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[Arahim]

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With a smile that filled the small and unlittered expanse across the table, Arahim wiped the sputtered mix of good brown ale, and saliva from his sleeve with a slow, and deliberate hand. Striker, rubbing at his mouth and chin with red faced self consciousness, did his best to gurgle out some sort of apology in between attempts to regain his composure. His eyes darting from Arahim, to Aingeal, and back again.

If the man was any more astute, or even somewhat less put off-balance, he likely would have taken offense to the smile that floated the sense of 'private joke' on invisible, unspoken rhyme.

"As any man loves his liege," Arahim added smoothly as the mage's coughing subsided.

Delighted with the use of language to further his understanding.

****************************************

Willow's slow grin bespoke equal parts mockery and genuine amusement. Her strange eyes aglitter with the more morbid details of a place surely she saw as too well-ordered.

"Several murders...and no culprit?" she asked.

"They know who did it, but he is not from there. Judas D'arc. He is of Yew, as I hear it said."

"I know the man...well of him. I sat on his lap once. Did you hang him?"

Arahim quietly shook his head.

"Imprisoned?"

"No." he said flatly, "He walks free."

"Good lawyer?" she laughed.

"As far as I know, no hands, nor charges were ever laid upon him."

"Now that...I don't understand." said the green tressed warrior, her humor somewhat slaked.

*****************************************

The brigands broke through the treeline preceded by wild shouts and rolling sheets of fire that scoured the ground and licked at the legs of their surprised victims' horses.

They brandished a motley assortment of mismatched, ill-cared for weaponry. Lightly armored in dyed leathers of dark brown, and green.

The flaming spells they hurled were meant to keep the better armed party on their heels, and offset their advantage of being mounted. A viable tactic until Striker began to sow the seeds of chaos within their ranks that needed no close proximity. Unleashing a calculated rain of lightning and eldritch bolts, and dispersing the outlaws' knot of spellcasters.

Arahim and Aingeal drove forward in the moment's respite he had created for them, laying many sad strokes into the tightly packed mob of fighters.

Axe and sword fell sing song in bloody tandem until it was seen that the forest beyond teemed with a party too large for the three alone to manage.

And so pulling back to the road Arahim, Striker, and Aingeal, singed and scraped, made fast for their original destination.

******************************************

The men of Ashencrosse were mired in the spoken word.

Be it platitudes, or the sharing of secrets with strangers, they dispensed with forward thinking in exchange for eventual promise, and a cheerful, blind faith that everyone was in good hands. And held in good faith. All the while carrying personal afflictions into the walled town's midst, openly crying out for help, and respite.

The Cursed.

The Mad.

The Murderers.

Even the nobility here once walked this theatre in a doe eyed state of undeath. Heads lowered. Saying just enough for those around to puzzle out how things were. Or saying too much to those who loved the timbre of their own voices overmuch.

Tonight, Arahim had learned of a man possessed of a malignant entity in unadulterated confession. He made no secret of it, though he knew Arahim but little, and repeated his woeful tale for others as they trickled in.

Still this man walked freely, and without supervision.

And his tale, while unique, was not unique in its delivery.

Plain spoken himself, Arahim knew there was such a thing as too honest. That there was a strong sense of control in turning ones cards over one corner at a time.

He would laugh if he did not find the propensity for such open behavior as dangerous to the greater whole.

*****************************************

Aingeal's slender fingers turned each card in its turn with an easy, practiced motion that did not deviate one from the next.

"The Empress. Nine of Wands. The Tower."

She did nothing to rush the reading to conclusion. Nor did she color what truths they spoke to her.

And her to him.

[Arahim]

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" Do you ever think on one of these trips through some forest, that oneday he'll kill us and leave us behind?"

*******************************************

The evening breeze moved through the small arbor in a swimming sea of Spring perfume. The woody scent of cedar and pine made intimate dalliance with sweet undertones of cherry blossom.

White petals fell like silent snow.

The well tended lawns were soft, and new.

Memory trailed her as she slowly made her way across the grounds, and into the house. Stopping often to touch a thing that, without reason, tugged at her for her attention.

An old lantern. The railing along the stairs. A fallen leaf.

"It doesn't seem abandoned," Striker commented while looking around the wooded wayside. Politely giving Aingeal a space he felt necessary as she reacquanited herself with the place. Oftimes keeping two or three steps behind her.

"Not abandoned, Striker, only abandoned by its owner. A rotating cast of our kinfolk still maintain its upkeep. This is still a safe haven for them."

"Who comes here, Arahim?" Aingeal asked, rounding suddenly.

"Visit. See if some of our people don't closet some answers you seek."

*******************************************

Temerity tossed his head with annoyance as Arahim slowed him to a walk. Wheeling around to relocate his companions, he quietly remonstrated the coal colored stallion on his less than genial manners at simply not getting his way. And not for the first time.

The gathering dark of twilight was made more dense in the close spaces within the forest. He feared that so close to home, he had lost Willow and Aingeal to the woods' winding ways.

Temerity snorted and stamped the ground, as Arahim strained his eyes in the gathering gloom. The horse eager to feel the wind race across his flanks again, and the freedom that a simple run could afford them.

*********************************************

Ensconced in the velvety folds of Night, he stood beneath his red maned tree, and breathed his first truly free breaths in what seemed like days.

High above, untouched by cloud, the heavens wheeled about the world, and Arahim read their story.

The Hunter crested a gibbous moon tinged blue. His twin barbed spear shone like bursts of frozen fire, angled down, as if poised to strike. Below, The Ursus ran across the horizon in great, loping strides. So low, as to touch firm ground, and share its time with both earth and starry sky. Such was its journey that the hoary beast only appeared in the months of Spring and Summer, surrendering his empyrean domain to the likes of The Serpent, and The Ravens when colder seasons made ice of even the Nightsky.

Bathed in glittering drama that covered a sleeping world, Arahim smiled.

[Arahim]

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*Posted here for the player of the character Aingeal with permission.*

The sound of nailed heels of their boots, thundered up the stone staircase, each step felt like the great Northern of wind pressing against their advance.

Aingeal could feel Arahim’s presence close, as if waiting for her to speak, yet words failed her for some time, the memory of being brought here by Merrique in the dead of winter. The air frigid against her bare skin, the cold was the most constant recollection. Here was the first meeting she had with Arahim, that natural kindness shown in his offering of a cloak, mulled wine and a place by the fire. In a flicker it was gone, but this place was familiar.

“… the night is coming, perhaps, we should being our journey back…”

“Yes...Yes that is wise” Aingeal forced out of a tight throat. The forest surrounding Ashencrosse held its own horrors and delights.

Aingeal’s thoughts were swift full of questions; will all prior memory come to her in this manner, a flood of water trying to force its way through a keyhole. It made her head ache; pulling herself up on the back of her mare, a simple nod coupled with a small smile to Arahim and Striker, the three friends found they way back onto the road, back to Ashencrosse.