The contrasts were all around them.

Where their camp had been an affair of tents and revelry, now it was a grim collection of souls hiding beneath makeshift structures with dim fires. The mine was not quite the Underdark, but the Dwarves had clearly intruded on something. Instead oif feeling heat from some unknown source - as he had the last time he'd come to one of these monstrosities - he felt a cold wind that never seemed to die. No matter how many layers you wore, to your bones the chill ran with abandon, seeking to ruin whatever calm and collected thought you could fold around yourself. There should have been a better way to enter the Underdark, but they had to use the breach they knew about, and hope that they were successful in going in and coming out again. Fire. It was a rare beast in the Underdark, and more so because of the hatred that Drow carried for it. They could see it a mile away, with a clear line of sight, and smell it at the same distance.

( So the stories said, in any case. )

A soft mist had settled over the ground. It rode from his ankles to his chest, flowing like a river around them as they advanced. Ilúvatar had an axe gripped in both hands, the monster double-bladed affair that usually rode with his horse. Speed was not as important as power and accuracy in a sludge and fog of this magnitude. He didn't want to know what lay beyond, but he did, because he could see it rising over the river that surrounded them. Eibhear had the lead - the greatshield he wore strapped to his arm parted the mist in front of him, but that slight part closed behind him. Ilúvatar had spurned the offer of a shield; this beast of an axe would smash any armor it lined up against, and he was not strong enough to wield it with one hand. Perhaps no one was - he had seen a dwarf try, once, right before he ran that dwarf through the heart with a sword.

( They were getting closer. )

Wagons.

He had not thought to see so many wagons, but they were there. Some were loaded with supplies of every kind, which they would pack once they reached the mines where the Drow were said to have reached out. Some were loaded with those who wanted to wish a merry departure to the traveling heroes. This was where some of the heroes took perhaps too much advantage of their status. Talmus was currently entertaining four young girls, and was never seen with fewer than two in his coimpany. Always with a fresh verse to compliment their beauty of face, their figure, their shimmering waterfall hair. Ilúvatar did not have the patience or the inclination for such things. It was that which led him to share a fire with Fenrir, though sharing was probably a generous description, since aside from giving a curt nod the only thing Fenrir did in Ilúvatar's presence was eat his food. The stew was not so delicious as the archer was pretending, but Ilúvatar did not want to be rude and ask him what he possibly found so interesting about it. It was easier instead to simply look up at the sky, and count stars that he had not seen in quite some time.

( Ancient stars, and powerful things according to some. )

The sun was high in the sky.

That was the detail Ilúvatar noticed most strongly on this day. There were trumpeters in the street, playing a strange and unearthly tune he would not have thought could come from such an instrument. As he made his way on horseback the signs and sounds could not fail to be noticed by him. Barkers were crying out on street corners. Elves were marching down the street with flags in their arms, proclaiming for this hero or that hero. Glittering paving stone kissed his horse's hooves, blessing the passage of this beast that carried the Thunderbolt, Lord Ilúvatar Voronwé of the Trees. When his cloak flared out behind him he was cheered, with elves taking up the call for his sword and his banner. They were normally a peaceful and reserved people. Something must have happened to inflame their tempers and their hearts. It made him nervous. Whatever had the people whipped into a frenzy was not a good sign for a king establishing his rule, or a lord that was called upon to fight in the king's name. Orcs on the plains again? He'd been called back from campaign against the ragged mercenaries of the east for orcs on the plains? His stomach was cold as he considered the possibilities.

( They may have sacked a city. )

Skandra grimaced sourly at the thin bone-and-leather cup in his hand. Sure, they were all using the same sort of dice, but something about the situation didn't feel right. Oh, of course. He was not winning. Long since Onainat and Aeotha had retired upstairs while he preferred to remain, drinking wine that was mixed with grape juice and pretending this little stunted hamlet was the sort of urban empire he was used to. They didn't even have proper cloves. He was smoking rolled, untreated tobacco. If that wasn't evidence enough of how wrong this all was - then Skandra didn't know a gods-damned thing about drinking, gambling or enjoyine oneself with tobacco. Despite the clean smell of the pipes from the next table over Skandra didn't miss the sour notes that ran through the air. Fellows who hadn't bathed because that was what gamblers did. Gamblers who made their living at it never would have played this game of dice. Skandra should have refused and gone to bed.

Nonsense.

( He hadn't gone to bed before midnight since he was a child. )

There was something refreshing and familiar with the steely silence of morning in the temple. For once, it reminded her of how it was like to be in the mountains, away from everything even from her fellow elven kind. Elemmire had woken up early before any other as she would usually do and found herself wandering around the stables under the pretext of doing final preparations - not that she needed to, given that she had experience with these missions which had occurred for other clandestine matters unrelated to the temple and that she had been utterly thorough with her preparations before.

Holding out an apple core to her horse, the grey elf couldn't help feeling the gulf of alienation that had grown between her and her surroundings - something about the religious pomp that put her ill at ease each time she returned to the temple to serve her duties and each time more acute than the last despite of her own efforts at rationalising that it was all a matter of acclimatizing to the towers again. It didn't help that though the elders knew of her studies into elemental magic, they had no idea whom she had been studying from or how much more proficient she was getting at her studies compared to her fledgling and struggling attempts at Holy magic. She knew that she could be thankful that so far, she had managed to slip under their notice so far, with them believing that she was nothing more than a initiate.

For a moment, her horse looked up at the sound of her pensive sigh and bumped against her hand playfully - to which she couldn't help smiling and return to what she had set out to do - the menial chores of an initiate and preparing the horse for the long journey ahead. After she was done, Elemmire cast a look over her shoulder and noted the only other horse in the stable was unsaddled - which she could only assume belonged to her traveling companion. What did she know of Aeotha Easaahae? Elemmire's mind drew a blank except for a face she had seen during the few annual gatherings that she had attended over the years and that Aeotha was priestess - technically her senior in the ecclesiastical hierarchy - however, to what extent? That would be an interesting question.

Without a word or sound, Elemmire moved to grab the saddle that was set next to the horse and heft it onto the animal with ease. Despite her hands getting busy with the preparations, her ears instantly picked up the tread of soft footsteps on hay some distance away. Elemmire paused for a moment before finishing up the knot she was tying before rising up silently,

"Good morning."

"Aren't you gonna cut us loose before they get here?"

"Can't imagine why I would do that," Skandra replied easily.

"They're gonna kill us, mister!"

"Don't," and Skandra held up a gloved hand for peace. "Rush me."

( Life on the road could be hard. )

From here you felt as though you could see the very edge of everything, eternity's source, even though such a thing was impossible. Here the river was neither raging nor quiet, the middle section. Quiet days before its worst offenses to come. Mountains were good for that sort of thing. Mountains were good for a lot of things if you could stomach the emerald hue of the world. Plants here forgot that there were other colors in the world. So did princes and peoples who lived without a blemish on their souls. Perfect in every way. Such was the perfection that resided in the outpost across this quiet bubbling river. No one had come out to greet them yet, but that was only because they had not yet violated the treeline, had not exposed themselves. It would be a long walk for someone who approached in bulk with their forces evident. A long walk filled with arrows.

( For Aeotha there was no safer walk in creation. )

After the wall on the other side of Aeotha's bath came crashing down, several things had happened in quick succession: first, the sounds of boots on the stairs. Then there was shouting and pounding on the door, at which point Onainat had secured her shiny in her pouch as quickly as possible. The naked elf was a second thought at that point. Aeotha's state of dress became less a concern as a convenience. When two large men, one of them being the innkeeper, barged into their room, Onainat ripped down the curtain that kept the bath separate from the rest of the room. Aeotha sputtered, the innkeeper stared...and stared...

Yes. It was very convenient. She wouldn't have to teleport them out of the inn!

"Time to go!" Onainat chirped, clapping her hands. Aeotha was already scrambling to get the dress on. She was always hauling the poor priestess around. But really, it was a matter of life and death. Well, more a matter of financial life and death. Onainat would die if she had to pay for a wall! Lorien couldn't be too offended. As for the elf, she was a priestess. So she had to forgive Onainat, didn't she?

She and Aeotha managed to make it past the innkeeper before both him and his large bulky friend snapped out of their stupor. Onainat half pushed and half dragged Aeotha down the steps. It was then she noticed that the woman's dress was inside out. Onainat was about to point this out when the innkeeper came barreling after them like a big buffalo of death.

"You destroyed my wall! Damn mages! If I'd known I was hosting magic users I'd have let you sleep in the mud!"

Onainat scrambled toward the door with Aeotha in tow. He wasn't understanding at all. What was wrong with magic? And who did he think he was, being so cruel? She looked over her shoulder and made a face at the innkeeper. "It was an ugly wall anyway!"

"GET OUT!!" the innkeeper roared, throwing a chair at them as they pushed through the entrance. "GET OUT SO I CAN KILL YOU IN THE STREET!!"

"You're too fat!" Onainat shouted in return. What a mean soul! She made another face at him and the innkeeper choked on a growl of supreme rage. She and Aeotha were on the muddied road now. She wasn't very afraid of the innkeeper, but Aeotha could get hurt in a brawl. Still, she couldn't help insulting him back. She made a pig noise at the innkeeper and let Aeotha's arm go finally. "Go back to drinking!"

Her father would be ashamed. So ashamed.

"It would," Skandra muttered darkly. "Be a rope bridge."

There it stood swaying before him. Saucy, like some kind of little minx, encouraging him to try it. Just try it. Skandra did not want to try it. But as they were rapidly running out of options, he supposed there was little enough choice. After all. Life was nothing without a couple of risks along the way. If he'd wanted to die in a temple there were plenty of chances along the way. More than enough chances. Skandra shoved his sword into place on his belt, gripped one side of the rope rail, and gestured wildly with his free hand. Aeotha was supposed to take the hint. She looked as concerned as he was. Not nearly as bold, not nearly as overjoyed regarding the risks of the thing, but concerned as he was all the same. Skandra didn't blame her. Even if no one was stupid enough to cut the gods-damned rope it could still give way beneath enough bulk.

Those, as a toothless cur he'd known once had said, were the breaks.

( Well, fuck. )

Candles flickered like musical instruments as the door opened and closed. In the worst of darkness these were all one had to guide his eyes. At some point it might become more difficult to tell if your hand was the one that conquered. This was where he felt at home. This was where he felt truly alive. Luck could be a gentle mistress or a savage lover. Tugging at you, pulling you in directions that you'd never have picked for yourself. That was part of the fun. Part of the risk and part of the challenge. Skandra wouldn't have done anything else with his life if he knew how to stay out of situations like this. Situations like this included having a priestess sitting at your back, and playing for money because your coffers had run dry. This was the largest city outside of Ithacles' kingdom. He was lucky to find a game at all among such puritanical folk. Then again you often found the most interesting games in such places. Skandra shouldn't have been surprised there was some taqble in some decrepit establishment that would offer him a game of chance. It was either that or steal,a nd he didn't want to steal in front of Aeotha. She was prickly about such things.

( She was prickly about a lot of things. )

Trone in the mid-morning light seemed warmer and more hopeful than many of the other cities Ilyien had visited. It was all the wood architecture, he decided, which allowed the sun to glide through the place. Stone was more durable; stone was steadier. But polished stone also cast off the light and hurt the eyes. It was more work, Ilyien was certain, to have to rebuild all these wood structures every few decades or so -- but the sun slid almost playfully through the city because of it.

The slaves also found joy in the sight of the city as it nestled between the hills on the opposite side of the river. Some shouted; others laughed. Others just smiled, relieved to know that the end of their ordeal was nearly upon them. As Ilyien threw out his arm to signal the ferryman cross over and take payment for the first load of slaves, he glanced toward Aeotha.

More than once during the journey there and back again, she had proven herself worthy of the assignment. None of the slaves had returned undamaged, but none had died, either. What damage could be fixed by her magic and his alchemic recipe had been; the rest must be left to time and care. Ilyien fervently prayed that the masters of these slaves were kind to them.

"It may be best for you to go with the first of them," Ilyien suggested, as the ferry drew near.

There was no name for the little house they occupied. Not like the lords of old had titled their manors for famous horses, or favored horses, or even favored cats and dogs of war. This was a country home. That its occupant was gone, to some city or market or other place, was of little question. Equally without question was the moral bankruptcy of the individual who smashed an elbow through glass and picked a lock without seeing it. Keys were for novices who waited on permission and sang songs about law and order. Skandra knew only one song about law and order, and in very specific terms it outlined the killing of a man who was for law and order. Carrying Aeotha on his back added a degree of difficulty to such an equation. Fading in and out of consciousness was not the way he wanted to remember her just before she died. If she was going to die - a third exploration of the wound with his fingers had revealed no broken bone to kill her - then it was probably because of frostbite. That and little else would end the job neatly enough for all of them. Skandra made sure she was firmly ensconced in a bed that did not belong to him, and then he set to work.

( The fire started easily enough. )

In the winding pathways that would eventually take one to the mountains economy of space was central in the minds of the creators. There were campsites off the road, well-known to travelers and thieves alike, but the road itself was narrow and was forced to follow snaking paths to allow for horses and carts which couldn't quickly adjust to rapidly rising terrain. Skandra didn't think of it as a hindrance as much as an annoyance - they would walk twice the distance between that last hamlet and the mountain pass just because of these twisting roads - but he did think of it as very irritating planning. Walking through the dense trees with their tangled roots and dangerous jutting branches wasn't a sound idea, either. If one of their horses put a foot wrong it was the end for their easy traveling days. So if it took time, it took time, but he wasn't going to obsess. After all, the conversation was so very pleasant. How could you be annoyed at the time it was taking when you had such enjoyable company?

( The dead woman was still bothering her. )

Ilyien did not wake the priestess when the moon reached its zenith. He did not wake her when the sun broke the horizon. The slaves had fallen asleep huddled so closely to her that it would have been impossible to rouse only Aeotha, even with a word, to say nothing about the possibility of Aeotha extracting herself without waking any of them in the process. And Ilyien knew just what their reaction would be if any of them woke with a strange man towering over them. They had enough reason to distrust every man in the Outer Realms. He had no desire to fill their minds with panic.

Across the campsite, the bound trio took turns staying awake all night. It was a reasonable plan. Wait until their captor succumbed to sleep, then find a way free of their bonds and their arrest. Ilyien had not slept the night before. It was dangerous to remain sitting. He paced the campsite instead, far enough away that his footsteps would not disturb the girls, close enough that he still had a clear view of the huddle of brigands. In the hour before sunrise, they finally gave up their plan. It was too late now.

At daybreak, Ilyien rubbed his eyes with the gloved fingers of his left hand, then drew his sword with his right. One by one, he marched each of the thieves into the forest to see to their crude human needs. They were not quiet about it. When the chore was done, the girls were awake. Best to get an early start, but he would not have begrudged them another hour of sleep. Breakfast was made of the last of the bread and dried meat he had in his saddlebag. There was still food left in the dead men's possessions, and that would serve on the trip back to Trone -- but later. The night had afforded him plenty of opportunity to go through what the dead men left behind and salvage those things that could be useful. They were packed, now, in the saddlebags he would tie onto his horse.

"You will lead," he finally said to Aeotha, once breakfast was served. "If you recall the way back." It was likely that she did. She'd proved herself to be a capable traveler.

It was summertime, and the sun felt good on her skin. It warmed her down to the bone. Although the ride had been long and cold while crossing the mountains, Aeotha was pleased to shed her cloak and abandon the often too warm robes of a Priestess of Lorien. Within Ithacles' homeland Aeotha was free to travel as she pleased. The knights here knew her by name because of Prince Ithacles. They knew her stories as well as they knew their own lands. It was nice to be here. The sun filtered past the strong boughs of the evergreen trees that nestled into the walls as if the stone had grown with them. She loved it here. There was no pressure upon her shoulders as she passed quietly on foot through the streets and towards the main palace.

If anything, no one wanted to burden her with anything more than what she'd been burdened with in her long life. She passed children playing an assortment of games she wasn't familiar with. Humans and Elves were different from childhood on, and while the songs they sang sometimes took on a familiar tune, there was so much to learn here. She enjoyed the difference in customs and in the songs they sang. She loved the smell of the market here with their summer hauls of apples and pears, along with roses of every shape and color.

( If she wanted to, she could have lived out the rest of her days somewhere inside the palace. )

"Chivalry is dead!" the barker screamed into the street like a storm, hands flashing above his head. "Welcome to the age, my friends! A blade of every stripe awaits but who's the time to learn? Behold, then, the work of the great master smith Galdi from the Fire Mountains! Behold a treasure to pierce your heart, your very soul, with its beauty and its ferocity! For the..."

( On and on and on. )

For days on end the only thing he'd seen was a hard rolling set of hills that were bastards to climb. Not because the horses tired quickly, though they did, or because of the dust, which was awful, but because they hardly said two words to each other. Skandra found it was easier to keep his mouth shut than to be chastised for his language. And he didn't want to talk about the past, or how fantastic and special Ithacles was, or why he was an idiot, or what made priestesses look most virginal. So he stuck to eating the dried beef he'd brought along with him and wishing for his flask. A flask. It could be filled with anything. Anything that was alcoholic, anyway. Aeotha was useless when it came to carrying drinks. Skandra couldn't even hope for a sip of some fortified wine, and she was supposed to be a gods-damned healer. If he had to do this sober it was going to make his life a lot more difficult. And probably a lot less fun.

( It happened that way. )

The truth was the shiny was not hers.

Had she put something else on the pedestal of the spider infested temple, maybe things might have turned out better. Maybe her pursuers would have considered the trade equal. Or maybe they wouldn't have noticed until she was gone. Sometimes, however, she didn't plan out her acquisition of shinies. Sometimes, it was fate. Shinies just called to her. The eight cornered talisman felt at home in Onainat's palm. She felt even more attached after seeing the pretty blue crystals and odd center opal that shone in the dark. Even while running for her life, Onainat couldn't help peeking at the shiny now and again.

Yes, she decided. This one was worth a little tussle with death!

Onainat tucked the heavy, silver object into the pocket of her trousers and slid around yet another rock wall. Following Drow underground at night hadn't been the best idea. At the time, linguistics seemed a noble enough calling for such a dangerous stunt. Now, however, she was being chased for more than some harsh, knife-like consonants. If only Onainat didn't have to resort to running, this would be no problem. Teleporting was easier! It also required her to see where she was going. Teleporting in pitch black conditions never went well for Onainat. The last time she felt confident enough to try, she spent three hours in a dwarven sewage tunnel...

Onainat shuddered at the memory.

"Udos zhaun dos ph' ghil," said one of the Drow. "Udos shlu'ta gow dos."

She mouthed the vowels as the haunting voice called them out. Her Drow-shaped "u" was still poor even after all this observation. Onainat frowned. And how could they say she smelled? Onainat turned her nose down by her shoulder and sniffed as quietly as she could. Was it that bad?

"Come out and we will make this faster," another said in common.

Onainat rolled her eyes and scooted farther down the wall. The Drow were about fifty feet below her but they tended to take on the qualities of their pets. They would probably crawl up in the way only Drow and Elves could. As far as Onainat was concerned both races were equally creepy. The Elves just managed to look pretty while being creepy. Onainat frowned as she heard whispers in the dark. She didn't have much time to find the exit to the surface world. Onainat kept scooting down the wall, counting her steps. She had been counting since following the Drow down here. If she was right, she was close.

( If she was wrong... )

Night descended on the Deagian Wood, dimming the brightness of the autumn leaves that had now stretched over his head - their heads - every day for the better part of a week now. If the Precept of Tyr was accurate in his projection, they had only a few more miles to go before they found who they were looking for. But Ilyien had driven a hard pace, and despite the quietness of the elven maid seated behind him on his horse, her exhaustion was radiating from her in waves he could not easily ignore. Honesty would also have the phoenix admit - if only to himself - that he was near as exhausted as she. Time was the enemy now, and weary or no, there was no choice but to move forward if they were to have any hope of catching the band of men ahead.

A few more miles. Only that. And after they had their quarry in their sites, and after they had found the property stolen from the citizens of Trone, and after the thieves were securely bound, then they would be free to rest. Only then. But with the night and proximity of their goal, it would no longer do to ride. When the sound of the nearby brook was loud enough to assure that they were close enough, Ilyien finally drew his horse out of its gait and dismounted. The legs of his human form protested mightily - as did the back, the shoulders - but Ilyien listened only closely enough to determine if any true damage had been done. None had, he decided, and continued stiffly on. After passing the reins of the horse over the low-hanging tree branch they'd stopped under, he reached up for the elven maiden - Aeotha, she said her name was - and took her by the waist to the ground with a casual and easy motion. He did not release her until he was certain she wouldn't fall.

"We'll walk the rest of the way," he explained. "It will be quieter and we will have a better chance for surprise." But even in the gloaming, he could not ignore her expression at the news. For not the first time, he was reminded why his traveling was done alone. With a frown, he looked westward, then turned back to his horse. "After some rest," he finally amended, unwinding the reins from the tree branch now and setting the horse free to forage for what he could find. The promise of water nearby sent the great beast off in that direction, and Ilyien did not stop him.