CHAPTER 2:

By the Campfire

Oww. That hurt.

Throb.

Oooowww.

Jiraath squeezed her eyes shut in vain hope that the ache in her skull would cease. It didn't of course, but the hope was still there. Waking up was not of a high priority for her at the moment. She easily recalled the sharp wallop to her head she received from the large burly man. Large, huge, massive; he was a mountain of a man, Jiraath was surprised he didn't have a clan of dragons nesting it his ears.

A Barbarian.

Woad paint and everything.

'You still haven't explained why you brought this…this thing into my camp.' An angry female voice rose over what Jiraath was beginning to recognise as the bubble of water in a river.

'That is no demon, it does not carry the evil energy that the other creatures carry, and it is not twisted in any way.' A soft male voice replied, she could hear the shuffling of clothes and that creaking sound that mail makes when it rubs against itself. This indeed warranted Jiraath to have a look so she forced her eyes open and was greeted with the bright…night. The light from the fire glared in her eyes, she groped inside herself for her energies as she would if she would try to quell a fire; but she found nothing.
Her Ji was truly gone, she felt as if a part of her was missing. She blinked a few times to get used to the lighting, went to turn her head but a tug at her muzzle stopped her. She looked down her snout and saw something, then she felt it; rough, itchy and it smelled slightly mouldy, a rope around her muzzle connecting to a tree. There was not much slack between the two, so Jiraath had to watch the humans out of the corner of her eyes, this just made her head hurt worse. She winced and resigned to listening.

'I do not care if is a demon or not! It is a dangerous creature! It is making everyone in the camp edgy, and what if you're wrong? What if it is a demon and you can't…sense it.' The copper haired woman's emphasis on sense made her sound as if she thought it was all part of the druid mumbojumbo, which, consequentially, she did. Jiraath strained again to see out of the corner of her eyes, ignoring the thump of the headache. A druid, Jiraath knew that was what the man in the furs and leathers was, a not quite corporeal wolf sat at his feet, its translucent fur reflecting light from a source that could not be seen.
There was another who sat with his black mail covered back to her, a bleached bone ridge ran down his spine and rib ridges encased his torso. Clearly he was a necromancer, the claw shaped pauldrons were not what gave that away, but the fact that she recognised his hair colour from one of the necromancer clans that lived nearby to her Su'ari clan's valley. They often traded with each other, rough rubies and other nest gems for books, scrolls and writing tools for the more nimble of claw. When she saw his talisman, she'd know if he was one of the necromancer's from her area.

A lilting female voice wafted into the conversation from outside of Jiraath's view, 'Even if you do not trust Weylin's senses, then you must trust Bran's, as a Dire wolf of the spirit world he can sense if there is evil. He clearly doesn't.' Point made, the woman fell silent.

From what Jiraath could see from her headache-inducing position, the copper headed woman, clearly didn't like any of the magick talk or being on the losing side of an argument, she huffed and left. The woman turned after she was a few metres passed and said,

'If you choose to keep that thing in my camp, then you are choosing to no longer be aided by my rogues. Anita, come.'

At that an uncomfortable looking rogue who had been positioned just behind Weylin, the druid, started. She glanced apologetically at the druid, who just waved his hand in acceptance and dismissal, and trotted off after the copper haired woman; not before tossing a slightly fearful look at Jiraath; and upon noticing Jiraath's being awake, quickly darted off.

'So.' A dark skinned man wearing a light brown linen shirt appeared in Jiraath's field of view. 'Who upset Kashya?' Weylin shrugged, the man glanced at the necromancer who merely looked up from whatever it was that he was doing, nodded his head at the druid, and then returned to ignoring the rest of them. 'Ah. So, anything from the lizard?'

Stars, man, are you really that stupid? Dragon, draaagoooon. It's not that hard. I have wings for Rook's sake. She growled under her breath and shuffled herself on the hard ground.

'Only that so far.' The necromancer said and glanced over his shoulder at Jiraath. She gave him her very best 'please untie me look' and received nothing for it. 'It is awake.' She. 'What do you want to do with it, druid?' She, dickhole! She saw Weylin stand up and start to approach. Eventually when he was towering over her, and looking up at him hurt her head about as much as trying to watch people out of the corner of her eye hurt, he knelt down and looked steadily into her eyes. She watched back. Then huffed some dirt out of her nostrils and flicked her ears.

'She's a M'Iirai-ki.' He said after standing up again. You're serious?

'What's that?' The woman who had spoken before moved into Jiraath's vision, she was wearing a dark red knee-length tunic, a long staff in her hand. Not the Amazon who had been using her as target practice before, but a sorceress. A fire sorceress to be precise.

'M'Iirai-ki is their language for dragoness; she is a dragon; albeit a rather small one.' The druid knelt down again, Jiraath saw the necromancer get up and turn around. His talisman was on a chain attached to his pauldron and the chest piece of his armour, it was a coiled snake carved out of blue obsidian; his eyes matched the talisman, seeming to glow even in the absence of light. It was not the mark of the clan neighbouring the Su'ari, and Jiraath felt disappointed at that.

'Aren't dragons supposed to be able to talk?' That was the dark man, the necromancer turned to him.

'Ever tried to talk with a rope holding your mouth shut?'

'Oh, very smart, Kedar.'

'Clearly. I have ten years on you, Javyn, which is ten years of practice that you do not have.'

Weylin waved them quiet; his amber eyes peered down at Jiraath, his shadow obscuring the firelight. 'I am going to take the rope off your mouth, do not fight me or the rogues will say I proved them right.'

Right. Don't fight you and we all live another day. Woo.

The druid cut first the tether that held Jiraath's head to the pole and secondly the ropes holding her snout shut. When he was done he pulled his hands away to observe how she would react. Jiraath opened and shut her mouth, stretching her jaw muscles and snorted.

'Can you speak?' Weylin asked.

Jiraath stared at him, trying to figure out how to say no with her eyes. She tried to voice it but it came out again as a nasal growl. She sighed and watched him, waiting for his reaction.

Weylin furrowed his brow and turned to the others, 'She has no power of voice.' He shook his head. Kedar shrugged, bent over and picked up his stew bowl and hobbled a little closer to the camp fire, trying to heat it up again. Javyn turned to the fire sorceress.

'Tamsin, do you know anything of these creatures?' She wound a finger through her hair and looked at him in a mockingly coy manner.

'Why, would I ever? I thought you knew all things, paladin; where to hide, where to aim, how to use my staff in battle.' She flashed her hands in front of her, 'Everything.'

'Children, please, stop bickering. I have a nice stew here that is being spoiled.' Kedar raised his voice over the paladin and sorceress' argument. They stopped in a huff and parted, Jiraath blinked at this, she did not understand human ages well. To her they were small and pink, they spent a long time as adults and then suddenly got old, gray and died. Necromancers confused her further; they were almost always white or grey, spent most of their lives being such and then suddenly disappeared. She didn't even know if they died, not with the energies they worked with. Kedar looked over to Weylin after the younger two were gone, 'He's paying for the fixing of her staff, but she is still sore about it getting broken.' Weylin just shrugged.

'The rogues will want one of us to watch her tonight.'

'I do not blame them.' I do. 'It is bad enough for them that I am here, I think I scare all the young ones.' Kedar shrugged and spooned some of the stew into his mouth. He looked thoughtful. 'Well, whatever you are doing tomorrow, I do not believe that I will be able to help. After that wound I got from the Smith today, I think I will need to rest it.' He stretched out his left leg; his thigh was wrapped in bandages. 'That being the case, I would be quite content to keep an eye on her tonight.'

Weylin nodded; the fire light making his wood coloured hair shine copper, 'Thank you.' The druid stood up and stretched his legs, he took a seat on the ground next to Bran, the Dire wolf whuffed his neck and then went back to sleep. 'I'll tell you something, Kedar. I can feel animals; I can sense their emotions, fear or comfort and make sense of them into thoughts. I cannot read this dragon.' He went quite.

Maybe it's because I'm special? Or because I'm not an animal?

A chill ran down Jiraath's back, the spines down her neck and rump raised a little.

Or is it because I died?

---

This chapter is something of a set up, show you the characters. Establish a few thingamyjigs. Yup.

Characters:

Kedar is the Necromancer from the Kur'Oul clan. Worshippers of Trag'Oul, priests of Rathma etc. Also he is about thirty six.

Javyn is a junior Paladin (: He's twenty six hence the 'ten years on you' comment. Doesn't see the Necromancer as a threat but doesn't particularly like him and tries to show this through biting comments which he successively fails at. Death humour wins.

Weylin is the most awesome druid. Enigma. Yay.

Bran is a Dire Wolf. Spirit of the ancient wolves.

Tamsin is a Fire Sorceress, while she can use stuff from the other disciplines she specialises in fire.

Barbarian, we'll see him in like…ages…not now though. :D

Amazon, she's uhh, here. Yeah. Will be. :F

Toodlewhoops!

~Ark