Open Chronicles A Cold Trail

[Alissia Vaeros]

Snow crunched beneath Alissia's boot. The road was blanketed in a white veil and her tracks where being covered as she trudged through the thick of it. It was difficult to see through the raging flurry, and even more difficult to track those she had been searching for in this storm. She'd been on the trail now for three days with naught but rumor and stories told by passerby's. There was a feeling in her gut that she was getting close, she just knew it.

If only this storm would break. Alissia thought to herself.

Bandits and highwaymen, the worst of the worst. They'd been preying on this stretch of road for months, by all accounts. By the time anyone had got around to investigating the reports, they were ghosts in the wind. Always relocating after a single robbery to another location. With limited patrols in these parts, tracking them felt nigh impossible. Especially in this weather. There was a chill in the air, the kind that made you wish you were back home sitting around a cozy fire. The kind that made you wish you were anywhere but here. Determined as she was, the knight was now seriously questioning her own sanity. And though she was well insulated to protect from the elements, Alissia could feel the howling wind chilling to the bone.

A loud neigh was uttered at the woman's side. Grip tightening around the lead, Alissia's other hand moved to soothe the thoroughbred. "Easy, girl." Alissia spoke in a calming voice. "We'll find them soon enough and get out of this blasted storm."

Or so she hoped. It was a fool's errand, tracking in these conditions. Setting up camp now would slow all the progress she'd made thus far, hoping to catch the thieves when they least expected it. Any further delay and she risked them relocating again. That was not something she could allow. She'd been so close, nearly able to catch them in the grasp of her glove. It was only a few miles back that she'd spotted the last sign of any activity. The snow, of course, would have covered any tracks by now, but she had a keen eye for other things to look out for.

Alissia ran her hand down the horse's mane and gave her a pat. with Justice at her side, the pair resumed the search.

 

[Hector]

Oskar's screech pierced the sky above, and Hector, atop his trusted rouncey, cast his gaze upward to follow the broad wings of his companion. The stone-white owl soared high, and hovered against the whipping winds that did chill the squire down to the bone. Had him raise the hood of his lambskin cloak to snug it about his coif bundled ears to keep them warmer, and he clicked his teeth to urge his mount to follow on, under the path of their winged guide. The steed tread carefully, but it was used to such treacherous terrain.

Patrols across southern ranges of the Spine were not so rare for the Order of Anathaeum. It was their numbers, the scarcity of those sworn to their cause, that made sighting their knights so rare. Those same numbers that limited their reach and willingness to action against threats like brigands and highwaymen so far from the boughs and canopy of the Valen wilds. Yet, they were not deaf to the pleas of the people who called on them for aid.

So it was that Squire Hector was sent to range across the rocky slopes of the mountains, in the company of two knights sworn, who spread their number across the slopes, and even in this harsh terrain, with the howl of the wind in his ear, he would hear their magicked wolf calls and owl's cries that would inform him.

The low and long bay of a mountain wolf.

Enemies found, the call cried out, in a language Hector and his sworn kin knew.

Oskar screeched, and dipped in the wind. The stalwart raptor braved the white winds, and Hector would follow after.

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

The ground did rush with frost touched features as flight was maintained despite these unbecoming winds, winds that threatened to throw even experienced fliers off course. And the course had been set by the heading granted by Hector. Montbank flew at a well placed medium height as to not be denied by the frost carrying wind in sight or direction. His eyes served him well from the skies, as well as any true snow owl.

A call upon the wind from true animals. Unlike Montbank who had to learn the nature of his own animal callings when situation demanded, they were well placed to communicate their findings to their comrades through their own cries. A call from Oskar and a dipping of wings from both of them in turn.

Montbank followed and dived low, and landed silently beside the mounted Hector. He clicked his beak to allow himself not to startle his comrade with his presence. The horse had virtue of eyes that could spy in the directions most familiar with prey creatures. Montbank's orange eyes sat within a skull that rotated at Hector at a perfect ninety degrees, an uneerie virtue of his condition. He walked in large gait about the snow, his claws leaving no mark as he tucked his white wings away.

“I'll go ahead and inform our knightly company of inbound hostiles, they won't understand our calls,” Montbank said, and was about to fly into the distance before realising that Hector didn't have eyes that might pierce the snowstorm to see the figure of Alissia Vaeros.

“Oh yes, Hector, there's a beleagured knight out there. On a similar vector as our own to the bandits that approach, verily. Let's do our bit, what?” Montbank said cheerfully, for the weather was a prime condition was truly home advantage to the owl knight. Already strategies he wished to pursue were running wild in his head.

Wings outstretched, and a dignified vault into the sky later, Montbank rose and descended gracefully near Alissia and Justice, some fifteen feet away. He drew sword, and spread wings out in sideways motion, as if pointing around them.

“Enemies approach, comrade sworn to honour! The Knights of Anathaeum stand with you this battle! Become guarded to the threat, knight sworn, and win the day with us!” Montbank declared and drew nearer, his head turning in all directions to spy the first that would emerge from the snow gripped air.

Alissia Vaeros Hector

 

[Alissia Vaeros]

Continuing the trek through the flurry alongside Justice, Alissia felt more the fool the further they walked. Each passing moment was a blunder in the storm and she could see only a few feet in front of her at any given time. It was like wandering through the darkest of nights without a torch to light the way, except it was a blinding white that continuously pelted against one's face. And the chill, dear Gods', the chill. Even the most well prepared traveler's would find it difficult to press on.

The bandit's trail had turned as cold as the winter ground. It was by the grace of some miracle that she had heard the wild calls in the distance above the howling wind. Her destination was coming to a head, hoping to make something out of it. Though she had no way of telling, Alissia drew close to the Knights of Anathaeum.

Something was out there. Half encased by metal, the knight's gloved hand grasped around cold steel. Her sword was withdrawn and prepared, weary of what might make its presence known from beyond. To Alissia's surprise, it was anything but what was expected. She'd been ready to strike, but Montbank's words were as quick as his landing beside her was filled with grace.

Alissia had thought herself alone in this endeavor, but she welcomed any assistance that could be provided. Still half-shocked by the Knights' presence, her response was slow to form.

"I'd be honored to fight along side you." Alissia was weary to lower her guard facing imminent danger. "Pray tell, how many are there?" She asked. Given Montank's disposition, she gauged that he had an advantage that she did not. It was a small relief, but she would take it.

While awaiting an answer, she led Justice to a nearby growth and tied the horse off. Alissia did not take comfort in leaving her traveling companion like this, but the risk otherwise too great. All besides, she fought better on foot.

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

Montbank stood in all the majesty of the snow born creatures that were afforded such by being placed in their home advantage. A perfect statue of composure as he held sword aloft, still, waiting for the chance to pierce the foe that might bound through at any moment from the surrounding storm.

“Six,” Montbank said, “armed with bow and sword. They were affixing their bowstrings as I made approach. Those that I can see at least, and I see much.” He made a small owlish sound as he contemplated the sight of those huddled around small tarps which had gathered snow yet not enough to hide them from his reconnaissance. Montbank stretched his wings and primed them for quick flight once battle was joined.

“There is another with me who will assist, named Hector, they approach now promptly. I'm Montbank. I will pick them off them in due time, once they strike. Perhaps a word to entice them or set them to flee. This is your quarry, friend knight, you have command here.”

He cast a small sigil of blue and red that would grant a minor cantrip to the knight Alissia. Her voice would become stronger to the sound of the wind, and her body would become warmed up for the brief time of the battle. A simple charm that Montbank had learned to assist those who he had to carry in paramedic function. Both to prevent them freezing in conditions such as this high in the air, and so that their voice could carry in the high winds as they flew.

Hector

 

[Hector]

Off his steed, the cold was all the more biting. The warmth that came between mount and rider gone after he had posted his horse beneath some pine cover, and not but windchill was left in its stead. But he suffered on in silence, mind centered on the warmth that burned inside him.

Each pulse of his heart pushed his life's blood through him. The heat of life battling with a cold that promised death. He focused on the emberic resonance that wove through his veins. His mind, breathing new life into its flame.

A shift ahead of him, his eyes snapped up.

Oskar belt a screech that pierced the sound of winter's storm.

"Overhead!" he heard a voice call out.

A new cry from his familiar, and the snap of bowstrings, the sharp whistle of arrows. Oskar dove away. Hector drew his short sword with a quick scrape, working his shield off his back.

"Bloody thing is trackin us! I swear!"

Hector's elven ears heard the knock of another arrow. He could not yet see his foes, but he could hear them, not twenty paces ahead of him in the sheet of grey white and black.

"Therrrre," a low animalistic voice growled. "Is someone near us, in the snow,"

"Fucks, fucks!" the earlier voice cursed loud.

Alissia Vaeros Theolonious Montbank

 

[Alissia Vaeros]

Montbank's words were troubling. Even with her fellow knight's advantageous perception, they were still outnumbered. Alissia pressed out a sigh, watching the coldness of her breath form into icicles. The tint of her cheeks flushed red against the biting wind. Had these two not shown up when they did, she would have walked right into the enemy without even knowing it.

"It seems we have little time for pleasantries, but you may call me Alissia." She responded to Montbank, wrestling the shield from her back. "Slip around and pick them off from the back, the storm should provide more than enough cover." Alissia raised her sword hand, pointing off into the distance. If they played their cards right, they may just walk out of this. "I'll take the front."

The charm that Montbank provided was a boon like no other. Alissia could feel a subtle warmth spread throughout her body. In conditions like these, it made all the difference.

"Many thanks. And as for your friend -"

Alissia could make out Hector a few paces from them, his figure blurred by the white flurry. She'd been just about to call out to the squire when she heard the voices beyond. Alissia did not have the heightened senses of her newfound allies, leaving her at a distinct disadvantage in this fight. She would have to make do, as she always had.

There was little time to act before the bandits themselves would be upon them. Without further delay, Alissia did the only thing she could to even the odds in her own favor. She charged right towards them. With her shield raised high to garner protection from any incoming missiles and under the cover of the storm, the knight barreled past Hector into the ensuing fray.

The charge was put to a stop with a thunderous clang. Appearing out of the storm without notice, Alissia had made contact with the first bandit in her path. The shield dug into his chest, the sound of metal ringing against his armor. Catching a brief glimpse, he was rugged man and better equipped than your run-of-the-mill highwaymen. With a forceful shove, he was sent toppling to the ground.

"Let us put a quick end to this!" She called out to the others.

 

[Hector]

Grunts and shufflings as the snow crunched. Hector held in a breath, worried they might hear him next, but there came voices, one familiar, across the field. Syr Montbank and another who spoke with heat in her words and the expediency of command.

The sound of a rush. Armor and shield come crash against. Sharp and unnatural in the din of wind and ice.

Discipline, even as fear grips you. The squire remembered his seniors call out in exercises and field duties alike.

"Shit, they got Lenny!" Snow crunched and crunched as bodied moved about. "Bartok, you cat bastard, jump on them!" One called out.

They had not seen him just yet, off to the flank as he was. Hector bowed his head and whispered to life his sorcery of flame.

Flame, sovereign of the flash,
Insatiable in your desire,

hear this tinder's plea,

Burn bright, burn fast,
Upon the storm winds pyre!

Above the voices came a crackle. A bright cinder that did spew and spit sparks of searing motes. It illuminated the ground around them. Some even stopped to look at the strange spectacle. Luminous and warm against the dark night and harsh winds.

It stopped. Ate into itself.

A burst of light blew out. Blinding and brilliant. It revealed three of the six men sighted, and brave Alissa at their center.

Hector opened his eyes, as the flare of light hung in the air above them, burning with the intensity of light that seemed to turn that small space around it to day, and kept the harsh winds at bay. The squire ran forward with roar burning in his throat, he bulled into a man and knocked him down, trained and with some experience, he stood over the fallen man, and brought down the blunt spike of his shield unto the place just above the neck.

Two on one now, the other man growled and grimmaced, knocked an arrow and let fly the missile. It struck Hector clean atop the pauldron, with such force it knocked the young man back and onto his ass.

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

Leaping up, the air swallowed whole the owl knight. Engulfed in the wild rushes of the blizzard, rising high like a catapult rock lobbed, already the sound of sight of the foe's clash with his comrades could be heard and guided him as he went in wide, high arc. A singular target was seized upon with orange eye as it was illuminated by Hector's magic.

And then descended upon from high above in a sudden lurch of talons that did grip the shoulders of Bartok. Fur of the cat bandit was gripped and a roar of feline frustration and pain did sound out as Montbank performed the somersault, aided by the wings mighty heave ho as he sent the cat like bandit into the air. He was a mass of claws that flailed wildly to self right and sink into Montbank who fluttered below as it righted in the air. Teeth bearing, tail spinning, eyes fierce with confusion and fury. And then fear as the irresistible force of gravity did the work. With sword outdrawn, pointed up high, Montbank allowed the blade to drive into the chest of the bandit who sank down upon it, their claws falling by their side, limp, the force grounding Montbank with the force.

He let the bandit slide away into the snow, defeated, and looked through the blizzard for the next foe.

Montbank recovered for a moment, and was rewarded with an arrow directed to the chest which scarcely was beat away with precise wing swoop which was instinct and training harmonized in the self defense. His eyes had seen the quick wizz of a projectile, an incredibly lucky moment for the owl knight that he was stunned that he had just performed. Montbank stood proud and defiant, the art of deflection learned from the monks of the Deflecting Fist, the arrow snapped in twain as the chop of wing did deny the arrow it's mark.

“You're next,” Montbank muttered as he shot into the air again, silent, looming dread, circling around to get a good angle of incidence towards the one who would shoot at him so...

 

[Alissia Vaeros]

With one bandit laying at her feet and the others preoccupying the rest, Alissia found herself face-to-face with the further ringing of steel. She ducked and weaved her head as an arrow came whizzing by, nearly nicking the tip of her ear. Just as soon as the chaos had ensued, another of the opposition was already upon her. Another well-equipped foe. Clad in leather and black furs, the man had come swinging his greatsword directed towards Allisia's midriff with enough strength to cleave her right through. Feet backpedaled through the snow, but it was too deep and difficult to properly maneuver in time.

Clang.

In an attempt to let the swing go wide and create an opening, Alissia had allowed the massive blade to strike against her shield. Her body had turned just in time to prevent it from striking true, but the thunderous clash had left a stinging numbness in the hand and digits behind the shield. The force of the blow had pushed her own protection back into her ribs, sending Alissia reeling.

"Argh!" Alissia grunted as she attempted to recollect herself.

"I've got you now, bitch!" The man's gnarled voice called out.

She could see that massive blade raised high, poised to come crashing down on her for a follow up. Alissia had thought herself a goner as she was still attempting to recover from the recoil. But just as the sword was about to swing, Hector's light flashed above, blinding her opponent. One of the man's hands moved free from his weapon in an attempt to shield his eyes. Alissia seized the moment.

Striding forth into the opening, her blade was thrust forward with all the might she could muster. The tip pierced the leather and sank deep into the bandit's chest. Bringing her boot to push the man back, the sword broke free, painting the snow red at their feet. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The man from before stirred on the ground behind her. As the bandit attempted to reach for his weapon, Alissia was quick to react. The tip of her blade was pressed to the man's throat, drawing and inkling of blood. All she had to do to end this man's life was apply a little pressure and he would be bleeding out in the snow.

"I don't think so." She threatened. For the moment, his life was spared and held at her mercy while the others cleaned up.

 

[Hector]

Snow sloughed around him, crunched as he tried to right himself up after the archer's arrow had knocked him down, feet kicking at the ground in an attempt to push himself back away from any foe that might be running toward him. His chest, still burned hot from his call to the flame. His fingertips, still warm from where they had pointed to the sky. But his neck, his rear, felt the bite of cold as the ice and slough found their way past his layers of protection.

Boot crunched in the ground all around him. Some ran closer, some ran farther. His flare still burned bright in the sky. He could hear it sizzling. He could hear foot falls approach. He scrambled up to his knees, got one foot out infront of him, ready to rise. He saw the lady knight slay one foe, and old another at sword's point.

But the archer, the Archer of the three they faced hung back, and Hector could see him blink back the brightness from his eyes, one hand raised height to block the luminous mote of star he had summoned. The archer shook his head, saw his ally heald down, raised his bow and knocked an arrow quick.

Hector, still touched by the embers of the Flame, jut a hand out and up toward the burning sphere of light that still crackled and hiss in the snow-storm air, fingers bent and curled as if he clutched at a thing, managed to hold onto it, only just, as his leather glove grew hot. He raked his hand down, as if to fling a thing to the archer.

The flare light split into two, and one part of the searing white orb fell to the earth and smacked against the archer clean across the crook of the neck. Fire washed out from the orb in a gout of yellows and reds that swelled up and ate hungrily at whatever their golden tongues could take.

The archer yelped in horror and fell to the snow, tried to roll about in it to put the fires out. Hector ran to the man, and stomped the fire out. Singed and burned, the bandit looked on horrorstruck, a long blade gleamed with threat before him.

"Surrender!" Hector called out.

"Yes, yes, bloody yes I fuckin surrender!"

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

The archer that had so driven Montbank to curse hunched over in the snow to conceal themselves, they did so against the incline that Montbank pursued in spite of. The wing buffer against the previous arrow had left his wings numb for a few precious moments, denying the owl knight flight for a small time.

His eyes pierced the distance. Bridging the gap between the two, he saw the fear in the bandit's eyes, with black cowl across his lower facial features. Against the backdrop of white, the bandit's own white clothes did much to make the sighting a more difficult endeavour. But it was the next action that rendered it impossible.

Instead of another arrow being knocked against the bowstring and hurled through the air, the belt of the bandit was relieved of a potion of viscous grey liquid that Montbank did see through the veil of snowflakes that did rush. Pulling down the cowl around his face to reveal chapped lips, the potion was consumed in quick gulps. Montbank beat his wings and felt sensation return to his bones as he reached for the sky in a small bound that failed to propel him properly, for the dulling impact of the arrow had rendered him off balance.

The bandit in a rush of grey spirals disappeared from sight as he huddled within his cloak as if he were a bird himself, haunching over it's own wings. Invisibility was now gripping them.

Quick thinking to track such a figure, Montbank reached for the sky, but was too hurried in approach to truly lift off against the prevailing wind. No distance was closed, and by the time he had raised himself to the sky. And so he turned, and was unseen by Montbank. The winds picked up their pace, and each treading of crunching boot that could scarcely be heard over the wind and the caution the bandit placed in careful measure to hide his escape.

Montbank beat his wings and reached the place the bandit had last been seen. He narrowed his eyes and then expanded them to their absolute limit of perception. He scoured the land around him for any sign of the bandit, who was using his wide cloak to cover his tracks, shuffling in small, slow, careful movements. Any wide step could betray his presence to the observation of the owl knight. He performed his deed of stealth most admirably, and even Montbank was forced to admit defeat in hunting the man.

“Blast,” Montbank said, keeping sword in hand as he kept on guard. He turned his head to see each of his comrades with a prisoner, and thought that he would be very lucky indeed to have a similar prize at this point of things. There was no other conclusion to draw. The bandit had successfully escaped.

He sheathed his weapon and sighed.

Note to self. After the wing buffer technique those monks taught me is rendered, don't try to fly. Most ungraceful.

He stepped to Alissia, and looked at Hector for a moment before turning back to the new comer. The winged warrior said in low tone, “What is to be done with them? I have rope. They did surrender. One escaped I'm afraid. Invisibility potion. Covered their track. Seems they had sense to withdraw correctly, else I would have spotted their tracks,” he said, as if reminding the new comer as to the virtues of compassion in the rule of honour.

There was time and resources to keep these alive. Montbank hoped that the code of conduct of this knight ran true with their own ideas on proper trials and punishments for those who did commit banditry. Fighting in combat was one thing, killing those who did assail them. Execution, was another entire.

 

[Sabine Fenvaris]

She was not meant for the cold, that much Sabine was sure of.

As a mage of the earth, it was noted she over her time as a knight that she preferred the natural heat and warmth. Winter was like a silent blanket of superficial death; things slept deeply until Spring when they woke again. The desert sand, hot and ever-changing. The unrelenting sun and how it baked the earth. These were the thoughts that kept her semi-conscious.

But it was quiet now, and Sabine knew that quiet was trouble. She wasn't sure if it was noise that aroused her in the first place. Chilled to bone so much so that she was certain even if she begged and pleaded her body wouldn't move properly, the woman sluggishly lifted her head.

No, it wasn't as quiet as she thought. But the air was alive with movement--a meeting? A skirmish? She squinted, frosty brows crackling as her joints would on such a cold day. Yes, yes--she grunted most un-ladylike, a colorful string of profanity causing an unpleasant sting of melting snow on her lips to flare her temper even more. They still had her tied down and bound. The snow weighing on her nearly covered her entirely--and she was barely able to stay awake. The earth was a stubborn element to manipulate, and she had no such luck. Separated by her weapon, and the weather too severe to focus on her escape, Sabine made the choice of self preservation and focused on keeping herself warm enough to make it to the next day.

Now, now the encampment was bustling. She couldn't be sure--but she thought someone ran past her, unseen, but the biting chill of the season and her exhaustion left her unsure of what was actually happening beyond her own snowy nightmare. She became all too aware of the gnawing hunger in her stomach. Her lips chapped so terribly they cracked and bled a little--and that made the snow all the more miserable.

She wanted to fight them--all of them, the pox-rotten bastards. Abandoned, betrayed and captured--they had beaten and battered her, but she was made of tougher things. With one burst of energy, she writhed, snow spilling over. It was a terrible taste in her mouth, melting into the same dirt and filth she had been thrown onto when they bound her good arm.

Sabine opened her mouth--and croaked a terrible, hoarse sound. Gnashing her teeth and growling--she was less human--a mound of--something. Buried and unearth itself like a necromancer. Writhing with what little energy she had left.

She would not die here.
She would not die like this. Not like some chained up, beaten dog left out to starve!

Sabine fought, tired and cold, aching yet numb, misery radiating from her very core. She fought through the snow drifts, arctic cold stinging her lungs like hundreds of needles. Freer and freer she felt as the snow cracked and shifted, no longer compressing. Thin lattices of ice cracked and fell off. She blinked rapidly, squinting--the world a moment of chaos before dimming--it was white, white and brown and dead and empty--the way Winter preferred it.

Again her lips trembled and bled as another strange, howling sound emerged--jagged and hoarse from her throat. It was the only thing she could say, if one could call it speaking. The one instinctual thing she did. It was a strange, unearthly cry for help.

If there was movement from the bandits, she at least wanted the bastards to unearth her so she could deliver an aggressive kick to the nearest groin for the unpleasant detaining. In Thaus' name I will marry the nearest Nazrani woman and never leave the islands again. CURSE this COLD! Bitter thoughts sparked a temper and with a final thrash she felt the rushing cold air and the storm howling around like an angry spirit. The air that stung her lungs left her feeling burnt and battered. Her cheeks burned as if she had been out in the sun all day--and for all she knew, she had been.

"Where is my damned blade?!" She snarled, guttural and hoarse as she tried--almost vainly--to speak.

 

[Alissia Vaeros]

The man laying at Alissia's feet was still under threat from her blade when Montbank approached. He had given up in trying to escape, relinquishing himself to the Knight's mercy. Lifting the sword away, Alissia drove it home. There was no possible out for him, save what the group might grant.

"Since you have the means, restrain them." She said, looking to Montbank. "This group has been targeting folk in this area for months now and no one has been able to track them down. Too well organized and well-equipped for common bandits. They can lead me to where they are operating from."

Alissia swiveled her gaze from the owl-knight to the bandit.

"That is the price for your life." The threat held no merit, but he did not know that. Nor did he have to. Alissia was not a butcher.

"Y'er fucking crazy, woman!"

Alissia stared at the man for a moment, her demeanor as cold as the biting wind. There was no doubt that she was serious. She had to seize the chance before it slipped from her hand, else even more would fall victim.

"Even still." She retorted.

"Your funeral."

Taking a step back, Alissia would give Montbank the go ahead to apply the constraints.

"You can join me if you wish, I'm going after them." Alissia gave a short pause, looking between the knight and squire. There was a hefty weight to her eyes as she studied the two of them. They'd more than proven themselves and even saved her life, given the circumstance. Had she fought alone, she surely would have been quickly overwhelmed by their numbers. "But I won't lie, I've no idea what we're walking into and they'll know we're coming."

It wasn't until things had settled down that Alissia heard the struggles of another out there in the snow. Amidst battle and the occasional deep howl of the wind, it was a easy thing to miss. But now, it was much less frantic and the storm had begun to calm. Senses were de-elevating to normal heights and the adrenaline was fading. She could hear the disgruntled cries not far from where there had been a short lived battle not moments ago.

"Hold on, I think there's someone still out there." She said to the others, making no hesitance to investigate.

As she came to the source, Alissia knelt down in the freezing temperatures of the snow. Quickly realizing that she had stumbled upon someone, she moved frantically to unearth the woman. It was a wonder that she was even alive, half buried in this frigid weather. Alissia brushed off the snow the best she could and moved with all the haste her freezing hands would allow to cut Sabine free of the bindings with the knife she kept strapped to her side.

"Going to need some help over here!" Alissia called out to Hector and Montbank, to whomever had the most free set of hands. She remembered the magic the Knights had used and just how drastically it could turn the tide. No doubt Sabine would need all the help she could get after being buried in the snow for Gods knows how long.

 

[Hector]

Hector wasted no time in setting to the task of binding the men.

"You lot," the archer he had caught with the flare fire said through half a face of raw and blistered flesh. "Are going to be proper fucked once the crew moves to action," he chuckled, breath full of venom. "You think they don't got a mage wit them?" he spat. "You think they dun see that pretty light of yours, knife ear?"

The last knot came tight, and Hector did what he could to stay clear of mind as the young knight questioned them. She spoke with confidence, and certainty, and Hector listened on with attention.

"We've tracked them too, Ser Knight," Hector said with a nod. "After village folk came to our order with plea," he looked up into the dark that lay before them, and the snow storm winds that still howled. "There should be two more of our ilk, caught out in this storm," he added, and wondered if the others had caught another cell of these foreboding bandits.

Hector could hear the sounds of struggle, stirring beneath the snow. And before he heard it, some part of it could feel it. A pulse of something familiar, but not something he could quite put his thumb on. The voice came before he could locate it, and the young knight made for it sooner than he could. Hector's eyes looked to the tied up brigands, then to Syr Montbank, gave a nod and hurried after.

There was a woman... emerging from the snow. Half frozen and furious. "Oh-oh!" Hector exclaimed, and blinked a few times. He knelt down beside the woman, put his fingers into the snow so that they might touch the earth beneath and closed his eyes, trying to remember the spell that Syr Montbank had taught him as they ascended the mountains and the air grew more biting. His ice-chapped lips began to move, and the words of his cant came out.

Blood runs through me,
As blood runs through you,
Warmed by the sun, and distant stars,
Warmed by the earth and all that it carries,

And he could feel the warmth of the earth climb up through his fingertips, gloved as they were, pressed against the frozen ground. Even still, it was warmer than the air.

Blood runs through you,
As blood runs through me,
Warm yourself now,
As the sun shared between shows us how,

Sigils of blue and red, those same the sworn knight had called upon before with artful cantrip, apeared before the young squire, and should Sabine welcome the gift of Loch and Flame, her blood would warm steadily, and she would grow resilient against the cold.

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

Montbank was on prisoner duty. The ropes bound the bandit like a hog, and Montbank considered if he would be able to lift the person into the sky, swaddled as they were by binding rope. He stared into the bandit's eyes in that eerie way that birds were want to stare out unblinking. He shuffled his wings.

Montbank considered if he could drop them straight into a jail without landing. Might make for a good exercise, he thought. Just cut the chord at the appropriate height and be on his way. But then, he considered, if he dropped them from too high a height, well. He considered the description of terminal velocity and what happens at certain heights to those who fall. A human would break a bone. A horse would splash.

He tapped the circlet of featherfall around his wrist, as if reminding himself that if everything went wrong, he had a way to slow his descent to safety. He had heard of gnomes using something called a parachute, but Montbank didn't trust the idea of using sails to slow one's own descent in the sky. Besides, it was weight, and baggy, and a waste of silk. And, besides, it was a gnomish invention, he thought. Invariably mad.

Hearing the call for assistance, Montbank picked up the bandit in a fireman's lift, grunting as he did so. He steadied himself and pushed on with the dead weight on his shoulder.

I'd rather drag you through the snow.
I'd rather airlift you out.
I'd rather be in the sky,
Than adrift with this hog.

Montbank got near to the others and dropped the bandit unceremoniously in the snow.

I don't care if he gets a cold. That's not in the ethics of prisoner taking. I think. Maybe. Hm. If he gets a little colder, whatever. The wind is dying down. It'll be easier to fly.

“Winds are changing,” Montbank commented quietly as the magic Hector wove took hold. Montbank blinked and observed, his eyes on the bandit and the prisoner of the snow given liberty by their own will.

 

[Sabine Fenvaris]

"Cursed snow!" Sabine scowled, peering down at her shackled ankles and single wrist--. "Cursed cold, cursed imbeciles!" She barked at the prisoners--who were likely less worse for ware than what they had done to her. The snow had taken down most of the swelling in her face, and she squinted through one good eye. "Pox rotten knob-headed lumps of flesh!"

Bandits. She hated them, because they were typically spineless gits. Thieves. People who no proper sense of honor at all. Was she rowdy and uncomely at times? Of course--anything to upset her parents and go against the noble grain. She was no lady--she was meant for war, logic and order. But never a thievery, nor dealing with thieves--never a sellout. She had been sent into a trap by people who had a bone to pick with her. "Bloodied backstabbing murdering arseholes..." She growled, rolling over and onto right side while Alissa worked.

Pain shot through her arm sharply--enough to signal her good arm was probably dislocated. Another steady, artfully crafted string of profanity that would have made her mother blush left her before she swayed. Between Hector and Alissa she almost felt alive. The dimly glowing ember of the earth's heat that she held onto was steadily growing warmer, thanks to Heckor's magick.

As the breathed, she felt the pull and suck of the magick that coursed through the ground like veins. Her lungs burned hotly, but she felt the familiar shift of the ground beneath her feet. She became more and more aware of the chains on the ground, of the familiar form of her spear in the ground, like a subtle vibration that reached out to her. Turning to Alissa and Hector she nodded, "Thank you both." She surveyed the aftermath again, a moment of silence. "Sabine. Are there more or--?" She rasped, her voice still not fully returned. She had no earthly idea who these people were, but their operation suggested they probably worked together before.

Sabine lumbered, not particularly in a hurry with the pain that rattled through he from head to toe. The more she gathered her wits, the more her temper flared, clouds of air streaming out and billowing in the cold. With a great measure of contempt, she eyed one particular little traitor--the ass who got her into this mess to begin with. A weasel of a man who once served the same lord and in the same span betrayed them, possibly even directly responsible for their demise.

I will find and question that gutter-rat later...

"Arm needs to be set." She huffed, lips pursing at the misfortune. It'd make her more useless, but she was certain she could power through the pain if it could be set properly.