Business As (Un)usual [Open~ Somewhat M-ish]

[Remi]

((If you want to hop in, feel free to do so! There's no need to ask for my permission! :D Also, I do not expect you to mirror-post, don't worry about that!))


"Capture it! No matter what else you do, don't let it escape!"

What could have possibly set off such a horrifying order to have been issued through the tavern; a terrible, slavering beast that oozed power and danger? Perhaps some bestial murderer that had been spotted? Unfortunately, nothing as interesting as that had happened; it had merely been a case of a traveler unknowingly being in the wrong place, at the wrong time; a hunt was sounded for no reason, other than said traveler had "looked like it was an evil creature and would definitely problems." All because the plant-woman had dared to disembark from a ship in a town she'd barely known the name of; a she'd done nothing more sinister than enter the wrong inn at the wrong time-- and had encountered a few members of a group she damn sure hadn't known existed.

Which had resulted in her screaming profanities as she fled from the town, dogged pursuers hot on her heels; darting through the city streets, ducking into alleys any chance that she could and leading her hunters on a merry pursuit. How strange it had been for a predator to have had the tables turned on her as she'd found herself in the extremely strange position of becoming someone's prey. Oh, she damn sure hadn't blindly fled; she'd made a point of lobbing throwing knives at her hunters along the way and on more than one occasion, she'd known her aim had hitten home- if the occasional groans, screams and profanity had been any indaction; or the sound of two individuals hitting the ground and invoking their deities' names in agony.

"Come on, you stupid fucks!" She had challenged them; taking to the rooftops for what she had thought would have ended up being the end of that unwanted and (in her opinion) thoroughly unnecessary pursuit. But that group of monster-hunters had proven to be as wily, determined and dogged as a group of mangy stray dogs running down a bitch in heat.

Determined to just drag her ass out of the city, Lycoris's attention had been focused on the group that she'd managed to stay one step ahead of; not realizing that she had been outnumbered and flanked-- not until she'd found the nasty surprise of a particularly stealthy, sneaky hunter driving a long, slender-bladed knife between two of her lowest ribs on the right side when she'd turned to drop back down from the rooftop of a small shop, into the awaiting alleyway below.

It probably -hopefully- hadn't been a mortal wound; though it was nothing less than agonizing. (She understood so gods-damned little about the concept of life and death that she would have ended up being stupidly late to her own funeral.) Biting back bile that rose in her throat, she had merely shook her head in confusion, lashing out with her clawed hands to rip and tear any of that son of a whore's skin that she could have possibly reached, flinging herself from the shop's roof at last.

Lady Luck must have been right beside her every step of the way during that harrowing departure from the town and the subsequent full-blown race into the highlands beyond; there couldn't have been any other explanation. The thief hadn't stopped running until her legs had simply given out beneath her: she'd managed to evade the hunters for the time being at least- and if that fickle fucking Lady Luck remained with her for a while, maybe she'd at least be able to catch her breath before she had to run again.

That was how the demi-human thief who went by Lycoris had ended up in the open expanses of the Highlands, possibly with a single unintentional murder added to her list of crimes. Crouched almost motionless in the tall grass, wild-eyed and wary, with a hunting knife that wasn't hers clenched tightly in one hand, ichor flowing slowly yet steadily down her side, hoping that nothing out here would connect the unearthly shriek she'd voiced when she'd torn the knife from her side, to the creature that waited among the tall, thick grass.

The only thing she hoped to encounter out here was easy prey; hopefully a deer or something smaller-- gods knew she was ravenous from that pursuit, light-headed from the attack. But Lady Luck, the only deity she believed in, was known far and wide to be a fickle fucking mistress; it would only be a matter of time until her momentary good fortune ran out. The only saving grace was that the sun had sunk behind the horizon hours ago; that combined with the flora might have made her somewhat difficult for any approaching threat to spot, at least at first.

[Crankshot]

He had been in the tavern, slowly sipping away at his ale, pondering where he might go next. His last contract had paid well, and he was beginning to feel the call of the road again. As Reinhardt was mulling over possible directions to travel, (as he never really cared for destinations), a shout erupted, followed by a commotion that seemed to trail after an odd looking woman. Emerald eyes locked onto the group of ne'er do wells that piled out after her.

The mercenary knew he shouldn't get involved, but something in him pulled him to his feet. Ancestors guide me. Do I intervene?

Placing payment for his drink on the bartop, the raven haired soldier made his way outside as the last of the pursuers made their way around the ally corner and out of sight. No matter, the earth remembers.

Kneeling, the man scooped up a small handful of dirt, and, touching a couple of the curious runes engraved onto his boots, whispered, "Show me her path."

From the myriad of boot prints on the ground, suddenly, to Reinhardt's eyes, one set began gowing faintly. The mercenary tightened the straps holding his pack and weapons, and took off at a leisurely jog, a pace designed to eat up the miles at minimum stamina loss. A trick learned from years marching and wandering.

Coming to the place where her path left the ground and took to the rooftops, the man knelt once again, this time activating runes on his thigh armor and breastplate, as he whispered, "Mother earth, aid me in greeting sister wind's embrace."

He then leapt, and as he did, the ground beneath his feet heaved, effectively launching him into the air, as a swirl of wind surrounded the man, guiding him gently to the rooftops.

Sharp eyes quickly scanned the rooftops, and near the edge of his vision, he watched as the woman took a blade in the ribs and fell below the rooftops.

Shit! I should've intervened. Ancestors, let me be in time!

Abandoning his attempts to conserve strength, Reinhardt touched some of the runes stitched into his cloak, and whispered, "Sister wind, help me run like you."

As the man began to sprint, swirls of wind surrounded him, lifted him, allowing him to move far faster than any human should, and clearing two, sometimes three houses at a leap, as he closed in on where he watched the woman fall.

Gliding down the the ally floor where he saw the woman fall, the wind died away, and Reinhardt saw the trail of blood. Curious color, as he placed his fingertips in a small pool of blood, he sniffed it, then lightly tasted it. Demi-human. Dryad? Or something else? Either way, she's hurt.

The mercenary abandoned the trail of blood for a gamble, by heading straight out of town, he hoped to gain some time over following her trail turn for turn.

And he was rewarded when he picked up the trail heading out of town, though it had been well trampled by those "hunters" that were after her. He met them on the way back in, and simply stood aside, carefully keeping his face blank as they laughed and caroused with each other, congratulating each other on their "heroism" while in the same breath describing the grotesque things they would've done had they caught her.

Reinhardt's hands began to shake as some of their comments took him back to his childhood, after his family had died, No! Focus, dammit! This woman, whatever she is, is innocent of any wrong to these folk. Find her!

Biting his lip so hard it almost bled, the man continued on his way, following the blood trail. As the light began to wane, he heard the scream floating upon the wind. Eventually he spotted where the trail went into the grass.

Coming up to that spot, by the light of the moon, he made sure to keep to the middle of the path, and to keep his hands away from the hilt of the greatsword strapped to his back, he stopped, and spoke out, seemingly to the air, "A wound like that, needs proper care. Now, I'm no healer, but I know my way around injuries."

Reaching, not to the pack on his back, but to the satchel at his side, Reinhardt pulled forth a roll of bandages, "It's too late to try and make my way back into town, but I know a good place to camp not too far off," he said, still seemingly to the air.

"If someone around here were hurt, and wanted to be seen to, and wouldn't mind sharing a fire for the night, I'll be close by" and with that, the man made his way into the woods on the opposite side of the path from where the woman crouched, maybe a hundred yards or so, to a pleasant clearing, where he proceeded to set up a small campfire.

Thankfully the stars and moon on a clear sky made it easy to find plenty of fallen deadwood to get a nice fire, as he pulled some recently purchased supplies from his pack, and his camp skillet, he leaned his sword against a nearby tree, and pulled a dagger from his belt and started cutting things into the pan.

First a few slices from that side of bacon he purchased. A carrot, some potatoes, an onion, celery, and a few more pieces of bacon. Soon enough, his small camp meal was producing some very enjoyable smells. Touching one of the runes on his cloak, he whispered, "Sister wind, help me tempt her."

And a small breeze picked up, blowing the smell of cooking food directly to the woman's hiding place.

[Remi]

She heard his approach before she saw him; sinking further into the grass, pink-orange eyes narrowed into slits, unable to keep her limbs from trembling as she tensed them beneath her, agony, fear and rage turning the luckless thief into something similar to a wild animal, I didn't do shit to them and I can't even hunt in peace! Her lips parted in some semblance of a humorless little smile, maybe even a snarl, at that thought; clawed toes grasping at grasses and the dirt beneath, getting ready to launch herself forward as she tightened her grip on the stolen knife and mistaking the mercenary for one of her "hunters" as he drew even closer; it would have only taken a well-timed lunge to finish closing the distance between them.

At that point, Lycoris might not have been able to take him down, might even end up expending the rest of her strength during what she perceived to be the hunt, but if it meant she might have had even the slightest chance, she'd even end up with the opportunity to feast, possibly find a few things worth pilfering. And yet, he didn't draw the massive sword he carried, instead deciding to talk. Maybe it was simply the fact that he hadn't plunged into the grass, swearing to commit all manner of atrocities against her before she died, that kept her from immediately trying to launch her own attack.

Instead, she listened in near-silence, whimpering every now and again as she redistributed her weight; hoping the sound wasn't loud enough to draw too much attention, she'd finally end up biting down on her tongue sharply enough to make it bleed as she listened to what he had to say, eyes trailing his every move to make sure that he wasn't leading others to her hiding place; with the ichor that continued to freely flow, she wouldn't be steady enough on her feet to face more than one opponent and she doubted she'd be able to continue running for much longer.

When he mentioned sharing a fire before walking away, she remained exactly where she was, It could be a gods-damned trap, I've heard about those. If he's a slaver, I don't have a fucking chance. However, as she contemplated exactly what she was supposed to do, Lycoris was met with something decidedly unfair: the nigh-irresistible scent of bacon on the soft breeze; which only seemed to intensify the longer she remained where she was, stomach growling ferociously, reminding her of how starving she truly was, reprimanding her for not picking off one of the "hunters" during her dash for relative safely.

At last, the plant-woman gave in, rising to her feet, tucking the stolen knife next to one of the daggers at her waist as she clamped one hand against the wound. Cautiously, eyes darting about nervously in an attempt to watch for an ambush, she made her way toward the man's campsite; it was slower going than she would have liked, but there wasn't much that she couldn't have bitched about at that point. Thankfully, the sky was quite clear; had she believed in more than her patron deity, she would probably have wondered if the half-moon and glittering starlight was guiding her. But she was neither poetic of mind and didn't know enough of other deities to bother offering them thanks.

With a final furtive glance behind her shoulder, Lycoris finally made it to the campfire, sitting within its warmth with a low groan and quick, musical "Thank you," in response to the conversation he'd had with the wind just a little while ago.

[Crankshot]

A slow smile spread across his face as the woman approached his fire. Reaching into his pack as she sat and thanked him, the man nodded as he drew out a loaf of dark bread. Tearing the loaf in half, he used his dagger to carve a good portion of the bread from the interior of the crust. He scooped meat and vegetables from his pan into the hollowed out bread end, and offered it to the plant-woman, along with the soft bread from the interior of the makeshift breadbowl he had just made. As he did, his eyes met hers, and she would see the firelight reflecting off eyes the color of polished emeralds.

His deep voice rumbled out, like distant thunder on a cloudy night, "That's a nasty wound you have there. I can try and patch you up, if you'd like?"

Reseating himself near his pack and satchel, he began rummaging through various pockets and pouches, pulling different items out, and laying them on his unrolled bedroll, speaking in a low, calm tone, seemingly to himself, "Linen bandage, to bind the wound, brandy to clean the wound, grind yarrow and alfalfa to stuff the wound, keep it clean and stop the bleeding, mixed with maple sap to help seal everything up. A measure of goldenrod, eaten, just in case there's internal bleeding."

"But," and he turned back to the woman, "that can wait, if you would rather eat first."

[Remi]

The thief was still rather on-edge; if the band of would-be hunters were actually worth anything, it would only be a matter of time before they were at it again; maybe they'd do something even more ridiculously stupid this time around and well, she damn sure wasn't opposed to eviscerating a couple of bastards, if the opportunity to do so arose. Satisfied that there was a reprieve for at least the time being, she'd turn her attention back to her recent company; watching him with no small measure of curiosity, pale pink-orange eyes meeting emerald as she watched him work.

It was probably apparent that she was neither Dryad, Mandragora, nor Alraune, but something entirely different, maybe some kind of lesser being, though it might have been difficult to say for certain in the fairly dim lighting. Any trepidation faded though when he offered her the stew, which she accepted with a crooked grin; revealing those doubled sets of canines. Though she definitely preferred raw meat, she wasn't about to complain. "It's not that bad; just an accident," The lie came quite easily, as though she were mentioning nothing more than the pleasant weather.

"Why are you helping me?" She questioned at last, simply inquisitive, between bites; her voice wasn't exceptionally remarkable, save for the peculiar accent granted by nonhuman vocal cords; an almost slithering quality, "I'm not sure I've got enough to pay you back with." She was severely undervaluing the pouch of coins that hung at her belt, the satchel of stolen goods (mainly jewelry and other little trinkets) that she had yet to find a fence for.

It didn't take her long to devour her meal gratefully, shifting to a somehwat more comfortable position as she withdrew a pair of inlaid ivory dice from her satchel of pilfered treasures, rolling them idly while he laid out his healing tools; "What brings you out here, anyway?" She didn't know if people would make a point locaing another and setting up camp, unless there was something they were trying to do and wanted a diversion in the meantime.

[Crankshot]

Repeating the breadbowl procedure with the other half of the loaf, and the other half of the food in the pan, Reinhardt's brow furrowed as the plant woman spoke.

"Unless you have more blood in you than any other humanoid of similar size I've ever met, that wound is actually rather bad." He made no comment about her oddly colored eyes, or the way her teeth were formed. A wandering mercenary deals with all shapes and sizes.

Gesturing with his bread and the leaking hole in her side, he continued, "I found you by following the blood trail. I'm helping you because, while people are mean, and spiteful, and petty, and hate filled, and mistrustful, a person is not. So long as one uses their head."

Gulping down a couple more bites, the mercenary waived off her offer of payment. Seeing that she had finished her meal rapidly, while he still had most of his left, he placed the bread bowl off to the side of the fire, in the now cooling pan, and turned to his bedroll, waiving at her to join him, "Come, have a seat on my bedroll, and we'll get you patched up. That's what brings me out here. Well over a dozen on one is hardly a fair fight. But if they come back, perchance my being here may help even the odds some."

He removed his gauntlets, and breastplate, setting them aside. He would need the extra freedom of movement to treat the woman's wound properly. His unlaced shirt and rolled up sleeves would reveal multiple runes, similar to those visible all over his gear, tattooed on forearms and exposed chest, should she move to join him.

"My name is Reinhardt, by the way."

[Remi]

"I don't know if I do or not," That was nothing more than simple musing; leading to a strange, curious train of thought. While she vaguely remembered having been created in captivity (unaware that her creator had used forbidden sorcery); recalled seeing cages -her own and those that other magical experiments had resided in- splashed with blood on numerous occasions, she'd never bothered to guess how much there might have been. Maybe that would have been a way to while away some of the time. "I suppose you're right," She admitted with an approximation of a soundless sigh; still not believing she'd been stupid enough to allow the whole rooftop escapade to play out the way it did.

"No they're not," She wasn't defending her assailants; she wanted nothing more than to slaughter as many of them as she could and revel in the resulting bloodbath; but more generally speaking, "People do some extremely stupid shit and I'm not sure if they always think, but they're not bad, they're fascinating." She accepted his explanation easily enough though, seeing no reason to try and refute it.

"It's just a damn shame I didn't get to take anything from them," Was her response to his comment about the mob having not been a fair fight; though she'd offer a grateful smile, "If they do come looking again, I think we'll be able to handle their stupid asses!" That statement was nothing if not cocky as she put her dice away and stood up again; swaying unsteadily for a few seconds, though that unexpected dizziness did thankfully pass as she made her way over to the mercenary's bedroll, sitting down as her still-flowering vines seemed to shift of their own accord, that way she didn't end up sitting on them.

"It's nice to meet you, Reinhadt; mine is Lycoris- and those are pretty, She was, of course, speaking of his runes; she'd never seen anything of the sort before. "Do they mean anything special?" As far as she could tell, they were just interesting tattoos.

[Crankshot]

A quick chuckle escaped his chest as Reinhardt listened to Lycoris go on about the hunters and fighting them. His laughter faded as she seated herself before him and asked about his tattoos.

Ancestors, this is a pretty one. In an incredibly exotic way.

"They are all that I have left of my clan. And they are my spellbook, in a fashion."

Glancing over her, slightly confused, Reinhardt realized he couldn't tell if she was wearing clothing, or if the leaves and vines were part of her. And he said as much.

"Lycoris, in order to clean and bind this would properly, I need to get at it properly, and I'm sorry, but I can't tell if you're wearing clothing of some kind, or if the leaves and vines are just part of you."

He shrugged, "If you are wearing some kind of plants made clothing, I'm going to need to cut away your blouse so I properly patch you up."

"Don't worry," he assured, "You can cover up with my cloak if you need to."

While awaiting her answer, he busied himself arranging his herbs and bandages, and even dug a small stone mortar and pestle from his satchel.

[Remi]

A predatory grin curved her lips as she allowed herself to fantasize slicing the bastards to ribbons; a low laugh coloring her thoughts as she imagined a battlefield; the grasses stained a beautiful crimson, while she meandered among the corpses, helping herself to an eyeball here, a liver or perhaps even a brain there, stealing their valuables while she went. It wasn't a realistic thought for the thief to entertain, but it had been amusing, to say the least.

Reinhardt's voice called her back to reality though- and his words were more interesting than her thoughts of quasi-conquest, "I'm not sure what a clan is, but they're your spellbook? Does that mean you're a sorceror?" Lycoris was exceptionally inquisitive about all things magical; leaning forward a bit and tilting her head in puzzlement, "How would you read them?" Perhaps she was prying just a bit too much, but she hadn't been given a reason not to, yet. You're pretty damned easy on the eyes.

She hadn't realized that her hair-vines had just kind of fallen over her listlessly, much like a veil of long hair would have draped over anyone else. "Of course I'm wearing clothing, Reinhardt; people get extremely pissed if you walk around unclothed," It was a somewhat off-color joke, punctuated by a laugh and teasing little wink.

However, she had tried to do just that on a few occasions; mainly when the summer heat had become unbearable. Unfortunately, innkeepers never responded all that kindly to a naked woman with throwing knives strapped to her thigh, just ambling casually into their establishment and asking for a very large basin of cold water.

'You won't need to," That was given as a very brief explanation when he'd announced he might have needed to cut her clothing off. With a too-easy shrug, she raised her hands to the back of her neck, untying the embellished silk scarf she wore as a halter, instead using the garment to secure her vines in a bun at the base of her skull, removing the larger pouches from her belt as well; "There's no need, that's more comfortable, anyway."

[Crankshot]

Reinhardt nodded as the woman asked if he was a sorcerer, but then qualified it by stating, "I'm a Rune-Mage, to be more precise. And you don't read them. Each rune has a multitude of meanings. By envisioning the appropriate meanings and activating the runes in the proper order, the elements become mine to control. Take, for example, fixing this wound. I need more light."

Touching one of the runes on his chest, and another on his forearm, he whispered, "Brother fire aid mine eyes."

As two small globes of fire split themselves off from the camp fire and floated over to hover a foot or so above Reinhardt's head, he sighed quietly at the woman's lack of modesty. Of course, she's not actually human.

Bringing one of the globes of fire around to the side, the man got to work. The injury looked like it had bled clean, no need for a brandy wash. Okay then, herbs in the mortar and pestle to be ground up, along with a splash of water from his waterskin to make a paste. While mixing the yarrow and alfalfa, he handed a bundle of goldenrod to Lycoris. "Here, eat this. It might not taste very well, but if your physiology is close enough to things I know, it will help stave off any internal bleeding."

Dumping a good measure of brandy over his hands, he simply shook them dry, then picked up a as much of the herbal paste from the bowl that he could, and began, as gently as he could, packing it into the wound. "This is gonna sting like hell in few seconds, just warning you."

Working swiftly, he unwrapped a paper bundle with a large amber globule in the center. This he placed over the herb stuffed wound and pressed slowly. She would feel the globule spreading out and sticking to her skin, sealing things off. "There. Now we can take a minute," as he produced a clean linen cloth from his satchel and dampened it from his waterskin, "and clean up some of this blood."

As gently as as a leaf on the surface of a pond, this hardened warrior, brow furrowed in concentration, began wiping the streams of liquid, that passed for this plant woman's blood, from her side.

When he was satisfied, he grabbed the roll of bandage he had laid out earlier and began winding it around her slender frame, and up over a shoulder, with the same care and gentle patience he had shown through the whole procedure. She would find the wrapping snug enough to be secure, but not uncomfortable.

Tying off the bandage, Reinhardt clapped his hands. "And there we go." As the two small globes of flame winked out of existence.

Turning back to the fire, he picked up his meal and set to work finishing his dinner.

[Remi]

Lycoris listened in fascination as the mercenary explained how his particular kind of magic worked; quite impressed by how useful it sounded. "Damn, Lady Luck has to favor you!" The thief's tone was rather awed; "You must be able to do anything you can think about!" She didn't know the limitations of runic magic, but that hardly mattered, watching the flaming spheres with fascination, even reaching out to try and touch one; wondering if magical fire was hot. Perhaps thankfully, they were out of reach, "They're gorgeous!"

With a shrug, she accepted Reinhardt's goldenrod and popped it into her mouth, grimacing at the taste as she forced herself to swallow it; "Hopefully it'll work, I don't know; I suppose I'm not as real as everything else," She offered that vague explanation with an off-handed shrug; damn sure not claiming to be an illusion or anything of the sort and trying to be somewhat helpful, if nothing else.

She'd watch with curiosity as Reinhardt went about preparing the rest of his healing herbs, remaining as still as she possibly could while he started patching her up, "I'm not that worried," She really wasn't; though she did end up chomping down quite sharply on her inner cheek as the glob of amber began to seal her injury closed; a faint tremble the only real indicator that she'd even felt the sting; "Shit, you weren't lying!"

She stilled again as he washed away her ichor; not quite understanding why he hadn't taken the path of the healer- he'd have made a damn good one, as far as she could tell. "You would have made one hell of a cleric," It was intended as a compliment, the plant-creature beginning to become quite at ease, shifting around to try and make the bandaging process easier; "Be careful, my sap's poisonous!" She warned as he sat back down to finish his dinner; the last way she'd want to repay a kindness would have been to have her rescuer going through the same throes of agony that the only dumb ass who'd ever tried to bit her had experienced.

Out of courtesy, she removed her scarf from her vines and would go about tying it back in place as a halter again; but after a few moments, her eyes would narrow in discomfort, Fuck... can't breathe! Well, that wasn't entirely true; she could still absorb air through the skin that remained exposed, but it was more like being  short of breath. To compensate just a bit, she'd remove smaller things: her brace of throwing daggers was jammed into one of her belt-pouches, empty or otherwise unnecessary pouches shoved into more important ones.

"Do you know any more stories about magic?" She'd ask at last; completely ignoring the sound of a twig that snapped from quite a ways away- she didn't think it was anything worth paying much attention to; probably just a nocturnal rodent of some sort.

[Crankshot]

"It is very useful. Though I'm still mastering it."

At her warning, Reinhardt checked his hands, and while there didn't appear to be anything on them, better safe than sorry, and he poured some more water over his hands, and then another dose of brandy. Then he ran his hands quickly through the fire, letting the alcohol ignite. He let the blue green flames burn across his hands until the heat began to become painful, at which time he patted them out quickly on his shirt.

"I'm no great healer. Just a bit of battlefield medicine I've picked up over the years."

His back to the woman, he heard the twig snap over the crackle of the fire, an instantly his attention shifted in that direction. He did not look away from his meal, but his focus was on stretching his limited human senses as far as they would go. "Get some rest Lycoris. I'll keep first watch. You can use my bedroll."

At the mention of stories, the mercenary chuckled, "Yeah, I've got stories."

His brow furrowed in thought as he wolfed down the rest of his dinner.

Stretching to his feet, the man gathered his armor for his watch, "A few years ago, I signed on with a group of adventurers hired to track down the cause of some undead infestation in the graveyard of some city down south. Don't really remember the name of the place, but then, I never really pay attention. Where there's humans, there's coin to be made from killing something. Anyway," he finished buckling on his breastplate and reached for his gauntlets.

He continued the story as he slipped them on and tightened the straps, "The group I was with tracked the source of the curse to an undergound lake," he moved to his sword, picking it up from the tree it was leaning on, then moved back to the fire and sat, placing the blade across his knees.

"A necromancer had built himself a stronghold in the center of the lake and was sending out miasma waves. This town just happened to be the closest supply of corpses for him to infect. We killed him, thankfully, before he was able to complete his lichdom ritual. And our priest was able to break the curse. How, I don't know. The magics of gods and demons, life and death, is beyond me. I just alter the physical. Earth, wind, water, fire, and combinations of the four."

[Remi]

"Regardless, it's fascinating!"

She was glad that he'd heeded her warning; those few that hadn't bothered to listen had found themselves begging for a swift death. Not that it had always been a bad thing; especially when the thief hadn't anticipated there being another person to make a robbery or two a bit more difficult than she'd wanted. "It's still quite useful!"

She would just kind of flop back and get comfortable, though as another twig cracked and a rock skittered, she'd offer "It's to the east. I think. Unless something comes of it, wake me up in a few hours, I'll take the second watch." Even with her inhuman hearing, she couldn't exactly tell what was moving around, what it might have been, or whether it was actually approaching or not; either something was trying to be relatively quiet, or it just wasn't close enough yet.

"There is?" She pondered his comment about there always being gold to be had for killing things; hunting was easy enough, so perhaps she'd find a different line of work, take up the art of killing instead of thievery. That would probably have been more interesting, anyway. There would be plenty of time for her to consider that later, though; Lycoris's attention focused on his story.

"You're extremely lucky that your group was able to kill him in time! I don't know how priests can do things such as removing curses either, or very much about gods and the like; I'm not even sure how people like that necromancer, your priest, my creators, or you can use magic; but shit, that doesn't make it any less interesting."

Her words would slowly begin to trail off as she contented herself to stargaze for a time; though she was no astrologer by any stretch of the imagination, they were nevertheless neat to watch. Perhaps she had been a little more tired than she'd thought, as before too long, she began dozing off; falling into a not particularly deep sleep, but a dreamless sleep nevertheless.

---

((Since they're just NPCs, feel free to take control of them, give 'em a real reason for approaching, whatever you want to do with them~ ^.^))

Though one of the "hunters" from the tavern was among their ranks, they were, for the most part, nothing more than a small, ragtag band of trouble-causers, those shit-for-brains more commonly and collectively known as bandits. For the most part full of themselves and cheap liquor, yet light on gold and extremely lucky to count both an out of work torturer and an unscrupulous hedge-mage among their ranks. Three of their members had remained behind to watch their camp and play dice, while the other three had set off in search of an easy target. And well, the sight of a flickering fire in the distance certainly seemed promising enough; if luck was on their side, they might have just sighted the camp of a wealthy, but stupid, merchant.

"Come on, we'll flush 'em out!" The self-appointed "leader" of the prowlers half-whispered, gesturing for the other two to pick up the pace. It wouldn't take too much longer for them to launch an assault against whoever was camping. It was just a damn shame that they weren't exactly masters of stealth.

[Crankshot]

((They're your NPC's. Makes things more interesting when I can't predict their reactions.))

Reinhardt was glad that Lycoris grew quiet, and soon enough fell into the gentle rhythms of sleep. Those sounds were growing closer. Glancing sidelong at her sleeping form, the mercenary whispered under his breath, "They will learn why mine enemies call me The Runeblade."

Coming to his feet again, he touched several runes scattered about his gear; one on his breastplate, one on his gauntlet, one on his sword, two on his belt, and two on his thighguards. A seven rune string, one of his more advanced spells. I didn't exactly lie, Elementalism is dealing with earth, wind, water, and fire at it most basic level.

Though the Rune-String was a little more complicated, the incantation was simple enough, as he whispered, "Cousin shadow, conceal my form."

Tendrils of pure night reached out from the shadows caused by the flickering firelight and wrapped themselves around Reinhardt, and while they were doing so, the mercenary touched two more runes on his belt, one on each gauntlet, and two near the very top of his breastplate, then whispered, "Aunt moon, I beseech thee, aid mine hunt."

Motes of what would appear to be pure moonlight coalesced in midair in front of the man's eyes, before darting into the eyes themselves, causing them to glow moonlight silver, even through the veil of shadows Reinhardt had wrapped himself in.

One more Touching two separate runes on each boot, he whispered, "Mother earth, conceal my steps."

And as this shadow wrapped figure with two silver, faintly glowing eyes, set off into the darkness to flank the incoming intruders, he left no tracks, and somehow the earth was absorbing all sound of his footsteps.

I had better hurry. While these spells aren't powerful, they ARE complicated, and I'm keeping three of them active. Last time I used this combination, I only had about eight minutes.

The moonlight enchanting his eyes lit up the night forest for him, and as such he had no trouble finding the three interlopers. Fucking invade MY camp! He charged them from the side, silent steps carrying him right past them and back into the darkness of the trees in an instant as he swung his greatsword, aiming for the neck of the leader, and not even stopping to see if he hit. Die, you whoresons! Run into the woods a few dozen yards, turn, circle to a new angle, charge, swing, vanish, repeat. Fucking die! Between each run, he was focusing back on the intruders, making sure he always charged from either directly behind them, or from a blind flank.

[Remi]

((Fair enough~! :D))

It had been at least two days since she'd slept last- and the plant-being drifted along silently, untroubled; though relatively lightly. And as such she would remain for a few hours, unless certain sounds caught her ear and roused her. Such was the extremely good fortune of one that was far too willing to offer trust, blissfully unaware of or simply no longer heeding the commotion that continued to draw near.

---

The first of the trio went down before he even knew what had hit him; not that anyone would have missed an ugly, fat orc with bulging yellowed eyes, jutting tusks and the temper of a wild boar. Unfortunately, he'd been the self-appointed leader of the three; a self-important, blundering bastard whose head was lopped clean off his shoulders by the first blow of the massive greatsword that he'd never even seen coming. Maybe if he'd been more observant, less focused on alternating between squealing orders at the other two and grunting extremely dirty marching songs, the poor sod's blood wouldn't have been painting the trees and grass in a brilliant shower of crimson. So damned stupid the brute had been, the headless remained on his feet for two additional steps forward, before finally dropping to the forest floor like a sack of mealy potatoes.

The second was young, inexperienced yet full of himself; an elven brigand from some minor noble house. A brave and foolish warrior with an unimpressive, gaudily-decorated broadsword and even flashier cape made of swans' feathers. This one would at least put up an effort to remain alive, though he wanted nothing more than to take off running with his tail between his legs, probably to run straight home to his mother. Unfortunately, he was outclassed and outranked by the mercenary; four good swings and a clumsy parry offered at the very least, before being blindsided and run through. Learning far too late that flamboyant silk and feathers did not make for decent armor; collapsing to the ground with an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek.

"What a fucking bastard," The third whispered; stepping back away from its fallen comrades: the mage. Though it was difficult for the heavily-shrouded creature to make out exactly what and where its opponent was, it was't nearly as stupid or inexperienced as the other two; weaving to and fro as it raced amid the trees; though it was a fairly diminutive human (an aged human woman that had probably been quite fair in her earlier years; using foul sorcery -draining the life essence of her fellow bandits- to keep herself from fully succumbing to old age and death) moved as though she were nothing more than smoke on the breeze; preternatural speed and agility granted solely by the large, jade amulet she wore.

"Kill my chil'rens, will you?" She murmured yet again; truthfully, viewing their entire little group as being her own children. Pausing only when she thought she might have been able to track the individual who had brought her charges low, she would snarl in an ancient, profane tongue as she drew a tiny knife from her belt, slashing open the palm of her hand in an offering to the forces that governed her ancient art. The air around her would begin crackling with electricity as violet lightning gathered in a sphere above her fingertips. Stepping backward and muttering  a spell of protection that would surround her in swirling, dancing mist; she would hurl that small orb of ball-lightning in the direction she'd thought their target might have been.

Even if she wouldn't be returning to their camp with her allies in tow, at least she could try to kill her opponent and possibly end up a bit more wealthy than she had been.

[Crankshot]

The only one with sense enough to run was an old woman. Reinhardt was considering letting her go, out of pity, until he saw the speed at which she ran. So he flanked her as best he could, still moving as silently as a cloud.

When the old woman stopped and started gathering her magic, she was looking off to the left of the mercenary, but only by a few feet. He darted to the side and circled her as fast as he could, his legs and lungs beginning to protest. Reinhardt was strong, but running flat out, in his armor, with his sword, while maintaining three separate spells, for nearly five or six full minutes, could start to wear anyone down.

Blood magic... Yep, now she dies.

The mercenary stood aghast for a moment as the old woman cut herself and threw a ball of lightning into the trees near where he had been standing moments ago. The time for subterfuge was over, he decided. Striding purposefully in from the witch's left, Reinhardt dropped his cloak of shadows, and released his hold on the earth. Though he left the moonlight in his eyes. Night vision was useful, the spell was easy to maintain, and, let's face it, glowing silver-green eyes would add to the fear factor.

Running two fingers down the flat of his blade, he swiftly activated a very specific string of runes on his sword, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Let's show her real lightning. Come Brother Storm, lend me your fury."

As the shadow cloak was still dissipating, down from the clear night sky blasted a bolt of lightning, the thunder clap knocking away the remaining wisps of shadow clinging to Reinhardt as the bolt of pure white slammed into his uplifted blade, and lit up the night like a thousand suns. It also instantly revealed his position, as the flash of light and deafening roar of thunder came from only a couple dozen feet from the witch's left side.

Another bolt, another blast of thunder, as Reinhardt stepped forward. A third bolt rocked the night, and a fourth, as he kept walking, electricity arcing all over his body, lifting his hair and cloak, causing every runs on his equipment to glow white, and the dark steel of his blade's edge to begin glowing a blueish white as the lightning's energy arced along it.

"Yeah, I killed your 'chil'rens'." he growled mockingly.

Then his voice lowered, and the crackle of the lightning racing over his body mixed with the rumble of his voice to form a sound not of this world, "Now I'm going to kill you.Then I'm going to follow your trail back to where you came from, and kill everyone there."

With that, he lunged forward, still nearly twelve or fifteen feet from the woman, and seemed to vanish as several bolts of lightning flashed through the air, along his apparent pathway, around and past the old woman, moving at the same speed as a normal bolt of lightning, to coalesce back into Reinhardt on the other side of the witch, his sword no longer held aloft, but down, as though he completed a slash.

((Sorry, I just had to go a little anime there. lol!))

[Remi]

While the mercenary was beginning to grow tired, the old witch was only getting started. Somewhere in her seventies, she should have been spending the remainder of her days with a gaggle of grandchildren and an old hound underfoot, rather than casting her lot with a group of bandits, moving like she wasn't a day over fifty and wielding an extremely corrupt magic. But none of that mattered. Gods dammit, would you get still?
What a shame it was that her aim had not been true; either her opponent was far swifter than she'd given him credit for, her vision wasn't what it used to be, or a combination of both.

Though that sadistic little smile graced her wrinkled countenance, the blood-mage instinctively paced backward a couple of steps; there was something far more unnerving about anyone with silver-green eyes than there was about even the infernal deities she'd formed contracts with and had consigned herself to in exchange for power and unnatural longetivity.

A tremor raced up her spine as he brought forth lightning; true lightning- a mockery to her attempted assault; the loud peal of thunder causing her to jump and recoil, blue-violet eyes darting about as though she were looking for an escape; backpedling from her electrified opponent; clearly intimidated, yet not willing to surrender.

"Then I'll kill you!" She howled in response to his taunt, "They was my babies! You'll not harm another of 'em, not while I live!" Fast though she was, she hadn't expected him to lunge toward her-- or to vanish so swiftly; that startlement, combined by her fear, were enough to cause the old crone to remain where she was for a breath too long. Blood sprayed through the air before she even realized what had happened; her left arm severed just above the elbow, the visible flesh charred black; the stench of burned meat and copper mingling with the scent of ozone that hung heavily in the air.

Though in considerable agony -shock would be setting in soon enough- the bitch began to laugh, her amulet blazing with an unholy yellow-green radience as smoke swirled around her pathetic figure; her voice soaring as she spewed forth ageless, profane syllables in an inhuman tongue; the blood that had splashed over her robes slithering upward and hardening, draping her in a layer of sanguine chitin, a mockery of a hooded, armored gown. The blood that poured from her arm-stump would harden as well; twisting and writhing in serpentine patterns as it formed a scarlet whip adorned with a barbed tongue; resembling nothing so much as the tail of a massive scorpion; pulsating, lashing to and fro as it coiled and writhed.

Her feet no longer touched the ground; instead, levitating several inches above it, the smoke seemingly holding her aloft; any blood that still managed to splash on the flora below would decay and wither away, leaving patches of bare, blackened dirt in its wake.

Whirling with that preternatural speed that Reinhardt was probably already accustomed to, the crazed blood witch would raise her scourge-arm and advance, lashing that appendage with wild abandon, striking with the force of a fighter three times her junior; smoke and tainted ash rising with every relentless swing. She knew she had one foot in the grave and her continued attacks were only sending her spiraling even closer to the awaiting chasm of oblivion; but she hardly cared that she had little over an hour left. Every minute she could protect the remaining bandits was a minute well-spent.

---

Of the remaining bandits, only two remained at their own camp; a relatively young warrior-lady tending to the fire and a somewhat older archer- the "hunter", who rested in the branches of one of the nearby trees, dozing. The torturer had become impatient and had set off on his own, claiming that he'd only departed to find more wood for the fire; following no trail in particular, in search of an entertaining diversion. Doubling back more than once, zigzagging and creeping through the foliage, making his path as difficult to follow as possible in case one of the youngsters  got bored and tried to follow along, it was nothing short of fortuitous that during those wanderings, he'd spotted another campfire not too far in the distance; which was the direction that the slimy bastard decided to set off in.

((HAHA nothing to apologize for- and there's nothing wrong with going a little anime sometimes. X3 !))

[Crankshot]

Lightning enhanced speed meant lightning enhanced reflexes. And to his perception, however fast the old crone was, she was still moving in slow motion compared to a lightning bolt. He dodged her flailing strikes almost lazily, though to the witch's eyes he would be vanishing and reappearing.

"Enough of this," he growled, after dodging the fifth or sixth strike, as he casually caught her bood whip in one hand, and yanked her forward, his enhancements causing the pull to move her forward faster even than she herself could move. His other hand aimed a thrust of the greatsword right at her chest, through the medallion she wore. If he connected at all, he was planning on discharging all the lightning energy he had absorbed through his blade and into her body.

[Remi]

The cocky old crone had grossly misjudged her opponent- and now, she would pay for that mistake with her life. Perhaps if she'd been a mage of great reknown, rather than just an old bandit-woman who had made a contract with infernal gods, she would have stood a chance. She had had no idea how the mercenary was able to fade in and out of existence the way that he seemed to do- and had not been prepared at all for when he jerked her forward; when his greatsword shattered her amulet was when the old bitch had died, sighing as his blade rammed her through, the lightning energy making short work of her already-withering corpse, charring it beyond any possible recognition.

---

The duo that remained in the camp were blissfully unaware of what was going on with their comrades; one polishing her chain armor and the other remaining as relaxed as a contented cat high above the ground; remaining motionless in the branches. Following orders was extremely boring, but as long as they didn't hear the approach of their companions or someone worth robbing drawing near, there wasn't cause for much of anything, including conversation.

---

Nearby heavy footsteps, coupled by the sound of rustling cloth began rousing her from her sleep, causing Lycoris to slur: "Alrigh' I'm 'wake. There's coffee in m' pouch, you mind gettin' it and makin' some?" That was based on it being Reinardt moving around, possibly getting ready to have her take the second watch. When no immediate answer came, she shook the fog of exhaustion from her head, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands and sitting up, peering about in a confused manner.

Nope, the mercenary wasn't there- but someone else was. She couldn't tell exactly who or what it was; at least somewhat taller than her, dressed in battered leather armor and a boiled leather mask; featureless, save for the eyeholes slashed into it, hooded and gloved, this individual was making a point of keeping its appearance hidden, rifling through everything that remained at the camp.

It's a gods-damned thief! That thought caused the plant-woman to grin at the thought of the camp being robbed by one of her own ilk; it was quite amusing, proving that there truly was no honor amongst thieves. Fuck it, she thought as she rolled to her feet; drawing her daggers and crouching low to the ground, clawed toes grasping at the dirt underfoot.

The "thief" (torturer) had indeed been going through Reinhardt's belongings, looking for gold that he could take back to the others. It might have been strange, but he really didn't have a vendetta against the woman that had been sleeping, nor whoever had been with her. It was just part of the job, nothing more and nothing less than that: robbing others, killing anyone who might have tried to stop the bandits, getting to have fun tormenting a captive every now and again, it was just the way they lived. Not too much different than a fucking pirate, as far as he cared.

He hadn't planned on leaving the woman alone; but he'd hoped he would have had enough time to steal a few things before she woke up. Oh well; plans had changed abruptly. He'd just have to work on this one a little sooner than he'd hoped.

"It's nice to see you awake," The torturer sneered, watching the woman's every move, rocking back onto the balls of his feet, drawing a baselard from its sheath.

"Fuck you," Lycoris spat, setting her knives to spinning between her deft fingers; the flickering firelight reflacting off their blades and transforming them into something almost mesmerizing as one foot slid behind the other, preparing herself to move.

"Oh, I plan on doing much more than just that!"

That was all it took; Lycoris sprang forward, launching herself into a flurry of blades; her left dagger slashing across the would-be torturer's stomach; tearing through cheap leather armor and biting into flesh that seemed all too eager to part; the ground decorated with a bright spray of scarlet as the plant-woman's momentum carried her forward, right dagger twisting and delivering a vicious backhand thust to his back as she continued forward for a few steps, pivoting and crouching yet again.

With a howl of surprise and pain, the masked brigand turned and closed the distance between them in the span of a few footsteps, bringing his weapon high and at an angle; had his opponent not moved nearly as swiftly as she had, he would certainly eviscerated her, rather than simply clipping her chin with his pommel. Not realizing that she didn't breathe like normal people, he closed the gap between them and reached out, seizing her throat in his free hand; beginning to clamp down quite viciously.

Though she was still fairly lightheaded; not only from being far more clothed than what was comfortable for her, but the pommel-stone colliding with her chin, she quickly and quite savagely raked her claws across what little flesh of his neck remained exposed; ignoring, for now, the knee that was driven into her stomach as her opponent dropped his blade. He really wasn't a skilled fighter at all; someone who tortured others for fun only needed to be experienced in their own art; they let others do the fighting for them.

It became a flash of blades and storm of thrown punches and kicks; headbutts and flailing limbs; a deadly dance that moved from one end of the camp to the other and back; shrieks, grunts and groans splitting the silence of the night; a long, vicious scuffle between a thief that wasn't about to submit to anyone's whims and a torturer whose expertise in combat extended to the barroom brawl. "Stop fucking with me, bastard! This ends now!" Lycoris snarled at last; one knife slicing the bandit's lower stomach, the other driven upward into the underside of his jaw.

Though she was battered, bruised and roughed-up, sore and aching, Lycoris was no more wounded than she would have been during a particularly nasty brawl. Shaking her head and swaying a bit on her feet, the thief made her way over to the almost-extinguished fire, tossing more dry wood and moss onto it so it wouldn't burn out, she sank to her haunches and shook her head, laughing in a disbelieving manner. She'd have to dispose of the corpse after seeing if it carried gold or anything else worth keeping, but that would wait until she caught her breath again.

[Crankshot]

As the husk of the witch withered away on his blade, the mercenary shook the corpse from his sword and resecured it upon his back. Forgoing the usual digging through of pockets, Reinhardt knew he needed to get back to camp. Instead, he simply stripped all belongings from the corpse and wrapped them up in the witch's own cloak. Slinging the bundle over his back, he began jogging back towards camp, and the other two corpses he had left close by, jaw and fists clenched, forcing his legs to work properly.

That damn spell always leaves me a little shaky. But holy fuck does it get the job gone.

Coming up on the corpses of the elf and orc, and feeling a bit more steady, (though he still had to suppress a twitch every now and then), Reinhardt was about to start stripping those bodies, when he heard the noise of conflict coming from his nearby camp. Dropping the bundle he carried, the mercenary darted back to the camp just in time to see Lycoris gut her attacker.

He started to step into the camp, reaching for her, but stopped himself. Allowing her to pick herself up and go about feeding the fire. Once she sank to the ground and began laughing quietly, only then did Reinhardt step into the clearing. "Looks like one slipped past me. Sorry about that."

The mercenary offered no upfront explanation or excuse for his absence. Maybe Lycoris would view this as rude? Maybe she would take it to show that she couldn't trust Reinhardt? Maybe she would take it personally and lash out at the swordsman?

Reinhardt simply felt that mentioning he had killed three others stalking their camp may come off as bragging or showing off, so he refrained from mentioning it. But who could predict how the plant woman would react to the situation.