Solo The Path of Greatest Resistance

[Azmere]

1st of Winter 515 AV

Azmere leaned his shoulder into the flank of Hephiestian. The breeze was blowing a crisp coolness that ushered in winter as Morwen came swooping down from the north with her beautiful snow. It fell in soft flakes that twinkled in the dying light of Syna’s gaze covering everything in sight with a white dust that seemed to take the ruggedness so common in the Sea of Grass and transform it into an elegant landscape. The contrasting eyes took in a great deal even though they were squinted against the low winter sun and the cold breath of Zulrav. There was a large trade taking place between three clans and Azmere was selected as one to stand on overwatch. There was no anticipated trouble but a handful of men from each clan were set aside to monitor the exchange so that things would remain peaceful.

The transactions seemed to be going smoothly. Azmere glanced around at the other men put on security detail and studied them. The first was an older Drykas from a large pavilion in the Opal clan. Azmere knew that his grandfather always spoke highly of the Opal clan but wasn’t sure exactly why. No specifics were ever given so the scarred individual took a deeper interest in this specimen. The man was clean shaven with streaks of grey braided into the inky black ponytail that hung down between massive shoulders. Azmere always considered himself a man of size but this fellow dwarfed him in every aspect but height. The warrior had an axe on each hip, a set of spears upon his back and enough wraps to earn him a place next to the Wind Knotted Gates. Each axe was intricately carved with beasts found in the region. Azmere found them to be quite attractive as far as weapons went. The man looked over to see the scrutiny in the younger Drykas’ eyes and sneered. He turned and walked away towards the other side of the large gathering. Azmere almost swallowed his tongue when a trail of bright gold flowed from the man as if he was painting a trail the size of a child behind him.

Azmere closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them, he could not believe what he was seeing. The stout giant wasn’t the only person who was leaving a ribbon of brilliant hues in his wake; they all were. Everywhere Azmere looked there was color. Paths crossed trails which overlapped tracers creating a dizzying array that was making the world spin under Azmere’s feet. He staggered to the side and looked up at Hephiestian. The horse lowered and raised its head twice and with each movement, Azmere watched as a brilliant blue like lightning revealed the position that his strider’s head had previously been. Azmere turned to see if he could find someone to corroborate his insanity. He walked forward but stopped when he was confronted by a purple trail that simply floated over a set of footprints. He looked up to see who it belonged to but lost it in the knotted maze of rainbow sashes. He reached his hand out, shaking uncontrollably, and touched the color. It seemed to illuminate the particular strand allowing the young man to follow it with his gaze to an old man of the Amethyst clan.

Azmere turned to a hunter from the Emerald clan and grabbed him by the arm with an excessive amount of force. He turned the young man with a dozen braids of red hair towards him. The younger Drykas snapped his arm back with a look of disgust. Azmere moved in on the man and waved his arm out in a sweeping gesture. “Do you see this?” The man signed no then pushed himself free from Azmere and went in the opposite direction leaving a swath of green as he went. Azmere ran to the nearest person and shook him by the shoulders. “What are these colors?” The man looked into Azmere’s eyes and gasped. He shoved the scarred Drykas and ran towards the cluster of men, elders and ankals shouting something about a curse.

Azmere watched wondering if that meant that the man had seen the bands of paint on the air. Is that what was happening? Were they all cursed? Azmere was confused. He was frantically searching for answers but he had yet to find anything harmful about the various shades floating amongst them. He jogged towards the center where the man had gone. All eyes were on the one speaking of curses. He was waving frantically and as Azmere approached he pointed and shouted. “Look! Look and witness the curse!”

Azmere froze. Every soul turned to examine the disfigured man. Azmere felt like he was twelve all over again. The stares and twisted faces were like daggers tearing into his confidence revealed by the curling of his shoulders and the sinking of his head. The whispers stung like lashes from a bull whip causing Azmere to flinch at certain words. His world shook with the rumbling buzz of condemning conversation and the weight of the entire crumbling situation brought Azmere to his knees. He looked up to the sky as a sharp gust blew through his frame. He cried out to Zulrav for protection but he would find none. When his eyelids lifted from the contrasting irises, the crowd went silent and pushed back from the strange man who had changed before them. Azmere looked to an old woman who was weeping near him and signed a simple why. Her answer only furthered his frustration for it was just one word.

Stars.

Azmere suddenly got an image of himself with blood dripping from his tear ducts leaving a trail of crimson stains against the pure canvas of snow. This image was only the frame of the true horror: his blue and gold eyes had been replaced by vacancies in the shape of stars.

Azmere sucked in a deep breath and sat up from his bedroll. He was drenched in sweat as was the blanket he was covered with and the clothes in which he slept. He rubbed his eyes quite firmly to make sure they were still there. He sat there for a moment trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart and the furious cycles of his mind. Azmere calmed himself with simple meditation by focusing on what was certain; the bow next to him. The smooth wood had weathered much in its time and would withstand a great deal more before the journeys ceased. He traced his fingers along the taut string and felt his mind ease. Azmere had never experienced a dream so real before. He knew what he must do and dressed quickly. He put on his cloak, gloves and slipped into his boots then stood up and pulled the cloak around him tighter before going to see his ankal. After all, it was the first day of winter.

It's you and me against the world.

[Azmere]

It was still early and the only a handful were awake. The area set aside for pavilions of the Diamond clan seemed a bit quiet but that was ok. Azmere slipped from his tent into the black that still encased the camps. He made a few calculated steps relying in part on the lightening sky and the rest on visual memory of the layout of the Stormblood pavilion. Silently, he crept along until he came to stand before the dark mass that was the tent of his Ankal. Asmodeus had laid both of his wives to rest so he now slept alone in his tent. The young man traced his fingertips against the rough fabric of the tent’s exterior until the found the split of the flap. Azmere sliced through as if he were the concealed blade of an assassin with the only sound being the whisper created as the skin recloses.

Once inside, Azmere simply listened. The adrenaline rush from waking after such a dream was still causing his heart to work harder than it needed to; the evidence produced in the form of his heart beat echoing against his eardrums. The Drykas focused on breathe thumping faded only to be replaced by the light wheeze of an old man’s peaceful sleep. Azmere smiled an unbalanced grin and whispered in a voice that was not his quietest but this wasn’t the first time he had woken his ankal from a dead sleep. The first attempt brought no response and Azmere repeated his call with slightly more volume. This attained the desired result and caused the old man to stir. He rolled to his left and then to his right before sitting up with a start. Azmere turned sideways to create a slimmer profile just in case he would need to duck a retaliatory attack. None came, however, as the grandfather relaxed himself by laying his arms around his knees and grabbed hold of his wrist with the other hand.

In a grumbling voice that was heavy with sleep and mucus, he spoke to his relation in short but direct orders. “Azmere? What do you need?” The old man used a large hand to rub his face as if trying to wipe away the urge to lie back down and close his eyes.

Azmere stepped forward and dropped down before his leader and mentor. The younger man sat with his legs crossed and leaned forward pulling his cloak back away from his face. “I had a disturbing vision, ankal. People and animals had colors that followed them. They showed where the people had been and then…” His voice was climbing in both pitch and volume while picking up speed as his excitement drew. It seemed the experience had not lost all of its hold on Azmere. “And then my eyes…they were cut out in the shape of stars. People stared and whispered and I cried blood. No one else could see the colors!” He had reached a level of noise that made him self-aware and also served to stop the retelling of the dream. Azmere leaned closer to his mother’s father. “What do I do with this dream?”

The old man reached forth in the darkness of his home and laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. The big digits curled down and gave a substantial squeeze. This was an action that Azmere relied on whenever he needed encouragement. Asmodeus had always given Azmere exactly the right amount of attention to make him feel secure but not tethered. The men met one another’s gaze and remained silent for a moment until Asmodeus spoke. “You need someone who can give you better advice.” The grin that formed on the elder’s face was easy enough to spot even with the terrible lighting inside the tent. “There is an elder among the Opal clan who has been around for many Runs. He is also one of the only people I know who have visited libraries in far off cities. You need to tell him of this dream.” Asmodeus withdrew his hand and started a slow descent back into sleep. The young man rose slowly and was about to part the tent’s flap when the old man sat back up and barked a stern whisper to his pupil. “Remember, Azmere, there is only one right way to ask for help but there are many wrong ones.” Azmere paused to listen to this mantra that had been applied to everything since he had come to this pavilion from the Moonbow. He pulled his cloak up around his head and slipped back into the cold morning. It was morning but it was still quite dim outside.

The city would be moving today so Azmere had to move quickly. He made his way through the Diamon clan’s encampment and headed towards the center of the Endrykas. Every clan had its leadership close to one another in large, well-patrolled tents. The men and women of Diamond watched him go and said nothing. After covering ground rather quickly, Azmere found himself in the captivated presence of two Opal clan warriors. These men were young but one had an air of experience about him that the outsider could appreciate. Azmere was bathed in the light of a brazier burning nearby and signed a humble greeting followed by a rough symbol for book keeper and the sign for urgent. The two men looked at one another as if thinking through the request. Finally one stepped forth so that he, too, was in the light. He signed old man then spoke in a soft voice “He died in the spring.” The young man’s contorted his hands into a series of hand signals which Azmere roughly translated. He signed thanks and took the information across the open yard in the established center towards the area reserved for the Amethyst clan.

They had a single man on duty by the fire. This man was older than Azmere by many seasons but still looked as virile and deadly as any young man in the city. Azmere gave a polite greeting and apologized for the disturbance. He made the signs for books, book keeper and Opal gift. The guard nodded and rose. He motioned for Azmere to follow him as he wound his way through several large pavilions before they reached a dense cluster of smaller tents. He pointed to the one out of the bunch that looked as if it had been torn asunder then resewn by a blind man. Azmere thanked his escort once more and slowly approached he tent. Syna was starting to awaken the world as her light brightened the sky little by little. The hum of movement grew with each second as man and beast stirred from the cold night spent under warm blankets. The light also made all aware to the newly fallen snow which was still dropping from the skies in tiny flakes. The young horseman reached out for the tent and stopped. He looked around first to see who else was in the area. The man who ushered him in was watching from a distance but also seemed to be talking to some men who had recently risen from their slumbers.

Azmere ducked inside the dark tent with his eyes shut. He gave a tick or two before he opened them. It was a little trick he had learned that allowed his eyes to adjust much quicker from the drastic change in illumination. His gaze fell upon a residence that was very empty for such a small tent. Azmere dropped down onto a knee and looked at the old man who was passed out on his bedroll towards the back of the tent. Azmere couldn’t see his front so he gave himself a few chimes of silence to think about whether or not he should wake this man up. It was suddenly apparent to Azmere that all was silent…all. He opened his eyes and crawled towards the old man and leaned close to listen. After several ticks, the hunter still could not hear any signs of life from the elder. He reached out and touched the weathered skin of the man’s arm. It was sandy to touch but the muscles all seemed tense. Azmere whispered “Elder?” as he rolled the body of the man on to his back. Azmere fell back onto his rump from the shock of his discovery. He called out to the man who had been on watch by the fire. The young Drykas was shattered by the unexpected and unwelcomed sight of death as well as the death of his search for answers. There were very few among his people who would have the knowledge that he needed or at least that’s what he was lead to believe. Azmere got back up on his knees and studied the thing that had initially brought him fear. There was a dagger buried to the hilt in the chest of the old man.

The guard entered the tent along with one of the men he had been talking with when Azmere last saw him. They rushed to the body to examine it under the light of their lantern. Azmere just studied the blade. It appeared old, worn but well-cared for and unlike anything he had ever seen before. The man on duty seemed to know a few things about the physical body and made a few statements about the situation. First was that death would have been very swift and nearly painless while the second was an estimated time since the spirit of the old man had left to rejoin the web. Azmere heard this and found a glimmer of hope because it meant the killer might still be close enough for him to find in the web.

It's you and me against the world.

[Azmere]

Azmere gave his condolences to the guard and other clan member for the loss of the old man. This was a strange way to begin the season and the Amethyst clan was more than capable to handle the situation. The Diamond Drykas found his way out of the tent and meandered until he came to the edge of the commotion. He sat down with his back against a tent and began a series of relaxing deep breaths. After the third one, Azmere felt his body shift and sink. When he opened his eyes, he was in the web just outside the commotion of the murdered elder.

Azmere quickly gained his bearings and began to trace along the woven grid in arcs making a methodical search of the area. First, he went north tracking back into the trail of people, animals and things lingering near Endrykas as they prepared for the move to the winter grounds. There seemed to be little movement here and nothing to indicate a fugitive. Not wanting to waste time, Azmere made careful calculations of the strands around him and made his way back to the center before heading east away from the tent city. There was very little of anything on this side which made the search go rather quickly. There seemed to be no signs of life this direction even as the Drykas flashed over miles and miles of terrain. Once more, he returned to the center and began a sweeping dance along the djed lines that fanned out to the south. Azmere didn’t expect to find anyone moving in this direction because the whole of the city would begin to head this way once Syna got a little higher in the sky. The warrior traced lines that lead to animal burrows as they woke and streams that were slowed by the cold but he was nearly at his limit when he caught sight of something.

Moving without effort from one strand to the next, Azmere came close to a rider making his way south. He horse was being pushed but not erratically which indicated a well-traveled rider. His clothes seemed a bit exotic and foreign to Azmere who watched him ride by only to slip ahead of him and study more detail. The man had strange eyes and a stranger saddle but none of these things made him a killer. For a final inspection, Azmere used the web to get ahead of this person one more time. He wasn’t expecting much but he was given all. The cold wind blew as the snow started to fall harder and it lifted the cloak of the rider revealing his weapon. A curved sword clambered against his thigh but it was the hilt that caught the eye of the Drykas. It was exactly like the dagger buried in the old man’s chest. Azmere did not hesitate and returned to his body immediately. He did not allow for a slow awakening and stumbled to his feet.

Azmere made his way back to his pavilion trying to regain his equilibrium and was having small victories at the task. He nearly fell against a sleeping tent but managed to stay upright long enough to use a storage tent to catch himself. He was continuing to feel better when he got back to the Diamond section. He sprinted to his tent and retrieved the blanket and yvas from inside. He jogged over to Hephiestian and settled the blanket along his back then tossed the yvas over it. Patting he horse on the neck, Azmere returned to his tent and came back out with his bow, quiver, club and backpack. He secured his belongings onto his body and climbed atop of the strider. The wind bit at the man who adjusted his cloak a bit tighter then urged the horse into action by giving a swift kick to his flanks. Hephiestian seemed to respond well enough and galloped in the direction he had been pointed; south.

Azmere navigated through the maze of tents and pavilions without too much trouble seeing as how a good majority of folk were still asleep. Once he reached the edge of the city, Azmere tucked his chest down against his horse. He whispered a simple phrase to the creature which was something of an inside joke. It was a word synonymous to fire but over time had become a form of slang for Azmere and his mount. He used it the first time Hephiestian had outrun the wind and several times since. “Spark.” The beast heard and responded with longer strides that lead to a smooth gait. The duo seemed to float over the grass in this way and the rider soon became aware of an approaching landmark he had seen in the web. He steered the horse to the left of a large pile of stones. It trekked wide along the run making for easy travel even I the inclement weather. The air nipped at Azmere’s exposed face so he tucked himself down as much as he could. He had to maintain visual confirmation of certain things so that he could keep them on course to catch the foreigner who murdered the Drykas elder.

Hephiestian picked up speed as if called forth by something deeper than a direction to ride. The land was still only partially lit from Syna’s rays due to both the early time of day and the clouds of wet snow looming overhead. Azmere felt the wind swirl around them and fought several times to keep from shivering. The speed at which they were traveling tripled the force of the blowing bits of frozen precipitation. The tiny flakes almost felt like small blades cutting at Azmere’s face but he resisted the urge to bury himself within his cloak. He had to catch this fiend. The strider seemed to hit his stride and was soon moving at such a rapid pace that his rider couldn’t discern the beating of individual hooves. The pounding had turned into a steady hum and a series of lines, dots and curls became apparent on the coat of Hephiestian. The dimly illuminated markings seemed to make an outline of the musculoskeletal system of the creature. Dim, watery blue and green lines traced bones and highlighted muscles along the side and back of the horse and even a few outlined the jaw and eyes. Azmere noticed this and gave a single pat to his companion. He knew this was how Hephiestian liked to travel; fast.

Azmere watched as the miles rolled by. He kept himself low and even against the stingy cold of wind-burned cheeks and chapped lips, he continued to steer his stallion whenever necessary to follow the run south. The rider ahead of him was smart to stay on this path. It was the easiest to follow, safest to travel and the quickest way out of the Sea of Grass. It had been almost two bells of riding and Azmere mused over the fact that the assassin must not have counted on being followed. As hard as the murderer probably rode to get away from the tent city, he would never be able to cover ground like a Drykas and his Strider. Azmere pulled on the yvas and Hephiestian’s mane to move them along the route when he realized they had gone past the last marker he had seen in the web. He drew up on the mane and sat up in his yvas which slowed his strider to a trot.

Azmere began to search the ground and verbally thanked Zulrav for the snow. The ground was scarcely frozen giving the heavy prints of a horse bearing a rider a muddy brown outline. Azmere gathered the general direction they had gone and squeezed his legs into Hephiestian. The beast trotted forward at a purposeful pace but one that allowed Azmere to slip his bow over his head and draw an arrow. He notched it and kept pressure but did not draw. Rather, he adjusted his grip so both bow and arrow could be held in one hand. Azmere reached down with his free hand and took hold of the yvas handle and urged his horse to move a bit faster. The blue and gold eyes traced the trail of horseshoes along the wide path as they lead around a low-lying area known for flooding. As the trail straightens back out, Azmere’s stomach drops. The singular trail of horse tracks is now a muddy mess. It seems the rider either got lost and went in a hundred different directions or he knew he was followed and made the confusing scene on purpose. Whichever the cause, Azmere had to stop. Not being an experienced tracker, he had to dismount. Carefully stalking about the area in search of a final path, Azmere held Vihar with an arrow notched as he tried to find other signs of the rider’s passing. A huge wave of doubt slammed over the hunter and started to crumble the resolve he had at the outset of this journey. Riding hard to catch up was one thing. Trying to track an assassin was something totally different. Azmere continued to trace the lines of horse tracks leading back and forth and across one another. His hope was starting to fade as more snow fell and the true path grew colder.

It's you and me against the world.

[Azmere]

With every tick and every passing chime, the hunter soon found himself running through various scenarios in his head. The obvious clue was that the person he was chasing knew what he or she was doing. The less obvious told Azmere a great deal, however. This place was chosen for a reason to create this mess. His eyes scanned for landmarks finding only two. One was a set of trees to the southwest which could be a good place to hide but it did seem a bit too easy. The second was an abandoned outpost to the far south. Azmere had seen many simple structures like this before. Sometimes, mostly due to weather, outposts and other seasonal sites cannot be accessed on every turn of the Run. The solution is to build a new one somewhere else. Azmere decided that he would make for the outpost if he was the one running. The shelter was better and there was the potential for something left behind that may be useful.

Having decided on his course of action, the inexperienced tracker mounted his horse and rode swiftly but cautiously to the trees. If the villain was in the outpost, riding headlong into him might not end so well. Azmere gauged the trees to be equidistant from his present point and the old building so he elected to use it as a way point to try and gather more information before proceeding. As Hephiestian approached, Azmere dismounted clutching Vihar and used the momentum to run right up into the lower branches of the first tree. The new angle and the benefit of a few extra feet of height did enlighten the Drykas. He smiled his crooked smile when his eyes locked on to the leather straps of a bridle. The rest of the horse’s head came into view as it munched at some grass poking through the snow trying to chew around the bit that was lodged in its mouth. Azmere did not understand cultures that dressed their horses with so much gear. All the weight and strapping saps the true potential of the creature, strider or no.

Returning to the task at hand, Azmere now knew where his quarry was hiding. Now he needed a plan. He was fully intending on taking this man alive so that questions could be asked but he was also prepared to protect himself. Another handful of chimes slipped away on the cold wind and the warrior had yet to find a solid approach to the building. He bit his lip while rolling past some stupid ideas to see if any might have some merit in this unusual circumstance. While he was waiting, Hephiestian began to much on the tops of some grass near the base of the trees. Azmere shifted Vihar and the arrow to his right hand so he could scratch his right shoulder. Just as he was about to take the weapon back into a proper grip, he felt something cold and heavy slam down against the back of his head.

He tumbled from the tree landing on his bow. Thankfully, the arrow fell flat and did not find its way into Azmere’s gut. Reeling from the blow, the Drykas was dizzy and having a hard time standing up. He whirled around, his hands fumbling for his club, and searched for his attacker. In the next few ticks, the situation went from bad to worse. A man dressed in strange clothes tossed a large log at Azmere’s chest which the Drykas deflected with an awkward swipe of his arm. The assailant then used a tree branch to swing his weight forward with a booted heel aimed for Azmere’s face. Still a bit unbalanced, Azmere was able to duck beneath the kick but did not have his wits about him to counter. Once the foot went over his head, Azmere finally drew forth his club and swung it above him in an attempt to smash the smaller man. When his eyes caught up to his target, the assassin was standing several feet behind Azmere with a sword drawn. Azmere turned to face his opponent. He could feel the warm blood trickling down the back of his scalp and along his neck. He was grateful for the cold which would slow the blood seeping from the wound.

The man before him was almost completely covered from head to toe. His boots looked soft and curled up at the toe. His pants were baggy but a shimmering shade of gold that seemed to absorb the colors around it. One tick it looked white, the next; brown. He had a long cape that wrapped around his head, then neck and then flowed around him that was a darker version of the same material as his trousers. Azmere noted the heavy gloves which appeared to be some kind of studded armor if they matched the breastplate of this person. The one piece of skin that could be clearly identified was the mask around his eyes. The skin was tanned but Azmere hardly even noticed. His body went almost limp as he stared into the man’s gaze. “Your eyes…” he whispered in Pavi. Azmere was dazed and lost staring into a set of brown eyes with gold and green starbursts radiating from the pupils. It was like his dream in a way.

Seeing the warrior in a dazed state, the assassin lunged forward with a high slicing arc intending to end the horseman’s life. Azmere was a bit out of it but not comatose. He lifted his arm to mirror the motion of the attack but twisted his wrist so that the club head would strike an angle to the blade. It worked better than Azmere could have ever hoped for the impact of the heavy club rattle the blade from its owner’s grasp. Now it was the invader’s turn to fumble. The heavy gloves cost him dearly in dexterity. Using both hands and taking his gaze from Azmere, the strange man almost chased after his sword in an attempt to reclaim control. Azmere made two quick strides while allowing his arm to windmill from his parry then brought the massive force up and across his body right for the hands of his opponent. Success! The bill of the glassbeak came up against the back of the swordsman’s hand with a sickening crack which was followed by a scream of anguish and the distant ting of the blade as it bounced onto the ground. Azmere’s wound now took its toll on the fight. With compromised balance, the follow-through of such a powerful swing pulled the Drykas past his opponent and stealing the chance to finish the duel quickly.

It's you and me against the world.

[Azmere]

By the time Azmere recovered, his adversary was on his feet clutching the wounded hand. Blood, bright red ran between the fingers of his glove. His eyes stared at Azmere but now, his entire face was uncovered…or rather, her face had been exposed through a conscious effort to unwrap the cloak. Azmere stood wielding his club in the ready for some kind of trickery but was certainly not expecting the assassin who displayed such great skill to be a woman. Her eyes showed the pain that must certainly be radiating from her shattered hand but also a lack of fear. The more he viewed the situation, the more things started to click into place. He weighed killing her because he knew that he was too weak to force her back to Endrykas for any kind of trial.

As if she could read his thoughts, the woman spoke in a rough Common that had an accent which Azmere had never heard before. “You…no need…kill me.” Her voice trembled almost matching the pumping of blood from her hand. Her tone was soft but that was due to her heaving in and out short, choppy breaths. Azmere narrowed his gaze and took a step forward but the ground threatened to slide away so he didn’t move. He responded with his own simple Common. “You murder. Stand trial.” She shook her head and sunk down into a crouch with her arms going around her knees. “No capture.”

Azmere inched forward by shuffling his feet. He could feel this head wound pounding but at the least the blood had seemed to stop flowing. “Trial or die here.” He gave a flick of his wrist to swing the ead of the club around. The woman’s strange eyes followed the sharp object that seemed to be made of something out of a nightmare. It was apparent that she did not want to die. Azmere did not wish to kill her. She should stand trial but he knew she’d escape if he tried to capture her. He moved closer still now looming above like a disfigured executioner. He started to draw his arm back when she protested and hopped backwards landing in that same crouch. “Wait! I pay.” Azmere gave her a furrowed brow for her efforts. “Face trial or die. No deal.” He settled on those eyes once more knowing he had questions that needed to be answered but he could not risk letting the fugitive escape. His thoughts must have been transparent because those star-struck eyes glistened and her words came quickly. “I teach you!” She struggled, the color was leaving her face from all of the blood that was being lost. “I gift…magic! Powerful!” Her excitement started to show in her speech. Azmere was confused.

“Magic cannot give. Must learn.” She shook her head and tilted her head closer to him. “My eyes. Magic. Stars truth.” She had him. Azmere stared into her eyes and felt his curiosity beating his reason into a dark corner within his mind. He slowly lowered the club but did not loosen his grip. He took a step back and one to the side giving him a good pursuit angle should she try and run. Whatever magic she had wasn’t offensive otherwise, he’d be a pile of something unpleasant. “Wrap hand. Bleed less.” He used the club to motion at her cape when he said this. “Tell magic. Tell stars.” He narrowed his gaze at watched her closely.

Hephiestian was starting to make his way a bit closer but was still too far to retrieve some water. He shook his head and blinked twice refocusing upon the strange woman. She looked at her brilliant cape and then at her hand. Azmere watched her gingerly loop the cloth around the wound and immediately corrected her. “Tighter. Stop blood.” He made a gesture like he was pulling his hands in opposite directions to indicate she needed to do it again. The femme fatale, in fact, took his advice and silenced a scream allowing but a squeak to escape as she torqued down on material. She was surprised to find the man was right and then began her tale.

“Magic. Stars. See path.” She motioned to herself, to Azmere and then to his strider. “All things leave path.” Her hand waved behind her as if a cloth dancing on the wind. “Path show way. Stars show path.” She pointed to her eyes. “I give stars.” She pointed to Azmere and indicated her eyes and then his. “Peace show path.” She sat down and made herself comfortable and then closed her eyes as if she was praying or meditating. “Peace show path.” She repeated. Azmere was soaking everything up like a child. She opened her eyes and leveled that starry gaze at Azmere. “I give stars. I go.” Azmere was seriously considering it. If what she said was true, it would mean an unparalleled tracking ability. It certainly kept in line with his dream but it would mean letting a fugitive go. She did murder a man. He couldn’t be selfish. No. Justice must be served.

Once more, the woman read his thoughts because she chimed in. “I give you. You give stars.” She nodded several times. Azmere made a face that showed a lack of understanding. The woman waited a moment and watched her captor. Once he had made eye contact, she inclined her head drawing him in and tried to explain the concept again. “I give stars. You learn.” She nodded her head slowly as she spoke. “You know stars. You give clan.” She continued to nod and accentuate her words with hand motions. While it wasn’t Pavi, the illustrations did help Azmere who was far from a scholarly man. He was rolling the idea around in his brain again. Would it really be selfish if he shared this with others? Would he be just in this endeavor or would he abuse the magic as a means to incur favor? The woman watched the man carefully but did not move. She knew she had her idea hooked into him. It was only a matter of time until she could enact the final stage which would grant her freedom.

The Path Continues...

It's you and me against the world.

[Jasmine Stormblood]

First time grading wish me luck

XP-
Observation: 3 XP
Webbing: 1 XP
Tracking: 2 XP
Weapon Club: 1 XP
Land Navigation: 1 XP
Rhetoric: 1 XP
Socialization: 2 XP
Negotiation: 1 XP
Stealth: 1 XP
Riding- Horse: 2 XP
Logic: 2 XP
Running: 2 XP
Animal Husbandry: 1 XP
Unarmed Combat: 1 XP

Lores-
Azmere: unbalanced grin
Asmodeus: One Right way to ask for help
Webbing: Found a killer
Tracking: Human
Clubs heavier than swords
Praying for Zulrav's Protection

Additional Notes:

Well done. I can't wait to see the second thread and see how it ends. A side note careful of spelling and missing words

The Clan is Strength.
The Clan is Life.