RP:The Hunters Become the Hunted

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Sabrina and Daath meet, as the latter visits Sage following the recent unrest in Kelay. Three figures are seen to be moving around, also within the forest, but are quickly established to be travelling with neither company. A fight ensues. Though they meet their demise, it is clear that the trio are wood elves seeking to reclaim the forest again. In this conflict it is becoming increasingly confusing as to exactly who is the hunter, and who is the hunted...

Sage Forest

Sabrina sat perched atop the first site coming into this clearing, Rohk. He was a hellbeast like no other, traits weighing heavily on his sleek pure-blood cousins but the sheer bulk of the animal screamed bad blood. His scales shone black like onyx, his massive chest heaving and flexing those armored pieces in a beautiful yet disturbing darkness. It was odd to view upon his rider, sitting all poised and in perfect form as she studied the statue of Hind; brilliant sea-foam eyes darting from immaculate form to point of quill on rolled parchment. She seemed to have no cares in the world astride her savior, who for reasons unknown emitted a loyalty to her even unguarded in the bliss of night.

Daath travels alone through the winding passages that snake along the forest, the end of his black robe trailing behind him. Runes of silver etch the outlines of his robe and the hood that is a part of it, which is drawn over the dark elf's features. He travels with a grace known only to elven kind, even if he himself is a native to the underdark, it seems part of all elves to find a sort of peace within the forest. But it is not the serenity of Sage that has brought this one here, oh no. Word has already spread among the dark elves of Trist'Oth of recent attacks by a wood elf and her allies. It seems the assassins that patrol these paths are now themselves being hunted. What has caused this shift after a year or more since the wood elf exile is what brings the Necromancer upon the surface. While unity and loyalty are not traits the drow are known for, an attack on a drow by a common enemy is something that mutual gain can be found, and now that his former master, Tiphareth D'Artes, is the lands Archmage as well as the Patron of the First House of Trist'Oth, it is very beneficial for Daath to venture forth and look into the possible situation brewing within the bowels of Sage. Even in the dead of night, within the canopy of the forest where even the light of the moons barely reaches, does the dark elf travel without light. he does not need it his infrared vision allows him to traverse the terrain with ease. And it is also the reason why he notices two figures in the distance well before most others would. The heat from their bodies standing out like a warning sign to the magus. The magi pauses for a brief moment, not out of caution, for that is for the weak, but instead to take note of something else stirring within the forest. Three figures off in the southern clearing move about. Who or what they are, still as of yet, unknown. A smirk forms upon Daath's face as scarlet eyes fall back upon the direction of the stranger and their pet by Hind's monument. A few steps take him into close enough distance that his presence is known.

Sabrina continues doing just what she intended on doing. Rohk's heavy head lifts, turning in the direction of the obvious intrusion and a low rumble of warning is felt before it is heard. Sabrina still does not break from her intricate work though a magus of any degree would likely feel a quelling inside her and the enlightened nature of brilliant hues dwindles astoundingly quick. She is aware, yet still uncaring of the sole traveler behind her; the others far to distant to matter. She had a stain about her aura, one of those stains that was spoken ages past before magic was practiced and schooled. She wore the stain of an Ardent, likely the cause of the unexplainable loyalty that freak of a beast was drenched in. Even as a child she heard rumors of mistakes in casting and how it burned a mark on the user and left them wide open; emotional transference was the result, any contact with this woman would likely be sodden with what ever emotion the attacker had imbued her with.Tenfold. She spoke into the darkness as a courtesy to whomever decided it would be wise to be there. It was Elven, it was melodic, and it was calm. “Ro doesn't see so well, maybe an introduction would ease his troubled mind.”

Daath seems unfazed by the presence of the hellhound, nor its deep bellows of warning, as he approaches. This is a mixture of dealing with creatures far worse in his work, and the confidence in his abilities to handle the situation should the creature attack. The woman's elven words are indeed a different dialect than that of most elves, but even still it is easily understandable. Daath is just one to pay attention to such things, and takes note of it. He stands a good distance away, yet still clear enough that it is not a sign of caution. While anyone is wise to exercise such while meeting a stranger with such a companion pet in the middle of the forest in the late stages of the night, the dark elf carries no such notion. He lives in a land of perpetual darkness, filled with all manners of things that only wish to kill you, kin included. And his work, well, it has had him deal with such foul nightmares that he is a bit underwhelmed by what most consider truly horrible to behold. Couple this with the fact he is known for his abilities in combat, and one could see why he carries himself with what the foolish call arrogance. But, he means her no ill will, for now. From within his hood peers out those eyes of his, which reflect the pale light of the moon and seem to glow. This of course is not the case, but either way it allows a subtle hint as to his heritage that is still as of yet, unknown. He replies in elvish with. " I am a traveler, stranger. And one who is not concerned with the troubled minds of lesser hounds." This may have been a jab at the fact that, due to his breeding of hellhounds himself, the nature of Nox's mixed breeding, or the fact that hellhounds come from a lower plane of the abyss and thus are often referred to by the name "lesser hounds". With him, he never says anything directly, unless he needs to or means to. Information is power, where he is from. Once more does he look off into the distance, the action hidden by the distance and the darkness easily enough. Three figures move about in the shadows, closing in quickly and silently. Not drow, for Daath knows the routes in which they take. So curious, as to how active the forest seems after having been dormant since the evacuation. Curious indeed.

Sabrina would turn at some point when the drow began to speak, shifting her slight frame and lifting one leg over to slide from her protectors form. Her weight, however slight it would be, would likely hinder Rohk's ability to defend himself should the need arise. Once finding her footing she took him in, scrupulous eyes scanning him from head to toe and silent lips turned up slightly at one corner. Black trusses sway gently past her hips; she spoke like an Elf, smelled like and Elf, even had that irritating -thing- about her like an Elf, but those dark trusses and the ample bosom cursed her with the appearance of a tiny human standing at a mere fifteen hands even -with- the heeled boots to give her the extra boost. Best not to address the height or breeding just yet, rest assure she was pure-blood. She began first by peeling of the elbow length gloves, tucking them neatly into the side of her belt quite unceremoniously; they were after all for the protection of others, fashion was not in her repertoire. She boldly takes a step toward Daath, not threatening just... a step. Her posture told the story of a proper upbringing, the toning of her muscles present in bare midrift under a scant chainmail halter told the story of a well traveled huntress. Her weariness of him, being what he was, said something else entirely. She wasn't racist, not intentionally anyway, but she wasn't stupid either. There was a scar encircling her right shoulder, mental notes would likely be made in Daath's mind as the appendage looks to have been completely torn off at some point. Even as an expert healer she could not manage to salvage the visual integrity so maybe it was a weakness he could take advantage of. She seemed otherwise pleasant towards him, despite not meaning to be, it was just her way. The rolled parchment was tucked into Rohk's harness (for lack of a better word) and the quill tucked neatly behind pointed ear. Idle fingers curl around the chord of a rather interesting bow that was slung crossways over her form. She was difficult to read, even if he could hear her heart beating it would be half in tandem with the beast standing next to her. Steady thump after thump, a deep and brooding beat followed by a shallow one, brooding and shallow, it would have been amusing at best. To an experienced mage it would have been easy to deduce that the heart bonding between her and that thing was the reason behind the Ardentism. And it was clear that it was her fault really, some things were just meant to die. The stab at Rohk being lesser caused the beast to turn his bulk around, annoyed yes,but not to the point of breaking from her side just yet. He was distracted by the ongoings further out, ongoings to which Sabrina seemed oblivious. Sabrina made no voice to defend the nature of Rohk's class or heritage, it was not her place. “ I have been warned about the dangers of my kind traveling these woods in day or night. Would you be so forthcoming as to advising me if I am in danger now?” It was clear she meant if Daath himself intended any harm, she always found it more suitable to know exactly what position she was in.

Daath has his attention grasped once more by the woman's tone and accent. He knew all forms of elvish tongue this land had to offer, and indeed they all had differences. Wood elves, High elves, the drow and the Forsaken Elves all spoke slightly different variations of the Sylvan that the fractured family once used to speak. And given that most of the tomes this day are penned in some form of that elvish, it was only natural that one such as he would learn them all. Intellect being one of this dark elf's greater assets. But, her dialect, her tone. It wasn't just off. It was new. Everyone has a tone embedded into them. She grew up somewhere else, not native to this chunk of land. And this was another curious matter. Then the fact that, now that she has his attention, he starts to pick up on those little things most miss. The scar on her right shoulder was noted, as the necromancer often works on the corpses of various body types, he can put together that her arm was either entirely ripped off or damn well close. Then, that stain upon her aura, in which all things have, is as well taken note of. This causes the magus to examine her for several moments, in which not a single sound save for Rohk's heavy breathing can be heard. She has peaked his interest, it seems. But, he has things to do and that will have to be left for a later time. And time was something all elves have in spades. In a rare gesture he responds to her question in a blunt fashion. " Not from me." Which is true. Oddly enough, Daath does not lie needlessly. Again, most say due to this arrogance his kind is so well known for. But, to him life is simple. There is either gain, or no gain. If no gain is found, he does not waste energy playing games. He does not taunt, he does not bully. he does not try to scare you with words, or belittle you with witty phrases. He is beyond such. Gifted even for his kind at a young age for the arcane arts, and born a noble into a house seated with power in the underdark, Daath was given an upbringing that kindled the flames that grew within him. From the former house mage teaching him, to him being enrolled within the Arcania, to honing his abilities and then taking by force the mantle of house mage, Now a prominent member of the mage's guild, on his way to becoming recognized as a master, the current head of the necromancer's guild, and still trying to grasp at higher goals. Yes, this dark elf is one of action. So when he next speaks, one could tell by his demeanor he speaks the truth and not a prideful boast. " If I wished you harm you would know it." He allows this to settle in the air, as he continues to study her for a few more brief moments before his attention is once more drawn into the forest. He still talks to the woman, even as his gaze wander off once more. " The forest is dangerous, but the drow patrolling it obey the absolute will of the Lichdrow. And will only attack any wood elf so foolish as to try to reclaim the forest. As per the pact made by the Druid Landirion and Tiphareth nearly over a year ago." Such a thing was well known, and even if most thought the drow merciless killers, hellbent of destruction, the past year has shown they have done nothing of the sort. People of all races come and go, and even wood elves have been known to travel through the forest. None have met a foul fate, yet as of recently someone has taken to attacking the drow in the forest and beyond. Someone is hunting the hunters. This of course is another matter, entirely. He returns that scarlet gaze of his once more upon the she-elf, and says, with a smirk that shows a flash of pearly white teeth. " Unless you are out in the forest this late looking for danger?"

Sabrina would smile. The more she spoke the heavier the accent would lay upon her perfect lips; the accent being northern and laced thick with a pirate twang but neatly proper at the edges. As with most elves her words came out almost in song, melodic and relaxing to anyone's ears- a false reassurance in many cases as it was just simple conversion to her. In an effort to further her studies of social intercourse she decides on an introduction. “I am called Sabr-...” She attempted to clear the distance between herself and the male, the beginnings of an outstretched hand to shake his own like the humans do, but before her position was relinquished twin daggered tails encircle her from behind, grasping her at the waist and tugging her back towards the massive beasty. She looks to Rohk, who in turn looks back, a short but noticeable shake of his head forbidding a violation of proximity. She seemed perturbed to say the least and shoves his tails from her middle, closing the distance like a stubborn child. In Elvish “Honestly you are not my father.” She prepared herself for contact, exhaling smoothly and steadying her emotional range to a mild vibration of anxiety. Contact always made her nervous, but she was really getting the hang of it these days. Giving up her most valued asset, distance, she forced an extra bit of calmness in the hand that was offered and though many are able to eventually recognize the difference between what she feels and what they feel it usually took a bit of practice to know at the get go, let alone to overcome. Rohk's eyes stayed hard on the male, his head bowing in a predatory stance. It wasn't that he didn't trust Daath, which he didn't, it was because he rarely saw the need for anyone to be near his person. He emanated a greater amount of heat as blackened scales began to shatter against one another and turn molten between the sections. In truth he had more faith in a Drow than an Elf any day, at least they were honest about their intentions. Elves were tricky, especially high-borns and don't even get him started on Humans. Pretty much everything with a beating heart could burn in eternal hellfire in life according to Rohk; except Sabrina, for obvious reasons of self preservation and whatnot. And Dwarves, he liked those rowdy sons of bitches. “There is no greater trophy than the head of your assailant, although,I am not of the Wood, I am of the River so my priority is strictly...” He wasn't listening to her. Her lips purse and she withdraws her hand prematurely, her attention now being forced to the obvious noise she was trying so hard to ignore. When he would lay eyes on her the final time she would be squinting against the dark, brows furrowed and eyes illuminated in the manner that said she was casting but as a matter of fact she was not, it was the curious effect the moonlight whispered on all River Elves. Upon hearing the tail end of his question she turns back in time to catch a glimpse of his smile. It was disturbingly attractive if not completely out of place for his race. She may have looked up at him too long before her response played out creating a sort of awkward moment of silence. She smiles back both nervously and short before turning back to the safety of the irked beast behind her.

Daath watches and takes note of the actions of both the River Elf and the hellhound. The protective nature was very uncommon for such a creature, but given he raised a few himself, he knows that prolonged time can make even a spawn of hell fond of certain creatures. Or maybe it was just his mixed blood. Curious, indeed. Sabrina's attempt to shake his hand is not ignored, even though it seems like it. But, given the numerous protective wards he has in place at all times, the fact she did not invade them and become aware of those few was worth the loss of what most call a proper introduction. Even though his attention still lingers upon the approaching beings in the distance, the dark elf removes his hood to reveal himself fully as a show of peace with this woman. Long locks of snow white hair fall free now, just past his shoulders in straight strands, framing a face that holds fine elven features. Those scarlet eyes shift to fall upon the woman, as his own voice, holding that musical tone same as hers, replies. " My name is Daath, of House D'Jiv'Undus, third seated in the drow city of Trsit'Oth." That was enough information, as lengthy titles only offered possible foes too much insight into what your own abilities were. A drow of a house, was all she could get from that, though his appearance was of typical spellcaster fashion, save the materials were of the finest make, hinting at custom design. Something no common elf of any place could afford. He continues the conversation by saying. " I have no knowledge of River Elves, so I must say this night has proven very interesting indeed." His gaze shifts once more into the distance, as he asks. " Do you travel with company?" That may explain the figures that are now moments away. If she too, happens to be of noble birth it would only be natural she has an entourage of guards. And if the answer happens to be no, well, then a plethora of spells stand by to be unleashed at a moments notice. His gaze falls back upon the woman, a vague hint of a smile forming upon that disarmingly charming face.

Sabrina bows her head properly at his name and title. She had none of her own, she was of a house of architects, architects of Nuduin so unleashing that title said everything to those who knew it, and nothing to those who did. To announce being of the House of Nuduin would imply her mastery of Hydromancy, a false implication to be the point of avoiding such introductions. The fact that she'd bowed at all answered his underlying question of her birthright, she was no noble. “You see all whom I ever travel with.” Her eyes fade quickly to a dusty grey-green when she looks back to Daath, she assumed the noise belonged to him all this time. Rohk leaves her side, hackles risen and a few trots taken in the direction of Daath's concern. She was becoming uneasy about Rohk's reaction and Daath's question. There was no doubt in her ability to hunt, but the scar around her shoulder began to itch with the forgotten memory of what happened last time she was out in these woods. Last time, she didn't have Ro. Last time she woke up with her right arm laying on her left side. For the first time in a long time there was the slightest intrusion of fear in the forefront of her mind. She exchanged a look with Rohk, who by now had tiny flames flickering between his shoulder blades and a fair bit of steam bellowing from his flared nostrils. What ever he said to her, she nodded back and drew her bow from about her form, thin fingers pulling delicately at the chord and a sparkle of gold forms in her fingertips, forming more solid the deeper she draws against it. “Daath, am I in danger now?”

Daath does not rely upon threats, is not a man to boast of deeds long past to try to tell of his legacy. The dark elf is a creature of action, and such is demonstrated when the three beings from the shadows emerge in what they had hoped would be a surprise attack. Arrows fly in a volley of six, aimed at Sabrina and Rohk with the intent of taking out those two who are so near one another, just as Sabrina's words were directed towards the necromancer. The river elf would hear no reply, because the drow was too busy casting a spell. Words of magic dance upon his lips with such haste that unless you saw the spell come to life in the form of a protective barrier in front of the woman and hound, you'd think him muttering in illiterate gibberish. The barrier is so solid that the arrows shatter upon contact, proof of both the power of Daath's spell and the force of the arrows that were sent out to fell the woman and creature. Seeing that she is unharmed, Daath says. " Not while I am here." As an answer to her earlier question. The three shrouded figures move out, each in a different direction, to utilize distance and angles to their advantage. Clever, think the dark elf, as he notes these would be assassins are not rank amateurs. They way they move about the forest, nimble and quite is a hint of their heritage. One the magus takes heed of, and one even Sabrina may pick up on. For only elves can move in the dense shrubbery of the forest like that. As if to answer the challenge laid before them, Daath extends his left hand and a snap can be heard as his thumb and middle finger slip across one another. From out of thin air a staff appears, a smooth wooden stave adorned with runes of power carved into the body, with an amber stone resting atop the gnarled crown. Power radiates off of it, signalling the weapon as a powerful arcane catalyst. Fashioned by the Archmage, Tiphareth and made from wood taken from the Xalious tree itself, Daath is one but a few in the land who have earned a right to bare the Xalious-wood Staff that signifies a recognized member of the Mage's Guild. With this tool in hand, the necromancer's already note-worthy spellcasting is amplified by considerably. The aura surrounding the dark elf increases to such a degree that it would almost make those less tolerable to powerful magic feel like a heavy weight suddenly dropped around them, making it hard to breathe. This intense pressure acts as a warning to any who cross the necromancer, and may or may not effect Sabrina and her companion, Rohk. Within moments another volley of arrows comes forth, only to meet the same effect as they impact a barrier that surrounds Daath. The shield spell is a siple one, by most standards, but is like most of the lower lever spells, in that it is increased based off the casters own power. This obstacle makes it hard for the ranged attacks to land, and as such the three attackers emerge from the brush swords in hand. Scimitars of excellent make are brandished forth, experienced hands wielding the swords with ill intent. A smirk forms upon Daath's, as the first of the three foolishly rushes forth to try and cut down the mage. Words of occult magic pour forth once more as he points the crown of that staff at him, only a slight instance the warning in which the assassin could see a flash of light. A bolt of lightning erupts forth with tremendous power, hitting the rushing elf center mass sending powerful bolts of electrical currents surging through his lean frame. He falls to the floor, body still convulsing in pain, but otherwise out of the fight. The other two intend to take out the hound and the woman, who still are protected by the barrier cast by the dark elf. The two rush forth in unison, flanking to and fro between each other before they close the distance with startling speed. Their swords are filled with murderous intent, and if Sabrina is not fast, she may fall to the assailants blades.

Sabrina stood washed over in panic, she was not one accustomed to being attacked for any reason by any person. Her affliction usually protected her from those smart enough to know of it. The previously formed arrow flickers as her concentration breaks, Rohk's resounding bark snapping her back to the reality that was flashing blades determined to take her last breath. Rohk had regretted leaving her side in that instant, his hesitation in making sure she was mentally where she needed to be left that daunting moment to render him still just long enough for one assailant to whiz by him, a taloned paw narrowly missing him completely. The second assailants blade sparked against the scales of his shoulder, in the idiotic shock of someone actually striking him Rohk stares down at the pale individual, stillness preserving the moment of bewilderment as his blade is left bloodless and baron. This was not how he saw this going. Twin tails come over Ro's head piercing the chest and abdomen in a fashion similar to a scorpion with a swiftness that could challenge even the Drow's keen eye. He remained there staring at the audacity of his skewered hunter and withdrawing those tails from the cavity of the Elven form. Rohk didn't understand how they got past the barrier, he sensed it as soon as Daath conjured it and dared not try to break through under threat of unimaginable pain. Sabrina's hands rise a swiftly as the hellhounds tails, lifting a secondary shield in the form of stone pillar wrenched directly from the ground beneath them. Apart from Rohk she was basically useless, the combat was too close and all she could muster was piling after piling of risen earth pillar to keep the attacker at bay. Every pillar she spent lost her a bit of ground until she was back up into the statue of Hind with no place left to go. As capable as the elfess may have been her panic would be her downfall. She sat crouched at the feet of Hind, shaking under the threat of her hunter and when he reached down to take her up by the arm and sword perched to cut her right down the middle he cringed. It was unnatural the way his body would contort, like some electrified seizure that formed a river of piss snaking down his pants. The sword fell from his grip but by some twist of fate his grip tightened around her arm. She was screaming now, tears streaming down her face in absolute horror and her fear melted into him, multiplied time and time again the longer he held on.

Daath was perhaps just as curious, if not more than Rohk was about how these would be killers eluded his barrier so easily. But he has not the time to worry about that, as Sabrina still has one lingering about. With mere words allowing the dark elf to simply appear in front of the River elf, thus flanking the attacker, in the blink of an eye, the necromancer recites a few words of dark and ancient magic in a tongue long forgotten in this land. He seems to whisper it into the assassin's ear, causing the frantic and terrified look upon his face to suddenly calm and go blank. His grip upon Sabrina's arm loosens the more Daath recites the curse, a dim look in the elf's eyes as the powerful magic takes hold. He lets go of the woman, his arms fall to his side as with a few final words the attacker begins to walk off. Forgetting him, Daath looks down to Sabrina before a wave of fear washes over him. He hasn't been this close before, and while not nearly as strong as if he had touched her, the woman's empathic ability to transfer emotions is powerful enough to egt past even hsi protective barriers and wards and instill in him a slight sense of dread. The drow doesn't know how to respond to such a foreign feeling, but manages to shrug it off to ensure the woman is ok. It is now that all would see the labor and power of the spell cast by the magus. The last attacker, enthralled by forces far greater than he could imagine, stops only a few feet away from the River elf and the Necromancer. It is here, that the takes his own blades and eviscerates himself without so much as flinching. Blood spurts out before his entrails pour forth from his stomach to fall to the forest floor at his feet, all the while he stands there, not a whimper escaping him. A moment is taken, before Daath waves his hand, freeing the assassin from the curse's hold to allow him to realize his situation. Panic, fear and pain all come a once as he tries to no avail to pull his own innards from the ground and put them back in before death claims him due to blood loss. His last moments allow him only a few words, as he says. " The forest will be ours...again.." The last breath escapes him, and he falls into a pile of his own guts. All in all it was only a matter of moments, but somehow it seemed longer. It has been a while since Daath has seen combat, and the rush of it courses through his entire being. No smirk, no cocky smile can be seen. Only a mask of stone. No emotion, not a are in the world for the fallen. He waves his hand again, dispelling his barrier from earlier, so that Rohk may venture to his master. He dare not go closer to her, given the powerful empathic transfer from earlier. " Are you alright?" He asks, those scarlet eyes falling upon the River Elf once more.

Sabrina was already deep into a scenario of her own minds eye, the scenario spelled out the grossest of possibilities imaginable to her at present. Her eyes were wide open, dark as myrtle woods; her breathing short and labored and Daath would know he was not heard. It was nothing at first when the smallest of stones began to wriggle and shift over the entire arena, the echo of Rohk's voice barely audible in the Drow's ears. Despite immediate danger being absent she was still stuck in that place she never talked about. Slowly the stones would rise, the tremor beneath her creating a fault from between her knees where she had fallen and out toward the depths of the thick wood. The release of the barrier allows Rohk to speed to Sabrina and standing between her and Daath, even if it meant an accidental shove to create some distance between those two. Acting as the only filter of protection for the Drow he haunches forward, bracing his body towards her, in hopes that these few seconds would give Daath the knowledge that he should give a wider birth. The loudest of cracks drowned out the hellhound's protest to Daath's proximity and when the fault buckles and bursts wide open a rush of heartstopping fear engulfed all those within a few yards, maybe even a little further. Rohk was already in her head, he knew what was coming, he had two hundred years of tolerance and when it came the sheer force of it caused his paws to draw short but clear tracks against the forest floor. It would seem this woman was not as emotionally sound as she would have let on.

Daath has seen Tenebrae lose control, has seen people become slaves to foul magic gone awry and forces of terrible power possess people and creatures in his study of the dark arts. So he knows when something he may not be ready for is about to happen, call it a mage's intuition. Or common sense, when a hellhound decides to show a little panic. But, his saving grace comes not in the shove from the hound, nor the backpeddaling steps taken in response, but rather his sense of mistrust and the slight paranoia that comes from being a drow. For, you see, once the first encounter of her empathic abilities was felt, the necromancer had already place several wards of protection designed specifically for that kind of magic in place. Preparation was vital in his line of work. But no matter how prepared one is, when faced with the sheer volume of raw magical energy that pours out from her at this moment, even the most well placed barrier is seriously tested. While not broken down utterly by such unbelievable fear that is released from the River Elf, Daath does see in his mind's eye many things that terrify the drow to his very core. And only because, as stated earlier, that he works with nightmarish things and has studied alongside Lady Tenebrae, the only woman alive, or undead, currently that surpasses even him in the dark arts, he has learned over his two hundred and fifty seven years of existence to master his own fears and control his emotions. It takes some doing, that is to be said, and within moments he is on the counter offensive. In every peson there are points on the body that the web of magic flows through. There are many different names for these channels, but all lead up to what some call, "The Mind's Eye." The center of all these channels. Calling upon the amplifying power of the Xalious-wood Staff to aid him, Daath utters words of arcane power that temporarily block these channels, thus closing off the flow of magic and allowing Sabrina to once again take control of this innate supernatural ability that has gone haywire with her raw magical capabilities. With the aid of Rohk, this spell is painless and would help soothe the woman as she seems to be facing terrible fears of her own in some internal struggle within the recesses of her mind. Standing there now, quite unsure as to how to continue, Daath just hopes that woman gains control, and no further action need be taken.

Sabrina is motionless for the most part, the cessation of rocking back and forth coming to a smooth and curiously uneventful halt. Rohk realizes before she does what just happened, or didn't happen for that matter and he is unsure of how to take it. For someone to muster this ability, and ability he hasn't seen a shred of in his two hundred years on this plane, he is weary to say the least. He stares over his shoulder at Daath for a long moment, unsure if he wants to kill him or thank him and decides on his usual method of pretending he simply does not exist. Nuzzling his maw under Sabrina's arm he helps her to her feet. She was pale, even moreso than usual and she was unpleasantly sweaty, unbearably tired, and a little confused. Her voice cracks when she speaks soft words over dry lips that had lost their luster. “Have they all gone home?” She swallows hard, barely able to hold herself upright, but Rohk wont embarrass her further, instead he stands close enough for her to lean 'casually' against him. Her eyes take focus on the still Woodlander who even in death clutched his guts as his garments grew heavy in his own life force. She choked on the sight, but not in the manner of which a spoiled girl would become sick and proceed with spewing the contents of her stomach. No, she was fighting back a deep sorrow for all that just transpired. It was a waste, she said as much, quoting the sentence repetitively as she cast her gaze on the bodies that could have easily added her own to their ranks. “There is no grace in these deaths, a waste, its all a waste.” They were far beyond healing, she regretted that. She looks to Daath almost pleading with the most irresistible and penetrating eyes “Did I?” Her attention now would be on his every response, to ensure the fault was not her own.

Daath watches as Rohk gives him a look, but nonetheless seems to go back to ignoring him. But, it was the fact that his counter spell worked that pleases the dark elf for a moment, this River Elf's pent up abilities indeed taken note of, especially when it came to putting a stop to it. His gaze follows her as she seems to see the corpses for the first time. He gauges her reaction, to see if it was faked or not. But a moment tells him she truly seems not to recall what transpired just moments before. Again, there is no gain in lying, so he replies honestly with. " I killed them, and Rohk defended himself against another." He'd refrain from a snarky comment about the corpses finding use, and they will, but that is another matter. He wants to ask, but doesn't. Figuring not to trample upon the woman's fragile emotional state, the dark elf simply says. " It is indeed dangerous here, and you are in need of rest. I shall clean this up, please get some rest." Daath looks to Rohk for some help in this matter. He doesn't wish to get to close, seeing as how he doesn't quite understand her abilities, or if they are indeed in check just yet. But the necromancer does have work to get to, and these corpses may hold secrets he needs. Information that can be used. " Do you need me to escort you back to a safe place?"

Sabrina nods, almost in relief of his admission of killing them. Still, she looks to Rohk for answers before confirming audibly that she believed him. It wasn’t that she didn't care what happened to the bodies, it was that she wished to be in an entirely different place than here right now. When he offers to escort her she holds up a swift hand in protest and nearly yells at him in an very unbecoming pitch. “Don't touch me.” She heard herself, so shrill and astounded even her own ears. She clears her throat. “What I mean to say...” Her voice returning to the melodic hum of relaxing tones “is that Ro and I can find our way to Larket ourselves.” Her eyes had gone to a crystalline minty green that said she was coming about her senses quite clearly. Bath and bed was probably the only things she would have left to do this day. “I do so appreciate the offer.” She would remember to write this event down before retiring, the need to remember days like these were vital to her survival. She is shuffling with her gloves when she finally releases herself from the support of Rohk, though she can not muster the energy to sit astride him for the travel home. Before departing she smiles warmly “If you need me...” she looks to the bodies “... however unlikely that event may arise, I am the healer at the House of Ara. Along the River, Larket.”

Daath dips his head in regards to her statement, studying the woman once again as she seems to recoil from his touch. It seems that is vital to her curious abilities. Again, duly noted. Given she seems content with leaving, the necromancer says. " Very well. Though I did not catch your name, unless Sab, is it?" In truth, the hellhound had cut her off before she could finish. And the dark elf thought it odd that he knew where she works and her unusual ability, before he knew her name.

Sabrina giggles, her small hand coming to her lips to cover the mild outburst. It was not meant to make fun of him, it was more like a mixture of exhaustion and a feeling of stupidity. So often she had given individuals her name repeatedly and not known, this time she fell on the opposing side of the situation. “Sabrina.” Not title, no surname. She places her hand on Rohk's shoulder “And this is Rohk, or Ro for short, but nobody calls him that.” In the oddest of instances the hell hound 'took a knee' in a manner only a quadruped could; the bow was a sign of respect, a sign very few had been offered by this proud beast. Still, his eyes did not appear to leave the Drow for the simple fact that it always appeared Ro was looking at whomever was looking at him. A simple, but effective charm.

Daath says her name to cement it into his memory. " Sabrina." He offers first, the hound a slight bow in return, before returning his gaze to the river elf and offering a slightly steeper bow in kind. " A pleasure, Lady Sabrina." A smile graces his lips, for the briefest of moments, before he turns to the corpses and begins to recite words of magic once more. With the xalious-wood staff still in his hand, the dark elf seems to envelope the three bodies in a pale azure glow. And, as his spell reaches it climax, all three flash brilliantly before vanishing. Transported to the underdark, awaiting further use. All that remians are scattered weapons and a pool of blood from where the one assailant's guts poured out. Turning back to face Sabrina, the drow says. " Sabrina.." A slight pause, as that smile returns, before he finishes with. " I'm sure we will meet again." And he vanishes in the same flash of azure light that the bodies did a moment prior.