Lonesome Watch

[Lambe]

Sad... He thinks. It seems to be the first word to come to mind every time he sees the sight. Every time. Such a stark reminder of his own past.

Lambe approaches the ruins with caution, and even a bit of respect. It would not be his first time spending the night within its broken enclosure and hopefully will not be his last either. Throughout the years he's found the place able to provide him adequate shelter from the elements, and the local wildlife. Looking around, he doesn't find a lot of useful remnants aside from the usual old chair that's kept its place. Whoever lived there had long gone. The ranger gets ready for the night, looking up to watch Selune through the open roof.

A house, like the trees that surround it, bears its own fruit. It provides a home. This one, or what is left of it, was someone's dream. The culmination of his toils. This was supposed to be a place of comfort and safety, providing warmth from the cold and shelter from the storms. His gaze takes in the rubble and broken foundations, all the while wondering. Had laughter sounded from within its walls at one point? Did the floors creak as they were treaded upon? He could only imagine the scent of supper riding with the breeze on a clear moonlit night. A lifetime ago, perhaps...

Life goes on. Only questions remain.

[Lambe]

"Wadd'ya think?" came a shrill voice from behind him.

The man tilts his head to find a couple of the feyfolk, pixies, hovering near his camp. He gets up from tending to the modest fire he started, slowly raising a hand to his unexpected guests.

"Just here for some rest..." he assures them.

Indeed, he had chosen that spot as a good camp site, his home for the next day or so as he sets out to hunt trolls and gather their hides. Hunting, after all, makes up a great deal of his life.

"He is nothing but a sneaker," the other one said.

"Oh no, he is a friend of the forest, of the Coast," the first one points out.

"I'm a ranger," he claims with a nod.

"We will test him..."

The sun had just graced the hills when he'd arrived to set camp. The ruins of Trollclaw Ford was not that far, but he knew the risks the closer he went, so he'd settled for that spot. And something still found me... he thought as the pixies continued to talk. They spoke of signs and acorns and changes, in a way only they could have made sense of.

"Things for ranger's doing," he heard the snarky one say.

"Yes, yes I'll get to that," the cordial one chided. They'd come to tell him about some druids and how they want something back. Acorns, druids, dream... he tried to make sense of it all.

"They lost it?" he asks.

"Told you he wouldn't get it," he winced at the snarky one.

"Please, I'm talking here," dismissed the other one. He always did regard the fey as a rightful part of the world he walks in. And that affords them respect in his eyes.

"Should have picked the troll, got more sense," voiced the second one. Good gods, give me a troll any day...Lambe groans inwardly. There are some things he simply would rather not deal with. And he does try to keep his distance when it comes to their kind. Yet he knows he could never truly be a simple outsider, looking into the circle. He's part of it. Admorin and his circle talk. He thought with a chuckle. The pixies finish their tale as he takes a deep breath.

"How long do I have?" he inquired.

"Slacker, knew it!"

"Well we don't know, do we?" offered the first one before they both flew off faster than he could follow with his eyes, as if vanishing into air.

Fey... he thought with a sullen shake of his head as he fetches his gear and prepares for the hunt ahead.

[Lambe]

A wolf's head poked out of the tent's door, making him stop just a few steps from the vestibule. As it turned to look to each side, shadowed from the dusk's last light, the canine's missing jaw revealed the face of a man. The hardened yet fair expression on the wolf-skin clad half-elf gave way to surprise upon seeing him.

"Lambe," the hunter greets with a smile as he steps out of his tent to offer his hand.

"Harrow," answers the ranger with a nod as he takes the offered hand for a shake. "Got something for you," he adds, eliciting an easy laugh from his host.

"Maltz got you running errands for him again?" Harrow inquired with an amused grin.

The ranger shook his head with a smile as he held up a bottle of his favorite brand, Flounder beer. He'd grown fond of the beverage during his time in Waterdeep and made sure to ask for the homegrown drink when chance presented itself, even years after.

"Aww," his friend exclaimed, grin on his wolf-gagging face, even as his hand made for the gift, "you didn't have to. I'm next door to a tavern, after all."

"I thought of commemorating the giants' attack here years ago," Lambe answers with a shrug. "Back when there was no tavern here, or much of anything else. When all you had for a neighbor was a church, and I don't think they serve these to just anyone," he adds with a smirk.

"Aye, I'll drink to that," his fellow woodsman said before disappearing back into his tent, only to return with a mug in each hand, offering him one. Harrow knew it just as well, when Nashkel barely had a wall to keep the dangers of the Cloudpeaks at bay. He'd been there to provide game for the few settlers and watch over the local wildlife. He'd watched his town grow. "What brought this on, all of a sudden?" He asked as he uncorks the bottle.

Lambe sets himself down on the ground by the tent's entrance, shaded by the cover. "An old friend has returned," he responds, thinking back on his recent conversation with Lance. He stared at the far banks of the river in front of them for a moment. "Got me thinking of old times..."

A simple nod was all he got as his friend quietly filled there mugs. Has it really been that long ago? Lambe mused. He'd seen friends come and go. Some have moved on with their lives, while others have lost theirs. He was surprised, quite frankly, that he's managed to stay here on the Coast. He came here with a purpose and never meant to stay for long, but alas, he had. From joining the Elder Circle, more and more seemed to keep him from even thinking about walking away.

"You've come a long way, old friend," Harrow offered before having a taste of refreshment. Both men resigned to simply watching the rapids, each lost in their own thoughts as the sun slowly set behind them. They'd spend a moment in each other's quiet presence, like they usually do whenever he was passing through the town.

You never know how far you've gone until you look back... The thought tugged on the corner of his lips at that moment, interrupted only by his friend's unexpected question, "So...when are you planning to settle down with someone?"

[Lambe]

He looks up at the carved image of the goddess. Her once detailed features now long worn and vague from years under the elements. He'd wondered how accurate the portrayal was, or who put it there, if it was indeed a person. Nevertheless, his own faith and imagination would help complete the image in his head.

Beautiful, strong, steadfast, fair...wise, he begins to think as he gazes up at his patron. He calls her The Lady, like so many others like him. For it is true they serve one as important as She. More than any other, he adds.

"Here I am once more, under your fold...", he trails as he struggles to find the words.

"You would not let me realize my dreams and...wishes", he whispers. A strange pang felt as the words are spoken.

He closes his eyes and utters prayers, seeking guidance and answers. His doubts and fears rushing screaming in his mind, only to be calmed by years of experience. Have faith, he thought. Continuing on with his prayers as he looks back on the many times he's felt Her grace, how he owes Her his life.

Blessed thee, Mielikki, Lady of the Forest,
By thy lead, life seeks to prosper.
Wounds, death, be put to the test,
Bless with thy grace so none may suffer.

I am the hand thou seekest to offer,
To those of thy flock who go astray.
My path thou leadest to the weaker,
Through hail and storm, thou shall guide my way.

Is this what you want of me?, he asks as he looks up finishing his prayers. Whatever the future holds for him, he knows not. Only that his path, with faith, is guided.

[Lambe]

There was nothing more serene than a quiet night like tonight. The cool air just beginning to usher in a slow fog. Selune's light shining through the forest canopy. The peace and quiet interrupted only by a chorus of chirping, rustling and the occasional hooting. There, too, was the faint sound of taut, strained bowstring by his ear. From his perch up the tree branch he had a clear shot, a long clear look at the woman below. If you have to shoot, shoot... He reminded himself. Only this time he didn't feel that he had to.

The dark-skinned female pulled him out of his thoughts as her sudden appearance was given away by a quick flash of light just moments ago. It was the kind of spectacle he'd gotten accustomed to over the past few years. One does not normally see her kind out and about unless they wish you to, but this one did not care much. Despite the darkness embracing the figure below, he had no trouble making out details with the help of his keen and well-adjusted sight. One of the boons he receives on a daily basis. Face-painted and scarred back, sunburned skin showing through the dark hues, he'd seen her before. She was gripping her rapier tightly as she moved about stiffly. He could smell the anger coming from her. Dangerous. He concluded, as he drew the arrow that seemed to have nocked itself on its own. It was always easy to nock one to a bow and draw it back for a shot, it comes naturally with time. The hard part was letting the string, and the arrow, go. It was that kind of situation he found himself in.

Not here. He thought, as he followed the figure's steps around the shrine. Each step becoming more lithe and deliberate. He gently eases his draw as he watched her lay down on the grass, eyes watching the sky. The rise and fall of her chest slowing down to barely being noticeable. He can see now why she chose this place, a place of tranquil and inviting calm. He would not dare soil it with any sort of violence. Peace...even her kind seeks it. He thought, both stating and asking as if the notion was foreign to him.

It was not until a giant mirror emerged not far from the first teleportation a few moments later when the ranger realized things could change in an instant. Indeed, he was ready to expect the worst as a man in tough-looking armor took form from the glass. Lengthy hair and rough facial features, a fighting man, no doubt. The female looks over her shoulder at the man, giving him a calmer glare than she had been wearing earlier. He watches them both from his vantage point, waiting for the right time to act. And do what? He mused, as the man approaches the female, who in turn sheathes her weapon. He mentally shares their collective sigh as he watches the man set his cloak down close to her, and proceeds to strip off his armor, boots and gloves. Now what...? A thought accompanying the groan he fought hard to contain.

"If I wasn't at the shrine, I'd throw something," the female claims whilst in the man's embrace.

The man was silent, but clearly involved as he would whisper into her ear and give her kisses on the head. An act she apparently found soothing as she seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into his embrace.

"I worked so vithing hard for this. For...this," she exclaimed with eyes shut, her tone almost reflecting a shudder. The ranger could not tell if it was due to the embrace, or some underlying anger.

"You'll survive this, and you'll grow stronger. Smarter," the man assured her as he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "You'll be getting her once more. You did it before, you can do it again," he added before kissing the top of her head again.

"I hope so. I...really, really hope so," she breathed out, almost as a whisper as she looks up at the man caressing her. With an almost pleading voice she asks, "Do you think I should stay here for the rest of the night, even if it's on the Night Above?"

"Stay with me, tonight. Here," was his answer.

Atop a tree not far from the couple, the ranger watched. He'd had a mind to set out and leave them to their privacy. There are some things that can be accorded to any one, regardless of their nature. One of them was care, he'd even go so far as to say love. Though he's not quite sure if the baser instincts included affection as much as it does caring, as any beast would exhibit. In his current situation, he found it easier to regard the couple the same way he does mated animals. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I was here first... He assures himself.

He'd been called many things in his time as a ranger, but none can argue him not being a steadfast watcher of the wilds. So he settles back against the trunk, looking ahead for anything out of the ordinary, his mind settling back into its thoughts. The night is young and quiet, interrupted only by chirping, rustling, hooting and the occasional moaning.

[Lambe]

The cool breeze could not blow away the stench in the air on an otherwise freshly dewed summer morning. It was eerily quiet, with nothing but the buzzing of flies and the creaking of the taut rope filling the man's ears. He looked up at the corpse in front of him, swaying gently with the branch its broken neck was hanging from. Its eyes having long been picked off by scavengers and infested by maggots. How it came to this, the hooded man can only guess.

Now, how did you end up there? Lambe thought as he pulled back his hood, revealing weary eyes. It had been days since he last encountered a fellow man. He was not expecting the first one he found to be staring back at him with hollowed out eye sockets.

Judging by the wreckage of a carriage around the nearby camp site, the ranger dismissed the thought of the man taking his own life. Had the man deserved this fate? He may never know. The only thing clear was that the Northwest Tradeway was close, so he surmised the man was on his way there.

Ransacked and pillaged. They even took the horse. He thought. He turned his gaze down the hill, towards the remnants of what was once a quiet hamlet, now abandoned. A brutal reminder of the dangers outsiders can bring. Now the place is ripe for skullduggery and banditry.

"Life departs and the maggots move in...", he mutters.

He takes a deep breath, braving the stench around him, as he resolves to spend a few more days to observe the hamlet. He looks back up at the corpse. He had to admit that the body had served its purpose as a warning. A clear one, whether that was the intention of those responsible or not.

But he had not lived a life of ignorance. He knows how dark and cruel an effect a cursed fate can lead to, no matter how the man lived his life. Not to mention the disease and sickness a corpse may serve host to. A pyre might attract attention, so he decided that a burial will suffice.

"Let's get you down from there," Lambe said quietly.

He spent the next few hours digging and shoveling, offering a prayer upon the final mound. His thoughts drifted to his own fate, and if anyone would bury him and offer prayers at his grave.

[Lambe]

The fire's light shone like a beacon off to the side of the road, casting flickering shadows from those gathered around its warmth. Only the gentle stirring from one occupied bedroll disrupting the sound of its burning embers.

"You're awake." Lambe didn't look up from the fire. The orange light pulled the lines deeper in his face.

On the ground beside him lay a woman, blanketed for warmth and taking deep slow breaths. Finally opening her eyes, she squints around at the camp.

"I feel...dizzy," she claims while propping herself up to sit.

"Don't push yourself. You just came to." Lambe warns while eyeing the bandages on her. Dry. Good. His gaze going over her in mild surprise. Must be her lineage...

"What...happened?" she asks, voice rasping.

He offered her a canteen which she drank from graciously, letting her empty it before responding to her question. "Shep picked up a scent that led us off the trail," the ranger explains as he reaches to stroke the dog's head. "It's good that he knew yours, Hara. We found you badly wounded and unconscious, surrounded by wyverns," he adds.

"That's...terrible," she exclaims. Her jaws clenching from the realization of what, or what may have, happened. "Thank you...for your help," she says as she looks at the man. The female hunter then goes to recount the circumstances that led her there. The job, preparation, and finally the encounter. "I owe you," she finishes, feeling around the bandages where her wounds were kept hidden. She needed not see how bad they were. She could feel it.

"If that's how you feel," Lambe nods in acceptance, "be careful next time."

"Yes, I will," the female hunter responds with resolve, "how should...I repay you?"

"However you want, I don't really have anything in mind," he claims, turning his attention back to the fire, stoking it gently to keep it aflame.

She watched him for a moment as her eyes regained clarity. "Gold," she offers.

He continued to watch the flickering flames as a cool breeze swept through their camp. She's not much different from my younger self, finding myself in this same situation. The ranger mused as memories came flooding back, to a time when he himself was left bloodied and bruised, only to be saved by his mentor. Kolandir. He calls back to a name he will never forget. The name of the one who saved his life and who led him to this. There were many other situations throughout those early years when he'd have fallen short and would have had to pay for it, if not for those he owed a deep gratitude to. Alexander, Tara, Nathaniel... He started recalling names as a voice pulled him back from his reverie. "Well?" the woman asked apprehensively, unaware of his musings.

"Save your gold," he finally answers, "just make sure you stay alive long enough, you hear?" Lambe watched her nod in silence. "When you are stronger, you'll know how to repay the debt," he adds as he looks up at Selune. Not to me...you will owe it to yourself.

Hara nodded once. She didn't thank him again.

Shep pressed his head against her knee and sighed. The fire sank lower. Lambe didn't feed it. He pulled his cloak tighter and listened to the embers tick down, keeping the watch while the cold settled back over the three of them.

[Lambe]

The snow had a way of making even the living world look buried.

Lambe stood among the pines and watched the pale ground ahead. Their branches sagged beneath the snow's weight. The mountain forest was quiet enough that even his breath seemed too loud.

He did not much like snow. It obscured tracks, softened sounds, and made distances a challenge. Beautiful, serene, and most definitely treacherous. Many men have forgotten that last part. Still, there was beauty, if one cared to see it. Moonlight graced the open ground, leaving a sheen on the land as if an invitation to join Selune above. Dead reeds rose from the snow like old spear hafts, the only telltale sign that there was something wilder underneath all the calm and purity.

Farther ahead, through the trees, a faint light flickered. A cabin, perhaps? Or bait. Lambe pondered.

A younger man might have hurried toward it, grateful for warmth and the promise of shelter. An older fool might have done the same, telling himself he had earned a roof after so many cold roads. Lambe was neither young enough nor foolish enough to trust light simply because it shone in the dark. He would not even trust his own silhouette in such a calm moment like this.

So, he waited.

Snow whispered across his cloak as the wind moved through the branches, showering him further with soft frost. His breath came and went in wisps before his face.

He thought of the winters he'd seen throughout his travels. Waterdeep's stone slick with frost. Of the Wealdath when cold mist clung to the roots and his father told him not to step where the leaves lay too smooth. Of Kolandir’s voice somewhere behind him, patient as ever, saying that a ranger’s first duty was not to move quickly, but to know when moving at all was the mistake. Says the elf, he thought annoyedly.

Lambe shifted his weight and looked down at the snow near his boots. There were tracks around. His own, mostly. A few rabbit marks here, something heavier farther ahead, half-filled by new fall. none of them fresh enough to frighten him, but not old enough to ignore.

He knelt and brushed at one print with gloved fingers. The snow broke apart under his touch, useless and cold. A boot, perhaps? Or the edge of one. Someone had passed this way before him, moving toward the light.

No sign of return.

“Of course,” he muttered.

The forest gave no answer, maintaining its silent vigil. But the trees leaned close, the snow kept falling, and that small distant light continued to burn as if it had all the time in the world.

Lambe rose slowly.

There were many watches a man could keep. Some from walls, some from roads, and some beside fires while others slept. This one, though, began in the snow, with only a faint light ahead and the old familiar certainty that whatever waited there, someone ought to look. He drew his cloak tighter around him and stepped from the shelter of the trees.

One careful footprint followed another.

The night swallowed them almost as soon as they were made.