Misdirection

"Do you remember that time in the infirmary..?"

"That halfling, what was his name?"

"So annoying, and then I gave him that box that was WAY out of his range..."

"I didn't know such a little person could make such a big mess!"

"He deserved it."

"Goodness, and then Lady Annael came in to see what the fuss was and I panicked. You blamed it right on his friend with such a straight face, and she believed you!"

“She always did, it is my open and honest nature.”

The women dissolve into laughter, linking arms as they stroll down the street.  The Elven woman slows her pace, gazing at her companion appraisingly as the Empath wipes a tear from her eye. "We really need to do this more often, Sonjaa. We do not see nearly enough of you."

The Human flushes slightly, still charmingly easy to fluster after all this time.  "I know, m’Lady.  ‘Tis like we say this every time we get together, and then something always..."

A sudden clamor rises to break the early morning quiet, warning bells and shouting coming from the general direction of the western gate.

"Right on cue," the Elf mutters.


Sonjaa fidgets slightly, picking at her promise ring. "I hate to dash, but I should probably see if they need help."

"It is fine, I will go see if I can rouse Sam. Go do what you do."

“If you can? Somehow, I don’t think that will ever be a problem!” she giggles, blushing despite herself.

Sendithu grins, stepping forward to hug her friend. She notes with a twinge of sorrow how the honey-haired woman still stiffens slightly before she returns the embrace even after all the decades they have known and trusted one another. There is a story there, but she will likely never tell me, she thinks to herself. Just as well, some wounds just cannot be mended.

Sonjaa beams brightly at her friend and they wish each other well then move off in opposite directions, one towards the growing sounds of trouble at the gates and the other towards her home outside the northern gate of Shard.  The streets were growing crowded this close to the gates with people rushing to and from the noise but everyone was careful to keep their distance from the raven-haired Elf’s immediate vicinity, a fact that made her smile.  Oddly, the brief curl of her lips seems to make the locals step back even further.  With a slight shake of her head she smooths her expression once again and presses on, turning her mind to idle thoughts about the various pleasant means of waking her husband.  The smile quickly returns but is immediately replaced by an irritated scowl when a body crashes into her side and falls to the ground in an undignified heap in front of her.

“Watch where you’re going, lady! I --” the body, a slender Elven girl, abruptly cuts off as she looks up, brushing the loose strands of red hair from her eyes. “Umm...I meant to say I’m sorry! I totally should have watched where I was walking!” She springs to her feet and begins dusting off her clothing, her green eyes darting around nervously.

Sendithu eases into a more relaxed stance, though her hand never strays very far from the weapons concealed at her hip.  “See that you are more cautious in the future,” she murmurs, turning to leave.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

The woman pauses, half turning. “Ask what?”

The red haired girl tilts her head curiously. “Where I’m going? Why I’m running? Anything?”

“No? Do I look like I have nothing better to do than idly chat with clumsy girls on the roadside?”

The girl sighs dramatically. “He said you might feel that way.”

“He?” Sendithu asks, violet eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yeah. Sorry about all this, but if you’re around, that big pile of metal is going to be a lot more focused and we don’t need all that headache right now. It’s nothing personal, you know, we just need him looking elsewhere, and we have a feeling he’s gonna want you back.”

“The hell are you babbling about, little girl?” Sendithu mutters, taking a step forward. Suddenly she felt it, that familiar dimming at the edge of her vision, a dull ache in her hip where the needle had struck, and the face of the girl before her starts to warp and melt. “Poisoning me? Are you joking? Do you have any idea…”  Whatever she is about to say is lost as she crumples to the ground, blackness overwhelming her.

The redhead sidles up to her, glancing around anxiously, but no one seems to be paying them any mind thanks to the small, well-timed bonfire in a shop near the western gate.  With a relieved sigh she hastily binds the woman’s hands and feet and gestures, watching with quiet pride as a not-quite-alive-anymore kobold lurches towards her and scoops the paralyzed woman up with a low groan. “Not really your mundane kinda poison, no. Special delivery for a special girl, lucky you! Come along now, the boss is waiting.”  She casts one more furtive glance over her shoulder and mutters a spell, vanishing with a flick of her wrist.  The kobold shambles off after her and disappears from sight.

* * * * * * *

The sun climbs higher in the sky, sending golden rays of light across the land, through the windows and directly into the eyes of a tall Human man as he lay abed.  Groaning in spite of himself, he rolls over, reaching across to slip an arm around his wife’s sleeping form but finds only empty air in her place.  He opens his eyes and rises, dressing quickly, and emerges from the bedroom to find himself alone in their home.  He briskly moves through his morning routine, deciding to head to the forge.  As he heads out the door, he brushes his finger against his albredine ring and directs a thought to Sendithu, only to be met with silence.

Strange, he thinks, she normally answers immediately and with...enthusiasm.  His pace slows slightly as he passes through the gates and makes his way through town, noting with some concern the crowd which is only just now beginning to disperse in the aftermath of what appears to have been a fair sized fire.  He catches Sonjaa’s eye and gives her a nod, but she is deep in her element tending to the wounded so he decides to leave her to her work and press onwards.  Once at the forge he settles in and begins the familiar work of checking over his tools, repairing armor, and the morning begins to slip away.

As time passes, the normally stoic Paladin becomes increasingly aware of the silence in his head.   He casts yet another thought through the ring, and again is met with quiet.  He begins to pack up his tools with a growing sense of unease when the door pops open with a bang and a giggle.

“Oh! Whoops. Sorry about that, hi!” A slender redheaded Elven girl peers into the room, her eyes widening slightly as she looks over the powerfully built Human standing at the anvil.

“You lost?” Samsaren asks, never pausing in his work.

“Aren’t we all? I mean, no. I hope not? Are you a weapons guy?” She traipses into the room, gazing around at the various tools curiously.

He chuckles slightly, shaking his head. “Not truly a ‘weapons guy’, no. More of an ‘armor guy’, though I’ve been known to dabble. Did you need something? I was just heading out.”

The girl grins impishly at him, stepping closer. “I do, actually.  My knife is all scratchy, do you think you could fix it?”

“Sure, hand it over here.” He unpacks his tools, setting them carefully on the table beside him, then freezes when he sees the narrow tyrium blade in the girl’s hands.  “Where did you get that?”

She tosses the blade from hand to hand, grinning at him. No fear in her eyes now, at all. His hand slowly clenches and unclenches at his side. “What this old thing? Had it for years. It’s a...whatsit. Heirloom. Family thing.” She sweeps the blade through the air before her with a flourish. “So can you fix it? I hate to see such a pretty thing laying around broken somewhere. Alone.”

He crosses the room before she can react, his free hand wraps around her throat and he lifts her off the ground to pin her against the wall.  She drops the blade in shock and it falls to the floor with a gentle ringing sound.  Her fingers scratch desperately at the back of his hand, big green eyes bulging as she fights for breath. The fear was back, now.

“Where is she?”

The girl gurgles and sputters, and Samsaren releases his grip on her throat, keeping her pinned in place with a hand beneath her chin.

“Where?”

She sucks in air gratefully and gasps, “Whoa, mister, you need to settle do--”

His face a mask of cold anger, he slaps her hard with his free hand. “Where?” he repeats, quietly.

“Seriously, you need to work on that. I don’t even know who--” Her stream of words breaks into a high pitched whine as his grip tightens on her lower jaw. “Okay, okay! Sheesh! I might have seen a lady with the knife before, but I can’t tell you if you break my face!”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know, I swear! I was just supposed to bring you the pretty sword! I did that, can I go?” Her boots scrabble against the wall as she struggles to hold herself up and relieve the pressure on her neck and jaw.

“Hey, brother. Got a moment? I was hoping you’d take a look at this --” the Elven male pauses mid-stride halfway into the room, taking in the scene before him.  “--shield. Nevermind, looks like you’ve got your hands full. Problems?”

“Maltris. Good timing. I need your wolf,” Samsaren says slowly, never taking his stormy grey eyes off the girl in front of him. “She’s got something that belongs to me.”

“Bad idea,” the Ranger mutters, crossing the room. His eyes narrow slightly, recognition flickering across his face as he gets a better look at the Elven girl being held aloft by the Paladin.  “Hold on, wait. I know her, she’s a --”

The girl flinches, then pulls her leg back aiming a strike directly between the Human’s legs, momentarily loosening Samsaren’s vice like grip on her chin as he deflects the blow and giving her the split second she needs to produce a small dagger from her sleeve.  She tilts her head back and thrusts the blade wide and his hand slips lower, clenching tight and snapping the girl’s neck with a deft twist.  He releases her with a frown and her body slides to the floor.  Within the space of two heartbeats, the corpse begins to twitch uncontrollably and the big, expressionless eyes flicker back to life.  She scoots back out of the way, spitting out a spell and flickers out of sight with a giggle.

“-- Necromancer. So don’t kill her.”

Samsaren stands silently for a moment then bends down to pick up his wife’s blade.  He’d seen this slender bit of tyrium handed to her the day Squanto forged it, stood with her as she dealt death with it, watched her polish the glossy chunk of Sunderstone in its hilt countless times.  Such a small thing, but it seems to weigh a thousand stones in his calloused hands now.  He carefully wraps the blade in a bit of cloth and slides it slowly into his sheath, gathering himself before he turns to his brother.

“We’re going hunting.”

* * * * * * *


Samsaren strides down the city streets, his face a thundercloud.  The faces of citizens once so welcome and familiar to him were all a blur, friendly greetings ignored as his feet sped him along his path, Maltris at his heels.  "Brother, slow down, we've got to figure out a plan, here."

The Paladin stops abruptly, rounding on the Elf. "A plan? The plan is that I get her back, and anyone that touches her regrets doing such, immediately and permanently. That's the plan."

"I don't disagree with that idea, I just think we ought to consider what we're walking into. This smells like a trap."

Samsaren smiles, but the expression never reaches his cold grey eyes. "Great. Just what I'm hoping for. We're moving."  The tall Human turns, only to hesitate at the call of a soft feminine voice behind him.

"M'Lord Samsaren? Is everything alright? You seem a bit...vexed."

"Gods be praised. Talk some sense into him, Sonjaa," Maltris mutters under his breath.

Samsaren glances at the Ranger, then turns his attention to the lady approaching him. He embraces her gently, then explains the situation to her briskly and omitting nothing.  A variety of emotions flickers over her lovely face as she absorbs the morning's events, finally settling on a concerned frown. "So, how can I help?"

"I can't ask you to do that, Sonjaa."

She smiles brightly. "You aren't asking, m'Lord. I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist. Now then, how can I help?"

Maltris, sensing defeat, whistles softly to his wolf who takes off at a trot, having already caught a faint scent trail in the forge.  The trio sets off; Sonjaa doing her best to pull Samsaren out of his angry silence, Maltris focusing on the search, Samsaren paying little mind to anything save the knot of anger in his stomach.  As the afternoon wears on, silence falls over them, with even Sonjaa's normally irrepressible spirit somewhat subdued. They march on for another hour or so, far away from the well-traveled southern trade routes now, until Samsaren stops abruptly, turning his head to the north and rubbing his thumb over his albredine ring.

"Everything alright, m'Lord?"

Samsaren frowns. "No. It's Eckan, he's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Maltris asks.

"The Condran kind."

"Of course," Maltris mutters, cursing. Sonjaa casts a puzzled look his way, so he expounds, "The events of the day are starting to make a lot more sense, that's all. No one in their right mind would go after Sendi directly, knowing what would follow." He glances meaningfully at the rigidly stanced Paladin. "Condran has never been accused of being in his right mind, though. His target was always the same: Eckan. What do we do here?"

"We? No. You. Go help Eckan. I will find my wife. You've narrowed the field tremendously, and I'm grateful, but he's going to need support right now."

The Ranger stares at his brother hard. "You're joking, right? You really thinking I'm leaving you, leaving any of you, right now? This whole thing reeks, he's doing this on purpose to separate us."

"Most likely, yes. Don't care. Go north, help Eckan. I've got this from here. We're close by now, I'm beginning to feel her through the bond."  Taking a slow breath through clenched teeth he continues, “Condran’s always been fixated on Eckan.  I CAN’T go, you must.”

The men stare hard at one another, neither willing to budge. Sonjaa fidgets slightly, clearing her throat to call attention to herself. "If I may, m'Lords." She gestures and an alfar warrior appears, stepping towards her protectively. "While little me is certainly no equal to either of you, 'tis my pleasure to offer what assistance I can. I would be honoured to aid Lord Samsaren, doubly so if it returned Lady Sendithu to his side."

Maltris frowns, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. "Fine, you win. The wolf should bring you close to her, hopefully it'll be enough. I'll go do what I can for Eckan and get back here. Please be careful, none of this feels right to me." He clasps forearms with Samsaren, and gazes thoughtfully at Sonjaa until she blushes. He gives her a hug, long enough to murmur in a voice pitched for her ears alone, "Take care of him, Lady. He's not himself right now. Not even close." He steps back, releasing her, and she nods at him solemnly. With a backwards glance at his companions, the Ranger jogs north through the woods.

“Shall we, then?” Sonjaa smiles, adjusting her shield. Samsaren marches off after the wolf without responding.

* * * * * * *


"...see why you had to be a part..."

"...asked me to! Me! I can finally..."

...doesn't care, he's using you, surely you..."

The voices - one feminine and agitated, one masculine and pleading - have an almost dreamlike quality as they fade in and out of her hearing.  She was finding it incredibly hard to focus, a fact that was making her increasingly angry, in turn making it even more difficult to concentrate on breaking through the thick miasma clouding her mind.  She closes her eyes, clouded with pain, and takes a few steadying breaths.

"You just don't get it, you don't know him..."

"...know enough. It's not good for you...use you up..."

"You're wrong, you're so wrong about him. You can't..."

The pain was intense. Every breath burned, every subtle twitch of a muscle ached. Whatever they'd used on her was potent and not showing any signs of loosening its hold on its own. A small part of her was jealous at the poison's efficacy, the rest was bitter at her own hubris, allowing herself to be compromised like this. Never again. A few more breaths, her eyes were growing less clouded, her mind able to file away more of what was going on around her.

"...always been jealous of him, you don't understand at all."

The male chuckles sadly. "Jealous? Not really. He does have a certain flair, but I've never been quite comfortable with the hold he has on you. I wouldn't exactly call it 'jealousy', though."

"Fine, whatever. Fact is, I'm doing this, it's already done. He needed me for something. Me! I'm not about to say no to him, not after everything he's done for me."

"It's not what he's done -for- you that worries me," the man says softly.

"You have no idea --" the girl begins.

"No, I suspect not. Be well, dear. I hope I see you again, in one piece, after all this shakes out." Footsteps, coming closer. She closes her eyes just before torchlight brightens the small chamber and a strong hand grasps her chin, turning her face towards the glow. Pain lances through her neck and her eyes involuntarily open to find an ebon skinned Rakash man gazing down at her dispassionately.  "You might want to prepare another dose, little nurse. Seems someone is trying to join the party."

"Ooh, good call. Thanks, Piney!" A rustling sound, a sharp jab in her upper arm, and the world begins to fade again.

* * * * * * *

It was the heat and noise that woke her next.

The ringing of metal against metal, the screams of the dying, the low booms of magical explosions all blended into a cacophony she was almost unable to decipher at first until adrenaline forces her eyes to open and shakes her addled mind into focus.  She is barely able to make out a few of the figures engaged in combat across the smokey chamber - the redhead, standing behind a sickly looking kobold and desperately calling out orders to a knot of cloaked mages, a honey haired woman (Sonjaa? Here?) weaving confidently into the fray as her alfar warrior carves a path in front of her, and a man whose presence buoyed her spirits and meant doom for any opposition left in this place.  Feeling more secure than she had since this whole episode began, she lay back and began working at extricating herself from the clumsy bindings the girl had left her in. Clearly they had intended for the poison - whatever it was - to do most of the work, the ropes come apart in short order and she pulls herself upright. Another loud thud reverberates through the wall as she staggers towards the doorway, this time caused by a body being hurled backwards off a massive damite shield. "Sam!" she calls out, her voice little more than a rasping whisper.

"Stay back, beloved. I've got you."

"No, beloved, I've got you!" The redhead points at her and the undead kobold lunges at Sendithu, crossing the chamber impossibly fast.  She instinctively reaches for her blade, realizing too late that she was stripped of her weapons and falls into a low crouch. Abruptly the Elven girl is struck by a translucent stream of golden energy and collapses, unconscious.  The undead creature hesitates momentarily at the interruption of its master's will, and that one second is all it takes. Without a sound, a dull black blade bursts through the zombie's chest from behind and the creature falls to the floor. Immediately, the decay process overcomes the creature. Within a span of seconds, the putrid flesh falls away leaving only a crumbling pile of rotten bones which then begins to collapse into dust. The alfar warrior turns on its heel and hovers protectively at a command from its mistress, who stands before her with a fierce look in her sky blue eyes.

Extending a pink gloved hand, Sonjaa looks her friend over and her expression softens. "Oh, m'Lady. This just won't do at all." Before Sendithu can so much as breathe a word to object her wounds vanish, reappear on the Empath, and disappear entirely. The Elf leaps to her feet and the women embrace briefly before she pulls away, trying to catch a glimpse of her husband.

At the defeat of the redheaded ringleader, most of the fight appears to gone out of the surviving mages.  One last particularly brave (or particularly foolish) man remained standing, attempting to put up a defense before the damite-wrapped avalanche that was Samsaren. The mage desperately throws himself backward, flinging a volley of fireballs which are casually deflected by the advancing Paladin. Samsaren responds by hurling his sterak axe, burying it in the hapless man's chest. Deafening silence, followed by the remaining pair of mages quickly finding somewhere else to be, tripping over each other in their haste to depart. Samsaren stands in the middle of the carnage, nonchalantly cleaning his axe with a cloth. He sheathes the weapon then produces a narrow tyrium blade, presenting it to his wife hilt first. "Found something you might want back, dear--"

He staggers back as Sendithu flings herself into his arms at full speed, completely heedless of the gore speckling his armor.  He kisses her soundly, running his hands through her hair and down her back as if reassuring himself that she is really there, safe in his arms again. Behind them, Sonjaa coughs quietly. "Sorry to interrupt, but there seems to be one more..."

The couple reluctantly pulls apart and Sendithu takes her blade back from her husband's hand, sheathing it at her belt. Turning, they consider the Elven girl beginning to stir on the floor in front of them. "First things first," Sendithu murmurs, rifling through the girl's pockets and bags to reclaim all her possessions. She rises, glancing at a vibrantly painted piece of paper before handing it over to Samsaren. He looks it over with a frown and slips it into his pocket.

"Let her up, Sonjaa, if you please. Slowly."

The Empath nods and gestures at the girl, the golden glow vanishing and a series of red tendrils binding her limbs in its place. Groaning, the girl struggles to rise, muttering, "Just kill me already."

"Not yet. That would be far too easy." Sendithu bends down, pulling the girl to a seated position by her hair. "Why me? You had to know how it would end."

The girl giggles, her eyes flicking back and forth between the trio. "Oh man, you still think this was about you? How's your friend, that other metal musclehead?"

Samsaren frowns, brushing a thumb over his albredine ring. Eckan? Everything alright over there?

The response comes immediately. Sam! Where are you, I've been trying to reach you for an hour!

Easy, Squire. You alright?

Yeah, I'm fine, it's just...Maltris is in a bad way. They must have caught him on the road near Leth Deriel. The local healer is patching him up, but we could really use someone more skilled. Sendi alright?

Samsaren grimaces, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. Sendithu gazes at him thoughtfully. "Eckan?"

"He's fine. They got a piece of Maltris though, we need to go."

"Pity, I was hoping to take my time here. Ah well." She casually turns, planting her bootheel into the redhead's throat and pressing hard, watching her dispassionately until the gurgling and kicking stops. "She will get back up," she explains quietly to Sonjaa, "but it will cost her a little more every time she does it. Shall we?"

Samsaren slips his arm around the raven-haired Elf’s waist, pulling her close to brush his lips across her forehead. She smiles up at him, tugging his long silver ponytail affectionately. Sonjaa nods, smiling brightly at her friends. "'Tis wonderful to have you back, m'Lady. Let's go see to your brother." The trio leaves the chamber. Within moments, the body left behind them abruptly vanishes leaving behind only a few swirling motes of dust.