Shadow of Hope 32
At the flaming burst of fire on the field of battle, Thorum got a bit skittish. “Right. Well, no sense in keeping you folks,” he said, backing away from Erellia’s blaze, “I’ll just be heading back to check on the morale of the troops and all. There’re some matters that, uh, need attending.”
The armored man then turned and made quick work of the distance between the camp and the settlement as best he was able with his limp.
Kurn held his place as Zulian approached, coldly confident in the face of her supposed ire and bravado. Had to admire her spunk, though. He didn’t hide his appraising glance of her as she approached but experience kept him tactically aware of her shoulders and her hips — he noted she was not tensing to attack.
A few seconds tick by after Zulian concludes her questions and statement with Kurn standing impassively. Finally, one eyebrow lifts in a silent, Are you done? gesture. She had, after all, not waited for a response for confirmation of his name.
Marcus watched Zulian come forward, shifting position to face her slightly as she came up. Wondering how he could defuse the situation, he tried a different tack. He turned toward Kurn in an accusatory fashion. “My gods man! What were you thinking? Throwing yourself in front of an onrushing horde of bandits to save a beautiful woman you didn’t know.” Marcus sighed theatrically. “And after the battle the gorgeous warrior woman comes over in a huff to berate you for your actions, starting a whirlwind of emotions that will have to be worked out eventually. I swear, it almost makes me want to become the ‘strong, silent, warrior’ type.”
Marcus seemed to think about it for a moment, then continued, “If it wasn’t for all the young women that need confession or are fascinated by the mysteries of magic, of course.” Marcus shrugged and sighed again. “I guess we all have parts to play in the grand design.”
Marcus turned toward Zulian, bowing slightly. “I apologize for interrupting you, my lady. Please, continue to berate him for actions that saved you and a lot of local people from harm. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of the universe.”
Marcus had a look of polite attention, but his eyes showed amusement.
In the contest of posturing and wills Kurn’s gaze didn’t flick towards Marcus. His eyes remained calmly steady on Zulian’s. He did not interrupt the priest-mage and remained alert for any warning Zulian may be about to brusquely change the target of her ire, though he imagined if he did so it would be to her detriment. At the tail of the second course of dramatics, Kurn’s attention did shift to Marcus and his brow furrowed; by the gods, let it lie, man. The unspoken advice was obviously unheeded as Marcus continued the litany.
At Marcus’ conclusion, Kurn shook his head in recovering exasperation and looked back to Zulian. “Yes; common, no; and no.”
Once again, Rôhn’s attention was diverted from his task by the sound of the confrontation outside the tent. He looked up at Zulian and the men, and smiled, his smile turning to a privately bemused laugh born partly of the divertissement of the situation, and partly of relief that Zulian’s ire was directed at someone other than him for a change. Leaning a bent elbow over the rucksack he was fastidiously repacking, he watched the dialogue with a jocular smirk.
Zulian’s gaze shifted to Marcus as he began his display, eyes narrowing to thin slits of assessment. She watched the servitor of Denevor throughout his dissertation. As his voice trailed off and Kurn answered the questions posed to him, the half-Elf’s gaze came to rest on Kurn’s unwavering features once again. A few tense moments passed as those in the camp awaited the next turn of phrase.
Erellia turned from the pyre and made her way back toward the encampment across the mud slicked terrain.
“As long as it is clear,” Zulian said to Kurn, “That I value the lives of those innocent animals over those that would so readily throw them away.”
“Your choice to make,” Kurn nodded, as if the relevance of her statement was in partial question. He had known many men he’d prefer dead before a horse, and Kurn did not count himself in the hypothetical group of people who so drew her ire — recent actions included. He yielded no ground, but saw no gain in pressing the point.
She kept her eyes locked with his a moment longer and then turned to depart. She stopped in front of Marcus on her way, speaking without facing him.
“Do not presume that our beliefs are similar,” she said, “I would sacrifice these tainted locals over the pure heart of a horse every single time.”
“That’s ok. I might be willing to sacrifice yours for a good book,” Marcus replied shrugging, “Depending on the author.”
With that, Zulian moved off to check on Selamar as Erellia approached the group.
Borlak had returned to keeping an eye out for people approaching the camp. He had not been shocked when Erellia immolated the pile of bodies.
He noticed the arguments that were going on inside of camp, but made no comment, content to listen to the going’s on and standing his continued watch. He did not turn to see the scene between Zulian, Kurn and Marcus but it was obvious that he was within hearing range of all said. Despite this, he showed no emotion or sign that he had heard, nor whether he approved or disapproved.
Looking dreary in the rain despite the alchemically treated cloak keeping him mostly dry, Daroun turned to Cheskith. Of all those here, the Lizardman seemed the liveliest, even the most comfortable. “It is an unfortunate turn of events indeed,” the mage finally said, “Especially this early on in the journey.”
He paused for a moment, scanning his distant gaze across the rain soaked landscape, whether in thought or for duty it was uncertain. “I am curious, if you do not mind my inquiry, what attracted you to this gathering, was it a goal or the expedition itself, something else perhaps?”
Cheskith’s attention was drawn one way and then the other, first by an eruption of flame and then by an eruption of pique. The latter seemed more dangerous than the former, or at least so its participants seemed to wish one another to believe.
One inauspicious element after another to the beginnings of this endeavor, it seemed. Better to let the verbal combatants sort it out between themselves.
He spared another glance at Daroun. The magician had been unusually silent thus far, not even deigning to answer the earlier question. “Something is wrong, it seems?” he prompted, hoping to finally elicit a response.
The young mage smiled and shook his head. “It is nothing.”
Hesitating before he spoke again, as it seemed was his habit, “My arrangement with our hostess and the reality of the situation is not concurrent, due to no fault of anyone. I do not believe that my personal objectives and the activities of his group have any overlap. I will take my leave. Best fortunes to you, Cheskith, may your chants continue to be kissed by the lady of mysteries. May the gods smile upon you and your water flow ever sweet, even if it falls from a dark sky.” Daroun made a parting gesture of respect and memory, lightly sweeping his right hand forward towards the Lizardman and then backwards, touching his forehead briefly and down to tapping his heart before finally resting his arm at his side. “Perhaps we will meet again, that I hope.”
With that the wizard descended the dirt mound and made his way through the soggy mud towards Erellia. He spoke a few brief words to her in his calm, quiet voice and bade his farewell. The arcanist found his horse amongst the rest, untying him to climb on. He turned the beast around towards the group once more and glanced about as if deep in thought. Giving his horse a reassuring pat on the neck, perhaps to reassure himself as well, Daroun rode off towards the few rays of light spearing through the clouds near a horizon and departed from the group.
Kurn, near the horses, exchanged a parting glance with Daroun as the mage collected his mount and departed. The question of destination was apparent enough, and Kurn surmised Daroun was either accepting the offer of Westerly’s militia or had decided other matters were more pressing.
“Fair journey,” was all he called to the mage, no harshness in it, just a mutual understanding of personal prerogative.
Cheskith watched the magician depart, his thoughts caught somewhere between surprise, confusion, and disappointment. Aside from his brief exchanges with the Dwarf, and Erellia’s infrequent comment, the departing figure had been the only one thus far to speak both politely and with substance…and the reasons given for his departure were nebulous at best.
The Elven woman who had brought this group together watched as Daroun gathered his mount and bid farewell to the adventuring party. Erellia’s lips moved quietly as if speaking to herself as he rode away.
Carried on the moist winds, Erellia’s lightly spoken words reached Katarina’s ears.
“Thrice not broken the company will fall
Of death and loss and betrayal all
Must unfold ere purpose be true
Gathered souls reborn anew.”
As the departing mage approached a series of outcroppings that would hide him from the group’s line of sight, Erellia turned and caught Zulian’s eye, nodding subtly in Daroun’s direction. Without a word, Zulian heel tapped her mount and trotted off in the direction of the departing spellcaster.