A Wolf among Sheep

Orana's Glade

Gentle, rolling hills cradle the slight impression in the ground known now as Orana's Glade. Fringes of biinwood trees and hill angels delineate the edges of a small bowl of lush farmland, much of which has been planted with tidy rows of fruit trees. From within the abundant isles a slender tower, graceful in design and slight in proportion, rises at the centre of the dell.

Five centuries ago, in the year 130, a gifted healer by the name of Orana Lomasa settled here. Retired from the Emperor's side and the position of Royal Physician, she spent her long remaining years tending her newly-built Keep and her newly planted orchards. To this day no tragedy worse than a broken arm has marred the lands inside the plain wooden fence that encircles the Glade.

Atop Conceit, The familiar two-beat clop of a trotting horse comes muffled across one of the dirt roads that pass near the orchards, occasionally punctuated by a sharp whuff and a murmured admonition from the rider. A last, protesting whinny, and finally the gait settles to a walk as Ashlynn chuckles, relenting. "Fine, I think I've had enough of the practice too," she mumbles as she slides out of the saddle, landing with a wince and an absent stretch as she tugs the belligerent mare beneath the shade of the biinwoods.

In the branches of one of said biinwoods, a wildcat slumbers. Not the furry, four-legged variety, but rather the lithe, armored figure of Caprice Firelight. She has draped herself along one of the firmest limbs, back against the mossy trunk, one leg dangling carelessly into the empty air, arms folded about her midsection.

Leaning into the small mare's side, Ashlynn is just beginning to admire the pastoral scene when Conceit gives an uneasy whuff, ears pricked and swiveling, edging away from the tree in which the ranger lurks and nearly stepping on the courier's foot in the process. "Hey there!" Ashlynn clucks softly, quickly skipping back and tugging on a rein to turn the horse back around. "What's gotten into you..."

Four years in the wilderness do not a heavy sleeper make. Reese flicks open one ethereal blue eye and turns it on the unnerved beast, but does not so much as move a muscle, nor does she offer anything more than the silence of a grave.

... the stand of trees at the edge of the glade is /quiet/. Very quiet. Too quiet, as opposed to quiet enough. No birdsong, no insects. It's a silence that isn't immediately apparent, but grows to be more and more obvious as those within the edge of this glade remain there.

In spite of Ashlynn's tight grip upon the bridle's cheekstrap, instead of calming, the mare only grows more fractious. Gritting her teeth, the courier is beginning to find that she has to throw her weight into keeping the mare's head down rather than flung back and rearing as the animal wishes. "Ha, Conceit! You making a racket's not going to help either of us, and I can't stay on you like you are now...not without a few weeks more of work," she grunts, shoving the mare's shoulder aside when the horse tries to gather itself to bolt. Ashlynn is no longer immune either to the strange undercurrents in the deceptively idyllic scene, and she doubles her efforts to try and calm the horse long enough to mount and ascertain the potential dangers.

Caprice's own uneasiness manifests first as the familiar feeling of the hairs on the back of one's neck standing up. Animal magnetism, danger sense; the lost tools of self-defense afforded to mankind by mother nature. Narrowing her gaze, the Dawnbringer rakes a suspicious, searching gaze around her immediate environs, then sharply looks down to the courier. Her frown tightens. Gathering her legs beneath her, she steps quietly off of the branch, one hand shooting up at the last possible second to break the speed of her fall by catching a lower-hanging limb. She swings, airborne again for the briefest second before her feet find purchase on the grass not ten steps behind and to the right of Ashlynn. Vice finds its way from her shoulder to her hands.

The two women are near a stand of Biinwooods, just at the edge of the glade, where the wooden fence offers a certain pastoral tranquility. Around them, the quiet is deep and long-reaching - and both look concerned, Conceit looking more than that; restive and wild-eyed, not /quite/ willing to calm so easily under Ashlynn's ministrations.

In the distance, there is a hunting-howl - not /quite/ a wolf. Not quite a hunting hound. Snarling and growling carry on the breeze.

Atop Whitehaven, From the south, Gefrey trots into the forest on horseback. He has, apparently, broken free from any attachment following him for some time on his own, out here in the wilderness, and so far seems rather unaware of anything in the woods. Well, for a moment. Howling carries, and strange howling catches the attention, and the young Duke looks up as his horse worries a bit, pawing the ground.

Trying to muffle the horse's senses with a hand clapped over its muzzle, Ashlynn is just maneuvering the mare against a tree to minimize its movements so that she may mount when the ranger's abrupt entrance has the both of them jumping - Conceit nearly breaking free with a whinny before the courier manages to snag a rein half by accident, cursing as her arm is nearly pulled from its socket. "What - " she begins to splutter in irritation and alarm as she takes note of the weapon in the other woman's hands when her head jerks up at the howl - in almost comical echo of the suddenly quiet mare's motion.

"/Get doon an' be quiet,/" Reese commands in a tone that brooks no argument. Bracing her crossbow vertically, she catches a booted foot in the stirrup and feeds the weapon a bolt. Locked and loaded, she draws up the cowl of her cloak, the moonlight glinting a haunting yellow-green in her eyes as she steals into the shadows like a forest wraith.

There aren't tons of shadows - well, not the deep nighttime ones, but 'Reese moves quietly enough into the underbrush. It's something, here at the edge of the glade, just outside the wooden fence.

Both Whitehaven and Conceit are unhappy - showing whites of their eyes, 'dancing' with an eagerness to /be gone nao plz thnx/ - but both are being controlled by their rider and handler respectively.

In the distance, growing closer, is the sound of snarling - a yelp of pain, a crashing of underbrush. Another hunting-howl sounds - not quite wolf, not quite hound - far closer. It will be upon the small group soon... whatever /it/ is.

Atop Whitehaven, Gefrey Driscol reaches out, trying to calm Whitehaven from the saddle. "Easy boy," he murmurs, whispering into her ear. "It isn't many, it sounds like. I think they're injured, going away from here." He looks up at Caprice and Ashlynn, before nudging his mount closer to the pair. "Trouble?"

Another rider draws closer, Duhnen trotting along in pursuit of Gefrey. He slows the horse some upon spotting the small gathering, the man easily picked by the harsh glow of his eyes.

Ashlynn's face is grim and pale, partly from the advancing howls, partly from the strain of fighting Conceit's contortions to be away with limited strength, forcing the mare into another skittering circle to keep it from bolting. "Going away? I think I would have to beg to differ, M'lord," she grits out, eyes darting back and forth - searching for the source of the howl, for Caprice, at the unexpected entrance of Gefrey and what other dozens of new factors that are trying to introduce themselves all at once while she's hanging from a panicked horse's bridle. "I'd suggest riding in the opposite directly from where that lady went..."

Such an advisement would be well taken into consideration, as the sounds that erupt from the brush are decidedly terrifying. For a brief second, Caprice appears again in the distance, now somewhat bloodied, Vice couched in the crook of her arm as she gambles on an alley-oop -- hauling herself onto a low branch of a young tree, checking her footing, and sparing not even a second's hesitation in levelling dead aim onto whatever is rending bone and flesh back there.

CRACK. Crunch. YIP!

The brush around the edge of this low clearing erupts into rather rough-looking animals - not quite wolves, not quite dogs.. some sort of rangy and unattractive mix between the two. One is bloody and savaged, the other two largely whole but white-eyed and running flat-out, apparently unphased by person and horse alike.

A dead and crumpled packmate of theirs comes landing with a heavy crunch - and from just on the other side of that undergrowth comes a far darker sound - a basso howl that somehow seems to promise blood, or worse.

What is most obvious for those watching is the black fur, blazing eyes - and paws sheathed in blue flame. This is what strikes terror into the beasts that hurtle toward the party now, slavering and foaming with it.

Atop Whitehaven, "Sir Duhnen," Gefrey calls out, not bothering to utter a command more than that as he reaches for his own pike, unstrapping it from his horse's saddle. He doesn't charge, but he does nudge his horse to the side, getting him into motion as the abomination of Shadow appears.

Atop Ashanath, Ashanath seems a bit rattled as well when that deeper howl echos out, and then the creature makes it's appearance. It's eyes widen some, the motion matched by his rider. "Your Grace," he answers, drawing a sabre and holding it upright, before kicking the charger into motion forward.

Ashlynn is neither a warrior nor stupid - she takes a deep breath to brace herself and promptly takes action to get out of the way of the others, rather than linger between the various forces that are about to collide. Flinging herself blindly upon Conceit's back, she wrenches the mare's head savagely around to keep from immediately being thrown off by the panicked horse before she can gain a better seat. The stirrups still flapping free, she simply tightens her legs around the mare's barrel, the exigencies of the situation causing the courier to be much more brutal than usual in her control over the mount. Ironically, her very heavy-handedness seems to reassure Conceit that the situation is somewhat in control now - or, at least, the horse is so innured by terror now that it acts purely on reflex to commands. A half rear and whinny of terror and challenge, and then sharp yank on a rein and a heel in the ribs causes the mare to buck and kick out at the nearest creature that tries to dart close.

Caprice's course of action is simple: when the shadowbeast is in her sights, and opportunity presents itself, she seizes it. A trigger-pull, and Vice punches out a death warrant.

The sound a crossbow makes is /distinctive/. It's that - and that alone - that catches the shadow-beast's attention; it moves, but too late. It is enough, however, to turn a killing shot into one that strikes just behind the shoulder sinking in.. not deep enough. Perhaps it hit a rib, perhaps its hide is just that thick - but the other beasts are forgotten as the greater wolf snarls, staggering to track back the shot.

The three remaining beasts just thread through the group; Ashlynn's horse kicks one hard enough to make a CRUNCH that's audible; it steers clear, limping, getting /away/.. their path unimpeded, they do just that.

The beast's eyes flare - teeth of steel flashing.. but it comes no further. Instead.. there's a faint shimmer in the air between it and where Caprice lies in her tree; nearer to it than anything. The flames that pass for its eyes grow distant, not focused on her at all, now.

Atop Whitehaven, Gefrey Driscol hesitates a moment. He is not, precisely, dressed for combat tonight, and appears to realize this. Nevertheless, well, it looks like something that probably needs to be dealt with. "Be ready, Duhnen," he says with a small grimace, urging his horse to a halt, tip of his pike directed for the beast. "Any advice on how to handle this one?"

Atop Ashanath, Duhnen is happy to let the wolves run off, not seeking to chase them. He slows his horse as well as the situation changes, eyeing the beast warily. "I don't know what it is. I'm unable to /do/ much to it, however, without likely being dragged in front of a tribunal and tried for using magic," he grumps. "The crossbow hurt it, however. That's positive," he notes, urging the horse forward again. Ashanath's nostrils flare at the creature.

Conceit plants all four hooves in the soil as soon as the wolf-like creatures run out of range, blowing hard and quivering. Ashlynn too takes a moment to catch her breath, leaning over the saddlehorn and wincing as she stretches a strained muscle. Her eyes are a little too wide as she takes in the glow flickering near the remaining creature, finally flitting toward the two lords at their words...and blinking as she belatedly realizes she recognizes one of them. "Lord Duhnen?" she calls, testing her control over the mare as she heals the horse into turning. "Should we leave it? The nearest guardpost is not close, but if you're not carrying a crossbow too, perhaps we should try and alert them anyway..."

Instinct has taken over Reese's thought process and motor skills, driving her to fetch a second bolt for the killshot -- though she is hardly in an adequate position to cock the weapon. Indecision is plain on her pale features, flickering in a barely perceptible twitch of uncertainty. She's confident enough in her position high above the ground to rise fluidly, and with surprising agility, to her feet, balancing easily and without a second thought on the limb -- though she keeps a gloved hand on the trunk anyway. Her eyes scan the nearby branches; the ground. Searching.

The beast just... stands there. Limping a single pace...

Then, with the sound of a thousand buzzing hornets.. it flickers, and is abruptly /gone/. The faint shimmer in the air between where it stood and where the rest of the group stands? It vanishes with it - leaving behind only the deep impressions of heavy paws in the soft ground.

Atop Whitehaven, Gefrey Driscol blinks, then puts away his pike, refastening to its place on his horse's side. "It appears there is no longer need for such haste," he notes. "Though I would still like to move on before anything comes back." He rides forward, toward Caprice in her tree. "Mistress, are you hurt?"

Atop Ashanath, "Mistress Birch," Duhnen replies to Ashlynn with a not, eyes fixed on the creature. As that buzzing sound picks up, he sighs faintly, not seeming overly surprised as it vanishes. The sabre is sheathed, and he dismounts, glancing up at Caprice briefly, before fixing his attention upon Ashlynn. "What happened?"

Ashlynn is momentarily stunned quiet at the creature's disappearance - gaze flicking around the immediate environs tensely as if expecting it to reappear with equal suddenness somewhere else for an ambush. But when even Duhnen puts his weapon away, she shakes herself and struggles her feet into the stirrups, eyes lingering for a moment upon the man's Mark before she bows her head in greeting. "Not much that you did not witness yourself," she reports, glancing toward the others when she hears the duke call up to the ranger. "The not-wolves were being run ahead by that thing, and I and the ranger happened to be in their path. You arrived not long after we first heard the things."

Air whistles between Reese's teeth when she sucks in a hissing breath, fixing a horrified stare on the spot where the abomination once stood. She wrenches back her cowl and rakes a hand through her hair, equal parts agitated and terrified, and snaps her head like a startled antelope in the direction of the Duke's voice. Clearly, his arrival on the scene went completely unnoticed by the younger Firelight. She clears her throat, donning some semblance of courtesy, though even her perpetual frown cannot mask the degree to which she is shaken. "N-Nae, Y'Grace, thank y' fer y' concern," the Pathfinder returns, shouldering her weapon and dropping in free-fall to the ground. She lands in a crouch, her black cloak billowing behind her, and lifts her gaze to him as she rises. "Where be th' girl?"

Gefrey Driscol slips off his horse, and nods back to where Duhnen and Ashlynn wait. "This way, " he says with a dark frown to Caprice. "Safe, it seems, and with Sir Duhnen." He looks around and frowns. "This, fires. Too much on our lands. What can you tell me about what happened here, Mistress?"

"You're alright? You don't look too worse for wear," Duhnen notes, considering her, and then her horse, before sighing. "It could have gone anywhere. There's no real way to tell. Not without knowing more about it, at any rate." He turns back about to regard Caprice, listening.

"No, just a little sore," Ashlynn agrees ruefully, stealing another glance when the Seamel turns away - this time, a little more blatant in peering at the man's molten irises - before looking hastily away to focus upon the others as well, absently adjusting cramped fingers to a more comfortable hold on the reins.

Though she is conditioned to obey those above her station, Caprice seems reticent to leave the immediate area, stealing uneasy glances back at the bloody scene as she and the Driscol approach the others. She sketches a quick bow for Duhnen's benefit, then nods slightly to Ashlynn. "Cannae tell ye, Y'Grace, sorry t' say. I were stealin' a wink in th' trees whit when th' howlin' started. T'were..." -- she rolls her shoulders, lips twisting into a frown -- "tha' /thing./"

"Yes, I realized that," Gefrey replies, looking over Ashlynn as he approaches. "Hunting those other things, whatever they were." He manages to collect his expression, calmer now, but still rather stern. "I believe I will want the corpse taken," he says, gesturing to the dead body that was tossed about with the arrival of the wolf-thing. "We might be able to learn something from it."

"Think we could track the way it came? Maybe find out where it started chasing those wolves?" Duhnen asks, looking away to where the beast first came into view. "Maybe they came upon it, as opposed to it coming upon them."

Easing back out of the saddle now that the immediate danger has passed, Ashlynn straightens with a deep breath, shaking residual stiffness from her limbs. "If nothing else, to find a name for it, so that the next time we know what to scream if a pack descends on us," she quips beneath her breath at the duke's thoughts before nodding to Caprice in return, taking in the woman's appearance briefly with an air of curiosity. "A good suggestion..." she murmurs at Duhnen's words, looking around once more before deciding to knot Conceit's lead tie around the nearest, sturdy growth.

"Milords, if I may," Reese puts in when, and only when, Duhnen has finished speaking, "a beas' o' sooch size woul' hae lef' a clear trail t' its den. A ma'er o' hours, aye, an' I kin fin' it." She looks between them, careful to keep her head bowed. "I were plannin' on a rangin', aye, e'en afore."

Gefrey Driscol nods to Caprice. "Go ahead please, yes," he says. "But be careful, and I would hear about it back in Jade Gardens." He looks then to Ashlynn. "And if you and Sir Duhnen would help me with the body, there might be something that can be told if it is seen. It's easier to show than to describe. What is your name, Mistress?"

"I can aid you," Duhnen nods to his Duke at that, before nodding sharply to Caprice. "Thank you, Mistress, for your help. I'll be eager to hear of what you turn up." He glances to the dead wolf, frowning a bit at it.

"Unless the beast appeared in their midst just as it had disappeared," Ashlynn murmurs with a frown as she struggles to untangle all the possibilities such a talent would entail before bowing reflexively toward the duke at his address. "Ashlynn Birch, m'lord. At your service," she gamely declares, even as a small shudder of distaste runs through her form at the bloody pile of meat and fur.

Reese bows deeply, and with a hint of flourish, sweeping the tail of her cloak away from her calf with a flick of her fingers. "I'm greetful fer y' troost, milords," she demures, before straightening once again. A quiet confidence has replaced the palpable fear of ten minutes before, bolstered by the nobles' support. "I donnae fear th' wood, milord," she tells Duhnen over her shoulder, as she turns to disappear into the twilight forest. "Be a Firelight, aye. Th' sky's m' roof-tree, th' earth's m' floor."

--- Return to Season 7 (2008)