Spirits of the Earth

The mordecai had fought well. Graven stood over the man's bullet-riddled corpse and wiped his knife clean. It had taken some hard fighting to lure his enemy into position where his men could fire and kill him. It was a shame that mordecai bodies were somehow immune to his magic. Otherwise he would have made a good servant.

He heared footsteps approach him from behind and looked over his shoulder. Orson, the leader of his once-dead bodyguards, looked down at the mordecai dispassionately. "What do we do with the body?" he asked.

Graven sheathed his knife and said, "Cut off the head and leave it at the base of the mountain as a warning. Maybe it'll keep them off our backs for a while." He clapped Orson on the shoulder. "How many is that this year now? Seven? Eight?"

"Ten," Orson replied. "Three mordecai among them."

Graven shook his head. "A lot less than last year. Maybe they've finally given up, the bastards." The rest of Graven's once-dead were making their way down from their shooting positions towards them when Orson looked sharply towards the nearby bend in the trail.

"Someone is coming," he said, drawing his flintlock pistol. The other once-dead aimed their rifles, but Graven held up a hand to keep them from firing. Whoever came around that corner would find themselves staring down the barrels of half a dozen firearms.

Fawn had been given little intel before beginning the hunt.  All she had been told was that this man, this creature perhaps, was able to raise the dead and used his powers to devour souls.  A formidable foe, for certain, but very little inspired fear in her these days.  It had been a long time since she last felt her heart palpitate at the notion of a job.  Those were years ago, though, when she was just a fledgling criminal gradually discovering her budding prowess. 

She stood in front of a crudely fashioned mirror, that was propped up on an equally crude desk, a commodity not often found in an inn of such poor quality.  Mirrors were rare, but she had managed to procure one during her travels and never parted with it.  This mirror meant more to her than it would to anyone else.  It was where her transformation took place.  Without it, she would never see the visages she created that so cleverly fooled the masses.  Standing in front of her mirror and shifting was part of her regimen, now, a very integral part.  She stood, naked, pale as a cool cup of milk, eyes a crystalline ocean blue with an unnatural diamond sheen when set against the light, and pale, nearly white blonde hair that fell to her tailbone.  She was a beautiful creature in her own right, though she never could see it.  To her, her natural form was a nuisance, unnecessary and bold.  In fact, she endeavored to be quite the opposite.  She constantly worked at becoming more and more difficult to distinguish among her fellow creatures to avoid ever being recognized.  She never used the same disguise twice, lest she somehow become recognizable.

Today, she would morph into something beautiful and sublime.  A pale of complexion, raven-haired, blue eyed huntress, seemingly unknowing of the area; a simple wanderer.  Devilishly beautiful, the kind that most men would desire.  It never hurt to be pleasing to the eye, even if she never had intentions to seduce anyone.  She found that the more beautiful one is, the more accepting others become of you, and in this particular situation, she needed to seem as trustworthy as possible.

She allowed her form to let go of its current shape, the colorless skin suddenly filling like watercolor paint with fleshly tones.  Her hair grew even longer, the silver fading and then deepening into a charcoal black.  Her eyes assumed the appearance of piercing human eyes, long black lashes framing orbs of azure blue.  Her eyebrows darkened and thickened, her lips and cheeks gained a rosy flush of color, and she watched as the rest of her body acquired the shapeliness and hues of a lovely girl in her twenties.  That was enough, then.

She donned her leather hunting outfit and gear and was sure to hide a dagger in her boot and between her shoulder blades.  She outfitted herself with weapons necessary for the hunting of animals and humans alike.  After finishing a meal of cheese and ale, she realized the place the sun occupied in the sky and saw that it was finally time to leave.

The trek wasn't long, as she had taken a room at an inn that was within the city closest to the mountainous range Graven called home.  It took her two and a half hours to finally track her way to the grouping of men; at least, they looked like men.  Though, they had a zombie-like glaze over their eyes.  They were otherwise quite alert and alive, except for that twinge of experience in their gaze, as if they had seen death.  These were the creatures she had been warned of.  What they didn't realize was how long she had been watching them.  As alert as they were, they weren't expert enough to hear the pitfalls of a practiced assassin.

Until...  Her foot hit a patch of dry leaves that had been hidden beneath a layer of wet dirt.  Blast!  She cursed beneath her breath, and made peace with the fact that, whether she liked it or not, this was her entrance.

She held her hands up by her shoulders and stepped out from behind a bush and a slender tree that had provided cover.  She had her bow over her shoulder as if she were in the midst of hunting and had suddenly stumbled upon them.  She straightened her shoulders and calmed herself.  It seemed she was unfazed by the mass of firearms that were pointed at her.  She nodded to Graven.

"Do you really think you need all of those guns to take me down?  I'm flattered."  She smirked and awaited a response.

Graven blinked. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but he certainly hadn't expected a beautiful young woman to emerge, look at his once-deads' guns as if they were toys, and speak to him so flippantly. Nevertheless he managed to maintain his composure, not letting a flicker of his surprise reached his face. He made a hand motion, and his men reluctantly lowered their guns. "Whoever you are, I think you've wandered into the wrong part of the mountains."

"Who sent you? Was it the Church?" Orson snapped. It was a somewhat ironic accusation, as he still wore the priestly clothing he had died in when he had come into the mountains to try to kill Graven years ago. He strode up to the girl and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Tell us now, or you will suffer the consequences," he said, not angrily, but matter-of-factly, as though her death would be nothing to him but stepping on a bug.

Before the girl could respond, Graven put a hand on Orson's shoulder and made him step back. "You'll have to forgive my friend," he said in a neutral tone. "He gets a tad overprotective after someone has just tried to murder me." He looked the huntress up and down with his pale eyes. She was gorgeous, sublime. Although part of that beauty might have to do with the fact that he hadn't been with a woman in over forty years. Nor would any woman in Connlaoth want a monster like him.

The thought made him take a step back and half turn away from her, staring out at the valley in the distance. "I'm sure you've heard the stories about the man who dwells in these mountains," he said. "The one who partakes in unholy magic? Who raises the dead and steals childrens' souls? If I were in your position, I'd be shaking in my boots."

A Priest, or so it seemed, shook her violently and manhandled her as if she were a rag doll.  He demanded to know if she was of the church.  So peculiar.  She normally would have destroyed him then, easily and swiftly, but her plan was not to make an enemy of her true target.  She allowed him to do as he wished, unable to contain a slight smile as he tried to intimidate her.

Graven's eyes spoke more than his words.  It wasn't uncommon for men to be distracted by her feminine form.  It was, after all, part of the role she played.  Sometimes playing the innocent, sometimes seeming worldly, it never mattered.  As long as she looked the part she could play whatever role she wanted and usually get away with it.  Men were so simple.

Once the priestly ogre of a man let her go, she watched Graven callously purvey the valley below.  She listened, knowing full well who he was but never letting on.  Instead, she acted as any traveler might.  Oblivious.

"You steal childrens' souls?  I'm afraid I haven't heard that about anyone.  I only just arrived, but if you're in the business of soul stealing, you might want to set your sights on something more worth while than a child."

She glanced cautiously back at Orson, awaiting another bout of anger from him.  She couldn't help it.  A flippant tongue came naturally to her, and in this case, was necessary to bring down Graven's walls.

"I suppose I would be shaking in my boots if I had a reason to, but I haven't heard anything like what you've mentioned and I feel as though, if you really were all that terrible, you wouldn't be sparing my life at this moment."

Graven winced as is the girl had slapped him. Orson stood nearby, his eyes fixed on the huntress with murderous intent, but he payed his second no mind. Someone who had never heard of the rumors against him? Who didn't even know who he was? It seemed impossible. But the world was a big place, and perhaps she was new to this region. Or it could be a trap. The idea occurred to him, of course, but what kind of assassin would casually stroll up to a supposed killer and monster and start running her mouth?

She was pretty. She didn't seem to have a fear of magic. And she didn't know who he was. Every instinct within him screamed that he was being foolish. He should kill the girl, not out of malice, but simply because she could reveal his location. And yet, another voice gave him a different idea.

"I don't," he said finally. He turned back to her. "Steal souls, that is. That's one of the more exaggerated rumors about me." He motioned for his men to move forward. "My name is Graven Vries, and unfortunately you've trespassed into my domain. I can't let you go. Not yet, at least. Not until I'm convinced you won't reveal any information about me to the Church." It was a flimsy argument, of course, but what other reason would make the girl stay up in the mountains with him? "You'll come back to my home until I decide what to do with you." He looked her over once more, met her eyes, then abruptly turned away and stalked up the trail. Two of the once-dead seized her, binding her wrists with strong rope before leading her after their master.

Fawn was now suddenly effected by his words.  He was a dangerous man, she knew, and his lack of emotion and his will to detain and possibly kill her put her on the defense.  She was alert to everything around them, in case she needed to make an escape.  Perhaps, she had played her hand too quickly here.  None the less, she was still alive, and he didn't seem in the soul-stealing mood.

As they passed the many bodies of the mordecai she memorized how they had been slain.  Much could be said about a man's character simply by the way he conducts battle.  Graven had his minions do the dirty work, which told her that perhaps he was weaker than he pretended to be.  Or else, he was too arrogant to allow himself to bloody his own hands.  Time would tell what she would find out about him once they reached their destination.  Perhaps, she wouldn't have long to find out anything, and if so, then she deserved the death that would await her.

Still, no fear shown on her face as she was ruthlessly pushed along the trail to wherever they were going.  She would go quietly, demurely, allowing them to believe she was just a wandering woman on her own, and would pose no real threat.

One thing remained on her mind during the journey.  Why would he lie to her about stealing souls?  If he really wanted to remain a threat to her he wouldn't have put up this farce.  It was peculiar, but a man like him would be hard to understand at face value.

It was only a few minutes of walking until they arrived back home. Home, for Graven and his men, was a series of caves carved into the side of the mountain, cleveerly concealed from view by a natural ridge of rock. Fawn's escorts unbound her hands and forced her to crawl on her hands and knees through the extremely low entryway, Graven doing the same thing ahead of her. After a moment, they emerged into the entryway.

For the inside of a cave, it was surprisingly clean and comfortable, with several carved stone seats and a bearskin rug on the floor. The rough walls held a few sconces for torches, but they were almost unnecessary thanks to an opening high above that allowed natural sunlight to pour through. The light reflected off of bits of mica embedded in the walls, making them sparkle like a starlit sky. Graven sat in a roughly carved stone seat and exhaled, clutching at his ribs. Orson brushed past Fawn and went up to his master.

"Broken?" he asked as he crouched by Graven and prodded his ribs gently. The animancer hissed and waved him away.

"Bruised," he said. "That last mordecai packed a punch, I'll give him that." He shook his head as the pain slowly faded, then looked over at Fawn. What in hell was he going to do with her? What madness had possessed him to bring her here? "Stow her in one of the spare rooms," he said finally. "Give her food and water if she asks. I'll be in to speak with her in a moment." Once he had composed himself and knew what exactly he wanted to say to her. Only once they had vanished deeper into the caves did he realize he hadn't even asked for her name yet.

The once-dead responded with swift, uncompromising obedience, leading Fawn down the hallway by force if need be. The cave system was quite extensive, apparently, consisting of a rather large kitchen and dining area and several long hallways with curtained-off doors on either side. The guards shoved her into the room at the far end of the hall, where she would find a bedroll, a bucket, and a low chair and table. "Do you need food?" One of them asked, his glazed eyes completely unfeeling as he asked the question in a dispassionate tone.

Fawn glared at the bucket and spit in it.

"What I need is freedom." she demanded.

She made her protest loud enough for Graven to hear.

Fawn wondered at what he was planning to do with her.  He was capable of almost anything with the powers he possessed, but luckily, she had her own magics to show him to perhaps help him recognize her innocence.  She had to play the part of a mutual magic user.  To her, Connlaoth was simply a place to pass through, or at least, that was her character's feeling about it.  She is aware magic is forbidden, but is too much of a rogue to worry herself with their beliefs.  She is simply passing through.  And Graven interrupted her hunting.

"I'm not hungry." she bitterly said to the male zombie before her.

Then, her voice changed.

"Curious." she smiled and was barely loud enough for Graven to catch, "I wonder why he doesn't have any women around."

Graven reluctantly allowed Orson to provide him with gauze to bandage his ribs, though he winced at the once-dead rough medical treatment. Once he was ready, he started to make his way down the hall towards the girl's room. He had heard her shouting about how she wanted freedom earlier, much to the annoyance of everyone else in the cave. Hopefully, by the end of their talk, he might be able to grant her wish. Get her out of his hair for good.

"Curious. I wonder why he doesn't have any women around." Graven paused outside of the room as he heard those words. Her voice seemed different. Lower, more seductive. Suspicion leaped to his mind immediately, but he forced it down. Of course the girl would try to seduce him. She probably thought that was the only way she could survive. Graven's undeserved reputation tainted his relationship with everyone.

Steeling himself, he passed through the curtain and said, "You make it sound as though women are some kind of collectible trophy. Though to be fair, at least trophies wouldn't complain so loudly." He turned to the guards. "Leave us." They complied immediately, exiting the room and heading down the hall. When their footsteps had faded, Graven started pacing back and forth across the room, wondering what to ask.

Finally, he said, "Let's start simple. What is your name? Where do you come from? And what in hell were you doing on my mountain?"

Fawn smirked a little at the joke he made at her expense.  If anything, she at least had a sense of humor.

"I was simply remarking on the lack of feminine quality in your little regime.  Your male servants are a little rough."  She rubbed her left shoulder while eyeing Orson.  "My name is Fawn.  I have no idea where I come from, and I didn't have a clue that this was your mountain."

Nearly all of it was true, and she never used her true name, or even the same name, when making contracts so she felt safe enough to use it here.  Honestly, she had no idea where she came from.  She had been an urchin as a child and grew up learning the ways of the streets, how to survive anywhere.  Perhaps the truth beneath her words would further assist her lie.

"Connlaoth is too citified for me.  I'm used to taking to the forests, mountains, glades.  Besides, they don't much like people like me."  She lifted her palm to the air and a flicker of fire produced itself at the center, licking at the space above and then crawling along her hand, "Had I stayed in the city too long I might've been at the mercy of a different threat."

The blueish flame crawled up to her elbow and then seemed to slink and dissipate into the nook of her arm.

"But as luck would have it I found you instead."  She gave him a mocking smile, "So here I am.  Lucky as always."

"I'm not exactly awash with willing females flocking to the mountains," Graven said. "The only women who come up here are adhara, female mordecai. And for whatever reason I can't raise the corpses of mordecai or adhara. Something to do with their negation of magic, I think." The tone of his voice left no doubt to Fawn that he didn't exactly enjoy having to kill women.

At her explanation of her name and origin, he snorted. "Fawn, eh? A nice name. And I know you're not a spy at least. A spy would have come up with a better lie than that." He listened to her speak a bit more. Then she raised her hand and caused fire to spring up. Graven took an involuntary step back before willing himself to hold his ground. Clearly, if she had wanted him dead, she could have killed him right away.

"I'll be damned," he said once the flames had faded. "I have to say, I never expected to run into another magic user in these parts." This meant that he had no reason to keep her here anymore, really. There was no way she would go to the authorities, in case she revealed herself. But he didn't want her to go. Suddenly it came to him that they were standing close together. Her curves and sheer, physical nearness made him feel as nervous as a schoolboy. He looked over her shoulder, staring at the wall, up at the ceiling, anywhere but at her body. "Well, I suppose that proves you won't turn me in. However, it's getting a bit dark. Why don't you stay the night in here? You can leave in the morning, if you wish."

Fawn realized he wasn't exactly subtle, even if he was trying to be.  Maybe it was her years of experience with men or perhaps it was his lack of experience with other live individuals, but he wanted her, and she knew it.  She imagined it would be quite lonely living with the raised dead corpses of other men, and in turn would dampen one's knowledge of social graces.  She had such a curiosity about those men...  She knew they were un-dead but she couldn't betray that.  She needed to have some semblance of ignorance.  She felt a sudden pang of pity for those men.  Men who had all been destroyed in combat against Graven only to become his unknowing slaves.  None of this was betrayed by her features, however.  She remained cordial and teasing with Graven as she had been.  She needed to reach beyond those walls he put up and tear them apart from the inside.  She needed to become his friend, and perhaps more, if she were to complete her mission.  Sometimes, she thought, the journey to death takes more time than expected.  She felt that this might be one of those times.

She smiled a little at him, aware of their closeness and the change of his breathing.  He was an attractive man, early thirties, a little weathering of someone with experience.  She had been with plenty of men and had learned that she appreciated many different features.  However, she had to admit, Graven was particularly good looking in her opinion.  Maybe it was the story in his features.  Every person's face told a story, but his... He had quite a tale to tell.  She would discover it all before she killed him.  She collected the stories of everyone she killed.  It helped her to remember each and every one of them.

"Well, I could use a bath, and I guess I'm hungrier than I thought.  You were in the way of a decent hunt, so I guess that's the least you could do."

(For some reason when I imagine Graven I keep seeing Sir Jorah Mormont from Game of Thrones lmao  Also, I changed my description of Graven because I looked at his profile and realized I had described him incorrectly.)

(Lol. Hopefully he isn't as creepy as Jorah was with Daenerys)

Graven shrugged. Her request seemed fair enough. "Alright, then. I'll have one of my men escort you to the baths. Then you can have some food in the mess hall." He turned away, the image of her bathing hovering about in his mind, and left the room. "Orson," he said, somewhat surprised to find his second standing right outside. The man had changed out of his tattered priest's clothing, which was only worn these days to intimidate trespassers, and was now in a simple wool shirt and trousers. His bare feet must have allowed him to approach unnoticed.

Graven wasn't very surprised by that; Orson had been incredibly stealthy in his old life, so there was no reason for that to change now. "I want you to show miss Fawn where the baths are," he said. "Clear out anyone else inside, and make sure no one enters until she's done." He could afford her that bit of privacy, at least.

Orson's slightly glazed but sharp eyes met Graven's. "I don't trust her," he said softly. "She is hiding something. We should kill her."

Graven snorted. "Do you know what I just saw, Ors? She conjured up fire. She's a magic-user. There's no way she'd turn me in to the Church, or she'd risk being killed herself." He held up a hand to stall further questions. "Just do what I ask, alright? She'll be gone in the morning, most likely, and then we'll never have to think of her again." And with that, he brushed past the once-dead and made his way back to his own quarters.

Orson stared after him for a moment before turning and entering Fawn's room. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, feet planted firmly on the ground. "I know you're hiding something," he said evenly. "Be warned; one wrong move, and I'll kill you."

(Oh, I don't think Graven's creepy :-)  I like him!  I think it was because I had just watched an episode of GoT with Sir Jorah)

Fawn had been kneeling down to leave some of her things in the room they had given her, when Orson interrupted.  Her kind eyes met his and she smiled a little, almost as if she pitied him.  She sighed heavily and stood up.

"It must be exhausting protecting someone else's life when it is constantly under threat."

She dusted her hands off and walked toward him, "I understand.  I'm someone knew, a threat.  I'll be on my way, soon enough, but Orson... have you ever thought that maybe your master needs a little companionship other than his men?  A friend?"

She waited for him to lead the way to the baths without expecting an answer and extended a hand to communicate that she was ready to move on.  She couldn't tell if Orson was simply overprotective of his master and unaware of how right he was, or if Orson truly had a keen enough eye to see right through her facade.  She had an inkling that it was the former, but she had to be on her toes to proceed forward with any sort of success.

The once-dead man's eyes held nothing but hostility and suspicion. "I don't get exhausted," he said. "Once we are resurrected, we need no sleep. The rooms we have are provided merely for privacy." His expression darkened. "And I doubt you are the kind of 'friend' he needs. You're a distraction, nothing more. And t his entire situation seems a little too contrived to be a coincidence. I won't allow you to catch us off guard." Without another word, he turned and led her down the halls to the baths.

Those baths were another small wonder of this place. In fact, Graven had made his home in these caves precisely because they connected to a small cavern with a natural hot spring. The room Orson led her into was larger than any other in the cave system, and was filled with steam. The hot springs bubbled merrily in the middle of the room, a large, shallow pool fed by a waterfall from far above. The pool looked big enough to hold the population of a moderately sized village, and Fawn had it all to herself.

Orson made his way back to the door. "I'll be on guard outside," he said, in a tone which told her I'll be right there if you try anything. "There's no other way in or out, unless you feel like climbing a hundred feet of sheer rock. Once you're cleaned up, there are towels in that alcove over there, and fresh clothes. Don't take your time. We'll be having supper shortly." Having spoken his peace, Graven's second ducked out into the hall and stood with his back to the springs, though he listened intently in case Fawn tried to sneak up on him.

Fawn was in awe at the architecture of this place.  It was magnificent and massive, the steam from the hot spring wafting along the ground making it look like something from the prehistoric era.  She slipped delicately out of her leather hunting outfit until she felt the warm air greet her skin.  Slowly and cautiously she stepped into the hot spring, allowing her body to gradually adjust to the heat.  It was wondrous, a luxury not afforded to most people.  The rumors about Graven always left her with the feeling that he lived like a cave man in the mountains.  She had expected nothing more than a small alcove in the side of the mountain, but what Graven had created here was a dwelling far more grandiose than what even some wealthier people could afford.  She wondered how long he had lived here.  They said he was older, but she knew he couldn't be more than a couple years past thirty.  She pondered this as she slid her entire body into the silken warmth of the water.  She also wanted to know if he really did steal souls or if that truly was an exaggeration.  She submerged her head beneath the surface of the water, her raven hair becoming a long ream of silk within the water.  She brought her head back up and took in a breath, running her fingers through her hair and traveling toward the water fall.  Fawn stood up and curiously looked behind the fall, then stepped into the pouring water and laughed a little at the ticklish feeling it gave her.  She slipped back into the pool for a bit and once she felt clean and refreshed she stepped out of the pool and took advantage of one of the towels awaiting her.  Though no one was watching, it was truly a sight to behold her shapely, yet slender form, the work of a master artist.  She had grown to think of shifting as an opportunity to refine her talent, and refine it she had over the last several years.  She dried her body and reached for the clothing that had been provided.  She realized as she touched the fabric that this must have been another woman's outfit at one time.  She grimaced at the thought that they might be reused clothing from a kill.  With a sigh of resolution she lifted the clean garments and began to dress herself.  It was a simple white dress which fit her form exquisitely, the tailoring of it drawing tightly below her breasts and around her waist.  The sleeves were short and complimented her slender arms.  The dress fell to her feet as she was just a little short for it.  Gathering her leather gear, she stepped out to appear beside Orson.  She smiled and ran a hand over her slender stomach.

"I'm famished. Where is the supper you speak of?"

If Orson felt any lust or desire at the sight of her, none of it showed in his expression. He simply said, "Follow me," and led her down to the mess hall Fawn had passed when she was first escorted to her room. The clatter of plates and utensils was already audible as the pair emerged into the wide, tall cavern where long stone benches and tables stood for the men to eat around. A large fire crackled in one corner, a massive cauldron of stew bubble over it. Most of Graven's men were already seated and eating. Graven himself sat with them, as if he were their equal and not their master. But when he saw Fawn, he froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

She was a vision. Gods only knew where she had found that dress, but it conformed to the contours of her body exquisitely, revealing the curve of her breasts and hips, and its crisp white color contrasted with her dark hair. Seeing their leader's expression, the once-dead around him suddenly found another table to sit at, leaving him alone, staring at Fawn. He recovered quickly and started eating again, waving Fawn over to sit across from him.

"I can see--and smell--that you found your way to the baths," he said dryly, trying to salvage his dignity by resorting to sarcasm. "Where did you get the dress by the way?" Mordecai and adhra came to scour Graven's mountain at least five times a year, and he didn't exactly keep an inventory of every item they took in his mind. Perhaps he had simply forgotten about that particular dress. The thought of who its former owner might have been sobered him up quickly, turning his half smile into a dour frown.

Fawn watched the men filter to different tables, leaving Graven alone for her to accompany him.  Her walk as she approached was light and lithe, as if she were accustomed to treading delicately to avoid alarming her prey.  However, in this situation, Graven had no idea she was out for bigger game.

She settled across from him and smiled at his crass comment, then turned it around, "So the lavender oil I use is noticeable after all.  It's such a faint scent, sometimes I wonder if it's worth using at all."

She settled the bundle of her leather hunting outfit next to her and folded her hands in her lap.

"It seems one of your men must have found it for me." she reached up and ran her hands along the side of her breasts and down to her hips, as if to smooth the fabric, "Should I change?"

Her eyes traveled from her own form to his face, and she let her hands settle at her sides gripping the stool beneath her.

"Actually, I don't care what you think." she snidely commented, "If anything you should care what I think.  I am your guest, after all."

Her eyes ran around the length of the ceiling and around to the furnace and the men sitting away from them, gazing at her surroundings.

"This is a beautiful place you've made.  How did you accomplish this by yourself?  Honestly, when you said I should accompany you to your home I expected something far more indigenous than this."

She figured, her turns of flippancy and interchangeable kindness would begin to win him.  A fearless, gentle creature with the confidence it took to survive on her own.  That was what she was, anyway.  It didn't take much acting on her part.  She always felt it best to be herself when getting to know someone.  It was easier to speak the truth and act the truth than to try to remember a string of lies.

Graven had to hand it to the girl; she was good, to be able to match his verbal sparring. He opened his mouth to answer her question about the dress, to tell her that he really didn't care either way, when she cut him off by saying that she didn't care what he thought. The abrupt turnaround made him laugh. "You're not like other women, are you? Or have females gone collectively insane in the last forty years?" He asked jokingly, inadvertently dropping a hint as to his age. If he could remember back forty years, he must be far older than he appeared.

He acknowledged her praise of his home with a shrug. "I didn't make this place, actually. Trust me, if it were up to me to make my own shelter I'd have frozen to death long ago. Most of it was already formed. The hot springs and the main caverns are natural, I think, but the hallways and rooms were carved out long before I found this place. Probably some kind of smuggler's den that was abandoned" He looked around the room. "Although I suppose I've cleaned up the place pretty well."

His stew finished, Graven pushed the bowl away from him and leaned back, observing Fawn's movements with feigned boredom. "So tell me, as one mage to another; how exactly does your magic work?" That was the only topic he knew for certain they could both share, and discussing it was part of his plan to get her to stay. If he could convince her that living here was better than hunting on her own, she might stay with him. For a while, at least. He just needed to know what she liked and disliked, what made her tick. He had to convince her that they were alike.

Fawn, for all of her complaints about starving, was suddenly not eating much.  She realized her folly and picked up a spoonful.  Graven ate quickly, she observed.  Most men did when not bothered by the social graces others lived by.  She observed, however, that he seemed eager to converse with her, to get to know her.  This was positive for her, and she had to give it to him; if she were alone for so many years, forty years?  And she had met someone for the first time who shared her gift...  She would be eager to see them stay, too.

She responded to his remark about the collective female race being insane with a laugh.  It wasn't always necessary to have a retort.

She ate a little bit and listened, then furrowed her brow a bit.  Forty years?  He kept alluding to this number.
For the first time since they had met, she was looking him over, taking in every detail of his build, his skin, the fabric of his shirt...  She wasn't subtle about it, as she wasn't really subtle about much of what she thought.  He was a handsome man, but this incongruity between his body's age and the length of his life bothered her.  What was he, exactly?

When the subject of magic came up, she turned her head a bit, "You know, I really have no idea.  I think about something, an element of some sort, and I become capable of wielding it.  I haven't had any formal instruction, only the little parlor tricks I learned by myself."

(Sorry, I had to go back and fix it)

"Conjuring flames from nothing is a pretty good parlor trick," Graven countered. "You may not have had formal training, but I'd be willing to bet you've got plenty of experience with using your magic. Self-taught, like me." The compliment would hopefully flatter her (and hopefully it wouldn't be too obvious that he was trying to do so), and would also open up the conversation for her to ask about his magic if she wished. Maybe if she got to learn how he did what he did, she wouldn't believe the stories about him. Then again, maybe it wouldn't make a difference. The meal was almost over already, and the others were beginning to file out of the room. Only Orson and one other remained, flanking the door and keeping an eye on the two mages, though from far enough away that they couldn't hear the conversation unless they began shouting.

Fawn glanced about the room and found that most of the men had gone, save for two.  She hoped she wouldn't alarm the two guards, Orson and the other man, by getting up, but she rose from the table and slipped over to the chair next to Graven.

"We don't need to be so formal." she said, and lifted her hand to the water cup that Graven had been using.

She dipped her forefinger in the remaining liquid and ice crystals began to form over the top, then through another layer and another.  Once it was frozen entirely, she pulled her finger back and smiled.

"If you could show me what you do...  I would be forever in your debt.  If I could learn to broaden my skill..." she stopped.

For years and years she had been alone, herself.  An assassin, a whore, a thief...  People like her didn't get to make friends, let alone acquire any formal training for themselves.  She knew how to do little things here and there, but to project her fire outward or to not only change the direction of the wind but the weather...  These were things she had only hoped to do one day.  This was her chance to learn something more about her innate abilities.

"Would you be willing to share what you know with me?"

Graven hid it well, but he was both immensely and slightly uncomfortable when she came to sit beside him. Seeing her turn the remainder of his water into ice was another shock, but once he was thankfully prepared for. "Well, I guess I'll have to get a new cup," he said, setting it down.

At her request, he paused to think. After a moment, he said, "I'm not sure there's much I can teach you. From what I've seen of your magic so far, it seems to be external. That is, you manipulate the world around you. My magic, animancy I call it, is very different. I manipulate the life energy found in all living things." He drew his dagger, not to threaten her, but simply to demonstrate. "You see, I can't even do most of my magic without a long, straight piece of metal to conduct the energy. I can do some basic healing on my own, but with this dagger I can do so much more."

"I can draw the life energy out of other living things, and bring it into myself. It extends my lifespan, and does a few other useful things. If it's a strong or magically talented person, I get a lot more energy." He smiled grimly. "That's where the rumors about me stealing souls comes from. If such a thing as a soul exists, I've never been able to find it, but I suppose draining a person of their life energy amounts to a similar thing. I can also gift this energy to others. That's what Orson and the rest are." He indicated his guards by the door. "They aren't zombies. I give them a new life, with no memory of their old one, and let them choose what to do. They can stay with me, or leave to live on their own back in Connlaoth. Most of them choose to stay with me."

"So you see, I doubt I could show you much about magic. Unless you have some kind of internal magic that affects yourself that you haven't shown me." Graven kicked himself mentally as he spoke. He was supposed to try and convince her to stay, not give her reasons to leave! She would probably be terrified by what his powers could do, or worried that he would try to drain her. He was a fool to think anyone would accept what he was.

He was starting to relax a little bit with her, though, for him relaxed was something entirely different.  To get him to trust her even more than he did now, she needed to dig deeply into his insecurities and show him that she wasn't afraid.  Which, for now, she wasn't.

Fawn listened as he spoke about his magical abilities and how he could utilize the life force of one person to animate a dead corpse.  It made sense, why he hid and why people hated him so much.  Connlaoth was fearful of magic, and had she revealed her ability to use magic to her advantage they would have killed her rather than hired her.  The unspeakable things he did needed to be answered for, but she was beginning to feel as though there was more to the story than what she had been told by the few fanatics who had hoped to have her kill him.  She never made a kill without knowing it was the right thing to do.  The morality of this particular situation was starting to blend together making it hard to see the right choice.

"Well, you have a focus." she pointed to the blade, pressing her fingertip to it and drawing a drop of blood.

She touched her fingertip to her tongue and sucked on it for a minute, then continued, "Your blade is your focus for the magics that you perform.  Perhaps, that's what I need."

Though she had grown up uneducated, she had taken it upon herself to learn to read and from then on, to read every book she could get her hands on.  Some of the books were instructions on how to learn to use magic, however, most of those were for people who weren't naturally gifted for it.  She had found that very little of what she read helped increase her abilities, but some of it did take, allowing her to do the things that she was able to this day.

"I don't know.  Maybe I'm just making things up." she laughed a little, "I don't really know what I'm talking about."

Graven was somewhat startled when Fawn pricked her finger on his dagger, sending a tiny thrill through his body as he absorbed a tiny bit of life energy. "Careful," he warned, wiping her blood from the blade on his trouser leg. "This thing's dangerous in my hands." He sheathed the dagger and thought for a moment.

"You might be right about needing focus," he said finally. "It's a good idea. But you would need to forge your own. I made this dagger after years of practice, learning how to attune it so it resonated perfectly with my power. I believe I could teach you how to forge a focus, but you'd need to make it yourself." He had no idea whether that was actually true, but it seemed reasonable, and it would get Fawn to stay for at least a little while. "Of course, you'd have to consign to live with a bunch of savage cave men for a long time. Maybe you'd rather just move on."

She had to admit, when she had pricked her finger a surge of energy seemed to be sucked from her, like a backward breath.  He was more dangerous than she thought, having assumed that his weapon wouldn't work without his consent, but it seemed the focus was forever linked to him and his necromancy.  It was an extension of him now.

What he said seemed to make sense, even if she wasn't sure herself if it was true.  Fashioning a focus would bide her time while she plotted her next moves, and might even prove fruitful in aiding her magical powers.

She laughed at his comment about himself and his men.  Fawn's eyes twinkled and she fought the urge to take one of his hands in hers.

"It so happens I need a place to land while I'm here.  I don't know how long I can stay but I would be happy to oblige your invitation."

She turned in her chair and yawned heavily, stretching her arms above her and then glancing back at Graven, "You wouldn't happen to have extra accommodations for me to sleep in would you?  Although, I wouldn't be averse to spending the night with the men."

She realized what her comment sounded like and quickly corrected herself, "They don't seem like a threat to me, is what I mean."

Her cheeks reddened a bit as she realized her faux pas.

Graven felt the corners of his mouth tug upward in a small smile as Fawn laughed. She had a lovely laugh, clear and bright. Stretching her arms above her head also resulted in her accidentally--or perhaps purposefully--thrusting her chest towards him slightly, the fabrics stretching around her breasts. That, combined with her comment about not minding spending the night with his men, made him laugh in turn.

"I understand what you meant," he said, still chuckling slightly. "But don't worry. Everyone has their own private rooms here. And besides, the people I resurrect don't really have a sex drive once they come back. Hell, they hardly even need sleep." He could invite her back to his room, but it seemed a bit hasty to ask a woman to bed when he had known her for only a few short hours. So instead, he motioned to Orson and said, "Please escort the young lady back to her room, if you will. I'm going to grab some shut-eye myself." Orson nodded, and Graven stood up to go.

It was hard for her to tell, now, if she was losing her charm on him or if he was just very good at hiding his feelings.  Perhaps, all of these years with the once-dead had helped him to grow callous toward natural human needs and desires.  Nevertheless, she was going to win him as a friend if nothing else.  Tomorrow would bring a new day and new opportunities.

She stood and gently took Graven's hand within her own to catch him before he left, "Graven...  I know you didn't have to invite me to stay... Thank you."

She reached up and gently placed a kiss at his cheek, careful not to startle him.  She then allowed their hands to part slowly, and she began to follow one of the men to her chambers.

Desire flooded Graven's body as she grasped his hand and kissed his cheek. He hadn't been kissed in over forty years. He had certainly never expected anyone to treat him this way again. He had thought he would live his entire life feared and shunned by everyone he met. In fact, the reason he hadn't proposed that Fawn come to his bed was because he was afraid she would refuse out of fear or, worse, accept because she was afraid of what he would do if she refused. But now she had shown that he didn't frighten her, and that she desired him. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her upper arm gently as she passed, keeping her from leaving for a moment.

"Of course, if you...that is, would you prefer to, perhaps, share my room for the night?" The words were awkward, fumbling, and although he kept his expression neutral, Graven could feel the heat flooding his cheeks. Gods, what was he doing, stammering like a nervous young man would to his first lover? The fact that some of his men were there to see it only compounded the embarrassment. But he still held on, looking at Fawn intently, waiting for her response.

Quote from: HighLordMhoram on August 01, 2017, 06:16:17 PM
Desire flooded Graven's body as she grasped his hand and kissed his cheek. He hadn't been kissed in over forty years. He had certainly never expected anyone to treat him this way again. He had thought he would live his entire life feared and shunned by everyone he met. In fact, the reason he hadn't proposed that Fawn come to his bed was because he was afraid she would refuse out of fear or, worse, accept because she was afraid of what he would do if she refused. But now she had shown that he didn't frighten her, and that she desired him. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her upper arm gently as she passed, keeping her from leaving for a moment.

"Of course, if you...that is, would you prefer to, perhaps, share my room for the night?" The words were awkward, fumbling, and although he kept his expression neutral, Graven could feel the heat flooding his cheeks. Gods, what was he doing, stammering like a nervous young man would to his first lover? The fact that some of his men were there to see it only compounded the embarrassment. But he still held on, looking at Fawn intently, waiting for her response.

Fawn's eyes met his as he approached her, taking her arm in his warm hand.  He had such large masculine hands that her slender arm was enveloped easily.  She smiled a small bit, a knowing smile, and her eyes shown her desire for him.  So he wasn't immune to his carnal nature.  She was proud of him, in a way, for taking such a bold step in asking her to his bed.

She put her hand over his and took it, watching him from beneath long dark lashes.  She narrowed her eyes a bit to study him better, and reached the other hand to his face.

"I imagine I would be much warmer with you."

She ran the back of her fingers over his cheek and then let her hand return to her side.

"Show me where you sleep." she said gently, her voice a caress in itself.

Graven nearly collapsed with relief at her acceptance. "As you wish, milady," he said, trying to regain some of his former sarcasm, but the desire in his voice overrode everything else. He led her from the room, passing in between the two bodyguards to get to the door. Fawn could practically feel Orson's suspicious gaze boring into the back of her neck as they made their way down the hall.

Graven's room was much more luxurious than the one Fawn had been temporarily imprisoned in. For one thing, there was an actually bed in the corner instead of a simple bedroll. How he got such a large piece of furniture into the caves was a mystery, but it looked soft and inviting after such a long day. A writing desk sat against the wall across from the bed, complete with ink and parchment, but it didn't look as though it had been in use very recently, and there even seemed to be a stone basin in the corner that served as a sink. There was also a small alcove that served as a closet, which Graven made his way over to. He pulled off his shirt, revealing his bandaged torso, heavily scarred and muscular. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said, going over to the sink and splashing some water on his face, the muscles of his back rippling as he scrubbed roughly with his hands.

Quote from: HighLordMhoram on August 01, 2017, 07:59:26 PM
Graven nearly collapsed with relief at her acceptance. "As you wish, milady," he said, trying to regain some of his former sarcasm, but the desire in his voice overrode everything else. He led her from the room, passing in between the two bodyguards to get to the door. Fawn could practically feel Orson's suspicious gaze boring into the back of her neck as they made their way down the hall.

Graven's room was much more luxurious than the one Fawn had been temporarily imprisoned in. For one thing, there was an actually bed in the corner instead of a simple bedroll. How he got such a large piece of furniture into the caves was a mystery, but it looked soft and inviting after such a long day. A writing desk sat against the wall across from the bed, complete with ink and parchment, but it didn't look as though it had been in use very recently, and there even seemed to be a stone basin in the corner that served as a sink. There was also a small alcove that served as a closet, which Graven made his way over to. He pulled off his shirt, revealing his bandaged torso, heavily scarred and muscular. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said, going over to the sink and splashing some water on his face, the muscles of his back rippling as he scrubbed roughly with his hands.

Fawn lightly gasped as she entered the room, taking in the quaint simplicity of its decor.  She had followed him in slowly, coyly, and let her fingertips run along the edge of the desk.  A bit of dust collected at her fingertips and she ran her hands together to rid herself of it. She wondered why he didn't use his desk much, or if he ever had.  She thought that he could have written quite a story about his life... could have left something behind for the world to read once he was gone.

A part of her didn't want to think of what she had to do.  She wanted more from him, more information.  The fanatics who had created the contract for her were already wrong on so many levels, she had to make the decision based on her own understanding of him.  Tonight, he would live, and she would make sure he felt more alive than he'd felt in decades.

She watched his musculature as he washed, her cheeks reddening deeply with desire.  She ached to reach out and touch him, to instigate their love making, but instead, she left it up to him.  Fawn wanted Graven to work for what he wanted.  She wanted him to have the confidence to take her for the first time, to show her what kind of power he could hold over her.

She settled on the bed and leaned back onto her hands, watching him intently.

"You're hurt, badly." she said quietly.

Graven shrugged off her concern, though he winced as he did so. "I'll live. Trust me, I've had far worse injuries in the past. Still, that last mordecai this morning was a tough bastard. I only beat him by luring him into range of my men's guns." He turned towards her, giving her a good view of the broad, scarred plain of his chest and abdomen. He walked up and sat beside her on the bed.

"I hope you'll forgive me if I...under-perform tonight. These injuries may not be serious, but they are something of a handicap, and I'd rather not waste the energy required to heal it. And there's also the fact that I haven't done this in over forty years." As he spoke, he reached out and caressed her cheek, savoring the smooth, flawless feeling of her skin, the warmth of her flesh beneath his cool fingertips. He hadn't touched someone like this since his exile began. "You know, I'm half worried that that mordecai ended up knocking me unconscious, and any minute now I'm going to wake up. You seem too good to be true."

Quote from: HighLordMhoram on August 01, 2017, 08:37:20 PM
Graven shrugged off her concern, though he winced as he did so. "I'll live. Trust me, I've had far worse injuries in the past. Still, that last mordecai this morning was a tough bastard. I only beat him by luring him into range of my men's guns." He turned towards her, giving her a good view of the broad, scarred plain of his chest and abdomen. He walked up and sat beside her on the bed.

"I hope you'll forgive me if I...under-perform tonight. These injuries may not be serious, but they are something of a handicap, and I'd rather not waste the energy required to heal it. And there's also the fact that I haven't done this in over forty years." As he spoke, he reached out and caressed her cheek, savoring the smooth, flawless feeling of her skin, the warmth of her flesh beneath his cool fingertips. He hadn't touched someone like this since his exile began. "You know, I'm half worried that that mordecai ended up knocking me unconscious, and any minute now I'm going to wake up. You seem too good to be true."

His words were gentle and honest.  Fawn felt a sudden pang of guilt fill her.  What was it about him that she couldn't place?  Something in his manner, as if he'd been hurt so much that he was afraid to be himself, at least, until now.  She reached up to grasp his hand in hers and kissed his fingertips, one by one.

"It's not a performance, Graven.  It's something far more complex than that." she reminded him, and pressed her hand to his chiseled abdomen just where the bandage was, "But just to make our night that much more pleasurable..."

She began to heal him.  As she saw the bruising melt away she began to pull the bandage from his torso.  She tossed it aside.

"I'm no better than any common woman you might find." she confessed, looking down for a moment, "I'm not as good as you think, anyway."

Her thoughts went back to her days sleeping with men of far less quality for a few pittance to survive.  Her cheeks reddened at the thought.  Now, it was part of a different profession.  Yet, it was all the same to her.  She was a whore, just a higher priced whore.

She sighed, attempting to forget that which she thought about daily.

"But thank you, anyway."

Graven's eyes widened slightly in surprise as she healed away his injuries. "It seems you were holding out on me," he said, touching his chest to find it whole and unharmed once more. "I thought you had only external magic. I suppose there's more to you than meets the eye."

At her self-deprecating words, he simply chuckled. "What, and you think I'm going to be any better? If we both go into this apologizing for not being good enough, neither of us is going to enjoy ourselves." He leaned in and kissed her, savoring the feeling of her soft lips against his. His hands were suddenly at work, clumsily unbuttoning her shirt. "To be honest," he murmured to her as he slid his hands inside her shirt, running them over her slim waist and up towards her breasts, "I haven't done this in so long, there's very little you could do that would disappoint me."

Fawn felt a wave of goosebumps and intense heat throughout her body as he touched her skin, his cool hands quickly adapting to her warmth.  She reached up to help him with the rest of the clasps, her breasts blossoming now that the tension of the fabric was gone.

"Oh, I didn't say I wasn't good at this..." she whispered against his lips, "This, I happen to be very talented at," and she gave his bottom lip a light nip.

She helped him slip the rest of the fabric off of her shoulders, watching him unpackage her like a rare gift.  She stood in front of him and wiggled out of the rest of the dress, leaving it in a pile at her feet.  She was a sight to behold, and she knew it.  One thing she was never short of was confidence, at least, in this area of her life.

"I'll make sure you remember this night." she smiled, her eyes alight with desire, and she pushed him gently back onto the bed, crawling on top of him and letting her long raven hair fall over her shoulder.

She hovered there and pressed her lips to his gingerly with care, deepening it only to withdraw and begin kissing the edge of his jaw, the curvature of his neck, his chest, making sure every part of him received the attention she felt he deserved.

Graven feasted his eyes on the sight of her unadorned body, roving over every inch of it. "I dare say I haven't seen anyone so beautiful in all my life," he said. "If you'll excuse my melodramatic romanticism." Then she pushed him back onto the bed, and all words left him.

He ran his hands through her silky hair as she kissed her way down his body, each place where her lips touched seemingly burning like fire. "I'd say that 'talented' is understating things a bit," he murmured, groaning with pleasure as she neared his waist. There, he stopped her for a moment, urging her to come face-to-face with him again. "Let's take this slow," he said, kissing her as he unbuttoned his pants. "I want to enjoy every minute of it." He put a hand behind her head and deepened their kiss, placing his other hand on her thigh and slowly, gently traveling up to her waist, then her breasts, his calloused fingers taking their time exploring every curve they found on the way.

(fade out now?)

*fade out*

Time passed slowly for them, as if time was being generous enough to allow them this luxury of intimacy uninterrupted.

Fawn laid quietly on her side on top of the sheets, unabashed and satisfied.  She looked a bit like a child, her hands held together beneath her head and her knees close to her.  She watched him with candle eyes as he breathed, following the rhythm of each inhale and exhale.  Her own breathing began to match his, her heart beat beginning to follow suit.

Who was he that he so gently regarded her body yet, he could murder innocent people and talk of it as if it were part of his daily routine...  Her eyes widened for a minute as the hypocrisy of her thoughts occurred to her.  Were the people he killed really innocent?  They hunted him because he was a magic user.  In truth, he was constantly fighting for his life here.  And if that was the case, weren't they one in the same?  Wasn't she just as guilty as he for what she did?  Certainly, what she did was far worse if he was simply acting out of self-defense.  But then, why did he take the life force from people?  Why did he do it?  That was the only offense she could not forgive, unless there were more to it than what she knew.  Why resurrect the dead to invite them to live a life of emotional absence and lack of humanity, serving his purposes?

These thoughts occupied her mind as she gazed at him.  A sigh escaped her and she reached a small hand out toward him to caress the skin of his chest.

It had the best night of Graven's life, and now he lay on his bed, fully sated for the first time in decades, with a gorgeous, intelligent woman on top of him. He felt his breathing slowly return to normal as the exhilaration of what they had just done faded. He reached up and put his hand over hers as she began to caress his chest. "Stop that," he said in a light tone. "I'm ticklish there. You'll make me laugh like a damn child." Spontaneously, he sat up a bit and kissed her again, still holding her hand. "You know, it's funny," he said. "That mordecai attack yesterday wasn't planned. They always attack on the first day of every other month, like clockwork, but this time they came less than a week after their last attack. I've never seen that before."

"But without that attack, we might never have met." He kissed down her neck, nibbling her skin gently where her neck met her shoulder. "It's almost like we were fated to come together." He chuckled. "Or maybe that's more of my romantic melodrama. Who knows?"

Before Fawn could get a chance to respond, Orson's flat voice came from just outside the door. "Master, it's time."

Graven felt a chill go down his spine. He knew what Orson meant by that. If Fawn saw what he was about to do--what he had to do to stay alive--what would she think of him? He slid out from under her abruptly and got to his feet. "Sorry," he said, avoiding her eyes as he began to get dressed. "I have something important to do. I'll be back in a short while." He buttoned up his shirt and made for the door--but not before grabbing up his knife from the desk.

Fawn enjoyed the attention he was so willing to give.  Goosebumps followed wherever he laid his lips, where his breath passed over her skin.  She was going to reply something to the effect of liking the romantic side of him, but she never had the chance.  Orson's voice -- which was getting to be more of an annoyance all the time -- broke through and suddenly, as if it had struck a nerve, Graven became vague and a little jumpy.  She watched him don his clothing and she sat up, holding the blanket over her chest.

"What is it time for?  Where are you going?"

Her questions were lost on him as he hurried out of the room, but not before curiously grabbing his knife.

"What is he..." she stopped herself, dread filling her stomach and causing it to churn nauseatingly.

Something wasn't right.  He was hiding something from her.  She quickly slipped behind the wall that Orson was guarding so that they wouldn't be able to see her, and she allowed her form to shift into an invisible shade.  Deftly, without a sound, she followed Graven, far enough to allow room for her to dodge his men and stay out of their way as to not rouse their suspicions.

Graven made his way down the halls to the specially prepared room he kept for just these occasions. He didn't enjoy what he was about to do, but it was a necessary thing for his survival. He approached another door, flanked by two of his men, and passed through without a word. Inside was a bound, unconscious man.

He was clearly a soldier, as evidenced by his uniform. He must have been one of the ones who had attacked Graven yesterday. He hadn't realized his men had managed to capture one alive. He stepped further into the room, knowing that Orson was right behind him. Neither of them spoke; this scene wasn't new to them. Graven approached the man, knelt, and drew his knife.

All it took was to pierce the man's skin at his shoulder, drawing just the tiniest bit of blood, and Graven began to feel the man's life energy flow into him. The soldier was young, late twenties at the most, and the energy in his body would be able to sustain Graven for at least half a century. His body sang as it fed upon the victim's life force, gobbling it up bit by slow bit. It felt good, as always. It felt as though some strength he had never known was being tapped into, some hidden reserves uncovered. Despite his exhausting day, he felt refreshed and young. The only thing that kept him from grinning at the sensation was the sight of the man he was killing to get it.

Fawn slipped into the room with them, and in horror she watched as Graven began to drain the life force from a young soldier.  The change in Graven was palpable, the sheer euphoria he felt emanated from him.  So, this was how he kept himself young, alive.  Why?  Why did he have to take the lives of others to keep himself young?  What was this obsession with youth that he had?

Solemnly, she stepped out of the room and returned to their chambers.  Her heart was pounding with the anxiety of the moment.  She slipped onto the bed and shifted back to her former self, a look of pain visible in her features.  As she sat on the bed she brought the blankets to her chest, just under her chin, and awaited his return.  She would have many questions for him upon his return, and she would make certain he would give her answers.

(Sorry it's so short, I'm trying to type and focus with distractions around me lol)

(No problem, I totally understand.)

When Graven was done, he sheathed his knife and told Orson to dump the man's body at the base of the mountain with the others. If anyone cared about them, their relatives could go collect their remains and give them a proper burial. If not, then their bones would serve as a warning to other would-be mage killers. That job done, new power singing in his veins, he made his way back to his room.

Despite the reflexive exhilaration that came from absorbing life energy, his expression was haggard and drawn as he reentered his room. He crossed to the washbasin, splashed cold water on his face, and dunked his head into the water without looking once at Fawn. When he resurfaced, her shook his head, sending droplets of water everywhere. Finally, he turned back to Fawn, and the look in her eyes was all he needed to see that she knew what he had done. He didn't think she'd followed him, of course; she could have simply deduced what he was doing through logic if she had to. "I see you have questions," he said flatly, somewhat coldly. It was jarring to hear that tone, when just a few minutes ago he had been so warm and even kind. "Ask them."

Fawn was struck by the apathy in his voice, as if she meant nothing to him suddenly.  She could tell there was a storm of emotions inside of him and it comforted her to know that he at least wasn't pleased with himself.  She felt sorry for him, somehow, though she saw what he did as purely evil, but that was why she had her questions.

She brought her head up from its downcast position and watched him for a long while without saying a word.  The silence was deafening as all she could hear was her own heartbeat.  What was wrong with her?  Why did she feel so confused suddenly, as if her morals could be skewed in the presence of this man.  She should hate what he did, hate him for it, but all she could see in his face was pain.

She rose letting the blanket drop and walked toward him deftly, without a sound.  She rose her hand to his cheek and pushed a lock of blonde hair behind his ear.

"Why do you do it?" her voice a gentle whisper.

There was no use in pretending she didn't know.  He would make his own assumptions about how she surmised it, but it didn't matter now.  She knew, and she needed to know that there was a good reason behind what he did.  She needed to know his actions were justified.

Graven clenched his jaw and looked away from her. That wasn't enough; she was still too close for him to think clearly. He turned away from her and strode over to the door, only to turn back and face her again. "Why? So I could live. Why else? Do you think I live in the mountains by choice? Do you think I don't need my once-dead to defend me from mage hunters who come prowling up here under Church orders? It takes an unbelievable amount of energy to sustain my men. Some of it I get from animals, like the deer we ate in the stew last night. Most of it I take from men who came up here to kill me. Men who would be dead anyways. Men who deserve to be dead."

Without realizing it, he had raised his voice until he was half-shouting. He dug his nails into his palms and forced himself to relax. "I'm not proud of what I do, but I'm not ashamed of it, either. I do what I have to."

Fawn stood watching him from across the room.  He was poised to leave, it seemed.  She hoped he wouldn't.  She needed to understand more of what kept him in this cycle of death.  She didn't try to step toward him this time, allowing him the space he so clearly needed.  She needed space, too.  She was beginning to worry that her judgment was being shrouded in feelings, and this wasn't something she was accustomed to during a job.  More often than not the people she was assigned to kill were people far more horrible than he, with malice in their hearts.  She had seen a bit of his heart, and she couldn't be convinced that he was like all the rest.

She suddenly felt small, standing like a child across from him, naked, seemingly defenseless.  She wondered if her prying would anger him further, if he would close himself off to her.  He didn't realize what was at stake if he couldn't make her understand.  They had only known each other a few hours, but had known each other so deeply even still.  She couldn't blame him if her questions infuriated him.  She just needed him to let her in, to let her touch the part of him he kept hidden.

"Graven... please try to understand how all of this is foreign to me.  I've never encountered anyone like you, ever."

One of her hands went to play with the ends of her hair just above her breast.

"Why can't you leave the mountains?  I could help you leave."

She desperately wanted to reach for him, to touch him, but she remained still, unsure of what he needed at that moment.

She didn't seem angry or disgusted by him, but somehow her pity was even worse. Graven looked away, fists clenching and unclenching as if he wanted to hit something. Instead, he rasped, "Where would I go? Serendipity? Essyrn? Where in the world would accept a man who raises the dead and steals the very life from peoples' bodies? At best, I'd be a pariah. At worst, I'd be hunted the same as I am here."

His voice turned softer, but somehow more firm. "In any case, Connlaoth is my homeland. I haven't gone beyond its borders in all my life, and I'll be damned if I let the Church push me out." He seemed...deflated, somehow, as if venting his anger and frustration had weakened him. "If you want to leave, I won't stop you," he said. "But I won't go with you. When the Church does manage to finally kill me, I want to die on Connlaothan soil."

So, he would choose this as his fate.  He was stubborn.  Born a Connlaothian and a Connlaothian he would stay.  What he said made sense to her, however, and she understood the predicament his path in life had led him to.  He was right.  Wherever he went, unless by some miracle it would be different, he would be a pariah at the very least.  He would always be considered a monster, wherever he went, despite how hard he might try.  And if Fawn could relate to anyone, it was a person stripped of their dignity and good name.  She had a choice to make, and she didn't have much time.  She could reveal herself to him and risk never seeing him again, possibly risking her own death, or she could follow through.  If she didn't make her choice within the next few days, they would attack again, coming after her as well as him.

Suddenly, her heart tightened at the prospect of losing her opportunity to know him, to explore the emotions surrounding him that had begun to bloom within her, and the prospect of betraying him.  That was what this had become, had it not?  Betrayal.  Now, she regretted more than anything having ever signed the contract to destroy this monster in the hills.  At first, it had seemed so simple.  All she had known about him before they met was a tale of exaggerated evil.  She could understand the people of Connlaoth exaggerating out of lack of understanding.  She could forgive them, to some degree, for their ignorance.  But could she forgive herself?  Had she been steeped in the sick of her treacherous profession for so long that she had lost her moral compass?

If she didn't tell him, the people of Connlaoth would grow suspicious and begin attacking again, as they had when she first met him.  Now, it seemed that in order to save his life she had to give up her own to him.  A feeling of apathy swam through her. It didn't matter, anyway, did it?  She was destined to have a short life with the choices she had made.  The world would be better off without her, she imagined.  So, what did it matter if he chose to kill her or exile her?  She would lose him or her life, there was no other choice.

So, with the momentary resolve she could muster, Fawn took a few steps forward and extended a hand out toward Graven.

"Thank you for sharing what you have with me.  I think I understand now.  I owe you my honesty, in return."

(By the way, I changed how her natural form looks, so if it doesn't match the original description that's why)

Fawn had always been self-conscious about her original form, and it showed in her face.  Her eyes were dewy with tears that threatened to spill over, and her face was downcast, solemn.  The body he had known so intimately just an hour or so ago began to change.  The curves and slender nature of her body remained the same, but her skin began to pale to become more porcelain, her dark blue eyes changed to an oceanic light blue reflecting the light around her to give them the appearance of having flecks of diamonds in them, her hair curled and lightened dramatically to an almost white pale blonde.  Somehow, she had become even more extraordinarily beautiful.

She awaited his hand to take hers, uncertain if he would.

"As you said before, I've been holding out on you.  I'm a changeling, a shape-shifter, and this...." she paused, embarrassed, "This is truly me."

He didn't know it, but he had been given a rare gift in seeing her this way.  Never had she revealed her true form to anyone.  This was a sacrifice for her, and it made it clear to her how much she felt for this man to be willing to bare herself entirely before him.  It frightened her, to have felt so much so quickly, but there was something magnetic about him that she couldn't fathom.  If only he knew how much he had changed her in such a short time.

Graven took a step back in shock as Fawn began to change. It was over almost before he had time to register what was happening, and then there she stood, pale-haired and blue-eyed, looking at him with mingled embarrassment and nervousness.

Betrayal. That was the first, instinctive reaction Graven had to her revealing of her true self. The girl had come into his home under a disguise, perhaps even under a false name. In a way, she had abused his trust. But then again, he didn't exactly have a reputation for being trustworthy. Perhaps she thought it was the only way to stay alive once she was found.

And although she had abused his trust, he had also given him her trust, in all the ways that mattered. She had revealed that she could use magic, a secret which could mean her death in Connlaoth. She had trusted him not to hurt her, seeing past the terrifying myths he had built up over the years. She had looked past his exterior and seen who he was inside...and accepted it.

So he accepted her, too. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and grasped her hand. "You know," he said softly, "Between the two of us, I'm not sure which was hiding more from the other. It's almost like we're in a competition."

Fawn's heart sank as she listened to him speak in a soft, low tone.  He could forgive her now, for the disguise she had worn, but would he forgive the rest of what she was about to tell him?

"Graven..." she squeezed his hand gently and then pulled it away, "Graven, there's more."

She felt as though she might swallow her tongue, and a tear fell down her cheek, disappearing at the corner of her mouth.

"I want you to know that, no matter what I tell you, my feelings changed almost from the moment I met you.  I don't do this work nonchalantly.  I choose every job very carefully, and try my best to judge whether the contract is in the best interests of the people around me.  When they told me about you, they only told me the myths surrounding your existence.  I was a fool to believe them.  Maybe I was arrogant enough to believe that I knew what was true and what wasn't.  I thought you were an evil man terrorizing the city.  Now, I know better."

She allowed her words to sink in before she continued, and she swallowed so hard it was almost audible, "I signed a contract as a blade for hire, and you were my target."

There it was.  The truth.  The uncomfortable glaring reality of her mistake.  She hoped he would let her go on, let her explain further....

"The moment I met you, a part of me subconsciously knew what I had been told was incorrect.  The more you explained, the more I realized what a mistake I had made.  I'm telling you this, Graven, because I care for you, and because you're in danger.  If I don't bring back proof that you're dead in a couple of days, they'll attack again, and not on schedule.  They'll attack until they have no more men or women to spare.  They're desperate, Graven, and with their desperation has come irrational decisions.  Do what you want with me, but be forewarned that they're coming, and they're coming in mass."

At her revelation, Graven's blood ran cold. She was sent here to kill him? Another attack was coming, and so soon? His hand fell from hers, and he took a step back, his mind racing. He thought back, reevaluating everything Fawn had said and done over the past day. Had it all been a trick? A ruse? But then why had she come forward with this information? Did she truly care for him, or was this just another layer of treachery?

"I..." After a moment if hesitation, he made his decision. "Orson!" The once-dead appeared in the doorway at once. Graven turned away from Fawn and said, "Imprison her in the sacrificial chamber until I figure out what to do with her." He did not intend to drain her--did not even consider it--but that chamber was the most secure and the easiest to guard in the caves. "Post a guard on her at all times, and prepare the men. We may be having company sooner than expected."

Orson complied immediately, striding up to Fawn and seizing her by the arm. Unless she was foolish enough to resist, he would begin escorting her to her new cell. "And I don't want her harmed!" Graven shouted over his shoulder as she was dragged away.

It was as she expected.  And how could she blame him?  There was absolutely no reason to trust her, and even if he was considering it, how could he?  How could he believe she cared for him in the face of her treachery?  But then, the most miniscule part of her had hoped... had believed, even... that he might take her at her word.  But that was foolish.

The rope that bound her hands smarted as Orson, almost in vengeance, bound them tighter than was necessary.  She also couldn't blame him, but a look of indignation crossed her face as he yanked her from where she stood.  She'd never felt so humiliated in her life.  There she was, exposed in her natural form for the first time in... over a decade, and she remained unclothed as they took her from the chamber.  Part of her wanted to use her invisibility spell, even though it wouldn't aid her in escaping.  Though, she would, if at all possible, escape.  She would at least try.  Her ability to seemingly disappear was something they did not know, and she had been careful not to unveil all of the cards up her sleeves.

As she passed Graven she kept her head pointed straight ahead, unable to meet his gaze.  He wasn't turned to look at her anyway, but to salvage what was left of her dignity she held her head high.  That was what she'd done all of her life when things went sour.  She had always desperately clung to the little bit of pride that existed within her to survive.  Whether it was a botched job, or being caught red handed thieving, or any other myriad of things that could go wrong, she always clung to that little bit of pride that let her move on and learn from her mistakes, and helped her to quickly turn the situation around to her favor.  This time, though, she knew there was very little chance of winning back trust that had been so quickly demolished.

A pang of fear, though a light pang as it would be with anyone who had faced death before, struck her chest at his mention of the sacrificial chamber.  He hadn't said he would drain her, but he hadn't said he wouldn't either.  If that was to be her fate, then so be it, but she wouldn't go without a fight.  She had been honest when she said that her magical knowledge was limited, but she had fibbed about how limited it was.  A smaller piece of her almost wanted to give in and let him kill her.  The men and women that were coming to attack were going to be after her, too, once the Church realized she hadn't followed through with her deal.  The death he would give her might be a merciful one compared to being torn to shreds.

As they reached the cell, she was pushed inside and guarded.  She didn't have a lot of options as her guards faced her, again, humiliating her by their very presence as she sat naked before them.  She curled her legs to her chest and leaned her head into her arms as they folded over her knees.  She would think of something to escape, if he was going to kill her.  If he didn't plan to, she hoped she could make him conscious of how much she cared for him.

Only a moment passed before another guard entered the room bearing a pair of trousers and a shirt. He approached Fawn, dropped the clothes at her feet, and undid her bonds. Then he left as abruptly as he had come. The two remaining guards watched her dispassionately, not a hint of lust or desire in their flat expressions. Outside of the chamber, she could hear the others preparing for battle.

Graven's force had four muskets and two pistols; he ordered them to be handed out to his best sharpshooters. The remaining five men, including Orson, received short swords and daggers. He spent the better part of half a day discussing strategy with Orson. Two gunners and three swordsmen would wait on a ridge nearby and lure the enemy up when they arrived. Then the rest would burst from the cave and attack them in the rear. With luck, they would break immediately. That was the best plan they could come up with at short notice, but hopefully they wouldn't be attacked for the next couple of days and would be able to refine it. After the strategy was laid out, there was nothing else for Graven to do but go see Fawn.

But he couldn't. Not right now. Instead he went back to his room and began sharpening his dagger, struggling to remain composed. He didn't want to confront her today. tomorrow, if they hadn't yet been attacked, he would find the courage to speak to her. But for now, he sat and sharpened his knife and stewed on all he had learned.

The day passed uneventfully for Fawn, but she could hear within the walls of the cave that the men were preparing for battle.  She had told him everything she could, but she hoped she had impressed upon him just how many mordecai and adhara were going to come.  She shrank into herself when she thought of him possibly being outnumbered, and she wished that she could have told him sooner, but it wouldn't have mattered.  It was impossible for her to have warned him any earlier than she had, and she had given him the best chance that she could at developing a defense strategy.

The second night came without word from Graven.  He was thinking, she imagined.  He was struggling with what to do with her, uncertain of how severe her punishment should be, uncertain of her.  Fawn managed to will herself to sleep, though it took some hours into the early morning.  It was a disrupted sleep.  Fawn felt herself drift in and out of wakefulness, illogical visions and memories filling her mind.  Just at the crack of dawn she awoke in a cold sweat from a nightmarish dream, crying out in terror, waking herself as her body thrust her into a sitting position.  She breathed heavily as the realization that it was another one of her reoccurring nightmares washed over her.  Nightmares had plagued her since childhood, but they had evolved over the course of her short life.  When she had begun her assassin career her nightmares became more like night terrors, reminding her of the soulless murdering she was capable of.  Even telling herself that she was a sort of vigilante had never had an impact on her innermost feelings about what she did for a living.  Maybe she was really not meant for this kind of thing, but then, her skill as an assassin told her otherwise.  It was a contradiction of heart versus will, and this was what made for the worst of nightmares.

"Are you alright?" Graven sat cross legged on the floor in front of her, a dagger in his lap and a polishing cloth on the floor beside him. "Sounds like you had something of a night terror." His face and expression were kept carefully neutral. He didn't want to let her see his true feelings just yet. He didn't want to give her anything more to manipulate.

"I'm in a bit of a situation now, as you might have guessed," he continued in a dry tone. "Your presence here poses a bit of difficulty for me. What am I supposed to do with you? If I leave you imprisoned here, I'll have to keep at least one man back to guard you, and I need everyone in the coming battle. But if I let you go, then you could go to the enemy and tell them where this place is. I can't afford to risk either of those possibilities." He got to his feet, the dagger clenched in his right hand. He took a breath to steady himself; what he was about to do might come back to haunt him for the rest of his life, but he was going to do it. He had no other choice.

"So, there's only one option left." He let silence linger for a moment, which was uncharacteristic of him. He didn't usually tend towards dramatics. Perhaps he was simply punishing her by making her wait for his decision. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he tossed the dagger to Fawn. "You're going to have to fight with us. That way, I can keep an eye on you." He indicated the dagger he had just gifted her. "I worked on it last night, preparing it for you. It should be a decent enough focus, for today at least." The blade of the dagger had been decorated with ornate patterns etched into the metal, specifically designed to direct the flow of her magic. Its polished blade gleamed her reflection back at her, clear and unbiased.

As her vision cleared from the nightmare and she began to pick up the details of her surroundings she saw Graven sitting, polishing a blade across from her.  A quick intake of breath could be heard from her at the shock of his presence.  He was foreboding in his manner.  It sent a chill through her partially due to intimidation and partially due to the sick thrill it gave her to see him in such control of himself, emanating powerful presence.  She wanted him, suddenly.  A heat rose from her neck to her cheeks, but she remained expressionless to him.  And then, he began to speak. 

For a moment, she thought that was it.  He had grown cold to her and in his vengeance had decided to destroy her.  As the silence permeated the room she sat perfectly still, no expression of fear or cowardice.  If she was to go, she would not go without some sliver of her dignity.  But then, he threw the dagger to the floor before her and it chimed against the stone floor.

She was astonished.  He had fashioned a blade for her, a focus, to wield in the fight against the Church.  Interrupting her stoicism she took a deep breath and lent a hand carefully down to the hilt of the dagger.  The moment she touched it an electric pulse ran from her arm down to her hand, proving that the focus had been well made.  It took to her as if it were an extension of herself.  Despite his feelings toward her, she was grateful for this gift.  He had honed the blade himself, and it touched her.  She wondered at why he had decided to spare her life.  If she had been in his place, that might've been the only option on her mind, but instead, he gave her the opportunity to fight at his side.  Perhaps, she would be able to prove herself trustworthy, perhaps not, but she wouldn't pass up the opportunity.

Her eyes hadn't met his the entire duration of their meeting together, until at last, she lifted them to his.  She saw nothing there.  Apathy.  And she remained emotionless save for her guilt, gazing into him, taking in the moment.  Then, she cast her eyes downward toward the blade again and gripped the hilt, feeling its perfect weight and measurement.

"I will fight for you." she finally spoke in a hushed tone, "I had hoped I might help you, somehow."

She knew the words would mean nothing to him, but they were the truth, and at this point she had no choice but to bare the truth.

Her words touched Graven's heart, but he let none of his true feelings show on his face as he turned away from her. "Come on, then. My scouts reported that they're already on their way."

A short time later...

The Connlaothan force made its way cautiously up the side of the mountain. There were perhaps fifty of them in all, nearly five times the number of Graven's force, and besides some light skirmishing near the base of the mountain they had so far gone uncontested. There were seven mordecai in the group, their presence evident by their different uniforms. All of them bore rifles with bayonets, and all of them had the look of military veterans. Graven, Fawn, and the four men with them could hear their bootsteps as they marched by the cave entrance, which was low enough that it had avoided detection for the moment. When half the column had passed the entrance, there was suddenly an eruption of musket fire and the sound of screaming. Orson and the other five once-dead, positioned outside on a ridge opposite the cave entrance, had unleashed their ambush.

The Connlathons wheeled, knelt, aimed, and fire, but Orson's squad had ducked back behind the rocks for cover, and none of them were hurt. With a hoarse cry, the commander ordered his troops to push forward and take their position. Graven waited until he heard their bootsteps marching away, then turned to his squad. "Try to kill their mordecai first," he said to all of them, but keeping his gaze on Fawn. "We won't be doing any magic until they're dead. And remember, if things get bad, retreat and try to draw them into the caves. Good luck." With that, he led the way as his squad crawled through the low entrance and assaulted the Connlaothan rear.

Graven set his sights on a mordecai, a huge man with broad shoulders, and aimed his pistol. The two others with firearms in his squad picked their own targets, and they fired as one. Two mordecai fell to the ground, while a third gripped his arm and howled in pain. The other soldiers in the rear ranks whirled, eyes wide at the surprise attack. Graven dropped his pistol, pulled his knife, and led the charge into the enemy.

Four mordecai left, Fawn thought.  This should be easy enough.

She kept pace with Graven and the men as they approached the opposition.  She had shifted back to her dark haired form to keep her anonymity.  The Connlaothians were large men indeed, alert and wild eyed with intent to kill.  Fawn could tell there was more to this than a simple battle in the minds of these Connlaothians; they were here to finish Graven, and they would stop at nothing to accomplish their task.  Size was never a problem for Fawn, however, as an assassin relies on cunning rather than strength to take down their enemies.  This was the mindset Fawn put herself in as they approached the rear.  Without word, she parted from Graven and the men and began to slip between trees and foliage, camouflaging herself within her natural surroundings.

She set her sights on a nearby mordecai who was making his way swiftly toward Graven and his once-dead.  Allowing the mordecai to approach them, Fawn followed him silently until she was able to slip out from behind a tree adjacent to him and pounced, slicing open his throat.  He didn't even have a chance to let out a cry before he was suffocating on his own blood and fell to the ground.  Fawn wiped her blade clean on the man's tunic and pulled back.  She reeled around to catch the arm of another mordecai who had spotted her and plunged her blade into his heart, letting him slide off of her blade as he fell.

Two down, two to go, she thought, and readied herself to defend against the onslaught of men surrounding Graven, herself and his men.

Unfortunately, the enemy commander realized quickly what their intention was. At his order, the two remaining mordecai, a man and a woman, were surrounded by six other soldiers. There were about forty Connlaothans left now. Twenty split off to go assault Orson's position, while the twelve not guarding the mordecai charged Graven's five men. An all-out melee ensued. A once-dead was impaled on a Connlaothan musket but, in his fervor, dragged the blade deeper into his belly until he was able to reach the soldier holding the musket and stab him in the neck. Two more soldiers unleashed a volley into him from close range, blowing his head off, and the battle raged on.

Graven ducked a jab from a bayonet and surged forward, burying his dagger in the ribs of his attacker. A motion out of the corner of his eyes alerted him to an attack from behind, and he twisted his body, barely avoiding a second bayonet, which then buried itself in the first soldier's throat. Graven grabbed the musket barrel, jerked on it to drag the second man closer, and finished him off with a quick slash of his throat. He looked around desperately for Fawn, but he didn't see her. He did see a dead mordecai a short distance from the main battle, which was a strong indicator that she was still alive, but he had no time to think more on that before he was assaulted again. If only the mordecai weren't still alive, he might be able to raise more dead to help him here. But they were too heavily guarded, and not participating in the fight at all, simply watching as Graven's men were slowly cut down.

Bodies fell and blood an across the gray stone of the mountain as the fighting continued. Graven and his remaining two men were gradually forced into a defensive semi-circle, assaulted by the seven surviving Connlaothans and cut off from the cave. Graven panted heavily as he barely managed to deflect a jab from a soldier with his forearm, his knife to short to allow him to retaliate. His shoulder had been wounded somewhere in the fighting, he hadn't noticed when, and now it bled profusely. Up above, the sounds of battle and the crack of musket fire had ceased, and eleven Connlaothans were coming down from the position Orson had held. Seeing that the battle was almost done, the commander ordered the six people guarding the mordecai forward to make the final push, leaving the two nullifiers unguarded. Unfortunately, none of the Connlaothans had managed to keep track of Fawn.

(I'm no good at fight scenes so be kind lol)

The fight was bloody, the mangled bodies of the Connlaothians strewn about, one on top of the other, a mess of entrails.  Fawn had been stealthily picking off Connlaothians one by one from within her camouflaging surroundings.  It wasn't until an eerie quiet descended upon them leaving nothing but the sound of the labored breathing of both the Connlaothian men and Graven and his once-dead that she realized the peril Graven was in.  They were surrounded with very little to defend themselves with, but the Connlaothians had lost track of Fawn.  She was their only chance out of this.

She made her way through the trees and amidst the rocky terrain to reach the now unguarded Mordecai.  With her blade singing, she came up behind one of the Mordecai and slit his throat, using her other hand to embed her other dagger into the neck of the Mordecai beside him.  They both fell in unison, and with that, Fawn's image disappeared.

As soon as the Commander saw Fawn she was gone, having shifted to become invisible.  The Connlaothians were suddenly panicked as from the trees came a launching of arrows, one soaring behind the other, and several of the men fell with arrows to their heads.  There were now eight Connlaothians left, not including the Commander, who ordered his men to turn their muskets to the trees.  A spray of bullets entered the atmosphere and aimed toward the trees.  There was a sound, almost inaudible to the ears, like a bullet had found purchase in flesh, but no cry was heard and Fawn made no movements.  The rest of the bullets were lost in the terrain behind her.  The Connlaothians still surrounding Graven and his two men aimed to fire once again, but Fawn had already left the trees at that point.  Despite her pain she had leaped from her hiding place and landed softly on the ground without a sound.

She stood and silently approached the Commander from behind.  He suddenly arched and his jaw dropped as she drove her blade into the curve of his back and sent a wave of electricity through his body, letting his body writhe and then slide away from the blade Graven had fashioned.  The Commander fell to the ground and the Connlaothian men were now on their own.

With the deaths of the mordecai, Graven suddenly felt his magic released. At the same instant, the Connlaothans whirled to find their commander falling to the ground, his body crackling with electricity, Fawn standing behind him. Graven's men took full advantage of the momentary distraction, leaping back into the fray. For his part, Graven got on his knees and stabbed his dagger into the neck of a fallen soldier. In moments, the body had received enough life energy that the mane blinked and sat up. He looked at Graven with a questioning expression, but all the animancer had to do was point at the battle and say, "Go! Kill the men in uniform." Having no idea what else to do, the newly made once-dead lurched to his feet, seized a fallen rifle, and charged into battle, killing one of his former comrades from behind.

There were only four of Graven's squad left; himself, Fawn, and two of his men. There should have been no way that the remaining twenty five or so Connlaothans could lose. But attacked from behind, without their mordecai,with their leader dead and their own dead friends rising against them, they broke. The survivors turned and bolted down the mountain in a panic, desperate to escape the nightmare they had walked into. Graven let his men pursue them; he couldn't allow the enemy to reform further down the mountain. He went from corpse to corpse, raising more Connlaothan soldier until more than a dozen were streaming down after the routers. Then, utterly exhausted, he sat heavily on the blood-soaked rock, surrounded by bodies.

Fawn watched as Graven lead the initiative to finish off the Connlaothian men.  She watched as body after dead body regained its life and rose to fight again, only for a different side.  Her abdomen was bleeding profusely as a bullet had pushed through her flesh just below her ribs on her right side and exited through her back.  She shifted back into her natural form, fully visible again, and saw a bloodied and weary Graven sit himself upon a boulder. 

She couldn't help but take in the scene over and over again, internalizing how all of this had been her fault.  She looked upon the mass of bodies with their blood painting the mountain a horrid burgundy.  For a moment, she was still, clutching her side delicately and gazing on the bloodshed.  The then wiped her blade on her shirt and walked quietly over to Graven.

Fawn extended the dagger he had fashioned for her to him, as if to give it back.

"You're hurt." she dropped the blade at his feet and knelt down on one knee with a wince, then reached out to touch him and heal him.

She had enough energy to heal his wounds, but she would wait to take care of her own.  It was a nuisance but nothing life threatening, and she would have time to rest and address it soon.

Graven looked up at Fawn as she approached. He took the knife back readily; it had been a slapdash affair to get it ready to be her focus, and it would likely break or become ineffective over a longer period of time. He would have to make a new one, and take his time with it.

When Fawn knelt to heal his wound, however, he pushed her hand away gently. "It seems that you're more in need of care than me," he said. "You need to see to that belly wound. I'll live for now." He held up a hand to forestall any objections she might have. "No arguments. I'd rather not have you pass out from infection halfway through healing me. It would be somewhat awkward." He looked about the battlefield with a sigh, suppressing a wince as pain flared in his shoulder.

"I probably spent more energy on this battlefield than I have over the course of my entire life," he said. "I had maybe four hundred years' worth of life stored up inside me before. I must have spent nearly all of it raising those soldiers. Hell, I might have tapped into my own natural lifespan."

Fawn was hurt a bit by his comment.  Awkward if she were to pass out while treating him?  She sighed and stood up, dusting her hands off on her trousers.  If he didn't want help, she wouldn't give it.  She knew he was being aloof for a reason, and perhaps she deserved his disdain.  Nevertheless, he could take care of himself if he wanted to.

She allowed the wound to close itself, and it did, rapidly.  Soon, the pain ebbed and a wave of relief swam through her once aching body.

"I'm sorry, Graven."

She let her words linger.  She hadn't said it until now, but she was sorry.  For everything.

A sudden realization came to mind as she looked about, "What about Orson...  Did he make it?"

Despite her irritation with him, Orson had been a faithful protector of Graven, and had seen through her facade from the very first day.  If he had been slain, she would feel even worse.

Graven felt some relief as Fawn healed her injuries. He hadn't wanted to appear cold to her, but she had needed that healing more than him. At her apology, he simply said, "I know." It was not forgiveness, but neither was it condemnation.

When she inquired after Orson, Graven felt exhaustion seep into his bones. The once-dead had been his oldest and most faithful companion. He was a constant in Graven's daily life. But reason had him saying, "Probably not. The soldiers were coming back down from his position when you killed their commander. It's likely that he and all the others were killed up there." Still, he got to his feet and began to make his way up to Orson's position. He owed his old friend enough to at least confirm his death.

Fawn looked down when he acknowledged her apology.  It wasn't as if she had expected her apology to mend any wounds.  She knew she had made a terrible mistake.

As Graven stood and retreated to where Orson had last been seen, she was a bit surprised that he hadn't ensured that she go with him.  She wasn't yet exactly sure if she was free to leave.  She wasn't sure of anything, just yet.  But it seemed he trusted her enough not to take flight and so she followed him silently behind.  She hoped that Orson was only very injured.  A part of her had taken a liking to him, despite the fact that they would never be on good terms.

The air was suddenly cold and a thunderous clap could be heard throughout the sky.  Lightning accompanied it and Fawn realized how dark the clouds had become.  She knew it was going to be a particularly stormy night, a perfect setting for the mood she was in.

The first rain drops were beginning to fall when Graven crested the rise and entered another field of slaughter. Connlaothans and the men he had placed on the ridge lay scattered and broken on the ground. Picking his way through the corpses, he searched their faces for the one he was looking for. Finally, he found Orson's body under two Connlathans. His second's eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, a dagger sticking from his chest. Graven knelt there in silence, staring at his oldest ally, perhaps his only friend. The rain was falling harder now, practically a torrent, washing away the blood of the tbattle as though nothing had happened.

Graven's silence allowed for the storm to be fully heard, an echo, no doubt, of the feelings inside of both he and Fawn.  It was a fitting setting for the discovery of Orson's death, as if the earth were grieving with Graven.  Fawn's heart clenched at the sight.  She had ruined Graven's life.  In a matter of days, she had been the torrent that swept through his comfortable life and tore it asunder.  There was no telling what sort of life he would lead now, if he would even be safe from the Connlaothians and their mordecai.  Who would help protect his home?  Who would be his second?  Fawn swallowed hard against the barrage of emotions pushing their way through to the surface.  She was as silent as he, uncertain of what she should say, uncertain of what she could say, if anything at all.  She wished, like a child, that somehow she could go back and prevent their ever meeting each other, her ever signing the contract.  It was the first time in her entire career that she had ever seen the real impact of her work and how it destroyed lives.  The guilt over her life's choices, which she had already felt but had become numb to over the years, was suddenly reawakened and compounded as she watched Graven inspect his friend's untimely death.  She had fooled herself, all of those years, into believing that if she just destroyed the people who were truly evil she would be a vigilante of sorts.  This was how she had dealt with her guilt.  She had never stopped to examine her pride and consider that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have the right or the ability to determine whether a person deserved to live or die.  But she was certain of one thing...

"You should kill me."

The words poured out of her mouth without filter, filled with a serious sincerity.

"You have no other choice.  You have no men left, no protection.  It only makes sense, Graven, that your last task would be to destroy the one who destroyed you.  You would be a fool to do otherwise."

Her voice was cold.  Maybe she wanted to die, wanted him to kill her.  Maybe the real punishment would be to let her live.

She sighed and knelt down next to him, careful to give him his space, and wrapped her arms around her knees as she stared at Orson's lifeless body.

"If that is what you decide to do, Graven...  I won't fight it."

Graven's gaze flicked from Orson's body to Fawn as she began to speak. He stared disbelievingly at her as she said her piece, then sat nearby and waited for him to exact his vengeance. Graven felt his shoulders begin to shake. Then he lifted his head and laughed. It was a bittersweet sound, grief mixed with anger, disbelief and even genuine humor. He laughed long and hard as the rain soaked him to the bone.

Finally, his laughter trailed off, and he wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. "You think I want to kill you? After everything you've done?" He reached across Orson's body and grasped Fawn's hand. "Do you think these soldiers wouldn't have come anyways without your being here? Do you think we would have been anywhere near as prepared if you hadn't warned me in advance? Would their mordecai and their commander be lying dead right now? Fawn, you saved me."

"I still don't know how to fully trust you," he continued, his tone becoming more serious. "I'm not sure how much of last night was genuine feelings, or simply the result of years of loneliness. I don't know if we can ever be together that way again. But one thing I do know is that killing you is the very last thing I  want right now. I owe you my life, and I know Orson would say the same thing if he were still alive."

The sound of footsteps on the path behind him, made Graven turn his head. His two remaining men and the dead he had raised at the last minute emerged onto the ridge and formed a half circle before their leader. The two originals saw Orson's body and bowed their heads slightly in reverence. "What are your orders, sir?" One of them asked. Graven knew their names by heart--Bron and Cal. He released Fawn's hand and stood up.

"First things first, we have to pack up our things and leave the caves. They know where we live now, as we need to relocate before the survivors gather a larger force and come back." It would be a shame to leave the caves he had built up for nearly four decades, but it was a necessary sacrifice. He looked down at Fawn. "What will you do?" he asked softly. Lightning cracked overhead. "Will you come with us?"

His laughter surprised her, and at first, she felt as though he were making fun of her.  It wasn't until he spoke and took her hand that she softened.

His words hurt a bit, but she understood.  He wasn't sure what his feelings were for her, and though she was probably more certain of her own, they were newly discovered and she couldn't even begin to know the depth of them yet.

As the two last remaining men ascended the rise, and Graven offered that she should come with them, a bittersweet feeling overcame her.

There was no reason to stay.  She could help him find a new place, move his items, but a part of her wanted to leave.  After all they had been through over the last few days, she needed to breathe, to process her feelings alone.  She had never stayed in one place before, and it wasn't in her nature to do so now.  Not, yet.  Had she any reassurance of his feelings for her she might've considered a different path, but until he could give her a good reason to stay, she had none.  It was better to part knowing that there was something, if anything, between them, be it friendship or romance, than to stay not knowing if there was anything more than that.

Her eyes gazed around her for a moment at his final question, which she hadn't yet answered.  Then, she met his gaze.

"No."

She was quiet for a moment, then thought she ought to offer some kind of explanation.

"I barely remember, but I was supposed to have been three when I first found myself alone.  I've been alone ever since then, scraping my way by, climbing the ladder of crime, relying on no one else but myself.  I endured the wanting touch of men and accepted the darkness inside me that allowed me to murder first the innocent, then the depraved.  All this to say that it helped me to survive, to remain cold to the world.  I think you know the sort of necessary callousness it takes to keep yourself alive.  It eventually became easy to be hardened."

She took a step forward and reached up to place a hand on his cheek, "Until, I met you."

She let the words linger for a moment, then allowed her hand to leave his cheek and return to her side, "There's something about you, Graven, that I can't describe.  Maybe it's simply that we're alike in some ways, but you soften me.  It's dangerous to know that you have had that effect on me.  A different person might bear the sacrifice and stay with you to find out if there's anything more to those feelings that refuse to be understood.  But I can't afford that kind of vulnerability.  I can't go with you relying on something that may never be."

The thunderous rumble traveled the air above them.  She didn't want to admit that she simply didn't want to be hurt by him.

"I'm far too smart for that." her words were both meant as a reply to her thoughts and also to finish her words to him.

Graven listened to her speech, forcing himself to keep his face a blank slate as she described the horrors she had gone through, the things she had done. When she placed a hand on his cheek and revealed her feelings on him, he felt a painful ache inside of himself. He didn't truly know who Fawn was, but he wanted to learn. And now he would never get that chance.

"I understand," he said, his voice rough with emotions that seemed to clog his throat. "I wish things were different, but I understand how you feel. Just do me a favor, huh?" He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Don't harden your heart too much. If you do, it'll break too easily." Then he stepped back, letting her see the sadness and acceptance in his eyes as he moved aside to allow her to go on her way.

Quote from: HighLordMhoram on August 08, 2017, 06:42:53 AM
Graven listened to her speech, forcing himself to keep his face a blank slate as she described the horrors she had gone through, the things she had done. When she placed a hand on his cheek and revealed her feelings on him, he felt a painful ache inside of himself. He didn't truly know who Fawn was, but he wanted to learn. And now he would never get that chance.

"I understand," he said, his voice rough with emotions that seemed to clog his throat. "I wish things were different, but I understand how you feel. Just do me a favor, huh?" He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Don't harden your heart too much. If you do, it'll break too easily." Then he stepped back, letting her see the sadness and acceptance in his eyes as he moved aside to allow her to go on her way.

Fawn smiled a little and stepped through the space he had left for her to leave, and as she walked her form began to fade until she was seemingly gone.  There was so much to process, she hoped that she would have a peaceful few weeks to mull over everything that had happened.

***THREE MONTHS LATER***

But, as life often does the opposite of what we wish for, she was afforded no such luxury.

It wasn't long before Fawn found herself ascending the side of the mountain she had left just months ago, but this time, in a panic for her life.

It was raining, just as it had been the day she left Graven, soaking through her clothing and leaving her deathly pale with cold.  Her body shivered as she clambered up through the rough terrain, pulling herself up and over a protrusion of rock.  She scrambled over it and remained on her feet, flying between the upcoming trees.  A bullet flew by her and she dipped behind a tree trunk, allowing herself to catch her breath for a moment.  She closed her eyes tightly and cursed to herself as she lifted her face to the sky, her ears taking in every sound around her.  Suddenly, she couldn't hear her enemy.  Should she make a run for it?  She took her chances and took off like a trail of lightning between the trees.  She was quickly ascending the mountain, finding herself lost as she took detours to throw her enemy off the scent.  It was then that she heard the crack of a musket and nearly simultaneously felt the impact just below her left shoulder blade.  She lost her footing and lurched forward, crashing into the ground.  For a moment, her head reeled and she couldn't move until finally, her vision began to clear.  She struggled to her feet and spotted a small alcove in the side of the mountain, just large enough to cover her form.  She sprang for it and slipped within the protective stone, panting as quietly as she could as she pressed herself into the mountain, hoping to lose the mordecai that remained at her heels.

"She went this way!" A voice called out nearby. "Follow me." Footsteps thundered up towards her hiding place, marked by occasional splashes as a soldier stepped into a puddle. The footsteps slowed near where Fawn had hidden herself. "She's got to be around here somewhere," a voice growled. "Keep looking!" The group began to fan out, each going in separate directions. One of the men began searching dangerously near Fawn's hideout.

Slow minutes passed as the man searched every nook and cranny, each step bringing him closer to the hiding shapeshifter. Lightning flickered in the sky at intervals, bathing the area in white light. Finally, the man peered into the alcove and saw Fawn. He grinned viciously. "Found you, bitch," he snarled. "Boys, I found here! Get over here!" There as no response. The mordecai frowned. "Boys?" he said, turning around...only to gasp and fall on his back, a dagger protruding from his chest. Lightning flashed again, illuminating crumpled bodies on the ground and three figures standing in the open, hooded and cloaked. One of them strode up to the dead mordecai and pulled out the dagger with a jerk. He looked up, saw Fawn, and his pale eyes widened. Immediately, he threw back his hood. "Fawn?" Graven said in wonder. "What in hell are you doing here?"

Meanwhile...

The church was mostly empty as the storm raged outside. No parishioners had come today to offer prayer to Ansgar, the storm keeping them in their homes. Only a bishop, a young woman, and her companion were in the vast hall. The priest stood before the other two, who knelt in reverence before the altar.

"In the name of Almighty Ansgar and Saint Adhara, I hereby anoint your holy mission with the blessing of the church," the bishop said, extending his arms wide. "The creature known as the Graven has long terrorized our lands, killing dutiful men and women and performing unholy acts within his mountain home. The shapeshifting deceiver betrayed us to his wickedness, and brought doom upon many a faithful servant of Connlaoth. Go forth, my children, and put an end to these criminals. Capture them if you can, slay them if you must, but above all else do not allow them to escape and continue spreading their taint across our beautiful country. With the blessing of Ansgar, go forth and set the world to right."

Helena Arlen raised her head at the bishop's words, his blessings and proclamation filling her with righteous determination. "We shall do as Ansgar demands, father," she replied. "By all that is good and holy, the necromancer and his accomplice shall be brought to justice." She turned ot her compatriot, wondering how they would respond to their mission.

Thearon Rin kept his head bowed in silence, until the Bishop and Helena had spoken their piece.

"Indeed, they will meet a righteous end at our hands."

He lifted his head to meet the eyes of Helena, seeing the determination in her rise.  He, too, felt the holiness of their mission in his bones and nodded to Helena with resolve.

The Bishop bowed his head toward the two of them and said, "Then, let this holy mission... begin."

Thearon stood and extended a hand toward Helena to help her to her feet.  He nodded his head to the Priest and thanked him for his blessings.  He then began to walk with Helena across the hall, taking his time to observe the ornamentation of the edifice around them.

"How many men do we have?" he questioned as he stopped with hands behind his back to inspect a gilded statue.

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Fawn's breath came rapidly now, the cold sending a quiver through each inhale and exhale.  The wound in her back screamed at her and she felt her stomach begin to churn with nausea.  She leaned forward, her hands placed on her knees to steady her, and she took several deep breaths.  After a moment, she regained herself and closed her eyes with one last exhale, and stood upright.  She was sopping wet, not an inch of her dry, and her clothes clung to her.  She wore tight female trousers and a tunic tucked into the waist.  She had been on the run almost from the moment she had left Graven, and hadn't had much of an occasion to find better clothing.  Her pale hair, soaked with rain, had been put up, and water dripped from her long eyelashes onto her cheeks.

"Graven." she acknowledged in a matter-of-fact way, "Fancy meeting you here."

She smiled and pushed a lock of wet hair behind her ear.

She stepped down from the alcove and suddenly regretted the movement, the bullet in her shoulder smarting with every adjustment her body made.

Helena walked alongside Thearon, one hand resting easily on the pommel of her sword. Although she was a Knight of the White Lily, far rarer, more potent and therefore more valuable than a mordecai like Thearon, she readily accepted her subordinate role in this mission, knowing the man had far more experience in the field than she did.

In response to his question, she said, "Four mordecai, excluding yourself. A company of soldiers should we need them. However, seeing how things went last time..." The adhara ground her teeth as she thought of the dead strewn over the mountains. She had known each mordecai who had died personally. "Considering that, it might be best if we went for a small, stealthy team rather than a full-on assault. My anti-magic field will be able to cover everyone in the team in case that shifter starts slinging lightning." Her field extended a mere twenty feet, which was one the large end for adhara but pitifully small for a normal mordecai. Of course, unlike a mordecai, she could shield them from magical attacks outside of her range.

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Graven couldn't have been more surprised if he had found Ansgar himself in that crevice. He had never expected to see Fawn again, yet here she was. Her clothes clung to her form in a way that Graven found hard to ignore, but her wince of pain drew his attention to her shoulder, and all other thoughts left his mind at the sight.

"Gods, you look terrible," he said, hurrying forward and putting her arm over his shoulder to support her. "Bron, Cal!" he snapped. The two once dead looked up from searching the bodies of the soldiers. "We need to get moving now. Hurry it up." At once, he began to help Fawn along up the mountain, his men at their backs as a rearguard. After only a few minutes, they reached Graven's new base.

His new home was nowhere near as impressive as the original caverns Fawn had been led to the first time she met him. It was a large, dry hollow in the side of the mountain, scarcely more than an overgrown alcove itself. Bron set about making a fire, and in moments it was crackling merrily away in the middle of the cave, throwing up strange shadows against the walls. Graven led Fawn to a bedroll and set her down beside it. "You're going to have to strip out of those clothes," he said. "You'll catch your death otherwise. Dry off by the fire for a bit afterwards. We'll have some dry clothing for you. After that, you can explain to me what the hell you're still doing in Connlaoth."

Thearon listened to Helena's tactical advice as he continued to walk down the hall, reaching out to touch certain decorations and stopping to inspect some of them.

"You know, it took me a long time to find Ansgar." he interjected, tapping his fingertip on yet another gilded statue, "Even now, from time to time, I have my doubts, as all of us do.  But nothing, nothing! has inspired me more than our mission here to destroy these murderers.  I want it to be perfect.  Nothing should go wrong."

He thought back to his son, a mordecai, who had lost his life in the last battle in which the shifter had betrayed them.

"That is why, Helena, I will defer to your wise guidance on how we should overtake them.  I will leave it to you to determine a tactical plan, and if you want it to be stealthy, then make it so.  As long as you think," he paused to add meaning to his words and looked her in the eyes, "that it cannot fail."

There was a darkness in him that revealed itself in his words, and his hand that had been languidly sitting atop the small gilded statue suddenly turned into a grip.

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Fawn appreciated the help back to the cavern as she was starting to feel as though she might pass out between the loss of blood and the terrible cold.  She felt her eyes grow heavy as they made their trek to the cave, but she fought against the call of her body to give in to the darkness.  When they arrived, she happily accepted her place next to the fire and the bedroll, comfort swimming through her.

It was strange to be back in the mountains with Graven.  She hadn't hoped to see him again, knowing that her path would likely take her outside of Connlaoth where Graven wouldn't care to go.  She pulled her tunic over her head with her good arm and threw it off to the side.  There was no shame to her now, not when her body so quickly needed warmth.  She pulled off her boots and stripped off her trousers only to be met quietly by one of his men with new items of clothing.  Gratefully, and shaking, she took them with a nod and began to don her new clothes.  She scooted closer to the fire holding the dry shirt to her breasts, not having put it on just yet.

"I need you to do me a favor, Graven." she glanced over at him, "I need one of you to get this bullet out of me before I can heal."

Part of her wished she hadn't said anything.  She didn't particularly look forward to having a knife digging into her flesh to find an invading bullet, but it had to be done or else she would heal over it.

Helena stared at Thearon in shock. She had assumed that the older man would be the one leading this expedition. He had to be at least ten years her senior, and had much more experience in the field than her. But it seemed that sitting back and waiting for him to come up with a plan was out of the question now. His expression brooked no argument. In all honesty, the intensity he suddenly displayed was incredibly unnerving. Swallowing nervously, she nodded. "It will be done," she said, her voice sounding far more certain than she felt.

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Graven nodded and extended his hand towards Cal, palm up, and the once-dead placed a knife he had been heating over the fire into his master's hand. He walked up to Fawn and couched behind her back. "Put that shirt in your mouth. I don't want you biting your tongue out," he said. He adjusted his grip on the knife and studied the scabbed-over wound. This knife wasn't his focus, so he shouldn't start draining her life when he got to work...hopefully. Either way, that bullet had to come out somehow. He ripped away the scab, exposing the glistening red wound beneath, and slowly placed the tip of the knife inside.

Nothing. There was no spark of electricity to indicate that he was draining her. Graven breathed a sigh of relief, but went to work quickly. He pushed the knife ever so slightly deeper until he found the musket ball. "This is going to sting," he said in a calm voice. As he spoke, he used the knife tip to draw the ball out of the wound until it fell into his hand. "There we go," he said. "Easy as can be. Are you alright?" The heated edge of the knife would have been painful to feel, but it was the only way to make sure she didn't get an infection from the blade.

Fawn bit down on the shirt, and hard.  She closed her eyes tightly against the searing pain just below her shoulder blade.  It took everything in her not to pull away from him as he withdrew the musket ball.  Tears filled her eyes as she held her breath, until finally, it was done.  She spat out the shirt and took a few breaths as she couldn't begin the healing process fast enough.  The wound, as quickly as it has been made, closed up leaving nothing but a few drops of blood behind.  She pulled her shirt over her head and nodded to Graven.

"Yes, I'm alright.  Thank you."

She leaned back on her hands with a sigh of relief as her body began to warm by the fire, and looked up at the top of the cave, at the intricate hills and valleys of the surface of the stone, feeling somehow lost in their patterns.  Then, she closed her eyes and pulled her hair from the tie that kept it up and let her hair fall over her shoulders, allowing it to dry along with the rest of her.

Graven observed how Fawn's wound closed up with interest. He could do some basic healing when he had to, but he was sloppy and inexpert at the task. The shapeshifter's instinctive expertise left him somewhat in awe.sat down beside her, staring into the fire. For a while, the only sound was the pattering of the rain outside and the crackling of the flames, punctuated now and again by more thunder. Finally, he said, "Now, why don't you explain to me what exactly you're doing here? I expected you to be halfway across the world by now." He didn't add that he was pleased that she hadn't left; telling someone you were glad that they hadn't managed to escape the people trying to kill them didn't seem like the polite thing to say.

"I expected so as well." Fawn replied, having crossed her legs and leaning forward, lifting her hands to the heat of the fire, "I was on the run almost from the moment I left you.  Mordecai were on my heels blocking my ability to shift, leaving me without many options.  I managed to get ahead of them enough to find some form of shelter, but I had to be careful about spending any time in an inn.  It was clear to me that it wasn't just a small group of mordecai, anymore.  The city had a vendetta.  I've been just steps ahead of them all of this time."

Fawn took a moment to pause and run her fingers through her hair, then took a deep breath and sighed wearily, the months of constantly being on-the-move having taken its toll on her.

"It wasn't until recently that I overheard proof from the mordecai of what I had suspected.  In passing, I heard a couple of them talk vaguely of a plan... a plan in the works to come at us again, both you and I, whether individually or together, I don't know but they're designing some sort of attack against us.  I can't tell you much more than that, I wish I could, but there weren't many details from the conversation I overheard.  So, here I am.  I never made it to the borders of Connlaoth.  I figured, if there were going to be any attempts on your life you'd want to know sooner, rather than later."

Fawn fiddled with a necklace that hung about her neck, a charm she had stolen from one of the wealthy men she had swindled years prior.  It was the tooth of a fledgling dragon, or so it was said to be, and was supposedly to bring the wearer good luck.  She didn't know if she was superstitious enough to say that it worked but so far, she had been pretty lucky.

Graven had suspected that something big had been brewing down in the city, but now Fawn had confirmed his suspicions. He looked around the cave; it was nowhere near as easy to defend as his old home. And now he had only two once-dead left. If they came at him in any force, his death was almost assured. His death...and Fawn's.

He stared into the fire for a long while, lost in thought. Finally, he said, "Thank you for coming here to warn me. You didn't have to put yourself at risk like that. I appreciate it." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, struggling to come up with a plan. Finally, he opened his eyes again.

"You'll leave tomorrow. I'll put you in Cal's hands; he'll get you to the other side of the mountains. you can escape into Serendipity there. He'll leave you at the base of the mountains and return here, so you'll want to make sure that you know the way. Just tell the border guards that you're a refugee mage, and they should let you in. There's no need for you to die here with me."

Fawn watched him quietly as he spoke of his plan to help her escape.  She smiled, and then let out a trickle of laughter, clear and bright.  It wasn't a mocking sort of laughter.  Rather, it came from a source of disbelief.

"Graven, I had hoped you would know me better than that."

Feeling warm at last she scooted a little closer to Graven and placed a hand over his.

"I'm not leaving you to fend for yourself.  You have two men, and you have me.  Your odds will be substantially greater if I help you.  Now that you've helped me escape the mordecai perhaps I can shift and go out into the city and gather some information.  Perhaps I can lure a few Connlaothian soldiers here so you can build up your number of men.  No matter what, you'll at least have a fighter in me."

Graven looked up at Fawn, feeling grateful and frustrated at the same time. He couldn't find it in himself to return her smile, given how she had just placed herself in mortal danger on his account, but he did say gruffly, "Thank you. I'll rest easier with you watching my back." He looked around. "Well, there's four of us now, against the entirety of the Connlaothan army. I suppose we'd better get to work."

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Helena spread out a map of the mountains over the table she, Thearon, and three other mordecai stood around. The group had bedded down in an inn in the town closest to the mountains for the night. Now it was morning, and Helena wanted to brief everyone on her plan before they set out. "A groupd of soldiers led by two mordecai managed to chase the shifter in this direction not two days ago," she said, indicating a point on the map. "They never returned. I think that's a pretty strong indicator that the Graven has made his new lair in that location. The shifting rat would scurry back to its master for safety. We'll have to do a careful sweep of that mountain pass."

(By the way, I made a character profile for Helena if you're interested: http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=24130.0 )

(I did read it!  You've made a great character!)

Thearon nodded as Helena spoke, watching her fingertip as she moved it around the map to demonstrate where she generally believed Graven and the shifter were hiding.

"It shouldn't be hard to handle that mountain pass.  Besides, the Graven will be easy to lure out if we find the shifter first.  Either way, he will be easy to root out since there aren't many hiding places on that side of the mountain."

Thearon then glanced at Helena for confirmation.

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It had been a couple of days since Fawn had inadvertently made it to Graven's hideout.  Fawn had  managed to lure several Connlaothian city guards in the direction of Graven's hideout, where they met their end at the hands of the two once-dead, Graven and Fawn.  This had helped bring up the number of men Graven had to fight against the Connlaothians, however, it still wasn't going to match the numbers they were up against.

Fawn had left to hunt down some food and scavenge, and came back to the cave with three rabbits over her shoulder.  She brought the meat to the center of the room by the fire and began to empty her bag of the roots she had found.  She sat down by the fire and took out her knife, beginning to cut the roots into manageable pieces.

"There's no one out there." Fawn remarked, patiently cutting a root, careful not to cut herself, "It's been too long.  They're planning something big.  I was thinking...  It might be wise to make camp elsewhere.  Find another cave in the mountain further away, if there is one."

She glanced at Graven and continued to toss the diced pieces into a pot, the beginnings of a crude stew.

Helena nodded to Thearon. "However, we shouldn't become arrogant. I want us in two teams of three, and close enough that one team can aid the other if neccessary. Thearon, Veronica and I will sweep the east side of the pass. Logan, Hal and Saren will take the west. Be sure to stay away from areas where you could be easily am=bushed on multiple sides. If you think you've found where they are, don't engage. Send up a flare and the other team will find you so you can assault together." Having said that, she placed a handful of flare rockets fresh from the local Connlaothan gunsmith on the table. "Three flares for each team, one for each member."

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Graven pulled out his knife and stabbed it into one of the rabbits, drawing out any residual life energy left in it. He had built up some stores over the past months, but he still didn't have nearly as much now as he had before. "It's a good thought," he said in reply to Fawn," But I'm afraid my men have scoured everything up to the Serenian border, and there's not a cave to be found on this side that could support the numbers we've gathered." He indicated the new once-dead Fawn had supplied him with; eight in total. With Cal, Bron, Graven and Fawn, that brought their total up to twelve. "We'd have to split into two or three small groups, which isn't viable seeing as my men rely on me for more life energy. Not to mention that we'd be completely isolated if one of the cells was found."