Shelendri looked around her. Though she hated to admit it, she was lost. And not only was she lost, she was cold, wet and hungry. That was what she got for following her curiousity and going into this swamp. Now she had no idea how to get out and she had a sneaking suspision she was going round in circles. Next time her curiousity suggested she check a dark, dank, scary looking place, she was going to tell it to go jump off the nearest bridge.
Shivering, she pulled her cloak tighter, though it didn't help with the cold a lot, as it was damp. That was because she'd fallen into some swamp water. Luckily for her she'd brought a change of clothes with her, but she only had one cloak. And with all this dampness, her sword most likely going to start to rust before she made her way out.
Huffing out a sigh, she sat down on a fallen log and looked up at the sky. "Why me?" Asking that didn't help her much, but it did make her feel better. She decided that the next magic she set out to learn was either going to be some kind of fire magic, or a kind of magic that created light. Either would have been helpful.
She looked around, feeling somewhat sorry for herself. Now, if she could find someone in the Gods forsaken place, she might find her way out, but she didn't count her chances too high. Who in their right mind would willingly come here? Picking up the hem of her cloak, she rung it out and watched the water drip out of it. What she wouldn't give for a nice fire. Or better yet, a way out of this swamp.

While it wasn't night yet, the shadows of the swamp were growing steadily, and it was obvious that the sun was setting somewhere outside of the misty area. The air was heavy and fog-laden, as a swamp's atmosphere should be, and croaks of frogs and other water-dwelling amphibians were heavy in the air, so much so that the squishing of mud beneath one's feet was almost completely drowned out; at least, this would be so for a normal person. A tall, thin figure in a black cloak stepped out of the fog into a relatively dry clearing, his movements graceful and well-placed, making no noise whatsoever, and his feet seeming to float half an inch above the muddy, water-soaked ground. There was a wide-brimmed hat on his head, dripping with humidity, and placed low on the figure's face, obscuring much of its face. Though, if one were to look closely, they would see the figure was a man. An odd-looking one, but a man, nonetheless. A crimson scarf wrapped tightly around his shoulders and neck completed his mysterious wardrobe.

The man removed his hat from his head with one long, darkly-clothed arm, and wiped his forehead with his other arm. He had dark brown, shoulder-length hair, somewhat messy in appearance, and pushed offhandedly to the side of his face in parts, to give him a better view of his surroundings. His face was tanned, with a long, slender nose, and barely visible scruff rising from the side of his jaw, and moving down to his chin (though his scarf was hiding his chin and mouth). Two multicolored eyes, one blue and one green, opened, and then closed, as he gave a deep sigh.

Swamps... Bah. Must ingredients to rare, powerful concoctions always grow in such miserable climates? It would seem so. And I thought that my last adventure in this swamp would be my last. He thought to himself, placing his hat back onto his head. Sartana had been sent by his current employer, B.A.D.I., to this place in search of a plant required for a powerful healing mixture; one that would, they hoped, mix with other rare ingredients to cure a usually fatal disease. A disease that afflicted the organization's second in command. The demonhunter was one of many agents sent out for components, but had been stuck with the most dangerous one, given his weapon prowess, and powers of observation. He had not complained. He was friends with the afflicted member of B.A.D.I, and would do all that he could to save her.

Sartana cocked his head to the side at the sound of something. A voice, he thought. It had been barely audible over the sounds of swamp inhabitants, but he had heard it anyway, and identified it now as the voice of a female. It had come from the east.

Walking with the same cautious, yet long strides that he had before, the demonhunter made his way towards the sound, making no effort to avoid puddles and significantly deeper pools of water. His magic boots allowed him to walk on their surfaces with no fear of sinking. Not a moment later, the fog before him gave way, and a figure of a young woman sitting on a log came into view. She had light brown hair, and blue eyes that showed worry in them as she squeezed the water from the bottom of her cloak. He didn't think she would notice him, but stopped a few meters from her anyway, and watched her, wondering if she was in need of aid. He spoke up.

“Excuse me, Madame.” He said in his deep, raspy voice. “I don't expect you to trust someone that stumbles out of the depths of a swamp, especially one that looks as I do, but I'm obliged to ask: do you need help?” He was smiling underneath his scarf, though she wouldn't be able to see it.

Shelendri's mind was caught up in morose thoughts and feeling sorry for herself, she promised herself she was going to stop that in a minute, so she didn't notice a figure coming toward her. She was just about to heave a sigh and convince herself it was time to get moving again, when a male voice came from only a few metres off to her side. She let out a yelp and jumped three feet in the air, landing on the sodden ground on her behind. Having the uncharacteristic urge to curse, she tilted her chin up to look at the owner of the deep voice. He was looking down at her with different coloured eyes, which she was sure she caught a hint of amusement in. Well, that was just fine. He scares her half out of her skin, and finds it amusing. She huffed out a breath, but reminded herself that he had just offered her help. He couldn't be that bad.
Blowing the hair that had fallen into her eyes away, she climbed to her feet and lifted the hem of her cloak again to wring out any moister it might have taken on from the ground. Sighing, she lifted her eyes to meet his strange ones, which she found rather curious now she'd gotten over her flash of temper. But she tucked her curoisity away, as she felt a grudge toward it. "As much as I hate to admit it, I do need help. I seem to have gotten lost in here." She had half a mind to say it was her curiousity's fault, but she decided it wasn't the best thing to say. She dropped the claok's hem and gave him a hopeful look. "You wouldn't by any chance happen to know the way out of here, would you?"

The demonhunter's gloved right hand shot to the grip of his Falchion instinctively as the girl let out a surprised cry. He let his grip loosen, though, and reminded himself that he had merely scared her, and lifted an eyebrow as she landed on the ground. It was quite a comical reaction, and he did his best not to laugh, though being in a good mood, it was somewhat difficult. She looked up at him from her position in the mud, and he tilted his head to the side slightly, wondering if she did in fact need help; an answer would have been appropriate, he thought. She stood, the comical woman with no name, as far as Sartana knew, and addressed the demonhunter, saying that she did need his aid- though she hated to admit it, apparently. Sartana himself found it difficult to ask for help, too, though the occasions in which he required aid were far more dire than this. He didn't move as she told him that she was lost, and asked if he knew the way out of here.

Curious that someone so naive, and seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, would trudge through a dangerous swamp like this without map or guide. Curious indeed. He thought, looking her over. He could not detect any enchantments upon her, and from her body language, determined that she was not lying. Looking for such things was important, as Sartana would not be the victim of some hungry polymorphed ogre mage, or vengeful banshee. From his trained eyes, he saw that she was a normal woman, likely human (despite a strange movement she had as she rose, earlier, and essentially 'yelped', something like what a dog would do), and he would find out more about her as they traveled together. Or, at least, he figured they'd be traveling together, and he assumed he would understand more. Perhaps 'hypothesized' would have been a better term? The demonhunter was quite logical. But, either way, he wasn't about to leave her alone, and he didn't have the time to lead her out of the swamp.

“I do know my way out, though I'm surprised that you do not. Were you brought here, or did you lose your way on your own?” He asked in a deep, curious voice, strangely exotic, as if he were not from around Arda. “Either way, I have business to attend to, and cannot show you out. Not at the moment, anyway. If you're not in a hurry, you could follow me until I leave this place.” He continued, looking at her. The demonhhunter turned his head to the right, looking at the forsaken land around them, and then turning back to the girl. “Or you could stay here, and fend for yourself.” He said somewhat ominously, extending a black-clothed hand afterwards, holding it out to her. “I'm Sartana, by the way. May I ask your name?” The demonhunter asked politely.

She noticed him give her the once over, but didn't mind. After all, if she found him curious, then it was only to be expected he found her the same. Especially since she'd gotten herself lost in the swamp. When he asked a question in relation to that, she shrugged. "I have a large curiousity for things. Usually, it turns out all right when I follow it, but this I seem to have mistepped." She found the exotic accent of his voice interesting and nice. She herself had an accent that was in a way different to those who had been raised within Arda. While it was fairly similar, there was a lilt to it. That lilt tended to thicken when her temper was raised, or when she was excited. As she was neither at the moment, though the situation of being lost in a dank swamp was making her grip on her temper a bit slipperier than usual, her accent was just a quiet undertone to her voice.
Her afore mentioned curiousity piqued when he mentioned business within the swamp. Now, what could that be. She was still annoyed at her curiousity, but she couldn't help but follow it. And he was offering to show her the way out after he finished his business. As she saw it, it was either go with him, or blunder around in the swamp cursing her curiousity for the next year or so. So, she'd go along with him.
When he held out his hand and introduced himself, she smiled up at him and shook his hand. "I'm Shelendri. I always tell people that it's nice to meet them, because it is, but in this case it's doubly so. And as I have no wish to be left in here by myself, I'd be more than happy to join you." Now that she wasn't alone and knew that she would get out of the swamp, she felt much better. As long as she wasn't by herself, she would be fine staying in there for a while, so everything would be fine now.
She shifted her right shoulder to move her sword back into place, as it had moved when she'd jumped off the log. "If I may ask, where are we going? Oh, and by the way, I'm a druid and a shape shifter. Just so you know." She figured it would be better to just tell him straight up, rather than wait for him to find out in a tight spot. That way, he'd have a better chance of telling her how she could help him.

There was little movement on the demonhunter’s part, aside from the gentle swaying of his cape as he watched the girl in front of him, somewhat eager for an explanation as to why she was in such a desolate place. His eyes would leave hers every moment or so, moving to the horizon of the swampy terrain, or some watery opening in the ground. He was always aware of his surroundings; ready for an attack, it seemed, as if he were flanked by invisible foes preparing to strike him down. Despite this awareness, he had a calm, cool look in his multicolored eyes that did not hint to anxiety or worry in any way. He nodded at her explanation, though it was somewhat strange.

One would usually quell their curiosity when it tempts them to do such dangerous things, such as ‘misstep’- as she put it- into a festering swamp. It’s a wonder that adventurers in this land live so long. He mused to himself, in his mind. And that accent… Faint, yet there. I can hear it. I’ve not heard an inhabitant of this land speak in such a dialect. The demonhunter thought, curious as to why she had one, and if it was because she was some distant land in this world. He would need to ask her. But not yet.

He gently shook her hand, and pulled down the scarf hiding his mouth and nose as she introduced herself, as was his custom. He would not usually give away who he was until he knew who he was dealing with. He was pleased at her politeness, and showed a small smile. The demonhunter’s face was quite tan, with scruff on his chin and jaw, and a straight, horizontal scar across the bridge of his nose, with several smaller cuts on his cheeks, long since healed. His eyes were deep in his face, and seemingly bruised, so dark was the skin around them. One could tell from his eyes that he was amiable, though, and more than friendly. “It’s my pleasure, Shelendri.” He said, tipping the brim of his black hat, and bowing slightly.

He watched as she shifted her sword, and wondered if she could swing it. Being in such a dangerous environment, he hoped so. He nodded as she introduced herself as a druid and shapeshifter, though found it strange that she would mention it so offhandedly. Ah, yes, I thought there was something strange about her- she’s a shapeshifter. Sartana thought, watching her. And she was a druid. The demonhunter had acted as a ranger in his home world for much of his life, and interacted with druids on occasion. Despite their fervor towards the protection of nature, which seemed almost fanatical at times, they were quite kind, especially to rangers and other folk of the wood. Sartana wondered if she could tell he had been a ranger, but didn’t really worry about it. He had more important concerns on his mind.

“Thank you for telling me your race and occupation; it’s good to know something about those you’re traveling with. I’m human, as you can likely tell. I’m also a demonhunter.” He said, tapping an emblem on his chest. It was round, and a dull silver, with the words “I Hate Demons” engraved on it, along with several runes along its edge. There was a story around it, but he wouldn’t waste time telling it. Turning, he began walking, heading north.

“I’m headed towards the northern section of the swamp where a small, man-made hill lies. There, we’ll be heading underground; if you follow, that is.” He said in his deep voice. “I’ll tell you the rest of the way as we traverse it.” He finished, turning and looking down at her, a friendly expression on his face.

Shelendri was pleased when Sartana pulled the scarf covering half his face down. He had a nice face, but she supposed he covered it to keep his identity to himself. That he was a demonhunter interested her, and seemed to fit him very well. The emblem also interested her. Did all demonhunters wear one, or just him? She'd never met a demonhunter before, so she didn't know and wanted to. But for politness's sake, and so she didn't ask a lot of questions and annoy him so much he left her alone, she kept her wonderings about it to herself.
When he turned and started heading off, she shook off her thoughts and hurried after him, being careful to skirt the deeper looking pools of water that lay here and there. His discription of where they were going didn't worry her, instead it made her curious. Which was just her problem. Everything made her curious, even places like this. But what was she to do? Her curiousity was so large and wide ranging that any attempt she made to control it never worked.
She returned his smile when he turned to her after he finished his explanation. "I'll stick with you." She was silent for a moment, picking her way through the swamp. Then she glance up at him. While she didn't want to ask a lot of questions, a few couldn't hurt. Especially if she added bits about herself. "You're not from Arda, are you? I mean, you weren't raised here. It's your accent. You're the first person I've met who, like me, wasn't raised here. I come for a land called Éirinn. It's west of Arda." Talking about her home made her miss it a bit, but that was nothing new. Just like talking about her family made her miss them. That was what happened when you were away from the things you loved.

OOC: If you want to know, Éirinn is Gealic for Ireland. Seemed to fit, as that's the sort of accent Shelendri has.

(OOC: Alrighty. Not sure if there’s a real life culture with an accent like Sartana’s, but there is a small description of it in his Character Info.)

In a short amount of time, the landscape already began to shift. Flora became more abundant, and healthy in appearance, in contrast to the dead, rotten plants of the southern reaches of the marshland. The ground also seemed firmer, though patches of murky water still riddled the landscape, and a large pond was visible to their left, a thin expanse of opaque water covered in translucent fog. Something rustled in a bush by the two, and a splash resounded through the quiet atmosphere. The demonhunter figured it to be a crocodile, or some other large, unintelligent reptile. As far as he knew, trolls didn’t inhabit this section of the swamp, and other beasties stuck to the warmer climate to the south. Despite this, his right hand rested on the hilts of his Dao and Falchion, both sheathed at his left. His left arm swayed slightly as he walked, a weapon already attached to it, hidden under the sleeve of his shirt.

He wasn’t surprised to find that the shapeshifter wanted to follow him. From what he could tell, she was a curious, somewhat naïve girl, out looking for adventure. This was fine, even if where they were going would be dangerous. Hmm… I’ll have her wait in the old fort while I descend into the mines. No sense in risking her life, and I have no idea where her battle prowess lies. That’d be the safest thing to do. Sartana thought to himself, as they walked, keeping her in the corner of his eyes and scanning the area around them, keeping attention to anything strange.

Her question of where he was from did surprise him somewhat. He often forgot that he had an accent compared to others in this land, though he had learned to talk like them. He had come from another world, another plane of existence entirely, flung through space and time by an adversary’s magic. When he woke up in Arda, his equipment was gone, and his powers and skill in battle greatly diminished- as if he were a young adventurer once again. Slowly, over the past few months, his power had returned to him, until now, where he was largely as strong as he had been back on Tarsonis, though he was missing the powerful items he had carried with him. Still, he was a force to be reckoned with, and would search for a way off of Arda with his regained powers. Shelendri didn’t need to know all this, however. He wasn’t going to divulge his history to her until they knew each other better- if they did become closer. He did not know much about this world, other than what laid in Arda, so he made a mental note about ‘Éirinn’, and the accent that apparently accompanied those who came from there.

Thinking up a quick answer, the demonhunter turned to her, bright-faced, despite his intimidating appearance. “You’re correct, Shelendri; I do come from another land. It’s much farther than Arda than you would believe.” Sartana said, not lying, but not giving any real information. “It’s interesting to meet another native to a land other than Arda, however. I take it you came here to make your fortune adventuring? Or have you another reason; perhaps to quench your curiosity?” He asked, somewhat curious, and always interested in learning about those he traveled with.

Shelendri would have liked to know where this land he spoke of was, but she understood that he might not want to give too much away. Anyway, she hadn't told him a lot about her homeland, so it was only fair he do the same. She was relieved that their surrounds were changing, becoming more pleasent and less wet. She liked the less wet part best. Soggy clothes and boots weren't pleasent.
Her gaze travelled around their surroundings, though she kept listening to Sartana. It would be rude not to listen, and she wouldn't learn anything if she didn't. When he asked about her reasons for coming to Arda, her expression darkened and her eyes were sad when they moved back to his. "No, I didn't come to Arda seeking adventure or because I was curious about it. This time two years ago, I hadn't even heard of Arda." Her gaze slid away. "My father was killed last year. I came to Arda to find his killer and because I couldn't stand the saddness at home anymore." Her voice dropped away and she walked on in silence.

A mass of stone and dirt slowly emerged from the mist in front of the two, obscured at its sides, creating the illusion that a gigantic, erect creature lay in front of them, ready to strike with its head brought straight up above its bulbous body. No sooner had the shade appeared, it came completely into detailed view, free of the hazy fog that surrounded the bulk of its form. From the flat, swampy marshland sloped a large hill, obviously man-made due to the placement of rocks around its bottom and supporting logs laid along its width, with sharpened wood planks pointing out of the dirt at somewhat regular intervals, acting as ramparts. The moist climate had dulled their tips, however, and moss clung to anything wooden in the man-made fort. A dismal-looking wooden wall, about ten feet tall and topped with green swamp plants, leaned and bowed, looking ready to fall over at a moments notice- though it was obvious that it had stayed erect for a number of years. What had appeared to by a creatures head earlier, protruding from the mass, was actually a central tower, made largely from stone but destroyed beyond accessibility, and leaning somewhat dangerously to the left, over a portion of wall that had been crushed by a large chunk of stone; this having once been a part of the decrepit tower.

Sartana’s eyes slid over the thoroughly disgusting-looking complex as he listened to Shelendri. It seemed that she was here for vengeance, and as an escape from her dismal past- something the demon hunter knew about first hand. He offered her no sympathies, though. There were those far worse off than himself, or his companion, and to address her sadness would be foolish, if not selfish. Sartana was thoughtful, however. It seemed to him that everyone he came across in Arda- the interesting ones, at least- had some sort of angst-laden past. It was strange. Was it the fate of those who had a traumatic past to become adventurers? It seemed so. He removed his hat, and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Shelendri, but we have more important things to occupy our minds with at the moment, so I’ll ask that you put what I unwittingly uncovered behind you. It’s likely that whatever inhabits this abandoned dwarven mine will not stop for us to gather our thoughts; it’s important that we stay alert.” He said somewhat sternly, turning to her. His Dao was already in his right hand, though few would have the keen senses able to detect his deft hand movement that brought the weapon to his grip. He placed his cap back onto his head, having stopped, and now looking at her. “How are you with a blade, and where does your magic prowess lie, druid?” He asked her quite straightforward, so he’d know how to handle situations in the future, if they got into a fight. A dislodged rock fell from the tower at their side, and the demon hunter’s eyes turned to it, as he waited for Shelendri’s answer. There was undoubtedly something living in the fort, and it was unlikely to be friendly.

Shelendri nodded when Sartana told her to put her thoughts and sadness about her father aside. It made sense. This was probably a dangerous area, and dwelling on the past would just get in the way. She shrugged her shoulder so that the hilt of her sword was in a better position for her to draw it. There was no telling when she might need it.
She looked at the decaying fort with interest, but her instincts told her to be wary. There was something wrong here. She moved her gaze around the area, trying to find the source of her disquiet. Her eyes fell on the barely standing tower as a stone fell for it. There. That was where the disquiet was coming from.
She turned her gaze to Sartana. It seemed he sensed something wrong here as well, as he asked about her proficiency with her sword, and her magic. Lifting her right hand, she drew her sword. "I'm fairly good with my sword. I've been in a few battles, and have survived so far. As for my magic, I've healing and offencive. And I also have a fair few forms that can be of use in a fight." She moved her gaze again, but not to the fort. She looked at the surrounding area. There was a good chance that there could be something hiding in the trees, and they'd have to be ready for that. She kept her gaze moving.