Of Dragons and War III

[Crin Dalmeiier]

Crin only muttered something in reply that made Falcour glad they had just moved out of hearing distance of the Swordsman and anybody else who understood Russic.

--

The decided lack of alcohol in his life was making Talmour cranky that morning as he chewed on a hunk of dried meat that Falcour had tossed his way a few minutes before. Seeing the Swordsman dressed like a snowman had certainly been bizarre, but his reasons made Talmour want to groan. Snow. He hated snow. As a rule, all gypsies disliked snow. He'd seen Falcour's and Ame's expressions darken at the mention of snow, but they both seemed to be back to their normal temperaments--Ame giggling and joking around with any member of the party that would put up with her for long enough, Falcour quietly watching the party move about.

But snow was bound to keep Talmour grouchy for weeks on end.

He bit his lip and finally risked a glance at Crin. It would be the first time in over four years that he wasn't traveling with her; he could tell by her lack of expression that she was just as acutely aware of this as he was. Great. Another thing to add to the crankiness.

"I'm ready to go," he muttered to the rest of his group, sighing to himself. "Are you sure there won't be any ale?"

[Miri Belakai]

Well rested from her warm sleep in Senyik's arms, Miri was almost chipper as she gathered her packs and harp and saddled her mare. She didn't mind the cold and snow too much, though the piece of dark kakao she had just eaten might have helped her see the optimistic side of things. If there was anything that could cheer her up after thinking about weeks of trudging through snow and wind, it was kakao. It's dark bittersweet warmth made her think only of fireside and blankets. Thinking others might feel the same, she wandered over to Rosaline and the Swordsman to offer a piece after finishing up her packing.

[Iwant2bafencer]

Rosaline had not had straight kakao since she was little and it therefore took a moment to register what the dark thing was that Miri was offering.

"Kakao?" She asked after realizing what it was, Miri just smiled and handed her a piece. Rose took it and bit off a corner, closing her eyes as she chewed. "I haven't had regular kakao since I was a little girl." She smiled afterward.

[Miri Belakai]

"It was my favorite treat then, too. Even Elven royalty wasn't able to get it that often, so I had it perhaps once a year, at the Midwinter feast. It seems to have become more popular as of late."

She offered another piece to Naekos, who silently took it, nodded his thanks, and continued observe the groups packing.

[Iwant2bafencer]

Rose shook her head, "Strange, such simple things can bring us such happy memories." She took anothe rbite then turned to Talmour.
"Kakao Talmour?" She offered, he gave her a grumpy look and chewed off another piece of beef. She shrugged and continued to slowly eat her piece.

[Zelda]

"Did someone say Kakao?" Zelda asked as she wandered up from saddling Abercrombie. "I'll have some."

Rosaline handed a piece to the Queen, who broke of a tiny portion and placed it under her tongue. This drew quizzical looks from many of those gathered around.

"What???" the queen looked around exasperated.

"Nothing." Rosaline replied, "Except thats a very funny way to eat Kakao."

Zelda rolled her eyes. "Is not....its the way we always ate it ate home...it lasts longer if you let little bits melt under you tongue."

Rosaline just nodded and went back to Shadowmaker.

Looking around Zelda noted that the groups they had decided on earlier had formed up. She looked at Naekos, "I guess this means we leave now?" she asked, stating the obvious.

Naekos nodded. Zelda walked over and hugged Rosaline, "Look after yourself ok? No more broken bones or bumps on heads." Rosaline nodded, not trusting herself to look at the Queen.

Zelda mounted Abercrombie and looked again at Naekos, "Lets go find some dragons."

[Swordsman]

...and yet they rode onward.

It was three days hence, Nækos and the former queen and the new king still riding north, now accompanied by a howling wind. The snow was mostly gone - not melted, but largely blown away, as the ground-cover became more sparse.

The royalty rode together on one horse, shivering despite their efforts at sharing body heat, the unused horse led behind them. The Swordsman continued ahead of them a short ways atop Onyx, stoic despite the elements. He turned back to look at them through the cloth pulled over his face every few minutes or so, a white cloak wrapped about his shoulders. Yet still he was silent.

No words occupied his mind, few specific concepts that could be described. Instead, images and emotions ebbed and flowed. The picture of a snow-covered rooftop, as he sat at the apex, completely exposed. It was not the exposure to the cold he minded; it was being dark against the white - visible to others.

Another snowy night, years before that. Inside, warmth and light...it left him feeling exposed again. Dressed in black, but it was not enough as the firelight glared on him, silhouetting him, showing him for all in the room to see. All in the room...the merry ones in this inn, celebrating each others' company. And there in the corner, a pair. They sat close together, fingers entwined. She spent more time looking at her companion than at the plate of food the strange half-elf had brought her. As the night wore on, she leaned over, sinking into his arms as they leaned back against the wall.

Nækos looked around; there, his companion, Kinkado. A bit younger, she served in the place with him, lived with him. She was looking at him again. What did she see? Why did she continue to look toward him? Was the firelight really so very bright on him?

An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, as he looked between the couple and Kinkado.

He served quickly, and retreated again to the cold shadows outside. Master Aiovus would find him there, he knew. But the Master could offer only so much.

[Zelda]

It was cold, deathly cold. Zelda didnt like the cold - she hated not having the feeling in her fingers and toes. Her and Meekal were both mounted on Abercrombie, in an effort to stay warm. Blankets and sleeping furs were wrapped around both of them, yet there was no conversation - it was too cold.

[Soldier]

"Do not worry, Nækos," Torsten assured the young man. "It will be your time sooner or later." Resting a hand on his shoulder, he could discern no warmth even against the cold night. "You are not alone, you know that. Kethrys and I are here, and you know Kinkado cares about you."

Nækos looked blankly out into the cold night, eyes unfocused. "I mean no offense, Torsten, but that means little to me. It is no lacking on your part; I know you take care of me well. But...something else is missing."

A woman's touch... Torsten Aiovus thought to himself, though he did not say it aloud. If only the boy would open up a bit, talk, learn to smile...the girls in the village would stand no chance.

He remembered watching the tournament the previous spring. Always in this village, it was the reigning champion of the sword who held the young girls' hearts. When defeated, the new victor always stepped up. But Nækos had been this year's victor. And when all eyes turned on him at the end of the fight...he simply stood. No sparkling victorious smile, or eyes that spoke of adventure, like all the others. Simply blank. The sword carefully sheathed, a small polite bow, green eyes that spoke of dead winter nights. And Torsten had watched as the girls, one by one, all shifted uneasily, and turned away. The young Swordsman's expression never changed, but Torsten knew he'd seen it, too. He was an alien in this village. He could work it to his advantage...but he merely held to himself, and let it keep him separate.

Nækos growled to himself as the cold swirled around him, making Onyx turn his ears down.

[Swordsman]

"Do not worry, Nækos," Torsten assured the young man. "It will be your time sooner or later." Resting a hand on his shoulder, he could discern no warmth even against the cold night. "You are not alone, you know that. Kethrys and I are here, and you know Kinkado cares about you."

Nækos looked blankly out into the cold night, eyes unfocused. "I mean no offense, Torsten, but that means little to me. It is no lacking on your part; I know you take care of me well. But...something else is missing."

A woman's touch... Torsten Aiovus thought to himself, though he did not say it aloud. If only the boy would open up a bit, talk, learn to smile...the girls in the village would stand no chance.

He remembered watching the tournament the previous spring. Always in this village, it was the reigning champion of the sword who held the young girls' hearts. When defeated, the new victor always stepped up. But Nækos had been this year's victor. And when all eyes turned on him at the end of the fight...he simply stood. No sparkling victorious smile, or eyes that spoke of adventure, like all the others. Simply blank. The sword carefully sheathed, a small polite bow, green eyes that spoke of dead winter nights. And Torsten had watched as the girls, one by one, all shifted uneasily, and turned away. The young Swordsman's expression never changed, but Torsten knew he'd seen it, too. He was an alien in this village. He could work it to his advantage...but he merely held to himself, and let it keep him separate.

Nækos growled to himself as the cold swirled around him, making Onyx turn his ears down.

[Swordsman]

[i]Though it was yet early another evening, in another place, the winter sun had long since set far off to the north of west. The whole day, while sunny and clear, had been very cold, and so the deep snow remained light and powdery in the clear dark night. No one had come or gone for several hours now, and so any footprints or other breaks had since been filled in, then smoothed over by the white dust carried in the light breeze.

It was into this setting that the Swordsman raged. Not ranting and yelling, but his own special fury, a silent manifestation of the emotional acid that burned him from within. He had only so much capacity for loneliness. When this was filled, it would flow over into frustration, which would in turn boil into helpless anger.

He took several bounding steps out into the powder, and stopped. He just stood there for a few moments, breathing in short, sharp breaths. Each breath in or out was a snarl as he stood there in the frigid darkness, every muscle tensed against the cold wind. Suddenly his right arm jerked up and the weapon snapped out of its sheath on his back and into his hand. In one more motion he whirled, kicking up snow, and whipped the arm out, flinging the blade across the darkness to embed itself in the door. In the silence of the night the slam of the point echoed back and forth across the clearing. Alone in the cold, body steaming with residual heat, the Swordsman struggled to find a reason for his thoughts.

Earlier that afternoon had been yet one more repeat of the same old trauma. The place drew people from everywhere for the main purpose of companionship, to be with others, interact with them. And so was Nækos drawn there, as a starving beggar will watch the king feast. It was a kind of addictive torture. Watching and longing after what could not be had, poisoning and burning himself for a calming dose of the addictor.

Upon arrival, the Swordsman had as usual removed the cloak and set down the bag, savoring the enjoyment of simply being greeted. He moved slowly around the room, listening to discussions and conversations, alert for one that may have been of interest. Finding none in particular, he came to a small circle of people near the center of the room, trying to orient himself with the topic. Most of those present here were friends, at least as much as any of them were.

The conversation seemed to concern the states of a few couples in the greater group. "Oh, they're so cute together." "Yes, those two are absolutely perfect for each other. " "I just can't figure out why she picked him, of all people. " This conversation again. Little more than gossip, really. But then, serious discussion is impossible to hold all the time. Nækos stood there on the fringe, listening, finding no place to interject a comment or opinion. Finally, he could take no more. The discussion was eroding him, wearing him down. He was standing out in the middle of the room, completely in the open. And it was too bright - the sun was amplified on the white snow and reflected through the large windows.

He took a step back, silently, then shifted his weight back, gaining a little more distance. He took another careful step a minute later, then just turned and walked away. At the front side of the room, he found the perfect spot. A corner, it had a large window on each side, bright sunlight streaming through. The corner itself remained in a double shadow. Any eye turned that way would have to adjust to the glare of the snow, and thus be unable to penetrate his shadow. Hidden in plain sight, he sat and watched, becoming slowly angrier as the sun dropped behind the trees.

When darkness fell, he began to feel better, but only as alcohol will dull pain. The darkness made him more comfortable, but did nothing to alleviate the building storm.

At some point he crossed the line from wishing someone would join him to hoping no one would. He was in his element now, alone in the dark.

And so of course it could not last. For some time he stayed there, leaning back against the wall, barely noticed as he observed. Then one of the circles of people decided they were getting too warm by the fire, and moved over by the Swordsman. One or two glanced briefly over at him, but no effort was made to talk. He left.

And now he found himself completely comfortable in his customary setting. Now he was where he loved it, where he knew how to cope. The darkness, the cold, the wind and the quiet. This was what he knew best, loved most. This was his desolate environment.

And so here he stood, facing the door across the frigid space, his sword jutting from the wood at an angle. He raged inside himself with a burning hatred - he knew not what against. Some part of his soul was missing, and in its place a dark vacuum. He seethed with a desire, a desperate longing. But for what? What did he want, need, so badly that it rived his very soul?

The door opened and a girl stepped out. When it shut behind her the sword dislodged itself from the wood and fell with a soft whumph to the snowy ground, startling her. "You... We wondered what the noise was. You alright?"

Her name was Anai, a pretty girl, one who had caught his eye, as others had. But only his eye. One of them he knew to be outright malicious. Another he knew was shallow and miserably petty. This one, like the rest of them, he simply didn't know.

He stood there looking at her, silent, his stone face cold and flat, grim. She seemed to shrink under his glare, but still repeated her question. "Are you alright?"

He wasn't. "No, not really."

"Oh..." A proper response seemed to fail her. "Umm...anything I can do?"

Were there no simple questions for the night? The answer to what he sought lay somewhere within, in the warmth and the light and the people. Somewhere with - them. But could she help, if he knew not what he sought? Could she perhaps help him to search? He didn't know, and said so. "That you can do? I haven't the slightest idea." A hint of decency crept into his voice, and he hated it, not wanting for some reason to let go the anger.

"Okay...umm...sorry..." She turned and went back in. This time a response failed the Swordsman.

What was it he sought? Only a few hours earlier, that would have been it. He would have been pleased to have someone to talk to. But not now. What then, now? He didn't know. He knew only one thing: Until he found that answer, he would have to remain in this world, in the cold and the dark and the stillness.

He retrieved the fallen weapon and sheathed it.

[Swordsman]

Though it was yet early another evening, in another place, the winter sun had long since set far off to the north of west. The whole day, while sunny and clear, had been very cold, and so the deep snow remained light and powdery in the clear dark night. No one had come or gone for several hours now, and so any footprints or other breaks had since been filled in, then smoothed over by the white dust carried in the light breeze.

It was into this setting that the Swordsman raged. Not ranting and yelling, but his own special fury, a silent manifestation of the emotional acid that burned him from within. He had only so much capacity for loneliness. When this was filled, it would flow over into frustration, which would in turn boil into helpless anger.

He took several bounding steps out into the powder, and stopped. He just stood there for a few moments, breathing in short, sharp breaths. Each breath in or out was a snarl as he stood there in the frigid darkness, every muscle tensed against the cold wind. Suddenly his right arm jerked up and the weapon snapped out of its sheath on his back and into his hand. In one more motion he whirled, kicking up snow, and whipped the arm out, flinging the blade across the darkness to embed itself in the door. In the silence of the night the slam of the point echoed back and forth across the clearing. Alone in the cold, body steaming with residual heat, the Swordsman struggled to find a reason for his thoughts.

Earlier that afternoon had been yet one more repeat of the same old trauma. The place drew people from everywhere for the main purpose of companionship, to be with others, interact with them. And so was Nækos drawn there, as a starving beggar will watch the king feast. It was a kind of addictive torture. Watching and longing after what could not be had, poisoning and burning himself for a calming dose of the addictor.

Upon arrival, the Swordsman had as usual removed the cloak and set down the bag, savoring the enjoyment of simply being greeted. He moved slowly around the room, listening to discussions and conversations, alert for one that may have been of interest. Finding none in particular, he came to a small circle of people near the center of the room, trying to orient himself with the topic. Most of those present here were friends, at least as much as any of them were.

The conversation seemed to concern the states of a few couples in the greater group. "Oh, they're so cute together." "Yes, those two are absolutely perfect for each other. " "I just can't figure out why she picked him, of all people. " This conversation again. Little more than gossip, really. But then, serious discussion is impossible to hold all the time. Nækos stood there on the fringe, listening, finding no place to interject a comment or opinion. Finally, he could take no more. The discussion was eroding him, wearing him down. He was standing out in the middle of the room, completely in the open. And it was too bright - the sun was amplified on the white snow and reflected through the large windows.

He took a step back, silently, then shifted his weight back, gaining a little more distance. He took another careful step a minute later, then just turned and walked away. At the front side of the room, he found the perfect spot. A corner, it had a large window on each side, bright sunlight streaming through. The corner itself remained in a double shadow. Any eye turned that way would have to adjust to the glare of the snow, and thus be unable to penetrate his shadow. Hidden in plain sight, he sat and watched, becoming slowly angrier as the sun dropped behind the trees.

When darkness fell, he began to feel better, but only as alcohol will dull pain. The darkness made him more comfortable, but did nothing to alleviate the building storm.

At some point he crossed the line from wishing someone would join him to hoping no one would. He was in his element now, alone in the dark.

And so of course it could not last. For some time he stayed there, leaning back against the wall, barely noticed as he observed. Then one of the circles of people decided they were getting too warm by the fire, and moved over by the Swordsman. One or two glanced briefly over at him, but no effort was made to talk. He left.

And now he found himself completely comfortable in his customary setting. Now he was where he loved it, where he knew how to cope. The darkness, the cold, the wind and the quiet. This was what he knew best, loved most. This was his desolate environment.

And so here he stood, facing the door across the frigid space, his sword jutting from the wood at an angle. He raged inside himself with a burning hatred - he knew not what against. Some part of his soul was missing, and in its place a dark vacuum. He seethed with a desire, a desperate longing. But for what? What did he want, need, so badly that it rived his very soul?

The door opened and a girl stepped out. When it shut behind her the sword dislodged itself from the wood and fell with a soft whumph to the snowy ground, startling her. "You... We wondered what the noise was. You alright?"

Her name was Anai, a pretty girl, one who had caught his eye, as others had. But only his eye. One of them he knew to be outright malicious. Another he knew was shallow and miserably petty. This one, like the rest of them, he simply didn't know.

He stood there looking at her, silent, his stone face cold and flat, grim. She seemed to shrink under his glare, but still repeated her question. "Are you alright?"

He wasn't. "No, not really."

"Oh..." A proper response seemed to fail her. "Umm...anything I can do?"

Were there no simple questions for the night? The answer to what he sought lay somewhere within, in the warmth and the light and the people. Somewhere with - them. But could she help, if he knew not what he sought? Could she perhaps help him to search? He didn't know, and said so. "That you can do? I haven't the slightest idea." A hint of decency crept into his voice, and he hated it, not wanting for some reason to let go the anger.

"Okay...umm...sorry..." She turned and went back in. This time a response failed the Swordsman.

What was it he sought? Only a few hours earlier, that would have been it. He would have been pleased to have someone to talk to. But not now. What then, now? He didn't know. He knew only one thing: Until he found that answer, he would have to remain in this world, in the cold and the dark and the stillness.

He retrieved the fallen weapon and sheathed it.

[Darion McNair]

Darion rode along trying to keep his cloak as close to him as possible. The snow was bad enough but entering into a narrow pass or two gave him and the gypsies a blast of cold air they’d not soon forget. The three of them had been assigned to take the easternmost path and they took to it rather quickly, being the first group to leave. Darion was hoping for a non-eventful trip but he had discovered early on in his life that no matter what he was put to task to do, none of it was ever non-eventful.

After a days ride, the tall forest around them was beginning to grow dark, signaling Darion to open his ears more than his eyes. The wildlife in the area was rather quiet which Darion liked, letting the noise of clumsy humans come out more. With a bone shuddering thud the silence was suddenly broken by a clap of sudden thunder that almost made Darion jump.

“Did you two notice any storm clouds before the sun set?” he asked. The other two shrugged, Crin instinctively looking up to the sky.

“I see plenty of stars up there.” She replied. Another loud clap of thunder shook all three of them. Falcour looked ahead and his eyes caught a glimpse of torchlight in the distance. He knit his eyebrows in disbelief as his eyes fell on the figures illuminated by the fire’s light.

“Um,” he paused a moment, “Those weren’t claps of thunder.”

[Zelda]

And still they rode. Trudging through the whiteness on their horses. The wind whistling around them, causing snow flurries to sting the parts of their bodies that were bare. It was a cold wind, a wind which was what the old woodman called "lazy". It didnt go around you, it went straight through you like an arrow to the heart.

Zelda was tired, cold and grumpy. She wanted a warm dry bed, clean clothes and to sleep for a week. She knew that both her and Naekos still had much to teach Meekal about leading, and she knew Meekal was desperate to get back to his wife.

"Naekos," she ventured, sticking the tip of her nose out of the pile of furs she had wrapped both herself and Meekal in in a desperate effort to stay warm.

"Hmmm?" he grunted, the only thing visable on Onynx was an shapeless lump of coat, which Zelda knew somewhere contained one of her best friends and most trusted advisors.

"Do you think this is just a bit much? Maybe its all a bit of a wild goose chase and we should go home." her voice quivered a bit, though if it was from cold or from something else neither she nor Naekos could tell.

[Swordsman]

"Go back to your castle if you wish," he growled back through the furs. "It will keep you warm for now, but will do little for you when the Russic arrive."

[Zelda]

Zelda sighed....why did he always have to be right?

[Moonitic]

Meekal, honestly, had nothing to say. He rode along, shivering, & tried to think of something...anything...else. All he wanted to do was go home. Anywhere but in the snow. Well, not anywhere. With Moon. Maybe, just maybe, this little adventure was a mistake. The strife was just too much for him. And now, they split up. Hopelessness & doom settled into his bones along with the chill, seemingly comfortable to stay for a while.

Something had to change.

[Zelda]

Zelda turned to Meekal, who was still perched behind her on the horse.

"Meekal? Remember when we lesft the Quick Trippe I said I would help you become a good king? Well its time to start your lessons, before we both freeze to death..."

[Moonitic]

"Aren't we not supposed to talk to conserve oxygen or something?" Meekal mumbled from within the wraps. Not the brightest star in the sky, the bitter cold seemed to numb his brain even more.

[Zelda]

The comment made Zelda smile...it was a thought, but probably not one of the most logical ones Meekal had had lately.

"No Meekal, speaking will keep us warm, it will distract us from the cold, and get some of our muscles moving again. Its the only way we wont freeze to death." Zelda replied, hoping that her logic for once was right.