BackontheRoadBack on the RoadAfter Brandeigh and Percy disappear through their trump, the two men with Brieanne wait a few moments before rising and stretching. While the silence lasted, Brieanne sat quietly, staring absently into an invisible spot. Her thoughts her own. "You were going to tell us more about what we were doing when Brandeigh called." Hadrian prompts. "I believe you told us the King doesn't precisely know about this little expedition." "I was... we didn't finish that?" Brieanne picked up her flute, pulling it back apart so she could clean it. Galen shakes his head. "I have frightfully little to go on." Brieanne repeated. "Look Yggward of Risterion." She shrugged. "But we don't know if they truly are from Chaos, or what they might want, just that they appear to be heading in Amber's direction and hadn't yet breached the Golden Circle." "And no... I don't think Uncle Bleys has shared with Random, who might have his own inkling... nothing to say he doesn't know they're out there, just that the brothers aren't working together." "So we're working for Uncle Bleys, although the King probably won't take it too badly if we do a little discreet spying that answers the essential questions that he'd ask if he knows about what's trooping into the Golden Circle, no matter where it comes from." Hadrian says. Brieanne nodded. That was, more or less, her take. "We need to be careful." Dora agrees sibilantly. "I'm always careful." Brieanne assured her, examining the flute piece in her hand one more time. Then she placed the piece in its velvet bed and went to work on another. "We'll pack up the camp so that we can get moving." Hadrian says. "We've heard of Risterion, although we've never been there. Kashfa has some business with it, although." he looks at Brieanne and especially Galen. "I'd prefer to miss the deserts of Kashfa if at all possible." "I concur. But its Brieanne's choice as to direction." Galen says, as he too, sets to striking the camp with Hadrian. "Like I have any use for Kashfa." Brieanne's reply was dry and quiet and she continued with her flute without looking up. When the flute was settled, she slipped it in with the rest of her stuff. It had served the use for which it was intended and no longer worth another side trip to stow it more safely. "We can go which ever way suits you best." She addressed Hadrian and Galen equally. "I suspect what doesn't work for you won't be to my taste either and, honestly, I have the least experience with road travel. I'm sure there's any number of considerations that simply wouldn't occur to me." And with that she placed the routing of their trip in their hands and settled onto Poltergeist comfortably. "My experience on the roads outside of Ghenesh are not extensive." Galen admits. "I do know the routes to and from my land, but we have been bottled up for a long time, as you learned in our encounter." "That leavesss usss." Dora hisses, perched on Hadrian's shoulder. "It does." Hadrian nods to Galen and Brieanne. "Dora and I have mostly wandered around on Shadow Paths and using trumps to get around the Golden Circle. The first time I actually experienced any shadow shifting was with Bhangbadea, but she did the driving, in taking us from where I met her to Amber." "But I will lead us for the nonce." Hadrian says. "Risterion. Let's cross our way there and then we can start looking in earnest. What do we know about Risterion?" he says, somewhat rhetorically. "Tea" Dora says. "Good. Let's have some tea." Hadrian begins leading Brieanne and Galen on his horse, the shadows starting to change as he rides just ahead of the pair of them, a couple of horse lengths ahead. The changes are slow and tentative at first, Brieanne notes. The air slowly begins to grow warmer, and the vegetation starts to change with it. The predominant types of trees begin to change. Brieanne notices the oaks and walnuts slowly begin to give way, being replaced by species familiar and unfamiliar to Brieanne--pomegranate, bamboo, teak and rosewood. This process slowly continues as Hadrian leads the group. Finally, Hadrian stops when they reach a tree of a new and different sort. Its not as large as some of the massive sequoias and the like in Arden, but its an impressive tree all the same. It sits in a grove by itself, or it seems to, until Brieanne realizes that the entire tree IS the hectare sized grove isolated in a patch of grassland. Its trunk is not solid, instead it is a tubular lattice of roots that form the main body of the plant. With its rooty structure, the base of its trunk forms caves and channels where it might be possible to take shelter. The large branches send down branches of their own to the ground...branches which look more like roots to the arboreally knowledgeable daughter of Julian. And Brieanne knows its name and it is proof that Hadrian has brought them to Risterion. Nyagrodha. Banyan. "How marvelous." Brieanne slid off of Poltergeist to walk into the arms of the tree, which looked upside down to her eyes; it's roots in the sky. "Wonderfully done." She turns her head and flashes a smile in Hadrian's direction. Hadrian grins. "From here, Ygg-ward." Brieanne stretched, enjoying the break and then turned to look at Hadrian again. "You'll need to look for which way the Shadow gets... mushy." She made a squishing motion with her fingers, as if they dabbled in something she found distasteful. "Or, simply put your back to where the Pattern feels strongest, I suppose. Either way should work for us." She shrugged. Six of one.... She glanced from Hadrian to Galen, looking to see how each of them was holding up and wondering if another break was in order while they had the relative shelter of the Banyan tree. The sky is overcast and not too sunny, but it certainly could be a little darker for Galen. He certainly has taken it on the chin for walking in daylight for hour after hour. His Moonrider pride, however, clearly is keeping him from actually saying so. But Brieanne can see it in a slight slowing of his movements, a little reluctance to start every time they stop, and a light but definitely noticeable drop in his energy level. Galen could definitely use a rest. and henceforth, if the light levels were less, say, a perpetual twilight, Galen would be much happier. "Mushy." Hadrian says dubiously. "I think I like the Pattern idea better. I'm not sure I know what mushy shadow feels like just yet." "Should we take a few minutes break beneath the tree?" Hadrian says, looking at Brieanne. There is just the slightest, probably subconscious, nod of the head from Galen Miriamson at the suggestion. "Yes!" Brieanne replied with emphasis, not glancing toward Galen since she was happy to take the break for herself, too. She stretched, moving deeper into the shade before flopping down on the ground to gaze up into the canopy. "I'm not used to sitting so long and riding... my rump is going to be sore." Hadrian blinks momentarily at her impetuous decision, and finally nods, finding a root of the tree to lean against. Galen, too, moves toward the darker shade of the Tree and finds a spot to lean comfortably. After a moment she rolled onto her side, propping her head up, with her elbow in the ground and her other hand resting on her hip, watching the hounds nose around, investigating. "I wonder who we'll find... and do you think we should kick about ideas for what we might say to them? Seems like we should, but then it seems so silly when we haven't any idea who they are or what might mean something to them." "That is a wise idea." Galen says. Hadrian nods, too in agreement. "Well, whoever it is are travelers in Shadow, whether for the first time or old hands. We therefore have something immediately in common with them...travel." Hadrian offers. "Perhaps we find out where they came from, and if they are wandering, seeking a goal, or what have you?" Galen nods thoughtfully "We should decide if we admit to where we are from. Even if we are not officially sanctioned by your King, we are moving on Amber's behalf. Or do we decide if we lie about our origins. They will enquire as to who we are to stand in their path regardless." "There is something else, Brieanne." Galen adds."We should show that we are not weak but also not aggressive." Galen says, looking at Brieanne seriously. "Weapons displayed, but perhaps, what is the term?" The Moonrider furrows his eyebrows. "There is a term for holding one's weapons for entering some cities in the golden circle under wraps. Available but not threateningly so. We may consider riding into their midst in such a fashion." "Hmmm..." Brieanne wrinkled her nose. "I don't know what the term is, but I know what you mean. I guess I don't much worry about that. A bow's not fast if its not set and most people don't worry much about me, anyways." She shrugged. "And I'm not sure I want to go tossing 'Amber' around from the start. Be safer to let you two talk since you have homes elsewhere. Then you can be who you are and we don't have to make stuff up and I'll just do my best to find something to say if I'm asked." She nodded to Hadrian. "Just being fellow travelers might be a good start." "Fellow travelers." Hadrian nods. "Of course that in itself will ask questions, since not everyone can travel worlds. But I don't think that we can approach these people without them being curious as to who and what we are in any event. But I think you are right." Hadrian regards Brieanne. "After all, our Amber origins could color their responses to us unnecessarily, or give away too much information." "You can be our War Mistress." Galen confirms with a smile. "There are some factions of the Moonriders where the War Mistresses refuse to deign to speak to any they have not blooded in combat, conducting their business through intermediaries. And what you do not say are more words that you do not have to prevaricate." "Your coloration is not that of a Moonrider. More's the pity." Galen says with a wry smile. "We should meet them near civilization if possible." Hadrian says. "If we are in the middle of a waste where there aren't any other people, it makes it more likely we are from elsewhere rather than from the local population. So, I think that we should find them sooner, and expose ourselves close to a local village or town or city." The hounds are mostly rested and ready at this point, and in point of fact, after an hour of rest, they start to get antsy. Galen, too, seems mostly recovered, possibly because the sun has is near to the horizon by this point, and its golden harsh majesty has given away to cool twilight. A few stars have begun to appear, but the moon, if there is one in this shadow, has not yet risen. The air is visibly cooler, and the deepening shade of the tree covers the area beneath it like a winter's cloak. "Shall we go?" Galen offers "Yes." As willing as she was to rest, she is eager to be moving again as well. Brieanne brushes her fingers against the bark of the tree, thanks it for its hospitality and then whistles Poltergeist and the hounds to her. "The sooner we spot them, the sooner we shall know how to handle them." Settled on Polt's back, she waits for the others and then turns to Hadrian. "Ready?" "Oh, I am still leading?" Hadrian says, getting onto his horse." "He's being sssilly, Brieanne." Dora says sibilantly with a smile. "No complaints thus far." Galen says with a nod. Brieanne relaxed where she sat, her body language confirming that she had no intention of changing their marching order. He was "It" for now. Hadrian looks to Brieanne one last time for confirmation, and then takes point once more. His shifting this time, as he starts to lead the group past the Mangrove tree and onto clearer ground, is a little more assured and easy. Whether this is because of practice, or Amber receding in the background, in any event shadow and ground are covered. The light conditions stay mostly in the twilight that the quartet enjoyed under the tree, and Brieanne can see that this is far easier on Galen than the bright sunlight from the first leg of their journey. The sun does bob up, and down again as Hadrian, doing the heavy lifting, learns some more fine control. Past tall mountains arrayed like a row of teeth, fording across a wide but thankfully shallow river, and through a network of hills, Hadrian keeps moving the group. It is on top of one of these hills, though, that the tenor of the trip changes. From the top of the last, or first, hill in the series, this shadow dips onto a broad plain. The yellow lights, perhaps of fires, or something else, highlight the large camp of individuals visible even from the several miles away that they are in the poor lighting conditions. "I think we found our visitors." Hadrian says. "I've been trying to shift to think about them, and our shifting brought us to here." "Hmm... given the size of 'em.... I should think so." Brieanne squinted in the low light. "And how lovely that we shall have the grace of night to check them out." The smile was feral, her face lifted to the breeze as if it might carry news of them to her. "Well, close enough to night, if we wait a short while." Galen says, peering at the group with an intensity as if he had a pair of binoculars. "Any particular ideas on how to infiltrate the camp, Brieanne?" Hadrian asks. "I haven't tried something like *this* before." he admits. "Except for the time he decided to vissit a pretty daughter of an Propraetor who was cloisstered in a fortresss in the borderlands of Antioch." Dora laughs. Even in the fading light, Brieanne can see Hadrian's face flush. Brieanne laughed softly, but her attention was fixed on the group in the distance. "Scouting is what I do best.... just not sure how to help anyone else do it. I don't bring the boys," she glanced down at the hounds who looked up innocently, "and I tread carefully in case they're heavy on magic, and I just don't let anyone see me. Lots of patience I guess, inching my way in, but usually... people don't see me if I don't want them to. Tough in this kind of open space, though." She pursed her lips and frowned. "But there's more than one way to See." She perked up then. "And I don't need to wait for full dark to do it." She moved away from the top of the hill, looking for a more sheltered spot to make their camp. Its easy enough for Brieanne to find a sheltered and hidden spot in the lee of one of the taller hills that makes their encampment difficult to spot unless someone actually came within close distance. And by then, of course, they would have time to react, or have greater problems in any event. "Division of duties, perhaps?" Galen says, looking at Brieanne and Hadrian. "Brieanne starts the sooner, and alone. I will come a littkle later, from an alternate direction. Hadrian minds the hounds, the camp and keeps a long distance eye on matters." Hadrian doesn't answer, but with a slightly nervous mien, perhaps given his first encounter with the hounds, looks to Brieanne for her reaction to Galen's proposal. "That should work." She digs through her pack to find one of the Ranger spyglasses and hands that to Hadrian. "Not that it'll do you too much good at night, but it might be handy to have come morning if we haven't returned." She made a face. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Hadrian replies, as he, and Dora, look curious at the spyglasses that Brieanne has handed him. "Okay..." she looked around, found a spot to make herself comfortable. In the woods, dusk was fine, but with so much open space, she decided to wait for full dark. The anticipation of what was to come made finding reverie difficult, but she soon settled in to happy, peaceful thoughts, entering the dreamy state where she took most of her rest. Hadrian, Galen, Dora and the hounds wind up taking loose positions in a rough semicircle with Brieanne at the focal point. Hadrian looks up at the slowly emerging stars, trying out the glasses, Galen breathes in and out in a meditative pose of some sort and the hounds mute their protests to the waiting. A change in the quality of the air roused her, drawing her back to the present where the sky had only the faintest tint along the horizon and the stars were out in full. The temperature had dropped, the bugs were singing and it was time to get going. Standing to stretch, Brie looked around. "Ready?" She addressed Galen first, glanced at Hadrian and Dora and then finally looked down at her hounds. "You two, behave yourselves." Briarsting looks up at Brieanne and then looks at Hadrian and then back to Brie with a look that, anthropomorphically might be interpreted as "Oh, Mom!" The older, wiser Smoketredder is far more placid about the task that Brieanne sets him. Brieanne leaned until she was almost eye to eye with the animal and certain that he was going to comply nicely. After a couple of moments of this intense scrutiny, Briarsting finally gives up his reluctance, and gives off the hellhound equivalent of a whimper. It doesn't sound that submissive to the uninitiated, but Brieanne knows the sound and the body language of Hellhounds well enough to know its genuine. "I am ready." Galen says. "We seem to, when looking at the camp, be facing west or southwest. The right hand side of that camp is west, and the left hand side is south. Which side did you wish to investigate, Brieanne, and how much of a head start do you want?" Brieanne considered both routes for a moment and then pointed. "I'll start there," she pointed south, "and I don't think I need too much of a start. It might be useful even if you could see what route I take. If I trip a defense, it will be good for you to know before you circle around to where you wish to start." "Or if you need to be extracted immediately." Galen nods. "All right. Good hunting, Lady of Arden." Galen Miriamson says. "Hmm... and that." Brieanne agreed, giving the hounds a last scratch behind the ears. "Good luck." Hadrian and Dora add, in chorus. There is tall grass, but little else in the way of cover between the hills and the plain where the encampment stands. They couldn't have chosen a better place to cover avenues of approach. Tactically, Brieanne can see that the encampment is well placed that way. It will take all of Brieanne's skills at subterfuge and espionage to succeed. Taking her time, Brieanne stalked the perimeter like a big cat, crouching with her hands in the grass for long moments before slinking forward again. At each pause she listened for the sounds of a restless guard, the creak of leather or the brush of pant legs. Just as important, she watched for disturbances in the earth that might betray traps. Worse was magic, always the first, and the last thing she looked for before she moved forward again. As she crept along, she looked for a good vantage point to simply watch them from. A place where she could see them coming and going, examine uniforms and watch them interact. Its a slow process, this careful sort of slinking up on the encampment. Skills more used to the trees and vegetation of Arden do convert and translate to an open plain, but its much harder to execute. On the other hand, Brieanne is a quick study, and has the blood of her father in her genes. And even if its not trees, grasses are, even without Lorius telling her, very distantly related to trees. Finally, Brieanne finds her vantage spot. Its a very small rise in the earth, but given that she is creeping along, small rises are significant variations. From this point, she can see the first picket of guards. They seem rather bored, to Brieanne's eyes as they walk back and forth. In the darkness, its difficult to see, but the shining eyes on one of them suggests that they are not human. She is close enough to hear them talk to pass the time. "See anything?" the shiny eyed one says to the second. "I *smell* something, but its hard to tell." the second responds. "The game and other animals around here might have a distinctive odor. By the Serpent's Blood, I am *not* chasing after whatever this place has for rodents." "Don't Blaspheme" the first chides the second. Rodent?! Brieanne scowled. By smell I've been relegated to rodent?! She'd have huffed if she dared to make a sound, instead she tested the wind and gingerly backed away, seeking another vantage point, this time keeping in mind that her prey had senses like her hounds. Tense as the hunt made her, she relaxed at least a little when she had some space, wondering what they'd make of Galen. It takes as much effort for Brieanne to work her way out of her spot as it did to get into it, but after another quarter hour's work, she has found a spot where the camp is upwind of her, rather than the reverse. A different pair of guards is her view in this position, although they look similar to the first. However, it is a pair of another people, taking a walk that gets Brieanne's attention. They aren't guards, and in the dim light, look like they have a better cut of dress. Clearly they are closer to the center of power of whatever this encapment is. "So how much longer until we finally get to Amber? I feel like we've marched across the Universe to get there." "We *have*, you ninny. Its harder and slower here because we can't forge a Road anymore. Even if it were practical, it would be a violation of the treaty, Lios and would draw a lot of attention." Well... Brieanne mused silently, that answers a whole slew of questions. But it didn't make her happy. She scrunched down even smaller, willing herself into the earth as if she were just more grass as she trained her gaze on the encampment, trying to gauge their number and listened. Numbers are difficult to come by save by tedious, time consuming observation and watching of the camp from her low viewpoint. But she does have this time, and opportunity, and after Lios and his partner pass out of earshot, there isn't anyone in the immediate vicinity. Brieanne can make a number of observations of the caravanserai's numbers. Given its size, and the tents, and the distant figures, added with the ones she's seen, there might be some dozens all told. And just then she hears shouts, commotions and commands and a flurry of activity on the far side of the camp, the same side that Galen was to infiltrate. One of the two nearest guards dashes off, leaving a single guard between Brieanne and the body of the camp. Guess they didn't decide he was a rodent. Brieanne mused, wondering how best to victimize the remaining guard. Finally she slunk forward, mindful of the breeze and the faint starlight. When she was as close as she dared, she spread her hand in the grass as if she were running her fingers through a lover's hair, stretching toward him physically as far as she could reach, and from there, with her mind. Like the willowy little aspen, grass was often a single organism, spreading out from its initial self until it was its own community, and she did her best to blend with it as she would her trees, using it as a conduit. As important as the greenery, were the poppies. In the spring sun they would bask in all their colorful glory, but they curled up against the night and so she bid them open. Breathing extra life into them as she gave them their task.
It comes out as a spell more than a bidding of things floral. What is a spell but breaking the laws of nature, of the natural world. And yet, with words, with Power, Brieanne is able to make poppies open when they should sleep for the night. And, of course, to enhance them. The heady scent rises upon the wind upon her command, and she scents it as it does. But Brieanne is of the Green, and what's more, she commands the spell and its effects. It is not she who is affected by the soporific effects, but as the breeze blows across the single guard, Brieanne can see that it catches him. The guard shakes his head, and blinks his eyes, resisting the effect at first. It takes a second dose of the poppies' aromatic cargo to strike him before he yawns. And once he yawns, it is so easy for the guard to sink down to his knees, since standing is just so tiring and hard. And once he is upon his knees, it is even easier to just lay down, just for a moment, just for a bit of rest. The subsequent snore from the guardian gives Brieanne the signal that the sleep spell has completely succeeded, leaving no waking guards between her and the camp. Wasting no time, Brieanne trotted forward quickly and quietly, looking for shadows to duck into, places to hide and what might be the best vantage point to listen and watch. There are plenty of those, once Brieanne is beyond the ring that represents the absent guard and the now sleeping guard's post. Tents and other cloth and tent pole structures provide plenty of opportunity for Brieanne to move without being flat to the ground. At the same time she slipped her fingers into her pocket and took Hadrian's Trump from the top. A moment's safety and a glimmer of light and she gazed intently at the card -- *Hadrian!* It was a mental hiss since she didn't dare make noise. She watched the area around her warily as she waited for him to answer. Hadrian responds quickly, as if ready and expecting the call.
With the practiced air of someone who lives and breathes the Art of Trumps, Hadrian's fingers reach in and pull out his deck. He starts fingering them even as Brieanne speaks.
Then she took a risk and slowly put her Trump away, trying to hold the connection without it. It hurts. Putting the card away and trying to keep the connection is a painful process, a wrenching that takes effort for Brieanne to manage. And yet, slowly, carefully, as she gets the card away, the ordinary trump contact transfers to a completely mental one. A thought occurs to Brieanne as the transfer completes. This process would work better if Brieanne had created a full trump of Hadrian herself at some point, so that she could concentrate on that as she switched. In fact, it might be possible, given practice, to use simply that memory of a trump and avoid using his card in the future, but it would be a taxing process, perhaps one for perilous situations, such as this, when using a card uses a valuable free hand.
In the meantime, the sounds of the commotions of, presmably, Galen, still draw the interest of the camp.
So freed of the need to hold a card and only the need to concentrate on the call, Brieanne can slowly make her way toward the center of the collection. The distraction on the far side of the camp still continues to draw attention, if not actual bodies. A few times, Brieanne slips by individuals whose attentions are distracted, to say the least, by the continuing commotion. Even in the low light conditions, the large tents in the center are hard to miss. And even given those light conditions, magical lights show that they are decorated in a eye catching orange and blue color, with an emblem of some sort that tugs at Brieanne's mind, a column with a little pyramid at the top. She's still out of sight, but these tents do have more alert guards than any she has met thus far. Even with the tumult in the camp, these guards, dressed in those same colors, are, to Brieanne's eye, alert and waiting for someone, or something. This, she decided, was as far as she'd go for the moment. She found a good vantage point between a tent and supplies and squirreled herself away. Crouching low, watching and waiting with the guards.
In the meantime, Brieanne hits a jackpot as a trio of figures emerge from the tent, two male and one female. Two of them are dressed in clothes with those colors, the third is in green and yellow. "Deckard" the woman says to the other man in her colors. "Once again we're going to have to solve the problem while everyone else wanders around like a headless Zhur." She looks at the man in green and yellow. "Kennard what did you..."
As if struck by an adder, Hadrian falls silent and the contact wavers slightly but for the moment holds. [Brieanne] pressed close to the barrels around her and toes snuggling into the dirt at her feet, trying to become another innocent, inanimate object to be ignored. But her gaze was glued to the figures outside the tent. Straining, she tried to hear them, but still listened for what news might reach her of Galen .... and for any warning tread of feet approaching her. "...didn't look like any of the natives we've seen in some time, the guards have said." Deckard says. "I think it might be a ploy of some kind." the woman says. "In fact I would count on it given that reports of the intruder near to the camp still are coming in, rather than his fleeing far and away. Kennard, I think we should look around the camp for other intruders who are slipping in while the first continues his distraction." "Agreed." Kennard says. "A spell should readily detect anyone here who isn't of Chaos blood." "You'll annoy all of the sorcerers in the camp." The other man points out. "If they wanted to participate, they long since have had the opportunity." Maleia points out. "Besides, just like our encounter with the you-know-what, I'd rather *we* find and talk with the intruders, rather than killing them, as the more bloodthirsty in this camp would be inclined to do." Brieanne remained as she was. Perfectly still and quiet, mentally as well as physically. Information trickled freely through the Trump connection as she stilled her thoughts. There was a very real temptation to take the risk. To stay and challenge their ability to find her. The wild side waged battle with reason. Kennard. Deckard. Maleia. Brieanne silently repeated the names, commiting them firmly to memory along with voices and faces as she shifted to Mage Sight. Daring to stay and watch just a few more seconds, even as one hand hovered in the air, ready to reach for Hadrian. Seconds pass by like long aching sighs of time. As she brings up her arcane senses, she sees the spell start to form around Kennard, a slowly growing tangle and weave in his hands that begins to reach out behind him. Like serpents, the tendrils of the spell extend, sniffing at Maleia, and rejecting her, sniffing at Deckard and rejecting him. As their distance from Kennard extends, they spread out. And one heads directly and unerringly toward where Brieanne hides. Each breath was passive, the air moving in and out with the breeze instead of effort on her part. She did not blink, watching the tendril approach. As with the air, she let the ambiance of her company seep into her, the energy of the people in front of her, the agitation of the guards in the distance. It was all she could touch here, too little to spin into Glamour perhaps, but as with all prey, she did what came as reflex, balancing the need to conserve with the need to explode into motion as self-preservation would dictate. Her hand tightened around the bow, ready to swing it, not as a bow, but as a club. The tendril of the spell, green and white in Brieanne's arcane sight approaches and approaches Brieanne. It stops its unerring travel about a foot and a half away from where she hides, just on the far edge of Brieanne's range with the bow, if she wanted to strike the tendril of the spell. It rears up like a serpent again, and from afar, does that sniffing motion in Brieanne's direction. The pale color of the Serpent starts to change color, a crimson color starting to form in its head as it sniffs toward Brieanne. There is a desire to lash out, to silence it, but it's too great a reach and the motion alone would expose her. Instead she half-turns into the contact with Hadrian.
Hadrian grabs her hand and pulls Brieanne hard. As she moves toward escape, the tendril of the spell rears forward toward Brieanne, racing to meet her before she disappears through the connection! Time seems to slow to a crawl for Brieanne, distorted by the trump, the energy used, and the heightened senses and suspense of the confrontation. She begins to step through moment by moment, as the tendril moves alarmingly closer and closer, turning redder and redder as it approaches her. Half of her is through the rainbow connection, and the tendril still nears, still seeking its quarry. Three quarters of the way through, four fifths, nine tenths... WoundWeaver active in her hand, Brieanne swung the bow, using the curved edge like a club, striking at the 'head' of the tendril as it reached her. The tendril of the spell stops in its otherwise unerring flight. The energy of the tendril striking the trump only grazes Brieanne in the heel, a burning sensation on a small coin sized region on her heel. However, as the trump call collapses and she is through, there is a greater energy backflow from the collision of the spell with the call, and the energy Brieanne poured into the connection to escape. Brieanne as a conduit is unharmed by this. And if she hadn't stopped the tendril as she had, it would have been far worse. Hadrian, however, on the other hand, totters backward, with a dazed look on his face. "Oh..." Brieanne hopped on one foot, other foot in the air as she twisted on way and then another, investigating her foot and making certain she wasn't unduly damaged, then she turned to Hadrian. "Are you okay?" She reached out for him, not sure if she should help him sit, or not. "It could have been worse." Hadrian says. Dora, too, perhaps part of the connection, has a glassy look in her draconic eyes. Hadrian manages to get to a seated position on his own. "Felt like sorcery mixed with something else." Hadrian says, his eyes half closed as he addresses Brieanne. "It was like the mother of all static electricity shocks, right between the eyes." "Give me a minute or two and I'll be right as rain." Hadrian adds. Dora gives off a soft hiss and curls against Hadrian's shoulder and neck. There is not any sign of pursuit or detection at this range. "Well.... take deep breaths...." She wasn't sure what else to say. "I'm going to go get Galen back. Now that they know someone was there, they will likely be more aggressive toward him." Brieanne hurried toward Poltergeist, pausing once she was astride him. "If you feel up to it, it might be a good idea to get the other horses ready to travel. If we get pursued, we'll need to leave in a hurry and I'd rather nothing get left behind to trace us with." "All right." Hadrian agrees. He still looks dazed, as does Dora, but he gives a game nod of the head. She turned then, hurrying Polt along out in the direction Galen was, though she swung out wider from the camp than she would have before. The ride out in Galen's direction doesn't immediately provide challenges for Brieanne. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see activity now more visibly disrupting the camp, an anthill that has been kicked off, a hornet's nest that has been poked with a stick. As she continues in the direction, she can see a single pale skinned figure, Galen, moving through the darkness, taking his own wide, looping path. Behind him, trying to track him, are several centaur-like figures. They alternate slow and careful movements with bursts of speed that might be as fast as Polt, as they doggedly try to track Galen. Judging from his jittery pattern of movement, its clear to Brieanne that Galen is trying to lead this quartet of Chaosians away from the camp, but not so quickly as to lose their pursuit. Although they are focused on Galen at the moment, Brieanne's continued movement toward the scene will draw their attention. Brieanne slipped from Polt's back, using a lower profile to keep out of sight as she carefully put herself in Galen's way. "Fade." She whispered, her hands on Poltergeist's face. "Fade." The night went grayer, the texture of what she saw changing as their physical forms became wispy, ethereal. This works without much of a problem, and as they have done many times in the past, Polt slowly shifts to his less tangible form, as does the rider. There were alternatives to tip-toeing along like this. A howl to summon the hounds, hoping the prospect of predators might deter the pursuit. But she decided to save that should things get dire. Then there was the danger that he was already captured and what she saw was not true. So, when she saw Galen, she tossed a leg over Polt, pulled herself aboard and laid flat on his back while she spoke from a short distance. "We're done. Lose them and go back." She watched for the centaurs, knowing they would be here shortly, but not certain if she and Galen should take separate paths, or not. "Urrrr." comes the voice of Galen who stops his flight, suddenly, once Brieanne speaks. Strangely, despite her ethereal, insubstantial nature, he does not look around in wonder, looking for Brieanne, instead, standing stock still. As moments go by, and Brieanne looks at him longer, Brieanne sees it. It's a semblance of Galen, but the clothes are subtly wrong and there is no mind, no personality to the Galen-thing. It's a sham, a fake, a decoy. And then Brieanne realizes that the centauroids are much closer than they appeared, and will be there within moments, rather than the greater part of two minutes as she thought. Brieanne growled, hands clenching in Poltergeist's mane. She had been afraid of that, but facing the reality aggravated her to no end. Bleys owed her big, and it was getting costlier by the second. "You will cease your arcane activity and stay where you are." comes the booming voice of one of the centaurs. "Failure to do so will result in the application of incapacitating force. You will not be warned a second time." Brieanne blew a hard short breath of air through her nose and guided Polt in a quick feint to the right, as if they might try to run, and then she twisted him further, leaping, diving -straight down into the earth. The maneuver isstraight into the earth itself. unexpected, and Brieanne is able to do it without molestation. Huddled in the absolute dark below the night soaked ground, Brieanne listened to the thud of hooves echoing above. "Incapacitate this." She muttered airlessly, trying not to imagine herself hyperventilating, trying to ignore the visions of roots tangling with her hair like so many spider webs. Tried to pretend that worms did not feed where her body was. Tried to ignore the fact that she had just buried herself alive. Shuddering, white-knuckled, she closed her eyes and tried to focus past what was becoming panic. She had to get back to Hadrian. Had to get back to the hounds. Had to find out what -exactly- had happened to Galen and get him back if they really did have him. "Okay..." She whispered, "we never get lost up there, no reason we should be lost down here. A compass works just the same where ever it is... just have to feel it." She felt Polt move, a sticky, hobbled sort of trot as he got used to the unusual circumstance. Eyes still pressed closed, she went with what felt like the most comfortable direction, trying to listen to what was above her and whether or not she was being followed. So long as she lost them, she could fix her course later, and the sooner she lost them, the better. With only the senses of touch, smell and hearing to guide her, Brieanne's progress is slow. She and Polt pick a direction that is not quite the most comfortable direction, since that likely would just be straight upwards. Still, her progress takes her along a lightless direction, a lightless distance and toward a lightless destination. The sounds of the pursuers, already muffled thanks to her locale, become more and more distant. And then Brieanne finds something that is familiar indeed even if it is out of place in this terrain. Roots...the roots of a tree. Brieanne's intimate knowledge tells her it is a Cedar Tree's roots, deep and thick in the earth around her. Relieved, Brieanne urged Poltergeist skyward, surfacing beneath the shelter of the tree. She tested the air for any sign of the enemy and then turned her attention to the cards. Hadrian's was on top and used her fingers to explore the face of the card as she visualized the picture she knew was there. None of the nigh sky's pale light reached into the tree's shadow and she wasn't coming out just yet if she didn't have to.
As Brieanne rises out of the earth completely, and opens her senses, the profundity of the fact of what has happened is inescapable. She is not anywhere near where she dove into the earth. The terrain here is much more forested, with the cedars and hemlocks dominating the terrain all around, rather than the plain upon which the denizens of Chaos were encamped. There is no sign of anyone here at all besides her and Polt. Even with this, however, and with Brieanne's especial skill with Trumps, Brieanne's contact of Hadrian is more drawing from her memory of his trump than the card itself. The card does go cool, and the contact is made.
"They laid a trap. I do not know if Galen is free, or not... I suspect not." Brieanne frowned, already contemplating the effort it would take to get him free. "And I have no idea where I am." She looked around, perplexed. "Which might be a very useful trick if I can sort myself out." Another pause and finally she reached out a hand, "Bring me through?" "Absolutely." Hadrian reaches through, and brings Brieanne through the Trump, back to the staging point that Hadrian has been minding. As soon as she grasped his hand, though, and even more noticeably when she stepped through into his presence, into the night, Brieanne notices that the air around Hadrian, and Hadrian's skin, exude that aura of coldness that she noticed when he was in the desert. Even Dora looks a little icier in appearance than previously. "I think we have two choices." Hadrian says, as he looks at Brieanne. "Talk, or all three of us go together and get Galen out. It's really your choice, especially if you have another idea." He looks to Brieanne expectantly. "I don't think they're going to be all that open to talking. Not until morning, at least, and maybe to you since they've already had a taste of me. And if we haven't resolved this by morning, we're going back to Uncle Bleys and putting his butt in a saddle to help deal with this." Brieanne huffed slightly, not happy with how things had turned out. Hadrian nodded curtly in agreement. "I'm not sure what to do next. I do very much like having you to safely return to, and to report if things go further to hell." She frowned, scowling in the direction of the camp. "With my new trick, if I can master my sense of direction, I can get in, but getting out seems to be were things get dangerous." She turned abruptly with an idea. "We need a sketch of him, we can use it like a compass heading to guide me. We stay linked, I go get him, and you pull us back." "Unless of course we can simply sketch and call, but I'm going to bet that won't work." Brieanne sighed. He'd have to be capable of answering, and not warded or blocked, and that seemed like too much to hope for. "Warding against Trumps isn't easy, but if he's bound, it will take a lot of work to get him through a sketch." Hadrian says. After a moment, he blinks and then the feeling of cold that Brieanne feels drops off. "I apologize about that." Hadrian says. "It seems that side effect rears up in times of stress. Something to pay attention to, perhaps learn to use offensively." Brieanne nodded, but she hadn't been bothered, so she didn't comment. "I like your idea of staying linked." Hadrian says. "You follow the sketch, find him, and I yank you back as soon as you can get him unbound." He looks at Brieanne. "If it would help, you could take Dora with you as an additional way to keep us linked." "And to help otherwisse." Dora adds. "Hopefully this will be easy...." She took a deep breath. "Sketch first. We need light." She went to work on that, making just enough fire, in as sheltered a spot as she could, to light a drawing. "Let me know how much of my help you want, til then I'll keep a watch for company with the boys." "I didn't think you wanted them along, even under these circumstances." Hadrian says. "They've been relatively quiet although agitated while you were gone. Maybe they can smell these Chaosians." Hadrian offers as he pulls out drawing materials, paper and a sharp pencil. "Hmm.." Brieanne gave a noncommittal nod. For their part, Briarsting and Smoketredder watch as Brieanne kindles a fire. A sheltered spot in the lee of the small hillock suits Brieanne's purposes nicely, and there are enough rocks to contain the fire and keep it from growing too large, or setting the plain on fire. "I'd almost wish for a magical light." Hadrian talks as he works. "But I suppose such a thing would be even more noticed. Hey, I have a question about the spacing of Galen's eyes..." Brieanne paused to bring up his image in her mind's eye. Not just this time that they'd riden together, but the first encounter down the lenghs of swords. She'd paid a great deal of attention to his eyes at that moment. In this way, with Hadrian asking questions now and again, by the light of the campfire, the sketch of Galen takes shape. The arcane energy of the Trumpish nature slowly rises, too, until, as the sketch is complete and a good representation of the Moonrider. "It feels right." Hadrian says with satisfaction. He looks at Brieanne as he offers it to her. "I'm tempted to talk to you all night about Trumps, but I'd rather do it once we have Galen and are away from here." "Well away from here. Some quiet night where the most active things are the fireflies and a sleepy summer breeze." Hadrian nods in agreement. "Some quiet night." he murmurs. With Hadrian close at hand, Brieanne stares down at the Trump, trying to reach Galen and find out exactly what they need to do next. The energies of the trump sketch slowly rise, as Brieanne, and Hadrian nearby, begin to work on it, the power rises, the contact starts to open, and then there comes the hiss of static. "That's a strange sort of block." Hadrian comments. As the contact comes back down, Brieanne is convinced that the block is not strong enough to keep her from using the sketch to find Galen. Its even possible that, given the block, that a full trump card of Galen, concentrated on by herself and Hadrian, might even punch through, if Brieanne wanted to try that approach. Of course that approach would take time. "In case they noticed that...." She moved briskly toward Poltergeist. "Again, you stay here." She paused to give each hound a brief moment of attention, reward for their cooperation thus far. The moment of attention settles both Briarsting and Smoketredder, especially the higher strung former of the pair. "How best to do this.... You maintain the contact with me and I work the connection to him? Or do you think you can hold mine and steer me to him?" She settled on Polt's back, bow in hand and ready to be off. "It would work best in my view if I concentrate on holding the connection to you." Hadrian says with a slight tone of fierceness. Not defensiveness, but rather a certitude that he will do this and make it right. "You work the connection on the sketch to him, you get to him, free him, and I pull you out immediately. I have a trump to get us out of this shadow ready as soon as you and Galen are here." "Did you sstill want me along?" Dora asks Brie once she is on top of Polt. Brieanne bit her lip, silently debating. "No." She answered slowly. "Watch his back. The boys are good, but they have their limits, and if anything gets to Hadrian, our hole gets much, much deeper. Though... I think I might have one trick left if this blows up. It'll just mean leaving everyone in their hands longer than I'd like." She made a face, not liking that prospect at all. Dora looks to Hadrian. "Sshe has a point." Hadrian says, and then slightly looks embarrassed at his use of the sibilant himself. She took a deep breath, and held the sketch in front of her. "You may have to provide pointers... I've never tried to use one like this before." She concentrated, and tried to get a fix on where Galen was. "It's easy once you know." Hadrian says as he steps next to Brieanne and Polt, Dora peering over her shoulder. "Like this. Take out a card of yourself, too. It's not quite focusing completely on the sketch and the card, but rather following the energy between the pair..." After about five minutes, Brieanne gets a good idea of how to do it. She might even find a musical sort of paradigm to it, following the note from her card, herself and her position, to the note of the subject of the sketch, Galen. With these, Brieanne can get a bearing. It occurs to her that having more cards, of people at known locations would be even more effective. It would be clumsier to wield more cards in such a manner, of course. But even with just her card and the sketch, since Galen is in this shadow, she has enough of a bearing to be confident of direction. Thinking, Brieanne took out Hadrian's card as well, threading them through her fingers, curled in so that they pressed securely into her palm while she played with the sensation. When she was comfortable with that, she nodded. "Here we go." She gave him a cursory nod, most of her attention still on the cards, and then she nudged Polt in the required direction. She followed the trail above ground for a short distance, getting as much practice as she could before finally urging Polt into the earth. She closed her eyes, both hands pressing the cards to her heart as she guided them entirely by the sensation in the Trump. Being underground, and phased, provides an addition level of challenge to the technique that Hadrian has shown Brieanne. However, there is precedent, and it occurs to Brieanne that, much like a tree roots itself in the Earth and can on a level understand what is happening in it, so too, with sensation alone, she can move forward with the Trumps. Sightlessly she progresses. There are jitters and quirks, and Brieanne has to stop several times to regain her bearing and get the bearing again. But after what Brieanne estimates is about 15 or perhaps 20 minutes, she is directly beneath where Galen is, wherever that might be. All indications are that he is straight up. Brieanne turned briefly in Hadrian's direction. *This could get intensely interesting.....*
The anticipation, the thrill of a new hunt, blotted out her unease at being underground. A step away from where she thought he must be, she surfaced ever so slightly. A bit of forehead and her eyes at the level of the floor, as she listened for voices and watched for the change of light as people moved about. When she knew more, she'd rise higher, but she advanced cautiously. Brieanne's head, phased, reaches just to the level of the ground. Her cautious advance saves her from difficulty, since as she attempts to raise above the ground, she can feel the ward that her head nearly grazes. Brieanne doesn't know if it would set off an alarm, but it is a powerful physical one that is above her head and protects, as far as she can tell 'looking' in various directions. an area the size of a large sized tent or so. She might be able to break through the ward, relying on her phased nature, but there are no guarantees that she wouldn't cause herself trouble, or perhaps even get stuck in the ward in that process.
"...will they try to rescue him?" "...not native. Strange physiology. Shadow travel..." "turn him over to...if no one shows..." At this point, Brieanne has had some time to investigate the ward. It's good, very good, but its not perfect. While it does cover the ground, this side is not quite as well formed as it is, presumbly, on the other sides. There is a weak point or two, where the fields are weaker, weak enough, Brieanne thinks, that she could pass through the field at one of these points with far more chance of success than the stronger areas. One of the people's movements suddenly changes course, and there is a babble of excited sounds as one of the people in the tent starts making a beeline for, presumably, the exit. Brieanne waited, listening to the noises and voices, paying attention as the person seemed to leave. That still left others inside. Hovering where she was, she turned more of her attention to Hadrian's Trump. *I don't suppose you have a mirror, do you?*
Hadrian digs into his gear and retrieves a small rectangular hand mirror, a couple of inches long and perhaps one inch wide. *Would this do?* he asks.
The perspective is somewhat confusing for Brieanne at first. The interior of the tent is at odds with its outward tent like nature. The walls and floor appear to be made of grey stone. The size of the large common room that Brieanne is looking into appears to be larger than the outward size of the tent itself, although that might be a optical illusion of some kind. And there are hints, that Brieanne can see with judicious use of the mirror, that there is an entire structure inside of this tent, as she can see at least one corridor that leads away from the central, common room. Galen, Brieanne can just manage to see, is in a sunken center of this common room, bound. Two other figures, one male, one female, are in the corner of this room, speaking in low voices. Brieanne can feel a slight crackle of electric energy as she continues to press against the weak spot in the ward as she spies on the room.
For a long, agonizing moment, she resisted the temptation to dash in and grab him.
But that gave everyone else time to do things, too. And it wasn't going to get easier. At least... not until they moved, and by then they might hand him over to someone worse.
By judicious and now more practiced use of the mirror, the doorway to the tent is empty and clear. It occurs to Brieanne at one point to not only look but to listen. The only sounds she hears are the two guards quietly talking. There are no sounds that suggest that a horde lies within easy earshot in this Castle sized tent. The room, at this particular moment in time, is quiet. And then a stroke of luck. "Where are you going?" One of the figures says to the other ina challenging voice as he heads toward the corridor. "Where do you *think*? I'll be right back. He'll keep. There's been no sign of his friend anyway. Might've gone running for help." And with leaden footsteps the figure heads toward the corridor, leaving the other, thin, tall figure to guard the bound Galen.
There were a few facts to absorb as she hurried. Had she lost Hadrian? Was Galen conscious? Was there any sign of a ward on the exit out to the camp? Brieanne, upon Polt, rears out of the ground, and with the room in the tent and her incorporeal state, easily can maneuver around without difficulty. The remaining guard does not show outward sign of seeing or noticing Brieanne, as she seeks answers to her questions. A tentative thought shows that Hadrian is still holding his end of the contact. Its definitely attenuated and somewhat weak, but it is not broken. Galen, however, is not conscious. He is bound to something and supported by it, but he is clearly not awake. As far as wards, there are protections of some sort on the tent's entrance, that much she can see, but Brieanne is not familiar enough with them enough to know what they are or what they might do. The footsteps, in the distance down the corridor and out of immediate sight, have stopped. Keeping the guard in her line of sight, Brieanne maneuvered Poltergeist next to Galen and coaxed the horse down to the ground behind him. "Go Ghosty." She whispered carefully, trying to bring Galen in. If she could just get him over Polt's back, they could make a break for it. With Hadrian, if the Trump worked well enough or back through the mushy spot in the floor. But first things first. She couldn't go anywhere until she'd gotten him free. The guard in Brieanne's sight looks relatively bored and inattentive as Brieanne works to get Galen into position. Polt kneels down and continues to be insubstantial as Brieanne works to get Galen over Polt's back, and thus turn him as insubstantial as she, and her steed. The chains holding Galen are painfully short, but Brieanne has dealt with bonds before and she finally manages to get him into a position where he, too, can be turned insubstantial and freed from his bonds. Galen changes his state from solid to the ethereal form that Polt grants his riders, and the chains that hold him slip away, and clatter on the floor. And then things start to happen quickly. As the bonds fall free toward the ground, empty of their prisoner, there is a buzzing sound inside of the castle, an alarm of some sort. The guard snaps to attention, and the sound of footsteps from down the hall is rapid and loud. Worse, some sort of interaction is starting to interdict Brieanne's etherealness, as she feels herself, Polt and Galen start to forcibly materialize.
One hand held Galen in place, the other clasped WoundWeaver, ready to pour everything she had into his Trump if the other two avenues were taken from her. Brieanne's mental shout reverberates through the connection like a clarion call, even as she pushes Polt toward the hole She can feel Hadrian take a moment or two to respond. Perhaps something else interferes with the call or his response, since he does not immediately react. And when he does, his efforts seem muted, blunted, and slowed. In the meantime as Brieanne, Galen and Polt head toward the hole, the buzzing sound still clattering away, a ball of sorcerous energy, blue in color, shoots right above her head, striking the far wall with a splash of cerulean flame. Either a miss or a warning shot. "Halt!" "Stop!" comes from voice from down the hall, and the figure who had been guarding Galen, respectively. And before Brieanne can enter that hole and safety, the three of them are solid enough that they can no longer pass through the ground. The trump call to Hadrian is attenuated but still there. The undoubtedly warded outer door is nearby. However, Brieanne would have a clear path to it. She cannot try both options. Snarling with frustration, Brieanne wheeled Poltergeist around hard, feeling the stallion skid slightly on the stone floor. *Listen for me!* She gave Hadrian a last thought and cut the connection to him.
Slipping WoundWeaver free, she made eye contact with the sorcerer in the hall, and charged. The other man was half a thought. If he got too close she'd trample him, or brain him with the heavy curved arc of the bow. The plan, such as it was, didn't include getting that close. Of course, the plan had been to already be gone. The fact that she wasn't ticked her off and she aimed that hostility at her newest adversaries. Now come on and fire you sonofabitch. Bow held to strike, Poltergeist's hooves clattering, she made to barrel down right on top of them. The sight of Poltergeist, Brieanne (wielding a bow) and Galen charging down the long hallway at him gives the purple haired man pause as he stands in the hallway. Of all the things he expected, Brieanne charging him was apparently not one of them. And thus Brieanne closes the distance rapidly before the man chooses and launches a spell, a cone of blue light that widens as it approaches her, Polt, and Galen. Thanks to Brieanne's charge the spell will be upon her in moments. Think fast, act faster. Brieanne sat back, turning Polt and stopping as she drove all of her strength and attention into the Trump that was WoundWeaver, wrenching a gate open as wide as the hall. Holding it up like a shield, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the link. Feeling the spell pass through, her minds eye raced ahead, the view on the other side a billion shooting stars as the view arced up to the sky and then back again, like a bird in flight, until it was coming back the way it had come. Returning to sender. The blast at its widest very nearly does encompass the hall, and thus it fits within the open trump that Brieanne has prepared waiting for it. Wrenching is the right word. The spell blast strikes the open connection as Brieanne manipulates it, using the utmost of the three hundred sixty degree of freedom of the trump's location to its advantage. She feels the energy jump and arc as the spell hits the connection. By the time it warps around and back out of the trump, Brieanne is aware enough to see that the spellcaster has been briefly been made motionless by the feedback from the spell, or something else, hitting the trump connection. Thus, when the blue conical energy emits from her trump, her opponent cannot even move as it envelops him. As Polt continues his approach on the Chaosian, now nearly upon him, Brieanne can see that the man now is immobilized and coated by something that looks like smoky blue glass. Satisfied, Brieanne dropped the Trump focus to the ground, swung the face of the Trump to face them, and galloped through. On the other side, Brieanne brought Polt to a stop so they could both catch their breath. She listened to the quiet, drinking it in while cooling sweat prickled the little hairs on her arms. All is quiet in the faerie shadow known as the nexus. At least for the moment. Its entirely possible that Brieanne's activities will draw attention. However, right now, she has solace and a chance to regroup. As for Galen, he is not stirring very much even away from his bondage. Clearly he has undergone some sort of ordeal, given the somewhat sallow look on his face and his quiet passivity. When she'd calmed a bit, she looked down at Galen, and then decided to get back to Hadrian first. She didn't draw her Trump, but focused on drawing his image in her mind. Painting the details and filling in the anxiety he was likely feeling right now. Even if she couldn't quite reach him, maybe it would be enough for him to hear her. The last bit, Brieanne might later reflect, was the crucial detail that allows her to complete the connection. This business with trumping without cards is complex and difficult. However, predicting Hadrian's likely state of mind, and using that within the mental trump gives Brieanne the edge that she needs. For, indeed, the trump call connects, and indeed, as Brieanne predicted, Hadrian's anxiety is high. "Brieanne!" Hadrian gasps with relief. He calms down, quickly as he looks behind and around her. Undoubtedly he sees both Galen, and the fact that Brieanne is far away from the Chaosian's camp. "I'm glad you two are all right." Hadrian finally says. "Well," Brieanne looked down at Galen. "I'm okay, but I'm afraid he's a bit worse for wear. "Bring us through and we'll see if he recovers." On the other side, Brieanne handed Galen to Hadrian and helped get the Moonrider settled as comfortably as they could. The contact wavers a bit as Galen and then Brieanne and Polt are transferred through but the trump contact is a success. "Dora, could you take a look about? I don't think they'll come out this far, since magic was involved, but we've really kicked the hornet's nest." "Yesss." Dora launches off of Hadrian's shoulder and up into the air in a spiraling flight. Brieanne tended to the hounds and horses, bringing them in closer in case they needed to move in a hurry, and then returned to Galen, checking for any change. "And how are you feeling?" It suddenly occurred to her to ask. "I have a headache the size of a small iceberg." Hadrian says, blinking his eyes as Brieanne brings in the horses, Briarsting and Smoketredder into a tighter circle. "It hurts to hold trump calls." Hadrian continues. "I think it was something in holding that call with you into that place they were holding Galen. I think that he looks somewhat worse off than I." Indeed, looking over Galen, Brieanne's judgement is that he is suffering from some sort of maltreatment, although the exact details elude her. Although consciouus, Galen is listless and not very responsive. And then Dora comes spiraling down. "Brieanne. We need to leave. Now." Hadrian says, even before Dora has reached the two of them. "Dora's has espied the camp in a flurry of activity. She thinks they are performing some sort of magical ritual, one that can't mean good news for us." Dora glides down onto Hadrian's shoulder. Her nervousness is evident to Brieanne, especially given her familiarity with dragons. The night air from the direction of the camp carries the sound of a roar. His words were barely spoken when Brieanne leaped to her feet with a whistle that snapped both hounds to their feet, jerked Polt around as if on a lead, and likely put a spike through poor Hadrian's head. Holding WoundWeaver out, she reversed the trip they'd just made, opening the trump gate to usher everyone through. Grabbing Galen to help Hadrian carry him through, Dora and then the hounds as they harried the last two horses. Brieanne's actions only take a few moments. Hadrian is wincing and has his eyes lidded as he hustles through the connection, combining forces with Brieanne to get Galen through. The hounds and Polt are more cooperative but the other horses take some effort to coax through the connection. She glanced back toward the camp as she slipped through, but didn't pause to search for what was coming after them. The last thing Brieanne sees with that backward glance is a purple glow rising from the camp. Like a winged wyvern, this glow rises into the air with the sound of beating wings. And then Brieanne is through, and safe, as are everyone else. As Brieanne looks about, the hounds and Polt are happy to be in a familiar environment again, the other horses are somewhat disturbed. Hadrian is sitting on the ground holding his head with his eyes closed. Dora's eyes are similarly closed as she perches on his shoulder. Galen, though, is blinking his eyes and shaking it slowly, as if waking up from a long sleep. "Where are we?" the Moonrider asks Brieanne. On the other side of the meadow, what could be seen of the horizon through the tips of the trees was lit by a rosy glow that promised a rising sun. The sky above was studded with stars that gave everything a faint, silver glimmer."......Safe...." She looked around, as if verifying that fact and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. "And I'm very happy to see you coherent. I guess getting away from there was a good thing in all sorts of ways." "We've crossed a Veil or a number of them." Galen observes, looking upward at the early dawn sky. "Umm.... I would think it's many, but we won't count." Grabbing a blanket from one of the horses packs, she knelt down next to Hadrian. "You can lay down." She whispered, offering the blanket to rest on. Hadrian nods gratefully, taking the blanket and spreading it out. He is soon horizontal with his eyes closed. Like a cat, Dora curls on the center of his chest, her eyes equally closed. When he was settled, she went back over to Galen. "You okay?" "I believe I was bound with some enchantments to make me more tractable." Galen says, with a nod. "Moving me away from their camp was useful in removing the worst of their effects and I thank you for it. A drink of water, though, would be welcome, milady Huntress." He gives a nod of the head in respect to Brieanne. "My throat is parched, perhaps as a side effect of the ensorcellments." "Was he also stricken?" Galen motions his head in Hadrian's direction. "Getting into the camp proved the easier task. Getting me out by Trump the first time did some damage when we were struck by spell work, trying to stay connected to me did damage when I went back for you, and then we had to leave in a hurry and I whistled sharply for the animals and made his already aching head particularly painful." Brieanne sounded apologetic about that last part, but she really had been in a hurry, and that was for the best of all of them. "Someth...like that." Hadrian mumbles, his voice not completely clear. He shakes his head slightly from side to side in his supine position. "In any event." Galen says after a moment waiting for Hadrian to finish and quiet once more. Galen's voice sounds somewhat hoarse and dry. "Your timely rescue is appreciated. I gathered, even in the haze of the ensorcellment they laid on me, that you had given them no little end of trouble, and as a result I was bait for them attempting to capture you, or at least slow you down enough to parley. I was slowly working free of it, since the sorcery is passing familiar to my people and I had a natural ability to throw it off, but it would not have been a quick process. It's possible their binding of me was to forestall that possibility." "They did use you as bait, and it was rather well done, but something didn't quite make sense and I held back enough to figure it out before I was undone. At some point it might have been worth the time to talk, but I suspect only some of them would have had a civil conversation and I wasn't in a position of picking who I got to talk to." She shrugged. "I'd like to go back in the morning, at least part-way, to see what they're up to and maybe in the morning light I can pick someone to have a word with. In the meantime, I should have a word with Uncle Bleys...." "They certainly didn't come all this way to kidnap random beings." Galen agrees. "Just what they really want, and if a civil conversation or eavesdropping could be had, discovering their motives would keep in line with the mission given." Galen gives a nod of the head. "They did use you as bait, and it was rather well done, but something didn't quite make sense and I held back enough to figure it out before I was undone. At some point it might have been worth the time to talk, but I suspect only some of them would have had a civil conversation and I wasn't in a position of picking who I got to talk to." She shrugged. "I'd like to go back in the morning, at least part-way, to see what they're up to and maybe in the morning light I can pick someone to have a word with. In the meantime, I should have a word with Uncle Bleys...." "They certainly didn't come all this way to kidnap random beings." Galen agrees. "Just what they really want, and if a civil conversation or eavesdropping could be had, discovering their motives would keep in line with the mission given." Galen gives a nod of the head. She thought about that for a moment, but yet didn't reach for her Trump. A soft pair of snores fill in the empty aural space, from Hadrian and Dora. "No. They didn't. Not being able to pick that up is frustration. But there still may be means to that end...." She wrinkled her nose briefly, thinking. "It will wait until Hadrian is rested, and we should probably do the same. A nap will do us all good." "They have already decided it is safe." Galen says, looking at Hadrian and Dora, before regarding Brieanne again. "However, my training and background do compel me to ask." He regards Brieanne after giving a respectful nod of the head. "Is it safe to sleep here, as we are, lady of the forest? Or, are preparations necessary to ensure that our rest is not interrupted, or worse?" The Moonrider continues to regard Brieanne levelly as he speaks. "Wherever you have brought us, far away from those strange travelers, it is clearly not the Wood in which we first encountered each other." "No. It isn't." She looked up, head tilting to look up into the oak instead of the stars. "But as long as I am here, we should be safe. Less so if I am not, and your greatest danger would be from those kindly disposed toward me. So, if we get separated, take care with your actions, because it's tough to tell who is friend, and who is foe." "I will endeavor, then, not to be separated." Galen says, looking about for a place to rest. "I will likely waken during the night. I feel disconnected from my usual cycles of sleep and rest." She stretched out, gesturing for Briarsting and using the hound as a pillow to lean against as she relaxed. Briarsting, long used to this, gets himself comfortable and looks up at Galen with a curious rather than baleful expression. Smoketredder for his part is laying down closer to Hadrian and Dora. Polt still quietly munches some grass. Backlinks |
