarded Douglas; who to his credit, had done his part. Incredibly, no one had heard the commotion other than those wholly unaware of their fate within the tent.

Locking eyes with the man, who looked positively fed up with the situation, she mouthed a soft 'thank you' at his words, before drawing her sword smooth and holding it to her side straight, every step she took purposeful and precise as if counting her paces. Her left hand danced and twisted, fingers curling in some ancient act of spell-weaving, lips parting to chant a low spell, sibilant and soft, completely at odds with the ruthless, violent witch that she was.

"Vunjuancu lu monu," She spoke, the large glyph before her pulsing once as her fingers added the finishing touches, "Liik lu liejhs firsh..." With the spell finalised, another handful of blooded chalk was dashed with force through the arcane symbol; It shattered inaudibly and suddenly six thick blood-red translucent vines coated in barbed thorns erupted from her back, creating a trail behind her, each twitching and curling, writhing as they dug grooves into the dirt.

Erudwën slashed open the hide entrance to the tent and all hell broke loose, the first man was coiled around the neck and with one swift tug decapitated, body slumping as the head rolled out of the tent to join the mess of gore outside. The second, who managed to at least stand in his stupor was reduced to ribbons creating a tapestry of stains across the tent from the inside, tinting the candlelight. The vines pulsed deeply, raising like nefarious snakes as she advanced on the Captain, sword flourishing and ready to strike.

What was said inside was unheard, only the call for help followed by a slew of agonising screams that, unfortunately, alerted every able guard across the camp. The sound of calls drifted through the air along with the rattle of swords and axes, some of the guards stumbled from the poison, and others were half-dressed having decided not to drink that night. Unfortunately for Douglas and Erudwën.

The snow elf bolted from the tent and without so much as missing a beat, threw a crossbow and a small pouch of bolts at Douglas before pointing with her sword to where she knew the terrain grew rocky, treacherous and a fast-flowing wide stream would be.

"Run!" She screeched as a bolt buried itself into the wheel of the wagon, a little too close to Douglas for comfort. Grabbing a torch on her way past, she turned in a three-step jog, threw it with all her might and dashed the last of her chalk at the flame, which detonated into a screaming arcane fire that spread wide and far, bolts of multi-coloured flame setting tents alight and brightening the night sky. Chaos to hide their escape.
____
Douglas Haley​

 

[Douglas Haley]

Douglas wanted quick, quiet, efficient death - he wanted to see the Captain dead in his sleep, alone, only to be discovered in the morning while they were hours away already. The elf had so much more planned, all of which he failed to tell him, and as the first scream began to escape the confines of the tent he couldn't help but draw his sword and look around.​

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The camp stirred, fires turned into torches, and questions began to called out as more and more awoke. Douglas knew this would be the end if she didn't hurry, so he called out to her -​

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"Eru! Make it quick!", he demanded, pleaded with her as he began to back step a bit closer to the tent's entrance.​

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She finished her deed, and exited, passing him a crossbow a bit to his confusion - but he slung it quick enough as the first bolts nearly pinned him to the ground. He swore as he began to sprint towards the rocky crags outside the camp. The flames that danced through the sky were interesting, familiar, smelled like comfort - but he knew that in this instance, there was nothing to hope for but their lives.​

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He swore as he resheathed his sword, using what strength he had to quickly scale the most treacherous of the rocks and reach the top. Crossbow bolts still hit near them, but the chaos of the fire and mass charge seemed to stir at least some inaccuracy in the men trying to shoot - luckily for them both.​

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Unlike Eru, however, Douglas had no special powders, no powers he could utilize here - his magic was sealed, and even were it not he knew it would only lead to both their deaths. Controlling the magic he had hoarded was long past his capacity now - so he simply swore louder than before and sprinted along side her.​

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"Where to!?", he called out as he heard the distant cry of hounds in the distance.​

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Erudwën​

 

[Erudwën]

Funnily enough, that had been the plan. Silent, deadly, like a lurking shadow waiting to strike. Now they had baying, salivating hounds on their heels, Hounds. Why had she not thought of that? She had seen them, smelt them, hell she had stepped in their refuse, but had forgotten the hounds. Scrambling up the rocky outcropping and rolling up over the top, Erudwën panted lungfuls of air, pale eyes rapidly scanning the surroundings as she ran, sweat running down her brows as she turned to Douglas and gave him a look that said it all, she had no idea. It was dark, she was not thinking straight and frankly, she had no idea which direction they had even fled.

Then she heard it, the sound of flowing water, sharp ears perking. "Forward, run run!" She shouted after the man, up and down dark crags, across pitch-black rocky chasms that would have surely broken limbs had they fallen. It was not until she crested another tall boulder that things truly went downhill.

Behind Douglas, Erudwën let out a cry and stumbled, sliding down a rock and slapping into another, no doubt her ribs and arm would be bruised but more concerningly was the glinting tip of a crossbow bolt protruding from the left side of her chest, just below the collarbone. Stumbling once, she coughed and heaved a breath, gingerly touching the bolt tip as adrenaline funnelled its way into her bloodstream, allowing her to snap the head with a teeth-gritted shout of pain.

Onward she stumbled, catching her rhythm into a steady run, fueled by survival instinct, laboured breaths and a splutter of crimson across her lips as she clutched the wound tight, the feathered bolt still protruding from her back with no time to have it removed "Run, find Greyfall, find the boat!" She roared after the man, before changing direction. Sliding and stumbling down another rock, she looked at her blood-coated hand and grimaced, before scrawling a hasty glyph across the stone, leaving smeared lines and smudged dots.

"Curci... Syeti sur san srar~" She sang, pain lacing the soft, chanting tune she weaved her spell with, before slapping her bloodied palm to the glyph. Three crude maroon shapes formed, wavy and unclear, but clearly silhouetting the caster's figure and mannerisms, each ran in separate directions. By the way the bolts flew through the darkness and the sound of hounds spreading further apart behind them, in the dark the arcane shapes were enough to fool their pursuers for now.

Erudwën pushed on, legs feeling like lead, wound burning as the raw cast she committed claimed its price with deep black lines sprawling across pale flesh beneath her leathers.

They just needed to get far enough down the stream, and use the crevices for cover and concealment. If she made it that far.
____
Douglas Haley​

 

[Douglas Haley]

Douglas heard the bolts land near him, but twisted and turned his path. It wasn't the first time he'd been under fire by sustained volleys, and this was hardly a volley - more like he was a deer in the sights of some mediocre hunters. The trees, the dark night, all of it helped to protect them from the bolts - but it wasn't enough.​

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Erudwen had taken a bolt in the shoulder, told him to go on and find someone named 'Greyfall', or perhaps it was the boats name. He called out an affirmation in return, but only made it a handful of steps before he realized something. If he abandoned her, there was no gurantee he'd be paid - and, perhaps worse, he'd taken at least an inkling of liking to her.​

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Enough of a liking that he didn't want to imagine what those men would do to her if they found her, wounded and struggling. He swore under his breath, for what little morality he hadn't shed for silver coins - twisting on his heel and moving back.​

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The sound of dogs got closer to Erudwen, their growls, teeth clacking, claws on rock followed her in every moment. Perhaps some were dissuaded by the illusions she had gathered and sent out - but not enough. One dog had eyes on her, smelled the blood from her shoulder, gnashed the air as it lept towards her.​

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At the last second, it was tackled from the air. It's jaws bit down on the tightly wrapped forearm of Douglas, gritting his teeth as he pushed it into the ground and slammed the dagger she had given him into its skull. The blade snapped at the hilt, sending part of a shard into his palm before the dog convulsed, then released.​

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The sound of a man above them calling out their position broke the surge of action, only to catch a fired bolt to the throat. He fell limp, gurgling in the darkness as the sweat covered Douglas stood and lifted Erudwen without her permission or complaints - throwing her over his shoulder to bounce alongside the crossbow and sword.​

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Weeks of poor nutrition had done bad things to his fitness, but adrenaline was a hell of a compensation for poor form. He gripped her thighs tightly as he lept over rocks and sprinted for the river - unsure if he could even hear anyone following over the sound of his heavy foot falls, heavier breaths, and the soft sound of a river running ever close to them.​

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Erudwën​

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(apologies for the late reply, for some reason I thought i replied here and just didn't)​

 

[Erudwën]

Erudwën had honestly not expected her end to be from an animal. Maybe a dragon, or a despicable otherworldly werebeast or some kind of sea creature of the depths if it had to be, but a hound? How inglorious. Something she realised she did truly care about, her mother would have been most displeased.

If it was not for Douglas careening from nowhere, slamming into the side of the mutt and wrestling it square to death. Had she not told him to flee? The snow elf dipped her head to the side, momentarily forgetting the predicament she was in, watching as he not only killed the dog but also a man, fluid in his motions. Who was this man truly? She made the choice to find out if they survived the night.

A short yelp of surprise and a silent seething of rage followed him hoisting her up, slung over one shoulder like some kind of wench about to lose all dignity, the only thing that stopped her clawing and kicking was the fact she heard more than one voice now, a long, drawn-out howl as the spell wore off and the hounds picked their scent back up. She swallowed instead, wounded pride was a small price to pay for what they would do to her should they lay claim to her.

Behind him, Douglas would feel the sharp nails of the woman against his shoulder over the tunic he wore, an intricate design expertly crafted despite all of the bouncing and commotion. Each hop and sprint, every almost-fall had the design holding, until it was complete and he felt the wet slap of her bloodied hand against it. An arcane buzz and heat radiated momentarily, followed by a series of rapid, whistling hisses.

Erudwën tensed against his shoulder, knees pressing to his chest as she recoiled from the magic claiming its price from her body and in return, three bolts from his quiver had been sent careening into three of the hounds, impaling them with glinting red rods the length of javelins. She had no time to celebrate or cry in pain however, the stream-turned-river had been far closer, far larger than she realised and likely Douglas too.

One wrong foot and they were sailing through the air before slapping into the heavy current, rushing across rocks in a short area of rapids that lead further down into the wider Sayve River. It was all she could do to grasp onto his wrist with sharpened nails, desperately trying to keep her face above water, keeping her eyes on the stars above. If this was the last thing she was destined to see, perhaps it would not be the worst.

Though her mother would be terribly unimpressed.
____
Douglas Haley​

 

[Douglas Haley]

Douglas hadn't imagined a great escape, nor did he think he'd leave what few belongings he had behind. A burlap sack turned cloak chief among them, but as he fell through the air towards the water all his mind could think of was how warm it might be - sitting next to a fire, eating shiet gruel from a wooden bowl. The water hit him hard, knocked the wind from him, but he surged back up as Erudwen held onto his wrist.​

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It took him a moment longer than he cared to collect himself, realize how fast they were moving. Good note, the caravan didn't have horses - wouldn't have their scent, either. This would lose their pursuers, as long as he could make sure they survived. He sucked in air as he moved to wrap his arm around Erudwen's waist, hoping their combined buoyancy would allow some better rate at survival - but he was dismayed when he realized his arm wasn't responding to him.​

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He wasn't sure if it was broken or just dislocated, but he couldn't feel it right now. This would be a problem for future Douglas, current Douglas was pissed at passed Douglas for getting him in this situation, and needed to find a way to survive. He kicked his feet, using what momentum he could to put them in the path of something more stable - and much to his own dismay, he would find it.​

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Further down the rapids, a rock was in their path. He took what care he could to twist them so he'd hit first - a touch of chivalry in a poor criminal's heart. He hit hard, knocking the air out of him once more as his one good arm desperately clung to the smooth, almost oily surface of the rock for some survival. If something wasn't broken before, it surely was now.​

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"Eru!", he called out, hoarse as water rushed over them, hoping she might understand his plight - his grip was going to slip. He needed her help.​

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Erudwën​