A Winter Night

[Quincy]

Quincy nodded and drew her reins to the side, guiding the horse, his white head tossing lightly, around to face Ignas. She made a firm suggestion, since he clearly meant to help: "See if we're followed, then."

The girl then drifted past him, horse loping up beside Acteon; she spoke quietly to the tracker-hunter, though the wind tried to carry her voice away. "Go on an' look ahead. We'll be waitin'. Ignas is goin' the other way." Without words, her eyes pleaded that he practice caution.

The whole group was halted amidst the white and brown barked crowd of trees. She would not shout to the back of them; instead, she urged her horse to travel amongst the group, informing them in pairs of their plan to send out scouts before moving forward.

"There's probably nothin', but better t' be safe," Quincy concluded each time with smiling eyes.

[Minty]

And so, given direction, Ignas fulfills his duty properly. He hangs back behind the faster, mounted ones here. And -listens-. Looks around every now and then. It had been messy, obvious they'd been headed here. And he was sure that these cultists, whomever they might be, would be mighty displeased to know that there was a disorganized mob heading towards their headquarters.

[Acteon]

Acteon nodded with Quincy’s words and silent plea. He dropped from his saddle; his landing on the snow was surprisingly hushed compared to the noise the horses had been making in the snow and the brush. Acteon leaned close to Venatici and stroked her neck. He brought his cheek to her own and whispered into her ear for a moment. The horse quickly blew air through her nose three times in response. The mare then grew silent, but still attentive, her ears perked, waiting.

Acteon then pulled his hankyu from where it was lashed to his saddlebags. He then hooked the bow to his back. He then plucked the daikyu from Venatici’s side. This he kept in his hand. He checked his quiver at his hip and then moved forward on foot, walking toward Carnath-Emory sat on the leading horse.

Moving past the swordswoman with a small nod, Acteon ventured forth through the snow, ice, and foliage with all the stealth of a master thief. But rather than theft, Acteon cared only for silent observation as he moved ahead. Before he disappeared from view and into the darkness, he started heading in a different direction than the direction that the group had been going. Those who were experienced with tracking would know that Acteon was being mindful of the wind. While the wind was not completely at their back, it did blow in a direction that was not ideal. If there were dogs standing guard at the cave, Acteon did not want them picking up his scent on the wind. As a result, he was circling toward their destination with every intention of being as close to downwind from the cave as possible.

Tracking an animal and scouting were two very different tasks that utilized very similar skills. When tracking, he’d be spooring in effort to locate a trail. When scouting he was conscious of these same disturbances in nature, but he was not seeking them per se. As he approached the caves it was clearer and clearer that a great many men and women had been here. Even the moon’s light was enough to show him the way. Man was the sloppiest and therefore the easiest animal to track. And despite their effort to be careful in covering their tracks, Acteon was able to clearly see the paths that many members of the Order had used to approach and depart from the caves.

Acteon crouched low, taking great effort in avoiding twigs and other elements that might snap under foot. He stayed close to trees and bushes that would shield his presence in the darkness of the woods.

It took him nearly thirty minutes to reach a point where he could barely see what he thought would be the area where the mouth of the cave would be. However, the area appeared to be hidden by brush. Acteon paused and listened. The forest breathed slowly, evenly. The wind was its respiration. Nothing. He crept forward, slowly, carefully, inching toward the giant rock face that loomed in the silvery moonlit darkness. He was still nearly three jousting field lengths from the wall when he stopped.

Roses. There were roses on the wind.

Acteon knelt in the snow behind a bush and waited. He closed his eyes and raised his nose to the wind. Yes, roses. He grimaced and moved his tongue around his teeth as the subtle taste of metal mingled into his saliva. It wasn’t as bittery metallic as water infused with iron; it was a smoother taste, but still noticeably metallic. At least, it was to Acteon--chances are that few others would have noticed the scent. Regardless it meant only one thing; someone was close by and upwind--near where he predicted the mouth of the cave should be, as indicated by the spoor.

Acteon moved perpendicular from his position, not going any nearer to the cave’s entrance in order to avoid attracting the attention of whoever may be near the cave. He was only moving so that he could get a better vantage point of the cave’s opening since he still couldn’t make it out from his significant distance. He was feeling fairly certain that the cave was hidden by the large patch of brush which stood out in dark contrast from the grey wall of stone.

Then, finally, he saw what his nose had detected before his eyes. His movement had given him a different vantage point, allowing him to see Lamai’s outline on the grey stone, instead of losing her shadowed form in the brush. Acteon knelt silently behind a bush and watched the figure from afar. His distance was so great that even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to accurately shoot her with his bow. Furthermore, he didn’t want to shoot her. It was not the point of the expedition--at least, not for him.

The person appeared to be waiting for something or someone. Acteon was fairly sure that the figure was a woman, just based on the shape. She did not appear to be carrying a weapon in her hand, but undoubtedly had one on her person, if she was standing guard. He watched her for nearly ten minutes before deciding that he had been gone long enough that he should probably wander back to the group before they started to think something was wrong.

He took great care to continue his silence as he moved through the woods back to the group. All told he was gone almost an hour. He walked up to Carnath-Emory and Quincy and spoke quietly, “There is a warder outside of the cave. Possibly a woman. The figure was difficult to make out in the dark at the distance, but the silhouette appeared feminine. I did not see anyone else. Impossible to know if there are more inside the cave at this point. I don’t know how many are in this Order, but if they are all there, we should be very cautious of continuing on, if we do so at all.â€

[Cinnabar]

Cinnabar catches up with the riders some minutes after they halt, his headlong run having slowed to a jog for the last mile or so. His demeanour strikes a marked contrast to many of the others in the group, whose determined expressions well suit the likelihood of grim business up ahead. The silver-haired youth seems almost excited, an infectious enthusiasm in his posture and movements as he paces the edge of the group to keep warm and mobile. Wouldn't do to allow his limbs to stiffen in the cold after that invigorating run. He peers out into the darkness, occasionally pausing to tilt his head and listen carefully, feeling alert and alive.

[Altias_Bromn]

Altias pulled his mount up close to Quincy and Ariane as Acteon returned from his scout. He spoke of a woman outside the cave. For a moment he was silent, mismatched eyes closing as he seemed almost to listen to the silence that surrounded them.

"No worries. She is on our side."

As he spoke, a smile broke upon his angular features, the strange eyes opening once more. The emerald green orb shone with a vibrant glow now, much brighter than before.

"There will be guards. Most likely two posted very near the main hall, just as we come through the tunnel. It will be critical that our numbers pratice silence as we enter. Any and all conversations must happen before we enter. We must make that clear to everyone. If there are guards, and we alert them to our presence before we gain entry, they may well have us finished before we even clear the tunnel mouth."

A hand released the reins of the horse, something unusual for a man so afraid of them. It raked through the tumbled masses of crimson and black, drawing his hair away from his face.

"The light of the moon means, normally, that they will not be there in any number...however, things have changed. Their God has come to them. I can not say if those of the Order have changed their routine. Perhaps He wishes them there always. There is no way to be certain until we are within."

"Who will speak for us? Ariane...I know such things are not your way. Quincy? You Sir?"

This to Acteon, a man unknown to him still, save for travelling together. HE would incline his head then, to the other gentleman.

"Altias Bromn, Sir. I was once...one of them."

[Quincy]

During the long, cold hour of Acteon's hunt for trouble, stragglers had time to catch up to the main body of the group. The pall of winter fell over their windswept forms, oppressing them with the quiet melancholy of night - of long shadows and dim moonlight barely penetrating the overhanging boughs of the trees. It had rained for several nights in a row, and they were fortunate that the dark clouds and black sheets of rain had moved on, leaving them with a clear winter night. The stars were too faint to relieve them of the bitterness. Death alive it was cold.

The hour seemed to stretch on forever, and there was hidden worry tightening in Quincy's belly. She distracted herself by watching Venatici. She refused to send out a prayer to the powers that be; sometimes she wanted to do just that, but she could never bring herself to be grateful to gods or a higher power that had left a land in so much despair. All-Powerful, she'd been told; all-knowing. Unforgivable.

She was tightening the dark blush of her cloak when Acteon came like a whisper from the nearby trees with quiet purpose. He was good at what he did; neither he nor his surroundings betrayed him before the instant that he was in their midst again, and telling them of his findings. All of the relief that she felt was challenged over again by Acteon's grim words; or at least they were, before Altias cut in ..

Quincy blinked. "Someone else with us? 'o? Why didn't we kn- " Her words trailed off and she shook her head, listening instead to Altias. She hoarded what scraps of knowledge he gave to them. So there was a friend at the cave's hidden entrance, and no one standing guard: perhaps there was more in their favour than she thought. Unless there were more surprises than this one.

"I'll tell 'em," Quincy said with a nod, pausing to see if they were in agreement before she turned to the others in their group, gloved hand against her horse's white neck.

"Everyone, it looks like th' way is clear. We 'ave an ally at the front o' the cave, so don' be alarmed. 'owever, there may be some guards on th' inside. The entrance o' the cave is a long space o' walkin' bent over double, an' it's very important that we are all quiet as possible. Otherwise they'll be waitin' on the other side, t' kill us one by one as we come out, if they are there," the girl glanced around. "We'll be goin' on foot from here, so take whatever you need - bu' not too much, or you'll be leavin' it behind. The cave's entrance won' give you much of a choice."

"Well, I don't know about ya'll, but I'm ready t' walk off the ice growin' on my boots," she grinned at last, then turned to prepare her horse for staying behind.

They were all given time to do the same before moving forward. Spare-shaped Quincy went to their troubled scout, Acteon, beseeching: "Can y' show us the quietest way?"

[Vanidor]

"Ariane. I beg, let me summon Rautha before we head for the cavern complex. His scouts could..." He stopped, for now Quincy was talking as he made his query to the other who had, he presumed, assumed nominal command. It was a consideration that he had held all the while the other man, Acteon, had departed on his foray to the cavern's mouth. He'd held his tongue and thoughts until Altias had opened his own mouth to them all.

"At the very least they can await us outside, if there is such trouble we face within that will require the need for twenty more swords." And their skills, which were top notch. Though in reflection, he had to admit that Acteon's skills seemed on par with the vaunted Rautha's as well. Perhaps he'd need to tell Aeryn about him. He'd have to know as it were.

And again, Quincy spoke about going afoot. This was a sound thing, but the notion of him leaving behind any of his valuable -weapons- (forget the horse, he could always get another one of those!) made him sigh inwardly. "It would take but a moment, and we are far enough away from the cavern that they could not discern the sound for aught else than a sound of the night." Still, he was preparing as was needed.

The small horsebow was replaced by a small and slender crossbow, retrieved from a satchel at the hidequarters of his horse. The quiver of arrows replaced with a case of quarrels that he tied to his hip. As well he removed the longsword, a weapon that would be unsuitable within the confines of a cave, and replaced it with the covered mace, and added to it a small buckler. These he tied down as well, so as to keep it from making too much noise at all.

Finally, he reached back into that satchel and removed the last piece of his gear. A stylised metal mask, the sort that Ariane (and perhaps Altias) should recall from the last time a Brotherhood soldier went to deal with Dhrin and his fellow acolytes. A moment was taken to brush back the cowel of his cloak, and then the mask was added to his face and hiding his features. Featureless and painted a dark hue to match with the night, all that would be visible beyond it would be his eyes, which darted too and fro.

"If not. Then I should at least be ready to face death in the fashion of my ancestors."

[Acteon]

Acteon turned his attention to Altias when the man spoke. When Acteon had been speaking, his attention wasn’t on Altias. As a result, Acteon hadn't seen Altias close his eyes and perform his “seeingâ€

[Sventon]

Sometimes he could still hear the echoes of praise when all was quiet ..


There were figures lit against the depths of the still-to-be-trodden avenues of stone. Niches on the cave walls housed the flicker of lanterns. At one time the main chamber with its dais and high, stone ceiling was used for great ceremonies, for praising Him and the light that He had brought to their humble lives. But now the walls were smothered with black soot, and every time Sventon came like a robed ghost into the Lair - he had to wonder if the footprints that he left behind were imprinted in the dust of time or the burnt, black ashes of his fallen brothers and sisters.

Sventon was one of two robed and hooded figures standing guard at the entrance to the hallway leading into the living quarters. Each of them had a pair of traditional Order daggers; the same went for the two, lean silhouttes farther down the wall, standing guard before the entry-way to the holding cells. None of them spoke; none of them would abstain from their valued anonymity. Perhaps it was fitting that He should have all the faces, and His worshippers none.

But his face was known elsewhere. He was a softly smiling face known as Hans Sventon, a skilled cordwainer on Weaver's Row. Shoemaking was a family tradition, and he prided himself on his long-lasting soles, durability, and comfort. He spent hours every day at his wooden last, mending and making. It was Gorje that introduced him to the Order, long before the man was murdered, one day while he was mending the man's boots. They had known each other for many years.

There were many members of the Order that alternated for guard duty, and it was almost always quiet - like some great, rock tomb with lurking ghosts of memory. He had a solemn pride for fullfilling his duty and tried to use his time wisely, praying silently to Him.

[Awry]

Speaking of masks - a common thing, weren't they? The Hand had donned his own, a smooth, alabaster, oval-shaped thing, featureless as polished marble except for thin, swirling lines of black paint, and three holes, each an inch in diameter, punched in odd intervals along it's surface. One hole graced the right side of the mask, where his forehead was under it; the second was on the left side, above the cheekbone; the third, finally, was on the right once again, slightly above the jaw line. His hood had been drawn up and over, hiding his black hair and the sides of his face - how he could see (or breathe) out of the (slightly alien) mask was a good question.

While Sefall was good enough at tracking people in an urban environment, using the various previously elaborated methods to find people - it was within the wilderness that he knew others indubitably held the trophy. He could stay low and quiet, that was simple enough; he could even cover his tracks well, when he cared to, when he knew or guessed that he was being followed. But tracking - no, this was something completely different. He didn't have much of a nose to actually smell brief changes in the wind, or measure the warmth of an animal's dung to how many minutes had passed since it had been grazing or passing, or which direction they had gone. Scouting and tracking were similar activities, yes; and therein was the key, because Sefall did not possess the skills to, exactly, look for the more complex rural hints and clues - but the minutae were out of his league. No - even though he could survive well enough on his own in the forest, he would never exactly ever be rewarded with the title of Woodsman.

Which is one reason he was glad to have the timber wolf's company.

They had sent Acteon out on the scouting mission, and Sefall had done likewise with Smoke. Acteon moved forward, first, then started veering off to the left a bit. Sefall had tugged gently on the timber wolf's tail like it was some sort of control mechanism, and (after an irritated, semi-playful bite), the wolf stalked forward - and disappeared. Even knowing the wolf's tricks, the man in black did not and could not sight where exactly she appeared, so he contented himself with staying down, mindful of eyes and ears, patient.

Meanwhile, Smoke appeared, about a hundred feet in the forest to the side of the party that Acteon had wandered off in. The timber wolf, perhaps emulating her companion, stayed low and quiet, and for all intents and purposes the situation was a shadow in tow of a shadow.

Acteon was painstakingly staying downwind of the complex with a master's knowledge - this proved to be wonderfully (and unknowingly) useful for the wolf, as there was little chance of the skillful man of catching her own scent (although, even if he did, chances were he would simply think, well, that it was a random wolf in the night!). For thirty minutes, it was a quiet affair, stalking behind the man at a good distance, the pads of her paws against the grasses, sticks, stones, and melting snow. A delicate game, of course, but it seemed that the wolf enjoyed playing it, since there was not much chance of anything going wrong - even if the man somehow noticed her through sound or smell or otherwise, with her keen eyes on him the moment he started to look she could displace herself, and be somewhere else.

As it was, the wolf did not disturb the man at all, and watched for those long, cold ten minutes as he was motionless as some sort of moonlight sentinel, watching Lamai from afar. Based on where he had been staring (and her own sense of smell, which had whiffed the scent of roses quite strongly but had refused to place it), she was able to also see the woman, although the wolf was unsure what to make of her.

And then, the return - as soon as Acteon turned back towards the group, the same way he came, the wolf blinked out of existence again. Perhaps Acteon would hear the closest and distant rustle of leaves underpaw as her legs hit the ground once, twice, thrice, more and more until suddenly Sefall felt a furry warmth press into his side - the man stiffened (although he was already quite rigid from staying still for so long), and then relaxed. The timber wolf let out a familiar grumph, and a stretching yawn that, thankfully, was quietly accomplished.

Man and wolf were currently neither following behind nor scouting ahead of the party, at that moment - instead, they were to the side of the congregation, a good distance away, watching with their nocturnal eyes - the leaves their plush, silent carpet, and the sky their darkly-painted roof. Black leather was pressed against the sodden ground, still peppered with some slush here and there, Sefall balancing on the balls of his feet. The sounds of the conversation they had came to him, amplified - he could not hear their quieter words, their whispers, or whatever the mysterious Acteon was now saying to his horse - but the gist of their conversation was reaching him well enough.

Behind the impassive mask, a raised eyebrow at Altias' "I was once one of them." What strange company Ariane and her sister kept - although Sefall knew that appearances were deceiving, the fragile, red-and-black haired man looked as if he would break in half if he fell from his horse - Sefall imagined Altias as almost translucent in the silvered moonlight, due to his ghostly skin. Well... perhaps he had some magic about him, or maybe it was simply that information was his weapon. It was also possible, Sefall dryly thought, that speaking softly was the man's only skill in life. It was a wager that Sefall hoped he would lose.

The others. Hm. A moment of observation.

Ariane herself - rigid, unbending, and thin, exactly like her weapon. He had been around in far-off Lasting quite a bit, but even he hadn't seen the schiavona in very wide use; he had even had to ask the weapon's name, as he had never heard it before. He couldn't see the woman's exact look, but he surmised they had the same look on them as any other time - cool and calm, an almost mirror-like sheen to her eyes. Heh. He'd seen more than one of those expressions crumble and break before. In any case, though, she attracted quite a rough-and-tumble crowd of different people... even though she wasn't much for talking, herself. Maybe it wasn't Ariane herself, but --

Her sister, Quincy. She had exhibited quite the girlish side back in the tavern when she had met reluctant Smoke (Sefall remembered a very particular "Puppy puppy puppy puppy!" and a very particular look of annoyance the timber wolf had given) - but here she was strapped in armor, a helmet, and a rather huge broadsword on her back. The man in black entertained a brief, amusing thought that it was there just for intimidation (can you see the comedy in that?), but guessed either she was either slow and precise with the weapon or she had some kind of supernatural strength to her swordarm to guide her blows. A butterfly fluttered around very briefly in Sefall's chest, and he hoped quietly, without prayer to any gods, that no serious danger would befall the child (or so he thought) in these caverns that they were moving towards.

This Acteon fellow - the man was keen enough, and Sefall was still a bit impressed that he had been working off of his horse's senses to try and detect anything moving around in the shadows. Clever - and here he was now, speaking to the horse very, very quietly, sharing some whispered words with the beast. With a timber wolf by his side that understood things through both words and empathy, and who was smart enough on her own, Sefall didn't have a hard time thinking that perhaps the horse was the same way. Barring that, perhaps Acteon, being some sort of ranger or woodsman, just had a very strong empathic tie to his equine companion. In addition to all that, of course, he had gathered from Smoke's impression that the man certainly knew what he was doing when he had scouted forward to the entrance of the caves. Perhaps, when this was all over, he'd have to share a few words with the forest-skilled man. Dark blue eyes rested on both woodsman and beast for a moment longer, and then shifted.

Vanidor - ah. Here was something else. Quiet, for the most part, and with surveillance in the forest around him. Professional, Sefall thought - what he was doing with this group would probably make for an interesting story, however small the explanation might be. And now here he was, talking about something named "Ruatha". Sefall didn't have a clue as to what this Ruatha was, but usually, if it took a summoning to get something out, that thing was Bad News. His left hand, raising from the ground, gripped the cloth-wrapped saya-sheath of one of the two kodachi at his waist, his thumb against the bottom of the ornate tsuba-crossguard. Ariane didn't like magic, as far as he recalled, and summoning was very usually magic - she might turn the idea down. If not, at least Sefall was ready for whatever the man summoned, hopefully - as long as it wasn't something like a dragon or a battalion of war elephants.

[Awry]

Look there - the running young man that had walked cheerily into the glade that this lot had been talking in previously had arrived. Sefall didn't know his name was Cinnabar, of course, but he could tell that he was a friend of, at least, Quincy's. Silver hair - maybe he was an elf, a half-elf, or a human with some strange anomaly in his hair pigments, or with gleeful access to dye; Sefall couldn't tell, at this distance. He looked personable enough - he seemed to be smiling and grinning in alternate states, an odd expression considering what kind of danger might lurk ahead in whatever complexes they were moving towards. Ah, youth - and then Sefall had a somewhat irritated expression behind his mask. It's not like he was *old* - he shouldn't be thinking others were so *young*. A thin smile of amusement, then, as he imagined himself, briefly, with a cane and a beard, hunched over, wagging the stick at kids while yelling at them about making noise while he was *napping*. During *midday*.

The man that they had referred to as Ignas, now. Generally, he had an irate look about him - one that seemed to grow as more and more people showed up. Multi-colored hair, too - either he, too, had a rather gleeful and unrestrained access of dyes, or something rather freakish had happened in regards to... well, *something*. Magic, birth, hereditary traits, what have you. Really, though, they had *permits* for things, didn't they? Once city officials saw that *unlawful* things like ... well, this man's *hair*... were being done, they should enforce some sort of restriction policy. Well, actually, now that he thought about it, he had seen someone with similar rainbow-colored hair before, but that had been a pretty and rather cheery elf maiden a few years back, all the way in Lasting. What was her name again? It was the same as the musical instrument that she played... ah well. It would come to him.

Smoke nipped at his fingers - he had zoned out, a bit. The man in black ruffled the fur on her sleek head (to quiet protest), and thought. Cultists. Caverns. A friend at the entrance. Sefall thought of coming out and saying, 'Hello. Grand to meet you all. Well, I've met the stiff with the schiavona before, at least. And the girl with the broadsword that dwarfs her.' Maybe a wink, too. Or a thumbs-up, or something similar. It would be funny, yes; truth be told, he would like to see the look on Ariane's face. It would be fun.

But it wouldn't be effective.

He had come to find out what exactly was happening, and what they were doing - however, now that he was here, he decided that he would be helping. But the trick was that, while he could fight with his twin, short, Eastern blades with precision and deadliness, he had more than that at his disposal; so, he would ease their journey as much as possible, and make sure to ensure as much safety as he could.

First thing was first. Caverns, both natural and man-made, almost never had only one entrance. The Hand wasn't really a scholar or a miner, or anything similar, but he knew that Mother Nature, as it were, usually worked a sort of escape hatch or Plan B into most of her underground hovels; he bet his goatee that there was such a second threshold (maybe there were several, who knew) around. So, he decided, it was time to find this sort of servant's entrance - Sefall laid his hand on Smoke's head, and her eyes glinted before she turned and led him in the general direction of the caverns.

Sefall smiled to himself as he sped off in his habitual low run with the timber wolf under the sheets of night and the blankets of silence. Hopefully, Ariane and her company wouldn't get into too much trouble while they were gone.

[channe]

And here -- here are some new, just-caught-up arrivals. On the Olwak horses: Agnieszka Kaczmarek, and perhaps Rhaena Olwak will be right behind her --

"... 'kay, Quincy, we're here," she says, quietly, trotting up to the woman -- a moment for Ariane, a moment for Jons, and a quick, friendly grin for them both. No; tonight she's not here as an antagonist.

Tonight she wants to help.

[Minty]

There was talk of guards, of -aid-. Of going on foot. Only one of those things brought relief to Ignas. He had this feeling, this hunch. That in fact, Quincy had told him to watch the rear because she thought he would get in the way. Because she'd definitely not been careful or cautious on the way over here. And nobody had been cautious in coming here, or coming to the clearing. Cults infected, cults had information networks. And many were certainly prepared for a thing like this. A reconnaisance mission that had definitely turned into a lynch mob.

Ignas was thus, fine with his assigning to rear guard. The idea of scouting forward is less ideal when there's a decent scout in the group, and when the group really does need protecting. Another problem with large groups. Sometimes additions, or even subtractions, when subtly done, were overlooked. He hides in the shaded places beneath trees, flattening himself, listening.

He hangs back, a good distance behind the group, keeping his ears open. He is alert. He is silent. He is deadly, and he will be the guard against ambush.

He nearly pounces on the two girls, approaching on horseback as they are doing. Those two are friendly. For now, though. He holds back, and retains his hiding spot, leaning against a tree, keeping ears open for telltale signs of spying. All this, and he'd still failed to notice that they'd been tailed so far. By a man and an animal.

Quincy speaks, and Ignas assumes she's calling the group together. He listens for a while, and...they seem to be moving on. He merges back with the group. Here he will remain. In tighter quarters, he will be better served resting with the main force.

The expression on his face is a particularly grim, dispassionate thing. No friendly glance for Agnieszka. In fact, he doesn't look friendly to anyone at all. This is Ignas on the job. Ignas the sneak. Ignas the demon hunter. Ignas the heartless baby-strangler. Ignas the murderer. Ignas the human. He is devoid of passion, of anger, of violence, things he attributes to demons. This is all man, and he looks so strangely -cold-.

[Jirai]

Right behind her, of course - as the veiled girl always was!

Still somewhat ill-at-ease in the saddle, the young trader sat her horse a bit awkwardly. She was oh-so-silent as Agnieska made her own quiet greetings. Then again, this would come as no surprise, considering her last encounter with Ariane.

[Altias_Bromn]

Altias grew impatient, as he did more and more these last few weeks. They had been gone too long for his comfort and he needed to finish this, and soon.

"We are close enough to move in on foot, and it would be our best option."

These words, though counter to getting things done faster, were exactly what needed to happen make things go safely. He would then dismount, tying the horse off to a nearby tree. He had no real love for the beasts, so he was unsure if such was the way to do things or not. His face was drawn and pale, more so than usual, and beneath his eyes bore dark circles, almost like bruises.

"Anything..."

He spoke to the group, hopefully most of which had drawn closer by now.

"...that you do not abosultely need to take with you should be left with your mount. Anything you are wearing that may make extra noise, leave it behind. While I Believe that we will not face a terrible resistance within, there is no real way to be sure. Anything that may give away our position by way of noise or scent, should be discarded here."

With that, he would incline his head, a soft sheen of sweat glittering on his pale brow. Turning from the group, Altias Bromn would begin to make his way toward the cliff face, and the enterance hidden there. Those who wished to continue with this would follow, he hoped. Those that did not were welcome to stay behind. Either way...he had come this far, and now it was far past time that they be done with it.