Evil. That's what the earth felt like here. Tainted, cursed…lonely. It was hard for one to repress shivers from simply setting foot upon the soft ground. Sighing, I hefted my staff to rest upon my shoulders and turned to gaze at my companions.
Brother and sister walked side by side. Twins. Almost identical save for height and slight differences in facial and body features that marked them of their gender. The sister, Ambrosia, oldest by a few minutes, stood tall and proud; confidence apparent in her steps. Her dark skin stood in stark contrast to her dirty linen wrap. Dark, matted hair hung below her ears, of which dangled large gold hoops. A necklace of leather wrapped itself several times about her neck, with a centerpiece of hard, red stone.
Her trade: Assassination. She lived and breathed in shadow. Her kind had become far and few between, a legacy that slowly died. Due to years of practicing martial arts and close combat weaponry, her body had formed into a lithe, muscled powerhouse. Strength poured from her body, intelligence and wit marked her eyes, and time had etched itself upon her face.
Unlike his sister, Aleron walked with easy grace. One would almost call it carefree. At his side walked a shaggy grey timber wolf. Macawi, he called her. The bond between the druid and the animal was obvious to even the most ignorant. Even the love of his sister rivaled the companionship of Aleron and Macawi.
He dressed in earth tones; his breeches were a muddy brown and his tunic the color of sand. About his shoulders hung a weathered cloak of dark green. Tattered and worn, it looked like it had seen better days.
Like his clothing, he had laughing earth-hazel eyes. A smile constantly tugged at the corner of his mouth, his dark face handsome and chiseled. Short, close-shaven brown hair rested upon his head, made more apparent by the black cloth he had tied around his forehead.
Ambrosia's irritated cough jolted me from my musings. We had made it. We had made it to the rogues camp.