In and Out of Shadows

[Jonel]

Word begins to spread of a small woman dressed in dark clothing and a black masked hood. It is being said she seems to appear and demands a name and then is gone just as fast as she appeared.

It is said she is a vengful spirit and is seeking the one who made her so.

[Su Chan]

Of Shadows and Names

"So, what was that all about?" asked the russet-haired woman, as she ostentatiously scratched the side of her broad nose, allowing her to slide a subtle glance down and behind her.

The lanky warrior seated beside her in front of the small campfire cast an open and suspicious stare around the scrawny scrub and straggly trees clustered around the edge of the firelight before replying.

"It seems simple to me - she's obviously some kind of agent of darkness, you can tell just by looking at her, and the way she treated us. Cold and calculating that one, with little kindness of spirit and human warmth."

"She's obviously not one of the Triad," he growled.

He shifted his shoulders, in uneasy absence of the reassuring weight of the mail stacked neatly behind him. His long fingers gripped more strongly the leather-clad pommel of the naked sword propped between his knees. Dull red gleams moved up and down the shining length of the long double-edged blade, reflections of the dying flames and embers as he rotated it very slowly back and forth.

The tip of the sword rested on the end of one of the logs in the fire, safely out of the dulling dirt, and as he turned the blade, tiny slivers of wood scraped free with tiny screrching sounds. "Why us?" he muttered.

"We're only strangers here. Why does she think we know anything about this whole name business?" he grumbled as he stared at the small slivers heaping on either side of the blade. A small oval under the blade had been scraped into the dark calloused bark of the Spittlefist Ash, revealing the pale pink and white grain beneath.

Peering up into the gloomy sky, he focussed on one of the few stars visible in the dim heavens, before the scudding clouds occluded it, a fair omen of the events earlier.
"As if we have anything to do with sneaks, cheats and charlatans. By the sword of the True!"

At this, he clenched the pommel even more firmly, raising the yards of steel easily one-handed, as though to stab the unoffending log in front of him. Thinking better of it, and the work involved in restoring the keen edge, he laid it to rest again on the log.

As he did so, it moved in the embers, sending up bright sparks that swirled briefly in the damp air above the fire, before winking out into darkness. The pale-skinned woman shivered briefly and clasped her cloak more tightly to her, the dying sparks an all-too appropriate reminder of the fate of most adventurers in this mysterious land.

She nodded slowly in agreement, sighing quietly.

"I don't understand why we were chosen, as we obviously were. But we have been," she continued. "It's all part of some greater game ouside our ken."

She paused meditatively. "It might even be some kind of machination between the Exigo and the State, who knows? It seems that there are any number of factions and alligences here. Just as in the larger cities, there are always those who have their barrow to push, and their numbers are bewildering to those used to more... simple lives."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully and shifted her tattered light shoes in the beaten tufts of grass that carpeted the small dell.

Unwillingly, her glance crept to the flanged weapon lying on the ground before them. It's black lines glistened slightly in the firelight, almost giving it the appearance of one of the great southern swampland serpents, famous for lying across pathways sunning themselves, and then attacking viciously and relentlessly the unwary who disturbed them from their slumber.

She glared at it as one might the self-same serpent. She kicked at it vituperatively, almost knocking it into the coals, and made a sound of deep disgust at the back of her throat. Despite her mistreatment, it lay inoffensively quiescent.

At this, her companion shifted uneasily, looking from her, to the weapon by the fire-side, then back to her again, studying her expression of disgust. He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and houghed nervously instead, returning his glance to the dancing flames.

Changing to a more contemplative tone, she continued. "And as always in the politics of men, there are wheels within wheels within wheels. Who knows who is pushing which wheels? And where to, and what end?" She grimaced briefly, and exhaled shortly in exasperation.

The tall warrior surged to his feet at this. "Bah! I tire of this trickery! Give me a clean fight and a foe to smite, and none of this wordy malingering over secrets and shadows. I..."

At the sound of a branch cracking loudly, and something moving closer at the edge of the copse, the sword sang as he swung it up, point high, ready to match deed to word.

His companion cocked her head, listening to the careless crashing through the undergrowth before holding up one gloved hand in restraint, "Hold, it's only... him."

Indeed, striding into the lonely campsite with the grace and care of a fully-loaded Exigo ore-train, was the rangy Northerner they'd met earlier. Face beaming with sincerity, he crashed happily through the scrub, the others wincing at the ruckus plainly echoing back off the nearby hillsides.

As he came closer, he burst into song, the half-shouted chanting adding even further to the noise.

"The meat, so sweet,
On long fast feet,
Hoppity hoppity bump!
'lo bush I espied,
And snagged did I,
Smackity smackity klunk!"

Bounding into the campsite, he laughed at this tomfoolery and kneeled in an abbreviated imitation of a courtly bow, proferring a brace of hares with both hands proudly to the woman staring at him with a mix of confusion and frustration on her face.

She looked suspiciously into his broad, honest face, noting the bright expression and merry welcoming smile. Was he really just the bumbling fool he seemed to be, or perhaps, something more? His smile grew wider at her searching look, then he winked impudently. She jerked her glance aside.

The warrior by her side frowned and surreptitiously drew the Gift of Syne on the ground towards him with one foot, hiding it in the shadow of the log he'd been sitting on.

She stood up and took the hares from the buffoon. Holding them away from her with one hand, she said, "Well these are fine animals, friend, I believe these will..."

She was interrupted as he, still kneeling, seized her other hand, drawing it quickly to his lips in a mockery of a courtier's kiss; his grasp easily defeating her attempts to shake him off. In a shocked tone, she cried, "How dare you!" as she vainly tried to flap her hand free.

Giving her entrapped knuckles another sly kiss, the hunter's smile broadened into a wide toothy grin and his eyes twinkled at her distress. Her voice rose as she remonstrated, "I said... !"

"Yes, yes, 'Never without your permission' my poppet," he cut in soothingly, as he finished her sentence for her. He patted her captive hand as she continued to try to pull away from him, futilely. Then winked at her once again. "But I shall have it... in time. I always do." He grinned expansively at her consternation, before finally letting her go.

She gasped and stuttered breathless for a moment at his effontry, then visibly collected herself. "Take these and gut them for dinner then!" she yelled angrily, flinging the hares at him. He caught them neatly in mid-air, then spun around neatly on one knee and stood, doing a foolish dance with them about his head, kicking like a high-steppes dancer and making nonsense rhymes.

Her companion's frown deepened and his face darkened at this outrageous behaviour. His hands clenched rhythmically, as though they held a certain neck rather than his sword's hilt.

The hunter spun off to one side of the clearing, still dancing and uttering gibberish , towards a near-by small stream. As he departed, they heard snatches of song like "Bally-ho, tally-ho, upwards and onwards!" and hearty laughter.

Cheeks flushed, the embarrassed woman pulled up her half-removed glove, trying to pretend that it had simply slipped off.

The warrior beside her growled, "I still think we should... "

She cut him off with a raised hand and a significant glance at the bushes which her over-eager suitor had dissapeared behind. Fragments of song still drifted back through the still air, despite his distance from them.

"As I said before... if he is in league with that shadowy woman, far better we have him in our eyesight where we can see what he does, rather than have him skulking about in the shadows behind us. You know what they say; 'Keep your friends close, " She lowered her voice to a mere murmur, "...and your enemies closer'."

Her companion harumphed unhappily and ran one hand through his hair. "Well, if that's what you wish my Lady," he said in a resigned tone.

"It is. And as for this business of naming sneaks. Well, what I said to her was no lie, not at all... but it wasn't the whole truth either."

Standing with arms crossed over her breasts, she faced the sounds of the hunter's distant carolling. Assuming a set expression, she muttered, "In time, we will see. The truth will out."

"Aye," responded the tall warrior gloomily, resuming his seat once more before the dying flames.

The actors: Susaan Rosebough, Gryffen Eaglebow, Ahn Onetrick.

I have taken absolute liberties with these parties, and invite their players to clarify or correct what I have written on their behalf.

[Jai_V]

Boredom drew me onto the Pioneer's Way that day. The sky was over-cast, as so often is the case in the dismal Valley of Sundren and shadows seemed longer, as if they spread themselves to hide something...or someone.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

A hin, in a Legionnaire's armor. I wasn't aware the Legion admitted hins. I wonder how often things go missing around the Legion Barracks? It's a thought I never allow myself to speak and maintain a calm, receptive, and cooperative demeanor when speaking with the officer.

Our instructor often told us horror stories of infantry out on the town for a good time being harassed by the local militia and the often back-water military-rejects that comprise such forces. They say it's never best to argue with them in the streets, as they will often garner support for their cases, if they haul you in.

So I continue to play it cool. Another hin shows up, not long after. Creepy little number...all in dark leathers with a hood and a mask. Her eyes...I know that stare. I've seen it on the battlefield in the soldiers that lose themselves to the horror of war. I see it every morning, in the mirror, looking back at me .She's a killer; brutal, cold, efficient.

"Names." It's all about names with her. She wants names. She wants the names of specific people. She tells me to find her the names. I don't want to fight the hin. You pick a fight with the hin, there's no winning for either of you. It's just a matter of who lost to what degree. The dead one lost the most.

We part ways, he slinking back into (and being absorbed by) the too long shadows, and me? Well, after all this madness, I need a drink. And that's exactly where I'm headed, now...

[Involved Parties: "Legionnaire" Adroa Belle Dearheart, "Snakeheart" Syne Jonel. I made a good-faith effort not to take any liberties with what the characters said and did.]