Standing outside of a small fishing village, a decently built man in a brown traveling cloak stood, propped against a tree. It was an old elm, leaves turning colors and falling from their posts in the autumn air. A ring of stones lay a couple yard away, the inside of the ring charred from many campfires lit there. This place was a refuge when things got too rough at home. When he needed to let off steam. When he needed to fight.


He met a friend who would last him forever here, someone he used to spar with, then they found that they worked amazing together. They forged crappy blades to work with, trying to perfect the art. But, a campfire and some stones don't make a good forge and anvil. Eventually, they were able to purchase decent blades, finding their hearts in the perfect weights.


The man pulled out one of his blade, a finely crafted longsword, steel, with the name "Karn" etched near the hilt. The other was a rusted out shortsword, the first blade he ever purchased. Many fights had dulled it's edge, but Karn was still able to wield it with deadly force. He removed his pack, which was only prepared for a light trek, and then removed his cloak, revealing rough and worn leather armor and a grizzled face that showed a lack of shaving during his journey. Scars coverd his ungloved hands, results from his earlier fights. His silver ringl shone in the setting sun. He then sat back against the tree, and waited.

Autumn.
One of the most mysterious of mother natures seasons. The world would darken with the new colors of brown, yellow and gold. But also it would give a new life of brightness to the eye. The weather could be better if not worse than any other time of the year.

And that is what marvels me.

The man walking through this time of year is on a beaten path to a small fishing village. And this is where our journey begins. The journey of triumph, failure, death and life.

The light of the sun was about perfect for seeing in the late afternoon. So he had no trouble finding his way to the tree that they always met at on this same day of every next year.

Dressed like a common man with a cloak and sword, he turned round the tree and saw a figure standing there soaking in the world around him. Watching this man Our character drew his blade and spoke most calmy.

"Shall you raise your blade and fight.?"

The other man turned and began to laugh.

"My old friend, im glad to see you made it to the point. To bad your a slight bit late."

The two began to talk about leaving the post and turning ahead into the village. The view from this point was better than sitting at the throne of a king. It illusioned the cruelties of the world.

This man i have followed is named.
Jharon.

In the autumn months, the leaves begin to fall, leading up to its end and winter's beginning. As a light-footed being steps upon the freshly fallen patches of leaves, a soft crunch can be heard, as the leaves crumble beneath its steps.

Nothing is thought of this figure, whom makes its way to the fishing village; the black traveler's cloak adorning its very frame. With the hood pulled up, nothing is revealed of its features besides a pair of worn, yet oddly peircing deep blue eyes. Beneath the length of cloth, which is the cloak, a pair of man's boots can be seen covering the feet of the figure as it made its way to the village.

Upon reaching the village, a pair of slender hands are pulled out of the sleeves of the cloak; such fair, slender hands, that can only belong to that of a lady, yet the skin is tainted with the filth of days of travel. Reaching up, the figure pulled the hood of her cloak down more, to be sure not to be noticed.

One might think it strange, that a lady is traveling in such times.

As the female moved on, her hands now hidden once again, as she made her way to a simple small building; one placed on a river's edge in the town. She reached it quickly, and placed a hand upon the door, pushing it in, and allowing herself to step upon the torn mat upon the worn wooden floor.

Without a sound, she walked over to the counter, where a man cleaning a fish could be found. Clearly he was a fisher of his own business; a small business, but none-the-less a business.

With slight hesitation, the woman brought out a tainted hand once again, only for it to disappear into the pocket of her cloak. Course, moments later it was brought out once more, this time being brought forward, to set a few coins upon the counter. "A fish...with what this can buy me." Her voice spoke, entering the air upon the small room. It was a sweet voice, but by its sound it was worn with years of living.

The man only gave a simple nod, and disappeared into the backroom, before reappearing again with a small fish. He then preceeded to wrapping it in a paper like material, then finally handed it to the girl. No more words were exchanged, as the strange female walked out of the wooden door, and into the village again.

A hunger ate away in her stomach, as she held the fish out before her, before greedly pulling it into her cloak, as if afraid one might sight it, and wish to steal it from her grasps. She looked up, and peered at the few faces that wandered the town. Mere villagers doing their daily business.

Course her gaze was soon caught upon two others who were just entering the town.

As Karn and Jharon, two of the closest friends, entered the village, Karn seemed as if he felt eyes roaming over him. A catious instinct forged by many desperate battles seemed to talk hold, and his eyes started darting through the small throng of people. All he noticed were fishermen...poor merchants...starving entrepeneurs...miserable artists...a mysterious cloaked woman. That last figure stood out, and he felt the hairs on his arm raise up like a dog. he made an inconspicuous movement with his arm, but one that pulled out a small, balanced knife from an arm sheath. He wouldn't start a fight, but he'd oblige should trouble arise.

He harbored no ill will towards this stranger, precaution just gripped at him, and a battle sense would not allow him to relax. As him and his friend drew near, he gripped the blade, ready to make a quick throw.

The moon peered through a mane of tawny clouds, as if it were a lion's eye, and innumerable stars spangled the hollow vault, like gold dust powdered on a purple dome. The wild, turbid feelings of the previous night had by this time completely passed away, and it was almost with a sense of shame that she looked back upon mad wanderings from street to street, her fierce emotional agony. The very sincerity of her sufferings made them seem unreal to her now. She wondered how she could have been so foolish as to rant and rave about the inevitable.

From a grey country, the shadows dwelled in darkness, and all ways were drenched from the lack of light. A whisper sounded, hardly auditable. Whispers of a source unknown. Whispers of a nameless fear. An ivory mare wandered beneath the spangled moonlight, her hooves soundless, marking not the path. Silken of mane and sound of hoof, she had borne her rider well, from peril that lurked.

Even the tawny-winged minstrels had ceased their merry madrigals. The elven rider's features were obscured from sight, and yet her attire was an entrancing, dazzling cloak of azure over silver. A beauty lingered in her willow-like form, and there was a feline grace about her movements, as ancient as the beginning of time, as youthful as the spring. Her form was enough for Mortals.

Slowly, tentatively, she lowered her hood slightly, her visage revealed with the brightness of the dawn. Her visage was celestially fair, her complexion flawless and pallid, which contrasted with her cerulean eyes, each the hue of a summer sky, illuminated with life and soft as dove-down. They were haunted and haunting, nearly feral in their wild colour. She had been here before.

Dark tresses cascaded over her slender shoulders alike to a merry brook, woven with moonbeams and braided in intricate patterns that cascaded over her amber mail, contrasting with her warrior-attire. This covered the woven jerkin, which complemented her silken trousers, cut for agility and of wood-land hue. A river of azure was draped over one deceptively slender shoulder, closed with the leaf brooch of the Wood.

This suggested something more to this lovely, yet lethal being, a sleek longbow at hand and a narrow blade sheathed at her hip. Royalty, perhaps it was that had drawn eyes to her as she entered the city, contemplating the silence.

Feral eyes fixed upon the wayward Mortal who approached the other female, lush rosy lips curling into a hint of a smile.

Not all was lost.

OOC:
Thank you all for joining this topic. As i can see so far it will be a journey to be remembered. Remember to keep your characters life like, not godlike. That is probably the most important rule of the trade. Well lets have fun and write the book for the ages.

IC:
Whistling an old tune his father would whistle while working in the fields. Jharon followed his companion into the the small village for supplies and a nights rest. What other place better to do that than the small Inn on the opposite side of town.? He saw some young children running around the street away from their mother. Jharon kept whistling and grabed the hands of two of the boys and starting dancing around in a circle. Amazingly the boys followed the rhythm and circled with him laughing like young boys should. He broke free of the hands and continued to dance towards Karn. When he met the eyes of the man he realized that something was troubling him.

"You look like an angry boy who saw the kid that broke your whistle. What seems to be troubling you.?"

Karn replied, never moving his eyes off the one person who could trouble him.

"The woman there. Something seems to be a bit different about her."

"Ah, she scares the willies out you. In that case she cannot be anything but normal. Your letting paranoia take the best of you old friend. By the way you look like you havnt been with a woman in years, watch and learn."

With that said Jharon Walked towards the covered woman. Looking back occasionaly to make sure Karn hadn't wandered off into some place he shouldnt be.

"I dont see much harm in this woman. She seems about like us, just a traveler looking for a place to stay. Karn is a crazy man, i wonder whats happened to him these past few years. He seems more paraniod than a stray kitten who hasnt eaten in days." He thought.

Jharon was now within three feet of the mysterious coverd woman.

"Also it seems she hasn't either."

Talking directly to her, Jharon tries to stay in front of her while he spoke.

"Well what is a woman like you doing here.? Come with me and my friend to the Inn across town. We know the owner, he will let you share a room with us and also you have have plenty to drink and eat. What do you say.?"

With that he took her hand and kept walking towards the Inn. The dust of the road began to settle just as the moon was reaching the peak of the sky. The two travelers reached the inn much sooner than Karn and also took a table to the far corner of the room near the fireplace. John the Inn's owner was closer than a relative to Karn and Jharon bieng like his brother, it helped get a quiet table and a few pints for free.

"So what is a girl like you doing here.? obviously you travel alot.

Only but a few simple moments had it been, as the female watched these two figures, before one became bold enough and had taken her hand bringing her to the inn. Only being found in a state of shock, was what kept her mouth sealed; no noise coming forth from her.

Such a bold move for a man she knew nothing of, and yet here she sat now in his presense, in an inn she'd never been in before, with kind words speaking of room, food, and drink she had been without for a long time. What possessed such a man to speak to a stranger of such things?

She knew of nothing to answer this question that haunted her.

In times like these, for a person such as she, trust is hard to find in others, but somehow this man seemed to be asking for her trust in a way she did not understand; but was it trust he really wished to find in her, or merely another plot against her?

She did not know this either.

As her mind rattled with endless possiblities of such actions, she found herself paying no attention to the man's words as he spoke. "I-uh...Beg your pardon?" She asked, as she revealed her hands once more, pulling the cloak tighter around her frame. Once the man repeated his words once more, she cleared her throat slightly, lifting a hand to pull back the hood of her cloak.

"I do travel...Alot I suppose you might say..." She began. She brought a hand up, to run it through worn faded light brown locks of hair, that had clearly been cut by the blade of a knife. It was short not even reaching her shoulders, falling before her blue eyes. "I-um...I came for food here..." With this she thought of whether she dared to pull out the fish she had just bought with the last of her coins, but the thought of one stealing this last precious possession from her haunted her, so she only set her hands upon the table in front of her.

Turning her head, she looked towards the door of the inn, waiting for the other man to step foot upon the threshold. It would not be much longer before he presented himself as well, seeing as he had come with the strange man before her.

Trust was something she wasn't quite sure she was willing to give to this stranger. As little of information as she could muster was all she would give until he proved that he meant no harm. "Might I ask of your name...kind sir...?" She forced herself to ask. She wished to know the name of the man who seemed to speak so kindly to her. Feeling it rude though for her only to ask of his name, she presented her own in return.

"My own is Jocelyn."

Karn stepped through the open door, sitting down next to Jharon and Jocelyn.

"I am Karn, this is my friend Jharon. We're old time partners, been through more than our fair share of troubles. By the look of you, you seem to have seen your own troubles, as well. Let me order a round of drinks, on me, for the three of us. Your throat must be parched."

He approached the bar, and whispered to the man, before coming back with three wines.

"the barkeep owed me a favor, saved this place from a couple ruffians a while ago. We also gave him a flask of wine that keeps just for us. Tonight, we can get food and drink for free. Tomorrow though....well, we'll deal with that whenever the times comes. Room will cost a couple coins."

He lifted his goblet to his lips, sipping on his smooth refreshment.

That was when he saw the second woman, still out on the street. He forced himself not to be so on edge, but his eyes still kept flicking across the bar, searching for possible contacts she might have. His own had diminished ever since his encounter with his father. He sat down, pulled out a roughly made pipe, packed with an exotic pipeweed, and took a long drag, followed by another drink. He then waited, struggling to get the image of marching armies and succubi assassins out of his head.

One might believe she felt the hostility of her human surroundings. But she was tough - tough in spirit, too, as well as in body. Only the memory of the sea frightened her, with that vague terror that is left by a bad dream. Her home was far away; and she did not want now to go to the village. Dark indigo eyes shone with interest and uncertainty, her pale, delicately formed hands pressed upon the sordid, grime-covered door, opening it.

She fell into fear. She fell into fear silently, obstinately - perhaps helplessly. It came slowly, but when it came it worked like a powerful spell; it was fear as the Ancients understood it: an irresistible and fateful impulse - a possession! Her narrow face, far from human, alien to the searching eyes of her compatriots, was etched with grief and sorrow that refused to fade even as she ordered a small goblet of red wine, to calm her nerves, though she was not of an alcoholic persuasion. Reaching into the deep pockets of her traveling cloak she placed upon the counter three coins of a strange and beautiful make, coins that were unheard of in the ways of Men.

Her soft gaze fixed upon the Mortal that watched her, and she startled like a woodland creature, shyly averting her gaze. In a single liquid motion, she had approached him, his face already wreathed in smoke from his incessant pipe-smoking. Terror filled her soul, though she could not understand it. She lowered the hood that so obscured her features, revealing her heritage at last. Her deep-set eyes studied him silently. “Might I join you", she murmured, the inquiry soft and uncertain and filled with a strangely penetrating power, as though the Common Tongue did not so readily escape those rosy lips. She smiled a smile of scarlet bewitchment.

“My kind is not welcome here", she whispered, her tone of liquid silver.

“It is not safe for me to be seen alone".

Karn stood up and crossed the bar, shared another quick exchange with the barkeeper, and came back with a quill, a bottle of ink, and a roll of parchment. He then wrote down, in the spindly elven language, "Write it. Your appearance, hopefully, will go unnoticed by all these drunken idiots. Your accent will set them off, though. What business do you have here, and what are you named?"

He passed the parchment across the table, and leaned back, taking another swig, and nodding to Jharon, a motion that said "outside"

When both the men were outside, he whispered "I need to talk to you about what I've noticed here lately. Bad things are afoot, and we'd better be prepared for war. These newcomers may just be some priceless allies that Lady Destiny sent our way. I've seen armies marching, going to destroy towns. I escaped death by coming here to meet you. Succubi are acting as assassins for them, that's why all these cloaked women are freaking me out. Now, I'm going to proceed upstairs and get a room, we can all tlak in privacy afterwards. I'll give my bed up to one of the women, it doesn't bother me. I'll stay downstairs and keep track of the door."

He then walked inside, handed the barkeep a couple coins, received a key in return, and motioned for everyone to go upstairs.