Though the town of Rookery spent untold years trapped within the shadow of the forgotten Pieksvaldt castle, time has helped push back unpleasant memories now that the shadow has lifted. The town is a-bustle, some of the activity controversy over how many of the younger folk want to go out exploring now that they've reconnected with the world, other business being the resumption of trade and the necessity of seeing to keeping the town secure now that the Midnight Murder is gone. Despite all the uncertainty, the mood is more excited than worried.

With all the activity in the town below, the castle itself has been relatively quiet. Some of the servants still come up to look after things, but without 'guests' to attend to, there's little reason to fuss with the castle overmuch. Maybe out of habit, the citizens of Rookery respect the lingering presence of House Pieksvaldt, and more or less leave the castle to itself, though there's been some talk about what to do with it. Out of respect for Lilac and Von Horne, they've deferred on the matter, especially with the family tapestry still clearly active.

With most of the activity confined to the town, the castle itself has become a good place to come for some quiet, which has helped in training sessions. Von Horne has recovered as much as a korv missing a wing can, and hasn't let the loss slow her down much. She comes and goes, personally instructing Lilac when she's present, and leaving her drills and exercises to practice when she goes afield. She's here today, once more helping Lisandra develop her martial skills, calling out maneuvers for the once-bardess to use against a straw-stuffed dummy hanging from a wood framework, the chest and head smeared with paint.

"Feint... thrust... retreat... good... feint... you're pushing too much with your leading hand again... feint... there, good... thrust... retreat..."

Free of her curse, Lisandra "Lilac" Dragomir has mostly returned to her original human shape. Her bat-like wings are gone, as is her tail and the extension to her ears that made them vaguely canine. She's less pale now, too, her face showing the flush of life rather than the Jadian doll like near-white; her lips, too, have become a pale pinkish purple rather than the black they once were. Her access to regular meals has put some weight on her, the young woman no longer seeming to be a waif of skin and bones. The most striking change, aside from her loss of the unnatural monsterous qualities that once haunted her form, is her choice of clothing: a black leather greatcoat covers most of her body, festooned over with bandoliers holding assorted gear; she wears breaches rather than skirts, and boots below that; several waterproof rectangular containers hang from her back and sides; her hands are gloved, wrists bound in leather guards that mount several crossbow bolts and even her long black hair is tied now , bound in a lilac-colored bow that once adorned her beastly tail. Such are not the clothing and impliments of the desperate waif, nor the traveling bard; Lisandra Dragonmir is dressed as a monster hunter. And, if one catches her at the right time, they might even see her beautiful wings rising her exposed upper back. As black and feathered as a raven korv's, the remnant of her curse allows her to soar on woven flesh and mysterious magics.

"HA!" The young human woman meets her teacher's commands with practiced, if not perfect, repetition of the techniques she has been training in since but days after the Rookery returned to the world. In her hands is a black chitin halberd, taken from House Pieksvaldt's armory to help in both her training and defense of the town. "HA!" A retreat is followed by a verticle chop, a standing thrust, and then a stepping thrust that puts her weapon's point through the dummy's chest. The equipment that festoons her body jingles with the force of the thrust, her voice echoing in the largely empty hall.

The korv standing off to the side nods approvingly, one wing-arm holding her own spear, propped up on the butt. Her thick mantle of furs rests over her shoulders, and her leather mask and goggles hang around her neck... if one didn't look too close, one might not realize the older woman was missing her left wing, as heavily draped as her cape is. "Very good, Lisandra. Remember, when you're stabbing, the leading hand is a guide, the rear hand thrusts." The older woman takes a few steps around the dummy to inspect it. "You've been practicing while I've been out and about, I'm glad you're so diligent. You're a quick study. Has the halberd been getting lighter for you?"

Lisandra finishes her last set before answering, carrying through and adjusting her thrusting power in response to her mentor's advice. A curious tendancy seems to take the young woman when she reaches a degree of aggression and focus: she bares her teeth, a legacy of her curse and a reminder for the senior hunter her student was once her prey. Finished, Lisandra lowers her spear upon its butt and smiles at Klaudia, breathing heavily. "I have the being good two teacher," she replies in broken Bosch. "Sometimes the village training and with Lady Umeko?" A flicker of frusteration crosses the human's face, and in Sylvanian, she admits, "I practiced with lady Umeko, and have tried to lead militia drills." Her eyes flicker to her weapon and she nods slowly. "A little lighter. I like the feel of holding a weapon."

Von Horne nods, sidling up once the drill is ended, resting her korv-headed spear on her shoulder. She switches from the gutteral language of Bosch to Sylvanian as well. "A metal one might be less or more heavy, depending on how it's made, but as you practice, you'll find yourself fighting less with your weapon and more with your opponent. In any case, I think you've come a long way in a short time... you wouldn't have been out of place in the ranks, if you'd been a spear in the Lord Rook's war host."

"I like to think that I'm a spear for the Rookery and the Pieksvaldts, at least," the human replies, bowing her at the compliment, a little redness coloring her cheeks. When her head rises again, she tilts it and admits, "It's hard for me to imagine myself any sort of warrior; I was shamefully poor at even our meager defense drills in my home village. But, I think it is all thanks to my wonderful teachers. Thank you, Klaudia." Then, she's ducking her head again. Politeness, even casual apology, has come to be another trait her mentor has come to see in her young apprentice. From Lisandra's own admittance, it is a combination of guilt and propriety, the former she feels she has much of and the latter not enough.

Von Horne isn't really the smiling type, it's become abundantly clear over the time spent getting to know her, but she allows a small crease at the corners of her beak. "Well, don't thank me yet, my friend... I don't really know that I'm doing you a favor drawing you into this line of work. Still, it's been a pleasure to pass on what I know to someone so serious about learning it, and I think they're skills that should serve you even if you don't decide hunting is what you want to do. Speaking of that, though..."

The human's smile grows a little at her mentor's own; she's always happy to see the older korv in high spirits. Being of use and trying to keep people in good cheer have been key goals of hers while she remains in Rookery. "Has something come up?" Lisandra's eyes widen, she had been asking only recently about such things. "And don't worry yourself, Klaudia! I asked for this life, and it is part of me, even if I came to it by what circumstances I did. Besides, you've helped me feel useful again."

"Well, you've picked up what I consider to be the basics of the trade," Von Horne says, beckoning Lilac to walk with her. She begins making her way across the courtyard toward the castle gate, explaining as she goes. "I think you may be ready to apply it practically, and see some of what you're in for, if you feel up to it. When I've been out, I've been travelling the settlements and re-establishing old ties."

Lisandra follows along after her teacher, spear resting against her right shoulder in marching style as she walks. She glances at her teacher then, brows lifting in surprise, "I'm glad to have the chance, and do what I can while I can. I don't know if you've heard from village gossip yet, about that." Unmarried, pregnant, and mysterious, it wasn't long before Lilac the Hero entered in to the world of gossip. One of the maids happened upon her bathing, and that was that. "And do you mean personal ties, or ties for the Rookery? I've spoken to the mayor when I we're both not busy, and I'm sure he appreciates any assistance he can get. The poor man is in a state, juggling so much so very suddenly."

It's quiet in the open yards of the castle, rare sunlight streaming down in columns through the clouds as the pair walk unhurriedly. "I've never been one for gossip, but the town certainly looks busy. I dare say, there'll be some turmoil for a while, but that's to be expected. If a town has to be stirred up, good that it's as if waking from a long sleep." She cocks her head to look at Lilac in the way of birds, through one eye. "Professional ties, actually. I've been seeing what's been posted where hunters convene and pass through, hearing some talk. This is one of the ways we find new quarry."

"That's very clever, setting your meeting places up so that you can all benefit and people know where to notify you. My experience with hunters has had been second hand or worse; I had never thought how they -- we -- worked when not on an actual hunt," the ex-bard admits, brows arching in understanding as she gazes off at nothing in particular. While the knowledge of how hunter's operate is of real interest to her, her remark is partly a screen as she wrestles with how, and if, to tell Klaudia about her state. Deciding she has kept it a secret long enough, and prefering her mentor not learn second hand, she admits, still looking distant, "The truth of the matter is that I'm with child, Klaudia. I didn't want to worry you, but I've heard the whispers and it's too late for that. I hope you don't think ill of me?" Here, the young woman turns to regard her friend's face, her own pensive and nervous, "I can still hunt."

The korv nods with regard to the comments on the trade, simply adding, "It's a loose system, not very well organized, but traditions have become practical." When her student confesses this new bit of information, Von Horne's crest lifts a little, the huntress cocking her head to eye Lilac again. "Is this so? When did that happen? No, I don't think ill of you. My own mother was gravid when she left with Magsbed's retinue... it's not for me to judge how you keep body and soul together, as we do what we must to survive. It does make the implications of putting yourself in danger deeper, of course, but... not everyone has every option."

"I'll hope to learn that system too, some day." Again, commentary gives Lilac time to think, and after a deep inhale she lets out a breath, gazing down and resting a hand on her stomach. "It happened well before we met," she begins as her mind returns to the memories of the desert, "Far away from here, when I still traveled with Lady Umeko. The father, he was a man ... religious standing, and the child is what comes from promises made out of desperation." Lisandra shakes her head, looking skyward and towards the light shining through the clouds, wondering what might have been.

The pair pass through some double doors, in through the dining hall and then the foyer. The cleanliness and polish that the servants have put on the castle and its art objects is much easier to see now that it's not so dark. Though some small treasures disappeared with the exodus, paintings and busts still stand and watch sternly from the past. "What became of him?" croaks Von Horne, pushing open a door with her remaining arm. "And are you at peace with what happened?"

"He is dead," Lilac says, her tone distant, voice quiet. While she has come to accept her choice and what happened to her for the most part, nightmares still haunt her of that night. She keeps her gaze away from her friend's eye, that she not she not see whatever haunted look reflects there. For a long moment Lisandra doesn't answer Klaudia's second question as she numbly notes the statuary, reviews what she knows stolen with almost mechanical effort. As they exit the hall, she finally answers. "I commited a terrible sin, Klaudia. Whatever comes of it, I deserve what happened to me." Finally mustering the courage to face her teacher, she turns, adding, "It is my child I worry about now. That is all."

"I see." The korvish huntress stops, falling behind a couple paces, shining black eyes studying the other woman. "I would counsel you then, Lisandra... to think well on your decision to do this. I do not know the nature of what happened, but I would warn you that you will see those that might have been in a plight like yours not long before you met them. Cursed, lost to the world around them. They'll have sinned too, but those that we hunt will have blood on their hands, will be beyond saving. It will be your trade to kill them, not your punishment..."

The human lowers her head; she had feared this might come up. Reconciling her feelings with her choices has proven both convoluted and difficult. "I didn't chose to be a monster hunter as a punishment, but because I saw in you strength and the means to do what needs to be done," she swears, turning to regard her mentor, wondering what she must think of that. "If I have learned anything, it is that not all monsters deserve to die, nor that all men deserve to live. Isn't it enough that I end the danger? Must we always kill?"

Von Horne breathes in deep, letting the breath out slowly through her nostrils, her beak tightly shut for a moment. When she speaks again, it's with a soft voice. "Lisandra, I feared your past, the little that I know of it, would make this exceptionally difficult for you. There's no shame in taking the skills I've taught you and applying them to something else, something other than monster hunting. It's true, not all monsters may deserve to die... in fact, there are scores of creatures out in Sylvania that I am content to leave alone if they do not prey on the populace. But Lisandra... our trade will be to kill the ones that have. Think about it. We do this at the behest of cities that want these things dead for what they've done. Will you rehabilitate ones whose only mistake was to let the monster in until they could no longer control themselves? Where will you take them? How will you help them?"

"I ... " Lisandra's mind races, she searches her heart and all she knows, and in the end all she can admit to herself is that she doesn't know. She doesn't know how she can help the cursed, no more than she knew how to help herself until the very end. There is no answer lurking in her heart, no grand plan to save suffering monsters, even those who, like herself, retain some or much of their humanity. All she can truly find is that she wants to believe it can happen, because without that belief, she knows her own salvation was just chance, and that her child, her poor child, may be irredemable. She stops half a hall from Klaudia, eyes fixed on the floor. "No," she breathes, "I have no answer ... None. I can pray, and search and still there may be nothing. Nothing at all." Turning, she puts a hand on her chest, "But I can at least be there," she insists, leaning forward, "Be there -- because I understand! Maybe it will help in the end, that someone like me was there. Or maybe it's just sad injustice,

The click of talons on stone follows behind the once-bardess, and a calloused black hand rests on one of her shoulders when she turns around, a brush of feathers against the younger woman's arm. "It will be difficult, I cannot say otherwise. Many monsters will just be slavering beasts, mindless, or simply hateful. But some will speak, will feel. How you cope with dealing with those kinds may be harder than facing teeth and claws. Perhaps it will be the greatest mercy that their lives end by your hand instead of mine, or perhaps it will exact a toll on you that isn't fair to you." The korv is silent for a moment, taking up her spear again where she'd leaned it against the base of a statue. "I feared that this kind of difficulty might come up in the quarry I chose when I came back from going afield."

"And here I am. Your quarry," whispers the human, nodding slowly to her mentor's words. "You hunted me, and but I didn't hunt you. I always knew that you were the hero; that you should prevail, not me, despite Lady Umeko's behest. She bid me to show practical compassion, but I havn't been able to reconcile what I have with what I believe should be done." She reaches up and rests her hand on Klaudia's, smiling faintly, sadly. "It's the injustice, Klaudia. Why do I live, and others don't? Even my success here makes me wonder, I was never but a burden to my own town ... " Shaking her head, Lisandra breathes a sigh. "Perhaps there is no justice but what the Great Gear plans for us all, and what we can do for each other and ourselves. It's just, it's very difficult to swallow." She shakes her head again. "I'm sorry, I thought I had figured this all out."

The korv shakes her head slowly, her expression grave. "I thank the Gear I failed to bring down my quarry when it was you, but a hunter has to be decisive. But I speak also of more current prey." She touches Lilac's hand with a scaley, taloned thumb when it sets on hers, and she keeps her voice measured and about as soft as a gravelly korvid voice can be. "North of here, some leagues out, some of the small villages bordering the Gallis controlled territories have reported travellers gone missing between Spearhead and Blackshire. A few have turned up, bodies pierced along major arteries and drained. There's a few relatively common things this could be."

Lisandra glances at her mentor, her focus taken by the grave, immediate news. "Blood drained along major arteries?" Having something to think on beyond her own worries is a welcome enough relief, though she'd have chosen to suffer them still if it meant such news didn't need to reach her. Whatever answer she may find for her inner struggle, it will need to wait. "The vampire is the most traditional, I would think?" She glances at her spear, it's presence helping her concentrate on her training. "I remember you said there were two common types, and that they're a common suspect but less commonly encountered, villagers being fearful as they are. The first is an eeee madman, and the second a true vampire. A madman would be a danger, but not as fearsome as a true vampire, stronger and faster. The last is a ... necromancer?" Her gaze shifts to Klaudia for confirmation. "For blood magic, the magic of the undead?"

The older huntress nods as she listens to her lessons repeated to her. "Good. It could be something else, but these are the most likely possibilities." She reaches under her heavy mantle of furs and comes up with a small scrap of parchment, a crude map sketched out on it. The occupied swamps are shaded near the bottom, and they form a point with a dot, which Lilac would recognize as Spearhead Keep. Another dot northeast is connected with the first by a simple line; it's Blackshire. A few others are noted, Justinople and some minor villages. "The people who disappeared were single travellers along this route... they were generally soft targets, old people, or women..." The last is said without irony in her voice, and she continues, "Generally those less able to defend themselves. This leads me to believe that of the three, it'd be a weak vampire at worst, or a hedge necromancer. In all three cases, I think something to test your mettle against, but again, all three of these possibilities would be thinki

The younger woman listens intently, her mind abuzz with ideas. It was not so long ago she was the monster in the dark, picking and chosing her targets, and this lends her special insight that surprises her. She decides not to remark on the fact she can think like a monster; she's spoken enough on that already. "And if it were a necromancer, it would most likely be just one hole, not two. By spacing the puncture marks we could determine how large the creature is, and if there is one, or many." She grins, proud of her deduction, and prouder still to show her mentor her time hasn't been wasted. "And, if it's looking for lone, easy targets, than a young pregnant woman might be just the sort!"

Von Horne does indeed look pleased with the deduction, and nods. "Or an old, crippled korv. We can't travel together, because it doesn't attack groups of people, but we don't have to be far apart. We can disguise our spears as yokes for carrying goods."

"And you can break yours down and hide it beneath your cloak," Lisandra agrees. She tilts her head as she thinks, gaze wandering as she imagines the situation. "I might need to forgo most of my equipment and my heavy clothing, unless I can find a suitable cloak. Hmm, and there's also the matter of where it would attack from. Were I it, I would strike at night -- even more true with a traditional vampire -- and from either a high place if I could fly, or from ambush, if I'm smart. A necromancer also supposes magic, so there's that. I've never faced magic before, only seen it used by Mage Xander."

"It's quite fearsome," Lisandra adds, in afterthought. "But fire isn't at all likely."

Von Horne bobs her head again, and beckons her protege to walk with her again, toward the castle foyer. "Perhaps, though few people are willing to travel at night, especially not alone. I think this creature doesn't fear the light of day; not all who consume blood do. Many of the myths about vampires are superstitions dreamt up by villagers. In any case, a hedge necromancer like as not wouldn't wish to face you directly. Mages seldom do, there's too much risk. Animated cadavers are their most common choice, and there were no undead sightings, as yet."

The human releases her teacher's hand and, after adjusting her spear, follows after the other woman. "It is a strange thing, but I have retained the eyes the curse has given me. That I can see at night may be to our advantage, as may the nature of my wings. I would think, few monsters expect to face someone who was once like them," she muses, brows furrowing. As they near the door she nods, "And of course you're right, teacher. I could tell you many stories of monsters, it comes with having been a bard. Hm, did you hear if there were two spaced marks or just one?"

"Sinai's magic can touch us in strange ways," muses the korv, pushing through the great double doors of the castle's front entrance. The two women begin their winding journey down the cliff path toward the town of Rookery. "There weren't many details, unfortunately. Some described what looked like bites, on bodies that didn't appear to have been involved in struggle. They said the wounds were small. Others were bruised and cut, like they did fight and were overpowered... these had an incision, as with a knife."

"How very disturbing," Lisandra observes, head shaking at the thought of what these poor people must have endured. Outside, the wind catches her hair, sending it billowing like ebon silk. "So, we have small bites, and a knife cut? It almost seems to me whomever or whatever this monster may be, it is able to get very close to their prey. With the unbruised, I think of this creature gaining a lone traveler's trust before striking. In the case of struggle, my instinct suggests maybe its prey caught on too soon, and so this creature used a weapon from very close -- or perhaps claws. Either way, this all makes me think the monster is either very stealthy or is hiding in plain sight."

Klaudia taps the butt of her spear on some rocks thoughtfully as the pair of huntresses descend, making the metal jaw of the korv head ring. "I'm glad to see you're thinking this out extensively. Your notions are sound. So then... is this a bounty you think you can bring in?"

"Hmm." Lisandra leans her spear forward, eyeing the blade and considering all she's learned thusfar. It takes her only a moment to come to her conclusion, turning to her mentor and nodding confidently. "Yes," she confirms, "I feel confident I can claim this bounty; I will go. Nothing will come of me sitting about worrying, and the best way to find my answer is to go and find it -- I'm already thinking of what to bring!"

The korvish woman lightly rings the head of her spear against the black chitin blade of Lilac's halberd, crossing the weapons briefly as a show of solidarity. "I'll go with you, of course. We can't travel together when we begin the hunt proper, but I won't be far away. If I'm attacked first, you might not get the practice I was hoping for, but you could at least see what we were dealing with. If you're attacked first, then I shouldn't be far if you fear you may be outmatched, and need to retreat."

The suggestion of retreat causes a shadow to pass across Lisandra's face, her smile faltering and brows narrowing ever so slightly, and then it is gone. She had admitted early in her training she felt deeply ashamed of how the monster the ex-seneschal became nearly routed her; clearly, the shame remains. "I look forward to this," she confides, clinking her spear right back against Klaudia's. "It's no small amount that I look up to you, seeing you hunt and hunting with you is an honor. My father would and mother would be proud of me, and it's you I have to thank." She inclines her head, then tries to smile a little. "And, I'll try to keep my sentimentality back in the castle. It's probably best I learn to restrain that."

"Wise words, Lisandra," agrees Von Horne. She doesn't seem to miss when the other woman's face darkens, and she gives her a reassuring half-smile around her scratched-up beak. "I'm glad to lend what knowledge I have, and I'm flattered if I've inspired you, but if anything I'm repaying in kind. Without you and your friends, my mother could never have rested. Finishing that task took a great weight off my shoulders." She even laughs a little. "Which is good, since I've only got one left. In any case... it's as you say. If you let your emotions go too far one way, you second-guess yourself, you lose your decisiveness and objectivity. If you let them go too far the other way, you become like Borham Kuenn. Don't throw your emotions away, but think about how you'll be strongest, even if that means running away. I've fled my share of fights. Once from your own band of cohorts."

"Lady Umeko is quite fearsome when she's mad -- but between you and I, her emotions are her weakness, too," the human woman confides, dropping to a whisper despite no one else being nearby, and smiling a little more while doing it. "But not so much a weakness as mine," she adds, leaning back from her whispering. "I want to tell you I played little part in freeing the castle, but we both know that's just me being hard on myself. Less than I'd have liked, but it wasn't nothing, as hard as it is to say." Her gaze turns, and she looks back at the tower where the final battle had taken place, thinking a moment before continuing. "Borham Kuenn. There was strong evidence he was the model for our beasts, though we may never know now. How did you find your heart's armor, Klaudia?"

Von Horne croaks, "Well, she and your lapi friends had me pretty sure I'd lost my favorite spear for good, that one time. Anyway, it's neither here nor there. By the accounts I heard later, none of it would have ended right without all of you there. Even that stag." The spires of the castle dwindle as two near the town of Rookery, but above can still be seen the ruined tower where the final confrontation had taken place. Klaudia doesn't look back, however. "I've had more time to do so than you, I suppose. My mother raised me on stories about the House of Pieksvaldt as it was when she was there. Stories of the Necromancer Wars, and of what happened after that fateful day they rode to battle. Having a goal and deciding it was worth more than whatever trivial comforts I might enjoy otherwise, I think that made it easier for me. It was about what I valued. It puts things in perspective."

Lisandra glances back at the comment about the spear, blinking several times before she suddenly laughs! "Oh, the spear," she wheezes, having nearly forgotten the memory, "I ran off and fetched it in my mouth! Miss Anisa has shouted not to touch it, that it was dangerous, and ... oh, Gear in heaven ... I had just carried it right up to her like a proud beasthound." She rubs her eyes with her free hand, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I am listening -- I heard everything you said, it's just, here and now, it's ... I havn't laughed that hard in a while." She looks up, eyes a little moist, "Yes, I've always thought you very brave; your mother too. I see how having something to believe in is important now, perhaps my child, this town, the new Lord Rook, and the Great Gear can be mine. And, I hope I can find the inner strength you've mustered."

The korvess doesn't laugh, but her eyes twinkle, and her tone is light. "That explains the tooth marks on the haft. Anyhow... I'm glad you can laugh again, after everything you've been through. It's my hope that you, Rookery, and even House Pieksvaldt may be able to thrive again." She points with her spear at the low dwellings ahead, hedgerows cuddling up to stone, and smoke curling from chimneys. "We should get supplies for our trip, and maybe set out with one of the trade wagons to ride part of the way."

Lisandra's smile remains as she look to the hedgerows, although her gaze pause as she examines her teacher's spear before looking fully forward. "I wasn't sure I would laugh again," she admits, her tone pleased. "But, there it is. A memory of a moment that was surrounded by strife, and it makes me laugh. If I were still a bard, I might say something about how the little things can make for such twists and stories." She takes a moment to turn her gaze across the village, quiet, but peaceful now. It makes her smile all the more; she even knows some of the residents these days. In a way, it's her town too, now. "I have great faith we will find His Lordship," she confides. "I'm somewhat less confident in how he will accept all this."

"We'll cross that river when we come to it. He's kept all these years, he'll keep a little while longer," reassures Von Horne. "In any case, I think being able to laugh about the past can only be a good thing." Townsfolk going about their business greet both women warmly as they pass by. There's a lot more hustle and bustle here these days... it seems that even with youngsters leaving, new people have been arriving, whether to see the town that appeared out of nowhere, or to hear stories of how the treasures that had littered the swamp appeared, or even to find a new place to settle.

The young huntress greets every smile with a hello, an brief well-wishing, and even little inquiries about people's lives and if they are well. It makes more happy than she has words for, to know there is a place in the world she not only belongs, but is thought well of in. And just as much, she is so very pleased to see these people look well. "I'm so glad to see such friendliness here," she asides as they pass another group. "Even new faces! Yes, it can all only be a good thing." She then nods to her teacher. "And, of course, supplies. I've already a list in mind, and I may yet dare to ask you for the recipe of your blinding powder. This will be the first time I've walked in to a general store freely; I intend to make good use of the day."

By trade caravan and by foot in several instances, it takes a couple days to make the trek north to Spearhead. Much of the time is spent reaching dry roads, and once on thoroughfares travel is easier and more pleasant, and with more company. There isn't a lot of hustle and bustle on these country roads, but there is some traffic, much of it Gallees going about their business: peasants driving haycarts, knots of common Gallisian soldiers moving to and from Spearhead, and the occasional merchant. Some passersby look distinctly Sylvanian to Lisandra, but they don't seem to be harrassed or halted... what "border" there is seems rather porous.

The fortress itself, however, is considerably more imposing. It was obviously once a Sylvanian castle, once belonging to some forgotten nobleman or commander. The wooden portcullis yawns as the crowds get thicker moving into the courtyard, areas within the walls used as markets and shops for guildsmen. Gallisian archers and spearmen patrol the crenellated walls, the banner of Gallis flies from the towers, and much of the masonry appears new and looked after. Lisandra and Von Horne aren't questioned as they are let into the shelter of Spearhead's walls, but it's clear the Gallisian foothold here seems to be taken very seriously.

"Wow," Lisandra breathes, turning to look about as she goes, "I never journeyed to Spearhead Keep before the occuption, or-" She pauses to blink, glancing at her mentor and hunting partner, " ... Well, maybe I have been here. It's all a bit of a blur after you-know-what." Smiling a little, she looks back, and up, examining the walls, "But it all looks taken care of, anyway. The artistry is really very nice. I might approve of this, if not for how it was gained."

Von Horne walks nearly shoulder to shoulder with Lilac to get through the crowds in the more confined area. The market here smells of livestock, and it's somewhat noisy, but it's left behind after moving past to the guildsmen's varied shops. The korv nods at Lilac. "For what it is, it's a useful place. Gallis makes a point of its permenance, so it's a fact of life in the region... but at the least it forms a hub for trade and travel. It has little to fear from the occasional raid, and is a staging point while the Gallisian advance is stalled, so for the foreseeable future we can come and go as we please."

A little straw and mud sticks to Lilac's boots, but at least there's less being bumped around further in.

"In some ways, I appreciate the order it brings to the countryside. If I remember my history and rumor correctly, then this region was about as wild and lawless as one would expect. It wasn't something I'd have thought on before, but after my travels -- seeing Chronotopia, Nagai City, Rephidim and Jadai -- I've come to see just how dangerous and disorderly my homeland can be. A part of me recoils at the invasion, certainly, but I have also learned to appreciate order," Lisandra tells her compatriot as they manuver through the crowds and in to the guildsmen's area. When she finishes, she pats her 'Gearite' work, as an example of her newfound world view.

As she does, she looks past Klaudia von Horne and wonders aloud, "Do you think their smithy is of any quality?"

"Yes, it's seldom all black and white. On the face of it, I disagree with Gallis' poor excuse, but I'll take advantage of any stability it brings, temporary or not." The korvess turns to follow Lilac's gaze toward the guild shops. "Oh, it is. It's the closest smithy of reasonable size to Rookery."

"If I had the money, I'd consider asking them to forge some weaponry," Lisandra confides, watching the smithy with a considering look. "But, money aside, they may not be keen on forging weapons for two obviously Sylvanian individuals, fearing we may be opposing forces." The woman just shakes her head, then laughs lightly. "Which, I suppose we are. We're just not very adamant about it."

Von Horne shakes her head. "No, they'll happily take our business. It's a privately owned smithy, though he's obliged to service the chevaliers and cuirassiers. Iron's not as rare as it used to be, but it's still not found in the hands of your average agitator." She smiles wryly. "I'm sure they'd love it if one of the Sylvanian nobles were to walk in here and ask to have his sword sharpened."

Lisandra laughs at that, as well. "Well, I'll be sure to pass that along to his Lordship, when and if he may journey this way." Smiling, the young woman turns to look at the other offerings as they proceed northward. "I do wonder if I was ever here. It's a point of some worry -- don't you agree? -- never quite knowing where you had been, who you had met, and what you might have been doing. I am free, but my memory hasn't returned -- and perhaps never will." Despite her grim statement, Lisandra keeps right on smiling. "I never thought that I would consider a weapon -- much has changed," she adds.

The shops passed seem quite busy, the stoneworkers, woodworkers, leatherworkers, and chitinworkers primarily. The smithy is smaller but looks a bit more affluent, some examples of richly filligreed work visible through its windows. "I can imagine how disturbing that must be to you, Lisandra," the korvess agrees. "But you seem to remember things that happened when you weren't the beast more readily. Maybe you'll be able to pick out where you've been from older memories.""

"I hope so," the younger woman agrees. "I find seeing the places I've been, or stumbling across reminders, helps a great deal. A man named 'the Pyrelighter' helped me remember my village, for instance." She tugs her friend's sleeve and oints towards the smithy. "Care to take a look? I admit, I'm a bit curious. Call it a Chronotopian urge, but I've become fascinated by machines and artifice."

Klaudia lifts a brow. "Pyrelighter? Sounds like a grim fellow. But if he helped you remember some things, I'm glad." She looks back toward the smithy, then gestures toward it with her wing. "You'd like to look inside? I don't see why not. We've got a little time here. Speaking of which, when do you want to set out on the road?" She starts the walk toward the smithy's open door.

Lisandra nods to the comment about Pyrelighter being grim. "Oh, he was very grim. A Imperial Fire Mage, very imposing and, well, a bit regal in that way Naga can be." She begins towards the smithy door, taking it upon herself to open the door for her mentor. "As for when we should leave, I can go at any time you are comfortable, my friend. My vision isn't much impaired by the night, and truth be told, I'm quite at home wandering the road day or night, with or without stopping at a village -- but I would miss getting the chance to sing. I fear my flute has passed on, however."

Through the door, it's MUCH warmer in the smithy than it was outside, a wash of warm air carrying the scent of heated iron and burning charcoal. The entrance opens into something like a showroom, with various pieces of metalcraft on display, most behind glass cases. On the walls are several shields with Gallisian crests and heraldry, a few manniquins wear brilliantly shined chain shirts, and glass cases show off gleaming swords laying in crushed velvet. It isn't just weapons and armor here, though. There's also dinner sets, finely wrought tableware stood up on high shelves, knives of all kinds, and even a metal tea set. A young but muscular gallee, a mastiff by the look of him, rises from the chair he was seated in. He's dressed smartly in tunic and breeches, and his tail wags as he approaches. "Welcome to De Brignac's smithy. Oh, hello Ms. Von Horne. Come to get your spear retooled?" He hesitates, obviously taken aback by Klaudia's missing wing.

"Hello," Lisandra greets the man with a smile that flickers when he takes notice of Klaudia's missing wing.

"Good to see you, Armand," says the korvess, smiling. "You look taller than I last saw you. Is your apprenticeship going well?" She stops and follows the gallee's eyes down to her shoulder. "Ah, this. It's been an eventful past few months." Armand stumbles a bit through an apology, but before he can get through, "I'm sorry," the korvess has already hushed him by waving her wing at him. "These things happen, and I'm still doing well otherwise. We're just here to look around a bit before heading north for a while. I have an apprentice of my own now. Lisandra, Armand de Brignac, son of the mastersmith here. Armand, Lisandra Dragomir, my hunting protege'."

Lisandra inclines her head to the other apprentice. "It's nice to meet you, Alfonse. Your work here is very fine, by my limited understanding of such things." When she rises, she glances at her mentor and says, "Klaudia is an excellent teacher, and a fearsome opponent, let me tell you."

Alfonse quickly recovers, and bows at the waist, offering his hand. "Ah, it's a pleasure, Miss Dragomir. Forgive my surprise, s'il vous plait. I always assumed Mistress Von Horne was entirely invincible."

It gets a laugh out of the young huntress, as well. "Believe me, there were times I thought so!" She shakes the hand, then says, "Actually, though, we were -- well I was -- wondering at your services and pricing, if I happen this way. My weapons are, as you can see, very old."

The mastiff graciously touches his muzzle to the back of Lisandra's hand when she gives it, and is deft enough not to leave a noseprint. He stands, smiling genially over his jowly face. "Of course, of course. Mind, none of what you see out here is by my hand, it is all my father's. I am yet an apprentice, and am years from making a proper masterwork. But I can certainly see what we can do. We have many pieces to choose from, of many styles and prices. We have been able to lower our prices somewhat now that iron has become more readily available, but much of the price is in the work. Is there anything in particular you're looking for? Or would you like me to look at your weapons?"

"Well, sure, have a look." Lisandra offers her halberd -- the head covered to preserve its edge, then draws her sword and holds that where he can see. "The crossbow is in fine shape, being much newer. But these weapons are from an old armoury, and their day is long past." As the man examines the impliments of combat, Lisandra glances at her mentor and says, "I've had this idea ever since you gave me that, um, strong worded lecture about my hesitation to fight hand-to-hand. Do you think a weapon like ...," the young woman uses her body to block the motion from the young man, making a clawing gesture, " ... would be possible? It fits in to what I, um, know at any rate."

The smith apprentice take each weapon to hold, to judge its balance and condition. While he's distracted with this, Von Horne cocks her head to follow Lilac's motions. "Punch daggers? Main gauche? Oh, you mean... hmm. Well, I've heard such exotic weapons are employed in the lands far across the sea. The khattan come to mind, and possibly some of the nagai's lizardy folk."

"Really?" The young woman cocks her head in mirror of her friend, almost reflexively canine in her motion. "Too exotic, you think? I'll admit I am uncomfortable with their idea, but I do think that discomfort needs to go, and that's exactly why I ask. If I'm to fight, I can't very well fear using my hands!" She luaghs again, looking down at the appendages. "Ah, what awful, awful memories. But for all that, I could protect my friends and fight for what I believed."

Klaudia rubs her knuckles under her beak. "Any weapon is fine if you can find a practical way to use it. I assume the khattan put them to good use. I just wouldn't be able to tell you myself, I've never fought that way. I suppose from my perspective, having specialized in fighting things with claws, I don't see the appeal, but that's only my perspective. I'm sure it'd be more effective at close-in fighting than a sword. If you wanted to train with them, I think you'd have to seek out a teacher."

"I think so, although I may have some ... um, other ideas about them. It's worth a try, though, isn't it?" She looks to her friend hopefully. "I'm not simply mad after having spent three months in that castle? It's really very lonely. And the baby too, ... " She blinks. "Maybe I am mad. Am I?"

Meanwhile, Alphonse lays the sword aside on a counter and leans the halberd against his shoulder. "These aren't badly built weapons, though they definitely show their age. Competantly made. I suspect the chitin in your halberd may be somewhat brittle by now, though it's very thick. You'd want to ask the chitin-crafter about that. The sword is fine, though the obsidian edges have wear. If you liked, we could dig the obsidian out and replace them with steel edges threaded into the notch. It'd be less expensive than a full steel sword, and give you a fine and resilient cutting edge. We're finding we're doing this much more often now that iron isn't as scarce. A completely steel sword is still better, naturally."

Looking over her shoulder, the young huntress says, "Hmm, well, Ummy -- excuse me, Lady Tsuguri -- said she would consider having me a sword made, which would make buying a while new one rather silly. The sword is only my secondary weapon, too, so it's importantance is less. It's good to know the halberd should survive, if not perfectly well." She purses her lips, thinking. "Actually," a glance is cast Klaudia's way, "I was considering another sort of weapon, but we're of somewhat different minds about it, and maybe your thoughts could help: have you ever worked on weapons like a beast's claws?"

Alphonse puts his hand to his muzzle, making his jowls bunch up as he rubs his chin. "Hmmm... I haven't, but father might have. I think it'd involve a bit more fitting than a sword, but I don't think it would be especially difficult. How would you use them? With a handle and the blades poking between your fingers? On a glove?"

Lisandra lifts her hand, making a rake through the air a few times as she considers what arrangements might bests upport that style of attack. "If I use a glove, that might prohibit other weapons from being held, which would be too cumbersome, right? A punch-style would also have that problem ... " She turns her hand over, running her thumb along the pale flesh, thinking. "What if they attached to the wrist somehow? A glove, with hand and arm supports, and the claws jutting forward? Would that make sense, and allow a weapon?"

The mastiff looks down at his thick-fingered hands, as if trying to picture this. With the blades coming out where? Over the tops of the knuckles? Or from the side like a zelak wrist saber?"

"I think ... the tops? Probably in a three or four claw pattern, with a curve, but not so much that a stabbing motion would be ineffective. My idea is to support my spear and crossbow by having another weapon at hand, and useful for hand-to-hand combat, as well," explains the ex-bardess, who actually begins to start blushing.

Alphonse touches the back of his hand and seems to trace an invisble blade forward from the end of the bone in his beefy forearm. "Hmmm... I think similar in theory to a zelak's wrist-saber, but over the top. Interesting. Though, how would you sheathe it? If they're always out, I think they'd get in the way very frequently."

"That's a good question," replies the young hunter, who leans back and purses her lips. She looks to her halberd and its cover, then to her sword sheath, her equipment, and the various weapons around the room. Then, she snaps her fingers! "Aha! How about if they could be folded back over the arm, and then a leather cover coul be tied or slid over them? Or even just a tied cover." All of this doesn't help her from looking rather embarassed by the situation, red faced and fidgeting when she isn't looking right at her hands.

The canid doesn't seem bothered by the questions or Lisandra's increasing flusterment. His tail wags good naturedly. "Ah, I see... with the base of the blades on a pivot. I suppose you could fold them back over a bracer and buckle a leather flap down over it to protect the edges. The pivot would need a good deal of reinforcement to keep them from folding back in a fight." He holds his hands up in a sort of casual boxing stance, taking a few swipes as if imagining how they would feel. "Like this and this... maybe straight enough to punch a bit. Hmm... I don't think this would be as handy for close quarters as we might think at first. See, imagine if we are fighting like this, and we get into a clinch." The mastiff suddenly moves to hug Lilac.

The young hunter reflexively slips aside, almost dancing away, brows raising. "I see what you mean," she admits, leaning forward again to look and consider. "But, hmm." She steps forward again, lifting her own hands and hunching forward. She extends her fingers in a claw-like fashion, then, after thinking, issues a few swings as if she were still the beast. Being two instead of four legged allows more movement, but also makes her point of reference off. Her lips twist in frusteration, then she switches stances as if she were holding a spear. "I could remove my hand in a close position and strike with the claws this way," she explains, "and possibly catch sword-blows, which I know to be possible, but that's less useful against monsters. Hmm."

Alfonse has to take a step to keep his balance when his arms close on nothing. "Oop! Apologies, I did not mean to put you off. But yes, you see." He puts his arm over a nearby mannequin instead. "See, if we are fighting close like this, I cannot turn my forearm in to cut or stab him, non? This is more what things like dirks are for, usually... for when you are tangled together. If you are still fighting upright, you will usually not wish to loosen your grip on your primary weapon." The challenge of making a claw-like weapon seems to have intrigued Alfonse though, because he does not dismiss anything, and seems to be thinking hard. "You know, I think a clawed glove might not get in the way so much if the claws are short but sturdy and sharp. They cannot wound deeply, but they can tear flesh."

The young woman holds her hands out to her sides, smiling to show there's no hard feelings. "Oh no, it's fine -- I understand you intent with the movement. It's just, I'm a little uncomfortable with being touched, and, well, I am a hunter, and fought before that, so I'm always a little on edge." She glances at her friend, asking, "Do you have any input, Klaudia? I think I like the clawed glove idea, that would be more natural and less intrusive?"

Von Horne has been looking on quietly but listening closely thus far, and when she's addressed she nods, looking down at her own short, blunt claws. "Close fitting, sturdy leather gloves with some short, sturdy hooked blades at the tips shouldn't prevent you from holding your spear or sword. It's worth thinking about."

"Thank you, Klaudia. I'm sorry to have made you listen through this. I admit, I'm a bit embarassed about talking about weapons so heatedly," she tells the Korv beside her. Giving the woman a smile, she turns back to the apprentice and asks, "Can you forge those, then? And what would be the price? I think we have some time here, we can just look at the leatherwork and chitinwork while we wait, if it's as fast."

The korvess seems mildly puzzled more than anything. "Why would you be embarrassed discussing weapons? They're the tools of our trade, and the product of Alfonse's." The mastiff holds his hands up, speaking up as well. "It is no trouble, Miss Dragomir. I'm certain we could do this. Five claws that can be fitted into the end of a glove sturdily? And five more for the other hand. It shouldn't be hard. I could do that myself. Say, a hundred and fifty shekels for the set? I would usually charge two hundred, that's about as much iron as goes into a knife, but for friends of Mistress Von Horne, I can bargain."

"It's probably the part of me that still thinks she's a bard, and ... the other part of me that has pause over this type of thing," admits Lisandra, glancing back again. She takes a breath, exhales, then nods as she looks to the young man. "Then lets make an experiment of it, shall we? I believe I can cover that with the stipend I haven't spent." She digs through her coin purse and produces the required coinage, offering it to the man. "And thank you for all your help."

The mastiff graciously accepts, his jowls pulled up into a cheery grin. "It is I who must thank you! I shall get to work. How long are you in town?"

"As long as this and any other work takes, I believe, unless my mentor has other ideas," Lisandra replies. "I would like to look in to having a mask made, so that will take a bit of time. But otherwise, night or day, I'm ready to travel."

The apprentice nods agreement. "I can have these ready for you de bon matin, the morning, say? Early afternoon at the latest, if my father has work for me. Merci."

"That's fine, I won't complain about having to rest in a city that long." She reaches over to shake the man's hand, as she had always been taught to do with a sealed agreement. "We'll be about then. Good day!" Smiling, she turns to her friend and nods. "Well, there's that. Lets hope I don't cry or something when I use them." She gestures towards the door. "To the leatherworker?"

Klaudia extends her wing in an 'after you' gesture. "I don't mind either. We'll see this made, and have a good supper and breakfast before we set out tomorrow."

"Well, you know me, I love supper," the younger huntress says, her laugh, like her voice, musical. With that, she heads in to the yard.

The trip to the leatherworker is quick, with the shopkeeper having some thick but supple duelling gloves he couldn't sell because he'd made them too small. Glad to have a chance to sell them, and curious as well at Lisandra's project, he offered to sell them at a normal price but alter then and lace the claws in for free. The rest of the evening is spent at the common room of a busy inn, with a boisterous but well behaved crowd enjoying food, drink and song. Not many of the songs are familiar to Lilac, but they're easy to pick up, and when she begins singing along with them, she finds herself in rare form, to the point where the other singing stops so they can listen to her. By the end of the night, she's earned herself the price of the gloves back, plus a few drinks from admirers and dinner from a pleased innkeeper. The rooms are small but comfortable and clean, so the night's rest is a good one.

In the morning, a visit to the smithy shows that Alphonse was as good as his word and a competant craftsman in his own right. He presents Lisandra a velvet lined tray to show her the work, ten wedges of steel in two neat rows. They're small, but thick on the backs and slightly hooked. The inward curved blades are less than an inch long at the longest, and only half an inch for the pinkies, but wickedly sharp and brightly polished. The ends that go into the glove have been shaped like rounded off hooks as well, with holes drilled through them, so that they can be laced securely into the tips of the gloves and not come loose when the pressure of a scratch is applied. "These can't slice so deeply as a knife," comments Von Horne. "But I can see how they could savage exposed skin. Bleeding and pain look to be how these work. Vicious."

The waifish, somewhat mopey-looking young huntress picks up one of the weapons and looks it over, then tests it on a thumb. Wincing, she nods approvingly. "These are excellent, tell your master I'm very happy with your work." She then turns to her friend, waggling the instrument on the end of a finger. "That's me," she says, with no small amount of wryness in her words or her lopsided grin. "Vicious."

Young Mr. De Brignac is pleased with the reception of the claws, and the leatherworker is equally impressed when he sees them, the terrier holding each one up to the light to peer at it. "De Brignac does it again. The anchors look sturdy. I'll get them laced in tightly, and I think I can use these hooks he made to get them to lock into each finger. Clever design, this. I don't think I'd want to see what these could do to a fellow." It's a short bit of awling and lacing work with tough sinew and leather scraps, and the claws are fitted tightly in, as secure as Lilac's own fingernails and rather more durable and dangerous.

The young woman takes a glove and tries it on, pulling it to fit tight. She turns her hand in the air, peering at the fit and the blades themselves. "I'll have to remember to not scratch wearing these," she observes. A few flexes later, she nods thoughtfully, then reachs to grip the length of her halberd and test the interference. "And see, there's only a slight loss of grip -- nothing that's really a problem." She hands her halberd off, then removes the glove before reaching for her purse to provide the man his money. "Here you are."

The terrier gratefully accepts. "Glad you're pleased with them, miss. I hope they serve you well out there. I'm not from around here originally, but I've heard lots of stories about what lurks in those woods."

Now that she's paid, Lisandra opts to don both gloves, to better get a feel for them. She smiles at the leatherworker, saying, "Oh, well, you know, there are scary things, out there." Then she flexes her claws, in a very dramatic sort of way. "But that's what we're here for, right Klaudia?"

The korvess says, "Mmm," in a more or less agreeable tone, and the terrier nods. He dusts his hands off and says, "Well, good hunting to you both. You know, I buy skins and hides if I can use them. Not all this stuff is rughrat."

"We'll keep that in mind, and I'll pass that along, too. Thank you for your work, I'm very pleased with it -- and do come hear me sing, next time I'm in the castle!" She wiggles her fingers in a wave that's somewhat less friendly looking with those hooked claws, then gives another smile and heads for the exit. "Off on the road then, thank you for waiting, Klaudia."

With provisions packed, Von Horne leads the way to the keep's north gate, both women squeezing through another crowd, and at one point having to wait for some drokkar riders to move past. Once outside though, there's much more room on a broad packed earth road, and the stream of travellers rapidly thins out. The two huntresses set an easy pace under typically Sylvanian leaden skies. Much of the forest around this area has been thinned as well, logging heavy around the keep, and available land for farming taken advantage of.

Lisandra shoulders her spear and looks, for all the world, quite happy about life -- a significant turn of mood for the once cursed ex-bardess. Even the sky seems to maker her happy, gloomy though it is. "It's good to be out and traveling again with a friend, Klaudia. This is really more of my nature and habit, wandering the world, free. It's so much better now that it's not forced upon me. I can show my face again. All thanks to the good people I have met." Her head tilts, taking in the countryside. "And look, progress! It's difficulty to truly hate the invader, when they've done so much to make our land livable."

The korvess takes in a lungful of the cool, rain-scented air, and sighs. "Yes.. I'm more comfortable out here as well. I suppose it's always been my home, rather than some stone and mortar place, even as dangerous as it can be." She looks out over the fields of grain and orchards of fruit, then shoulders the fur mantle she'd gotten to replace the grimmer one she'd lost. "I don't have room in my heart to really hate anymore, not after the Murder. But all this progress, it's progress for the Gallisians. One day they may arrive at Rookery's gate, and I'm not sure how we'll deal with them."

"We'll have to fight, I suppose," says the apprentice with a sigh in her voice. "And then these weapons they made for us, we'll use against them. It's sad world, but at least it's beautiful, too." She reaches over and nudges her mentor, "But we'll deal with that when and if it comes. I've been keeping notes to provide our Lordship, for just such an occasion. If we're lucky, we can work out a mutual agreement with them. Maybe our Lordship can rally the surrounding lands and ensure that they progress no further. If not, well ... I'm sure we are as much assassin as hunter. Without their lords, would they realy advance?"

Klaudia looks to the road ahead, the area of packed earth gradually thinning to about a wagon's width, complete with ruts. "I suppose so. I have difficulty thinking of myself as an assassin... my mother spoke of the system of lords and ladies and courts and wars, but I was still raised in the woods. Even when I went to town, I only stayed for business. I don't hold any land, that I know of... I suppose mother might have had a place back in Rookery that's rotted to the ground." The farmland gradually gives way wilder fields, tall grasses with copses of trees that become thicker and more numerous the further the pair walk.

Lisandra nods to the points, her smile having faded as the grim conversation wears on. She takes a breath, then nods a little towards the end. "I suppose it's less difficult for me, because of ... Of how I began this path. I have fought men, and I have seen their works across the world, and I know that in some ways a man can be a monster, and a monster a man -- myself included. Some men are dear and good, others more dangerous than the Murder combined." She looks down at her right hand, eyes distant as she flexes the talons. "Did I tell you I fought in a small war? I had been using my curse in Lady Tsuguri's service, protecting her, and if necessary, slaying her enemies -- most were men."

"No, I didn't know that," says Von Horne, turning her head sidelong to look at Lilac in that manner of birds. "For Lady Tsuguri? Was this across the sea?"

"Yes," Lisandra replies, looking back and smiling a sad smile. "I didn't know we would be entering a war, we were really just tracking Lord Vandringar and Hakuu, both men monsters of a different sort. As it happened, we were called upon to first liberate Viper's Hold -- a small fortress -- and then the site of the Orb of Being. I wasn't present furing the first part, as I was scouting past the armies, but I rescued several commandos and helped destroy an airship. My part was rather small, in all honesty, my friends did much more -- as they always do -- but I did fight the warlord Beshret the Razer to a standstill." She cocks her head to the side, as well. "In hindsight, that was extremely dangerous. He was truly a fearsome man."

Klaudia whistles through her beak. "Lisandra, if I didn't know you to be an earnest woman, I'd never believe a story like that. I'd seen other peoples from far away on occasion, when I had gone into cities like Justinople, but I've never been outside Sylvania. The curse always came first, and I always had to come back to it. It sounds like you should be teaching me how to fight, and have no qualms at all, but then, I suppose you were seeing through different eyes at the time."

The young woman inclines her head. "That's it, Klaudia -- I relied upon my curse. The beast fought long before I was aware that it possessed me, and even after, when Lady Tsuguri told me what I had become, it still fought in my skin. I did come to control my change, and with that the burden of murder was mine to bear for true, but the beast still guided my claws." The woman's brow narrows, her face suddenly uncertain. "No ... Maybe I did. It's difficult to know, what part was me and what was the beast. I knew to undermined my restraint, but the rest? I cannot say." She then makes a little wry smile, shaking her head. "And I was not so fearsome, even then. I prefered ambush, and when I fought directly, I failed at least once. No, I am not so grand as all that, I'm afraid. My friends were surely greater."

"Well, we take what life gives us and takes from us as it comes, do we not?" The korvess stops at the base of a thick tree where the trail has dwindled quite a bit, now less suited to wagons than to dromodon. She stoops down and begins unwrapping the bundle she'd been carrying on her back, holding down one side with a foot and picking it apart with her one arm and the tip of her beak. "I'm not a young woman anymore. I spent my prime fighting that curse. But now that it's over, it's time to see what the shape of my life will let me see and do."

"I think you at least have a future with his Lordship," the younger woman points out, stopping to watch her mentor work. "And if that's not to your tastes, I'm sure I can provide some more ideas with a bit of time. You're very experienced in your field, and I'm sure some one would pay greatly for that. You could become a Master at Arms -- um, no pun meant, sorry! -- or other functionary militant. We could propse retraining what soldiers our Lordship has to fight as hunters, a style surely more suited to our home." She shifts her halberd to her opposite arm. "I have the same problem, too. Where to go? Who to be? Do I remain here? Raise my child? Continue my journey? There is a task left unfinished, and I fear I can't rest until it is done -- maybe not even then. We'll find where we belong, though. I have faith in that."

The bundle unrolls into another stack of cloth and cords, plus what looks like packages of herbs, mushrooms, a peasant cloak simpler in style than Klaudia's fur mantle, even a bucket. Von Horne shrugs out of her mantle and rolls it up to tuck away, donning the peasant's cloak, and she hides her mask under a bulky tunic that billows out when she's stooped. She comes up with a straw hat that she ties to her head, shading much of her face except for the last few inches of her long bill. "It's best to focus on the task at hand, really. Plan ahead, but work in the now." She loosely wraps the head of her spear in rough cloth and twine, the iron of the korv spearhead concealed.

The young woman "ahhhs," when she sees what her mentor doing. Retsing her halberd against the tree, she pulls her own pack out and kneels to begin rummaging through it. In short order she removes her hunter's coat, replacing it with a long, raggedy oiled leather cloak with the upper back cut out. A mantled cowl of the same material goes over her head and shoulders, largely concealed the gap in her cloak's back. She considers her gloves, then removes the one on her right hand and puts that away. Like Klaudia, she conceals her weapons, putting the crossbow and the rest back in her pack. The halberd some padding, making it look like a long stick prepared to hold another load. When done, she steps back and looks between herself and her mentor. "We look very peasanty. It reminds me of home," she says with a laugh.

"Heh. Well, we shall see if it fools our quarry. But I think a crippled old korv forager and a young peasant girl should be tempting targets," croaks Von Horne, hefting her spear again and balancing it along her good shoulder, baskets and the bucket dangling from it. A forager's pocketed apron covers her bandoliers and belt loosely, draping down almost to her feet, and her crossbow lurks beneath her cloak and the feathers of her wing. Her bolas are a few lumps under her cloak. "The forest gets deeper from here, and the protection of the chevaliers doesn't go any further. This is where we'll part ways, Lisandra. We won't travel too far apart, but I won't be immediately at hand either. It's time you show that you can make it as a solitary hunter, because that is how we most often do things. I have confidence in you, Lilac. You've learned a lot. It's dangerous, but you can do this."

Lisandra regains some of her earlier cheer at the pep talk, smile growing. "Thank you, Klaudia. It's by your guidance I have come to this point, and I thank you for that as well!" She takes a deep breath, turning to regard the road and take its measure, then nods confidently. "Right, then. It's time to hunt!" She takes one step in to the gloom, the another, and with growing speed hurries down the road.

The korv watches her student go as she's left behind, and before she's lost to the distance she can be seen setting off down the other trail. The relative brightness of the forest entrance fades in the familiar murk of Sylvania's thick woodlands, replaced with shafts of light through the canopy. It takes a minute or two for Lisandra's eyes to adjust, but soon her vision is as sharp as ever.

I am not so far from having stalked these woods, myself, the young woman observes as she continues in to the forest, willing herself not to look back as she focuses on her surroundings, and her thoughts. I wonder if anyone encountered me upon this road, for I'm sure I traveled near it. How strange it is, to have switched roles, and back again. She scans the forest, moving ever forward. Now then, my quarry ...

The forest swallows Lilac up, and soon the entrance she came through is lost to view. The trail is still clear at least, wide enough and even enough for a wagon to follow with a little leeway on either side, and gaps enough to let another cart pass if one is met on the way. The sky mutters above, threatening rain but not yet darkening the few gaps in the canopy that let muted sunlight down to the forest floor below. The dirt of the path is covered over with dry leaf litter, while off the path grass and moss green the murk of the Sylvanian woods. An hour passes, letting Lilac establish her pace and giving her some time to her thoughts.

Alone, Lilac -- her real name Lisandra Dragomir -- flickers her gaze across the treeline as her mind wanders to how she came to walk this path. It wasn't so long ago she wore the body of a beast, a monster from Sylvanian legend, and now she is free of it. But, here in the forest, she can't help but feel a little closer to what she once was. She flexes her left hand, the clawed glove she wears running its sharp talons against the interior of her cloak, and wonders what brought her to make such a thing -- and why she feels a little giddy at the whole prospect of hunting. She had come to appreciate hunting animals hrough her beast. It must be that, she reasons. Just echoes of a dwindling curse.

The path ahead bends a little back and forth, but is relatively straight for what it is. In the distance, Lilac can see two figures walking side by side on the path in the opposite direction she's going.

The young woman shifts her grip on her spear, concealed as it is as a sack-carrying walking stick. her sword hangs at her side, easier to ready, but she isn't as well setup for combat as she'd prefer to be. Acting as bait and attacker has distinct compromises, she's come to learn. As the figures steadily approach, Lilac finds herself studying them. Even in such low light, she can see well enough; a legacy of her curse.

With her sharp eyes, Lilac is clearly able to make the pair out before they can see her. It's two humans, mature but not old, a man and a woman in peasant's garb. The woman is carrying a bundle of sticks on her back, and the front pocket of the apron at her waist looks to be full of mushrooms, stuffed so that the pocket hangs open enough to see the brown and tan caps. The man has a bundle of wood as well, thicker pieces, and he carries a stone-headed axe in his right hand. They're quietly conversing as they walk.

Woodcutters and foragers, Lilac thinks, and finds herself suddenly nostalgic of home. Pyrewood is primarily a lumbering community, with enough hunters and other folk to be largely self-sufficent. Self-sufficency never meant comfort, though. Having traveled far and wide in her cursed state, she has come to see how poor and fragile her home town really was. A pang of guilt strikes her as she studies the two.

As the pair draw closer, the man looks up to peer out from under the brim of his hat, noticing Lilac. He respectfully touches the brim of his hat, while the woman says, "Good day," in the Sylvanian tongue. Neither look like they're going to stop walking.

"Evening," Lilac responds, tipping her own head but never removing her gaze from the two. She does her best to try and sound both friendly and a little nervous, although she'd have to admit ehr acting ability is limited to inserting emotion in songs and music. When the couple move to pass, Lilac glances back enough to watch them. Always be wary, she repeats -- one of Klaudia's mantras.

Neither of the peasants look back at her as they pass by, and they resume their conversation. Before long their shapes have dwindled down the path behind Lilac, and they're gone.

After shaking her head a little, Lilac returns to scanning the treeline and heading ever onward. I wonder how many times we pass strangers, never learning what lives they lead -- what secrets they conceal from others, she considers as she walks along. I wonder, what they would think of me if they knew what I was, and am now.

More time passes, dry leaves crunching underfoot. Eventually, Lilac comes across a stone marker. It's weathered and covered in lichen, but still easy enough to read. "Olocota Vale - 1/2 League"

The young woman stops to examine the sign, and also to rub her back. Her equipment isn't the only weight on her back, nor the most important: her unborn child rounds her belly and adds his her own weight. A little smile crosses her face as she thinks about it, and then she's off heading towards Olocota Vale. It's not a village she's heard of, but she can hardly claim to know every village in her home country. So many little villages hide in the murk of the woods, their residents rarely leaving. Such it was with her own home town.

The road dips and descends gently, and the treeline breaks enough with the downward slope to see the depression of the vale, not a particularly large one. Smoke rises from a cleared part, and before long Lilac can see the source. The village is small and looks fairly typical... a few rough wood houses, some of the larger ones made with stone. The fence doesn't look like it'd deter much more than a wagon or drokar that can't jump. The largest building looks like a mill, a small creek, bridged outside the town itself, turning its wheel.

While Pyrewood was small, it wasn't quite this small. It strikes the young huntress that there are always people worse off, although she isn't sure what to make of that piece of wisdom. Deciding a bit rest couldn't hurt, and that these people could use some of her coin, she proceeds towards the village to see about food and shelter. Her plan is to present the appearance of a young, somewhat desperate woman who is heading -- or perhaps fleeing -- north. In this, her pregnancy certainly helps the image, although it can be difficult to see. Sylvanian tales are full of women of just the same sort; runaways, forbidden unions, a bride who never arrives to meet her husband, and so on. "What a grim country mine is," she muses as she approaches.

The villagers greet Lilac when she passes by, and some eye her curiously or warily, but otherwise go about their daily lives. Olocota isn't even big enough to have its own pub, it seems like, but one of the larger houses has a sign on it reading "Store", and the porch has barrels of biscuit, water, and bins of fruit and vegetables. Glancing through the window, there look to be shelves with jars and clay pots inside.

Given the general lack of accomodations, Lilac considers moving on as she picks up a few pieces of fruit and vegetables for the road. Her travel supplies, while durable, aren't exactly fresh. Once she has what she wants, she pushes the door open and steps inside, smiling.

A cervani doe behind the counter nods politely back at Lilac as she comes in, and sets aside the broom she was sweeping up with. "Hullo, traveller," she says. Like the peasants on the road, she speaks Sylvanian as well. "How're you? Any refreshment for the road to go with your produce today?"

"What do you have?" Laying her spear aside gives the young huntress more room to manuver her selections, which she places where the doe can see them. This also allows her to manipulate her pack and preperation of storing the items she doesn't plan to eat immediately. And, while her cloak is heavy, it doesn't conceal her clawed glove or her sword as she moves. Sensing the impending question, she also quickly adds, "And have you had any trouble of late?"

The shopkeep perks her ears up a little at the sight of the weapons Lilac is carrying, not seeming to have anticipated the young woman to be carrying them. If she finds this disturbing, she doesn't let it show, simply shaking her head. "Not so much in Olocota Vale. We're about the southernmost village in the forest before you leave it and gain the protection of the chevaliers," she says, though she doesn't refer to them with any particular reverence. "Are you looking for it? Travellers coming south have brought word there's been been some people gone missing further north." Once behind the counter, the doe perches on a stool. "I think there's a bit of pie left, and if you prefer it there's cold salt rughrat. We've got water to drink, and lemonade, juice, and cider for a few bits."

"I hope to find it -- or for it to find me. I've heard mention of these missing travelers, and I have taken the bounty while I travel north," Lilac explains. She decides to leave out that she's an apprentice, prefering people to not know her weaknesses if it can be helped. After frowning at how her sword has shifted, she adjusts her sword belt and then looks up again. "I'll have that pie, I think. And, the rughrat as well, for the road. And if it isn't too much trouble, some water to go with it. May I have a seat?"

The shopkeeper nods briskly. "Make yourself comfortable, or there's a couple chairs outside if you'd like the fresh air. We'll call it two shekels for the pie and rughrat, and one more for your produce." She draws the wooden lid away from what looks like a clay well, and ladles cold water into a glass with a dipper, leaving it on the counter for Lilac before she goes back to what looks like her own kitchen in the back. She returns with a portion of salted meat bundled in waxed paper, and a slice of pie on a plate, the pastry smelling of apples and cinnamon. "It's not still warm, but it's fresh."

"It's comforts like pie that bring me back to towns and villages. For all that can be found in the woods, hunted or plucked, there's nothing quite like a good pastry." Smiling, Lilac provides the shekels before seating herself. She's been outside enough, and the other villagers really don't need to see she's armed. As she begins eating, she hums to herself between bites, enjoying the food and the simple surroundings. Although she's traveled through great cities, even kneeled before an emperor, she finds that there's something both comforting and stablizing about places like this. Peace and humilty, helping her to remember that she was once just an ordinary girl.

"It's the simple things," the doe agrees. "You wouldn't catch me out on that road, not if I can help it."

Lilac pauses in her eating and huming to look up, then she laughs quietly, the sound melodic. Even having turned her focus to hunting, she still practices and retains her bardic arts. "Sometimes that's the thing of it: if we can help it -- or not," she offers, head tilting. "But I've been on the road a while, and it's as much my home as anywhere, I suppose. I left Pyrewood, and I'll not return. Rookery is a good place, but I'm needed elsewhere."

"I see," the shopkeeper says, nodding gravely. "I wish you good fortune on your journey, then. There are some shrines to saints of protection and travel along the roads. I hope they and the Star watch over you."

"I've taken to the Great Gear, myself. But I'll not turn away aid, whatever the source may be." Lilac settles in to enjoy her meal, glad for someone to talk to. Nights in Catle Pieksvaldt were lonely affairs, only broken up by the compassion of Tess's mother when she took to spending her nights keeping the young huntress from going mad with isolation. The road is even quieter now that Klaudia has departed, and sometimes her thoughts can turn dark, indeed. It's little things like pie and company that remind her all is not dark, and that she is still human -- even if only in her mind.

The doe takes up her broom again, and resumes her sweeping up. "Ah. Well, solace is where you find it, Star or Gear or roof, I suppose." A few patters of rain tap at the windows, the wind picking up a bit, then settling again.

As she finishes up, Lilac scoots the plate forward and then takes one last sip of water. "It was good, miss. Thank you for that." Pushing herself to standing, the huntress adjusts her gear to ensure it hangs properly, then asks, "I don't suppose there's a place to rest my head within the village, or within a short stretch of nightfall?"

The shopkeeper looks up from her sweeping and smiles. "You're quite welcome, I'm glad you liked it. One of the homesteaders here might offer you a bed for a couple shekels, or clean straw in a barn for one. I'm afraid we're of rough means in Olocota, and few people stop as they pass through. Loggers here, mostly."

"It's no trouble. I consider anything above sleeping in the wild a luxury, and I'm glad to have it. The day's still early, so I think it best I head on. Good day to you." After stowing her new provisions, Lisandra pulls her cloak about herself and draws her left hand in, concealing her weaponry. She smiles once more, glad to do it, and then tips her head before stepping out in to the gloom and returning to the road.

Back on the road, with a full stomach and rested feet, Lilac crosses the bridge and continues northward, leaving Olocota behind though she's still in the vale. The road is still in fairly good shape, and after half an hour or so, she comes across another stone marker with the village's name on it. Nearby is something else as well, a broad tree stump about four feet high. Inside, the wood is carved into a relief of a cervani buck in profile. In one hand he carries a shield. The other is empty and outstretched, holding an emaciated, cadaverous looking creature at bay. Behind him, carved smaller, are commoners. A halo surrounds his head, and the Star is carved above him. In the recess in front of the relief, there's a flat stone disc with some lumps of wax on it, and a few intact candles amongst them. An old, withered-looking apple also sits there, along with a fresher-looking pear, and a shekel.

I hope this isn't Lord Vandringer. I know what I said about aid, but he would be stretching things. Shrugging, the young woman removes her flint and the apple she was going to eat. The shrine is lit, and the apple placed. As she steps back it strikes her she was the sort of monster people would want to repel, giving the eerily flickering image a sense of unreality. More often than she would like to admit, these feelings of duality and being out of come upon her. The young woman can only hope the Star is as mericul as the Gear.

The inside of the stump soon has an orange cast from the candle flame, and the newly added apple casts a shadow along one of the sides. The light flickering over the wood relief almost makes it seem alive.

The huntress watches the flames flicker for a minute or so, finding the image strangely comforting, even if she wonders if she has a right to. With her task ahead of her and nightfall looming, she turns back to the road and begins back on her way. I wonder if I've been here before, she thinks as she walks away from the shrine. Or to that village. The dispelling of her curse brought no answers as to her lost memories, and she suspects she may never find any.

The sun gradually begins falling toward mid-afternoon, the wan rays of light passing through the canopy beginning to slant. Another hour of travel, and Lilac can hear hoofbeats ahead, quite a few.

A chevaliers party? The huntress proceeds to the side of the road to make way, putting a tree between herself and the approaching horsemen so that she can't be run down easily. Her eyes scan the road and the trees as she waits, not wanting to be caught off guard despite the noise.

What eventually comes through the dappled shadows aren't anywhere as flashy as the chevaliers. It turns out to be six men on drokar, their garb and armor motley... a couple have leather coats, and one has a boiled leather breastplate. The one with the breastplate also wears a chitin sword... the others have a mix of wood spears, grain threshing flails, and pitchforks. One has a bow and a quiver of arrows.

Lilac eyes the men warily, suspecting them to be one of two things: a hunting party of peasants or bandits. If the men are hunters like she is, their knowledge of the road ahead could be useful. If they're bandits, she suspects she will be overwhelmed if they decide on aggression and it will not go well for her unless she uses her hunter's tricks or reveals her wings. Given the stakes, Lilac choses to hide herself. She isn't nearly so confident as to risk facing six men on drokarback, however unskilled they may or may not be.

Since she's already off the side of the road, it's little matter for Lilac to melt into the shade of the trees and underbrush. The men ride past without incident or word.

After waiting to ensure the men are gone, Lilac returns to the road and continues on. Prudence in conflict is something that doesn't change, she realizes, be you woman or beast. With no one to support her, she feels the choice she made was the best one. A few words are not worth the fates that a bandit party could inflict upon her. Perhaps some day she will be a match for so many men, as Umeko is, but that day is not today.

A few more miles go by quietly. Eventually, they feel too quiet. There's a prickling at the back of Lilac's neck, and a tingling in her extremities, leaving the notion that the ghost of Reisling stirred. Lilac is left with the distinct impression that something is watching her.

We're not alone, are we Dame Reisling? Lilac doesn't need an answer to know it's true. If she can claim to be good at anything, it's being a shadow -- and as someone familiar with the shadows she has come to also learn to be aware of them. Continuing to walk as she has, the young huntress tries to get a better idea of where her stalker lurks. Turning to soon may spook it, and then it may relocate. Turning too late, well ... She focuses her senses and hopes she does not turn too late.

The tug, the weird tingly sensation of being watched intently, seems to come from off the left side of the road. A glance out of the corner of the eye doesn't spot anything, but beyond it Lilac's sharp eyes can make out a clearing that someone of more ordinary sight would never see.

While she sees the clearing, Lilac isn't immediately certain as to its impact on her present situation. It takes a moment of study for her to ascertain the strategic value of the space: if she moves to it she could watch the treeline with relative ease. It's a much better place to prepare for an attack than the road, narrow and surrounded by foliage as it is. To feign sudden distress, she crosses her left hand over her stomach and clutches it, hunching over slightly as she eyes watch, alert. In this way she leaves the road and, after a feigned effort of looking around, heads towards the clearing.

Nothing leaps out to try to take advantage of the distressed woman, but there is a skitter of retreat ahead of her through the underbrush. When Lilac reaches the clearing's edge, she sees what's dominating the center of the clearing... a tremendous tree whose shade stretches over the whole gap in the forest floor, starving any competition of light. In the boughs above, pairs of eyes stare down, and shift around in the shadows.

Now that she's arrived, the woman releases her side and gazes up, her right hand shifting on her halberd in preperation of an attack. What is this? The watching eyes are certainly worrisome, and may well be her monster, but she can't help but think the tree itself may have some meaning as well. What meaning that is may have to wait in the face of so many potentially hostile creatures, she decides. Avoiding getting too close to the tree's trunk, the woman turns to sweep her gaze across the treeline and the great tree's canopy, attempting to make out how outnumbered she may be and if so, by what.

Another searching look around the edges of the forest held at bay finds nothing else present. It's quiet but for the occasional leaf or nut falling to the litter below.

Seeing nothing else, Lilac turns towards the tree and advances. All the while she keeps her gaze moving, trying to keep tabs on her surroundings. Maybe they're waiting for me to lay down for a rest, drop my guard. This tree might be a monster itself, but that wouldn't match with what I learned. Still, careful Lisandra ... As she nears it, Lilac eyes the tree and gives it a once-over.

Whatever guile they might have had crumbles as Lilac gets closer, a voice somewhere between hiss and screech coming from amidst the branches. "It sees us!" Quickly, others answer it, a confused and panicky jabbering. "How can it see us?!" "No!" "Go away, human creature!" "No, no, it will bring more back!"

Ummm ... This isn't at all what Lilac was expecting, but a voice reminds her that expecting the unexpected is part of a hunter's job. Perversely, a part of her is happy at being called a 'human creature,' even as she's bemused by the arguement lurking above her.

"I see you," she confirms once she's recovered herself, looking up and doing her best to sound confident. In truth, she even feels more brave than she imagined she would be. The growing darkness, as well as her hunt, seem to invigorate her in a way she finds both reinforcing and more than a little disquieting. "Who are you?"

"It does see us!" "Woe betides us!" The cluster of shining eyes above seems to draw closer together and up a little further, but there isn't much further to be able to retreat. "We live here, human creature! It is ours! Go away and never return!" "How did it happen?! More may find us!" "They will come with axes and fire!"

"Yes, I see you. Stop fleeing and come down here where I can speak with you. I'll not harm you unless I must, but I'm not leaving until we speak," Lilac demands, pointing down at the lower branches. Her clawed hand glistens in the faint light, and she adds, "You'll not escape me up there, if that's your plan." Her commanding tone surprises her; she wonders when she became so assertive. She certainly isn't assertive normally, but something about these creatures fear, mixed with the hunt and the darkening sky makes her feel a little wild in that way that has been building since the sun began to set. She isn't sure what to make of it, save that she hasn't time to consider it in depth now.

The voices stop as Lilac speaks forcefully. After a moment, they speak one at a time to answer. "Won't come down, human creature." "But... but we will speak with you." "Spirits of the forest, we." "Dwell in the walnut, we." "What do you want, human creature? We have no quarrel!"

"I am looking for a creature that preys upon travelers, attacking the weak. It drains from them their blood, leaving only minor cuts in its wake. Do you know of any such creature?" The woman tilts her head, but her eyes flick here and there as she keeps vigil. She considers it possible the creatures may be trying to lure her in to a false sense of superiority, and so she keeps watch. And, since she not longer needs to conceal herself, she pulls from its poucnh her sceond clawed glove, sliding it on as she speaks.

"Hunter!" several exclaim in unison, fear in their voices. One of the ones that was speaking takes over, seeming to push them aside. "Is a darksome thing you speak of, human creature. A hungry spirit, hungry. Drinking pleases it in body, but it cannot stop."

"A vampire," Lisandra confirms, nodding slowly. She takes a moment to mull the information over, including that it was given at all. It could be a lie, she thinks, ... but I'm not so sure. I've been threatening, maybe I should show them I'm not only a hunter. In a way, we're no so different. When her head lifts, she offers, "I am not just a hunter. I was also the hunted. I, too, am a spirit of this forest. Please, if you are not guilty, there is no need to fear me." Shruging her cloak until it dips below her upper back, she concentrates. The grass stirs with an unseen wind, a wind that draws against the woman as black wings materialize even as her flesh twists to meet the former ether. "See?"

There is momentary confusion in the branches of the big walnut tree as Lilac's wings unfurl and spread, black korvish fans stretched out from the young woman's back. "What is this?" "Something lives in her." "As we live in the walnut." "You speak of guilt, creature. We have no regret for how we live, but neither do the monsters that would slay and feast on your kind." "But that is what it speaks of, is it not?" "We hide the walnut, creature. We mislead those who would cut it and kill it. What danger they find after, that is for them, on their own head."

The young huntress stretches her wings as she listens, having become accustomed to their presence and finding it unnatural when they are away. The irony of this does not escape her, nor does the complex moral dilema she's faced with. Before her are spirits who misslead travelers, dangerous in their own way. Monsters, to some. And yet, their story is that of beings protecting their home. To allow them to exist is to allow them to misslead, something she, as a hunter, she may be obligated to stop. But I am not just a hunter, nor am I just a human, she thinks as she regards the tree with brow narrowed, her expression judging. I am also as they are, a monster. Some would burn me for it. Her decision comes swiftly after that thought.

"I will not harm you or lead others to this tree. This is your home, protect it as you will, so long as you do no more harm than you must. I will not destroy you for simply being what you are." She takes a breath, then gestures to the woods beyond. "This creature is different, and its kind will bring more hunters. Help me find it and end it, and you will have your peace once again."

The voices in the tree go silent for a long moment, the wind rustling through the leaves. Finally, only one speaks. "There was a place of dwelling, a place the choppers and the burners came to be... there raised caverns of cold stone and dead wood, and dwelt there, as the outsiders do. A spirit sick within came to live in one of them, and then another, and the spirit sickness spread as they fed. The people of axe and pick dropped their tools and ate one another, feasting, feasting, until only one was left, and left their stone and wood to the forest again. The one that is left dwells there no longer, but flees to it when confronted."

"That is good to know," Lilac says, appreciatively. For all their strangeness, the young woman realizes she has become a little fond of these strange forest spirits. Maybe it's a longing for community, for something to identify with. Perhaps she is just being sentimental, as she often is. Whatever the case, she is glad she chose to not destroy them -- assuming she even could. "Can you tell me in what direction this place is, and how far? And ... are you sure I can't see what you look like?"

The branches shake, as if the tree itself were waving hands. "No! Your world is not ours, though you may stand in both." "We speak and we give, and you must forget us." "The tumblestones and rotted wood are near the forest gash, the wound you use to travel. Find where the gash went to split... plants grow in it now, but it is still clear. Follow it."

Lilac holds her hands up to show she means no harm in her curiosity, letting her spear lean against her body. Of course, her held up hands are clawed, somewhat ruining the gesture. "Okay, okay! Thank you for your help. I'll be going now ... " She turns to depart, taking a few steps before she pauses and turns her head, glancing over her shoulder. "Just out of curiosity, you've never seen me before, have you? Or beast with wings, and claws, black upon the groud, with eyes that shine with the color of mine ..?"

"Not as you." "No, not as you, we have seen only one of you." The voices pause, as if mulling over, a few walnuts falling to the forest floor. "Sometimes word comes to us, borne on the wind. It is how we know of the drinker you hunt." "These winds spoke of black beasts as you speak of, singing their songs of despair and stealing people away to a nowhere place." "Glints of gold lured the unwary beyond the marsh, beyond the swamp." "No longer, though." Another pause. "Remember, hunter. The drinker does not dwell amongst the tumblestones. But it will seek sanctuary there."

Lilac nods to the information, slowly and with much thought. After a moments silence, she says, "Yes, we, the Midnight Murder, are at rest now. All save the last, and youngest. Thank you, again." She turns a little more, and asks in a faux-innocent, teasing tone, "I don't suppose I can have a walnut?" You are a mean person, Lisandra, she chides herself in her head, and she finds herself struggling between laughter and guilt.

In chorus, the gnomes or imps or faeries or whatever they were shout, "Begone!!!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" The young woman gives a wave, then hurries out of the clearing. She manages not to laugh until she's back on the road, at least.

Getting back to the road is easy enough, and should Lilac look back over her shoulder, the forest looks different, just stands of trees and bushes.

And she does look back, eyeing where the clearing once was. She can only assume it was Dame Reisling's power that let her see it all, and wonders what the Dame thought of her exchange. She isn't sure what she though of the exchange, including her own behavior. "I am not mean," she insists to the forest that surrounds her. With a, "Am ?" she returns to her trek northward, concealing her weapons and retracting her wings as she goes.

Travelling north again, the once-bardess finds the wind pulling at her cloak, and the trees above hiss and whisper as their leaves rush together. The weather seems to be turning; a few drops of water darken the dirt of the road. At least it's not a driving rain... more of a misty drizzle that seems to be coming. It's still mid-afternoon, so even though the clouds thicken, there's more than enough light to see by. Lilac hasn't reached the fork that the walnut creatures spoke of yet when she sees a lone figure walking down the road.

As before, Lilac shifts her grip and readies herself for possible attack as the lone figure approaches, moving to give him or her sufficent berth to respond. With the rain, it's harder for her to get a good look at the features of the figure, and she fears that the weather could cause her other problems in the event of a bad turn. Still, she doesn't stop walking, not wanting to draw particular attention to herself.

This figure is tallish, but the broadness of his shoulders is more noticeable than his height. As he comes into view, it becomes apparent he's a jupani, a heavy travelling cloak worn over leather armor. A hood keeps most of the rain off his head, and a harness lets a long, two-handed sword rest on his back where he can unhook it if he needs to draw it. He's carrying a recurve bow with his cloak partially draped over it, though it seems less to hide it and more to keep the drizzle off the string. A hip quiver is worn on one side, the fletching of the arrows dyed deep green. He evidently notices Lilac as well, putting a hand to the quiver but not nocking an arrow. "Ho there. Stand and name yourself."

Inwardly, the novice hunter groans. The man looks stronger than she is, and she has the distinct impression that he is at least an equal combatant. Add in his long range weapon, and the woman finds him to be distinctly worrying. She glances the side of the road out of the corner of her eye, and the cover it could provide, gaze snapping back as she responds. "I am Lisandra Dragomir," she replies in her best neutral tone. "And you, sir?"

"You speak to Rothram Kuenn," says the jupani, letting his hood fall back so he can be seen more clearly, a shaggy, dark-grey lupine head with notched ears alertly forward. A scar crosses his broad muzzle, and there look to be some at the side of his neck as well, or at least the fur there is pretty irregular. He stands up straight, seeming to relax and looking a bit less threatening. His hand doesn't leave the quiver, though. "What's your business alone on this road?"

"You're ..?" The word escapes her before she can quite stop it, eyes widening. Kuenn! While she had never met the other Kuenn, the tale of the man remains stark in her mind. Kuenn, the man who murdered Tess, the monster among monsters! It takes much of the woman's nerve to steady herself, knowing full well that the last Kuenn was an expert hunter and more than a match for her. "I'm heading north," she offers a second later, her voice anxious despite her best efforts. "To Justininople." Do I tell him I'm a hunter, or not? The last Kuenn was a ttue monster, would hearing I'm a pregnant woman really give him pause? Can he tell I'm a hunter just by watching me? It pains her, but she decides that he probably can. The last Kuenn knew Klaudia, and this one is likely familiar with the hunter's style. "I am a huntress, Klaudia von Horne's apprentice. You are a hunter? Brother or son to Borham Kuenn?"

The jupani man's eyes narrow, but his hand leaves the quiver finally, and he lets the bow slip in his hand from the grip to the upper part of it, sheltering it with a fold of his cloak again. "Brother," he says, walking slowly forward to get a clearer look, his dense grey fur wetting into spikes with the drizzle. "And yes, I am. Hmp. You must be after the bloodsucker's bounty too. Under Von Horne's wing, are you? How do you know of my brother?"

"I am," Lisandra confirms, deciding this scarred man isn't one of nonsense and can probably read a flat lie. Her gaze asecnds as the man approaches; she had heard Borham was large, and if he was anything like this she can see why he challenged even her two expert friends. "And yes, I am. I was one of the victims of Castle Pieksvaldt and the Midnight Murder. Your brother was also within the castle, stalking it I believe. I heard later he was slain by the castle's mistress; I'm sorry for your loss." The young woman hopes evasion is enough. It's all true, and accurate, minus several key details. She watches the man approach, hoping he'll accept it.

Rothram's ears flatten and his hackles rise, and he keeps his yellow stare on Lilac, even as he begins to pace first to one side, and then the other. None of his leather armor or harness creaks as he moves. "Borham went missing over a decade ago. I don't feel his loss," he says, in a measured tone, like someone who suspects he might be mocked but isn't sure yet. His voice seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest, a growl in his words that is pitched low and not loud enough to herald violence... so far. "I did hear that Rookery appeared again, whatever curse was over it broken and the villagers returning. You say my brother perished in there?"

"Y-yes," Lisandra answers, watching the man pace. "As did all the ancient Midnight Murder, as well as the man behind it all: the traitor Kantemir. The Lady Raveness, who slew your brother, was not of this world and has since left it. Rookery is but its peasantry now, all those who haunted the land are no more." As the man continues to walk, she studies him and his armor, taking note even as he paces with dangerous energy. Kuenn was an excellent hunter, and this man appears to be too. Maybe she can learn something, if he doesn't try and kill her first. "I heard he was an excellent hunter, but the Lady Raveness could not be harmed by mortal weapons. A group of adventurers and what seemed to be a Chronotopian noble freed us and put it all to an end." Her gaze shifts to the man's armor; she wonders how he has made it so silent.

The wolf stops in place, eyeing Lisandra a few seconds more, sizing her up, before letting his stare settle into less pointed attention. His ears swivel back forward, though the fur around and behind is neck remains ruffed out for the moment. "Borham was a powerful fighter and a peerless tracker, just as those born after him," he says, the edge leaving his voice and just settling into flat disgust. "And a head-touched jackanape who met a fool's end. He could hunt, but he was no hunter. We traded scars, me and my brothers, and it's enough to have done with him. Rookery keep him." He seems satisfied enough with that line of conversation, and shifts. "So, if you're Von Horne's apprentice, no doubt she's out here somewhere too."

The young woman breathes a sigh of relief when Borham's brother admits his distaste for his sibling, finding herself very much relieved she chose the right words. or close enough to them, anyway. "Yes, she's somewhere behind me on the trail. And, I apologize for my neutraility regarding your brother. I wasn't sure of your relationship with him, and I'm aware of how ... dangerous he could be. I don't think I'm mistaken in believing you're a superior fighter, and wasn't about to start a fight, especially if you shard his, um, inclinations.." She tips her head to the senior hunter. "But, yes, my mentor is nearby, although where, exactly, I do not know. If you're hunting the 'bloodsucker,' perhaps we might ... work together?" She ventures a little smile, hoping the man will become more amiable now that the matter of his brother is settled.

Kuenn looks out toward the forest, then back toward Lilac with one eye. "Aye, girl, I hold my own and then some. You're right enough to be wary of me and anyone else you meet on this road... that'll see you live to journeyman. As it is, if you don't have a posting of copper on your head, I've no need to take it." His neck ruff settles back down, and having enough of the drizzle he flips his hood up again. "I'm on this hunt alone, but with both you and Von Horne out here, my odds of winning it have gone down anyway, so I'll tell you this much, girl. I've been stalking the woods, and found little trace of anything but animals. I'm going back to them, because that's where I'm at my best, and I might come back with some normal game, at least. The ruined village was empty too, near as I could tell. Might as well follow the road if that's what you've been doing, I'm going to be going south."

The young woman finds herself with a dilema as she listens to Kuenn's words. She could accept what he says and bid him farewell, giving herself a much greater chance to accomplish the hunt on her own, not to mention allowing her use of her wings. On the other hand, she's sure this man is skilled and that he could teach her a great deal if she could only get it out of him. What he knows may be worth more than any bounty; after all, she has the Curator's backing and hunting is more of a personal mission than a professional one. She watches the man a moment longer, then makes her decision.

"If I said I would be willing to part with information about the vampire, and the bounty as well, if you would join me and teach me during our hunt, would that be of any interest to you?" Lilac inquires.

One of Rothram's ears swivel, and the broad-shouldered jupani looks slightly surprised. He seems to consider, crossing his arms. "Information and the bounty? Hmm." He looks back out to the woods again, then back at Lilac. "Alright, girl. You have a deal. If you came from the south, then we're both going north." He looks Lisandra over appraisingly again. "You're wearing a lot of raggedy drape over your kit. I take it you were playing bait, is that right?"

"Wonderful!" Lilac extends her hand, feeling this large man might appreciate a more physical gesture of agreement. "And yes, that's right." She smiles again, without any of her former nervousness. She never imagined she'd shake the hand of a Kuenn, but she also never imagined she'd become a cursed monster or ... other things. "It was a plan I formulated after my mentor explained the situation. As the monster appeared to attack the weak, it seemed prudent to appear as a vulnerable person. It's a bit bulky and makes drawing my weapons harder, but I think it provides the best chance to lure the monster in to a trap." She gestures ahead, indicating they should continue. "From what I've learned the vampire is cowardly and will flee if challenged, always returning from whence it originated."

The jupani ignores the gesture, rolling his shoulders to make his sword harness ride up along his back a little better, then turning around and heading north. "Alright. Where is that? Keep up. If we're talking about a monster that's selective, it's not going to be in the forest where I was looking. We're going to move fast. If you got questions, ask them while we move. Von Horne uses guile, and I admit that works in spots. I stick the fundamentals. Track. Chase. Kill."

"Yes -- following!" The woman hurries after her new instructor, keeping her ears opened and eyes pealed. She has to admit, the 'track, chase, kill' method stirs her; it's the same sort of instinct her beast employed when hunting. "Do you employ hunter devices such as bolas or those horrible chain whistles, a stealthy assault, or more od a direct one? Oh, and we're looking for an abandoned village near a mine, the entrance described to me as, "tumblestones and rotted wood," near a split in the road. It should be somewhat overgrown, but passable."

"That's where it runs to ground, is it? You're talking about Cherenov's Fork. The village had the same name." Rothram's stride is long, and he settles into a gliding lope, an efficient pace. "I don't use stuff like that. I use my bow and my sword and myself. I'm not in it to capture monsters alive, I don't run a zoo. If that stuff gets you the kill, fine, but your weapon, your arm and your eye won't fail you when it matters, if you've got any chance at all. Von Horne's good with those things, I'll give her that, but there's others that lean on them like crutches. We Kuenns don't."

"There was a time when I fought much like that," Lilac admits, the images of her earlier battles, those she was aware of, burnt in to her mind. "I've adopted Klaudia's method as well, as I'm not as large or strong as you are, and my ... fighting ability suffered a great deal recently. I would like to learn to fight as you do, as well, though. A style for every situation." While far shorter than the Jupani, Lilac is no less quick. She may have lost her claws and teeth, but she's still as quick as she ever was. "If we have time later, as part of our bargain, I'd be honored if you instructed me in close combat. Oh, and the monster flees in to one of the caves. Which, I wasn't told. But it always does go there."

The jupani glances down at Lilac a little quizzically. "There's no caves at Cherenov's Fork. Some ruined buildings that've started to fall apart, crumbling stone and rotted timbers. Who'd you get this from?"

"I was told there's caves nearby, old mines where the original miners devoured each other until one -- the one we're seeking -- remained. It's likely they're overgrown and hidden," explains Lilac. She considers her source of information and knows it could be false, but as it's her only lead, it's what she intended to follow. "I came upon spirits who bartered the information," she admits, reddening a little. "I know they may have been lying, but it's as good as information as any, and they spoke with detail of both the monster and the area."

"Find where the gash went to split, and follow it. That's what they said," she adds.

Kuenn looks suspicious, but he doesn't contest the point. "It's the best match we have. Alright, pay attention, then. You move well, and you're light, but your kit's rattling all over. If you can't travel light, here's at least what you bring with you if you don't want to pay more attention to moving without your kit giving you away than just moving and watching your prey. First off, don't wear broadcloth or other rough stuff on the outside, it's going to rub together and make noise. Tight weave or stuff that's not fabric. Second, you bend and move at specific points that're going to make leather bend or rub against something. That's where you give it some wear, oil it, or pad it. Watch what kind of oil you use if your prey has any sort of sense of smell. Now, look at the roadside..."

Lisandra would perk her own ears, if they were still big enough and canine enough to do so. She follows along as best she can, apologizing for ther poor state of her equipment, which she explains is because of its makeshift nature when she needed to be outfitted with limited suppies. As they travel onward, she's glad for the companionship, and for the advice. She has heard somewhere that knowledge is power, and in her quest to be a respectable and dangerous stalker of the shadows, advice from those skilled at it is invaluable. Her gear and supplies may suffer for the loss of the bounty, but she has other sources of income, meager as they are. If her situation becomes desperate for money, she can always turn to her allies.

Rothram's advice and lessons come in terse pieces... they're fast and to the point, much like he is, and Lilac also quickly learns that he doesn't like to repeat himself. As a teacher, he doesn't have the closeness and concern that Von Horne showed, though at least whatever he says is generally simple to understand. Lisandra gets some impression of what it must have been like for the Kuenn brothers to train with each other, just short of receiving any scars of her own. Though he moves fairly quietly, he keeps the gliding lope up, such that it seems like he's not really trying to hide himself. The drizzle doesn't intensify, but it starts to make the dirt road softer. All of a sudden he comes to an abrupt stop along what seems like a random part of the road. He looks at the road, and then around in several different directions, ears turning this way and that. Then he stoops down to look at something on the road.

At first Lilac, who had been listening carefully, seems surprised by the top. Quickly though, she picks that her new teacher must ahve detected something, and scans the forest along with him. That he can smell and hear better than her reminds her of what she had been, and what was lost. There was a time she might have scented what he did, but no longer. When he completes he scan, she follows his gaze to the ground, brows raising.

"Remember what I told you about consistency on the trail. Long trail like this, it's going to be covered in wagon ruts and footprints if the ground is soft enough," says Rothram, resting his elbows on his knees. He points down to a depression in the dirt off to one side of the road, a little rainwater pooled in it, and leaf litter scatterd off to the side. "So you look for things that aren't consistent. Travelers will usually keep the same pace. Something like this is from something that either came out or went into the woods. Normally this dirt is hard packed, but the rain's softened it. The edges are rounded off, no leaf litter's collected in it, but there's some water filling it. So it was made after the rain, but not that long ago, maybe a couple hours. It's not deep, I'd guess someone over a hundred pounds but not much over that. Maybe give ten or twenty. Got the shape of a shoe, so that narrows it down some."

Wow, the young woman admits to herself, all the while nodding as she soaks up the advice. One of the first things that has really sunk in is that there's a world of difference between the tracking of men and that of beasts. As a beast, Lilac had relied on scent queues, sound, and instinct. Kuenn's approach, however feral he may make it sound, has a definate science to it, as complex as any Chronotopian diagram. "That's very light for a Rhian; either a child or an emanciated adult. The latter sounds right for a monster, but the former may also be accurate. The monster preyed upon the weak and left but small cuts; on of my theories is that it was a monster born from a child. It's also possible this afflicted monstrocity has caused it to take a unusual form." She turns to gaze down the trail the print leads to. "Shall we, Mr. Kuenn?"

Rothram nods, standing again and looking up along the road to the north. "Yes. Well, what prints it managed to mush into the trail on this side have some distance between them. It's not heavy, but it's quick. Alright, here's what's going to happen, girl..."

Although she makes a face at being called 'girl' for the hundreth time since she met him, Lilac does listen to the plan. She takes the to also prepare her equipment, revealing her clawed hand as she pulls out her other glove and slips it on. Hr great is checked, as well.

The jupani points northward and off to the left slightly. Cherenov's Fork is going to be on the left, you'll probably see where the road forks easily, even if it's overgrown. Our prey probably took to the road if it came to it to hunt. I'm going to go after her, along the road. Maybe I'll get a kill and end this quickly, and if I do I'll come get you. If it's as skittish as you say, it'll probably try to run to ground as soon as it sees me. We run it down in relay. You're going to wait in Cherenov's Fork, and keep after it, slow it down, corner it till I get there, or kill it, understand?"

"Understood, but, um ... Well," the young woman takes a deep breath, watching the man before her, and then exhales before saying, "I've more tricks of Castle Pieksvaldt than old blades and hand-made armor. I'll explain after we're done here, since we don't have much time, but if I look a little different, well ... I'll explain later. Just don't shoot me!" She pulls her cloak back, then removes the cloth cap on her halberd, readying herself for battle.

Kuenn gives Lisandra an odd look, but just turns and begins heading north, leaning into his run and carrying himself faster than before.

Lilac takes this time to prepare, removing her crossbow and hooking it to her belt in case she needs to fire during a aerial pursuit. Her spear is likewise readied, the concealing cover removed as she no longer needs her disguise. When Kuenn appears to be out of sight, she manifests her wings and takes to the air, looking for a perch she might observe the approach paths via for when -- if -- Kuenn sned sthe prey her way.

Taking to the air gets Lisandra very wet, and it's a little hard to see up there in the drizzle, but she makes considerably better time than she would have on foot, and it's not difficult to see where some of the forest canopy opens up over what looks like stony fields and small buildings. It looks like a village near a rocky bluff, but no smoke rises from its chimneys.

The young woman scans the ruin, assuming anyone who lived there is long since passed on, given the tale the walnut spirits offered. Not wanting to remain in the air any more than she must given the haze of rain and general unpleasantness of being drenched, she searches for a good perch -- perhaps one of the taller ruins, or the rocky bluffs over which the mines may yet lurk.

Gliding lower, it looks to Lilac like Cherenov's Fork was larger than Olocota Vale. It was big enough to have what might have been a dedicated general store from all the barrels around it, and a few other public buildings. A stone icon of the Star stands at the peak of a small building with a steep roof. At the top of the bluff is a good vantage point above where it looks like carts came back and forth, perhaps to a small mine below. It's easy to see most of the village from up there, but it's also a bit more distant than a perch on any of the ruined houses or public buildings. Either way, it's easy to see how many of the thatched roofs have collapsed, how weeds quickly overgrew gardens and paths, and how morter crumbled and let rock walls fall apart.

Not trusting the masonry to brace her, Lilac opts to perch on the bluff. While she's sure the rain and range will cause difficulties, the mine is below her, and she's confident that if anything approaches it will at least be in view briefly before entering the mine. And besides, she thinks, missing is a far cry better than falling off a roof and breaking a bone.

The apprentice huntress has some time to wait, though it's not unexpected. She has nothing but the ruins below and the drizzle for company while she keeps her watch over the Fork. It's late evening, so there's sunlight remaining, but by the time something happens, there's maybe only another hour's worth or so. But there is movement below. Something bursts from the forest's edge and races to the back of one of the old cottages nearest the woods, leaving little time to even see what it was beyond bipedal.

At least on the ground, Lilac can mantle her wings and pull up her cloak to keep the rain off. As time goes on, she ends up returning her crossbow to her pack and removing the strings so they can dry -- so much rain will just ruin the mechanisim and the string and she doesn't even have a good shot to begin with. When the movement occurs, the woman sits up, leaning forward. Even if she had her crossbow ready she'd never have gotten a shot off. Rather than waiting, she takes wing and glides low to attempt a ambush interception. It also strikes her she could have set some traps, but it's too late now. A lesson for next time, she thinks, assuming there is one.

Whatever it is, it isn't trying to be quiet. Entering the village herself, Lilac can hear it rushing through overgrown gardens, plents swishing and snapping. It seems to be heading to the far side of the town, maybe toward the mine, so Lilac is easily able to choose a choke point to meet it at, a narrow gap between cottages giving her a spot to ambush from.

Ducking behind a wall near the gap, Lilac readies her halberd in anticipation of the fleeing entity. With its speed and lack of caution, she decides extending the butt of her weapon just as it approaches should create a solid impact and hopefully stagger it for a dedicated attack. If it turns out the creature isn't their target, then the blow shouldn't be fatal. Weapon in hands, the woman steadies herself as she prepares to strike.

Feet in panicked flight drum closer, and when the moment comes Lilac sends the haft of her polearm out abruptly, just a little below head height. The solid wood vibrates a little as a young human woman hits it, and with a cry her feet fly out from under her, making her tumble to the ground in a flutter of skirts. She's dressed simply in commoner's garb, skirt long but loose enough for her to run in, part of a conservative dress spun from rough cloth and patched here and there. An obsidian dagger flies out of her hand and comes to rest near the step of one of the cottages. She doesn't look badly hurt, looking up with startled blue eyes under dirty blonde hair. A cut on her chin adds a vivid touch of scarlet to her otherwise pale face. Cleaned up, she might have looked pretty, if a bit plain.

Stepping forward, Lilac twirls her halberd and brings the head to point menacingly down at the other woman as she walks slowly to place herself between the doe and her weapon. "Your are the last Cherenov's Fork, are you not?" She prompts, dooing her best to focus as she was taught and not let her actions be overly swayed by sentimentality or yet undeserved mercy.

The young woman gasps, scooting backwards until she fetches up against the side of a rough stone cottage wall. "Another one?! No, get away! Leave me alone!" she says in a high, plaintive voice.

"If you continue to try and escape, I'll have no choice but to fight you," the young huntress warns. Every word pulls at her heart strings, and each one she has to force out. She knows she cannot falter in the face of her foe, or risk the end of her and her child. It's a bitter thing to swallow, knowing as she does she could have been this woman -- she knows what it's like have a monster lurk inside. "I know what it is to harbor a monster," she confides, even as she edge to intercept the woman and prepare to fight.

The desperate woman doesn't take Lisandra's warning, and tries to leap to her feet, but she might as well have not tried to get up. She's quick, and surprisingly agile, but she fights like an animal, not punching but trying to get past the head of Lilac's halberd to claw at her. She gets about two swipes that Lilac can lean out of the way of almost before her opponent throws them.

Her mentor's lesson's flood back to her as Lilac braces her spear as the blows fall upon her like speeding arrows. Quick as she is, she's not nearly as quick as this young woman, and only reach and distance keep the claws from ripping her flesh. After leaning to avoid the attack, she responds with a vicious hooking of her spear's blade under the woman's leg, yanking her back down to the wet ground. She wastes no time in putting the spike of her blade as inch from her chest, such that any attempt to rise would impale her, as well as making a attempt to execute her that much simpler. Not having quite realized she was doing it, Lilac is baring her teeth in a snarl as she stands over her target.

"Do you have any last words?" Lilac finds herself growling out, feeling detached from her own experience. Her heart wrestles with her training and logic, but the training and logic are winning out, bolstered by another feeling she thought she had lost: a deep, vicious hate against something that would hurt her. The realization of the emotion might well numb her, if she wasn't already burning from adrenaline and the fierce, destructive enotion. "Well??"

The woman flattens out on her back, head bumping the sodden ground. She's dazed momentarily, but when she finds the halberd's spike pointed at her heart, she seems as though she almost tries to shrink into the ground. "Stop! P-please.. I didn't... I just... I never wanted to... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't kill me!"

"If I don't kill you, others will die. I know of no cure for your condition, and ... you've run your last. I'm sorry. All I can say is that I believe you." Taking a breath, the young huntress aligns her halberd for a cleaner blow. She feels cold, inside and out. Cold and angry, cold and sad. Cold. That flare of something she had thought long departed has faded, but she can feel it at the edge of her consciousness, a unthinking, vicious reaction to a threat against her. Another mystery for later ... For now ... "Please ... You last words? Don't ... Don't make this harder. For either of us."

Tears stream from the corner of the woman's eyes, washing dusty streaks across her skin. "Mercy, I beg you! I don't-... I can't think of any last words! Please, it's gripped me, controlled me, but I don't want to die! It's not me! I... I can control the hunger, I can, if you please just give me a chance... I promise, I can hold it at bay, tie my arms until I can learn to stop it, please... please..."

"I'm sorry ... You had your chance. Maybe you can, ... or not. I can't risk anyone else dying by your hand. I know it's no consolation, but in your death you sacrifice so that others can live." With all the willpower she has, Lilac tightens the grip on her halberd, feeling the weapon vibrate as her hands shake. She draws her weapon back enough the distance she was trained to need, steeling herself with what reserves she has left. "Gear in Heaven ... forgive me for my hypocrisy."

With a cry, the ancient weapon is brough forward with all the young huntress's strength. Whatever noise it might have made in flesh and bone drowned out by the hunter and her prey, and by the indifferent patter of rain.

"No, NO!!" The woman's eyes widen as Lilac draws back, and she screams just before the spike is driven back down into her chest. Crimson spreads through her dress quickly, and she writhes under the halberd's head, a second to squirm, another to paw feebly at the haft, and a final second to drop her head and hands back limply. Her vivid blue eyes stay open, but come unfocused and stare off into nothing, glazing over as the woman dies.

Lilac jerks her blade free, her whole body shivering from something far more chilling than the rain. She knows her job isn't done yet; monsters have properties that necessitate their special disposal. A disposal that is not her duty. She stares in to those empty, accusing blue eyes until, unable to stand it any longer, she hurls her axe blade down again and severs the woman's head from her shoulders. Lilac colapses along with the impact, as if all her strength was spent in that final blow. And like her body, her will finally colapses. She drops her head in to her hands, no longer able to hold back her tears as she begins to sob uncontrollably.

The head topples away with the force of the blow, but Lilac doesn't see where it ends up as she's blinded by hot tears. Almost immediately, she can feel black feathers settling over her, around her shoulders and back, rain sliding off the wing and Von Horne's familiar voice in her ear. "Shhh, it's alright now, Lisandra, you're alright. You did what you had to do. Shhhh. There, let it out. Take as long as you need. I'm here." Should Lilac be able to look up a little, she can see the tip of Von Horne's beak angled down past her, the korv's head close to her own. Nearby, her crossbow rests on the ground, loaded and cocked but forgotten.

"What..?" Lilac actually scrambles for her weapon when she's touched, only letting it be when Klaudia's soothing voice reassures her. She turns, slowly, numbly, to look up at her mentor. Eyes wide and lost, the young woman's hair a mess of wet tangles splattered across her face. "H-how could I ..? That c-could have been me! How can I ... how ... how?" She sobs, until she turns and all graps the elder hunter with all she has as grief floods out of her.

"I know, Lisandra. I know, dear," says the korvess, her voice rough and low. She holds Lilac in against her chest, letting her apprentice's face get buried in the plumage at her throat. For as long as Lilac clings, she sees black feathers, smells oiled leather and rain, and feels the pommels of both of Klaudia's sheathed knives pressed somewhat uncomfortably against her ribs.

The young huntress isn't sure how long she cried. It felt like time itself had stopped with the death of that young woman, and would never again move past her grief. But eventually she does stop crying, and time moves onward, as it always has.

Drawing back, Lilac wipes her faces with a hand, even though the rain makes the gesture useless. She swallowsm hard, then bobs her head a little -- maybe it's a greeting, or an agreement. Maybe she just decided something for herself. Whatever it means, she says, "I'm ... I'm a-alright n-now. I t-think." She sniffles, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand before looking up again. "I did the ... I did right thing?"

"You did what I would have done," murmurs the korv, going through one of her belt pouches and coming up with a clean, dry kerchief to offer Lilac. "You did what you had to. If you hadn't, I would have shot her, but you did it. I'm sorry, Lisandra. I knew this first one was going to be hard, I just didn't expect it to be this hard. Not everything we face is like this, but you have to understand, some of them are. Some are victims in a horrible place, and I hope they go on to peace in the Procession."

Footsteps approach from the other end of the alley, and Klaudia looks up and behind Lilac. There's a perfunctory greeting given in Rothram's voice. "Von Horne." To which Klaudia nods a little stiffly, replying, "Kuenn."

"I believed her, I really did ..," Lilac murmurs behind the kerchief as she wipes her eyes. "I know what she was feeling, but I knew she ... She could stop herself. After all this time ... she couldn't. I couldn't ... I couldn't let her go." After blowing in to the kerchief, the young woman pulls herself to sit up, still nursing the kerchief as Kuenn arrives. "H-hello Kuenn," she greets the man, not attempting to hide the shakiness in her voice. "I-its d-done. All y-yours." She waves her free hand behind her, unnecessarily.

The jupani hunter ambles past and looks down at the body with a casual regard. "Hm. So I see. Didn't know it was going to be your first. I'm glad I left it to you, then. I suppose you've got some promise. But then, your teacher would already know that. You were watching, weren't you, Von Horne? I thought you might be there. You'll know of our agreement, if you were."

"Aye, the bounty goes to you," rasps Klaudia, still a bit stiff. "I hope you made whatever you showed Lisandra worth three copper."

Lilac finally pulls herself to her feet, her expression slowly returning to that mask she tries to wear. While the two senior hunters talk, she turns to sweep her gaze across the world around her, as if just seeing it -- really seeing it -- for the first time. There she catches a glimpse of something in the muck, walking towards it. "H-he still owes me ... s-some training," she insists without any real force. Kneeling, she picks up the obsidian dagger and rests it in her hands, staring at it.

The knife is simple and cheap, a wooden handle with a couple pinned wooden pieces sandwiching a fragile blade of volcanic glass, the edge chipped, re-knapped, and chipped again, but still sharp where it needs to be. Rothram snorts. He's managed to find the head, and is working at bundling the body up in some kind of heavy cloth. "The agreement was the bounty for my guidance and help teaching you on the hunt. The hunt is over. I'm being kind in not having you carry this back to town."

Lilac is silent for a long moment, until she says, "I buried Borham's remains along with what remained of Kantemir's possessions on Traitor's Hill. You'll find him there, if you ever wish to see him again." She straightens, then, after placing the dagger in her pouch, turns to her mentor and forces a smile as she steps towards her. "Lets go, Klaudia. Justininople is waiting."

"Only if you buried a silver or two with him," says Rothram, standing back upright with a limp and stained bundle over one broad shoulder. Cold yellow eyes glance once between Lilac and Klaudia, and linger on the korv and her missing wing while he adjusts his burden on his shoulder. "I see why you're training the pup. Pity, you were good. Better luck to her." And with that he begins making his way back out of the ruined village.

"I pity him," Lilac murmurs as she walks with Klaudia beside her, returning to the road. "I don't think he realizes hoe close to being like his brother he really he. All that bravado, and all I see past his skills is a lonely man. Of all things I feared as a being cursed, loneliness was, I think ... The worst. I saw it in her eyes, too, somewhere beyond the madness." She inhals, releasing a ragged breath as she walks on. "The truth is, I don't know what happened. All I know is, I can't think about it right now. I just want to keep walking until we can go no further, then sleep on a warm bed until ... Until I can't see it anymore." Her head turns, and she pushes another smile to her face. "And, for what it's worth, thank you for watching over me."