If you are interested in being involved in this thread: please register your interest here: Planning, A Bitter Union


The air within Yomenïampa was like a sweet smell recalled from childhood. Familiar, and precious. Curin craned his head back to see the remarkable stairs of the Elves curving up the boles of the Mallorn, into their tree-top city. Everything was fresh and alive, the air thick with swallows and damselflies, and especially bees. Curin could spend his entire life in this place and never see all of its marvels, but he was leaving. Soon. He wondered gravely at that, for he had also left his first home, rashly, and had regretted it every day since.

The greatest irony of wondrous and lovely Yomenïampa was the sprawling smear that spilled southward of the mighty forest; for within an afternoons' walk of the almost holy city that bore the same noble name, that dripped from the mighty boughs of the great Mallorn, there was another city of an very different nature. A shambling canvas-town of buildings that rotted even where they stood. The haunt of every imaginable fiend and undesirable in all the lands.

Even as one ragged hovel tumbled into ruin, another was raised in its place. There was no running water in Cavastown, and no food was considered wholly safe to eat. There were two half starved dogs, and countless cats for every man; woman; and child that suffered the terrible fate to live in this wretched place. But they all made a living somehow. Trade in holy artifacts, genuine, fake, legitimate, and stolen, were all to be found here. More than half of it was plundered from the graves of the fallen, but those that went into the canvas-town already knew that likelihood, and if they cared, they would not have gone in. This was the price Yomenïampa payed for its righteousness: that every freeloader with the intent of selling their loot, knew they could fetch the highest price within sight of the golden woods.

At the heart of the canvas town was the root from which the black stain had spread. Here, and only here, were the few permanent buildings of stone to be found. For here resided the loveless masterminds that fostered, controlled, and benefited from everything that happened there. Their houses were like small fortresses, raised on high foundations of solid stone, with long flights of curving steps scaling the fifty steps, all within sight of arrow-slots above. It would take a small army to take one of these houses, even undefended. But they were defended. In the shadows within the deep-set windows was an army to carry out the barely perceptible will of the Masters of Canvastown. But these soldiers were not raimed in bright mail, and they bore no swords, nor even spears. They dressed in the same rags as the rest of the rabble; but they were poisoners. With a thousand ways to bring a man down, instantly if necessary, or over two or three years time. They had poisons, if so much as a drip found its way onto a mans' skin that would render him impotent in a months time; or that made a woman's hair fall out in angry red patches. This is how they dealt with people that gained any respect.

Their masterwork was the poison that gives life. It was this that every one of the army, to the last corrupt soul, relied upon to live another day. For without a dose of the poison, they would die. Thus it was in Canvastown, many of the residents had no idea why they stayed there, and yet no sooner than they tried to leave, than a terrible fever took them, and they were forced to return.

There was one who perceived this. One who had watched it all with the grim fascination of seeing wolves claw down an elk over the length of a nightlong battle. He looked up at the Great Houses with anger; but especially because he needed them. There was rumour of a Smith, an Angel, that had turned renegade, and was using the skills taught to him to forge the most remarkable weapons imaginable: weapons that would lead a man to his destiny. The rumour of it was like fire through Canvastown, and more folk than was usual had disappeared recently, particularly those that claimed to have met the Smith, or to know of his last whereabouts.

This was foremost in Curins' mind. For he had met the Smith, and they had spoken at length, of life, and Fate, and Destiny- which the Smith believed to be a separate thing to Fate.

Curin had been promised one of these weapons. When they had shaken hands, Curin and the Smith, he had felt that at last his life was going to fall into place. But it had all turned suddenly awry.

Curin made as certain as he was capable that his movements went unnoticed. But he was getting desperate, and nervous.

Curin sat with his back to a shack. Staring up at the Greatest of Houses. It had cost him an unbeleivable weight of gold, but he had finally bought off an informant that could give him leads to the Smiths' sudden disappearance. An informant that was paid by the Masters' themselves. Curin had been given the mans' name with a shudder, and a grave word of warning: "Be careful what you wish for. Vaudeux Jupiter always comes out on top. Never ever forget that." Curin had heard the rumours, even the expensive ones, and understood that the Smith had been bought off by the Masters, and that he had begun to forge a weapon for them, but had suddenly abandoned his task, and had fled, with the weapon half forged, to the west. He had in fact seen the Smith go.

Curin had seen the hunting parties all leaving; parties of Drow, and even Orc. None of them would ever track the Smith. They had all gone in the wrong direction for a start, none of them knew the Smiths' mind. But Curin knew whence the Smith had gone, it was something the Smith had said the last time they'd met, a veiled hint . But he needed to know something first: why had the Smith abandoned his task? Curin had to know that one detail. Then he would know if it was worth following the Smith, or to let him go.

Curin waited anxiously, as if expecting a trap. He had never met, nor laid eyes of the man called Vaudeux Jupiter. But he understood he was beautiful: "Not just good looking, not just handsome. He's beautiful, and I mean that in a wonderful, deadly way. You'll know him. Know that he'll know who you are long before you see him. So don't try anything stupid. Or you'll learn the hard way" The man who had arranged the meeting with Vaudeux nursed the stump of his wrist where his hand had been, and paled, as if recalling when the hand had been taken from him.

The cobblestone was worn to where it was indistinguishable from the coarse black soil, swathing all that was over and around it. The path was uneven to trek and even more unpleasant to cart through. Various spots were sopping, and just as many were littered with diverse sized craters that appeared in inconvenience. The focal, dismal, event of the area was just not its main drag, but rather the buildings crumbling down around it. Their rotting walls, disintegrating foundations, and weary owners were all painted on a dreary canvas‘, too horrid for any righteous humanist to bear to view. Disintegrative wafts of poverty and mistreatment were the highlights for the glum scene, and corruption was a hidden and obvious factor amongst the bulk of the town’s occupants. Perhaps the occupants of Canvas Town never knew of rightful conduct, they had grown up thinking this was the way to survive, and who were to tell them different? It certainly a task Jupiter was far from even fathoming. He was never the helpful type. After all, he had been through great hardships as a child and seeing the people of the slum-town - their bony grasps reaching out into the empty air, eyes full of want - it somehow reminded him how far he had grown in his young life, and how much better off he was now, more than ever.

The man Jupiter was a healthy beacon walking up the dilapidated trail. Clean-cut and bathed, bronzed and crisped, he was ready for the day on a high note. His muscled form was draped elegantly in a new set of clothing, that cruelly demonstrated his wealth. He had gone to great measures to find a proper set of garments after he had ditched his old stolen attire. The journey back to the Elven city was quick, but he had picked up a fitted ensemble pieced in threes - a jacket and a royal green vest, that accentuated his emerald eyes - from which a white collared shirt was folded neatly under the crease of his black coat. With a look of smugness on his handsome face, one could tell he was sporting a new look, and was just becoming accustomed to a new wealth. His pace was brisk, but paced smoothly in between steps, so his footprints were even and didn‘t hinder in his swagger. Draped over his folded arms was a also new cloak, floating like silk at its skirts. His poise was erect, yet patient as he moved quickly through Canvas Town. If one were to look close enough they would be able to detect a hint of disgust shadowing his forced features.

With all the nobility of a prince, he strode past the decrepit buildings and gawking locals with a greater goal in mind. His eyes were focused ahead, not desiring to catch the pleads of those crawling around him. It was like walking amongst the Zombies of the Underworld. In order to make it to the expansive Drow metropolis, one must act as if they are not bothered by the varying degrees of walking death surrounding them. Jupiter used this same tactic as he weaved his way through Canvas’ streets and kept his mind on more prying matters than the pathetic dying in their own filth. His stride remaining unhindered, he was finally ascending the solitary incline that would bring him to the foot of the familiar fortresses of his former Employer. Here he would meet up with an individual who called himself Curin, an overly generous man, bearded and woodsy. Vaudeux wasn’t particularly anticipating this meeting, for the fact that he fully didn’t know what it would pertain. All he could guess was that, whatever Vaud knew, Curin was eager to find out - his eagerness weighed in two hefty gold pouches.

Jupiter didn’t know whether it was the unknown direction this meeting would be headed, or the fact that his acquaintance knew him so well that made him feel uneasy. What he did know is that it might have something to do with his early ties to Canvas Town, and his work. If he hadn’t been so young and naive he would have stayed with the Smiths, and perhaps he would have found himself in a great deal of power. Yet he was fresh up from the Underdark, Nafalen and he had just gone separate ways, and they were trying to find their paths. Vaud had spilt himself out on the steps of the great Elven City and dragged himself down to the nearest town, receiving care for work. Unlike most of the apprentices or other confused travelers that passed by the blemish that called itself a village, Vaudeux had face value and determination. The masters recognized this at once and allowed him to train with their most skilled Smith. There he would stay until lads afar would call the weapon’s master afar, various metals and blessing remedies, too dangerous for his young apprentice. Since then, Jupiter slowly slicked back into his old habits and new fighting techniques… but never truly forgetting his first experience in the shabby town and the knowledge bestowed to him.

It was now a new time to return. The wind was carrying the smell of decay through Canvas, but also the rumors of a powerful weapon too tantalizing to ignore. For now Vaudeux could sense no connection with his old mentor with this new information, all he knew was that he was tied down by his new acquaintance with shackles of payment. The very gold that lined his pockets at the moment, was his own silent contract to bind him to this stranger. Curin, the stranger, standing feet from the foot of his old instructor’s castle. He stared directly into the back of his furry adornment as he approached the man from behind. Next to him was a tall dark man, vaguely familiar to Vaud, who seemed to be nursing a new wound and glancing nervously around next to his hairy counterpart. Jupiter wasn’t expecting an accomplice, but that would be dealt with. This meeting would be between two and three was a crowd. He made a beeline towards the pair, eyes focused on Curin, and found himself standing a comfortable distant away, arms remaining folded, and face without expression.

Before he spoke he was subtly deciding how he should play this. He could always act like he was important, knowledgeable, and even slightly curious for any options; even if he felt slightly put-off and forced. After a whole life of deception, that wouldn’t be a problem. Without sparing the dark, well-equipped figure a passing glance he directed his first comment directly at him, an air of pompousness lining his silver tongue, “Your services are no longer needed.” His green orbs flecked back fully to Curin and he turned away from his former victim and motioned for them to stroll. When the third wheel was far enough away, Jupiter drew them in, straight to business, “So why am I needed here today?”

Long ago, it was said, the men of Neiruthaun had been Mariners. They had been marauding conquerers with greater skill smelting, and working with iron, and greater thirst for wealth than other men. Their iron weapons, particularly the long-swords and axes that the lowliest of their warriors possessed, put them at the distinct advantage of being able to hack down all opposition, who at that time were still smeltting bronze for their use and defense. That was long ago indeed, even by the standards of the mortal world, before the Elves had taken up their journey toward Valinor. But a number of qualities never been washed thin in the of the blood of Neiruthaun. Their red hair was one; their distinctive axes another one. But above all, their affinity with the air, with the wind.

Curin dropped his chin, his expression inflective, as if remembering something. But he was not pondering. He was never caught daydreaming. It was something akin to hearing. The age-old skill of his bloodline. A shiver down the spine, no more, from the bottom up if the winds were ill, from the top down if the winds were favorable. Curin intuited the will of the wind, and braced himself for ill. To confirm his intuition the most strikingly good looking man he had ever seen smoothly interjected the meeting with the lack-hand, and swept Curin further down the street. No one would have noticed, not with his furs and cloaks, and his pocketed jerkins. But in an instant Curin held a long blade in each hand.

As a youth Curin had been schooled by the most hideous monstrosity imaginable. A man of sorts. A man with a bulls' head, and jagged fangs growing out of fleshy crimson gums. Baugrìn was his name, and he had taught Curin with a single warning: "I will teach you the battle-form of my Kin; but know: any that see you use it, will know how you learned it." Even as he was led by the arm, Curin smiled at the moment of boldness from his youthful self. "Any that see it will soon be dead." He had replied. And so, in that spirit, he had been tutored, and had mastered his teacher. As his every step required the commitment of different limbs, Curins' muscles yearned to burst into the remarkable swooning forms he had been taught. There was no greater use of the body, no moment in which the full beauty and ability of the body was more fully shown, no moment in which it was more deadly.

In this manner, Curin allowed himself to be lead along, only a part of his mind left for the purpose of listening, but the greater part given over to being ready, being deadly. Curin had shelled out two entire weights of gold to speak with this man, the smell of new dye still sharp in the newly acquired silks and velvets. But Curin had heeded well the last-moment warning of the lack-hand that had arranged this meeting: firstly: "Vaudeux Jupiter always comes out on top. Never ever forget that.". And secondly "don't try anything stupid. Or you'll learn the hard way". Curin dared to release one of his knives, and placed a hand overtop of Vaudeuxs', which was slung through the crook of his arm in a seemingly warm embrace, as they strolled arm-in-arm. “So why am I needed here today?”

Curin took the liberty of fussing with Vaudeuxs' collar, with the familiar hands of a friend."Master Jupiter. I see you received the agreed price for your time. So I will thank you not to rush things. I hate this place. You will suffer me to walk back to the woods. Come, I know a short-cut."

Curin lead them directly due north, with the westering sun spilling its blood-colored light upon their left shoulders. They passed through alleyways more filthy than the gullets of orcs, which grew gradually wider, and with fewer and lower buildings leaning over them. In this time Curin talked of little things, asking seemingly needless questions. But he considered the answers as carefully as sips of wine. He was weighing up his informant as surely as if inspecting a horse before purchase.

This man was smooth, and confident. Curin abandoned holding onto his knife within a short while, assuming it would not avail him should Vaudeux decide to attack him. No man was that calm unless he knew he had the upper hand. The second, frightful, thing: was the casual manner, and impeccable manners of the man. Anyone could conduct the dance of veiled questions, and feinting answers; but any man that could banter with such total ease, was a sharp mind to be feared. Feared like the cold of an alpine storm: which is at first frightening, but which becomes all too normal all too soon, until at length, it has frozen you to death.

With the stain of Canvas' put behind them Curin felt more at ease, and quickly taking their bearings, struck west, into the lengthening shadows of the woods, until they came upon a stream, whose waters gushed from deeper within. He leaped down from the low bank, and offered up a hand to help Vaudeux, who with all respect, could not be asked to dirty his new attire. Curin lead the way to a low waterfall overhung by elder trees painted white with countless tiny flowers. Bees were thick in the air, and the music of the waterfall a ringing sound that was heard long before it could be seen. Here they might talk, and without any bravado, and without any fear of being heard. Curin often slept here, where the stars could be seen through the gap in the tree-canopy above. Beneath a great tuffet of turf he had concealed a fire pit, which he struck into a low fire within a short time, and had put a small billy of water to boil. He threw a great weight of the elder-flowers into it, and was careful not to let it simmer more than a moment. When the tea was ready, he poured the contents of the billy into frail porcelain cups from a pocket. He drank all of the first cup, and all of a second before his guests eyes, then poured the first for Vaudeux.

Curin swirled the tea in its cup, as fragile as if it was an eggshell. "I will not veil my intent Master Vaudeux. I will not bother to tell you my name either, as I assume you have already learned it. I have resided within the wood for five years now, under the scholarship of mighty Ancalë Varnoi. Indeed, no other." Curin looked keenly into Vaudeuxs' eyes to see if there was any flicker of recognition in that name. "I am accutely concerned with my fate, Master Vaudeux." He sipped the tea, his teeth clenched within his beard. His mind shifting with the fragments of memories and oaths that drove him. "I have lived through too much, and through too much hardship to allow anything to stand between myself, and my desired end. Recently I met someone. An artisan shall we say. Someone who promised me a weapon, aye, vowed to make one for me, but who for his own reasons has taken flight. Curin was studying the reactions of his guest, when a shadow, no more than a speck of shadow, passed over him. He shot his head up, and perceived, in the utmost heavens, the golden-harrier that followed him everywhere he went. He had no idea why; he had no idea whether to call it his own, now; or if it belonged to someone else, he had no idea who. Only its presence had been constant since he had lit the Pillar of Fire. He returned his attention to Vaudeux. He ground his teeth, realising he was now standing on the very knifes' edge of his decision. "I know whence he is gone. I can track him." Curin understood all too well the terrible danger of this admission, afteral he could be forced to do so, at the pain of death. "But before I do, I want to know why he fled. Then I will decide if I want to follow him. I know what you would ask yourself now: why should you say? How would I know if you are telling the truth? I have no answers for those questions, and I have no more gold. But I have approached you nonetheless."

Why was this man touching him? This strange, bushy woodsmen, was slinging arms with him; like best girlfriends about to go skipping off to their favorite stream for the day. It was hard to concentrate on anything else with a foreign appendage weaving its way through his tightly folded limbs. He must have radiated an affable aura that had given, this Curin fellow, the wrong impression, the impression that it was permissible to make contact - friendly contact at that. He didn’t dare look back at him, for the fury was mounting with every subtle tug from his collar. Curin might have been trying to come off as light-hearted and kind, but it was only pure annoyance Jupiter felt at that moment. He was a grown man, he didn’t need anyone preening his new, expensive attire for him. It took all his composure to keep walking and not shrug away from his temporary employer.

The prospect of leaving his old workplace, the rancid smells of Canvas, was the only thing keeping him calm. If he could focus his mind on the path ahead, the words flowed seamlessly together, and the conversation bridged the distance to the exit from a long, dank field, to a few mere paces. He watched the soil, at the edge of Canvas Town and back into the woods near Yomenïampa, come closer. Anticipating where they would cross into the more welcoming scenery of nature. Something pulled at the back of his subconscious and, for one fleeting second, he saw himself tensing and spinning around his new acquaintance in a flurry of movement. Outwardly, he was privately smirking to himself, enjoying his devastating mirage, so much that, he hardly noticed as they descended the path into the ancient forest. Only when the setting sun was hindered by the thick poles of archaic oaks, did he notice the change. The fresh scent of foliage replaced the pungent fumes of the slums, and colors turned from the most mundane of grey to the most vibrant green.

Even if he was irritated by the man, he much liked change of meeting places. It no longer reminded him of the walking corpses and vacant stares, but peace with an exclusive feel. Traversing a ledge down to a low bank, Vaud ignored his helping hand and plopped off of the mound himself. The loose dirt eroding away at its heels kicked up slightly, but Jupiter chose to ignore this as he watched Curin set up camp for them. They were surrounded by beds of delicate flows, and the atmosphere was aromatic because of it. He breathed in deep, the moist air filling his nostrils and encompassing his lungs, and managed to observe their spot momentarily while he waited. His acquaintance was busy working fervently to enhance their meeting place, while Jupiter was standing idly by no thought that he should be helping even crossing his mind. Instead, he was reflecting on the more curious issue of Curin himself. The man was extremely polite, if not swayed by formalities, and seemed to know a great deal about Vaudeux. For this, Jupiter held some unease. Paying him the gold, offering him a hand so he wouldn’t dirty his attire, and calling him by the most flattering of titles…he seemed to know just the way to win Vaud’s heart. A viable asset for the road ahead.

At the crackling of fire, Jupiter flinched from his daze and followed the clatter back to his contact; who was now armed with a delicate set of tea cups. Intrigued, he watched as Curin first drank from his own cup then offered him the third cup of the series. Desiring to keep the action moving, Vaud first took his drink, then settled himself across the fire on a small patch of leafage. For a second he wondered how this man was able to produce such an offering, before he mentioned his stay in these very woods with an Elf named Ancalë. Jupiter recalled the name from a previous tournament he had to judge, yet he didn’t offer any recognition across his expression and, instead, brought his cup to his lips and inhaled the fragrant scent of flowers. Alarmed, he lowered his tea in unison with the mentioning of a weapon. With this, he looked up in desire until he noticed Curin studying him, and adopted a polite gaze of interest. Secretly, the idea of a weapon enticed him. How long he has carried around his stolen short sword, he did not know. But he was in need of something better, more powerful, to go along with his new abilities. The perfect addition to his arsenal was fathomable enough, in the form of his former master. In his youth, he had been attracted by the idea of a weapon, but he was ignorant then - as ignorant as his master would allow - and now he knew better. What the man had been selfishly harboring was possibly a dangerous set of blades, dangerous enough for the half-breed.

Vaud sat casually, pretending to take a sip of his tea, while he let the questions, pressed by Curin, afflict the air. Meanwhile, he combed his mind for the final parting words from his instructor in Canvas Town. From there, he held onto them, shaping them until they made enough sense. He could always lie, but something told him it was the right time to tell the truth. That something was the hunger to trace the weapon himself. Eyes boring into the fire, he spoke, very literally, “Well, as I recall, our last meeting was quick. He was packed for a journey. The only thing he would reveal to me, as his apprentice, was that he needed to go somewhere safe.” His brilliant greens flecked back up to Curin, in case this meant anything to the woodsman. He knew of one other piece of information that might be of use, something that might allow him to tag along if there was to be a journey.

Crap.

To be perfectly honest, Aloric wasn't in a particularly pleasant mood. In fact, he was in a very sour one. The expression on his face was more than enough to demonstrate said mood, his forehead furrowing as his eyebrows closed in and his eyes squinted. His mouth hung slightly open, his face cocked to the side, a sort of unspoken "huh?" as he took in the results of his seemingly tragic mistake. And how could he have made such a mistake?

Well, if you know anything about Aloric, you would know just how easy such a simple mistake could be made.

It was a shame he had ever even gotten himself into the situation that would eventually lead him right into the trap of his own folly in the first place. In his defense (it would be a lie to say he had much of one, but traces of a defense remain here and there, and thus, we will explore all possibilities), it wasn't altogether his fault that he had been sent off on a wild goose chase to the far regions of Arda. It was mostly his fault, but not altogether. You see, in Aloric's mind (a place better left unexplored), one could not be faulted for being caught red handed in a sacred burial ground of a tribal people, a sacred burial ground that just happened to be the fabled resting point of an ancestor of the Maluil line. It would have been nice if Aloric had a name to first give to this ancestor, but that was not a privilege he had been given. In fact, the only information he had been armed with was that the man (or cadaver, rather - well, if you really want to get into it, all he wanted to see was the headstone) he was looking for was a direct ancestor of the ranger himself, and had at one time been a ruling member of the society. And Aloric - a man desperately wanting to know more about his past in order to better understand the present (a present he dreadfully wanted to forget, actually) - was all about finding long lost members of his ancestry that may somehow hold a key to his existence.

Of course, he hadn't known that said ancestor had asked to be buried among the tribal people of the plains, who were keen on exploiting their hokey religion in order to manipulate the fate of their visitors. That is to say, they meant to kill. It remained to be seen if they were any good at it. But Aloric remembered thinking at the time that they had as much potential as anyone to be his slayers.

Even that wouldn't have been so bad. The afterlife couldn't possibly be any worse than the beforelife or the nowlife. He would have met his end with honor, going out in a glory of swords and shields, defending his lineage to the bitter end. Well, not really, but in retrospect, he liked to think that such a thing could have happened. It was probably for the better that he was saved by the most unlikely of heroes. So unlikely was he, that he was actually a villain in disguise; a very clever disguise, to be sure, including the mandatory cape, mask, and scimitar. This savior managed to wade in on the tribals that surrounded our poor ranger, dispatch of each in turn, and carry our protagonist off to safety.

Fittingly enough, our masked hero couldn't have really cared any less for Aloric's fate, as it were. A fact that the ranger would only begin to understand as he faced his current problems. On the contrary, he merely enjoyed the pleasure of killing uncivilized religious savages to collect payment from his employers, who just happened to be civilized atheistic noblemen. Irony? This wouldn't be a good story without it.

So what happens when one is rescued by a mercenary with shaky morals? Such a mercenary wouldn't settle for anything less than indebted servitude. Mysrin Delongier, as Aloric found him to be called, was guided by his need for riches and pretty things. And Aloric was just the person to send out in search of those riches and pretty things. A deal had been struck: the ranger would acquire certain items of value, bring them back to the mercenary, and regain his freedom. Though if you ever spoke to Aloric about it, he wouldn't call it freedom, exactly. More like, permission to do stupid things and thereafter face the terrible consequences. It looks like a fun game on paper, but in reality, it isn't very enjoyable to always be on the rebound from one's own idiocy.

To make a long story short, that was how Aloric found himself where he was now. Nevermind that upwind meant the same thing as downwind to the would-be ranger, he now found himself presently in the company of two gentlemen who didn't seem as if they cared much for his presence. He was, so to speak, raining on their parade. Though it would be absolute foolishness to hold a parade here in the forests of Yomenïampa, and Aloric decided to add it to his ever growing lists of places not to visit when he at long last was given his tour of the world as his loving fans bowed down before him and threw flowers at him and asked to be spoken to by him and and wanted to embrace him and to grasp hold of his hair and smell his manly scents.

But who was he kidding? Certainly not the two men that were presently standing above him; they didn't seem like the kidding type. Aloric was ever willing to oblige their requests, and attempted to be as straightforward as possible. "Hello, friends, I appear to be quite lost."

As dusk settled upon the land, it seemed as if the dell was filled with the cool, half-light of evening, as a bowl is filled with water. All the hard edges of things became softened, and blurred. The elder-flowers, in the cooler air, opened fully and the honeyed scent of them was clean and pure. Somewhere in the distance a bell-bird began its last, most haunting, tune of the day, its voice like that of a clarinet, only alive, and moving.
Curin, with his head slightly bowed, was eying Vaudeux keenly from beneath his brows. He could read something, a decision, in the mans' body-language.
“Well," and now the eyes seemed to shadow completely, but Curin deemed into the depth of honest recollection, and not fiction. "as I recall, our last meeting was quick. He was packed for a journey. The only thing he would reveal to me, as his apprentice, was that he needed to go somewhere safe.”

The smiths tracks bore due west, straight as an arrow for the Alulanta falls, unless Curin was mistaken. Curin didn't know of many places a smith might find the workshops for his craft in the west. There was Ondolond, far to the west, but way north of them, in the mountain passes. Curin looked up, seeing the Swordsman of the sky, directly overhead, which meant high summer was passed, and within the next moon the wilds would turn all to autumn. The west-wilds were harsh in winter. Curin did not want to be caught anywhere near Alulanta, nor for that matter, anywhere near the shores of Lake Aelin in winter, when the wolves, and the orcs for that matter, get hungry. It was risky, and desperate.

But Curin longed for the weapon, such a thing, as could lead a man directly to his fate, was more precious to him than a mountain of gold. To feel the vast confidence that everything Curin did was certain to lead him by the right path was his most vulnerable desire. All of his life he had wended and tarried, no more in control of his course than the flow of a river, which can do nothing but flow along the lowest point of the landscape. There was a time his motives were all driven by the desire to return to his home, and to the bride that awaited him there, Naerthel. But the long years had stretched out, and he felt like a sailing ship in the middle of the meadow, which has no more hope of sailing to its desired destination, than a warhorse is any help in the waters of the sea.

"I know, but why?" Curin was careful to make sure his tone was in no way frustrated, or an accusation. There was much Curin could guess, and much he could assume, but in this one case, he wanted to act on reliable information. He rubbed his forehead. "If I just knew more about why he left, I could decide whether to follow him... The Smith seemed quite relaxed, right up to the point of his diappearance. When he told me that he had begun a new weapon, his finest work ever, he shook my hand, with fire in his eyes. "this one will be for you, Curin of Neiruthaun!" He had sworn. But, and this is the most important thing, Master Vaudeux, even though he has fled, I deem he wanted me to follow him."
Curin frowned openly at this. He chewed on his thumb, and rubbed a life-hardened hand across the back of his neck. Curin relaxed, trying to release all of his urgency, and all of his intensity. So it was he heard the sound of someone moving nearby.

He was on his feet, the noise of his movements no louder than a wind stirring up the leaf-litter. In his hand glittered the dark-silvered edge of his axe, Úechadeth, whose edge he turned to the side, so that he might strike with the flat of the blade. With a leaping roll he crested the bank, and crouched, spotting a ranger. The man moved the the steady confidence of one who is well accustomed to tracking. More importantly, Curin realised with the hair standing on the back of his neck, the ranger was tracing the Smiths' steps. Curin looked for Vaudeux, who looked every bit as deadly as Curin had ever seen a man, his eyes positively smouldered with the threat of death. Curin darted, fleet as a wolf, before the other could do anything drastic. Curin did not want a murder on his hands, not in Yomeniampa, for all he knew their every movement was already being watched by Elven archers.

Curin put himself between the man and any chance of escaping. The trees and the bushes created a natural wall on every side. The ranger would have to pass through Curin if he was to escape. But Curin waited silently for the Ranger to notice them. Curin was desperate, and as deadly as he ever felt; but he was not evil. He would not threaten the man, nor menace him. Curin stood, legs apart, with the axe before him, hands resting on the pommel of the haft.

"Hello, The Ranger looked up, his face earnestly surprised, taking in the two of them, and their weapons, held at the ready, if not with full threat. "friends" the man, smiled at them awkwardly. He was either a fool or had nerves of steel, for he did not seem overly frightened or concerned. He appeared, for all the world, almost to have expected them. "I appear to be quite lost."Said he.

Curin, feeling his sweat in his collar, dropped his cloak, and held the axe loosely in one hand, flipping it so he held the haft forwards, then he grabbed the rangers jerkin with the one hand, and slammed the pommel of the axe-haft up under the rangers rib-cage. Curin looked so closely into his eyes that their noses brushed against one-another, holding him on his feet while he recovered from the winding blow. "Appearances can be deceiving." Curins' voice was the deepest growl of a deer-hound. "Isn't that what all wise men say?" Curin turned to Vaudeux. "Does this man look lost to you?" He turned the Ranger, shaking him, and flung him toward Vaudeux as if tossing a ball in a game of catch.

He sat back and watched his words sink in, carefully chosen for their impact. He was able to reveal what he wanted in order to retain control over the situation, for he hated to have a discussion that was pressing him to comply. Nevertheless, he was pleased to hear his information hording was going as planned. Curin wasn’t hard to press him for all the juicy anecdotes, for this, he was fortunate. They needed each other already. Vaudeux was starting to become attached to the idea of searching for the weapon, now, more than ever, and Curin likewise. Jupiter could make assumptions just as well as any other man, but he needed a guide. As much as he would like to think, he didn’t know Arda as well as he thought he did, and would surely get lost in his own voracious thoughts along the way.

His mind was working in a particularly logical fashion as his acquaintance spoke. One thing was certain, they both wanted this mystery weapon. As he spoke, Vaud could sense the urgency from the man, and knew he wasn’t likely to merely hand over the object once it was recovered. He subtly looked the woodsman over. The lines on his face were from experience and not age. His beard seemed unkempt, but was probably one of the least of his worries with his travels. He couldn’t be taller than Vaudeux and was defiantly lacking his brawn. With every passing minute, the half-breed was becoming more confident. With all the poise that would allow him to pit himself against this troubled man. As they sat, stroking the early cords of their adventure, Jupiter was already planning a murder, for the entity of power would end up his.

First he needed to convince this man of his worth, that would, perhaps, initiate the beginning of their journey. It seemed as if Curin knew a great deal about their Smith. As Vaud recollected, he was always a calm man, at the exception of a particularly worthy find or smithing. The thief seemed to ignore the parting words of his former master, from Curin‘s perspective, as he recalled the final utterance he had received years ago. “That may be so Curin,” The Man’s name felt foreign on his lips, like he should have added some endearment. “But as I remember, he also mentioned the need for a blessing-” There was movement across the vivid clearing, interrupting all the suspense Jupiter had built, and threatening the clandestine of their conversation. At the presence of a new arrival, Vaudeux turned in alarm, expecting some type of ambush, but being thoroughly disappointed at what he saw. The man must have been half a foot shorter than him, and sickeningly skinny. The brawny half-breed adopted a look of critical indignation, for the chap must have heard everything they were just speaking of.

Curin was quick on the up-take. By the time Jupiter had taken in the intruder’s words, his acquaintance was already drawing his blade, rolling, and striking like he had never thought possible of the man. Curin was defiantly no ordinary woodsman. He merely watched, somewhat amused, feeling no need to exert his energy to the cause. Instead, he peered over the situation with anger sparkling in his eyes, his shoulders rounding.He was still getting over the sudden assault, when a body was thrown his way. Vaudeux caught the man by the lapels, rather abruptly, and forcibly gazed down at him with fiery irises. It was true, he was able to sense some exasperation from the ranger, yet he could also detect a slight yearning, that, being lost and finding where you were, could not quench. The man’s clothes were worn and frayed to his touch, undesirable for his hands. He squeezed the garments harder, feeling the heat radiate from his victim’s body, his heart beating close to Vaud’s knuckles. He had a sudden desire to crush the spy’s feeble throat, but no, like many things, he was above such brutish displays of strength. Then, as if he had touched something slimy, he retracted his grasp and shrugged the man away; disgust etched across the handsome contours of his face. “No, but I believe he seems to be looking for something.” He said simply, his voice horrifically calm and velveteen as he watched the man stumble around.

One has to understand how Aloric's brain functions in order to truly understand his actions. Unfortunately, not even the ranger himself knew exactly what was going on up there, and as such he could not be proactive and stop himself before he did something stupid. It was just routine by now, he was used to the fact that he set himself up to get into all sorts of trouble and was helpless to save him from himself. That's why other people always had to step in and rescue him. That's why he now had a mercenary friend.

But who would rescue him this time?

He was hoping he wouldn't need rescued, that these gentlemen were of the friendly sort and would be more than happy to let him go back the way he came. After all, that's the way he needed to go, anyway. As embarrassing as it was, the only reason he had came upon this place of meeting was because he had been venturing the wrong way, and only when it was too late did he discover this tragic error. He had tried his hardest to appear friendly and nonthreatening, but as the seconds passed it became more and more apparent that he was in trouble. Deep trouble. As the bearded man grabbed him and pulled him close, fear overtook his face and his eyes widened in horror. Finally, his brain was starting to process what was occurring.

A pommel was underneath his ribs now, and a nose was brushing against his own. Not the most desirable situation, but he could manage. Hopefully. He tried not to breathe too much. That usually irritated his captors. Aloric may not have been the brightest star in the solar system, but he could learn from his past mistakes. Sometimes.

As he continued not breathing, the bearded man sized him up. "Appearances can be deceiving. Isn't that what all wise men say?"

Aloric allowed himself a little breath so he could communicate verbally to his captor. "Trust me, what you see is what you get."

Before he knew it, he was being tossed to the other man, like a blade of grass tossed in the wind, carried from one rolling hill to the next. Only, these were some deadly hills. Hills with eyes, and hands, and strong chests, and heads with facial hair... it was clear to Aloric that this simile was getting out of hand. Plus, he needed to focus on what was happening.

Because surely, the man who was holding him now was capable of inflicting such pain upon the poor ranger that he would have been squished before he realized an end to his pain would actually be a happy ending, if only he so desired. Apparently, that desire was not great enough, or Aloric just wasn't worth the effort. But for whatever reason, his life had been spared by this obviously dangerous man. Instead, he was cast to the side with simple words, “No, but I believe he seems to be looking for something.”

That didn't mean that Aloric wasn't as panicky as ever. He could feel the sweat mounting up on his eyebrows, on his neck, and around his hands. His knees started to shake. He had controlled his breathing (or lack thereof) until that point, but he felt his cheeks getting purple, and decided to inhale, and that's when he lost it.

"Of course, yes! I'm looking for an exit from uh, from your camp site. Yes! I s'pose I'll just go out the way I came back in, I think I can find it. Perfect, yes! You two have been such gracious hosts, and I do apologize once again for stepping on your toes, as it were, but I believe that I could give a proper explanation, if I so desired. Unfortunately, I'm feeling a little dizzy now, and not exactly in the best condition to talk, although I seem to be going on and on about nothing at all, and if I don't stop soon, I just might-"

That's when he fell to the ground and passed out.

The ranger visibly sagged, his complexion blotching. Curins' aggression melted out of him, and he stepped forward in concern. The ranger was no longer making eye contact, "Of course, yes! I'm looking for an exit from uh, from your camp site. Yes! I s'pose I'll just go out the way I came back in, I think I can find it. Perfect, yes! You two have been such gracious hosts, and I do apologize once again for stepping on your toes, as it were, but I believe that I could give a proper explanation, if I so desired. Unfortunately, I'm feeling a little dizzy now, and not exactly in the best condition to talk, although I seem to be going on and on about nothing at all, and if I don't stop soon, I just might-"

The ranger slumped, like a sack, toward the ground. Curin darted, and caught him beneath the arms, turning him to his side. Curin ground his teeth, cursing the poor light. He turned up the rangers face, opening his eyes, whose pupils were fully dilated. "Vaudeux, please, the hot water!" He barked, digging through the countless pockets of his jerkin, his fingers feverishly searching for a precious felt pouch. The hot water would be best, but fearing the worst Curin threw a handful of the herb into his mouth and chewed it into a fine a paste as he could manage. Curin opened the rangers' mouth, prying around his gums, looking for tell-tale signs of poisoning, and smeared the paste over the rangers gums, and the insides of his lips. If the man had been poisoned this would help slow the poison long enough for Curin to discover exactly what kind of poison was employed. Curins' spare hand searched for the pulse, which was strong, at which Curin relaxed, and the sweat on his brow felt cool and refreshing, as his panic flushed away.

He looked up at Vaudeux, returning the prone ranger to his side. "He's only fainted." Curin looked down at the shadowed face, "He was following the Smiths' tracks, backwards." Curin ground his teeth and pulled a hand through his hair. Had the Smith been captured? Had someone already apprehended him, and were tracing his steps, because the weapon was not found on him?

Curin looked at Vaudeux, long, in silence. His heart was like a bow-string being drawn ever tighter, his body was the arrow, the bow was his fate. In a moment he was about to fire away, to follow the Smiths' tracks, and to attempt a rescue if needs be. He was going to drag this ranger with him, if he had to carry him bodily every step of the way. Curin did not trust the man's seeming fumbling innocence. Nor did fainting hold any sway with him either. Curin had known children that would hold their breath until they fainted as a game. There was no reason this man could not force himself to do so to appear harmless.

Curin knealt down, and deemed the ranger was rousing from his stupor. He would likely rouse quickly now. Curin wondered what to do. In his hand the last light of the day gleamed lustily along the cutting edge of the axe. Aye, I know what you would do Fangúehad He looked at his axe with fearful respect, for this axe was only lent to him, and had a fate all of its own, and he knew it would punish him if he ever crossed it, the she-axe whose name meant Un-maker. All too few of us would be alive and walking if you had your way. Curin frowned, and rubbed a hand over his face, his hair falling over his face. He returned Úechadeth to her place on his belt, and flinched, the blade having nicked his finger. He laughed grimly and tied a small band over the cut. She was in a foul mood.

Curin took a long breath, and with that the bowstring was stretched as far as it would go. His eyes their brightest, his voice calm, and strangely quiet, a shiver running through his body, to the last finger-tip. He held Vaudeuxs' eyes, and related to him all of his thoughts and fears, and his intent. "If the Smith is in need, I will go to him, that is my fate, I beleive; if I am mistaken, and I catch up to him, then all is still well. I leave now, without a moments' delay. Will you run with me?"

What that something was, Jupiter wasn’t sure, but Curin seemed to catch something he didn’t. Suddenly the thin ranger had fallen into a state of unconsciousness in their midst, leaving everything to conjecture. From the moment of his arrival Vaud had been surprised, yet this new flurry of action had been even more unexpected. Never had he caused someone to faint before, it was almost gratifying to see that his mere presence could evoke just physical reaction, but unusual in context. The utterance in one full breath, the final words of an unconscious man - blubbering at best. He couldn’t help but turn an eye of pity on the skinny soul, laying sprawled at his feet, yet feeling nothing more than observant wonder. Curin was more animated to assist and jumped to the new arrival’s side at once. The woodsman seemed to take the crown of leadership in the stressful circumstance harshly, ordering Vaud around like a common slave, like he didn’t know him at all.

Quite taken aback for being told what to do, Jupiter glared down at the back of his acquaintance’s head, but, strangely enough, he then spun on his heel and obliged. As he walked to the fire pit, he vigorously berated Curin in the back of his mind before carefully grasping the short, warm handle of the hot water container. Just to be reluctant, he savored the time he took from walking from the centre of the area back to the ranger and the woodsman. He certainly didn’t want to be treated as the “errand boy” if he could stand it, so he would obey poorly. By the time he returned, the sight he witnessed suddenly sickened him. What was an unknown remedy to him, Curin seemed to be feverishly swishing a ground herbal paste throughout the strangers gums. Tall and hulking, Vaudeux paused in his stride with furrowed brows of digusted alarm. The situation kept getting more peculiar by the moment and, if Curin hadn’t chosen to speak at that moment, Jupiter would have found solace else-ware.

The time for decision couldn’t have came sooner. When the man finally announced he would pursuit the smith and the weapon, Vaud merely extended his grimace to a smirk. He could have looked pleased to see that the man had only fainted from above, he also could appear to be the cause after shrugging the man forth and, seconds after, have him collapse. From above, things took on a more menacing vibe, when words could not be heard fully, and actions screamed loudly into the sheltered forests of Yomenïampa. The trees rustled with renewed vigor, as if the faintest whisper was the wind carrying a deadly secret, that was now sweeping over them. Vaudeux shuddered and looked forth to the quivering branches, almost like he could sense another presence amongst the entangled limbs. Suddenly the flourishing wood adorned a more sinister veil, surrounding them, domineering their space. Jupiter’s brow was low and dangerous, but he was observing closely, he could sense something going awry.

Then, the faintest glimmer of something through the wall of leaves - high into the canopy - the sharp metal of an arrowhead, slick with capturing the rays. The half-breed acted instantly, standing upright immediately while keeping his eyes focused on the spot above them. There was apprehension lining his handsome globes as he promptly replied, “Without a moment’s delay Curin, or it may be too late.” His gaze didn’t vary, so the whining of bowing wood, the friction of fletching against skin, transmitted signals of eminent alarm. Soon Curin was returning to full height as all the built tension of hidden weaponry was being unleashed. Yet Vaud was quick. He knew what he wanted, and an injured guide was not one of them.

Bounding over the cataleptic ranger and slicing in front of his new acquaintance, Jupiter soon found himself wedged in between Curin and the harmful projectile. It streaked through the air with precision, yet there was slight disturbance in the path and Vaud noticed right away. Whether it was a soft draft, or the muscles of Elven Archers long unused, the arrow could have been truer. The water sloshed around vigorously in the hot kettle, once in the handsome warrior’s grasp, to being catapulted upwards into the air. It seemed to hover for a moment, gravity failing to notice the object in motion, while a sinister arrow flew underneath. It was seemingly reaching its target swiftly, yet a tanned limb was tracing a wide arch through the air at the exact - trained - moment. With a lean and a swipe, Jupiter managed to catch the arrow by its shaft, knocking it from its line of flight. He had tried to wrap his long digits around the dart, yet inexperience proved to overcome his ambitions. Even so, he thwarted the attack to leave the arrow splintered at their feet. The kettle had since reached its peak and was now plummeting to the earth. Body coiling his dominant hand in the opposite direction; the half-breed brought forth his closest palm, only to subject it to the underside of the heated pot.

With a pain-filled grunt, Jupiter bounced the water-filled container from his bare appendage before it could do any real harm, and retrieved it sloppily by its handle. Warm water stained the dry ground at his feet as he lead the way across the clearing, splattering and sloshing its scalding contents with no compunction. Call it stubbornness, but Vaud just wasn’t going to give the pot up. Pounding from the clearing, Jupiter drew a muddled and wet path for the men behind him, knowing that, at least Curin, would be hot on his heels.

"Aloric?"

No response.

"Aloric, wake up."

Huh?

Aloric opened his eyes. He breathed in calmly, and smiled pleasantly. He rose up his upper body and placed his hands palm down on the ground behind his back, and locked his arms. He was lying in white sheets in the middle of a meadow.

Wait a minute, that doesn't sound right. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. Nope, I definitely don't remember any meadows. And no white sheets. And where are the wolves? This would be their cue-

"Aloric."

Eh?

"Aloric, I know it will take you a while to figure it out on your own, so for the sake of time, allow me to explain. This is one of those dream sequences."

Oh.

"Everything coming back to you now?"

Yeah, he thought to himself. Now he remembered. Smith's tracks, two strangers, panic attack, unconscious. Am I alive?

"Of course you are. It's just a dream."

Thank heavens! I don't know what I would have done if I had died.

"I'd assume you wouldn't do much of anything, besides lie there and rot for all eternity."

Dreaming is a much more pleasant alternative, Aloric concluded. But why am I dreaming? And what's with the meadow and white bed sheets?

"Oh, that stuff? I figured that's the norm for these dream sequence things. I thought it was a nice touch."

The sheets sure are soft, the ranger agreed.

"As for why you're dreaming? Well, I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable scientific explanation for it, but I like to think it's a moment of personal reflection that you will remember upon regaining consciousness, which will help to direct your actions in the coming months as you embark on an incredible adventure."

Oh, cool! Where am I going? Aloric finally decided to look around for the person who had been conversing with him. He had been too enthralled by the meadow and bed sheets to do so before now. He looked behind him, nothing. To his left, nothing. Right, nothing. And certainly nothing in front of him.

"You're going many places, Aloric."

He looked above him.

Ack!

A large wolf head was staring down at him.

You're, you're, you're a, a, a wolf!

"A brilliant deduction! I always knew you had some potential to be a decent ranger. Following those tracks backwards wasn't a good sign, though. But anyhow."

Why are you a wolf?! Why is a wolf talking to me?!

"Oh, I thought it would be ironic. Y'know, with the whole fear of wolves thing you have going on, and the fact that wolves show up everywhere and try to kill you, I thought it'd be funny if a wolf narrated one of your dreams."

It is kind of fitting...

"I'm glad you approve." The wolf smiled contentedly.

You said something about an incredible journey?

"Oh yes, of course. That's the main point of this dream. You're going on an adventure, Aloric, whether you like it or not. You'll be accompanied by fellow travelers who have an interest in reaching a certain destination, and I'm afraid you won't have much choice but to go with them and aid them however you can. I know it sounds rather gloomy, but cheer up! It should be fun. I have no idea if you're going to survive the journey or not, but the journey's half the fun!"

And dying is the other half?

"I forget how the saying goes..." the wolf admitted. "But no, I don't think so. Dying doesn't sound like much fun."

I concur.

"We agree again! You really do have a lot in common with us wolves, Aloric."

Really?

"No, not really, but I thought it would be a cool cliche thing to say. Having something in common with your enemies. Wolves prefer bloodlust, you're kind of passive and pathetic."

Yeah.

There was an awkward silence.

"Well..."

Yeah...

"I guess there's not much point in continuing this dream, then. I think we covered all of the bases."

Any last words or advice for me? Aloric inquired.

"Stay the course, never give up, never surrender. Unless doing so will save your life. Oh, and I'm not really a wolf. I'm a manifestation of your own making. You conjured me up yourself. I'm not sure why. Hope you figure it out!"

Am I going to wake up now?

"Who knows? You had a pretty crazy panic attack. I doubt it."

Crap, I guess that means I'm unconscious for a little while longer.

"Sorry buddy. Good luck with all that!"

Thanks.

Curin crouched, taking the ranger by the arms, and hefting him, like a sack, over his shoulders. Looking toward the space where Vaudeux had been he called out, for the man had run in the wrong direction. That way was an elbow of high banks, where the river had once run. Vaudeux was running into a dead-end. Above, the deadly shadows of Elves flitted in pursuit.

But as another arrow whined past Curins face he gritted his teeth, the arrow, by the sound of it, was elven. But Elves, it appeared, were not their only concern. Not an instant later a slingstone cracked Curin in the side of his head, drawing an instant gout of blood, and leaving his ears ringing, his eyes clouded, and he fell into darkness.

A rough hand touched him, and Curin awoke with a bellow, afire with rage. A knife was held in his face, and he grabbed the weilding hand by the wrist, and plunged the length of the knife into the brigands throat. In a breath Fangúehad, Curins' axe, was in his hand, hacking into the shoulder of the second brigand, even as Curin brought up the haft-end, cracking it up, with all his strength, under the mans' chin. Curin now perceived the shapes and sounds of more thugs moving to hedge him in. The Elves had doubtless mistaken he and Vaudeux as part of their invasion.

Hefting the prone ranger again Curin ran, heavy as an oxen, his breath laboring within the first few steps. He gripped the familiar haft of Fangúehad, the grim axe, and ran directly for the main group of the brigands.

He came crashing out of the undergrowth, drawing the arrow-fire along behind him; before the main group had even heard him. Curin flung the rangers' full weight at the fiercest looking brigand, whose eyes lit with surprise as the unconscious form of the ranger smote him to the ground, and the bearded blade of Fangúehad bit all of its length beneath his rib-cage. Fangúehads' haft came whistling back, behind Curins' shoulder, breaking through the jaw of the next assailant, up into the roof of his mouth. Curins' breath came in ragged moans, frothing in his beard, as his left arm was steadily soaked with the blood of his scalp-wound. The falling form of the brigand with the broken jaw he kicked fiercely, like a domino into those behind him, Fangúehad bit a neck and an arm, glittering in its arc like a hellish crescent of the moon, descended to earth to slay and rend.

Before a rally could be mustered Curin dragged the ranger back onto his weary shoulders, and broke off at a desperate sprint.

The first fray behind him, Curin ran for the out-let of the banks, where he would hide the ranger, binding him, and darted warily in the direction he guessed Vaudeux would be.

Already the swelling from his sling-wound was closing up Curins' left eye, he held up the burnished face of Fangúehad, seeing his reflection in the bloodied mirror. The eyelid was already darkened black with swelling blood. Curin reached for his own dagger, and unflinchingly cut slits into his eyelids, top and bottom, so that a shower of his own blood ran in rivulets into his mustaches and beard, but his eye was immediately able to blink, and his sight was restored. Curin took a calming breath, and searched for his calm.

When he set out, he was himself. He moved as noiselessly as mortal feet are able. His ears attuned for any sound of Vaudeux, who would be as much a threat to him, should Vaudeux mistake him for a foe-man. Curin strained his ears for any sound of fighting, but all was quiet, which made him all the more unhappy. It shouldn't be this quiet. A deadly game was ensuing, in which the players were all a terrible threat each to the other. Curin stood still, and waited for some sound, he was standing at the only out-let from the fence of the banks, eventually Vaudeux must pass him here. Curin longed, like a chained hound, to go in search, but he knew he would likely get himself killed, he resolved to leave Vaudeuxs' escape and survival in the mans' own hands. He would await him, and guide him form then on, should Vaudeux escape.

He was sprinting through a maze of luscious and sturdy trees. Sun spilt in every direction, diverted from clusters of high leaves, with torrents of deathly sharp arrows raining from above. The forest was so beautiful, yet so deadly. He was smelling a lovely rose, while gripping its injurious thorn-strewn stem. Vaudeux would pass in and out of the shadows, feeling the heat pass over his back in tolerable intervals. His costly cloak whipping out behind him, trailing his path, tracing it for the keen eyes above. They combed after his footfalls, arrows plunging into the earth to mid-stem. Whizzing through the air, strident thuds were his signals of alarm as the projectiles notched themselves in every space he once occupied. They whooshed by his ear, the electricity emitted from the arrows sent fearful chills across the sensitive pores of his spine. There wasn’t much he could do but dodge and hope that, the accuracy squandered from the first dart, would convey amongst the whole quiver.

Yet he could only hope so long before the Calvary arrived, shooting with elder velocity, anticipating his next movement and firing at their fleeing, stubborn target. Jupiter leapt over fallen logs, covered in vegetative moss, and wove in and out of trees of all sizes; but his trail ahead was ending and the archers weren’t giving up their pursuit. As the half-breed passed through an opening to the light above, they attempted to stick one in his foot. It caught between the crook of his ankle and the ground, nearly fastening his appendage to the earth. Leg flailing, mind in utter panic, Jupiter had no choice but to be keen and retreat to the shadows. He found himself pressed against a trunk, his back fondling the fine coating of thick bark, his breath attempting to steady. Around him, the forest twinkled in innocence, yet the foreboding was almost overwhelming.

Green eyes quivering, Vaud then found himself observing the space around him trying to find any solution to his problem. If only he had someone with him, a pin-cushion so to say, then he would worry not of being harmed. But all he had was himself and the shelter of the darkness. To his left, the tree line was slowly dwindling up to a high crest and drop-off. On his righ,t the forest continued, tempting him to plunge further into its depths. It was deathly quiet, birds failed to chirp, animals hid - frightened - in their dens, its fervor was terrific. Finally his breath returned to normal as the silence drew him in, forcing him to reason. He couldn’t hide under a tree like a frightened child forever, it was time to face the fire, no matter how much it would burn.

The half-breed edged around the base until he was parallel with the rest of the wood. Then, maneuvering over a patch of brambles, he pushed himself away from the trunk and spun out to duck back across the forest. Busy searching for more in-coming projectiles, he nearly missed the glimmering dark blade pressing itself against the vital veins of his neck. Jupiter reacted instantly, crouching and flinching towards the attack, but froze instantly at what he saw. Standing feet from him was darkness infused in Elven form. Amour glimmering with hidden enchantments even from the shadows of the trees, hair stark-white, eyes twinkling intently, their presence was all to familiar for the thief. While others may have been horrified, maybe even wetting their garments in humiliating places, Vaud took in the aura of the small faction of bandits and slowly stood to full height. A particularly short Drow eyed him suspiciously, blade steady at his pharynx, for Jupiter’s tensions seemed to ease at the sight of them.

“Don’t move,” Demanded the sword weilder, while the group behind him shifted and tried to catch a glimpse of the human that had barricaded their path. To their utmost wonder, the half-breed smirked and waved his hands before them, the pot clanking emptily in one, an open palm of raw skin for the other. Vaudeux was daring to match wits with a race like the Drow. They were just as lethal as the Elves and ten times as merciless, but he felt a connection to the people of night ever since his youth. The group seemed rushed, in mission, and he was just getting in their way. He wasn’t what they wanted, perhaps they didn’t remember him from the passing years, or their bonds with disgruntled human children maturing alongside them have broken. He needed to finalize his position which led him to speak,

“Forgive me abbil, I seem to have lost my path,” The faction quivered with intent, some shouted in protest at his linguistics, how he could pronounce them with no fault nor regret. His attacker seemed to be unfazed and, instead, pressed the cold adamantium closer into his flesh until the beating of heart seemed to be transmitted into the weapon itself. From the back, the crowd parted as someone pushed through, captivated by the new voice of their victim. This individual knew he recognized the man from somewhere, and his use of their language was proof enough. Bodies moved from his path, recognizing his need, as a leader, to see who dare block their ascent into the forest. But when he reached the human, he didn’t deal the death blow that would keep them moving, he quickly observed the half-breed instead and then extended his spine into a courteous bow. Jupiter was now grinning, watching an old acquaintance address him, perhaps he would escape this ordeal with not a scratch.

“Jupiter, wael, you must leave this forest. You realize we’re here to take back what’s ours?” The metal against his throat lowered steadily, but Vaud was keen on keeping his friend’s eyes.

“Dyn, I’m pleased to see you’ve finally grown to take it, but I find myself astray and in need of a quick ssuth.”

His tongue was always silver, no matter what language and no matter what race, he was able to charm. With this, the Drow failed to repress a grin and quickly answered, “Very well. You’ll find your exit along the high banks where archer’s eyes stray and the forest ends.” The group was hanging on their words, some perplexed, some genuinely interested in the exchange. Vaud was surprised this long time friendship remained fruitful, and nodded curtly.

“Very well. Usstan to you Dyn, I hope to see you once more,” After he wished them luck, he retreated back from whence he came, as the bandits trooped forth to continue their siege. Betwixt the towering timbers and low brambles, Jupiter became a master of obeying directions and found his survival fathomable. Soon he reached the banks, prematurely fallen leaves rustling underneath his footfalls, only to see that he was not alone. Bloodied and carrying a load inappropriately obese for his size, Curin was resting in a slight alcove. Quick to dispose of his stealth, Vaud entered the niche and beckoned the woodsman forth to follow him.

“Come, we need to leave this place,” He urged Curin in a whisper, the prospect of their journey just now resurfacing after the hype of survival.

The first thing that he noticed when he came to was that he had one hell of a headache. It felt as if his head was swelling up and would soon reach critical mass before it exploded off of his neck and went skittering through the forest. Thankfully, the chances of that happening were slim to none, but still, that didn't mean his headache felt any less painful. Although he secretly hoped that if it did happen, his missile-like head would at least catch a few bad guys unawares. That would make him feel better about his rather sorry demise.

The second thing he noticed was that he was under a bush. He picked his head up a little only to discover that the brambles above him had gotten entangled in his hair, and his forehead scraped against the tough shrubbery. That really did a number on his headache.

The third thing he noticed was that his hands were tied. And not just tied, but tightly bound together behind his back, nearly at his shoulder blades. His right wrist crossed over top of his left. He tried to move them, no luck. He decided it was quite possibly the most painful position he had ever been placed in.

The fourth thing he noticed was that he was having a pretty bad day. And it only looked to get worse as it dragged on.

"Great, just great," he muttered, trying to free himself from his bonds, but once more failing. Whoever had bound him had done a thorough job at it, and if Aloric ever managed to find the man responsible, he planned to congratulate him on a job well done. Although he couldn't help but hope he never saw either of the two gentlemen he had met earlier ever again. But really, what were the chances of that?

He tried to piece together in his mind the events that led up to his current situation. He cursed at himself for being so foolish as to follow the Smith's tracks backwards. It could have proven a fatal error, and he was quite surprised that he was still alive, knowing his luck. Of course, what had actually occurred was probably the second worst thing. He was alone without a clue as to where he was, his hands were useless, and he had a splitting headache.

And he was sure he just heard a wolf howling.

He decided something must be done in order to ease his discomfort. He rolled around on the forest floor for a few moments, trying to gain enough momentum to pull himself free of the brambles. This way and that he rocked, slowly but steadily moving himself in the direction he desired. Finally, he was free. He rolled onto his back, kicked his legs into the air, then lunged his entire body forward, pushing his feet down hard into the soil and moving himself upward.

"I do believe that's the smartest thing I've done in some time," he breathed, congratulating himself on a job well done.

Unfortunately, he must have gotten too excited. His continuing momentum moved his body further forward, he lost his balance, and fell face first back into the dirt.

"Mmph."

He didn't feel like trying that move again. He focused his gaze ahead to the small stream. This would be his destination. The rolling on the ground like an earthworm thing had worked earlier, so he decided he'd try that again. He rolled back and forth on the ground as he moved over to the stream. The ground level went downward as it got closer to the stream, so the ranger was able to catch a small downward slope and propel himself quickly forward until he met the rocks at the bank. Face first.

"Ouch."

But at least he had gotten to where he wanted to go. He considered it an achievement. If he had regained the use of his arms, he would have patted himself on the back.

He scooted forward by flopping on his stomach, and managed to get over the rocks. Now nothing stood between him and the water. "Ah, finally something to quench my thirsts." He tried to cup his hands together to grab some of the liquid, which is when he remembered he couldn't do that. He quickly thought of an alternative and stuck his tongue out and inched it toward the surface of the water. He could taste its cooling powers on his taste buds. He could feel sweet healing of his aches and pains.

Then he fell in.

Water overtook him, fully encased his body. Sure, he hadn't planned to fall in, but it felt wonderful! The scrapes on his arms and shoulders seemingly washed away with the current, and he felt wholly refreshed. He twisted and turned in the water, smiling all the while. It became the high point of his day.

If only he had a way out.

Curin waited calmly, listening to the drip of his own blood and sweat as it fell onto the dried leaves underfoot. A part of his mind watched, and listened. A part of his mind had wandered away.

Far away, beyond Aelin and south of the mountains, was Neiruthaun. And awaiting his return in Neiruthaun was Meluinîs, his betrothed. Already a long decade had passed, and even now he was beginning a new quest, which he must complete before he could return. That part of his mind, as it wandered, mused upon Curins' life, and asked the simple question: why not just go home?

Thus it was, only a breath away from deciding to do just that, there was a movement, and Vaudeux walked out of deeper cover, alive and unharmed, appearing calm, but looking gravely concerned, and with more haste in his step than Curin had seen in him as yet. “Come." said he. "we need to leave this place,”

Curin did not question, or attempt to guess Vaudeuxs' tone, but from a life lived long amongst dangerous men, Curin knew not to question, not yet at any rate. He nodded, and indicated the direction in which the ranger was bound.

Vaudeux was quiet, his expression dark. Curin thought he perceived a thrumming tension coming from the man, as if he wished he could flee, light as a deer. They found the place the ranger had been tied, and Curin quickly interpreted the tracks, which lead him to the river, within which the man was trying to commit suicide. Curin snarled, and leapt in, and dragged the man out. The ranger was smiling, which only infuriated Curin further. He hurled him over his shoulder, and loped off heavily, in the direction the Smith had gone.

At the edge of the forest Curin stopped to pause. "Vaudeux, my guess is that these tracks will lead us through Alulanta, we can follow them exactly and laboriously, if you will gainsay my advice. I propose to skirt north of the fall-country. I will only be drawn within if we must. It is treacherous, and I do not know the country well. I will pick up the tracks again on the other side. Even the trees give the Smith away." Curin leant over, and ran his free hand across the bark. "You see that, how they have flowered in his path? I have some strength left in me yet, let us get clear of the woods, I know a place, but we will have to run for a good stretch of hours if we are to reach it before dawn. I will lead."

(OOC. Here I begin the expansion of Curins' observations of Vaudeux; in which I want to explore the possibility that Curin might notice Vaudeuxs' ascension into Guardianship of Fire...Hidden Flame)

So it was they ran, Vaudeux running lightly and without tiring, Curin ever more slowly as his strength dwindled. But he would not ask Vaudeux to carry the ranger, for fear the man would simply slit his throat and be done with him. BUt even as the earliest silver could be seen on the horizon they stepped down into a depression in the land, within which a stand of sycamores stretched up, their pale trunks like the pillars of a hall. Now Curin put his burden down, without another word he passed into the brightening dawn, with a long switch, and a length of twine in his hand. He struggled with his fatigue, and his roiling thoughts, but he snared a brace of pidgeons from their roost, and returning to his companions, he wordlessly cleaned and de-boned them, effortlessly removing the delicate bones, with a significant look in the rangers direction as he did so. He lit a small fire, and cleaned his hands.

Then he took out the axe, Úechadring, and pressed its point up under the rangers' chin. "Now, my friend. I have carried you all this way, because I mean to see you live, even if I have to drag you every step of my way. But I needn't kill you to make it worth your while to talk. I have never tortured a man, never before. But I am warning you, when I tire of you, I pass you on to my... companion. For now, all I want to know, is what to call you? Why were you following the smiths' tracks? And who you are working for? Once you have answered, you can eat."

What he thought was an escape route, turned out to be some sort of rescue mission. What Jupiter thought was a large bundle of goods, was the very ranger that had stumbled upon them while they were still safe in the clearing. Vaudeux watched, stunned, as Curin extended his own safety to assist the floundering man. There was determination in the woodsman’s eyes, in the grimace across his lips, something that the half-breed could not place. What was more, is that he intended on continuing with their journey, even with the extra wheel. Vaud’s eyes were open and traced with child-like perplexing, as his handsome face surveyed his accomplice. His mind seemed to have been weighted down; slowly searching for the right words in response, but nothing came. Nothing could express what he was feeling. Bemusement, yearning - it would not have been an adequate reply. All he could do was trust what Curin was promising, yet the trust of a thief was much like forcing a square object through a spherical hole - difficult to come by.

To the bark of the towering oaks, and the direction of the winds, Jupiter could say he knew naught of the secrets that nature possessed, but he also instilled a secret confidence that this woodsman knew much. Though, to this trust, he was abhorrent to have a backing to save himself from possible danger. He wouldn’t owe Curin anything and, if something were to happen, Vaud would save himself first. The thoughts constipated his mind and choked his throat, so the only thing he could produce was a solemn grunt that accompanied a curt nod and, before he knew it, they started to make their way through the wood. He took care to follow the woodsman and his luggage, flopping limply over one shoulder, trying to mask his disgust for the extra soul into concentration over his own footfalls.

They trampled over the usual forest undergrowth, meeting protruding roots and wild bushes that swept at their sides and greeted them at their feet. Minutes passed in silence but that of their crunching footfalls. Jupiter could feel his muscles working now more than ever. He expected to soon be overcome by the fatigue of strain and work, but no such feelings came. In fact, as he ran, his body seemed to be fueling itself, telling him to run faster, to produce giant strides. Soon he was sprinting and darting in between trees - his feet light - almost elevating off the forest floor with his speed. It was a new experience. Something he couldn’t quite fathom, but one he welcomed. It was only when he noticed his accomplice start to slow did he falter his pace. They remained wordless, their breath extending over moist lips and perspired chins. Trees surrounded them in a ring as the sun slowly lowered itself to rest and steal the remaining light away with it.

Curin took to the spot immediately, fetching food as quickly as they landed and returning before Vaudeux was forced to resume babysitting responsibilities. He sprawled himself over his glorious cloak, that put space between him and the dirt, and subtly surveyed the ranger from across their clearing. Secretly he wondered what Curin was planning to do with the man, before the lighting of a fire captivated him. Even from his distance across the space he could feel its warmth. He could feel the skin on his palm tingle as he watched the small red flames lick up from ashen logs and tickle the flesh of the meat above. Before he could ponder the peculiar sensation, the familiar light struck the surface of a blade before pulling its way towards the skin of the stranger. Jupiter sat up straighter to observe Curin at work, yet his eyes were filled with intrigue appearing dangerous under the shadowed sky. It was now or never, between body and blood, soon he would find the true intentions of the woodsman and his ranger. The fire twinkled in his eyes from across the space in anticipation, so far all he had heard from this other man was incoherent blabbering.

The ranger hadn't even noticed he was drowning until his head finally was picked back up out of the water, and he inhaled deeply as his senses returned. What had he been thinking? He tried to recreate those last few moments in his head again to see where he went wrong. He remembered the limits of his bonds, and realized he had had no way of escaping the danger he had put himself in once more. But now he was safe, hurled over the shoulder of a burly explorer.

Hold on, Aloric thought to himself. Who's carrying me?

He glanced down. It was one of the two strangers he had encountered at the camp.

Oh.

Al started getting caught up to speed. Obviously, it had been these strangers that had hidden him beneath the bushes, and now they had come back for him. What were they going to do with him? This man could have just as easily left him to die as he struggled in the water, but he had returned and slung him over his shoulder, and now they were trudging through the wilderness.

These men had effectively saved his life, but were they intent on keeping him alive? He had already guessed at their goals. For the most part, their goals mingled with his own. And although he now was obliged to grant them a little bit of trust for rescuing him from himself, he had to believe it was altogether a bad idea to divulge his own motives to them. He just needed to stay calm and keep his mouth shut.

As the grass crunched beneath the woodsman's heavy footsteps, Aloric drifted in and out of consciousness. He couldn't help but feel humiliated as he was slung over the shoulder of the stranger. He doubted he had the strength on his own to keep up with the brisk pace of the two adventurers, but that didn't make it any easier to bear that he was being treated as a pet that was on a very tight leash. They didn't want him to go anywhere, and they intended to make sure escape was impossible. The ranger did marvel at the man's ability to keep him off the ground for so long, though.

Time became a blur as all the sameness dulled Aloric's senses. Every once in a while, he would suddenly wake up, not aware that he had ever been sleeping. He returned to the conscious world as he bobbed up and down on the shoulder of his captor. It wasn't making his headache any better. He wondered where they were. How far had they traveled?

He squinted his eyes and tried to make out the lay of the land. It all looked the same to him, but he knew the colors had changed slightly from where they had been before. The trees were a little more bland here, not as vibrant as they had been when they had been closer to the Elven city. As the travelers moved, the scenery moved along with them. Aloric glanced up at the skyline. Already the sun was making a gradual descent below the horizon. They had been running for a few hours.

Content that he had discerned the time and place, he devoted what thoughts processes he had left to deciding what to do about his current situation. He had made an idiot of himself back when they had all first met, though under the circumstances he couldn't be blamed completely. But that was how they viewed him now. He needed to really get serious, he needed to study these men and find out their motives. He had to be at his sharpest.

It was almost asking too much of him.

Suddenly, the woodsman dropped Aloric to his feet and took off in silence toward some unknown destination. This left the ranger alone with the menacing figure that had become his traveling partner. Aloric gulped.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for the other man to return, fowl in hand. Aloric remembered what it was like to have to catch one's own food. He had had to do it for so many years. It was surprising he still wasn't deft with a weapon after all of that practice. But he didn't expect much from himself these days.

The man bent down and cleaned the meal, ignited a fire, and produced an axe. He brought it all the way up to Al's chin. The ranger desperately wanted to reach for the weapon sheathed at his side, but he was reminded that his hands were still bound. Defense would be impossible. The friendlier of the two strangers had just turned impressively dangerous.

"Now, my friend. I have carried you all this way, because I mean to see you live, even if I have to drag you every step of my way. But I needn't kill you to make it worth your while to talk. I have never tortured a man, never before. But I am warning you, when I tire of you, I pass you on to my... companion. For now, all I want to know, is what to call you? Why were you following the smiths' tracks? And who you are working for? Once you have answered, you can eat."

It was a simple question, and yet Aloric didn't dare answer it truthfully. In fact, he wondered how the man had known he wasn't working alone. Had his awkward antics given him up?

As much as he wanted to trust this man for saving his life, he knew the trust was not reciprocated. Aloric had done nothing that would make this man want to trust him. He would have to hope he could come up with a lie that was convincing enough for him to earn his meal.

But at least this man didn't want to kill him.

"When I'm not busy falling unconscious and being carried by complete strangers, I work alone." Yeah, right. Suddenly, a spark went off in Aloric's mind. He ran with it. "My friend has recently gone missing, but he had mentioned the Smith before he had disappeared. It is the only thread I have to go on. I've heard tales of this Smith, and was hoping I could manage to make my way into an audience with him." Hopefully, this would not conflict with this man's own plans. He tried to think of more to say to embellish his story, give it credence, but that was all he could think of. He had to try and change the subject, carry the man away from his questions. The ranger bent his head down and sighed heavily. "You can call me Aloric."

Curin watched the ranger intensely, even hoping his breath, hot and sour from his long run, would add to his sense of menace. Curins' eyes slitted, the rangers' eyes were shifting to the bottom left, he's inventing a deception Curin knew, but not necessarily a lie. Perhaps he was trying to concoct a way to tell only some of the truth. Curin pressed the point of Úechadring a little more firmly beneath the chin, and widened his eyes, so that the whites might be seen.

"When I'm not busy falling unconscious and being carried by complete strangers, I work alone." The rangers' eyes glazed, he had frightened himself, and was considering what he'd said; but went on; "My friend has recently gone missing, but he had mentioned the Smith before he had disappeared. It is the only thread I have to go on. I've heard tales of this Smith, and was hoping I could manage to make my way into an audience with him." Now the rangers eyes delved, with surprising sharpness and clarity into Curins' own. Now he is trying to read me Curin calculated. Very well, I will let him beleive his story has been adequate. The ranger bent his head down and sighed heavily. "You can call me Aloric."

Curin let his expression pale, and looked horrified with himself. He dropped Úechadring to the ground, and passed his hands over his face, dragging at his beard."Alas! I have become a brigand! Curin held out his hands pleadingly, and shook his head, in dis-beleif at himself. "Aloric, I had no idea. I fear for the Smith myself, I fear he has been captured. I run now to his aid. Come, run with me, our paths are now bound. Stand man, and forgive me, if you will." Curin dragged Aloric to his feet, making sure his fists dug roughly into Alorics' throat and chin, and whipped out his knife, and for a half a moment holding it in Alorics' face -menacingly, with the whites of his eyes glittering- before he reached about and cut Alorics' bonds, as if it was completely normal to hold your knife in someones' face. He wanted to keep the man on edge.

Curin dusted off Alorics' clothes, and straightened his collar, turning to Vaudeux, whose entire demeanour was one of barely bridled loathing and contempt. "That was a mighty run, Master Vaudeux. You have the heart of an elk. You run as if your veins were filled with fire, and not mere life-blood. It was remarkable, the man lay quite comfortably on his cloak, in spite of the cold, and was clearly perfectly at ease.

"Aloric, I am Curin of Neiruthaun; this, my companion, Master Vaudeux. Come, all my fears are allayed. Sit near to the fire, and I will set to work atoning for some of my ill-treatment." Curin pressed Aloric nearer to the fire, and threw down his fur cloak for the man to sit upon. "I must go and find more timber, though, for the fire; and I would like a look of the stars, and a breath of more open air, I am near the end of my strength. I will leave you two to acquaint each other further" Curin moved only a small distance away, near enough that his companions would have no idea of his presence, but so that had could hear their words. He haunched down, with his arms wrapped about his knees, and he shivered and shook.

Through the darkness of the trees Curin could see the familiar shadow of wings in the last fading light, and he knew the golden harrier was looking at him. Aye, golden-one. I know you can see me. He thought bitterly, filled in earnest with self-loathing and doubt. Curin was concerned by his actions, and the sudden aptitiude to violence he had uncovered; but he would take none of his actions back. Let the Golden Harrier see, even if he reported to Lothlómendil hersef. Curin just wished he knew why he was being watched.

As soon as the sun had dropped out of sight in the west, the stars kindled, and they were no comfort to Curin either. Borgil, the Scarlet, glittered down at him bloodily.

He chose to ignore the strange comments of his fellow, Curin. Before then, he never knew words would be so strangely meshed and for a comment on his sprinting stride. For now, Jupiter would cast the man off and continue to think him bizarre. He allowed his face to show nothing but neutral observing, watching the two men exchange words and ally with one another. If he had his say, they would cut all excess fat, despite the peculiar ties with their common goal: the smith. He didn’t know Curin, but felt him slightly reckless and unreasonable. He also knew less of the bumbling ranger Aloric, but feared a clever façade and an even keener plot.

The sun set and the warmth of the brilliant forest disappeared with it. In the aftermath of his haste, Vaud could feel nothing but the buzzing of his muscles, singing laments of strain to their host. With the fire near and his mind occupied, the cold was an unheard whisper caressing the tips of his ears. “-this, my companion, Master Vaudeux.” Jupiter looked upwards at the woodsman, almost in alarm. Faintly was his first name used, as was his desire to tell others his name. To hear it used so freely required some fondness, yet produced irritation. He watched Curin walk from their midst, leaving a contemplative air hovering like a cloud after him. A man to yearn for the comfort of the stars, had to be troubled indeed.

Nevertheless, the silence was sinking deep into the dark clearing. It clawed its way into the atmosphere until it reeked awkward fumes. Vaud looked up with just his eyes, white cornea’s popping in the dark of his tanned complexion and of the night shadows. For a moment he considered reaching the man at his weak motives, perhaps sharing something private, gain some false trust; but he had no desire to make friends and he could see nothing he could gain by doing so. With his pale eyes piercing their distance, he finally spoke, his tone reminiscent of a slothful sigh, “It is Jupiter.” Waving languidly at himself, he then reclined back on his soft cloak, feeling its richness rub against the tender skin of his neck – caressing his senses of relaxation. It was all he had to say to the man. If they were stuck together, he wasn’t going to have a barrage of “Vaudeux’s” littering their footsteps – especially by a stranger. Here, he would feint sleep, or relaxation – yearning for their rough woodsman to return and abolishing Aloric’s quiet.

That night, that first night, Vaudeux would not eat. His trust did not reach that far, nor did his stomach. His eyes would avoid sleep, keeping watchful of his acquaintances and of the nature around them. His mind, thick in paranoia, refused to wane to the calls of slumber and to the new calls of returning company. And his ears were as alert as the predators of the night, stalking their prey.

If nothing else, it was certain that these men intended to give Aloric a heart attack. Curin's movements were swift and deliberate, and more threatening than anything he had yet seen in that other man, the one he now called Vaudeux. The woodsman's eyes gave off an intense passion, they almost spoke a promise to the ranger, informing him that he was treading on very thin ice. The knife only seemed to further the message. Aloric was eager to comply, and was quite fine with the idea of keeping his mouth shut for the rest of the night.

And for all his mixed signals of friendship and ferocity, Curin seemed to genuinely be a nice person. He invited Aloric over to the fire, a wish the ranger willingly obliged, and set his coat in the earth for him to sit on. Aloric wasn't the greatest of people-readers (his social awkwardness wouldn't allow it), but he got the feeling that this man meant well, one way or another. He couldn't say as much for his companion, however.

The man named Vaudeux was sitting not too far away, and was now left with only the ranger as Curin made his way into the thick of the trees to gather lumber for the fire. The man's eyes seemed to pierce through him and continue out behind his head, gazing off into the distance of the forest. Nervous as can be, Aloric wasn't even sure he was the one being addressed when the man at length finally spoke. “It is Jupiter.”

Aloric cocked his head to the side in curiosity. He really didn't follow the man's train of thought, and briefly toyed with the notion that this man could be clinically insane. What was he talking about? What was Jupiter? But he let the issue drop, and tried his best to smile. "You got it, Vaudeux."

That night, that first night, Aloric gorged himself, eating as much food as he could. Pigeon wasn't his favorite meal, but he couldn't be sure he'd get another chance to eat in some time, so he wrapped his teeth around the meat and made the best of it. Wordlessly he chewed, not risking a conversation with Vaudeux, who didn't seem too interested in eating, himself. Just more for me, I suppose. He was glad that there hadn't been any confrontation on that first night between the two, as the departure of Curin could have proved to be quite awkward. But he was spared the opportunity of death once more. Alone with his thoughts and finally free from his bonds, he sighed and reflected on the day's happenings.

He was lucky to be alive.

Who would have thought it would come to this? He would never have believed that so much could have gone so wrong in such a short amount of time, and yet here he was, in the company of two strangers that were the deadliest men he had met in some time, both seeming to have a purpose similar to his, and still altogether different. Curin had said he was looking for this man, this smith, as well. Was that good news, or bad news? Did these men seek the same weapon as Mysrin, the mercenary he was indebted to?

He couldn't be bothered with such thoughts right now, though he made sure to keep them in the back of his mind. Right now, he needed to focus on getting through the rest of this night alive, and deal with the future when it came. Looking up at the stars, he prayed to some unknown deity that he would be granted favor while among this company, and with a full stomach, he fell reluctantly into a deep sleep.

At length Curins senses were quelled, and his wakeful thought returned, looking down to where he had sketched a rough map of Ea in the dirt between his crouched knees; he reached down, taking a handful of the earth, lifting it to his face to breathe in the flinty fragrance, then letting it sift through his hands. And slowly, at first, the wheels of his mind turned, and he weighed his resolve against the hardships he envisaged.

When he stood, he was renewed, and he realised all the dark weight of his thoughts were but the heaviness of the falling evening. At dawn he would find his usual resolve. Upon the Red Wanderer the pallid starlight fell, silvery gray, as Curin walked from beneath the tree-cover and into the free air.
Far off, he perceived a dark line of trees, dancing with the impossibly slow grace of trees in the shifting night airs; likely willows and poplars leaning over a river. Longing to wash himself of all the blood, and the bitter sweat of his long run he moved off as soundlessly as an owl upon wing. Until he reached the gently murmuring water he thought of nothing, nor heard anything but the sussuration of his own breath in his breast. Here shallow banks of dark red clay were grown with every imaginable growing thing; foxgloves, irises, and saxifrage, all overshadowed by the tall arms of the willows and poplars. He stooped beside the river, and cast his clothes aside, and waded into the water, icy cool, but whose touch was wholesome and clean, and smelled of fallen willow-leaves, burned raisin-sweet by the sun. Reaching down into the water, he dragged up hands full of the sand and small stones, and scrubbed himself clean; then tended to his clothes. And at length he realised he sang a low song, in a quiet voice. And he stood, looking down at the dark mirror of the river water, and he thought he could see the glimmer of the stars above his head. And scarlet-Borgil, the star of wrath and bloodshed, was no where to be seen.

At dawn he returned, nodding to his companions. "I have wandered far this night, and am even more certain of my guesses." Curin explained their path again, and the things of which he was sure, the things he considered risks, and as many of the difficulties as he could imagine. He did this not to discourage anyone, nor to appear as if he was the authority. But all the lands between them and their destination were largely unfamiliar, but for the southern reaches of the Ered Annon.
Curin marvelled, stretching somewhat wearily, that Jupiter appeared wholly recovered from the ordeals of the previous day; and Alorics' face and demeanor seemed less closed and cagey, though clearly thoughts moved like the wheels of vast machines in them. I wonder what he is hiding Curin mused.

Curin led them back to the river that day, and let the course of the river lead them, though it steered too far to the north. But so close to Yomenïampa the Ranger wanted to remain hidden from what eyes might want to follow them. In the mean time Curin foraged, stooping to pull hanks of wood-sorrel, delving steady hands into promising depths of cress, managing to catch a fine fattened trout completely by hand. He did not trouble Jupiter that day, whose thoughts seemed dark, and private. But Curin drew near to Aloric, and endeavoured to draw him into speech, encouraging him to collect things that were good to eat; the wild-grown parsley, the woody wild mint. They took their afternoon meal where Curin chanced to find a rambling growth of potatoes. He struggled to light even a lick of flame on all the rotted willow-branches, wishing he could roast the potatoes in the thick covering of the dirt from which they had been delved. "This is a happy chance!" Curin glowed, as he dug out a small sack-full of the mishappen root-vegetables. "These will be more precious to us than gold as we attept to bypass Lake Aelin! Foraging is hard there, even without considering the wolves!" Curins' smile faded as he was unable to light his tinder. "I don't know what is wrong with me! I can't get the wood to light!" Curin looked to his companions in frustration. "Jupiter, I have squandered the last of my tinder, have you any to light us a fire?"

The night before seemed to set the tone for the journey ahead. And for one ephemeral moment, he felt as he if were an outcast. The night drifted by with the frequency of the soft clouds above. A round crimson sun spilt its morning rays over the valley of the Elven city and its surrounding wood, until every crevice could feel its warming effects. The leaves grew heavy upon the trees, only to be captured by the crisp autumn winds and to decorate the chocolate grounds like assorted colored sweets. Vivid reds and the oranges of oak, fall had crept upon Vaudeux faster than he had realized, just as his current adventure. He opened his eyes to the beat of the breeze, tickling the branches; that swayed overhead.

Where he lay, which was once bare the previous night, was littered with vegetation in every color of fall. When he was a child, he might have enjoyed the sights of nature in its decaying process - for it meant it would again renew with spring - but now he was impervious to its peaceful effects. Nature no longer was his save haven, it was a dirty place meant for long travel and for the farmers. He clasped the edges of his cloak, which he converted to a blanket overnight, and jerked it from him, exploding leaves in every direction in the process. A good remainder of the morning he spent tending to his new attire, picking the brittle bits of leaf from its expensive cloth. Before long, his companions woke and he addressed them with a glance that did nothing to support an air for bonding.

Instead he flung the sweeping garment over his broad shoulders when it was time to depart and followed Curin through the open forest and winding trail. The path was thick with fresh foliage, but their footsteps were muffled with the leftovers of morning dew. For the bulk of their journey he watched his steps, uninterested in the changing world around him. The others took to each other and, thankfully, left him alone. He watched them dig through the dirt, pluck various greenery from bushes along the way, all at an ambling pace from behind. He was grateful they did not invite him in the festivities of their harvest, and dreaded to think of the time he would have to spend grooming himself afterwards. Meanwhile he thought back to the time he had spent at the Nature temple. Seeing his mother’s face. How happy she looked to be seeing him, but at the same time so sad. Had I disappointed her? Jupiter’s thoughts raved, replaying their moment in the clouds from the back of his mind.

Perhaps she had expected him to become a warrior, or a general, like his father. Or something greater, a Duke, a Knight, but anything than what he was now? What am I? His thoughts broke and the chatter of the men ahead grew louder to sink in, along with the feelings of, again, being an outsider. His recollections reeled, his life’s accomplishments and tasks. A thief, a murder, a dragon. He looked up angrily, brows hooding his eyes, as a sinister voice growled, almost as if it was in approval, from the back of his conscious. Forcefully he pushed the thoughts from his mind as if he could push them as far away from his mother as he could. Instead he called up his triumphs in Nafalen’s tournament, his name would forever enchant the lips of the fans that had followed him from the beginning. And, as if he could repent, make her proud he finalized with a solitary thought, A warrior.

After wasting steps finding a space for their lunch, Curin feverishly worked for their meal near a grouping of loose sticks and brush, flourishing over his findings for the day. He looked onward as the man began to light a fire, without avail. Impatience found him at once as Curin failed and the desire to do it right increased. Finally, with a feeling of frustration to match that of the woodsman’s expression, Vaudeux willfully came to his aid. He walked deliberately towards the brush and knelt, removing two stones from the earth, one flat and the other of standard shape. “I use these,” He remarked as he began to strike the flat stone with the other, conscious that Curin was closely watching him. Rather than concentrating on what he was doing, and feeling the eyes bore into him, he began to break sizeable chunks into his palmed rock rather than emitting enough friction to produce a spark. Once a large shard broke off, the half-breed momentarily stopped only to realize what he had done.

Before humiliation could bubble in his belly, he returned to work with the stones, this time concentrating and striking at a different angle. His eyes bore into his own work, pin pointing the very location at which the stones struck each other. He willed them to produce a spark, confident in his past abilities to do so. After a few more slow hits his very palms were tingling, as if with some unseen force, and then, suddenly, the stones clacked and out jumped a glint. The dry brush lit up at once and Vaudeux sat back erectly to view his work in satisfaction. There he dropped the stones and the tingling of his hands zapped back to its unforeseen location. As the flames ate the sticks, he chanced a quick glance at the woodsman, nodded, and returned to his former spot across the clearing; where he found that he had broke a small sweat.

The ranger was awoken - rather rudely, he thought - to the sounds of the other men stirring in conversation. He begrudgingly opened his eyes, though his lids resisted his commands and fell back down upon his vision. He gave two or three more false starts before he finally became fully awake, picking up on the tail end of Curin's speech.

As the sun came up above the horizon he realized what he had experienced the night before could under very few circumstances be considered sleep. He had tossed and turned, turned and tossed, tucked and rolled, rolled and tucked; he had contorted his body every which way in an attempt to find comfort out in the wilderness. But it had been long since he had spent a night out here, at one with nature, and it had taken its toll on him. Groggily he rose to his feet and, defying the faulty balance of his body, he tried to stand still and shake off his fatigue.

Aloric wasn't a man known for his quick uptake or empathic personality, but even he could tell that Vaudeux was not a man to be messed with this morning, and Curin seemed to know it, as well. As they packed up camp and made their way toward the river, he made a point to stick closer to their guide and farther from the man with the permanent scowl. He noted that Vaudeux, for all his handsome and captivating looks, was not the owner of a sunny disposition by any stretch of the imagination, and was quite a dull companion to have on this journey. In fact, the same could be said for all three that set out toward the river, so instead of focusing on the odd company, the ranger thought about his quickly dwindling options.

He didn't have many more cards to play, and it seemed to him that he was among the few folk he should have been avoiding on this quest to reclaim his personal freedom. But fate was never his ally and ever his foe, and he would simply have to adjust to the new set of circumstances he had been thrust into. He reminded himself that his very life was on the line. It certainly wasn't the time for heroics, but he would have to do something eventually if he had any hope of bringing back the gift, the voucher that would secure his life.

Curin, the ranger with actual merit, seemed hellbent on drawing the incapable ranger into discussion, something that Aloric clearly was not a fan of. Yet he reasoned that it would be best to humor his hosts for the time being, and allowed himself to be the woodsman's apprentice for the day. He watched as the elder traveler scoured the forest floor for anything worth hanging onto, and Aloric attempted to do the same. Very quickly he realized he didn't know the difference between a poisonous plant and a harmless one. Occasionally he found something he knew a bit about, and would feverishly bring his findings to Curin's attention.

None of his discoveries matched the patch of potatoes that Curin unearthed, however, and they soon broke for lunch. He watched as the woodsman turned to Vaudeux for assistance with the fire, pretending he didn't hear the mention of wolves. That's the last thing I need now, he mused, and then gave it no more thought, focusing wholly on the attempt to ignite a flame. He briefly considered encouraging Vaudeux and offering him suggestions, but quickly shot down the prospect when he came to the conclusion that this man stood to gain absolutely nothing from anything Aloric had to say. He kept his mouth shut and let the others do the work. It was hard to contain his excitement, however, when a spark jumped up from the pile of wood, promising he would soon have a meal on his hands.

Curin was aware of an increasingly intense whisper at the edge of hearing, as Jupiter took the stones in hand, to strike a flame. Before the spark leapt away Curin felt as if someone was forcefully hissing in his ear, and he found himself leaning closer and closer. It was as if the noise was coming from Jupiters hands.
With a sigh of releif Curin leant away, the spark settling hungrily amongst the tinder. He rubbed a shaky hand across his brow, blinking a little, as if he had been half-strangled and lights shifted at the edge of his sight.
But with such wonderful fodder to use, Curin readily shook the strange sensation off, and busied himself with the happy fervour of preparing their meal. He was perfectly content for the time it took to make the dinner; his own thoughts every bit as loud and consuming as if someone was talking to him. All the while, as he nodded and mused to himself, his nimble hands shelled fresh-water crayfish, tossing them through a stock of their own braising juices.

At the edge of his peace of mind were the grave concerns for the Smith; but Curin had grown deeply in his trust of the Ranger, Aloric, over the length of the day; watching him closely for some sign of falsehood. But if he sensed anything, it was only bafflement, and perhaps even a trace of respect from Aloric- which Curin found strangely touching. It brought out feelings of defenciveness in himself that he thought were strangely polar to the emotions he had felt so recently about the Aloric. At any rate, Curin felt less concerned that the Smith was at the mercy of murderers. Aye, take your time Curin. The Red-wanderer mused to himself.You are worrying yourself into a state. You need to keep a clear mind; you're even hearing things now. Curin looked over to the sullen Jupiter, looking with knitted brows at the mans' powerful hands.
Before long Curin had served the crayfishes in a sauce tossed with the lemony tang of the frsh-picked sorrel leaves, which he allowed to half-braise, a gorgeous green, in the sauces. He restrained himself from taking any of the precious potatoes; contenting himself instead with the other roots and shoots which were plentiful at that point in time of the seasons, but which would be long-gone by the time the potatoes came into the fullness of their value.

After their meal Curin took a moment to lean close to Jupiter, explaining to the man his quiet fears."I deem you are neither tired, nor is there any shadow of fear upon you. But I sense your bristling silence. Heavy in the air, as if lightening were about to strike. I know I am not your friend, Vaudeux Jupiter. I do not offer my help. I would not condescend you by doing that. I do not know what you know, or what might be concerning you: but I have begun to worry for you; and what ever you want from me, just tell to me. I am at your service." He stood awkwardly in the beam of the unflinching glare, and excused himself; sitting nearer to the extremely content-seeming Aloric. Curin smiled at the rangers bemused expression, and reached for the pot, handing over the last juices to the ranger."You sleep Aloric; I'll take all three watches this night." He smiled, and felt his tiredness rush in at him like the onslaught of a flood. Scolding himself for his offer; and wondering from whence the generous notion had sprung.
Curin stood, and moved a short distance away, watchign the gathering darkness, and allowing his turbulent thoughts to take root, and hopefully grow into some semblance of sense.

Lifting the light tin utensil, he slowly and graciously brought the meat to his full lips; letting the juices drip from the fork and onto his tongue. Its tanginess ignited his senses, a fresh taste that was so foreign to his buds that Vaudeux couldn’t help but indulge. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tasted something so succulent or that was more worthy of his attention. Though the food was something that tore him away from his self-excavated pit of independence, it still left him with a sense of emptiness. One, deep within the pit of his stomach, strange, tiny void that felt as if it could never be filled - even with the grandest of meals. Nevertheless, Jupiter cleaned his plate and frowned down at it before expelling it into the pile of other dishes. As he returned to his spot he found that Curin was at his side and, rather than avoid it, he settled back down to take in the ominous word.

From what Vaudeux could detect, Curin was an incredible observant, very aware of the nature around him, and open - the emotions free to view upon his sleeves. But Jupiter was the opposite. He guarded his emotions so heavily it was like he was constantly wearing a mask, his own shield. A shield, he had learned, that had protected him for the majority of his life. And, what was his exterior toughness, was a façade - the very pretense that could worry any open-hearted fool. Then, just as Jupiter had expected, his closeness had- “I am at your service." Curin explained, leaving Vaudeux rather taken-aback. Being the expert as he was at concealing what he was thinking, he merely looked back to the woodsman, while his mind calculated the best response.

There, his lips curled into an arrogant smirk that played handsomely across his jaw. But he just sat, watching Curin as if there were locked in a staring game. Then, when the man walked off towards Aloric, Jupiter hissed, “It is not me who you should be worrying about.” He then settled back into his tuft of dirt, to survey his work. The night passed by quickly, again with dreamless sleep, and he awoke first once more. From there, the party took leave from their campsite and journeyed out through the wilderness. Even after Curin had opened up to Jupiter, it changed nothing during travel. If anything, Vaudeux felt even more distant from the group, walking behind at a slow pace to keep up with the ambling and searching that so occupied his accomplices. And so, he immersed himself deep within