[The Bronze Wood] (INTRO/OPEN) - Merchant's End.

[Orin]

[51st Day of Winter, Year of 509 AV]
-The Kabrin Road, fast approaching the Bronze Wood.

Slowly the caravan made its way farther and farther south. The convoy of people, horses and wagons pushed deeper into the evening mist. The caravan was led by two Sylirian Knights. One of which suddenly pulled off to the left, and stopped near the edge of the dirt road. He looked every inch of his title. Beautiful, yet functional plate armor covered the man head to toe. A massive longsword rested in its sheathe across his back. One gauntlet covered hand gripped the reigns, keeping the horse steady. The other motioned those behind to keep moving to pass.

The driver of the first horse-led carriage gave a little wave as he brought his whip down on one of the horses. Behind him, a small group of peasants with hand-carts huddled together as they walked. Taking their left flank, a soldier walked. The Knight recognized him as one of the mercenaries the merchant captain had hired. The captain himself came next. A Vantha man out of Avanthal, he was famous for his riches and splendour, but had been reduced to riding in his personal carriage. He was moving all his possesions and assets from the famous 'jewel of the north' down to Syliras in an effort to expand his business interests in the famous capitol.

The Knight turned his head, taking in the approaching wood. They wouldn't beat the dark. The Kabrin Road hadn't been the safest route into Syliras, but it had been the fastest, and the Knight was sure the various traveler's 'way points' where still safe havens throughout the massive forest. The journey had been rough. Problem after problem had plagued the convoy, from the weather to the horses. Something or someone didn't want the merchant to reach the southern city.

The final figure of the convoy finally passed. The knight gave the small man little regard, other than to note his weaponry and appearance. The figure was dressed in a worn cloak and hood, making it hard to tell any of his features other than scraggly black hair. The cloak was in tatters, in places revealing the chain mail haubrek underneath. At the side rested a longsword, of what make the knight couldn't guess. On the back rested a rather large buckler, almost a full-sized circular shield. Most peculiar however, was the man's dog. It followed at his heels. It looked like some form of war dog, judging by the collar. Yet it seemed to be a rather large shepard. The man looked up, shining green eyes staring right at the knight. The gaze held, and then dissapeared into the hood as the warrior turned away.

The knight suddenly pulled on the reigns and was moving to the front of the convoy.

__________________________________________________________________

The caravan lit torches and lanterns as they where consumed in the darkness of night. The thing that struck the young man the most about the wood was the sound. It was almost loud, the din created by the insects and various animal life of the forest. He was vaguely aware that they where very close to one of the maintained 'rest spots' along the Kabrin road. The thickness of the foliage above blocked any view of the stars above, and without the lantern hanging from the back of the carriage, the warrior doubted he'd be able to see anything at all. Every few minutes he would look back into the encompassing mist. He needn't have worried, the attack came from the front.

The first arrow struck the second knight, piercing clean through his left shoulder pouldron. Without so much as a pause, several more followed. The ensuing chaos was punctuated by the surviving knight blowing his horn, trying to restore order. The peasants huddled close to the carriages as the mercenaries tried to establish a perimeter. In the back, Orin Whitewall had little idea of what was going on.

The young man found the halted carriage, watched as his companion suddenly darted forward, to the left of the wagon. Slowly, he inched his sword out of his sheathe, calling to the wagon driver.

"Ey! What's the 'old up?"

His accent was thick, and barely discernable, yet it conveyed his point.

Coming around the wooden wheel, Orin found a grisly scene. A single arrow protruded from the dying driver's shoulder. He hung over the railing, shaking and gasping blood. Yanking open the door, Orin found whoever had been inside was long gone. Turning he addressed the dog.

"Fenris! Haebis Lem!"

The dog immediatly reacted, it was as if some internal switch had been flipped. Baring its teeth, and growling deeply, it suddenly launched foward, its owner in fast pursuit.

Freeing his sword, Orin ran hard, hoping to reach the next wagon in line. The mist was thick, and he could just barely make out the sounds of battle, and the hint of a torch was just ahead. Suddenly Fenris barked, and leaped. A surprised shout was punctuated with a scream. Orin grinned, and roared, charging into the mist. The first thing he saw was his dog tearing into a younger man's throat. His leather chest piece provided little more then a place for the dogs footing, as its canines worked into the unprotected flesh of his neck. Blood was everywhere, as the dog shook its head from side to side. In vein the man was kicking and screaming.

A few feet away, another armed man stood, he dropped his bow, and in one smooth motion drew a dagger, and charged.

Orin felt himself shaking as that old familiar feeling overtook him. His eyes took on a fiery orange tint as he raised the longsword over his head and screamed. It was a classic stance, obviously an emulation of the knights successful 'high ready' The first swing was usually followed up with a thrust. Orin brought the blade down hard on his enemy as the man turned. The blade bit deep into leather and cloth, and blood could be seen as the man yelled. Up close, Orin could make out his features. He was older, and looked to be a tad on the starving side. Besides the leather armor, a red sash was worn around the neck. The young Vantha warrior yanked his sword upwards, and then to the side, in an attempt to sideswipe his neck. The older man was quicker, and ducked, thrusting with the dagger. Orin roared from the top of his lungs. He could barely see anything for the red in his eyes. He punctuated the scream with a thrust, the reach of his sword easily overcoming the man's paultry defences with the dagger. Orin was rewarded as the blade sunk deep into his adversary's chest. He shoved deeper, driving the man to the ground.

Looking over, Orin noted Fenris barking in the direction of the rest of the convoy. With a chortle and a gasp, the man shuddered as Orin placed his boot on to the man's chest. Yanking the blade out, he gave a command, and the dog was off.

Slowly the warrior drew his shield over his shoulder, putting his free hand through the leather straps. The rage was consuming him. He was a beserker, trained by the barbarians of the frozen wastes. He was breathing heavily, almost snorting with exertion. Yet the anger was an energy of sorts, and spurred him foward.

It wasn't long before Orin and Fenris came upon the scene of the main battle. The knight had been dismounted, but was still leading the mercenary troop in a vicious counter attack against the main body of bandits. However, from the trees, arrow after arrow rained down upon them, dropping a soldier with each hit.

Orin gave a command as he saw an arrow emerge from behind him. Fenris darted off, engaging the enemy. Orin waited, and saw another arrow emerge from the foliage to his front. Charging Orin put the shield in front of him, and the blade to the side, preparing for the initial thrust. It never came, another bandit had seen him, and something heavy crashed into Orin, he turned to face the new threat, breathless and tearing up from the pain. It took him a second to realize an arrow was sticking out of his thigh. It had hit him at an angle, and the barb could still be seen. Blood was spreading down his leg, staining the cloak and his leggings.

His first target emerged from the bush, drawing a wicked looking dirk. Orin bellowed out a war cry, and swung his blade in a sweeping arc, bringing the shield up to cover his face. It was a stroke of luck that the bandit didn't get out of the way in time, the heavy blade literally ripping apart the man's face. Blood splattered over Orin's face, causing some disorientation as he turned to face his newest enemy. However, something small and furry bolted past him. Fenris barked as he leaped.

Orin turned, trying to get a bead on the knight. He could vaguely make out the plated figure through the mist. Staggering towards the sounds of battle, Orin didn't even see the club until it was at the end of his nose.


---------------------------------------------------------------
[52nd Morning of Winter, Year 509]
-Somewhere along the Kabrin road.

He coughed into wakefulness. His first realization was the pain. Blood was everywhere. Sputtering, Orin pushed something away, trying to get oriented. It felt like something had ripped his body apart in several places. Once, right between his shoulder blades, and again, in his lower back. Feeling with his hand, Orin found the source of the blood, and what seemed to be where someone had shoved a dagger or shortsword into his lower back. It had already started to clot, but it didn't take a surgeon to realize he wasn't doing well. The arrow was the least of his wounds, and the blood seeping from his presumably broken nose and face was hardly a worry. It was the mid back wound that should have killed him, and was causing the most pain. Drawing himself to his knees, the beserker was vaguely aware of barking.

Fenris was a large dog, easily up to the Vantha's waist on a good day. He was pawing at Orin, while simultaneously looking all around the small clearing. Orin could make out morning dew, and realized he could see. The body of his attacker was nearby, and blood flowed freely from his neck. In all, two bodys where in the clearing, and of the two, the attacker was closer. The warrior slowly dragged himself over to the man. His sword and shield where... somewhere, so Orin drew the dagger (that had probably caused his now grievous wounds) and cut the man's pant leg off at the thigh. Searching the pack, he found only a canteen and some food. Taking a swig out of the canteen, he absently gave the dog a scratch behind his ears. Fenris snorted at him as his master put his hand on the arrow.

His anguished scream could be heard for miles.

Panting, and tearing up, Orin took another swig. With a dizziness about him, he looked around. Still choking up, he dropped the arrow and searched for the knight. Neither knight could be found, but he did see a single broken carriage, with a few horses around it. Bandits would have taken the horses, and hopefully their comrade's bodies, so their attack must have been routed. The convoy must have continued south, leaving some of their dead behind.

Orin winced as he rested his elbow on his enemy's body. With a cough he wrapped the pant legging around his lower back, being sure to cut off another strip and use it to staunch the wound first. Wincing, he regarded Fenris.

"Well mate, jus' you an' me now."

[Stitch]

Wham.

Stitch grimaced, bouncing off yet another tree, a welt already appearing on his forehead. He had been right in picking this particular area to train his sight in. It was practically impossible to see anything but green aura extending in every direction, and everything looked exactly the same to him. He couldn't tell how close the trees were in reality, but they were close enough that their auras blended together to form a pure green mist all around him. If he focused hard enough, the aura would slowly thin out, and he would manage to catch the pulsing outline of a tree for a few moments, but that quickly tired him. He had someone with him on this journey, he had a home and several children to get back to, he couldn't afford to rest every few moments. Sighing, he lifted a hand to his head, rubbing the small red bruise that was quickly forming. He winced as he touched it, sighing once more. He already had about fifty of these things all over his body, from stumbling over logs, running into trees, getting caught among bushes, a variety of things. He was like a blind man stumbling through this thick forest.

Well, he really thought about it, he WAS a blind man in a forest.

Stitch was tall, slim, young, and blind. A thick medical bandage wrap was tightly wrapped around his head, right over his eyes, hiding and protecting them from the elements, as well as signaling to the rest of the general populace that he was quite unable to see. It usually surprised everyone how well Stitch moved around, he had magic to help him with that; but no one would be impressed to see him move around in this forest. He was running into everything! Shaking his head, Stitch allowed the smallest of smiles to cross his face. The man had the ability to find the bright side to any situation, and if he took a step back and looked at himself, he DID look pretty funny. He wondered if Avi thought so too, or if she was worried sick about his health. He was turning into a mass of bruises after all.

Now fully grinning, he brushed himself off, and took a step in another direction, trying to pick out the areas where the aura was thicker, brighter (therefor closest to the tree, or the tree itself), and where the aura was dim, and fading out. He had theorized that if he could find the dim areas, that was the section farthest away from the tree, and he could safely step there. There was also the matter of looking at the ground, finding the aura of logs and large stones, and picking them out from the aura of leaves and the ground itself. This was hard, and it took a fair amount of concentration, which in turn took a fine amount of control in order not to overexert his body, or dip out too much of his personal magic.

Complications, complications. It shouldn't be this hard to see. Although, he was very lucky he could see. Thinking about the dear old friend that had given him his sight, he smiled, whispering a short prayer.

That was when the scream of agony pierced the wood.

Stitch paused mid step, his head snapping to the side, his blind eyes directing his Auristics towards the direction of the scream. It echoed around the forest, bouncing off the trees, but he managed to make out the general direction. His other senses had improved when he had lost his sight, by no means a major hop in ability, but enough to let him hear a few more things then most could not, or taste a few more tastes then most could. He took step in the direction of the scream, listening for it again, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. Was someone hurt? Was something wrong? Another scream never came, not another sound. They might be in trouble, they might be dying! Not even thinking about asking Avi to simply fly him over, Stitch suddenly took off through the forest, running full speed.

The man didn't even realize he was smoothly avoiding each and every tree, every fallen log, every large stump in his way.

Soon, Stitch stumbled upon the scene, and then fell to his knees, suddenly overwhelmed with the shock of it all. There were dead bodies, and they were everywhere. So many people that had died to something unknown at the moment, so much blood, such a stench of death in the air. A horrible thought entered Stitch's mind as he stared upon the scene, his mind racing a million miles a minute. What if he hadn't paused to rub his head, back at that tree? What if he had been able to see better, and had bypassed the tree completely? Would that have made a difference? Would people have lived?

Stitch finally laid his blind sight upon Orin, and what looked to be some sort of animal near him. He spoke, choking out his words, which were stricken with horror, pain, sadness, and worry. "Milord...? What happened here...?"

[Avi]

Avi had heard the ruckus from quite a distance away, long before Orin had screamed. She had been torn between checking it out or avoiding it, but she had chosen the latter - she had Stitch with her - as curious as she may have been about what was going on. It was hard to just leave him here, though she certainly could have carried him, one way or another. She had been planning to show him the countryside outside of the city, and take him out to the woods and to the mountains. There was only so much you could show to a blind man, but nature was different. Nature in itself was beautiful - you didn't need eyes to see it. Nature had something for all of your senses - touch, taste, smell, hearing, sight. Just because you couldn't use one didn't mean all of the doors were closed to you. You could get just as complete a picture without it.

A young Vantha woman came hurrying into sight behind the blind man, wincing with every crash he made. She was more of a teenager, really, shorter than Stitch, with long, heavy-looking black braid with blue highlights. Her skin tone wasn't unlike that of an almond and her eyes were wide, coloured a brilliant amber with curiosity and alarm and surprise. She held a sturdy spear in one hand, a couple of feet taller than she, with black feathers secured along the shaft. She was dressed simply, wearing only a black vest with blue patterns stitched into it, plain trousers, and leather boots - she was clearly at home with the temperature, and didn't find it all that cold. But no self-respecting Vantha would ever find the temperatures of Syliras cold.

She was surprised to see such a mess. She was a killer herself, but Avi didn't snack on people, and Avi preferred to kill only to eat - of course, if it came down to a life or death situation for her or her friends, well, then she would. She might not be happy about it, but she would. Even if she just snatched them up, flew up into the sky, and dropped them to their death. Whatever worked, really. She eyed the dog and the young man, surprised but thrilled to see another Vantha so far from home. "Are you okay? What happened? I'm Avi, and this is Stitch." She stared a little past them, looking to see if she could spot any of the perpetrators as she reached for Stitch to help him up. "What Hold are you from?"

[Orin]

A single breath.

The young Vantha warrior placed his hand firmly on the corpses' chest. Pushing himself up, he tried to ignore the fires burning between his shoulder blades and back, respectively. His other hand, gripped his leg trying in vain to steady himself.

Suddenly Fenris gave a low yelp, and someone crashed into the clearing.

Orin was caught completely off guard, and could only openly stare at the taller figure. He was a striking sight to say the least. Bandages covering the head, a lithe, toned frame. His mouth opened in horror, and then he dropped to his knees.

"Milord...? What happened here...?"

The young Vantha simply craned his neck closer, not sure what to do. Fenris for his part was still, simply waiting for a command from his master. Orin's eyes took on an amber hue of confusion. A single gloved hand arose, undoing the draw strings around his neck. Thus released, the cloak fell to the ground. Now dressed in a green tunic, and battered chain hauberk, Orin surveyed the scene.

The clearing contained only the two bodies, as well as Orin's weapons. Yet farther south, where he had spotted the carriage, various lumps and distorted shapes could be scene. Shafts stuck out from some of these lumps, while red could be seen in sprays, along the trees and the side of the wagon. It was a horrific scene, and Orin's eyes took on a neutral shade of gray. Taking a half step towards his sword, the man was suddenly interrupted by another joining the clearing.

Fenris immediatly gave a low whine, and Orin gave the newcomer some consideration. She was young, and looked to be of Vantha birth. She also held a rather wicked looking spear. Her face showed none of the concern or horror of her companion as she spoke.

"Are you okay? What happened? I'm Avi, and this is Stitch."

She seemed to look past him, and then spoke again.

"What Hold are you from?"

Eyeing them both, Orin finally spotted his sword out of the corner of his eye. Stepping gingerly, the young man dropped to a knee in an effort not to bend his back, and closed one gloved hand around the hilt of the old blade. Its of Vantha make, and the once beautiful carvings into the center now have an overlay of dried blood. Still kneeling, and now panting, Orin continues to regard the two for a long moment. Then, wincing, the young man tries to stand.

"My name is Orin Whitewall, of Whitewall Hold. I was a guard with this convoy."

He slowly motions to the wreckage behind him.

"It seems the surviving Syliras Knight lead the survivors in pursuit of the bandits that attacked us."

Everything was starting to swim. Normally Orin wouldn't have trusted these two farther then he could throw them. It would be a burning day in the afterlife before he'd blindly trust anyone, yet, neither seemed terribly intent on ending his life, so that was a good start.

He wasn't really sure what to do now. Looking to his dog for support, the warrior just sort of stood there, catching his breath.

[Stitch]

This was one of those moments where he hated his sight. The death was so clear. Perhaps if he had still had his normal eyes, he would have been spared perhaps some of the carnage, for most of it was somewhat hidden beyond the clearing. Yet, to him, the trees were somehow no barrier any longer, and the splotches of red death showed up against the green landscape as clearly as stars in a black night sky. Death always had effected Stitch much more than it seemed to effect those around him, and this was no exception. As the stench of blood reached his nose, he blanched, turning his head to direct the gagging motion away from his companion, and the other being. He felt Avi's hand upon him, and he used her support, slowly climbing to his feet, wishing he could blind himself to the carnage, to the blood.

He couldn't. He couldn't turn these eyes of his off.

Sighing, he tried to focus on Orin, really taking the time to study the man for the first time. He needed something else to look at. Holding his breath, for the first time in awhile, he truly focused. The outline of the man sharpened, and various details about him slowly began to show. Only physical, nothing emotional, although Stitch could feel a bit of physical pain radiating from the man. That was nothing to be surprised about Stitch realized, as the details of Orin's wounds became visibly clear to the man. Stitch instantly became concerned, his face revealing such, and he quickly strode forward, unaware of the man's slight distrust. Performing yet another first, or at least in awhile, Stitch reached up and untied the bandages from around his head, pausing in his stride to do such. The blind man winced as the sun hit his bare eyes, the skin around them, as well as the actual eye stinging a bit. They were a unique sight to behold.

The eyelashes and eyelids were completely gone, and scars looked as if they had been clawed across the surface of the eyes. Where there was once a perfectly black pupil, along with black color, now existed rifts of white, carving a path through the eye. They were spaced slightly apart, as if claws, or fingernails, had ripped at his eyes viciously. The eyes stared off vacantly, much like a normal blind man.

Moving through the blood, Stitch outstretched a hand, offering the long spiral of bandage. "Here, let this one, or Avi here... Let us bandage you with actual bandages. Is that just cloth on your wounds, this one can't really tell..." He paused in his step, as if suddenly realizing the man might be a bit adverse to letting strangers mess with him, at the moment. Stitch cocked his head to the side, regarding both man and dog, and offered a shaky smile. "This one has yet to introduce himself, apologies, milord. You must be shaken. This one is called Stitch, as Avi said... It is an honor to meet you, even if it is under such... circumstances." Stitch paused, his face flickering with a stricken look before he forced the shaky smile back on. "Is that a dog? He is beautiful, very strong, very large..."

Stitch was trying so hard to make casual conversation, under not-so-casual circumstances.

As Orin spoke of the guards going after the bandits, the stricken look returned to Stitch's face, worry marring his handsome features. "They went after them?" It was obvious that he was now worried for their well-being, as well as Orin's. He really didn't know what to do, he hadn't expected to stumble upon something such as this, on a mere walk in the woods...

[Azar]

Azar awoke from high in the branches of a tree to a man’s scream. She was a terrible, terrible climber and heights caused her stomach to whirl, but boredom does wonders. She maneuvered herself cautiously towards a branch, her foot testing out the stability while she worked up the courage to climb down. She felt pretty stupid for climbing the damned plant in the first place, and the feeling increased when she lost her balance and crashed to the forest floor.

She stayed sprawled for a moment, breathing hard and staring at the patches of light through the canopy of green; her world slightly spinning. Then the pain came and Azar sucked in a ragged breath and proceeded to utter every curse in her known vocabulary. She stood, swore some more, and stretched out and kneaded her arms.

The desert-girl could barely remember what had caused her to wake up in the first place and she began to wander away when she heard distant voices. Azar limped slightly while she walked towards the sounds, fortunately by the time she made it to the road, the kinks had worked themselves out.

“Yahal,” the girl whispered in shock at the carnage. The impulse to gag was strong enough to raise her hand to her mouth. A deep shiver of disgust rippled up her spine; her arms shaking with the force of it.

Her blue-eyes zeroed in on the people, not recognizing any of them, but still feeling concern for their well-being, “Are you three alright?” She called from a distance.

Her fingers twitched nervously into fists. Who could be sure they were not the murderers?

[Avi]

"Aviquilat Frostmane, of Frostmane Hold," she introduced herself in turn once Orin gave his name. It was the polite thing to do, after all, and both of them were Vantha. Two of a kind! Well, kind of, sort of - she didn't think Orin was a Kelvic.

She took Stitch's bandages with her free hand, her own eyes going a bit bright at her friend's - she hadn't seen his damaged eyes before, and now she was rather surprised TO see them as she tilted her head a little and stared. She shook herself. There would be time to look at them later, in as much as she wanted to look at them with utter fascination and pester him until he explained how it had happened. Orin was bleeding, after all, and bleeding generally really wasn't a good thing. She knew a little about Stitch's eyes, but not a whole lot. But she'd have time to look at them later once she stopped Orin's bleeding. Or, well, tried to. She wasn't much of a hand at it, but she would certainly try.

She kept one eye on the dog as she advanced towards Orin, shuffling the spear back through the loop on her backpack in an apparent show of goodwill and to free both hands as to work. She wasn't trying to hurt anyone, after all. Upon hearing that they'd gone after the bandits, Avi shook her head. Didn't strike her as a good idea. "Trap," she shook her head, although she seemed to relax somewhat, looking concerned in her own way now that the perpetrators weren't around within her earshot, at least. "How many bandits?" She wanted to know. She wasn't hearing them any more, which had her thinking that they were some ways off by now... though she did hear another set of footsteps. "Here. I'll help with the bandages," the young Kelvic offered. Or, at least, she'd try, assuming and his dog were willing to let her.

And that was a nice dog, that was. Avi knew her dogs, and she liked them - her family had a couple back in Avanthal. "Where did you get your dog? What's his name?"

She looked again beyond Orin, and this time her looking was rewarded when the bearer of the footsteps she had heard appeared. She thought she recognized the young woman from the fire festival... but what was she doing out here and alone? It was one thing for a Kelvic, perhaps, but for someone who certainly didn't look like a Kelvic and looked more like something the bandits would absolutely love to see out here by their lonesome. She was one of Abashai's people, to judge by the look of her. "Stitch and I are fine. Orin's hurt. Bandits about," Avi explained.

[Azar]

“Bandits about,"

- - -

With those two words said, Azar immediately glanced to her left and right, even tossing a quick glance over her shoulder; as if the bandits would be standing in plain sight, just waiting to be spotted.

“Has anyone checked the perimeter? To see if they are not lurking just out of view, laughing at us?”

Her fear was based off of a story she’d heard on the road, years ago: A group of highway men had attacked a merchant while he was traveling with his family. The man’s wife was gruesomely assaulted and murder while the man was restrained. The highway men had then more forcefully bound the man and set him beside his wife’s body. Then they had kidnapped his young daughter. They left; for a while, just long enough to trek around in a circle and come up in the bushes beside the merchant. They spied on him there, and quietly chuckled to themselves as the poor merchant cried out in grief through his gag.

That was only the middle of the story, and Azar could not remember the beginning or the moral it had been trying to portray. However, it was enough reason to cause Azar to walk each side of the road, meticulously searching the bushes for any peeping bandits. When her efforts turned up nothing, Azar slowly made her way back towards the trio.

Her first glimpse of the blind man’s eyes shocked her, almost to the point where her mouth fell open. She regained composer almost instantly. Azar was starting to have vague memories of him from the Fire Festival, but hadn’t he had a dressing over his eyes then? Her gaze fell to the bandage that Avi was wrapping Orin’s injuries with and she made the connection.

Azar guiltily looked down at her left arm where she had freshly bound a long strip of cloth just this morning. A slow sense of dread seeped into her stomach. Should she risk it? Her left fist clenched into a fist, as if saying of its own accord, “No!”. Azar’s gaze lingered on Orin’s wounds and she sluggishly started to unwind her bandage. When she got to her wrist, she seemed unable to continue, but after a brief closing of her eyes, she freed the dressing completely. Her fingers immediately closed into a tight, painful fist and she concealed it behind her back.

She dangled the bandage in front of Avi, “Here, use this as well.”

Although she doubted that any of them would hurt her because of her mark, Azar had kept it hidden so long it was practically instinct. Besides, what if word got out? Especially with those bandits in the woods. Azar anxiously glanced around again. Who knew what they’d do if they found out.

[Orin]

The smallest of breaths. An exhalation of emotion more than air. Everything was a haze, and his actions where barely known to himself.

Orin simply stared at Stitch's torn visage, a pained look upon his face. Then the slight look of horror as Avi approached with the bandages. He didn't deserve this. In a different place or time, he might have been tempted to rob these two at sword point. He could see it now, one swift motion and his sword could be at that man's throat.

Wishful thinking, an overactive imagination and an abundance of hatred. I have made my way south for a REASON. An exodus of the soul. I need to change what I have become. I need to stop this.


With dark thoughts filling his mind, the young vantha slowly took a seat among the leaves, motioning for Avi to come closer. He turned his eyes to Fenris, and uttered something under his breath. The dog seemed to understand, its once tense attitude changed, suddenly it took several ginger steps in the female vantha's direction.

Orin motioned for the others to sit in a circle.

"I believe, in the company of strangers, a palaver is in order."

His words were soft, and well spoken. An almost direct contradiction to his battle-worn appearance. He seemed to take pause for a long moment, searching for words. He decided to answer all of their questions in an introduction.

"My name is Orin Whitewall, of the Whitewall clan. I was raised in Avanthal, although I spent the last decade of my life on the frozen tundra, living with a human tribe. I have heard nothing but good things about Frostmane hold, and it is an honor to meet one of the daughters, of such an honored clan."

With this, the young man winced and gave the woman a slight seated bow. Overdoing it? Maybe.

Be nice.

He continued to speak as he motioned the dog over.


"This is Fenris, a wardog, trained by the milita of a town we raided. My spoils if you will."

He suddenly pulled down the chainmail around his neck, to expose two gruesome bite marks.

"Yet, not without a cost."

Orin slowly rested his hands in the leaves, and continued to speak.

"I know not, where, or how many bandits where or are about. Unfortunatly, I was at the rear of the convoy. Two Sylirian knights led our small caravan. I assume at least one is alive, as he directed the counterattack before I was felled by these archers."

He motioned towards the bodies. His final sentence was filled with meaning, and each word told with force.

"Stitch, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your selfless act, and am truly grateful. I offer the same to you, desert warrior. Avi, if you could bandage me, I will do my best to stay still."

He shot a smile at the two females, and a wink at Stitch. He meant every word, and pushed any and all dark thoughts to the back of his mind.

He was slowly fading, he could tell. The murky waters of unconsciousness would soon take him. Nothing made sense, and he feared that he would be a burden on such people. It had taken alot out of him to speak, and the young man slowly took stock of the others. The desert warrior. Stitch, the blind man. Aviquilat the ..huntress? Thus associating each one, Orin tried keep his hands from shaking. The pain was intense, but not as intense as his guilt.

[Stitch]

Stitch kept finding himself glancing off into the forest, toward the dead bodies that were both nearby, and a bit of a distance away. He had tried to distract himself with Orin, but the smell and aura of death had proven time and time again to be too much of a drawing force. Through the conversation that would follow between the small group of people, Stitch would continue to have a look of grief on his face, the emotion also tingling in the air around him. Most of the emotions the man felt would be felt around him, as if moving through the air by some sort of magic. Really, that was exactly it, although Stitch didn't know it. The man rarely had his wits about him, and in this particular moment, he definitely had scattered and lost them.

As the lady approached, Stitch spun on his heels, his face stricken with worry. It was obvious he hadn't even thought of it being a bandit, he had just once more worried himself over the safety of another stranger. A quick examination of Azar proved to ease his mind a tad, however. She was just another stranger like he, who had stumbled upon such an unfortunate circumstance. He was about to greet her when Orin suggested a palaver, drawing Stitch's attention suddenly. What was that? The man sat down, and hesitantly, unsure of what to do, Stitch followed suit.

All was soon made clear, and Stitch closely listened, grief tearing at his heart once more, and revealing itself across his face. He wanted to go after the bandits, go after the guards and caravan that had wanted to exact revenge, and perhaps talk them out of it. Further bloodshed, death, violence, and pain; it could be avoided. If they would just listen to him, if they would just each forgive the other, if they would just...

If they could just take back what had happened.

Quickly, almost immediately after Orin finished speaking, Stitch burst out into his own introduction, thankful for the opportunity to speak, to distract himself. "This one is known as Stitch, milord." He paused, bowing his head to both Orin and Azar, offering the woman a small, still-shaky smile. "Hello, milady. This one is sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, but this one is happy you are doing well on this day." He noticed a bit of an odd aura, a LOT of an odd aura really, pouring from her arm. He regarded it curiously for a brief moment, but pushed it to the back of his mind. It didn't really matter, and everyone had their own unique story to tell. Their aura just gave him a peek into that story, which he personally felt was a bit nosy of him, even if he couldn't control it. Best not to stick his nose into things.

"This one and Avi, we were training in this forest... This one is happy he was nearby, this one would have hated you to be out here all alone, with wounds like... that." He nodded his head toward Orin, oddly indicating the location of the wounds quite accurately. Glancing back and forth between Avi and Azar, Stitch slowly, carefully spoke, still not knowing what to do next. "This one thinks... we should make haste, back to town. This man needs attention, perhaps we can get the milord there in a hurry, to more quickly ease his suffering..." Glancing to the side, Stitch regarded the dog that Orin indicated, quite familiar with the alike aura of most dogs.

Gingerly, he reached out a hand toward the animal, who would feel an aura of friendliness evading the air around him. Of gentle ease, although mixed with the bitter taste of sadness. "A beautiful dog, really..." Stitch bit his lower lip, thoughts still flooding through his mind at a pace he almost couldn't handle. What could he do? What should he do? Could he get Orin back to town in time, was the man going to be okay? What about all the other people? Stitch gnawed on his lower lip harder, rubbing his temple with one hand.

His head hurt.