Rivers of Blood

[Seheren]

Shadows sweep the Valley. The sun sets giving way to the light of a waxing Selune. Roadways and paths are mostly deserted, for most know what prowls them. A dark armored figure walks a main tradeway, his cloak drawn closely around him, his face covered by a dark hood. Only a sliver of Pale skin and blood red eyes visible in the darkness, he prowls the edge of the road, keeping company with the shadows.

Not long and he sees movement, in the darkness the two men hold a torch and their eyes strain to see anything but the carriage before them. The figure sees all, his eyes finely attuned to the pitch. He moves forward slowly, a predatory grin finding his face, contorting it into a sneer promising violence. After no more then a few strides closer, he takes a deep breath, filling his nose with the scent. Looking upon the scene his smile widens.

Two men curse, kicking a broken wheel. The carriage stopped at an off angle to the road, a broken wheel caught in a rut. The carriage door open, a well dressed elven girl hangs her head out. She dons a green day gown, her auburn hair kept up with a brooch, covered in small semi-precious stones. Her well toned form is accentuated by the tight fitting of the corset top, her supple features taunt the figure. The two men covered in road dirt motion for her to go back in, her displeasure obvious. At this the dark armored figure smiles, even thinking to thank Tymora for his luck.

[Seheren]

The figure strides slowly, inexorably, towards a small copse of trees nestled against the road. The pitch of night concealing him, comforting him like a friend. As he nears the trees, he can see the two men arguing amongst each other, pointing dirty fingers and flailing their hands about.

"Its all yer fault! Now we's gonna lose a days pay gett'n her there late!" The first man says, his tone as accusing and heated as his words. He is a tall man, who has seen perhaps 30 winters. His drab tunic is covered in road dust, a scabbard containing a rusty shortsword at his belt. His light brown hair flecked with gray, is beginning to recede and thin from the temples back.

"My fault!? Myfault? Yous the one steer'n this thing, yous supposed t' be watchin'!" The second man retorts, his flabby arm jiggling as he waves his hands about. The man was a head shorter then the first, with a crossbow slung across his shoulder. Though he was shorter he was notably wider.

The dark figure smiles as he watches from the tree line. A golden pendant in his grasp, attached to a gold chain that wound up his arm to past his elbow. The chain drawn so tight its barbs settled far into his pale skin. Grasping it tightly he encants words of power, invoking divine spells. He feels the familiar rush of power as he becomes faster, stronger, and more keen to his surroundings. Spells completed he moves forward from his spot, straightening himself and donning a fake, courteous, smile.


"Good eve, gentleman. It seems you have fallen on ill luck." He needlessly preens his perfectly drawn back hair and dusts his palms as he nears the two, smiling all the way.