Fable - Ask That Whisper in the Night

[Alaric Wulf]

Steeled as our hearts may be, to falter and fail is to be mortal. One of our own, Syr Kincaid Demeix, has turned traitor, betraying the very oath meant to guard us against the evils of this world. They have slain Syr Linda Merrycourt.
We are not sure why, as of yet, but Captain Selene believes it involves workings most occult and sinister. Syr Demeix was well respected, a Knight of Dusk under the tutelage of Master Hawken himself. As such, Knight Master Hawken will accompany you on this quest. Bring back Syr Demeix alive, if at all possible, so we may better learn what had him take the life of his fellow Sworn

Quest from the board
---
Having just come home from cleaning up a mess the squires had made, Alaric was already geared up to go out again. He was young and it showed, no restraint or quarter given. Thus he jumped at the chance to head out in search of one of their own, a traitor, with grievous charges.

Alaric gritted his teeth, the pride for his order making him angry at the idea of a traitor. There were at least two others joining him, that he knew of and he was curious as to whom they might be.

With a bold swagger, Alaric made his way to the stables. Undoubtedly they would be tracking Syr Demeix for an untold amount of time. Horseback seemed the most viable option to cover ground. Boots squelched in the muck, his eyes blue eyes full of purpose.

A strawberry roan was quickly saddled and bridled for him, and his armor clinked softly as he mounted the beast. He adjusted his seat, checking to make sure he had all of his gear. He headed for the courtyard, and hopefully run into the other knights that were assigned to this particular mark.

 

[Bebin Theros]

Bebin sat mounted upon his dapple grey mare, eyes encircled by dark and sleepless rings. There was a cold chill in the morning air, and the sun was only just beginning to crest over the hills of the spine.

"I don't think we should be bringin' the pup on this one, Isilius," The man in the deep blue turban rumbled, voice rhythmic, and naturally lyrical as his eyes watched the young sworn swagger through the stables.

Sitting upon a black and powerful looking destrier was Master Hawken. " And why, is that, Bebin?" The Master of Life asked his tone cold as the morning mists that swirled about the cobble stones.

"Too fresh," the pursuant replied without missing a beat, his nose curling as if he had smelled something foul. "Too concerned with honor, and glory."

"Is that not why we embark upon this task?" Master Hawken smiled grimly, and there was no pleasure in the expression. "To redeem lost honor?"

" You know that is not what I mean,"

"He must learn some day, Bebin, as we all have," Master Hawken turned his eyes onto the young knight of Dusk. "Hail, young Wulf," he said in greeting. "It would seem we are left waiting on our knight of Dawn," he said with the smallest amount of humor in his voice.

Bebin laughed harshly and with some mock. "Leave it to a dawnling to keep the duskers waiting."

---

Faramund Alaric Wulf

 

[Faramund]

"Now, now, Syr Bebin, there's no need for that!" Leading his mare by the reins, Faramund stepped out into the cobbled courtyard a minute or so behind the others. Garbed from head to toe in brigandine, gambeson and mail, and wearing a cloak of silver, the big Dawnling gave his companions-to-be a wry smile as he fell in amongst them.

"You'll have to forgive my tardiness. Old Ash here requires quite a bit of riling this early in the morning." In truth, it was the other way around, but his brothers didn't need to know that. Putting foot to stirrup, Faramund hauled himself up into the waiting Hunter's saddle, frowning ever so slightly as something in his back popped.

Outside the Monastery grounds, a new day had begun to dawn. The courtyard, however, was still, and cold like the grave.

Faramund was keen to be away.

"So, who wants to lead us out? That bastard Kincaid ain't going to catch himself."

Alaric Wulf Bebin Theros

 

[Alaric Wulf]

Master Hawken and Syr Bebin were the men that greeted Alaric in the courtyard. Hooves stamped the ground as restless steeds awaited the journey. Alaric was the youngest of the group, though he thought little of it. He was too proud to worry what the other men thought of him. They were waiting on one more to join them, a Knight of Dawn. It seemed perhaps this was overkill for such a mission, but he needed the experience anyways.

"Hail Master Hawken. Well met." He nodded to Syr Bebin as they waited, anxious to get started. It seemed they didn't have to wait long. Syr Faramumd was only seconds behind him. He watched as the older man hauled himself into his saddle, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he hailed the Dawn Knight and clicked his tongue to urge his mount forward into the settling mist. "Have their been any sightings of our wanted man? Perhaps he has fled to family?" Alaric did not know the knight in question well, but perhaps the others did.

 

[Bebin Theros]

Bebin nodded curtly to the young knight of Dusk, and Master Hawken followed suit, with more grace and dignity, and far less salt.

Faramund appeared, tired eyed, his aches and stiffness audible in the soft quiet of the early morning.

The question of who would lead came promptly, then came the pup's advance, and a question of his own.

Bebin shook his head in disappointment, and his mare was ushered forward with a squeeze of his legs. The dapple grey rouncey trot onward onto the road. "If you do not know where you are going, then it is best to follow others, Syr Alaric," Bebin advised. "Syr Demiex was a landless orphan," Bebin shook his head. "Adopted by, Syr Luna Demiex, Knight of Dawn, and it has been ten years since her vigil has ended," that the young traitor had been raised in the order, a child who Syr Bebin himself had seen grow inch over inch with each passing summer until fuzz sprouted from his chin and acne marked his features, well, it only made their task all the more difficult.

Why. His mind begged. But shook the thought away.

"Syr Merrycourt's body was discovered in the wilds, east of the Monastery, away from cities and towns," Master Hawken added, perhaps sensing the weight of thought behind the Pursuant's gaze. "The trail was lost shortly after, as Syr Demiex was a skilled shadow strider," the Master of Dusk let out a huff. "It is good that we have a tracker as skilled as Faramund to aid in this quest,"

Bebin smirked. "Let us hope those rusted old hinges that hold him together don't give us away as we approach." he looked back at Faramund, "I told you, you must practice the flowing way, so that your gnarled roots can spread more easily," he turned his eye to the road ahead, and urged his steed into a trot, and then a canter.

---

Alaric Wulf
Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Having looped his shield over his saddle's pommel and checked his saddlebags one last time, Syr Faramund did as bid and followed the group out onto the road. The clip-clop of hooves beating their way rose and fell as the ground beneath the party changed from stone to mud to muddy stone. "'My gnarled roots.'" The Dawnling echoed the Dusker's words, seemingly unfazed by the man's gentle mockery. "You make me sound like an old oak waiting to be felled."

Smiling gently at the thought, Faramund pulled the hood of his cloak up and over his head.

"Now, that's more like it! Thank you, Syr." Looking to Master Hawken, Faramund made his appreciation known with a nod and a grin. For all the rumours circulating about the man, Faramund knew Isilius to be a good man. If such a man can even exist in this world of ours, the Dawnling thought, glancing at Bebin and Alaric, before promptly turning his eyes to the road.

He didn't like to think poorly of his brothers, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.

"Worry not, my friends. We shall find Demiex--" he refused to use the knight's honorific "--and bring him to justice. One way or 'nother, we will." Having made his promise, Faramund spurred his horse around the group in order to take up his place at the front of the pack. How else was he to do his job?

"Stick close, if you will," he instructed, breaking into a canter. "I intend to lead us to the place where they found Lin--... I mean, where they found Syr Merrycourt's body. Maybe, if we're lucky, we will find clues there that will lead us to the traitor." He paused, twisting in the saddle to look at his companions. Namely, Master Hawken and the Pursuant Theros. "Unless you gentlemen have any better ideas?"

 

[Alaric Wulf]

Alaric narrowed his eyes at the comments Syr Bebin made in his direction. He could sense the man thought little of him. He had big shoes to fill, and it was never lost on him. His father was a magnificent knight, epitome of the word. He was greatness, and Alaric was constantly reminded. He was his own man, not just his father's son.

"I do not need a map to leave the courtyard, Syr." Indeed he was in a hurry to be off, though he knew little of the information that was needed. Hence the questions. "I was not privy to info on the man, as I did not know him well. I appreciate the information." His words were icy, but still he was respectful. It did not do him well to piss off those he had to work in tandem with.

Syr Faramund took the lead easily, and Alaric fell behind quietly. He wondered what would make a man turn on one of his own. Sure, he didn't get along with some, but never enough to murder. "It makes sense to start where she was found. Perhaps there is something there that will help."

Faramund Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

"Would that you could only see further than the courtyard, pup!" Bebin shouted back over his shoulder, eyes narrowed and sharp, with all the stopping power of a well placed bodkin.

"Syr Bebin!" Master Hawken called out over the steady rumble and pound of so many hooves. "Ride with me at the rear! Let young Syr Wulf follow behind our Dawnling, take the rear with me."

Bebin stifled his growl, and let the anger pool in his gut. Venom for later. A shift in weight and a pull of the reigns had his dapple mare slow its pace, and soon he rode at the rear alongside Master Hawken.

Isilius looked at the road that wound beyond, and at the landscape that rolled before them. "I know your emotions run high, but you must not let your anger rule you!" he said, calm and cool as stone. But Bebin knew there was more left unsaid. A reminder of why he and the Master had been tasked with this quest. Why four knights of the order rode out to catch the one. "When the waters roil, the mind must still!"

---

Alaric Wulf Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Turning back to face the road, Faramund led the hunting party on. Despite knowing where Linda's body had been discovered, and despite the fact the Order had put out notices in all the local cities and towns, clues had been pretty hard to come by. Though Faramund had not partaken in the search himself, he knew that his brethren had searched Kincaid's quarters thoroughly, upturning anything that wasn't bolted down in an attempt to figure out why their once-brother had done the things he'd done.

Of course, they hadn't discovered much. And what little information they had found proved to be parchment-thin. Hardly worth finding at all.

The idea to return to the crime scene had been brewing in his mind for a while now, long enough for the grief and the anger to relinquish its hold on him somewhat. Closing his eyes, the Knight Sworn pictured his old friend; how she had been before Demiex had robbed her of life, out here, where the wild things roamed. She had been a beautiful woman, brave and bright. And kind.

The news of her death had hit him like a knife across the windpipe. He recalled having wept. Then, with tears still blurring his vision, having grabbed up his sword and made for the stables. Aimless. Angry. It had taken several of the Order to restrain him, but only a few to console him. For Syr Merrycourt had not been the only knight capable of kindness, and compassion. For that, the big knight was grateful.

Opening his eyes, Faramund let go of the past. There would be no place for distractions where they were going. No place for kindness, neither.

---​

It took Faramund only a few hours to get there. He hadn't talked much on the journey. Shit, he hadn't talked at all. He could feel the weight of the Duskers' eyes on his back, could feel their judgement. He also knew there was more to this than he understood; than he would ever understand if the Pursuant and Master had their way. But that was fine by him. He was used to being left in the dark.

The sun was high in the sky as Faramund turned his horse off the road. "Watch where you ride!" He shouted to his companions, taking it slow as he let his horse pick a path down the slippery verge, into the grasslands lining either side of the road. Now that they were off the beaten path, the going would get tougher. Maybe even dangerous.

They were called the wilds for a reason.

"Do any of you know what Syr Merrycourt and Syr Demiex were doing out here? I tried to ask the Captain before we left, but she was light on the details."

 

[Alaric Wulf]

Alaric bit back his retort, it seemed he and Syr Bebin would be at odds the entire mission. The old goat thought he knew everything, and it irked the younger lad. He returned the narrowed glare with his own icy cool one. In restraining himself, it seemed he had won this particular battle ad he caught Master Hawken's words on the wind. He turned forwards again, his eyes resting on the Dawnling's back. The look of smug victory on his lips.

It made sense that they would go to where it all started, at least to him. He knew not much had been gleaned prior, but perhaps new eyes would aid them. He adjusted his seat slightly, the few hours it had taken made him want to stretch his legs. Suddenly Syr Faramund turned from the road, and Alaric heeded his words as he followed.

He allowed his steed to pick her way through the knots and hidden holes in the grass. It would be no good if he rushed her and she was hurt. Alaric pondered the question himself, it was a detail he didn't know either. In fact, he hardly knew anything about this particular mission. "I am in the dark, as you are when it comes to that question Syr Faramund. Perhaps Master Hawken knows the answer."

He took a moment to glance at his Dusk companions behind them. His eyes wandered to Bebin, and he turned forward again, shaking his head slightly. He knew there would be more issues with him at some point, he wondered what battles the older veteran would pick with him.

Bebin Theros Faramund

 

[Bebin Theros]

Bebin said nothing, his jaw set, lips pressed into a thin line beneath his black whiskers, and his eyes, ever glaring, were kept forward, on the road and all the roll of the world which passed them by.

Master Hawken also rode in silence, a feeling thick and sticky that swirled about him. It was suffocating. "What we all do, Syrs," Hawken finally said. "What was asked of them," there was more silence as the horses worked their way through the rough terrain. Slow, steady, careful.

The Pursuant took his bow from its holster strapped on the side of his saddle, the temperature in the air grown chill, causing flesh to prickle and hairs to stand at attention.

There was a wordless communication between the Master of Life, and the Pursuant of Loch, and Bebin closed his eyes, breath leaving his lungs in a slow and gradual exhalation, like pooled water seeping into porous earth. His mind fell inward, into a deep pool of abyssal blue. The sound of the horses faded away. The sound of the wild woods, the wind through the branches and the stirring of the leaves. All gave way to silence. And as each sound faded, the waters of that black space within him stilled. grew tranquil.

A single drop. Bright, shimmering. Fell from the firmament of his mind. Into the pool. It splashed against the calmed pool, rippled and spread out in rings. He felt the Pup's mind, Isilius, and Faramund too.

Outside his mind, not a but a brief moment had passed since he had drawn his bow and closed his eyes. With his magick, he projected to the other knights, his brothers.

We are being watched. High in the trees. Something lurks.

The words would echo, feint if their minds allowed it. Bebin opened his eyes, and readied himself.

---

Alaric Wulf Faramund

 

[Raul Renaut]

Serves me right, I suppose, damn my flesh!

Raul's trek towards the Spine had gotten considerably more harrowing the moment he'd left the little clutch of cottages quite a long ways back. He'd hesitate to call it a village, but nevertheless, it was much safer than where he was now.

He'd narrowly missed sinking, unfound, into a death-cold bog, avoided tripping into a hole that looked to be the nest of an animal, and then decided it was in his best interest to take the clearly safer route of the woods once he heard the crunch of something quite large walking near him in the gravel.

He wasn't built for hill country, as plainly as can be. His home was a glade, his forest was flat, his travels were smooth. Still, he plunged onwards. The tale of the knights of the forest he had heard from a small village of country farmers near the Sayve had caused his path to diverge. Perhaps he should have been more cautious, but if the tales were simply that, tales, and there were no knights, at least he may come away with mountain herbs.

If he could recognize any. He hadn't been able to fully memorize the Spine section of Heiyrun's Herbs and Hemlocks before he had left the monastery...

The drum of hooves on soil some ways ahead of him jolts him from his turmoil, and something tells him he aught to worry. He turns around and jogs a few yards away.

Knights, hunters, mercenaries? Ah-

He glances between the little ridge, a ditch, and a wide old tree. He takes a gamble and jumps into the fork of the tree, hoisting himself up and into the boughs, keeping an eye towards the sound of the travellers.

Through the leaves, he catches glimpses of horses, then their riders, and as they come near he gets a better look. A bowman in a dark turban. A brawny swordsman. A keen-eyed warhorseman... A pale-haired man with a proud curl to his lip. All clad in far too much armour for hunters. Not enough filth for mercenaries, he can only hope.

The drunken cattlemen may not have been lying after all, or else the luck of Aharus brings me errant knights.

The mounted soldiers of the wilds of the land draw him in. He crouches further out on the branch to get a closer look, causing it to shiver and quake, sending a few leaves down. He considers simply climbing back down to the ground, but...

He adjusts his robings and takes a grip on the limb, the bough shuddering violently as he swings downwards, sending an eddy of leaves into the air as he drops to the forest floor a couple of yards in front of the group, grunting quietly.

"I was hoping to meet some knights."

---

Alaric Wulf Bebin Theros Faramund [Insert screaming emoji here]

 

[Faramund]

"'What was asked of them.'" Faramund muttered to himself, resisting the urge to turn back and confront the two secretive duskers. What was asked of Demiex? Faramund thought, glad none of the knights at his back could see his icy countenance. A dawnling was dead, slain by her dusker partner, and here these two were playing games, withholding information. Faramund knew it. Alaric no doubt did, too.

Perhaps it was withholding information that had gotten Linda killed in the first place.

The further he rode, the more the idea settled at the back of his mind. No matter which band he rode with, which Order he joined, it was always the same. Higher-ups refused to share information, and, in doing so, got good people killed. It was the kind of mistake that could tear apart an outfit from the inside. Faramund hated to see his so-called brothers make it.

The ground beneath their horses' hooves began to roll upwards as they approached the base of the Spine. Grasslands that stretched for nearly as far as the naked eye could see began to morph into something more. Hillocks began to dot their path, a few small woodlands nestled in between. Reining in at the top of the nearest mound, Faramund cast his gaze towards the jagged, snow-capped peaks beyond. The ground was sharp and steep there, hard to traverse.

A good place to hide.

When Bebin's warning stroked his grey matter, Faramund was quick to lower his eyes. To the forests. To the woodlands and the hillocks and the mountain streams bisecting them. A flash of colour caught the tracker's eye, and held it long enough for him to discern the nature of the beast that awaited them. "Someone," he corrected Bebin, before loosening his sword in its scabbard. "Just the one someone from the looks of it. All the same, we should err on the side of caution."

Riding down from his vantage point, the knight made his way over to the flash of colour. The closer he got, the more he knew his assessment to be accurate. Just the one, he thought, circling as the man made his entrance. And a boy at that. Riding beneath the shade of the trees, Faramund drew his blade, and cast a glance around as the stranger spoke.

"So were we," he replied by way of greeting. Applying pressure with his knees, Faramund turned his mount to face the stranger. The steel in his hand glimmered as it caught the sunlight. "Mind telling us who you are, and what it is you're doing out here?

 

[Alaric Wulf]

Alaric glared at the ground ahead of him. His hands reflexively tightening around the reins. The answer provided by Master Hawken infuriated him, it was not an answer in the slightest. He resisted the urge to argue and press for answers, instead his eyes burned into the ground as he glowered. The mare beneath him still picking her path with delicate steps.

It was wrong to keep things from the other knights, it certainly didn't aid them in their task to track down their quarry. He could sense the tension, thick and cloying. It radiated from all of them, and trust was starting to crumble. Alaric felt he related to the dawnling in front of him in this moment, than the two fellow Dusk comrades behind him.

Alaric felt the brush of Syr Bebin's mind against his own, a soft whisper of warning. He shuddered at the invasion, resisting the urge to throw up steel walls in his mind. He hated when his mind was touched without his consent, it gave him a chill up his spine and he clenched his teeth in response.

Alaric turned his gaze upward as they continued onwards, rustling of the branches bringing merit to the warning. In a sudden flare of color, a man dropped not far from the knights. He pulled up beside Syr Faramund and rested his hand in his sword in preparation. Weapons had already been drawn, but Alaric kept his in it's sheath for the moment.

So far there had been no threat made, perhaps the fellow before them needed assistance. Blue eyes rested curiously on the lad before them, and he cast a side eye to the dawnling next to him. "Hail traveler, what business do you have with knights?"

Bebin Theros Faramund Raul Renaut

 

[Bebin Theros]

As the two knights at the head of their formation interrogated the strange man who had fallen from a tree so brazenly, Bebin kept his eyes on the canopy, drew an arrow from his quiver and knocked it against his recurved bow with a soft thunk.

He drew in a long breath, and again with his mind still webbed to theirs, feint as the connection was, like a spider's web, it remained hidden till a stray beam of light ran along its run, his magic pulsed out again, gently. No, there is another. Shadows, formless. He let his breath out, and with it kept the frustration in his heart at bay.

Why could he not find this watcher. This thing.

Master Hawken spoke out. "Traveler, be quick about your business, this trail is not safe, and you would do well to hurry on to a settlement." He nodded his head to the trail behind him, pounded as it was by hoof beats. "There is a Monastery, not too far from here, you would do well to seek refuge there, and should the gateman terry you, let them know that Master Hawken has granted you passage." the old knight bowed his head to the man. "Now please, we must be on-"

A streak of red flew from the bushes, small and piercing, it flew out. Master Hawken willed his magic about him pushed it out with an open palm. A veil of woven light shimmered before him and a dart plinked off of its rippling surface, as if it had bounced off steel.

Bebin growled and raised his bow, let loose an arrow in the direction the dart had come from. His eyes, traced with silver magic, saw that the arrow had struck nothing more than dirt, and that no sign of mortal life could be traced in the vegetation. Still, he slipped from his saddle, and drew steel, the blue jewel upon his vambrace glowed bright, and a shield of Loch bubbled out upon his arm, as wide and sturdy as any round shield, and weightless to boot.

"He will not attack again," Bebin anounced, "Not after that failure, not until he gets another chance," he glowered at the shadows in the thickets, could smell the feintest trace of Loch Magic in the air, but Demiex was too smart to stick around. Bebin bent low to the earth, and picked up the red feathered dart between his index finger and middle. Examined the needle nose, even sniffed at it once, sure to surge life magic through his veins, and he raised it up to Faramund, waving it. "It's our boy," he would recognize the darts, as Bebin had taught him how to use them years ago, when they hunted brigands at Red Rust Gulch. "Still using the same bloody poison I showed him," he growled.

Hawken looked to the stranger. "As I was saying, fair traveler," his look said it all.

---

Alaric Wulf Faramund Raul Renaut

 

[Raul Renaut]

Raul gives pause as the knights march their horses around him in a circle, most with weapons drawn and on high alert. His fingers tingle with nerves, and he wraps his off hand around his necklace.

"Hail traveler, what business do you have with knights?" says the young, proud one, side-eyeing a fellow knight. The brawny one follows it with, "Mind telling us who you are, and what it is you're doing out here?" Seemingly impatient.

"I am Raul Renaut, a monk and advocate. I heard of your cause from some-"

"-be quick about your business. This trail is not safe, and you would do well to hurry on to a settlement." Interrupts the keen-eyed warhorseman, as he nods to the trail behind him, packed firm by swift travel.

I wouldn't doubt it, with how you are taught as a bowstring.

"There is a Monastery, not too far from here, you would do well to seek refuge there, and should the gateman terry you, let them know that Master Hawken has granted you passage." The knight- presumably Master Hawken -bows his head, and Raul meets him with his own. "Now please, we must be on-"

In a flash, the be-turban'd bowman lets loose an arrow, streaking by, and Raul instinctively sidesteps with a cut-off yelp despite the clearance. His main hand flies to his saber's grip. As he turns to look at whomever- whatever -the man had shot at, he sees nothing, and tensely watches the arrow's shaft bob where it has stuck itself into the ground. Just as quickly, the bowman slips from his horse and draws his blade, marching to glare into the thickets around them...

Is that a shield of magic?

"He will not attack again, not after that failure, not until he gets another chance," says the bowman, stooping to pick up... The dart that hadn't been there previously. The man sniffs the point of it, and waves it towards the brawny warrior.

"It's our boy, still using the same bloody poison I showed him." He growls out firmly, jolting the memory of Adjutant Yythrus. Raul has the good sense to keep silent and not ask too many questions, regardless of his curiosity.

"As I was saying, fair traveler," speaks Master Hawken, giving him an intent stare, and Raul nods as though something is expected of him. He takes a moment to fortify his voice, and consciously grips his necklace more firmly to still the ever-so-faint tremor in his hand.

How long have I been shaking like a fool, I wonder...

"I am glad to have found you all, and grateful for your offer of shelter, sir. I will not insult you by refusing. Dhavohr guide you, Sobris bless you, and may Aharus bring you the truth of whomever you seem to be seeking."

Raul gives a bow to each of the knights in turn, beginning with Master Hawken, and ending with the youngest. He rights himself and makes off in the indicated direction, towards this monastery of theirs, with a gesture of farewell.

And thank you, Sobris, for keeping guide on my path in this wild place.

---

Alaric Wulf Bebin Theros Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Surrounding the strange man, the knights listened as Raul Renaut introduced himself. Well, two of them did. Straightening in his saddle, the burly swordsman cast a glance towards Bebin, noting the tension in his limbs. "Something the matt-" He began to ask. A blur of motion and the snap of a bowstring made him whirl, however, his horse dancing to the tune of his knees against its side. Angling his shield to protect his mount's head and neck, Faramund stared into the deep dark of the forest.

To no avail, alas.

"He will not attack again," Bebin announced, sounding rather sure of himself for a man that had just been shot at. Sensing his master's storm-riven mood, Faramund's horse capered nervously to the left. He was quick to check it. Sheathing his blade, he leaned from the saddle to pluck the dart from Bebin's hand. He didn't need to look to closely to see the thin coating of poison applied to the dart's head.

'Sides, the aroma told him all he needed to know.

"Be grateful that's all you showed him," the dawnling replied, tossing the dart to Master Hawken for a third opinion. The man snatched it from the air without looking, gave it a sniff. "Indeed." The Master's voice was clear, controlled. Whatever thoughts he possessed remained locked away, however, as he tossed the dart aside. "Syr Faramund! Syr Alaric! You may proceed at your own discretion."

Nodding, Faramund turned back to the forest. A little encouragement was all his horse needed to enter. "Be mindful," he warned his companions. "The foliage is thick here. Our mounts will have a harder time manoeuvring, which, I imagine, is the main reason Demiex sought to lure us deeper with that dart." Meeting Bebin's gaze, Faramund held it for all of a second before looking away. They both knew the man they hunted, after all.

Trouble was he knew them, too.

Alaric Wulf Bebin Theros (Goodbye! Raul Renaut )

 

[Alaric Wulf]

Alaric was curious about the man that had dropped in from the trees, however they had more pressing business. He could feel the warning in his mind from Syr Bebin and he scanned the trees around them, to no avail. He let Syr Bebin usher the man with his words, keeping silent and steady. Their mission was his main focus, perhaps he could seek out the stranger after their mission was complete. Outsiders were a curiosity to him, and the world outside.

A sudden movement had Alaric's mare sidestepping as he pulled his steel front it's sheath in a flash of silver brilliance. He brought the mare under control as Master Hawken deflected the dart, while Bebin reacted with deft speed. He sent a quick look at the traveler in front of him as he was urged to move on. He gave the man a nod, his attention returning to his fellow knights. "I'm surprised he was bold enough to try, though I guess a murderer has little sense."

Alaric's tone was bitter, but he sheathed his blade as the veterans studied the dart before casting it aside. Alaric fell in line with the dawnling again, more focused than ever. They would bring this man in, and he would answer for his crimes. That is, unless he tasted the edge of Alaric's sword in his teeth.

 

[Bebin Theros]

Master Hawken looked to Bebin, and nodded once. "It is time,"

A rumble in his throat, Bebin did not like how this tale was unfolding, watching as he did, as the pair of his sworn brothers rushed forward after the traitor Demiex. Worse than a traitor. A Knife who killed the Palm meant to stay him.

The Pursuant of Loch grunt again and shook his head. He sat down by the side of the road and drew in his breath once more. Long and full was his inhalation, and down into the depths of his mind did he sink.

There upon the black mirror of his inner most thoughts, did Bebin rest. Upon the obsidian surface of the Loch. He sat as he had in the realm above. In the reality he must never forget. A Bebin of the waking world and a Bebin of that deepmost space within all life that drew breath and had mind enough to think. But reflections of the other. He took in another breath in the mercurial Loch, the tinge of metal in his nose, yet the crisp clean that came from after-rain air, and so too did he breath in reality. Away from the root of his reflection did Bebin of the Loch rise. A ripple sent out beneath him, gentle and serene, he stepped forward, and pale blue cast out in lazy rings, ever expanding from he, the center of each pulse.

Without the obstruction of the natural world, Bebin in the Loch raced forward, like a stone skipping across the surface of a midnight lake, soon he found the bright shades of his fellows. The verdant green of Faramund, and the swirling blue and red that was Alaric. But gaseous bodies there before him, and full formed men beneath him. Upside down as they ran.

I am with you. They would hear him say. Keep up the chase, he could not have gone far.

A thin silver trace, like spider's silk, glimmered and traced behind Bebin of the Loch, and touch that spot where upon Bebin of Reality sat, eyes closed, breathing focused in his meditation.

Alaric Wulf
Faramund

 

[Bebin Theros]

A light in the distance. Blue, pale and bright as stars that peered through mist, shined amidst the endless black. Shined for him to see. To follow. The Pursuant grimaced, lips curled down as a hot rage twisted his expression. Linked as he was to his Sworn kin, he could feel their fury flow through him. Quicken the pace of his real heart, left so far behind in that cold and formless space that was the Loch.

As he approached, his eyes could see what his mind had known and what his heart had felt. Bebin of the Loch came to a stop. A blue ghost standing upon the mirrored surface that kept the waking world sealed beneath the land of dreams and thought.

"Demiex," Bebin snarled, and his curved sword manifest in his hand.

"Syr Theros," the solemn knight began, but a specter there upon that field of starless dark.

"Why did you do it, Demiex?" he raised his weapon, and inched forward.

"You are not thinking clearly, Syr, tethered to two stones as you are here in this unforgiving space," the younger man said, still no blade in hand.

Bebin growled, and dart forward, like a bird in flight his body carried no weight to it in that Loch between them.

With not but a frown, the younger man materialized his own blade, received the blow against the phantom steel and danced away. Bebin was turned about, blade already whirling in a low and lopping cut that aimed for his legs. A kick into the liquid ground splashed up not water, but ethereal herons, manifest from crystalline droplets, they turned spear beaked and great winged.

Bebin sliced through a slew in one turn with his sword, was struck by pointed bill the next in the shoulder. His whole form shook, his sanity's silk pulled taught. Demiex leapt at it, his sword arced high.

A great serpent fell from the pitch sky, glittering across its countless cerulean scales, fangs bared, maw open wide. Demiex went wide eyed, choked his swing and rolled away. The serpent crashed through the glassy surface of the Loch. Sent waves up and out in a surge and flow. Bebin, whole again, stood before Demiex, as his great serpent slithered in the waters beneath him.

"You murdered Merrycourt, did you not?!" Bebin shouted.

Droplets of abyssal water rained down across the field, splashed against their ghostly forms as a white heron land behind the traitor knight with powerful beats of its wings.

Demiex held his claymore across him, rested its blade upon his shoulder. His eyes closed. "I took her life, yes."

"Legault," Bebin growled behind grit teeth. "Why?! After all the order has taught you, after all I taught you!"

Demiex's eyes came open, and he heft his greatsword up once more. "Do not judge me, Syr Theros, please, what I do... It need be done. For the Everwatcher's eyes blink as countless as the stars in the night,"

Bebin's eyes went wide.

The great heron spread its wings wide, a gale of wind blast Bebin back, set the dark waters to lap and thrash. He steeled himself, raised a shield against the blast and run forward in bounding strides across the cresting waters. The great blue serpent surged with him.

A clash. Point through flesh. Silk of sanity sliced through.

So Syr Theros was sent spinning through the Loch. His blue serpent skwered through by the bladed beak of Demiex's white heron.

Upon the waking world. Bebin Theros sat. And his eyes would not open.

The trail for the traitor Demiex goes cold, and the Sworn Knights can find no trace to follow.