Syliras or Bust (aka Caravan under Siege)

by **Salara Kel'Halavath** on May 28th, 2017, 1:04 am

*Apologies for the length.
Abbreviated option: last 5 paragraphs.
Wildlands (appox. 10 days outside Syliras)
Day 81 Spring 517 AV
Early morning

Salara’s squad leader, Fildred, had assigned the men and women of her patrol to scout the farthest perimeter around the caravan this day with standard instructions to report anything unusual. The caravan was only about ten days from Syliras and everyone was cautiously optimistic that the remaining trip be uneventful. As anticipated, their travels had been far from easy but most deemed it successful for the most part. Certainly their numbers had decreased from what it was beginning this trip. Many wagons had been left behind damaged or no longer needed due to attrition. The beasts of burden had been whittled down as well, leaving some conveyances with miss-matched teams or overburdening the ones who no longer had mates at their side to help pull the family and merchant wagons onward. All the riding mounts, including Oleander’s poor little donkey, might be conscripted soon to pull a wagon, as its effort would be put to better aid for the many in reaching their destination.

Her coarse footpads had been worn raw to bloody and toughened again across several terrains. Zeltiva. Once the sea-port and mountain range were teeming with life but now it had become over-hunted forests and empty waters, victim to the elements and desperate people. Then the Pycons’ more abundant territory with virgin areas untouched by man’s needs and wants; but overwhelming with the needs and wants of its dominating population. They’d met wolves and bandits later on the grassy plains where the great black beasts had managed to creep into their midst unseen through the tall grasses. Priskell’s Pond. It’s green vibrant freshness an oasis. Some rumored the land was magically enhanced. Truth or not, Salara would always remember it as magical all because of Karyk.

Now the caravan was about ten days from Syliras and the land was turning to craggy rocks shaped and settled through erosion. Ravines were deep and washed clean but for piles of debris, caught up in the odd twists and turns of watersheds, deposited from spring floods. She thrived in this, her natural element. Sleek and solid, every ounce of fat whittled away on endurance and fortitude; surely in the best shape of her life, both mind and body. It was a good balance to camouflage the signs of time. While the mapping of old and new scars across her body remained seemingly unchanged there were new patterns of line upon her face. Those who saw her daily would never notice but newcomers would see deeper wrinkles. The trip and tribulations had taken a toll on everyone; fortunately Salara was one of the lucky ones able to come out better even over time.

With miles to go, Salara crosses through and over rocks and ravines, exploring passageways that might lead to better access and exit for any travelers or only blind dead ends. Noting areas that were plentiful with game so she could report in for the hired hunters to locate later. She spared a thought for Tollivant always drawing, mapping and recording the landscape. As passionate as he is he must be very good at it, but she wondered how accurate he could be with a maze of warrens such as these? Thinking about him in his spectacles and colorful hat wandering about counting footsteps, his quill furiously scribbling upon a piece of parchment on board; she doesn’t at first notice the nauseating scent slowly penetrating her awareness - death.

Past a turn of the path ahead she came across what she finally determined as a deer’s carcass. Every large bone was broken or smashed and all were stripped of hide and flesh. There was no head. It appeared as if it had been both gnawed and crushed. Past the body lay the large bloody stone used to crack the bones. Her hide shudders as if to shake off a pervading feeling of unnaturalness.

A bad feeling wasn’t enough for her to bring back, so circling wide she continues down the path. Stepping cautiously she takes advantage of cover from gnarly bushes and fallen stone to slinking low and fast through open areas. Ears on a swivel and keen eyes watching everywhere she soon comes across another, fresher deer carcass similarly dispatched. The rows of flies sipping blood from the pool and splashes reminds Salara of Inspector Fallon’s class. Starting well back of the scene then slowly working her way in she paces the distance to and fro looking for evidence. There were several sets of scuffmarks in the dirt - toes most apparent were human-like. It seemed as if the whole foot never touched the ground at any one time lending the trail of footsteps a wobbly, awkward appearance. The only hair she found was the loosened bits that must have been torn free of the deer in the struggle as the rest of the hide had been either eaten or gone with the head. The stone, however, was most alarming. Batting it over with a tentative paw, Salara’s head reared back as her ears stood forward expressing shock. There was an obvious negative impression of a human-like hand formed in the blood.

Convinced this was enough and more to bring to the attention of the officers, Salara orients herself to where she thinks she is in relation to the camp. If she was cautious before now she is a ghost, the suspect shadow in a corner of the eye, there then gone. Taking the first game trail headed east until it diverges in a Y, both going the same general direction albeit one slightly more north and the other southward. One way or the other was a toss of the coin; but the path veering northward pressed tight to a ridge of rock about fifteen feet high, the top of which appeared jagged but complete as far as she could tell. It might provide a high-level avenue at an unexpected elevation. Watching for the best area to alight, just a few steps down the trail is a lower, broken segment of ridge-wall. Calculating the distance, her feet shuffle adjusting haunches and with a heave of hind legs, stretching front paws land upon the break followed directly by hind paws to a prattling rain of gravel fallen below. Her tail bobs for balance as she secures footing on the narrow ledge.

Traveling in this fashion, leaping crags, balancing along edges she watches the trail below until up ahead a man’s scream of terror accompanies the thrashing of panic’d escape from laughing pursuit. Moving a few steps forward Salara realizes the chase was headed her way so she crouches ready to pounce upon whatever was hunting the man. Still yards from crossing below he stumbles into her line of sight, white-faced and deer eye’d, tears stream down as he glances immediately behind. She is horrified recognizing the young scout she had communicated with back at the pond. Ramek’s next shriek breaks his voice as one of three man-like creatures reaches for his shoulder tearing him to the ground. Salara, helplessly pressed flat to the ridge walk with all hair standing on end waiting for an opportunity that will not come, knows nightmares will haunt her.

She watches three knobby, mud-red….men… leap upon the twisting, thrashing, wailing boy tearing through his clothing with long scraggy nails. Their jagged teeth are blooded with dangling strips of flesh. One raises a stone high dropping it with a resounding squelch to Remek’s skull ending the boy’s struggling screams. Paralyzed Salara’s wide eyes watch as, within chimes, the boy’s body jerks a lively macabre dance as it is broken and gnawed clean; the creatures fighting, grunting, yuking among one another over each and every bite. Sickened she waits until the larger and more oddly knobby creature, lifts Remek’s broken de-fleshed skull in a victory gesture as the other two bicker reaching for it. Knocking one aside with a savage shove sending it staggering away, the leader strides decisively back the way they had come.

Trembling with dread Salara stays motionless, her eyes riveted to the bloody remains until certain the creatures would not return. Leaping down to the path, her body lengthens as every muscle comes into play propelling her back down the path to the Y intersection. Twisting effortlessly she tears around the corner down the southward trail. At breakneck speed she races unhindered towards the caravan and up to the command position of the guard patrol.

People turn to watch and exclaim to see her headlong return, as usually she moved more subtly around them to avoid unnecessary alarm. ‘Look at the big kitty run, mommy,’ a young boy is quickly hushed as his mother begins moving him and two other children toward the safety of their wagon. They’d been safe there once before… A fellow guard blanches as he sees her and points frantically in the squad leader, Fildred’s, direction.

Without hesitation she strides up, shifting in a sparkle of light mid-step to stand before the officer. Her chest heaves through three deep exhalations before she has the breath to speak in calm control, “Ramek’s dead. Three man-like beasts chased him down, tore him to shreds and ate every last bit but the bones right before my eyes. There was nothing I could do.” The stress and growing shock written on her face leaks through her tone, “They took his head for a trophy.”

word count1,562

by **Karyk** on May 28th, 2017, 12:29 pm

Fildred knew there was something wrong the moment he saw Salara hurrying to him, quite uncharacteristic for the lioness. This caravan was so trying, even for one as skilled as him. The wilds seemed, harsher, than they had been for some time. He wondered how much of that was Morwen's fault. Her name was poison on every person's lips in the caravan it seemed, she caused so much pain and heartache.

Once Salara was before him, his brow furrowed as he listened. Ramek was dead. Another death. They'd had so many. It weighed heavily on the caravan, on their inexperienced leader. Fildred often stuck near to Karyk, keeping an eye on the man, both as an unasked favor for Salara, but also... Also to judge if he himself should ever take over leadership. Prior to Priskill's Pond, Karyk had been cracking at the seams. What the man lacked in true leadership and skills, he made up for it with heart and stubbornness.

And it seemed that on this back half of the journey, Salara was to thank for Karyk's improvement. Everyone knew of their budding relationship, and it did bring some semblance of hope to many. Fildred knew that once. His wife had been the strongest woman he'd known, and she made him strong enough to handle anything. So hopefully Salara and Karyk were doing the same for one another. They were the heart of this caravan, the soul.

Ramek's wife was going to be distraught however. The young lass had been a barmaid, and was heavy with Ramek's child, due around the time they finally got to Syliras. Ramek would have to break the news to her personally. And they were down another scout. The more they lost, the harder things became. He could handle it just fine, he'd seen far too much bloodshed in his life. He worried for others.

And it sounded like yukmen. Again.

If Salara had seen three of them, he wondered how many more there were. For every yukman one found in the wild, there were five more bumping around nearby. Which meant every single scout still in the field was outnumbered and vulnerable. He wanted to get the boy's remains back, but quite frankly having just a head would only make things worse for his wife, and far too dangerous to acquire anyways. Priority now was getting the scouts back to camp, hunkering down until they could get back on the road again.

Petching Morwen. Lazy bitch causing all of this. Fildred hoped someone would shove an icicle up her arse and into her heart for all she caused. It was the least she deserved.

Fildred caught Salara's gaze. "Sounds like yukmen. Gather a small group of people, reliable ones, you'll need to move quickly together. We need to get our scouts in the field back to the wagons. You take the north swath, I'll go south. If you're not back by sunrise tomorrow, we'll leave without you, assuming you to be dead. I expect you to hold me and my team to the same standard. Be careful, don't get yourself killed." Orders given, Fildred turned to assemble his own team, leaving Salara to her own mission.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the caravan had come to a stop, Karyk hopped down and grabbed his axe bundle as usual. He let loose Bob and Sue to graze and rest. His face was tired, his eyes carried dark, heavy bags, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepened. His beard was wild and unkempt, his clothes dirty and stained. And he wasn't alone in this. This journey was hard, on everyone. The only things that truly kept him going was knowing his family would be safe in Syliras. And Salara.

Ever since Priskill's Pond, things had been better between them. They still didn't have much time for one another, between their duties and the hard pace they kept up. But they made the most of it. At least he could sleep now. At least he could smile. Axe bundle over his shoulder, a coil of rope hanging from his belt, Karyk headed for a few trees right at the edge of camp. With their numbers slowly dwindling, one tragedy after another, each death weighed heavily on his heart. How many more would have to be lost? They were closer to Syliras now, ten days by scouts estimates. Surely they'd come across some knights on patrol soon, right? Syliras was known for being well guarded, well protected. It was the entire allure of the city.

Karyk arrived at the small copse of trees, too tired of this journey to appreciate them, to pick out the best one. They needed firewood. He unrolled his bundle and grabbed his hatchet. He squared up in front of a small oak. As usual, he tapped one low notch on the fall side and one high notch on the push side. He then hiked up his axe back, hands by his ear, and spun it back down, sinking it deep into the young wood with a deep thud. At least he was whole, save a few new scars and a weariness in his bones. He yanked the axe free, then raised it up once more. Down it came toward the notch, Karyk working to keep the cut parallel to the ground. It was sloppy, but as the chunks flew, the notch grew.

Once it was about halfway through the tree, he moved to the high side notch. This time the cuts were at a downward angle, to meet the other notch halfway in. By cutting it this way, he could control the direction of the tree's fall, save oddball occasions. His arms and shoulders churned, his abs and back twisted powerfully, as he chopped and chopped. Sweat on his brow fell down his face until the tree gave that tell tale shiver. It leaned toward the low notch, then a loud crack resounded, and it fell over, crashing into the grass.

Looking out over the branches, leaves still fluttering about, he saw Salara, in cougar form, sprinting toward Fildred. His gut knew that something was wrong. Really wrong. The woman didn't often break her carefulness. Karyk rolled up his axes; the tree would have to wait. He started over to his carriage, keeping an eye on her and Fildred. Even in this clearly dire moment, the way Syna shone through Salara's hair made him crave for the sense of her smell again, that nearness they shared.

But he shook it off for the moment. Whatever the problem may be, there was going to be work to be done, and Karyk was not going to be left out. He may not be a scout, but he wasn't useless. He grabbed his pack and readied himself, to either force himself into joining, or waiting for the invitation. He tucked some throwing axes and his half hatchet into his belt, and held his battleaxe over his shoulder, turning to face the pair, leaning against the carriage. He wouldn't interrupt, Fildred gave the commands, it was how the pair of leaders worked. But he'd be damned before he was left out.

by **Oleander Soleran** on May 29th, 2017, 7:07 pm

Oleander

The journey had worn Oleander out. It was strange: Once they had arrived in Zeltiva, all the hardships of the road that lay behind them had been dimmed by memory. Travelling was but an experience of the past. He had hardly remembered the dust and the hard cheese, and definitely not the blisters and water shortages when no brook ran by the road in days. Had someone asked him back in Zeltiva, he might have commented on beautiful scenery and interesting landmarks. Should someone ask him right now, he would convincingly advice against ever undertaking a journey such as this one.

He did not blame it on Karyk and his organisation. He neither blamed it on bad luck (he did not believe in chance) nor one god or all of them – it was fairly unlikely that a good should find interest in a caravan of ordinary people. He blamed it on himself, partially. The journey from Syliras to Zeltiva had been full of opportunity, he had been looking forward to the new place, there had been goals, all of his family, a level of certainty. He had none of these things to fuel him on the journey back. Certainly, Hortense accompanied him, and he was grateful for her presence despite her constant bickering. But he dreaded the city of stone and stench and confinement, he would miss the sea, miss the University, even if he’d only ever seen it’s majestic frame from outside, miss his father.

Rendan had guided the twins for most of their lives. They had their own interests, of course, and did not spend as much time with him as they had when they were children, but they had still talked and received his advice. In new situations, Rendan had been the head of their small family. Oleander was not sure who was in charge now. The prospect of finding their mother seemed less appealing with each day that passed. But the look in Hortense’s eyes, stern and strong and full of anticipation, kept him silent. While his sister seemed a little brighter and happier with every step they took towards Syliras, Oleander’s frame sagged into the saddle a little more with each mile from Zeltiva.

His inexperience with riding was not helping. Ever since he first met Karyk, his own inadequacies were becoming more and more obvious. He had his field of expertise, certainly, but he hardly found use for it. He tried to tell himself that that would change once he found a stable home and a job in a medical centre or apothecary, but disruptive thoughts were eating away at his confidence.

There were the voices of his father and sister, jokingly telling him to do something useful with his life, learn an actual trade. They said it nicely, but he knew they were concerned. Both of them found it easy to pick up something new, always found a place. Oleander was different.
There was the apothecary in Zeltiva, the one who had sneered at him as he dismissed him.
There was the attempt at fishing, the knot tying, and the way Karyk gripped his axe with confidence, but also knew how to gut a fish or tie a knot. Undoubtedly, he also remembered what little Oleander had taught him about herbalism.

Each day, his back and legs hurt from the hours he had spent on Eloise’s back, and if he grew more experienced, he certainly did not notice it. The mule still had its will more often than he did, and he kept falling behind the bulk of the caravan. He knew Salara was keeping an eye on him, and while he hated needing extra treatment, it put him at ease. Well, at least Eloise was not snapping at him quite as often when he approached. Perhaps “grumpy” was just part of her character.

As usual, camp was mostly set up by the time he gracelessly slid from the animal’s back. Eloise gave a relieved snort, and he removed the saddle, dried her down and watered her in a routine that had developed over the past weeks.

Hortense found him before he had time to go looking for her. “Something's wrong”, she announced while her brother used a sleeve to wipe sweat off his brow. Oleander was not in the mood to adventure, truly. There had been enough excitement during this caravan, as far as he was concerned, and his stiff body ached for clear water, food and rest.

As usual, he did not have a choice, however. His sister took him by an arm and dragged him towards were the caravan leaders had assembled. Oleander saw furrowed brows and tense stances. They ventured just close enough to understand what was being discussed, but did not try to truly join the circle.

by **Salara Kel'Halavath** on June 24th, 2017, 8:23 pm

Fildred had given the order, ‘Put together a small team.’ It took her a tick to realize he meant for her to be in charge. The thought was both exhausting and exhilarating. Part of her wanted to just rush the caravan onward so they wouldn’t have to face these Yukmen. But she wasn’t certain she could forgive herself it they didn’t even try for Ramek. Every one of the scouts should be up in arms for what happened to their colleague whether the young widow’s grief would be assuaged or not.

Her body still shuddered uncontrollably in bouts of horror and disbelief. This could have happened to any one of them and whom wouldn’t, deep down, want their fellows to find retribution; not to mention the threat to the caravan if this nearby scourge wasn’t put down. Their numbers were slim and every able body wasn’t so able after such a long arduous trip very near to ending, but they hadn’t seen what she had…. A deep breath reaching for confidence, “Aye, sir. We’ll take the North trail and pinch them between us. May Kelwin aid us all with their blessings.”

Having donned a long-coat brought to her by design; Salara looks past the guards to the worn and drawn faces of those who gathered near. She sees Oleander and Hortense and offers them a grim nodded expression. She didn’t blame them for standing back to wait and see. Would that she could delay knowing all that she now knew – forever. But the pair was formidable in their own ways and she knew they would both step up when and where they could. It’s what all of these people did. All of them were survivors and she was proud to count herself as one of them.

By now word would have spread, even as far out as Oleander’s little donkey, that something Not Good was going on. There was one she had utter confidence in that would give her strength and sure enough he was unobtrusively near. He was red-cheeked from exertion, tired, his expression somewhat haggard and now creased with new concern. But there was still strength in his stance and a glint of stubborn determination in his weary eyes. Silent supporter, her solid oak, willing to lead or follow to give all he could to those he cared for. Her heart twisted in an ache for what he meant to her. Karyk was her oasis and just having him here helped calm and order her mind. She knew she had no right to ask him on this mission because these people needed a leader and this would likely be a suicide mission for some if not all. She would not press him either way.

Raising her voice to reach those who choose to hear, her gaze moves from scout to scout holding each pair of eyes. “We lost Ramek in the crevasses today. It was violent and he suffered more than I can bear to say.” She struggles to shade the haunted look fighting distress in her eyes while her voice hardens, “Captain says it was Yukmen. Not only have we tragically lost our brother but also the caravan could be decimated if this pod were to attack. Right now we’ve got advantage because they do not know we are aware of them. I’ve been ordered to gather a squad to pin them down until Captain Fildred’s squad can gather and attack them from the opposite side. Bottle necked between both squads is our best chance to overcome them.”

She steps forward earnestly as the hardness grows in her commitment, “Good people! Ramek was alive as they ate him to the bone before my very eyes and then they broke and smashed every bone to eat some more. He had no way to defend himself and I could not reach him in time, but he knew his fate from the moment the three dragged him down and began tearing at his flesh. This mission may not see us all return; but I swear to you that no others will die as horribly as he did. You have my word!” An angry murmur began to grow while several turned away gagging.

Again she steps forward in challenge, “Do we leave our brother alone and un-avenged? Will we wait until they attack our caravan to see them do the same with our women and children? They Took His Head!" She paused for the outcry of emotions to fade before continuing, "There are no orders here. But I would welcome any able-bodied, able-minded volunteer that is willing to sacrifice everything to ensure this never happens to a loved one again with the hope that, instead, numbers and intelligence will overcome! But wait!” She holds her hand up causing pause before anyone either steps up or steps back. “Before you decide, is there anyone here who can tell us all what more we might expect of these Yukmen?”

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by **Karyk** on June 29th, 2017, 6:29 pm

Karyk looked about him, and saw that many others were gathering around, clearly concerned. Toward the back he saw Oleander and Hortense and gave them a grim smile and a curt nod. Then he cast his attention back to Salara, just as she began speaking for everyone to hear. He heard her speak of yukmen, and was reminded of that day that Fildred trained him and put him to the test. Yukmen were such strange beings. Weak alone, seemingly unstoppable en masse. And they could learn, he knew that much. One had used a dropped axe against him.

But Karyk had no idea that they ate people. He didn't know what exactly he thought they ate, but never realized it might be people. But he supposed to non people, people were just meat. And not just any people, but another one of his people. Ramek, the young scout. And Karyk felt that sick weight in his gut, that knotting in his shoulders, and that tug on his heart as another soul fell on him. How many would have to die because he'd come up with this caravan idea?

And Salara's words were stirring, rousing even, as Karyk heard murmurs turn excited, passionate, angry. But the shipwright didn't feel that. He wanted to. But he didn't. He could help though, keep them alive, and share what information he'd learned first hand. He spoke up, not loudly, with no fire in his eyes or voice, "Some of ya saw me flail agains' some injured yukmen. It weren't pretty, but I learned from tha'. By themselves, these... beasts are weak. But they ain' ever alone. Tha's their strength, their numbers.

And they's smarter than they seem. Y'all saw one raise one of my axes agains' me. It had no trainin' of course. But ya can' let ya guard down agains' 'em."

And with that, Karyk stepping up to stand next to Salara, showing that he was joining her in this, already packed, and axes ready. He looked out over the crowd, wondering who would join them? Would it be enough? His eyes fell on Oleander once more, fairly certain the young man had no combat experience, but he himself barely had any as well. He just couldn't imagine losing anymore. But which was the better option, take more people and risk losing more? Or take less and risk being overwhelmed and losing everyone?

by **Oleander Soleran** on July 8th, 2017, 10:46 am

Oleander

The small circle of worried leadership whispered among itself. Salara and Fildred exchanged meaningful glances as a plan was forged. Oleander and Hortense heard snippets, still sticking to a corner, careful and alert, but not invasive. Then the Kelvic stepped forward and announced what nobody wanted to hear – somebody else had died. Hortense hid her face in her hands and shook her head as she imagined the gruesome image, too much for her to bear. Death was very close and very real, but the gory details seemed unnecessarily harsh for a group full of women and children. Salara asked for volunteers, but nobody wanted to fight relentless, corpse-devouring monsters that roamed the ills in unknown numbers. While it was good to know what they were up against, the horror of what Salara had witnessed scared them. Spirits had been anything but high for days after all they had gone through already, all they had lost along the road, but these news brought them to a new low.

Karyk was the first one to make up his mind. He was a natural leader, Oleander thought, a reasonable voice amidst the chaos. An axe between the caravan and its doom. He was closer than ever with Salara, likely another drive to fuel his bravery. Oleander felt guilty. He was no fighter, no protector, no hardy combatant. He had a single dagger that he hardly knew how to hold, one tiny blade, no foundation for hope.

“Oleander can scout!”, Hortense called towards the front, ignoring her brother’s alarmed stare. “Don’t worry”, she murmured to him, “you crawl through the undergrowth so much when you smell certain flowers, you know how to be stealthy.”

“No, I can't”, he hissed back at her between clenched teeth, but it would have been too shameful to take back his sister’s words now. He really did not like the idea. Not only did he lack combat experience, he also knew incredibly little about yukmen. They were vicious, resembled humans like a cruel mockery, but nothing about them was truly humane. Could they smell him, hear the beating of his heart if he came too close and the wind shifted? He did not care to find out, but he might not have a choice.

“I’ll do it if you can’t find anyone more qualified,” he said loudly, seeking eye contact with Karyk, hoping to find some reaction – encouragement, a false promise of safety? He half hoped someone would praise his courage but turn him down.

Hortense gave him an encouraging pat on the back, but he pointedly shook her off as he approached Salara, Fildred and Karyk, joining their circle.

by **Salara Kel'Halavath** on July 11th, 2017, 8:26 pm

Working through her own distress Salara watched the struggle in all their faces. The effort to keep hope going while trying to stir enough courage to address yet another threat from overwhelming odds. Could they take the chance that the Yukmen wouldn’t come after the caravan now that they’d gotten a taste of human blood? Worried that no one would step up, she begins thinking of ways they could get the caravan moving out of the area as quickly and safely as possible without inciting panic.

Karyk speaking up about what they could expect was helpful but equally dismal. Apparently the squad could still be outnumbered and if these creatures could learn and adapt so quickly what chance did they really have? Her heart stopped mid-beat when he came to her side meeting her gaze passionlessly. His look made her wish even more that she'd never stumbled across poor Ramek's demise. Wanting to take his hand but not wanting to appear weak or dependent upon him, instead she only shares his grim expression. She’d almost hoped Karyk would choose to stay behind to look out for his family and the people but she couldn’t turn him away. His axes would be invaluable; but more so, his participation was encouraging. He’d fought Yukmen before and still signed on for the duty. In fact, two guards stepped up following his example.

One of them spoke up, “They’s gots stones in their flesh so if ya hits the stones with arrows or blades they’s jus’ bounce off. Ya gots to aim for their flesh between, but if ya pulls or cuts the stones free it hurts em bad too!” The other, the only female guard other than Salara, added a thought, “Might be quick learners, but if they don’t have the equipment they can’t use what they've learned. If we take care that none get ahold of a blade or bow…” It made sense to her so she nods in agreement knowing most if not all of the guards had some competence with ranged weapons. "Good information, thank you. You three are the most experienced so if you have any suggestions at any time through this mess, speak up."

As the squad grew and some appeared to know what to expect, another guard closely followed by a forth stepped forward, both carrying bow and quiver with blades at their hip. They showed more bravado than before as one growled gruffly, "It ain't right for young Ramek to end that way. Be a pleasure to pick off a demon or two for him and bring their heads back."

Salara approaches each squad member for a hand shake and private word. Then an unexpected voice pipes up. By his startled look Hortense put her brother into the mix apparently without his consent. His steps drag long as he moves to join them. The Kelvic meets him and should he, would shake his hand as firmly, “No one would think poorly of you for staying with the caravan, Oleander. Your our best healer after all.” She looks into his eyes, “But if you do come along, there is something I'd ask of you that you would be best suited for. Should things go poorly for the rest of us, someone needs to get word back to the caravan about what has happened and get it moving as quickly as possible. You needn't get any closer than sight of them." Unsurprising, as he was an intelligent young man, indecision continued to dance about his gaze, "I wouldn't ask you to do this alone. I can send two scouts with you to watch your back.”

About to give the orders to get everything underway, two more guards step out of the crowd, "By Kelwyns' blessings, if the boy goes I'll go," says one. The other only grunts an acknowledgement.

Addressing the volunteers with her hands clasped behind her back, she paces before them, "We know there are at least three Yukmen; but we should anticipate at least twice as many. The terrain in the area had high points where we could station archers to pin them down from higher ground. If at all possible we will want to keep them in place until Captain Fildred's squad arrives which should double our numbers." Her eyes rest a moment upon Karyk and Oleander to consider their feelings about her next directive. "There is no question of anyone's abilities or bravery here, but I'd like at least two experienced guards to keep watch over each of our civilian volunteers. It has always been our job to guard them and I don't expect any difference when we are all in the field."

"As a full squad we'll make more noise approaching this danger so I'd like to send three scouts ahead on the North trail to locate their position and scope out the landscape while the rest of us follow along directly. You will know we are close when we come across the remains..." Shaking off the dreadful image she continues, " As soon as we know where to find them we'll gather again to plan our approach." Taking a deep breath knowing that no plan, complex or simple, ever goes as expected she finishes with, "Our advantage is surprise and our use of weapons. If at all possible Do Not engage them until we are all in place; and at all costs Do Not let any weapons fall into their hands!"

Tapped out on words, her hand lifts pointing to the trail she'd just returned from as she finishes abruptly, "If there aren't any questions, introduce yourselves and make peace with your gods and goddesses. Let's get this over with. Scouts, lead the way."

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by **Karyk** on July 13th, 2017, 3:26 pm

While his eyes were on Oleander, Karyk heard Hortense's unexpected word, and Karyk's deep brown eyes widened in surprised. While he appreciated Hortense's enthusiasm, he did not like her volunteering others to do potentially deadly work. He'd have to have a word with her. That was far too... manipulative for Karyk's liking. His mouth was a thin line of slight disapproval as Oleander agreed, with a caveat. A condition Karyk knew wouldn't be met.

Karyk watched as the group of three grow to five as two more guards joined. He listened closely, he already knew about the rocks as armor, and slightly cursed himself at not remembering to include that in his information. But he didn't know that removing the rocks was damaging. That was very helpful information, and Karyk wished he'd had a sledgehammer now. Or a pickaxe. Crush through rock and muddy flesh all at once. His axes didn't particularly like striking stone.

The shipwright continued to watch as Salara spoke personally, and shook the hands of each volunteer. It seemed to instill some of her own confidence into each person. He'd have to remember that. She seemed to be taking to this leadership role quite well, and Karyk felt pride for the woman, for... his woman. Two more guards joined, so as to not be outdone by Oleander, bringing their number to seven.

But when Salara spoke of giving Karyk and Oleander a personal guard, his eyes flared hotly, his brow furrowing at the woman in a tempered glare. He'd intended to be just a big a part of this hunt as any of them, not a hindrance. Karyk broke off the glare with a turn toward Oleander. He slipped one of his throwing axes, and thrust the flat of the weapon into Oleander's chest, a bit harder than intended due to his temper, "Two weapons is better than one. Jus' in case."

And despite his temper, Karyk didn't protest. Salara was the leader of their group. The shipwright was ready, and watched as the scouts led the way. Two guards placed themselves with him and Oleander, the man from Sunberth named Torvac. He was a professional guard by trade, and despite his extremely gruff and harsh face, was possibly the nicest guy one could meet. He slapped Karyk on the back, "Don' take it personally mate. It's cuz she lurvs ya two so much. Y'all ain't as expendable as us. Perks of sharin' a tent with her." He laughed heartily, and Karyk lightened up a bit.

The female guard who'd spoken up earlier became Oleander's minder. Her name was Cassamandy, and she'd been a sailor. She appeared to be of mixed origins, some local, and some from the deserts with her dark hair and olive skin. She took to Oleander's side, maybe just a hair closer than one might expect. "I'll keep a close eye on you, like usual." She gave him a smile, one that was just a bit more broad than a casual one that might be expected.

Karyk tightened his grip on his battle axe, and carried it in both hands as the group moved forward, hoping this was not as deadly as every other petching bump in the road they'd come across.

by **Oleander Soleran** on September 6th, 2017, 8:25 pm

Oleander

More people had found there courage, and now there were seven of them altogether. When Oleander looked back to her, Hortense’s smile was twice as confident as he felt. A discussion ensued in which he took no part; he merely listened as knowledge was exchanged and plans were forged. Salara went and shook hands with each of them, and then his assigned guard approached. He was grateful for this bit of security and the way Salara had managed to help him calm down without undermining what feeble courage he was showing. He just hoped that a guard watching his back would not be the guard missing to win the strife.

He had fully expected for Karyk to turn the offer down, but to his great surprise, the shipwright accepted a guard of his own. Oleander would have been the last to make a remark, but he still wondered how necessary this precaution was. If Salara’s and Karyk’s budding love got in the way of strategy, this endeavour had a fair chance of turning ugly. But instead of following up the glare he shot Salara with words, Karyk stomped over and shoved Oleander a good two steps backwords with an axe handle. The boy grabbed the handle with his right hand and looked down at the weapon with a degree of helplessness. What looked light as a feather and easy to throw in the hands of the shipwright felt considerably heavier and somewhat unwieldy in his own. Lacking an acceptable belt or sheath for storage, he kept the throwing axe in hand, put his dagger away in its stead and weighed the weapon testingly. It was a throwing axe indeed, but if he tried to throw it, the results would be hazardous. If it came to the worst, he would use it like a regular axe instead. He didn’t really know how to use either, but an axe felt better than a dagger in the face of stone-armoured, man-eating monsters.

Cassamandy, he remembered. His guard’s name. The thought distracted him from his fearsome considerations as the lady strode past to stand a tad too close for comfort. She was a pretty girl, Oleander thought, though not prettier than his sister. Her features were broader, with a stronger jaw and slightly tilted eyes, the darkest shade of brown. They had a glint to them that Oleander could not quite place, both playful and mischievous. She was the kind of girl that he would have stayed well away from as a child, and the sort Hortense might have conspired with. He returned her smile rather shyly, forced the blush from his cheeks and his thoughts back to the task at hand.

Cassamandy and he walked near the rear and of the party, keeping in the back right from the start. Salara wanted him to stay as safe as possible and function as a carrier of messages in dire situations. Situations, Oleander supposed, that not only included a complete defeat but also changes of circumstance that might arise throughout the expedition. Cassamandy seemed happy enough to stay back with him, though it was hard to tell why. She had seen the yukmen before, and perhaps the experience had been enough to convince her that a safe spot at the back of the group was better than the honour of fighting at the front. Perhaps she actually enjoyed the quiet herbalist’s company, for whatever reason. Oleander’s heart pounded too quickly to make sense of her, and it simply wasn’t the right time or place to strike up a conversation about banalities, which saved him from some missteps and awkward experiences he might have made otherwise.

by **Salara Kel'Halavath** on September 9th, 2017, 2:57 am

“Whoo,” Salara’s breath escaped inaudibly as three scouts move silently swift down the path ahead of the party. So Far So Good. Her orders were being followed with varying levels of acceptance. She felt she’d done well with Oleander as she watched some of the tension loosen in his stance. The last thing they needed was an unwilling volunteer. Having the seasoned Cassamandy by his side would have been her preference as well. Although the guard liked a pretty face and could come on a little heavy, when it came down to business the woman was a true professional. It also didn’t hurt to have her near for any advice Salara might need as Durmont, the other knowledgeable guard, was one of the three scouts ranging ahead.

Karyk’s reaction was much less amendable; but as a leader she would have been surprised if he had bucked her in front of everyone. Questioning orders publicly was inexcusable and could quickly undermine a team’s morale. She knew she could still count on his advice; however the heat of his glare all but promised she’d hear his thoughts before this was all said and done. She had met his flashing eyes with raised chin and watched him break gaze. His displeasure pained her but No Matter. She knew the importance of the shipwright and healer to the caravan; and if there were any survivors from this expedition it needed to be them. It was as long term as she dared to plan.

Salara did spare a frown as Oleander was volunteered to wield the throwing ax. Seeing his arm drop at the unexpected weight and awkward attempt to carry it she caught Cassamandy’s eye. Mutual understanding conveyed through nods assured Salara that the guard would be giving the young man a few lessons along the way. Beyond she notices several slim dust clouds rising, rapidly moving away from the caravan. Fildred’s messengers were running to call in the perimeter scouts who would make the second party needed for reinfor….their pincher attack on these Yukmen.

As they wound their way through high-ridged crevasses that widened and narrowed in lengths, Salara clearly marked each turn about six feet up with a chunk of char wood she'd pulled from a caravan fire for the purpose. Slowing to linger at a broad path, allowing Karyk and the guards to take the lead, she walks abreast of Oleander and Cassamandy. She can’t help a melancholy smile to see him where it felt he rightfully belonged - guarding their backs. “Thank you for coming along, Oleander. I’m sure you’ve seen some pretty gruesome things but please prepare yourself. We should be coming up on the remains soon. You know to breathe through your mouth right?” Her own nod along with the question anticipates his response. “You can depend on Cassama. If worse comes to worst she’ll go down protecting you. But before that ever happens you should already be hoofing it back to warn the others and get the caravan moving. Don’t be a hero, ok?”

Turning to Cassama, who’d also become one of her friends through this trip, they share gripped forearms. Salara heartfelt offers, “May Laviku come to stand by your side, my friend.” Cassama teases in her seriousness, “I know you don’t fully believe in the gods, Sally, so I’ll put in a good word to Laviku for you too.” Pulling ahead to mark another turn Salara mentions as a matter of fact, “Oleander, these are in your line of sight to mark the way back. You don’t even have to watch where you’re going just keep running to the next mark.” It was as long term as she dared….

Moving more quickly the Kelvic in turn speaks encouragement or asks for opinions back up along the line of guards. Hoping the shipwright may have cooled by then she continues her pace until reaching Karyk and Torvac. The guard’s rugged face cracked into it’s own crevices with his smile as he tactfully dropped farther back without a word, but not before shooting her a conspiratorial wink. Walking alongside her mate in a spell of silence she gives him first chance to speak while her eyes roam across the terrain before them. Her nerves were beginning to hum, instincts ringing alarm to recognize the Y in the path directly ahead. They’d be taking the hard right fork.

*This has been edited to add additional words to reach 5000 word count requirement for job thread.

As they approached, the smell of decay began as a slow pervasive tickle upon her nostrils, as an almost sweet stench that became more surely pungent through recognition. It was knowledge that death laid ahead, sautéed fluids baked in the day’s heat. Her eyes tracked the high crevasse trail she had previously followed as the cougar, to the perch where she had helplessly watched the Yukmen attack, meal, and dismemberment of the young scout. Chill pimpled her flesh, a sense of dread encroached knowing she would have to face this terror again. The only consolation, if one could call it that, was that she wouldn’t be alone.

Here was where she expected the group to join up with the scouts she’d sent ahead – a good place to remind everyone the danger they were coming into. And an impression was being made as mutters and comments on the stench floated from behind from those still unable to see. Salara glanced sorrowfully at Karyk to see how he was taking in the sight as they approached the remains, fully understanding the depth of what he surely was feeling. Blame. She could blame herself as well, one hundred times over but she still knew there was nothing she could have done to prevent it… but still. It was very likely that their burdens of guilt would soon weight heavier.

Torvak moved up to examine what remained of young Ramek, his face pale and expressionless but a fire burned bright, a sharp glint in his eyes. “Bones are broken and marked with teeth and stone just as you said.” His stoic professionalism cracked as he pulled a kerchief from a pocket to wipe his brow, quickly running it over his eyes as well. “Ahhhh poor kid didn’t have a chance.” As if feeling her emotions his gaze turned towards the Kelvic. “And you wouldn’t have either if you had tried to help. You did right to return with the report.”

Cassamandy came near to give her experienced opinion with Oleander trailing, “Fledgling Yukmen in their knowledge for certain. They are not yet using blades. If all goes well we might have a chance.” Salara knew the woman was putting on a good face for her charge, as any of the guards knew that odds were unlikely that all would go well. In fact, there was more chance that everything would go dreadfully wrong instead.

The Kelvic looked from face to face calculating the determination in each set of eyes and their ability to continue. “I watched it all from above there as he broke from the trail there.” She pointed to the various locations as simple explanation with no excuse. “There is a chance that the upper ridge I had traveled continues on which might be a good high ground for myself and perhaps another of fleet foot to follow.” She stilled to listen with head cocked having heard the slightest scuff of footstep and another set coming to her notice from beyond the remains. Her hand lifted to forestall further conversation as they waited.

Ticks passed before Durmont with silent stride, ghosted into view quickly followed by the two other scouts. Their weapons were drawn and held ready, tight in clenched fists. Skirting the remains without a glance the three approached the others to give a respectful nod toward Salara. “We found a wide cleft alongside the ravine that the Yukmen are holding and reproducing.” Salara nodded, fingers flitting to encourage the report. “There are the three you have reported, two others fully bred, and one still emerging from the ground. There may be time for another to begin emergence before we return.” He looked around the group grimly, “They’ve collected quite a few skulls but so far only one human and there are no bladed weapons among them.”

Thinking strategically Salara asked, “What of the terrain? Do we have areas of attack?”

Durmont nodded. Bending to a squat he reached for several sized stones to begin representing a map. “There is entry from both directions along the path directly from here and here. A few large boulders are climbable with a partner’s help that can give a height advantage but it’ll be difficult to do so quietly.”
One of the other scouts, Timwain, piped up pointing out a location with the blade of an arrow, “Other than the direct route there is an obscure trail that a few of Fildred’s men may be able to approach from the south if they can locate it. I don’t think it can be reached on this end by anyone but you Salara.”

She knew she wasn’t the best to be positioned above. It was the archers that would make a difference as she again would be pressed to stand by and watch, her skills were beginning to feel woefully inadequate and she wondered what Fildred had been thinking putting her in charge. It wouldn’t do though to let the others see her doubt. “It sounds like we will be on a tight timeframe. Do any of you have an idea on how long it might take Fildred’s team to get into position?”
The third scout, Milfrend, cleared his throat and with the Kelvic’s nod to ‘go ahead’ offered, “Don’ rightly know, Salara. But me and me mate came up with a whistle that ‘elps us keep track of ‘nother. If we call out from time to time an he returns the call, we’ll know best when they’re near. One whistle is location, two is ready, and three would be the Go.”

Feeling a bit better about their situation, not necessarily having to pin the Yukmen down until help arrives but to actually attack at least nearly simultaneously was encouraging. “All good input. Does anyone have more to add?”

Once all concerns were addressed and everyone was reminded of their orders Salara suggested Milfrend send the first call. Pursing his lips he blew forth a melodic nearly-birdlike sound that hopefully wouldn’t be considered anything more than a bird's cry to the Yukmen who were doing whatever they did when not devouring life.

Pulses racing, palms sweating, and nervous shifting about they waited to hear if the call would be returned.

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Open Syliras or Bust (aka Caravan under Siege)