A Land of War and Strife (The Story)

[Eva]

Martyn

While Daryl was escorting Shea away, Martyn had a conversation with the 'good sir'. "If I have been cursed by some heretic, how can we remove it?" he demanded. The man with the potions gazed at him. "Curses are the most potent of dark magic. The elements can wipe out entire villages, but a single curse can turn a powerful man into a raging tyrant, bringing war to the world. The curse upon you...I must see its strength." The man reached into one of his many pockets and took out a stone-like object. It was not a stone, however, for it squished slightly when he squeezed it. "Swallow this." he ordered.

Martyn was repulsed by the thing. "It smells like-" he started. "I will not tell you what it is, only that you must consume it. If you knew what it was, you would not even make the attempt." the man said firmly. Rather than be a foolish coward, Martyn steeled his resolve and took the 'stone'. He did not know much about magic or the ways to combat it, but the vision he had was...honestly terrifying. This man seemed to know his away around a curse, and if this helped Martyn relieve the one on himself, then he would do what he had to do. Martyn put the wretched thing in his mouth and tried to swallow it as quickly as possible. And he did, but not before the taste of it made him nearly wretch again.

When the lordling was done, the man addressed him. "I am Navarro, a hunter of witches and other heretics. I am here in pursuit of a particular witch who my superiors believe to be a dabbler in forbidden arts. It is possible that she placed this curse upon you, or knows how to combat it." he said. It was unlikely that the woman had done this, Navarro knew, but aid would be helpful. If for nothing else but someone to duck behind if the witch proved hostile. "How severe is my curse?" Martyn spat, glaring at the man. "We will not know for some time. In a few hours, you will become ill. You will vomit the stone and its color then shall tell us what manner of curse has taken you. If it is black, then there is nothing we can do." Navarro told him.

---

Shea

Shea sat in the inn's common room, surrounded by the fearful and dejected, mostly women and children. There were also a handful of armed, wounded men who did not look like hardened soldiers. A woman was walking around, handing what looked like herbs to the wounded. The woman quickly made her way to Shea and looked down at her. "I have not seen you before, young one. Have you been hiding in your house until tonight?" the woman asked. Her voice gave Shea goosebumps everywhere. It was melodious and kind, but there was an edge to it. Shea wrote on her tablet and showed it to the woman.

"just came to town
with my lord and
we are trying to fix it"

The woman took the tablet and read it. "Dear girl, there is no fixing what has happened here. We can only hope that some of us survive." the woman said, her voice losing its icy edge, for now.
"You are not injured, I can see. It is nice to see someone with no wounds. I have been doing my best to heal the injured, but no magic can save the dead or dying." the woman sighed. Shea wrote again:

"are you one of the witches
who comes from the tribes?"

The woman read and shook her head. "I am a magistrate of the people. I am no shaman clad in furs and animal skins, my dear. If I were, would I not be on the other side of this little battle?" she laughed. The laugh made Shea's ears tingle and hurt a bit, although it was a light and soft laugh. Her appearance was beautiful, but everything from her dark eyes to her painted lips to her laugh made Shea uncomfortable. She wanted the woman to go away, yet was mildly entranced by her.

Before Shea could ask anymore questions, the door to the inn was opened and a few people came inside. They were Martyn, Daryl, the Lisbeth woman, and the man who had told them of Martyn's curse. "There is the witch I told you of. She may know more of what you want." the man told Martyn. Immediately the witch straightened up and glared at him. "Do not come any closer." she said, once Martyn and the man were in casual speaking distance. "What do you know of curses, mage?" Martyn demanded. Shea stood up and looked between the two of them. "I have nothing for you. My knowledge of curses is purely academic." the woman shot back.

"Navarro, this woman has been helping our wounded. She cannot be the one who placed the curse!" Lisbeth interjected, before things got out of hand. "I have a written order calling for her arrest, Lisbeth. She may be helping you now, but this woman is a known practitioner of necromancy." Navarro said. Instantly, the room fell quiet. "How dare you? I have done no such thing!" the woman shouted, pointing her finger at Navarro. "High Lady Galandere of Five Rivers says otherwise. She was the one who issued this order, and as your sponsor, she has the right to see you brought to justice." Navarro replied. He took out a stark piece of paper and showed it to the woman, who began to read it aloud. "I, Galandere of Five Rivers, order the imprisonment of Satjit Telfar, for the inhumane crime of...raising the dead." she recited. The woman, Satjit, looked around. "I have done no such thing." she repeated. "And it does not matter. We will all die soon, by the blades of the tribals, and that is the closest I will ever come to consorting with the dead." she added. "This does not matter! I do not care if my aunt has ordered for your head! I demand that you tell me about the curse upon me!" Martyn snapped, getting in Satjit's face. "...Very well. Tell me what has been ailing you." she said.

"I saw a vision. A woman clad in...dead meat and birds. It was a harrowing sight, and it made me vomit." Martyn told her. Satjit looked at Navarro. "A curse of Terror." she said, and Navarro nodded. "I thought so as well. Terror curses are issued by those who do not wish to kill, but who want their target to suffer greatly. If you have done anyone great disservice, then there is your tormentor." Navarro said. Martyn seethed. "Whoever it was shall pay for this. All I must do is track them." he muttered, to no one in particular. "That stone you ingested has more than the ability to determine the severity of your curse. We can use it to track the curse's caster. Once it has been...evacuated, of course, 'lord' Martyn." Navarro said. While the two of them conversed, Satjit looked around for any means of escaping her imminent capture, but she found none, unfortunately. But then she remembered a small thing that Martyn had said. "Lady Galandere is your aunt? Surely you could advocate for me before her, my lord?" she asked, clasping her hands together at her chest. "Why would I risk my name to defend a heretic who plays with the dead?" Martyn spat, giving the witch a harsh look. "For one, I do not play with the dead. For two, I have aided you in this cursed matter. For three, if you helped me in return, you would have the assistance of a talented mage and healer." she said, her voice coming close to begging. Martyn looked down on her and smirked. "Perhaps. There are more urgent things to attend to." he said. And, as if by magic coincidence, there were sounds of panic outside. "Right on schedule." Daryl said as he, Martyn, Lisbeth, Navarro, and Satjit headed outside.

---

Amethyne

Several minutes before the ill-timed meeting in the inn, Amethyne rushed up the dirt path to meet the marching sounds of the deer-sewn boots of the Tribals. It did not take long until Amethyne was upon the rather large raiding party. Several of them drew their weapons, spears and swords and bows among them, before she raised her arms. "Honor to the First and the Family, for those who walk this earth owe them their fleeting lives." Amethyne recited. Instantly the weapons were drawn, and a single man emerged from the pack. "And so we honor their sacrifice. Welcome, sister. This is not the greeting owed to you, but these are strange times." he said. As was customary, he drew Amethyne into a warm hug before releasing her and examining her face. He was a large man, more muscle than anything, with more hair on his face than his head. He would have looked very silly, if he were not so intimidating.

"I am Shartel, leader of the tribe Tabris. Who are you, sister?" Shorvalle asked. "I am Amethyne, former warrior of the tribe Daccar." she said obligingly. Shartel gave her a questioning look. "Are you an exile or a willing dissenter?" he asked. "Both and neither. It is a long tale. But I consider myself tribal-blooded and aligned." Amethyne replied. "And that is good enough for me. Why are you here in Merry, sister, and why are you standing in our way?" Shartel asked next. "I am in the service of a young lordling. He has...asked me to intervene on behalf of the village people. Their leader has told me what has occurred. Have you not taken your vengeance? The only people who remain are battered militia and frightened women and children. Those who have spited you are dead." Amethyne pleaded. She believed with all of her heart that the judgement delivered onto Merry was deserved and not even entirely fulfilled, but Martyn had ordered her to be their advocate. So she did her best.

"I will listen to a surrender, and a confession of guilt. But we will have the village of Merry, with or without further blood. It has been promised to us by someone far more important than you or your lordling." Shartel said. Amethyne was slightly taken aback. "Promised?" she asked slowly. "Yes, promised. We are willing to allow the lives of those left, so long as they agree to put up no resistance to our rule. Merry is the first, sister. The first village promised to us, but not the last. Once we have Merry, others will follow, and the power of the tribes shall grow!" Shartel shouted, and his fellow raiders chanted behind him. Amethyne's heart raced and her body flushed. This was bad news, for her, for Merry...for everyone.

The tribal raiding party marched faster towards Merry, with Shartel at the front and Amethyne beside him. The minions behind them continued to chant and cheer, and each shout made Amethyne more and more nervous. They were putting themselves in the mood for battle, and it seemed they would get it. Finally they reached the village itself, and the crowd seemed eager to start fighting. Shartel turned around and shouted at them. "The time for talking has begun. Silence, or you will lose your tongues when we return to the huts!" Amethyne looked at the fleeing villagers, most of them heading for the inn. "None of us speak the tongue of the root-takers, sister. You do?" Shartel asked her. "Yes. I will be the middle ground." Amethyne confirmed. They continued forward, until they were met by a tiny militia force. A half dozen men without armor faced a group of over twenty, all armed to the teeth. "We wish to speak with Lisbeth and Martyn." Amethyne told the men. But it was pointless, as both of them were already approaching, with more people.

"Have you finally decided to betray me, Amethyne? Or do you stand with them to blend in?" Martyn asked, his voice as barbed as ever. "I am your translator, my lord. Be happy that their leader does not understand what you have said." Amethyne replied. "So they're willing to negotiate? Thank the heavens and the stars!" Lisbeth sighed, extending her arms to the skies.


(to be edited)

[Gafe]

Navarro

Some strides behind Lisbeth and Martyn and well within earshot stood Navarro, vials making distinctive clinking sounds as the breeze picked up and died down. He wasn't having a particularly pleasant time, the town of Merry wasn't exactly living up to its name. He tried to find some comfort in the fact that he'd already made contact and revealed the arrest order to the hag. Which was all very well, except his higherups had neglected to mention that Satjit Telfar was a magistrate.

Of all the kinds of witches and heretics out there, magistrates were among the worst in Navarro's list. Not because their magical prowess was mythically terrible or anything of the sort, but because they were trained and protected by the law. Not even his Order had a jurisdiction upon the lives of magistrates. If his Order were a net, this specific kind of magic user had found the only hole in it. Actually, it was even a little bit of a miracle that Lady Galandere had issued an arrest warrant, but as far as miracles tend to go, this one was shortlived; Navarro had to bring Satjit to Five Rivers alive, he was still in no place to claim her legally-pagan life.

He could, however, claim the illegally-pagan lives of the couple of tribal shamans that had come with the invading force. Although Navarro wouldn't deny his spirits fell a notch or two as news of the negotiation reached Lisbeth. At the very least, one of them was glad, if her heavenly thankfulness and physical exuberance were anything to judge by. He spoke up, "What exactly are they willing to negotiate for?" Truth be told, Merry, as a small town, did not hold many a thing that should satisfy invaders.

The tribal girl, whom Martyn had addressed as Amethyne, regarded him with a cold stare, an accusive glance that denounced Navarro as a stranger to the negotiation who'd better stay quiet. Navarro had never before come across eyes that could transmit so much with a mere look. "Indeed. Shartel, leader of the Tabris tribe, has agreed to offer the Merry Lay-town peace and the cessation of all and any further bloodshed. . . -" The eyes of Lisbeth and the militia glowed faintly with anticipation at this point, "In exchange for a confession of guilt and the total surrender of the townsfolk to the rule of the tribe Tabris." The eyes of the militia, which had almost shone moments before now seemed hollow, desolate.

Martyn snarled, "What?!" Amethyne stood her ground, behind her some tribals smiled as they recognized the terms of their negotiation had found home in the ears of the townsmen. Navarro, a stranger to the town, was barely taken aback at the news, instead, he was surprised at Lisbeth's likewise posture. "Yes, I imagined the invasion would not be sated with our harvest or livestock alone. I. . . I think my men here will wholeheartedly agree that, at the very least, the guilt confession is theirs an-"

"And that would be all they'd receive from us. I refuse to hand a town of men over to the clutches of barbarians." Martyn snapped. Amethyne squinted, hiding some form of hatred behind her eyelids. "Lisbeth, order your men to take a battle stance. Even when outnumbered, as civilized men we hold the upper hand, and under my command we shan't lose."

Lisbeth did not move. Her jaw was shut tight. Shartel seemed to be growing bored. Martyn, with the tactfulness typical of nobles, raised his voice. "Lisbeth! I sa-"

"No." She stated and was met with an "Excuse me?" Lisbeth continued, "I'm sorry sire, but as the head of Merry, I will decide on our course of action. Their terms are not what we had hoped for, yet their acceptance is the best way out of this."

Martyn's face grew red as a cloudless sunset. "How dare you, insolent woman? I am the son of Lord Vergan Bashere and deserve every ounce of respect, loyalty and obedience he has, if not more. Even as head of this measly town you are still worlds below my chain of command and will do as I say." Lisbeth took the verbal abuse, which they'd frankly all been expecting, almost unfazed. She seemed to be struggling in how to phrase a response. Navarro saw both Amethyne and Satjit with similar expressions of responding to Martyn. They probably stayed quiet, one out of obedience to his employer, the other out of need for the Lord to advocate for her to Lady Galandere.

Lisbeth, slowly, cautiously, opened her mouth, the power behind her following words might as well have summoned a cyclone for their strength, "With all due respect, my Lord, your position is precarious if not gone. The civil war that sweeps these lands has made you nothing but a figurehead without a sturdy base. As such, I will make the decisions for my fellow townspeople and for the well-being of our town, but I will most decidedly not make them for your ego."

Needless to say, most people present were taken aback at the force of her statement. Perhaps Martyn moreso. Navarro would judge the force of the words to be within the truths therein.

"Tch, this town's soil is as putrid as its people. Daryl, Amethyne, we're leaving." Martyn spoke. Much to her disadvantage, Satjit was not summoned by the Lordling. She desperately needed him on her side to advocate for her. Serving an imprisonment sentence was not on her to-do list. Navarro looked at her and recognized a glint of remembrance in her eye, something she might've read long ago that was buried by piles of more important information. "Wait!" The magistrate shouted, "Lady Amethyne, is there really no other way out of this predicament? Something like a. . . duel, perhaps?"

Amethyne nodded. "A one-on-one duel, as per the tradition of tribes, would give Merry about two-months time of peace if it were to be won. If you are to lose, however, the tribe Tabris would automatically decide on the fate of the people and town of Merry. I had not said anything because as a solution it would only be temporary and none of the people here seem capable of taking leader Shartel on in a duel."

Satjit was slightly ecstatic, Navarro saw, she said to Martyn, "See, my lord? Send one of your subjects to win the duel, earn the respect and loyalty of Merry, earn the two months time to visit Lady Galandere, advocate for me and return with troops to defend Merry and neighboring towns when the two months are over. It's a scenario where everyone wins." Navarro admired the quick thinking of the magistrate, but as he carried the arrest warrant, he'd have to take Satjit to Five Rivers and if Martyn came to her aid, that would mean he, too, would have to join the Lordling for the journey. The idea wasn't as appealing to him. Then again, he doubted Martyn would accept after Lisbeth's heavy words. Furthermore Martyn had only two subjects to send to the duel, and the tribal girl would probably go against the idea of fighting other tribals. Navarro looked at Daryl, who had said nothing to this point, and wondered if he could possibly defeat the tribal leader in a duel.

[TragicAce]

Martyn

The look Martyn gave Lisbeth was the look of death, or near enough. Anger cleared his mind in the mist of headaches that showed no signs of subsiding. Physicians spoke of such things happening to men gone mad—the thought did little to lighten the lordling’s spirit. My position is ‘precarious if not gone’, is it?! This village whore will suffer a thousand lashes and thank me! No peasant spoke to a noble this way. Had the Age fallen so far? When a village wrench can run her mouth to me-ME!-in such a way! Martyn was physically shaking with rage. His pride was pissed on, then excremented upon for good measure. And pride…was all he had left.

“And who would throw their life into death’s dance for this horse's dung of a hamlet? Who?!” Martyn yelled over at the poor excuse for guardsmen, each with their heads down and too afraid to meet his gaze. Granted, few could with the ferocity he put behind it. His mind started to race. Suddenly the magistrate did not seem so wretched a woman. Intelligent and dangerous, magistrates brought great power to those who held their collars, if they could be held. And Aunt Galandere had given Martyn just the collar he needed. Worse comes to worse, she could turned in for her devilry. He had no love of magic true, but his desire for power far eclipsed that. Amethyne spoke, forcing her words out in apology.

“I…apologize, Lisbeth. While I do not wish to see Merry’s desctruction, I can’t…” A somber silence filled the air as her words drifted off. Martyn wanted to laugh, what idiot would—

“This Shartel fellow…does he have two scars on his left cheek, muscles on top of muscles, and a definitive lack of hair on his head?” Daryl broke in like he was commenting on the spring breeze. Amthyne nodded, awkwardly. The tribe leader had yet to make his appearance, and so it was odd for the mercenary to know the man’s features. “Then I dance with death.” Martyn was shocked. The mercenary was greedy, he was lowly, but Martyn did not know he was suicidal. A feeling of hope spread through the town like butter on warm bread. The lordling felt ill, little to do with his head tremors. Where was the money in getting your head split open? He asked Daryl as much.

“My swordarm’s getting a bit stiff is all. I won’t pretend to be valorous-not my forte-but I have my reasons.” What reasons they were Martyn did not know nor care. The duel would give him more time to escape, however. “You are the last of us I’d expect heroics from, sellsword.”

Through merciless browbeating and reminders of oaths sworn and warrants held, the young Lord gathered the remainder of his party on the outskirts of Merry, towards the long well-traveled road leading to Five Rivers. It was a journey still ahead of them, a journey—if past events were any measure—that would be by no means uneventful. How each companion felt towards leaving Daryl behind differed. Amethyne was cold and distant, with eyes on fire. Shea fought a losing battle with tears, comforted slightly by Satjit who likely did not care one way or another. Navarro was making small talk about his personal ‘effectiveness enhancements’ to alcohol, clearly oblivious of the mood. And as for Martyn…his head hurt.

[GnomesAteMyCake]

Daryl

"Yes, yes, I'm a money-grabbing bastard," Daryl drolled, rolling his eyes with his back to the Lordling. "If I were you, my lord, I would take this time to leave this town. Besides, if I am to understand you know have an actual destination rather than aimlessly wondering the countryside, yes?"

Unstrapping the staff he used for fighting from his back, Daryl whipped the tattered cloack he wore over one shoulder. Bowing slightly to Martyn, he smiled. "Do not think this saves you some coin, sire; I will be back for my pay."

"You are like a parasite that way," Matyn sniffed before turning his back and moving away to mount his horse, a hand to his forehead. Shaking his own head slightly, Daryl nodded to Amethyne, who had left the tribes side and headed over at the sight of conversation. "I will be staying, Amethyne. Your tribesmen and I have some long unfinished business to take care of."

"As you say, sellsword," the woman responded smoothly, taking a step back from the small group ats the dark-haired man finally turned to the tavengirl they'd picked up. She was worrying a lip between her teeth and her eyes were shining.

"Now, Shea," he said softly, brushing her hair from her face, his gauntleted fingers playing with the brown strands. "No need for tears. This is not goodbye; it is simply, 'until next time.' You will behave whilst I am gone?" The girl nodded, her teeth biting harder to hold back the tears. It was strange; they had met only a short few days ago, and yet it felt like abandonment. It made the sellsword uncomfortable, he had to admit, but he brushed the feeling aside. "I am glad to hear you say that. Now, get along with Martyn; you stay at his side, and he will protect you in my stead. Go on, child."

Feeling older than his 24 years, Daryl tossed his quarterstaff from hand to hand, rocking back and forth on his heels as the watched the small party disappear down the road, the young girl with them the only one to look back. I will see them again, the sellsword told himself. That Lord owes me money after all.

[Eva]

Satjit

No one had bothered keeping track of how long the group had been moving, but it had been a fairly long amount of time. The horses were starting to get tired, so Martyn called for everyone to dismount and prepare a camp next to the dirt road. They went off the road a few yards and found a small clearing with only a few trees around it. Enough room to sleep, though not comfortably.

"These areas are so very undeveloped. The stone highways of Five Rivers put these crude trails to shame." he griped as he tied his horse to a tree.

"Yes, the wonders of magic and technology do not seem to reach these territories. Perhaps that should be remedied." Satjit said.

She was at work preparing a fire for everyone, and was progressing slower than one would expect for someone adept at magic.

Everyone else was busy setting things out for to help them sleep.

"Do you have any magic to make blankets or pillows or tents? Something practical?" Martyn asked Satjit as he folded up some fabric for his head.

"I am not a house mage, my lord. I COULD do those things, with training. Tis not a matter of skill, but knowledge." Satjit replied as she finally got the fire going properly, her tone flirting with arrogance but not quite there.

"Surely creating a flame is more difficult than making a small piece of textile." Martyn snapped.

"A simple man can create a flame. One must be an expert to create a textile. Magic works much the same way as craftsmanship. A master blacksmith can create a flawless blade, but put him before a loom and you will see only a man." Satjit replied, giving Martyn a smirk that was not entirely deserved.

Martyn seemed to accept that explanation, or he felt that there was no need to argue further. Whatever he felt, there was no more discussion.

Though she could not create pillows, blankets, and beds for everyone, there were a few other things Satjit could do to make the conditions more tolerable. As she sat a bit away from the others, who were all working on tending the horses or fixing the sleeping area, Satjit was murmuring a spell to ward off insects and small animals. It would make sleeping easy, though anything larger than a dog would have no little difficulty getting through. A full-sized person, such as a member of the group who needed to 'relieve themselves' would meet no resistance. As Satjit worked, Navarro approached her.

"I am watching you, witch. If you to try to escape, I will know." he warned her from behind.

Satjit turned around and flashed a smile, much the same as the one she gave to Shea earlier. It did not seem to have any effect on Navarro. Not that she truly expected it to.

"You have nothing to worry about, hunter. I am no fool, no more than you. I intend to go to Five Rivers with our darling Lord. Lady Galandere will know that I am no criminal." Satjit said sweetly.

"You are a dark woman, and we can all see that." Navarro said, his eyes piercing Satjit. She felt uneasy. "But we need you, for now." he added.

"Thank the Gods for small favors. I am sure you need me for my magic, but perhaps there are other things I could do for you?" Satjit asked sultrily. She stood up and gave Navarro another, warmer smile. "The way you look at me...so uncivilized!" she gasped faux-sweetly.

Navarro glared at her even harder. "Perhaps your charms work on some people, but not on me. And do not try them on our 'leader'. I am watching you, witch. Your magic will not go unnoticed by me." Navarro warned.

Navarro touched his knife for a moment before turning and leaving Satjit. A short distance away, Martyn watched the exchange. He didn't hear any of it, but it seemed tense. Satjit, however, quickly regained her composure. She noticed Martyn and gave him a sweet wave.

After Navarro was far enough away and Martyn was no longer watch, Satjit's face darkened. The hunter was wise, in his own way. He would know every time she weaved even the smallest spell, and that infuriated her. But, at the same time...Satjit looked at it as a game. A small thing to entertain herself with. As for the Martyn...well, there was nothing stopping her from trying to get in his good graces without magic, was there?

Soon after her confrontation with Navarro, Satjit finished her minor warding spell. That matter taken care of, everyone settled for a long sleep.

---

Martyn

The sleep, however, was not that long in reality. Amethyne stirred and tossed in her dirt bed, and her eyes slowly opened. She felt something uneasy. She sat up and looked around. A motion sped past her left eye, and she spun to face what it was. But it was gone. And she saw more pass by her. Just as she started to stand up, an orb of blue light sped at her and collided into her chest, sending her flat on her back.

The noise was enough to startle the horses, whose loud whinnies awoke Martyn, then Shea and Navaroo. Martyn stood first, holding his blade while Navarro held a knife out. Shea was still sitting and looking around. Navarro ran to Amethyne and examined her. She was lying on her back, eyes staring out. "She's alive, but cannot seem to move. Some manner of ill hexing has taken her body." he told Martyn and Shea. As he spoke, Satjit finally awoke.

"You two can solve this later. For now, we must leave." Martyn said loudly.

The second the words left his lips, a circle of flames erupted around the group, separating them from their horses.

A loud laugh came from the tree where the group's horses were tied. A man draped in animal skins and furs that covered only a token portion of his body stood next to the trees, the moon and the flames illuminating this.

"You have stepped into the wrong forest. Though you are only a few steps into our realm, you have still intruded." he taunted.

Another figure danced out of the trees, this one a slightly older woman dressed similarly to the man.

"You will burn!" she cried, pointing a sharply-nailed finger at the group.

Navarro quickly lifted his crossbow and fired a bolt, nailing the woman in the chest. She fell to the ground limply and let out a howl.

"Release us, savage!" Martyn shouted, staring at the man.

Satjit meanwhile seemed to be praying, oddly. Martyn was furious at first, but he quickly realized that she was most likely working on some manner of spell. Or she was insane enough to pray while being roasted alive.

The man seemed angered now.

"You are the villains! No mercy!" he yelled.

The flames climbed higher, and the group began to feel the heat even more. Navarro shot at the man, but his bolt was deflected a few feet short.

"Marharit was no mage, the poor woman. But you will pay for her death. Our clanmates are coming for your blood!" the man shouted, letting out a blood-chilling howl afterward.

"Damn all! Satjit, Navarro, DO SOMETHING." Martyn ordered.

Satjit seemed to be ignoring him, while Navarro was working on reviving Amethyne.

"The fire is not an ordinary one, Martyn. If we attempt to move past it, it will surely block us. All we will accomplish is burning ourselves," Navarro said, "but I believe Satjit is working on that problem."

Martyn was about to reply to that when Satjit finally stopped her muttering. She stood up and flourished her hands towards the dead woman. Her body drifted towards the flame before stopping. And then it crumpled into itself, causing several bones to pop out of her skin. Her blood shot at the flames, dissolving a section of them. It was a grisly sight, but not one that the group could afford to dwell on.

They ran out of the flames, Navarro lagging due to supporting Amethyne. Martyn unsheathed his blade and charged at the man, who looked extremely shocked. When Martyn was in range, he slashed the man several times, quickly killing him.

"Damned savages." he muttered under his breath.

They could not stop to collect themselves, for the ground and trees shook with the arrival of even more savages. They were not like tribals, as one may assume. As a villager would look down at a tribal for their primacy, a tribal would be even more disgusted by a savage. Their clothes covered only the most scandalous parts of the body, with the rest uncovered as the day they were born.

Their hair was as wild and untamed as their spirits, and their words were spat rather than spoken. And now they closed in on the group, murder in their eyes. Martyn looked to the horses, but several savages were already approaching them. They were even more closed in than before. Martyn rejoined his vassals and stood at the front, assuming his role as leader once more. The savages, at least three dozen of them, ceased their march, and one of them stepped forward.

"Who has slain our brother and sister?" a particularly unkempt and wild looking woman demanded.

Her hair was held down by a few pieces of fabric, but her eyes were such a deep and inhuman shade of green that one could not think of her as remotely normal.

"I slayed the man, and he slayed the woman." Martyn said, pointing to Navarro.

"Actually, she was alive before my spell. Not for much longer, thanks to the bolt, but I was the one who finished it." Satjit confessed.

"Then you will be the ones who will sleep in the fires burn for the God." the woman cried, to the cheers of her followers.

The woman looked at Amethyne. "You have one of the Fleet-Footed. She will be tied to the trees and bled before the God, as well as the man who shot Marharit."

Finally, her eyes fell to Shea. "This one...has done nothing. But there is a use for everyone. Marharit was the third wife of Mehnen. She will take her place." she announced.

There was loud cheering from the savages behind her. "I am Felmorne, and you shall give your worldly bodies to the God of Sacrifice." Felmorne said menacingly.

[Gafe]

Martyn

Felmorne's introduction poured from her mouth the same way savages poured from the forest behind her to surround the party. Their hollering and primitive yelping increased along with their numbers. Martyn closed his eyes. It seemed his eyelids had to travel a mile of desertic wasteland before meeting. Weaponry and ropes were raised around them. The lordling could smell the savages. A strong, dry, reek reminiscent of long-forgotten stables. Pungent. His eyes opened unevenly, and Martyn took in the shape of a large woman seizing Amethyne from Navarro's grasp under a low-hanging left eyelid. On his right, he saw two men, shadows, taking - pulling - the magistrate forcefully. . . or maybe it was Shea?

It was difficult to tell with blurred vision. A silhouette materialized in front of him. Felmorne? The gruesome odor targetted his nostrils again. Martyn fell to his arms, he sweated from the shame he was being subjected to. The savages' cheering found a way into his temples. Throbbing. Throbbing. The smell had taken roots inside his nose. He wasn't sweating due to embarassment but because it was too much to bear. Martyn coughed. His saliva tasted bitter, the peel of an orange with coating of centuries-old dust. A gasp, somewhere, and pairs of eyes on him. He couldn't afford to bother to care about them. His temples bulged. They didn't carry blood anymore, it seemed, but a foul-tasting sludge that smelled like decay and advanced with the beastly mirth of the savages.

Martyn was on the floor before he actually realized it. His hands clutched at his torso before scorching pain replaced the gastric juices in his stomach. The savages nearest to him ceased their cheering, but the farther chanting was still enough to haunt his ears. A supportive hand grazed his waist. The throbbing left his temples and reached for his throat. He coughed again. Twice. He lost his vision and convulsed. Then, in several uneven, sloppy mouthfuls, he emptied his digestive system. Something collided with one of his canine teeth. He threw that up too.

The throbbing was gone. The smells and sounds lost their power, his senses were drained. Martyn felt light and color return to his sight, though he was too drained of energy to open them more than halfway. A trickle of vomit kept the foulness in his mouth. Collapsed as he was, his pupils moved ever so slightly to see what he'd regurgitated. He might've described it as fruity if not for the coloration. It was abnormal, navy blue, almost black, with granules of varying sizes spread across it. And in the middle, strangely dry, a stone the color of a setting sun with dark mahogany lines caressing it near the edges.

A civilized voice made its way to the environment after a moment. "He's cursed." Navarro stated, plainly. It was a fact, the words left his lips with no room for remorse or dislike, but mere fact. Immediately Felmorne jumped away from Martyn, caution and curiosity redefining her features. She seemed concerned, the party did not have to guess for long as the worry was voiced by another of the savages, "Sister, we cannot offer a cursed soul to the God. We shouldn't even let him into our territory," he grunted, unfazed by Shea's all-too desperate attempts to escape his hold. If only Daryl were there, some insane, last minute efforts to rescue her might've occurred. Alas, the swordsman's whereabouts, his existance even, remained a mystery to the group.

Felmorne's eyes seemed to freeze over. "Two of us have died tonight. Two perpetrators must burn for the God." She seemed gripped in an antigonesque state, her inside struggling over what law stated and what her kin wanted. Her mouth was a tight line, lips cleaner than the rest of her mud-stained skin. The savages around her were caught in a similar frenzy in their heads, but, too dim-witted for decision-making, projected their doubts into Felmorne's yet unspoken decision.

"So-" glares were shot at the interruption. Navarro continued "-take me instead. I inflicted a killing blow on Marghareet, might as well be punished for that. Burning cleanses a body, bleeding to death isn-"

"Silence, murderer!" Felmorne commanded, a solid yet rageless imperative not unlike a mountain. "Fate has decided your destiny to be lumber for the holy bonfire. We leave, sisters and brothers, the God of Sacrifice hungers. We answer his desires." She directed a final stare at Martyn, crumpled on the ground, barely able to maintain constan breaths. "There is a use for everyone, but the meat of this one has rotten in life and his soul and spirit are tainted waters. Let him find his use outside our territory. For a cursed one to enter our land is to forfeit it." The woman turned around, Martyn noticed her grimy and untamed hair reached her lower back. She walked away from the lordling, followed by the savages pulling at their new-found prisoners with final words playing on her mouth.

"Even your life is unworthy of our weapons."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Navarro

"You're one piece of work. Your heroics will be told by generations to come. Now tell me, hunter, what's your angle?" The magistrate, eloquent beyond measure at other times, seemed to have difficulty speaking, though, to be fair, this could be attributed to a myriad of reasons. Perhaps she was out of breath from all the forceful, primitive walking some kilometers into a forest without an inch of steady footing, or maybe it was the smoke that sprung from a fire before them and flowed into their lungs that affected her speech. Then again, they were in unfamiliar territory surrounded by a herd of snarling savages and tied against large wooden poles awaiting imminent death by burning, both were excellent reasons to be jumpy and thus, have trouble while talking.

"My angle? If I have to die, I rather do it in a way that suits appropriate worshippers and not impurely so, such as bleeding to death." The pair received a desperate glance from Shea, who stood close to an Amethyne that remained well into a stupor, the mute girl was surrounded by enough savages to make any idea crumble before it formed on her mind. The glance did not go uncaught by Satjit, Gods bless her soul. Instead, Navarro's eyes were fixed on Amethyne. The tribal was in front of them, though a good number of yards away and tied to the bottom of a tree, limbs stretched out and head held tightly against it, so as to show full well her neck. Pagan symbols were carved into the tree without much regard to aesthetics, making it harder to the witch hunter to decipher what was written on them, not that it was of much use as he'd encountered the symbols briefly and a long time ago. Time had blurred the memories past recognition.

"Whatever your beliefs, you exchanged a slow and reasonably painless death for one that's too slow for all the hurt inflicted. You don't even know Martyn that well, nor do you owe him anything. What's your angle, hunter?" Feet below them, the savages paced to and fro with diverse tasks at hand. Their slaughter would not begin for some time.

"Whoever it is, my belief is that having backup, however unreliable, is better than none at all, witch.

"Martyn has no need for us. A wanted witch, a shady hunter, a mute girl and a tribal. There's more diversity in the court life he's so used to. Not to mention, his curse is a heavy handica-" She stopped short. The emotion in her eyes changed from desperation at Navarro's idiocy to recognition. "That's it." Navarro nodded, a smile toying around the corners of his mouth. "With the current state of things, he has no one but you and me to take care of the curse, Lady Galantere is too far away and the only one who knows the way to her is Shea. He's too cocky to let his only possible cure die, Martyn doesn't want a premature death, much less by the hands of a witch!" Abruptly, Satjit frowned. "Still, he was in a tragic shape back there."

"He vomited the stone I fed to him back in Merry and he'll notice the stone isn't dark-colored, or not completely anyways. Those were not symptoms caused by the curse, but by the stone and they should only be temporary." Once more, Navarro's eyes focused on Amethyne. Seeing as how savage activity was greater near her than near themselves, he presumed she was to bleed before they burned. "But as I mentioned, Martyn's support is unreliable. He's not what I have in mind right now." Now it was his turn to frown.

"You lied, witch. I saw what you did to the woman's body back there. Even if you're not a full-fledged necromancer, haemomancy is a branch too closely related to it for its own good. These savages didn't see what you did to that woman, they won't be looking out for that kind of magic. I'll figure out a way to get rid of these ropes around us, but first I need you to create a confusion of sorts. We're being roasted in the name of a God, no doubt they'll use the same kind of magic flames to burn us. Quell the flames the same way you quelled those we just left behind."

Satjit's features hardened. Not only was her ability being tested, but she was being asked to do this by a witch hunter no less. Her reply came in a whisper. "Even if I could do that, there's no one weak enough to drain of their blood."

Felmorne approached the carved tree as the reply, too, came in an almost tormented whisper.

"Amethyne."

Satjit turned towards the hunter alarm and anger swelling on her mind. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the tribal, a hint of repentance outlining his eyes. "You're mad. Without blood she'll die. She's our ally, Marharit was not."

"If you're as good as I made you out to be, you'll be able to return the heated blood back into her body. My understanding of this is basic, but the rise in the blood's temperature would be enough to awaken her from paralysis. You'd be saving the lives of the three of us." Felmorne flourished a crude knife.

"Return burnt blood back into a body, blood that has touched earthly lumber? I don't know what that would do to her. I don't know if that would work or if I could manage that. If any portion of her blood were to touch any of the savages. . ."

"I didn't say this plan was flawless, witch. We have no other choice, do we? She's a tribal, blood like that will bring her closer to the elements or whatever her pagan lore hold sacred. Do that and leave the rest to me. Get us out of here and I'll put in a good word for you at Five Rivers."

Navarro and Satjit looked towards the inscribed tree. Felmorne and a small crowd of savages had gathered around it and had begun chanting an obscure song. The woman seemed to be saying something, but mage and hunter were too far away to hear. Judging by the tears that sparkled in Shea's eyes however, they didn't regret not being able to pick up the exact words. The expression of their mute companion's face convinced Satjit more than any of the words the hunter had uttered. By the time Navarro looked back up at her, her eyes were closed and she was muttering her own obscure lyrics.

By the tree, Felmorne's knife began tracing a line across Amethyne's neck. A single drop of ruby liquid formed on the tribal's skin.

[TragicAce]

Martyn

“She’s the daughter of commonfield pigs, Georg. I’m surprised she can hide the smell.” The lordling scoffed as he took another bite of glazed ham. It was just another night at The Squire’s Retire, an upscale tavern in his father’s homeseat. The mead was always too warm, but his cauldron never ran less than half. A tad early for sup, him and his friend had the place mostly to themselves. Georg was a decent enough son of a wealthy merchant, Martyn supposed, but far too soft to be inheriting his father’s weapons business.
“B-but Martyn, the way she sings, last festival I thought I would faint where I stood when her hymn met my ears! My heart skips when she smiles, when she-“

Martyn dazed in and out of consciousness, the sting of sweat in his eyes bringing him back to reality. What he wouldn’t give for some of that warm mead after all this. Ambushed by savages, after fleeing a village besieged by savages. Why were there so many of them in his lands? Did the patrols spend all their days drinking? This was ridiculous. He was alone. No, not exactly alone. The pulsating chirp of cicadas echoed in his ear drums. It was more then enough to set him off. “BASTARDS!!! CURSE ME? I’LL SEND YOU TEET-SUCKING SONS OF WHORES A THING ABOUT-“

“-looks at me with those large brown eyes…you know? Martyn?” The lordling had had about enough of it. This softness of fanciful Georg might start to rub off on him, and by week’s end he’ll stat chirping poetry like a loon. “Georg, that wrench is a baseborn peddler. You’re to inherit the biggest arms dealer in Murand and more! You speak of marrying this girl…don’t be a fool! You’d shame your family, might even get disowned.” Martyn took another angry bite of meat. “Bend her over the moon if you’re so inclined, but marriage? Think of your future, Georg.”

His voice caught in his throat. He had to think clearly. Why were memories of Georg coming to mind at a time like this? At least the fool did take his advice. And now he has more riches then he could count, that fat bastard. The savages had surrounded them, and they took the others. The magistrate-damn-he needed her influence. The witchdoctor likely knew the cure to whatever was inside him…and it would leave a bad taste in his mouth to let Shea to die. Who was left? Oh, Amethyne.

Amethyne

“…rescue from him?...I have already embraced death, but as a warrior…such a death, bounded to a tree…I won’t pemit it!” By the time Felmorne’s figured stood in front of her, she had let fear go. Exiled it from her thoughts. Cold iron pressed against her chin. Soon, it would all be over.

“Hold a moment! I said hold you dirty forest savages!”

Martyn

Navarro’s pack held a good many things, the lordling found out. Among them was the strangest smelling pipe-weed he had ever smoked. It made his head clear by making it dizzy, made him happy by making his eyes water. Whatever it was, it made him feel invicible. So in other words, a different sort of drunkenness.

“If I get this straight you’re about to sacrifice my companions to some pagan diety of yours or some such.” Martyn could see all the arrows pointed at him, but for some reason it just didn’t register in his mind at the time. “But I don’t think He’d appreciate you sacrificing the spawn of a cursed demon in His name, don’t you think?” The cicadas echoed.

“Those three women are carrying my seed.”