Chapter Nine

(*)

Acherai wiped blood from his jaw and winced, looking at the leader of the small gang of bandits, who had a black arrow protruding from where his eye used to be.

"So," he said softly as he limped over to rest against a tree, using his staff as a walking stick to support his broken leg, "Would anyone like to tell me where this went completely wrong?"

Fifteen minutes earlier…

"So, we are all clear on the plan?" Sephiria asked.

"We are, and it is actually a very good one," Acherai said. "And I'm being serious, not mocking you this time."

"… I suppose I should take that as a compliment," Sephiria said dryly, "yet somehow it does not feel like one."

"I do my best."

"What I wanna know is," Kagain said, looking around at the thick forest that made up the Peldvale region, a few hours northwest of the Friendly Arm, and roughly the spot that Tranzig had told them to look, "why we're bothering with doing this sneaky. We just need to smash up the camp, right?"

"And we will, but I suspect that attempting to do it ourselves will only result in our deaths," Sephiria pointed out. "We are certain to be vastly outnumbered. If we can infiltrate the camp, however, pass ourselves off as new recruits, then we can search it for any evidence we need for our own goals, and pass on the location to the authorities. I am sure the Flaming Fist will be quite pleased to send a small army to deal with those who have been responsible for the iron shortage."

"Gods bless mercenaries. May they ever need a steady stream of metal goods, to make them easier to point at our enemies," Acherai said cheerfully.

"They are not mercenaries. They act as the legitimate authority of Baldur's Gate, and by extension the region as a whole. They serve the law, and we can trust them."

"They act as a legitimate authority because their leader is one of the city's Grand Dukes now, dear. They're still mercenaries."

"Well, technically, but-"

"And what of Tazok, in this plan?" Kivan asked softly, cutting off the argument before it could get into full swing.

"He will face justice, my friend. That much, I promise you."

Acherai chuckled. "Now, define what you mean by 'justice' for him and see if he still wants to come with us."

"Please. Stop. Helping."

"No, I don't think he should," Kivan said. "I do wish to know, and depending on your answer…"

"Yes, yes, I am aware," Sephiria said, rubbing her temples. "Sir Kivan, I… we may not be able to defeat this Tazok. You must know this. He has an army at his command, and we number only five."

"One of which is Garrick, so we really only have four and a half if you really think about it," Acherai added helpfully.

"And I do not care, child. I have sworn to end his life, and I shall," Kivan said firmly. "If I must do it alone…"

"And die?" Sephiria snapped, with a bit more force than she intended.

"That is not what I was going to say."

"No, but it is what you were going to do. Go alone, against an army of mercenaries, each one a trained killer, and die."

"And accept this as a worthwhile sacrifice, if before I die I am able to plant an arrow in Tazok's heart," Kivan continued, his tone maddeningly calm. "I have made this clear enough."

"And I am willing to work with you to achieve it. Tazok is a murdering monster who has ruined or ended dozens, even hundreds of lives. Certainly, if we can destroy him, that would be for the greater good," Sephiria countered. "As would ensuring he spent the rest of his life in a pit beneath the Flaming Fist compound. Or he was sentenced to death for his crimes, in a court of law. Would that not be justice?"

"It would not be vengeance," Kivan whispered harshly.

Sephiria stood firm, ignoring the chill in his tone and staring firmly into his eyes. After a long, cold silence, he stepped back slightly and said, "There is little reason to discuss this now, either way. We must first find his camp, and he himself. From there… we will all do what we must, I am sure."

"And speaking of what we must do," Acherai said, his tone lowering until it was barely audible. "Ahead. In that copse of trees. I can see someone behind one of the bushes."

"You are certain? I see nothing from this distance," Sephiria said.

"He is correct," Kivan whispered. "I count ten, total. Perhaps more behind the thicker trees, there is certainly room."

"Oh, really? I only saw the one," Acherai admitted.

The ranger nodded almost imperceptibly. "You have good eyes, but you are more of a city dweller. The camouflage in the wilds is different, and you're not skilled at sorting through it. I'm impressed you spotted even one."

"Yes, well, I shall try to suffer through my humiliation at not being more experienced living in the woods like a mad hermit," Acherai muttered. "Dearest, shall I do the talking, or shall you? I warn you, you won't do a good job. You've got a certain charisma to you, but this sort of thing is entirely out of your depth."

"And what is that supposed t—no. No, I'm not going to engage you on this," she said with an annoyed sigh. "You are certainly more used to consorting with criminals than I am. You do, after all, often speak to Kagain. As a result, you will be better able to work our way into the confidence of these men. I will assume this is what you were talking about, for the good of my own mental health."

"A fine girl you are," Acherai said cheerfully, strolling out ahead of the group. Then, loudly enough to be heard in the trees, he shouted "Hello there! I was wondering if you fine gentlemen would be willing to come out of your fine perch there and have a talk with us about making us all quite a lot of gold? Oh, and if you keep pointing your bows at us, I will have my friend back there with the very surly expression show you exactly why elves are known for being oddly good at archery."

There were a few minutes of silence, and for a bit (well, okay, more than a bit) Sephiria worried that her entirely too glib companion had just enraged a large group of very angry men who were going to attempt to kill them all. And then, tromping his way out of the underbrush and into the clearing the group had stopped near, came a tall, bald man with a face so scarred it was barely recognizable as human, and a mace that looked very well used.

"So, then. Not many travelers goin' about looking for our type," he said, his arms crossed. "Fewer still talkin' about money, unless they're beggin' us not to take theirs. So you want to tell me what yer goin' on about, elf?"

Acherai smiled, bowing with a flourish. "Certainly, friend. It is just that my friends and I are new to the region, come here after a group we used to run with near Waterdeep met an untimely end with the city watch, and SWEET MYSTRA WHAT THE HELLS?!"

It should be noted that Acherai had not been planning to say this. He'd had a whole great story worked out, involving a three-night run from the Waterdhavian military, a narrow escape from Khelben 'Blackstaff' Arunson himself, and possibly a romantic encounter with whichever of the High Ladies was most in fashion this month.

He did not get to say any of this, of course, because a black-feathered arrow shot past him, so close he could feel the wind rustle his hair, and slammed into the bandit leader's right eye. He fell back, unable to even scream as he fell, twitching pitifully as he hit the ground and breathed his death rattle.

"Well. Um," Acherai said, as the trees began to rustle with movement, and the sounds of bandits shouting and bows singing began to rip through the forest. "I am so unhappy right now, I seriously am."

In the present...

"No, really," Acherai said. "I would really like to talk about this.

"And maybe, just maybe, kill everyone."

(*)

Imoen smiled as she watched gnolls stream out of the fortress beneath her, chasing what she assumed was probably Minsc. He was extremely loud, so she could kind of tell it was him even if she couldn't see him.

Okay. We have maybe twenty minutes, if Aunty Jahrie is right, she thought. Can we do this?

We once stole the entire Keep's dinner, by ourselves and despite Seffie trying really hard to stop us. We can do anything sneaky you name, inner self.

Good on you! That was a test of your confidence, and I knew you would pass. You're me, after all.

After shaking hands with her inner self to thank her for the confidence check, Imoen climbed slowly down the wall, taking care to widen any footholds she found for the climb back up. The fortress was old and the fortress was crumbly, but who knew what condition this Dynaheir lady would be in when Imoen found her? Anything that might make climbing out easier was a good plan.

Fortunately, Gnolls were not the best at maintaining architecture. The top floor of the keep, where she had entered, was entirely bare except for two big pits and a kind of half-wall next to the stairs down. The old fortress had clearly seen much better days, but for Imoen's purposes this was basically Winterfest. She ran up to the first pit, looked down, and saw nobody in it.

This left finding Dynaheir an awfully simple prospect.

The second pit contained a woman in a stained and tattered robe. She was pretty; not like, Imoen pretty, but smooth dark skin, bright eyes, and long, deep brown hair that even an extended imprisonment could not quite disguise. Tattered and bruised, she still somehow looked like she was in charge of the pit she was stuck in, and would be throwing an elegant dinner party in it later.

"So. Hi there! You know Minsc?" Imoen asked, by way of greeting.

The woman looked up, obviously shocked by the sound of someone who was not a growling man-dog speaking to her, and said, "Excuse me? I hardly hoped to hear as much this miserable place, so I doubt mine own ears. You are familiar with my guardian?"

"A bit! He's down below us running around covered in mud with gnolls chasing him."

"… Yes, 'tis indeed what I have come to expect of Minsc, particularly since head wound number seven," the woman muttered with a sigh that reminded Imoen just a bit of Jaheira. "Well. If you count yourself an ally of brave Minsc, then you may count myself an ally of yours. I am Dynaheir, a Wychlaran-in-training of the nation of Rasheman, journeying alongside Minsc on our shared rite of passage."

"Oooooh. I'm Imoen. I'm journeying mostly for giggles, though I am looking for this one person in between the fun stuff. Gotta find her and smack her for runnin' off without me, y'know? Family stuff."

"… Quite. Well, young Imoen…"

"Actually, looking at you I think I'm probably your age."

"Well, young Imoen," Dynaheir said firmly, "I would much like your assistance in escaping this vile place. The gnolls were too frightened of my magics to kill me outright, so they chose instead to leave me in this pit until I was too exhausted to move before devouring me. Have you some method to secure mine freedom?"

"Nope!" Imoen said brightly. "Didn't think to bring a rope."

"… Fantastic."

"Hang on, madame fussy-britches. I'll go find something to drag you out with," Imoen said, skipping off.

Dynaheir sighed as she watched the girl vanish. "Yes. Sadly, about the quality of rescue I was expecting of Minsc."

(*)

"So?" Acherai said, once again, after the inevitab. "Anyone want to say anything? Kivan, maybe? Especially Kivan. I'm not even going to pretend that I am not leveling blame right at Kivan, here."

"Why not?" Garrick asked. "I think it is rather his fault."

"Garrick, thank you for your help, and I will stab you if you don't shut up."

"Glad to offer my aid."

"Now, then. Our illustrious leader. As our dear ranger was your recruit, as Garrick is a buffoon of the highest caliber, and as Kagain..." he turned, looking at the dwarf, who was face-down in some moss and mumbling to himself, "...appears to have suffered a serious concussion, I believe that I am the only one here who can offer a neutral opinion on his actions. And that opinion would be a very simple one: he has been a member of this team for all of a day, and yet he has already betrayed us!"

"I... apologize," Kivan said slowly. "I... lost myself. When he began speaking, all I could hear..."

"He was there, wasn't he?" Sephiria asked softly.

"Yes. When Tazok... when he and his men took my wife from me. That man was one of them. I could barely see through the blood in my eyes, but that voice..."

"Was pretty much exactly like every other inbred moron who takes up banditry in the woods as a career," Acherai snapped.

"Not to me, child. You wouldn't-"

"My mother died while I watched, when I was barely ten years old," Acherai hissed, "so don't tell me I wouldn't understand. I don't blame you for wanting revenge, I blame you for being such a blasted moron about it!"

Sephiria blinked. "Wait, you..."

"Not! The time!" Acherai snapped, holding up a hand to stall her. "I now have a broken leg, in case you missed that. Because one of these fine gentlemen hit it with a big damn club. In a fight we were trying not to start. Because it was our shot at Tazok!"

Kivan winced. "Yes. I know. I made a mistake."

"No, you ruined everything. Because our one shot at getting into that camp without fighting off a hundred bandits was to sneak in, by convincing them we belonged there. And now we can't. Because unless we happen to run into a cleric skilled enough to fix this..." he gestured at his limp right leg, "... out in the middle of the woods, we're never going to get close enough to the camp before they realize that this patrol is gone. And they'll move the camp, and we'll never find them again. And it's your fault."

"That is enough!" Sephiria snarled, stepping between them. "Acherai, Kivan knows he has done wrong! That is no excuse for such a horrible display, particularly against one who has suffered just as you have."

She stepped in closer, grabbing the elf by his collar and pulling him toward her. "Suffered," she repeated, "just as we have. I know how much it hurts to lose family too, you may remember. If I met the man responsible, I cannot say I would not have done the same. Can you?"

"Of course I can. Because when I kill the people who took my family, I'm going to make sure I succeed. And so are you, aren't you?" Acherai whispered. And something in his eyes made Sephiria feel a slight chill down her spine, even as she found herself wanting to stare more deeply. Less than a second, but something compelling, a shimmer of light and the promise of murder was so hard to ignore...

She shook her head and pushed him away, sending him falling backward with a pained yelp as his leg collapsed under him. "I," she snapped, "am going to find justice for Gorion. And I will help Kivan find justice for his wife, do you understand me? And you will not behave so coldly to a man in mourning."

Then, without warning, she whirled on Kivan, and said, "And as for you. I understand your anger, and your pain. But if you put this group at risk for your own personal ambitions again, I will cut you down myself, do you understand?" Looking back and forth between the two elves, and ignoring with all her power the strange calling that Acherai's words had ignited in her blood once again, she said, very firmly, "We are here seeking justice for the innocent, and for the fallen. We are not murderers, nor berserk animals. We are a team, and I am in command."

Something inside her wailed in furious irritation at her stand, and she cheered at the thought.

She would not lose her soul without a fight, no matter what she battled against.

"Now. Please sit down, Acherai. I will do what I can for your wound," she said, a bit less emotionally.

"I'm already on the ground," he said, blinking in obvious shock. "You pushed me."

"... Yes. Well. That was an accident."

"It hurt."

"I am... sorry."

"My leg is broken, you know. It was painful, to be pushed."

"Oh, do quit whining," Sephiria said. "You will be fine. I can... well. I have the Laying on of Hands..."

"Which barely works."

"It works! Well! Enough!" Sephiria snapped. "And it is not as though we have any other options," That I am willing to use, "So I request that you please be silent. Unless you feel a healer of greater skill is going to simply... wander up to us!"

And, as soon as she said this, a woman came running out of the trees. Her hood and thick gloves covered all exposed skin, but her heavy breathing and uneven gait showed her flight was one of in obvious panic, despite the mace she carried. "Please... please! You have to help me," she gasped upon seeing the gathered adventurers. "If you don't help me, he'll kill me!"

Sephiria blinked, turning to Acherai, and said, "We don't know for sure this woman is a healer."

"She absolutely is, though," Acherai said, smirking. "Just ask."

"My dear lady," Sephiria said, very slowly. "I wish to let you know that I will not allow anyone to harm you. But first, please tell me that you are not a healer of any sort, because the timing would simply be ridiculous and he will never let me hear the end of it."

"Nor will I!" Kagain offered helpfully.

"I... am a cleric, of sorts. But this is really not the..." the woman said, before being cut off by a man in armor tromping out of the brush behind her, a sword in his hand. "Please! You must help me!"

"Oh, gods damn it all," Sephiria muttered.

(*)

"Rope, rope rope, why do gnolls have absolutely no rope," Imoen murmured. Well, she knew why they had no rope: they were awful, seriously among the worst things she had ever known of. She would never go near another gnoll again if she could help it, once she got out of here. It would be the best thing she could do with her life: not be around gnolls.

"Come on! You nasty things live here, you must have something that's long enough to reach down a pit. You put her down there, what were you going to do to get her out?" she said with an annoyed sigh.

"Grrrrr..." said a voice in reply.

Imoen looked up from her search to see a large gnoll (and she meant large by gnoll standards) climbing up the stairs and looking directly at her, its eyes narrowing as it continued to growl low in its throat. It didn't have any blood on its halberd, which meant it probably had not killed Minsc, but the fact it was here meant that they were at least starting to give up the chase. Barely fifteen minutes in, too; apparently either Minsc was a very fast runner, or gnolls were not big on patience.

"Soooo," Imoen said slowly. "Can I have your big spear? I need something to reach down into a pit and stuff."

The gnoll charged, then, and tried to give her the spear in its paws. Pointy end first and delivered directly into her liver, but still: points for effort.

Luckily, Imoen was a real adventurer now, so she did not panic. … well, no, she panicked a little bit, but only because the gnoll was huge and had giant fangs, not because she was scared. That made sense, right?

Anyway, panicking wasn't entirely a bad thing, because she jumped to the side, and Imoen was nothing if not nimble. The surprisingly fast stab barely missed, scraping lightly against her armor and making her squeal in dismay. "Bad monster! Bad monster!" she squeaked, backpedaling and trying to nock an arrow in her bow before she got chopped into tiny little Imoen cutlets. Unfortunately, she was a little close for archery, but she didn't think much of her chances at trying to stab the thing with a dagger. She skipped back twice, took aim as quickly as she could...

And hit a wall.

Once again, Imeon found herself squeaking in dismay as the impact jostled her out of her attempt to aim, and only barely managed to duck under the slashing spear at it took a chunk out of the wall above her head. Seeing few other options, she rolled forward, diving between the gnoll's legs, coming to her feet behind it and spinning to once again take aim...

And found she had lost her quiver in all the commotion. One of the straps must have come undone when she hit the wall, because she saw it on the ground where she had been only a second before, a rather large creature now between her and it.

… I really must get better at this. I bet Seffie wouldn't flub an adventure this badly.

(*)

I must never let Immy know about this. She would mock me so much for flubbing my second adventure this badly, Sephiria thought sadly as she watched their new arrival hide behind her.

The issue, of course, was not saving a young woman lost in the woods. That was clearly the correct thing to do, and she was happy to keep her word on such a matter. The issue was that that the man who came out of the underbrush to chase her was not the brigand she would have expected in these woods; rather, he wore the uniform of the Flaming Fist.

The Flaming Fist mercenary company was, as the group had been discussing themselves not so very long ago, a complex group. Technically speaking they were, as the name suggested, soldiers for hire. However, their leader was widely renowned for his fair and just demeanor, to the point that the city of Baldur's Gate, the hub of the region, had named him to its council of Grand Dukes. As a result, they truly served less as mercenaries, and more as an unofficial army and police force for the region. Many of them were honorable and good-hearted men, a company she would be proud to join.

"You there! You harbor a criminal, now turn her over or share her fate!" the armored figure snapped as he walked into the clearing.

Not all of them, of course.

"Hold, friend," Sephiria said gently, her hands raised to show she meant no harm. "The lady claims she has done nothing wrong. What do you accuse her of?"

"She is accused of murder most foul, and I am licensed to carry out judgment in the field for such a crime," the soldier said flatly.

"He lies! I have done nothing, I swear to you!" the woman shouted in reply, shrinking back from the man as if it was physically painful to look on him.

Sephiria sighed. "Sir Knight, I understand your duty compels you, but have you any evidence? Any proof that this lady is the murderer you claim? We could hardly allow you to simply execute a woman without any trial nor evidence," Sephiria said. "I am certain, as a soldier of honor, who fights to uphold the law-"

"If you stand in defense of a murderer, then you will share her fate!" the man snapped, raising his sword and falling into a combat stance, his shield held before his chest and his blade ready to swing.

Sephiria blinked. All right, then. Not quite so devoted to honor or law after all.

She raised her own weapon, catching the descending blade and shifting it aside, stepping to keep herself between the young woman and the sudden attacker, shielding her with her body. She was exhausted, possibly wounded, she clearly couldn't…

The woman hissed something, a few whispered phrases in a language Sephiria had never heard. A chill ran down her back as a wave of some energy ran past her, rushing over the Flaming Fist attacker, sickly yellow light playing over his armor. As suddenly as he had charged, the man fell backwards, tumbling bonelessly to the forest floor.

Sephiria looked down at him as he twitched, struggling against the magic. She raised her sword, drawing her arms back to cut the man down before he was able to move again, resume his attack.

Go on. He deserves it. He betrayed his oath, turned on the innocent. Cut him down.

Sephiria froze, eyes widening at the sudden impulse. Truthfully, he probably did deserve it. As a paladin, she might well have called ending such a flagrant abuse of his powers her holy duty. But that was not what stopped her blade mid-swing in horror.

She wanted to kill him. Deep down, in her bones, she wanted to kill him more than anything. Justified or not, deserved or not, the fact was that in her gut she was thrilled by the idea of bringing her blade down on a helpless man.

Cutting him down was not an evil deed. Her mind told her that it wasn't, but her heart told her that it didn't matter, that as long as he died there was no reason to worry, murder was its own reward…

And that was roughly when the universe reminded her she was not alone in it, as Kagain stepped forward wordlessly and brought his shiny new war-hammer down on the man's helmeted head.

Five times.

Rubbing the weapon on the grass to get blood and fragments of bone off of it, the dwarf looked up at her, shaking his head in irritation. "Worthless. Really, ye are."

Acherai chuckled. "You are, a little bit. You probably should work on that freezing up problem, my dear. You'll need to learn how to kill in cold blood at some point."

No. No, I think that is the opposite of what I need to do, Sephiria thought, shuddering uncontrollably.

Though clearly, something very truly does need to change, and soon.

(*)

So. No bow. No rope. My options right now are trying to fight a big horrible dog man with a knife, Imoen thought, or think of something tricky to pull.

She looked down at her knife, and up at the frothing fangs of the creature snapping its jaws at her.

Leaning toward tricky! She confirmed to herself. On the plus side, though she was pretty good at tricky, and she didn't think her new dance partner was terribly bright. It was time for her to show the world exactly what she could do!

She fell to her knees and screamed, "Oh gods please don't kill me!"

The gnoll stopped mid-stalk, its eyes widening as it made a kind of confused yelp that might have been cute coming from a real dog, instead of an eight-foot-tall monstrosity, as Imoen squealed, "I am so afraid. Please, you have no idea how horrible it's been for me! I'm a pure, weak, innocent, probably delicious girl. They pulled me out of my peaceful, innocent… did I mention innocent?... life of being daily basted in spices and forced me out into the world where I am not at all fit to survive! Please, I beg you, good sir! Please do not eat me, even though I am pure, innocent, sweet, innocent, and delicious!"

The gnoll chuckled, stepping forward slowly, its mouth twisting into a crude approximation of a smile. "It needs to be still…grrrrriiigh will not hurt it… just be still…" it said, and Imoen almost ruined her composure in shock at the notion that these things could speak the common tongue. They certainly didn't look like they should be able to. They didn't even have lips!

"I swear I won't move, Mr. Gnoll!" Imoen said, putting as much fake gratitude into her voice as she could, watching the gnoll stalk toward her, its rusty spear ready to come down on top of her head. It was almost cute, really; somehow this thing actually thought she wouldn't notice that it was holding its spear up, ready to try and chop her head off as soon as it got a few steps closer.

Though, to be fair… it hadn't noticed that she had stopped to beg right next to the pit Dynaheir was in.

The creature took one more step forward, and Imoen darted between its legs once again, stabbing her small dagger into its foot. She was a little sad that the same trick had worked twice in a row, but… well, okay, not sad at all. The thing began jumping up and down, howling in pain and grabbing at its impaled paw. And also, not coincidentally, also being completely off-balance right on the edge of a pit.

"Imoen? What art thou doing? I hear the sounds of battle, but ye gods!" Dynaheir squeaked in dismay as a gnoll came tumbling into her prison pit and landed head-first on the stone floor directly next to her, a loud and very discomforting crack echoing through the pit as she jumped back barely in time to avoid being hit as it flopped forward bonelessly. "Imoen?! What have you done, precisely?!"

"I got you a platform!" the girl said, grinning down at the trapped mage and her unconscious new cellmate. "I had to pay, too. Lost my dagger. So you owe me extra for this! I hope…wickel-rans make a lot."

"… So, if I come out with you," Dynaheir began, "is associating with you going to be constantly this… unique?"

"Sometimes it's even better!" Imoen said cheerfully.

"Oh, dear," Dynaheir murmured, stepping atop the twitching gnoll, and reaching up to grasp at Imoen's hands as she reached into the small oubliette.

The thief giggled as she pulled the young mage out, saying, "If it makes you feel better, we may have to jump when we get back to where I got in. I'm not sure the vines I climbed will still be there."

"Why…would that make me feel better?"

"It seemed like the sort of thing that Minsc would like, so I figured you would too! You guys are from the same place, an' all, an' he's really enjoying the group! It will be a lot of fun to have you around too."

Dynaheir winced, and muttered, "I was perhaps better off a captive, then."

(*)

It took Sephiria a few long, deep breaths to compose herself enough to actually speak to her new acquaintance. The dead soldier, the scent of his blood, all of it required an almost physical effort to draw her attention away from them, but the new arrival's panicked breathing gave her something to focus on other than her own conflicting emotions. Ignoring the world around her as best she could, she turned to the lightly built young priestess and said, with only the barest of stutters to her voice, "Ma'am? Are you wounded, or-"

"Back away from it," Kivan hissed, his bow drawn and aimed at their new friend.

"Oh for the sake of all that is holy!" Sephiria snapped, rage roaring through her veins in a burst so sudden she barely realized she was reacting until she had already begun to shout. "I refuse! I refuse to have everything continue to go wrong, and all of the world continue to work against me! You will lower that arrow and explain yourself, or I swear to Torm, to Tyr, and to Helm, all the gods of justice and law, that I will snap your skinny elf neck!"

"That's my girl!" Acherai cheered. "Punch him a few times!"

"You be silent!" Sephiria replied, demonstrating her potential disapproval for this statement. No. No. Stop it. Calm. Do not give in, not even in the smallest way. Anger is only another branch of the same path you seek to avoid. In a softer, but still very firm voice, she continued, "Kivan. I have given you a great deal of benefit of the doubt, and you have entirely let me down thus far. If you wish me to continue taking your side, you will explain."

"I recognized the language she spoke in her prayer. Raids on Shilmista, hunters in the dark, the sun rising on slaughtered children… I've seen it all, shadowed one," Kivan said, his voice low and cold, and his arrow still aimed at the woman's heart, even as she pressed herself back against a tree like a cornered animal. "Take off your hood. Now."

"I… thank you, but I shall be on my way. I have no desire for any further issues, and…" the woman said, slowly stepping backwards, around the tree and toward the bushes where she might dart off unseen.

Acherai muttered something soft under his breath, and moved his fingers slightly to the left. A minor cantrip, barely a spell, but it was enough. A minor gust of wind, right under the woman's hood.

Sephiria's eyes widened as the 'helpless victim' raised a hand instinctively to keep the sun out of her red eyes, stark white hair plastered by sweat to her matte black skin, needle-pointed ears peeking through the matted hair. Garrick let out a startled and possibly exaggerated gasp, Kagain audibly growled, though not half so much as Kivan. Even Acherai looked taken aback, and he normally showed what he was actually feeling about as much as an orc showed good table manners.

Sephiria could hardly blame them. She had never been one for the books, to her father's disappointment, but she could recognize one of the most feared races in the world easily enough.

The dark elf sighed, pulling her hood back over her head. In a voice much less filled with fear and far more with exasperation, she said, "Well. That is rather what I was hoping to avoid."