The Plagueman Cometh (Accolade)

[Wrenmae]

Spring 68, 513 AV

Light streaked through the canopy above him and cast dappled art on the ground before him. Pausing briefly, bringing the reins on his horse back, Wren glanced through the thick trees on either side of him. The forest had been gentle to him since his departure from Nyka…perhaps too gentle. He was reminded of the time he’d washed up on Sylira’s shore, beaten and bloody, forced to fight of dire wolves with only the scant protection of a small shack to protect him. It had been a long time since then, although perhaps little in the grand scheme of life. He’d grown, perhaps exponentially, and now pushed on toward Ravok in the direction he’d been told to travel. Honestly, he was shadowing a merchant’s caravan he intended to meet up with at the end of tomorrow. It had left some days earlier and he’d been pushing himself to catch up. Only a fool traveled alone for long in the Wildlands…and if his luck held out, he’d make it to the caravan on the morrow.

Of course he couldn’t stay with them long…it wouldn’t do to enter the city of his patron with in tow with the weak and sickly. No, he’d travel with them a ways and then speed ahead to the caravan that left two days prior. Hopskipping between them, he’d find his way.

Why don’t you sing to pass the time? I would. Zan muttered from his belt, a constant reminder that the sullen familiar was till his singular companion.

I do not sing, I tell tales.

Then tell me a tale.

You can read my mind, Zan…don’t you think that spoils the fun a little?

No. I’ll just interrupt you and tell it better.

We call that being an annoyance.

And I call that being challenging.

There are more productive ways to spend your time, little sarawanki

I could eat this horse. I don’t even need to eat and I could eat this horse. Call me little again. Just once.

A LITTLE testy, are we?

Clever, murderer, clever.

I learned it from you.

I should charge you for my lessons.

I pay you in my company

Is there an exchange rate on that?

Chuckling, Wren directed his horse between two long hanging trees, knocking the branches back from him. The black horse was placid, undeterred by the world around it. In the time Wren had come to know the creature, he’d seen it accept its mark with a stoic resilience that he himself could never muster. There was a superiority here, a calm arrogance to the horse that he greatly appreciated. Would that he could speak to the creature…the tales they might share.

The low call of some forest animal interrupted his thoughts, and Wren spurred the horse onward. They needed to keep moving. Night would come swiftly on the back of day and he was already suffering limited sleep. Zan could not stand guard forever….and there were horrors that lurked in the Wildlands where the Valterrian had left its scars.

[Accolade]

The trip for Wrenmae and Zan would be calm and peaceful for bells more. Nothing out of the ordinary would happen, and even the beast of the wilds didn't bother to step out to greet them. It was silent mostly, only with the occasional humming or chirping of birds to sooth their quiet travel towards the caravan. More time would pass and still nothing, and it would have seemed very boring if not for Zan's sadistic sense of humor to balance the wave of silence that would befall them every so often.

Suddenly, Wrenmae would feel something familiar, something kindred in away. The mage would find himself looking about instinctively to find the source of whatever it was that seemed to call to him. The horse continued to move forward and soon enough Wrenmae would catch sight of a figure moving from the thick brushes nearby.

Within a moment, a young woman appeared, peeking her head out from where she hid. The moment that their eyes met, it was clear. The mage would sense it and so to did the girl. She was blessed by the same God as he was. The God of Disease, Poison and Sickness, Vayt. As one would expect with those with the Blight, the young woman was very beautiful. Large icy blue eyes, pale, flawless features and lips of ruddy red. Her hair was long, fiery red like that of the Inarta and her clothing was more of the type found in Taldera than Sylira.

The young woman wasn't a favored as Wrenmae was, but nevertheless, she was chosen. She was hesitant at first upon seeing him, but once she realized what they had in common, she decided to step out and onto the dirt path. She was slender in form, her body appearing to be at the hormonal stage of an older teenager. But the most prominent of things, the items that he would likely notice first, was the blooded Syliran shield and longsword that she carried in each hand.

The girl didn't speak however, her lips parting as if to say something but falling short of speech. Her eyes narrowed upon him, and she tighten her grip around the handle of the long sword, as if she were having second thoughts about sticking around. She didn't remove her eyes from him, even as she stepped backwards into the brush and almost fell over something.

[Wrenmae]

At first, he was convinced she was an illusion.

Blinking in the harsh dappled light that fell between trees, he pulled up on the reigns of his horse and stared, perplexed. The light did the work for him, catching the auburn hues in her hair and glinting off the steel and drying blood. The symbol of the tree, the Windoak, Syliras' secret claim to power was emblazoned there...but she looked like no knight.

As she stepped back, nearly tripping, Wrenmae held out a hand, paused, and withdrew it.

"Caution is wasted on me," He said at last, resting one palm on the other upon the saddle's horn, "We are marked of the same God, surely we are kin?" He smiled as genuinely as he could, at last sighing and swinging off of the horse. The black creature snorted with disdain, but did not far leave the master. She could sense the mark of her God on the steed as well...a gift for service rendered...a creature that would not weaken and wither in the Blight's presence.

Wrenmae did not approach her, simply stood beside the horse, hands out, and smiled.

"Have you met many like me before? I can't say I have, not many anyways. Vayt marks so few these days one would think they were the dawns and dusks of the land, never quite meeting. But forgive my manners. I'm Wrenmae."

He listened, not for her, but for what he hoped would not be the hooves of one following her.

That sword and shield...could they actually be hers?

It certainly wasn't her blood.

"Your shield tells a story," he continued gravely, nodding at it, "Animal or human blood? Should I be wary of any pursuers?"

[Accolade]

The young woman steadied her boots against the thick branch that she had almost fell over. She thought to run, to distance herself from anyone that could possibly look to harm her. But there was something about this man that gave her pause to stay. There was a very strong presences of Vayt with him, one almost as strong as the day that she met the God. She watched as he shifted off the horse and would have moved back further had it not been for the branch in her way. But he didn't attack, or anything and just stood by his horse, with a smile upon his face. Maybe she could trust him, they were, as he said kin.

There was a sadness in her eyes, the look of someone lost and desperate. "You're the first that I've come across....ever." she answered in a soft but strong tone of voice. The young woman moved from within the brush and stepped forward to where she had stood before, her skinny fingers lightly squeezing the handle of the long sword. Her shoulders slumped, the heavy shield pulling her arm down further on one side. "I'm Minerva."

Wrenmae was right, there was a story behind the shield and sword, just as there was with the woman. But she wasn't ready to tell him her story, not the full story, and not until he agreed to help her..if he would agree. Minerva hesitantly glanced down at the sword and shield, as if she hadn't realized that they were both covered in dried blood. "It's both, human and animal...but it's not mine." Her boots moved, sliding away from the thicker of the dirt, just in case she needed to run. She had no idea of what he would say upon hearing the news and wanted to be ready in case he advanced.

"I don't know if anyone else is coming, probably....maybe. But there is something out there. Something that attacks in the dark. I can tell you more, I can show you. But I can't stay here any longer, I'm not supposed to be here. Will you help me?"

[Wrenmae]

Look. What you always wanted. A pretty little fleshling female to love and to hold and to show off to your neighbors...who will also die because you're both Blight. But hey. No marriage is perfect! It begins with tiny sacrifices...like a city.

Shut up Zan.

Excuuuuuuse me, Mr. Sensitive. Pardon me for not leaping for joy when we encounter more negative influences.

She needs our help.

Since when has that stopped YOU from being a jerk?

She's kin.

She has the same little love-tattoo YOU do. Should I crush a berry on another man and call him sister? Err...brother?

Keep a civil tongue. I've made my decision.

Oh. Yeah. Of course. But you see, we Sarawanki are a rare and fabulous breed and among the things we don't have is...oh, a tongue. Thanks, you insensitive monster.

Wren ignored the familiar and offered the girl a smile, motioning to his horse. "It's been blessed to keep the plague from it. I'm on my way to Ravok, but I think there is room enough for both of us if you're interested. We can go as far as you like, but I will have to take you up on your offer of information."

A branch snapped somewhere in the forest behind them and Wren looked behind her sharply. Her words...of a monster that strikes by night. Certainly it wasn't the sort of thing he was interested in dealing with...at least not now, without a familiarity and defense of the area.

"Come," he said quickly, nodding at the horse, "We can discuss on the ride."

[Accolade]

Minerva was very pleased that he chose to help her, and even more so that he didn't stay to look around. She trusted him to help her, and even though they were kin, she didn't know how he would react if he had seen what was hidden just beyond the bushes. The body of a dead squire and another of a Syliran Knight. The young woman didn't know if the Knight had died as well, but with his injuries and having spent a full day and night with her, he would likely meet Dira soon.

The snapping of the branch pulled her attention away, and Minerva quickly looked behind her. Was it him, she wondered, was the Knight still alive? In a way, she hoped that he was and that somehow he would get the help that he needed. But she couldn't stay, and it was better for him to be as far away from her and Wren as possible.

"Okay, lets go."

Minerva moved towards the horse, still lugging the long sword and shield. They were heavy, but she wouldn't part with them even though they were clearly a burden to hold. With the help of Wren, she was able to climb onto the horse and they set off down the path. Minerva hadn't given him any direction to lead her and so the mage continued on the path that he had started before he met her. The young woman held tightly to his body, her head resting against his back. It might appear that she was taken with him or just overly friendly, but the truth was, Minerva was tired and hadn't slept in at least a full day.

The ride would be silent as she drifted in and out of sleep every so often. In her dazed state it was hard to keep her thoughts together and she still wasn't sure of how to tell him her story. There were three stories in fact, and they all were linked in a way that were neither humorous or magical.

"Where did you come from Wrenmae?" her voice whispered from behind him as it just barely escaped the yawn that followed. Minerva was completely lost in the forest and she wasn't sure if he was coming from Syliras or not. Knowing that would also help her in telling him what she needed to. The ride continued and after some time the two arrived to find that one of the caravans that Wren was following had broken down and there were men trying to add a new wheel and fix the boards that had separated.

There wasn't anyone else around at the moment, only those with the caravan, who mostly stood around and just watched as the men struggled with getting the wheel back on while another slammed a hammer into the bolts in the underway.

[Wrenmae]

"I came from Nyka," Wren said to her at last, as the ride stretched on through the shadow of the trees, "Before that, I was in Sahova and Zeltiva...and before that Sunberth." He could feel the intake of breath, the beginning of a question forming on her tongue, "I travel a good deal," He said, cutting her off, "You of all people should know why."

Idly, Wren tugged the reigns of his mount back onto the path. The rivets left by the wheels of the wagons left enough of a trail to follow for him to be comfortable. Another day, maybe less. Almost certainly they'd come upon the group before nightfall. Briefly, then, Wren could volunteer services and find a place among others to camp.

It was a good change from the Wildlands around them.

He didn't think he'd be lucky enough to survive another night out here.

"But I'm hardly remarkable, simply a favored of our god who brings his mission to others...nothing radical. What I'm more concerned about is what you said earlier...something about a danger in the forest that attacks at night."

It could be a number of things. The forest was crawling with inhospitable beasts and other haunting creatures. Bandits, slavers, there were all kinds of dangers that simply waited to be run into. Wrenmae had been lucky enough so far and with brief bouts of hypnotism when confronted by a predator...but the way she talked about this thing.

It sounded...almost too deliberate.

He would have said more, but the echo of the hammer of the wood came to them through the forest, spurring Wren onward.

They came upon a wagon that had been left behind to handle a wheel replacement. Holding up both hands, palms forward, Wrenmae approached the wagon with a smile.

"Ho, Travelers," He said, "What does a man have to do to travel the remainder of the way with the likes of you?"

[Accolade]

"Avanthal." She said simply, given that he had already replied to her comment before she could even say it. Minerva knew why he traveled, or at least she had a good guess. She too had traveled a lot, but she had to wonder if his stories of travel read as bleak and dark as hers. She didn't ask this, and instead she took the moment to tell him more about herself. "That's where I came from. It was my home."

It was a huge transition going from the frosty lands of Avanthal to the warmth of Sylira. The sea of white went on for miles compared to the lands of green she found herself in now. The temperatures were exact opposites, and even during the winter, Sylira didn't get as cold. But, if she closed her eyes she could still see it all. White trees, snowy banks, and the tall structure that made up her home. Minerva could remember her hold, the many artistic creations made by those who lived there....and her family.

It was only right.

I'm not sorry..

You took a part of me, and I took a part from you...

It was only right....

The woman was suddenly drawn from her inner thoughts when Wren asked her about the creatures that she had faced. It was hard to remember, but only because it happened at night, and fast giving her little time to see. But there was something... "I don't remember it well, but they were big. They swooped out of the sky when they first attacked. I couldn't see them well, but they looked weird and they spit something and it ate through one of the shields."

The conversation ended suddenly when they discovered the caravan and wagons. The men were hard at work, trying to set the new wheel into place and hadn't noticed the new arrivals. A few of the bystanders did see them however, and a few waved a greeting while the rest just stared curiously. Minerva peeked out from over Wren's shoulder and looked on as he did. No one looked familiar to her and that gave her relief, but in a way, she didn't know what to expect or if she should even expect anything.

With a few healthy grunts and team work, the men were able to get the wheel on and secure it. The men stood up, getting a few cheers from their fellows before turning to finally notice the riders. The hammer man, Almond, was the first to speak and welcome them to join. "Fair day travelers. Good to see more people out n about from the cities..and armed too." he added glancing at the shield and sword Minerva continued to cling to. "We could use the extra muscle."

A few of the others started to whisper amongst themselves as they stared at the new-comers. Maybe they didn't trust them. Maybe it was something about them that seemed wrong. Or maybe it was their clothing that attacked their senses. Either way, no one said anything until another of the men who helped with the wagon spoke up. "Petch, we're gonna run out of light. Might as well settle and make camp." There was a loud sigh from the group, showing their frustrations as they started to look for a good place to rest for the night.

The group walked a bit further, and found a somewhat hidden patch of earth that seemed perfect for their group. They ignored Wren and Minerva mostly and went about their way. It appeared rehearsed the way they moved together, even breaking off into pairs to get things ready for the long night ahead. This would leave Wren and Minerva free to do whatever they wished, or to help out those that they traveled with now.

[Wrenmae]

Avanthal.

It was a name and it carried the weight of home in its three syllables. He didn't press then, staving off his natural curiosity in lieu of their new circumstances. The caravan was not a large one, but that was mostly because it had split from the main group for repairs. Enough had stayed behind to fend off any bandits or beasts in the Wildlands, but only just barely.

It was pretty evident they expected to catch back up again shortly, and the delay to camp for the night was not expected.

As the sun streamed through the trees, golden death-light of its mighty falling, Wren turned his gaze to the sky suspiciously. They came on wings, apparently, and with a weapon that could eat through steel. They were fast, yes, but probably predators. The fact Minerva was alive suggested they only took what they wanted to consume...but given their distance from where he'd found her...there may yet be more in the area.

"Well," Wren said to her with a small smile, "Let's make a good impression."

He dismounted and led his horse to the others, taking the supplies he needed off the back. His own four person tent would be enough to hold both of them, and perhaps others if they didn't have the shelter. It was obvious, however, that everyone was provided for.

Wren had expected suspicion if not outright hostility. It was not an uncommon practice to send agents into a caravan to appear helpful and then turn on the group at night, letting the bandits fuel the element of surprise. It was likely they'd be watched.

Let them watch.

He volunteered where he could, and Minerva followed uncertainly...helping with the caution that one developed when used to living and being alone. It was a distant sort of help, one with little conversation.

"And so I told the monk I was sorry and he let me go." Wrenmae finished telling one of the men he was helping set up a tent with.

"He didn't notice the trick?"

Wren grinned shrugged, "You ever try looking at your own cheek without a mirror? I was long gone before the fool realized it was ink!" Those around him chuckled, sharing an easy laugh with the stranger. For Wren, he was a showman. Telling stories was his way of blending, even surviving on a social level. While Minerva seemed rather closed to making new connections, Wren welcomed them.

They'd last as long as the next city and then he'd never see them again.

Much the better for them, really.

As night fell, both Shroud took refuge in his tent. A little sunlight remained, coloring the shadows that fell along the outside of the tent. Both were quiet and Wren took the opportunity to lay out his two daggers and his rapier, withdrawing each and cleaning them in turn. Afterwards, he belted on his leather armor and put the steel-wool cloak over his back.

"What are you doing?" She asked him, but said it in a tired voice...he had to remember that when he found her, she was exhausted.

"Precaution," he told her, looking up at the tent ceiling, "I'm not sure what the things were you described, but they attack at night...and everyone out there will be blind."

"So will you." She added.

Wren only smirked in response.

Stepping out of the tent, he was assaulted with the smell of night. Wet loam, dark earth, the air tinged cooler...cricketsong serenaded the slumbering, preparing for a doublepace in the morning to catch up with the rest.

Wren took a flask from his side and tossed it out into the air. There it paused and Zan floated in front of him, simply an amorphous shadow in the night.

"I want you near the tree tops," he told the familiar, "Keep out of sight, keep low, and keep your gaze to the sky. If anything approaches, let me know immediately."

The familiar needed no further bidding and climbed through the air on jets of djed, settling into the branches.

Wren took the other side of camp, his eyes already warping into the yellow gleam of a Zith, banishing the shadows of the night and looking at the world in shades of grey.

When he reached a tree just outside camp, he put his hands against the trunk, warping them into the tools of a symenestra and scuttling up the trunk.

In the branches, he watched the sky, one hand near his first dagger. It may have simply been a hunch, but she had been left alive for a reason.

It either meant she was a murderer...or something wanted to save her for later.

It wasn't in his nature to take risks for others, and as he hung in the tangle of branches he reflected on that. Was it because she was, like him, another plague-touched? Maybe in that way, he felt a kinship with her that he couldn't share with another. Being near her didn't kill her...she was immune.

But there was more to it than that.

She had the shield of a Knight...and said another had been eaten through...two knights, and a beast that could easily eliminate them.

He wanted it.

A deep dark part of him craved that power.

[Accolade]

Minerva remained silent for a time, and rode the horse over to where Wren led it to feed with the others. She got down with his help and followed along beside the mage. It would take her a bit of time, having carried the heavy shield and sword until her small arms felt numb. But she finally put them down to help him set up his tent, then moved on to help the others to set up camp.

They were watched as Wren had expected, and Minerva also felt the weight of their eyes on her as well. Politeness seemed to be the manner of the group, but they were wary of the newcomers, as they were of the small group. Or at least in Minerva's case. Perhaps she took the stares the hardest because she wasn't used to them, and her own traumatic experience with the locals made her feel more vulnerable.

But an interesting truth was there, it was the addition of the young woman that gave the group cause to trust them at all.

The young woman helped out where she could, but soon found herself paired off and away from her companion. The men were put to work on setting up the tents and unloading foods while the women cooked and unloaded the lighter items that they would need for the night. Minerva watched Wren from afar as he made nice and choked with the caravan members. In a way she admired him for it. That he could laugh and be friendly with them, even though they were strangers.

How could she trust so easily when her own family had turned against her? It was hard for her to follow, and she didn't see herself trusting people for a very long time. While Wren continued to work with the men, it was a very different atmosphere around the women. They worked with Minerva and attempted to start conversations, but one glance into her icy blue eyes and they were drawn into her darkness. There was a sadness in her eyes and if they even reached out, they would be drowned by her hate.

They didn't want to ask her story, because they didn't want to care. Asking them to care was asking them to feel for her, and that was something they couldn't do. They had their own worries and cares and she wasn't a part of them. The caravan had allowed them to join their company and to travel with them, asking anything else was asking too much.

When the work was finished and night fell upon Sylira, Minerva was more than ready to fall into a nap sack and sleep the night away. Oddly enough, she didn't fall asleep right away and even after Wren left the tent, she stayed away..just listening. Strangely, the creatures that had attack her and the Knights weren't on her mind. She had her future to think about, where she would go and what she would do for food and shelter. Death was easy, it was simple and there were no questions of after.

Minerva laid in silence for a while, her gaze looking through the ceiling of the tent and beyond, to her past and a possible future. A few moments passed and she decided to peek her head out of the tent to find Wren, but the plague barer was no where to be found. Most of the caravaners had also gone to bed and the camp had fallen silent. The young women fell back into the bedding and simply laid there until she finally dozed off since she had nothing else to do.

The night would go on in peace and quiet for a while and Wren would find himself very board and may have fallen asleep. But he would get what he wanted soon enough, and possibly more than he bargained for. They came in the dead of night, their wings silent to those with human ears. The campers were all asleep except for two that stayed awake to guard them while they slept. A sudden scream is what woke them all and alerted Wren to their presences, but it wasn't an animal scream..but human. One of the men had gotten up and wandered a few feet into the brush to relieve himself of the ale he had drank earlier, when he was suddenly snatched off his feet and flown into the air.

There were more screams, as scared and unaware people stumbled outside to find themselves being snatched up as well. Minerva awoke at the first scream and peeked out from the tent to see what was happening, but the young plague-touched didn't go out. Wren would be completely alert to what was happening now, flashing of dark figures darted between the trees as they swarmed the camp. Whether it was Zan who spotted them first or Wren himself, there were four of them, fully grown creatures and they were hungry, the Balicani had come.