Dori'ba, land of things dead and nearly there, was usually a bleak sight, with both whole and broken tomb stones, fresh and yellowed bones sprinkled across them, and then the dead grassy fields, with patches of bare dirt and equally bare trees all around. And the rain that showered one particular area didn't lighten the mood for many. But for the young man sitting under one of the dead trees dotting the land, he was hard pressed to think of a better time. For Versant -as he was sometimes known- was reminded of home.

Indeed, the sight of the fields was nice enough, but the curtain of rain over it all drained even more colour, paling things to his liking yet putting a sheen he could appreciate on everything. The smell of Grave Dirt was familiar, and even comforting. The rain itself brought it's own odors along, and they blended together perfectly to him. All sounds were replaced by the rhythmic thumping of the water droplets on wood and stone. It was enough for the young Necromancer to forget he was as cold as an ice cube. His backpack, shovel and staff weren't so lucky though, simply propped up against the tree without a care.

"Ah... So nice this time of year!" He said to himself with a smile on his bright, though rain-soaked face. Leaning back against the tree, he looked pretty comfortable, despite the fact his hands were against the thorny ponytail holder he kept his hair up with. Maybe he knew but just didn't care, as was probably the case.

Versant had stopped in Dori'ba on his way to Estolad, partially because he was tired, but mostly because he wanted to. As much as he needed to work, he couldn't pass up the chance to stay in one of his favorite places from his child-hood for a while. When he and his parents came through, they tried to pass quickly, but he enjoyed every minute of their stay... Even the near zombie attack was nice in it's own fear-inducing way.

But now was hardly the time for reminiscing, because he just remembered something else he was going to do while he was here. Find a Wraith to call his own. Another side reason he stopped in the in the wonderfully bleak land was to find one of the tiny ghosts that were around. Specifically, one that would stay with him. So when the rain was over, it'd be time to search. And search well, he would!... Until that time though, he should probably just enjoy the time he had to himself.

Indeed, quite the sight he was, a tanned and brightly clothed boy in the middle of heavy rain and heavier dread. But the ever enigmatic Versant would have it no other way but totally odd. Another traveler might stop and join him, he thought. It wouldn't matter either way, it was just fine as it was... He did wish he had some honey bread, though.

Sam's irritation with his own hair was one to be rivaled with, but at this moment he felt that burning rage in the front of his forehead as the cool rain showered his head increasing his irritation. Underneath his dark hair his pale forehead was red with the mixture of his irritation and effort, along with plenty of mud and dirt. Normaly he would of course be happy within such a cool an pleasant time, the rain running down his back, the scents that only come during the time of these showers. The fact he was in Dori'ba, hadn't even phased him.

The pale, young man sat up from his work to take note of his surroundings. Which he of course saw nothing out of the ordinary; a bleak, gray, cold land, with black gnarled trees twisting into the sky in silent agony. Rows of decomposed tombstones filled the immense field of dead grass. Indeed land of the dead seemed as it should be. Even if some of the graves' occupants were littered on the floor, from graverobbers or the other culprit -the rain.

Satisfied he went back to work shifting the mud to get to the contents of the grave. Everytime he used his makeshift shovel to move the slick and watery mud it filled the hole he had just dug, even more adding to the fury that was slowly rising. Deciding that he would have a heartattack soon, he threw down his staff with its wooden piece (to make it into a shovel) in disgust, and began sauntering to the decaying tres for some shelter from the rain. He might possibly be able to get a fire going if the ground wasn't too wet.

A murmur drifted past the trees "... So nice this time of year..." Sam dissmissed it as one of the homeless spirits voicing some unknown memory of their past life when he saw a tanned and brightly garbed child only about 5 or 6 years younger then he himself sitting with his back up against the trees smiling cheerfully.

Moments drifted by as the pale man goggled at the boy with his white irised eyes before he had the decency to say something, even if he was not quite sure that this thing was real as a zombie shuffled past them, "umm... Nice weather...eh?"

It was about time her brother had sent for her. Yes, she was happy about going to live with him. No, she was not happy about making the long journey on her own. He should have known. The last time she tried to make a trip alone she was practically attacked by three human men who were demanding for... well, something she wasn't going to give them. Eva shuddered at the memory.

But of course her brother wouldn't know. They rarely ever wrote to one another, and when they did, it was the normal, "How are you? I am fine. I hope you are well." They didn't even sound like they were at all related. Which was half true, seeing as he was her half-brother.

Eva sighed, stretching her arms over her head and taking in her surroundings.

Dori'ba, the Land of the Dead. Well, it certainly lived up to its name. Or rather, didn't, considering the inhabitants. If she had been her normal self, she would have completely ignored the broken tombstones and corpses that littered the ground. But she was beginning to get parannoyed, and she shivered at the sight. The rain was matting her hair, making it stick to the sides of her face. Her clothes were almost transparent now. She wished she had worn darker clothing. At least nobody's around, except for the zombies, she thought to herself. But as soon as she thought that, she noticed two figures a ways away. She noticed they were both young men, but couldn't tell if they were engaged in conversation.

While she was relieved that there were others besides herself in this desolate place, she couldn't help but wonder if they were zombies. She had been lucky so far, and wasn't interested in meeting any soon. However, forgetting the state of her clothes, she slowly approached, trying desperately to stay out of sight.

Travel. The lifeblood of commerce, the lifeblood of any wanderer, from the noble to the evil. No matter who you were, travel was something that sustained you, even if indirectly. But there are some who travel for leisure, others for need, and some others at whim.
The soft staccato sound of horse hoofs thudding on dead grass and hard earth sounded in the air about this particular traveler.
Looking at once regal and deadly, General Guard of a certain elven city Ancalë Varnoi sat upon his Warhorse Sûlaha, riding to wherever the world wanted him to go. The path he was taking was leading him to Dori'ba, where the dead walk as the living.
The notion would give him the creeps if he really cared that much. He meant them no harm and was certainly no grave robber, or defiler of the hallowed grounds. Desecration of the dead was something Ancal would never tolerate, let alone perpetrate. As his horse moved in a brisk walk, the elf's eyes scanned the scenery. Which was as bleak as the grave could get. The sun was basking the parched and bare land in a slightly golden hue as the elven traveler first entered the area, but now clouds of a dark gray and damp smelling nature rolled in like a wool blanket to envelope the sky. Ancal knew what that meant, but it didn't mean he enjoyed it.
The rain came as a slow, monotonous drizzle at first, misty and light, and then fell heavier making that familiar sound that rainfall always made. Ancal wondered briefly how much rain it would take to quench the thirst of the dry and barren land of the dead.

The elf rode on in silence, his face as bleak as the scenery around him as the sweet smell of the rain mixed with the foul smell of the barren wasteland of the dead around him. Grave markers, marked and unmarked lined his path to the front and rear as the Sûlaha trudged on, his hooves splashing in the small puddles of rainwater. Sighing at the weather, Ancal's fingers tapped on his sword hilt at his waist beneath his cloak. His hood had gone up as soon as the rain began to fall, his head unadorned with anything, as it was when he rode like this. The spear he was renowned for wielding was at the right of his horse, strapped on securely for fear of losing so precious a weapon. The guard watched carefully whenever he ran to make sure than nothing happened to it. As the horse walked on, silhouettes became discernable near a dead tree not too far from his position. Who or what they were was impossible to tell from the distance, but it was apparent that they had not seen the elf as of yet. He did not care if they did and so Ancal took his hand from the sword hilt and placed them back on the rains, wishing to avoid unneccesary bloodshed if at all possible, and of course, not wishing to appear hostile. 'Maybe these peolpe will make for some interesting conversation.' Ancal mused as Sûlaha closed the distance between himself and the group of two. Or was it three? Yes, there was one that was lying in front of a tree. The Warhorse walked on, it's riders amber colored eyes contemplating the situation.

Curin waited with the infatigueable patience of one who has lived off the wild. He was in the process of snaring the all too plentiful birds of Doriba, careful to avoid snaring the scavenging variety for fear of what they had been eating.

About his shoulders his cloak was getting heavier by the moment with the increasing rain, and a part of him longed to stand from his haunched position, but the pidgeon he had been enticing for an hour was so close to finding the snare about its neck.

Then, once his patience had paid off, Curin stood, with a crack and a groan of tight muscles, and threw the brace of pidgeons over his shoulder. In the deep gloom he spotted a gathering not too far a way off, clearly not zombies because of their quick guestures and proper posture. They could not be too evil, Curin was certain, or else there was no way the birds would be within earshot of them. So he made in the direction of the others, carrying a mullet of fire-wood bound and slung over the other shoulder.

Doriba: poets had likened their misery, having been abandoned by their lover, for ages. Curin felt no inclination to elaborate on the lengthy descriptions of this drear place. So far in life, having passed through many times, he had never been given trouble once yet. But then he had developed the knack of watching what the birds and other creatures were afraid of, and fleeing in the same direction as them when they fled. But those same little creatures could be incredibly curious and brave too. So he reasoned it was safe to venture within bow-shot of the gathering.

He made the point of sneezing aloud. There was a saying where he came from "I sneeze, I am alive", which seemed oddly appropriate here, since the only real danger from one stranger to another in this place, was the undead.

It's a strange thing, feeling a prescence near you. Curious how shivers run down one's spine, how one begins to twitch and have a sense of uneasiness. Had Eva not been feeling that, she would have never noticed the elf behind her. She was momentarily proud of herself for realizing the race of this being. Apparently something good had come out of choosing not to live with her human mother. However, this good feeling instantly disappeared.

She still didn't know his alignment. He could be evil. He could kill her. Right now, he could strike out with the dagger strapped onto his horse and kill her. And she would be finished. But the more she thought about it, she decided that if he had wanted to kill her, he would have done it by now. Hopefully.

She observed the elf as he shortened the distance between them quickly. The hood of his cloak was up, and she couldn't clearly see that much of his face, the only thing really giving him away being the elfish ears making the cloth slightly stick out at the sides. Eva swallowed and hoped he would ignore her and head to the other two she had been watching. Though she was glad that there was now even another person in the wasteland with her, she didn't know what to do with any company. I should just keep going, she thought to herself. However, curiosity got the better of her. She needed to talk to him. She had been traveling too long on her own.

"You... elf," she blurted out to him. Just then, she heard a sneeze.

((OOC: Blegh. Not incredibly happy with this post, so apologies!))

(curin, lets have this parrell to the Axe and the Sword, you know, like alternate reality kinda thing)

A icy stone struck his head, causing a large lump to form on his skull. Irritated at the strangers silence he surveyed his surrounds to get some suitable cover from the icy barrage. He spotted a group of people, all though not in a group, but seemingly in a single file, one after the other. Sam was a bit claustrophobic when it came to other people.

Hail the size of a person's smallest toe bone was raining down on the grounds of the dead. It looked like his appointment with the dead will have to be postponed, he sat down under the shelter of the blackened trees. A cresendo of light and sounds came down upon the plains, it was a symphony, the ice playing the drums, the wind flowing through the trees making a hollow reed noise. The rain pitter-pattered down the trees and mixed with the natural music, lightening flashed and a crash filled the plains, and Dori'ba included. Turning back to the the group, who seemed to want to acquaint themselves and hailed them.

Sam lifted the hand severed head pulled the ring off delicatly, he inspected it while the others took their time to respond.

edit: hailed as in called to, or to get their attention.

The rain beat a staccato pattern on everything it hit. The smell of the mid mixed with the smell of grim death, that, however faint, still lingered on the air. The feel of loss and painful memories was near to palpable. Ancalë drew nearer one of the people he had seen. She seemed to be elven, which made the General a bit more at ease. As he drew even closer, she called out to him.
"You, elf-", but a sneeze from behind her caught her attention. As a Divine Protector, he was considerably less jumpy in this particular area, and he kept his attention vaulted to the girl. She appeared very young, for a human she sppeared young, not to mention for some one of elven descent.
Wondering only briefly what business an elf of so young an age could have in the land of the dead, the General stayed silent for a moment or two while she was distracted.
She had, or at least she had seemed, to be trying to discern more and more about him with every step of the horse's hooves. Ancalë lowered his hood and cleared his throat to get her attention.
"I believe you were speaking to me?" he asked her, though he obviously knew the answer already.
To show his non-hostile intent, Ancalë slipped his feet from the stirrups and dismounted in a rush, gripping the reins of the bridle in his right hand. He whispered something in the high tongue to his horse, who nodded and snorted as if he understood just what was said.
"The name is Ancal, by the way." he told her seriously
"I am a Paladin of Life and a Priest of Lothlómendil. I am also General of the Yomenïampa city guards; pleased to meet you." he held his left hand out open towards her.

Not the type of person to dwell on things for very long, Eva glanced around haphazardly to find the source of the sneeze. It seemed they were certainly not alone anymore. In fact, she was beginning to feel as if it were becoming quite crowded. After receiving a rather rude plonk on the head, she noticed that it had begun to hail. She wondered vaguely if any of the others cared. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the figures she was watching before move under a tree. This was obviously the smart thing to do, but Eva's attention was once again drawn to the elf she had spoken to.

She watched as he dismounted and spoke to the horse. Finding this quite strange, her eyes darted to the others to see if they thought anything of it. She hesitantly approached the elf, who was now talking to her.

"The name is Ancal, by the way."

As he introduced himself, Eva took the chance to take in his features up-close. His dark brown hair hung loosely, and seemed rather long for a man. Or so Eva thought. His eyes were what drew her in. They were amber; soft and inviting. They made all her fears of him murdering her rush out of her head in haste. She couldn't fathom why she could have even thought of being afraid of him. Snapping out of it, she looked down to see his outstretched hand, waiting for her to shake.

"My name is Eva," she replied. Her voice was shaky, the consequence of not speaking to anyone for a while.

So he was a General. It was no wonder she had been intimidated. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was cut off by a call. Turning, Eva realized it was the man who had taken shelter beneath the trees. Deciding staying out of the hail was the best thing to do at that point, she turned back to Ancal.

"I'm... just...." she trailed off, gesturing to the trees.

As she made her way to shelter, she momentarily forgot about the sneezing stranger.

Curin bobbed, laughing, beneath the cover of the trees, hastily shaking the hands of the two others seeking refuge. "Curin, Curin Neiruthaun at your service." He smiled at them both grandly, if hastily, and set to work striking up a bit of a fire.

"I hope you like pidgeon!" Curin called over his shoulder, carefully cutting the bones out of the tiny birds, "I've bagged us some particularly nice ones. Who'd have thought it of Dori'ba?" He laughed, and buried the entrails in a small hole he dug with his hands. The birds were hanging on skewers above the fire, they would only need a short while before they were ready.

Curin, glad to have avoided the worst of the hailstorm, took stock of his company. An elf, and a mighty one at that; and a woman, possibly half-elf, the look of her was too flawless for a regular mortal like Curin himself. Curin pulled at his slightly copperish beard, and smiled. "Never seen so many live people here before!" He ventured, with humour. "I overheard you introduce yourselves. Eva, pardon the moments' haste there, and you too master Ancal, pardon my intruding, but I hope the dinner will be some consolation." Curin stuck a finger up, remembering to tend the birds. He looked up from where he squatted on his haunches, rolling his broad shoulders to work out the stiffness. "I foraged a few wild potatoes earlier, they're a bit dry and leggy, but they'll be good with the birds."

Curin felt the keen eyes of the elf and half-elf on him, weighing him up. He looked up, eyebrows raised, with an expression that read: I am who I am, and what's mine is yours.

Sam sulked under in the shelter of the small isolated grove of trees. He hated being ignored. Thus he listened to the others as glared over at mysterious boy he had heard speak out at first. He gleaned no information from him as the boy just sat there, as if he was inside his own little mind

The storm was worsening the clouds darkening and the sound of thunder were coming closer. When he was young his grandmother taught him a trick to discern the distance between him and a storm by counting. A flash of light and the man in black robes started to count under his breath. A boom thundered as he muttered 5. So there it was five kilometers from this point.

He looked at the others who happened to be a couple trees away, there was one who made a fire very quickly. He almost had not seen him put some branches out on the ground placed carefully under the leavless branches above him. Nor had he seen the him light it with a small spark. He looked longingly at the flames that danced just out of his reach.

He turned his attention to the two elven creatures. He was amused to hear that the first elf happened to actually be a half breed. As if this world hadn't had enough people mucking about otherwise perfectly orderly bloodlines. Now if everyone was like his ancient family there would be no more half-breeds and no disgusting monstosties becoming of it. The other looked like a pure elf, and from what he can tell was most likely a paladin for his master's enemy. However the dark one would never truely control him and he would lift the shakles soon enough.

Decieding that he didn't want to find out what the pure elf would do if he found out what he was he stood up and started walking out away from the graves. It just so happened that as soon as the dark clouds' shadow hit the first grave the occupant started to rumble and a decaying fist protruded out of the ground. It looked as if the group he left was going to have some company after all.

He left Dori'ba and hobbled across the plain recieving the hail, rain, and sleet with wide open arms.

This and that ran through Versant's mind, all things he had thought of earlier, but ran over barely long enough to realize what he was thinking about. It was relaxing in a way, and once the rain isn't cold anymore and instead provides cool comfort along with a relaxing melody, it's enough to lull a person to sleep.

That was just what happened, too. With eyes only half-closed, he had managed to fall into dreams. These dreams weren't much, just him sitting under a tree of fish cakes, and listening to birds talk. But then, after what seemed only a moment, one of the fish cakes dislodged and landed on his head, knocking him a bit dizzy. Before he was even over the first one, another fell down and too, hit his head. Both felt thoroughly frozen. The tree was practically raining the cakes, now, one which he managed to catch and bite into.

About that time, though, he woke up. He wasn't sure what was going on at first, but judging by how much his head hurt, and the piece of ice he was apparently 'chewing', it had started to hail. Fatigue quickly faded, and his suspicions were confirmed, mostly by another knock on the top of his head. It was definitely a bit chillier then last he was awake, as well.

"Must have been more worn out than I thought," he exclaimed with a bit of surprise in his voice. Deciding he liked the rain better than the hail, he took up the shovel beside him and put the spade over his head. "Nice dream, except for the head trauma." He seemed to have more to say, but first he took the time to glance around. "Perhaps those birds were-" he cut off at the sight of a group of three around a fire, with some form of pack animal or another farther off. From his position, it was hard to see them, but caution was thrown to the wind as he practically hopped to his feet, snatched up the staff with his free hand, and jogged over to the little gathering, his spring never lost.

" 'Ello, the trio of you!" He yelled out to them, feeling it better to announce himself from afar in case of... Something or other. But he wasn't worried about them being undead of any sort. Dead people don't need fires, do they? "Lovely weather, wouldn't you say?"

Coming closer, he was confident there were only three, and that one of them, at least, was of the female persuasion. Also, one of them was wearing armour, that even against the dark seemed outlined. It was an interesting contrast, but unfortunately did nothing to help him discern the features of it's wearer, at the distance. But in the few seconds he had given them to state themselves, he decided they weren't anyone to worry about.

"Mind if I sit by that fire of your's?" The enigmatic boy questioned without slowing a bit. He had decided by now the rain hitting the shovel's spade -which was still protecting his cranium- was pretty rhythmic, but even so was uncomfortable. That was probably why the strangers were where they were. "I've got bread to offer!"

Finally, he could make out a bit of each of them. The one in the bright armour seemed to have black hair, but that was most likely because it was wet, so he'd think of it as brown. The one crouching down had brown hair as well, though as rain-soaked as it was, it seemed quite a bit darker as well. The last one of the strangers, which he assumed was female, had red hair, which looked crimson to him, right now.

A fleeting thought passed through his head about how he wished he had one of those fish cakes he was dreaming of, to thaw out. But he supposed a fire and company were just as nice.