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Demetria · Adventurer Joined: 31 Dec 2007 Posts: 45

As she lay shivering in the darkness of the cave that was really no more than a crevice, Demetria's mind wandered back to the incident which had brought Langois to her beloved home of Umbra.

"What gets into you, Demetria?" she whispered into the chilly and too-moist air.

She needed nobody to tell her the truthful answer to that question. The reality was, that sometimes she just got so engrossed in her archery that seemingly small details were overlooked to the point of fault. Not for the first time since this whole mess started, she wished fervently that she would have stopped and asked Shalcross to go off onto this latest adventure with her. If he had, she would not have been alone, and perhaps would have been able to prevent the current situation, or at the very least go to summon aid.

But she hadn't gone to invite him. Lately, it seemed that people made insinuations about her friendship with her human pal. One person had even asked her if they were going to mate (though they didn't really put it that politely). Much as she adored her friend, such thoughts seemed alien and too mired in details of life she had no desire to focus on. It now occurred to her that maybe she shouldn't have paid any heed to what others thought, wondered, or suggested.

~~~~~~

The day the whole ordeal began, Demetria had risen early. She was restless, more-so than usual, and decided the only way to ease the odd, disembodied anxiety was to commune with her bow, the woods, and her pony--in no particular order so long as the three came together. The lands of Ilshenar seemed to be as good of a place as any to begin the journey.

Armor in good repair and donned, quiver amply stocked, bow finely tuned, she set out and burst through the moongate at Compassion. Her eye turned toward the possibility of wyverns a short ride toward the north, she was unable to stop the grim little smile that edged her mouth. Just past the place where the gypsies of that region sometimes camped, the first arrow flew through the air.

It actually grazed the part of her armor which covered her bicep. Stunned yet furious, she reigned her mount from a full gallop down to a trot in a small circle familiar only to those horses who were familiar with intense training or warring. As she was trained to do, she immediately tried to calculate the area from which the projectile flew.

And saw absolutely nothing that answered the query.

As if in reply, another arrow hurtled toward her, missing her only because her well trained mount was commanded to execute a dance-like step to the left. In that moment, she realized that whoever the assailant was, she would have been hit--and hit hard--had it been their intent.

Senses heightened by the surge of adrenaline, she saw a shadow-like form taking cover in a copse of juniper bushes with an impressive ease. Instinct drove her hands as she launched her own bolt in reciprocity. Though the stalker was unseen, she knew she came close.

The hunt was on. With a small sound that might have eventually given birth to a giggle, she spurred her horse into the east.

"Let the games begin," she muttered as she dismounted to take a drink of water from a small pool, as she waited to see if the game of cat and mouse would continue.

Soon enough another arrow came within inches of her person. With a grin, she quickly mounted the horse and fired her own volley in return.

It was in these first few exchanges that she truly believed this to be a test of some sort, something an Umbran elder had ordered to test her mettle.

~~~~~~

It was with a stony lament that Demetria eventually realized this was no test, and the mysterious shooter was no Umbran.

Demetria · Adventurer Joined: 31 Dec 2007 Posts: 45

With the conviction in her heart that she was being tested, or perhaps even trained, Demetria rode on. Each shot exchanged was returned with another in kind between the Umbran and the as-yet unseen opponent. Through the lands of Ilshenar the pair battled, stalked, and evaded. It seemed as though there was some unspoken agreement between the pair that there would be restive periods interspersed with sometimes grueling and sometimes casual combat.

Sometimes the battle's pauses came in the day when the sun was high, and others when the moonlight rode the land. Time became liquid, and soon enough days had passed...they melted into one another.

Eventually decisions had to be made. The supply of reagents and bolts was beginning to run low to the point of concern. Still thinking she was being tested, Deme decided that to flee or give up would result in failure and shame, and she pushed forward.

It had become apparent that her foe must have ridden a ghostly mount, as they were able to keep pace with her in a silence that might have struck some as eerie. This was good information, she figured, as at the very least it helped keep the playing field level--in a manner of speaking, anyway. As fatigue, and often hunger, crept its way over the young fighter, it had an odd effect of the likes she'd never experienced.

It sharpened her senses! The colors were alive and vibrant, the clarity with which she saw and heard and sensed the environment was drug-like in its intensity.

This is the life Umbra wants for me. I love it! she thought. As if in response, her stomach made a loud sound protesting its hunger. She cursed under her breath, as she realized that the sound was probably enough to give away her position in a darkened grove of trees.

The answer to the thought was received when an arrow caught her high on her left thigh. Her leather armor stood no chance to fully halt the brutal tip, and she inhaled sharply. Ignoring the pain, she spurred the horse onward with the idea in mind that she would deal with the wound when she next rested.

Would she have looked down she might have noticed just how badly she was bleeding.

So it was that she discovered a serious downside of the rush caused by the very same bodily chemicals that had created such clarity and energy. It was her fortune--or perhaps in the end, misfortune--that her opponent melded back into the shadows from which he (she?) emerged from that day the first exchange took place.

Weak with blood loss and waning energy, Demetria was able to heal the wound and drink enough water to lift her falling blood pressure. She rested fitfully, but awoke refreshed enough to know that she would not soon give up.

Demetria · Adventurer Joined: 31 Dec 2007 Posts: 45

Several Months Past

In the Heartwood, things went along much as they always had before Demetria's arrival and after her removal from the community. Though the decision to put out a child seemed harsh, the elders convened and agreed that it must be done for the greater good. Nature would take over and the child would perish on her own. After all, would she not have perished as an infant, had they not taken her in in the first place? So it was with some surprise that when a Heartwood resident spied the girl, and discovered that she made her home in the dark city of Umbra, on Malas. Not only this, she appeared to have the body and movement of a fully grown adult. What dark magic was working here? Certainly nothing permissible by Nature.

This was not acceptable to the elders. Perhaps it was ego, perhaps it was a power-play, but the end result was the same. The order was given for Demetria to be dispatched. A band of skilled archers was gathered, and footmen sent forth to discover her habits and such. Once the information was gotten, the archers were deployed.

Present Day

With luck, Demetria would not last an hour, no less a full day. But Umbra was known for its ruthlessness so precautions were taken 'just in case'.

When the first comrade fell, the other elves met this with shock and surprise. The second moved into position, the band moved forward. For whatever reason, the remaining members of the group did not take the time to return the body to the ground from which life sprang. Their query was moving onward, her pale face set grimly beneath the fringe of her long hair.

Their surprise turned to anger when the second archer fell. It was apparent that the girl had taken an injury, yet still she did not surrender.

This was no game. It was war.

Demetria · Adventurer Joined: 31 Dec 2007 Posts: 45

The Umbran had no idea that there was more than one person stalking her. Indeed the band from the Heartwood had covered their theories well, dressing alike, using the same bows, the arrows crafted by the same fletcher. They took turns moving forward, more cautious now since two of them had fallen to the deadly bolts sent forth by the Umbran. Anger passed between the remaining members of the band. To lose one brother was bad enough--to lose a second surpassed all insult and tempted a feeling much like rage. Without coming out and saying so among themselves to avoid the embarrassment of admitting potential loss to a lone and wounded woman-child (though they did occasionally share comments and questions regarding the query's adult appearance), it was known that the stakes had been upped dramatically. The chase would end in their favor. Failure was not an option in the outcome.

The Pursuit Continues

Demetria panted and held leaves she seemed to remember holding an antiseptic property to the wound high upon her leg. Her magic, though weak, was able to at least close the injury but somehow it did not seem to want to stay closed. Bending forward to add pressure to the impromptu poultice, she was all too aware that she was quite literally bare-bottomed and had no clue as to where her pursuer lurked. Unfortunately this was the only way to get the medicine onto the festering spot she'd taken an arrow; she'd already patched the hole in her armor and even if she hadn't, it was too small to effectively get medicinal plants onto her skin.

Somewhere in her mind the idea pranced around that perhaps she'd taken a hit with something poisoned, perhaps one of those fancy time-delay numbers she'd heard tell of. If that was the case, she figured, there was little or nothing she could do about it now. All she knew was that one way or another she would not fail or surrender. Test or not, friend or foe alight after her, she would return victorious or she would return to attend her own funeral.

The tingling at the site of the wound told her that the plant material was working. She tossed aside the poultice, hiked up her leggings, and belted them. Feeling much less exposed and vulnerable, she knelt to dig a small hole in the ground in which to bury the evidence of her first aid.

It was a movement that few would notice that caught her eye. Her reaction so ingrained, so instinctive, the bolt flew from her crossbow along with remnants of the poultice that only moments ago she'd been trying to bury.

She heard the bolt hit its target, heard the sharp inhaled breath. A combination of fear and anger welled up inside of Demetria, and she kept her bow on the ready as she approached the place where she had heard the thud of a body hitting the ground; her pony stood nearby, unconcerned with the situation.

The archer had fallen face down, and with a tentative yet also rough movement, she toed the body onto its back.

What lay at her feet was no Umbran. Her mind raced through a list of sorts of the many Umbran allies--and enemies--she'd met in her time since becoming one with Umbra. This elven body was that of a stranger.

Before her brain had the time to process the implications of this discovery, several things happened simultaneously. First, she detected motion not far from where her pony stood grazing. The second thing to happen was letting the bolt fly, at the same time she realized that whoever stood in the camouflage offered by the forest wore a robe exactly like the body at her feet. Just as that realization was processed, her pony emitted a terrible squeal of pain and the beautiful buckskin colored animal who had served her so well went down to its knees before falling dead. Another of her bolts sailed into the cover held by the final elf standing, and unknown to Demetria hit its mark. Though the shot missed the elf's heart, it came impressively close to the mark considering the final shot was more or less based on guesswork.

The final thing that happened in those fleeting moments was the one that most affected Demetria. An arrow caught her square in the shoulder and it seemed like fire raced through her veins so great was the pain. Perhaps it was not poisonous, but certainly the projectile was imbued with magic. Unable to lift her crossbow, she staggered toward the crevice she'd seen in the base of the mountain she'd been following. In she went, her last conscious thought before the world went gray was shocking and embarrassing.

While tending the infection on her thigh, she'd left her pack strapped to the pony's withers. She had no reagents, she had no spellbook, she had no books to guide her way home on her person. Demetria sank into a blissful place where these thoughts could not torment her.

Sadly, the same blackness kept her from knowing that there was only one pursuer left, and that person--like herself--carried a grave injury.

Demetria · Adventurer Joined: 31 Dec 2007 Posts: 45

With the help of some preternatural wash of strength and stoicism, and against common sense and training, Demetria managed to pull the shaft out of her shoulder. It was a good hit, she had to admit to herself with a grim sort of acknowledgment of the other archer's skill. The shot hit her from the front, right at the very place where the shoulder meets the torso. Unless she was imagining things, the tip of the arrow managed to assail bone somewhere in there. In pulling the intruding arrow free, yet more damage was caused to the already flagging well being of Demetria.

Slumping against the wall of the cave-like crevice she'd taken shelter in, a morbid curiosity crossed her mind. Just how long had she been unconscious with this arrow sticking out of her? There was just enough light to see that there was plenty of dried blood that found its way through the puncture of her armor. A few moments were spent looking stupidly at the arrow, and it finally dawned on Demetria what was wrong with it. Part of the tip was missing. The idea of having something like that embedded in her body turned her stomach, and it gave a good lurch. She tossed the arrow aside.

It was time to think, time to try to figure out a plan. She knew she was too weak to make it to the fallen horse to gather some things that might be of aid to her. With a Herculean effort, she somehow managed to remove the cloth tunic that covered her armor. This she gingerly placed just outside the crevice, in the hope that it would collect enough moisture through the daily changes of weather, and enable to her to suck enough moisture from it to sustain her.

What she saw when she leaned out, tunic in hand, made her smile. There lay the final archer, who had stumbled forward from their cover sometime in the moments after the final volley of shots were fired. Perhaps knowing there were no more archers was intuition, or perhaps it was wishful thinking. Regardless, this greatly pleased the young woman.

Remembrance of her initial belief that it was Umbra testing her mettle tiptoed across her mind, and it made her very sad for a moment to realize just how perilous the entire situation had been from the beginning. She knew in her heart that Umbra had nothing to do with this. Umbra would never hire out for something like this. Had she done something so terrible as to warrant her death, it would have been dealt with within the dark family and with her full knowledge of the punishment, and the why of it.

Demetria staggered back into the crevice, and, having forgotten about the crossbow she'd been unable to lift after being shot, stumbled on it in the darkness. It lay where it had fallen when she originally lost consciousness. Pain exploded from her shoulder, and a little display of fireworks erupted before her vision. Down she went, toe still caught against the stock of the weapon, back into the peaceful land of the unconscious. En route to the dank floor, she also managed to receive a stunning blow to the side of her head.

Once again the lone young Umbran woman sank back into the quiet bliss where the pain seemed far away, like distant birdsong heard on a faint wind. At some point the unconsciousness turned to sleep, and Demetria dreamed.

She dreamed of Umbra's quiet and orderly streets. She dreamed of her friend Shalcross, and his ma who always fed her so well. In the dream, she could have sworn she even smelled the often baked pizzas from that household. Random pictures marched across her sleeping vision; some happy, some sad, some angry. The pictures changed, and her mind showed her images from within the Heartwood. Demetria saw, from a bird's eye point of view, the very elders who had elected to remove her from the only home she'd known before Umbra. In her subconscious, she suddenly realized with a fair amount of certainty what had happened.

However, when next she awoke, these things she did not remember. Demetria simply came awake after again losing time to the darkness, her head throbbing and apparently bleeding, her shoulder afire, and a dull throbbing feeling high up on her leg where the first serious wound seemed determined to fester. Cautiously, she was able to eventually find herself vaguely upright, kneeling upon one knee as if a knight before his king, hands supporting herself on the chilly stone wall. She could see that the outside light hand changed.

She cocked her head, listening for the smallest sound. All that came to her ears were the small sounds of nature that one finds along the forested base of a mountain. Squinting, she saw that the other archer still lay as they had fallen.

The little mirthless smile that was quickly becoming her personal hallmark passed her lips once more.

Rei Ukiyo · Visitor Joined: 31 Dec 2008 Posts: 10 Location: Zento

Some days earlier, prior to Demetria's current predicament...

*Chomp chomp chomp*

This was one tasty apple. Rua sank back against the building across from the gypsy's residence and awaited her regular daily entertainment. With each bite of juicy sweetness she somehow managed to dribble some of the apple nectar down her chin. For the umpteenth time that morning, she drew a cloth across her face to mop it up. Judging by the scent of morning, her quarry would soon be here, and she wanted to have breakfast done by then. She hastened, taking the apple bite by bite now recklessly. Mess be damned, she would clean it off when she was fully finished. Bite after scrumptious bite, this was heavenly stuff, this, and presently she held triumphantly in her grasp the core of the apple. She kissed it and tossed it over her shoulder, to join a not so small pile of similar apple cores, left there on previous visits and stalkings.

Demetria would be here any minute to take Shalcross out with her on another of their adventures. Rua practically tingled with excitement. The two younger Umbrans always found something fun to do, and she delighted in following and observing their explores. One day, she might actually ask to go along, but for now though, following unseen added to the thrill. Today's escapade would begin any second now...

Okay, maybe Demetria was running late this morning. Possibly she had slept in after too much fun the evening before. That had to be it. Rua chided herself to settle down and relax, be patient and she would arrive shortly.

Only she didn't. The minutes ticked by and Shalcross had even peeked out of an above stairs window once, and there was no Demetria today.

Rua stood up, stubbornly. This was not how she had planned her day at all to go. She would seek Demetria out and somehow steer her along her usual course.

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

It had been an excellent plan, at first. Rua scoured Umbra, speaking to shopkeeper after shopkeeper. She reflected that they might have been more forthcoming with information if they hadn't caught her lightening their lockboxes a few times during the past year. Oh well, the more polite ones were still eager to help, despite her reputation with them. Demetria they recognized, but not seen recently. Good luck finding her, they added.

She had better luck at the stables. The stable hand had assured her that Demetria had taken her horse with her that morning. She trusted his information, as he had little reason to distrust her. The stables had never held anything of interest to her to merit stealing.

But she had never shown up at Shalcross' house. Rua gave a derisive snort. Did the girl mean to hog all of today's adventuring for herself? Not if she could help it, Rua decided. She turned toward the stablemaster with a string of questions, most of which concerned how many actual horses had left from the place, in what direction, and at about what time.

It was in this manner that she chose the correct trail Demetria's horse left. With her elven gift for tracking, she followed the prints, eventually arriving at the Umbran public moongate. It figured that she had gone into a moongate, now Rua only had about thirty other gates to search. She decided to narrow it down based on what she knew of Demetria's past adventures, and check the Ilshen gates, first. This was becoming an adventure of its own, she noticed.

She only hoped that she would be able to continue discerning the girl's tracks from the various other tracks left by people on horseback.

Demetria · Adventurer Joined: 31 Dec 2007 Posts: 45

Weak but determined, when the day broke, Demetria managed her way to the opening of the crevice. Her hand snaked out and grabbed the tunic she'd left just outside in the hope it would absorb dew. Luck was with her, it was damp almost to the point of saturation.

Greedily, she brought it to her lips and sucked the water from it. She was careful to avoid the bloodstained spots--after a prior incident in which she was attacked by a vampire the idea of drinking blood, any blood, repulsed her. As it stood she was vegetarian, having never been given the opportunity to acquire a taste for meat in the Heartwood. Her worth there was so minimal, so negligible, that it simply was not given to her. Thinking of those things, a surge of anger welled up in her, giving her a bit of extra strength.

The frigid look returned to her face, the odd little half-smile played upon her lips. Into the quiet of the cave, she declared. "I'm Umbran now you bastards. You'll pay. All of you will pay."

She resumed the pursuit of extracting moisture from the tunic.

Demetria · Adventurer Joined: 31 Dec 2007 Posts: 45

When she peered out of the crevice in which she had taken up an inadvertent residence, Demetria got a good whiff of the odor rising up from the festering wound on her shoulder. As she leaned to pick up the saturated tunic just before dawn, her stomach churned and protested the smell of her own broken flesh.

She would prefer to believe that it was her anger that kept her gut in check. What a romantic idea, to be so strong as to be able to defy nature. Realistically, having lost a lot of weight from an already lithe figure, the truth was probably a little closer to there having been no bit of potential resource to give up. How long had it been since she'd eaten anything but carefully picked bits of grass? Days? Weeks? It seemed as if time wore on forever here.

Try as she might, she could not hear that little whisper of what she had all along assumed to be the Void. Somehow this made her a little more uptight than being away from Umbra. But then, she pondered, perhaps being away from Umbra had something to do with that part of her which always seemed so in tune with that vast darkness. That low murmuring she often heard was long departed. It really tweaked her to feel so abandoned by the dark comfort of the Void. She wondered if she had failed it, as she had failed Umbra by being caught in such an embarrassing predicament.

Muttering to herself, she was taunted by the sound of running water though she did not remember seeing any in the moments that led to this cursed confinement. Her head was pounding, in part from dehydration accompanied by malnourishment, and in part from the wounds she'd sustained. This was definitely an angry and grim feeling individual. Demetria suspected that, should she emerge triumphant--that is, with her life intact--she would do so a much different person than she'd been at the outset. She was unsure if she looked forward to, or dreaded, finding out.

If only she could get to the putrefying corpse of the pony she had spent so much time running about with. She simply did not have the strength; it was all she could do to huddle just inside the crevice and keep her movements to a minimum. Moving cost too much by way of exertion and effort.

She kept reminding herself to stay calm. Only the phrase she really used was, Stay cool, Deme. Stay cool. So thinking, she fell back into the fitful rest of the gravely ill and injured.

Demetria · Adventurer Joined: 31 Dec 2007 Posts: 45

From the landscape of dreams and nightmares, she became aware of the presence. A presence. Squinting around the cave, she stayed perfectly still. No evidence of anything. Or anybody. With a frown, Demetria condemned herself as paranoid, though she did move her foot in such a way as to make the dagger in her boot more accessible. Perhaps she could not lift her crossbow, but a dagger she could well manage.

Sleep gone completely, she sat watching the night go by as much as one can do from a large crack in a mountain's face. As if to parry the flood of paranoia, she suddenly felt eerily calm.

Maybe, she thought in her vigilance, too calm.

She wondered if this was what it felt like to die.