This story will bridge the gap between our last RP thread and our next Encounter thread. I would REALLY like everyone to post a segment here, unless you all don't mind me raking in the XP all by myself, lol! (Level 3 rocks, by the way!)

"CALM BEFORE THE STORM"

Flashing lights filled Sastre’s vision.

He shook his head to clear it, and instantly regretted doing so, as it sent waves of nauseating pain throughout his entire body. He hung limply from the iron shackles embedded in the wall, his wrists already bleeding and raw from the rough metal. One of the Hunter’s ice blue eyes was nearly swollen shut, and blood flowed freely into the other from a deep gash in his forehead. He spat out a mouthful of blood and wiggled a newly-loosened tooth, forcing his split lips into a smirk.

“So,” he said, his voice thick with pain, “where are all those ‘strong’ dragonborn you guys keep on talking about?” He chuckled a little at the stricken look assumed by the yellow dragonborn who had just struck him. “Maybe,” the Hunter went on, “you could get one of them in here to work me over; the results might be better, the gods know they couldn’t be worse.” He broke into a laugh again, though it was cut short as the dragonborn leapt forward, wrapping his hands around Sastre’s throat and shaking the battered human violently.

“Fool!” the yellow snarled, his eyes wide and bloodshot with anger. “You are in no position to make jokes! I’ll choke the life out of you!”

“Rhuagh, enough!” another of the dragonborn shouted, trying to pull the yellow off of Sastre. “The council will have your head if you kill him!” It was obvious that the green was nervous about what would happen should the Hunter be killed in his presence.

With a roar of frustration, Rhuagh tightened his grip around Sastre’s throat, and the Hunter’s face began turning a startling shade of purple. As if this abuse wasn’t enough, the massive yellow reptilian warrior pulled his leg back and delivered a bone-crushing blow to Sastre’s ribs, causing the human to let out a strangled cry as his eyes unfocused and his vision blurred with tears.

“Rhuagh!” the green shouted again, trying in vain to stop his companion. “Remember the council!”

Without warning, Rhuagh released one of his hands long enough to belt the other dragonborn with a savage backhand, knocking the green back and laying open his cheek.

“The council be damned!” he screamed, his voice holding an insane edge.

He glared daggers at the green, who stood several feet away, his hand pressed to his bleeding face and his eyes locked on some point just beyond Rhuagh. The green dragonborn’s features visibly paled, and he swallowed hard, lowering his gaze and bowing his head. It was this sudden deference that caused Rhuagh to release his grip on Sastre’s neck and to turn and face the door to the small dungeon chamber in which they’d been “interrogating” the Hunter. There, in the doorway, stood a small figure, the top of her head barely high enough to reach the dragonborn’s knee.

“The council be damned?” she repeated in a soft, musical voice, raising a single eyebrow. “I find such a statement to be quite insulting,” the gnome went on, her iridescent sapphire eyes flashing with barely concealed anger.

“Lady Lydia,” Rhuagh said softly, his massive body actually trembling in the presence of this tiny woman. He immediately dropped to one knee, followed shortly after by the other dragonborn, who was too stunned even to speak.

The gnome strode confidently into the room, seeming to ignore the two prostrate dragonborn and stopping before Sastre, who hung nearly unconscious from his shackles. The Hunter’s breath came in ragged gasps, and if he was even aware of Lydia’s presence he showed no sign of it.

“Well,” she said finally after studying Sastre for several moments, “this simply won’t do at all.” The raven-haired gnome placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I’d ask for your pardon,” she continued in her melodious voice, “if I thought that you could even hear me… Gods, they really did a number on you, didn’t they.” The two dragonborn were spared the gnome’s scornful gaze, eyes downcast as they were.

“I… can hear you… just fine,” Sastre said slowly, startling the young gnomish woman. “Didn’t… really need your help, you… know,” the Hunter spoke again, his one good eye meeting the woman’s gaze. “I had everything… under control…” And with that, Sastre promptly passed out, held up only by the rough iron shackles.

“Sure you did,” Lydia said, shaking her head and brushing an errant strand of long black hair out of her face. Raising her hands toward Sastre, the gnome’s fingers worked out an intricate pattern, and the shackles holding the Hunter snapped open instantly. Rather than fall to the ground, though, Sastre remained suspended in the air by some arcane means. Slowly he floated down to the ground, to lay at Lydia’s feet.

“Now, let’s get you taken care of, shall we?” Lydia closed her eyes and began incanting, the mystical words soft and strangely musical. An amber glow settled around Sastre’s body, infusing him with restorative magic and healing instantly his numerous wounds. “There we go,” she said with a smile. Looking back toward the door, she gestured and a pair of blue dragonborn entered, pointedly ignoring their still-prostrate brethren. Gently, under the gaze of Lydia, they lifted Sastre up, supporting him between them and turning their attention to the gnome, awaiting her orders.

“Alright, take him away and put him with the others,” she said, waving them away. “And be careful with him, or by the gods I will see you beaten to within an inch of your lives.” She paused, her glimmering eyes flicking to Sastre momentarily. “He’s been through enough…” With that, she turned to go.

The sound of a throat clearing caused her to stop.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice laced with ice.

“Lady,” Rhuagh stammered, keeping his eyes downcast. “What… What of us?” he asked.

“What of you?” she responded with a shrug. “I’ll let you know just as soon as I figure it out. Until then,” a feral smile spread across her pale features, “stay here and await my summons.”

She left the room, closing the heavy door behind her and leaning back against it, her eyes closed as she listened for any sounds from within. After a minute or so, she smiled broadly and walked off down the corridor, humming a simple tune and thinking, Well, at least Rhuagh had the decency to wait until after I’d left the room before whispering such a vulgar curse…

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sastre wasn’t quite as unconscious as he’d been letting on.

He kept his eyes closed to slits and his body limp as the two blues half-carried, half-dragged him through the massive Council Hall. He was amazed that the gnome woman had been able to instill such fear and respect in the dragonborn, and even more amazed that she had used her arts to heal his wounds. For all she knew, he was still an enemy, and a possible threat, and to use your own personal energies to restore someone who may at a future date be responsible for the deaths of people you know or love… Well, it just seemed foolish to Sastre.

On the other hand, he thought, there really isn’t much harm I can do while in custody… He continued to study the building through his half-closed eyes, slowly finding his greatest worry realized. Besides, it doesn’t look like the chances of getting out of here are very good anyway…

It was a matter of minutes to reach the large cell that held his other comrades, and as the pair of blues passed the guard at the end of the hall, they were stopped.

“And where do you think you’re taking that one, eh?” the guard, a hulking red, asked, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“We’ve been instructed by the Lady Lydia to return this… criminal to his companions,” one of the blues responded haughtily.

The red nodded. “Well then, if Lady Lydia has ordered you to do so…” He paused, scratching his chin as if deep in thought. “You know, there’s a second cell, across the way from the one holding the others; maybe he’d be better off there.”

“And why is that?” the blue asked, shifting Sastre’s weight a little.

“Because, it might be dangerous to have all of them in there together. You know,” he said softly, conspiratorially, “they may start plotting and all…”

The blue was silent for a moment before nodding agreement. “Alright, makes enough sense to me. Give us a hand, will ya?”

Soon, Sastre found himself alone, lying on the cold stone floor of a bare cell. Through the bars, across a narrow corridor, the Hunter could see Craed, Mizzely, Rosalyn, Willow, and Rakam in a cell of their own, some of them sitting silently upon the cots and others pacing restlessly across the stone floor. He sat up slowly, examining his own chamber and finding only stone, steel bars, and a single cot against one wall. No windows. No other entrances.

No way out…

Well now, this was a situation. Laying on his back, staring at the ceiling of their cell, Craed was lost in thought. He had been given a lot to think about lately. Foremost on his mind was the treatment of Sastre. True, they had only met a few hours previous, but they had saved each others lives and that creates a deep bond. Secondly was his transformation into a boar and the subsequent inability to transform back. Craed was sure it had something to do with the misuse of his power during the fight with the large demon. Perhaps the heron goddess was punishing him. He was troubled by this, as he did not entirely share Mizzely's beliefs and didn't think he was under Ardia's jurisdiction. The druid couldn't think of any other explanation, however. One last thought nagged at his mind. He had become a druid to turn into something other then himself. To lose himself as a beast and forget about being a dragonborn. But he was surprisingly distraught at the prospect of being stuck as a boar. And the sheer exultation, the feeling of being free, when he turned back into a dragonborn was just as surprising at being stuck as a boar in the first place! Perhaps this was more then mere punishment. Perhaps this was a way to open his eyes. Maybe he shouldn't attempt to lose himself but instead try to find himself. Strangely, thoughts of that long forgotten book came flashing back. Arkhosia...

His thoughts were broken with the arrival of the guards and Sastre. Craed had a glimmer of hope when they mentioned putting him in their cell but that was dashed as they placed him across the hall. The dragonborn stood up and walked up to the bars. "Sastre, are you alright? You look, well, better then you did when you went in. Did they heal you?"

The hunter laughed. "Yeah, they healed me. Beat seven kinds of hell out of me first, but they healed me up fine. Good as new."

Craed eyes flashed with anger and he slammed his fist into the bars. Damn them! How dare they! The druid suddenly gave way to despair, his people were losing themselves, losing their honorable heritage, losing their way. But hope rekindled itself with the echo of his thoughts. A grim smile spread across the scaled features. He would be the one to find them. In finding himself, Craed would save his people and show them the error of their ways. He had no idea how to do it, but at least he had a place to start....

A single word whispered between his teeth, "Arkhosia..."

DM:

Alright, I've added 150 xp to your character sheet! And thanks for being the first (only?) one to add something here. Oh yeah, and lol @ "Yeah, they healed me. Beat seven kinds of hell out of me first, but they healed me up fine. Good as new." Very Sastre.

AMdG

Rosalyn sat on a cot, watching everyone. For once, she didn't have much to say, considering their current predicament. She decided to take this moment and assess how she felt about her new companions. She first looked to Craed: someone who she now respected after his display earlier. He seemed like a nice fellow, someone she knew would watch her back if he needed to. She then turned to Willow, pretty but serious as ever. She smiled a little to herself,then turned to Mizzely. She wasn't half bad looking either, she guessed. Er, and she knew she was dependable at least. Her eyes fell on the newcomer, Rakam, and didn't have much to say about him. He was just some guy lumped in with them so far and thought nothing of him. She was certainly curious about who or what he was though. Then finally, she looked to poor Sastre, who made a daring sacrifice to help protect the rest of the group. She frowned, wishing there was something she could do for him right now. Or any one in this stupid cell for that matter.

Her thoughts then turned to her home. She sighed, thinking of her friends, her parents, and... she shook her head, erasing any thoughts concerning anyone or anything from her home from her mind for now and tried to think of a plan. She tilted her head in thought, racking her brain, her eyes moving to the ceiling. She then sighed after a moment, coming up with nothing. Then again, now that she thought about it, that's all she's done lately it seemed: nothing. She wasn't much help during the few scrapes they had gotten into in the sewers, though she did notice a few things the other's hadn't. Sure, she was ready to back Craed up earlier if a fight had broken out, but again, she didn't do or say anything other than her little act earlier. She tilted her head the other way, glancing down at the ground as a rat scurried by. She paid it no mind, almost wishing she were a rat right now. Then she could at least get out, perhaps go pilfer some keys and... she sat up. She turned to Craed, wondering if he could perhaps do what she had just thought! But then she realized someone might catch them, so she shoved that idea to the back of her mind for now. He sighed again, boredom now setting in along with worry, and she grimaced. She decided she would still do some thinking, hoping that mind of her's would come up with something of use...

DM:

150 xp will be added to your character sheet, thanks!

AMdG

DM:

Alright. Several days have now passed. You're still in the same cells, and you're fed regularly everyday. A pair of guards still patrol the corridor every so often, and you are all pretty much left alone, so long as you don't cause a stir.

AMdG

The lynx lay in the corner of the cell, the cool stone feeling good against her warm body. It was easier to lay while a beast, the cramped confines of the cell protesting against her when she tried to do the same in her shifter form. Still, she was restless, and laying for long wasn't helping any.

Mizzely stood up, stretching and lolling her tongue out in the feline yawning fashion. She realized after this that there wasn't many places to go. While the hallways were lit by torchlight, the cots were all taken up and the rest of her cellmates were strewn about the floor, sleeping. Without windows, it was impossible to tell if it was actually nighttime, or just a convenient time to take a nap.

She padded around her comrades, sniffing along the bottom of the cell door as she came to it. It was something she had done before, smelling for anything her still too-humanoid senses couldn't pick up. Her moving nose was suddenly tickled, a rat having pressed its body between the small space between the door and the stone floor. She snorted at the whiskers that made themselves into her nostrils, and the abrupt sound drove the rat back into the hall.

Mizzely pressed her face to the ground, and found herself staring at the light that crept into the cell. She became entranced by the thought of being able to squeeze her body through such a small crevice. If only she were that small...

The lynx's bones began to tingle ever so slightly, and her flesh shivered for a moment. It was a sensation she barely felt anymore; when her body took another form she could feel the alterations it took just barely. The only reason she gave it another thought was because she didn't recalled requesting her body to make any change.

She stood up and looked at her paws, which though she wasn't moving, were coming closer to her face, and watched as they turned into small naked hands. She felt her face and tail elongate, and felt like she was now crouching. Turning her attention away from her own body, she now saw the space between the door and the ground in front of her.

Instead of a crack of light, it was now a welcoming doorway.

The cat-turned-mouse pushed her face into the opening, and with hardly any exertion at all, was in the hallway of the dungeon.

The sensation was a little shocking. After having been couped up for several days, the bright lights that came to her eyes rendered her almost blind. And of course, the fact that she was a mouse was just as disorienting. She had never been able to change into something so small! She scurried around, poking her nose into places that never would have been possible. She paused at the door across from the one she had just exited. Sastre's cell. This door had a bit more snug of a fit then the other, but she was still able to weasel herself into the confines of the room.

Expecting to see a sleeping hunter, Mizzely found herself looking into the face of a wide awake Sastre instead. He didn't hardly take any notice of her. Afterall - she grinned - she was a mouse!

"So, lonely over here at all?" the druid said innocently. The Hunter, though he had seen her, had obviously not been expecting her to talk, and jumped a bit at the sudden voice. She giggled a squeaky laugh.

It seemed that her new found freedom had its limits, as before she could say anything else, the floor was moving away from her again. She looked down expecting her furred paws, and was confused to still see the mouse hands.

"Dire rat doesn't really seem to suit your personality," Sastre grumbled.

The giant rat sat, shook herself and became the shifter form she was born into. "That was a little strange.”

The two stared at each other for a few minutes before he finally spoke. “So, you learn that you can turn into a mouse and you decide to leave one cell and enter another?” He shook his head. “I would have made a break for it.”

Mizzely giggled and smiled wide. “Well, that wouldn’t have been very nice to leave you all behind! Besides, it’s more roomy over here!” She laid down, proving the point.

“Yeah, well, somehow the council is going to blame this on me. Thanks for sentencing me to another beating with those dragonborn whelps.” His eyes narrowed at the thought of his captors.

The razorclaw had learned from the beginning to not take much of the Hunter’s insults personally. “Hmm, maybe they will beat you. Though, judging by how much they seem to adore you, that was going to happen anyways. At least this way you’ll not only have a sorta reason for being kicked around, you’ll also not have to wait for them to do it alone.” She grinned her wide smile, her eyes twinkling even in the low light at her logic.

He shook his head again. “I liked you better as the rat. Didn’t have to see your too damn cheery face that way.” The druid knew this was his comment of defeat. She sat back against the wall opposite the cot, letting the silence be the conversation. The quiet was interrupted shortly by a low growl.




“Sastre?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you always hungry whenever we meet back up?”



--

OC: Skittering Sneak Daily power used for transformation

Very nicely done, Mizzely! Great content, length, and dialogue between characters. 200 XP has been added to your character sheet!

AMdG

The night deepened.

Sastre sat awake on the cold stone floor, his back resting against the wall as he stared intently at the door of the cell. It would be short work to pick the lock, he knew, for he had studied it closely over the past several days and found it to be a simple mechanism rather than something more complex. His brow furrowed as he wondered―not for the first time―if staying put was truly the right thing to do, despite what Lydia had told him. This waiting, this being caged like a helpless animal was not to his liking, he decided.

Still…

He shook his head to clear it, reason winning out over fear. He would remain in the cell, until such a time as the council saw fit to pass judgment on him, and his companions. Thinking of his companions, the Hunter’s gaze shifted, his cool eyes falling on the sleeping form of Mizzely. He sighed, ashamed of himself over his harsh words to her earlier. She hadn’t deserved them, after all; in fact, none of his erstwhile allies’ actions had warranted his treating them as he had. Were it not for Craed, Willow, Mizzely, and the others, he would more than likely be lying dead in the sewers below the city, his body burned and broken, his quest for vengeance unfulfilled…

No, Sastre thought, clenching his teeth, I cannot die, not yet; not while he still roams this world…

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than Sastre suddenly felt it; felt that something was dreadfully, impossibly wrong. The atmosphere of the cell became thick with tension, and after a moment the Hunter realized that he was holding his breath. He gasped and rose slowly to his feet as the temperature of the room around him became chilled with an unearthly presence. Sastre’s eyes narrowed as ran forward, his hands clenching around the bars of the cell as he scanned the corridor, seeking out the cause of this sudden disturbance.

There! He saw it…

It started as a single wisp, like some stray bit of fog that had somehow found its way here, to the deepest depths of the council hall’s dungeons. Soon, though, that errant bit of mist was joined by others, until eventually an entire cloud of the stuff could be seen making its way steadily toward the prisoners’ cells. A heavy silence seemed to follow in its wake, and as it stopped between the two cells, Sastre stepped away from the bars and, with a sharp intake of breath, assumed a ready fighting stance.

Whether the mysterious fog heard the brown-haired Hunter’s slight exclamation, or whether it somehow sensed his presence in the second cell, it seemed to press forward until wisps of mist seemed to reach between the bars, as if seeking to grasp Sastre and pull him closer. Finally, after what felt to the Hunter like an eternity, the tendrils of mist retracted, and the entire cloud seemed to coalesce into the form of a small, childlike human.

The seemingly-young boy, for boy he was, smiled broadly as he took note of Sastre’s defensive posture, his dark eyes alight with amusement. He was quite small, appearing to be a lad of anywhere between twelve and fifteen summers, though he carried himself with an otherworldly grace that seemed terribly out of place in one so young. His paraffin-white skin seemed to glow slightly in the flickering light of the corridor’s dying torches, and his wavy, dark brown hair hung loosely about the shoulders of his deep blue velvet tunic. The rest of his attire matched the dark shade of the tunic, from a pair of supple leather gloves to the well-made boots upon his feet.

All in all, the small stranger looked the part of a wealthy young nobleman.

“My, my,” the dark-eyed boy said with a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side as he gazed long and hard at Sastre. “The years have not been kind to you…” he paused for a moment, his eyes growing distant as if he were trying to recall something. “Sastre,” he finally said with a nod. “I suppose you’re still calling yourself ‘Sastre Quicksilver’ these days, eh?” The well-dressed not-child shook his head and let out a musical laugh. “Why you choose to honor that old fool by taking up his name and his cause I’ll never know, but you always were the sentimental type…”

“Darien,” Sastre hissed, that single word filled with wrath.

The boy nodded. “You remember me, I’m touched.”

“What are you doing here?” the Hunter asked, cautiously moving closer to the bars, but never once letting his guard down. “If you’re here to kill me, then you have perfect timing. I would think that, had you waited but a few more days, the council would have robbed you of that singular pleasure.”

“I’m not here to kill you, Quicksilver,” the vampire responded harshly. “You forget, Hunter, that I do not desire your death, as you so greatly desire mine. And for what?”

Sastre pounded his fist against the bars, the sound echoing throughout the hallway. “For what?!” he shouted in response, rage contorting is features. “For what you have become, Darien! For what you let them do to you! Have you no soul left at all? Have you so forgotten your humanity?” His voice lowered, thought he tone of vehemence remained. “You lost your family that day, Darien…” He closed his eyes as the memories of the assault upon the LeDuc estate came rushing back to him. “And so did I…”

Darien shrugged. “As you say, Hunter, I lost my family that day. I had nothing left to live for―”

“You had a brother!” Sastre interrupted, his voice quavering with rage.

“―and I did what I had to do,” the vampire finished, brushing an errant strand of hair out of his face. “It was join them or die, and as I had nothing else, and no desire to be killed, I simply did what I had to to survive.” He turned away for a moment, pacing a few steps down the corridor before returning to face Sastre once again. “You of all people should know that to survive, compromises must sometimes be made, Hunter!”

“No,” Sastre said between clenched teeth. “I have never compromised my humanity. And I never will!”

“To each his own,” Darien responded with another shrug. “The fact of the matter is, you have killed many of my coven, Hunter, and those who are left are demanding retribution. I have been able to shield you from their wrath in the past, but things are not as they were.” He shook his head and leaned against the bars in front of Sastre, as if silently daring the human to try and make a move against him. Finally, the child-vampire continued. “Great evil is afoot in the world, and my kind fear it just as much as your own. There are those of my coven who would gladly see us ally ourselves with this new enemy, though I have done much to prevent such an alliance. But even those who do not wish to join with these demons know that, should we decide to fight them, it would be too dangerous to leave you at our back. You have been a terrible thorn in our side for far too long, Hunter.”

“Fine,” Sastre said haughtily, glaring at the vampire. “Then stop trying to keep them from me. I have never asked for your ‘protection’ and I have no need of it. Let them come.” He leaned closer, gazing intently into Darien’s eyes. “I do not fear them, or you. So, what is stopping you from simply destroying me now? I have no weapons, nowhere to run; easy prey, just the way you like it.”

Darien smiled. “No, I think not. You see, Hunter, I have a definite advantage in this situation.” His smile broadened as he stepped back to stand in the center of the corridor. “I don’t have to kill you, human; I simply have to outlive you.”

“Then that will be your downfall, hellspawn,” Sastre countered, a humorless smile creeping across his own features. “For while you continue to wait, continue to put off what we both know must come between us, I’ll be hiding in the darkness behind you, ready to strike.”

As Darien’s body began to slowly dissipate into a cloud of unnatural mist, his voice could be heard as if from a great distance. “Then I shall wait patiently for that day, Hunter. For while I have an eternity, your days are greatly numbered.” With that, the mist-form vampire drifted down the corridor until it was out of sight.

Slowly, the atmosphere of tension and fear that had descended upon the cell lifted, though Sastre remained in place, resting his forehead against the cool steel of the cell’s bars. He closed his eyes and sighed, and though he was weighed down by the exhaustion of the night’s fateful encounter, sleep never came for the weary Hunter.

DM:

Alright, I've added 200 xp (decided by Chelsea) to Sastre's character sheet.

If no one chooses to respond anymore to this thread, we will move on sometime within the next couple of days (Monday at the latest). Please, no grumbling anyone! My hands are very full lately, and I'm doing what I can, I promise!

AMdG

Willow paced restlessly along the length of the cell, struggling to hold her anxiety in check.

Nighttime was always the worst. During the day, at least, the lycanthrope had her comrades’ antics to occupy her attention. Craed and Mizzely were an endless source of interesting conversation, and Rosalyn… Well, Rosalyn could be trying, but at least she kept Willow’s mind off of her surroundings. As the days wound down into darkness, however, so did the distractions. The predator within her awakened in earnest, longing to run, and all she was left to focus on was the bitter truth. She was in a cage.

I have to get out, her primal self cried, and she found she was barely able to control or even direct her racing thoughts. I’ll die in here. I can’t die in a cage. I won’t! I have to run, I have to fight! Willow scowled and fought down her panic, her hands clenched as she made another pass across the front of the shared cell.

“Are you trying to make a grand escape by pacing a hole through the floor?” Craed complained good-naturedly, one arm thrown over his eyes as he lay unmoving on his cot. Willow jumped at the unexpected noise; she had thought the large dragonborn already asleep.

“Sorry, Craed,” she mumbled, ashamed at her frantic behavior. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Pull it together, she growled internally at herself, disgusted, but unable to do anything to calm her raw nerves.

“Get some sleep,” the druid suggested, one eye peeking out to study her from beneath his massive forearm. He eyed her gaunt cheeks and the haunted, manic look lurking deep within eyes underscored by dark circles. “You should try eating something once in awhile too. Or sleeping. Sleeping would be good.”

“Come on over here, Miss Willow,” Rosalyn invited, her voice blurred with sleep. “I can think of a few ways to relax you.”

This time, the lycanthrope’s growl reverberated audibly through the too-small cell. Turning her back on the randy girl-child, Willow paced back to her own cot and sank onto it, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Escaping is a stupid plan, she chided the predator growling within. Even if all of us managed to escape these cells, we have no armor, and no weapons. Those dragonborn would take us down in a heartbeat.

Her breathing stilled as the thought sparked her memory of the absurd technique one of her brothers had tried to teach her last year. Rafe had had a knack for calling his weapon back to him from a distance; a feat which he claimed to have learned from many nights spent observing their enemy. The smallish lycanthrope insisted that he had found that one could forge a bond with a weapon of their choice, attuning it to their will. Once attuned, all one had to do was reach, and the weapon rose to its bearer’s call. His lessons on mastering the trick had been deadly dull, but perhaps that was what she needed at the moment. She knew the technique itself had no hope of working without a weapon to focus on, but perhaps the lengthy meditation ritual would put her to sleep.

I’m willing to try just about anything at this point, she thought, feeling the exhaustion deep within in her bones.

So she settled her back against the wall, her legs drawn up and crossed. Her hands rested, palm up, on each knee, and she focused on turning her attention to her abused body. She concentrated on slowing her slightly panicked breathing, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths instead. One by one, she consciously relaxed her muscles, starting at her feet and working up, willing each to go limp. Most of an hour and several failed attempts later, her body finally obeyed, resting comfortable and loose against the stone wall. The warden was distantly aware of her primal self as it relinquished control and settled grudgingly into a quiet slumber. Once this was accomplished, she sighed and turned her mind inward, focusing her thoughts on her goal.

Now, she pictured her chakram lying across her knees, a slight, yet comforting weight. She carefully visualized the softly gleaming metal, etched through with the tribal designs of her people. She noted the pinpoint glimmer of each delicate Moldavite gem set into the swirling pattern at regular intervals. She traced the glimmering, deadly curve of the weapon’s edge with her mind, focusing on the heft and balance, the way it felt in her skilled hands. For a moment, Willow felt a strange stirring from within herself, a very odd gathering of power, followed by a seeking sensation. The power built slowly, and her hand lifted from her knee of its own accord as if to close around the blade before her mind’s eye. An odd tingling ran from wrist to elbow as she reached into the air, and she almost had it…

A deafening clang wrenched the warden from her deep meditation, and the tingling sensation vanished, dissipating instantly as if it had never been. Willow’s eyes flew open, and she gazed about her surroundings, her eyes unfocused as she tried to make sense of the noise that had interrupted her and the shouting that continued still. She finally recognized Sastre’s voice, and she leapt soundlessly to her feet, fearing that his dragonborn friends had returned for a second round with the reckless Hunter. As she quietly approached the bars, however, her face twisted in confusion as a small boy glided into view, pausing to stand intently outside his cell. Willow glanced down the hallway in disbelief, waiting for the shout of a guard, the metallic snick of a sword being drawn. It never came. She could see why as she craned her neck to the limits of her line of sight. The captors at either end of the hallway slept a disconcerting, unnatural sleep, hands still on weapon-hilt, standing at the ready, their eyes closed and unseeing. The wolf within stirred, its hackles rising in alarm.

This is not good, Willow thought, staring at the unassuming boy. As the stranger backed into the center of the passageway, she caught the burning stench of death upon the air current his movement created, and she recoiled, fighting down a growl. Her face paled as the creature dissolved before her eyes, and she could only stare as the body of mist flowed down the hallway and disappeared. It took the woman several moments to come back to herself, but finally she lifted her gaze to the Hunter, slumped pitifully against the bars of his prison.

“Sastre,” she asked quietly when she was sure of her voice. “What exactly was that thing?”

DM:

200 xp has been added to your character sheet. Nice job!

AMdG