"I would love to say that would be too easy," Kira piped up into Kjan and Ash's conversation. She was somewhat unsure of whether or not she should actually be there, helping them out, or, at least, trying, but, as long as she was, she would work on convincing herself that her presence was somehow useful, "But that is probably not the case, even being extensively desired as of this moment."

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<center>

One minute the air seemed dense with the dragon-like creatures, the next the only ones left were the ones laying dead on the ground. Looking around, Vincent thought that it could have gone better by the number of casualties. Then someone called out for a healer.

Vincent wasn't a healer, but magic might help. The druid was strongest in elemental magics, but he had a few other tricks up his sleeve. And maybe he could learn something new.

He pulled out his small spell book again, leafing through it. To him it was a newer spell book, full of magics that he had yet to learn. And when he had learned them all, Vincent would go on to another spell book.

After a long moment of nosing through the pages, he stopped at a certain page and read it closely.
"Ah, here it is... healing spells. External wounds can be healed fast and easy with not as much strength drainage, while internal wounds take longer with more strength," he mumbled to himself, reading the sum of it.

"I think I'll do external wounds, and stop people from loosing more blood. I'd be able to do more then," Vincent said, and realized he was thinking aloud again. This he had a small habit of doing. Quickly he read through the spell, and put the book back in a sack under his cloak around his waste.

Looking around, the closest wounded person next to him was the man who had changed shape. A shape shifter. He had seen creatures like that a few times before. What was his name again? Vincent didn't have time to remember.

"Hullo sir, might I be of some help? Let me see that arm and I can see what I can do," Vincent said as he came over to kneel beside the man...

_________________

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

Denaris shrugged and tossed his empty glass over his shoulder. It dissipated into thin air a hairbreadth before it would have shattered into the wall behind him. "Tell the High Vassal? Whyever would I?" He rose to his feet. His armchair vanished beneath him, as did the purple tablecloth. The compassion in his heart bid him wait a couple more seconds before waving away Raen's seat, however. He wouldn't want his fellow elf bruising his skinny buttocks.

"If the High Vassal desires the joy of my presence, he may find himself the precious time to beg it of me. Though I must confess... if he pokes his smelly little head through my wash basin ever again, I shall personally blast said head to the abyss." He opened the door. He hated cutting conversations short, but this exchange with Lord Raen wasn't the most delightful chat they'd ever shared. "As for my... mishap. I'm certain you'd love to lose sleep over it, but for your sake I insist that you don't. I doubt they'll make it far in this world. The Supremacy wastes no love on outsiders."

-----

The wyverns had hit them harder than Ryairon thought, but two of their number, the druid and another black-haired woman, appeared to be healers. After a bewildering recitation about diseases and tiny organisms - she couldn't be referring to ticks, could she? - the latter had set to work on Raign. She saluted them as she passed and, leaving them to their work, headed back down to the village.

A few houses on the outskirts had been burnt to crisps, though the rest of the village looked intact. She broke through the tangle of trees and approached the dock, where some men, silhouetted against the sunset, still gathered around the canoes. They tensed when they spotted her, their hands creeping toward small sheaths at their belt. Hunting knives? A commendable effort, for all the good it'd do. She glanced down at her sword and wondered if baring it might induce some cooperation. Likely not. These were men, after all. Instead, she slowed and raised her empty hands, palm-up, before her. They exchanged uneasy glances before following her example and slackening their grips on their knives.

"Boats." Ryairon pointed at the mentioned boats. "To mainland." She directed her point at the pink and orange haze of the distant horizon. "How far?" She spread her hands in front of her as though measuring a length.

The tallest of the olive-skinned men stepped forward, confusion wrinkling his brow. He rattled off something that, to Ryairon's ears, might as well have been utter gibberish.

Clenching her teeth, she straightened and emphasized her gesticulation. The movement sent a dull wave of pain throbbing down her back. "How far?" she gasped, stabbing a finger from the canoes to the horizon. "Tell me!"

The man followed her point, shook his head, and held up his hand, his thumb and index finger an inch apart. Not far, then. But what was that on his palm? Ryairon peered closer and recognized it as a brand seared into his skin. A sword against a backdrop of flames. She cocked her head at him quizzically. In response, he caught her right hand and turned it over. Her palm was blank. Grimacing, he shook his head again and backpedaled a step. His fellows muttered among themselves and eyed her, lids lowered.

Ryairon, however, had no intention of leaving just yet. She dug into her pouch and held up her last strip of bandages. "We need this, and whatever healers you can spare." To demonstrate, she yanked up her sleeve, where a gash split the flesh of her forearm. Gods, was it that deep? It felt like a scrape compared to the bruise pounding her back.

They stared at her. Not one of them moved.

"Healers!" she shouted, shoving her bleeding arm in the nearest man's face. She jabbed her finger at the village, then at her companions gathered behind her on the beach. "Go get some!"

He was the youngest, a boy by anyone's standards. Wide-eyed, he bobbed his head and sprinted away. A few minutes later, he emerged from the houses supporting a stooped figure robed in coarse brown. The woman raised her head, her shriveled features contorting at the sight of strangers. Ryairon beckoned for the crone and her boy to follow.

"Heal her," she said as soon as they reached the nearest petite figure, who was clenching a sword as though her life depended on it. But the crone was already moving, kneeling beside Alanna and gesturing for her to turn around.

Satisfied, Ryairon straightened with a wince, trying not to bend her spine. She spotted, still kneeling beside Raign, the same black-haired woman trying to regain her composure. Something pained her - most likely the bloody slashes in her shoulder, exposed through the rips in her shirt.

"Careful with that shoulder. We can't have you passing out on us. If you won't heal your own injury, at least let me look at it." Without waiting for a response, Ryairon pulled aside the maroon cloak to get a better view. She sucked in her breath. The gashes had clotted halfway, but blood still oozed, darkening even further the dark fabric of her shirt. Bits of cloth had entangled themselves in the wounds. She began picking the outermost ones free. "What's your name?" she asked as she worked.

_________________

Jeniya was dabbing a herbal compound from her homeworld when another woman asked for her name. Slightly distracted and startled, she turned towards her and examined her. Her clothing and her posture told Jeniya that this woman was probably used to wealth and royalty and was not accustomed to have anyone ignore her.

"Jeniya Deilisa," she replied, taking her eyes from her patient for a moment to look at the woman before returning them to her patient. Then the woman did something she didn't expect. She began to take off the clothing around her left shoulder and examine it. Like she was a physician. Jeniya silently protested as the woman started picking out the bits of cloth that were stuck to her blood.

"It's really fine," she tried to say dismissively. "I was going to take a look at it once I finished healing everyone else." She knew it sounded stupid and self-centred the moment she spoke. While of course she would look selfish if she started to heal herself first, she couldn't exactly treat and cure people if something unpleasant had settled into her shoulder. She added as an afterthought, "I'll treat once I finish with her." Her hand gestured over her patient.

_________________

I was cured all right.

Raign gave Jeniya a nod of thanks for her help as Ryairon returned, feeling the pain in her side completely subside as the healer finished. "You should look to yourself," she added, realizing for the first time, as Ryairon did, that the woman had her own wounds.

Using the tree for support, she levered herself upright and waited for the world to stop spinning in queasy circles. Her stomach gave a lurch. Shaking her head at herself, she gulped deep breaths until the nausea had, for the most part, passed. When the images before her eyes had more or less ceased to multiply themselves and run off in every direction, she turned to Ryairon and Jeniya, intending to verbalize her thanks to the healer.

However, the first thing she noticed was that it could have been argued as to which one was doing the healing now, and there were certainly no prizes for who needed it more. "You should sit down," she said, addressing Ryairon, who was looking as though any movement at all were a painful ordeal, and still attempting to fix the gashes on the other woman's shoulder. "I'll get the healer, for both of you."

She fully expected that this would require nothing more than stepping out of the trees to accost the village wise-woman, whose arrival she'd dimly registered in the uncertain haze while Jeniya worked on her side. But the gnarled old woman was clearly occupied, and as a consequence Raign swiveled to scan the beach for anyone else who might be of service. The movement made her stomach roil once again. Clamping her teeth together and forcing the sensation down by sheer willpower, Raign set off for the place where the old woman and the boy who was seemingly her assistant were working.

The crone was clearly busy, and Raign couldn't blame her. The black-haired woman on whom she was working was lucky to be alive. Vaguely Raign recalled her from the blurred sequence of events with the wyvern, but she couldn't remember much after that tail had whipped around, only disjointed images. "You," she said, addressing the boy who was hovering around. "There are two women over here who need your help."

He paused, glancing uncertainly at the healer. With a stream of unintelligible gibberish, the old woman glanced up at Raign and waved a hand in a shooing gesture at the boy. Satisfied that this meant he was free to follow, she turned around and led the way back to Ryairon and Jeniya.

Luckily, both their ailments were obvious enough. Raign indicated them to the young healer in tow, and sank down against the same tree to regain her composure, and attempt to banish the rising queasiness in her stomach.

_________________

"Small and silver, right." Merrick put a hand to his eyebrows and mock-scanned the terrain. "Not that I can see, but of course I may be overlooking something since at the moment 'small and silver' encompasses the bulk of my knowledge of this dragonkind."

Once it was out, he felt a bit bad for being so short with the girl. Her face betrayed her anxiety, and he reminded himself that he wasn't the only one here feeling disoriented.

In scanning the horizon though, he'd observed the boats waiting for them with a bit of curiosity. "Perhaps we shouldn't venture far from here," he mused aloud. "Just... doesn't it seem likely that we could enter back the way we came..."

He stopped there, realizing his rambling was doing him no good, or the girl either. "I just wish I knew why," he finished lamely, rubbing his forehead and trying to will the confusion away.

_________________
<center>
"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Bony hands plucked at her back questioningly, searching for the extent of the damage. Alanna, the aftereffects of that first separation from the blade still raging through her system, lay on the ground, belly-down, almost gratefully. She made sure to keep a hand on the scimitar, though. Enchanted or not, she'd been satisfied, experimentally, that it could staunch her wounds.

Bony though they were, the hands of the old healer were sure and skilled, cleaning out the lacerations on Alanna's back methodically. They went deeper than they felt.

Finally, when the crone began casting about, looking for bandage material, Alanna waved her back. Her protests were in a foreign language, of course, but her body language was clear enough. The old woman didn't think it was wise, and did her best to push the younger woman back down as she sat up.

Alanna ripped the backing off of another MedPatch - she didn't have very many left - and slapped it onto her neck. She let go of the sword.

It was suddenly very, very difficult to sit up. Carefully, she lowered herself back down. The nanotech needed time to work anyway. And the old woman seemed intent on dressing her wounds, anyway, so Alanna figured she should probably keep her happy.

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

Ryairon felt unexpected hands prod her back and tug at the hem of her tunic. Withdrawing from Jeniya, she twisted her neck to peer over her shoulder. "What the Underworld do you think you're doing?"

In response, a cataract of words that registered absolutely nothing poured from the boy's mouth. How could he possibly move his lips that fast? She listened to the first ten seconds of it and promptly gave up. "Well, whatever you're doing, stop. Go inspect her shoulder." An emphatic nod at Jeniya. "Oh, and give me that." As the boy brushed past her, she snatched an earthenware jar out of his hands. It had better be healing salve, or there'd be hell to pay.

The overhanging fronds of a flattened palm tree provided the perfect cover for Ryairon to kneel and shrug off her leather jerkin. She snaked an arm up the back of her tunic and poked the spot between her shoulder blades. Curses! What an intelligent move. Attempting but failing to conceal her grimace, she uncapped the earthenware jar. It smelled like a mush of wet clay and cow manure. It was healing salve, all right. And what do you know... it even looked like a mush of wet clay and cow manure. She wondered what it tasted like? Don't even go there.

A few trickles of blood had leaked from the bruise, but no more than that. The internal damage stretched far but not deep enough to damage her spine. She threw her right arm over her left shoulder to dab some blood away with a damp kerchief. The flesh went taut; pain shot down her back. She held the pose for a moment, calming her breath, willing the nausea to subside. Her wet kerchief came away specked with pink. Forget it - she wasn't trying that again. She dipped her fingers in the salve tried reaching it the other way, snaking her arm up the back of her tunic again. Awkward, but at least it didn't hurt as much. She smeared it in soft, quick strokes along the bottom half of her bruise, then relaxed her pose. The top half could wait.

"We should get off this island. Anyone feel like working the oars?" Ryairon nodded toward the canoes and made a show of looking around at her injured, exhausted, scowling companions. "Nobody? Thought not. Diplomacy aside, who wants to come with me to visit the village and procure ourselves some oarsmen?"

_________________

Xarw secured a canoe for himself and placed some of his gear at the front near the oars as he had decided, that he would have to do the job, being in quite good shape despite his shoulder. Yet a suspicion still crept into him and tingled the back of his skull, making him gaze at the skies and cross his hands into a prayer. It was a weak hope, but whether his god could or would answer his minor servant would have to be seen, it was a test whether the gods power could some transcend to another world.

Perhaps by simply being there Xarw allowed it, logically, if these people never knew or worshiped his god they wouldn`t receive his gifts, but being somewhat devoted to that cause Xarw might be able to conjure the gods aid. The main reason he had joined the clergy of Mask was because the gods followers stated, that wealth acquired by any means was the persons to keep and funny enough Xarw thought in the same way. Yet then again most dark gods allowed their servants to hold selfish thoughts as long as they still served and praised them.

Xarw concentrated into a quiet prayer and placed his hand on his shoulder, at first there was a rasping silence, but slowly he felt a faint lingering feeling on his shoulder. His palm emitted a shadow upon the wound and he could feel it closing, a victorious smirk rose to Xarw`s face and he praised the god of thieves once more. He had not thought of his religion as crucial to survival, but now it seemed to be like a heavenly or hellish gift. Yet it was best to keep this power hidden as it would only create suspicions and fear amongst the others. From the babble amongst the others Xarw heard a foolish and almost arrogant suggestion, he loudly hmphed as a protest and shook his head before speaking his mind.

"Don`t be ridiculous, after witnessing us slaughter those riders and their beasts the villagers must be terrified of us. They wouldn`t come close us even, if you paid them and speak of placing themselves within the same boat as us might not come across as charming.

I am able to row canoe and the least wounded might do the same, that we might get across, if we do not rely on our own strength then we aren`t going to get far."

Xarw said with a mocking tone as he thought of the girl as snotty and arrogant as she seemed to need servants to do things for her, she was just like the nobles of Menzoberran with their countless slaves and servants.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Jeniya finished patching her patient's wounds before she closed the small jar of a herbal cream that she had brought from her world. She then gently removed the clothing that covered her shoulder and grimaced when she saw the wound. It looked rather unpleasant but could heal, after she put some alchemical compounds on it and didn't strain her shoulder too much.

One thing that would definitely strain her shoulder too much would be rowing canoes, much like the ones the villagers apparently had given them. She shook her head at the sight of them. Sure, she could row but only for a short period of time before she had to give up and let another person replace her. As she looked around for suitable material to make splints for anyone who, like her, fractured their bones, she asked, "How far are you going to row?"

_________________

I was cured all right.

Gramsil had seen the dark-skinned elf gazing skyward, and had sensed a distant, yet malevolent magical power at work. Another reason to distrust the assassin. Looking over the group, he realized that very few looked fit to do any amount of rowing. And he doubted that those who could would last very long, not including the only current volunteer. Said volunteer had made sense when he dismissed the idea of a trek to the village. Gramsil doubted that the villagers would help anymore than they already had. And what help they did offer was with great reluctance. Besides, the gift of canoes was a not-so-tactful suggestion to leave as quickly as possible.

It was decided, or at least for Gramsil. Ignoring the dark elf, he stepped up to another rough dugout and very carefully clambered in. The canoe rocked, but didn't sink. Perhaps they were better-made than they looked. He gave an experimental swipe in the water with one cupped fist, causing the canoe to bolt forward and strain against its mooring-rope. And almost capsize. Ah, well. It looked like Gramsil would be of some service out on the water. Unless they should hit a storm, but he didn't even want to think about that. And how far down the ocean floor was. The disadvantages of being stone.

Mikol looked up from where he had just finished helping up one of the other members. Going into the village? After what had just happened, that would probably one of the most insane ideas ever. Not that Mikol didn't enjoy an insane idea now and again, or come up with a few himself, but at the moment all he wanted to do was get off this piece of junk island. He got up and limped toward the canoes. "My leg has a problem, not my arms. I could pull a boat." He stepped into the third one, a bit wobbly, but soon got his balance. This may be slightly trickier than he thought.

Jate walked over to Ash and Kjan, comforting himself with the familiar presence of his friends. "I'll say, just like old times," he responded. "Though I wish I had the Heartshard. It'd be rather helpful for healing all these people. Bandages and salves can only do so much." He thought wistfully of the magical jewel and the power it could channel. "It would have helped with those dragon things too - remember the elves?" A smirk crossed his face at the recollection. "But it's not here. So these boats, think they're safe? It's the best chance we've got."

_________________
going on a journey through my old claims

W00t! After much bothering by Melda and the Fudge Muffin, and after having finished school and read through the entire RPG, I have decided to grace this thread with my presence. Or just have fun for a few weeks until I have to vanish again.

Name: Damien Orondar
Gender: Male
Race: Elf
Age: 35
Profession: Warden
Appearance: Height is about 7'2", hair is white-blond, skin is pale, and eyes are grey.
Equipment/weapons: Longsword, dagger, short spear, survival pack+awesome dark clothing.
Brief history/other*: Damien has the abilities of healing and the manipulation of earth (he had also a shapeshifting ability, but I knocked that off for this RPG).
Description of original universe: Riveria was once a peaceful kingdom, monitored and moderated by seven Great Ones. Then the Great Ones vanished, and evil and darkness began to seep into the land. Dark things crept in the forest, etc.
How you came up with this character: I wanted a different-than-normal character, and to put a different spin on an Elf. ^_^

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

Throb. Throb. Throb. Throbthrobthrob. Painbrightbrightpain.

Damien opened his eyes and realized that he was flat on his stomach. On the ground. The sun was up. Wait. He could actually see the sunlight? He focused on his surroundings. Green. A lot of green, directly in front of his face. He hated green things in his face. He hated them, and there was a stone under his head. Since he had been in mid-jump at the moment the strange ripple caught him, it was no surprise that he had been knocked unconscious. From the feel of his mouth, he'd been out for some time. Being unconscious was a dangerous thing. He slowly pushed himself to his feet, noting with relief that his weapons and pack were still with him. He blinked when he straightened, as he realised that his surroundings were significantly different than he had first assumed. The trees were sparse, and the foliage was mostly confined to small patches, one of which he had been lying in.

Glancing around, he sniffed the air. There were a myriad of strange scents, but nothing ominous. The only problem was that this was definitely not where he had been. Jumping a chasm in prelude to ambushing a Soulhound could not result in him being knocked unconscious and moved like this. It must have been that ripple. Some kind of teleportation, maybe? Whoever had teleported him, though, was going to learn that Wardens were tougher prey than they thought.

He stepped off carefully through the grass, watching his surroundings warily. His head was still throbbing, but he wasn't worried about it. The physiology of a forest elf was one duly suited to tough buffets, and he was in prime condition.

Indentations in the grass.

Damien watched them carefully from where he was, careful not to get too close. Many creatures were very, very devious in how they caught their prey, and he preferred to kill, rather than be killed.

They appeared to be roughly human tracks, and it appeared as though there were a number of them. There were small footprints, and larger areas of matted grass were bodies might have been lying. Perhaps he was not the only one caught by that mysterious ripple?

He walked closer to the tracks, then froze as several new smells drifted across his nostrils. He recognised the smell of human blood, of burnt flesh, and what seemed to be a variant of elvish blood, but there were several other blood scents, none of which he recognised. This called for caution.

More warily now, he followed the smell, with his ears almost twitching as he strained for any new sound. There. Voices in the distance. Nothing nearby. The voices were of mixed emotions--relief, he thought, and perhaps pain and fear. Voices were not things he was used to. It had been several months since the last ones he heard, though a Reaver had a call that was similar to a human's cry of anguish.

He crept for several more minutes, until he reached the fringe of the trees. In the near distance, he could see what he guessed must be an ocean, though he had never seen so much water in one place before. He had to tear his eyes away from it to scan the rest of the environment. Bodies lay everywhere. Most of them were human or dragonlike bodies, though. That would account for a good bit of the human blood he was smelling, and at least one of the other scents he was picking up. Perhaps those creatures were smaller cousins of the dragons he knew? The human bodies and the dragon's bodies were intermingled, and they all had a uniformity that made Damien think that they were perhaps all on the same side, which appeared to be the losing side. Elsewhere past the treeline, some people were lying down with wounds being tended to, and others were either doing the tending or standing around aimlessly bickering. Not far away was a small village. Why someone would want to live by such a large body of water was beyond him, but humans had strange likes and dislikes.

The strangers all had a very, very mismatched look to them, and the pain and confusion in their faces affected Damien. Perhaps because it had been so long since he had seen a living humanlike being, or perhaps because his wits were still addled from the rock, but he stepped out from his cover.

"Ho, strangers," he called out, lowering his spear point but making sure to keep it easily manueverable should he need it. "What has happened here, and where is here?" he asked.

_________________

Vaguely frustrated, Ryairon watched the others clamber into the canoes. Pain, only halfway dulled by the salve, shot across her back every time she moved her shoulders. Some of them looked capable of rowing, but she'd be useless - a feeling she wasn't accustomed to and even less accustomed to cooperating with. They were right, though, she had to grudgingly admit. Nothing short of physical persuasion would coerce the villagers to even come near them.

Forget it. Just swallow your damn pride and get into the boat. She clambered onto a seat beside the seven-foot behemoth with hands large enough to tear a wyvern's head from its body. He resembled a stone golem, but with a definite difference: the inclusion of a brain. She offered him a casual salute before settling onto the bench. This man-creature was not someone she wanted for an enemy. Neither was the dark elf who'd snapped at her earlier, for that matter. Caution. She'd have to learn caution. And it occurred to her, for the first time, that these people were as unlikely to take orders from strangers as she was.

The ocean that stretched before her now could have easily been the warm expanse of Titan's Bay or the glittering waves of the Arnoth Sea. She stared into the hazy horizon and resisted the urge to hug her knees to her chest. Nightfall was still hours away, but fatigue already leadened her every limb. I want to go home. The thought slithered into her consciousness, but she stamped it out as she might have flattened a snake. She clenched her fists and reveled in the sting of her nails digging into her skin.

A shout from the beach snapped her around. Sunlight glimmered on white-blond hair and pointed ears. The elf - the tallest elf she'd ever beheld - lowered his spear and shouted something. It took Ryairon a few second to assimilate his question, and when she did, she almost laughed out loud, but it lodged in her throat. Sliding aside to make room in the canoe, she waved for the elf to join them. "What did you do - sleep through the attack? Get in. We're headed for mainland."

-----

The calm seas granted easy rowing, but nightfall had already settled in by the time they spotted land. Hills rolled black against the velvety skies, speckled with stars. Their small cluster of canoes hunkered down in the softly lapping waves.

In the distance, the orange light of many torches flickered like ghostly eyes on the water, which slapped against the hulls of anchored ships. Ryairon squinted into the darkness and could just make out the rigid outline of a wall, and buildings beyond that. They'd stumbled upon some kind of port city. She glanced at the stone-man and the elf - Gramsil and Damien, she'd learned - on the benches nearest her, and beyond them, to the canoes carrying the others. It was too dark to see their faces.

"Your vision's better than mine," she directed at the elf. A single sliver of moonlight silvered his gray eyes. "How big is the city? Is it heavily guarded?"

_________________

Conscious of the need for stealth, Raign maneuvered her own canoe until it was still in the water, or comparatively so, rocking only with the motion of black wavelets. Then, laying her paddle flat across her knees, she dug in her pocket for the trim little spyglass she knew to still be there. Out of her peripheral vision, she caught a pair of silhouettes pacing along the broad walltop past the docks. Dim starlight glinted on what looked like chainmail uniforms.

Just as she extended the glass to its full length and raised it to her eye, the dark panoply of black sky and starlight overhead shifted to accommodate rays of silver, like lighter shadows only visible if you did not try to look directly at them. Ignoring the vague shiver that climbed up her spine - magic seemed an integral part of many worlds her companions came from, and she might as well get used to it - Raign again raised the glass and was able to observe the pacing sentries in greater detail. Silver roved over the black shadows of the docks, revealing the normal coils of rope and stacks of crates.

Her mind was already calculating the best way to get in unseen. Raign had successfully completely operations such as this more times than one would guess for her twenty-three years. The possibilities included shinnying up a rope onto a deck of one of the docked ships to incapacitate the sentry, and thus gain admittance to the docks; perhaps swimming in under cover of darkness. She noted that a gate, half under the water and half out, closed off a channel squarely at the back of the harbor. Depending on how much the town in question was concerned for its security, often all it took to get in was a few seconds of holding your breath.

Raign had used both with success. But, she reflected, gaze jumping with the spyglass from point to point, if they need not sneak in, that was as good as anything. Was there any reason to detain them?

Glancing at those such as Devarion and Gramsil, not to mention other less than run-of-the-mill characters, she supposed that wasn't entirely realistic. Raign relegated a faint headache to the base of her skull, thankful that her nausea had passed.

Collapsing the spyglass and slotting it once more into her pocket, Raign shifted the canoe until it was alongside that nearest to her, which contained Ryairon and an elf she didn't recognize, as well as the massive Gramsil. "There are several ways to get in," she said, highlighting her observations in an undertone. "Without going into detail, I've done it before. Is it imperative that we accomplish this without being seen, or might they be trusting enough to let some of us pass unquestioned?"

Merrin, behind her, cast her eyes up and over the star-strewn vault of black sky in an instinctive check for a dragonrider patrol. She remembered in mid-search that there was unlikely to be one. As Raign was speaking, she examined the shoreline. "Can't we land further on, and enter the city through the gates in the morning?" she suggested, with a touch of hesitance. "That does seem easier."

_________________

Xarw quietly inspected the city opening before them, infiltration would be tricky, but then again for one such as he it would not prove a problem. Then again looking at the hulking figure of what appeared to be a stone golem with an actual brain it seemed next to impossible. Xarw weighed his options once again, he could easily depart alone and take a look at the city from the shadows whilst letting the others get caught or he could help them get trough. However one of the women seemed to have an idea as how to enter the city undetected, but Xarw again was not delighted with the idea of dragging others after himself.

Then another decided to open their mouths and this time in protest, with a more honest option in mind, which again did not please Xarw. He thought of the suggestion as naive and wondered what kind of a dragon rider this girl was supposed to be. The title in itself was at first alarming and gave an impression of a dangerous person, everything she did not seem to be in the eyes of the drow.

Xarw hmphed at her words as he pulled alongside them in his canoe, which for one or the other reason was quite empty from other passengers, he couldn`t possibly imagine why. He gazed at the rest of them with an amused gaze.

"I think not, in bright daylight, our hulking friend might cause quite the panic and alarm not to mention my mask. However it just so happens I am familiar with these type of situations due to my line of work, evading the attention of the guards has become quite day to day work for myself.

My I guess that was a little bit too informative, but oh well... I for one suggest we sneak in, I can take care of myself, but I am mostly concerned for the big one. I suppose, if anyone with the magical abilities to shroud one`s existance are present, they speak up."

Such as myself Xarw thought after saying his thoughts to the others and sneering at the earlier proposition of the naive human girl, but then again he couldn`t blame her. No matter what world they came from humans were all the same, no difference, no improvement.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!