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Durelin · 05-12-2003, 06:25 PM

Tareth looked up in surprise when he heard a horse trotting up beside him, but did his best to hide it as he saw Aerin ride up beside him. "Hey Tareth," she began, smiling at him, "I just wanted to say...uh..thanks for that decent apology earlier. Sincerely." Tareth knew he couldn't hide the surprise this time, as hard as he tried. "Well...I'm gladdened by that, Mistress Aerin." The woman chuckled at the title, and Tareth felt his face grow hot. Her warm smile only made it worse. "No need for titles, Tareth. Please, I am in no way a Mistress, though I am flattered that you would regard me so." Tareth returned her smile uneasily, and the woman trotted back behind him. He mentally thanked her for that; he didn't like being alone, but he was never sure of his footing around strangers. Especially ones as strange as the ones he rode with.

-------------------------

Tareth was amazed by the billowing fog. He was used to mist, but never dense cloud cover. He could barely see the grey gelding he rode on's head extending out in front of him. He could feel his companions grow uneasy by the minute. They shifted nervously in their saddles, or fingered the reigns. Their mounts, sensing their mood, periodically stamped or whinnied, the sound muffled, seeming the stop abruptly, diminished by the fog. It seemed that it couldn't be chance, that evil was pressed upon them, that something sheltered a dark threat. Tareth shivered, cold running down his back. His neck itched, as if there were eyes on them. He was about to believe that there really was something out there, but then the feeling was gone, as abruplty as it came. You're letting weather get to you. It's just bad weather. Still, he couldn't stop the feeling of dread weighing down upon him. A scouting party of Turthol, Wren, Bregand, and Calmir went off ahead in the mist, and the rest were left to wait. Tareth helped make a fire, then sat down and took out a cloth to clean his axe to pass the time.

He heard them, footsteps. At first he thought he was imagining it, the sounds were so strange in the fog, but then he noticed his other companions reacting to it. First he felt Enien tense, cutting off after her outburst of frustration. Then Rangar rose, scanning the swirling dark around him to no avail. "Friend or foe?" he called. Tareth rose, axe in hand. He walked as silently as he could over to where Rangar stood. There was no sense in giving whoever was out there an idea of how many there were, and there were few, at that, with out scouting. He had been so intent on his stealth that he missed much of the shouts from the man, or men, among the mist. "That's for sure," he heard from within the fog in front of him as he stepped up beside Rangar. "Where are you," the voice continued, "and what business have you on the downs?"

"Don't answer!" whispered Tareth, and was surprised to hear Enien do the same. Rangar paused for a moment, and Tareth watched him; the man seemed on the verge of saying something, but not sure what. ""I'm waiting for," he said finally, then paused for an instant again, continuing, to Tareth's shock, with, "For my brother to catch up with me." What was the man thinking? Couldn't he think of a more reasonable response? Tareth did have to remember that he was under pressure, but, all the same... The man in the fog seemed to believe him. "Really?" came the voice again, "Brothers are slow, aren't they?" This was getting stranger and stranger, Tareth couldn't believe it. They were talking like they were sitting down over a pleasant cup of tea! And Rangar was losing his cool, calm severity, replying with, "Um yes, sure. Um, why are you here?" Tareth shook his head sharply. Surely he was dreaming? But he was not, and he knew it. "Well," the voice began again in answer, "I won't bother you, but stay on the lookout. There is a band of men, very dangerous men mind you, lead by a fellow named ‘Rangar'. I'm looking for them." Tareth couldn't help but gasp. Who was looking for Rangar? Did Rangar know? Was he holding something back from the company? Tareth wasn't about to ask, but... "Sure," Rangar said. He sounded surprised, but he hid it well, his voice sounding natural. "We'll stay alert. Be careful on the downs in this fog." Tareth stared in amazement toward the place where source of the voice should have been, even if he could not see it, as it answered, "Thank you, I will." The footsteps began again, the sound growing softer as they walked away. Tareth was shocked, so shocked that he couldn't think of a thing to say. Rangar seemed to think it as of little importance, though he was a bit shaky. He told them they should move on, and as they moved out of the downs, the scouting party returned. The fog also shrunk a bit, becoming less dense, but it was still there, and significantly.

----------------------------------

To Tareth's dismay, the fog still remained when Rangar announced it was time to set up camp. The first watch went to Ravenne, and Tareth was chosen for the second. When he took his post, Tareth couldn't help but wonder what would result from an attack on the company in this weather. He looked around him, trying to find a break in the swirling fog, or any signs of movement. But, as hard as he tried, he couldn't see a thing beyond a few yards. And if their enemy came that close, it was far too late. It was time for Tareth to rely on his ears. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, opening his ears to the smallest sound. He had always had good hearing, but he needed to concentrate for his hearing to be best. He knew he risked the coming of sleep in closing his eyes, so he put himself in the most uncomfortable position he could, leaning against a tree. Slowly the time crept by. Crunch The sound rang in his ears, it was small, but it triggered the coming of someone. Tareth's eyes snapped open and he whirled around wildly, searching for the source of the sound. Then he realized it came from the direction of the camp, and he turned to see the faint outline of a figure. A woman, he thought, but he still held his axe at the ready. He relaxed as the person came into view, revealing Wren. She came over to take the watch, saying something had awoken her. Tareth was mildly surprised, but he was happy to comply. He had to admit he was tired, and he hoped that sleep would help take his mind off things.

------------------------------------

Tareth lay on his blanket roll for quite a long time. How long, he had no way of knowing, except that it had to be a good hour or so, since the fog was almost completely gone. His thoughts drifted to home, to his father's shop. He could hear the clanging of iron on iron, feel the heat, smell the oil and grease and flames. It was blissful, until his thoughts went to why he was not there. He remembered the battle. As quick as it had been, it was imprinted in his mind as an immense event. He had killed. The emotions rushed on him, hitting him like he had walked into a stone wall. The pain, rage, grief, anguish, loss of humanity, all the wild emotions burned in him as if he had just killed the man. Killed the man... The thought drifted on the outside of a wall of fog inside his head, much like the deep mist surrounding his body. The feelings overwhelmed him, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He immediately wiped it away, cursing himself for being weak, and the fog shrank away. He would kill in the defense of himself and others, kill if it was right. Evil had to be stopped, in all forms. Even men some are evil, if you are a man too. He would. But what did I lose? He wondered if it had been what Rangar had spoke of. Or was he yet to lose that? Thoughts swarmed his head, and the wall of mist threatened to return, but then he heard it. Another cursed sound...

Wild cries rose around him in the dark. Tareth jumped up, grabbing his axe. Men like those that had attacked earlier, with wild hair and dirty, scraggy clothing, with weapons of all kinds. A man came at him, swinging a spear wildly. Tareth lost all thought, all feeling, and he began to swing his axe as if in a dance. Dodging a swing, blocking the next, forcing the spear back, then stabbing in with his knife. Dark blood poured forth from the man's stomach, covering Tareth's hand, splattering on his shirt. But he hardly noticed, and took advantage of the seconds that the wild man stared in shock to decapitate him with a swift stroke of his axe. The head flew off, and the blood splattered Tareth in the face. He took no notice. Then he noticed Bregand. Bregand The name was stray a thought drifting into his head. It didn't matter. He charged over. Bregand turned on him, mistaking him for an enemy, and Tareth blocked the blows, thinking it an enemy. Then, the stray thought drifted back. Bregand

He stopped; Bregand stopped. A split second and they turned to face two wild men together. Tareth dodged a crazed swing of a broad - bladed sword, only for it to hit Bregand sharp on the head. With a howl of rage, Tareth lunged at the wild man, slashing and hacking. The blood stained everywhere. He fought off another, receiving a wound in the leg. Ignore it. The fighting paused for Tareth, at least, and he was able to check on Bregand. A large welt was on the young man's head, and a small trickle of blood ran down his face. It wasn't bad, but... "Bregand!" he called t him, shaking him a bit. He had to gain consciousness, or his situation would worsen. "Bregand!"

[ May 12, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

05-12-2003, 06:25 PM	#8
Durelin Estelo dagnir, Melo ring Join Date: Oct 2002 Posts: 3,063	Tareth looked up in surprise when he heard a horse trotting up beside him, but did his best to hide it as he saw Aerin ride up beside him. "Hey Tareth," she began, smiling at him, "I just wanted to say...uh..thanks for that decent apology earlier. Sincerely." Tareth knew he couldn't hide the surprise this time, as hard as he tried. "Well...I'm gladdened by that, Mistress Aerin." The woman chuckled at the title, and Tareth felt his face grow hot. Her warm smile only made it worse. "No need for titles, Tareth. Please, I am in no way a Mistress, though I am flattered that you would regard me so." Tareth returned her smile uneasily, and the woman trotted back behind him. He mentally thanked her for that; he didn't like being alone, but he was never sure of his footing around strangers. Especially ones as strange as the ones he rode with. ------------------------- Tareth was amazed by the billowing fog. He was used to mist, but never dense cloud cover. He could barely see the grey gelding he rode on's head extending out in front of him. He could feel his companions grow uneasy by the minute. They shifted nervously in their saddles, or fingered the reigns. Their mounts, sensing their mood, periodically stamped or whinnied, the sound muffled, seeming the stop abruptly, diminished by the fog. It seemed that it couldn't be chance, that evil was pressed upon them, that something sheltered a dark threat. Tareth shivered, cold running down his back. His neck itched, as if there were eyes on them. He was about to believe that there really was something out there, but then the feeling was gone, as abruplty as it came. You're letting weather get to you. It's just bad weather. Still, he couldn't stop the feeling of dread weighing down upon him. A scouting party of Turthol, Wren, Bregand, and Calmir went off ahead in the mist, and the rest were left to wait. Tareth helped make a fire, then sat down and took out a cloth to clean his axe to pass the time. He heard them, footsteps. At first he thought he was imagining it, the sounds were so strange in the fog, but then he noticed his other companions reacting to it. First he felt Enien tense, cutting off after her outburst of frustration. Then Rangar rose, scanning the swirling dark around him to no avail. "Friend or foe?" he called. Tareth rose, axe in hand. He walked as silently as he could over to where Rangar stood. There was no sense in giving whoever was out there an idea of how many there were, and there were few, at that, with out scouting. He had been so intent on his stealth that he missed much of the shouts from the man, or men, among the mist. "That's for sure," he heard from within the fog in front of him as he stepped up beside Rangar. "Where are you," the voice continued, "and what business have you on the downs?" "Don't answer!" whispered Tareth, and was surprised to hear Enien do the same. Rangar paused for a moment, and Tareth watched him; the man seemed on the verge of saying something, but not sure what. ""I'm waiting for," he said finally, then paused for an instant again, continuing, to Tareth's shock, with, "For my brother to catch up with me." What was the man thinking? Couldn't he think of a more reasonable response? Tareth did have to remember that he was under pressure, but, all the same... The man in the fog seemed to believe him. "Really?" came the voice again, "Brothers are slow, aren't they?" This was getting stranger and stranger, Tareth couldn't believe it. They were talking like they were sitting down over a pleasant cup of tea! And Rangar was losing his cool, calm severity, replying with, "Um yes, sure. Um, why are you here?" Tareth shook his head sharply. Surely he was dreaming? But he was not, and he knew it. "Well," the voice began again in answer, "I won't bother you, but stay on the lookout. There is a band of men, very dangerous men mind you, lead by a fellow named ‘Rangar'. I'm looking for them." Tareth couldn't help but gasp. Who was looking for Rangar? Did Rangar know? Was he holding something back from the company? Tareth wasn't about to ask, but... "Sure," Rangar said. He sounded surprised, but he hid it well, his voice sounding natural. "We'll stay alert. Be careful on the downs in this fog." Tareth stared in amazement toward the place where source of the voice should have been, even if he could not see it, as it answered, "Thank you, I will." The footsteps began again, the sound growing softer as they walked away. Tareth was shocked, so shocked that he couldn't think of a thing to say. Rangar seemed to think it as of little importance, though he was a bit shaky. He told them they should move on, and as they moved out of the downs, the scouting party returned. The fog also shrunk a bit, becoming less dense, but it was still there, and significantly. ---------------------------------- To Tareth's dismay, the fog still remained when Rangar announced it was time to set up camp. The first watch went to Ravenne, and Tareth was chosen for the second. When he took his post, Tareth couldn't help but wonder what would result from an attack on the company in this weather. He looked around him, trying to find a break in the swirling fog, or any signs of movement. But, as hard as he tried, he couldn't see a thing beyond a few yards. And if their enemy came that close, it was far too late. It was time for Tareth to rely on his ears. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, opening his ears to the smallest sound. He had always had good hearing, but he needed to concentrate for his hearing to be best. He knew he risked the coming of sleep in closing his eyes, so he put himself in the most uncomfortable position he could, leaning against a tree. Slowly the time crept by. Crunch The sound rang in his ears, it was small, but it triggered the coming of someone. Tareth's eyes snapped open and he whirled around wildly, searching for the source of the sound. Then he realized it came from the direction of the camp, and he turned to see the faint outline of a figure. A woman, he thought, but he still held his axe at the ready. He relaxed as the person came into view, revealing Wren. She came over to take the watch, saying something had awoken her. Tareth was mildly surprised, but he was happy to comply. He had to admit he was tired, and he hoped that sleep would help take his mind off things. ------------------------------------ Tareth lay on his blanket roll for quite a long time. How long, he had no way of knowing, except that it had to be a good hour or so, since the fog was almost completely gone. His thoughts drifted to home, to his father's shop. He could hear the clanging of iron on iron, feel the heat, smell the oil and grease and flames. It was blissful, until his thoughts went to why he was not there. He remembered the battle. As quick as it had been, it was imprinted in his mind as an immense event. He had killed. The emotions rushed on him, hitting him like he had walked into a stone wall. The pain, rage, grief, anguish, loss of humanity, all the wild emotions burned in him as if he had just killed the man. Killed the man... The thought drifted on the outside of a wall of fog inside his head, much like the deep mist surrounding his body. The feelings overwhelmed him, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He immediately wiped it away, cursing himself for being weak, and the fog shrank away. He would kill in the defense of himself and others, kill if it was right. Evil had to be stopped, in all forms. Even men some are evil, if you are a man too. He would. But what did I lose? He wondered if it had been what Rangar had spoke of. Or was he yet to lose that? Thoughts swarmed his head, and the wall of mist threatened to return, but then he heard it. Another cursed sound... Wild cries rose around him in the dark. Tareth jumped up, grabbing his axe. Men like those that had attacked earlier, with wild hair and dirty, scraggy clothing, with weapons of all kinds. A man came at him, swinging a spear wildly. Tareth lost all thought, all feeling, and he began to swing his axe as if in a dance. Dodging a swing, blocking the next, forcing the spear back, then stabbing in with his knife. Dark blood poured forth from the man's stomach, covering Tareth's hand, splattering on his shirt. But he hardly noticed, and took advantage of the seconds that the wild man stared in shock to decapitate him with a swift stroke of his axe. The head flew off, and the blood splattered Tareth in the face. He took no notice. Then he noticed Bregand. Bregand The name was stray a thought drifting into his head. It didn't matter. He charged over. Bregand turned on him, mistaking him for an enemy, and Tareth blocked the blows, thinking it an enemy. Then, the stray thought drifted back. Bregand He stopped; Bregand stopped. A split second and they turned to face two wild men together. Tareth dodged a crazed swing of a broad - bladed sword, only for it to hit Bregand sharp on the head. With a howl of rage, Tareth lunged at the wild man, slashing and hacking. The blood stained everywhere. He fought off another, receiving a wound in the leg. Ignore it. The fighting paused for Tareth, at least, and he was able to check on Bregand. A large welt was on the young man's head, and a small trickle of blood ran down his face. It wasn't bad, but... "Bregand!" he called t him, shaking him a bit. He had to gain consciousness, or his situation would worsen. "Bregand!" [ May 12, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]