[Unforgiven Quest] Reflected Within Reflected Without

[Gossamer]

Timestamp: 50th of Fall, 510 AV Location: The Unforgiving Purpose: The Redescovery of that which is lost. Plotnotes Status: Open Kalea was unique in all of Mizahar. Once home to a thriving militaristic nation called The Suvan Empire it had been a fertile crescent of land that produced food by the tons and fed the thriving legions of Galifor's Reign. Kalea never knew harshness, being subjected to mild western offshore moisture, and the only mountains it called its own were a small coastal flare where the continental plates of the western sea's bed forced its way under the whole of Mizahar's continent. This range, called The Iron Mountains, climbed well into the sky as if unseen fingers pressed upwards through silken sheets. The Iron Mountains were easily avoided to the north and south where the land fell away into productive foothills sheltered from the occasional coastal typhoon that blew in from the west. And even then, the gentle swell of land more reminded the cartographer of a flare of hip or curve of elbow had Mizahar indeed been a woman. That was, however, the Kalea of old. Five hundred years in the past - all at once - the tides turned and day went to night and the fertile land of this region became something far different. A God raged, loosing control of himself in his grief. Ivak turned the world upside down, destroying the City of Suva and burying it beneath an inland sea so vast it hid the truth of what it was from humanity - a crater that housed the corpse of his murdered beloved. The force of the creation of that crator pressed the land westward, gathering it up like someone shoving sheets off to the side on a once perfectly made bed. Stone piled upon stone, pressing westward, climbing into the sky, changing elevation. The land cracked and screamed under the pressure, taking every living thing with it - especially the people. Kalea was a testimony to death. But to those that lived within her arms, they also knew she was a testimony to survival and life. Born again. Made over. Very little remained from before. Even the scattered population who lived in forested valleys and upland meadows were few and far between. Strict, remnant of the old Suvan Empire, the people of Kalea were hearty through and through. They claimed they were as tough as the land they lived in. And they lived there because no one else wanted too. Solitary, life in Kalea was incredibly unsupported. There were a few cities. Denval, for one, was a place time forgot to tell that they old Suvan Nation was gone. Wind Reach, for one, harbored secrets even the Gods themselves didn't know about. Lhavit, born of an Alvina's dream, thrived in the shadow of the western shores. Deep underground, there was yet a third city housing a people that thrived in the bowels of the land - the Symenestra. And inland, nestled up against the Suvan, the city of Illusions. Kalea was unique. Kalea was steadfast. Kalea could be a nightmare. There were even swamps. The Gyvaka sat on the edge of the invisible barrier between Falyndar and Kalea, a transitional zone of thousands of acres of stagnant water and life upon life. It was a silent smirk to the God of Volcanism that life could go on and live piled upon itself quite contentedly. But these cities or the vast southern swamp weren't the scene for this story. No... this story is about something vastly far reaching. A legend, some say all true, for it still brought travelers and fortune seekers to Kalea to investigate and chase a rumor more unrealistic than songs about a city made of gold. They came for Ironrock - home of Marcus Kelvic. Half the world had been looking for its ruins because of the vast wealth of knowledge it was said to contain. It wasn't the scholarly workings of a poet either. Ironrock was the mysterious home of Marcus Kelvic - a man who traveled worlds and was all but godlike himself in that he left behind him a race of people that did not exist before his time upon the land. It was slavery, some said. Others said it was pure genius. Still others say he never founded the Kelvics at all but brought them in from other places - other worlds. And there was the appeal of Ironrock. Coordinates. Directions to other words and the potential those other worlds had for riches. No one knew the truth of the kelvics. Why they were here. What their purpose was. But they speculated and thought and plotted and planned. Ironrock was buried, word said, six hundred feet beneath the lowest mountain in Kalea. Others said no... Marcus Kelvic had a connection ot the Gods - if he himself wasn't one of them - and they'd never let his home fall. So the dream stayed and fortune hunters came. And unfortunately, with them came Kelvics that were bought and sold in less than ideal situations - kelvics who were often accused of knowing something of Ironrock when they'd never even realistically heard the name Marcus Kelvic. It was another myth, completely untrue. There was no such thing as racial memory, right? Maybe. The kelvics were unique. And people kept hoping and buying and abusing. And so it was that the three explorers with their burden came onto the scene. They were camped in a small plateau - exposed - though it overlooked a creek that came straight from glacial melt. The creek was in a channel of bedrock and swift flowing. To the locals, the region was called Stone Valley. To the explorers, it was one step closer to Ironrock and its secrets. Which, at the moment, they were trying to 'extract' from a dark-haired child. To the outsider, the scene was rather obvious. Someone, without scruples, had lost their patience. Grabbing fistfulls of a girls long dark hair - the girl being somewhere around seven or eight - they were shoving her head under the water and growling at her when they pulled her head free. "Had enough, you useless birdbrain?" One growled, kicked her none-to-gently, and then gave her another dunking. She wasn't crying though. She was only struggling for breath, not begging for her life, and the fierceness on her face demonstrated she was either two angry to get mad or used to the abuse and knew struggling would only prolong it. Even out in the middle of nowhere, examples of men's darkness abound. "Well, you little brat. I know you know somewhere deep in that tiny brain of yours. You cost us a fortune... and useless! Who needs a raven chick anyhow? So you better start talking or you will become dogmeat." The man said, growling again and kicking her once more before dunking her head under. The water had to be icy - freezing or near it. The man wasn't going to let up, give in, or stop hurting the girl until he had the information he wanted.

[Brig]

Weeks, even a month or more was gone since Brig had left the burned out shell of his childhood home behind. And the unmarked grave he’d dug nearby it. Just one, for his mother, clutching his twin sister Laire tight to her breast. But he hadn’t gone very far. If he climbed to a high clearing or scrambled to the spindly top of a lofty pine, he might be able to see the charred ruins of the barn off in the distance, mostly shrouded in mist or nearly concealed by the thick woods that had hugged the small farm. But he never did. Not even once. The thin forest trails with their steep rises and falls, some treacherous, were still familiar ones. The shallow brooks where he liked to hunt for crayfish and minnows in the moonlight or early morning. Even some of the seasonal birds that scolded him from their nests when he passed by. They seemed to recognize him no matter which form he took, and never forgot or forgave their feuds with the raiding Kelvic. But even now, he was coming near the edge of what he knew. Bringing his belongings required that when he meant to cover ground, he’d done it on human feet. It wasn’t what he’d rather. He didn't like the binding feeling of breeches and tunics, or the heaviness of cloaks. Or of leather soles between his own feet and the ground. It had been less than a day away from an abandoned home before he’d rid himself of the boots and pushed them into an already overstuffed bag. He could have been long gone by now. Some might call Kalea harsh and more of them, less hospitable than unforgiving. But to Brig, it was the only home he’d ever known. He never looked back but instead he’d stopped for days, even a week at a time. He’d stowed away his belongings and shifted, and spent his days and nights hunting, carousing and raiding the nests of his feathered rivals. Even if there was nothing to find, the challenge was it's own enticement. Occasionally in the dark he’d catch a glimpse of a campfire though the thick of the trees. A traveling peddler or fur trader, adventurers in twos or threes talking in circles about people and places he’d never heard of before. Or a lone huntsman stopping for the night. It was during those times when Brig felt the recent loss of his human family the most, and a sudden urge for companionship. Each time, he’d slipped away without them knowing he’d been there. He didn’t dare approach on all fours, especially if a fairly competent looking huntsman was there. Just often enough, he’d seen the pelts of his non Kelvic cousins prized for hats with even their tails intact, or more of them stitched together into fancy coats. Brig liked the daring life. But it hadn’t seemed worth the trouble. In his human form, in either form, suddenly the popping sounds of a campfire and the scent of burnt embers repulsed him. Sooner or later his craving for companionship would win over his preference for solitude. But not yet. He stored his things again and shifted instead. He’d hunt to feed an insatiable appetite, or hunt up one of his old rivals. Once he’d shifted and trails were no longer necessary, Brig took to thicker growth and climbed. Deep crevices or fallen trees weren’t obstacles then but opportunities as he navigated his way up towards the high plateaus with acrobatic, if sometimes waddling grace. The fishing was good up there in the still places, if you were quick. He began to follow the shallows of the creek, cold and fast moving but in this form Brig was designed in such a way that the frigid water had little impact. He hadn’t gotten far before the sounds of voices reached his ears and when he stopped short and rose up on his haunches to sniff the air, a curious chortling rose up from his throat. It sounded a little like a creaky door hinge. The voices belonged to men. Two, maybe more of them and they were angry. But whoever they were shouting at wasn’t shouting back. Curiosity lured him closer, out of the creek’s bed and more cautious, more to copses of trees or crevices than open ground. But still closer in order to have a look. If Brig had been an ordinary raccoon he’d have turned around and gone elsewhere for a more convenient meal. And been less affected by cruelty towards others, by the human condition, than governed by instincts and self-preservation. But by design, there was human enough in Brig to make a world of difference. It wasn’t long before he saw them, but he kept his distance at the edge of the clearing, panting with teeth showing. It might have looked like a smile, but it wasn’t. He could have shifted, but decided not to. He could be trouble enough in this form. He listened, and watched their treatment of what was only a child and that chortling sound gurgled up from his throat again. But not so curious as it was menacing followed by a low growl or huff. Whether they heard him or not over the sounds of the rushing creek, the distance or their own voices. Empathy, compassion or anger in defense of others might not come naturally to his ordinary cousins, but it did to Brig. Risen up on his haunches again he sniffed the air. She didn’t fight back or even cry. Was she brave, stubborn or just helpless? And the names they called her. He’d never met another Kelvic before. But the words they chose…Was she? The rattle rose from his chest again as the idea sparked a bolder sense of outrage. More insistent and menacing this time, deliberately trying to draw their attention away from the girl. He was alone, and there were three of them. But he might have charged them anyway, armed with sharp teeth and claws. But the warning he gave first from the distance between them was a hoped for distraction that might give her the chance to wriggle loose from their grips. One that said Here cowards, pick on somebody your own size. More or less.

[Aman]

Aman A tremor ran across the mongooses back. He was very cold. The hot desert sun seemed to be an eternity away from this harsh environment. As he shivered Aman reflected upon all that he had left behind, all that he had fled from. Aman had ran away from the only home he had known. Leaving the only friend he had ever had. He had run from his first taste of human contact. They were just too much for him to understand. Too complicated for his young mind. Eventually coming the endless waters. He had taken a ride that he promised himself to never repeat. Sickness like nothing Aman had ever known had come upon him. His body had been racked with convulsions. No, travel overseas was not for him. Eventually Aman had landed on the borders of Kalea. A strange land inhabited by strange people. The very sun seemed smaller, and gave off little of it's comforting warmth. There were giant mounds of earth, that grew taller than the eye could see. The very earth was forbidding, but fantastic! Aman couldn't help, but search the deep places of the mt's. He spent days just looking over cliffs in amazement. There was nothing like this in the deserts. Aman rarely came across any sentient life form, but on the occasions he did. He either hid in enough time to avoid being spotted, or he ran fast enough to avoid their assaults. Avoidance of humanoids only becoming more ingrained during his wanderings. At this time however he was sitting gazing at a creek about a mile distant. When he noticed a three men approach, dragging a small girl. This act alone made Aman's hair stand on end. He hated cruelty, his mother had ingrained a strong sense of morality into the young mongooses mind. It had stayed with him when she could not. He watched in anger as they started to drown the poor girl. His anger sparking into rage as their voices rebounding off the granite peaks. Told him that this little girl was kelvic, or at least had a high probability of being one of his kind. If she was indeed kelvic Aman owed her his protection. He refused to let one of his kind be tortured like this. he let loose a sound resembling explosive spitting, and started to run straight toward the creek. His anger quickly outdoing his caution. When he arrived he barreled straight into the first man sending him sprawling into the creek. Then he rose up on his back feet, and faced the other two as if they were serpents for his consumption. He prepared to leap at the throats of the explorers if necessary.

[Kahllen]

A wind, and with it, a strangely alluring scent, caressed Kahllen's wet button-like nose as he froze mid-stride. His great head slowly alternated between gazing off in the direction he was headed and that of the latest source of intrigue. With a grunt, Kahllen heaved his lumbering body away from his course and started off in the direction his nose was leading him. It wasn't uncommon to sense a myriad different smells out in the wilds like this, but something told Kahllen this was a bit different. Usually all the different sights, smells, and sounds Kahllen processed were disjointed and unconnected. Simply different facets of a vastly interconnected web of life. His nose told him, however, that something was amiss. Too many, too close together, he thought to himself absently.

He hadn't been out there long. It seemed to Kahllen only yesterday that he heard the whirring obnoxious noises, beheld the sickening sights of the circus. He didn't know how long it had really been since his liberation, but he couldn't remember the last time he held his human form. It was simpler, living exclusively in his bear form. Hunting, scavenging, sleeping. Part of him, his animal form, reveled in the beautiful simplicity of existing as another part of nature, but he had to admit that his human side was getting a bit restless. The curse of being a Kelvic: living the best, and worst, of both worlds. As it was, Kahllen hadn't seen another person in a long time. Of course, he could hear the voices of trappers and travelers drifting through the boughs at night, but he always found himself promptly heading in the opposite direction in those cases. Kahllen had been enjoying a well-liked break from people. That is, until now.

He found himself with range of hearing at this point. Shouts of anger and perhaps a stern reprimanding came to his fuzzy ears. Kahllen had just begun putting together a picture in his head of the situation, when things seemed to escalate abruptly. Still obscured from view, Kahllen heard the voices suddenly cease, followed by a loud crash as someone fell into a creek.

Sensing a conflict, Kahllen subconsciously transmuted into his human form. It was a habit he had picked up at the circus, but he figured it best to remain so now. In his experience, it was usually best if people didn't know you were a Kelvic. Reaching down and detaching his one knife from an elastic band around his ankle, Kahllen approached in a quick crouch. Emerging from the treeline, Kahllen found himself on the opposite side of the creek, not more than ten feet from the scuffle. The man he had heard fall was struggling in the shallow creek, being pushed by the light current.

Kahllen could see what looked like an immense weasel, standing on its hind legs and hissing at the remaining two men. Kahllen had no idea what to do, as he was just now coming upon the situation. Being that there was no threat immediately to him, Kahllen dexterously twisted the knife in his hand, preparing to let fly should necessity arise. Standing stark naked, just on the other side of the creek, Kahllen observed the situation, waiting for a moment to intervene.

[Gossamer]

The girl couldn't understand why they kept dunking her. Their words were meaningless to her. She didn't speak their language, and even if she did, she'd have not spoken a word to them regardless. They were predators and she was smart enough to know that she was the prey. Usually it was the other way around. But her prey was normally smaller, bugs and insects, nestling birds, even the occasional frog or salamander. She'd eat anything that moved that didn't look like it had the will to eat her in exchange. And often she lived a bountiful life on the remains of kills others made. These men though, they weren't like any predators she knew. They didn't act right. They didn't seem to want to actually kill her, just scare her, and she didn't understand why. The girl just knew she wanted it to stop. In fact she prayed for it to stop. Caiyha would hear her right? Surely? The little girl closed her eyes even as she fought for breath and to keep from drowning, and prayed to the Goddess to do what she could for her, to help her! And she did. Three things happened at once. It was like a three pronged attack even if it wasn't meant to be. A bold raccoon reared up on its haunches and made an unholy rattle in its throat. It was a warning growl sent straight from Caiyha. LEAVE THE GIRL ALONE. The man holding the child whipped his head around to stare at the raccoon and something else hit him hard in the chest. He let go of the girl and tumbled backwards, fully submerging himself in the stream. He sputtered, coughed, and clawed his way upwards from the deep raging water even as the second creature turned its threatening presence on the other two explorers. The girl, suddenly finding herself free, fled backwards, tripped, scrambled upwards onto her feet again, and kept backing up. One of the two remaining men reached for his knife. The other grabbed his bow, attempting to string it even as the mongoose advanced menacingly. Then the third man gestured, pointed, and the naked man holding a knife was revealed. The second explorer with a knife of his own looked menacingly at the mongoose and took a swing at him, hissing for the creature to back off. Even as he did that, the third man got his bow strung, an arrow knotched, and let it fly towards the naked man.... precieving the human as far more dangerous than the raccoon. The little girl, meanwhile, had turned and was out and out running away. Fully clothed, she just wanted distance between the men and herself so she could lose the clothing and fly away. By Caiyha, she wanted to fly away.. but something held her back. She stopped, even as the third man was knotching his arrow to let loose at the naked man, and scooped up a rock. She hurled it with all her might. And even as the man released the arrow, the rock hit him solidly in the cheek, causing the flight path to go wide. Meanwhile, the Mongoose evidently was facing off a knife, and the raccoon was discounted as nonthreatening, left to its own devices.

[Brig]

If the girl wasn’t a kelvic, well Brig couldn’t tell for sure. Only the men’s words had made him wonder, but it hardly mattered. It was their brutal tormenting of a helpless creature that had raised his hackles. And not just his. He hadn't seen many mongooses before. But no sooner than he’d stretched up on his back haunches to issue his challenge to the three men, did the biggest one he’d ever seen come charging onto the scene. No ordinary creature, that one. But rather than discouraging the raccoon from engaging any of the three, it only emboldened him. But not before another one crept from cover on the far side of the stream, outfitted with nothing but a knife and a sneer. It all happened so fast. The mongoose leapt, the girl broke away, and Brig found himself dismissed as harmless. It happened. A reputation for petty larceny and clownish antics, not many two footed souls were privy to just how swift, agile and formidable an adversary a raccoon could be when good and riled. And Brig was riled. The girl was out of the way, the man with the bow was reeling from a stone to the cheek and another was taunting the mongoose with his blade. That left the third, paying no attention whatever to the masked menace on the shore. At the very least, Brig intended to make one of himself as he huffed deep in his throat and dropped down on all fours, hackles up and bunched from front to end before exploding across the open ground in a flash. He thought nothing of it. He was going to help make sure they did no more harm to that girl. And he leapt before he reached the water’s edge, all enraged snarls, airborne fur, teeth and claws towards the exposed back of the remaining man. There was no holding back, no warning this time. He intended his message to be a meaningful one, dug into his adversary’s shoulders with front claws and back, and teeth sunk in at that tender place where neck and shoulder met.

[Aman]

Aman Anger had overpowered his mind causing Aman to do things that he normally would have scoffed at. But as he felt the man crumple under his charge, adrenaline pumped through his veins. He barked with triumph as the man stumbled and fell into the icy water. Unfortunately he could not sit and relish in his pride, for a man came upon him brandishing a dagger. When Aman came up onto his back feet he stood at a little over 5 foot tall. He rarely stood, but now as the infidel chose to challenge Aman, he stood. As he stood he spat and hissed for all he was worth. His head weaving side to side as he prepared for a sudden strike. He knew he was faster than any humanoid, but even the fastest must prepare. Even as a bow twanged somewhere to his side Aman leapt. He leapt with his very soul, putting every effort his sinewy body could muster. All his rage, all his sorrow, and all his spirit pushed into his hind legs. His whole being barreled through the air straight to his opponents throat. To kill a snake one does not save energy for a second strike, one strikes with all he has and attempts a direct hit. There is only one chance... Though the dagger was ever present in Aman's mind, he hoped upon hope alone that the man would be unable to react in enough time to do any damage. For there was very little time for the victim of the mongoose to react...

[Kahllen]

Things had reached a point where Kahllen could no longer rightfully stand by and watch. There was so much happening, it was unlikely he could have kept track of it all without the aid of his heightened animal sensibilities. As far as he could tell, however, one side of this fight was distinctly antagonistic, especially judging by the arrow launched in his direction. Luckily, he had no need for any evasive maneuver, due to a rock that had come flying (from where he didn't know) straight into the archer's face. That was all he needed to know in order to take action.

Something like this was exactly what Kahllen needed to make a decision. Though he didn't know exactly what side he was on as of now, Kahllen knew he had been fired upon, and he would not let that go unaccounted for. Having made his decision, he focused his attention on the archer, who was still recoiling from being struck in the face. Kahllen launched the knife, spinning end over end toward the explorer. It was no different than being back in the circus, tossing knife after knife toward spinning targets. If he had learned something in his time spent with those cruel bastards, it was how to defend himself. In the same movement, Kahllen took one stride and leapt out over the stream.

Just as the knife pierced the man in the chest, Kahllen crashed down upon him, driving him back under the rushing current. The man gasped desperately, between having a knife driven into his sternum and trying to keep his head above water. Kahllen was caught in a bloodlust at this point, and with his knees clenching the man's ribs, it was rather easy to keep his thrashing under control. Reaching to the bottom of the creek, Kahllen felt around until his hand rested upon a fair-sized stone. Dislodging it from the streambed, Kahllen held the stone high above his head. With a grunt of effort, he brought it down once, decisively, upon the man's skull, ceasing all movement.

Extracting the knife with a twist, Kahllen stood quickly and looked upon the motionless body at his feet. Using his toe to shove off, he sent the body drifting slowly downstream, out of his sight. He wasn't sure if the man was dead, but he figured he soon would be with such a grievous knife wound. At the height of his rage, Kahllen had nearly forgotten about the events transpiring around him. Turning abruptly, Kahllen kept his knife at the ready and considered the fact that he might very well need to make a quick getaway in animal form should things turn south. As it was, he stood knee-deep in the creek knowing not what to say or do, so he did what he found himself doing much of the time. He waited.

[Gossamer]

Mod NotePlease do not bunny your posts. Let me make the decisions if you kill someone or not and if your blows land. I know you are new but you cannot kill a man with no consequences. And above all, please eliminate the sarcastic ooc one line posts. The holiday was unsuspectingly busy for me and I am working 6 day workweeks at about 60 hrs a week so posting is very slow atm. I'll let this one slide at this time, but if it happens again, there will be vicious surprises. The man in the stream was incredibly surprised. He hadn't expected to be dunked in ice cold water and was still reeling from the shock of it. Beyond the dunking, he also hadn't expected for a furred whirlwind to attack him with vicious claws and teeth. Brig did no real hardcore damage, for the man was slick with water and it made it hard to get a good grip on him, so the scratches were all skin deep though the bites were indeed enough to take chunks of flesh out of the man's skin... if he were to hold still long enough. His clothing was shredded though. So too was confidence. Brig would have done some major damage if the man had held his ground. He didn't. He ran. He ran like the very Valterrian was happening all over again. He was streaming blood and soak and wet through and through and covered with coon bites. If he got far, he wouldn't live long, not in the unforgiven and not bleeding profusely. Something would scent the blood and that's all it would take. And it would be Brig's choice if he wanted to pursue. Aman ducked sideways then launched himself with a mongoose's speed. His small body didn't make for a very appealing target for the arrow which sailed past him and landed with a hard thud into the rocky soil. Truthfully the mongoose had all the advantage; speed, ferocity, and determination. The men were still slightly stunned by the attack, way out in the middle of nowhere. They hadn't expected it, not being so far from the nearest settlement. But the mongoose's aim wasn't the best. Truth was, he sailed towards the man, bounced onto his chest, and lunged his face towards his throat. At the same time the man dipped his head, trying to avoid what was coming. Aman didn't manage to latch onto his throat, but he did dig his teeth deep into the man's face, tearing off his nose completely, opening a huge bloody gap in the man's face. His claws, busy holding on, rent large cuts in the man's skull. As a reflex the man grabbed Aman by the scruff and forcefully threw him from his person. But it was late; far too late for the man. He was screaming, his eyes closed, blood spurting from his wasted face, as Aman landed lightly on his feet. The man stumbled, staggered, and went down, absolutely no threat to anyone anymore as he continued to scream, trying to grab at his missing face without wanting to touch himself. It gave the clearing that was filled with battle an eerie sound. Battle. Screams. And growls intermingled with pain and tissue being rent from bone. The little girl turned, stared with wide eyes, and oversaw the kelvics attacking. She knew them instantly, like they knew her to be what she was for kelvics recognized each other instantly. Kahllen's instant and unprecedented 'success' at throwing a knife and then managing to miraculously move at almost its identical speed so he struck the man just after the knife dug into his body was astonishing had someone been looking over the scene - much like the girl was. The fact that he dove unresisting to the bottom, grabbed a rock, and mashed the guys head in yet another superhuman move with incredible success was nothing short of a miracle. Limp, the man drifted downstream as Kahllen waited, looking around for more danger. There wasn't. The three men had been alone, unless you counted the girl. Speaking of which, she paused in the middle of the clearing, looking astonished. Glancing between the three, the soaking wet girl seemed to go limp, the shock of the sudden violence and bloodshed flooding her vision and soaking into her awareness. Tears came shortly thereafter. She didn't know they were on her side. There was no way she could tell they were simply defending her. To her, they were predators and something to be afraid of. Her sobs came heavier, the shock of death hitting her violently. She wasn't old, not at all, and barely into her life. It was one thing to see wolf packs take down a deer, or a hawk kill a snake for a snack. But here was something different, something shocking in thinking feeling creatures. There was no food to be had. Nothing to gain from the death, even though she was now free of the trio's attention and their questions. Turning, the girl fled. She fled for her life, tears still streaming down her face. But she was wounded and they'd see it immediately. She ran with a limp and one eye swollen as evidence of the violence used against her. She wouldn't be seeing well nor moving quickly. In fact, she was so frightened that lights started shimmering around her as she moved, a precursor to shifting.

[Kahllen]

OOCTaken to PMs.