The weight of her headpiece -- garnet strung together with amber and other stones she could not name -- forced Vera to tilt her neck more than usual. Muscles along her shoulders were stiff, which in turn made her sit straighter. Her posture was almost always lousy when she was alone and she missed the opportunity to slouch when no one was there to judge her. The Hunter's Moon shone through the carriage window and the light seemed far away, even though the moon was so large. She wished she could pull the glass from its panes and feel the wind rushing past. Riding by horse just north of the Black Deer Plains was always an exhilarating feeling. Even when out on a task, it could make a Rider feel free. The wheels of the carriage were spinning fast now. Vera could almost feel the strain on the axles below. There was no helping the pace. They needed to make good time to get back to the Free Cities, to switch out the Riders guarding her for soldiers from Lord Faxril's company. If anyone knew she broke the terms of her agreement with the Beiten-K‘danav, Vera would be confined to the country as punishment. Her fingers moved restlessly against the silk of her dress, her calluses catching along invisible snags.

( Eistocene and Trone rarely quarrelled... )

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."

It wasn't that she minded the weather that much but did it have to be utterly so miserable?

The sudden cloudburst had caught her halfway en route her journey through Campion that forced her hand to take the alternative route deeper into the Elysonne forest where, hopefully, some sort of rest stop could be found. She did not think the detour would inconvenience her that much but the further she rode away from her planned route, the more she questioned herself - was she still in Campion or had she cross some border ages ago. The thought of turning back towards her original route occurred more than once but each time, the thought of spending another night living off dried fruits and sleeping in a makeshift shelter made the decision to detour sounder to her. If the price of having a warm meal and a night's comfortable rest was to ride in this downpour, it all sounded relatively reasonable to her - given that the downpour would soon wear itself out over the land.

However, what she was not expecting was the unpleasant drizzle that took over from the rainstorm. The rotten weather seemed to find all the cracks and crevices in her cloak and travel robe and enabled the awful cold and dampness to emanate through her body, swiftly making any idea of hiding under trees for the time being as undesirable as going out in the weather. At least, the more she rode, there would be that faint distant hope of making it to a rest stop. Elemmire knew she should have known better than to travel so lightly and unprepared but she was out on an errand to find certain texts for research purposes. The only sole reprieve that she got from the miserable weather was the satisfaction of knowing that she had found something and that these texts were wrapped in oilskin in her pack and thus protected from the rain.

The more time she spent in the rain, the more her expectations of warm shelter shrank to just the sheer wish to get out of this dastardly downpour. her eyes narrowed as she thought she saw a flicker of a lantern in the distance jsut as her horse lurched to one side, head bowed low in exhaustion and resignation.

Elemmire quickly dismounted, ignoring the trickle of cold rain funneling in and on to her face from the crest of her hood and the squech of wet mud beneath her boots. her hand clamped around the reins as she tried to half lead the horse and half drag him behind him.

"Come on. " She muttered under her breath, only too keenly aware of the growing dampness and weightiness from the toes of her boots to the hems of her robes and cloak. The horse's initial stubborn refusal melted away under her cajolement and promises but by the time Elemmire found her way to the flickering guard post, she was well nigh drenched to the bone.

Seeing her plight, the guard did little but to point her in the direction of the nearest reststop with a small bow of his head for which Elemmire felt immensely grateful for. Dragging her tired horse behind her, the grey elf came to a stop in the empty courtyard, wondering how long she would have to stand before someone attended to her horse and if she had the strength in her to remain upright for that period of time.

"Hello?" she called, her voice swallowed by a crack of thunder as the rain poured down even heavier than before.

"Anyone there?"

On the first day of the attacks, she learn what the formidable prowess of the Sylvans could wronght against their chosen enemies and how to keep her tears to herself as the Sylvan women did when their kinsmen took their leave of their families in the morning.

On the second, how her magic was futile without direction and even harmful. In all her years, eh had never been pulled to be involved in any skirmish and as she ached to offer her assistence, Elemmírë couldn't be sure what she could do to bring to the defense of the village.

On the third, she stepped forward, ignoring the wary and distrustful looks of the villagers who had thought she was no more than the traveling Priestess of Lorien rather than an amateur air elementalist of no known magical tradition. They grudgingly allowe her to participate and help create a distraction to enable their swiftest messenger to escape as well as some of the women and children.

By the seventh day, her confidence was shaken when one of her spells caught some of the defenders as collateral damage not by her own fault bt by her own lack of finesse. Tolerating the the accusatory looks launched at her back as night fell, Elemmírë fled the crowd and took her place among the village battlements, half filled with disgust at her own self and also the horror that filled her every time replayed itself in her mind.

How far more could they hold up?

Elemmírë wasn't sure - she knew the Sylvans kept things from her but this skirmish was long overdue and it was just her luck to wandered in just before the fighting started. To her knowledge, more than half the womenfolk and children had been evacuated.

What were they waiting for?

There seemed this huge weight lingering in the air that threatened to crush her had she given the chance. The weight of anticipation, so they said - Elemmírë hastily pulled her hood tightly around her, trying to look away from the images in her mind. Secretly, she too had her doubts as to hold long she could keep up with the magical demands. Had she already started to slip? Was it all just an accident or was it just her? There were limits, Beren had told her but what he didn't say was what the limits were.

Skandra,

By now I am certain this missive is arriving in the hands of Alaara, but you are gone. That's all right. Maybe it's better that you never read this. I suppose I wouldn't want you to think I actually care about what happens to you.

What you've done can never be expressed in words. Saying that you saved my kin would not be enough. That's the second time you've fought for the people to whom you owed nothing. Everything I saw in you when I met you the first time is true. The good, and the bad. I'm only overjoyed to know that the good outweighs the bad, that you can rise above the things you struggle with. You saved my kinsman's favored priestess, you saved my kinsman's home, and most important of all you helped sanctify the earth upon which Lorien allows us to walk. I hope that in the future I never have need to call on you again. If I do, I feel blessed knowing that you will rise to the occasion.

You're a good man, Skandra Tyullis. These times are dark. There are too few men about whom I can say such a thing.

Yours in friendship,

Ithacles, son of Ithunvel

By the time Skandra realized something was written on the piece of parchment, he'd already blown his nose into it.

( How important could it have been? )

They had acquired, in their travels, a large base of followers. Of course they were the sort of followers that didn't come recommended, not even by those who claimed to worship them. Spiders as large and larger than a man, all of them hovering outside of the circle of orange light which twin torches projected. On occasion one or two of the largest would try to plough through the protective light, only to be met with a flashing sword. That discouraged the rest. Skandra didn't know how much further they had to go when they started out in that solemn procession. He just knew that they didn't have much of a chance to survive if they didn't reach some sort of safety soon. What form this safety would take remained to be seen. If it truly was Lorien's forest they had nothing to fear, but more and more Skandra was doubting that the forest truly belonged to her any longer. Trees were mere skeletons now, reflections in a mirrorless sky and a reminder that every coin has its opposite side. He tapped one with his sword and heard a hollow sound. Lorien surely meant for them to survive, didn't she? She meant for them to emerge from this victorious. He just didn't know how they were supposed to do it.

( As it developed, hunger was the least of his worries. )

For three days and three nights it had gone on the same way, with Skandra and his company trolling through endless mists in search of something that was going to mean something. Anything. Aeotha remained hopeful about their chances, but a dark mood had fallen over the forest and it had taken over him as well. Skandra peered through the darkness between trees with as sour a gaze as he felt had ever issued forth from the eyes of a vagabond and sometime adventurer. Wouldn't be the first time he was wrong, though. Probably not the last time either. With no torch in his hands and the mist rolling over him in waves, he felt naked.

That was the first thing they'd discovered about those mists.

( Fire kept them at bay. )

Skandra opened his eyes to a canopy of green. Or, what should have been green, if there were any light which would penetrate deeply enough into the forest of willows and thin reeds to illuminate it. Instead there was a shadow greater than the darkest sky hovering over them like a blanket. Skandra had seen about all that he cared to see of endless jungle with seemingly no destination in the vicinity. Aeotha would promise every night, as she had for the last week, that they were getting closer. Yet the only visible progress Skandra could see was the dulling of the machete he'd taken from one of the elves before they set out. Every night he spent an hour grinding away at the blade with a whetstone for little positive effect. Sooner or later the blade was going to be ruined. And he was not going to hack his way through the jungle with a side sword. His side sword. Having the women take turns was almost laughable.

Which meant so far, he was doing all the work.

Skandra had taken to tying his coat around his waist - for some reason, the nights were unaccountably chilly while the days were miserable with humidity - and hacking away for most of the daylight hours. Not that daylight made much of a difference. In a forest so dense that you couldn't see your hand in front of you daylight hardly shattered the eerie darkness that surrounded them. Strange creatures of every stripe hooted and called all around them. Skandra had just gotten used to the noise when it changed again, this time grim and more predatory. There were whispers of jungle cats and worse watching from every corner of the landscape that belonged to the goddess. Yet something was unnatural about the darkness. He could feel it in the tension of the elves, and in the ferocity of the forest. It was not meant to be this way. No forest of Lorien was. Skandra didn't have a feel for the goddess, or a connection with the divine, but even he could detect that note of strangeness in the air.

( Sleeping was a problem. )

Skandra dragged himself out of the water with an expansive sigh. His hat was still clinging to his head, though the stiff brim had given way to the soaking pressure of the water and wilted. When it was dry it would be right again. Until then, he was going to have to struggle on without it. Torchlight was already bathing him by the time he stagged toward the elven camp. Skandra hadn't quite expected things to end so explosively with the Vel, but that was how the game went sometimes. Of course, Ithacles was still going to have his head. Assuming the captain didn't take it first. Right out of the hole and into the destruction of the river boat, along with all the cargo it had carried. In spectacular fashion, Skandra would admit, but he'd destroyed it nonetheless. Where the hell was his luck? There was a fire on the southern bank of the river. Which he could only assume belonged to more survivors of the shipwreck. Aeotha wasn't here, yet, but he'd seen her floundering along in the river.

( Her nose turned higher and higher with each passing day. )