Strange Dinner Guests [OPEN]

[IcarusDescension]

Some OOC Notes...

This thread is open and awaiting characters, please hop in!

Strange Dinner Guests

   The tavern smelled like a mixture of spices, burnt food, and a plethora of different varieties of alcohol. All of which it contained, in addition to its humble assortment of patrons mostly in the process of gorging themselves on one or more of the aforementioned items.

All in all it should have made for a foul-smelling, raucous, den of unpleasantness. However it was the very fact that this particular tavern was always just the opposite which made it her favorite haunt whenever she came to town.

Perhaps it was the unique flavor of the regular patrons, who were unfailingly well-mannered. (For when they weren't the otherwise kindly cook, who was coincidentally the most burly giant of a man she had ever met, was quick to show them where the door was.)

Or it might have been the unique wood-cabin decor throughout with odd little touches like the lanterns hanging off the rafters which looked like they were taken from sailing vessels somewhere. Things that just didn't quite make sense together but which gave the place its unique and cozy feel. She liked places that had personality to them.

Her only lament was that the good-natured cook, for all that he kept the undesirables away, well... he just couldn't cook a good dish to save his life. Oh sure, it wasn't awful (when he avoided burning it.) However it was never exceptional.

Then again she sometimes chided herself for being unfair in her criticism. Her mother had been an incredible cook and Anacai missed her meals terribly. Unfortunately an illness of some kind had taken hold of the woman that no healer seemed able to remedy. 'An illness of the mind,' they kept telling her. In truth she knew; the woman's spirit was broken. She could see it in the eyes so dim which once flared with such passion and life.

Anacai sat at a table near the door sipping at her ale, trying not to focus on problems for which she had no solution, but rather on enjoying the atmosphere. She had done well at market, selling her entire wagon of hay and grains. The resulting coin, she hoped, would be enough to last them through the coming season.

"Always nice seeing a pretty face," said a slurred voice from over her shoulder.

She turned around to see a blond-haired, square-jawed man she didn't recognize smiling stupidly at her.

"Next time you use that line," she replied as she turned back around, "you might want to be looking at the person's face when you say it."

The man only laughed, then came around to fall into the chair opposite her (nearly continuing onto the floor.) "Now that's what I like in a woman... A little brass!"

She stared at him. "Sass?"

He hiccuped back. "Pardon?"

"You meant 'A little sass,' right?"

He blinked. "That's what I said isn't it?"

With a resigned sigh she started going over her strategy in her mind. Play sick? No, she didn't feel like retiring to her room this early. She could flag down the burly cook, make a fuss. She did so hate to disturb the man when he was working though, and there was smoke plus the aroma of a freshly burning meal coming from the kitchen...

"You know," she tried instead, "I don't mean to be rude but I'm actually waiting for someone..."

"Oh really?" The man said as though playing along with a twelve-year-old. "Like who?"

She let out another exasperated sigh. That never works. "Well, like..."

"Like me," cut in a deep gravelly voice. Suddenly there was a tall figure in a black cloak looming over the drunken man's shoulder. A white beard drifted out the front of the figure's hood and partway down his chest.

Now the first man seemed irritated. "Hey the lady and I are talkin' here pal why don't you just-"

The next thing she knew the cloaked man had grabbed the drunk by the shoulders, sent him stumbling out the front door, then come back and taken his seat, all in the space of a few breaths.

"...take a seat?" The man finished in that same deep gravelly voice. "Don't mind if I do." He pulled off his hood and Anacai was surprised to see the face of a kindly looking elderly man. Hardly someone who looked like a bouncer in his off-time.

"Umm... Thanks." She looked around, wondering how many more unusual strangers were going to invite themselves to her table before the night was through, but the man appeared to be alone and there were no others present but the tavern's regulars.

"Don't mention it," the man replied pleasantly. "All part of the job."

She rotated her head slightly to the left as she leaned forward. "And what 'job' would that be may I ask? Not to be ungrateful..."

He smiled broadly. "Not at all! And to answer your question, in this case the job would be a delivery." From somewhere beneath the folds of his cloak he pulled out a thin object perhaps five feet in length, wrapped in cloth. Placing it on the table between them with a flourish he all but beamed as he declared proudly "Your delivery, on time as promised."

Immediately he held up a hand palm-out as if to forestall an objection. "And worry not, payment was made in advance so we're even on the books!"

She stared at him for what must have been a full minute waiting for the punch-line, but he revealed no further information. In fact the pleasant smile on his face never once wavered during her scrutiny.

"Listen, I hate to be the one to break the bad news but I'm afraid this particular delivery is going to be late after all." She pushed the object towards his side of the table. "Because you've got the wrong person."

He chucked. "Oh no, quite impossible." He pushed the object back towards her.

Irritation was beginning to slip into her voice. "Look, I'm telling you: I would know if this was for me. It isn't. Now thank you kindly but please go back to wherever you came from and take this with you." Once more the object slid back to his side of the table.

"Oh would you now?" He leaned back, smiling ruefully as if she had said something both amusing and interesting. "Would you indeed? Can you be so sure of the course of fate, young Anacai? Can any of us?"

She felt as if she'd been slapped. "How do you know my name?"

"The answer is simple. I recognized your face the moment I saw you. Of course last time we met you were too young to remember I suspect. Actually I came here looking for your father. I was disheartened to learn of his death, but running into you the very same day can only be fate giving me a helping hand."

Suddenly there was fire in her eyes, conviction in her voice."If you've come looking for my father then I *know* you've made an error," she shot back.  "All of that man that was inside of me died the day he didn't come back from fighting someone else's war and left my Mother alone." She began to thump a pointed finger against the table with each sentence. "I want nothing to do with his friends. I want nothing to do with his 'deliveries.' I want nothing to do with his wars." She leaned closer. "I want nothing to do with you. Clear enough?"

He didn't flinch, didn't seem put off at all, instead he only smiled ruefully. "So like your father..." He sighed before continuing, as if trying to figure out how to explain a complicated subject to a child. "Perhaps I should back up, as I can see you weren't told of a few things that I had assumed you would have been... This has nothing to do with that unfortunate Connlaothian civil war business your father was involved in. It is simply that the previous owner of this object is dead. I was charged to bring said object, upon his death, to your father. Being his eldest child it now comes to you instead whether you wish for it or not. If you want to throw it away after our meeting is concluded it will be none of my concern -much as I think you would be a fool to do so. At this point my part in this is ended either way, it's that simple.

"I find myself lingering only out of a selfish desire to talk with you. You see I considered your father a friend, I'm guilty of that charge I'll not deny. I'm sad to hear you speak of him in such a sad light for he was always so proud of you.

"He said you inherited his... gift. That you were quite talented with it in fact. Tell me, do you still practice?"

She bit back another angry reply after processing the man's rather numerous words. "No, I haven't practiced in several years. Look, I don't mean to be rude but you're right, I don't remember you. So why don't you tell me how you knew my father and just what I'm supposed to do with this... delivery of his?"

This time his smile seemed sad. "As for your first question, I'm afraid that's a long story and we don't have the time. In answer to your second..." His smile vanished altogether. "...I would suggest you begin by simply staying alive."

A shiver went down her spine but she refused to let herself be so easily cowed. "Sounds pretty straight-forward. That it?"

He nodded and made a carefree gesture, his smile returning. "That's it! Oh, and I probably should mention that I'm being followed. I've managed to lose my pursuers for now but men such as these are not so easily foiled for long. When they finally catch up to me I must be far away from you and your new possession. It will buy you time at the very least, perhaps an escape if you're cleaver. I wish that I could give you more, but I'm afraid my part in this is done. May fate favor you, and I'm glad we had the chance to meet Anacai."

Before she could formulate a reply he had already rose from his chair and was heading towards the door in his unnaturally swift way.

"Wait!"

He stopped.

She struggled to come up with what she wanted to say next, feeling somewhat bewildered by the whole conversation. "Did you really know my father?"

The smile returned to his weathered face, and for a moment he looked at her with an intensity that disturbed her more than his talk of death. "'A selfish flower blooms amid the dim stars. Mute, it sees only the coming sunlight...'" Then he was gone.

"'While all around it grow the weeds,'" she recited in his wake, recalling the next few lines of her father's favorite poem. "'They know not to bloom having never seen the day. Silently it keeps its secret...'"



Later, resting in a small room on the building's upper floor which she had cajoled the cook into renting her for the night, Anacai sipped at another ale as she sat in a rickety old chair. Along with a plain dresser and the bed it comprised the room's only furniture. The wooden roof above her seemed to creek in response to every gust of wind that hit the building, and the compartment had only one small window.

It had gone dark outside, and the lamplight threw violently changing shadows across the walls with the passing of every invisible breeze that passed through the drafty room.

Another time she might have left that same night, pushing the last of daylight to make it back to the farm, but not on that night. She found herself mulling over the events of the evening.

Her eyes landed on the mysterious 'delivery' which sat on top of the dresser. The stranger had been telling at least part of the truth it seemed, or he had somehow learned some remarkably convincing details about her family in order to fake it.

Curiosity finally got the better of her and she went and retrieved the object, setting it on her bed before unwrapping it. As she did so she found a small note attached to the strings holding the cloth closed.

"Power cannot corrupt one true of heart," she read aloud, "but can the heart stay true?"

She tore off the note, crinkled it, and tossed it to the floor. "Crazy old codger. Still trying to play mind games?" After removing the rest of the cloth and string she was half expecting the man to have slipped her an umbrella or something equally absurd. Instead she found the most beautifully decorated sword she had ever seen. (Not that she had seen a great many, but this one was clearly special.)

The hilt was ornately carved with symbols and figures, large enough that someone with hands considerably larger than her own could have held it in a two-handed grip. The guards were dark and curving, simple and yet elegant in their form. As for the sheath (for the blade itself was still sheathed,) it was even more decorated than the hilt and made out of a material she didn't recognize. It was solid and almost metallic but not quite...

For several moments she could only marvel at it. The sword would fetch a handsome pile of coin, she realized, but if it really was such a precious family heirloom did she really want to sell it? The answer came immediately: Yes. If there was anything the strange conversation with the old man had made clear it was that whatever this sword was it came with trouble attached, and she wanted none of it. There was a simple life waiting for her back home. A family who needed her – space she could breathe. Simplicity. What possible use would she have for a sword anyway?

Wondering what the blade itself looked like beneath its sheath, she reached out and gripped the hilt.

Suddenly a shock ran through her that was almost physical and yet something else. She would have sworn she could visually perceive it: a wave, traveling outward in all directions from the point of contact – a dark ring. Even the shadows were turned a darker shade of black by its passing. Though she had little experience with such things she felt immediately certain it was some strange kind of magic.

She flinched at the sensation, dropping the sword.

Shuddering, she tentatively reached out her hand again. A moment later she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, having felt nothing. "Who's crazy now," she scolded herself. That old man's mind games must have gotten to me...

[ChocbreadMarshmallow]

A tingle. A pulse. A surge of life.

Gentle spasms brought the pile of steel to live, his joints creaking and squeaking as the slumped warrior regained posture. It was close - And somebody of magical gift had touched it. A feeling of familiarity filled him. The feeling unnerved him, as it could mean that his old foes have finally gotten hold of it. Karvai struggled to his feet, his energy slowly seeping from his shell. He needed to be quick - It could be in grave danger. However, it was close, afterall.

It took him some time - Minutes, hours maybe? - But it called him to a tavern. The surrounding land seemed familiar, as if he knew this place from another time. Yet his memories didn't last as of late, his mind became as battered as his steel shell. Pictures surged through his mind, yet they made no sense. Memories flashed before his eyes, but they seemed as if they were somebody else's. It was as if he dreamt - But he knew that he was all too real. That knowledge was what kept him sane, what kept him strong. He existed and would make sure that it could not harm others until it would finally have the decency to rust and break. Until that day, he would walk the land and protect all the living from it.

Heavy steps led him to the front door, where he didn't bother to knock. For some reason, he knew it would be open at this hour. The thought of this lackluster security both amused him, as if it was a long-running inside joke. At the same time, it terrified him as his thoughts returned to it. Inside, there was a lone innkeep cleaning the bar. The man seemed confused at the sight of Karvai's battered armour.

"W-We're closed for the night. No more rooms for rent", the innkeep stuttered. Karvai just stared at the man who was completely strange to him. He seemed - Misplaced in this tavern. As if he had replaced who was supposed to be here without the warrior's knowledge. "I don't care about your rooms", the warrior said, his voice a quiet, eerie noise, "and judging from your front door, you're far from 'closed'."

He turned towards the stairs. "I'm just here to make sure everything is alright." A metallic tingle followed each of his steps as he stomped up the stairs, eventually reaching a door where it's call was strongest. Again, he didn't bother to knock or announce himself. In fact he barely twisted the doorhandle and almost shattered the door with brute force as he entered the small room and inside, he found a redheaded woman. And it lay next to her - The cursed sword, beautiful and terrible all the same to him. He turned his head to her. "Who are you and what are you doing with this cursed thing?"

[IcarusDescension]

Anacai had laid out the sword on the bed and was admiring its unsheathed beauty. The intricate carvings turned out to run the entire length of the blade and brought to mind some sort of ancient runes. While she had not the faintest idea what they meant she did get the inexplicable impression they were more than just decoration.

She wasn't sure how long she had been staring at its dark and hypnotizing beauty but her examination was disrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside. It didn't concern her though, for hers was not the only room upstairs and no doubt it was simply some drunken patron finally making his way to bed.

Which, she decided, was what she should be doing. No sooner had she come to the conclusion however then the door to her room burst open in a decidedly violent manner. The sudden motion and cracking of wood made her jump, but what really made her blood run cold was what stood in the now open doorway.

There before her stood a giant of a figure covered from head to toe in nothing less than full plate armor, complete with a sword that looked quite capable of cleaving two men in half with a casual swing. Not a glimpse of skin was visible beneath all of the metal, the face shield on their helmet had been lowered and it looked as if they might be wearing another layer of chain mail beneath their plate.

Far from some decor which had been neatly polished and sitting on display, this man's armor (for she assumed it was a man beneath all that) looked old and well used. As if he had walked from battle field to battle field without ever removing it, and was fully prepared to walk onto the next - ready to shed blood at a moment's notice.

"Who are you and what are you doing with this cursed thing?" Spoke the armor. The voice sounded wrong somehow, too hollow to have been uttered by living vocal chords. A strange mist seemed to be seeping from the joints in the armor...

Her mind seemed to have suddenly gone blank, her voice had fled and her limbs felt unresponsive. For the space of several heartbeats she felt sure she would die mutely in that very pose, but then from somewhere buried and forgotten a calm began to spread across her mind. Your fear will try to take control, her father's voice seemed to echo in her mind. Don't let it. Focus on your breathing, move through a kata; your body *will* obey your commands...

She took a deep breath, her fingers twitched. Her limbs felt a little weak but her body was obeying her commands again. No other weapons being nearby, she grabbed the sword next to her and backed up a step towards the window, taking a defensive stance. Two-handed grip on the sword, legs shoulder-width apart, weight mostly on her back foot as she had been taught.

Thoughts tried to break into her calm. She was going to die, they told her. She was ridiculously outmatched. One unarmored woman against a giant of a man in full plate? On top of that her stance felt off and her movements stiff - her body had practiced these forms many times but years without practice had dulled what instincts she had developed. On top of that the sword felt too heavy for her, and she doubted she would be much good with it.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she tried to keep her voice stable as she replied "It was given to me... Who wants to know?"

[ChocbreadMarshmallow]

Another surge. Karvai shuddered as the magic pulsed through him, his armourset made cluttering noises. He could smell the sorcery in the air, faintly, but such a distinct aroma he could immediately tell. The familliar feeling he had had when he first woke returned. "You... Are a sorceress?", he asked, more to himself than to her. Absent mindedly, he took the sheathed blade from his back and positioned the scabbard in front of him, across his chest.

"I am the protector of this forged curse you hold in your hands. I will not ask again - Who are you and what are you doing with this cursed thing?!", his voice suddenly boomed, "and don't dare lie to me, woman! If you do..." He left the sentence unfinished, but pulled the giant blade out of its scabbard just a bit to reinforce the gravity of the apparent threat.

[IcarusDescension]

Her eyes narrowed at the armored man's mention of her magic but she said nothing. That he had somehow been able to detect her magic was the least of her concerns at the moment. The beast of a sword now slid partway out of its sheath on the other hand, now that had her complete attention...

His voice seemed perfectly clear now -loud and booming. Had she only imagined its wraith-like quality before?  Doubting her own sanity was not adding to her calm and she pushed that thought aside as well.

"I'm no one - just a farmer..." she said neutrally, hoping he didn't notice her voice quivering. "And this 'forged curse' is mine. It came to me..." She doubted that giving any information to this threatening stranger was a good idea but she was grabbing at anything to say in order to stall the man and with her mind trying to go blank on her again it was too difficult to come up with a cleaver lie. She took another backward step towards the window, never turning her attention from the man. "And since I was warned that someone might be following the trail of this sword with hostile intentions, you'll understand if I don't believe you're here to protect anything or anyone..."

Taking one more step, she studied the man to see if he made any attempt to close the distance between them, or if he was content to let her back herself further into the room. Desperately she hoped that he would stay and guard the door, believing a second-story window would make too dangerous an escape route. (Which to an ordinary person, she knew, it almost certainly would.)

[ChocbreadMarshmallow]

A sound reminiscent of a disapproving snort ringed from the armoured warrior and what seemed like barely half a motion, he pulled the sword from the scabbard and rushed through the room, ramming the battered blade into the walls next to the redheaded woman and thus blocking her escape. In another motion too quick for a mortal being he grabbed her by the wrist and twisted it around. "I have only hostile intentions for those who took this sword unrightfully. You are acting awfully suspicious about this - So I decided you must be one such thief. Unhand the blade or-"

He suddenly paused in his speech and the armour seemed frozen like a statue. Karvai felt all his life seeping through his hand where he held the redheaded woman restrained, a sense of familiarity replacing the cold, sorcerous tingle he usually felt that kept him alive. Slowly, cautiously he eased his iron grip and almost like a guilty child caught stealing pie he stepped away from her. "Brother...", he murmured, his voice a barely audible whisper.

"Who are you?", he asked again, "who is your father? Where do you come from?"

[IcarusDescension]

For a walking hulk of steel armor, she would have expected the man to be slow. As it turned out, the reality of the situation was quite the opposite. The man in the armor moved with incredible swiftness, and seemingly in one brief blur of motion he had closed the gap between them - the gargantuan blade thrust directly into her intended escape route.

Her mind had barely had time to register the event before a large metal hand had her by a wrist and was twisting -hard. She yelped as the hand was torn painfully away from its grip on her weapon. Her other hand still maintained a grip on the sword but given the circumstances she knew it to be little more than an act of defiance. Clearly she was no match for this man in a duel of broadswords.

He's so fast! She thought, her mind scrambling desperately for some way to make him let go his painful grip. The smothering blanket of fear with which she had been grappling started to gain the upper hand as the man spoke in that booming voice of his. His speed, his strength, the very aura about the man... He seemed somehow inhuman...

I'm really going to die, she though with sudden clarity. All because of some stupid sword. In spite of all my efforts, my father's blasted war will drag yet another Uwailes to the grave...

Then, inexplicably, the armored man just... let go. She gasped, taking a quick step back, and was stopped abruptly by the wood of the wall behind her. He whispered something, but she was uncertain what.

Again he demanded to know who she was. Again she wanted to lie - to say anything to make the man give up and leave her alone. Yet the man, if indeed he was human at all, just seemed so unstoppable - and her mind was still far too scattered to come up with some brilliant lie.

Then she thought again about his words and another avenue began to coalesce in her mind. If she could not defeat the man, perhaps she could at least keep his focus away from her mother and brother. She didn't want to die, but trying to resist the man did not seem to be helping her cause. Perhaps giving him what he wanted could... Curse you father, she spat in her mind as she prepared to take a desperate gamble, for the sacrifices you've forced upon your family.

Her hands were still a bit shaky as she looked at them and the shiny decorated weapon she held. "My name is Anacai Uwailes. Only child of Aedan and Barbara Uwailes. Daughter of a murdered father, and a mother lost to grief. I was raised on my parents farm, and now I have no home. Do with me as you wish - but know this: I am no thief. A man of whom I have no memory gave this sword to me on this very night, claiming to have known my father. He spoke of having been charged with delivering this sword to its heir, but offered nothing concrete. Just a poem."

Then she stared the armored man defiantly in the eyes, feeling as though in facing and even accepting her own death she had tapped some inner well of strength. Indeed her hands were no longer shaking as she held the blade. But instead of taking up the sword to fight again she tossed it dismissively to the ground at the man's feat. "Take this... forged curse... as you aptly named it and go if you want it so badly. I have no interest in throwing away my life for some trinket of my father's."

It had almost all been true. Everything except for the parts about being an only child and her implication that her mother had passed. Even the part about having no home was true in a way. There was no chance she would be returning to the farm now and risk death following two steps behind her. Later she was sure the realization would break her heart - but at the moment she was somehow numbed to its pain.

[ChocbreadMarshmallow]

Uwailes

That name rang, resonated and vibrated in his being like a spell. Faint memories passed his mind - Memories of his brother vowing to safeguard the sword, just as Karvai had. Memories of slumber and being awake and each generation, his family name "Uwilen" slowly had changed. So this is what the line is called now..., Karvai concluded, slowly stepping up to Anacai and eyeing her up and down. Uwailes..., he repeated in his mind, each syllable vibrating in his soul like a silverbell. It seemed to energise him, as if the words were magic to his spectral being.

"No...", he finally replied after what seemed like a breathless age of silent staring. "You are ment to have this. I feel it in my... Heart." He gripped his own sword with both hands and, with a mighty pull, he freed it from the wooden wall and sheathed the battered blade. "And, by my heart, I am sworn to help you protect the sword from unworthy hands."

Karvai pulled a chair over and seated himself, the wood quietly disagreeing with the iron suit's weight placed upon it. "I am Karvai Uwilen - And it seems I am your Great-Great-Great... I don't know how many 'Greats' there are going to be. But I'm your Granduncle - A few generations removed, that is,", Karvai explained himself, his voice now clear and human, only distorted by his armour's metallic echo. "This sword... I didn't just use flowery words when I called it a curse, you know?", he continued, "it devours the essence of those it touches. I was the first to touch it - And now, I am bound to it. It sustains me, but only so it can feed longer. The magi of the time could all but seal the sword with my being so it could never consume another soul." For as long as I exist, that is, did he finish the sentence in his mind.

"Your ancestor - My brother - Vowed to help safeguard the blade so I could lead my pursuers away. But... Over the years, the blade changed owners, nevertheless, and it took me great pains to retreive it everytime. Now, it has reached you - And the blade woke me. It led me to you and now I can protect you", a sound like a relieved sigh echoed from the steel shell, "and you can help me protect the blade from those who want to use it for evil."

[IcarusDescension]

Anacai closed her eyes and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding under the disquieting stare of the armored giant. I'm not going to die...

Then she studied the man, trying to decide what to say - or if she even believed him. Finally she decided she had little choice for the moment. Indeed she could come up with no motive as to why he would be lying to her. She was no one important, knew nothing important, and if he'd wanted the sword he could have just taken it.

After seeing him make no move towards the -apparently- magical sword (nice to know at least she hadn't been imagining that) she picked it up off the floor and quietly put it back in its sheath.

"You have a strange way of protecting me," she said bitterly, massaging her wrist after setting the weapon down in the corner. Part of her knew she was probably being unfair. He had, after all, explained that he mistook her identity and her intentions at first. None the less she was coming down off adrenaline, fear, and anger, and the comment had slipped out.

[IcarusDescension]

[OOC: Trying to spice things up with a few NPCs to get the action rollin' here, let me know if you think it's a bad idea...]


Meanwhile, on a deserted road on the countryside some distance from town an older man in a black cloak with a long white beard trotted on his horse away towards the mountains. He didn't urge his horse on with any life or death sort of urgency, but he seemed clearly in a hurry. Only two humble saddlebags spoke of any worldly possessions.

A breeze whipped at his hood and beard, which shone in the white rays of the moon as they bathed the night in an eerie light. His mouth moved, absently uttering words that did not penetrate the night's sounds or the pounding of his horses' hooves.

All at once he reared his horse to a sudden stop. Someone was standing in the roadway - a lone figure also dressed in a dark cloak. Hidden by a bend in the road's path they had not been visible until the last second.

The figure didn't move, didn't say a word, just stood there still as the dead of night for several moments until with clear deliberation it began walking towards the man and his horse in a slow and somehow ominous way.

For its part the horse nickered nervously, and its rider looked about - only to see that three more figures had appeared out of the darkness and the brush from three other directions such that he was surrounded. They were all dressed the same, all moving with the same quiet purpose, as if they had been silently waiting for him, which he suspected they had been. An ambush.

The bearded man reached a hand into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a steel blade. With his other hand he grabbed another object from his belt, tossing it to land between himself and the first of the cloaked figures - the one who had been waiting in the road.

The object exploded with a sufficiently impressive boom and a blinding flash of light, leaving a column of smoke and a hold of blasted earth in the road in its wake.

"I don't wish trouble, but I can assure you I come prepared for it." The warning was uttered with confidence as the bearded man reached towards his belt as if to draw another of his explosive -whatever it was. Everyone stopped.

However the man on the roadway standing before the smoke and hole in the ground only grunted dismissively before throwing his own empty hand out in a gesture that might have seemed ineffectual at first glance.

Yet the horseman's arms were instantly thrown out to his sides as if grabbed by the hands of an invisible giant and he began to slowly be lifted off his horse. He grunted as if in pain.

"I don't fear your petty tricks," the man on the roadway said, his voice strangely absent of emotion. "The sword. Give it to me."

Still suspended in midair, the bearded horseman awkwardly dropped his sword. It fell to the ground with a loud clang.

"Not that one," the other man replied. "You know the sword of which I speak."

Casually, as if talking over wine, the man hanging in the air replied "I haven't a clue my friend, I'm afraid that's the only sword I own. Though if it means that much to you I'll throw in my gold signet ring! Well, truth is it's not really gold it's wood I just had it painted but you'd never know in the right light I-" He broke off and growled in pain as several of his fingers were suddenly bent back at unnatural angles until loud snapping sounds began to be heard.

"This doesn't have to be painful," continued the interrogator in that same calm matter-of-fact voice. "You know what I want."

Despite the pain the old man managed a smile, though it seemed somewhat sad. "A selfish flower blooms amid the dim stars. Mute, it sees only the coming sunlight..."

With a twist of the other man's hand the bearded man felt his body twisting at further unnatural angles - pulled and tortured by invisible forces. He grunted in pain again but forced himself to continue, though his voice was strained. "While all around it grow the weeds. They know not to bloom, having never seen the day. Silently it keeps it's secret..."

More twisting. He felt his bones breaking, felt flesh pulled apart. His eyesight spotted and he felt himself on the verge of passing out from the pain. It became hard to breathe. "For weeds do grow and darkness spawn, still shall its beauty show. The truest faith it has to know, it's darkest before the dawn." Then the blackness took him.

The man let his hand drop and the corpse fell back on top of the horse, which was startled and bolted. The four figures let it go, seemingly unconcerned.

"He didn't have it with him," one of them said. "I would have felt it."

"No," the first man spoke again. "Nor did I think we would get anything out of that one. I had to try though. It's for the best I think, he died with honor this way." He turned towards one of his three companions. "You did well, we were able to intercept him just as you promised. That's a most useful gift you have... He's given it to someone or hidden it it seems, but we are close I think. We must retrace his steps. There is a village some distance from here down this road, I think we should pay a visit..."

All four heads turned back the way the man had come, down the deserted road on that dark night, towards an innocent farming community in which sat a humble inn...