[M] The Devil's Wake: Chapter II - IC

[Jacogos]

The Desert Wreck was an interesting inn to say the least. To put it bluntly, it looked like a shipwreck a good mile or more from any substantial body of water. Well, it certainly attracted customers, though. The large wooden rig was actually two stories and could hold about 100 customers comfortably at tables, with room for spillover if people didn't have a problem with being cramped or standing.

As such, the joint was crowded, but it tended to be like that with thousands of soldiers roaming about with coin to spend. Griffin didn't mind. He shared in the revelry that was bound to be there after the days glorious victory. Hell, it was almost a rout, and casualties on their side were... tolerable at best. Those who lost comrades were glad to get a drink in them and forget. Those who hadn't... well, they had reason to celebrate too.

Griffin stayed out of the way of the line of dancers as they mosied on by, keeping his flagon close to his lips. The ale here was fine, a tad strong, but that's the way he liked his. Downing another swig, he contemplated joining the revelers, but for now decided against it. The chance that someone in command swooped down upon the tavern was pretty high, since it was no secret that the soldiers frequented this place. He didn't want to get in any trouble if that happenstance happened to... um, happen.

Just as the merriment of all those in the tavern had seemed to reach it's peak with laughter and singing from drunken lips echoing through out the The Desert Wreck, General Tristan Cyril himself walked through the door wearing his golden laced black doublet causing an almost deathly silence to fill the room. The eyes of grizzled patrons staring down upon him as if they were expecting some sort of punishment. However, the young knight just looked up at the men and smiled, "A round of drinks on me!"

A cheer went up among the patrons and the tavern girls immediately set about filling up flagons and mugs with fresh ale. The merriment started anew and it was all Griffin could do not to laugh himself. The famed General Tristan shows up and suddenly its even LOUDER than it was before... Who'd've thunk it? Griffin waved the General over and smirked slightly.

"I can't tell if this a clever morale trick or if you just want to get all our forces drunk." He laughed a little louder than he probably should have, but of course after it was all over, he could blame it on the drink. "I dunno if we've met. I'm Sergeant Griffin Talaran, under General Russvik." He extended a hand, only a little shakily.

"Tristan Cyril, as you probably already know." He sat down next to him as he waited for his own drink to be brought to him by one of the barmaids. "Our men fought hard enough, and they earned us victory to prove it. One drunken night before we march to battle once more is the least I can do."

Griffin laughed again, taking another swig of the drink. "You speak the truth. I've always heard you were a good man, and I guess this proves it. Which makes me wonder, how is it that a great leader like you could have possibly killed... who was it? The Byzanthean Prince or something like that?" He shook his head, chuckling. "Madness, that. But, I assume it was for a good reason, right?" He looked over at the General, wondering about it all the same.

"So tell me, General. What's this all about? We marching in a day or something?"

Soon enough a drink was brought to the general and as the man began to inquire about the prince his usual smile disappeared into an almost grimace. "He was the Anglician Prince......and it's a subject I don't wish to speak of if you wouldn't mind."

"And a matter a fact a portion of the army will be marching north tomorrow in the afternoon including Lord Russvik's regiment."

Griffin picked up on the not-so-discrete hint and refrained from mentioning the Prince again. Apparently there was more to that story, but the Sergeant figured he'd have to ask someone else or catch their famed leader at a different time. As for as his other question went, he wasn't left hanging.

"Ahhh, I see. Looks like I'm bound for another long march." He huffed and took yet another swig, downing the last of his ale. "Ahhh, might as well enjoy this time then. Maid! Another!" He laughed loudly again as he set the empty mug on one of the passing girls' trays, almost bringing a new meaning to 'tipping the waitress'. Turning back to Tristan, he smirked a little and patted the man on the back. "Come on now General, don't be a downer. You're here, so enjoy the ale!"

Upon those words the night than spiraled out of control as Tristan and his illustrious army began to drink and create quite a huge ruckus in the The Desert Wreck. There were songs as long as there was someone awake to sing, and brawls as long as someone had the strength. To be sure a night to remember.

----------------------

Meanwhile, on a small knoll overlooking the village, a woman sat, contemplating things with a black cat sitting upon her lap, purring lowly. It was one of the villager's cats, but the woman liked having company, so the cat obliged her for the evening. It was only a few hours after sunset, and already it seemed as if the night was underway for the patrons at the local bar. The woman could just make out the Desert Wreck from this distance. She smiled and stroked the cat once, waking the feline so that it would get off her lap before she stood.

Doing so, the woman stretched and peered out the opposite direction, where the army was camped not too far away. She wondered to herself if she might be of any use now that the string of events had all but forsaken her. Of course, Tristan would remember her for her helpfulness in the past, but what about the others and those under his command? She pondered that. The cat meowed at her feet and she scratched its head with the tip of her finger.

Sighing, Eleni Vandar sat back down and continued to fight herself over what she should do now.

[Kris]

"That should be the last bandage, you need to pace yourself and not worry about being a martyr for Tristan and his army, Alexis…” Mace instructed while he finished dressing the last wound on her torso and looking into her eyes.

“I know he means a lot to you, but if you were to die on the battlefield only for a dream concocted from his hair-brained mind, I wouldn’t want to be held responsible for what I did to he and anyone else that stood in my way.” He continued before rising from his cot and stretching his limbs.

"Mace...", she looked away from him before slowly bowing down her head to place a gentle kiss on his forehead while grabbing his hand with hers, stopping him for a moment from dressing her wounds, "It's not just for my Tristan....", again she looked away, thinking what to say, "I never wished to bring this up like this, but... The look of disgust in my father's eyes hunt me to this very day...", she bit her lips before she straightened her gaze at him, "I shall never regret my decision, Mace...", she smiled softly, "But I promised myself that I shall prove to them... That not only was my decision right, that not only was Tristan innocent... but that the evil was within our midst all this time... that this foolish hatred... this foolish battle we were torn with was for nothing... And...".

She took a deep breath, "I shall fight to prove my worthy to you too dear", she kissed his forehead again, "I know you don't need this from me, but...", she bit her lips, "I need to do all that I can...to make sure all the lives I am going to sacrifices for OUR dreams...", and by that Mace realized she spoke not only about Tristan's dream, "Are paid in full... Even if it means my life...", she tightly closed her hands around his, and he felt her shivering passing from her through his skin, "I will lie if I say that I am not bothered. Mace, I want to live this through... I want to live with you.... I want to live... But unless I pull my all into every bloody hellish battle I participate with, I shall be mortified with fear...".

He felt her hand squeezing his a bit too tightly now, "My dear Mace... I fear that we won't survive this... I.... I....", she fell into his arms sobbing on his chest, "I don't want to lose you... I don't want to lose the others... I have to.... for them... I have to be a true leader, but I am fearful... What should I do Mace? What should I do?"

The outpouring of her emotions had caught him off-guard. Of course he knew that she was more emotional than he as a person, but he didn’t realize this had all been going on in her mind, clouding her vision like a veil placed over her eyes.

“Alexis… we won’t be killed.” He replied, softly as he eyes looked up and met his. “The day that we die lies well beyond the horizon, a day that has yet to be determined but trust me when I say that we are yet to be worried or troubled by its impending judgment upon us.” He explained, running his hands through her beautiful tresses, removing a rogue strand of hair from her face.

“My blades, my hands, Velune and myself will not let a future together for us be torn apart by anything this plain of existence may throw our way. Tristan’s perilous journeys… if it were up to my decision alone, we wouldn’t be here risking our lives for a starry-eyed knight hoping to fulfill his destiny and rid the world of evil.”

“Your life is too precious to be lost on a battlefield, my life will be the one risked for our safety. I don’t wa-“

“Excuse me, Sir and… err… Ma’am…” A voiced cut in from just outside of their tent, it’s pitch wavering as fright gripped him. “A message from Sir Tristan.”

“Tristan…” Mace growled before placing a gentle kiss upon her cheek and turning to the man. “Well, what is it?”

“He requests both of your services for a march to his unit’s next destination!” the nervous messenger instructed.

“Here we are, still resting and recovering from his last foray into battle and he readies to ride our blades and backs once more without a care in this world…” Mace grumbled before turning to Alexis. “I do not want you to be a part of this, Alexis. Your wounds are bad enough without having to ride a horse and participate in something else thanks to this… Boy in Knight’s armor.”

Alexis smiled and blushes softly, "Let us have a moment please, kind sir", she told the messenger who only nodded firmly as he was relieved by this welcomed gateway out of this embarrassing situation.

"Of course ma'am!", he said as he left the tent.

Once she made sure the intruder was outside, Alexis grabbed Mace's hands within hers again, "My dear", she smiled softly, "Usually I would have react against your words and fight my way back to the battle field again... However... I shall make a fine deal with you today", she gave him a soft kiss on his lips, "I shall do as you told me, and you in return will promise me to watch yourself too...", looking again at him, her blue eyes focused at his, "Promise me you will not be a fool in battle... and that you will do all that you can to return to me...".

“As long as things go smoothly, I’ll return to you.” He replied with a slight nod before kissing her gently and grabbing his chest plate to begin to re-arm himself.

“Remember, we aren’t officially under Tristan’s banner so nobody can come in and give you an order.” He continued as he placed his swords back to their corresponding hip placement. “We’re only here due to your feelings for him, not because we are required."

"I understand dear", she nodded and slowly got up, "However, please respect my decision to join you and at least hear what he has to say... I believe the others will be there too... It's bee a while since we last heard from them...", she smiled, "I'll come with you this far... If this is alright with you?"

The question sparked a smile to form across his lips as he fitted his last piece of equipment, “My word holds no shackles to you, my love. You can do as you please, I share my words as advice and companionship.” He explained before taking her hand in his, “Come, let’s go and greet the Adolescent Knight.” He mused before opening the tent for them.

[StormWolf]

“I am ready now. We will need to move Bran very carefully.” Rissa spoke with professionalism and passion in her tone. Liaman respected such fire and conviction in ones work. With his dark brow furrowed, Liaman nodded and looked to Claudia, his icy blue eyes boring in to her. The girl's shoulders and back stiffened, as they often did when he gave her that look.

"Claudia, help Narissa with preparing Bran for travel. I will be right back..." Liaman's voice was firm, as always. With heavy foot-falls he headed outside and looked about the street, finding and bow-backed trader and a horse drawn cart. Squaring his shoulders, Liaman approached the traveling merchant. The older man, seeing the grim-faced Liaman, immediately went on the defensive.

"List'n 'ere lad, I dunnae want any trouble. I be an hon'st man who does hon'st werk." Liaman said nothing. He instead reached for his coin purse, taking five gold sovereigns in his hand and tossing the coins to the trader, who caught them with one hand.

"Then do some more honest work, sir. That should be more than enough to buy another cart and sturdy horse. I need this one to move those who are wounded." Liaman was not asking, and both men knew that the look in Liaman's eyes said that he would take the cart over blood if needed.

"Very well, ser. Fair'nough" the trader muttered before moving along. Taking the bull by the nose ring, Liaman lead the cart alongside the Healers' practice.

"Narissa, we can load Bran on this. I imagine it would do his wounds much better than riding upright."

As Narissa watched Liamon leave the apothecary she turned to the young woman he'd just addressed, extending her hand as she did so "Claudia is it? I'm sorry we have had to meet under such circumstances. Names Narissa" she said then quickly released her hand as she turned to Bran with a warm smile "And you young man, are you ready to make this journey?"

When Bran smiled back and indicated that he was Narissa again turned to look at the the red haired woman.

"Help him sit up while I check his bandages before we leave. I don't want his wounds opening when we move him."

Rissa hovered over the boy as though he were her own while Liaman lifted him onto the wagon "Gently now, we must be careful." She snapped at the hulking Liaman. The boys father or not, he was her patient now and she would do whatever was necessary to keep those wounds from opening.

To the fiery red head she spoke then "He will need supporting during the journey, the boards are too hard for him to lay upon. Would you sit there, and hold him securely against you while we travel?" Rissa inquired as hopped up into the wagon and prepared to have Liaman lay Bran down safely against Claudia's soft frame.

Claudia barely had a moment to say anything, Liaman and the healer - Narissa - were such a whirlwind. She gave Bran a pained little expression, followed by a smile before she complied, holding up her friend as Narissa checked his wounds, and then positioning herself on the wooden cart so she could hold onto Bran on the trip back to camp. As soon as they were positioned, she slid her arms carefully around Liaman's first born and leaned her head against his just a little, before looking to him and asking, "Comfortable?" Bran winced and furrowed his brow as he adjusted himself slightly, finally feeling Claudia's warmth seep in to his aching bones and started to relax.

"Very..." Bran said tightly, hoping his long dark locks of hair would keep the redness of his face hidden. It figures that his Lord Father would manage to get the one girl that Bran had eyes for to see him when he was weak and vulnerable after battle. Even more upsetting was how his Lord Father managed to get Bran to rest against the woman of his dreams as they rode back to the camp. One day, Bran would learn how his Father did what he did. There must be a book of secrets or charms or something that he uses to get things to go one way or the other.

"I, uh, I cannot think of a place I would rather be, right now... You know... surrounded by family and f-freinds and...and.." Bran shut himself up when he heard the dry laughter of his father from the front seat.

"Why are you laughing! It's not funny!" Bran yelled at his Lord Father, whose broad shoulders were heaving with the first mirthful laugh he had mustered in years.

"I did not mean to offend, son. It just tickles me how much you act like I did around pretty girls when I was your age. I would stutter and stammer so terribly many in the Chantry thought me simple." Liaman gave the reigns a quick snap and the horses whinnied as they picked up pace. "You may be the greatest silvertongue in all the world, but when you meet a right enough girl you start bumbling like a bafoon." Bran sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, terribly embarrassed by his Lord Father's words. For a powerful military and political figure, he was terribly blunt. Bran decided not to embarrass himself further and kept silent, but he did reach up and place one of his hands over Claudia's feeling the silk-softness of her hand as he watched Thornburg vanish in to the distance.

Liaman was doing the opposite, looking forward towards what was once the battlefield. The rounding-up of prisoners was likely done and the soldiers were probably enjoying the spoils of victory. Cooked mutton and cheap ale. 'Drunk soldiers were always the worst of their kind,' Liaman thought as he noticed the whisky flask touching his lips and the burn of liqueur going down to his stomach. With a grimace, Liaman capped the flask and offered it to Narissa,

"Care for a sip? Its vintage, casked during my father's father's time. It'll take the Highland cold out of your bones and steady your stomach for the smell." Liaman's tone was serious. He did not know if this healer had ever been to a place of great bloodshed, but the stinking of bloated corpses and the screams of women lamenting as the victors had their way with them was always unsettling, even to a man as cold as Liaman. He buried such feelings, however, and washed them away with strong drink and thoughts of a better time.


Rissa had taken a seat at the front of the wagon opposite of where Claudia had settled in with Bran so that she could keep an eye on him and still converse with Liaman as they traveled. A small smile spread across her comely features at the exchange between father and son and at Bran's blush.

As they approached the scene of the aftermath of battle what had not gone unnoticed however was Liaman producing a flask and drinking from it before quickly capping it and offering it to her. Although it had been a while since Narissa had imbibed in drink, she accepted it and uncapping it she took a long pull from the flask to prepare herself for what she knew they would find on the battlefield. Rissa was no stranger to death for several reasons, none of which were needing to be discussed at this point in time.

As she did so, the wagon hit a bump and a small groan escaped from Bran's lips. Quickly she capped the bottle and lay it beside her Rissa quickly turning towards Liaman, emerald orbs flaring at the boys father.

"You would do well to use more caution Mr. Russvik and watch where you are leading the wagon, lest your sons wounds re-open." Rissa's words were sharp and cutting before she turned to Claudia and Bran, checking for any signs of seepage. The bandages appeared to be holding but she was worried that the medicine she'd given Bran earlier was beginning to wear off.

Opening her pouch she removed a small purplish colored flower leaf and instructed Bran to hold it under his tongue. She'd given him the Comfrey in a tea earlier but for now, this would have to do and it would help to ease his pain.

"I'm sorry that this will not taste very good, it will be slightly bitter but it will enter your system quickly and help to ease the pain until we get you settled." She said the words offering the young lad a smile as he placed it under his tongue, grimacing from the taste but thanking her as he did so.

Satisfied that the medicine was beginning to help she turned her attentions back to Liaman, studying him. Life had surely dealt him a heavy hand but she was not one to judge as her own life had been less than what one could consider to have been easy. All the same, she would not abide him drinking one drop more while they transported Bran. Instead, she uncapped the bottle and took another longer pull from it, capping it and settling it safely between her thighs and stating matter of factually and eying him warily.

"I'll be keeping this safe until we reach camp. The boy needs not to be jostled further. I won't have you risking him further damage." Liaman's brow furrowed as deep lines of frustration creased his face. Yes, he had taken to drink more than he should, but it was not a problem. He was more than able to hold his liqueur and it did not impede his abilities as a general or a father or even a bloody cart driver.

"I am not a bleeding magician, Narissa. I cannot unmake every bump in this flaming road." Liaman sneered and snapped the reins again. She had him backed in to a corner. She had read Liaman well enough to know that he wouldn't have the gall to reach for his whiskey - not at where she was holding it hostage. She was a clever sprite, she was. Liaman was intrigued by her. She looked at him with understanding, like she knew the paths he had walked. How could a healer, a preserver of lives, understand the life of someone who destroys everything a healer like her works to protect?

Then, like a veil of filth placed over the land, the smell of death filled Liaman's nostrils. They were getting close.

Liaman's gruff mannerisms did little in the way of deterring the green eyed beauty in her quest to protect the boy and she shot back with no hesitation "I do not expect you to be a magician but if you were more concerned with the direction you were guiding this wagon than raising a bottle to your lips you would realize when there are boulders in the road to be avoided."

As the all too familiar scent of death filled her senses she quickly removed the bottle from it's resting place and uncapped it, then taking another long pull from it's contents to prepare herself for the inevitable sight of death. A small shudder ran through her. Had she not seen enough of death, had she not been party to causing death enough in her lifetime?

She brushed the thoughts aside as the wagon rolled into the encampment, Rissa quickly moving to the back of the wagon to prepare Bran for being moved. Helping him lean forward while Claudia shifted behind him, the younger redheaded woman helping to support him Rissa waited for Liaman to lift him from his resting spot.

Rissa moved then, first handing the flask to Claudia and then standing at the back of the wagon as Liaman approached and reaching out she lay her hand upon his shoulder, softening her tone slightly feeling the need to make certain he had not misunderstood her earlier while the two youngsters waited on the wagon. Her voice was lowered and fell softer than her previous words "I would ask that you do not misunderstand me Mr. Russvik" she said with a toss of her flaxen locks. "I only have the boys best interest at heart. I would wish to cause him no further pain. And please, I do not desire for my time here with your family to be burdensome to you, or them so it may be better for us to remain on friendlier terms. Please call me Rissa." Liaman took a deep breath, a sigh to calm himself and to accept what Narissa was saying. Of course she had Bran's well-being at heart, otherwise she would have accepted the gold and kicked Bran out. The grizzled general took his son in his strong arms, just like when Bran was a young boy and would fall asleep when Liaman read him a story, leaving the father to take the son to bed.

"There is no misunderstanding, Rissa. Only understand me: In one year, my faith was stricken down by a great betrayal that nearly claimed the life of one of my youngest daughters. If I did not have my family," Liaman held his son close, the old soldier's face grim and solemn, "I would have dived head first from the Cathedral in Byzanthea in to the cobblestone streets. Every day, I face the choice to live or die, and I choose to live only for their sakes." Liaman blinked and a single tear fell from his eye.

"I appreciate your care for my son. It means the world to me... but every man has a limit, and every man has a way to cope. The flask is mine." Liaman's voice was rough and uneven as we walked the dagger's edge of crumbling. He was like a fortress in the wilderness, withstanding ages of war and abuse and the test of time, but only just. One more strike with enough strength and he would come crumbling down.

"We need to get him inside and bundle him up. The nights will get hellishly cold in the highlands this time of the year."

And the truth was that Rissa did understand, in many ways. There were times in life that everyone needed something and right now, Liaman needed his flask. But he didn't need it at this very moment. She was certain that a good dose of understanding and compassion would do him far more good than another drink from his bottle, but once the boy was settled he could do as he then chose.

And, although she'd never been granted the gift of her own child in what had become her life thus far, she understood that Liaman loved his children deeply even if she didn't have the honor of knowing exactly what it was like to love one's own child.

Rissa felt a pang of sorrow as the tear was produced from the corner of Liaman's eye, his pain causing her a great measure of pain to behold.

Rissa nodded "You get him settled, and I will make sure that he can rest comfortably for the night, as well as you."

Rissa could not ease Liaman's pain for him but she could offer him some chamomile tea which would help soothe him as well as help him to get what may be the first real rest the man had seen in a very long time. Liaman nodded silently and set Bran down on his bedroll, tucking the boy in under his blankets. Liaman placed his hand on his son's cheek, smiling down at his eldest who was obviously very tired,

"You made me very proud today, son. I could not be more proud." Liaman's voice was hushed as he gently patted Bran's cheek, his other hand wiping his eyes. He could have lost Bran today, but whatever power moved the universe kept him alive. For that, Liaman was thankful for Rissa.

[Auki]

She was a bud. A secret beauty.

Her hands flitted through her pockets, not pausing in their search unless it was to free an object from its confinement… a length of string, a child’s wooden spintop, a scarf that floated to the ground and wrapped around her ankles. A seemingly mundane assortment, but that was only for now. Give it time, her thoughts whispered to the people walking past, and I will amaze you. A handful of them, albeit few, had paused in their journey past, curiosity piqued. This was not her first performance in the town, after all. She was not one to be forgotten easily.

“Another show of trickery, young lass?” A man asked, approaching her stage – a blanket of cloth lain on the street’s side – so that he might watch the show unhindered. She nodded, the shadow of a smile touching her features. By the time, she thought to reply – “Yes!” – the moment was gone. All she could do was perform.

Her legs tensed and bent, ready, prepared. Seconds past. Then, like an arrow from a bow, the energy was released, propelling her into the air. Knees, tuck and spin. Her body flipped backwards, her clothes rippling in the air. As her feet touched the ground again, there was a crash that sounded through the street, a noise far larger than what her body could produce on its own.

Magic, her thoughts murmured gleefully.

All buds must bloom in the sun’s caress.

She had their attention; now, she must maintain it. Eager eyes, waiting, thirsting for amusement. They flayed her into action with their stares. Like a puppet to their whims, she danced.

In her mind flashed images and hues… a water droplet clinging to a spider’s web, a breeze that echoes through a cave, the scent of the first snowfall. The sheer feel of them sprung her body into movement, her senses recalling a past only described by the flow of her limbs and the swish of the air as she soared. She wordlessly gave them her most beautiful moments, but that was only the start of the show.

Petals unfurl…

The whisper of a breeze played with her hair and she allowed it the fancy of an artist, each brush of its icy fingers to paint streaks of black and red upon her natural gold. With every blink, the dulled grey of her iris was transformed; blue, green, brown – each twist of her head caused a variegation of hues. Her outfit became a plethora of fabrics; a seamless amalgamation that caused the youth to squeal as it shifted appearance at random. How her spells could twist their perception and how they were so eager to believe its deceit. It brought her joy to whisk them from the limitations of reality. Of course, she still looked the same beneath the illusions of her silent incantations, but… Wasn’t it nice to just believe without questioning?

I am what your imagination wishes to be. I am your fantasy.

She wanted to sing, but her mouth would not open. Instead, the melody channelled through the sway of her dance.

…and how they do flourish beneath the rays of light.

The objects on the floor were suddenly at hand, flipping into the air but always caught before they could touch the ground. With each thrust towards the sky, they took an image of magnificence. The string became fire, blurring the air with blue-touched flames and spraying heat upon the crowd. The child’s toy became a mouse that flailed to find the ground until the scarf – a serpent to the naked eye – engulfed it whole without remorse. The audience recoiled but were locked into the show. As the items reached her hand, they returned to their true selves - at least, until she threw them up again. All the while her body danced, and her thoughts were muted, silent.

Fleeting beauty, just waiting to be snatched away by greedy hands.

[Awean8]

The Desert Wreck had been laid siege all through out the night by the reveling soldiers, and civilians alike surviving brawls, and drunken singing the tavern was now less for wear. The corpse like bodies of the inebriated patrons laid about mangled, and snoring seemingly in complete random locations. Golden beams shined through the shattered windows as it was now already noon. Tristan was dead asleep on a table with a broken leg while holding a bottle of fine liquor in his hands.

Eleni Vandar, who had only recently entered the Desert Wreck, now lightly tiptoed around the bodies without much difficulty. She knew who she needed to find here, even without the help of one of his generals that still resided in the camp. It was a... gift of hers, you could say. The Witch smirked slightly upon finding Tristan's limp body sprawled on a table that had seen better days. Nudging him gently with her foot, she waited for the Ishtarian General to wake up.

"Ugh....um....", in a mixed blur of senses his eyelids lifted themselves though heavily. The sunlight that shined in his eyes gave him a burning sensation to his head, and he felt nauseous. The thud of Eleni's hit a little harder than probably intended as his perception began to swirl in an aching cyclone that only slowly began to calm. He steadily sat at himself up first looking down at the bottle of absinthe in his hand, and than at Eleni. "Oh, I was beginning to wonder when I'd see you again.......Well, you look nice, I suppose."

Eleni smiled slightly at his comment, shaking her head with a light giggle. "If only I could say the same about you, Sir Cyril. You look like someone took a hammer to your head, only without the bruising." She delicately plucked a piece of wood from his shoulder, no doubt from the ruined table he was against. "It is nice to see you again. Seems as though you've been busy since we last met." She smirked and studied their surroundings, one of the larger men rolling over onto his friend, who was too deep in sleep to realize something was nearly crushing him. "And of course I do mean productively busy..." She laughed again and turned her eyes back on him. "What are you planning, General? Insofar, your movements have been predictable, but I sense that things have changed... What is your plan?"

"Well, I've been given orders by old Rurikov to take a portion of the men north in an effort to create a second front when we lay siege to Sandi-Garius......Wait...", he immediately regretted his decision. In retrospect he may have been a bit too casual with those words, "Umm.....You probably weren't supposed to know that."

"Its so good to know that you still trust me, Lord Cyril." She smiled and tittered lightly, reaching up unabashedly to pat his cheek lightly. Turning then, she beckoned for him to follow. "Come. Unless you think this information acceptable to be told to the public." She gestured around them at the forms, some of which had begun stirring now that the sun was up. Waiting for Tristan to decide to follow her, she led him outside, where she waited by the door.

"Unless you have a place in mind you wish to talk, I doubt anyone will be up and about until much later, so if you will..." She promptly sat down and stared up at him with her large brown eyes. "How large will said group of men be? How might you be transporting them?"

"And for what reason should I tell you?", Tristan cleared his throat in an attempt to shake his hang over off, rather unsuccessfully actually. Giving her a rather sly look he than said, "And whoever ever said that I trust you hmm?"

She smiled ever so sweetly and, with a twinkle in her eye, quickly said, "Well, you have already told me otherwise classified information, information that you yourself said that shouldn't have been shared with me. Not to mention the times I've helped you before and, out of the graciousness in my heart, am offering again." With a self-satisfied smirk, she tilted her head slightly as she looked at him still. "Would you be out here talking to me if you didn't trust me? Also, I would find it rather ungrateful if you didn't trust someone who's saved your life before."

"Than again I have no reason to believe that you saved me out of the pure kindness of your heart. I may not show it too often, but even now in my weary state I still have the brains to realize that you are orchestrating your own plots, and designs. Isn't that right, oracle? Telling you any further information would be casting a die in your favor for whatever fate that you seek", he took a big deep as he was finishing up his drawn out monologue, "My fate will be one of my own design, and I'd prefer it if your plots didn't directly interfere.......Although.....if you truly wish to monitor our movement you could simply accompany us unless that would be too much for one of a lesser constitution. Hmmm?"