Grass, Blood, and New Beginnings.[Merenwen, Ronan Windsong]

[Matthial]

Photo by James Jordan 15th of Summer, 511 AV The sun lazily lifted itself from underneath her dark blanket. Under her watchful eye the various denizens of the plains either awoke, or returned to sleep. The endless grass stretched on for miles and miles. To the birds-eye, it looked as if the sea of green went on forever. Yet, there was a break. A small clearing along a winding wagon trail. It wasn't so much a trail two long breaks in the grass caused by a caravan of goods. If one looked far enough it could be seen that the trail started amongst the tents of the famed city of the plains, Endrykas. Yet, at the other end of the trail, a scene was developing. Horses and carriages where stopped, with guards set up to defend against Glassbeaks and other such horrors of the plains. Dozens of people peeked out from within the wagon tents, while others looked down from horseback. A particularly large merchant stood alone in the center of the group, staring down a short man in chainmail. Both stood facing the other, the merchant was in a defensive stance and was grasping a hilted dagger at his side. In contrast, the younger man stood in a more relaxed pose, long dark hair fell about the face as a single eye peeked through and a mustached lip curled. "So you havn't seen him? Not even a lick of brown hair?" The merchant balked and raised a hand. "Who are you to be asking you frightful wisp of a man, this is MY caravan, and you are fast wearing on my patience." The figure stood for a moment, his cloak shifted just an inch as he seemed to consider. Doing so, revealed the glint of chainmail beneath the cloak. Scratching at his goatee the man sighed. "Hmm. So you arn't a slave trader? If I pull down one of them wagon-backs you won't have cages with free-labor?" The merchant scowled. "Would it matter? Since when was slave trade a crime? Who are you to be asking such questions anyway?" The cloaked figure brushed a strand of hair out of his other eye and studied his adversary. "You know well what I mean. That boy ain't for trade. He's got an answerin' and a family. Now eve-" The merchant burst into laughter. Looking back to his guards he motioned two over. Still chuckling he took a step towards the shorter man. He leaned in close, staring the wanderer right in the eyes. He pronounced each word to such a point, and with such ferocity that a bit of spittle found its way onto the other man's face. "Listen here you ragged dog. I'll not be questioned by some baffoon. If the boy's parents really loved him, they wouldn't have let him get snatched up by anyone who walked by. Now... you must have your head up your rear because if I WAS a slaver I could have my boys throw you in a cage and sell you wherever I damn well please. That what you want?" For a long moment nothing was said. Then the shorter man let his cloak slide to the side, revealing the chainmail once more, but now, at the side, a sword. A single hand rested along the hilt. "What I want, is that child." Immediatly the merchant drew a rather elaborate, jewelled dagger. His guards didn't once pause, in one seamless motion they turned their spears towards the newcomer, and started to advance. Matthial looked the merchant dead in the eye, and spoke clearly for all to hear. "You know as well as I, that you've got days before you hit a good city. I'm still lookin' for that boy. I'll leave it rest for now. Yours isn't the only caravan leaving today. I don't find hide nor hair of the kid... I'll have some more questions." The merchant snorted. "You don't have a horse, and I really don't see a reason not to tie you up and string you along behind my wa-" He wasn't even finished speaking before the wandering knight had wrenched his sword from his sheathe. It wasn't a smooth motion, but it was fast. It was easy to see that the manuever was practiced, the muscles trained to move in such a fashion. The sword was then gripped in both hands, and held above the head in a 'high-ready' stance. A stance that had been adopted, if not invented by the famed Syliran knighthood. The merchant almost said something else, but realized it didn't matter. "I don't know who the gods you think you are, but swordsman or not. I see you again, you are dead." Turning on his heel, he held his hand up and drew his finger in a circular motion. The caravan stretched out amongst the plains, and several miles behind, a ragged dog followed.

[Merenwen]

The tall grass rippled in a slow, yet solid motion, distinct from that of a pattern made by the breeze. Almost as if on cue with the nearby caravan merchant's signal, the movement stalked alongside the wagons. Two parallel tufts of black fur bobbed up and then back down under the grass, like shark's fins. With seemingly careful deliberation, the movement waved back and forth along the caravan's path, keeping a safe distance.

If one tuned in, the faint sound of the grass being crushed under footsteps could be heard. With careful deliberation, the footsteps could be deciphered as being a set of four. At a frequency too low to be heard by human ears was a faintly audible growl rumbling deep in the chest of the creature in the grass. The motion in the grass lept forward, closer to the head of the caravan and with a swift turn, looped back towards the back. This crooked trail crossed back and forth over itself several swift times before it jolted to the head of the caravan and paused. The black tufts of hair sank below the grass slowly...

[Ronan]

"Blast!" Ronan cried, cover blown. He had been crouched in the grass, concealed. Ever since their first meeting, Matthial had intrigued Ronan, and now he had - first by chance, then by choice - followed the swordsman out of Endrykas to the merchant caravans to try and work out what was going on. But then something had moved through the tall grass besides him. He had felt a rush of cool wind against his skin, and though he at first presumed it to be an animal, it felt more human, more mortal. A feral streak for sure, but humanoid all the same. The problem had occurred when he had given a start, bobbing his head over the grass. And now, as he swore, he was sure either Matthial or one of the merchants had spotted him. More importantly - that brush with the wild... what manner of creature had been prowling the grasses? And had he been spotted? Ronan sank back down to the ground, pondering on both.

[Matthial]

Matthial blinked, and turned his head. He had sworn he'd heard ... something. A shout perhaps? He wasn't entirely sure. Pulling his cloak to the side, the man drew his worn longsword. The blade slowly advanced in front of its master, parting the grass ahead. Peeking through a break, he spotted the rear guard of the caravan. The guard was still walking, and didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. If it wasn't the guard who had yelled, then... Looking behind him, Matthial lowered the blade to the ground, and drew the cloak about his crouched figure. Brushing a single black strand out of his eye, the man searched the grasses behind him. He had a general idea of where the wagon was going, but didn't want to lose them entirely. Giving the group a head start, he decided to wait for ten minutes. Hopefully he could catch these caravan scouts. The merchant leader probably sent them behind to look for him. He'd have to let them pass, and then continue following the convoy.

[Merenwen]

The brush of an unknown figure, and then the quick approach of another. The shark in the grass jumped back, a lightning fast flash of tan, black, and grey. Two black pins, the dual fins of the shark, surfaced the ocean of grass, followed by the prominent ears and square head of a massive feline. There was a low yowl, a sound of warning, before the figure fell back below the tips of the grass. The grass jolted as the lynx drove further from these two creatures who had interrupted her search for food.

A fear gripped this being. Danger. Danger was the thought that roamed her mind as she slowly but steadily made distance between herself and these two men. She was unsure of their respective motives, but the one with the sword put her at undeniable unease. In addition to losing her first two attempts at a meal, this one sure wasn't showing signs of success.

[Ronan]

Ronan decided to make himself known to Matthial - but not reveal that he had followed the man. He backed up on himself, and then rose from the grass, making his way down the slope. Whatever had passed him hadn't returned, but something had moved through the grass swiftly... Now Matthial was walking away from the merchants. Ronan got the impression that the man was looking for something. Or someone. It seemed the wandering swordsman had more secrets than Ronan had given him credit for on their last meeting. He looked at Matthial as he neared, his expression both annoyed and worn out, and then Ronan waved to get the man's attention. He might not be able to watch any more, but he could sure as hell find out what Matthial was doing here.

[Matthial]

Matthial jumped back a bit as he heard what could only be described as a howl. He wasn't aware of the Sea of Grass and their denizens, but he doubted the locals howled at the moon. Or in this case, an early morning sun. Still gripping his sword, he looked back, to reassure himself that the caravan was still heading north. Sure enough he could just make out a fluff of dust rising over the stalks of grass. The wanderer froze as he realized another man was waving at him. Son of a... Then he squinted, he could swear he recognized the figure... The wandering swordsman slowly approached the other man, as he did, the sword was gripped in both hands, but he let it drag amidst the grass to his left. The walk gave the impression of a man lowering his sword in a gesture of peace, yet at the same time to the experienced eye it was obvious that sword could be drawn in a sharp slashing motion should the situation require it. Now a few feet away, Matthial finally placed the other figure. "Ronan? Didn't strike me as the hired thug." He looked about, hoping to spot the other scouts. "You workin' for slavers? Really didn't strike me as the type. That bein' said why don't you let your friends out? Their bows can shoot just as fine in the open as opposed to hidden." He emphasized the last with a raised finger and a look out of the corner of his eye. The sword tip drooped into the grass. "Also, you might wanna get whatever creature you got howlin' to ease on up. We can talk about this." The man held himself ready for anything.

[Merenwen]

Having retreated only a few solid yards away, this creature froze.

Howling?

With a single fluid motion, the stalker in the grass rose up in transformation. Wild, tangled hair fell around the sharp face of a young woman. Unkept nails tipped dirty hands held out in a defensive stance. Golden green eyes pierced through the space between them. Her face was curled in an irritated snarl.

Topping off the spectacle was the fact that she appeared completely oblivious to the fact that she was nude. She had a lean and muscular, but small frame. Hardly a menacing being in such a form, but she was nevertheless fearless.

"You confuse me with some dog, and ruin my hunt?!" Her voice was crystalline as it was steady, and with faint accent. She snatched a piece of grass from the root and used it to tie ragged bangs out of her face.

[Ronan]

"Slavers? And no, I don't have any friends around?" Ronan scowled at the swordsman. He hadn't expected such a snappy reply. "I was just walking? Wandering around? Remember how I found you in the grass last time, or have you forgotten that I saved your life?" Matthial looked set to make some angry retort, when his eyes span to meet the new female voice. "You confuse me with some dog, and ruin my hunt?!" Ronan turned, and heat blossomed in his cheeks. This woman - wherever she had come from - was naked. Completely, stark naked. Ronan turned away. He hadn't seen a woman's body for so long... he ached, and felt all the more embarrassed for it. She seemed very uninterested in the fact of her nudity, and she began to pull hair away from her face. There was something wild about her, and Ronan quickly added up what was going on. She had been the creature he had felt in the grass. A Kelvic! "Uh... your hunt?"

[Matthial]

Matthial blinked, and for the slightest moment something could be seen in the face. Something ... black. An expression so pure, so distinct that there was no mistaking what the face was trying to convey. Rage. Unadulterated fury. Almost as soon as it had appeared, it was gone. Replaced with a new, blank mask. For a long moment Matthial simply stared at Ronan, oblivious to the newcomer, oblivious to his surroundings, and oblivious to the Drykas. This man was somewhere else, in a different time and place. The arm flinched, and then the man rose the hilt above his head, and gently eased the sword back into its place at his side. The sword now sheathed, a single hand undid the strings fastening the cloak around his neck. Using his free hand he pulled the cloak out, and draped it over his arm. Then the man looked up into the still rising sun. A breath, and he looked back to Ronan with a smile. "I have not forgotten my friend. I rashly assumed you where working with a caravan of slavers, who I feared had left a scouting party behind to deal with me. Ive been stirring up trouble..." He looked to the women, yet his eyes never once touched her body, instead looking the kelvic right in her eyes, and then fell down to her cheeks. "... Like shaking the branches of a tree. I am searching for a lost bird. A child, picked up from a group of pilgrims and I fear obtained for slavery." The chainmailed figure studied the woman's cheeks and jaws, careful not to make eye-contact, yet careful not to look at her naked form. "Miss, I did not mean to compare you to a dog, as it is quite obvious you are far from it. I know little of Kelvics or your ways, I respect you so I won't make eye-contact. However, I ask that you return that respect by covering yourself with this cloak." A single arm was extended as the man awaited her response to Ronan's question.