A Winter Night

[Carnath-Emory]

A moment is required to see to the horses, for her beast is well-mannered enough in company and accustomed to its rider, but the palfrey is another matter entirely. Its temperament has proven even enough, but still there's a hand for its reins -- simply to ensure that it doesn't think to wander. This is simple work; this is reflex and instinct and a dozen and more years of experience.

This matter of speeches, however, is something else entirely. There is a glance shot Bromn's way, such a glance; there's a gaze for Quincy that almost beseeches -- it being Ariane's nature to let her sister speak for them both. But there is no help for this, so that she must straighten in her saddle a little, and lift her chin clear of winter scarves, and summon her finest emulation of Duke Burel:

"I had not expected that our number would be so many. I hope that you have not come in vain, for -- "

As speeches go, it occurs to her, this is an abhorrent start. Hells.

"We gather here to storm the lair of the, the Order, the madmen cultists who troubled Myrkentown for much of this last year. These fell beasts gather not f --

"We mean only to -- "

Quincy!

"There are caverns four miles to our north-east." There. To the Faithful's hell with speeches, decides a woman who is not of Burel's sort, and never will be. "They stretch far beneath the earth, and have been used for a home, for gatherings, for imprisonments. They are likely deserted, for the Order does not gather on such well-lit nights as these -- and if they are not, we face great numbers, and far worse than ... fools who cut out eyes."

Thadius. Baie. These are not names that she will speak, not without need. Even an atheist has her superstitions.

"There will likely be nothing there at all, but we search for -- " answers. Truths. "-- what signs that they leave behind them.

Now."

And with that she is releasing the palfrey's slim reins, and snatching up her own instead. A sidelong tug on them turns her beast's head; a press of knees into his broad sides urges him into an easy canter in the direction of their search.

[Vanidor]

Jons made a slight whistling sound then. A soft chirrup, as it were, as if a late-night bird was calling into the night. A natural sound, though for those that knew the sort, it was no bird that claimed roost in this part of the world. Whatever it ment was something that Jons kept to himself, but for those that -knew- the man, they would know that he was never without preparation. He hated being unawares and surprised.

"We go to stamp them out then. This is good. It will make friends in High places quite happy to hear it. Feel free to direct my wrath." His voice a call for Ariane at the last there. Then a slight bow of the head. Jons Feul would guard her back, and Altias' if the need was there. Then another thought, here, about someone who was missing and would be sorely needed if things went from mundane to horrible... He wondered if the man he considered could -hear- such thoughts over the miles and miles of land that was between them.

Or, rather, if his darkly beautiful angel could hear the mental summons. For Jons had that almost... forboding feeling, that there would be more to deal with here than any would suspect. And even the scout placed high in a nearby tree would not be able to gather the others as quickly as required. Another would be needed if -that- were the case.

But would the madman come... this was the question.

[Awry]

A good thing they weren't galloping towards their goal, for several reasons. Among them was the fact that the magical haste Sefall had expended to get this far had faded, leaving him with his normal, less-than-supernatural speed as he eavesdropped.

This was quite a retinue indeed. Hopefully they were all good with their weapons, if these caverns that Ariane was talking about were indeed populated - and hopefully they would attempt to stay a little silent, although it wasn't a bad thing if they didn't; less attention to the dark of the night, after all, when there was a distraction like that.

His chain of thoughts was shattered, however, when Vanidor let out his whistle. Damned! The Right Hand immediately and quietly fell flat to the ground and looked around him. Smoke mirrored him, falling straight to her belly. No... no one around... wait.

Looking up, into the trees - there! At least one man, perched in the shielding arms of the forest. Sefall made a quiet noise to himself in protest - perhaps Vanidor and himself shared a bit in common. At least it seemed like he hadn't been noticed - now, at least, he knew about the sentry. Stealth was fifty percent, though, surprise another fifty. The man in black, low to the earth's bosom, cast an admirable glance over at Vanidor; the man was obviously prepared. Thankfully, though, for some reason many, many people relied on bird calls to relay hidden messages or intent.

They were justified enough to be wary, but a scout? A little too professional for a jaunt into the woods. And too close for comfort, even though the scout was in a tree many feet away. In addition, one of the men in the group kept casting long looks of inspection into the forest - after good while of watching the man himself, he noted what he had been doing. Cunning to use a horse as a sort of sixth sense, it was. Acteon got a nod of approval from the man in black, even as he was thinking of a way to set their senses off a bit.

It was time for a distraction of his own - Sefall needed to get farther away from the scout, and circle around some more. He glanced at the timber wolf, and she met his gaze, let out of a quiet *whuff* of air, and then turned away from him - and disappeared into thin air.

Some two-hundred some feet away, the Smoke hit the ground with the canine equivalent of a grunt, and took off running, abandoning every semblance of stealth and making periodic "grumph" noises. As soon as her commotion started, Sefall took off as well. He stayed low as he ran, in a way that seemed to defy gravity; his boots hitting the twigs and leaves underneath and muffling the noise with whatever magical silence was woven into them - Sefall wasn't too keen on the workings of magic, but he liked the effects well enough.

Five to ten seconds, and the din that the timber wolf had made was suddenly gone. Another minute after that, Smoke was back with Sefall, a small distance to the side, as quiet as he on her padded paws, in pursuit of the large party of people.

The Emperor's Right Hand grinned.

[Quincy]

"You 'eard 'er, doughty friends!" The girl spoke loud enough for them to hear - though she only cared that her sister would; there was pride and cheer in her helm-muffled voice.

Quincy shot a twinkle-eyed look at Cinnabar only after that and dug her heels to the horse's flanks; she waved a gloved hand at him, glad and surprised to see him.

Her cloak was drawn tight around her slight body, and she gently urged her mount after Ariane - doubting that there would be many words spoken amongst this group on the ride to the Order's lair. Despite her recent preoccupation of meetings with Syl Duquesne - for great works in progress -she had no trouble keeping her thoughts on the task at hand.

What would they find in those caves? Maybe, just maybe, they would find something in the shape of the truth; even a whisper of truth would be something ..

[Acteon]

[i]“We gather here to storm the lair of the Order….â€

[Minty]

Dislike, indeed. Too many people. It had obviously bolstered Ariane's confidence.

Ariane, pretty Ariane, who was supposedly good with a blade, and a terribly -good- fighter, but whose students were found to be lacking in basic skills, and who can't give a speech, much less properly brief those gathered here. Obviously, he should have been the one in charge. Then again, if he'd been in charge, maybe it would only have been he, and another coming. No matter.

He will follow, and bring up the rear, quite unable to really keep up with the horses without -truly- draining himself, an expenditure he's not willing to make. Besides, someone needs to bring up the rear, lest they walk straight into a trap or ambush.

[Cinnabar]

Doughty heroes, mad cultists and caverns, oh my. It sounds well worth the price of admission, and not something to be missed. Little chance to consider Ariane's words or the shiver of uncertainty they caused among some of those assembled, though, for they're off again after barely time enough for him to catch his breath. And them on horseback as well. For shame.

But if there's one thing he knows it's running. He takes a moment to unbutton his coat and adjust the buckles on his swordbelt before he stretches his strides into a loping run, following the trail beaten by the riders through the undergrowth and snow. His lungs become bellows, drawing in air and pushing it out with a deep and steady rhythm, and his boots crackle on leaf litter and crunch on snow in counterpoint to the drumming of hooves that he follows.

The temptation is there to go faster, to dash through the woods solely for the exhileration of the cold wind stinging his face and the trees whipping past on either side; there is still the longing to race, to fly across the forest floor, weaving between bare-limbed trees as he goes. But he's been taught to understand that this serves no purpose other than to tire him out sooner, leaving him worthless for a fight at the other end. Better to pace himself, conserve his strength for whatever might lie ahead, especially with so far to go. So he moderates his pace, just enough to avoid falling too far behind, eating up the distance with each footfall.

He grins into the wind, blood singing in his veins, and imagines he is skimming across the treetops rather than running beneath them.

[Lamai]

It was not the first time that a group of haphazard adventurers had rushed headlong towards these caves. The first time, ironically enough, had been rounded up by the madman that was not present in their ranks now. Another took his place, and another had his desperate call answered -- though not in ways he likely expected.

Lamai Aranea Carver stood facing cave's entrance with a thin shoulder pressed up against a tree. There was little to declare her ability to get to such a place -- before everyone else -- or the fact that she knew to be there. But there she was, nonetheless. Sightless or not, she would never forget these caves.

What they would find in the depths of those caves? That was for those who could see enough to scout. No, she was simply waiting. In case. In case he happened to be there. In case one who could perform her vengence would be needed to permanently seperate Thadius Dhrin from Life.

She was nothing spectacular to those who didn't know her. Quincy would know. Ariane. Altias. The rest would simply see a thin frame dressed up like a lady's doll in heavy velvet (green, this day) with a blindfold to match. The latter took up nearly half of her face, hiding the place where eyes should have been with little chance of anyone 'accidentally' seeing what was no longer there.

She owed him. See this, Thadius? A small smile twisted features as she listened to the pounding of hoofbeats. They had brought quite a few *more*, this time. I'm coming for you.

[Rattrap]

"All right, where the hell did everyone go?"

Some distance behind, Athena still trudges forward. She's gifted with none of the unnatural speed of some of the others that have followed behind, nor really any of the will to go high-tailing it through the forest. She moves more like an army on a forced march; one of those less-than-patriotic ones.

"Hey!"

Athena wasn't calling out to find herself per se; the trail of the horses was still evident enough to follow. It was just getting...far away. The worst part was, though, that she continually hoped she'd come upon them just over every other hill, though it just didn't happen. Still - it was likely closer to where they were going than going back. If it wasn't...

"#$%^! Next time I'll take someone else's horse."

Here was one naturally suited to missions of stealth and scouting.

[Quincy]

Her riding posture was one of extraordinary self-possession as she steered her horse along the snowy slant of earth. Quincy had always been nearly synonymous with reckless, and any dread that she may have felt was wisely concealed by her helm. There would always be something a little eerie about the forest at night, especially in the winter when it was lacking the bright voices of birds; at least they could hear the sound of water, faint but distinct, away to the west. She pushed a heavy branch from her path, careful to warn the comrade behind her with a glance so that it wouldn't slap them in the face when it swung back.

Acteon did little to draw attention to himself at any given moment, clearly a man who had learned during his time amongst the woods and rocks the value of silence. Lucky for Quincy he was riding right beside her. It was his daikyu that caught her eye. There was no secret that she watched his deft-fingered work with the long hunting bow, as her helm did not allow for much peripheral vision. When he was done, she cheerfully lilted: "Preparation slays the hart o' ten... '

" .. Okay, that's all I got." There were sheepish laugh-lines around her shining eyes, and she touched the back of her helm with a helpless shrug for the sake of her failing memory. Then the girl's horse cantered a little nearer to him at the silent command of her subtly shifting body. "Y' look a li'l tense, friend."

[Carnath-Emory]

Tomorrow, forever begins...


This endeavour had begun quietly: with a slight scattering of bodies, with a quiet approach upon a midnight clearing. It has not continued this way, however, for what begins to near the Order's caverns is quite the procession of bodies and horseflesh -- certain of them far stealthier than their fellows. It might assuage the worst of Acteon's fears, however, to discover that they've made the lion's share of their journey already; already Ariane's great beast has begun to slow, and the slender palfrey at its shoulder as well.

Of course, this is due in part to the difficulty with which they now progress, for it's through thickening forest that they ride, and this is not without its challenges. Heavy undergrowth tangles at even the most nimble hooves, lending burrs to long tails and heavy flanks. The thick forest canopy blankets away much of the night's meagre moonlight, so that to make out the lay of stars in the skies requires canny skill.

Now and then, saplings die to the great weight of ice that's grown upon their slender backs; with a *crack* like sharp, sudden thunder, they fall.

As they continue onwards, the trackers of this group may come to certain realisations: might begin to wonder if perhaps the undergrowth's not quite so thick as it ought to be. If perhaps they travel with a little more ease than a man should expect from a forest so remote.

Inhale deeply, foresters, and you will catch the scent of old, damp stone.

[Acteon]

Acteon did not need the slowing of horsepace to tell him that they were getting close to their destination. Before they had left the clearing, Carnath-Emory had said that the caves were four miles north-east, that was all he needed. And though his tension grew with every snapping twig, the slowing of the horses did ease his tension slightly.

Then, Quincy started to recite The Song of the Huntsman, which very nearly made Acteon chuckle. He most certainly smiled. That too helped him relax, but not completely, not by far.

“We are getting close,â€

[Quincy]

Quincy's mostly hidden expression conveyed her surprise. Sometimes she simply did not think about things like that on her own. She looked back at the others, then forward at Ariane and Altias; then, with a slight nod as though confirming some silent thought, she murmured to him. "All right. 'old on."

The girl sped her horse up past Skinner and caught up to Ariane's side, and she spoke in softness, in confidence. "Le's motion everyone to halt an' let Acteon scout ahead, jus' in case there's trouble. Wha' do you think? We're makin' a lot o' noise in these quiet woods. I'm thinkin' 'e's right; it's the smart thing to do."

After that, she motioned back at their would-be scout with her slight, armour-concealed chin; she slowed her horse even more, knowing instinctively that the plan was a sound one.

[Minty]

Someone was shouting behind them. Too bad. But really, there were too many here as it was. Losing a couple wouldn't be a -bad- thing. Ignas closed with the group as they began to slow. Now was the time to send scouts ahead. He will come closer to Ariane and Quincy, despite his fear of horses.

"Would I better serve the group scouting ahead, or looking behind?", he would leave it up to them. But surely, someone as fast as he was on foot was wasted, being in the main group.

[Carnath-Emory]

There is this brief conference between sisters, this one with a hand wound through reins, to keep her mount from eager prancing. The group's progress slows to a pause during it, horse-hooves stamping crisp snow to a muddy slush, and with a lasting silence for their backdrop. Gone, the dim cries of nighttime birds; gone, the flutter of wings, the rustle of insect life, and likely for no more remarkable reason than the shock of so many bodies has frightened wildlife into fleeing.

"Best that way," she agrees, with only a moment's glance for Skinner; that being the degree to which he'd impressed his talents upon her, the night they'd first encountered him. "There's likely nothing there, but..."

There's no need to complete that sentence.

Demonsbane's approaching them soon, in any case -- as Ariane lifts a hand, to halt any that may still be nearing them, and this time it's Quincy that she looks to for guidance. Scouting is best left to scouts, after all, and in that field Quincy's skills by far outstrip her own. But: "Better two than one," she's adding, all the same, and to her sister: "Be sure the others keep their guard; we're surely not followed, but..."

There's no need to finish that one, either.