Quest Counter Attack!

[Meadow]

meadow

75th of Fall 516 A.V.

Clouds hung above Endrykas as the city helped prepare the warriors to go fight against their enemies. The Zith had kidnapped several people and killed a large amount of live stock. Cyrus had given a speech several days before hand to inspire the people. It worked many had stepped forward, but only five had been chosen to go along with two members of the Watch members. One was a young man that was originally from the Amethyst clan. He was a quiet drykas who was not known to show much emotion in front of people. Though his way with animals spoke a very different tale. The diamond clan Conclave member thought it best to send him in case any of the livestock or horses would need help. From what the white haired man knew there would also be at least one kelvic going with the group. The other Watch member was a young man with a tear drop under one eye. He was no stranger to such a dangerous mission, the boy had been sent with the group going to the mines. The tanned warrior had also been a witness in the trial against a dark skinned kelvic woman the previous season.

Cyrus sent word to the pavilions of the five volunteers that the members had two bells to get packed and say good bye to any loved ones that they wished to. It would be a long and dangerous journey that could very likely take one of their lives if not all of them. As was normal in the city word spread quickly of the call to arms. A crowd began to form at the Wind Knotted gates to see them off. There was excitement and nervousness buzzing in the air; however below the nerves and excited faces the ever present knowledge of possibly losing more of their people was there. Though most pushed it down not wanting to acknowledge the pit in their stomachs thinking of the Zith. So many lost it hurt the people as a whole. Now however it was their time to strike back at the monsters that had plagued them all season.

~~~~Two Bells later~~~~

Cyrus walked out of the Watch tent with both men in tow. It was time to present the town's warriors as well as their escorts. The crowd that had gathered quieted down seeing the man appear once more.

“Greetings! I will make this quick so that the group can leave,” Cyrus called standing before the city members, “all five members step forward please.”

Once the five had presented themselves before the man he motioned for the other two Ra'athi to join them. The man with the tear drop stood to the left of the group while the other man stood to the right of them. Cyrus took a deep breath before looking at the group before him. He spoke each name of the volunteers and had them turn with their heads held high with pride.

“Joining them are two Ra'athi. One who has spent his entire life working with the animals of the city and outside of it, Frolie. The other is a man not unaccustomed to danger; he went with the group into the mines two seasons ago, Sparrow,” Cyrus allowed the crowd to react to the faces presented before them, “you seven represent the fire and determination of the people. I send you all off with a blessing and a prayer. There is no telling what all dangers you will face on this journey, but the whole of Endrykas is behind you. Go now and show our enemies why no one messes with the Drykas people.”

The crowd behind the seven started to cry out in praise and excitement showing them the man's words were true. Cyrus walked to the edge of the city with the group. Each respect member's striders were held by a member of the amethyst clan. Turning the man wished them good luck and offered a prayer to Zulrav for their safety. Stepping out of the way, he watched as everyone got prepared then rode out towards the trail of blood leading to the winged beasts.

[Ixzo]

Warriors do not rage. Warriors do not rage. Warriors do not rage. Bare toes dug into the crispy grass beneath her, already tingling with cold. She could hear the even breathing of her Ankal beside her, somehow uninterrupted by the utterly different rhythm of the horse beneath him, and did not dare drag her sleep-depraved red eyes to look at him. Instead she focused on mimicking his calmness, hoping that it would be convincing enough she may believe it herself. She was quite lucky that the Stormblood beasts had gotten used to her, because surely no herbivore would allow the predator to stick around in this state. Warriors do not rage. Warriors do not rage… The Myrian raised Kelvic had to see this as a battle. It was one of many against those vile winged creatures, and they would win. Only if she kept her head.

To deny herself the most basic essence of what made her Kelvic, emotions, was agonizing. The usually comforting warmth of her bond was on fire, and her heart could not decide which emotion was actually hers. It constricted her breath, flipping in her ribs to decide if she was distressed or infuriated. Could the distress be Rufio? Messing with her own emotions?

Warriors do not rage… Myri would have frowned upon her if she had let her emotions take control and snuck out the first night that Rufio was missing. Even if she had hid as a lion, she would have perished, and then where would she be? At least with the Drykas with her, she would have a better chance. She could not let this anger interrupt her mission. And for once it was her mission. Ixzo was not walking in hopes to gain the trust of the people around her, or because she craved the joy of the fight. In her mind, the Drykas were helping her today. She was going to get back Rufio.

Once they stood waiting, too slowly for Ixzo's taste, the Kelvic took notice of those around her. The droll chant had faded into the recesses of her mind, no matter how many times she repeated it, it did not loosen the white in her knuckles. Unlike the past times she was ventured out with the Drykas, the Kelvic was barefoot. Even in the chilly Autumn evening, she wore little more than a pair of leather breeches and a wrap around her torso. Her dreaded hair, usually so carefully braided up to reflect both Myrian and Drykas culture, hung loose around her shoulders, tapping at her waste. On her hips was just one axe, which was for Rufio. She earned an odd look from Sparrow at her severely underdressed attire, but she gave the watchman no words in return. She had no intention of walking on two feet for very long, and no longer cared if the Drykas would shoot her for it. Perhaps those who did not know her feline form would put two and two together, and that would save her. It wasn't a worry in Ixzo's mind, she was focused on Rufio.

Only when the group begin to depart did these thought impede on her inner chanting. There was a buzzing noise in the background, and before Ixzo spoke she realized it was the crowd. There had been a crowd?


"Azmere?" She grunted, catching his attention before her pace moved her far towards the back. Query, save cloths. "Will you hold my items?" Night Lion, will hunt. She alluded at the place, suddenly uncertain of what was going to actually happen. Although her Pavi had increased significantly, Ixzo did not speak aloud of her lion form often, but she hoped her Ankal would understand what she was asking. As she motioned towards the strap of leather which was his Yvas, signing the word for please. Unless they were ambushed, in which case she would shift with little thought for her clothes, she assumed they behave as any warrior group, scouting out their target before they begun the attack, giving her the spare moment she needed to shift into a more useful form for this kind of thing. She was an excellent hunter, and although she was not hunting for food, she was hunting all the same.

[Azmere]

Azmere sat atop Skylla and watched the distant horizon with his contrasting gaze. He had been present for Cyrus’ speech where he explained the nature of the Vengeful Sky. The ankal was on board from the get go. Aside from believing it to be the right course of action, the archer had been there earlier in the season when the Zith had taken Waisana who had saved Azmere’s life back in the spring. The final raid separated Azmere from his pavilion in a streak of fire. He could still feel the heat upon his face and if one looked close enough she could see the flames flickering in his gaze. Rufio, the playful and freckled fortune teller, was a part of his family and now she was at the mercy of those beasts.

The Drykas had felt protective before. He had experienced the pain of losing a loved one but this was different. Azmere had taken Ixzo and Rufio under his wing to give them a home; to help them prosper. Being held captive by Zith was the opposite of what he had promised. The gripping anger deep inside his chest was like a weight that drug his mind to a dark place. The ankal felt personally responsible for Rufio’s capture and was willing to do whatever it took to get her back.

Despite his own introspection, the man was suddenly aware of Ixzo. She was standing next to him but her mind was elsewhere. It was certainly understandable. Azmere did not know everything about the kelvic bond but he was starting to thanks to Firenze. The blue and gold stare took note of the fact that Ixzo was not wearing shoes. He could not recall a time when he had seen her go without boots. He lifted an eyebrow but didn’t inquire about the matter. The silvery eyes turned to gaze up at him. He matched her stare and nodded to her request. He made a small gesture of agreement to the dark-skinned hunter. The archer was looking at their group. He did not know a few of them but was certainly familiar with the majority of faces.

“Ixzo, you’re probably the best tracker.” The starbursts settled upon the woman with a calm stare. “Do you think you could scout for us?” His hands twisted into the signs for clarity and teamwork. There was a part of him that worried about Ixzo. He wasn’t sure what emotions were boiling underneath the stone expressions. It’s hard to say how a person will react when a loved one is in danger.

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

She was out of place here. There were warriors here, but they were all more. They were people who had suffered loses in the Zith attacks. People standing up to protect their city, their people. There were people here who had joined the Watch or looked out for the city. People like Azmere and Sparrow, who she constantly fought against and alongside.

Then there was her. Merevaika, the untrusting thief, the con-artist, the kinslayer. Merevaika, who fought for herself and only herself, who had no links, no ties, no family. Yet people praised her and gave her their blessing, as they did with the other volunteers. And she loved it.

Was this what she had missed, all those years alone? Nonsense - she didn't need this.

She was here because she wanted to fight. That, and because she knew that she needed to stay in Endrykas' good books, before some idiots decided to drive her out again. What better way than to volunteer to risk her life?

Eryunt was stomping and snorting while he waited for the procession to move to them, unsettled by the stranger who tried to hold him and the fact that Merevaika was away. The wild woman knew how to settle a wild horse, mounting him and rubbing his neck.

The other members of her group needed to be settled too, but she doubted a good neck scratching would do the job. They wanted blood shed. They wanted people back. And they would get that. All they needed was to bring forth the Zith, and Merevaika would slaughter them for them. Green and red eyes stared out over the horizon, wondering whether anyone knew anything about the foul beasts they were hunting.

Azmere asked Ixzo to track. Merevaika tensed at the lack of reaction to her own presence. Surely the hunter would have something to say to the woman who he had almost caught red-handed. She tensed more at the fact someone was being called the best. Stubborn as she was, she refused to let anyone else do it for her.

But then again, the man had some brains. Maybe he had a reason for falling straight to Ixzo.

Her heart raced, but they weren't moving. Her blood boiled around her body, waiting for the fight. This was too slow. Too boring. They needed to move, search, ride, fight. Not wait around for this warrior woman, no matter how good a tracker, to reply.

Eryunt shifted restlessly. Merevaika shifted restlessly, rearranging the waterskin on her belt with her knife. Her eyes flickered to the other members of the group, the ones she didn't recognise. Weighing them up. Both seemed to be warriors. She wondered how well they would fight. She wondered why they would fight.

"Let us ride, for the quicker we find these beasts, the better," she finally snarled, waiting, watching. Watching everyone's reactions, trying to guess their thoughts. It was time to move, whatever they thought.

[Lorcan Gregory]

Dour as the sunless and oppressive clouds hanging over Endrykas, the native kin gathered together before the Wind Knotted Gates; emitting their mustered courage and strength in a grand gesture of support for their chosen warriors. As a people united they bolstered the city's morale in a defiant chant against the Zith. For days now Lörcán had trembled during every waking hour; the decision to launch head first into the tactical assault against the winged vermin, petrified him to his core.

Was he ready to die for these people? A people to whom he was not a part of, nor one he fit into.

The internal conflict between committing to his future or betraying his past had torn his soul into a shattered snafu; irresolutely faltering through the season of change. Living as an outsider, keeping his distance as a lone ranger, Lörcán felt incomplete; his heart yearning - but for what he couldn’t tell. He had fought side by side with the ferocious, robust Drykas and somehow it made him feel whole. Was this what he was meant to do?

Shuffling apprehensively from foot to foot, adjusting his heavy pack upon his shoulders; Lörcán glanced tensely at the daunting procession lined on show to either side of him. Men and women he had never before met. Men and women he was now to trust with his life. Men and women whose lives now depended upon him also. A lump of gathered saliva constricted his throat as his heart raced.

As the buzzing vigour of the congregation of Drykas charged and boomed in an eager cheer, Lörcán was jolted out of his quaking quandary. He had been oblivious to the speech spoken in Pavi that had fuelled the valour of the native nomads. Despite having no inkling of the words that were effectively articulated, there was no doubting the inspirational vibes emanating from Endrykas.

Drawing upon their bravery, glancing at his fellow volunteers, Lörcán adopted their stern countenance and quelled the bubbling fear boiling in his gut. As they prepared to disembark on their undertaking, Lörcán remained silent; judiciously observing the discussion exchanged between the two women and the man with a grisly scar.

His pensive, sorrel gaze followed the flowing hand gestures, his mind racing to judge the group’s body language as an alternative way of deciphering their discussion in Pavi. Raising a brow in malaise, as the woman with coffee, windswept hair snarled her piece, Lörcán ran a hand through his shaggy, curled mop.

Clearing his throat, he sheepishly called the group’s attention, stuttering slightly in Common as he teetered with how to address the language barrier, “Hi, sorry. So, um, well… my Pavi isn’t really… well it’s pretty - non-existent really,” He chuckled awkwardly, “My name’s Lörcán.” His pleading, hazel gaze peered hopefully into the eyes of those around him, searching for signs that they understood the common tongue through his foreign accent.

His brow puckered in fierce determination, “I vow we will get your people back. I know I’m an outsider - I will follow your lead. I pledged my aid to the Drykas and I will see it through. What’s our first step?” Flicking his gaze between the amassed warriors, Lörcán was nescient to the fact that the team had already begun sourcing out their first move. If he was to keep up with the group, he would need to concentrate on adapting a communicative system to work with the squad.

[Quzon]

75th Day of Fall, 516 A.V.

Many often claimed that to live in ones past was a fools errand, a hollow empty gesture of what could not be changed or ever happen again. Yet the past where were some existed, even if for fleeting moments. At the current moment, Quzon could be found crouching near a campfire located near his tent and wagon. He rocked back on his heels, staring deep into the dwindling flames as a waning moon lingered in the sky. the deep black of night turning into a vibrant purple as the dawn approached.

As Quzon stared into the low flames, he found it quiet, but anything but peaceful. His thoughts were full of blood, loneliness, and empty vengeance. As the fire grew smaller, his piecing gaze filled with malice. He remembered the shame of his safe solitude, told to hide as his Isurian Uncle Zagvir fought and died while protecting him from the large Zith that inhabited the Unforgiving.

When the Drykas made their call to arms against the ZIth, he volunteered to help without hesitation. And so he waited for the hunt to begin, reaching up instinctuallly to grasp the chakram he wore around his neck. Upon feeling the cool metal, he ran a quick inventory of his weaponry. Touching the hand-axe tucked into his belt along his lower back, and a hunting knight on his left hip. Quzon emptied out his backpack of everything, leaving the rest of his stuff on his wagon only taking the bag just in case he needed it.

Later in the day when he was informed to meet the others at the Knotted gates, Quzon felt overwhelmed for the first time in a long while. Maybe it was his uncles death that unnerved him, but his pride as an Isur which made him dislike wearing armor had wavered enough to make him actually go buy some.

When the time came, Quzon made his way to the Knotted gates while striding atop the obsidian colored Seme horse he used to pull his wagon. It looked like a bulky bear was riding the horse as he sported his new cured bear hide armor, the bears head draped along his head as a helmet. The armor offered him some reprieve from the fall cold since the only other thing he wore was a loincloth. He gripped the handles of the yvas as he uncontrollably tried to keep himself from falling, all while guiding the horse to the gathering of people and dismounted to join the other warriors.

Quzon hardly knew any Common, and Pavi was an alien language to him so he mostly kept to himself until he noticed Ixzo. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, happy to know that the was someone who could speak Myrian in the warparty but said nothing to her or the others.

LedgerBought Hide, Hunter’s -20 gm

[Meadow]

meadow

After a short chat about who would be leading the group towards the enemy. Large black clouds rolled over head threatening the seven people with rain. It was holding off for now, but there was no telling when Zulrav would let his rain fall. Frolie listened to the group behind him making a face; it was hard for him to hear past the other six people. He was used to listening for any strange and nervous breathing in the horses before starting out. The man had been taught early on in life that a distressed horse before a trip would turn out useless on the trip. With a sigh he moved closer putting his head against each horse's chest listening. Covering the opposite ear with his hand, the young man moved from one animal to another when he was satisfied with what he could hear.

“Okay, let's get moving quickly,” Sparrow called out above the minor chit chat before looking at Azmere.

The young Ra'athi had much respect for the scarred man. That often caused him to look to him for guidance when he was unsure of something. Sparrow also saw two others that he recognized, the young black haired drykas who had been dragged to the mines with the others; and the dark skinned outsider that had been put on trial against the Starrun brother's false accusations. After everything had been decided the group rode out towards where the animals had been snatched from. Frolie pulled his mare to a stop just before they hit the bloody area, knowing the stench of the metallic red liquid everywhere would put them on edge. He motioned for the best trackers to take point, of course with a large trail difficulty in following it would not be hard.

Turning away from the city, Zulrav's clouds seemed to follow the crew as they progressed. All of the striders were on edge at the smell of death everywhere. The main ride took two bells to make as the group followed the blood. Sparrow and Froile called for everyone to halt when they made it to a tunnel opening. From here it would be all about strategy and tactics at this point. First though they had to get some kind of barrings on the structure under the ground. Once everyone was focused and listening Sparrow stepped forward and started to speaking hoping at least Azmere would understand the tactics he would be speaking of knowing most were not members of the Watch.

“Blood leads straight down that tunnel. The main hive must have their home here, I suggest we send in an eagle to see how it is set up. From there we can decide the best course of attack on the monsters,” Sparrow suggested.

“I will go in as the eagle,” Frolie offered to the group.

“Alright, I will ride up with you on my horse, the fewer hooves heard the better,” Sparrow stated and mounted up letting the other man ride to the opening.

Frolie jumped off as the other man slowed down enough to “dodge” the opening with the strider. Sparrow rode his horse on out past the tunnel in case the creatures could hear the vibrations above them. Taking a deep breath the young Ra'athi slowly crouched down sneaking into the opening. Looking down he watched each step very carefully planning on remembering how to go through without making any noise at all. This cost the man precious time, but soon he spotted the opening of room up ahead. Slinking low Frolie put one foot forward and moved forward putting all his weight on just that leg while keeping the other extended behind him just in case he needed to run for it. Glancing around the large open room, he made sure to take note of how many Zith there was. Something that caught the man's eye was a large square in the middle with an opening facing him. Squinting and moving forward just a little more, the young male drykas could see the captives held within. There was two seemingly large winged devils on either side of the door keeping the three from coming out. Taking in the rest of the room, he spotted large pillars holding the ceiling up all around the room which could make for great coverage in a battle. As well as a very large hole up top that shown Syna's light inside illuminating the cave to show that the building or some kind of ruins that held the three was seated on the ground thankfully making it a little easier. At least he hoped it would make it easier. Slinking back out, he hurried back up top and whistled loudly mounting back up with Sparrow.

“Okay here is how it is laid out,” Frolie then went on to explain the lay out, the number of Zith, and any possible escape routes.


“Okay so the three captives are held in a small ruin type building close to the very center, there is one large red Zith along with about a dozen or so smaller Zith, and they are in a large room that has plenty of hiding spots during battle,” Sparrow stated in a seriously summed up version.

“Yes, I did not see any weapons that the captives may have had. Now that means they either had nothing upon being kidnapped or the instruments of pain are hidden somewhere else out of sight,” Frolie explained as well.

“Alright even, let's get a plan going shall we?” Sparrow asked knowing that they had to have something decided upon.

[Brocton Firestone]

The scar embedded on Broctonsl's shoulder throbbed. The hunter was lifting medium sized boulders within a ruin like cavernous domain. He and a couple hundred other Drykas and slaves were probably lifting and carrying rocks. Brocton was slowly carrying the boulder over to an already created pile of stone and rubble. Behind him, he could hear Zith snickering and speaking within their venemous tongue. It made Brocton sick, and five days he'd been here, five days, or at least five days. It felt like forever since the Zith kidnapped him and knabbed him from his home during the third Zith attack.

Brocton went back over to his smaller pile of boulder and rubble. He bent down, suddenly, a Zith landed on top of the pile of boulders and rubble. Brocton was startled and jumped back a bit, now, they even got him to flinch.

"Work, faster." The Zith demanded, hissing under his broken common, the hunter rolled his eyes. He looked at the other enslaved, he wondered where Rufio and Waisana are. For sure, he's been fed food, fortunately, enough to not make him too hungry during the afternoons. Brocton took a quick observation of the winged creature. Each wing, they're prlerhaps just as long as Brocton is, if not, a little shorter than the estimation and assumption. His body was a dark black coated fur, there seemed to be a cut across the Zith's chest. He smirked.
"Say I, work!" The Zith sneered, it jumped in front of Brocton, and the hunter back peddled a few steps.

"Petch it." Brocton spoke in Pavi. He had enough, he was tired, but if he wanted to get back home, he must work. He went back to working. Hoping for his fellow Drykas to rescue him and his fellow slaves.



.

"Strength from Fire and Stone."

[Waisana]

Waisana was being watched but she didn't notice; she didn't register the presence of her guards most of the time anymore. She knew that it was unwise to try to carry on secretive conversations, to speak extensively in Pavi or to attempt anything outside the comfortable routine she'd settled into since she'd come to the colony. She'd given up trying to track the days long ago but was aware that it had been a long time. She'd stopped hoping that her people would come to rescue her as well, accepting that this was her lot now and simply learning to live with it.

Most of the captives weren't willing to accept their fates though. They still had that glint of rebellion in their eyes when they thought the Zith couldn't see and they exchanged hopeful whispers of rescue when they could. The blonde pitied them, but knew that they'd come to the same conclusion that she had after they'd been here for long enough; it was inevitable.

Rufio and Brocton hadn't been here for any length at all, only a few sleeps. She had seen more of the young woman than she had of her male companion, but she was sure that they both had that same fire within them. The teen had had more opportunity to see the fortune-teller because the mixed blood hadn't been able to go very far; her damaged ankle meant that she was no good for labour or fighting. Waisana had managed to keep the other alive thus far but she was acutely aware that the woman's remaining days were finite unless she could become truly useful. She'd done her best to turn her into a competent assistant but she was by no means indispensable and her fortune-telling ability was rapidly losing its novelty with their captors. Perhaps if the doctor had had the appropriate medicines, she might have been able to do more about her ankle so she could be useful sooner.

"How well rested is it?" Bad? Better? she asked in Pavi as she untied the scrap cloth bandages from the young woman's foot. Her ankle was still swollen, the flesh ballooned unpleasantly beneath the blonde's fingers as she touched the skin lightly. Sorry, she signed briefly before returning to her work. She took a strip of cloth from the vessel of water beside her, wrung it out loosely and draped it over the injury. Another strip went under the ankle, Waisana lifting it temporarily before returning it to its normal elevation. She continued to apply wet material, doing her best to keep the ankle cool in the hope that she could bring down the swelling a little. It had to be kept elevated as well but that was another thing that was made unnecessarily difficult by their situation. It had taken some talking to convince the Zith to give her items she could stack up for Rufio to put her foot on but even that was limited; she could only use it for half a bell when Waisana treated her each day, no more.

"What can I do with you?" she sighed in Common, not really expecting an answer.

[Rufio]

　　
rufio rested on the cavern floor, the rough stone uncomfortable against her hip. Nights sleeping against the stone had done little good for her ankle, and now the pain from the twisted tendons ran into her hip. Without proper care soon, the fortune-teller would be left forever with a limp.

The freckled Drykas winced whenever Waisana's delicate fingertips touched the swollen joint. Her dark brow was deeply furrowed, stress lay across her features, while fear danced in her ochre gaze as she watched the doctor work.

"It's better, but I feel stiff." The Drykas wriggled her toes and grunted in pain, her joint had seized up under the inflammation. The cool rags brought relief, for a moment. Soon, though, the fortune-teller knew she would be put back to work again, sorting herbs the Zith gathered, drying them out.

Racking her mind for memories of the words from her mother's herbalist journal. For the life of her, recalling little that would set her apart from the rest of the captive horse-clans.

As Waisana tended to her ankle, Rufio's eyes drifted to watch the strongest of them haul rocks, wistfully. Her ankle would curse her to death, if she did not find a new way to make herself of use to the Zith. It was this impending dread that furrowed her features.

Already she was weak. Without earning her keep, the Zith had seen fit to feed her little. Just enough to keep her alive. Sweat licked across her caramel complexion, which had dimmed already in the dark caverns, away from Syna's warm touch.

Unbidden thoughts of grasses, far-stretching, of her strider beneath her thighs, of Zulrav's breath tugging in her hair, and Syna's touch eroded the glint of hope in her chest, made heavy her heart. When she thought of Ixzo, tears sprung to Rufio's eyes.

Would she ever see her bond-sister again?

Distracted, then, by Waisana's murmured Common. "What can I do with you?" Rufio looked at her grotesque ankle, and took a deep breath against the heaviness in her chest. With a scowl of quietly thundrous anger darkening her, her voice whispered thickly in Pavi.

"When they kill me, I will curse them all." Her throat rough and raw from a lack of water, her promise ended in a guttural growl, borne out of the bond with her night-lion sister.

Rufio slid a hand into the pocket of the hide leggings she wore. Her fingers brushed the herbs that were stuffed there. For days, she had carefully, secretly collected her own stash from the array of foliage the Zith brought for Waisana.

Voodoo Moss, a powerful hallucinogen when ingested in large quantities was poison. Rufio had seen the effects before on a man, and knew if she took enough of it, would send her to The Web with haste.

It would be quick death; make her flesh poison.

The fortune-teller coughed the spiteful, vengefully defiant croak out of her throat, and startled as a Zith prowled toward them with bared fangs, grinning.

was this it?