Vincent followed the others to the stream. Automatically his hand went to his nose as he watched them jump into the stink, one after another, and start swimming upstream. The druid decided against following them. For one, he couldn't swim, even if it wasn't very deep. Two; it was hard to swim in robes that would be made heavy in water. And three; the stink would stay in his robes forever.

With a distastefull look on his face, and walked back to where they had been. Vondell had apparently come to the same conclusion of deciding not to swim in the sewer because he was starting to scout the area. He soon found a road that led to a gate in the city wall. The bard came back to those that were left, and told them about it.

After some discussing and planning, they came to the conclusion that Vincent could put a disguise spell on them and go through the gat without too much trouble.

The druid closed his eyes and raised his arms. Under his breath he said a long line of unaudible lyrics, and the top of his staff started to glow a dull red. He concentrated on imagining the towns people from the small village on the island. With a small flash, they all looked like someone from the village. Vincent like the healer's apprentice, Von like a random fisherman.

With a nod to each other, they made their way to the road and made their way along it. At the gate they weren't questioned much, but let in after they showed the strange scar on their palms that came with the disguise spell.

After they passed through the gates, and walked a few blocks, they found a nice dark alleyway where Vincent released the spell so they all looked like themselves again. The druid sat down on a crate, and pulled a small palm-sized mirror from his robes.
"You go on, and I'll watch from here. If you get captured, you'll need someone to get you out of trouble," he stated simply and watched them run off.


It wasn't long before they could hear the clang of metal on metal. Vondell quickened his pace and soon came to an interesting site. The part of the group that had taken a dip in the sewer had ran into some trouble. But the trouble wasn't humans. They were... elves? He stood back and watched the scene...

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(}--{)Imagination Inspires Ideas -Zandain(}--{)
Married Cloud Strife 9/17/08

Alanna had instinctively followed the dark-braided, imperious girl into the alley - the least she could do was watch someone's back - and into the melee that followed. At least this one wasn't being fought with range weapons, which meant that she stood more of a chance of holding her own. Not much more, but more. And her back seemed to have been tolerable mended by the nano.

She ducked under a kick, then, loath to lose the momentum, continued the turn into a kick, smashing her boot into her leaning assailant's jaw with the unmistakable squish of toxic water. He went down, either from the impact or from the odor. She didn't care which; he was still down.

She had her knife out now, just in time (of course) to catch the blade of a sword and tilt it away, declining to take the full impact on her knife. Lunging forward in that split second of the opponent's recovery, she got inside his range, rendering his advantage useless, and sank her blade between his ribs - she hadn't time to get it any higher. He bent forward, instinctively, in agony, and she was thrown violently backwards, stumbling on a form lying on the ground, which landed her ingloriously on her rear.

Alanna rolled to her side, then to her feet in a crouch, ready to finish the man off once and for all. He was standing straight - and cloaked - and much taller than she remembered.

No, it wasn't the same man. This one had a crossbow trained on the one she'd stabbed, who was by now writhing on the ground.

From the depths of the hood, a green-gold eye, its pupil slit like a cat's, roved lazily in her direction. "That won't be necessary." She could have sworn that the otherworldly creature was almost amused.

[I thought the cat eyes would be interesting.]

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<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

"This way," the lead elf said, and with a last flicker of his green eyes toward the rest of the group, he shot away. The cloak, billowing behind him like a storm cloud, retreated into the street. It whipped around as he halted at the end of the block to stand, a tall shadow within the shadows of the hunched houses. "Coming?"

Ryairon spun as a succession of clacks pierced the melee, followed by the thunks of armored bodies hitting the ground. The tide of soldiers had subsided to a dribble that advanced along the sides of the street, dashing in and out from behind the walls in hopes of striking a blow. The elves slung their crossbows over their shoulders and loosened formation. Blades hissed from slender scabbards. Human soldiers surged forward, then fell back in a flurry of ringing steel, then scattered, finally, in a full retreat.

They didn't get far. Most of them dropped without a scream. Some still thrashed on the ground. Without missing a beat, the elves wheeled around to finish them off.

Ryairon swallowed and returned her stare to the lead elf, who still waited at a bend in the street. She started forward but stopped, breath catching in her throat. "Who are you?"

Somewhere near the center of the city, a horn blared over the rooftops.

"Call to arms. Reinforcements will be here soon." He shrugged. "Your choice."

A few of her companions were moving forward, though not without hesitation. The horn blared again, three quick bursts that echoed into the night. She didn't care to estimate the size of the garrison. Soldiers could overwhelm them by numbers alone. Perhaps the sewers offered another escape? Bloody, stinking sewers. She took another step toward the elf. Ah, curse it. It wasn't as though they had anything to lose. She broke into a stride, then a run.

The elf pivoted and vanished into another alley.

This alley, unlike the last one, opened into a second street lined with square, low-roofed buildings that appeared to be warehouses. They raced past peeling walls and locked doors, the green-eyed elf leading and his men, hauling their casualties along, bringing up the rear. He never stumbled, never faltered in the darkness, and Ryairon found herself panting to not only keep up but to skirt around the mounds of refuse littering her path. At last they stopped at a warehouse perfectly identical with the rest, the elf skidding to a halt so abruptly that she almost barreled into him. He flicked her the universal look of disdain - eyebrow quirked, upper lip slightly curled - before placing a hand on the door, which swung noiselessly open.

Beyond the threshold, seated silently among piles of half-opened crates and splintered barrels, waited another hooded figure, its arms hidden among the folds of its robes. It rose to its feet when they entered. It spoke, and its voice - her voice - flowed against the bare walls of the storage room like water against rock. Her pitch turned up at the end. An inquiry.

The green-eyed elf replied in the same fashion, with the same curling inflections and smooth dips in rhythm, and gestured at the newcomers he'd brought with him.

"Commander Telune attempts to persuade me of the pragmatism of mutual trust." The she-elf turned to them. Blue eyes glittered under the shadows of her hood. Her voice, no longer graceful, tripped harshly over the unfamiliar cadences. "I say that trust, like justice, has long ceased to exist in this world. Remove your weapons."

No one budged.

"I said to remove your weapons."

Swords clattered. Ryairon glanced down to see her weapons belt heaped on the floor next to her bow, as well as the knives she'd concealed in various spots on her person.

The she-elf lowered her left arm. Her right arm still remained, motionless, within the folds of her robes. "You will be entering a zone in which I have prohibited the use of magic. If you resist, you may find your life in peril, and not necessarily by my hand. Do I make myself clear?"

"Your word." The green-eyed elf - Commander Telune - swiveled to face them. "Give us your word that you will guard our secrecy in this city."

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Jate looked in astonishment at the daggers now at his feet. Apparently, magic was commonly used in this strange land. Glancing around, he saw the others with their own little piles, some more and some less nervous at the display of magic than he. His earlier companion was giving a bemused smirk at the several daggers, bow, and arrow quiver that had collected and was partially hidden by his cloak. The smirk, though, did not extend to the elves surrounding them or the woman who had cast the spell. Jate could not blame him. He wasn't exactly on the friendliest of terms with the elves in his world - one really can't be when they attempt to kill you multiple times.

He couldn't help grimacing at the smell rolling off of the group in waves. It certainly would make an impression on the graceful beings, an impression of filth and the "commonness" of humans. Jate, for one, was not wanting to keep it that way. He was a king, and for the bloody seven levels of the underworld, he was going to show these people there was at least one civilized person in their midst.

Stepping alongside Ryairon, Jate swept his cloak back and folded his arms. "Secrecy will only go so far," he said in a commanding voice. At least, it was commanding in his country. "Will it help us find the person or persons who brought us here? As I see it, had we stayed quiet and secret" -here he threw a glance at Ryairon- "you may not have found us."

Mikol, while slightly bemused at the collection of weapons - where had that dagger come from? Oh yes, it had been pocketed in his cloak for years now, shortly after the Dark Leaders had gathered in council. The thought brought up more thoughts of his homeland, including the damage of the Enlightened. His gaze narrowed, and he looked swiftly to the elves around him. Magic users. In his land, they were detestable creatures who used their powers to enslave the common folk, making them believe they were helping and yet just performing small "miracles." The folk would go about every bidding if they saw enough of a magic user.

The words of the she-elf caught his ear. An area prohibited to use magic? Well, that was a fortunate turn of events. The small smile came back as he examined his companions, half of which seemed to use it on a daily basis and were not happy with the way things were headed. The room had grown silent, a battle of wills between their self appointed leader, Ryairon, and the elf. It was not broken by either of them, but from a more surprising source. That one youth he had spoken to earlier, the one who appeared to be nobility moved forward and seemingly challenged the two at once with one statement. Now this could be interesting. Mikol looked from one to the other.

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going on a journey through my old claims

OOC: Okay, this really moved. I kinda forgot to tell anyone that I was going on vacation in England for about a month before I left and never got on a computer. So would it be all right if I bring Kayne back in somehow?

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

None of the magic-users - to whom the elven commander's words had seemed to be directed - seemed keen on the idea of speaking up. Raign shifted from foot to foot impatiently, waiting - oceans, what were they, a pack of dithering numbskulls?

As one of the younger men stepped forward, the one who styled himself some sort of monarch, Raign found that she was not in a mood to tolerate the kind of mindless negotiations that would inevitably follow. Did they have anywhere else to go? No. Was there any reason to defy a group of genetically superior elves who seemed likely to turn less than benevolent at the first given opportunity? Likewise - not a one.

Fed up, Raign folded her arms over her chest. "Aye, we'll guard your secrecy," she acquiesced, tone reminiscent of frost, and shot the young man who'd spoken a look. She hoped it was sufficiently eloquent to get her point across - idiot, just go along with it. "And there will be no magic," she added, eying those who were gifted with such, then returning her gaze to the impassive countenance of the elf commander. There was no reading that expression. Raign attempted to make hers as flatly unemotional. "Do we have an accord?"

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[anyone posting? Doctor? Ellie (if you're feeling better)? I'm about to move this forward, and it might be hard to re-enter any characters at that point.]

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(I think a fair amount of us are a little lost from being gone.)

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<center>

I'll try to get a post up tonight or tomorrow morning.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

Jeniya rolled away from the soldier, only to find out that she had moved right next to a hooded stranger. He put his sword right at her throat before she could react.

"Come with us," he said darkly. Jeniya, realising that resisting was futile, got up and followed him. As they ran to join the rest of the group, the hood that the stranger was wearing blew off, revealing his pointed ears. Jeniya gulped. Elves...

She followed the elf through alleyways and streets, the sounds of the small brawl fading in the distance. Finally they stopped where another elf, a female one, stood. She simply ordered them to remove their weapons. With great reluctance, she took off her weapons and laid them on the floor. She eyed the female elf suspiciously as she allowed the self-declared leaders of their group make the decisions.

_________________

I was cured all right.

OOC: I'm a little confused about some things, so if things in my post don't match up with what has gone on then tell me.

Kayne awoke in darkness. Not absolute darkness, but darkness nonetheless. What's more, the others had left him. And the woman—What was her name? Alanna?—still had his sword! "Bloody inconsiderate people," Kayne muttered to himself as he searched about for his staff and blasting rod. To his relief, neither had been taken, more than likely because no one else in the group could utilize them.

His next task was to figure out a way to track them. A cool breeze wafted through the trees, bringing with it the sour copper stench of blood. Which gave Kayne an idea. He could use one of the companion's bloods to link a compass in his pocket to the real person the blood came from. Incidentally, he kept the compass in there for just these circumstances. Well, not these exact ones, but ones where he needed to find someone or something. His eyes flitted about, searching for one of the group's blood.

Which brought him to the largest flaw in is plan; there was way too much blood around for him to know what blood belonged to a specific person. For all he knew he could take blood from one of their attackers and he didn't have the time to waste on that.

So Kayne required another strategy if he was to find the others that he had been lumped with because of his unknown benefactor dumping him here with out a clue. He ran his hand down over his face in frustration and finally realized something that he should have realized as soon as he woke. He wasn't injured. Not even a little bit. Not a bruise, cut, or scrape existed on his body. Even scars from previous fights with magical (or mundane) creatures had been left on him

Strange, he though as he paced along the shore, waves almost lapping at his shoes but retracting only moments before contact. He liked the sea, the calming noise of breaking waves, especially while he was alone. It was serene, and helped him think, which was definitely what he needed right now. Of course, the multiple bodies and a substantial quantity of blood covering the same beach did ruin the serenity a little bit, but Kayne was willing to take what he could get.

He finally figured it out and would have smacked himself upside the head if it wouldn’t have wasted precious seconds that he needed to catch up to the rest. His answer was in his sword, Alanna still had it, and Kayne was the one who had created it, so Kayne could easily track it as, in a way, the blade was him (As part of his will is in the blade). He quickly began preparing for the spell. Wizards are not what you might think. It isn't like the movies where they can do everything without any preparation. Real wizards spend tons of time preparing their magic before using it. The results are usually a lot less showy too. Such as this tracking spell. There would be no magical beacon pointing to the sword, no flashing lights as the spell was cast, nothing at all.

Kayne finished his preparations, which consisted drawing a circle around himself in the sand with his staff, placing the compass and scabbard on the ground inside the circle, and investing a tiny bit of his will into the circle to keep out the swirling magical eddies that permeated worlds. The circle closed with an audible snap, though only Kayne and other wizard could hear it very well. He invested another tiny bit of will, linking the compass to the scabbard, which was in turn linked to the blade that usually resided in it. When he was sure that the link would survive at least one sunrise (The magical 'reset time,' when all magic is nullified unless it is strong enough and even then it is weakened.), he broke the circle by pushing a bit of sand over it. The compass began to point unerringly of in a direction.

Kayne's next problem was transportation, he didn't know any teleportation spells, but they wouldn't help him, as he only knew the direction of the sword, not the exact location. So a more mundane means of travel. He looked down the beach at the village. More specifically at the boats moored at their docks. That'll do, he thought as he made his way over there. All the fishermen were sleeping, obviously assuming that all the strangers had left or died. Well, not his problem. He untied the boat from its moorings and pushed off. Kayne then cast another spell, though much less powerful than the tracking spell, it propelled the boat in the direction the compass needle pointed at a good speed.

OOC: I'll post the rest tomorrow morning, if that's all right.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

(Hurries to post for Kira)

Kira had been following the group like a blinded rat for the past hour or so. She had no true intention of ever coming with them when they first set off. The suggestion by the girl to have some stay behind sounded rather appeasing. However, with the unease of seeing person after person after creature, the best word she could think of at the drop of a hat for 'not a person', leave, Kira decided to tag along at the end. She would dry off soon enough from the ucky tunneling water and be able to use her powers once more.

Now standing beside a few select individuals, Kira has dazed off for a moment to be rudely taken back from her remembrance of the Gilmore Girls to encounter such mundane discussions as what to do in order not to die in this land. She listened with half an ear and was able to pick up on the overal concept of "no weapons, no magic, give word, protect yada yada yada of the land". Whatever, Kira thought to herself, without being such the idiot to show what she was thinking, I'll just do what they say and be done with this.

Kira jolted to a halt in her thought pattern. It had suddenly occured to her that this event was not as easily shown before her as she had priorly assumed. Give us your word, she thought with a silent lip mouthing to coincide, How? Kira did not have weapons, and he figured the typical handshake would not suffice. So, out of pure logical conclusion, Kira deemed the best action would be no action as she stood with her arms crossed, awaiting for the next order to come barking out of the she-elf leader.

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<center>

(Well, actually, Doc, I thought she left the sword with Kayne, but disregarding practicality, we can say she still has it... )

Secrecy and the abandonment of magic? It didn't sound like such a terrible bargain to Alanna, considering that her life was the forfeit. And in her case, it was just secrecy. "Not a problem for me," she drawled, her words dropping into the silence that followed the woman-captain's assent. When exactly the group had voted her in charge, Alanna wasn't sure, but so far she hadn't done anything stupid.

Keeping an eye on her knife, lying on the floor by the argumentative man's swordblade (who, she notice, didn't appear to have come with them), Alanna took a seat on a nearby barrel, crossing her arms over her chest. Sure, she was using general cockiness as a shield for her extremely uncertain grasp of the situation, but what was a life-threatening situation without an utterly brazen attitude? She had plenty of experience. Usually, though, the engineer knew what was going on.

This secrecy thing, though, could land them in deep trouble. "Just a gut feeling," she muttered under her breath.

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<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

[Bah, sorry. Work on this holiday week has been extremely busy. I'll post soon, I promise.]

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"Who are you?"
"I am the Sage-Child, bearer of wisdom past and hope for tomorrow.
Join me and see what was and must be.
Youth and age can conspire, if you just believe..."

I flew all the way from Texas to New England to spend two weeks with miss Nienor. 5 of those days were to survive on an uninhabited island. Booyah.

[Right, apologies about the pace. I'll give you guys the weekend to catch up, how's that? Doctor, you could pretend that Kayne was with them the entire time.]

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OOC: I've a quick way to get Kayne back in, so if you don't mind I'll do that. And sorry about the delay, but this is not only the Fourth of July for my town, but the Quasqui-centenial (Or for those of us who don't speak Latin, the 125th centenial. At least, thats what I've been told it means.) is going on this weekend too. So is been a [s]little[/s] very hetic.

IC: Kayne snuck into the harbour with no trouble. He followed the point on the compass, descretly checking it at regular intervals. It led to one of the many warehouses, nothing special about it. There was an open window on the side, about ten feet off the ground.

Kayne murmered a word and the air hardened into a disk beneath his feet. With a gesture up at the window, his rose up to it. It was a tight squeeze, but Kayne managed to get through, keeping himself from an ungraceful plummet by bringing back the disk of air.

He listened to the elve's words and their demands as he moved right over their heads. Kayne lowered the disk and then killed the spell, landing in the midst, his left arm slightly raised before him, "Those demands are reasonable; I accept. But I warn you, if one of your group threatens me, I will rain h*** down upon you until one of us is dead; and I am very good at raining down h***."

His face was deadly serious and he didn't raise his voice even a tiny bit, though he may have lowered it a little at the end. A man once said a whisper is heard better than the loudest shout, and Kayne had found that to be most true, espically when threatening people. Or saying you'll defend yourself if threatened; same difference.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.