RP:Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: Lionel and Meri embark on a daring new Venturilian adventure! From bloodthirsty razurath to dark knight femme fatales, you won't want to miss this latest exciting episode!

Chronology Notice: This quest takes place several weeks prior to the flashpoint events at Cenril in And All My Dreams, Torn Asunder. As such, Lionel and Meri show no signs of trauma from that ordeal -- because it hasn't happened yet!

Early-Morning Return Smirk

Through the creature's eyes, the two beings appear to be little more than hunters or prey. Which one's true depends on their skill with the knives and bows they carry fastened to their garb. The creature can still smell ram and canine scents on the boiled leathers these beings have crudely attached to their bodies, and it distracts the creature, causing it to twitch. Its tail crashes into a stretch of the underbrush it's hidden itself within, and one of the beings -- the female, the creature believes -- tilts her head in alarmed curiosity. The creature fears the worst: discovery. But the female turns back to the male and their heated argument continues. The words these beings utter are so slurred, their tongues wagging so strangely to form sentences. It, too, is distracting. In time, the beings depart in separate directions. The creature only comprehends bits and pieces of the feud, but it comprehends enough. The Venturilian countryside is coming, with all their pitchforks and all their torches and all their anger. The creature, the creature's friends, the creature's family... all of them are doomed. If only they could be made to understand.

On the morning of his and Meri's departure from the Academy, there's little to be done but to dine on a simple breakfast of grilled oats and dark beer and to give orders to Rorin and the men and women under his command. The Warrior's Guild will be busy following other leads in this case of a raging high dragon while he's away; if anything dire should occur in Lionel's absence, he has every confidence in Rorin to deal with it... and in Kreekitaka and the others to pick up the slack should Rorin's medical condition worsen. Supplies are sparse; three weeks worth of rations, bandages and poultices and salves, various trade papers, ample coin, two changes of attire, and -- of course -- Hellfire. His horse is a chestnut mare with plenty of intrigue in her beady grey eyes. Lionel waits at the stables now, expecting his travel partner any moment.

Well, Lionel. Expect to be waiting awhile, Meri is female. First she has to shower, and do her hair, then....Kidding, kidding. The wait is not a long one and the woman's arrival is announced by the thudding of hooves against the frozen earth. What is there for a woman to do outside of sit around the dining haul and wait for it to be time to depart? Well make sure that she has brought sufficient supplies of her own, of course. What manner is hard to see, they are enclosed within saddlepacks, but that's okay. Lionel can rest assured that at least one of them as packed sensibly and it was definitely him -- hopefully she did as well though. The horse Meri has brought with her, who she is currently walking beside rather than riding, is a gray mare who goes by the name of Kadence. Good looking horse, as far as horses go, but skittish in personality. Not the sort anyone would want to ride into battle, but better suited to travel. "Good morning, Lionel." would be the chosen greeting of the day. "Drink plenty of coffee? Ready to hit the road? Please tell me that you've already used the bathroom, because I don't want to hear you complaining half way down the mountain." Meri smirks.

Lionel can afford an early-morning return smirk. The cool air and fresh dew might have lulled him back into a deep sleep no matter how much coffee he's had, but Meri herself will be his caffeine on this day. "Morning to you, too. Thanks again for tagging along. I'm sure this will override other duties for the time being, so if there's anything I can do to help your work load once we're back, let me know. It's not too late to outfit the whole of the Frost Giant population with gargantuan easels." His tone suggests he's joking. Mostly. The Queensroad is slick with shards of ice this time of year, but several carriages of workers -- some Giants, some humans, several dwarves -- have arrived to chisel the ice so that merchants and travelers can travel safely. Horses whinny as much to themselves as to each other. A fair number of people are on the Queensroad right now, a fair sign that business is returning to Frostmaw after the recent tragedies. One caravan in particular catches Lionel's eye. It's covered in simple furs, down to the last carriage, and its horses are similarly outfitted. The Giants inside the carts are dressed like monks, and they're at prayer. Never has Lionel believed such rich, sweeping sounds could come from the vocal chords of such a race. It seems he's still learning about the natives of the realm he governs even now. The caravan is nearly behind them when he hears a familiar word in the chant: "Veltharn." Lionel twitches visibly, then steadies himself. The chant dissipates behind them, and the journey down the Queensroad and up the mountain pass continues. "I'm a terrible conversationalist," Lionel admits suddenly. "I'm either snarking deflectively or silent for ages. If you have any word games for the trip, I'm all ears."

Ahead On Our Way

On the road again, just can't wait to get on the road again. The road is a familiar one for both her and Kadence, but that does not mean the gray mare is confident in her steps through patches of ice. "Mm, well when you figure out just what the demand is for those oversized easels, I will supply them." They were joking though and the woman has no anticipation that she will ever received a number. "Things are quite well tended to at the shop. Estelle is a doll and the boyfriend will probably drop by there from time to time to make sure things are running smoothly." Were it not for the song of the giants Meri might have kept talking, but they silence and distract her long enough for Lionel to chime in with his suggestion of a word game, because his conversation skills. Better with his weapon than he is his words, this is definitely Lionel. "I spy with my little eye...." Was this a word game even. "Something anti-social." Hurhur. "We are how long into this trip and you are already resorting to word game as means of conversation?" Request denied, sort of. A giant passes a little to close to Kadence for the somewhat skittish horse's comfort. Kadence snorts her annoyance which prompts Meri to lean forward to pay the side of her neck comfortingly. "Why don't you tell us a story instead. Hm. I want to hear a story about....A winged horse. What I do not want to hear about is any princesses, princes, or anyone riding in to do any damsel in distress saving. Booooring. Make it a good one. Make it a long one. We have a lot of ground to cover, a lot of time to kill."

Lionel's struck with whimsy with this woman around. There's a glint in his eyes, but it turns to a half-second glare when Meri quips anti-social at him. Then the glint returns, as if it had never vanished in the first place. He nods, as if reluctantly accepting her verbal jab for what it is -- truth and jest, wrapped in a bow as if straight from her shop. "You feel the need to specify that my story can't involve trite cliches of fantasy literature?" Now it's Lionel's turn to jab lightly. "Surely you've never held half a chatter with me over my intense perennial dissatisfaction at the stereotypical follies of every other antagonist our world has ever known. Long journey, right? Then let me preface with a foreword on the overplayed card that is damsels-in-distress. I crack open a book -- any book written in 2nd Era Verenti or later -- there's a heads-or-tails chance some bimbo who couldn't see a dagger-in-the-dark if it were broad daylight has been kidnapped by Lord Who's It of Wherever. Prince Dullard of House Who Cares comes riding in on his fancy frakking pony to defend the nonexistent virtue of Sweet Princess Gingersnap so that little children can grow up with ideals that ill-suit shite reality." Lionel shakes his head. "Only, sometimes -- oftentimes! -- the cliches smack themselves off the page and happen right here in Lithrydel. Horror of horrors, can you believe it? It's enough to put a man to sleep while he's dueling Lord Who's It to the death. It's like these bastards grow up after reading the book and think, 'gee, I'd better fulfill the role of bland, one-dimensional villain. Or else, who will?' How about, no one? Would that be so difficult? Lithrydel's got enough -legitimate- threats without your pompous arse popping a fedora and pretending you're one of them. Seven hells." Lionel releases a breath that may have been long in the making. "Right. Winged horses. Let me think."

Meri's blue eyes are on her horse, causing her to miss that glint that shifts to glare and then back again. By now Meri does not need to look at Lionel to know that some of that Catalian sass is coming, she has hung around Callum and Brand enough. Okay, more Callum than Brand but the point remains. Meri responds the same way that she normally does, those blue eyes are rolled so hard that they could almost fall right out of her head. "Am I doing to need a dictionary for this story? I feel like I am going to need a dictionary." This is said with a smirk, the joke she is making this time around being made more at her expense than his. "I mean you have noticed the color of my hair, right? I am blonder than a lot of blondes out there." Shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, as if this were some hopeless truth. "Anyway, thank you for the summary of how those stories tend to play out. I find your explanation to be highly accurate and detailed enough that it was almost a story in itself. I think you should write it down and publish it, it has the potential to become a best seller amongst those stereotypical stories you love so much." Whatever sass Lionel was dolling out was going to be dealt right back to him, but it is not in flagrant disrespect. It's all in good fun. "Now. That was not the story I asked for." Spoken in a tone that would put even the most high maintenance blonde to shame and punctuated with a sweet smile. Except Meri was anything but sweet. Lionel knew this.

As they traipse through the mountain pass, the difficult footing continuing to mar smooth transit for their horses, white-capped trees become increasingly verdant and a somewhat steep slope makes for fast travel -- nevermind the potential for a sinus headache, of course. Elevation can be a damning thing for mere mortals such as they. "I have indeed seen your hair," Lionel smiles his answer. "I'm not much of a writer, though, so I'll either send the complete unedited version to my dwarven advisor, Tratt, or I'll just keep it in here," he points to his temple knowingly, "and spread word of the stereotypes we so woefully do try to avoid. Besides, there's a power in verbal storytelling, don't you think? Better for bonding." Which is, of course, exactly what they're doing. It's not in Lionel's character to draw attention to social interaction, yet here we are. It must be a long journey into deeds unknown. Lionel's story of winged horses spans enough time for a time elapsement; they've reached the edge of Frostmawian territory and the sun is highest in the sky by the time he's finished. The camera -- if there were such a thing, of course -- pans slowly away from the Catalian as his tale continues, and the scenes -- if this were filmic -- skip ahead to random parts which lack context. In other words, Lionel's author is ensuring that Meri's author understands that this is a long, involved story. Yet it's also a good one. It's filled with unlikely hope from less likely places, but dark and sassy enough to satisfy a woman whose need for sass in her companions perhaps eclipses her own understanding. People die in this story, but they mostly deserve nothing less. There's a clumsy juggler who becomes the sovereign of some far-away nation, and a princess who's briefly mistaken for a damsel only to reveal herself a master smuggler and the leader of an intricate crime ring. This princess is very blonde, yet very fair, and she defies expectation. She's more clever than she initially lets on, and she really likes winning. "And in the end, she wins," Lionel concludes. "Of course, that bit with the donkey would never fly in the real world. Flying donkeys simply don't exist. Let alone a flying donkey who wields a battle ax. But this one did. And to great effect."

Somewhere toward the end of Lionel's story Meri is going to interrupt briefly with an endeavor that was bound to happen sooner or later. These things must occur. She needs to find a bush, dammit. If this were a movie she would of course have this need right before some major action scene...Pause is a little more difficult in verbal storytelling, best not lose that train of thought there, Lionel. No peeping either, sheesh. Anyway, Meri returns, the story resumes. By the end of it Lionel is regarded with a deadpan look. Was Meri impressed? Well..."That's not the worst story that I have ever heard." He is regarded with a bit of side-eye as she points out in a rather matter-of-factly tone of voice. "But that was also was not a story about a winged horse. What the heck." Meri rolls her eyes. "A donkey is not a damn horse. Close but no cigar." This mistake is going to cost Lionel for Meri is going to proceed to try and explain every single similarity and difference between a donkey and a horse. Some of it may be true, some of it may be her lying for the sake of trying to draw out this annoying explanation because dammit. She wanted a story about a winged horse. Did you know that if you breed a horse and a donkey you will get a mule? But that mule will most likely not be able to successfully breed with another mule. Weird, isn't that? #Science is probably not advanced enough to explain the genetic reasoning behind that. Lionel will come to learn that horse and donkey care is very similar in many ways, but did he know that donkeys do not need to be shoed like horses do? Of course you can, shoe a donkey but they are completely different than horse shoes because they lack a toe-clip. Lionel may want to consider interrupting Meri sooner over later, this little rant of hers is bound to carry them for awhile. Perhaps not as long as his story? But she will give him a chance to change the subject for all things falling under the equus genus. Sort of. "You do know about the burro, right?"

The sun hangs stubbornly in the mid-afternoon sky, but fuchsia cloud coverage foretells pending sunset. Dwarven craftsmen work tediously at the stone on the frontier edges of Xalious' road; the dwarves become increasingly common as the duo heads further west. By the time Meri has poised her double-jeopardy contest question, even the sun has relented, surrendering beneath the mountain pass and leaving darkness in its wake instead of sticking around for more of the woman's strange science. "I haven't the foggiest idea what a burro is," Lionel admits, dumbfounded. "Regale me with tale of pride, prejudice, and tortilla cuisine. Can you stuff a burro full of dried meat and fresh cheeses? Because that's what I brought for rations. I'm hungry. We should settle down over yonder for the evening before the real nasties come out lurking." As it happens, Lionel is speaking chiefly of meter-tall bipedal lizard-like monsters quite literally called lurkers, but there are also roving packs of wolves -- and of bandits, too.

No, Lionel. We are not talking about burritos, but now that the subject has shifted from donkeys and horses to food, Meri's stomach is growling in agreement. Over-yonder? "It's a basically a donkey but smaller. So...I don't know if you want to stuff dried meat and cheese in them." Meri shrugs, dismounting Kadence, taking the gray mare by the reigns and leading her over to a space she presumes Lionel is indicating. Over-yonder for her consists of a patch of earth between two trees. "You know, I suppose I should have mentioned before we passed it awhile ago that Raphaline gave me a key to her lodge ages ago and I am sure she would not at all mind if we had stopped there for the night." Alas, they have well passed that particular location, backtracking would be a fruitless effort. Meri's spot is picked and claimed and, pending any suggestion from Lionel, she'll begin to unpack some of the essentials from the bags Kadence is carrying for her. What she is unpacking does not consist of a tent, nope. Meri is actually going to tie a set up a hammock between the two trees rather than pitching a tent and sleeping on the earth. Island life has likely taught her this trick. Lionel is left to tend to his own measures, in whatever order he sees fit to do them. If he wants to feed himself first, great. Meri is setting up her sleeping spot and then she will go for her own rations, which realistically consists of the same thing. Trail food. It was not very exciting. She'll make small talk while they're stuck doing this. "I guess some better things to talk about might be things like...where are you from? Catal isn't it? How long have you been here? And how long have you know Brand and Khitti?"

As for Lionel, a modest bedroll will suffice. Unrolling it in a simple swooshing motion, he flops it down on a grassy patch beside a rocky hill, adjusting it such that he can maximize his own visibility while concealing his location from foes. Meri's two-tree hammock has increased the odds that they'll be spotted, but a secluded nook like this one shouldn't prove too dangerous. Nevertheless, Lionel places a handful of iron spike traps at the edges of the most likely assault points, gesturing so that his traveling companion knows they're there. Only then does he fetch his meal, layering the meat and cheese with the crusty end of doughy bread and periodically reaching for his ale flagon. "Catal," the country's last prince confirms, peering up into the night sky. There are enough constellations in the sky this time of year to illuminate the atmosphere toward an almost seafoam green, and the air is cool but not cold. No fire is necessary, for which Lionel is thankful, although there's ample wood nearby should Meri choose she wants one anyway. "I came here when I was still a boy of 16. I've spent the better part of half my life in Lithrydel now." Even as he says the words, they startle Lionel. Yet it's no true surprise: there's nothing left for him in Catal. There's nothing left for anybody in Catal. Among the scattered few survivors of the thousand-year realm, there are undoubtedly many who would blame him pointedly for failing to save the scores of fallen when the country burned from one reach to the other. Caedan Navarre is one of them; he's fortunate that Brand is not. Lionel, however, counts himself among the ranks of the former outlook and not the latter. "I've been fighting Lithrydel's battles longer than I ever truly knew Catal's." Should he ever lose the wars of peace here, as he and everyone else very nearly did eleven years ago during the cataclysmic Second Immortal War, there is nothing that will stop the man from total deprecative darkness. "I was... elsewhere for a while," Lionel continues. "Not entirely, but mostly. I watched this continent from the shadows whilst sojourning through other realms. I returned eighteen months ago to a Lithrydel that had experienced much change. Khitti was among the first people I met. I didn't make it easy on her. I was... difficult." He still is, really. But this is a matter of degrees. "We've been through thick and thin since, though, and I count her among the dearest friends I've ever known." Fate willing, she won't die like most of the rest. "Brand, ah, I met him some time later. I espied an old Catalian slaver vessel at the Cenrili docks. I endeavored to right a wrong," he summarizes, "and in the process, a young man named Dominic was freed. I left that man to his own devices, ensuring he'd have rest and coin. I don't know how much you know about Brand, but meeting him is -- or rather, was -- a natural extension of such a thing. Then again, I suppose I met Brand that self-same night; he lit that vessel ablaze with the kind of righteous anger you might not think could stem from the man." Lionel reverts to his stargazing. "And you?"

In Meri's defense, it could be argued that the presence of their horses also makes them easily spotted. It is not like the horses are very inclined to lay down, they like to sleep standing up a majority of the time! They do lay down at times, but it would not behoove either Meri or Lionel for either of their hoofed beasts to get too comfortable for it would take them a considerable amount of time and effort to find their footing again should there be a surprise assault. The point is, camp out in the wilderness as they are doing and there is always a risk of some creature visiting -- bug, reptilian, or mammal. It could be worse, she could be pitching a tent right now, demanding a fire, whining about how she wants to sleep in a bed. Lionel's story is heard as Meri puts the finishing touches on her little set up and then it's her own rations, except she doesn't bother making a sandwich of sorts, she just snacks. A little meat, a bite of cheese, mouthful of bread, y'know. While Meri was inclined to ask questions of Lionel, she would quickly fall back into the habit of not being willing to answer those very same questions herself. Most of what Lionel gets is nothing but vagueness, intermingled with smart ass comments. There would be a little bit of truth to what she says, but she was not even close to being an open book. "Well clearly I am not from Catal." And that is all that she would say about where she was from. "I have been here for about three or four years, mostly working out of Lita's shop. Up until recently, that is." Deep, insightful, facts about Meri here, Lionel. Learning so much, no? "And I have known Khitti and Brand for exactly the same amount of time that I have known you." For they had all basically met at the same bug-slaying shindig. Tattooed shoulders are rolled in a shrug, as if there was really nothing left to be said about Meri. Probably because she was honing in on other details that she deems more important to know about. She gets to know all the things, Lionel, you do not. Or so she would think. "An old Catalian slaver vessel. Cenril docks. You know how sailors love to talk, hm? I heard a wild story about a slaver vessel seen completely ablaze...down in Cenril. You have anything to do with that wild account?" That she did not get from some random Cenrili sailor, nope, but shhh.

"I do," Lionel admits plainly. "Much of that fire was Brand's doing, however. I didn't want to cause too much damage to the ship's hull. I didn't want to risk harming the prisoners. I wanted them freed, not dead. There was such fervor in that man's presence that night; he'd been chained for too long. There was no stopping him. Between us, the ship was decimated, and I can't imagine every slave escaped the fire." His voice drops low toward the end, and his eyes carry him back to the stars. They're sad eyes, too sad for just one tragedy. There must be many tragedies in eyes so blue with guilt. "Most escaped. Where the rest of them have gone, I could not say. I only hope they've found a measure of peace somewhere. What happened to their realm is... unfortunate." Meri's secrets are kept hidden easily enough when her roadside cohort is mired in so much past history -- but Lionel's own answers, although more detailed, will remain vague. Frustratingly vague, perhaps. He's not told her much, when there's so much to be told. Doubtless the same can be said of her. They each have their deflective techniques, although Lionel is not currently aware he has deployed his.

While Lionel may be keeping his story vague, Meri is reading into more than just the words. The entire whole of how Lionel presents himself while talking about the Sunderia is analyzed, in her fashion. She is trying to not be overly obvious that she may have some other motive with this line of questions. It is a fairly harmless motive, when considering all that is Meri. No further questions come, that seems like a pretty good run of 'get-to-know-you's in Meri's book, as one dodgy and vague as they both may have been with their answers. "Yeah. Like I said. I heard this wild story...I suppose one can't blame either of you though." Enough with the munching and the chit chat, Meri moves from her current position and back to her little hammock getup, where she falls right on into bed. Sure does beat sleeping on the cold and hard ground, Lionel. Meri goes ahead and makes herself comfortable, "Are we making bets on if we get visitors during the night? Because if we are I am willing to bet you a whooping one gold that we will get some manner of intruder." Meri might say bugs excluded, but one never knows. Revenge of the Insectiods. "Right. Well. Good luck getting some sleep." If they are spotted, just blame the hammock. At least Meri is comfortable, probably moreso than Lionel.

Never A Dull Moment

Lionel is actually rather comfortable on the ground. The preceding sentence probably says a lot about his life story. "I won't take that bet," he tells Meri, rolling himself onto his bedroll with catlike swiftness. "I won't ever take that bet." He lets his eyes linger on the starry sky for a while, admiring the purple-and-fuchsia strands of nebulae. A few scattered dark clouds briefly overwhelm the moon, but there is no rainfall. Ahead in the shrubbery, a red-tailed fox barks a few times whilst hunting for grub worms. It catches its meal and nuzzles a plant, then trots off down the pass. Lionel's sleep comes soon thereafter, and his dream is a hazy red-toned terror. A voice -- masculine but unfamiliar -- whispers into his ear. "You know my name," the voice says, and suddenly it sounds faintly recognizable. It isn't enough to place the face. "The black wind rises," the voice continues. "One by one, they'll fall. They'll die, and you'll be alone. Why risk it? Why not die with them...?" Two hours later, Lionel awakens to a cloudier sky which has fully masked the moon. Rays of light tug at the far east horizon, but everywhere else is nearly black. Or rather, it would be, if it were not for the reddish haze enveloping the landscape. It's not unlike his dream, but rather than a single haunting voice, there are several hushed whispers. Lionel's hand is on a dagger's hilt a scant second after waking, and he moves almost imperceptibly to gain a better vantage. In the hazy distance, four silhouettes -- they're slender, all, and they're holding triangular devices in their hands. A quick study reveals those devices to be crossbows. "He's up!" A man exclaims, shrieking. "Damn it. Shoot them. Now." The confident tone of a commanding voice comes from a woman.

One might have thought that two individuals with the life experiences like Lionel and Meri have had, that perhaps they would have the common sense to perhaps establish some sort of watch. Especially after cracking jokes/turning down bets on if they will be assaulted through the night. Apparently both blondes left their common sense back in Frostmaw, it is really an important thing to make sure one brings along to these missions. Sleep admittedly did not find Meri easily, it nearly never does. A good chunk of her night is spent just starring up at the stars in silent contemplation. It is the standard set of worries that are keeping her anxious mind up, everything from business concerns, relationship worries, what was going to happen on this expedition they were undertaking, etc etc. Meri usually hides that anxious mind quite well. After some time, sleep is something that finally claims her own mind but she does not have the chance to enjoy this state of rest for long. About an hour after she finds sleep, Lionel awakens and sets off quite a commotion amongst the unwelcome visitors in their makeshift camp. The shouts definitely are enough to jar Meri back to consciousness but in her groggy state she cannot quite register the meaning behind the words...until after the shots are actually fired and by then it is too late for the psion to actually do something to stop them for she cannot react fast enough. Bolts are loosed at both Lionel and Meri, with at least one making a clean hit to the hammock that Meri occupies just as she was rolling out of it. In the madness it is hard to say if she was shot or not, if she was it does not seem to be hindering her movement for as soon as she rolls out of the hammock and hits the earth, she finds her way to her feet with sword in hand. It stands to reason that since Lionel and Meri's assailants have the advantage of ranged weapons that another round of bolts will be sent flying toward the two warriors as the first round does not seem to have felled them, certainly not Meri at the very least. They will find this a second round of attacks in this manner will prove to be ineffective, bolts will instead be suspended in mid air for only a fraction of a second before they are turned back against the four sihlouttes. Meri herself will be using what trees are in her immediate area to her advantage to cover the ground between herself and Lionel - got to check up on the comrade, obviously, who is without a doubt not sitting stationary given current events. Right?

The woman in charge of this botched assassination effort is breathing a string of curses worthy of any fine Cenrili sailor, if perhaps ill-suited for this particular line of work. She throws up her left arm in frustration after ducking behind a tree to evade Meri's impressive counterattack. The lad beside her is not so lucky. He'd aimed his bolt for Meri's neck, but his own neck becomes the victim. Blood gurgles from his mouth in rhythmic spits as his body thumps the ground. Lionel moves like a snake through the flower-topped tall grass he's launched himself into, keeping such a low profile that -- thanks in no small part to the cover of night these people had thought to use to their advantage -- he cannot be found. "Torch the damned area," the woman commands, and her two remaining comrades recover from their places of hiding and scorch their next bolts for that fiery purpose. Lionel nimbly exits the tall grass, signaling the nearby Meri that he's just to the left of her. He then nods toward the two subordinates with their crossbows all but tugged. He points at her, then darts his blue eyes at the leader of this little war party. "I'll take that one," he whispers. "Please trust me." He's off in a blur, through the trees but too quietly for the sound to carry. In seconds, he's behind the woman, his hands reaching out to her neck. A sickening snap distracts the subordinates as she falls lifelessly to the ground, her last expression one of anger and cold malice. One of the subordinates smirks. "Never much cared for Alesha, anyway." He redirects his crossbow toward Lionel. It's on Meri now to finish this job while their backs are turned to her.

If this was an assassination attempt, Meri was not aware of it. These could be but simple bandits doing some damn sloppy work as far as she was concerned, not much thought it put into the fact that they might be into one of them over another? Trust Lionel? Ehh, this is Meri we are talking about and her trust is not so easily won over, but she was only given half a choice in the plan that is expressed. Lionel is gone, leaving Meri to set her sights on the two remaining subordinates, who seem to have all but forgotten that Meri is present, they are a little too intent on the Catalian. This opportunity is used to her advantage, crossbow is turned back on Lionel and the woman is already sliding between the trees herself to close the distance. If either of them attempt to shoot, they will find that they will be sorely disappointed with results, or the lack of them. Did a mechanism fail? They won't have too much time to analyze what went wrong with their own weapons for Meri is creeping up behind them with her own blade in hand, smoothly sliding the blade of her weapon from ear to ear of one of the assailants. Specifically the one that does not have his crossbow currently pointed at Lionel, but he doesn't exactly get a 'get out of jail free' card either. A snap from above signals a branch breaking from a tree, and by the sound of that crack is was a sturdy one. It's obviously earthbound and sent on a one way course toward the remaining bloc in a bid to pin him to the ground. Why? Well if they are all dead, no one can ask any questions. Like, random attack? Were you trying to rob us? Do they have mounts of their own? If they do, sorry Lionel...Meri may need a conscience check here, lest she try and rob their attackers blind. Her moral compass is rather askew, y'know.

Three down for the count; one groaning, wincing, and flailing heedlessly beneath a pinning branch. Lionel stands up and scrutinizes the fellow, cocking his head sideways in apparent disappointment. "I've slaughtered better assassins in my sleep. Granted, I shouldn't have been sleeping. You almost had me. Hell, you almost had the both of us. But now you're..." He grimaces. "What's a good tree pun? There's got to be one. Caught between an oak and a hard place?" His grimace deepens. "Pitiful, I know. On-par with your own failure, really. So what was it, then? Are you with the ice spice clan who murdered my platoon last year? Perhaps you're affiliated with the Fist of the Empire, Khasad's old shadowy right arm? Or maybe you're just foreign savages out to destabilize the realm?" The trapped man spits, then chuckles. His breaths are shallow but he seems genuinely entertained. "You think very highly of yourself," the man answers. He's young, probably no older than 22, with closely-cropped reddish gold hair and a hooked nose. "I suppose I would too, if I were you. Your name carries weight. Not as heavy as this damned tree... but heavy enough. No, you pompous imbecile. You were a liability. We were gonna kill you to get to her. I'd motion with my chin but I think she broke half my jaw." He squints at Meri contemptuously. "I'd axe yew to leave, pretty boy, but your power's over-elm-ing. Maybe I'm acorny person, but you'll be re-leafed to know I --" Lionel cuts him off. "Gods! Enough! You're more dangerous as a comedian than you are with a crossbow. ...You really think I'm pretty?"

Lionel has the right idea, try and get the bloc talking, maybe if he says something they like they will be nice and let him go. Toward the beginning of this exchange between Lionel and the pinned man, Meri is content to remain silent. She'd sass off in her way, like giving Lionel a light glare when he announces that he almost had both of them. Pfft. Speak for yourself, Lionel...(except Meri is definitely bleeding from the shoulder and so Lionel was probably not too off base -- they almost had the both of them.) Her interest in the conversation wanes quickly as both Lionel starts in with the tree puns. Right up until they get to the 'kill you to get to her' part. Initial reactions has Meri thinking that they were going to kill Lionel to get to....Hildegarde, right? Except Hildegarde was no where within sight for this chump to motion to. Meri does a quick double-take of the area, did they have additional company that they did not know about? Surely he was not talking about killing Lionel to get to her...as in Meri? Her features are quickly becoming marred with confusion, except...chump is now making horrible tree puns and Lionel is concerned about if he is pretty or not? What the heck? She's in a dream. The woman closes her eyes, and counts to three internally, and then reopens them only to find that...she is in exactly the same spot that she was before. "What the hell," she exclaims, to everything from Lionel to this botched assassination attempt. Meri is not amused, she definitely will not be making tree puns with the two men. Instead a dagger, sheathed into the back of her boot, takes into motion and flies up and into the palm of her hand. With the dagger secure in her grasp, Meri steps forward and falls into a crouch immediately next to him. "I think you ought to just go right ahead and ignore him right now." She motions to Lionel with the tip of her blade. "Kill him to get to....? And why?" Meri anticipates she'll get her answers about as much as the lone survivor anticipates he'll actually be allowed to live.

The fellow is in fact fairly forthcoming. "Yeah. I'll tell you everything, but I'm pretty sure I've got some fractured ribs going on, here. Get this damned tree off of me and I'm an open book." Lionel winces, but their company cuts him off. "Don't give me that look. Oh sure, it's a cliche. The bad guy's gonna run away or draw a knife or spontaneously combust the instant the tree is off his chest. You've really figured me out. Listen. I've got a knife tucked toward me already as-is, and I sure as hell ain't running looking like this. But it hurts like mama's whip just talking, so this is the last I say 'til it's off me." Lionel's wince has transformed into an eyeroll. With a hefty shove, he knocks the wood from the chatty survivor and swings his foot over him preemptively. "Gonna stomp me to oblivion? I guess it's as decent a death as my lot deserves. Well, whatever. Here's the deal, lass." He looks at Meri as if her blade is nowhere to be seen. "You've made enemies. Your associates have made enemies. We were hired through a third party. This lot?" He tilts his chin toward corpses. "Never even met 'em before six weeks ago. Then, we tracked you. That broad you slaughtered, Catalian, she killed ten kids to gut their pops, just to pilfer a letter with shipping orders. Real piece of work, she. And our employers? The Sons of Balamb? Even worse. Can't say as to their clients, but I'm guessing your operation's got a mole, lass. Someone who'd rather be donning the proverbial crown." He squints at her. "I'm not going to give you a plea speech. I won't even bother telling you my name. Kill me or don't. My life's a chip in your ante." The young man sighs, tapping his torn shirt to check his injury. Lionel crosses his arms and shrugs; if any of their guest's commentary has surprised him about Meri, he isn't showing it.

Realistically, Meri just wanted to shank this guy and be done with it. Would the mess be entirely cleaned up? No, but it would at least make her feel better. There was that matter of Lionel though, who was currently like he was indifferent to this subject matter either way, but offing the last guy right in front of Frostmaw's Steward would not bode well for her, in her opinion. Correct or not. It would only serve to validate the claims that she or someone that she is working for has done something to piss off someone. Lionel may very well already be in the know of these details but Meri is not going to eagerly confess them regardless. Meri taps the blade of her dagger against her knee, still in a crouch next to the guy, staring in silence. "Yeah. You're right. You're life is in our hands," the woman begins, breaking her silence finally and rising to her full height. "And I am inclined to let you live." No, she was not really. "Because your employers have sent you on a wild goose chase and put you in the charge of someone reckless and stupid. " That Alesha woman, now dead, Meri was not intimidated by the story that she killed ten children just to kill their father. "I am just a lowly artist who likes to stick her nose into trouble by hanging out with the likes of Lionel and his warriors. So I am going to let you walk away. Hopefully Lionel feels inclined to do the same. You best leave my line of sight with a damn quickness too. Before I change my mind." And she might, if she discovers any more damages to her or her own (like her horse), once she has the time to take a closer inspection of their makeshift campsite. "Good luck reporting back to your employers. I am sure they will be thrilled with how all of this has panned out."

Lionel might have been very slightly disappointed had Meri shanked the fellow and been done with it, but he wouldn't have made a fuss over it. If anything, he's a touch surprised that she chooses not to do so. As for all this unsavory business, he has indeed long since figured that Meri has shady attachments. The reality is that in his mind, he's done things too dark to dare dislike her on those grounds. It would depend on the details, and -- perhaps willfully -- he has thus far not investigated those details. He does flick his gaze briefly toward Meri when she claims herself a 'lowly artist', but other than that, he's stoic. Of their failed assassin, the same cannot be said. His eyes are wide the entire time, betraying whatever coolness he'd hoped to convey. It seems news of his life has struck a sharper chord than pending death. He swallows hard and struggles to stand. Lionel does not assist him. "Yeah, heh, well, f-fine. I'm thankful. So... thanks." He rips a piece of his shirt off and stuffs it between his teeth, muffling the painful noises he'll be making as he stammers his way back to his mount. It may prove too long a journey for him. But Meri has given him a chance. It's more than some would have done. | Dawn approaches as Lionel seats himself upon his sleeping bag, cross-legged. "We should continue," he says, evidently none-too-keen to discuss their encounter.

There was definitely a Catalian in existence in the world that could make frowny-disappointed faces at Meri and elicit a guilt-ridden response, but Lionel was not that individual. Regardless of that fact, she is trying to analyze both of the men that are in her presence with equal attentiveness, just for different reasons. The kid that gets to live another day? She's trying to gauge how truthful he is being with his account right now, it's not hard to weave a web of lies and sound believable. Lionel? She's trying to read past that stoic facade to figure out just what the heck the guy is thinking right now. Off the lone survivor of that little assassination party goes, live or die from here is not Meri's concern. The way Lionel avoids any amount of conversation regarding this attempt is a bit...off to Meri. If he had made some inquiry or another, Meri may have been less suspicious, but this avoidance gets the mind running. Dawn comes, they journey continues. Once they are well on the road, curiosity gets the better of her at some point and her blue eyes level hard on Lionel, "So. No questions. Not even if that was a first time event?" He may have been able to deduce this based on her reaction, she was certainly shocked. Then again, that is the point of an assassination attempt, and what sort of life would she be living if this was just some unsurprising and routine occurrence?

If this were a routine occurrence, Meri would be Lionel. He shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm curious. But I wasn't curious enough to go poking around. You guard your secrets close to your chest," he plants his left hand upon his own chest to signify the statement, "and unless you're looking to strike widespread oblivion with whatever trouble you've gotten yourself into, I'm not going to press the matter." The sun climbs higher into a clear blue sky as the pair comes down through the mountains and into the dusty crags of eastmost Venturil. It's a blazing heat, and shade must needs be procured at every possible measure. The flora is dead trees, the wildlife is shadow cats and coyotes, and the air is dry. "I guess I do have one question. Will you be safe?" Lionel tries very hard not to show concern. He maintains a smooth monotone, but his face sprouts worry lines.

Outskirts

Meri would like to keep her blue eyes fixed on Lionel, to try and pick apart the details of his reaction as she is so prone to doing when she is trying to fish for information. The road into Venuril is growing trickier and Kadence is demonstrating once more that she is not always the most surefooted and confident horse, forcing Meri to keep her gaze on the road ahead more than on her partner in conversation. The change in scenery is really not helping the horse's anxiety level, dead flora, the scent of predators hanging in the air. Kadence is looking more skittish than she was up in Frostmaw, which could be attributed to a number of factors. It's hard to say if Meri notices the concern that Lionel displays, she very well may not have even glanced at Lionel with time enough to catch it. It seems likely because her answer is delivered with a faint shrug and a matter of fact sort of shrug, "What is safe in these lands?" Honest, but far from comforting. Frankly the question is a rhetorical one for both blondes knew the bitter answer to that question: nothing. The subject is shifted, no further need to dwell on any subject matter related to that little....incident. "It won't be too much longer." Until they are in Venturil, she means. Technically they were there already, but it was still the outskirts. "So...Are we on an aimless wander? Destination in mind? Have you a plan knocking around in that brain of yours? Care to fill me in?"

Lionel's plans tend to involve a great deal of improvisation, something Meri surely must know by now. It's a frustrating thing, but it has somehow kept him breathing through all manner of calamity. That said, even Lionel has a plan today. "Aye, we're meeting a draconologist." He pushes harder on his horse's reins as they hit a particularly rocky stretch, which soon zigzags into a pass. Skeletal trees hold steady against a slight breeze which gradually launches tumbleweed forward into the horizon. "And not just any draconologist. Famed Aurelian draconologist Matre d'Launce. She's kind of a big deal. We need her help back in Frostmaw, y'see, because of that high dragon, and because frankly it'd be good to have someone of her skillset. But this world's give-and-take. In her correspondence, she told me she'd take the job on one condition: we help her out first. So here we are, then, ready and able. Let's see what the heck someone like Matre d'Launce would want, eh? Smart money's on a fetchquest. 'Ooh, bring me ten something-or-others.' It's always a fetchquest. Easy and trite." Venturil is in view now, all slanted stone buildings stoic against the setting sun. Numerous fires are made at regular intervals for warmth against the fast-approaching cold and eyes against the many monsters which call the region home. It's more village than city, with a modest perimeter, but the men and women of various races Meri and Lionel will see tend toward sturdy and healthy and alert. Lithrydel's western frontier is no place for the weak of flesh or heart. The smells of ale and stew permeate from the local tavern, which casts amber light through its windows and out onto the street. Lionel brings his horse to stable, flicking a silver piece to a hardy lad who would have anticipated bronze. "Matre's drunk as often as she is sober," Lionel tells Meri, "and I've half a mind to be the same. Let's grab a bite and await her arrival."

"We need her help back in Frostmaw." Meri repeats. "I mean I get what you are getting at, you mean you and Frostmaw's citizens. But the way that you decided to word that makes me feel inclined to remind you that I am not part of that we." Meri shrugs. With the correction offered, it might beg the question why was Meri even doing this? Easy: Khitti. Lionel and Meri shared a mutual friend, both with a bond strong enough that Meri was not inclined to tell Lionel no. The horses would stabled yes, this makes sense. Lionel would deal with and tip the stablehand while Meri was greeted by the horse breeder, Frethwi. They have a small conversation about the horse she has recently purchased and how he was adjusting to his new home. The walk from the stables to the Inn would not be a long one, and during that time Meri would offer up an alternate plan to what Lionel was saying. Alternate, yes, but she was going to enact it one way or another. "I have been on the road for two days....I slept outside. Lionel. You can sit your arse in the Inn and get drunk by your lonesome while you wait for her. Me? I am going to pay for a room. I am going to have food sent up there. I am going to bathe. I will be down in an hour." Probably, it is best not to argue with a woman in want of a bath, a wise man would accept this course of action. As soon as they pass through the front doors of the Inn, Meri is moving toward the counter to make this arrangement happen. And unless the roof of the Inn starts collapsing upon them? Meri would make her way up the stairs and be good on her word, she would be down in an hour(ish). Maybe this woman they are waiting for would just be arriving? Maybe the talk would already be concluded? Meri would find out in an hour when she emerges from upstairs and locates Lionel.

Down to the Nitty-Gritty

Lionel takes a deep breath and exhales. Meri is correct that he meant nothing by his usage of the word 'we' but he's hardly surprised she'd seek to correct him. Independence is a fierce thing to the woman, he's surmised -- fierce and hotly relevant. But this is still a Warrior's Guild contract, despite the Frostmawian connection. "Not a bad plan," he remarks, masking his slight frustration behind the rim of a horn of ale he's acquired. "I intend to do the same, but only after I've made contact. Enjoy the bath; you've earned it." Despite Meri's payment, Lionel will ultimately seek to cover every expense and accommodation here, as per his status within their organization. If that means Meri runs a sizable tab, then so be it; Lionel has never been much good with numbers, and he likely won't even flinch, and it will fall upon Esche to express frustration over big bills in his stead. Then again, the psion has already beaten him to the punch with her coin. Might be he won't have the chance to press the matter with her. Might be she doesn't want him paying! Somehow, squinting at Meri as she disappears up the staircase, he could see that. Lionel sits and waits, drinking from his horn. Time passes. Patrons frolick and tell tales both tall and true. A rumble fills his otherwise-empty stomach and an itch is felt on his somewhat dirtied skin. He glances at the staircase again, as if he'd see Meri still there, as if forty-five minutes haven't already elapsed. "Damn it," he mutters. Her plan was the better one. But it would be awkward to march up there now -- it'd be as well as admitting it. He'd get a separate room, of course, but she'd know. "Women always find out." A nearby gnome tilts his head slowly. "Aye, lad, you're right about that. Whose turn was it again? Yours?" Lionel blinks. "Whose round? To buy? Methinks it was yours, lad." Lionel blinks again, then grumbles. "I'm not yet drunk enough for that trick, but clever attempt." The gnome curses under his breath and saunters over to another mark, beaten but still hopeful. A few more moments pass, and Lionel is just about to rise from his seat and at least order some food -- that's not quite the same as admitting Meri was right about everything -- when a woman in a fluffy, gaudy dress the multiple colors of a proud peacock's plumage enters the tavern with a thick-armed and stone-faced female companion. The woman in the dress fiddles with her big bun of hair and immediately orders a flagon of rum whilst her bodyguard secures a table. Lionel meets them halfway. "Matre d'Launce," he greets. d'Lance downs an absurd amount of her rum before responding, holding her finger up. "Yeah," she burps. "Do you like my dress? I blend in with it." He lifts a brow, studying the rustic and muted attire of literally every other person in the pub. "In the wild, I mean, silly!" She scoffs and takes a seat. "Where is your friend? The pretty one, you said." Lionel takes a seat as well. "I never said that." She scoffs again, blowing raspberries. "You said she had body art. That translates to 'pretty' in Aurelian, oh don'tchaknow. Why are you drinking that swill? Have some rum. Honestly, Suzhen. Some people." Her bodyguard, Suzhen, remains stone-faced.

While Meri may be an independent woman, and while she may be doing better in the financial department than she has in months (and not just because she has a rich boyfriend), she is still not above letting people pay her way for things. So no, she does not mind either way if Lionel annoys Esche by taking on what may or may not prove to be a rather expensive bill. That being explained, she is not so rude as to demand that Lionel offer up coin when she clearly wants to deviant from his plan (her plan is better, yes). If Meri had been able to catch sight of Matre d'Launce's horribly colored dress before descending the staircase, the tattooed woman might have disappeared back into her room with a quickness. Lionel can suffer through that woman with her over the top fashion tastes by himself. Alas, Meri is not that fortunate. She is distracted with securing her wet hair into a lazy-side braid and then fussing with straightening out a wrinkle in her blouse. By the time that she comes to the realization that the woman with the techno-colored dress is the individual they are meant to meet with, she is standing right behind Lionel. How much of that conversation did she hear? if she had heard the bit about body art and how that translates to pretty in Aurelian, she is not commenting on it. Her physical appearance is not something that Meri wants to spend time conversing on. This could be a factor in why she is so smitten with Callum rather than some dudebro. She is living up to her description, as usual her tattoos are not hidden from view. What she does hone in on is the rum comment. "Please don't encourage him to drink rum. I am not sure that he can hold his own and I am stuck traveling with this guy...." she explains as she pats Lionel hard on the shoulder. "I absolutely refuse to hold his hair back while he pukes. Maybe Esche is nicer than I am though. Anyway. Have we gotten down to the nitty gritty yet?" Because we should.

Lionel is patted hard on the shoulder. His eyes widen but he maintains his composure. Then Meri says he can’t have rum and his composure melts into a slump upon his chair. “Nitty gritty!” d’Launce proclaims with gusto. “What a lovely term I’ve not previously heard! Nitty gritty. Use it in a sentence, Lionel. Lovely patterns, by the way.” Presumably the woman is talking about Meri’s tattoos, but she seems to be soaking in the ambience of the packed tavern instead as she says it. Plainly, Lionel asks, “how about we get down to business instead?” Matre d’Launce chafes as if visibly offended, but nods reluctantly. “Suzhen, if you’ll please, darling.” The gaunt warrior grinds her teeth as she fetches a burlap map and unfolds it upon the table. It appears to regard the Venturil-Chartsend regions of Western Lithrydel, and there are a number of red x’s etched and stenciled into a patch of forested plains due north of Venturil. “Listen to the tales being told,” Suzhen suddenly speaks in a voice that’s fittingly grim. “All around you, even now. Tonight in this tavern. Every night and every morning.” As if on cue, Lionel, who has lofted a brow with concerned intrigue, tunes in to the stories being ushered by adventurers and townsfolk at other tables. “We burned the bush and killed two more,” one chiseled dwarf says to another. “What they cannot stand is the flames,” a woman confides to her husband. “Put to the sword, another family of them as near as they can be said to have them.” A grey-bearded man says it with sovereignty. Lionel’s eyes narrow and he adjusts himself from slump to more formal composure. “What are they talking about?” Suzhen points to the red x’s. “The country burns in each of these locations. The people seem to care little that the burning comes closer and closer to their own borders. They’re united in common cause. There is an enemy here which drew our presence to this land. An enemy Matre d’Launce believed she knew well, being a draconologist. But she doesn’t.” d’Launce purses her lips and tugs at the frills of her absurd peacock dress. Lionel sighs deeply and looks to Meri with an almost comical irritation. “Don’t say it. Don’t frakking say it.” Matre d’Launce says it. “Saurians.”

If Lionel really wants to have rum, he is obviously a grown man and Meri was not really in a position to tell him when to drink or not. That being said? She really was not going to hold his hair back if he pukes. The compliment paid to her tattoos is met with a wink as Meri settles into a vacant spot at the table. Her want to get down to the 'nitty gritty' means that she is not going to engage that topic further. The compliment is accepted and it is time to move on. Apply this same logic to Matre d'Launce's facinsation with Meri's slang words like 'nitty gritty'. The instruction to listen to the stories being told is heeded for only a split second before he map is unfolded. It claims all of Meri's attention and those stories are ignored with the hope that Suzhen and Matre d'Launce will elaborate swiftly to provide the clarification she needs. The word Saurian is uttered and Meri does not react. How come she does not react? Simple. One usually has to be within a certain proximity of an area to hear of the troubles that have been plaguing a particular region. Unless someone was going out of their way to keep tabs? Whatever her excuse is for her lack of knowledge does not really matter and she is not going to offer up any explanation as to what she may have been up to at the time to be so clueless. She listens and she waits, more details must surely be coming and maybe all this chatter will make more sense to Meri as they converse on. They being everyone else who does not answer by the name of Meri, she is nothing to say at his moment.

The saurian conflict having stretched into the Larketian outskirts, and its role in helping to spur the flames of war between Larket and Frostmaw, might have compelled Lionel to assume Meri would have a stronger reaction to the word. So he sits there awkwardly with his eyes wide with irritation until the moment passes, deflating like a balloon. Lionel himself feels rather deflated, too. “Alright then. Saurians. Never fear, Lionel and Meri are here. I hate that this is why we’re here, but we’re here. So it sounds like there’s another saurian infestation. And it sounds like the townsfolk in this region are making matters worse with their uncontrolled fires and their uncoordinated attacks.” d’Launce nods. “You do realize people have been known to call me ‘the Hero of Hellfire’, right?” He asks her sarcastically. “Like, uh, I sort of have this thing with uncontrolled fire. I don’t really see why you’d call me to the scene of the crime here.” d’Launce twists her lips into a sneer but calms herself. “You raise a valid point. I didn’t call you here to help spread the fire that’s burning Venturil’s crops. Frankly, I couldn’t care less what these darlings do to their crops. They’re trite folk who don’t concern me. It would be better if they live, for I don’t wish death on anyone, but if their actions seal their fates then so be it. What I’m more interested in is the cultural opportunity to study these saurians.” Lionel makes a face and almost opens his mouth to say something sarcastic again when Suzhen intervenes. “They’ve displayed a startling level of intellect. We believe the beasts are razurath-- the beings your man Ameno initiated first contact with. Matre d’Launce wants one captured for study.” Lionel turns to Meri. “Did you ever meet Ameno? You know, before he went crazy and we had to kill him? Weird lad. Crazy lad. We had to kill him.” He sighs. “Cut to the chase already, if you’d please. We march out there into the midst of a saurian-on-Venturilian war and capture you a razurath.” d’Launce nods eagerly, signaling a passing barmaid for more rum. “The research I could conduct would put me at the uppermost echelon back in my homeland. My papers would no longer be scoffed-upon. I would have every grant for every occasion. Do this for me.” Lionel ponders. “The pay had better be good,” he says. He’ll leave any further deliberation to his partner, but in the meantime, he’s considering alternatives.

Back and forth the conversation would go, Meri's gaze pivoting between the speakers. Her contribution to the conversation is still minimal -- which really should not be that shocking to Lionel. This is fairly standard behavior from Meri, even at certain meetings that just never seem to go as planned. Occasionally she'd speak up, but only when she felt like she had a point worth making. No idle chatter, which is why questions of Ameno are met with a shrug, and no elaboration nor remorse for his death. Sorry Ameno. They get to the point. A razortooth. They were being expected to go out and capture a razortooth -- this did not sound like no dang fetchquest to Meri. Okay, sure, they would go out and catch this beast that probably has...Gasp. Razorteeth. Thus the name, right? Perhaps it is not an unreasonable assumption that Meri might know something of Saurians and Razortooths given that she does reside in Larket. Except this residency has been a fairly recent development. What was she even doing with herself toward the beginning of this year? Hm. Rynvale may also be a safe assumption but she is a flighty woman at times, who knows where she could have wandered off to that caused this lack of knowledge. Meri is not a forthcoming woman. Lionel considers his alternatives while Meri finally breaks her silence, butchering the name of razurath in the process. "What in the heck is a razortooth?"

Lionel, d’Launce, and even Suzhen widen their eyes at Meri’s intervention. All three of them attempt to correct her, but it’s the barmaid with the rum refill who gets words in edge-wise. “Razurath,” she says with a flick of her hair and acceptance of d’Launce’s coin. Briefly, when the coin purse is opened, a huge collection of gold almost as outlandish as her dress is revealed. The pay will indeed be quite good. With the barmaid off to her next order, it’s d’Launce who digs deeper into Meri’s curiosity. “The razurath are a tribal offshoot of these saurians. They’re… how best to describe them? Their physiological makeup is somewhat less… animalistic. Somewhat more… anthropomorphic. Oh, to be sure, they’re as savage and beastly as the rest of them; they’ve slaughtered these fool townsfolk to no end.” d’Launce reaches for her rum and swallows it in one unflinching sweep. “Which means my benefactors would just love to see one up-close. The wildest of the wild; the thing that makes orcs and goblins and trolls all look civilized.” Lionel squints. He seems tense. Whatever it is that’s causing such tension, however, he rolls the conversation closer to its end. “I’m in if she’s in.” He lifts his chin toward Meri. “But you’re paying her whatever wages she requests.” d’Launce tries to object but Lionel cuts her off. “And we’re taking that map, too.”

All of this was quite a bit for Meri to try and analyze on the fly. If she was in, then Lionel is in...but why did he look so tense? The explanation didn't really help her in that, orcs, goblins and trolls seemed like nothing compared to some of the things that they have ended up fighting. The arachnids were Meri's (least) favorite to fight with Lionel. The most disturbing critter award goes to the oversized spider that the faced in the Venturil area, followed close behind with the flesh-eating scorpion horde. Lionel seemed hardly daunted by the prospect of facing those beings, maybe because he never fully knew what to expect from them until faced with danger? He might have had a vague idea that they would be facing over-sized bugs but...Either way, it strikes Meri as odd. "Right. Razortooth. That's what I said," those red twitch up into a smirk, she had heard their correction but she was just going to keep going with her butchered name anyway. It's the promise of gold that prevents Meri from saying out right no. "I'm in if he's in. He's in if I am in. It sounds like we might be in if the price is right." A beat, flashing numbers through her mind. The job she had taken from Reginae had afforded the group a over fifteen thousand in gold, but that was split three ways. Still, why should the others pulled along on this adventure not profit? That would be Lionel at this point in time. Hm. The bid is started high, as in Meri's experience people like to haggle down. "Twenty-thousand gold for a living razortooth and we're taking the map."

Lionel can’t suppress a slight grin at Meri’s pecuniary prowess. He leans back into his seat with his arms crossed and awaits the reply. At the same time, Suzhen’s muscles move in an opposite sense: they tense, and her own crossed arms seem stiff with broad-shouldered defensiveness. All eyes are on d’Launce, though. The first thing that she does is straighten her peacock dress. Her hands clutch the fabric nervously. Her face appears flushed, and not from inebriation. “Twenty thousand,” the draconologist mouths, playing with the words on her lips in an apparent attempt to process them. “I… I can secure a loan through two channels, yes.” She seems to be telling herself as much as her would-be allies. “The University Aurelia on the one hand. My contacts at the Mage’s Guild here in Lithrydel on the other. I… and then I shall be very rich indeed through my breakout findings with the razurath. Yes. This can be arranged. I shall move through necessary channels whilst you hunt. It shall be done!” d’Launce claps her hand in premature celebration as Suzhen exhales. The swarthy warrior woman may have been holding that breath in for a while by the sounds of it. “Good,” Lionel says. “We’ll ride with first light. Or maybe second or third light. I don’t know. We’ll see. Now that we’re nice and squared away, I’m gonna go bathe.” Suzhen mutters, “as you should,” which Lionel chooses to ignore. Instead, he folds the map and winks at Meri on his way up the stairs. Whether she chooses to continue conversing with their newfound employers or rest -- or anything else, really, it’s Meri’s world and we live in it -- that’s up to her.

That night, a traveling band of modestly talented pipe players attracts a large crowd of Venturilians. Large enough, perhaps, to encompass most of the townsfolk. They gather and cheer and dance, and by the many candles and lanterns which light the tavern, it can be seen that there’s a certain sorrow in their eyes. This business with the razurath must have lasted well into a month by now, and it is through song and drunken delight that they try their best to forget these woes until morning. Until another raid, another shortsighted traipse through the rocky land outside their walls, another farm razed to stave off saurian attacks. Lionel sits at the bar nursing a hard spiced local liquor. One of the pipe players, a woman of middle years with elegant silver streaks in her long auburn hair, sings ballads of wisdom and bravery. She sings of a poor lad who became a prince, of a princess who became a miller -- this one elicits leers from men who enjoy the singer’s robust description of the princess’ blouse ripping as she tries to save a small mouse caught on a steer -- and she sings of lands lost in wars long forgotten. She concludes her performance with a tale of lands regained in a more recent war. Lionel rolls his eyes almost into the back of his skull at all the bluffs and sanitized stanzas in his least favorite ballad in the world, ‘The Battle for Dawn’. “Donovan didn’t ride a damned unicorn into the enemy’s left flank,” he growls into his glass, and an approaching woman who’d naively thought to give him company blinks and thinks otherwise. “We sacrificed two hundred and eleven lives so he could get there. Fraksake.” He shakes his head and sighs. It’s not the most pleasant look for the man, but this is where Meri will find him if she chooses to approach him for anything on the eve before she and the Catalian begin the hunt. If not, there’s plenty else to do in a town so self-deceptively celebratory.

How many drinks Lionel has, how many songs he listens to before he decides to call it a night, all of this will be a mystery to Meri. She spent the remainder of her evening in her room, and was up by the time light started to creep into her room and would waste little time. After getting ready, she'd find breakfast and after breakfast...She sends Lionel a bit of a wake up call. This is all barring the assumption that Meri was up first, she did call it a night first. In the grand scheme of all that is Meri, it's a fairly polite wake up call. He might wake up to the sound of someone knocking on his door but they will present him with a tray of food, a various breakfast items. Not on Meri's tab, this is billed to Lionel. While Lionel is eating and readying himself for the day, Meri has already exited the Inn. Fret not! She has not gone far, only to the stables to collect their horses and then back so by the time Lionel has the thought to investigate where Meri has gone off to, he'll find her outside with the horses and waiting. "Took you long enough," she says with a smirk.

Lionel sleeps rather little these past several years, but there are exceptions to be found when warm beds cater to his comforts after multiple days on the road. On such occasions, he might sleep in until as much as an hour after dawn, which is precisely what his body craves when Meri brings him a scone and two hearty red plums and a rasher of twice-cooked bacon and the Venturilian specialty beverage known as kaffe khon leychay. All things considered, it’s a fair exchange for that extra hour of unconsciousness, and Lionel says so more than once while he dines. The fact that it’s all tied to his own coin purse is something for Esche, Tratt, and Delenn to fret over, not him; truly, if Lionel weren’t such a swordsman, he’d be robbed blind six ways to Cenril. Once he’s enjoyed a heartier meal than the troubled town can offer for less than a small fortune just now, he gathers his belongings and makes for the stables. “Kept you waiting, huh?” Lionel asks Meri with a smirk of his own. | At the town gate, which is a poor name for the hole in a circle of shoulder-high sandbags mounted atop old knee-high stones, a nervous guard dressed in plate mail eyes Lionel and Meri as they leave Venturil behind. He doesn’t say anything, but he fidgets, and that’s enough to raise Lionel’s suspicions. By the time their horses have taken them safely out of earshot of the guard and onto the old red-bricked road leading out into the frontier, the Catalian turns to his companion with his thoughts. “Weird fellow, eh? Could just be the way they all are these days, what with the razurath incursions. Night fades into day and it’s six hundred hangovers and fresh worries again. But that one struck me like he was up to something. Let’s keep a clever watch as we traipse into the unknown with naught but our map and our wits.” It’s easier said than done, however. Lionel peers back at Venturil every so often for signs of watchers or followers, but a thin grey fog is filling the area, obscuring his line of sight and muffling distant sounds.

Nearly half an hour passes, the fog having thickened further, when the large blonde woman in sturdy ringed armor confers with the nervous guard, her contact during this ongoing investigation. Her words are sharp and pointed, much like the broadsword she keeps strapped to her back. She’s an imposing person, and she uses it to her advantage. “You are certain of this,” she inquires, and the guard fidgets. “Yes, Lady Renne. I’d stake my l-life on it.” Lady Renne scowls at him. “If the Baron finds your information inaccurate, he may well hold you to that. At midday, the organization responsible for the failed attempt on the psion’s life will be here. You are to tell them as you’ve told me: the whereabouts and general heading of our targets.” The man bites his lip sheepishly but nods quickly. Lady Renne steps outside the guard’s small shack with a haste. “Wh-where are you going, Lady Renne? The town needs the baron’s protection…” Renne’s scowl seems to take on additional malice as she mounts her horse. “And Venturil shall -have- his protection, so long as his plans are not in ruins thanks to unwanted interlopers. I’m pursuing that bitch and her happy-go-lucky bastard cohort, and I’m putting an end to it.”

Their Own Path

Enjoy that Kaffe Khon Leychay, Lionel, who knows when there will be another chance to enjoy one of those, or if there will. Not at the rate that this mission is panning out. Meri evidently did not think too much of this lad, not like Lionel did. The guard's nervousness is dismissed and attributed to a plethora of things: new to the job, young, inexperienced, did not think that he would ever really face serious danger when he signed up to join the guard yet there he was in Venturil which was evidently plagued with troubles. "Hm," is the brief response that Lionel earns from Meri. As he pointed out, they should be on guard, they are on a mission and after this razurath. It is for this reason that Meri does not given an in depth reply, if they end up in depth in conversation (hah) then it is all the more likely that they will fall victim to a sneak attack by....? Well it is safe to say that Meri is not expecting any repeats of misadventures they have already had on the trip. Surely whoever wanted her dead does not want her dead that badly, she is wrong evidently. Though Meri herself is no gabbing away, she is not traveling in total silence. There was still the sound of Kadence's hooves thudding against the earth and as the fog grew thicker, the gray mare was growing increasingly nervous and made all the appropriate noises to demonstrate it. There was snorting, huffing, on one occasion there was a squeal of horror from the horse when a bird cuts through the fog and breezes right in front of Kadence's face. She is such a jumpy creature and definitely not suited for the creepier terrain. Time passes, Meri starts growing restless, Lionel has the map too...so she breaks her silence with the cliche whine of, "Are we there yet?"

It’s a valid question. It has, after all, been a few hours since they set off together, and Lionel has always exhibited a propensity toward daydreaming -- or in reality, waking nightmares, but he masks that -- since his return to this sprawling land. Best to make sure he’s still with the program, too, as it were. “Not quite,” Lionel says after briefly eyeing the map, “but we’re getting there.” Good talk, you two. Good talk. They ride on for a time, Meri’s horse sheepishly, Lionel’s undaunted, and although the fog trailing high up into the sky has obscured the time there is no questioning the hourly estimates drawn up from one’s stomach, so at some point around noon Lionel breaks for an assortment of dried meats and miniature cheeses which he offers to Meri should she be lacking in provisions of her own. Despite the usual aridity of Vailkrin’s countryside -- all rocky crags and deserts punctuated by suitable farmland -- the fog has made for a fine wet mist and what is ordinarily a sullen dry heat has become a swollen damp humidity instead. It is not an improvement, so far as Lionel is concerned; he unbuttons his black silk shirt, just a few notches down to his chest, and leans against a boulder. His bare skin has a visible diagonal slash mark from left shoulder down farther than the eye can see, a scar the Catalian seems to carry well enough, for he’s in no rush to cover it up today. At least, not in this weather. He’ll eat in relative silence, but it’s Meri whose meal will be more eventful; should she glance to her side at all during her lunch, she may well notice a collection of strange things just inches from where she resides. First, the fleshy forearm of an anthropomorphic saurian -- a razurath, she may deduce -- so fresh that it hasn’t taken to a rough enough smell for either of them to notice. Beside the forearm is a human finger, an index finger by the looks of it, swarthy and covered in congealed blood. While these accessories to the traveling companions’ makeshift outdoor eatery are enough to perhaps spoil appetites on their own, it is the parchment letter beside them that might draw the most curiosity of all: written hastily, urgent with its scribe’s ink.

‘Find help. They’re capturing them. This is all a farce. This entire conflict is a farce. Beware, for they’re capturing men, now, too. -Sigurd’

A trail of blood points due east. Lionel licks his fingers, savoring the dried meat, wholly unaware. It’s up to Meri how to react to this, if she chooses to react at all. They’re fairly close to the ‘x’ on their map now, but this may beg more immediate attention. Or perhaps it begs to be left alone; they’re on a mission, after all. The choice is hers.

Meri did indeed have the sense to pack or refresh her own provisions while they were in town, she is no novice and the more provisions the two of them thought to bring the better. Just in case. Wilderness preparedness 101. Alas, Lionel may be snacking away but Meri finds it rather hard to sit there and munch away given what is immediately next to her -- and it does not take her long to actually start to take notice of all of those things surrounding her. Notably the corpse of some creature. Anthropomorphic saurian. Was this a razurath though? Meri speculated sure, but it sounded like saurians came in a few different shapes and forms based on what she has overhead thus far. So maybe it was not? There was that human fingers, and oh what is this? A note? The corpses were not the most pleasant thing that Meri has seen, not the worst either, it is definitely enough to spoil an appetite but the note easily claims her attention. Meri goes for the note and reads it out toward Lionel, no reason to keep it a secret. Her own two cents come shortly after the contents of the note are spoken, "A farce, eh? That is a whole bunch of vague. Have you ever heard of this Sigurd person?" Meri points and indicates to the arm of that creature that she has not yet identified, looking for the confirm from Lionel. "Does that belong to one of those things that we're after? If it does, does it really matter where we catch a razurath from?" The answer to this question was probably no, no need to go to the 'x' marked on the map if this was a legit lead. Besides, they could get to said 'x' and oh look....no razurath in sight. Meri is not going to just outright make the choice, sorry Lionel. She's just making light suggestions…

Lionel squints through the mist and gulps hard on the last of his meal when he sees the arm. He scrambles to his feet. “Blood and ashes.” He draws a breath and paces closer to Meri, taut with battle-readiness. “That thing’s a razurath’s, no mistaking it.” He curses under his breath and puts his left hand to the hilt of a dagger, prying it free from its strap upon his hip and carefully carving into a spot on the arm where a wealth of purplish veins are contained. Lime green ooze leaks out as the dagger finds purchase, reminiscent of the wounds sustained by a razurath the late Ameno had brought to Frostmaw as an envoy. The razurath hadn’t been long for the world, either. “This happened recently. I don’t know any Sigurds. I don’t know anyone around these parts.” He cleans the blade with an oily cloth and gathers the crumbs he’d previously thought to leave strewn about the ground carelessly. The situation has changed, and he can’t take the risk that they’re being followed. “Let’s follow the trail. I don’t like the sound of that letter.” His eyes go bright with realization. Soothingly, he adds, “if this is half as bad as I sense, you’ll get your pay no matter what we find.” Lionel hops up on his horse without further explanation.

The two travelers have decided their next course of action, even if it involves deviating from their original plan. Which, it is surprising they even had some semblance of a plan given who her current travel companion is. Meri follows suit, cleaning up what little mess she has made and climbing on top of Kadence once more. Break over, and into the thick of things we go. Sorry, horse. They were following a trail of blood and the fog has still not let up. Horses, like many animals, are great at picking up on the subtle emotional details of their human companions. It is fairly easy for the already nervous horse to sense that the tone of the journey had changed and that both Meri and Lionel were more alert, and perhaps tense than before. Lionel's may have cleaned up their 'break' spot to try and minimize the chances that they are followed but Kadence is still not silent for this trip. Meri probably should. If they are going to manage to have the element of surprise during this investigation, Kadence will somehow have to be silenced or perhaps even temporarily left behind...Which Meri is not going to be inclined to do.

Frustration. It is perhaps the one emotion Lionel can’t visibly suppress. There’s a lot of frustration burgeoning on his smooth features when Meri’s horse doesn’t simmer down. “I know she means a lot to you, but she’s broadcasting our whereabouts to anything with ears.” Silently, he curses himself for his phrasing. Meri has no reason to believe Lionel would understand attachment to horses. Meri did not know him when he’d first returned to Lithrydel, with a horse who meant the world to him but didn’t live for much longer. Lionel isn’t inclined to tell anyone about that horse, anyone who doesn’t already know, and as far as he’s aware only Caedan Navarre knows. The muscles in Lionel’s neck tighten involuntarily as the woman’s name flits through his mind. ‘Razurath, some haughty baron, and now Caedan, and any one of them could be four meters away and I wouldn’t know,’ he thinks. ‘I’m never coming to Venturil again.’ Aloud, he continues with, “I wouldn’t presume to try quieting her in any way, and I’d never ask you to leave her behind in this mist, war against reptile folk or no war against reptile folk. Calm her if you can, please, and be ready for the worst if you can’t.” As if on cue, a noise is overheard from not far away, ahead and to the left of the companions’ foggy location. Strapped to Lionel’s back, Hellfire scintillates a dull orange shade in its sheath, alerting the Catalian to danger his ears have already registered. The scintillation can be felt within him, too; it’s the inseparable nature of the man and the Ishaarite spirit of fire within the sword. The noise occurs again -- closer, harder. It’s the sound of boots scraping across rocks and sand, and this time it’s punctuated by an inhuman scream and muffled commands from a male voice. “Seven hells,” Lionel mutters, hopping off of his horse and diving into the mist, his sword drawn and shimmering red like in the tales. Even with its storied shimmer, however, it barely cuts through the darkness.

Yes, Lionel. Meri knows. She'd like to argue with him a little bit, point out that if she had known she would have never brought Kadence. It also occurred to her to swap out horses in Venturil but what if something happened to that horse and Meri had to buy it? Okay, maybe Lionel would probably step in and pay for that expense as it was an expedition he asked her for help on...but clearly Meri is not of the mindset that other people will foot her expenses. Of course what if something happened to Kadence? Meri would rather some random horse than the horse she has had for years. This argument does not come to pass, before Meri can even get a word in edge wise that noise is heard from a not-that-far distance. In his typical fashion, Lionel is acting first and discussing later, sprinting off into the mists and leaving Meri to tend to not only her horse but his own. As they have both sort of established an agreement on, it probably is not a good idea to leave a horse hanging around in the mists. Meri also speculates that they will both probably appreciate having a ride back, so she does not rush off into the darkness like Lionel does. She dismounts her own horse and takes the both of them by their reins, holding the both of them within the grip of one hand. This means that her other is free to pull her own sword from it's scabbard. It's been well established that her firesword is not nearly as fancy as many of those within the lands, but she is equipped with one which may serve as a bit of a beacon for Lionel....and well whatever else is out there in the mists. Meri's advance is more cautious, for while the psion wanted to offer her assistance, she also did not want to lose their rides.

The Creature

Lionel | The mist warps and distills where Lionel has passed through, and through that distillation and the keener lighting of her sword Meri will be able to espy frenzied movement six or seven meters away. The words spoken between unknown individuals will be muffled through that shroud, but if she is particularly adept at listening she will hear talk from a rough male voice barking at someone to ‘stay out of this, lowlander’. Then she’ll see the strong glow of another firesword, a big one called Hellfire, and that same male voice is suddenly panicking. One of the moving shapes collapses down hard into the mist, but then it scurries backwards without rising, and it mouths a shout that fades as the shape runs away. A moment later, as the mist just begins to resettle, Lionel emerges from out of that mist, breaking it apart all over again. Towering head-and-shoulders directly behind him is an anthropomorphic creature, green-scaled like a lizard with slanted vertical yellow eyes. It is dressed in simple tan leather garb, with much of its strong limbs bare. Its teeth are razor-sharp, and it sniffs Meri, sniffs the horses -- even Lionel’s Frostmawian steed is bristling -- and… is that a snarl or a smile? “We’ve found our razurath,” Lionel says. “And so did they.” He cants his head back from whence he came. “Slight complication. The fellows I just scared off? They killed a guy who tried to help this… uh… f-fellow.” An awkward wave of the hand is made to the creature. “A fellow who was missing an arm. A fellow who…” The razurath is definitely snarling now. With a raspy voice, straining to be heard in a tongue it clearly does not harbor much command over, it interrupts him. “So much words! We razurath is prey to man. Big man with wide cave glittering. Family take, or family prey. You want T’zek’le’thran, T’zek’le’thran give you him.” It puts a clawed hand to its chest, indicating self. “Please help end blood feud first. Only require courage.” Lionel winces apologetically at his traveling companion. Here they go again.

Meri :: When Meri agreed to bring back a razurath for study, she was not actually anticipating that she'd encounter a creature that seems has intelligence enough to communicate with words. Oh wait, Meri was supposed to think of that one....lizard-dude...who Lionel and co ended up killing out in Chartsend? Yeah, that memo was not fully processed. A skeptical look is given to Lionel as he proceeds to lay out the details of this. "You scared men off...who killed a man." Emphasis is placed on the word man, as in human. "That was trying to help this..." Meri pauses as she tries to how to pronounce what she presumes to be this being's name. She fails and ends up settling on a nickname, "Zek. And now Zek wants us to help end a blood fued?" A brow is lifted. Pause is given. Blue eyes come to rest on the razuarath, watching it's every move as it nears the horses, and Kadence is having none of it. The horse won't sit still long enough for Zek, as Meri has dubbed him, to get close enough to sniff. Please inspect from a distance, and if that is not respected she is going to do that annoying horse shriek thing. Meri gives Kadence the slack she needs to move around comfortably enough to avoid the razurath. "Look, I am not going to bring this guy to anyone for study, does not matter the price that is being paid." Nor does Meri have any sympathy for their employer and the efforts she's going to have to go through to get that payment. "I don't really care about any blood feud either, but if you want to run off and help this guy out then whatever. We came this far, may as well get this done too. But after that, I am bailing. I will not be making good on any deal we may have struck. You can do that part yourself if it is that important to you." It's not to Meri.

Lionel | ‘Zek’ cants its head quizzically at Meri’s nickname for it, but seems to understand. Lionel, meanwhile, has gone from pensive to pleased. Despite standing beside a being that could probably rip his throat out with its pinky -- if it had a pinky -- he’s smiling. Lionel has never been one to fully gauge the odds, no matter how in-tune he is with his surroundings. “Well, that makes two of us, then,” he answers while hopping up on his horse. “Because I wasn’t going to -let you- bring this guy in for study. I wasn’t completely sure until about ninety seconds ago, but I’d worried this was the case all along: the razurath are sentient, and no one’s keeping one locked in a research chamber on my watch.” He grabs the reins and leads on. T’zek’le’thran breathes deeply through its snout and keeps a healthy trot beside them. “And what’s more,” Lionel continues, “it turns out they’re an innocent party in this whole charade. And sentient or not, I’ll be damned if they’re gonna suffer for some blowhard’s coffers.” He fixes Meri with a brief, appreciative stare. “The deal is off, anyway.” T’zek’le’thran purses its teeth together and trills quietly, almost reverently. It’s difficult to say for sure, but the razurath may be exhibiting gratitude. “Wide cave glittering is… not far. ‘Zek’ will lead the way.” And just like that, it’s off at a pace that will keep the horses busy.

Meri hardly has time to discuss any of those details with Lionel, but she is pleased that they are on the same page with this. Meri likes her gold yes, but not enough to sell being out. A study in her mind was a very kind way to phrase what would probably happen to Zek, Meri speculates that torturous experimentation is probably a more accurate description. Either way, if they want to have words over this moment they'll have to do it another time. There would be a quick flash of a smile for Lionel before the both of them are forced to find their way back onto the back's of their steeds so that they can follow Zek's lead toward this glittering cave. Kadence is not happy about having to follow after this Zek. It was a familiarity thing, they only had one encounter, and Zek was an unknown thing to Kadence. But, for the first time this entire trip the horse is not whinnying up a storm. She is still not silent in her travels though, the faster horses are forced to run, the louder the sounds of the hooves hitting the earth becomes. Meri remains quite focused the route ahead, for the mists made it hard to predict obstacles like low hanging branches or rocks that the horses could stumble upon.

The Not-So-Glittering Cave

Lionel | The trip is indeed short. Not quite twenty minutes into the gallop of hooves and hooked razurath feet, T’zek’le’thran lifts one claw into the air to indicate that it is about to slow down, and it soon does as suggested. “We close. Noble friends to brave warriors can find shelter here.” Lionel opens his mouth to express his confusion, but the mist soon parts enough to reveal a cave. Only, it’s rather small. Cozy, really, with ample room for two horses and even some feed, but it’s a scant five meters in depth and aside from the food stores the only thing to indicate the presence of other men and women is a trail of footprints. “Listen, uh, Zek.” Lionel scratches behind his ear. “I’m not sure this cave is as glittering as you said.” Their newfound saurian offshoot acquaintance cants its head again, then throws it back and hoots. It’s a quick, rhythmic hooting, seemingly full of good-natured cheer. “This not coward’s cave. This just place where brave man named Sigurd come to help Zek end blood feud. Noble friends be safe here. Glittering cave not far. Not far.” No sooner has it finished its explanation than it throws back its head again and continues hooting. Lionel sighs loudly, but not loud enough to overwhelm the annoying noise. “Okay, Zek, -fantastic- punchline, you’ll be here all week, try the veal.” He rolls his eyes at Meri while dismounting and tending to his horse.

Meri is not so eager to dismount her horse once they reach this cave, especially once it becomes apparent that this is not the glittering cave that Zek first mentioned. A brow is lifted and once more Meri's gaze is transferring between Lionel and Zek. "Look, what are we doing? Are we waiting for someone? Something? A particular time?" Meri urges Kadence to turn, so that the back of both Meri and her horse is in the direction of Lionel and Zek....Which is not going to be a good thing, for Kadence is kind enough to let one rip and both Zek and Lionel will have the pleasure of smelling this one first. Meri? She is not bothered a bit and has the luxury of being able to spurn Kadence a few steps forward to avoid the smell. "If you need our help at the glittering cave then we should be going to the glittering cave." Meri clearly is not satisfied with this explanation and does not seem too concern with hanging out in a cave to stay safe.

Lionel | Zek fidgets, due in no small part to Kadence’s recent activity. “Glittering cave not far,” it pleads. “How far is not far?” Lionel asks, deciding to join forces with Meri in this investigative action. “Not far!” Lionel throws his hands on his temples. “How many steps?” He has to hope that’s common enough parlance. Zek waits a moment before answering. “200 steps.” Lionel’s mouth goes agape; they’re practically next door already. “We go into glittering cave and we save Zek family from prey, yes,” the razurath says slowly. “B-but,” it adds quickly, “Zek maybe not have hew-mon words to express… depth of glittering cave. Is tall. Guarded, maybe. Probably.” Its vertical eyes take on a pleading look -- an odd thing, perhaps, for how predatorily-built the razurath are as a species, but clearly it’s being sincere. “Zek just want save family. Zek knows secret way. Friend Sigurd knew it too, but… friend Sigurd captured. Other hew-mon, hew-mon who also try to stop glittering cave man, he lose arm and then lose life. Just for to help Zek.” It trills softly, like a moan. It’s clearly agitated, pacing as it is back and forth inside the cave. Outside, a light rain joins the mist in making Venturil a most unwelcoming place. “Zek is aware Zek ask much of strangers. But Zek does know secret way. Please, just follow little bit longer.” It fixes Lionel with a nod. “200 steps.”

Agitation washes over Meri's facade, her gaze settling upon the ceiling of the cave during the back and forth between Zek and Lionel. Follow. Follow. Follow. Fine. With a hard roll of her eyes, Meri finally dismounts Kadence. Following sounded more promising than 'it's safe here'. Safe would do for Kadence, who would be left behind in the cave for the sake of progressing this mission. "Then let's gooooo already." Meri says as she motions toward the back of the cave, presuming that this secret way was probably somewhere in that direction. It made the most sense to her, one cave being connected to another through some unknown route. Either way, Meri didn't have the patience for inaction. "Let's go or I go," Meri urges Zek. "Maybe he'll stay?" Meri hitches a thumb over her shoulder to Lionel, her gaze soon following this gesture and landing on Lionel. "But I'm ready to get this show underway. I'm not hanging out in this cave much longer." They've already camped out in the boonies, and she's already crashed at an Inn, at some point she'd like to return to her -own- bed. A lot of gold was dumped on that thing, best night's sleep over. Hopefully this will be enough to spurn Zek back into motion, and whatever direction he goes in Meri's going to follow. Ideally. Hopefully she won't have to make good on her threat of getting back on her horse and going home without helping!

Lionel squints coldly at Meri as she leads the way, frustration seeping into him as much from the damp environment as her impatient display. For the space of a few silent seconds, he contemplates mentioning that however ‘unique’ this sudden ally of theirs can be, it’s been about as straightforward as can be expected thus far from something with such a cultural and linguistic gap, and bouts of anger over very short-lived pauses in order to gain information that Meri herself requested will do no one present a lick of good. Then, with a muted sigh, he restrains himself, sends those thoughts to the back of his mind for the good of the mission, and takes a faster stride than Meri herself through the dank path she has indeed discovered. Understanding is a tricky thing; they’ve come face-to-face with the alleged enemy and learned the truth of Venturil’s situation, but Lionel and Meri themselves may have strained their relations in the process. Zek cants its head at them both as they fade away, before trotting to catch up and hurriedly adding, “yes, this is the way; strangers savvy. Savvy strangers, yes.”

Caged Like Beasts

Lionel | The cavern haunt, tight-fitting and with ground distastefully moist, is as short as Zek had emphasized. At the end of the tunnel is a narrow diagonal path leading to multiple iron cages whose occupants can be discerned by a row of lanterns casting shadows on the stone walls. Numerous razurath, some green like Zek and others red or blue or beige, have been herded into a single cage like cattle. Zek’s snout flares in protest at the sight of it. A shirtless man, scrawny and of middle years, lay in a shallow stack of hay by his lonesome in another cage. And in the third cage is none other than the woman Suzhen, who had been bodyguard and sworn protector to Matre d’Launce back in town. She’s seen better days, too. Beside her and beyond the bars is a single armored guard, all brawn and six feet seven inches, with his back turned. Without waiting for a signal, Lionel darts through the shadows cast by flickering lanterns and leaps up behind the man, snapping his neck. Suzhen awakens, and so does the man, and the razurath all watch the three of them with wide eyes. But each and every one of them knows to keep quiet -- a blessing. In a whisper, Zek comes up beside his caged kin and speaks words in their native language. They whisper back. Zek turns to Meri and Lionel with another of those canted head tilts. “Key is beyond door.” There is, indeed, a red door not far from the guard. “Second blue door to left in glittering cave. In and out.” Suzhen stifles a laugh, but moans in protest at herself for doing so. She’s wounded, a red streak down her shoulder. “That’s no cave up there, for heaven’s sake. It’s Baron Weiss’ bloody mansion. Not long after you two left Venturil, he invited d’Launce and I to… see his side of the coin, he said. He wanted her to help him slaughter these poor bastards for the best cuts and finest ornaments. Sick bastard.” She spits. “Trouble is, she did. That woman is not who I thought she was. It’s a quick route to that key, but I can’t say it’ll be easy. Weiss has a private army up there, and guests from Cenril, too, for some reason. Nasty looking bastards, that lot. I don’t suppose either of you know a way to get these cages open without all that.” Lionel grimaces. He does know one way, but it involves lots of fire. He’d rather not risk it...

Meri :: This really is not the first time that Lionel and Meri have butted heads on some expedition they have undertaken, but that cold look is ignored. It got the group moving again, which is exactly what Meri wanted. Sometimes personalities clash and Meri and Lionel were two headstrong individuals. Ah well. This was not disrespect on her part, at least not intentionally so....and at least it was not in front of a large number of individuals at a group meeting? Through the cave they go until they end up in an area with a number of cages that carry razurath and...Suzhen? What the heck. Her explanation sheds light on enough of the details, causing to Meri to wonder if the request to catch a razurath was a real one at all. Would they have been paid out? Where would that map really have lead them to? Questions that Meri is not going to speak to Lionel, her spiraling thoughts center back on the task at end. Her mind returns to the conversation just in time to hear the group discussing where it is the key is kept. Upstairs, but it is not going to be easy. Army of people. This sounds like a confrontation that neither Meri nor Lionel would want. It's a good thing that Meri is only sometimes a half-way decent woman, there are plenty of instances where she demonstrates that her armor is just a little tainted and tarnished. How many women do you know just -happen- to carry the stuff to pick a lock around? Okay, probably a lot. Bobbypins can do the trick and many women use them for their hair-stuffs. Meri does not bobbypin though. She just happens to carry a pick on her person, within the lining of her corset if you must know, because....Yup. Look it is coming in handy right now. Unless Lionel wants to be the brave soul to fight the fight for that key...Meri would pick those locks one by one. Starting with the razurath and ending with Suzhen, who looked like she'd be in need of an escort out of this place judging from her injuries. All you Lionel.

Lionel | Whatever lingering frustration Lionel had felt before, it evaporates as he watches Meri remove a lockpick from her corset. His jaw goes slack and he furrows his brows. “Huh.” Once the razurath are freed, the green-scaled prisoners -- a large one and two smaller ones -- wrap their scaly arms around Zek in a cold-blooded warm embrace. “Fadra,” one of the children says between sniffles, “Aer’kluth knew you’d come. Teta said you no, but Aer’kluth knew yes.” The other child, Teta, snorts. “Fadder, Aer’kluth dumb and can’t say ‘fadder’ in hew-mon tongue as good as I.” Well, there it is, then. Zek is male. The shirtless man leans upright and clutches the bars, pulling himself up with considerable effort. “Friend Sigurd,” Zek announces warmly. “I am glad you’ve come, T’zek’le’thran.” Hot damn: Sigurd really knows how to say it. “And I am glad you’ve found friends to help.” He regards Lionel and Meri with a small smile, hobbling out of his cage until the group makes their way back through the tunnel, Suzhen bracing against Lionel for support. “Tell me, what of Mathis? Is he…?” Zek trills softly. After a moment, Sigurd sighs. “I thought as much. His sacrifice shall not be forgotten. All Venturilians shall be made to know the truth. Baron Weiss -will- pay.” Suzhen taps Sigurd’s shoulder comfortingly; evidently the two have become acquainted during their capture. “Yes, he will.” Lionel keeps a steady pace, and the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel -- in truth it’s just mist and rain and it’s been made even dimmer by the lower angle of the setting afternoon sun -- is almost upon them. With any luck, this mission has ended and they can all go home happy without so much as a whiff of a climactic combat and/or dialogue encounter. But is Lionel’s player truly so generous? Meri’s own player would be wise to prepare for a no…

Meri :: Of course Lionel's player is not this generous, alas Meri can't blame Lionel's player so she will just blame Lionel himself. By now Meri has made the observation that nothing that Lionel involves himself with is ever simple, everything is an ordeal. It's all Lionel's player's fault that Meri thinks Lionel has the worst luck out there, trouble will always follow him....and yet she still agreed to tag along on this thing? So there was really only so much blame that can be given to him. This may be a tender moment for Zek and his children but Meri is going to be the cold-hearted woman that interrupts this moment with a bit of realism. "Alright. Let's go. Less talking and more back out the way we came. All of you. Go on." Meri herself of course means to follow up the group last, or second to last. She and Lionel will have to fight for that position, everyone else needed to go first obviously. It's probably right around this point that some guard decides to make his rounds and discovers them mid-escape, isn't it?

Lionel | It’s not a guard waiting for them in the little cave with the horses Zek thought would be safe. It’s a big, strong woman in golden armor with a knightly sword and short-cut blonde hair. The sword is drenched in fresh blood. The horses… are safe. The Frostmawian breed neighs objectively beside the corpse of a razurath who has been cut down by this woman. “Time is short, so I’ll be brief, scum.” She sneers at the party, four of them human like herself and eight of them wounded razurath who grieve for their fallen clan mate. She doesn’t appear the least bit worried about her odds. “Baron Weiss owns this land. The ignorant swine just don’t know it yet. I am Renne, his protector.” Renne glowers at Suzhen, struggling to stand as she is, who glowers back like daggers in her eyes. “Unlike some, I take that duty seriously. You are charged with trespassing on the Baron’s land and taking from him his rightful property. The punishment is death. En garde.” In a flash, the woman is upon Lionel, who has no choice but to let Suzhen go for their own safety. He rolls out of the big sword’s way in the nick of time, and then Renne is hacking close to Meri. Mid-swing, however, the regal and commanding voice of a man in a plush red robe with a copper crown on his head snaps her into a frozen stance. “Enough!” The man, like Renne, is covered in raindrops. He is most displeased. He has also brought company with him. Four women and two men in garb which matches that of the would-be assassins on Meri and Lionel’s trip to Venturil. They’re all armed with short swords and baleful stares. Yet it’s not these familiar threats that stand out the most in this rainy late-afternoon combat zone. It’s the uyeer.

Lionel | He’s pearl white and shimmers as the water hits his flippers, dressed in rough-hewn leather with a doused cigar between his jaws. He waltzes forward two short, calculated steps. “TUT!” Renne practically rolls her eyes but remains silent. “AhA-yyyyES theSEH the ooooooooneSEH!” Lionel has gone and dusted himself off by now, and Hellfire’s been drawn, defensively against Renne, but not for the first time this evening his mouth is slack. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The uyeer wags its left paddle mockingly. “Nnnnnothing about thisAH is a jestAH, misTAH! Meri-you-swine-AH! You swindlAH! I! Am! The! One and onlyAH ReekiTATA! My organizationAH, the hallowed-and-distinguisheDAH We Beat You UppAH And Steal YAH MONEY, has been wronged-by-yah little gang in the PASTA!” Reekitata clamps his pincers threateningly. “The firs-TEAMAH botchedAH! What’s pasta is pasta! Now…!” The man in the red robe repeats himself. “Enough,” he says with further menace. “You’ve trespassed on my land and stolen property, as Lady Renne has stated. I give you this one chance to leave this place without the prisoners. I will not be trifled with. If you disobey, you dogs, I will have my… companions here,” he says with distaste, “slaughter you like the dogs you are.” The razurath shake, gripped with fear, behind Zek. Lionel flicks his eyes to Meri. She ought to know him well enough by now to know his answer, and he wagers he knows hers as well.

Meri hears an awful lot of talking. There is a bunch of talking about blah blah trespassing and the punishment is death. Ooookay then. There is yet even more talking in an accent that she...I mean she can understand it but frankly she would rather tone it out all together, which is exactly what Meri does. Reeky-tatas and his complaints about all that pasta go in one ear and out the other. Her gaze briefly snaps toward the regal looking man and the four women and two men that have a very familiar looking garb, their weaponry is noted. Meri's gaze also flits toward Lionel, and she can figure what his answer is, yes. Lionel would be left to do...whatever it is that Lionel wants to do, he's a little spontaneous like that. She presumes his initial target is going to be Renne. "Suuuure, absolutely. Slaughter us like dogs, we'll roll over and make it easy for you." Meri still has her sword in hand, the flames of which have long since fizzled out, and that sword does remain aimed at the uyeer. While the uyeer is definitely of a concern to Meri, the psion would first roll her eyes to the group that is carrying the most weapons. We do know what the psion is going to try and do right? She has done it like a million times before, and she'll probably keep doing it until every single time...because most of the time it is a fairly effective tactic. So one more time, for the sake of being boring and repetitive, the woman will employ her telekinetic abilities to try and relieve the Baron's men of their weapons. The weapons that she is able to free from their grasps are going to be turned against the men and women with the intent of running them through with their own swords. And if Meri ends up with six swords plus within the control of her mental grasp, the next target would be Reeky-tatas. If only things went that smoothly, this would be a breeze, right?

Lionel can’t resist one brief barb before the battle. “Piss off.” Well, it was certainly brief. His sword is swung toward Renne’s, but he hops back with both feet to reveal a feint, his true target the woman’s plated thigh. The nice thing about Hellfire is that it’s sharp enough to cut through most armor. The nice thing about Renne’s armor is it’s a lot sturdier than Lionel had anticipated. The blade is briefly stuck in the woman’s gear, and she smirks wickedly at his failure and then swings sideways in an arc to tear him in twine. Ever the acrobat, Lionel twists out of harm’s way, prying Hellfire free. And so the dance begins. Feints and strikes, slashes and misses, clashes of strong steel; Lionel is nimbler than the weighty woman, but Renne is in possession of greater swiftness than her size could have indicated, keeping him on his toes. Their duel might have been enough to keep things under control at the back end of the party line if Meri’s impressive feat had been enough. To be sure, she is successful in her skillful assault, and all six remaining assassins are felled in one swoop like dishonored soldiers taking their own lives. Reekitaka is gasping, his paddles swinging around in a frenzy, and Baron Weiss looks like he’s seen a ghost. Meri’s second tumble with her hitherto-unknown rivals is over even more rapidly than the first. It’s such a shame, then, that out from the secret passageway are a sudden number of Weiss’ troops here to save the day for their lord. They descend upon Lionel and Meri, whose backs are presumably both turned to the tunnel. Even seasoned adventurers have their limits, and Lionel, at least, would have been skewered no matter his speed, skewered even if he’d dared tap Hellfire’s full and infernal potential in a small, foggy area with noncombatants galore. Only… it doesn’t seem like they really -have- any noncombatants any longer. The razurath, from the biggest to the littlest, swivel their reptilian frames about and leap. Weiss’ soldiers spill their throat blood like so many feral and sacrificial piglets, and them that break through this fresh hell slam straight into Suzhen and Sigurd. Even hurt, Suzhen is capable, wrestling a spear free from one man and gutting him with it. “Whoever said a cornered fox is more dangerous than a jackal,” Lionel mutters between swings, “I’m starting to agree with them.” Baron Weiss shuffles his lumpy body behind Reekitaka. “Save me and I shall reward you richly.” Reekitata clamps his pincers together and leaps ahead at Meri…

Meri is not aware that Weiss' men are sneaking up from behind, not until they are engaging the group that they tried to save from this mess. Back to the uyeer though, who Meri had every intention of turning into a shish-kabob prior to this moment anyway, the fact that he is not clamping his pincers together and leaps at her...while Meri has six swords in her control? Okay. Well the uyeer is sort of a naturally armored creature, isn't it? So Meri is not going to try and impale him just anywhere, she'll try and steer those swords toward the weaker points, where the weapon can slide between disconnected points. Not every weapon is successful in making their mark, some bounce harmlessly off the Reekitata and clang to the ground. Reekitata being airborne and in motion is also used toward Meri's advantage. Once she is done trying to skewer him, she'll use that telekinetic ability of hers to try and send the uyeer flying within one of the cells that were holding the razurath with the intention of locking him inside...just in case operation sushi is a no go. Maybe let's just buy some extra time to make an escape, because Meri is really getting tired of hanging around in this place where supposedly this Baron has an army at his disposal. Lionel and Meri should only test their luck so far, I mean really. "Lionel, let's go already." Go. Out. The way they came, back to their horses, where they both better still be. Meri means to go one way or another and will be trying to lead the way on this 'go' idea of hers. Let's go.

Lionel | Elsewhere in Lithrydel, there is a king among uyeer. A capable warrior, that uyeer would not have jumped into swords, and he’d have brought a terrible jawblade down upon Meri with the practiced movement of a professional butcher. Reekitata has always seen gold before sense, and his hallowed and distinguished organization, the venerable We Beat You Up And Steal Your Money, is at an ignoble end. “TUT!” Reekitata cries out. “I’ve made-AH huge mistaKAH!” Twelve hundred pounds of pearly white exoskeleton is cracked open like an egg, pincers and paddles and anterior flippers dislodging from the poor sob before all those pretty white pieces flail their way inside a cage. Baron Weiss is a portrait of despair. He throws one hand upon his mouth in a slap and falls down upon his own robe when he tries to flee while Suzhen, Sigurd and the razurath conclude their violent dealings nearer to the tunnel. Lionel locks swords with Renne one last time; she pushes with all her might to conquer his position, and he lets her. She is larger and exerts more pressure, after all. He would never win in such an outmatched engagement. Instead, he slides Hellfire down her sword, down and then rigorously up, carving her ear clean off while she screams. Renne almost collapses from the shock, her arms shaking and blood welling out of the slight hole in her head. Lionel, with his battle rage up and at the ready, takes a step forward to finish the job. Renne’s uncommon swiftness proves her salvation. She runs, well-aware that her tenure with this organization is at an end for the running, and so when Baron Weiss discounts his significantly weakened positioned here at this small cave and dares to spit at her for running, Renne cuts his head right off and mounts his own horse to get away from this place. “Lionel, let’s go already.” Meri’s words snap the Catalian out of his anger, calming him enough to remind him of their surroundings. “Everyone, on us,” he calls. Zek and the rest of them don’t have to be told twice.

Razu Rock

Lionel | If there’s one thing the folk down Venturil way have never seen, it’s a gathering of razurath wobbling their wounded way into town. The pitchforks go up, the mob gathers, and Lionel and Meri’s rest-before-we’re-off return trip to Venturil is every bit as heated as Lionel protested it would be. But Sigurd had insisted, and Suzhen backed him, too, that this was the only way there would ever be peace. The Venturilians had to see, had to look Zek and his clan mates squarely in the eyes and understand. “This is not our enemy,” Sigurd declares, to spits and snark and haws. But the contents of Baron Weiss’ pockets are enough to implicate him in it all. Documents written between contacts, documents elaborating on the whole crime, documents which reveal that the land has been played like a fiddle to the tune of one man’s get-rich-quick plot. And now his plot has ended. Drinks are on the house tonight at the buzzing, happy tavern, and the razurath are teaching folk the Dance of a Thousand Teeth. It isn’t going well. “Don’t mind us,” Sigurd says, one arm wrapped around the still-struggling Suzhen. They hover over the table where Lionel and Meri are seated, and Teta, Zek’s daughter, trots up beside them with a wooden chest. She opens it, piercing the wood inadvertently with her claw, to reveal every bit the gold Meri had originally cited. “Didn’t want you to leave empty-handed,” Suzhen explains. “You saved this town. You saved people who don’t even live here. You saved the razurath, too. It’s the least we can do. Well, I’m staying on for the winter. See you around.” With a wink, she and Sigurd and Teta wander back into the celebration party, leaving Meri and her Catalian companion to their drinks.

Meri really didn't want to go back to Venturil, but she made herself if only to make sure that the razurath, Suzhen, and Sigurd made it back without further incident. It is probably a good thing that Suzhen and Sigurd deal with the mob and their pitchforks for Meri does not have anything eloquent to say. It's not her town, this is not her fight, she just wanted a pay out and got roped into some madness along the way. Meri's ultimate want is to go home at this point in time. So while it is all well and dandy that the town of Venturil wants to have a celebration, but Meri is not interested in partaking in it. Even the promise of a drink is not something that seems to peek Meri's interest. Suzhen may have the best of intentions, but Meri is not going to be lingering around to enjoy the drink herself. It is instead slid across the table toward Lionel right as Meri starts to move to abandon it. "Well it looks like we came all the way down here to get some help from a woman who had no intention of helping you to begin with. I guess we tried though. On that note...Lionel. It's been real, but I am going to go back to Larket."

Lionel snickers quietly, but he won’t pass up the booze. With a stalwart swig, he polishes it off, and by then Meri may be off to leave all the ritz behind. He won’t be far behind her. With the gold chest packed and provisions for their trip, he meets her at the stables where a red-scaled razurath is being taught by a small girl how to balance on one leg with its tongue out. The girl finds the razurath’s tongue, which flops lazily down to its chest, the funniest thing that she ever did see. “Hey,” Lionel calls out to Meri, saddling his horse. “Let’s share the road for a little while longer.” He looks around furtively before quickly following that up with, “you know, because, uh, it’s awfully loud here just now, and I reckon I won’t get an ounce of peace and quiet tonight unless we do.” And that may be part of it, too. But as Meri will probably know, the real reason for the offer is because he’d rather not part ways just yet. While they do get testy with one-another when times are tense, there is in his mind a modest bond between the pair. Something too rarely available not to savor while they can. The road home is a pleasantly uneventful thing.

Friends In Primal Places

T’zek’le’thran returns to his clan a war hero. He’s showered in furs and hunters’ brews, and a crude painting goes up near the center hearth in his likeness. It’s all a bit much for a razurath whose greatest passions are pottery and bardic tales -- you haven’t truly heard a song until you’ve heard it trilled in the original razurathi -- and he tries his best to retreat into the doldrums of family life. Whenever he barters with Venturil, which is in and of itself a brand new idea in the minds of either people, he asks that he be called Zek. He explains that it is his experience that hew-mons have an easier time of it this way. Everyone obliges, except Sigurd, whose friendship with the father-of-two grows by the day.

Sigurd and Suzhen, who are rumored to have eloped, work together with the provincial leadership to help a beleaguered people out from their manufactured hatred and back toward peace. Bit by bit, a measure of normalcy descends upon the far west town of Venturil. Folk set aside their pitchforks and return to their rakes and hoes, harvesting what few crops are left for the season and ensuring that there will be seeds planted in the months to come. The peace may be short-lived, as a witches’ coven schemes somewhere in the plains not far from the town, their own foul deeds far worse than any pompous baron’s, but hardship has made the citizenry stronger, and they’ll be smarter for it if the worst should come to pass.

A Woman Scorned

After demanding emergency medical treatment by point of sword, Renne rides day and night away from Venturil. With her career in shambles, the woman embarks on a journey to her family’s ancestral home of Larket. She finds a complex political situation which her retainer’s letters had not done well enough to prepare her for. She also finds her sister, the witch Amarillienne. Detained in a concentration camp, Amarillienne begs for the sweet release of death, which Renne does not provide. One night, when the wind whips the fortress' flags into an uproar, a large blonde woman with a knightly sword storms a compound. Numerous guards lay sprawled in ugly deaths in her wake. Renne and Amarillienne leave that place behind them, vowing revenge for the disgraces they have both suffered. In time, they may find a certain famed foreign draconologist, too, penniless and ousted from her university for her deeds. They may even find a hooded man who burned one realm and would now burn another.