Idle Ramblings to a Stolen Dalmatian

[Requiem]

"...What do you think, Sor? Think we made the right decision coming back to the Coast? Don't give me that look... but you're right. We shouldn't have abandoned our friends in such dire times. I think that because of the shame I carried for leaving, it stopped me from returning sooner..."

"I'm not a soldier Sor, nor a hero. I've never seen so much death and destruction... Such sights leave a shadow on the soul. The more I studied that shadow, the more I realized that I had to face it, and that the people we left behind were already facing it.... they've been facing it. That's why you and I came back. So we could face it with them, together."

"It's been nice seeing the old faces, eh? They seem healthy and in good spirits. Most of them, anyhow. Life can be hard, devils or no devils. Seems a few faces are missing as well. Wherever they are, I hope they find what they seek."

"There's a fair amount of new faces too, eh? Wel'll keep them at a distance... get a feel for who they are. You're not shy at all though are you Sor? We're going to have to work on that. You'd take food from an orc given the chance. Trusting the wrong people can get you killed. That's why I tend to keep my mouth shut. You can learn a lot by simply watching and listening to people. Mother always said: 'You have two ears, two eyes, and yet only one mouth. Use them in that measure.' For all the things my mother is, a fool is not counted among them.

"If my family could see me now, they would be horrified at how I've changed... Drinking out of cups that are washed in stagnant water or ignoring the importance of washing certain dishes before others... eating cooked food that hasn't been seasoned in the motion of a triangle. The people here do not share the same customs...but I am the outsider in their world, not the other way around."

*Arturi then tosses a stick for awhile for Sorcha to play fetch. Once she stubbornly refuses to return with the stick and decidedly lays in front of him, he continues.*

"Things are quiet lately. I'm not complaining though. Gives us more time to learn about the Coast and the people here. Should probably find more things to do besides whittling, fishing, and training Patrin into a true packhorse."

"Speaking of fishing... that woman Mara, the one we met awhile ago. I find her faith taboo... but I'm afraid my curiosity has gotten the better of my reason, Sor. After all... to speak of death is to invite death. She's in search of a new shield, though. It occurred to me that I haven't worked a forge since I left the caravan. Perhaps we could seek out a smith I could apprentice under or at the very least lend me their tools and work area."

"There's also that hin man who's worried his father may have ventured into the sewer tunnels beneath Baldur's Gate... that's why we went to see Oth the other night. He knows those tunnels well, and I uh... I don't do well in tight spaces. Provided he's up to it. I know a shadow has been cast over Oth as of late, but I'm scarce on the details. I understand why he hasn't explained much though. Each person's experiences belongs to them and the ones they shared it with, no others."

"We still have to get in touch with Captain Fenix... I'm curious if he remembers I still have a key. To be fair, I'm curious if I still have a job."

"My talk with Freya the other day about celestial heritage has echoed within me. It left me with more questions than answers. Questions that I was fine without having. Perhaps between our talks and Madame Margaretta's words, I can make sense of this blood and these dreams that plague me so..."

"I'm not too sure where we go from here, Sor. Perhaps we heed the guidance Madame Margaretta gave me in the Wide that night of the full moon...."

*Arturi lays a hand on Sorcha's head with a faint smile for a moment of shared affection before they both stand, stretching.*

"Come then Sorcha, let's go find this new scenery, eh?"

[Requiem]

Arturi and Sorcha emerge from a nearby tree, a roar of woe coming from the Gur's entire being followed by a howl from the dalmatian as if they were challenging the starry sky and Selune herself. After some time, the two found themselves silent and spent.

...What did I do... all those wolves...

Take Kamine's offer, I thought. People were being attacked along the Tradeway to the North. I knew of House Blackrose only by reputation, and very little at that. A fierce and intimidating lot. I've watched men and women in battle through the eyes of a camp follower in my life before the Coast, Sor. Even fought alongside such men and woman at Winding Waters and at Dragonspear. You know which ones were the ones to look out for? The ones who truly believed in what they were fighting for. These people believed in their House.

I thought if I was there and if fate smiled upon my intent, we'd sort this without too much bloodshed and those donned in black would be content with such an outcome, as long as it was resolved. I've less love for man at times than I do of wolves but I couldn't just allow people to die upon the roads, could I Sor? Wolves aren't the beasts of nightmares folk make them out to be. They keep to themselves for the most part, away from the lands of men. We could have tried to drive them away, push them farther into the frontier. I thought we could find a balance. I just...thought...

Their drinking source...the water. It carried something in it. Something magical in nature. It affected the plants with an unearthly glow, and I think the beasts were drinking from it for some time now. Had this swayed their minds somehow? The wolves were the size of vardos, eh? About as deadly as a Rashemi Lodge member as well.

Their alpha...he trusted me, I think Sor. He "told" me that the wolves are hunting the area that belongs to them... and decided that the grip of men would reach no further near their hunting grounds. Those who dared to walk roads, became their prey.

I "told" the wolf, be still while they howl among themselves to find a solution. And he would, only if they stayed their blades. I just needed to think. Just a little longer...before they cut him down.

I still remember standing there, hollow after what had happened. "Nothing personal, just business." one said.

Just business...

There are young ones in there, Sor. Pups, with dead mothers...

We should go back. I need to know that they're not alone, left to starve. If they are alone we could move them, far enough to where they will never know the blood of man as their kin had, nor the touch of a blade upon their coats. It is a fight they would not win.

Perhaps...I've done enough though.

Arturi rests upon the ground for awhile, Sorcha's head in his lap, as he runs his hand across her fur absently.

Madame Margaretta gave me yet more advice...

...and the woman speaks against her own truth...

I have yet again found my way into the bed of sorrow and grief. While the faces of these lovers can be fickle, I remember all too well their touch.

Arturi and Sorcha stayed in the woods as the night moved on. They left the area after a time, once Arturi found himself composed and Sorcha was finished chasing her own tail.

[Requiem]

Artruri and Sorcha climbed back up to the top deck of the Siren's Song. Arturi's mind had felt the weight of the past few tendays as he chose to lean against the ship in thought, looking up to the sky to gaze upon Selune herself, "Mother" to his people. He had begun to talk to the spotted canine, believing she was still next to him...

This past cycle has been one of note, eh Sor? It seemed swifter than the last...and here we are once again, reflecting on the cards fate has dealt, no? The Madame had a few words of her own for me this eve...

I'm to be generous, eh? I've not much coin, therefore time must be my currency...

I've not touched the tools of a smith for a long time Sorcha, and yet this dagger has made its way to me. She told me it is of great import that the gem be separated from it's housing, with damage to neither. I'll take her word for it as she's usually right, eh? It would easier if it was a plain dagger forged yesterday, but this dagger has known many moons, many seasons. I'll be glad to disassemble a blade, rather than forge one. That's why it was handed to me, I believe.

My spirit is lifted to know the pups found new hunting grounds. If it were not the wisdom and aid of the Elder Circle along with a few others, I would have carried this guilt even now. I had thought to go back alone. I am glad that I chose not, for the den was inhabited with gibberlings, eh?

Hardened skin and increased strength, they too found the magic waters of the wolves. I thought we were too late, but it was not so, for the wolf pups were still there. Even as pups, they grew to the size of normal wolves, cloaked in a glow of the Weave. To the Wolf of the Elder Circle, they spoke without speaking. Unrelated, but remind me to thank his wife for all the advice she's given me. I had no right, for I helped cause the death of their kin. I am relieved they accepted the Circle's invitation to the Reaching Woods. I hope they know peace. When they are ready as well as I, perhaps one day we might reach an understanding, as I had once sought with their Alpha.

We went back the next day, eh? On both we were reminded the Coast knows more troubles than wolf pups. The fog many of us have come to know with magical orbs strewn throughout fell upon us, allowing the dead to walk. The first day was atop the wolf den, yeah? The second was upon Thundar's Ride and in the den itself. The fog seemed to be delving deeper into the wolf den, toward the magic water. It was smart to bring along the mages. They discerned the water was a tear in world, allowing the Weave to flow freely into the waters. As the waves of undead poured in, seemingly endless, we sought to buy time for the arcanists. The mages did something, and there was a "pop" remember? How the waters no longer followed the natural order as they flowed through the air like rivers of their own? You saw as I did how that...thing...rose from the water.

(The Ancient Hakeashar)

It wanted more magic. It devoured the fog and all the orbs present. Those I was with were of a mind to feed it more, eh? To even point it toward the sewers of Baldur's Gate. I had no better answers than them, but I would not trade the "devil we know for the devil we don't". Had they not seen that this creature would not be satisfied after it had finished with Batibat's magic? Or if it were to fail and we were to hand over an ally with such power? They sent it away...to another plane where it will feast upon fiends and their ilk until it is stopped, or they are. I do not pretend to know what fate holds.

Arturi remains quiet in thought a moment before a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, as he starts humming a familiar tune he'd once heard from an old rusty music box.

Come Sorcha... She's haunted my thoughts long enough, eh?

....Sorcha?

Arturi spent the next half of an hour attempting to coax the swimming dog out of the harbor.

[Requiem]

...A shooting star streaked across the night sky's canvas as a child's hand pointed to it. The small hand was enveloped by a larger, more feminine one to bring it back down.

"You must not point at such, for that is one of our own running from something, and you almost gave them away my son, my . . . . ." as the woman spoke the boy's birth name that only belonged between the two of them.

The vardo was dark, save for a single candle and the night sky pouring into the makeshift window of the wagon. Rope netting held most non-essential belongings to the ceiling of it. Also strewn about were strings that ran across the span of wagon in many directions much akin to a spider web, hanging from them charms and torn pieces of parchment that harbored hand-written symbols useful to the trade of a diviner. The shelves held a great assortment of different treasures, though most belonged to those of the caravan who could not afford the shelter a vardo provided. On the wall, a staff of fine craftsmanship hung in display. The boy knew never to touch it, for if He would ever return from his imprisonment and choose the staff as his haven, she would require it flawless and unbroken.

"Your uncle has need of you."

The child sat up from his mother's lap as his feet found the floor from the bed they sat upon. He turned.

"We're to work the metal again?"

She gave a smile only a mother could give.

"That is up to him as Captain to choose. Go. Duty to one's family knows no hesitation, you know this."

The young boy looked to his mother. No matter the horrible things she had done, he would always remember her as he did now among the bright candle-lit vardo. He gave way to a smile. When had the candles been lit? It had always been his favorite trick of hers...

[Requiem]

Arturi and Sorcha found themselves passing by the encampment of vardos next to the Phoenix Company Lodge on his path north, toward Baldur's Gate. Once his foot touched the bridge, he froze. He took a deep breath and gazed down to the spotted dog who gave him a cocked head look with a tail ceasing to wag once her eyes met his. He reached down with two fingers to give her a scratch behind the ear as he made his way back to the encampment. His steps took their time as he reached out to graze his fingers tips along one of the vardos in passing as he finally found a seat at the card table with a heavy slump, an elbow on the table and a fist against his mouth. He gazed toward the fire pit with heavy-lidded eyes as the wind occasionaly shifted his hair...and remembered in silence of another life.



It was windy on that clear night as well, but the bonfire at the center of the camp kept all warm. Arturi smiled as his cousin Kezia danced around the flame, her movements fluid and wild as she was accompanied by viols and lutes from others gathered. It was a true accompaniment, for she did not dance to the music...the music that was played took her cue as she expressed the caravan's present spirit and mood. This dance for all it's performance, betrayed a deeper meaning behind it's quick tempo and smooth transitions: that fate favored the Valdaska caravan this day.

The caravan had fulfilled it's contract earlier that same day of six blades, two shields, and four horses, relinquished upon payment to a group of warriors of the North who made their living by banditry. The meeting took place upon a seemingly forgotten path to exchange the coin for the work with four men each represented from both parties, Arturi present. The Gurs had more weaponry and equipment among them, but it was set aside to lean against a nearby tree. The warriors of the North betrayed a slight nervousness in their conduct. Most did, when they believed in the rumors of the Gurs as mystical curse throwers and child nappers. Admirably, one reached out to take shake Uncle Menowin's hand upon conclusion of the contract's terms. It was met with a faint dip of the head. To outsiders, the Valdaskas were always polite, but never friendly.

After the bandits had left, the four Gurs proceeded to strike small fire from quickly gathered wood, with a cook pot set for a mid-day meal. They could not return to the caravan for a few candle marks yet. Their business was not finished.

As the sun had walked across the sky to make it's plunge into the horizon, a series of hoof beats could be heard, announcing the approach of ten or so riders. With barely a word said, a coin purse was dropped in Menowin's hand as Arturi and the other two of his family tossed up spears and blade-filled scabbards to some of the men trailing behind their assumed leader. There was a nod between Menowin and their supposed leader as the Gur's arm pointed down the path as he spoke evenly.

"They've headed east, bounty hunters. With strong horses and the wind's favor, you should near them within the night."



A thump followed by a bark from Sorcha shook Arturi out of the scene and back to his present surroundings as he looked down. A sparrow had flown directly into the side of the nearest vardo. He shushed the dog as he lowered to his haunches to cup the creature in his hands. He slowly rose, then murmured the workings of a Cure Light Wounds spell. As the bird found itself healed and back on it's feet within his hands, a finger curled back to graze along the sparrow's chin as he smirked and lifted his hands quickly to set the bird off on it's way with a flutter of wings to flight.

He clicked his tongue once for his spotted companion to follow as he thumbed through the quiver of arrows at his hip to take silent inventory, making their way across the bridge toward the farmlands stable. He had need of his horse, for it would be another long day of riding...

[Requiem]

Arturi would find himself walking up the hill on his way...home. The word still was new to him, but it was a welcome word all the same. He gave a faint smile as Sorcha would occasionally run ahead, then turn to see if he was still following. She was anxious to find her bed just as much as he was. He was tired as of late, but he would allow himself rest now that what he set ought to do was finally done. The light of Moon Maiden caught him, and he was rapt in the sight and embrace of her light. He stood there for a time...and let the recollection of recent words flood over him...

Linetheil "Perhaps what this one hears is not a conflict within a path - for the road has passed, masses of water have flown from underneath the bridges you have crossed. What this one senses appears to be more a conflict of a heart - how to settle together the old and the new."

Arturi "I feel if I leave my other life behind, I'll have betrayed a part of my very nature. Of something that defines me, eh?"

Linetheil "What would be the alternative then, to the life you now lead? To stop, turn, and wander back? Is there no manner of honoring thyself within the reform of the fresh path your feet now tread?"

Arturi "I've done things since then I'm proud of, eh? I just...don't know what I'm supposed to be if not the same as what I was. I don't know "who" I'm supposed to be."

Linetheil "... Do you have to know?"

There was a certain comfort in knowing one's path. . .but she was right, even if he couldn't make peace with it yet. He was a Gur of the Valdaska caravan...that is who he was, was it not? He was a smith, a healer, and a horse breeder. He was supposed to live that life until he walked the path that came after once his breath ceased. "Duty to one's family knows no hesitation, you know this." His mother's words. But he left, strayed to become the person he was now. He was torn between two worlds, to "ride upon two different horses as one man." He found himself caught between the past and present. It haunted him, but after hearing her words...perhaps it didn't have to...

Vendor 'Xon "You Arturi...may visit the Shrines of the Triad. If you collect the leaves for the Grove, you are welcome to join."

Vendor 'Xon "You could do the trials...you could start right now."

Arturi "I appreciate the sentiment, eh?"

He felt honored by the High Ranger's offer. It wasn't the first offer he had received, but he was grateful for it all the same. He honored nature. He understood nature by his own account, in his own way. His caravan with no lands of their own, learned how to navigate the natural world, to respect it so it would do so in kind for them. He respected the Elder Circle highly...but he could not accept. He had lived a life where he constantly attempted to measure up to expectation, and failed often. Granted, the expectations went against his moral judgement...but one tends to not see such that way when seeking the approval of family. He enjoyed the freedom of such since leaving, free to make his own decisions. If he failed now, he only had himself to let down. If he took on membership within the Circle, he would gain a responsibility to it, one he would not take lightly...but he wouldn't put himself in a position to let others down again...especially not her...

He had used the contact medallion to "send" to her, to congratulate her in the only way he was able, for one not of the Elder Circle could not enter the Druid's Grove. He was fishing as she appeared shortly after in an announcing whirl of leaves as she smiled over to him, content to convey only one thing.

Sarisay "I love you."

Before she showed, he was in thought. Things were simple between them. It came easy. But she was the Archdruidess of the Elder Circle now. She would bear a great responsibility. He wondered if it would change her, if it would shape her into someone he did not recognize. Even mountains are shaped and molded by time, he knew this. But he was wary all the same, perhaps selfishly. He had never let anyone "in". He hadn't planned on letting her. . .but nothing could stop it once it started. Not that he wanted it to stop, but he was taken aback at how he threw all caution to the wind with her. Was it out of some hopeless folly? Could it have been any woman? No...he hadn't met another like her. She was different. She was like him which made it all the easier for them to know each other, despite not voicing much of anything. He tried to be wary, tried to keep up the walls and lock himself away. She had a key however, whether she knew it or not, and he eventually found out in a short time that he was fine with that. The home he set out to reach was not in fact the den. He was born to a nomadic life after all. His home lied with her, Sorcha, and now the young bronze dragon Exaltrix. All of them were home, even if they resided in a den. He was unsure about many things as of late. . .but he was certain of this.

Arturi looked over once, did a double-take as he dropped the fishing pole, his only response being to walk over and place a hand on her cheek as he kissed her and wrapped his other arm around her back, returning the sentiment.

[Requiem]

Arturi accompanied by Melissar for a walk and idle conversation, headed south when they crossed the path of a man known as Nadir on the road in front of the Phoenix Company Lodge. Upon hearing Melissar's gratitude for the man's card reading and how it proved to be fairly accurate, Arturi's curiosity was piqued.

You see, there are two different people who cast the cards by his account. There are those that read the cards as an art, a craft forged from experience and insight of what lay before them with a mind attuned to the workings of fate. These card-readers knew how to "see". Then there are those who know little of cards and more of people and their subtle tells, able to discern the facial expressions and body language of their unsuspecting client. These card-readers knew how to reach. However, Melissar was content with the coin she spent. Perhaps Arturi would see for himself the truth of Nadir's craft.

Arturi found himself silent as the cards were cast...

*Nadir pointed at the first.* "Heart of the matter. You're open to new perspectives, but still cling to some self-limiting beliefs. You also going through a quite heavy time of self-criticism."

He had questioned himself far too much lately. He was stuck on certain thoughts, ones that would not allow him peace. He was aware however that he could use a different viewpoint. He needed an outside voice, if only to help him break the loop of his current mindset. He didn't need a reassuring voice with honeyed words. He needed the truth.

*He pointed to the second.* "This is a challenge. Heart matters, the bad kind of-" *He paused* "Could be friends, could be something else. Won't go well. Or at least, won't be easy, friend." *He then pointed to the third* "Something you should think about, something that is affecting you without you noticing. Not looking so good for you, friend."

Curious. He didn't allow this one much weight. Something had been tugging at him however, and it caused his mind to stray toward it often. It was true, he had not noticed it until recently. Perhaps when he found the right words, he would address it.

*He took a look at the other cards, seemingly trying to build something else out of the full picture, instead of focusing on the small parts.* "Maybe a bit less literal. You have been allowing yourself some things you shouldn't have, aye? Self sufficiency." *He tilted his head, a momentary pause.* "In any case. I think this one is asking you to work on your resources. From one way or another."

The cards were right in a way, as Nadir said. He was raised to believe that people outside of his caravan would not understand him, his ways and beliefs. That most folk were cruel and self-serving, even if such violence and greed stemmed from naivety and ignorance. His family weren't ones to speak of such, he came to learn in time. However, he knew how some viewed the Gurs with prejudice. He wouldn't take the chance with any. He couldn't trust outsiders...and yet in time, he eventually did just that. He had thought himself the fool for doing so, even a sense of guilt at first for abandoning this belief. But even he could admit when he was wrong. He had made friends, who in turn proved to be valuable allies in matters that plagued the region. The list remained short. Perhaps he could afford to be more pleasant in his conversations with strangers...possibly.

Maybe.

"Let's go to the next one, hope it makes more sense. The man holding a cup, facing down. You're still suffering from the consequences of emotional immaturity. Mayhaps just emotional intelligence, if you like. You had intuitions on people you should have trusted, and not doing so ended up taking you here."

He did still hold on to old wounds. Perhaps a part of him knew that such was folly. He felt he had to however. The pain of such defined him. It reminded him why he was here now. It reminded him of why he took the unknown path willingly chosen, away from everything he knew.

"Also been in a creative block for a while? But I do not know if you follow that path in life. Maybe a lack of new ideas."

He had never been too creative. But he did find himself struggling with different paths on approaching things lately, something he believed he needed to do as of late.

"The next one is called "What Lies Above" In this case, the woman holding the star shaped coin. This one talks about nurturing and family. But also about work, and gold. Family problems, aye? A bad trade?"

Nadir was close, but it was still too vague...

*He leaned forward, gazing about the cards.* "I think it is something else, in fact. You're trying to overcome the ways of your family. And achieve prosperity. Your mind is also quite focused on that, that prosperity. Maybe you want to form a family of your own. Something where you can rest at the end of the day. Or a place to call home, one of the two."

Nadir couldn't have known that. Only a very few did. There was no denying the man's words. He had left everything he knew, his family and way of life. It was the hardest decision he had ever made. While a falcon and hawk are kin, they are not the same. The same applied to him and the Valdaska caravan. He wanted more from life than selling blades to murderers one day, the bounty hunters who hunted said murderers come the next. He wouldn't be a part of poisoning wells to make a profit off of Valdaska medicine. He did not wish to seek out war and conflict as a camp follower, gaining fortune from death. He wouldn't measure the lives of other beings in coin. They could keep their damned gold, he had no need nor want of it any longer. He had found a new family, and from the love of his mate...a home.

*He pointed to the sixth.* "This is a hint for the path you're in. You'll encounter plenty of difficult decisions; the options to solve them won't be clear, a moment to stop and think might be what you need. Maybe even avoid them completely. Next one, the hanging man, talks about the same. Releasing, letting go, being open to new perspective, a moment of pause and reflection. Don't be afraid of delaying things, if that comes with a benefit at the end of the day."

He was no stranger to patience. He preferred that approach, honestly. Time to learn, to observe, to listen. To gather as much information as able before acting. Making decisions in such a way did not bother him. Delaying decisions did not sit well either, however. He would take the time needed, no more. It was the idea of decisions that were pushed by unavoidable haste that haunted him. But should a time come where he would be forced to make swift decision, he prayed that She Who Guides and the He of the Third Eye would grant him the wisdom to "see". If not... he would make do.

"People around you restricting much? Some getting attached?"

Nothing restricted him. Except he had now started opening up to people. Some were getting attached. Hells... he was getting attached. Life becomes more complex with others involved. Even more so when they are ones held close.

*He looked upon the last two cards. He pointed to the first and got it out of the way swiftly.* "You've a strength to you."

A real charmer, this one...

*He then pointed to the other.* "Downsides, this one is hope or fears. Quite obviously a fear. The fear of not being strong enough. You're also afraid of making bad decisions due to... Well, your more emotional side. Feeling lazy, too?"

Lazy wasn't the word for it. He just thought he could be doing...more. He believed in his own strength, his own instincts. Both had served him well...when it came to himself. Could he in equal measure use these traits for others, and could they ever look to him, rely on him for such? He didn't have an answer.

*He pointed at the last.* "And this one is the outcome. Smoke and mirrors, illusions, a lot of wishful thinking, and opportunities. Seems like you're a long way away from achieving your fortune, friend. But I heard Gurs and divination have a troubling story."

Arturi gave thanks to Nadir even as his last words of the reading stuck with him. He carried those words with him. Later, on another day, another eve, Arturi found himself on his usual walk. Such walks usual gave him a means to piece his thoughts together. He needed to feel the wind and listen to the water. As he looked to the canopy of what seemed a sky strewn with diamonds, he gently spun a yellow flower in hand by its stem. He then stopped its spinning as he looked down to it, addressing his thoughts on Nadir's last words.

Nothing ever worth working toward came easy. Perhaps he was naive to think he deserved a better lot in this life after how he had lived his last. But he would try all the same, no matter how many of fate's inexorable bindings held fast to him. He would tear at them, claw at them, growl and roar in defiance to their grasp until he found a path of his own choosing. If such a path did not exist, then he would forge his own.

And then a realization came as he reflected momentarily on the present. Thoughts of everything he had accomplished since arriving. Thoughts of those he named friend and family. Thoughts of her. Something that so many others could see and yet he remained so blind...

It was in this moment that Arturi allowed himself to make peace between the man he was before and the man he wanted to be.

His life before was not its own narrative, nor the life he sought a separate tale.

...They were simply parts of a story still being told...

[Requiem]

Sirine. Fey. Beings to avoid. At least....that's what he was taught. His "name" was a testament to that. Arturi wasn't his real one, it was a shield. A shield to protect him from fey and spirits who could use his name against him, to gain power over him. That was the way of mothers in the Valdaska family. A real name whispered into the child's ear at birth, only known between the two of them for life. That is what he knew then, when it came to the fey. What he knew now...was his own ignorance.

He remembered that day on the beach when the sirine showed. It drew close to the others, yet it wanted no part of him. Truthfully, he wanted no part of her attention but he was grateful for her indifference as she swam around Emmanuel, Ashling, and Sarisay. Some part of him believed the sirine's gaze drifted off him easily due to him not trusting it from the start, and making it known with his own stare and demeanor. It was good she looked elsewhere. If he needed to act to aid the ones he held close, she wouldn't see him right away and he would use that to his advantage. He didn't have to and something he did not expect happened. As he studied the fey, heard the sound of her voice, his guard dropped. She was...lonely. She wanted to amuse herself with them because she had no one else. Part of him knew it was her nature, another part knew that she -needed- to amuse herself if only to drown out the sadness that made itself known subtly on her features and in her gestures. He still didn't trust the sirine as she swam away but a nagging voice in the back of his head, one of faith, spoke volumes.

The Fields of the Dead. When he first arrived to the region, he had always wondered about the lack of creativity to its name. Since his time on the Coast however, he now knew. It deserved no other name with the lifeless husks that shambled across the landscape. It didn't deserve a poetic name, a name with significance, or any name of value. Not until it could be cleansed, rid of its cursed perverson that spat in the face of the Balance.

He thumbed through his quiver, taking his silent count of arrows. It was a habit of his. It wasn't a bad habit, considering he usually did such when heading into danger. The Elder Circle made its way into the Fields of the Dead, and so...he counted. There, a fell ritual took place that was driven back by spell, weapon, tooth, and claw. The Archdruidess reached for the connection of Nature in this foul place, and it found her. The presence of a fey buried nearby made itself known to her. He began to search with the others. Just because his understanding of fey was skewed due to his life before, did not mean he would allow such a being to be buried here. They uncovered the sirine Lirenia, undead with her sentience in tact. He was now conflicted as he saw the undead fey. He wondered if the curse of her existence altered her mind. She was an undead sirine but in his mind, all he could think about was the similarity to the restless dead that wailed in the night, causing the death of so many to fall victim to the sound. He saw a sirine, but he also saw a potential banshee. Again, he was wrong as they returned Lirenia to the sea where she met her final peace. The song she sang for them stuck with him for many restless nights to come. Faith spoke to him once again, and he now realized he had been too stubborn to listen.

Were it not for the eyes of an aasimar, he would not be able to see in the depths of the ocean. Spear in hand, he fought alongside the Elder Circle to rid the waters of the scourge. He fought alongside them, his new brothers and sisters as they pressed onward in the murky depths. The sirine who he had come to a self understanding with, fought alongside him and the others. He watched the fey, the passion in which they faced off with the horrors their common foe produced. He saw their passion, he saw their hope, and a sense of duty. He no longer regarded them suspiciously. He named them ally, and his spear was theirs just as their chosen weapons were his and the Elder Circle's. Each new enemy met their demise as they ventured closer to their destination. It was hard fought, with everything and everyone almost lost at the hands of their foe. But the Elder Circle was strong and were above all else, survivors.They pressed on together until fate had intervened. The temple they sought was before them, yet only those of divine blood could enter. Sarisay voiced in the shape of a dragon that she would speak for no other. He could breath thanks to spellwork, but his voice was mute underwater. He gripped his spear and stood next to his mate, shaking his head. For the best he did not have his voice or he would have shared words with her. She was his as he was hers, and he would not let her face this alone.

The two of them entered the temple, and made an agreement, offering their divine energy in trade. Again, she voiced that she would not ask this of him. He nodded to the fey and giant believing himself unable to speak still, hiding his offended nature. As the ritual drained them, they held fast to one another. He could feel it draining him as he fought to keep himself upright, fought against losing himself completely to it as it worked it's way into his very being, altering him. He made a promise to Sarisay on the third day. He didn't know what would befall them or how things would come to pass. He knew that he had to live.

He had a promise to keep.

[Requiem]

Emmanuel, Ashling, and Arturi found themselves sitting by the water on the east trail from Wyrm's Crossing. The High Druid had asked Arturi a series of questions. They usually shared conversations like this ever since they had first met, long before even Arturi even considered joining the Elder Circle. The last of them proved more difficult than the others. He was never one for words, but this wasn't what held his tongue.

Since joining the Elder Circle, something had made him wonder. The Elder Circle honored the Green Triad of Mielikki, Eldath, and Silvanus. Arturi was of Selune. He had prayed to those of the Green Triad many times before, but his faith as a Selunite he held the closest. In his mind, that marked him different as the Moon Maiden was not normally recognized as a deity of nature. He had come to question his newfound place in the Circle with this faith. Emmanuel began to ask his questions, and Arturi answered.

"You are in the forest. You come upon a wounded lycan. Around his neck is the symbol of Malar. How do you respond?"

Arturi voiced he would leave the Malarite lycan to it's fate. It was a hunter of sport and pleasure, who succumbed to its own hunt, or fell victim to another's.

"A deer is injured. Seems it was hunted by a wolf, but escaped. Do you heal it?"

Arturi voiced once again, for much the same reasons, that he would leave the deer as it had fallen victim to the hunt.

"Ok. Substitute a person for the deer. An elven woman was attacked by wolves. Stumbles out of the forest injured. Do you heal her?"

He couldn't find the words for this one, and it bothered him. He had always been sure that he would know what to do, and his reasoning behind such actions. He of course would heal her, but compared to his other answers. . .why?

The questions didn't leave him. They hounded him, ringing louder in his thoughts when he found himself idle. He didn't know why. He had asked Emmanuel what he would do and that he would not change his opinion to replace with the High Druids. He needed his own. Emmanuel voiced he would heal the deer. He could accept Emmanuel's reasoning, but until he found his own, his answer remain unchanged.

Why did the elven woman in question bother him? Why couldn't he answer? He reflected on the Green Triad, everything he had learned of their teachings. Why could he not figure it out?

He carried these thoughts in a unending cycle, unable to find a reason. He carried these thoughts to the isle off Ulgoth's Beard, a place personal to him. A place where he had lost who he was once before and ultimately found his way back. He sat on the sand, next to the fire he had built. Still, he could not find the answer he sought. It was getting late, and Sorcha curled up next to him as he absently reached down to pet his companion.

..and then it struck him...

He looked down to the animal that he named family, companion, and friend. He would never fail to heal her. He would never fail to heal Exaltrix, his mate's young bronze dragon. He would always assist Tramp and Lady, Emmanuel and Ashling's own. He was stuck on the elven woman, but he was looking in the wrong place. As he looked down to Sorcha, he realized. It was the deer.

If he could heal all of them, what right did he have to say he would not do so for another. The deer had just as much of a right to live as Sorcha had. Granted, he would hunt deer if needed to survive, but a lone one who had no purpose to him? What made Sorcha more deserving of her life? He would heal the deer, should it have survived the wolf attack.

When it came to the elven woman, he thought of those close to him. Why would they deserve healing more than another? He wasn't a fool, he knew he would do so because he cared for them, but the same reason applied. He would heal the elven woman.

It was in this epiphany that he found his faith strengthened in Selune. That his differing faith among those of Elder Circle was not something to be worried about, that it was something to be embraced. The Moon Maiden asked those of her faith to exemplify acceptance, equality, tolerance, and understanding; to treat all other beings as equals. In this ideal, he found his connection to the Elder Circle, to the Green Triad, and to Selune all at once, for one reason.

It was the same reason he wanted to move magically altered wolfs, giving them a chance at survival even though they no longer belonged to the natural way of things.

It was the same reason he had watched an orc hunt a bear in the Reaching Woods, falling to its bite and even as the bear left its prey for dead, he dragged the orc into the shelter of nearby ruins, tended to its wounds until he could aid no more, leaving the orc and his injuries to fate.

It was the same reason he fought against the devils at Winding Waters and Dragonspear.

It was the same reason he had left everything he knew.

It was compassion. It was his belief that life itself was precious, that it was something worth protecting, and that all life under the light of Selune was equal in this ideal.

It was that same reason he would not heal the Malarite lycanthrope. One such as that would kill for sport, for pleasure, that would revel in a kill, and believe in winnowing of those weaker than themselves. It was the antithesis to his belief in that life should not be so easily taken, that it should be respected, and all beings were equal. However, even as the lycanthrope passed, even if he took its life from his own hand as an act of mercy to end its suffering...

He would silently mourn the path it could have chosen, and the life it could of had.

[Requiem]

Arturi had struck a small fire in the woods outside the den in which he resided. His eyes didn't need the light nor his skin the warmth, but it had been a long day and he could use a meal in the night air. He had cooked a freshly caught marlin in which he shared with the sleeping brown bear and dalmatian he was now sandwiched between. Sitting against a tree, he gazed through the canopy of leaves to the night sky, one that did not know Selune's light. He allowed himself a small smile as he looked down, seeing the moon's likeness on the buckle of his belt, a gift from his druidess. He had a parchment in his hand to write upon as he looked to the fire a moment before he started upon the page against his propped up knee.

Rymtta,

I've often told you how words can fail me. My mind and my heart are usually at odds with one another, my meaning occasionally incomplete or missing its mark in such struggle. Perhaps putting down my thoughts and feelings might help convey what I've not said. Excuse my handwriting, it is a skill I've not developed more until I came to the Coast. But you already knew that.

I didn't allow myself the idea of love for a time. When I first saw you, thinking that way came easy. Black hair and amber of eye, a wit sharper than any blade. You spoke with a confidence, holding a wisdom that found me curious to its depth. Attractive in features and figure, one that was shaped from the rigors of nature's tests and had passed. I'm a full head taller but that never stopped you from matching my gaze evenly, such is your spirit. Thinking that way came easy, because I knew I didn't stand a chance. What bloomed between us however didn't ask for permission.

I often tend to surprise you with planned moments or gifts, things that have meaning to me as a Gur, things that have hold to you as a druidess, and things that have expressed what we share. I do so because such things speak far better than I ever could with an intent that proves far more true than what I attempt to voice at times.

The rusted music box was the first I believe. In truth, I had purchased it on a whim after you had promised to teach me how to dance. I had bought it for you so that you could dance to such whenever you wished after our first one together. Little did I know that it would prove to be something we shared and continue to do so. I promise one day, I'll stop looking at my feet completely.

I had written you poems. While such is not commonplace for me these days, I became quite fond of doing so. As with this letter, it allowed me to voice what I often do not say. Perhaps when the mood to do so strikes again, I shall write another.

I then presented you with the leaves from the shrines of the Triad, requesting the honor to take the Trials of the Elder Circle. Truth be told this wasn't a gift. I saw how you lead, saw the care in which you took, saw the duty and honor in which you handled the position. In the time we had shared, I knew you. Maybe more than anyone else. I had known Ashling and Emmanuel as close friends and was starting to know the others within the Circle more and more each day. While not being of nature as a druid, I had always lived in nature, knew my place in it. I had lived a life walking the line between the wilds and civilization. The Elder Circle always had my respect and would always know me as ally regardless of membership, but I had to know that such was my place. I presented the leaves to you alone however, because I wanted you to know that you had my trust, my mate being an Archdruidess that I could follow. Such was not a gift because you had earned that from me, and instead of words I had to show you.

The next two gifts were at the same time. I had attached a small piece of wood to your necklace, explaining that it was made of blackthorn. In my culture, divining such a tree means conflict is on the horizon. A tree wicked in appearance, thorns proving septic. Then I told you of its true meaning in that while such a tree can prove quite fierce in its appearance and meaning, come spring when it blooms it is one of the most beautiful trees you can lay your eyes on. Its meaning in our divinaton explains that while difficulty may be on the horizon, it will pass as all things do. That was my promise to you. That should we ever know a conflict or rift, I would never give up on what we shared.

The other gift was a bag of acorns and seed. You had voiced to me that such is important to the children of the Tree Father. I admit at the time, I didn't know such. I just thought that you would like it. It was as much a gift for me however as my mate settled aside me to teach me, the former nomadic gypsy, how to plant properly. After we had planted a few seeds, the gesture turned into a gift for us both. Apologies for the missed Rinse spell, it was all too necessary.

I remember the day on the beach when you asked me if I wanted something more. More traditional. I had the same thoughts too at the time. I even voiced that I had been working up to proposing. You told me that even animals make a show to their mates after I had given up my plan. I suppose I just wanted you to know, to put the thought to rest. Then again, I think I told you to bare my heart and there was an unspoken truth to what we shared. Yes, it would have been more traditional to surprise you, but nothing between us has ever been "normal". For that, I'm grateful.

But I did propose in that place of water and pain. We both came out of it different, altered by the beings that needed our strength. My changes were less than yours however it seems, your amber eyes now aqua and your hair a deep blue like the sea. I've noticed you've been slightly conscious of such, perhaps thinking I miss the black hair and amber eyes. I'd have you know that the old colors were only appreciated because they were yours.

Now, when I look to your aqua eyes and blue hair, I see the ocean in you. When we had left that place you took the ocean with you, some part of it at least. The water calls to you now, knowing the both of you as one. While it has changed you, it has not changed who you are and has not deterred me in the slightest. Perhaps instead of falling more and more in what we have, I'm sinking into the depths of it.

It took many moons for me to accept the man I was before and who I am today. I fled a life that haunted me, a life that I had wanted to atone for. I was my own worst foe when it came to reconciling with it. I eventually did, finding my feet and accepting who and what I am now despite such. Thank you for seeing what I could not.

Your love roared louder than my demons.

-Arturi

He looked down to what he had wrote and pursed his lips with a growl. It wasn't good enough and he had missed his meaning in some places even through written word.

It was then that Arturi heard footsteps approaching. He saw the glow of her aqua eyes in the distance before he made out anything else. Swiftly, he crumpled up the parchment and tossed it into the fire. He regretted his decision as soon as he did it, watching the paper fall victim to flame. He rose from his place against the tree, to greet his druidess properly.

She would never read it... but maybe she already knew.

[Requiem]

*Thunk*

Arturi walked up to the archery target. The combination of the draw strength needed of his bow and the quality of the target's material proved it easier for him to pull the arrows through the other side to free them. The grey sky above released a light drizzle of rain this morning, akin to a misting. The sun was just now peering over the horizon where in due time it would be blanketed once again from the clouds above. Sorcha lied nearby curled into herself sleeping, indifferent to the sound of arrows finding their mark.

Arturi walked back behind an arrow that rested on the grass, serving as his point in which to shoot from. He knocked, lifting the bow and finding his aim sight down the arrow. He loosed and it had found its mark. He let out a sigh of frustration. It wasn't good enough. It wasn't the same. He flexed his free hand, a repeated fist as he looked down to it in futile appraisal.

Since him and Sarisay had been back, he hadn't felt the same. His aim was off and he proved sluggish. To one who viewed the Gur Ranger from outside his perspective, they would note his stance, aim, and speed in which he loosed arrows as impressive bowmanship. He didn't care for any such praise. The bow defined something in him. Each arrow held a meaning. He was weaker since he returned, gaining strength every day but he couldn't allow himself the excuse. His aim never relied on his strength or finesse alone, it had always been a way of thinking. He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and focused on his old teacher's words that day so many moons ago in the empty field on the edge of the wood.

"I want you to loose this arrow at anything, at nothing. With it, I want you remember why you came here and why you left your people. Take all your fears, all your doubts, all your hopes, dreams, all that you are thinking and put these in this arrow. When you are ready, loose it."

Was that what this was? He had always carried too many thoughts, but it had never got in the way of finding his center. He slid the bow down his hand as it touched the ground and he rested two hands atop it lightly. He ordered his thoughts as the mist of the light rain continued to fall upon him.

He held to old habits that may have outlived their use in which they were needed.

He needed to narrow the gap between good intentions and good results.

He had found a path, but not a purpose.

Arturi thought on these for a time before he sniffed once sharply, knocking another arrow and finding his sight down its length once more. He controlled his breathing and he no longer blinked.

In his mind, he thought of a single candle flame, flickering in a black emptiness. There was nothing else. Just the flame. He took his worry of habits and allowed himself to dwell in it only a moment before only the flame gently flickering remained.

He loosed the arrow he had knocked on his bowstring. It had flew true, finding its mark.

He needed to narrow the gap between good intentions and good results.

He had found a path, but not a purpose.

Another followed behind it with a snap as it collided with the previous arrow.

He had found a path, but not a purpose.

*Snap*

"Never draw that bow without remembering today, for every arrow you loose defines the the man you are, the man you've left behind, and the man you one day hope to become. Sometimes it's best to not draw it at all, but remember Arturi. . .you always have a choice."

[Requiem]

"Are you scared?" Arturi's low even voice broke the silence.

"Does it matter?" A contrasting light melodic female voice answered nervously.

"Of course it does, Kezia." He retorted firmly but quietly to his cousin.

They sat by the pond, the light of the sun slowly fading to cast long shadows of the trees across the fallen leaves around which the two Valdaskas sat upon. There was a chill to the air, heralding a cold winter that was yet to be. Among the shadows on the pond, one flitted across the glare of a patch of sunlight that had reflected on the mirror surface. Arturi and Kezia looked up from the pond to the sky to spot a hawk slowly circling before flying back the same way it came.

"It's time, eh?" Kezia said as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders tighter, a shiver from a chill that was not garnered from the cold air.

She looked to Arturi with a pained countenance that she could not hide. Even though they had cleaned the dried blood from his skin, the black eye and bruises paled to what she knew lie underneath his tunic. He had strayed from the caravan, further than Madame Vadoma's wishes in search for firewood, lost his footing in which he tumbled into a ravine. At least. . .that's what Arturi said.

Kezia knew he had went into the small village nearby to watch people live a life he would never know. It wasn't regret for his own life. He was just curious. That must be what it was. His curiosity had cost him, for outsiders had looked to the Gur people at times with ignorant fear and unwarranted hatred in their prejudice. His golden yellow eyes did him no favors. He must have been cornered. He didn't fall and no animal would have done that. He knew animals far better than people. Vadoma knew as much as well.

He turned to her with a grim look that subtly pleaded to her as the wind picked up in a flurry of leaves that flew around them and past them. Both the Valdaska's hair shifted into the direction of the sustained wind. It wasn't natural, they both knew it. Arturi set his jaw as he saw a single tear fell from Kezia's cheek. He yelled against the sound of the gale to his cousin.

"You can say no! I don't want this, eh? She wants this!"

Kezia looked to him silently with further tears now streaking down her face, the gust growing louder into a roar of wind and leaves...

...as Arturi found himself awake, sitting upright in the darkness of the den in which he resided, panting in a cold sweat from the dream. It wasn't a nightmare, however.

It was a memory...that was not entirely his own...

[Requiem]

Arturi couldn't hear her but he read Kezia's lips as she spoke and looked to him through tears that were drying rapidly from the roaring wind. He knew it intimately, for it was something that had been instilled to each and every Valdaska for as long as any of his kin could remember.

"Duty to family knows no hesitation."

. . .and just like that, the rushing wind and leaves ceased. Kezia's fingers rose to each eye to wipe away any evidence of her tears and seemingly with them; her fear. She took a single deep breath to compose herself and stood straighter. Kezia looked expectant and stoic through the raining autumn leaves in silence to Arturi.

Somehow that made it worse. He wanted to roar at her, to argue, to somehow change what fate had dealt. Arturi clenched his fists and gritted his teeth with a tight jaw. He couldn't look at her pretending that everything was alright, that this was the way of things, a way with no other path. He aggressively turned his gaze from the ground to adress Kezia in the same moment he felt her hand lightly grab his arm. She wasn't facing him, but her expression was soft once more and vulnerable as she stood next to him. Arturi's anger was washed over in a morose pain for his cousin. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words found him. He let out a deep sigh as he had taken Kezia's unspoken advice, stood tall, found his breathing even, and composed himself. They took the first step together toward where they had seen the hawk fly above them earlier on, walking in silence upon their path.

Their way back from the pond had seemed longer than the way to it. Arturi stopped and turned to his cousin. He didn't have the words, but he had to say something.

"Kezia. . ."

She closed her eyes with pursed lips for only the length of a breath as she strode past him, her pace never slowing as he was ignored. Arturi made to try again in his attempt to speak to her when he had noticed his cousin Grigori in the woods next to them foraging for herb and root, looking up from leaning on his haunches to note Kezia and himself before returning to his task. Arturi made once more with a quickened pace to find himself alongside Kezia once again in the same moment they had crossed into the clearing, the site in which the Valdaska caravan had made camp.

Arturi could smell the meal they had just missed, lingering on the wind. The sound of hammers striking metal and the hiss of steam. Of conversation, there was little this evening to be heard. The faint snort of horses made themselves known as the occasional bark of a dog or meow of a cat pierced the otherwise quiet stillness that laid over the camp.

Eight vardos formed a ring around the camp, creating the notion of a boundary for the twenty eight Gurs. Tied down to the sides of each were tools to serve well a life on the road and wilderness, but these paled to the vast number of smith tools that made up the majority alongside unfinished weaponry, shields, and armor. Arturi had always held a subtle appreciation for how the fire at night caused the metal to glint and shine across each vardo's side. He had always likened it to a "ring of stars" that embraced his people.

Most of the smith work done was of whitesmithing, utilizing metals like cold iron that required little or no heat. When more sturdier works needed producing, the caravan would linger and create natural forges from which to work from. Two Valdaskas could strike the same sword, drawing out the proper shape without speaking to one another nor ever finding their hammers in each other's way. The blades were quenched in a tub of water containing small amounts of copper and zinc with the eye of a hawk placed within. Resting at the bottom of each quenching tub lie finely made silver mirrors, treasures owned by the caravan as a whole and passed down through the generations. It was said that when a Valdaskan blade was quenched, within the shape of the rising steam they could vaguely see the one who would come to wield it.

Upon the back of each vardo, rope netting carried separated herbs, plants, and roots that the caravan had used in their medicines. Most were dried for their preservation, but the freshest of them lended their scent to the wind in the warmer season. Among these were bloodpurge and dathlil for poisons, bloodstaunch to stem bleeding, wolfsbane for potions and lycanthropy, and many more that were procured in the travels of the caravan.

Just inside the circle of vardos, the horses and cattle would be found. Most were not tied down, for there was no need. It was said that Valdaskan horses were strong and that they had never thrown a rider. Training, empathy, and treatment to each animal instilled a certain obedience. Even the way horses were traded and sold were done specifically. If a horse was to be sold, the selling Valdaska and the purchasing party would meet with the animal present and told to bring either a carrot or an apple. A price would be negotiated between the two, but it was never finalized until another condition had been met. Upon a settled price, the buyer would then need to present the horse with the carrot or apple. If it was taken, the deal was final and the horse was sold. If the horse refused, it's price was raised. If the buyer was still interested, there would be another attempt. Sometimes the offering was never accepted however and the selling Valdaska would not entertain further offers or interest.

At the center of every camp they had ever struck resided the bonfire. Arturi's uncle, Menowin had always decided where to settle for the night. It was one of his many duties as Captain. Once the location was struck, Madame Vadoma would confirm the decision and Menowin would not move until the camp had been set up around him. The fire held a special meaning. It drew all close at night for its warmth, the source of meals, celebration in which dancing took place around the flame, and the oral tradition of stories told in many styles, but all served to teach a lesson or preserve history through repeated tellings carried through the generations.

The Gurs known as the Valdaskas had held to a profession passed on from parent to child for as long as anyone could remember, even Madame Vadoma. Camp followers and suppliers of equipment, healing through medicinal herbalism, and horses that knew few their peer. A collection of trades that honed to a single focus: profiting from conflict. The Valdaskas took no sides. They were not soldiers, held no land, and abide by their own laws and way of life. This was their path, the way it had always been and the way it would always be.

The sun was falling as Kezia and Arturi entered the camp in which they drew the occasional glance, but otherwise silent indifference from their family. On this night every month, there should have been celebration, but the caravan had not done so in many seasons. Their family numbered many, the animals plenty, yet all fell under a certain quiet. This quiet was not one akin to that of a silent anxiety, worry, or nervousness. There was calm air to it. Arturi knew there shouldn't be. But. . .such was the way of things.

Arturi followed Kezia to the bonfire in which some of their family was gathered. A few offered a faint smile that faded as quickly as it came, their aunt offering up a bowl of venison stew in which both Arturi and Kezia dismissed. Arturi looked to Kezia a moment before his gaze drifted past her. Past the other people, past the horses, past the vardos that made up the ring. There were eight vardos that made up the ring to the camp, but the Valdaska caravan possessed nine. In the fading light, he noted the back door was open to this particular vardo. Arturi could see the dark silhouette that stood within its frame, shadows cast across the face that peered from within. The face of Madame Vadoma. Mother.

Kezia and Arturi had kept her waiting. She didn't need to say anything, he knew she was not pleased. She would never voice it however. She didn't need to. Vadoma rarely repeated herself. One's duty to family within the caravan came before all else. If one had stepped out of line, they would feel the disapproval from the entire caravan. Such a punishment was subtle, but effective. Arturi didn't care. His gaze never drifted off his mother. As much as she could make a point without ever voicing a word to him, so could he.

A slight wave of a murmer rose through the camp as Menowin rode through the camp on horseback with two other Valdaskas trailing behind. They all found their legs above the horses' backs fluidly as they dropped to the ground. The horses found themselves to the camp's edge on their own, for Valdaskas only rode horses away from the caravan short distances and never with equipment. Menowin moved toward the bonfire where Kezia and Arturi were standing with a gray scarf in hand. Kezia gave a weak smile to her father as he approached until finally he stood before both of them, offering Kezia a rigid embrace with the scarf resting along her back. Arturi glared to the Captain from behind Kezia to meet Menowin's eyes that responded with cold indifference. With her head to the side of her father's, she wouldn't see the stare between them. The two didn't speak. Just like Arturi and his mother, they often didn't need to. Arturi had never known his father, but Menowin filled that role and taught him everything he knew of tracking, smithing, and healing. Which is why it made it so much harder to accept what his uncle was about to allow. Menowin turned his gaze down as he addressed his daughter.

"A father has never been more proud." Menowin said in his impossibly deep voice. "I have to see to your Aunt Vadoma that all preparations are met and to your path tonight. The Moon Maiden will watch over your step and He of the Third Eye has seen your success."

The Captain broke the embrace to place a hand to her upper arm and look down to her for a moment as he turned unceremoniously, making his way to Madame Vadoma's vardo with the gray scarf still in hand. Arturi dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes. Why was this the way of things? Why couldn't Vadoma let this go. He had been beaten upon his trip to the village and while he knew her anger over such was genuine, this was not the first time it happened. In times before she would scold him, tell him of his folly for doing so and the matter would end there. There had to be something else she was hiding. He would find out. Arturi turned to Vadoma's vardo and began his approach. Or, he would have if Kezia's voice had not stopped him yet again.

"Stay with me and watch the flames awhile?"

He sighed in defeat. This was the way of things. He couldn't change it, even if he knew how. He took his place once more at the fire and watched the flames with his cousin and other family members in silence. Then the wind shifted and all knew it was time as not a single mutter or whisper made itself known among them.

Kezia shivered as her composure broke, the strain of holding back her fear showed clearly on her face before she hesitantly turned her back to Arturi. He could her the shuddered breaths as Kezia walked past the fire. Past the people, past the animals and the outer ring made by the vardos. She stopped short a few paces of the steps that traveled down from Vadoma's door as Menowin exited the vardo and gave his daughter another embrace before making his way back to the inner camp to stand next to Arturi. Arturi's gaze never left Kezia as he saw Vadoma enter the frame of the vardo's doorway before stepping down it slowly with the gray scarf in hand that the Captain had held earlier. He remembered the scarf now. It belonged to the merchant whose guards beat him for stealing a dagger from their wares. The wares of a weapons merchant. A dagger he could have made better. He stole nothing, but it proved an excuse for their prejudice none the less. For Vadoma, they proved competition on top of their insult by laying a hand on her son.

Vadoma placed a kiss to Kezia's forehead with a small smile, murmuring something that resulted in a faint nod between both her and her niece. Vadoma then proceeded to walk to the treeline of the forest, not looking back once to see if Kezia was in tow. Kezia watched Vadoma a moment before she gave one final look back to the fire, then turned to follow her aunt into the wood.

Night fell, but Arturi could not help but feel that time stood still. There was no sound on the wind. But that is how it usually was on this night. Kezia was always scared, and had always trusted him with her fear, the same night every month before Vadoma took Kezia into the woods alone ever since that bloody winter eve. Therein, Vadoma would cast her incantation, an enchantment upon her niece that would allow Vadoma full control of her actions at exactly the right time. Arturi pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and thumb. The wait was always excruciating. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and firmly squeeze it. He looked over to see Menowin looking upward, his jaw tense and tight lipped. Arturi followed the man's gaze to the night sky. . .and shivered slightly at the unnatural howl of a wolf that pierced the night air and echoed across the land as he stared at the full moon. . .

. . .Arturi looked back down from the moon to the graveyard outside Baldur's Gate after the Alpha's howl broke the stillness of the night. A pack of werewolves had made themselves known this eve and fate would decide who was the hunter and who was prey. But he was not alone. He stood proudly next to his mate and his companions, to hunt these beasts and their Alpha. He knocked an arrow of cold iron, leaving the silver arrow heads for now. He voiced to try and subdue the lycanthropes if given the chance. He needed to know what kind he was dealing with. They had found soon enough there was no reasoning with them, no empathy to be found. The call was made to hunt and put them down. He looked down to his quiver of arrows and knocked his next arrow with a silver arrowhead. At least he knew now what werewolves he was dealing with.

"Not all are evil."

[Requiem]

Arturi took an arrow from his quiver with his bow still shouldered. He slid the arrowhead's edge underneath the metal that tacked his posting within the Friendly Arms Inn, prying the metal tack from the wood before pocketing it. His other hand caught the parchment as it fell, setting it aside a small pile of identical postings that lay on the grass at his feet.


(( viewtopic.php?p=900424#p900424 ))

I am seeking men and women on the Coast with certain skills, those who identify as woodsmen and woodswomen, trackers, trappers, hunters; all who carry the name "Ranger". I seek to discuss that which proposes a certain solidarity with no commitment. All that I ask is for your time and attention. You will be convinced of nothing, yet leave with a choice.

I may be reached with written word to the Siren's Song in Harbor District of Baldur's Gate, by way of Sending, or sought out in person. Until then, fate favor your steps in the night to find the dawn anew. Tread safely, for these days are darkened by many shadows.

Arturi Valdaska, Ranger of Selune

Arturi reached down to gather the small stack of parchment, but was halted by the corner of them being stepped upon. He was not prepared for the attack that would soon follow. His eyes barely had time to find the source of what weighed the parchment down before... he met the affectionate licks of a tail-wagging dalmatian to his face.

The ranger sputtered. "So-...Sorcha, stop." He quietly pleaded as he gently pushed the canine from him by her chest and off the paper.

He picked up the parchment and collectively rolled them up as one. He reached down to give Sorcha a pat to the head as he made his way to the front gate of the Inn, finding himself from its walls. Walking north on the path, the Gur came across the fire. He unfurled the rolled parchment, tearing a long strip from them all simultaneously. A light toss of to the rest of the paper found it consumed by the flame within moments. As the last of the parchment turned to ash, he held the thin strips remaining in hand as he clicked his tongue to snap Sorcha's attention to him to follow. He stepped from the fire...and off the path, deeper into the wood. He walked in silence for a time.

As the glow from the fire on the path and the torches of the Inn faded, he cleared his throat lightly. His lips parted and he let out a sound. The sound was not of words or of any civilized expression. It was a primal call. A call most could not make, let alone a sound many could focus with intent. An avian sound. A sound that pierced the silence of the forest.

The Gur then found a tree to sit his back against. With the strips of parchment in hand, he pulled out something to write with and set to it, waiting patiently as he wrote. Sorcha had sat next to him, eyes to his face as he twitched a subtle smirk back down to his companion, garnering a faint tail wag. Her head cocked as he glanced to the side, gazing at a raven upon a branch nearby.

Arturi stood slowly and waved the parchment lightly in his hand to check if the ink had dried. He slowly approached the raven as he studied the bird familiar to him.

"Ah, this one..." He mused in thought to himself. "Ever the troublemaker."

The ranger then produced string that he often bound the fletching to arrows with from his belongings. He gently made to fasten the note to the ravens foot as another flutter of wings settled to a branch next to him...and again to a branch behind him...and again...and again...

The Gur Ranger had made a call to the other rangers of the Sword Coast...

...a call that had been answered.

[Requiem]

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The entry that follows is a continuation of another, found here: viewtopic.php?p=930327#p930327

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...Sarisay had missed it all. She was leading Windrunner down to the ferry, missing her own affect on him in the wake of her retreat. To Sari's mind, his power over her was absolute. She stepped away from him almost out of necessity, fighting the urge to turn in his arms and ravage his lips. All of which was inspired merely by the feeling of the heat coming off him from close behind her. Yet even as she fled, she could not deny herself that moment of tenderness and worship.

"It has been... A solid year since the last time I passed through that city. I have to say I liked the fact that it was acceptable to curl up on a hay bale along the street. No need for a closed in room."

She lead the horse right up the the ferry before hesitating. She still didn't like boats... but she got on.

Arturi followed, leading Patrin to the dock. There was no recognition to her hesitance, his focus was set on the ferryman. A shallow dip of his head in greeting, leading his horse upon the vessel as he voiced evenly their intended destination.

"Roaringshore."

No further banter came from the Gur as he stole a glance from the corner of his eye to Sarisay while he waited in brief expectancy of the man's price. She hated boats. His attention turned back to the ferryman at the sound of his voice.

"It'll cost fifty pieces... each."

Arturi placed the gold into his hand, enough for the passage of two with another downward tilt of his head, a gesture on agreement of price and gratitude. He made his way over near Sarisay, one hand resting on Patrin still. At a snort of discomfort from the horse, a belated, quiet, and continuous sound, came from the Ranger. It sounded like a hum. A melody. He had never been particularly musical, nor talented in such. But quietly, he hummed a tune he had memorized to heart from an old rusty music box. Patrin soon quieted shortly after, if not fully at ease.

Sarisay held Windrunnner's reigns in her left hand, the right rested on the edge of the craft. As he moved up behind her and began to hum, she smiled softly out at the water and joined him in song without looking back at him. Her voice was passable in most cases, but since the change it seemed to take on a siren's likeness in tone when near water. Windrunner seemed to sooth at the gentle melody and even the ferryman paused a moment to stare at her. Her voice was the sea. It was the rolling waves, the whispering wind, and the gulls overhead all at once, yet she did not notice such things.

As the song reached the final verse she looked over her shoulder to the Gur, her glowing eyes blazing in the fog that blanketed the harbor in the early morning light. She spoke softly and with the smile she kept just for him.

"We'll find even more of each other on this path. Good, bad, large and small details. Do you fear what I will find in traveling your old footsteps, my love?"

Arturi's head dropped slightly, lidded eyes to the water and waves that now began to pass by as the ferry had departed. Even without animation, the sliver of his golden celestial-blooded eyes pierced the cover of the fog similarly. He sniffed once sharply with a light exhale before he spoke, focused on nothing in a particular in the passing waves. Despite his lack of focus to her, his voice was even and without reticence.

"While all my roads have led me here, some I would not travel again and yet... you will walk those same roads with me. I have never been false with you, eh? But the ear is different from the eye. It is one thing to hear it... it is another to see."

His head turned from the water before his eyes did. He found her eyes past her shoulder and simply looked. He didn't seem afraid of the query, nor did he shy away from her look....but she knew him. The response he gave, his expression, and body language, spoke of both confidence and vulnerability simultaneously. The ranger relaxed subtly as he continued.

"Do you fear what you may find?" He tilted his head to the side lightly, eyes still upon her own. "Or do you fear what I may see?" He asked gently, eyes lightly narrowing in expectant appraisal to her response.

Her eyes softened and only shone with absolute love. She smiled broadly back at him "I have every confidence that you can handle my past, and there is nothing the road can show me of your past that would change your future, ranger. Whoever you were... You are mine now."

Her eyes turned back to the water and her expression faded "I sensed your tension... And I wondered if it was merely the gravity of our task or this fear of the past. Now I know, and now you know that your demons cannot have you. You belong to me."

Even as she turned, the Gur's eyes rested upon her for a moment longer. The corner of his mouth slightly turned up, a gesture she wouldn't see as he took in the words and her. He stepped up behind her, wrapping his free arm around her waist with her in front of him, holding her to him as he too found the water once more.

"He will like you." Arturi voiced quietly without context.

Arturi was content to not elaborate as the water passed by, giving into silence as the ferry pressed on to Roaringshore... and the first step of their journey.

She leaned back against him. She folded into his embrace and a smile once again found her expression. She seemed equally content to remain so, and he likely saved her from pitching over a few times when a strong wave hit. Pity the ocean's effect on her had not improved her sea legs...