"Let's close the distance," Lakota whispers. "While keeping away from the road. Follow my lead." She deftly moves through the brush making practically no noise, but ceases all movement when she realizes the other two weren't following; Dorian had his arm baring Sungival from advancing after her. He motions her over with his finger.
"We can't follow you and prevent being heard; we can't move as silently as you." He says in a whisper." You scout ahead, and Sungival will connect with his mind link and communicate with you. We'll move on from there. If you get in trouble, he can teleport us over to you in short order." Sungival and Lakota exchange glances, and she gives him a nod.
The nerves in Sungival's body catch fire, and his mind releases a pulse of power. Having the image of Lakota burned into his consciousness, he forms an invisible telepathic net that locks on his target, and wraps its essence over it. He successfully establishes a telepathic contact of Lakota's mind; his consciousness has an anchor within her head.
Within psionic, there are different branches of power called disciplines. Psions may have access to several disciplines at a time but they always have a primary discipline; a main path their powers manifest which they are most robust to. Sungival's expertise is that of telepathy: to influence the minds of others with his own mind. In order to accomplish most telepathic actions on a specific target's mind, the telepath must capture the target with a telepathic contact; they must touch the target with their mind.
Before long, a channel is opened between the two minds, and image appears in Lakota's mind, an image of Sungival with his index finger touching his thumb and his three free fingers outstretched to make an 'ok' symbol. All of this is done in mere seconds, and lacks any visual ques, save for the obvious concentration on Sungival's face.
What a silly image. Lokata chuckles to herself. She returns the favor by sending a similar mental projection of herself mimicking the pose. It's clear she's experienced in this method of communication.
"I've made contact and established a mindlink. Dorian, I'll establish one for you as well, for ease of communication."
"No." he replies with his hand up. "You convey whatever she has to say, I don't want you wasting too much energy on mindlinks. If you burn through your energy, we'll be most put out. I'll trust you to not lie about what she communicates." He turns his attention to Lakota. "Now go, no one is holding you back." She nods, and almost disappears before their eyes into the woods.
Lakota employs a method of silent movement, gingerly placing her weight into each step only after having made contact with the ground at such a speed it would be considered jogging by most. She transitions to moving on all four limbs where a sudden incline develops, giving her stalking an animal like quality as she unconsciously maneuvers through the most shadowed areas. With her enhanced senses, she can see the men through the wood on the road, counting eight of them. They didn't look like uniform soldiers of a town. As she approached, she could see across the road, where the men in the shades of the trees seem to be digging into the earth. Her eyes go to the open air wagon on the road side, it's being pushed off the road and the men are rummaging through the luggage. Curious, she draws closer to the trail, taking the utmost care not to be seen, when she notices one of the men beyond the road toss a human shaped silhouette into the newly dug hole.
"They're highway men." Sungival tells Dorian. "She's broadcasting everything she sees and hears; it appears they've killed some travelers and they're cleaning up their mess,"
"What direction were the travelers coming from? Can she tell?" Dorian asks. Lakota looks at the wagon, sees its tracks are coming from the Brunson. "I see. Brunson might be on complete lock down. They might be turning down entrants, and these men are enjoying the spoils. What a shame." He says without the slightest bit of emotion "Tell her to keep moving, we're skipping this envoy and moving on, you'll teleport us to her location once she's safely past them."
"We're just going to leave these predators there to attack innocent people who come by?" Sungival asks with disbelief in his voice.
"Affirmative." Dorian replies as sure as ever.
Lakota turns her head as she hears an oncoming wagon before the highway men can, and she sees them in distance. She can't make out the rider, but it's a covered wagon.
"Lakota," Sungival communicates telepathically. "Signal them to turn around! Make them stop. They can still get away!"
"I can't." she replies. "I will reveal my position. Can't you make contact and warn them?"
"No. Until I get a clear look at his face, I can't make contact, and even then, it will take at least minute to establish a mindlink. These powers are fast only when we're not counting seconds. By the time you can make out his face, it will be too late."
"What's with that expression?" Dorian asks with his arms crossed.
"There's another wagon that's going to be intercepted by the highway men." Sungival says with concern.
"Really?" a look of satisfaction develops on Dorians face. "This is great. The distraction will make it all the more easier for her to get by unnoticed. Tell her to use this situation to her advantage."
"I've relayed it." Sungival says with the hint of heartbreak in his voice.
"Good!" Dorian beams. Sungival furrows his brow and frowns intensly. Something inside his heart is rebelling against Dorian's Cold directive. Finally, he can take no more.
"I . . . I can't condone this Dorian." Sungival shakes his head petulantly "This is unconscionable. We should help them."
"Unconscionable?" Dorain repeats with skepticism in his voice. "We're here to help Brunson, not stick our neck out some random passerby and expose the group to pointless risk. We have no idea who these highway men have in their midst, or how many are among their ranks. They could even have beasts or monsters in tow, and I know you and Lakota aren't exactly fighters; you guys aren't built for intense brawls where you're heavily outnumbered. Keep you head in the game and focus on the mission."
"But-!" Blood rushes to Sungival face as he searches for a counter argument. Alas, nothing comes to him. He slumps over, feeling dejected. Dorian puts a strong hand on his trapezius muscle and squeezes, causing him to flinch.
"Don't worry about it too much, we can play hero when we get to Brunson." Dorian says without a hint of hostility. By now, the wagon is close enough for Lakota to see the driver clearly- he is wearing green dragon scale armor; traders typically do not go wondering about with armor of that caliber. He is an older man, with a thick, brush like mustache, and skullcap. Judging from the rest of his garments, blue robes over his high quality scale armor, he looks like a cleric: a priest who can wield divine magic and often exhibit competency in battle. Sungival receives this information and relays it to Dorian. "The driver is an experienced looking Cleric? Well now, that might change things." Dorian says contemplatively.
"How so?" Sungival asks, trying to stabilize his distress and bitterness of being shot down.
"Well, a random experienced cleric might be willing to reward us for sticking our neck out to help him. With a reward on the table, it might be a good incentive to risk exposure. Another point is the cleric's affiliation: he might be a citizen of Brunson or maybe a traveler who passed by. Either way, we can gather information from him; all the better if he is affiliated with the town. We can curry additional favor with the town this way; building trust with the client is always good. Lastly, he can assist in the fight, which makes all the difference here. We have to move fast and focus on getting him out of there to protect his horses and goods. It's better for both of us if he keeps those, and with your teleport he won't be able to outrun us if he tries to get clever."
"Outrun us?" Sungival asks, puzzled.
"Yeah." Dorian responds. "If we let the guy go without running into any trouble, there's a chance he can turn and hightail it to save his own skin, and probably think he can get away without conversing with us. We're going to want to speak to him afterwards." Lakota sees the cart stopping in the distance, apparently noticing the rabble on the road attempting to hide itself. Some of the men get close to Lakota in their effort to hide, but show no signs they sense her presence.
"He stopped! He noticed the highwaymen." Sungival relays.
"Get a beat on the cleric. I want you to be able to track him." Dorian says as he dons a black armored helmet. Sungival sits in place and remembers the cleric's features: middle aged, plump face and thick, shaggy mustache. His consciousness makes a telepathic connection with the cleric on his first attempt.
"Contact." Sungival says as he continues to focus on his target. With his psionic energy having successfully captured his target, Sungival alters his energy trace to radiate a ping: a chime that faintly vibrates in his mind and innards. "The radial navigation is set. I can track him as long as I maintain it." He looks at Dorian in front of him. "What's the plan?"
"We wait to see if the cart is surrounded, then we strike. Have Lakota get into position. We teleport in the center of the action: I'm sure you can last in the face of a few blades."
"With so many hostiles, it'll primarily be a fight of brawn." He responds with a frown. "But I'll make due. We'll go on my mark." Lakota witnesses the a band of men suddenly rush out of the side brush and flank the cart, and like clockwork, the men in front of Lakota begin to rush to the cart, weapons drawn.
"No sudden movements, ya hear?" one of the men shout as they close in.
"We got ye surrounded!" another sneers. The cleric is visibly calm and complies. Their outfits are patchworks of various hide armors. They bared their arms, their weapons range from blades to bludgeons. Men on the outer range of the circle drew bows with arrows. They seethed with joyous bloodlust.
"It's time. Grab on!" Sungival says as he draws his short sword and small shield, Dorian stands behind him and wraps his left arm across Sungival's chest, grabbing hold of the right shoulder; his left arm adorned with a small buckler. "I'm cutting the mind link with Lakota the second we get there; I've got to conserve my energy." And with that, the men vanish with a pop.
"Off the wagon! Slowly!" a highway man shouts at the cleric, he has dirt on his worn leather, a black goatee covered chin and his helmet obscured his eyes like a mask; small holes peppered about to accommodate eyesight. His hands are covered in bandages and he is carrying a staff. All the men are wearing something to obscure their face in one way or another, be it handkerchiefs or hoods. As the circle of men began to close in on the cart, Sungival and Dorian appear In between, ceasing the entrapment. The brigands step back in surprise, some of them shouting.
"Oy, oy! What's this now?"
"These bastards are getting in the way of our procurement, they are!"
Sungival heart starts racing as the men gawk at them momentarily, he knows it won't be long before the brigands start rushing them down. He takes a quick tally of the men surrounding them. He counts roughly fifteen men in front of the cart, and he knows there are another four or more behind it. He glances behind him and makes eye contact with the cleric; who watches them, expressionless. He's got quite the poker face, Sungival thinks to himself. Hel opens his mouth, ready to demand the men to stand down, but Dorian's thundering black figure passes him and crashes into the crowd, sharp cries of pain ring out while he pelts three men's faces with his spiked knuckled gauntlets with lightning speed in succession; they fall covering their bloody, beaten faces.
A silence permeates the air, save for the anguished moans of the three men on the ground; the men surrounding them ahve mouths are agape in shock. Sungival had seen Dorian's prowess in combat before, but only against those that could effectively defend themselves from it, these targets painted him in a new, brutal light. Dorian's fists are up waiting for the brigands to make their move on him, his breathing is steady, and he stands against the enemy half circle entrapping the cart. The masked man is near Dorian, but he does not signal the same shock as his comrades. This did not escape either Dorian's or Sungival's attention.
The masked man is a target worth the price. Sungival thinks to himself quickly attempts to make psionic contact with the masked man before the action proceeds and is successful. I knew it. Its taxing for me maintain contact with him, he's got stronger sense of will than Lakota, the Cleric or myself. Dorian was right, we happened upon a tiger. Sungival heart rate accelerates; now he knows this is guaranteed to be a challenge.
"Well now," the cleric speaks up. "It looks as though we have some help here." No one seemed to notice the words, save for Sungival, who was anxiously waiting for the inevitable rush of blades and bludgeons to fall upon him. "Take care of the gentlemen in the back, will you?" the cleric said, turning towards in the inside of the cart. This peaked Sungival's interest: wait; is there someone else in the cart besides the cleric? The thought raced through his mind a moment before shouts ran out among the crowd, and the enemy offensive begins.
The men closed in on the both of them, but the attackers reached Dorian first, as he was standing right in the face of a number of foes. They swing their weapons with rage, but before some of them can connect, a black gauntlet smashes into them, two the face for one man, another gets an intercepting fist in the arm and a follow up to the body, and a last sweeping strike on a final man's knee. The victims hit the ground, tumble away, and drop to a knee in that order; yet the assault did not cease. Dorian is forced to block the barrage of weapons diving at him. An axe swings to his head and he defends with the buckler on his left arm, repelling the attack, but it's immediately followed up with a stab to the face from another man flanking Dorian. He blocks with his forearm, but a mace swings to the knees, and Dorian raises his leg to block with his shin, where his armor is thicker. Don't retreat! He thinks to himself, gritting his teeth, keep pushing, show them your power, overwhelm them with fear and destroy their morale!
"Dorian!" Sungival shouts and starts at his companion, but freezes as he notices men are closing in on him. "Damn! Here they come." He growls as he puts up his guard, and charges at a burly man rushing to his left, who was wielding a pike hammer. Sungival swings and cross his blade against the pike hammer, hitting the man in his left pectoral. The brigand barely let's out a grunt and he pushes Sungival off him. Sungival quickly regains his balances and rolls to the man's left dodging the attacker behind him handling a longsword. "I'm nowhere near as proficient at this as Dorian," He curses under his breath," I can't let myself be surrounded, I won't last."
"Let's return the favor." The pike hammer wielding man bellows, as he crashes his pick axe down on Sungival's head; he guards with his sword in response. The force proving to be too heavy to stop, the hammer makes connects at a slowed velocity, clocking Sungival on his unarmored head. He stumbles back, a hand on his head trying to regain focus, but the assault is relentless as a third attacker with bandages covering his face enters his range equipped with twin daggers. Eyes trained on his carotid artery, the blades make a bee line at Sungival's neck, he is able to block with his shield on his right arm just in time; the attacker swiftly shifts his weight and attacks the torso, landing a shallow stab on Sungival through his leather armor and into his abdomen. Wincing in pain, Sungival swings his shield and strikes the man on the head; bandages hops back in response, displaying little sign of injury from the strike.
I've been hit twice already and I've barely done any damage, I've got to turn the tables! His adversaries come down upon him at once, the long sword being the first on his left swings wide but Sungival parries in response; immediately afterwards the pike hammer comes swinging down again. Sungival, knowing he has to respect the power behind the blow, blocks with his shield, and this time is successful in protecting himself, but his arm strains under the weight of the blow. I can't keep taking strikes from this lout, he grimaces as the twin daggers assault the exposed rib cage under Sungival's shield arm, the blade cross like a vicious pair of scissors and are about to penetrate the leather armor when Sungival vanishes. The dagger wielding man, charging with all his force, stumbles forward, along with the pike hammer wielding man, the two collide and the large pick hammer wielding man falls on top of the smaller dagger wielding man. Sungival reappears three feet behind where he was once standing, a little to the left, still in his guarding stance as though he was still fending off the pike axe overhead. A quick glance at the pile of men on the floor prompted a quick step over and a swing at the back of the pike hammer man's neck, a fatal wound is torn open. For his eagerness to fell his foe, Sungival is struck by the longsword, who manages to cut into Sungival's left oblique; the hit was hard, blood covering the blade as he drew it back for another swing.
"Oy, get off a me ya fat . . . "the bandaged man wielding daggers cries as he struggled to get out underneath the large man who was bleeding profusely from the neck, making ghastly gargling noise. Seeing his opportunity, Sungival stabs at the bandaged man's face, risking another attack from the longsword. "Oy, oy, oy!" the bandaged man shouts in panic as the blade comes down, but once again Sungival vanishes, and reappears, directly next to the longsword wielding man. Both men jump away from one another in shock.
Shoot, Sungival curses himself. I was too impatient. Both fighters reorient themselves and come at one another again; Sungival charges a stab past the swing of the swordsmen and runs him through, pushing him off his sword with difficulty. A short lull in the action, he looks about and notices the bandaged man is freed and getting into stance, a man breaks off of Dorian's clash and approaches behind him, along with another man from the side of the cart. This doesn't look good for me. Still plenty of men to take down, even with Dorian's rampage. He glances at the Cleric who is sitting seemingly undisturbed, watching carefully. It would really help if he lent us a hand, He thought with annoyance. But I guess he's not under any obligation to, he didn't ask for help. Sungival curses himself once again, thinking such thought after he raised such uproar earlier in favor of helping the traveler. His back is towards the cart once again as his attackers close in.
The bandaged face man with the daggers was rushed into range again, but Sungival showed the superiority in range with a quick disciplined stab to the chest though his leather armor, penetrating his offense. The bandaged man stops his assault and takes a few steps back, before falling on one knee. Damn, not deep enough, Sungival thinks to himself before a man with a two handed hammer comes from behind the bandaged man and one with an axe to his right. Prepare for a strike from the axe, he's closer. Sungival raises his shield towards the axe man, but as soon as they make eye contact, the axe man stops. The hammer wielding fellow draws near and the axe man resumes his swing. Oh no, their planning to strike concurrently! Sungival teleports again, three feet to his left, and just as he reorients himself, an axe lands solidly on his chest, thrown by the axe man, who was waiting for the opportunity of a sudden teleport. Blood is beginning to trickle down Sungival's forehead; the wound he sustained on his head was bleeding, placing his visibility at risk. The hammer man swings in a wide arc, a few feet from Sungival, but his strike whiffs as Sungival steps back, and he yanks the axe in his chest with a pained expression on his face. The axe man pulled out a second axe from his hip. Sungival glances behind him momentarily, expecting another attacker to flank him, but the men behind him seem to be in suspended animation; they are frozen in a stance of what appears to be the start of a run. This . . . looks like the work of magic; he glances at the cleric once more, who is pointing in the direction of the men directly behind Sungival. Sungival turns his attention to the men in front of him, who are joined by the bandaged man once again, with the Axe man's attention turned to the cleric.
"Come at me!" Sungival shouts at the men as he charges at the hammer wielder. The brigand lifts the hammer overhead for a crushing blow, but Sungival squeezes past, his blade cuts under the man's armpit, spraying a torrent of blood.
"Argh! My Artery!" he screams as he falls over. "He got my artery!" The daggers swing shortly after, making shallow cuts in the armor as Sungival maneuvers and keeps them at bay, teleporting again, in between the bandaged man and the axe man; The axe swings down, his attention torn away from the cleric, makes a poorly prepared strike at Sungival, but the shield intercepts easily, and the axe hand is severed in retaliation.
"Me arm! Oh hell, me arm!" he cries out. Sungival breathes heavily and pushes the distracting cries out of his mind as the daggers bite at him for a final time, nicking his arm. Sungival retaliates with a strike to the head with the hilt from his sword, this time it hits hard enough to drop the bandaged man. Sungival steps back from the carnage to gathers his breath for the next volley. These bastards are stronger than the run of the mill bandits.
Men are already moving to encircle him, now some of them putting their attention on the Cleric, who remains as calm as ever. Hearing the clashing of metal and men falling into his peripheral vision, Sungival takes a quick glance at the direction of Dorian, who is obscured by the crowd surrounding him. Is he doing alright? Sungival thought worriedly to himself. I'm too preoccupied to- his thought disbursed by the hurtling and tumbling of bandits, revealing Dorian working himself into frenzy as his opponents are primarily focusing on unsuccessfully defending themselves from the entourage of crushing punches; Dorian darting about, not focusing on a single target for long. Whether it is a sturdy body blow, or a blindingly swift hook to the face, it is as though the men were struck with a ferocious battering ram; they are helpless against the might of his spiked gauntlets. Sungival's strikes with a sword could not compare; this is what he thought as roots shot out of the ground and entangled Dorian's legs in an unnatural and uncanny sight.
"Dammit. Dorian!" Sungival cries out and started towards his companion but a voice makes him hold fast.
"Wait! Not another step young man or you'll be vulnerable." shouts the cleric behind him. "You are in the protection of the Wyvern, you were so preoccupied with your friend you haven't even noticed."
Sungival looks around, momentarily forgetting Dorian, and he is indeed within what appeared to be a dome of light fog. The surrounding men backed away, some of them, touching the fog were paralyzed in suspended animation. One such man was next to Sungival, stuck in the position of a wind up for a swing. It would seem that his lack of focus on his own affairs could have cost him greatly.
"What is this? Another spell?" Sungival asked, eyeing the paralyzed man beside him
"Wyvern Watch. All who enter this fog bear the risk of being paralyzed by the fog wyvern; though this shape only manifests to those outside of its protection. To us, it simply appears as fog. Now:" The cleric hops out of the cart steps a few paces away from the cart. He draws out a white wand, and pointing it at his cart behind him, he says the command word "Item." The cart is enveloped in a white light, and its figure shrinks to a miniscule size, to where only a thin small card remains, the size of a common playing card.
The cleric picks it up, and Sungival notices a man revealed behind the cart; on the ground near him where the bodies of four bandits, all lay silent. The man adorned in a brand of banded mail Sungival had never laid eyes on before. It is red, with black treads woven in between the plates. The shoulder guards are loosely attached and flapped with sudden movements. The helmet has a crest atop of it, with a neck guard that extended from the sides of helmet, like a half a lamp shade. Covering the man's face was a curious looking metal mask, with a neck guard protruding underneath the mask protecting the throat. The mask extends from the nose and under the eyes, an expression of an angry face was carved into it, the man's eyes were exposed clearly. He is wielding a thin curved sword that Sungival did not recognize. Their eyes meet, and Sungival thinks he sees a flash of recognition in them.
"Come now," the Cleric addresses the man in banded mail. "It's time for us to bid this encounter farewell. If we remain, the result will be bloodier, and I loathe such needless violence. We will escape with these horses under the wyvern's protection; we must hurry before the Druid directs his attention to us." The man in splint armor quickly jogs to the Clerics side, and glanced at Sungival once more; now it was Sungival who thought the man looked familiar.
"Will he be coming with us? He helped is." The armored man addresses the cleric. Even his voice is familiar, but in this heated moment, Sungival could not pin down who it belonged to.
"We certainly have room on the horses." The cleric answers, putting away the card he picked up earlier. "But I don' think our savior here will want to abandon his two companions." This remark leaves an imprint in Sungival's appraisal of this man. Sungival hasn't seen or heard Lakota since he teleported here, yet this man managed to spot her when surrounded by all this danger. "It doesn't seem as though he has any more support." The cleric looks at Sungival to read his expression, which betrays him.
"Yes." Sungival answers. "You should make off, and we can escape on our own. My companions can't travel quickly without my help. Thank you for the assistance."
"So be it." The cleric responds while walking towards Sungival, and he begins muttering under his breath. He produces a coin and a mirror, laying them atop of one another in his hands and placing a free hand on Sungival's shoulder. A feint glow emanated from Sungival's body, but he feels nothing.
"This is a gift to help you drag out your friends in this trouble. That druid with his eyes obscured should not be underestimated, and these numbers are clearly taking its toll on you and your small friend scuffling on the outskirts of the road." With that comment, concern covered Sungival's brow: That's right, he thinks to himself, I have no idea how Lakota is handling herself.
"Announce your departure to your allies and act accordingly. Assuming you are capable, we welcome your company if you can catch up. My name is Jeffery Farold, look me up." And with that, the Cleric hops on a horse and turns it around to go back the way he came. His armored friend does the same, but turns to Sungival once more and speaks.
"Fight well Sungival, Show me how much you've grown. I hope this will not be the end of you." Without a second of pause, the two men ride off, out of the mist and begin to shrink down the road. Sungival could guess who the man in banded mail was now, but he had no time to think on such a matter, he turned around to see how Dorian was faring.
Dorian's leg is still entrapped in the grasp of the root up to his thigh; and the man with the obscured eyes, the druid as Jeffery had called him, was moving to and fro, swinging his staff wildly. Dorian focused on defending himself from the strikes; somewhere along the fight he lost his helmet. On his exposed hair there are bits of snow, his skin seems unnaturally pale, as though he was dumped in a pool of ice water and all the warmth fled his face. The other men gave them space, and were throwing knives and rocks at Dorian, who was preoccupied with the staff.
"Lakota! We're leaving! Get to Dorian, now!" Sungival cries and fixes his gaze on the Druid, and strikes with a telepathic attack on his target. Having established contact earlier, and maintaining it, Sungival fires an invisible blast of psionic energy to the vulnerable Druid's mind, and inflames his mind with an unnatural, debilitating rage. Struggling to maintain control of his senses, the Druid ceases his attack and clasps his throbbing head with one hand, holding his staff up as a guard with the other.
Now was Sungival's chance. He teleports beside Dorian, out of the range of the protective wyvern fog; he bets on the men surrounding Dorian being momentarily dumbfounded by the Druid's sudden halt. Dorian takes advantage of the moment to rip through the grasp of the branch grasping his leg by the might of his grip and a twist of his body. Sungival wraps his arm around Dorian's back and it's freezing to the touch through his gloves, almost to the point of burning his flesh. He grimaces, but does not let go. At that moment, an arm wrapped around Sungival's back, he turns to find a disheveled, bloodied Lakota who emerged out of his shadow; arrows protrude out of her shoulder, leg and hip.
The druid suddenly regains his composure and without a wasted movement, lifts his staff and rams its end at Sungival's face; the speed is blindingly fast, well beyond Sungival's ability to defend. Dorian's hand blocks the blow and with a fierce counter thrust, pushes the druid back with the very same hand. Sungival wastes no time teleporting his companions and himself out of the immediate area before the rest of the men take the opportunity to savagely tear at them.
The trio reappears a mile back from where they came. Sungival and Lakota sit down, breathing heavily, while Dorian quickly beings to remove his armor.
"Here." Lakota throws his helmet at Dorian's feet. "I managed to pick that up when you tossed it off. Damn thing is bloody cold" She turns her attention to the arrows in her body, but Dorian starts at her.
"Wait! Don't be so quick to disturb those wounds, its better if someone other than you removes them." She silently obeys; it was out of habit that she moved to tend to her own wounds, but she knew his advice was sound. "Sungival-"he turns to face him, stripping off the last of his armor, but he stops, taking in the sight of the Sungival's battered figure. Glancing back at Lakota, who sat patiently on the ground, Dorian nods his head with a thoughtful expression. "My apologies, this is my fault. I should not have thrown you two in to such a volatile encounter; those men were trained warriors, not random brigands. Furthermore, there was someone who was quite dangerous, as I initially feared. I was too greedy"
"No, I'm glad we defended those two." Sungival replies with a smile. "They invited us to meet with them, and I still have the contact on the cleric, along with the radial navigation point so I can pinpoint his exact location. I can just ask him for a visual and we can meet up with them."
"That's what I like to hear!" Dorian points and Sungival with a grin. "Then do that, and quick, we went in opposite directions, so we don't know which of us hostiles are pursuing, if any. Either way, we can make use of the cleric and the extra sword."
Having maintained his contact on Jeffery, Sungival opens a mind link for a two way communication channel between Jeffry and himself. Be it messages or images, the curious power of psionic mind link allows communication that transcends language; Communication is transferred and received in an understandable and digestible format automatically by both parties despite any potential language barriers. Perhaps it is because the mind link accesses portions of the mind that is responsible for the interpretations of the senses and speech that the channel allows a seamless dialogue between parties with differing methods of speech.
"Jeffery Farold" Sungival transmits "This is Sungival Lordain Quade, contacting you through mind link. " Sungival is keeping track of Jeffery's movements remotely, senses him slowing to a stop. A response comes through. "You know, the guy who helped your wagon escape that attack."
"Hello? Am I using this thing right? Can you hear me? I've never done this before."
"I hear you loud and clear," He answers. "It's quite easy to use this once you get used to it. We have managed to escape form the enemy, and we would like to take up your offer to meet."
"And just how did you escape?" asked Jeffery. Sungival tells him. "Ah, I see. You're quite a mobile fellow, aren't you? A very useful skill. Since you are in my head, can you not simply teleport where I am?"
"I can technically do that, not because of the contact I have on you, or as you put it 'because I'm in your head' but due to the ping on you- a radial navigation- eh, I'm rambling about unimportant matters. Yes, I can, but it bears some risk. It's better to have you expect us. May we rendezvous?"
"A moment" Jeffery transmits. There's a pause, then a response comes in. "My companion has a test for you. To prove your identity, since I cannot know if you are who you say you are through this 'mind talk' we are having. Even if you can teleport to us without our consent, we will be expecting an enemy ambush and not make things simple for you.
"Very well, a fair request; ask away."
"Name the members of your nuclear family." Upon hearing this, Sungival sighs, but complies as he agreed. "I am the youngest son of Norden and Nadia Quade. My two elder brothers are Faltzer and Waldreck." Another pause.
"Well done. There is one more question for you to answer. Describe the Insignia of the Englot Royal Family, and explain its symbolism."
"Sungival." Dorian interjects. "Are you talking to him?" From Dorian's and Lakota point of view, Sungival was simply standing silently with his back to them. Sungival holds up a finger and nods.
"The Royal insignia of the Englots was design by the Late King, Ingvar Englot, so it's a relatively recent royal insignia, replacing the previous one of the of the Calder Family. It's a sun over an ocean with soft and hard currents; with seven streams of light beaming out from the sun. The sun itself represents the Englot family, the streams of light are seven virtues that the family must embody: Faith, Hope, Charity, Fortitude, Justice, Prudence, and Temperance. The ocean represents the populace and the world, for water is the source of life; the soft and hard currents reflect the state of man, peace and war. The reflection of the suns brilliance represents the grace that the family bestows upon the world of man, which they must shine the way for the rest of the world." Sungival feels a pang of emotion in his chest. "It's . . . it's a beautiful thing, that symbol. My parents named me in honor of it." There is a moment of silence before Jeffery responds.
"A heartfelt and brilliant answer. You are indeed my companion's old friend. Come, we will welcome you with open arms." Sungival thanks Jeffery and ends their talk, informing the others that they are ready to go. The three huddle together once more, but instead of a teleport, Sungival party vanishes for in instance and reappears in place, it happens so quickly that if one were to blink, they would miss it.
"What's wrong Sungival?" Dorian asks.
"That was a slip up" He responds with a sullen tone. "As I mentioned; Psionic is more volatile than Magic, even a master can drop its execution. Maybe I'm a little tired from the fight earlier. Let's try this once more."
On his second attempt he is successful, appearing before Jeffery and his companion on the road. There were no signs of them being pursued, and the wagon was attached to the horses once again, in preparation for Sungival's company.
"Welcome friends." Jeffery says warmly. It would appear that the violent encounter he experienced earlier had not rattled his nerves in the slightest, and he bore no wounds from the battle. Dorian looked him over, alongside his companion in the splint mail; he recognized the emblem on top of his helmet. It was the symbol of Waukeen, Goddess of trade. This is no doubt a shrewd man, I should be careful to not to offend his sensibilities. He thinks to himself before returning the greeting.
"Well met." Dorian says with a nod, stepping away from Sungival. "I am Dorian Lastov. These are my companions Sungival Quade and Lakota Earl. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us."
"Thank you for your help." Jeffery replies. "We were fortunate for your intervention, escaping them would have been far costlier if it wasn't for you. I am Jeffery Farold; Cleric of the Wakeen Order, advocate of trade. I will allow my companion to introduce himself." The man in the splint armor removes his mask and helmet, revealing a strong masculine face with short black hair, a square dimple chin, fierce thick eyebrows and shining yellow eyes.
"I am Henry Englot," He says with enthusiasm. "Apprentice of Jeffery Farold. Thank you for your help." He turns gaze to meet Sungival's. "You look a lot stronger than before, Sungival."
"I can say the same to you, my prince." Sungival replies with a weary smile.
