A Winter Night

[Sventon]

Sventon found himself crushed against a wall and protected when Jons made his feral attack. His eyes were wild but he held his tongue, trying to swallow back the rising bile. If not for Carnath-Emory and Cinnabar, he would be dead by now. He was not completely a fool. Even if the silver-haired one had not caught up to him and captured him in the beginning, he would not have made it three yards from the mouth of the caverns' southern exit.

He might a slight, gasped sound as his cheek slammed against the wall, eyes open wide though they are filled with the sight of grey-blue rock; he can smell the scrape of blood on his face from the impact.

Someone fell. He could hear it. Magnus.

Hans felt a vibrant flare of hope surging instinctively inside of him.

A moment later, he was sick with disgust for his own black little wish, and he closed his eyes in anger. The scraggly shoemaker was at the mercy of Carnath-Emory's clutch for the moment.

[Magnus]

Knives whipped through the air with such speed that even the slightly smug and solemn Magnus had not the time to be taken aback, his smile slight as he travelled with his companions.

There was a fleshy thud just before he was knocked to the ground; steel was lost in the volumes of twisted rags, and what precisely happened was lost amongst them for a breathless moment. It was when the silver-haired Cinnabar dragged Magnus to his feet that it became clear - a knife was protruding from his back; his head lolled to the side, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he bled.

Carnath-Emory conceded him lost with good reason.

After all, his hands were tied.

Something seemed to fade from his eyes, and he gasped a laugh.

[Quincy]

The girl watched her sister and Cinnabar emerge with their captives from the opposite tunnel mouth, and she straightened beside Acteon when the violence unfolded; her heart beat so wildly that she clenched her fist, as though the tightness of it would keep her heart from bursting free. Narrowed eyes did not turn as she replied to the huntsman.

"Aye, let's get out o' here before somethin' worse 'appens."

She watched a moment longer, and then she simply shook her head in quiet dismay.

Certain now that everyone was making their way out of this cursed place, she turned delicately on her heel and ducked her helmed head, making her way out of the caves with gloved fingers touching the wall and the tip of her sword scraping the stone floor.

[Cinnabar]

There are a few moments when he thinks the prisoner might just be winded, or stunned by being so rudely pushed aside. But... no, there is the knife-hilt sprouting from his back, and blood at his lips, and increasing heaviness in the man's limbs as life departs him. That prompts an irritated noise from Cinnabar's throat, as one might make were one to discover a needed tool to be broken, or rat-droppings scattered about one's pantry. Frustration, irritation, annoyance at the waste of it.

He sets Magnus down on the stone floor - not gently, but neither does he simply let him drop to the ash-dusted floor. Soon he'll join those ashes in a fresh layer of char and cinders, once the Brotherhood have their fires lit. Jons' dagger is retrieved with a sharp tug, wiped upon his victim's clothes, and tucked into Cinnabar's belt for the time being. He regards the dying-if-not-dead prisoner vexedly for a few more moments, then shakes his head and looks to Ariane, and Sventon.

"Off we go, then." To Ariane: "You alright there, or shall I take him off your hands again?"

[Carnath-Emory]

There is some ironic tilt of a smile, for the passing Jons; for a moment her gauntlet is not gentle, where it holds Sventon's cheek against the granite; for a moment it grinds, with the memory of -- Ah. Such things. Had you been one of the six who'd held her arms, Sventon cordwainer?

It doesn't really matter, of course.
It absolutely matters, of course.

But whatever the case, there is the the stench of dark oil rising amongst them, and she is quickly from the cave's mouth, now. Sventon is bullied along by the gauntlet which grips the back of his neck, and the woman's pausing outside only long enough to make a count of heads and bodies, to see that they've left none behind them. To take in the sight of what Rautha has assembled here, so that there is some small smile for the fate of dying Magnus: oh, burn, you awful thing, and reckon yourself fortunate.

Her nod echoes Bromn's words, echoes Acteon's, and she's already begun to move away, when Cinnabar addresses her; there's pause enough only to thrust bound Sventon towards him.

"You'd best, if you mean him to survive the journey."

[Sventon]

Sventon was thrust from the wall and his steps stuttered toward Cinnabar; he caught himself before running into his chest, the sharp lines of his young face distressed with anger. One eye was bruised shut. His expression conveyed more than words ever could; there was some accusation in the look. Who were the real monsters here?

He shot a backward glance at Carnath-Emory, who warred with herself over the confusing nature of the cultists and their reasons, but he did not say a word. He'd rather have bitten off his own tongue than take that risk at this point. She looked ready to gut something, and he had a certain sense of self-preservation.

Then his eyes fell to the sight of Magnus, and he took a quick step away; this might have jostled Cinnabar, for the sudden fright of the movement. Sventon had seen a lot of death, but this took him by surprise, the now quiet bleeding of Magnus on the stone floor.

He helplessly stared.

[Cinnabar]

"I do." A hand rests firmly upon the young cultist's shoulder, and he's insistently turned away from dying Magnus, pushed with steady but inexorable force towards the cave's entrance and out into the night. A wary gaze to the Brotherhood forces gathered outside, and he moves to place a few cautious yards of distance between his captive and the gathered soldiers and their over-eager arrows and blades. Hm. To Sventon, voice hushed but conversational, he speaks again.

"We'll not be going to the same place as the rest of these; you'll likely get little mercy from them, so I have somewhere safer in mind." Safer for whom? Heh, interesting question. "As before, if you behave yourself you will not be harmed. We can walk, or if you make a fuss I can drag you; I would rather we walk, but the choice is ultimately yours." He offers the sorely abused fellow a cheerful grin, thoroughly at odds with his anger of mere moments ago.

[Sventon]

Smoke crawled along the roof of the cave. Hans felt as though hands of the stuff had reached down and now had him by the throat, choking the breath from him. His eyes and lungs were beginning to burn by the time that Cinnabar steared him out of the cave. He ducked his head while they were in the long exit tunnel, the space too low to walk upright.

Once outside he was drawn aside. At least he was not wearing a robe anymore; that, no doubt, would have made him an instant target. As paranoid as he was, he could not give Cinnabar undivided attention; so, while the captor spoke to him, he watched the gathered soldiers and adventurers warily. Cinnabar was his shield, the happiest shield he'd ever met.

"What do you think I will say?" the young cultist growled, and then he jerked his chin to the side. It was not as though he really had more than one decent option here. His words were hushed and a little less vehement when he asked: "I will go with you to the safer place. Will they let us leave the group?"

[Acteon]

Master Hunters are trained to see the subtle disturbances in the natural state of the environment around them. It is these almost invisible cues that the hunter uses to hunt their quarries. It takes years of studying animal behavior to interpret different spoor and to fully master the art of tracking.

The bellowing smoke that vomited forth from the cave and pillowed into the sky was not such a subtle sign. One needn't be a tracker to see that nonsense. It was the type of thing that drew eyes. And there was a good chance that some of the eyes that it would draw would be unfriendly.

Every member of the party was now out of the caves, including the soldiers who had taken in more oil for the burning of the cave. Acteon didn't see the point of scorching the rock; it would only destroy leads to the whereabouts of the Baie. But, he did not stop them; clearly they would have had none of it anyway.

Acteon took a moment to glance at the smoke again. They needed to go. Now.

That was when the first explosion occurred.

The concussion shot from the mouth of the cave and Acteon felt it press against his chest and face. Fire belched from the cave and rolled back in. Clearly the men of the Brotherhood hadn't all taken the time to spread the oil inside the cave; they had left some untampered casks there to catch fire and explode as they might. This served to spread the fire within the cave. It was a logical course of action when trying to burn something which wasn't inherently flammable, like stone. But it also added more smoke and the sound of explosions to the signal. This would likely turn the heads of those who hadn't noticed the pillar of smoke rising in the morning sky and increase the number of people who would investigate.

"I am leaving. I suggest others do the same."