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The Heartwood
Dusk
Hasday
The Twenty-First Day of the Month of Raven, 2623


Behind her, soon the snows would come and the passes closed. Ahead then, was everything.

It still didn't mean she had to like the rain. This close to the storms it was a cold rain and hard, just a breath away from sleet and ice. The fact that the shelter was small, that she had to share it with her mount, that a layer of cold air kept the black-blue smoke from her small fire low didn't help make matters any better. The roof of the makeshift structure leaked; dripping down upon her ragged black hair, dampening the awkward sable bow that bound her tresses into a rough and tumble ponytail. From beneath her dagger shorn bangs soft brown eyes followed the descending trail until it vanished into the haze. Until the rain let up and the sun's light dried the ramshackle mountain pass, no matter how nimble the bay mare was it wasn't worth the risk of a tumble, of a limp or worse, a broken leg. Down the mountain she was bound; the waxed parchment, sealed and bound letter in her saddlebag hers to deliver. It was a courier's duty, and Darkmane was her livelihood, her life. That and the pragmatic fact that if anything ever happened the few crowns she could call her own could never ever hope to replace her oldest friend.

She leaned, her shoulder resting against the side of her horse, hugging her heavy woolen cloak about her. It was a practical cut and would not turn any heads upon the cobbles of some rich Keep street, but then the Kirkland markets, high in the hidden valleys above and a handful of days past, never held much stock with finery. It was warm and that was all that mattered. Eyes closing, she let her head rest to the side, her dark hair tangling with the bay's long mane.

The rain, the crack of lightning, the following roll of thunder, was not a good sign. Winter came early to the Black Mountains, and she was riding just ahead of its crest. The sun, She had vanished behind the jagged peaks not to long ago, but the snap of white light that cut jagged shadows into her shelter was brighter than day. For that brief moment the courier was more than shadows, barely protected from the storm by three rough stone stacked walls and the leaky roof tiles. She wasn't tall, far from it, her frame slight yet held with the lanky ruggedness of a farmer's daughter. Beneath the cloak were her heavy tunics, with full sleeves and long skirts quarter slashed for riding. She tended towards creams and browns; the colors were not expensive and then didn't show trail dust too badly. A couple pouches hung from an overly long belt, the extra length falling down in front almost to the hems of her skirts. Her only extravagances were her leather boots and Darkmane's furniture; the saddle, blanket and bridle tucked very protectively into the back corner of the shelter.

Simple. Practical. Just like her. Which made her all the conspicious when she was summoned before Linnell Allaine, the noble family's matriarch, almost month ago.

Her lips curled into a small philosophic smile

It was going to be a long night.


“Mother?”

Khorall Linnell Allaine turned, quietly walking to the parapet wall, coming to a rest beside her daughter. There was no question about how close they were, save but the span of years and they could have passed for each other. They both bore their family’s distinctive crimson locks, worn long and straight both out of fashion and as a touch of heraldry. She lay her hands upon the balcony’s honey colored marble, the hard stone blocks lain uncounted ages ago, of Dawnview Castle.

Of Her Keep.

She didn’t answer, she just looked upon, beyond the bustling court and streets below, across the mountain vales they called their own. If she concentrated, so far in the distance she could just make out the spires of Snowgate Keep, atop the pass into their holdings, where her youngest sister ruled. She closed her eyes for a long set of heartbeats, letting her duties and responsibilities vanish and for a moment tasting the hint of snow in the air. She couldn’t truly escape, however. Despite everything, she did cherish her family’s mountain holdfast. When she and Sasha and Innocence were young, the three sisters played make believe all the time. Now she didn’t, not because her heart had grown too tired or she too old, but that she simply could not see herself, not see herself wanting anything else.

“Mother … the coming storms are going to be hard.” Her daughter’s words were spoken with the gentle clarity, in the domestic surety of laundry or marking out what needed to be acquired from the market stalls below for a comfortable lunch. “Spring is a long and cold time away. And it will get harder well before it will get better.”

“Da, Kisa …” Linnell replied, slowly opening her eyes. It didn’t surprise her that it wasn’t a question. Kisa very rarely asked questions. If she was inquiring, that’s when her daughter world be quietest; listening, learning, considering. She was a shadow in court and it sometimes disturbed the emissaries from the rest of the Little Kingdoms, as if she were some macabre doll or a snow born spectre. But then the rest of the Little Kingdoms didn’t trust the Allaines at all. Oh yes, we were all good Imperial citizens now, for a handful of generations, but they never forgot that while Grand Talantal fell beneath the Imperial crusade, while her greatkin could not prevent the inevitable, Prince Lhannon’s conquering armies never set foot in Dawnview Vale.

In many ways it wasn’t a bad thing. The Empire was an absentee landlord and as long as fealty was held the older, noble houses still maintained their autonomy, their landholdings. The Pax Imperium was the first time in ages that there was not some form of open conflict between the mountain keeps and the Kories of Talantal. That it had lasted over a century was just this side of a miracle. But the Empire also didn’t interfere with the petty squabbles of its nobility; Dawnview hadn’t seen a Viceroy in two generations.

“You should have gone to the Council in Talantal, Mother. You knew the Kories would consider that an insult, and they never forget a wrong. Especially to send a hired sword in your stead. Especially her. That was a calculated twist to an already mortal strike.” Kisa spoke just as gently as her Mother, watching the crowd.

“Da, Kisa …” Linnell replied again, casting her daughter a measuring, sidelongs look.

“Which means you knew they would do something.” Slowly Linnell watched as her daughter started to follow the subtle chains of logic, falling like rocks in an avalanche. “The poor harvest was just an excuse, the cutting of grain shipments was just to hurt us. And then we cut the shipments of steel to the west.”

“Da …” Linnell replied again. “Khorall Hadrian Korie is no fool Kisa and never treat him so. He knows just how to hurt us; and that is to hurt the people under our care. And in return, I know how to hurt him. To deny him the tools to make his dreams of dominion come true.”

“A game of Horses and Castles.” The young redhead replied. Linnell had to stop at that, to give her daughter a measuring look. Seeing far too many moves ahead, Kisa Allaine rarely lost that courtly challenge. Her daughter didn’t continue, instead she looked out across the vale, to the western horizon, beyond the mountain foothills, beyond the rolling tarn, as if considering the far off fields of their oldest rival. Finally, then, she let her gaze fall to plaza below.

“Her. Mother, you know her.” The young redhead pointed out a dark haired lass, arguing with a merchant in the market below, a back and forth over hard tack it seemed. The Khorall turned her attention to her daughter’s quarry and nodded.

“Ekaterina Kirillsdotter. She goes by Katshka and she just delivered a string of destriers from her father’s farm to the Temple. Odd, one rarely finds such an old tongue name coming out of the lowlands, let along the far off coast.” Linnell held her words for a moment, “ … she made the trip herself it seems. No mean accomplishment that, for her father to trust her with that task. One can ransom a manor for a handful of her father’s warhorses and the Priestesses noted not one went missing along the long trip up the Highland Path.”

By then Kisa was already in motion, passing through the tall stained glass doors, retreating from the balcony. Parchment and ink were pressed to service, a short message scribed. Then the Allaine heir carefully folded her missive, sealed it in wax, pressing her ring into the soft material before it hardened.

“She’ll want work to carry her back east.”

Following, Linnell just watched, and when her daughter was about to sweep her way out, to pursue the lowland courier, only then did she speak, “Why?”

Pausing, Kisa looked back over her shoulder.

“Right now, Hadrian Korie thinks he is playing Horses and Castles with you, Mother.” Dark green eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. “It will not end well. You know that as well as I.

“But we can change the battlefield.

“By the time he figures out he’s playing against me it will be too late.”

The Khorall responded with just a nod of her head. Her last question, not much longer, “And why her?”

To that Kisa just smiled. “You saw her horse. Following her through the market.”

The older woman tilted her head at that.. “I saw. A very well confirmed bay. Her father raises them. That does not seem odd.”

“Da …” Kisa replied, holding the small letter in both hands, resting upon the front of her long skirts. “That horse was following her through the market …” There was a pause, a single long beat. “… with it’s reins looped over the saddle.”


“Are the arrangements made?”

The two rested upon their steeds; rugged beasts and even tempered. They were dressed similarly in creams and grays, of several layers of tunics to keep out the approaching cold. They faced each other, one having just come down the path from Cragside, the other waiting patiently in the shadow of the walled town’s gates. Both their horses had a light gray starbust dyed into their strong necks.

“Aye … though the haggling was unexpected.” It was the rider come from the merchant town who replied, dusting his hand through his ragged hair. “I have no doubt that he wanted to trade with us; our crowns have been good for a handful of winters, Cragside is a Kierkegaard holding and Kierkegaard is still stands with Dawnview and he well understands that dependable coin he favors comes from Allaine coffers. But, if I read him right, there were appearances that had to be kept up, matters that had a desperate need to become truths.”

The silence from his companion was an unspoken question.

“The Mark is in town.

“And they are not at all happy we bartered their favorite tavern out from beneath their collective snouts.”




A mountain town in the dead of night is a dark place. But at least Hunter and Silver had just peeked above the jagged skyline, casting shadows of gray and along the empty streets.

Father hadn’t come for dinner.

Father hadn’t come by the barkeep’s last call.

She hugged her cloak tighter about her, looking nervously up and down the black cloaked alleys.

Father was never late.

The Heartwood
Between Dusk and Dawn
Marketday
The Twenty-Fourth Day of the Month of Raven, 2623

Camelia, Comfrey, Conrad, Cesare, Celi, Darian, Daxia, Kadri and Mikal
Katshka

A day's walk is a day's ride. Because, for the most part a good horse and a person amble at around the same pace, the difference, of course, is that the one on top of the horse is less tired than the one walking. Only couriers, those on the run and those chasing them or fools press their horses harder.

The last leg of the trip to Cragside, was, at least as far as thr trail was concerned, was supposed to be an easy walk. A day's out; close enough to see the farms that nestled against the town and keep, to see the rise of the narrow path between town and stone carved keep. The path grey to two carts ride; from the west it was a gentle rise, the last length carven out of stone. From the east the path slowly broadend, forming the small valley that was protected by the House Shannon citadel.

A day's walk, a day's ride.

Until the sun had climbed perhaps a quarter of the way up from the horizon.

That was when the clouds slammed down from the mountains black. It was the wind that struck first, rushing across the ground like a stampede. Those rising from the High Tarn saw it first ripple then flatten the tall brown grasses, wave upon wave, and when it hit the travellers cloaks snapped, the hems of their tunics rustled. Stiff and harsh, one had to bend to push forward. Those coming down the mountain pass heard it first, a dull roar through the tops of the trees until the branches and rising trunks twisted and bent as if they were alive. A herald the wind was, of the tall thunderheads that drove towards the sunset, covering the sky far too quickly. The shadows it cast brought darkness far quicker too.

Luckily the trail was simple and straight.

For then the rain started.

Hard black water, cold as ice, driving straight down as if diven by a sledgehammer. Visibility dropped and evven the warn pass became treacherous. Riding was not wise, so now everyone walked. On the positive side warm cloaks and hoods kept the rain from turning hard into disasterous; even the lost Camelia benefitting from the generousity of Pauli's family and her new companions. Those coming from the Highgaard Reaches were perhaps a little better off, the pragmatism of the Kierkegaard cut of thier cloaks proving its worth.

The true downside was neither the wetness, the coldness, the cut and bite of the wind or how hard it was to press forward. It was that it made the trip ...

... longer.

It was well past sunset when the stragglers finally made it to the gates of Cragside. The walls about the town were crafted from the black rock of the montains which rose up behind it, making it a sable upon bsable shadow in the rain. Not that it was impossible to see; the landscape was illuminated in billiant sillouette with each lightning strike. The path lead up to the gatehouse, which in turn was flanked by two smaller watchtowers. There as a faint glow between the stone crenelations and the wooden battlements; obviously some of the town watch also was not spared their night because of the weather. That, however, didn't change the fact that it was after sunset and the town gates were locked.

Eventually there were ten folks outside the gates, leaning on them, pounding at them, trying to get the guards attention.

Four had come down from the mountains. Three lead fine horses, heads ducked beneath the hoods of their cloaks. The third walked, and for him the rain was just another part of the night. For Cesare, his ward had parted ways somewhere around midday; Karl taking his herds to a farm nestled at the foot of the Cragside. The young lad was probably in front of a warm fire having already had his hot meal.

Six had worked their way up from the High Tarn; this group obviously having an escort in the form of a sturdy Squire and a second swordsman. Two were obviously the escorted, a pair of women bundled in their cloaks and taking shelter against the watchtower walls. The last two were shadows themselves, one all alone and one appropriately, shadowing the swordsman. She was accompanied by a large ruff, who actually looked the worst of all, half his size lost with his thick coat all soaked. But the canine was also the one who looked the least bothered by the cold rain.

It was not surprising that they were being ignored; trying to get a town gate open after hours was harder than a day in the Montague quarries.

Unless.

"Hey, is that you Mikal? Ja, you there ... Mikal ... after the song .. that's you, right?"

"What, are you saying you know that guy?"

"Ja, he rode with me in Cameron's."

"He looks short and wet."

"Come on, he's one of us."

A few words were exchanged and the heavy timber gates were drawn back, allowing the little group into the town.

The Heartwood
Between Dusk and Dawn, the Town of Cragside
Marketday
The Twenty-Fourth Day of the Month of Raven, 2623

Camelia, Comfrey, Conrad, Cesare, Celi, Darian, Daxia, Kadri and Mikal
Katshka

The mainstreet was dark, pitch black between the shattering of the night's lightning. It was also abandoned, the foul weather driving the night watch under cover; safe in the gatetowers or walking the perimeter of the walls beneath the balustrades. By the time the small group reached a place to pause and try to gain one's bearings they were already a good distance from gates themslves; at least far enough that they were beyond the watch's ken.

Within the flashes of lightning they knew were at least in the right place. Three large buildings faces this part of the street; two story, wattled and daub and framed in heavy timber. Large was only relative, however, only two stories tall and they were not one building but a couple concatonated together in a haphazard, accidental manner. Each had a large sign hanging out into the street. First upon the right, watching over the entrance to the town, it was a simple dark disc with a hole in the center. Opposite, a splash of red and black - that was about all that could be discerned in the night. Last, further up on the right, animalistic heads faced each other.

Then, before, a decision could be made ...

... a bolt of white came down in the town itself; at least it seemed so. For a moment the whole world was illuminated in white light.

There, caught frozen, for that brieft heartbeat, a handful against one was sudenly silouetted, as if frozen in a moment of time.

It was vicious, it was brutal, it was downright mean. Between the small clusters of structures of buildings there were so many alleys, so many little niches and cul-de-sacs. And down this narrow alley a brutal passion play was being played out; one man had been slammed against the mud plastered walls, his body convulsing each time he was struck. He was badly outnumbered and in the brief splashes of storm light there was a glint of metal.

It was hard to tell if he was trying to fight back or if he had become but a rag doll held up only by violence.

The lighting worked both ways, however.

"Tcha ... where did they come from!"

Footpads splashed loud and fast upon the cobbles, in the dark, as the alley shadows turned towards the street.

Darian

The sudden, blasting arrival of the brutal storm had sundered apart Darian's plans to try to take some game on the walk in to Cragside. Only two-foots and those that traveled with them were foolish enough to be out in this. There was nothing to do but trudge forward and endure.
Her bow was long and tall, strong enough to use as a walking stick, but she would not abuse it so. Longtooth walked close to her side, his footing and eyesight more sure and sharp than hers could ever be. Occasionally her hand would stray to find purchase in his scruff.

They had come to the town walls well past the time of admittance. She was considering a course of action to get her and Longtooth and possibly Mikal shelter from the weather when the gates opened to them. Sodden and wet they slipped through into the town. By same happenstance they all seemed to be headed in the same direction.

She kept her hood low, and her cloak in close as they moved through the streets. It was as much to protect from the storm and the blinding lightning as it was to keep eyes from her. Many may be under shelter, but someone was always watching.

And then came the illuminating strike, showing them something they were not meant to see. It was not in her way to interfere in such matters, and left to her own devices she would have continued on. Predators oft hunted dangerous or large prey in packs, and she saw no reason that it would be different among two-foots.

Yet, those predators attacking their prey in a dark alley under cover of night and storm now turned towards the group with whom she numbered. It was not in her nature to turn and run. That was the way of the prey. She did step away from the others, flinging her cloak back to clear it from her bow and quiver.

She felt Longtooth tense at her side and sensed his growl more than heard it as she drew arrow and notched it. She sighted down and drew bead on an approaching shadow, waiting for another burst of lightning or such to verify her target.

She would rather not draw attention to herself and her skill in this manner, but she would not go down easily. She would not be prey. Perhaps these would turn aside when they saw there were trained fighters in the group they ran toward. This was no Hunt, and her only real interest was to get inside out of the storm even animals took shelter from.

Daxia

Her first thought when she saw the brutality playing out was Protect! She didn't know who he was... this man being beaten, but it did not matter. What mattered was duty and honor. She dropped Fern's reins, ground tying her, and whispered to the horse, "Stay, aye?"

Drawing Kassia's sword... her sword, she flung her cloak over her shoulder to keep her swordarm free, though the hood she kept over her head to keep the rain from her eyes as much as possible. As she stepped forward, she whispered again, casting the Starlight spell. The area around the small group of travelers was illuminated by a bright circle of light she held in her hand, until she tossed the light forward towards the melee in the alley. The light darted side to side, always in a forward motion, its circle of light about 30 feet in diameter.

Daxia purposefully, quickly strode towards the fight... boots splashing in puddle the only sound she made. She evaluated the group as she neared them; she saw no weapons displayed, only a brutal beating. So no need for a fatal wounding... yet. She swung the sword at the nearest assailant with the intent to slice open the bicep of what appeared to be his dominant arm. It should cause enough pain, and hopefully be bloody enough, that he would be distracted from his current activity so Daxia could do the same to his next closest companion.

<Comfrey>

The storm was miserable. People would be nursing illness for a while after this if they were foolish enough to be out in it. Foolish enough like they were. But they got in. Lady's Mercy, Mikal was recognized and they were admitted to the town. She hadn't worried as much for herself, though it was nasty out, but they got in. Warmth would be soon.

Comfrey's thoughts revolved around that until the footpads and their victim were seen. Light blossomed and two of those who entered the gate took up attacking positions. Comfrey moved to one side, out of the way but where she could lend aid if needed. Her heart went out for the lone figure.

Camelia

Camelia had walked, even if she were to have been offered to ride as second upon a horse. Why should a horse be made to suffer for her ill fortune in having been discarded to die by her captors and then not actually do so.

That Mikal had shared with others this song told Camelia it was an important aspect to his personal identity. He had great pride in where he came from and what his name might mean to him. He was proud to have that name. Camelia felt relieved that she hadn't tried to press him into a personal conflict over what was true and what was a regional adaptation.

His connections saw them into this Cragside town, though she was certain had it come to it, the Squire could have pressed his name into service. He had said he came from here and was tasked to bring the Healer to this place.

Once inside, still keeping her cloak tightly pinched against the elements and then there came the lightning flash. There was an instantaneous shock-wave of sorts that came with being that close to large bolts of lightning. The sheer force of the strike and the resulting dispersion of energy, it made the hairs on her arms prickle as she felt the wash of ambient electricity dissipate outwards. That, and it was enough to startle even the most stalwart travelers. Camelia herself had weathered several days with day storms and night storms. The night storms along the Road east, so close to the Dirkwood were the worst. Even with those experiences, she couldn't help but jump in surprise.

But in the flash, there was revelation and it was not a good one. cut-purses and brigands were interrupted in there felonious acts and this only brought the road weary and weather worn group to their attention.

Instinctively, Camelia moved to stand by Comfrey. perhaps she didn't want to get lost in the sudden shuffle and confusion that was sure to follow. More brigands came from the shadows, perhaps as watchers for those in the alley. Whatever the case might be, Camelia was in no position to press forward. Instead, she stepped sideways as Comfrey tried to withdraw, and kept the horses before them.

Others were moving to intercede on the poor man's behalf, and maybe others might well move to protect the group by advancing into the incoming ruffians as well. Camelia would keep with Comfrey, even as she loosed the ties on her borrowed cloak. Maybe she just wanted to be free of the heavy garment should she need to make a run for safety.

Mikal

Leaving early, he is enjoying the ride, at least until the wind and the driving rains arrive. He pulls his cloak close to stop it from flying open in the gusts and keeps his hood tight.

As he rides, he carries his crossbow, resting across his saddle's pommel. It's steel wire bowstring making it much less vulnerable to the wet weather than a sinew bowstring would be. He has a strap attached to the back of the crossbow whose other end is tied to the pommel horn, so that he can fire it and drop it without losing it.

A short time after the rains start, another group of travelers join them. They travel silently together, the rain making conversation difficult, so he doesn't get to know anything about who they are, and their closed hooded cloaks meaning he hasn't even seen some of their faces.

The weather makes the journey take longer than normal, and it's late when they arrive. Luckily one of the gate guards recognizes him. He can't exactly tell who he was, as he can't see his face, but when he gets a chance he'll look the man up. For now he is grateful they got inside, and he calls a greeting to him, with a promise to come back to talk when he can.

As they pass thru the gate, he dismounts, leading Talia. She is a bit less spirited than normal, surely from the weather. He slides the crossbow into a sheath and looks at the deserted streets as the large group moves deeper into town.

He is considering how to ask about the tavern the innkeeper recommended, not really wanting to aimlessly wander about in this wet searching for it, when they pass by an alleyway. A flash of lighting illuminates the scene, cut-purses or some such accosting a man in the darkness.

He hesitates a second. He feels badly for the man, but it is not his fight. His goal right now is to get himself, and secondarily Darian, to the inn. Besides, who knows whether or not the man did something to deserve being accosted in the alley? However when the footpads turn from the man and begin to advance on him and his traveling companions, and he can see Darian take out her bow and some of the others moving to intercept, his decision is made.

Drawing Sword and Main Gauche, he drops Talia's reins. She is well trained and he knows she will not move. He slips his arms from beneath his cloak and steps up, planning to take a position near the alley mouth, where he can bottleneck the footpads, keeping them inside the narrow alley way where they can only attack one or two at a time while he and his companions have the freedom of space of the larger main street to maneuver in. There he waits, and allows them to close with him. He is hopeful once they see the size of his group they will flee, but if not, and they continue forward, he is ready to strike at the first one who comes close.

Kadri

The shorter woman was being quiet - her thoughts her own and largely, for the moment, keeping to herself and observing those around her. She didn't like the rain, but the rain was a fact of life. She had been thinking of how to get herself in, when the planning was short circuited by them gaining admittance - rather more easily than she had hoped, given the late hour.

Her 'companions' - as recent as they may be, seemed to be sharing the same road. Well. So be it. For now, it did not hurt to meet and observe new people. New people made life interesting.

Then the lightning struck, and revealed its scene. For a moment, she thought about not getting involved. But only for a moment. As those around her readied to fight, a decision was made.

Quite quickly the small and lithe woman. . . moved. Quickly and smoothly a knife found its way into her hand, and from her hand was thrown in the direction of the nearest of the cutpurses.

"You wish to play? Do you know how to run?"

There was an undertone of. . anger? in her voice. Something here was. .perhaps. . personal.

Conrad

The journey to Craigside had gone well with this large a group, even though it brought him worries given the story that Cameila had given them.

It was surprising to have the gates open for the hooded man, making him raise an eyebrow and follow them in, checking on Lady Comfrey and Cameila. They were his obligations after all.

The lightning bolt caught him by surprise, making his eyes widen at the sight laid out before them and then the ruffians turning their ill attentions toward them.

He slipped off of his horse and slipped his heater shielf over one arm, drawing his broadsword with the other. His tabbard showing both the symbol of his Lord Rames and that of the Shannon house adorned his cloth.

"I need someone to watch and protect the rear." he said, looking back for a moment to the ladies. "I will be right back." he said, moving toward the oncoming footpads.

"I am Squire Lord Conrad Shannon of my Lord Rames! I give you this chance to lay down your arms and perhaps live!" he called out in a loud, strong voice.

The Heartwood
Between Dusk and Dawn, the Town of Cragside
Marketday
The Twenty-Fourth Day of the Month of Raven, 2623

"Gavka!"

The single sharp expletive snapped out from a ruffian. Not from the pure, deep and harsh blue glare reflecting from Daxia's sword, but from the light itself - the narrow alley suddenly brought into cold starlight. There were five of them left, in the alley, one compatriot already having chosen the better part of valor. They were a mottled group; over tunics and breaches, all dark colors, all soaked by the evening's storms. Some of them seemed stained by something darker, some of them had boots and all of them carried steel. Short blades though, some thick, some thin.

Ohe reaches out, to their victim, yanking something from around his neck.

One took two steps forward; only to be draw himself back with a skid and cycling boots; almost loosing his balance as the light illuminated for him Darian's stout bow, already leveled and aimed. A hand hitting the cobbles he turned, his new path opposite, towards the other end of the alley.

The first cry was one of pain; the one who felt the bite of Daxia's blade. Thin damp cloth shorn, a streak of dark blood following the cut of the blade, and he dodged backwards, one hand slapping over the wound, now his true desire to be somewhere else. He only makes it a few steps before he stumbles, almost falling to the ground. Kadri's blade catches him in the side and its a sharp motion to yank it out, dash it to the street, and chaotically push further down the alley and away.

It is the Squire's call, however, that shatters their morale. Not just authority, but local authority and that, that turns this narrow alley into the last place they want to be.

They break and run, and when they hit the end of the alley vanish in two different directions.

Against the wall, all alone, the lone, battered figure simply slides down the dark toned wall, leaving a streak upon it as wide as he was. He ended upon the wet cold cobblestone, as if sitting.

Until he slowly toppled over.

Laying far too still.

Darian

Seeing the brigands fled, the Huntress unnocked her arrow and returned it to the quiver without looking. She pulled at the cloak edge and flipped it back over, recovering herself and her gear, pulling it tight. The bow was tucked safely under cover as well. She would have to see to the wood and stringing once inside.

Though the obvious danger had passed, Darian kept a hand to her long dagger. Longtooth would warn her if a new threat occured, but it never hurt to be ready. Returning her observance to the street they had been moving down, she saw the sign of the Hart & Hound.

She reached out and offered a brief tap to Mikal's shoulder before pointing to the sign and heading towards it, Longtooth at her side.

Daxia

Having come to this point in the city with the other travelers, it was impossible not to note that one of them was a Lady of Attera; especially impossible for Daxia not to recognize the white rainment the woman wore. So as she ran to the man's side, light still reflecting a blue glare off her sword, she called over her shoulder, "Lady! Quickly come!"

She knelt beside him, looking first for signs of life... breath, the pulse in the neck... then looking at his wounds. Even should she find him alive, using her own healing spell was uncertain without knowing the full extent of his injuries. Her Lady's magicks were tricky that way. There was no way to know if more harm might be done by trying. "Stay. Help comes," she whispered to the man, then turned to look down the alley in the direction the bandits had fled, sword having never left her hand.

Should they be foolish enough to return, she would be ready.

KAdri quietly watches. . and moves towards the alley, to retrieve the knife - and make sure the brigands had truly left; There was no sense in interfering with the man at this time - it looked as though he were being cared for.

(Editing in to encompass new facts)

As she kneels down to pick up the knife, something else attracts her attention, and she kneels down and picks it up, inspecting it closely, weighing it in her hand and looking at it curiously.

She speaks under her breath.

"Well well. Well. Interesting. Perhaps this is what they were after. . ."

She stands, looking over at the rest.

"I don't think this was a random mugging."

<Comfrey>

She was already on the move as the brigands fled and the man toppled over. The call spurred her feet a bit faster. She called up the Lady's Mercy as she knelt to touch him and examine his wounds.

Automatically, without thought, she muttered what she had been the entire time with various individuals, "Just Comfrey." It was automatic though - her focus, and hopefully her Lady's, was on the hurt one. She'd wonder what they were after later, though her companions of the road and longer had probably seen more, for now she had one to care for.

Cesare

Wet and cold and thinking more about finding somewhere warm and dry, Cesare moves in past the guards to the rear of the larger group that had gathered at the gate.

He is about to move up to catch up with the others he had travelled with when there is some commotion, something occuring in an alleyway. Instictively he draws two knives ready to move ahead when one of the mounted riders declares himself a Squire to some noble and moves forward.

So instead, Cesare returns his knives unseen and moves to a place in shadow where he can see better what is occurring. He watches from there.

Mikal

He stands at the entrance to the alley, weapons drawn, to see how the encounter plays out. He suspects he will not need to bloody his blades today. The group he is with is far too large, and far too well armed, for footpads to assault.

And when Squire Conrad moves up and offers his loud challenge/warning, and some of his less disciplined companions rush ahead to strike at one of the closest footpads, their nerve breaks and they turn and flee, as he thought they would.

He takes a few seconds, with the benefit of the illumination provided by one of the group, to scan the area and make sure there are no other brigands skulking about.

He feels Darian tap him on the shoulder and glancing back he sees her point out the sign of the inn to which they were heading. So, once no more threats materialize, he sheathes his blades and turns and moves back to Talia.

As he moves away he hears a call for the Lady Healer, presumably for the man who'd been assaulted in the alley. He is not sure it will do any good. The man did not look good to him, and the telltale wide strip of blood behind him on the wall did not bode well for his chances, healer or no. But perhaps Lady Comfrey is extremely skilled?

He can also hear some discussion over something found in the alley, though what it could possibly be that justifies standing out here in this miserable wet any longer than necessary is a bit beyond his ken.

Reaching Talia, "Good girl", he says, patting her neck and retrieving her reins, as he finds her exactly where he left her, ears perked up and eyes alert, but calm, with no whites showing.

He can see Darian moving down the street towards the inn. He looks to the group, but they've reached the city, and that was all his agreement with Squire Conrad called for. Still, perhaps he can offer a suggestion?

"Might we be warmer, and drier, talking about the evening's events inside. Out of the weather? If the man can be saved, he'd likewise probably be better off out of the rain."

He pauses a moment, looking as Darian gets closer and closer to being dry, then sighs. "Lady Comfrey. Do you need assistance moving the man?"

Conrad

He sheathed his broadsword and slung his heater shield over his pummel, and motioned for Cameila to join him to aid Comfrey in case he needed to carry the man. Regardless, he would need to make a report to the town guard.

Daxia

Once the Lady of Attera arrived to care for the man, she rose and pulled a small rag from her belt pouch to wipe the blood from her blade, though she still did not sheath it. With frequent glances back up the alley where the brigands had fled -- she would protect, yes, but justice was the purview of Rames and Hastur -- she walked over to Kadri.

"What is it?" she asked, nodding towards the item Kadri found.

Camelia

Camelia required no prompting from the Squire, although he was the only one who had expressed any interest in her welfare after the unseemly and unfortunate affair. Camelia moved in the shadow of the Lady of Aterra. As close to her as she could get without tripping in the Healer's tunic hem.

All of this was a sudden surprise after a long and miserable day walking the road in more rain. At least she had a cloak now, something given her in charity. It made this all a little more bearable... but then the brigands. Camelia had seen her fill of ruffians and brigands to last her a lifetime now. She made it a point to keep herself close to Comfrey. No one was going to deter her.

Obviously she didn't want to be left behind near where she had stood and tried to keep out of the fray, nor did she want to be forgotten while more pressing and emergent matters occupied the group. Besides, who could know what further dangers lurked in shadows.

Celi

Celi had completed her business, and the change of attire seemed to have eased the innkeeper's suspicions about her. She had a great deal to learn, and she had to keep reminding herself that everything could be a teacher, if your mind was welcoming.

She had turned over the gray, and delivered the instructions as she had been bade. It had been a pleasant horse, and they had hit it off early on, which made the journey that much more bearable.

She still suffered from her mind wandering, back to Grandmother, who had passed on her own terms, at peace with the land she loved so much... and the Blackwater, along whose banks she had passed many an interesting day.

Her woolgathering was disturbed by the sudden rush of footpads, who quickly realized they had bitten off significantly more than they could chew -- a reason to eschew fancy clothes, Celi told herself. She hadn't drawn either blade at first, simply readying herself, until she realized that such behavior called subtle attention to her *more* than wielding a knife expertly would. So she belatedly drew the two kukri, whirled them deftly into a defensive position, just in time for them not to be needed at all.

That was a good thing, wasn't it? This group had skills. Excellent. She'd readied herself lest someone require assistance, but they hadn't. WHat did this mean? In a subtle manner she had adopted this group, made them worthy of protection, though she wasn't sure why. None of them knew her, none of them liked her, none of the had even met her.

She might have to talk to someone about that. Sadly, her regular companion wasn't likely to be around for quite a while, given the size of this party, which put a serious crimp in her ability to seek counsel.

The others? *If* they would talk to her. On good advice, she had ditched the buckskins she had arrived in, and looked about as normal as it was possible to look: under her scarf, she had short-cropped tousled brown hair. Her clothes consisted of a rude tunic, belted with a rope on which her two knives and her possibles hung, and loose trousers. Sturdy shoes completed the picture. .

She made herself available should someone need assistance, though she didn't hold out much hope that they would seek it. She very much hoped that the passage of time would help her there. Otherwise, this could be one lonely journey.

KAdri:

"Its a key. More specifically, a key to a warehouse."

She said as she was walking back over.

"Saw someone grab something from around the man's neck and when I went to look for my knife - I found this. I think the man I hit dropped it, perhaps.

Cesare

He walks forward out of the shadows when Kadri talks about the item she picked up.

"May I see it?"

He holds out a hand, his attitude calm but sure.

"I don't know if any of you want to know but the one that fled far too quickly at the beginning went left, two continued on, two more also went to the left.. and the last, injured, went through that right hand door into the large building. If you wanted someone to question, he'd be my choice."

He turns his attention back to the object that Kadri has.

Darian

She and the ruff continue on towards the inn, her hood and cloak once again pulled close against the weather. Her steps are slow and measured though as her eyes and ears scan for others like those in the alley. She is making note of her surroundings, concentrating carefully, finding it a bit more difficult in the city between the steady downpour and everything looking alike.

Kadri:

SHe pauses for a long while, looking, before shrugging, producing the key and holding it up to Cesare.

"Warehouse, definitely. Seen many of them."