Adventures of Caelereth

The sun rose upon a dreary morning, the rain having finally ceased only an hour ago. A thin fog hung low to the ground, obscuring the vision as wisps of fog seemed to swirl with a life of their own. Despite the constant downpour of the night before, the sky remained clear without a cloud in sight. Even without clouds the light of the sun remained pale, its light barely illuminating the shadows.

The silence of the morning was broken as hoof struck stone, two mares gracefully walking into the courtyard as they were lead by a stableboy. As day contrasts night, so too did the hues of these mares differ. The first mare possessed a dull white coat with grey splotches upon its rump. With a grey mane and tail, she should have been beautiful yet seeming to be only skin and bones she was simply lanky. Appearing darker than even midnight on a cloudy night, the second mare was a solid black, having a nor’sidian coat. A white mane descended down the back of her neck, and a white blaze decorated her forehead. Both mares were of Centoraurian stock, though only the dark one was a fine specimen of its breed, and seemed to be intended for the two female half elves.

With a loud neigh a roan stallion galloped into the courtyard, his hoofs seeming to strike sparks against the cobblestones. Frantically two stableboys rushed after him, attempting to grab the lead rope that trailed behind him. As he turned in midstride, they became the ones being chased as he reared up on his hind legs, his front hoofs flashing at them. With a loud snort he came down and stomped one hoof against the courtyard as if to ascertain his dominance. The sensible mares merely rolled their eyes at the antics of the opposite gender. For the moment, the stableboys let the stallion be, hoping he would calm after a while. Each horse was already saddled with saddlebags bulging with provisions. An incredibly long snake slithered from the stables without a single man to lead him as none dared to approach the large reptile. He coiled his fifteen ped serpentine body in one corner of the courtyard, apparently falling asleep.

The halls were empty except for the servants that hurried as they sought to accomplish their morning chores. Each one was dressed in gold and blue, the livery of the Duchess. One particular servant knocked upon the doors of the guest rooms occupied by the strangers. With brown hair and matching eyes he was nondescript and easily forgotten by those that met him. As the strangers emerged from their rooms, blearily wiping the sleep from their eyes, he silently guided them through the halls of the castle and down a broad flight of stairs with gilded rails running alongside. After a few moments they were standing at the front door of the castle. With one fluid motion he opened the double doors and stood to one side to allow the strangers to pass through into the courtyard. Neither the Duchess nor Duke were anywhere to be seen, and it could only be assumed that at least one of them will make an appearance in the courtyard momentarily.

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 1/7/06 8:13

Luca had been up well before dawn, having cracked open the small window and absently admiring the view and the fresh air. She liked being clean, having washed herself and her hair the night before, even giving her shirt a quick a soak before slipping off to bed. Not liking how light her mop of brown hair felt, the half-elf pulled one of Pick's black and crimson hued feathers from her bag and braided it near her temple, admiring how the color accented her hair. Her wandering throughts were shaken from her mind from a soft knock at the door. Quickly slipping her ragged skirt back on and, after short deliberation, grabbing the rest of her things, she poked her head out the door. People were leaving, it seemed, and Luca, hastily doing up her heavy leather belt as she walked, wasn't about to be left alone in such a place.

Silently for once, the thief strutted through the halls, idly admiring the various art and displays of craftsmanship that adorned the structure. Vases, sculpture, ornate carving. As far she was concerned, they were eyesores, but the young woman couldn't help but reckon the price they'd fetch at any bazaar.

The morning air was crisp as she stepped out, admiring the courtyard. It took a moment but, glancing up and around a few times, Luca came to the bitter realization that she had been dangling above that very spot the night prior. She began tracing the ground near the wall, bold brown eyes on the ground in curiosity if anything had dropped in her escapades. Suddenly, there was a snap, a tug and a cry of pain as Luca flailed desperately to escape the clutches of whatever horrible apparation had affronted her.

It took a few moments, but the half-elf came to the slow realization that there was a horse attached to her face. With a quick slap to the face, her hand landed firmly on the beasts snout which withdrew, chewing idly on the feather from her hair.

"Bloody wretched scoundral," she muttered, grabbing the horse's muzzle in her grasp and pulling it forhead to forhead, staring into it's glazed over and very unintelligent eyes the size of cherries. They blinked once, twice, before the horse's long, offensive tongue slathered up across her cheek. Luca cried out again and initiated yet another screaming match, despite the apparent absence of participation on her opponent's side.

Edited by: Luca the Thief at: 1/10/06 1:08

Ratdragon woke from his deep sleep at about an hour before dawn. The elf started his morning with some basic stretches and excercises, made sure his hair was styled, and washing up in the wash bowl. By the time the knock was heard, the elf was well prepared.

Stepping out of his room and following the others quitely, Ratdragon eagerly awaited the quest. Stepping into the courtyard, the elf watched Luca and her encounter with a dim-witted horse. Chuckling slightly, the elf turned his gaze to the serpent coiled up in a corner. Striding over to the reptile, Ratdragon flicked it's nose. The reptile woke up, blinking it's large, yellow eyes. Seeing the elf, the serpent nudged him gently as Ratdragon searched his saddlebags.

Elen, as usual, woke before the sun rose. It was cold as she stepped out of bed, momentarily displaced in senses before she remembered the happenings of the night before—too many incidents, too many thoughts—she stared out of the window and breathed in the fresh air, letting the breeze against her face clear her mind. She needed to think.

She could not refuse the Duchess’s request, not after she had angered the Duchess the night before. It seemed inevitable that she would have to serve the Duke on this impossible quest. She needed to prepare. Her belongings, little as they were, were in the other room that she occupied. She washed her face and made haste to get them.

She went down the series of hallways and upon entering her room, changed into more comfortable clothing, her traveling wear—slightly worn but definitely presentable—and picked up one change of clothing, her book recording her songs and writings and lastly, a flute which she had bought just recently from her painstakingly earned wages serving the Duchess’s household. She placed everything into a bundle and made her way back to the guest room where she assumed further instructions would be given.

She did not have to wait long for someone came knocking soon enough. She followed everyone to the courtyards and stood aside, waiting for her cue as to what to do next.  

---

OOC: After the boardwide loss of posts.

Duchess Sera

Tasul'i awoke to the incessant shaking of his shoulders. Alighted with fury were his eyes as his hands grasped the wrists of the one foolish enough to awake him. With a strength gained from years of training with a sword, his grip tightened as a sharp cry of pain erupted from the throat of his mother. Upon realizing whom she was, he quickly released her yet no apology was offered. As he swung his legs off his soft and luxurious bed, his green eyes glared at her as he awaited her departure. Without speaking, Sera left his room, not daring to converse with him in such a foul mood. Her own thoughts focused upon the plight of her son, and she wept softly as she passed through the corridors of her home. Each servant looked away as she passed, knowing that it would not be proper for them to see their mistress in her current condition.

Her cheeks were yet damp though she was no longer crying as she gracefully strode through the double doors and into the courtyard, the doors having been held open by a nearby servant. Bruises were forming on her wrists from the pressure previously applied on them by her son’s grip. To hide the bruises from those standing before her, she held her hands down by her skirt, lifting it so that she may walk without its hem brushing against the courtyard. The Duchess was resplendent in her silk gown seemingly woven from shafts of sunlight, its golden hues glowing in the sunlight of the early morning. Upon her feet were crimson slippers whose tips were inlaid with gold, and her hair was held up by golden pins set with flawless rubies. With a melodious voice she spoke to the adventurers as she stood upon the steps that descended to the courtyard below.

“Last night I asked that you all take time to consider the plight of my son and the considerable rewards offered to those willing to accompany him. I would hear your answers now as we stand beneath the sunrise, an eternal symbol of hope. Only one detail was withheld last night, and I reveal it now. My son is seeking a renowned healer in Vezash, one rumored to be capable of healing even maladies of the mind. Tasul’i would have you and the residents of this castle believe that he is well, yet from your encounters with him surely you know this to be false. It is at my beckoning that he goes, for even if he does not find this healer perhaps he will finally mature into a man and learn to restrain his ever changing emotions.”

Her azure gaze focused upon each of the strangers, pausing on each of them for only a moment. Luca at first stood with her back to the Duchess as she addressed the two males standing before her, yet she had turned as Sera began to speak. The guard known as Malik stood facing the doors and had been the first to notice the approach of the Duchess. Hard leather armor was worn over his gold tunic and black breeches, and anyone familiar with the Kuglimz would recognize him as a member of the Helvet’ine tribe. Blonde braids encased in iron rings fell to his shoulders, yet his beard was too short to braid, descending for a couple of nailsbreadths from his fair cheeks. Being slightly taller than two peds, he towered over everyone standing in the courtyard, including the elf. None knew how the Kuglimz mercenary came to serve the Duchess in Chylikis, as he would not speak of his homeland. He appeared calm despite having nearly been struck by lightning only moments ago, and the mage responsible was no where to be seen. The elf stood slightly behind and to one side of the human, only a few fores from his enormous snake. Arriving only moments before the Duchess herself was Elendilwyn as she stood to one side, slightly apart from the others.

The stallion seemed to have calmed, yet his baleful gaze focused upon the Duchess as she spoke. Clearly it was the calm just before a storm, as chaos would erupt if any were to attempt to touch him. Yogi seemed to be content to follow Luca, apparently fond of the half elf already. Her dumb gaze seemed unfocused as she nuzzled against Luca’s hair, taking a few strands into her mouth and chewing slowly as she did so. Elegantly Valencia walked to where Elendilwyn stood, nuzzling against her shoulder in greeting. The stable hands seemed to have disappeared as their help was no longer required, nor were any of them willing to stand anywhere near the stallion.

Ratdragon listened to Sera's speech, and contemplated the arrogant Tasuli's condition. The elf highly doubted that he could be cured, but he wasn't an expert in the ways of healing.

Bowing low before the Duchess, the elf straightened and replied, "I will escort your son Lady, though it'll take all my strength not to strangle him. I'll make sure no harm comes to him."

Elendilwyn watched the Duchess stroll into the courtyard, elegant as always. She listened to the words that followed with a composed face, for a large part unreadable except for her eyes which never fail to give her away. Elen was apprehensive about the whole arrangement. With so many live-wires in a traveling group, it is unlikely that anyone is going to have a smooth journey. She did not bother to answer the Duchess for she knew she had no say in that matter—let river run, where the roads go, she will follow.

Her thoughts were soon interrupted by the soft nuzzling by her shoulder. She turned to look at the beautiful beast that had walked up to her, returning the gesture by stroking the soft mane that fell down its neck. For a moment, Elen was lost to the world, her attention only on the horse.

“You are so beautiful… what’s your name pretty dear?”

---

Malik

With interest the mercenary listened to the Duchess as she spoke. His only loyalty was to Duchess Sera, and he cared naught for her son. Yet he would gladly endure anything if only to ensure the happiness of the lady he served. He decided ere she finished speaking and was walking toward the steps upon which the Duchess stood as the elf voiced his consent. In one fluid motion he knelt, only a few fores before the Duchess, holding a fist to his heart as he spoke.

"My Lady, I would serve you by escorting your son. Please, consider my request as my skills are indeed valuable."

Duchess Sera

Sera smiled as Ratdragon accepted her offer, relieved that Tasul'i would have at least one warrior to protect him from others and from himself. However, her expression became one of puzzlement as Malik strode toward her. The mercenary had always been incredibly loyal to her since the day he had first arrived years ago and would obey any command she gave. Sera only hoped that his loyalty was born of a respect for her position and not a desire for her as she belonged to another.

"Rise Malik and saddle your horse. A warrior of your mettle is valuable on any journey." Her gaze swept over the courtyard, focusing upon the elf for a moment. "Ratdragon, while your service is greatly appreciated, I ask that you restrain yourself in the presence of my son and not allow his words to nettle you. Words cannot harm anyone, yet the dangers of this journey are indeed real."

A slight frown came to her face as the silence of the two females bothered her. Taking their silence as consent, she turned to re-enter the castle as the doors flew wide open. Standing there was none other than Tasul'i, fully dressed in his finest silk. The half elf seemed dressed for a ball and not for a journey of several days. Without a word to his mother he walked past her, ignoring everyone gathered in the courtyard. Rowan reared on his hind legs as Tasul'i approached, causing the half elf to cower in fear for a moment before regaining his composure. The stallion seemed calm enough as Tasul'i reached his side and mounted him without any further incidents. The scowl upon his face seemed to take in everyone gathered before him, as if their very presence displeased him. With a kick to the sides of the horse, he galloped from the courtyard, racing through the gate hurriedly opened by dazed servants.

The frown had only deepened upon her face as she watched her son leave, the worry for him only intensifying within her mind. As she descended the stairs, Malik emerged from the stables mounted on his Kev'lor warhorse, having gone to fetch the horse only moments before Tasul'i emerged from the castle. Her gaze focused on each person for a moment as she looked at each of them. The worry she felt for her son was conveyed in the tone of her voice as she spoke to all of them.

"Please, follow him and keep him safe. The worry I feel for him will be lessened by the knowledge that he is accompanied by honorable folk, each possessing unique talents." With a few graceful strides, she walked to where Elendilwyn stood with her horse. "You have the honor of riding Valencia, my mare. Treat her well, and she will serve faithfully. Please, care for Tasul'i in my stead and ease a mother's worry."

Valencia… that was the name of the mare she was supposed to ride—the thought of riding such a magnificent creature filled her with an unspeakable sense of elation. At that moment, she felt the sense of adventure stirring within her, a spark of flame that lies dormant beneath her façade of propriety.

She turned to the Duchess and said, “Thank you for entrusting me with the care of your son. I will do my best to serve all within the group” and smiled, sincere and genuine. She only hoped she did not speak too fast for this did not look like an easy group to serve but she would do what she could.

Still seeing the worry on the Duchess’s face, she instinctively reached out and placed her hand on Sera’s shoulder in assurance. “Don’t worry. All will be well.”

---

Luca listened to the duchess' task and nodded slightly to herself, her brow furrowing in curiosity. Luca had learned long ago to take all threats seriously and to judge only the person that gave them. And, in the given case, the half-elf judged that Tasuli's father would not hesitate to have her head should she disobey.

The mare nudged Luca's cheek with it's damp pink muzzle, stepping up closer to the thief and nearly trampling her toes. "Stupid thing. Might as well put some use to you," she muttered, scanning the courtyard as the noblewoman conversed with some of the others. Neatly tucking her bottom lip, a curt and sharp whistle sounded with a quick burst of air. The mare rocked it's head back and in an action that would have been majestic had it not been for the mangey state of her mane, tossed about before allowing Luca to hop on. The half-elf swaggered on the saddle, after all her days still preferring dirt between her toes to a swift mount.

The half-elf ignored the reins and tooks the horse by the mane, steering her over to trod up near the duchess. "Your boy's an idiot and I'm figured due for a word with him. Thanks for everything, Duchy." she said with a nod, tossing her head back in a queerly similar manner before tromping off after the brat.

Ratdragon nodded to the Duchess, replying, "Do not worry lady, I shall restrain myself." Turning, the elf muttered under his breath, "If only barely"

Running his slender fingers over his mount's scaled head, the elf leaped into the saddle. The serpent slowly uncoiled itself, yawning widely. The elf let out a shrill whistle, sounding like the call of a predatory bird. Answering the call, Ratdragon's golden eagle could be seen in the skies. Kicking the serpent in the flanks, the elf sent Rip Fang speeding after Luca and Tasuli, the eagle following closely behind.

From the corner of her eyes, Elen saw everyone get up on their horses and with a smile, she withdrew her hand from the Duchess’s shoulder and proceeded to get onto her mare. It has been a while since she rode a horse but Valencia was patient and Elen just needed a bit of time to remember. With a soft nudge, Valencia went after the others—what an impatient lot—but was pleased with the fresh breeze that caressed her face as she fell into pace with the steady rhythm of Valencia’s canter.  

Malik

For a moment, Malik relaxed in his saddle, his gaze focused upon the Duchess, as the others rode away. Even he did not know the source of his loyalty, yet he would do anything upon her request. With a silent nod to Duchess Sera, as if to say that he would protect her son, Malik turned Mystrume Geinar with only his knees, and with an uttered word, the horse galloped after the others, the power contained in his legs evident with each stride. A quick glance behind him revealed the Duchess yet standing upon the steps, her azure gaze focused upon the travelers that were her son's only hope. Malik averted his gaze before she turned to enter the castle, not willing to watch her leave. In his mind at least, she would always watch over them as they traveled, blessing them with her angelic presence.

Tasul'i

Rowan raced ahead, clearly enjoying this morning's run, yet the other horses were slowly gaining on him. The kicks to his side were of no avail, as he was bred for endurance and not speed. With a sneer evident upon his face, Tasul'i watched the people as he rode through the cobbled streets of the city. Stone buildings rose up on either side of the street, their condition worsening the farther one got from the castle of the Duchess. Every so often, a building crafted of wood was evident between those of stone. The best of these were resplendent in their beauty with every beam seeming to gleam in the morning sun. Yet there were also hastily constructed shacks that lasted only a season before collapsing.

Anyone who dared to approach the roan stallion received a stern kick from Tasul'i, and the way he held a handkerchief over his nose made it apparent that the stench of the city offended his delicate senses. As there were not many people about at this early hour, Rowan was able to continue his gallop through the city without any impediments.

Without warning, the stallion reared on his hind legs as the stench of smoke invaded his nostrils. Only barely able to hang on, Tasul'i kicked him forward as a burning building came into view. Flames could be seen through the broken windows, and smoke poured from every door and window. Screams could be heard from those trapped within, and Tasul'i blanched in fear upon hearing them. A sign hung above the tavern's door, declaring it as the "Dancing Boar". The scene depicted upon the sign was of a boar on its hind legs with a flute held to its lips, its legs atwirl in a dance. The stallion neighed loudly before rearing once more as a startled Tasul'i was dropped from his back. Without another sound the stallion galloped away, racing past the burning building. The others   were closing in by this time, and Tasul'i ran toward them, his crimson locks flying behind him as his face held a look of utter fear. Instead of halting to greet them, he raced past them, not sparing a glance for where he was running, and fell flat as he collided with the kev'lor warhorse. By the groans emanating from his lips, it was apparent that he was unconscious yet unharmed.

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 2/7/06 12:01 am

Yarg woke up earlier than most people this morning. Walking down from his room in the 'Dancing Boar' inn. Despite the fact that it was early, Yarg's customary cheer was evident in his little smile, and the small bounce in his step. Coming down the stairs, and into the main room, Yarg sees that very little has been done to clean it since last night. Alcohol graces the floors liberally, while scatter mugs are found at all tables. Even the large man from the night before, who called himself Bahren, or Boran, or something like that, was still here passed out over a table. Yarg decided to go talk to his drunken friend.

Yarg sits down at the large man's table, and realizes a problem with the aforementioned 'talking plan'. The man was passed out. Using his walking stick as a poker, Yarg promptly jabs the drunk in the ribs, to no avail, other than a muffled groan. Yarg then notices that the large man still holds a metal flask in his hand, and a mischievous glint sparkles in Yarg's eyes.

Reaching into a small pouch, Yarg pulls out a small amount of sulphur, and gently puts it over the flask, being very quiet, so as not to disturb the drunk man, even though he could have been quite loud and the unconscious brute would not have heard a thing. Once the flask was thoroughly coated, Yarg concentrates on it, casting his spell Injeran Touch. He focuses on more heat, with less duration. The effect was instantaneous, and much amusing to Yarg.

Superheated to unbearable temperatures, the flask burned the drunken man's hand, and immediately snapped him out of his stupor. Crying out loudly, the large man threw the flask away from him, much to the now laughing Yarg's amusement.

Unfortunately, the superheated flask landed in a large puddle of the alcohol that was carelessly left on the floor. The liquid instantly ignited, creating a large fire that grew by the second. The fire ignited the entire floor, which had puddles of alcohol all over it, and behind the bar, igniting the numerous bottles of booze kept there, causing dozens of small explosions, and spreading the fire further.....

Whenever I see a Fire, I try to put it out. 'Cept unlike the usual methods, I use OIL!!

- Yarg

Visions of Sugarplum danced in the big man's head as he laid there, sprawled out on the rather comfortable tables of the Dancing Boar. Out of all the barroom tables he had ever been sprawled out on, Bahran found these to be amongst the most comfortable. He had been sprawled out on this one table in Marcogg one time and that was awful. When he got up his neck was stiff and his back ached, the whole nine peds. He complained about that table for several weeks, much to the chagrin of his listeners. But, this Dancing Boar had some nice tables.

He had been having a nice dream, starring a “tavern mistress” named Sugarplum he had met before passing out. Bahran was running through the forest with the woman (although some might call it “chasing” Bah wasn't one to split hairs) when one of the limbs reached out an poked him. He found that rather odd, but continued to dream nonetheless. Unfortunately, just a short while later, the big man was awoken rather rudely.

The flask flew across the bar involuntarily. His vocal cords also seemed to be moving involuntarily, as were all the nerves in his hand, which seemed to be yelling at him in unison. Bahran got off the table just in time to be bombarded with the broken glass from numerous exploding bottles. The room started getting rather warm rather quickly and the big man thought it might be best to get out, but there was a more pressing matter to deal with first. He had heard the hobbit laughing when he had first jumped up, and he'd be damned if he took that from a hobbit.

The big man reached down and grabbed the hobbit by the vest and pulled him up to eye level. But, before he could say anything he felt extreme heat in close proximity to his left foot. He tucked the hobbit under his arm and bolted for the door, jumping over a few small fires before leaping out the door into the morning sun, hobbit in tow.

_____________

"Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication."
- Lord Byron

Dust specked her eyes as she clambered through the city, her grip tight on Gert's mangey grey mane. The half-elf enjoyed the rich, lively smell of the city, despite the few less than savory aromas that drifted on light breezes turned every which way between buildings. In all her years, Luca had seen some beautiful scenery. Untouched landscapes as painted by the gods. But, despite it all, in her heart the thief loved the city. The people. The chaos. The life.

Suddenly, a heavy stench of burning wood afronted her and Luca pulled back on Gert's head. Her attempt proved to be in vain, for the mottled beast simply shook her head in denial and kept on track. It was only as they rounded a cornered street that the two of them laid eyes on the fire that roared before them. People were gathered in sombre amusement around the building, close enough to see what was going on but far enough not be obliged to help. Gert took the cue and stopped in her tracks, tossing her head stubbornly and practically throwing the half-elf off her back as she stomped her hooved feet.

Luca toppled off and ran up, her attention momentarily snatched by the massive horse and the unconscious boy nearby. Shaking it off, the thief looked forward into the flames just as a lumbering form of a man clambered through with a child in tow. Her heart fell, making a move to approach him only to recall her "duty" to the young duke. With a sigh and a curse, Luca took Tasuli with both hands by the collar of his fine shirt and hoisted him up with some degree of difficulty and an unfeminine grunt. Figuring the warhorse was big enough to be stable enough as anything, Luca thrust Tasuli against the beast's flank and yelled in his face.

"Wake up, boy, the sky is falling!"

Slowly his eyes opened, revealing hues of green within his gaze, as he became aware of the world once again. With a startled expression, he stared down at the thief holding him by the collar of his shirt as he realized that his back was pressed against the flank of a horse. Disgustedly he glared into the brown eyes of the one who dared to lay her hands upon him and considered slapping her for her insolence. It would be no less punishment than she deserved for daring to touch his royal person, yet he found himself pitying this poor creature. Being reduced to steal only to survive must indeed be a harsh life, one he could not imagine himself surviving. Compassion existed within his gaze as he gently removed her hands from his tunic and stood without the support of the horse. With a warm smile evident upon his face, he embraced Luca, lifting the half elf off her feet for a moment before finally releasing her. As he spoke in a soft compassionate whisper meant only for her, one hand reached up to rest upon her shoulder.

“Thank you for your assistance. I know not the circumstances of how I came to be laid upon the street, yet your help is greatly appreciated nonetheless.” As his gaze traveled beyond her to the burning tavern, he frowned at the thought of people yet trapped within, worried about their well-being. With a final reassuring squeeze of her shoulder, he departed.

His stride was brisk as he neared the tavern, his eyes focused upon the flames from which he fled only moments ago. The crowd gathered to witness the somber event parted upon noticing the Duke in their midst, none willing to touch and possibly offend the eccentric noble. A scream disturbed the silence of the morning, revealing that someone was yet trapped within the scalding flames that consumed the building. Determination glowed within his gaze as his strides increased to become a run, his long legs quickly closing the distance between himself and the tavern. Not sparing a glance for the giant stumbling forth from the tavern with a child beneath his arm, Tasul’i plunged through the door, his arms held before him as if to ward off the flames.

Malik

Amused at the antics of the two half elves, Malik watched their encounter from astride his horse. The kev’lor barely moved at the weight of Duke Tasul’i being pressed against him and only looked upon them with curiosity. Malik cared little for the relationship the Duke possessed with this girl, as he was only concerned with his well-being and doubted that a girl posed much of a threat. With surprise his eyes widened as Duke Tasul’i spoke courteously to another person and actually thanked them. Never would he have believed such a display of emotion to be possible if he had not witnessed it himself.

Slowly the stallion followed behind the Duke, forcing the crowd to disperse even more to allow him passage through their ranks. The fire seemed not to bother the war trained horse as he did not flinch at the stench of smoke in his nostrils. As the Duke began to run, Malik pressed his heels against the horse’s flanks, urging him to gallop. His first concern was the safety of the boy as he dared not return to his mother with only a corpse, yet he cared too about the patrons of the tavern and hoped to save any trapped within. Not willing to risk Mystrume Geinar in a fire, he slid off his mount. As he was trained to do when no one rode upon his back, the stallion stood still, awaiting the moment his rider returned. While passing the man emerging from the tavern, Malik noticed his great size, larger even than the Kuglimz mercenary and knew immediately that the blood of his kindred flowed within the other’s veins. At any other time, he would have paused to converse with this man, yet dire events required his attention. Without fear he plunged through the door and into the burning tavern, searching for the boy that so foolishly rushed within.

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 2/9/06 8:59 am

A sense of displacement filled Elen as she rode through the city. It was not long ago when she was one of those on the streets. While her current rank was not much different than before, riding a magnificent horse such as Valencia would never have been possible in that not so distant past.

Following a distance behind Luca, she saw the smoke rising up even before she saw the burning building. Valencia’s canter had slowed to a trot as the crowd thickened with people trying to get into the excitement of things. She saw Luca slide off her horse and followed suit, leading her horse towards them. Luca had pushed the Duke against the horse and she watched with surprise as the Duke went towards the burning building—something she could not imagine him doing.

Her initial surprise turned into a frown as she remembered with concern that the Duke was to be protected and cared for. Malik had went in after the Duke but that did not assure her much. Not sure of what was to come, she went to Luca to ask, “What do you think we should do next? I doubt going in after those two would be of much help.”

---

The half-elf sputtered some nonsensical thank you before the Duke released her and surged into his apparent doom. Silent for the moment, the thief collected her thoughts and balled up her fists. Bowing her head and tensing up, Luca let out a stifled cry of anguish and frustration. I hate him! I'll kill him! By the gods, I'll kim him in his feffing sleep! she thought wildly, throwing her hands down at her sides and making to dash off after Tasuli and Malik just as Elendilwyn came up to her.

“What do you think we should do next? I doubt going in after those two would be of much help.”

Looking the half-elf over, it took Luca a moment to construct any form of recognition with Elendilwyn. Finally it struck her.

"Ah, little maid!" she sighed, clapping her on the shoulder with a dirty half-glove. "You're right, kiddo, that's man-business. Running into fires, saving damsels in distress, that kind of thing. Makes them feel all tingly inside thinking they're brave. Figuring such, they'll be lucky to feeling much of anything if they're roasted. Let's go, they'll'n be needing a hand figuring they get out." With that, the thief gave a confident bob of her head, ran a hand through her hair and slipped lithely into the crowd, pressing and ducking to get through the enthralled townsfolk.

It wasn't long until Luca finally pushed through only to find herself in a semicircle of bemused and concerned faces, all eyes on the giant man and a hairy little boy found sizzling before her.

Ratdragon gazed out at the city as he rode astride his gigantic serpent. The elf had his mind on the adventure ahead, hoping it would be eventful. The scent of smoke invade his nostrils, causing his head to snap up.

He could see coils of smoke reaching across the sky, and they soon came into sight of the inn. He continued to watch the building burn, watching the wood crumble and turn to ash.

His eyes focused on the Duke as he strode into the building, causing the elf to leap from his horse. He was supposed to keep this brat safe, and here he goes throwing himself in danger's arms. As a cry reaches the elf's ears, he realizes that someone is trapped in the building. Perhaps the half-elf wasn't being so selfish afterall.

Running after Malik, the elf charged into the building, holding up his arm to ward off embers.

Smoke obscured his vision as he foolhardily dashed into the burning tavern. Flames were everywhere, seeming to reach out with fiery tendrils as he quailed in fear. Stumbling forward, dodging the flames as best he could, he continued forward, wondering why he dared to plunge himself into the chaotic fire. As if sensing his fear, the fire blazed higher, seeming to challenge the half elf with its very ferocity. Never would he have believed himself capable of risking his life to save others. Even now he regretted his actions and would like nothing more than to flee the fire, screaming his fear for all to hear, yet something drove him onward. Upon reaching the source of the scream earlier, his fear expanded to consume his entire mind. A beam lay across the man's legs, no doubt crushing them. Flames licked along the beam, only moments from reaching the corpulent innkeeper and consuming his very flesh. The utter terror burning within his eyes frightened the young Duke, even more so than the flames themselves.

As a tendril of flame reached for his sleeve, Tasul'i screamed, expressing the fear built up within him. Panicking, he beat upon his sleeve repeatedly as his legs seemed to move of their own accord, running for the door wherein he had entered the tavern. The flames reaching for him, or so he believed, only quickened his pace. Not a glance was spared for the mercenary as Malik rushed into the tavern, though the man watched the Duke leave for a moment before turning to seek the injured man. Nor did Tasul'i glance at the elf following Malik, only concerned with his own well-being. They were fools to sacrifice themselves for another, and Tasul'i refused to risk his life for anyone. Stumbling forth from the tavern, coughing from the smoke, he rushed into the crowd, trying only to distance himself from the fire. Crouching within the crowd behind a random spectator, he peered out from behind her skirt, watching as the fire consumed the tavern. His arms wrapped around her legs, holding them tightly as he continued to tremble, his fear consuming his every thought. As his fear began to recede into the twisted corridors of his mind, a thought occurred to him that was only natural for a guy his age. With a lewd grin evident upon his face, he glanced upward, looking beneath the skirt of the woman. Recognition did not come to him as he had never seen her from this angle, yet he knew this woman as Luca the Thief.

Malik

It could not be said that the actions of the Duke surprised him as Tasul'i was a man known for his cowardice. With every fiber of his being, he wanted only to knock some sense into the boy, yet he restrained himself out of respect for the Duchess. For a moment, he smiled at the thought of his fist slamming into the boy's ribs, the sickening crunch of breaking bones delighting his every sense. Returning to reality, he walked forward, ducking beneath the burning beams. Fear did not show in his eyes as he purposely strode forward, his eyes searching for any wounded. Upon seeing the fat innkeeper trapped beneath a beam, he immediately rushed to him as his hands wrapped around the end yet untouched by flame. With a grunt, he lifted the beam, his muscles straining with the effort, and tossed it to one side. Only moans escaped the lips of the innkeeper but he was yet conscious. Grasping him by both hands, Malik attempted to pull him to his feet, yet he collapsed once again, his legs evidently broken. As strong as he was, the mercenary knew he had not the strength to carry the large man from the building. Nor was he willing to leave him there to die. With a great shout, he cursed Tasul'i for his cowardice and demanded that he return to aid him.

"Tasul'i, you feffing coward! Put some steel in your backbone and help me!"

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 2/10/06 23:00

“Ah, little maid!"

Elen smiled when Luca said that and decided that this was one person that she could not help liking.

“Well men, will be men, half the time more trouble than they are worth. When they come out all covered with burns, we’ll see if they are just as brave.” She sighs with the thought of the trouble they would need to go through dressing all these wounds that need not have occurred in the first place. It certainly meant a delay in their journey.

She followed Luca through the crowd and gave a gasp of horror when she saw the giant man and hairy little boy, immediately going to them and kneeling beside them to take a look at how bad the burns are. Elen did not know much first aid but she knew that some of the clothes must be removed if not they will end up glued to the skin and more pain will come if they tried to remove the clothes then. She turned to Luca in hope that the little thief knew more about saving people than she did, and said,

“Do you think we can help them?”

---

Yarg laughed wildly as the flames in the tavern grow. Suddenly, Yarg felt a sensation of being pulled, and found himself dangling at eye level with a very angry, very large man. Yarg noted mentally that he was in this position a surprisingly large amount of time. Suddenly, the large man yelped (very interesting for a man of his size) and tucked the hobbit under his arm (again, a position Yarg was in often) and Yarg was carried out of the tavern rather hurriedly.

Yarg, still in Bomar's armpit, looked around and the gathering crowd, smiling sheepishly. A few men run past the two into the firey Tavern, while two young women come up to Yarg and Bharman. one of them turns to the other, and asks "Do you think we can help them" Yarg finds this exceedingly rude, and tells thhe young woman just that, lecturing the girl from the armpit of Brahman.

Excuse me young lady, but you DO know that it is quite rude to refer to someone as if they are not existent, when clearly they are, when they are dangling right in front of you? I should hope that you will be more polite in the future. By the way, I do not think that I, or my large friend here need any help. we are quite comfortable where we are. OH! Wriggling one of his hands free from being in the armpit of the large man, Yarg extends the small appendage towards Elendilwyn. My name is Yarg Anklebiter, and this is my large friend, Bhrahmaan. It is a pleasure to meet you.

Whenever I see a Fire, I try to put it out. 'Cept unlike the usual methods, I use OIL!!

- Yarg

Ratdragon followed the mercenary through the flames. They seemed to reach out to him, stretching slim fingers to grab his clothing and skin. A puff of smoke entered the elf's mouth, causing him to cough.

He tried to breath through the heavy air, but smoke entered his lungs with every breath. Pushing his way past Tasuli, the elf reached the innkeeper. Malik tossed the heavy beam off the man's legs, but appeared  be having difficulty with the innkeeper. The elf wrapped his arm around the fat man, supporting him with his shoulder. Unable to speak, Ratdragon just nodded at Malik and indicated he should take the other side.

Yarg’s words had caught Elen by surprise. She was waiting for Luca’s answer when Yarg chastised her for being rude. For a moment she was annoyed for she had clearly meant well—Non-existent? If they were non-existent, she would not even be attending to them—but she accepted that people had their temperaments and with that thought, her initial annoyance went down as well. She turned back to face Yarg and his companion with a smile.

“Sorry good sir, I had no intention to be rude. I am not skilled where burns are concerned so I was worried that the fire had gotten to you.” She paused and took his extended hand gingerly so as not to hurt the small fellow just in case his skin was still raw from the burns, “I am Elendilwyn. It is my pleasure to meet you too” almost asking if they needed help but stopped herself in time. Males, big or small, all seem to have egos bigger than their frame and she had no intention of injuring any since an injured male pride could have undesirable consequences.

---

Malik

A sigh of relief escaped his lips as the elf moved to aid him. Any hope that Tasul'i would display courage and concern for the well-being of others was dashed, yet at the same time he was reassured by the selflessness of the elf's actions. Moving to the other side of the innkeeper, he lifted him as he supported him with one shoulder. Embers fell all around them, occasionally landing on their clothes and flesh, as they carried the innkeeper between them, slowly moving toward the door. Once there, they laid him on the ground outside.

Only then did Malik pause to check himself for injury. He seemed fine yet when he held his arm up, his gaze was greeted with the sight of blackened flesh. The excitement of the previous moments prevented from experiencing pain until this moment as he fell to his knees from the excruciating agony. Even in pain, the warrior did not cry out, only emitting a soft grunt every so often.

Ratdragon stumbled through the smoke with Malik, his senses numbed by the heat. His eyes were streaming from the smoke, and his lungs seemed to be full of smoke. As they burst out of the tavern, the elf tried to clear his eyes by blinking furiously.

After easing the fat man onto the ground, the elf saw Malik drop to his knees, his arm blackened. Ratdragon too sunk to the ground, his knees slamming into the cobblestones. Lifting his own arm, the elf saw that a chunk of timber had fallen from one of the beams, a triangular piece of wood that pierced his forearm. That side of his tunic was singed, holes in the fabric revealed bloody flesh. Looking back at his cape, the elf noticed that it's hem was charred at the bottom and several holes were burned through it by falling embers. Gasping slightly in pain, the elf grunted: "My cape... damn that was expensive"

------------------
Beware the BladeSinger of the Silver Sword.

 RatDragon

Bahran expelled air from his lungs suddenly and with an explosive noise in his attempt to rid his lungs of the foul smoke that had infiltrated them. When he was done coughing, he noticed that he was still holding the little man under his arm and a group of people had gathered to gawk at the motley crew. Before the big man could speak, a small human – but who didn't Bah consider small – pushed her way through the crowd, followed by several men who seemed all too eager to get into the building Bahran had just worked so hard to get out of. Shortly after he had rushed in, the boy burst out from the building and ran past the big man, who still stood in a slight state of shock. The big man tried to speak a second time, but was interrupted yet again as another woman came through the crowd. This one, however, spoke.

After the brief exchange between the hobbit under his arm and the lady, Bahran realized he was still holding the little thing and promptly dropped it.

“Who are you? Do I know you?” Bahran asked of the woman standing in front of him, his speech quite slurred. He then looked down at the hobbit and asked roughly the same thing. Quite fittingly, however, he was distracted once again by three figures emerging from the burning building.

_____________

"Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication."
- Lord Byron

Yarg shook Elendilwyn's hand as firmly as his small hand allowed, his cherubic face forming a smile at having made a new friend. He would have continued with his conversation with the nice woman, but he suddenly found that he was going to make friends with the street, as Bahrnman seemed to have dropped him. He hit the ground with a soft thud and an 'oomph'. Got up, and dusted himslef off as the large man asked, Who are you? Do I know you? Yarg is slightly immediately remind his good friend of their relationship.

I am Yarg Anklebiter. You do know me, for we are good friends. It wou-

It was at this time that a number of men stumbled out of the tavern, collapsing to the ground. It was also at this time that Yarg remembered that there was a fire in the immediate vicinity. Seeing that this fire had hurt people, Yarg concludes that he should get rid of it, and set off to do just that. Stepping past the burned man (that must have been uncomfortable), Yarg decided what he was going to do about this fire. He decided to do something extremely flashy, although quite difficult.

Before entering the building, Yarg closes his eyes, concentrating on the massive amount of fire ounia near him, drawing it to his spell. After several minutes of this, Yarg spreads his fingers, and raises them to the heavens, crying Ereiá efér. The flams in the building disappeared, consumed by the spell, as Fire shot from each of Yarg's fingertips, shooting into the air harmlessly. After several seconds, the inferno abated. Yarg's arms dropped to his sides, his shoulders sagging a little as he breathed heavily, before deciding that now was a good time to sit down, and doing just that.

Whenever I see a Fire, I try to put it out. 'Cept unlike the usual methods, I use OIL!!

- Yarg

Luca watched with sombre interest the exchange between the other half-elf and the hairy little boy. The little maid was so unlike her that it almost made Luca smile, though the tugging at the corners of her lips faded quickly as she felt her skirts rustle oddly about her knees. Glancing down, the thief's face flushed crimson, not with embarassment or modesty, but pure rage. A fiendish growl escaped her throat as Luca clenched her jaw, and the thief's hand snapped down quickly at Tasuli.

Her fist just grazed his eyebrow on it's way down, though that was not her intent. Eyes ablaze with fury, Luca's fingers closed tightly around the boys expensive collar once again and, hoisting him, screamed into his face.

"Bloody wretched scoundrel of a boy, I'll skin you head to toe and make a grand little show of it. How'd that tickle your pretty little eyes?" she cried, not waiting long to thrust him with all her force through the crowd and towards the wounded men. Some people stared at her in horror and inched away as the thief stalked up on the brat, left eye twitching menacingly.

Yarg had stopped his line midway and Elen followed his gaze to the tavern and she saw the rest of her group stumbling out but before she could react, Yarg had went over to stop the fire—a magical fire—Elen looked on in disbelief. She felt like her life was turning upside down. Too many strange happenings in two days was not good for her disposition. She felt disoriented from the fact that she simply did not know what she was expected to do and it seemed that every time she tried to help or keep her place, it went wrong. From refusing to sit at the Duchess’s meeting, helping Luca wash up the night before to treating burns… Elen felt lost and slightly miserable.

That was until Luca’s fit of anger and subsequent throw of Tasuli and Elen, like the rest of the crowd, stared in horror. Tasuli was not going to take this well and she immediately went up to Luca to try and calm her down, her hands on Luca’s shoulders to try and restrain her should she attempt to hurt Tasuli any further.

“Stop it Luca, he’s already hurt. Remember our duty,” she said gently.

---

Tears streamed down his cheeks as the first blow landed, grazing his eyebrow in its descent. The pain was slight and was not the source of his tears. A feeling of remorse had come over him as he regretted his every deed, perceiving them as the injustices they were. As a noble, he was responsible for acting with a moral fiber above that of the common man and should not lower himself to staring at the gangly legs of this unfortunate thief. It was beneath him to lust after such a creature, as she deserved his pity and nothing else.

As he was hoisted by his collar once more, the tears ceased and he smiled dreamily as he gazed into the depths of her soft brown eyes, her words flowing past him unheard. Oh how beautiful she was as the fires of rage burned within her eyes, her lips cutely curling into a grimace as her face flushed the deepest shade of crimson. The slightest breeze stirred her short copper locks as they flowed around her fair countenance, each strand attracting his gaze for only a moment.

His reverie was broken as he was thrust through the crowd, her rejection of him stoking the anger within him. Falling to one knee as the crowd parted around him, he angrily grasped the hilt of his sword with one hand, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened. Twice the foul creature dared to lay her hands upon his royal person, and such an action could not go unpunished. With one strike of his sword justice would be served as the world was rid of a lowly criminal. Slowly his head lifted as he glared at Luca as she approached him, venturing toward her doom though she knew it not. Tears yet stained his cheeks, yet they had long since stopped flowing as his gaze hardened, focusing on the thief. With a scream of pure rage, he pushed off from the cobblestones as he stood and drew his sword, wielding it in both hands as he menacingly extended it toward Luca. “I dispense justice this day with the blow of a sword. Stand aside, servant and attempt not to protect this criminal.”

Without waiting for Elendilwyn to move, trusting her to not move into the strike of his sword, Tasul’i stepped forward as he slashed downward with the blade, aiming his blow at the thief’s neck. Years of training surfaced within his mind as he moved with the blade and used his shoulders to power its descent.  

Yarg sat quietly, watching the crowd with a small smile on his face, attempting to catch his breath. It did not take long for him to realize that there was altercation in the crowd. He saw a young woman grab a young man and start shoving him. Yarg's smile disappeared, replace by a rare look of despair. These people were fighting! They shouldn't be fighting! They shouldn't be fighting!! Yarg forgot his weariness, standing up quickly, although leaning heavily on his walking stick, which he had picked up after it's fall from the large man's arm. He quickly decides that he must end this violence and hate.

Thrusting his hands into his pouch, coating them with sulphur, Yarg quickly concentrates on the air around him, finding the chaos and drawing it to him, letting it build to the size of a human head. Then, in a rush of energy, hurled it at Tasuli, who had drawn a sword, with as much accuracy as his weariness and despair would allow.

As soon as the spell was off, Yarg's power was consumed, and weariness consumed him, as his small frame leaned heavily on his walking stick, before finally collapsing in an unconcious heap.

Whenever I see a Fire, I try to put it out. 'Cept unlike the usual methods, I use OIL!!

- Yarg

Edited by: Yarg Anklebiter at: 2/15/06 7:14

Flames obscured his vision as the fireball hurtled toward him, catching him in the chest as the fire spread out to scorch his fine silk tunic, leaving it in tatters of blackened fabric. Anyone standing nearby was struck by flames as the fireball exploded. Stumbling backward, his blade fell short of striking the thief, descending only a palmspan from her. Realization that flames yet licked along the remnants of his tunic came upon him, and fear took root within his mind. The chaotic memories of being within the burning tavern surfaced within his mind as he released his sword, frantically beating at his tunic with his hands. A scream burst forth from his lips at the thought of being burned alive. Swiftly he began to run, as if to flee the flames that yet clung to him, all the while screaming as sheer terror consumed his mind. Upon reaching the fringes of the crowd, he turned back and ran toward the tavern once more, only to turn around again as he was confronted by the smoldering ruins. Anyone looking upon him could not help but laugh at his antics as he was essentially running in circles while screaming.

Ratdragon stared at Tasuli and Luca, wondering what had caused this altercation. The duke seemed to have several emotions flash across his face, finally ending in one of pain and terror as a fireball exploded on his chest.

Before he could search for the source of this flaming missle, Ratdragon was struck with flames as the projectile burst on Tasuli, singing his clothing and leaving a charred streak across his cheek.

Quickly putting his clothes out, the elf leaped from his crouched position on the ground. Holding his injured arm to his side, the elf gasped at the pain, but he needed to stop Tasuli before he hurt himself. As the half-elf ran by, Ratdragon tried to tackle him, screaming "Tasuli! You're only fanning the flames! Stay still." And with that, the elf attempted to smother the flames with the remnants of the duke's clothes.

Luca's eyes widened with horror as Tasuli charged her with his sword raised high. Stopped dead in her tracks, the half-elf tried to backpeddle away from the obviously mentally disturbed duke, only to run into Elendilwyn behind her. Cursing, the thief half-turned in the effort to get both her and and the other girl out of the way, only to be afronted by a blinding light and a flash of heat.

Shutting her eyes in panic, Luca shoved the younger half-elf to the ground and turned her back on the fire, attempting to shield her face with a raised arm. Closest in proximitiy to the flame other than Tasuli himself, Luca felt it's heat even through Ratdragon's charity cloak from the night before and a sweat beaded on the back of her neck. Her free hand flew to the amulet about her neck, subconsciously praying for her friend to come to her.

Then it was gone. Blinking, Luca looked up and around only to see Tasuli tearing down the road in a fit of panic, flames coiling off his body in whisps as he dashed about like a madman. Stunned, she looked down, examining her person. The cloak was mildy scorched and a few hairs on the back of her head curled and kinked from the heat, but otherwise, the half-elf was fine.

At first there was embarassment, though it seemed most people's attention had been turned to the flaming fool of a nobleman, and then anger. Luca considered beating Tasuli into submission for the trouble he had put her through, but even now the half-elf feared retribution from dark mage that had approached her that morning.

Turning to Elen, Luca ran a hand through her hair and said, "The little one is out cold on the stones. If you're feelin' okay yourself, I'd figure he could use a hand."

What Elen did not foresee was that the Duke should attempt to kill Luca. She was horrified and wanted to pull Luca away except that Luca reacted first and ran straight into her and subsequently shoving her to the ground.

Then there was fire.

She wanted to scream but her voice got stuck in her throat from fear. She felt the heat but was not badly injured by it—perhaps just a few sores on her arm that was used to shield her face which will probably be fine once run under cold water—being pushed in time by Luca.

She nodded at Luca’s statement and then proceeded to pick herself up, her legs a little unstable from the sudden fall in an awkward position. She saw that the hobbit had fallen unconscious as Luca had said but at the same time, she saw the Duke running in circles, his clothes on fire. She was horrified and stood there staring blankly for a moment. Then she remembered the hobbit could put out fire.

“Quick, we have to wake the hobbit. He can put out the fire that is burning the Duke’s clothes.”

---

Thumbs hooked casually over her belt, Luca looked Elen over as she steadied herself on legs of the less than favorable type. The half-elf, Luca reckoned, wasn't far too much younger than herself, yet she was oh so different in a naive kind of way. It was cute, the thief thought, nodding a little in response to Elen, though more to herself than anything, despite the trouble it probably has and will get the girl in in the future.

Without so much as another word, the thief took off at a nonchalant canter to the hobbit, people of the crowd still eyeing her warily, and squatted down at Yarg's unconscious form. Her nimble hands worked quickly and discretely before Elendilwyn followed her, moving him about and laying him spread-eagle on the cool cobbles. Fingers poking and prodding suitable places, the half-elf subtley searched the hairy man's body for anything of value.

And when was it last that you met a hobbit with much of anything worth more than a toll on him?

The half-elf was startled as the familiar female voice swam through her mind, jumping slightly. Brows coming together in annoyance, her eyes scanned the sky and nearby rooftops to catch a glimpse of the bird she had forgotten she had summoned in her moment of panic. Her mouth moved as she snapped back, sharp words leaving her mind only to be heard by the dark winged figure perched casually on the rooftop behind Luca. Yet, as she spoke, the thief's eyes rose to the sky in search of her friend, giving the appearance of her praying to the gods for some kind of hasty miracle...

Luca's response to things around her was faster than Elen imagined herself ever to able to be. She had already laid the hobbit out and was helping him--or at least that was what it seemed as she had no idea how "helping" someone wounded by magic was supposed to look like. Elen walked over and knelt next to Luca, watching and waiting to see what happens.  

---

A grunt escaped his lips as Tasul’i was tackled by the elf, his back slamming against the cobblestones still damp from the previous night’s rain. Curling into a ball, soft sobs shook his slight frame as the elf beat out the fire with the tattered remains of his tunic. Once the fire was out and the elf ceased his assault, Tasul’i seemed to regain his composure as he slowly sat up. Furiously he glared at Ratdragon, his hand reaching for his hip where his sword should reside. Upon realizing its absence, he scowled and stood, promising himself that the elf would be punished on a later date for daring to touch him.

Filled with purpose were his strides as he walked to where his sword now lay. After placing the sword upon his belt once more, he glanced about at the strangers meant to accompany him, taking in their haggard appearances after being struck by flames, the condition of his own clothes seeming to escape his notice. Most seemed to yet be fit enough to journey forth from the city, yet there was no doubt that Malik would never again wield his sword. Walking over to the Kuglimz mercenary, he roughly stomped on the man’s fingers, the ensuing scream confirming his conclusions. As he crouched down to peer into Malik’s face, his slender fingers grasped the other man by the chin as he maliciously whispered.

“You are not fit to accompany me. Crawl back to my mother, filth, and tell her of your failure. I have no further use for you.”

Without another word to the mercenary, he stood and walked to where the hobbit lay. Not even seeming to notice the two females, he viciously aimed a kick toward the ribs of the halfling. His voice was harsh and filled with rage as it emanated from his lips.

“Awake, foul mage. You have much to answer for.”

Malik

After screaming from the blinding pain within his burnt fingers as they were stepped on, he stoically listened to the Duke. Silently he watched the Duke stride away as several thoughts whirled through his mind. Despite harboring an intense dislike of the boy, he could not deny the truth of his words. A glance at his sword arm revealed the flesh to be blackened and beginning to bubble, and his crooked fingers surely would not be able to grasp the hilt of his sword. With a grunt, he used his uninjured arm to steady himself as he stood, shaking his head at the Duke’s apparent disregard for the pain of others. Someone was needed to replace him, someone with a similar strength and size. Remembering the large man stumbling forth from the tavern earlier, Malik walked over to him, holding his injured arm awkwardly across his chest. His azure gaze roamed the man’s body as the mercenary sized him up, perceiving potential beneath the exterior of drunkenness. Anyone possessing such size must have Kuglimz blood flowing through his veins, and Malik believed that he could trust someone descended from his people despite having left his homeland years ago.

“Hail, warrior. The blood of my people flows through your veins, gracing you with an honor beyond that of these southerners. As you can see, I am no longer capable of performing my tasks as a mercenary. Would you be willing to accompany the Duke and his strange companions as protection? Name your price, ask and ye shall receive.”

Bahran looked on the ensuing commotion with lackluster enthusiasm. He had seen it all before, or at least something similar. Maybe he had never seen a hobbit absorb fire and spit it out his fingers, and maybe he had never seen a lover's quarrel between a couple of half-elves, and maybe he'd never seen an elf tackle a half-elf. Actually, maybe he had never seen anything else like what he had just seen, but his enthusiasm was lackluster nonetheless.

The big man was slightly startled when the man of comparable height appeared in his peripheral vision. The proposition the man offered was not unappetizing to the mercenary.

“Aye, I'm more 'an willin' to protect this Duke and these compan'ins uh his,” Bahran offered, careful not to mention the price just yet. “Now, who are this 'Duke' and his companions?”  

_____________

"Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication."
- Lord Byron

Luca leaned back on her heels and rested her forearms across her knees in thought, looking the hobbit over. He was pretty unconscious, and the half-elf had seen many a man drift off to dreamland whether via exhaustion, intoxication or exposure to things of an overly savory or not-so matter. She looked to Elen, hoping perhaps the other half-elf had any idea what to do, though she could figure from the girl's expression that she was just about a lost as her.

Luca's first aid oriented thoughts were dismissed however, as there was a flurry of movement, a rush of air near her face and a feather floating slowly down in front of her. Pick, dark crimson wings outstretched, was strutting up Yarg's belly and bobbing her head towards the little man's face. Her beak pecked and prodded none-too-gently at the mage's hair and cheek. Luca's face dropped in dismay as she watched her little friend go about her own attempt at waking up the hobbit.

Before she could berate the eagle, Luca caught an unfortunately familiar swagger out of the corner of her eye and turned just in time to spot Tasuli about to give the hairy mage a wake up call of his own. In all honestly, the half-elf really couldn't care less if he kicked Yarg, but she wasn't exactly keen on nursing a broken wing attached to a whining fowl.

In one smooth movement, the thief scooted back on the balls of her feet and stood, her hips bumping just lightly enough to unbalance Tasuli and put off his footing.

Edited by: Luca the Thief at: 2/20/06 2:24

Malik

Sighing in relief as the man agreed to accompany the Duke, Malik turned to leave as the second statement reached his ears. At first his eyes widened in shock at the thought of someone not being able to recognize the Duke yet, after a glance around, he began to chuckle softly. It was no wonder that a stranger did not recognize this motley crew as a noble and his entourage as their once fine clothing was now burnt and a few such as himself were injured from the flames. As usual, Tasul'i was not behaving as was proper for a man of his upbringing and certainly was not what one expected when meeting a Duke.

"Aye, I can understand thy confusion. The Duke is not at his best right now. The youngster with flaming locks is the young noble, do not judge him by the condition of his clothes. His companions include the elf with the strange hair, the fiesty thief inspecting yonder halfling, and the docile maid standing by her."

Tasul'i

As his foot descended toward its intended victim, the thief crouching nearby stood in a way to nudge him with her hips, enough that his kick went wide and missed the halfling entirely. Regaining his balance, the young noble glared at the woman foolish enough to intervene. Not only did she dare to yet again touch his royal person, she also protected the wee one from his wrath. For such insolence, she deserved nothing less than a few months in the dungeon yet without guards nearby to assist him, Tasul'i was forced to punish her himself.

"Filthy whore! If your desire to touch me is so great, then I shall touch you in every way possible. One such as yourself should be accustomed to grunting beneath a man of wealth."

Stepping toward the thief, he reached out to wrap his arms around her waist, intending to throw her to the cobblestones and force himself upon her. It mattered not that his foul deed would have an audience as his anger was focused solely upon the half elf.

Luca relaxed her legs to bend at the knees and dug the balls of her feet into the pavement, resisting Tasuli's advance without making too much of a struggle. Her eyes were wide, though her lower lids were tense with irritation. The boy was crossing line after line and the half-elf's patience was falling thin.

"Filthy whore! If your desire to touch me is so great, then I shall touch you in every way possible. One such as yourself should be accustomed to grunting beneath a man of wealth."

There was a pause and Luca's eyes narrowed dangerously to a point that even Pick's attention was pulled for a moment, the crimson eagle ceasing in it's botheration of Yarg and looking up at Luca in concern. And then she laughed.

Luca's pink lips curled cruelly at the tips in a malicious smirk, a slight chortle escaping her. The smile persued as a rich peeling laugh rippled from her throat, Luca forgetting about Tasuli's aggression in her mirth. "Y-you... you!?" she could barely manage, pressing a hand to his chest and giving the duke a little shove backwards. "Go and play with your toys, boy... you're no man. You're a child! A plaything not near worth my time. Get on, you've places to go," Luca said, cocking her head to the side and leaning in on him as the half-elf put him down, "Mayhaps the day you lay with a real woman, and even one of questionable taste, as it may seem, you'll learn what it's like to be this 'man of wealth' you so aspire to be. Until then, boy, you are no greater than a lass half your age." Her convultions had stopped and Luca's brows had come together with a stern examination of the half-elf before her, dripping with a tone so serious it made her last words cut.

As the thief’s words reached his ears, Tasul’i flushed a deeper shade of crimson with each passing moment, his lips curling into a grimace. Rage faded into embarrassment as the half elf easily evaded his advances. Stumbling backward from the shove, he scowled as he was humbled before the commoners. For a moment, the thought of vengeance lurked within his mind, yet he feared more humiliation, not wishing to appear any more foolish than he already did. Revenge would have to wait a while longer until he was alone with the thief and sure of his success. Even he did not know the form his revenge would take, unable to predict his own thoughts and actions.

Accepting the humiliation for now, he turned from the half elf, cursing under his breath so that she would not hear him. Never would he admit it to himself, but he found himself fearing the lash of her tongue as it cut deeply into the mind of one already insecure. Before stalking away in shame, one final act of rebellion occurred to him. Pushing past the thief, he approached the halfling mage once more, pausing by his side as the Duke spit into his face, once again acting with manners less than proper for one of his upbringing.

Striding with purpose through the crowd, not seeming to notice as the crowd parted before him, Tasul’i stalked off in the direction in which his horse had fled. Once again, he did not pause to call out to his companions or ascertain that they were following him. The condition of the shops and houses slowly worsened, wooden homes becoming more common than those of stone, as he approached the outskirts of the city.

Luca ran her fingers through her hair as Tasuli seemed to move to go off, taking a deep breath and pulling up her shoulders, letting it all go slowly in a heavy sigh. Only then did the duke turn back around and spit in the mage's face. The half-elf couldn't help but roll her eyes at his immature behavior, and watched him stalk off with disdain. Normally, she would have left him but given his state of mind, not that she was certain of any given state remaining the same for very long anymore, the last thing Luca needed was the boy getting himself into trouble and having her head on a pike because of it.

Silently shooing her eagle away, Luca tucked her lower lip under her teeth and whistled hard. Gert, who had wandered off some time ago to gnash quietly on somebody's shutter-side daisies, shook her nose about before tottering off to her new owner. A lonely looking and half-digested flower hanging from the horse's heavy lips, Luca went over to Yarg and looked down on the comatose mage.

"Up up, time for class," she yelled into his face, a gob of viscous saliva wriggling down one side of his nose. When she recieved no answer, the half-elf grabbed Yarg by the shirt and with a heave and an unladylike grunt, threw him over her horse's back like a sack of potatoes.

"Don't know about y'all," she said, pulling herself up behind the little man and addressing the few others in the crowd that she recognized, her eyes lingering on Elen as the one she recognized the most, "But best I get on after that brat than he go about stepping on the toes of the big boys who play rough."

Elen watched big eyed and pale faced, wringing her hands in her lap as she stood to the side and the half-elf dealt with the duke. The noble's response was less than savory, and she watched the boy's back as he pushed off through the crowd. Turning away, the half-elf spotted Luca getting onto her steed, the hobbit already sprawled over the off-white mare's back. She nodded quietly, the woman she had tried to help the night prior making a good point. Elendilwyn's splendid mare was standing demurely in the sun, patiently waiting as her owner came up and crawled up on top. Kicking off, the two half-elven women slowly started off after the duke.

Edited by: Luca the Thief at: 2/27/06 7:09

"Ah, I can see it now, the nobility..." Bahran paused, he had heard something similar before, the nobility in... his... eyes? Yes eyes, the big man thought to himself. "In his eyes. Yes, the nobility is in his eyes," he finished the sentence, looking about, hoping that it seemed like he knew what he was talking about.

The episode between the "feisty thief" and the so-called "duke" played out before Bahran, worrying him slightly. The big man tried to compose his thoughts, and by the time he had finished the lad had wandered off and the thief was riding after him with the hobbit.

He had started to chug along after them, but soon realized he wasn't in shape to be running after a cow, let alone a horse. Bahran turned to the man who had hired him and awkwardly asked, "Uh... I have no horse." He hoped the man understood this was a question and not a statement.

Malik

Wincing from the pain in his burnt arm, Malik waited patiently for the man to compose his thoughts, noting how slow in the mind he seemed to be. As he had hired the man for his great size and muscle, a lack of intelligence did not concern him. Nodding to himself as the man turned to leave, the mercenary turned to do the same as the request for a horse reached his ears. Turning back to face Bahran, he silently inspected the giant, sighing to himself as he realized that only one horse possessed the strength to carry his great weight. Never before had Malik been parted from his horse, the stallion living up to his name in various battles, and even the thought of parting was enough to sadden the otherwise stoic warrior.

With a shrill whistle he summoned Mystrume Geinar, taking the reins in one hand as the great stallion approached. Slowly he extended his arm to give the reins to Bahran, making sure that the horse’s gaze was upon him. Trained to kick and bite anyone foolhardy enough to attempt to steal him, it was indeed necessary for Bahran to receive the reins from the stallion’s former master.

“His name is Mystrume Geinar, meaning “Battle Brother” in my native tongue. Whether or not you are a full-blooded Kuglim I do not know, yet you have the look of my people. Thus I trust you to ward the stallion with your life as he will do the same for you.”

With a final pat upon the horse’s haunch, Malik turned in the direction from which they had come, disappearing into the crowd as he slowly walked back to the castle. Only one worry remained upon his mind: whether or not the Duchess would agree that his substitute was suitable to guard her son.

Bahran took the stallion's reins and looked at the horse. He nodded at the beast of an animal as he listened to the man's words.

"Aye, I will look after him," the big man replied as the fellow giant disappeared into the crowd. "Well, Brother, it's just you and me now," he said, turning to the horse.

Bahran led the horse to the side a little and mounted it with the skill that is to be expected of a man of his size and weight. After the ordeal that was Bahran getting on his mount, the big man prodded the horse along after the duke and his female entourage.  

_____________

"Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication."
- Lord Byron

After leaving the scene of the smoldering ruin and the shame of having been humiliated by a mere thief, Tasul'i strode along the cobbled streets, his haughty stare threatening any that dared to speak to him. Anger burned within his eyes as he noticed his stallion idly chewing grass that grew through the cracks of the cobblestones. His anger was apparent as he approached his steed, roughly grabbing the reins. After swinging into the saddle and a swift kick to the horse's sides, the young noble rode off toward the city gates.

The gates were closed as he approached, not yet open for the day's traffic. Sleeping soundly next to the gate were two guards, both with their helms tipped over their eyes to block the light of the morning sun. Upon hearing approaching hooves, one sleepily arose and called out.

"Halt! None may pass through the gates at this hour. Turn back and return when the sun is higher in the sky."

The words of the guard were not received well by Tasul'i, his face reddening with anger. Already rage consumed his mind, remembering the actions and deeds of the slutty thief. Riding Rowan to where the guard stood, the noble leaned down, hardly blinking as he roughly kicked the foolish guard in the throat as it was not protected by his armor.

"Fool! Who are you to say when I leave this city? Obey your Duke and open this gate!"

Without another word, the guard collapsed to his knees, coughly loudly and spitting blood onto the front of his tunic, both hands at his throat. Awaking at the noise, the second guard glanced from his partner to the Duke, impatiently waiting for the gate to be opened. Knowing better than to question the Duke, as he had indeed recognized him, the guard stood, hurriedly rushing to open the gate.

Without another glance at the guards or to his companions which were surely following, Tasul'i rode through the gates and left the city of his birth for the first time in his short yet violent life. Thoughts of how he would surive without a plethora of servants to serve him did not occur to his twisted mind, as it was not in his nature to plan ahead. Nor did he worry over interacting with strangers, expecting them to show him the respect he deserved as a noble. That anyone could do anything but faithfully serve him was a concept so foolish it was not worthy of consideration.

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 3/17/06 22:41

Ratdragon returns the duke's malevolent gaze, promising equal punishment. As the duke left, the elf payed little attention to the rest of his companions.

His wounded arm was making him dizzy, a testament to his low endurance. Holding his arm akwardly across his chest, Ratdragon mounts his serpent. Nudging it softly in the flanks, he held his head down and let Rip-Fang follow the others.

Luca followed the duke through the city, keeping a decent twenty peds between the two of them. She was not the kind who would raise her head high riding next to such a vile man. It was as she watched silently the display before her at the gates that the half-elf came to the realization of what an ordeal it would truly be to take care of this brat. He would bicker and whine more than any toddler, and the unfortunate fact of the matter was that he was rich and he did possess power. True enough as that may be, however, Luca knew all too well how such ranks were thrown to the wind outside his own jurisdiction. She only prayed that Tasuli would come to that realization in a more kind way so that she may still claim to be have a head to her shoulders after his father had dealt with her.

Once the duke had departed from the gates, the thief kicked at Gert's sides and rode the mare to catch up with him. She threw a pleading gaze to the unharmed guard, flicking her eyes only momentarily to the downed fellow. "A shame about that... truly," she muttered without enthusiasm or sincerity, clicking her tongue and pressing the mottled mare forward, the comatose hobbit bouncing against her knees.

"You can't do that, you know" she said coldly, riding up alongside Tasuli and staring at his profile, brows together in annoyance. It was a queer look on Luca's face, the seriousness out of place among freckles and a rich blush to her cheeks, the pouty rose lips befitting a teen and the way she squinted one eye against the sun.

Without awaiting his response, Luca tugged at Gert's mane, pulling the mare back to ride alongside the next in their small procession.

As far as Elen is concerned, she really could not care less for all this childish display of temper, as long as it did not readily inflict harm onto the people around her and herself of course. She probably cared less about the petty Duke than Luca did, who seemed, for all her display of independence and wilfulness, to be a really soft-hearted person inside—at least that was what it seemed to be in a warped sort of way.

Luca had gone on ahead and Elen followed behind though not too closely, the gap widening at each passing moment. Fast-riding was not her cup of tea and since she was not the last in the group, she was definitely not going to ride any faster—one must be crazy to want to be in close proximity with the Duke—and in any case, she was keeping a comfortable pace, unlike the reckless two ahead of her.

She saw Luca riding up close to the Duke in the distance but she soon fell back and was riding alongside. The initial tension soon melted into a comfortable silence, punctuated only the beats of hoofs. Elen turned to Luca and asked, “what did you say to him? I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble.”

---

“what did you say to him? I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble.”

Luca turned to Elen and shrugged slightly. "I simply explained to him quite simply that he can't be going about being such a brat for much more longer, and that's that. Tis a simple fact, truly, kiddo. He's going to get his rich little self in trouble sooner or letter, I'm telling you that."

Silence greeted the senses as the party rode forth from the city, the Duke several peds ahead of the rest at all times as it would not be proper for a man of his status to be seen with such peasants. Indeed, if it were not for the manipulations of his mother, he would now be surrounded by armored guards instead of these scoundrels. An occasional glare from the Duke was enough to ensure they understood their place and did not attempt to approach him, for only a fool would incite his rage.

As the hours passed, the fog faded as the sun exerted its might, bathing the world in its golden glow. Reining Rowan to a halt at a gently flowing brook, Tasul’i gazed upon the water, his eyes following it to its source, the nearby river. Crossing the river was a bridge, crafted of brick and wide enough for two riders to pass abreast. The roar of the river was audible even from a distance, rushing past the bridge’s supports, seeming to challenge them, defying their right to stand upon the river bed. Seeming to have sprouted up around the bridge itself was a town too large to deserve the name village and not yet great enough to be a city.

Dismounting, Tasul’i led the roan stallion to the stream, allowing the horse to drink as the Duke impatiently waited for the others, his disgust for them clearly expressed upon his face. As they neared, he began to remove the tattered remains of his clothes, casually tossing them to one side, finally standing in only a breechcloth. Lean muscles coiled beneath pale skin, unblemished even after the fire. His voice was harsh and commanding as he called out to those he deemed less even than servants.

“You, maid! The foul stench of smoke needs to be cleansed from me, and since I lack the proper servants in this wilderness, it is your duty to bathe me. Various bathing oils are in my saddlebags, take them and wait for me by the stream.” His gaze turned to Luca, his scowl deepening as he looked upon her. “I doubt such a criminal possesses any useful skills, so the task of cleaning my clothes falls to you. Even one of your dubious talents can manage that much.” Turning to the elf, somewhat of a mischievous glint could be seen in his eyes. “Elf! Start a fire and prepare my dinner. I expect a meal as succulent as any I could have in the castle. If a fire is beyond your skills to create, then I suggest waking the halfling.” A measure of fear could be seen in his emerald eyes as they turned to the giant. “There are no tasks which require your strength, and I doubt one such as yourself can perform tasks with anything that remotely resembles delicacy.”

Turning his back to the group, Tasul’i stalked off in the direction of the stream, assuming that all would act as they were commanded without question.  

Luca thoughts had long disbanded from the relevant and she was innocently watching the clouds as they drifted lethargically across the sky in whispy watercolor streaks, her trunk bouncing with the lazy duhk clop of her horse's heavy strides. The hobbit was still strewn at her thighs, and Luca was not so ignorant not to realize the discomfort he would be in when he awoke.

Suddenly, she was startled back to alertness by Tasuli's unfortunately familiar bark. And, as Luca's eyes rose to him, she was greeted with a pleasantly new and unfamiliar sight. Despite his age, the young noble's body was toned, honed and without a doubt a grateful exchange for the usual sweating, aged and practical burl of city men. A sly smile had found it's way on Luca's slight pink lips as she released Gert's mane, who promptly dipped her head to nibble at the grass. Keeping a firm hand on Yarg's back to keep him from rolling straight on into the mud, Luca nodded in Tasuli's direction, pointing with her lips like a full-handed merchant.

"Tcha, knowing me your clothes would be ages downstream before I had my hands on the soap," she replied, still smiling, "Though... I'm no novice in the service of rubbing, scrubbing and... being helpful." A ripple of devious laughter erupted from her lips as Luca stretched and hopped from Gert's back, who promptly lurched forward (once again nearly toppling the poor comatose hobbit straight from her back) and drank heartily from the stream. The half-elf clapped Gert on the side and then dusted off her hands on her skirt, biting her tongue and grinning as she continued to tease Tasuli. "Well then, boyo... ready to go?"

Elen nodded at Luca’s answer, though it isn’t as if the Duke had not already gotten himself into trouble—more trouble—not a welcomed thought. The trot of her horse fell into comfortable pace and she was quite content to let silence take precedence but as usual, that was not to be.

“You, maid! The foul stench of smoke needs to be cleansed from me, and since I lack the proper servants in this wilderness, it is your duty to bathe me. Various bathing oils are in my saddlebags, take them and wait for me by the stream.”

She was momentarily miffed at that interruption of her thoughts and the way he addressed everyone, but the reality of the Duke’s command sank in and she saw him by the stream. Her face turned a slight pink as she saw him in his nakedness, covered only by a cloth… bathing females was nothing new but bathing males? She had to admit that he had a good body but the job that had just been assigned to her was still out of everything that she was comfortable with. She led her horse to the stream and got off gently, allowing her horse to take its well-deserved drink. She on the other hand hesitantly made her way to Tasul’i’s stallion and looked for the bathing oils in the saddlebags. She found three bottles and took them to the Duke for his selection, growing increasingly nervous as she made her way closer to him—her dress was a problem, bathing him in the stream meant that she was going to get wet and she only had a minimal change of clothes in her own saddlebags.  

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

A scowl formed upon his face as the thief spoke, accompanied by a blush as she mentioned rubbing, the sexual innuendo not being lost upon him. Turning to face her, the scowl became a sly smile as hunger burned within his eyes. Not for sustenance for his mortal form did he hunger, instead desiring her delectable flesh. His gaze roamed the contours of her young, trim form, basking in her beauty, taking note of every seductive curve and focusing especially upon her curvaceous hips. The flames of desire burned within his mind, consuming all other thoughts, focusing him solely upon the object of his desire.

Taking the bottles of bathing oil from the maid without seeming to notice her, randomly choosing one and returning the remaining two to her, Tasul’i strode toward the feisty thief, leaning in as he placed the bottle in her hands, clasping his own larger, stronger hands over hers as he leaned in, whispering softly into her ear, “You’ll need this.”

Releasing her hands, he turned back toward the stream, the muscles of his legs being clearly defined as he sauntered toward it. Before stepping into the stream, he looked over his shoulder at the maid, calling to her in a more civil tone than he was accustomed to, “To you falls the task of washing my clothes, perhaps you are more familiar with their care than Luca.”

As he stepped into the stream, he casually removed the breechcloth, tossing it onto the pile of his tattered clothes, offering the others a view of his pale derriere before his waist sank beneath the water. The stream rushed over his nude body, swirling around him as he turned, his emerald gaze focusing upon Luca, becoming mesmerized by her soft brown eyes, falling forever within their depths.  

Ratdragon was oblivious to his surroundings, keeping his eyes closed as he held his injured arm close to his body. Unfortunately, the voice of Tasuli invaded his mind, causing him to snap out of his reverie. Glaring at the duke, he didn't miss the mischevious gleam in the half-elf's eyes.

Cook a meal? Having never been a cook even with two good arms, the elf knew this was a futile task. Snarling, Ratdragon leaped off his serpent. Unslinging his bow from his shoulders, the elf stalked off to find something to hunt, whistling shrilly for his eagle. His cape swinging behind him, the elf grimaced as he realized the wound prevented him from getting a firm grasp on his weapon.

------------------
Swift Death to All Who Oppose Me!

 RatDragon

The Duke clearly had no respect for anyone, grabbing the bottles of oil and then dumping—yes, dumping is the word—what he did not want back to her, without even looking or acknowledging her presence—what am I? A slave or worse still, non-human that I should be so disdained?—she waited till he turned his back on her and then lifted her pretty nose while turning around to walk back to the horse to place the remaining two bottles back in the saddlebag.

She then picked the soiled clothes that were lying on the ground, extremely pleased that she could get away from his detestable person and even more pleased that Luca is going to tend to him, knowing full-well that Luca is definitely going to give him a run for his money. With these thoughts in her mind, she walked with his clothes further downstream and started rinsing them and then scrubbing them with some smooth stones... a little harder than she intended to, largely to vent her annoyance.  

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

Luca remained stoic as the duke approached her and clasped her hands, swallowing the flood of foul words that bubbled to mind. He was serious. He really truly thought that the half-elf would have the slightest to do with him and his body, regardless of it's physical appeal. Luca couldn't help but detest him with every fibre of her being, and at the same time, pitied his naivity and foolishness of taking her jabs to heart. The moment Tasuli turned her back to her, Luca snapped her gaze to Elen, her eyes wide with mock alarm and disbeleif, her lips pulled tight into a poorly checked smile as she flushed with the effort of holding back laughter.

Now what!? her eyes cried to the female counterpart, but Luca was forced to quickly remedy her moment of loss of control as Tasuli, in all his nude glory, had once again turned to face her. The half-elf sighed, tossing back her head to knock the hair from her eyes, gripping the vial of oil. Without much effort, she kicked off her boots and waded into the swirling, chilled river to her thighs, just below the hem of her short skirt, and looked Tasuli over.

"Do you expect me to get me clothes all wet for you, fellow?" she asked as calmly as possible, though her familiar sarcastic twang could not escape her voice, and the words fell from her lips with an unintentionally teasing suggestion.

A blush spread across his cheeks, deepening in hue as the young Duke gazed down at his nude body, seeming to suddenly become embarrassed. Sinking lower into the stream, the water rising to his neck, he bashfully glanced at Luca before looking away once more. At the thought of her hands roaming his naked body, rubbing and caressing, the blush spread to encompass his neck and shoulders. Shyly biting down on his lower lip, he crossed his arms across his chest as though the water alone was not enough to conceal his nudity. Whispering softly, he glanced up at her once again. “Erm... I’m sure I could bathe myself. I never have before, but I’ve watched my servants do it often enough.”

The blush faded as lust burned within his gaze. His gaze focused upon her shapely legs as the water swirled around them, his gaze moving upward to her skirt as his lust consumed mind pondered the feminine mysteries hidden beneath it. Eyes roaming her curvaceous hips, a sly smile crossed his lips. Standing in the stream as the water flowed around his waist, his lower parts yet concealed, he began to slowly walk toward her, every step revealing slightly more of his nude form as the water became more shallow. Tones of confidence and lust resonated within his voice as he spoke once more. “Afraid of getting wet are ya? Well, you’ll just have to learn to like the water.”

As he neared the girl, the muscles of his well toned legs contracted and released as he leapt, his arms spread wide to wrap around her and bear her to the riverbed beneath him. Once again, he sought that which she would not give freely.  

“Afraid of getting wet are ya? Well, you’ll just have to learn to like the water.”

Luca wasn't quite sure if she was amused by this poor boy or simply pitied him. Whatever she felt, it was far from intimidation. Though he was taller than her (and even then, he didn't prove to be an especially imposing specimen) and was, clearly, more physically able, Luca was not a novice when it came to dealing with touchy-feely leches.

Tasuli eagerly thrust himself upon her, but Luca had been keen enough to shift her weight to the side over so slightly without his observation. Though her timing was slightly off (she blamed this on her pesky widening hips, figuring that men were becoming increasingly less attracted to her with every coming day and thus less inclined to rape her, distressing the young woman considerably) the half-elf managed to use Tasuli's hasty attitude against him. Hauling to the side, she rolled the duke past her and twisted him about, pushing him backwards into the muddy, sloshing banks of the river. Unfortunately, due to a mild miscalculation, the thief too pitched forward into the soggy depths, landing roughly atop her aggressor and pinning him down... and under the water.

Spluttering as he was forced beneath the water, Tasul’i nevertheless kicked his legs, vainly struggling. Darkness enshrouded his vision as his head sank beneath the rushing water. Frantically reaching up, his hands clawed at the clothes of his former victim, scrambling to grasp anything by which to pull himself up, succeeding only in pulling her down into the muddy waters with him. Rolling over, he dislodged Luca from her position astride him, thereby dumping her into the river as he stood, crimson locks plastered to his scalp and pale skin glistening in the sunlight. A scowl twisted his lips as he balefully glared down at the thief, emerald eyes ablaze with rage. Reaching down, his fingers maliciously entangled in her hair as he lifted her by it, lifting her to her feet as he stared into her dark eyes.

“Did thou not just make an attempt upon my life? A crime of such magnitude is punishable by death, but perhaps I shall make an exception for such a pretty toy as thou.” Pulling her close, Tasul’i roughly kissed her on the lips as his hand tilted her chin upward, the other hand yet entangled in her hair. Ending the kiss as suddenly as it had begun, he shoved her down, pushing her beneath the water, using his grip upon her hair to hold her there. A cruel smile crossed his face that failed to reach his eyes.  

Slowly, darkness faded into clarity. Taking a quick survey of his surroundings, Yarg realized things were very much different than he last remembered. For one thing, they ground was not shaped remarkably like a horse. Jolting out of his awakening stupor, Yarg bolts up, causing his body to dislike its position on top of the horse and promptly deciding to fall off with an 'oomph'.

Getting up and dusting himself off, Yarg once again tries to figure out where he is and what is going on. Glancing around, he sees people in the river including the violent man from before. He was holding something underwater with a particularly grumpy look on his face. Confused, Yarg stares at this situation until he sees a leg flailing from out of the water. This boy was holding a person underwater! Why is he so violent!?

Armed with his anger, yarg marches right up to and into the river, walking up to the nude man and, the water up to his waist, scolds him fiercely.

You listen here, young man! What is your problem? Are you not intelligent enough to control that little temper of yours? Why can't you just calm down and stop hurting people? Look at that poor girl there, Yarg gestures at the suffocating Luca, Are you honestly evil and stupid enough to want to hurt her? You need to learn to grow up.

Whenever I see a Fire, I try to put it out. 'Cept unlike the usual methods, I use OIL!!

- Yarg

She could have bitten his lips right off his pretty little face.

Luca should have expected a violent response, but the pain on her scalp came without warning and as she resurfaced from the water, the half-elf let out a shrill, curt cry, clenching her jaw. Face flushed with rage, the thief's eyes burned lividly with a fiery spirit, now intense with loathing.

It was only when his despicable lips touched hers that Luca realized just what she felt for him. She hated this boy. She hated him in so many ways. In a vain attempt to escape Tasuli, Luca writhed violently to the side despite his grasp on her hair, only to be recieved with another icy plunge into the water. He was a man, and that made him strong, far stronger in her prone position for Luca to have any ability to escape on her own. Her head collided with a rock on the shore and the pain erupted like a burst bubble all across her scalp. Attempting to shout out, Luca lost her air in a plume of bubbles and continued to struggle, legs flailing in an attempt to catch him a tender spot.

Long, unbearable seconds passed and Luca's lungs burned whilst the cut on her temple bled as a thin mist into the moving current. Heart pumping, consciousness would not grace her for much longer if she remained underwater. Luca opened her eyes and looked up as she thrashed, with less enthusiasm now. The sun filtering through the dirty water nearly blinded her, but she saw a glimmer of orange and red standing not far from where she was being held.

Red. A sash. A boy. My brother... she thought absently, memory of another savior temporarily brushing the pain of her lungs, eyes and head from her mind. But as the nostalgia followed it's course, as did the more unpleasant memories, and without remembering that she was underwater, Luca gasped for air.

If only there were compassion within his heart, then perhaps the young duke would grant this pathetic creature mercy and not prolong her torment. Yet to pity others was to be weak, and weakness was a luxury of the common man, not nobility. Never again would Tasul’i trust the good intentions of others, to do so would lead to betrayal as it had in the past. Nor did he dare trust himself, for tempting whispers resounded within the darkest recesses of his mind, luring him to commit deeds even he found atrocious. Temptation was the demon that haunted him most, one to which he often succumbed.

Gazing about with the shock of one freshly awoken, as if viewing the scene before him for the first time, Tasul’i blinked, shaking his head as if to the clear the cobwebs. Slowly his grip on the comatose thief loosened, releasing her body to settle within the murky waters. Lifting both hands before his eyes, he stood, dumbfounded as he gazed upon the instruments with which he had inflicted such agony. What madness possessed him that he had to harm others to sate his dark lusts? No one deserved to be the victim of such senseless rage, least of all a member of the fairer gender. As he glanced down at the stream as it flowed around his legs, his own reflection caught his attention, eyes alight with insanity. How he hated those eyes, unblinking as they stared back at him. With a self loathing, he raised his hands to his face, bestially snarling as his nails raked his pale flesh, miraculously avoiding his eyes by chance or subconscious design. Blood flowed freely from the scratches upon his face. As if the pain could alleviate his guilt, his hands descended, clawing at his torso and arms. Crying out savagely, Tasul’i threw himself down, landing toward the middle of the stream, shoulders scraping against sharp rocks. As he sat up, blood mingling with the murky waters of the stream, vehement whispers could be heard by those near him.

“Murderous fool! What right does thou have to life as his corpse lies beneath the earth? Thou deserves death. Only when the worms consume thy rotten flesh will justice be served. Just lie down within this stream as the water flows over thou, coaxing thou into an eternal slumber. Never again would thou experience doubt, pain, or the desires that haunt thou so. Nor would thou ever harm another creature again. Grant thyself mercy and end this pitiful existence.” Falling silent, he began to lie back, eyes closing as the water flowed over his scratched face, at peace for the first time in his life.

One last sight remained upon his mind, one he saw even with his eyes closed, burned upon his memory as it was. It was of the halfling, standing within the stream, eyes silently accusing. Tasul’i remembered watching the lips of the wee one move, yet if he spoke then the noble could not recall the words. Yet one memory of the halfling remained vivid. Even immersed in water, he could feel the flames, consuming the fabric of his tunic, maliciously seeking to taste his flesh.

Bolting upright, his eyes snapped open, gazing upon the halfling with undeniable fear. Slowly he scooted backward in the stream, gaze ever focused upon the diminutive form of the halfling, not halting until his hind end sat within the shallows of the far shore. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, as if the stream could protect him from the fire mage as it would ordinary flames. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the blood yet evident upon his face, as he rocked back and forth, arms wrapped around his knees, gaze yet intent upon the halfling.  

Elen was further downstream, away from the rest of the group, far enough to only realize what was going on with the Duke and Luca a little later than she should. With the clothes sore from being scrubbed hard, a consequence of Elen’s annoyance, she had momentarily faced upstream and saw the Duke violently pushing Luca under water. Horrified, she dropped the piece clothing she was holding and ran back… not that she really knew what she had to do but instinctively, she knew she had to do something. That was until the hobbit appeared.

For a while, there seemed to be a truce, the hobbit and Luca on one hand, the Duke on the other. She was about to help bring Luca back to the shore when she saw the Duke throw himself into the middle of the stream, face lined with trails of blood, coupled with the new red wisps that found its path on the water's surface, wounds he made for himself upon hitting the rocks—this idiot has a death wish—and it was not compassion that hit Elen but frustration, anger and impatience. She was not going to sit around and be docile any longer. Any more pushing around from this insane young boy, they would never get to their journey’s end.

She looked at the hobbit and said, “Please take care of Luca here. There are some fresh clothing in the saddlebags. Take what you need. It won’t do to have her falling sick. There is food and water too. Help yourself. I have to see to that big baby of a boy.” With that line, she turned around and walked towards the Duke.

She waded into the stream and stood next to Tasuli. She looked at him, crossed her arms and made no attempt to help him up but instead went, “I don’t care for your whims and fancies. I don’t care about your own misery and self-pity. We are all here to do a job and that is to assist you and get this journey done and over with. If you cannot even allow us the decency of respect on this quest then really, you do not deserve to be a Duke. You are just an empty shell, one with a title but no grace to contain that title. Saying all these as a servant, I am out of line but if you cannot behave like a Duke, I don’t see why any of us should behave like servants. Now, would you please stop behaving like a baby and get up. We wasted enough time trying to please you already. If you cannot be bothered with propriety, none of us will bother too.”

With those words fresh on her lips, she turned her back on Tasuli and walked back towards the shore, turning around to add, “when you are done being immature, come to the shore and I will dress your wounds.”

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

The water rushed into her lungs like a team of horses, searing and constricting at her chest where it did not belong. Sure of death, her mind no longer clouded by memories long past and adrenline surging through her veins, Luca heaved out of the water choking and gagging. The fact that Tasuli had released her did not seem especially pressing to the thief as she lurched for the shore, coming close to toppling the little man over in her blind search for air. Water escaped her lips with every shiver, but still Luca could find no breath to ease the pain in her chest. Tears were streaming down her face when Luca crumpled to the ground still hacking.

After some long seconds combatting to find her lungs, the half-elf was finally able to wheeze with relief, still clearing her throat which had grown raw with the effort. Running a hand through her dripping hair, the cut on her temple stung and she looked down at her red palm.

Luca cursed viciously under her breath, looking up and around. She was forced to squint in the daylight and had difficulty recognizing Yarg and Elen. While she had not lost an excessive amount of blood, in addition to the panic, exertion and her empty stomach, it had taken a toll on Luca.

"I need..." she stammered, attempting to stand simultaneously but flopping back down with a moist squish on the grass before she could finish. "Ugh..." Blood rushed behind her eyes and the half-elf constricted her face, falling backwards and covering her eyes with her hands, willing the pain away. "That rat bastard....."

Fear faded to be replaced by indignation as the maid scolded him. Never before had anyone dared to speak to him in such a manner, and the young noble did not appreciate it now. Even his mother, the Duchess, did not have the right to accost him so, not that she would dare to for fear of his wrath. To allow such insolence was to invite it to occur again, and as a noble it was his duty to ensure that those around him knew their place.

Standing, skin glistening with a mix of blood and water, Tasul’i waded across the stream, gaze intent upon the servant. The presence of the others was scarcely noticed by him, not even pausing to look down at Luca as he stepped over her. If guilt for her condition existed within him, then it was not apparent within his expression, as only anger showed there. Moving to stand before Elendilwyn, seemingly not bashful about his nudity, one hand descended, his intention being to slap her across the mouth.

“Learn thy place, servant, and dare not to scold thy betters.” His voice was cold, devoid of emotion as he spoke. As he looked at the scratches upon his arms and torso, blood freely flowing from them, his expression became pensive. Glancing up to gaze at Elendilwyn, he addressed her yet again. “What wounds does thy see? I am invincible, nothing may inflict harm upon my body. Bring me my sword and I will prove to thou that the blade cannot pierce my flesh.” He gestured toward the sword hanging upon his saddle within its blue scabbard as the stallion peacefully grazed.

He was above the woes of mortals and could not be harmed by their afflictions. To even imply that he could be harmed was blasphemy.  

If there was any moment that she suspected he was completely mad, it had to be now. That silly boy apparently had no clue about his own physical condition though for a moment she was afraid when he raised his hand in the attempt to slap her and had stepped back instinctively to create more distance between the both of them.

“Learn thy place, servant, and dare not to scold thy betters.”

And was about to respond that she did not think he was better than any of them but he had gone on to ask about his wounds. She was torn between further anger and pity but eventually went in favour of the latter. She looked at him point blank and replied…

“You are only human like the rest of us and if we don’t see to those wounds soon enough, they will get infected and your perception of your own invincibility or should I say mortality will come hitting home like a sword across your neck,” ignoring his gesture requesting for his sword.

Against her better judgment, she reached out to take his arm, with the intention of leading him back to shore to be attended to.

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

One could mistake him for a child, overlooking the physical qualities that belied such a conclusion as he followed Elendilwyn to the shore. A sharp cry of pain escaped his lips as her hand brushed along a scratch and tears flowed down his cheeks. Yanking his arm from her grasp, he sullenly took a seat upon the grass, scowling at the stallion as it nudged him. Arms wrapped around his knees, he sat and watched as the maid approached, making no move to resist her attempts to bandage him.

Curiosity shone in his eyes as his gaze turned to Luca, yet laid out upon the grass, recovering from her earlier ordeal. He frowned as if trying to recall the past few moments, eventually failing to do so. Turning his gaze back to Elendilwyn, he asked in a childish and somewhat high-pitched voice.

“What happened to her?”

Tasuli seemed to have calmed down somewhat, probably tired from all his tantrums. It would give them all a peace of mind if he would sleep for a while. As he sat and sulked, Elen’s heart softened somewhat and proceeded to handle him as gently as she could, cleaning the blood stains with a piece of cloth—nothing too major that would require bandages and fresh air would help them heal faster. His eyes wandered to Luca and she followed his gaze, immediately remembering that Luca needed to be seen to as well and wondering how the hobbit was dealing with her.

“What happened to her?”

Elen was not sure how she should answer him as she herself was not sure both about Luca's present condition and what had transpired earlier—but no harm scaring him a little—and looking him squarely in the face she said, “you tried to kill her… her life is probably in danger now and if she dies, you will have guilt forever in your heart.” She paused and continued, “I will leave you to your rest. You had better get some sleep. I need to see to Luca,” and proceeded to get up and leave.

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

Languidly his gaze followed her delicate hands as they cleansed his wounds, wincing occasionally at the slight sting of the water upon his open cuts. Tasul’i seemed disinclined to move, think, or even realize his own nudity, content to sit upon the shore, corpse-like. As her words resounded through the air, his head slowly lifted, green eyes gazing into those of sou’cald blue, lips parted slightly in astonishment, slowly mouthing the word “kill” as the realization of what he had done weighed upon his mind.

He had enjoyed it immensely, this could not be denied, the sensation of having the life of another within his grasp, to extinguish as he pleased. It was exhilarating to have such control, for someone to be dependent entirely upon his mercy. Flexing his fingers as he gazed down at them, a cruel smile crossed his lips. Again and again he would succumb to the seduction of sadism, inflicting pain upon others for his own petty amusement.

As Elendilwyn stood and began to walk away, he thrust out one long leg toward her ankles, hoping to trip her, wishing for her to fall upon her face. Licking his lips as another thought occurred to him, namely that there should be blood, painting her pretty face a deep shade of crimson. He then proceeded to lift one arm to his lips, tongue flickering out as that of a serpent’s, trailing along the blood that remained upon his cuts, emerald eyes alight with delight as they watched Elendilwyn.

She had seen Tasuli place his foot in front of her with the intention of tripping her, though not quite in time to prevent herself from tripping but still managed to catch her fall in time. She just fell on her knees, breaking the fall with her hands. She could feel anger rising within her as she turned back to glare at him but decided at the last split second not to give him the pleasure of seeing how the fall affected her and smiled instead, though it could be said that it was a grimace more than a smile. Getting up and dusting the dirt of her clothes, she continued walking towards Luca.  

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

Luca tried to damndest to keep her eyelids screwed shut, but yet the light wormed it's way in just enough to pound at her skull. Suddenly, there was an obstruction and the half elf lifted her hands away to take a peak at what had gotten between her and the persistant ball of fire. At first the thief thought it was Tasuli come to gloat/beat up/rape/apolgize or whatever else he was inclined to do. Fortunately, as her eyes adjusted to the glare of the afternoon, Luca realized that it was not, in fact, a bipolar brat, but instead the naive woman she had grown to enjoy the company of.

"Ah... little maid," she murmured, attempting to rock herself to her side only to find that the movement did monumental damage to her already dismal state of comfort. "Find me a bandage or a cool cloth.. or better yet, some rum. There should be a flask hanging off my pack somewhere..." Luca leaned back into the grass, happy to recall that she had swiped some liquor from the duke's residence before taking her leave. Recalling the young man's presence once again not only soured her mood but reminded the half-elf of something. Raising a finger in the air, she waved it around to get Elen's attention.

"And don't let that bugger get to you... I'll deal with him later. For now, I'll need to get to town and pass out good and hard. Eat too, if the gods're willing."

Elen saw that Luca was extremely weak, could hear it in her voice in fact, but was pleased that she still had that spice in her voice, the one that kept her sardonic humour even though her condition would give her every reason not to keep it.

The hobbit was keeping her company but apparently did not know what else to do—sometimes when you want something done properly, you got to do it yourself—Elen sighed and nodded to Luca to indicate that she had heard her request, proceeding immediately to get the rum and cloth.

On turning she replied, “The Duke will need more intelligence to get to me, currently, I’m just dealing with a bad case of childish temper. Also, once we get your wounds tended to, we’ll move on to the next town. We are all in bad need of rest and warm food.”

Elen found Luca’s flask and brought it back to her. “The rum should take your mind off the pain, just don’t take too much of it. You don’t need any more of a headache than the one you are having now. Drink up while I dress your wounds.” After passing the flask to Luca, Elen moved Luca's legs, raising it to lie on a low boulder which she had moved closer to Luca. "You will be able to breathe better with your legs slightly raised."

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

"Ah, lovely deary," she replied, taking the metal flask and rocking back a hefty swig, downing it like an experienced drinker. The burn warmed her heart and ears, but the throbbing persisted. Unimpressed by her ability to still feel, the half-elf helped herself to a few more good swallows of the brew.

Watching Elen work her first-aid around her was mildly impressive; but Luca found her growing ability to take Tasuli with less and less seriousness the most amusing. She may not turn out half bad Luca thought to herself, cradling the flask in her hand and humming quietly in her detached state of mind.

Luca had allowed herself more to drink than she should but before she could drown herself in with what was in the flask, Elen promptly took the bottle away from Luca’s hand, not exactly without a struggle but with Luca’s current physical state, it definitely was not too much of a problem.

Her own actions had left Elen slightly surprised at herself, first her audacity with the Duke and the her current treatment of Luca. The number of times Elen had taken charge of a situation could be counted easily and often they were really insignificant, not to mention that none ever concerned those above her social class. This was an exception but she was really tired, both physically and mentally taxed that she could find no energy within herself to be overly concerned with protocol.

The day had barely begun but things just seem to keep going out of control. Elen finished what she had to do with Luca and taking the flask away, went to saddle the horses so that the group could get going.

But before going to the horses, she turned to Yarg and asked, “Will you be joining us?”

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

Sulking, the youth watched silently as one woman tended the other, his lips curling into a sneer as the thief drank of the rum. Gaze cast downward, he glanced toward the stream, glaring at the tattered rags that were once his fine clothes, flame and then water having damaged them. But yet, Tasul'i was not worried nor enraged, clothes were easy enough to purchase, and was he not rich? Too, his mother had thought to pack several sets of clothing for him, so he had discovered upon first peering into his saddlebags.

As he stood, his cheeks flushed a shade of crimson as he realized, indeed for the first time, that he stood nude, among females no less. Hands flying to his crotch, concealing it from the view of the maidens fair, he slowly backed away as to not turn around and expose his rear to them. A sigh of relief escaped his lips only when he moved to stand behind Rowan, using the flank of the stallion to conceal his nether regions from the others. Reaching into his saddlebags, he pulled forth a set of clothing and hastily began to dress. Similar in style to the clothes burned by the halfling these were, yet their colors differed. Of a crimson shade reminiscent of blood, the tunic descended to mid thigh, gathered about his waist by a wide leather belt. Worn beneath the tunic was a white silk undershirt, akin to the one now lying by the stream. Onto his hips were pulled bleached white leather pants, snugly fitting upon his shapely legs. For gloves and boots, those he had been wearing previously would serve, as they were yet undamaged.

Now dressed, though his crimson locks were yet plastered to his scalp, slowly drying in the morning sun, Tasul'i stepped from behind the stallion, looking upon the two females with disdain, his lips curled into an all too familiar sneer.

"If ye are now done, we have a journey to continue. I wouldst not have us slowed by the whims of weaklings."

While she was waiting for Yarg’s answer, she caught sight of the Duke being ashamed of his own nudity—so that man still has a sense of shame—a smile breaking out at the corner of her lips. Seeing him walk to his horse, she is also reminded of how late it is getting and letting her impatience rule temporarily, she went to get her own and Luca’s horse, bringing them both to where Luca was lying. She had heard the Duke's sneer but chose to ignore him. He was merely stating the obvious, that being the need to continue.

Addressing Luca: “Are you still hurting badly? Would you be able to ride?”

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

“Are you still hurting badly? Would you be able to ride?”

Luca rolled her head to the side to squint at Elen. She pondered this and sat up slowly, holding her head and blinking a lot. The lopsided swimming of her head subsided after a moment and she glanced around.

"Take 'er easy and I reckon I'll be okay... probably best getting me out of the sun anyway about it," she said with a nod, Luca tugging at the damp clothing that clung uncomfortably to her skin still.

Edited by: Luca the Thief at: 8/15/06 7:43

Elen nodded at Luca's reply and proceeded to help her up on her feet, kneeling down first and sliding one hand behind Luca's back to support her while using her other hand to pull her up. Getting up the horse would be a problem though. Elen had neither the strength nor expertise to put someone injured up on a horse--Luca shouldn't even be riding alone but Elen had no confidence to let Luca ride with her and putting her with Tasuli was out of the question--Elen frowned as she pondered over this problem.

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

Smiling in thanks to Elen for her help, Luca was able to read her face easilly enough. That had been the easy part...

As the two half-elves pondered the equation, it seemed the answer came to them from above. Or rather, behind and to the left. There was a sound of a heavy thunk on grass and Luca spun only to find Gert sitting on her haunches like a dog might, chewing on a mouthful of long grass. The horse, eyes big, glassy and dumb, lolled her head to the side to look at the two women, her bottom jaw grinding away like cattle.

"Well... that's not too bad..." Luca shrugged, bending down gingerly and taking up her pack, looking at Elen. "Lets get on then."

That horse is definitely not normal, either that or it is exceptionally intelligent—Elen broke into a smile of relief as the problem which was weighing on her mind found a release and then said in amusement, “well, that solves one problem and before more crops up, we had better hurry.” She assisted Luca to her horse and after helping her up, went to get her own horse.

When she was done, adjusting the stirrups and repacking all their used items in to the saddlebags, she nodded to Luca and looked at Tasuli straight in the face, not as a servant but as an equal fellow traveler and replied in response to his brooding impatience, “We are ready. Lead the way.”

To Yarg who was standing by all this time, she said, “Thank you for helping us at the river. If the fates allow and destiny permits, we will meet again. Take care and have a safe journey wherever you are going.”

---

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence