When the Sky Glowed Red (Denen)

[Lariat]

The forest hummed with the activity of nocturnal animals prowling about. A snap of a twig here, the call of an owl there, and in the back ground a grim chorus of wolf howls floated on the breeze. These were the wilds, and every bit as dangerous as the grasslands that the young drykas had been born and raised on. Desperation calls for dire measures to be taken, but sometimes even that is not enough. On and on the healer ran through the dark, moonlit wood, but it was a faint light and hardly fitting enough to run one what with a broken limb meaning almost certain death for one alone in the wilds. Just before him, unseen and unheard except for a hiss of leaves, a rope pulled taut just before Denen's foot and down the young man went tumbling and rolling down across a small dip in as the forest floor curled downwards. Branches, and sharp rocks seemed to reach out to bite and scrape at his soft flesh as he fell down the small hill, coming to rest heavily on a small flat slab of granite protruding from the ground.

Dark laughter echoed from the woods that circled the small glade Denen found himself in, and all around him and had his ears worked he would have heard the shifting of bodies through the dense undergrowth. A searing pain slashed across his left arm as his skin there seemed to open up by itself to pour out generously the life blood that flowed through him, though the quivering arrow imbedded into the ground just behind him seemed to tell a different story. Before he could even get up, open his mouth to yell, or anything else that might have crossed the young drykas' mind, they appeared from the shadows, four towering figures emerging seamlessly from the wood around him, their weapons well in hand. The one bearing no mask was the first one to step towards the healer, though his steps were slow and deliberate reflecting the predatory nature that flowed through his blood. He sheathed his twin swords all in stride, and with pronounced movements, he signed to Denen, holding his fingers out in the faint moonlight so even in the darkness that soaked to world around them the healer could see.

"What could you be running to.. you have nothing left" He was just inches from were Denen lay sprawled, his form towering over that of the healer's, and his broad leather armor dyed black as the night seemed to pull the very shadows of the forest tight around his form. It seemed to get even more intense as the brute crouched down, his pale blue eyes meeting fully with that of the drykas. Again his gloved hand came up, and he made sure the drykas saw this one.

"Now you learn the measure of your actions"

The hulking figure rose at that, and turned to look over his shoulder as the five forms of the human guards came stumbling from the wood, and one by one they were lined up before the healer who now found himself held down by the strong hands of one of the brutes wearing a horse mask. The one covered in cloth paced behind the five men silently his head turning to look at each one of them in turn before looking to the drykas.

"Heal this" He flashed in sign for a moment before in a flash he drew his twin shortwords, and slashed them across viciously. The man kneeling in the center stiffened for a moment at the movement before his head came toppling from his torso and a torrent of blood came spreading headless corpse. Hot stickily fluid sprayed out across the granite, soaking into the very fibers of the lone undergarment the young healer still wore, and seeming to stain his already filthy skin. Down came the man's blades again, this time to rip into the man kneeling to his left, the fine blades gliding through the muscle, and severing bone in a grisly shower of carnage. At that the masked one seemed to lose all control, and in a frenzy he whirled around hacking and slashing at those remaining alive until all that was left were the mangled corpses of the men who had served as his guards, their limbs separated and scatter all across the glade, and Denen's own lap. As the fine edge of his blades ripped through the last man, the figure spun around to rest its razor edge on the healer's neck, coming around so fast that it almost seemed as if in his rage he would kill the drykas right then and there. Duty and self control stopped him short of his mark, and his blade simply rested easily against the healer's tender flesh, drawing ever so slightly a tiny trickle of blood from where it rested.

His other shortsword disappeared in its sheath as he put it away to free his off hand, though there was a slight pressure increase against the young man's flesh drawing a bit more blood to flow across his flesh. "How does it feel to know you've deprived children of their fathers?"

[Denen Sunsinger]

Falling was agony. Denen's body bumped and rolled over stones and logs, jerking violently as he struck against each and every stone. He gasped in surprise as he lay there against the jutting stone. His head spun, and he groaned as he tried to pick himself up. He thought himself alone, until the sudden, searing pain slashed through his arm, drawing a yelp from his lips. His hand instantly shot up to clutch at the wound, causing his thin frame to slump against the stone. He whimpered and curled in on himself, before he found himself staring up into the faces of his captors. He grimaced and spasmed. Tears filled his eyes, and he grit his teeth. His nostrils quivered, and he shook his head. “Y-You...killed...S-Sam,” he whimpered. “My...Sam...” He gave a heartbroken sob, and he tried to pull back, but before he could do anything, they had brought forth the men who had intended to guard him. He watched in horrified alarm as the men were slaughtered. Their blood soaked his flesh, and he found himself with a blade pressed to his throat. He felt the blood, hot and sticky, rolling down his neck, across his collarbones. He shook his head. “N-No,” he whispered. “Don't...stop...” His voice shook. He wanted them to kill him. Sam. Gods, his poor Sam...Sam didn't deserve this. Those men, whose limbs were now splayed across his lap, soaking his pathetic scrap of clothes and skin. His body trembled from head to foot, his eyes bright, almost defiant. They were right. He had nothing else to run for. He jerked up his hands, his voice failing him as he signed. “What are you going to do to me?” He asked. “Why me?”

[Lariat]

"There, there now child, no secret is safe from a shadow son" He slowly signed, his pale blue eyes seeming so much colder now with the gore decorating his dark blue skin. The blood was almost indistinguishable with the strange colorful tattoos that so marked his face, but seemed to enhance the sinister look of the man in the strong moonlight one way or another. Before the healer could even protest, the hulking stranger gripped him by the shoulders, picking Denen high up in the air before tossing him onto the grassy ground a few feet away. In an instant he was just behind the fallen drykas, his breath hot on the back of Denen's neck, his hands planted to either side of his body. A elbow came down then, pressing square into the healers back to push him hard against the mossy ground, as leather hissed just behind him, and cold steel came to be felt against his scalp. There was no words spoken for that would have been useless and thus there was little warning besides that of the pressed blade. The blade bit into flesh more than a few times as it was dragged through the drykas's thick hair, and tufts of it began falling to the ground.

The tormentors heart beat hard in his own chest as he continued to shave the healer as just a little prequel of what was to come for the healer. His touch was not gentle in the slightest and nor was he particularly careful, leaving in the end the healer with a bloodied head, and with only a little bit of mangled, patch hair left on his scalp. It was over just as soon as it began, and again Denen was hoisted up but this time he was not thrown on the ground but carried all the way back to the camp site the mercenaries had fixed up for them. With barely a effort, the drykas was heaved into a small, cramped tent filled with crates and barrels, before another of the strangers slipped in and bound his hands tight with coiled rope, and a set of iron manacles. Quiet of the night awaited him alone then, free to think, but not free to leave.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Sam. Gods, not Sam. He'd prayed so fervently for his life, only to have him stolen away. His beautiful, wonderful Sam. He looked up to that monster in disgust, defiance flickering in his eyes, despite his pain. “I...will...kill you,” he choked out. It would be worth dying for. That beast deserved to die for what he had done. He'd robbed so many people of life, viciously. Denen knew he stood little chance against him, but he would fight as long as he could, until he had succeeded. He did not know, could not imagine, what they had in store for him. He had not a moment longer to think before the man seized hold of him and hurled him violently to the ground. The breath was knocked from his body, and as he tried to scramble away, he found himself pinned roughly to the ground. The cold steel pressed to his scalp and he yelped, trying to wriggle free. All movement ceased, however, as the blade began to shear away his hair. Denen released a strangled cry, one that reverberated across the trees around him. He could feel hot blood on his skin, as head wounds tended to bleed profusely. He could see his hair falling around him, thick, lovely tufts dropping in clumps around him. He saw the gem he kept in his hair, his birthday present from Sam, fall, and his immediate instinct was to reach for it, but his arms were bound, and with the man above him, holding him forcefully to the ground, he had no chance to reach it. His own blood streaked his face, neck, and shoulders in a grisly display, what little hair was left clinging to the thick liquid. He was numb as they took him, dishonored and degraded, back to the camp, binding him painfully. In the cramped tent, he shivered, lack of food and clothing making him weak and susceptible to the chill. He leaned against one of the barrels, his blood making his skin stick to the wood, and prayed. Goddess, you have heard my prayers before. Please, give me strength to live long enough to see justice done. Please...Please... “Please.” Alone. Utterly alone.

[Lariat]

Even in the dead of night, with his captors no where to be seen, the darkness that had gathered there had a sort of predatory hum to it. As if in and of itself it was an entity more foul than the men who slept soundly in its company. The quietness slowly became to be replaced with the snores of his captors, their rasping breath echoing through the stillness, but it didn't make the night any less menacing. But for the deaf healer only the disturbing shadows that played across the supply tent he rested in alluded to the darkness gathered there, their sharp edges elongating to disproportionate sizes, and soft footsteps could be heard just outside the tent.

Before Denen could even turn around to investigate, a horn blared through the night, its dull thrum rousing his captors. Movement burst forth outside of his tent as five horsemen came rushing down the slight grade in the grassland outside of his tent, and men with bows shot at some unseen enemy. The broad bulky form of the one with the cloth mask rose to shield the entrance of Denen's tent, his soft blue eyes staring hard at Denen as he stalked inside, shortswords bared. In a flourish of movement he lunged forward, his blade extending to strike at the healer, but all too suddenly the male pitched forward, falling over the top of the crate limply as his swords tumbled from his hands, two arrows protruding from his back, still vibrating from the force that had launched them. Just as quick as that ones life was taken, the others went down too, the barrage of arrows making short work of the rest, and once more things where still.

As if it where timed, dawn broke across the horizon right at that moment, vivid reds and oranges spreading across the midnight blue sky as the sun once more began its rise over the land. A man, tall and well muscled stepped in front of the tent entrance then, long bow in hand, and extended a callus hand in greeting.

"Your safe now" he spoke in rough accented common, but the meaning read from his posture was all the same.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen could not sleep. He spent the night awake, weak and cold, watching as shadows played out a macabre performance on the canvas before him. He thought only of Sam, careless of what fate might befall him. Was he to be sold as a slave? He could not understand why they had taken him of all the many others. They had taken away every reason he had to live, and left him, shamed and broken, covered in blood. His Sam was dead, and he had been cast into a nightmarish hell, from which there could be no deliverance. He imagined Sam's face as he'd last seen it: a little green, but smiling. Sam always had a ready smile. It had been an endless comfort to him. Denen did not hear the horn, but he could feel the vibrations in the earth below him. He frowned and pulled his tired legs forward. As he sat, helpless and bound, one of his captors entered the tent, and in his eyes was the very clear intent to kill. Denen looked up solemnly, ready to die. He would be with Sam, then. He was Drykas. He lifted his chin boldly. He would meet death as a Drykas man: unafraid and with the knowledge that he would return someday. Perhaps this time, the gods would be kinder to him. He locked eyes with his tormentor, though he trembled violently. If only he had been able to fight, to bring some sort of justice to his murdered friends. He inhaled sharply as the man lunged forward, his eyes open wide, refusing to close, refusing to hide. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and he braced himself for the pain of death, praying that he might find some way into the Web. He would be born again. To a stronger body. But instead of finding himself cast into the beyond, the man collapsed. Denen's brows shot up, alarm written across his features. Light flickered across his bloody face as morning broke. He was filthy and exhausted, and every inch of his body ached with the knowledge that he was alone. The stranger entered the tent, and Denen scrambled back. New captors? He held up his hands protectively, trying to show that he wasn't going to go without a fight, but his conditions made it clear that he stood little chance. The man spoke, and Denen honestly had no clue of what he was saying. He swallowed hard, violently thirsty, and forced out words in Pavi. “I am D-D-Drykas. They...killed ev-everyone.” He groaned in pain, and before he could stop himself, his eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward, unconscious.

[Lariat]

After so much weary sleep, when the healers weary eyes flickered open he would see the world bouncing before him, up and down in an unmistakable rhythm. Having been place in front of one of his saviors on a steed, the animals loping gait continued to agitate the young drykas's vision unknowingly. The party was rather a rather large one, at least twenty men could be counted if one were to take the time, though from the mirth on their faces, and the jokes rolling freely on their tongues it was clear they felt safe enough, even on the unforgiving grass. Perhaps it was their sheer closeness to a magnificent city bordering their right, Riverfall gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. Wind whispered through the golden grass twisting it silent way to play with the ragged remnants of Denen's hair.

Looking down at his 'guest', the man noticed the drykas was wake, and whistled for the party to come to a halt. He instantly flinched back when his charge abruptly reacted to the shrill noise, patting the young man on the back. His head turned slightly to the side as he looked over at Irileth, a woman he had known nearly all of his years.

"I think the lad has been tortured deaf, you think he'd be up to speaking where he's from? He has the look about him of a native, but the fact we ran across him so far from the grass troubles me"

Swinging off of her horse in a single graceful motion, she tipped her head towards the young healer before looking back at the rider. "Our guide just might, though I figure he'll tell us the same. Drop him off at the healers place and wash our hands of him. We didn't brave the sea of grass just to babysit a native" Irileth replied tersely, though she did sympathize oddly enough with the healer. After all if it wasn't for this band years ago, she might still be in the hands of those zith, or in an unmarked grave more likely. Just a bit of emotion for him though wasn't enough to dissuade from dumping him the first chance she got however, and waving over their guide, she motioned to the stirring healer. "See if he speaks the horse tongue"

Taith, as abled body of any of the escort, rode up beside the horse on which the healer rested, his shiny silver vestments glinting in the guttering sunlight. His dirty brow hair was long and unkempt but it seemed to fit with the rest of his appearance from the fraying edges of his leather armor, to his dirty, jagged edged nails. The large paws surprisingly where dexterous though Denen would soon come to know as the man launched into conversation with a flourish of movements from his fingers. "Are you drykas son, do you understand me?"

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen was confused by the sight when he awoke. At first, he tensed up, certain that he had been kidnapped again. His entire body went rigid, and he jerked a bit as he tried to look up into the face of the man with whom he rode. He made a small noise, painfully thirsty, and tried to make it clear that he was awake. Then, however, came a whistle, and Denen yelped and doubled over, his thin hands shooting up to cover his ears. He whimpered and shook his head in protest, only to feel the man's hand patting his back. Riverfall was close, but the sight of it made Denen feel sick. He didn't want to be anywhere near more of those horrible, blue men. Their evil, prying eyes. Their vile tongues. He hugged his arms close to his body and tried not to heave. He was closer to home, but with Durno dead and no money, he had no hope in hell of getting back to Endrykas alone. Denen looked to the guide suspiciously, his blue eyes marked by unspeakable pain. He watched the man's hands, and then lifted his own. "Yes. I am Denen of the Opal Clan. Do I get to go home now?" His reply was simple, but his expression made it clear that he wished for it sincerely. He could get their things back from the Sunkiss Pavilion and do Sam and Durno proper honors, and let Issima's people know of her death.

[Lariat]

Shoving a waterskin into the ailing healers hand, the burly guide looked the drykas up and down as he digested the words. Finding Endrykas without the aid of one of their own would be nigh impossible for himself despite the skill at tracking he laid claim to. The horse clans traveled the grass easier than anyone, and had an unnatural knack for turning up at just the right time but perhaps this one's luck had run out since he saw not single galloping rider in sight. Maybe there was a chance the drykas weren't as omniscient as they'd like people to think.

"You are free to go as you wish, though your on your own if you have plans to make it back to your own clan for there we dare not to tread" He signed to the healer, his eyes darting from the man's broken form to the plain of grass that seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance. It was a harsh life out there, one he'd prefer not to suffer again any time soon. Not when they where at the doorstep of a magnificent city like Riverfall.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen took the waterskin, lifting it to his cracked and puffy lips. He drank liberally, unable to stop himself. He'd been without for too long, and his body was crumbling. Denen knew the importance of water, after all. Right now, that was his priority. He knew there were people in Riverfall with whom he could hide and take refuge. Riki would be there, and he knew the healer's art. Denen trusted that he might be able to stay with him until Drykas came to the city. He didn't want to be seen, especially by the horrible, blue men. He would keep himself within the safety of Riki's home. He looked out across the grasses and his heart ached. Though he would be returning to Endrykas in disgrace, bereft of the honor of his hair, and having been the lone, undeserving survivor of the attack by the Ceruleans, he knew it was his only choice. His tiny family had to be given proper honors. Denen could not live with himself if he did not give them that, and he certainly had no desire to stay near these monsters. “My people will come to the city,” he signed. “I will find someone to take me home. I cannot stay in this place.”