Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 27, 2007 8:36:14 GMT -5
Laethalion moves languidly along, a hand on Causca's leather reigns as he guides both Tenebrae and the animal toward the decrepit barn. Leaning, the traveller places one last kiss to the line of Tenebrae's jaw before lifting bare fingers to the corners of his lips, the sharp whistle that leaves him lifting through the air. For a long moment there is naught, before seven cloaked figures appear from within, the majority of which drawing from the battered stalls, though two descend from the loft, a man and woman, their attire in equal states of disarray.
Laethalion gestures smoothly to one of the figures, it stands easily a head shorter than the rest and long hair matching the bits of straw clinging to its drab cloak peeks out from beneath the cowl. Handing it the reigns, Laethalion turns his gaze over the assembled, words for now offered to the smaller one seeing to his animal. "Good evening, Ali. Thank you."
Tenebrae studies the figures quietly; one hand grasping involuntarily at Laethalion's the only sign of her surprise at their appearance. Her eyes flicker to his, the question in them obvious.
Laethalion lifts his attention then to what is clearly a man, its rugged and handsome features displayed as its hood has fallen back to reveal them, dark-haired, soulful eyed, he fiddles with his leathers in an attempt to arrange them properly, the slender woman beside him doing much the same. Allowing for a tense pause, Laethalion speaks to him smoothly, gaze full of expectation and slight displeasure. "Calen, where's Thames?" The answer is frightfully quick as the human responds, the woman at his side going still, a doe facing down a wolf as she stares openly at Laethalion while her lover replies. "Crossbow bolt, he heals. We were scouting the ravine." To this, Laethalion offers nothing but a slow dip of his chin, manner abruptly changing from the feral warrior Tenebrae has come to know. Now, standing there, is a leader, as reluctant as he seems to be. With the touch of Tenebrae's hand, he looks toward her, and the very moment his gaze leaves the figures, they do the same, free from his scrutiny for even the slightest of moments. To Tenebrae, Laethalion's voice is smooth and steady, her fingers offered an easy squeeze. "They are hunters, as am I. I will introduce you if you wish it."
Tenebrae watches steadily still, noting the deference, respect and... perhaps even fear in the faces of this motley crowd. She shifts in the saddle slightly, turning toward him. "It would be my pleasure..." Soft smile forming on her lips, her eyes remain impassionate.
Laethalion inclines his head simply before taking hold of Tenebrae's slim hips and lifting her down from Causca's back. "Very well."
Laethalion turns smoothly to regard the assembled figures, their gear and statures radically different. Lifting a hand, Laethalion gestures with his fingers, the slight drop of the dips setting all to remove the hoods and reveal their faces entirely. To the farthest, returning from his stabling of Causca, is a young boy in his early teens. His face, soft and smooth with fair skin and straw-colored hair, is marked by a dimpled chin and piercing emerald eyes. “Ali, stable hand and cook.” The next, beside him, is a dwarf whose cloak is a dull brown on the exterior, and lined with fantastically soft looking velvet, body clad entirely in archaic chain of blackened steel. His chin covered in a brandy-brown beard of thick braids, is squared and pronounced. His eyes, the color of coal, are wise and patient. He stands with an ornate crossbow laid on his folded arms. “Lord Rontag, youngest of the Dwarf King’s six sons. You will not find a better smith.” Beside him stands an absolutely massive man, standing nine-feet at the shoulder easily. Wearing no cloak, around his neck hangs a mask of battered leather and a necklace of bear claws. Wild and unkempt the Giant stands, strapped to his back are two javelins and a mighty hammer, his arms are folded as well, and to Tenebrae his soft brown eyes are attentively fixed. “Airdrad, Giant Chieftain from Xalious, It was his catapult that took down the outpost several months ago.” Beside him was a horrendously ugly woman, more or less human , though not quite. Her features are sharp, and feral, with large hands and blackened nails. Dressed in the most fine of woolen cloaks and leather armors, she is dressed like a noble, though her piggish nose and abnormally large, black eyes betray an unpleasant hint. For her, Laethalion addresses only her name. “Gruntlar.” The next creature addressed is lean, tall, and beautiful. An elf, clearly of Silvan heritage, it’s cloak is both beautiful and practical, with forest green leathers and a golden cloak-clasp of intricate make. The bow in its hand is refined cherry wood, polished, with glinting, golden-fletched arrows in a quiver on its back. The only other weapon it bears is a long, curved sword, the make more fantastically beautiful than it seems effective. “Aidilian, High Captain of Terendil’s Archery Batallion.” To the introduction, the elf’s features remain reluctantly composed into a dignified, stoic countenance, displeasure dancing briefly in his eyes. “And these two, “ Laethalion gestures to the lovers, now finally arranging their attire to matching leather tunics of similar make, both bearing different family emblems. “Calendarion Crusari and Elaina Dristan, eldest children to their illustrious houses.” Laethalion’s lips abruptly pursed, and he grunted the last words, the pair of young humans blushing fiercely. “-Rival- houses with naught but contempt for one another. At least this war has healed something.”
Tenebrae's eyes follow the introductions, a glitter of amusement at the expressions of wonder and disbelief she catches in their features as her gaze attends each in turn. Thier eyes are sharp upon her, but the vampiress is used to scrutiny, indeed, it may be said she revels in it, both taken, and given. The boy, she notes, has a look about him she recognises from her own mortal youth. The stoic dwarf, the noblest of his kind she'd seen to date. She cannot help but glance to the massive figure standing nearby, before inclining her head respectfully to Rontag. A Lord.. Laethalion speaks of the giant next, Tenebrae's impulsive mind and keen summary of character leading her to take an immediate liking to him. There was just something about him. perhaps the dichotomy of his wild appearance and the gentleness in his eyes. Then to the half-orc, as she might only presume this nobly-clad but ill-featured woman to be. A hint of admiration shines in her eyes for that figure, before Laethalion's rumbling voice guides her toward the next, a wood-elf of apparent nobility, she presumes. Beautiful, as are all his race, but this one with the air of the forest wrapped like a cloak around him. She chuckles inwardly as the handsome couple thier arrival had so obviously interrupted in a moment of passion blush under Laethalion's gaze. "Indeed, Laethalion.." She is careful to address him in a tone of quiet respect, though a subtle smirk plays along her rose-hued lips. "It seems that it has." A last sweeping glance across the group, eyes taking in this detail and that. What amounts to a kindly smile toward the youth, Ali, and she clears her throat, addressing them collectively. "Pleasure to meet you."
Tenebrae notes the tension between Laethalion and the elf, the tightness in their words as they address each other. She adds it to the mental list of questions she has compiled, perhaps to ask him later in the quiet of their bed. Paired with Aidilian. She wonders at the choice. The swart-eyed dwarf steps forward then, and she eyes him flatly, his reference irking the vampiress slightly. The girl? Indeed... Yet Her pulse quickens, the swiftness of the orders given and the utter abeyance among the hunters leaving her no doubt that her man was their leader. Observe? Too right. She was out of her depth, here. Though she dare not presume herself to be counted among their number yet, Tenebrae yields to Laethalion the same deference as his hunters. Her nod is curt, but her head bows lower than it has to him before. "It does well."
Laethalion regards the bow with a faint lift of his brow, appreciative of the unnecessary submission. She does so for him, and he recognizes it at such. The others are moving past them steadily, already knowing their place, Ali working toward the barn's rear to disappear out a side door. His work, cooking for their return, appreciated by all. As he moves out, Gruntlar reaches her hand out to affectionately brush through his hair, a sudden affection revealed between the pair. Curious as it might seem, they are fiercely close. Slipping out then Laethalion moves at their rear, watching as the groups split amidst the fields to his orders. He presses his lips to Tenebrae's own briefly, Aidilian's watch forcing the tender exchange to be short. Looking up, Laethalion shares with Aidilian a brief glance. The two seem to understand each other perfectly well, and loathe each other even better. All too quickly the elf is moving out the barn, leading Tenebrae through the fields. "Come." Is his only acknowledgement, and it is offered with an ancient grace. With Airdrad and Rontag in tow then, Laethalion moves as well, flanking eastward away from the main body as it heads toward a place at the ravine's mouth. The rocks there, large and dark, allow for cover as the group quietly begins to set their arrows and crossbow bolts in preparation. Never far from one another, Calendarion and Elaina whisper in words inaudible to even Tenebrae's heightened hearing, revealing that while they are youthful lovers... they double as fiercely efficient killers.
Tenebrae had noted that Laethalion's hurried kiss seemed to be as much a warning or flout of some kind to Aidilian as it is a parting affection, firing her curiosity. At the elf's brief command, she does as she is bid, her own long stride lengthening to keep up the pace set by the elf as he sets forth into the long grasses of the fields. Hefting her pack to a more comfortable position on her shoulder, her muscles already straining to stay at his back, she cannot help but appreciate the grace of Aidilian's fluid gait. She refuses the hand, offered in assistance as they cross the final fence line leading toward the ravine, with a smile and a shake of her head. It would not do for her to be seen as anything less than able to do for herself, here. She had in her time laughed to see men die, attempting chivalry where the need had flatly been a lie and the circumstance dire. But not here. Her feet slip against the algae-covered stones of a small creek, the leather of her boots thankfully proof against the cold water. The elf's trail ascends, through the thick scrub and boulders, as they approach the rocky outcrop at the ravine, where the remaining members of their party are awaiting.
Aidilian’s movements were a testimony to the grace of his people, every step sure no matter how quick or hastily taken. He offers Tenebrae no added courtesy after the refusal of his hand, respecting her wish to assert her lack of dependence. It is her way, and he is content with that, seemingly content with the entire situation despite the stern demeanour that he holds. "So, After-Born, how have you come to know the one called Laethalion?" The question made as they reach the rocks and gnarled stumps the group currently uses for cover.
Calendarion and Elaina quickly look up from their whispered discussion amidst the tangled limbs of the tree they use for cover, their bows knocked and readied. The difference in their look is striking, Calendarion is a handsome young man with raven-black hair not dissimilar to Laethalion’s, with equally pleasant brown eyes of a deep, chocolate hue. She, with curiosity written everywhere in her strikingly beautiful face, has full, pouted lips to her mate’s thin ones. Her hair is long, a veritable bounty of fiery red ringlets that she proudly lets lie where they will. Her eyes are green, and naturally light, though they lack the sharpness that Tenebrae’s do.
Disinterested, or so it seems, Gruntlar remains quietly leaning upon a boulder overlooking the ravine’s mouth and the trail leading toward it, her mud-brown eyes scrutinizing her surroundings, unconcerned with the conversation that promises to bloom.
Meanwhile, their leader works around to the opposite side of the ravine, remaining silent as Rontag and Aidrad quickly move to a tree growing at the ravine’s edge. A few harsh chops of the dwarf’s axe and it is leaning, a single shove by the giant and it falls, crashing down into the ravine with a resounding thud.
The sound does not startle any of the company, their lack of a reaction would easily soothe Tenebrae’s inquisitive glance into the ravine.
As she pauses in her explanation to Aidilian’s waiting frame, Calendarion lifts his words to assure her, his eyes briefly running over her soft curves. "A barrier to stop the caravan and bottle them in the ravine." He offers, before falling silent.
"That’s enough." Laethalion offers as Airdrad moves toward another tree, and the giant hangs his head in disappointment.
"Tree go boom." He explains with a wanting sigh.
"S’alright, lad." The dwarf assures, patting the giant’s massive arm with a gauntlet-clad hand. "Black-Skins go boom shortly."
Oblivious to it all, or so one might believe, Laethalion settles to quietly knock an arrow on the steel length of his longbow, the weapon kept low to avoid its length from glinting visibly in the moonlight. Lined with etchings of archaic make, the metal weapon is strung with two tightly bound cords, and takes a Herculean amount of strength to draw. Its moniker is simply "Death’s Call", and it is the original and most lethal of them all.
The vampiress, her breath coming raggedly with the sheer exertion of the pace, raises a brow at the question. "We... met in Kelay tavern. He offered me a drink." A wicked smile curves her lips, the elf oblivious to the innuendo as he forges ahead. A pause, her concentration required to avoid wrenching an ankle on a scattering of loose stones. "It was recent. I am only coming to know something more of him now. He is... surprising, to say the least." She burns to enquire of the elf's own meeting, judging that this might not be the best moment she lapses back into silence, as they reach the bleak outcrop.
Her eyes are first drawn to the surrounds, their vantage point a good one. Plenty of cover. Enough of a clear view to the floor of the ravine. Her eyes catch a movement among some jagged stumps, the couple interrupting their close conversation briefly to cast her a cursory glance. She offers them a smile, slightly conspiratorial, as her gaze next turns to the half-orc. The intimate gesture between the woman and Laethalion had not escaped her. A tendril of jealousy lashes at her heart, and is immediately quashed. She knew what he was, what he had been. And that his bond with this fierce warrior was none of her damned business. All the same, she wonders who might come out best in a fight... the thought makes her chuckle at herself.
A sudden crash draws her glance sharply to the other side of the gap. At Calendarion's explanation, she nods, resisting the urge to return his raking glance. "Ah..." She feigns enlightenment. She'd guessed the felled tree's purpose already. It wasn't hard. Her eyes scan across the ravine, seeking the figure of her lover, catching only a glimpse. She senses in the company a tension that infects her also, a fierce and deadly calm. A killer she may be, but her hunt was nothing like this. Keeping an eye on Aidilian's position, she crouches against a stump.
Laethalion gestures smoothly to one of the figures, it stands easily a head shorter than the rest and long hair matching the bits of straw clinging to its drab cloak peeks out from beneath the cowl. Handing it the reigns, Laethalion turns his gaze over the assembled, words for now offered to the smaller one seeing to his animal. "Good evening, Ali. Thank you."
Tenebrae studies the figures quietly; one hand grasping involuntarily at Laethalion's the only sign of her surprise at their appearance. Her eyes flicker to his, the question in them obvious.
Laethalion lifts his attention then to what is clearly a man, its rugged and handsome features displayed as its hood has fallen back to reveal them, dark-haired, soulful eyed, he fiddles with his leathers in an attempt to arrange them properly, the slender woman beside him doing much the same. Allowing for a tense pause, Laethalion speaks to him smoothly, gaze full of expectation and slight displeasure. "Calen, where's Thames?" The answer is frightfully quick as the human responds, the woman at his side going still, a doe facing down a wolf as she stares openly at Laethalion while her lover replies. "Crossbow bolt, he heals. We were scouting the ravine." To this, Laethalion offers nothing but a slow dip of his chin, manner abruptly changing from the feral warrior Tenebrae has come to know. Now, standing there, is a leader, as reluctant as he seems to be. With the touch of Tenebrae's hand, he looks toward her, and the very moment his gaze leaves the figures, they do the same, free from his scrutiny for even the slightest of moments. To Tenebrae, Laethalion's voice is smooth and steady, her fingers offered an easy squeeze. "They are hunters, as am I. I will introduce you if you wish it."
Tenebrae watches steadily still, noting the deference, respect and... perhaps even fear in the faces of this motley crowd. She shifts in the saddle slightly, turning toward him. "It would be my pleasure..." Soft smile forming on her lips, her eyes remain impassionate.
Laethalion inclines his head simply before taking hold of Tenebrae's slim hips and lifting her down from Causca's back. "Very well."
Laethalion turns smoothly to regard the assembled figures, their gear and statures radically different. Lifting a hand, Laethalion gestures with his fingers, the slight drop of the dips setting all to remove the hoods and reveal their faces entirely. To the farthest, returning from his stabling of Causca, is a young boy in his early teens. His face, soft and smooth with fair skin and straw-colored hair, is marked by a dimpled chin and piercing emerald eyes. “Ali, stable hand and cook.” The next, beside him, is a dwarf whose cloak is a dull brown on the exterior, and lined with fantastically soft looking velvet, body clad entirely in archaic chain of blackened steel. His chin covered in a brandy-brown beard of thick braids, is squared and pronounced. His eyes, the color of coal, are wise and patient. He stands with an ornate crossbow laid on his folded arms. “Lord Rontag, youngest of the Dwarf King’s six sons. You will not find a better smith.” Beside him stands an absolutely massive man, standing nine-feet at the shoulder easily. Wearing no cloak, around his neck hangs a mask of battered leather and a necklace of bear claws. Wild and unkempt the Giant stands, strapped to his back are two javelins and a mighty hammer, his arms are folded as well, and to Tenebrae his soft brown eyes are attentively fixed. “Airdrad, Giant Chieftain from Xalious, It was his catapult that took down the outpost several months ago.” Beside him was a horrendously ugly woman, more or less human , though not quite. Her features are sharp, and feral, with large hands and blackened nails. Dressed in the most fine of woolen cloaks and leather armors, she is dressed like a noble, though her piggish nose and abnormally large, black eyes betray an unpleasant hint. For her, Laethalion addresses only her name. “Gruntlar.” The next creature addressed is lean, tall, and beautiful. An elf, clearly of Silvan heritage, it’s cloak is both beautiful and practical, with forest green leathers and a golden cloak-clasp of intricate make. The bow in its hand is refined cherry wood, polished, with glinting, golden-fletched arrows in a quiver on its back. The only other weapon it bears is a long, curved sword, the make more fantastically beautiful than it seems effective. “Aidilian, High Captain of Terendil’s Archery Batallion.” To the introduction, the elf’s features remain reluctantly composed into a dignified, stoic countenance, displeasure dancing briefly in his eyes. “And these two, “ Laethalion gestures to the lovers, now finally arranging their attire to matching leather tunics of similar make, both bearing different family emblems. “Calendarion Crusari and Elaina Dristan, eldest children to their illustrious houses.” Laethalion’s lips abruptly pursed, and he grunted the last words, the pair of young humans blushing fiercely. “-Rival- houses with naught but contempt for one another. At least this war has healed something.”
Tenebrae's eyes follow the introductions, a glitter of amusement at the expressions of wonder and disbelief she catches in their features as her gaze attends each in turn. Thier eyes are sharp upon her, but the vampiress is used to scrutiny, indeed, it may be said she revels in it, both taken, and given. The boy, she notes, has a look about him she recognises from her own mortal youth. The stoic dwarf, the noblest of his kind she'd seen to date. She cannot help but glance to the massive figure standing nearby, before inclining her head respectfully to Rontag. A Lord.. Laethalion speaks of the giant next, Tenebrae's impulsive mind and keen summary of character leading her to take an immediate liking to him. There was just something about him. perhaps the dichotomy of his wild appearance and the gentleness in his eyes. Then to the half-orc, as she might only presume this nobly-clad but ill-featured woman to be. A hint of admiration shines in her eyes for that figure, before Laethalion's rumbling voice guides her toward the next, a wood-elf of apparent nobility, she presumes. Beautiful, as are all his race, but this one with the air of the forest wrapped like a cloak around him. She chuckles inwardly as the handsome couple thier arrival had so obviously interrupted in a moment of passion blush under Laethalion's gaze. "Indeed, Laethalion.." She is careful to address him in a tone of quiet respect, though a subtle smirk plays along her rose-hued lips. "It seems that it has." A last sweeping glance across the group, eyes taking in this detail and that. What amounts to a kindly smile toward the youth, Ali, and she clears her throat, addressing them collectively. "Pleasure to meet you."
Tenebrae notes the tension between Laethalion and the elf, the tightness in their words as they address each other. She adds it to the mental list of questions she has compiled, perhaps to ask him later in the quiet of their bed. Paired with Aidilian. She wonders at the choice. The swart-eyed dwarf steps forward then, and she eyes him flatly, his reference irking the vampiress slightly. The girl? Indeed... Yet Her pulse quickens, the swiftness of the orders given and the utter abeyance among the hunters leaving her no doubt that her man was their leader. Observe? Too right. She was out of her depth, here. Though she dare not presume herself to be counted among their number yet, Tenebrae yields to Laethalion the same deference as his hunters. Her nod is curt, but her head bows lower than it has to him before. "It does well."
Laethalion regards the bow with a faint lift of his brow, appreciative of the unnecessary submission. She does so for him, and he recognizes it at such. The others are moving past them steadily, already knowing their place, Ali working toward the barn's rear to disappear out a side door. His work, cooking for their return, appreciated by all. As he moves out, Gruntlar reaches her hand out to affectionately brush through his hair, a sudden affection revealed between the pair. Curious as it might seem, they are fiercely close. Slipping out then Laethalion moves at their rear, watching as the groups split amidst the fields to his orders. He presses his lips to Tenebrae's own briefly, Aidilian's watch forcing the tender exchange to be short. Looking up, Laethalion shares with Aidilian a brief glance. The two seem to understand each other perfectly well, and loathe each other even better. All too quickly the elf is moving out the barn, leading Tenebrae through the fields. "Come." Is his only acknowledgement, and it is offered with an ancient grace. With Airdrad and Rontag in tow then, Laethalion moves as well, flanking eastward away from the main body as it heads toward a place at the ravine's mouth. The rocks there, large and dark, allow for cover as the group quietly begins to set their arrows and crossbow bolts in preparation. Never far from one another, Calendarion and Elaina whisper in words inaudible to even Tenebrae's heightened hearing, revealing that while they are youthful lovers... they double as fiercely efficient killers.
Tenebrae had noted that Laethalion's hurried kiss seemed to be as much a warning or flout of some kind to Aidilian as it is a parting affection, firing her curiosity. At the elf's brief command, she does as she is bid, her own long stride lengthening to keep up the pace set by the elf as he sets forth into the long grasses of the fields. Hefting her pack to a more comfortable position on her shoulder, her muscles already straining to stay at his back, she cannot help but appreciate the grace of Aidilian's fluid gait. She refuses the hand, offered in assistance as they cross the final fence line leading toward the ravine, with a smile and a shake of her head. It would not do for her to be seen as anything less than able to do for herself, here. She had in her time laughed to see men die, attempting chivalry where the need had flatly been a lie and the circumstance dire. But not here. Her feet slip against the algae-covered stones of a small creek, the leather of her boots thankfully proof against the cold water. The elf's trail ascends, through the thick scrub and boulders, as they approach the rocky outcrop at the ravine, where the remaining members of their party are awaiting.
Aidilian’s movements were a testimony to the grace of his people, every step sure no matter how quick or hastily taken. He offers Tenebrae no added courtesy after the refusal of his hand, respecting her wish to assert her lack of dependence. It is her way, and he is content with that, seemingly content with the entire situation despite the stern demeanour that he holds. "So, After-Born, how have you come to know the one called Laethalion?" The question made as they reach the rocks and gnarled stumps the group currently uses for cover.
Calendarion and Elaina quickly look up from their whispered discussion amidst the tangled limbs of the tree they use for cover, their bows knocked and readied. The difference in their look is striking, Calendarion is a handsome young man with raven-black hair not dissimilar to Laethalion’s, with equally pleasant brown eyes of a deep, chocolate hue. She, with curiosity written everywhere in her strikingly beautiful face, has full, pouted lips to her mate’s thin ones. Her hair is long, a veritable bounty of fiery red ringlets that she proudly lets lie where they will. Her eyes are green, and naturally light, though they lack the sharpness that Tenebrae’s do.
Disinterested, or so it seems, Gruntlar remains quietly leaning upon a boulder overlooking the ravine’s mouth and the trail leading toward it, her mud-brown eyes scrutinizing her surroundings, unconcerned with the conversation that promises to bloom.
Meanwhile, their leader works around to the opposite side of the ravine, remaining silent as Rontag and Aidrad quickly move to a tree growing at the ravine’s edge. A few harsh chops of the dwarf’s axe and it is leaning, a single shove by the giant and it falls, crashing down into the ravine with a resounding thud.
The sound does not startle any of the company, their lack of a reaction would easily soothe Tenebrae’s inquisitive glance into the ravine.
As she pauses in her explanation to Aidilian’s waiting frame, Calendarion lifts his words to assure her, his eyes briefly running over her soft curves. "A barrier to stop the caravan and bottle them in the ravine." He offers, before falling silent.
"That’s enough." Laethalion offers as Airdrad moves toward another tree, and the giant hangs his head in disappointment.
"Tree go boom." He explains with a wanting sigh.
"S’alright, lad." The dwarf assures, patting the giant’s massive arm with a gauntlet-clad hand. "Black-Skins go boom shortly."
Oblivious to it all, or so one might believe, Laethalion settles to quietly knock an arrow on the steel length of his longbow, the weapon kept low to avoid its length from glinting visibly in the moonlight. Lined with etchings of archaic make, the metal weapon is strung with two tightly bound cords, and takes a Herculean amount of strength to draw. Its moniker is simply "Death’s Call", and it is the original and most lethal of them all.
The vampiress, her breath coming raggedly with the sheer exertion of the pace, raises a brow at the question. "We... met in Kelay tavern. He offered me a drink." A wicked smile curves her lips, the elf oblivious to the innuendo as he forges ahead. A pause, her concentration required to avoid wrenching an ankle on a scattering of loose stones. "It was recent. I am only coming to know something more of him now. He is... surprising, to say the least." She burns to enquire of the elf's own meeting, judging that this might not be the best moment she lapses back into silence, as they reach the bleak outcrop.
Her eyes are first drawn to the surrounds, their vantage point a good one. Plenty of cover. Enough of a clear view to the floor of the ravine. Her eyes catch a movement among some jagged stumps, the couple interrupting their close conversation briefly to cast her a cursory glance. She offers them a smile, slightly conspiratorial, as her gaze next turns to the half-orc. The intimate gesture between the woman and Laethalion had not escaped her. A tendril of jealousy lashes at her heart, and is immediately quashed. She knew what he was, what he had been. And that his bond with this fierce warrior was none of her damned business. All the same, she wonders who might come out best in a fight... the thought makes her chuckle at herself.
A sudden crash draws her glance sharply to the other side of the gap. At Calendarion's explanation, she nods, resisting the urge to return his raking glance. "Ah..." She feigns enlightenment. She'd guessed the felled tree's purpose already. It wasn't hard. Her eyes scan across the ravine, seeking the figure of her lover, catching only a glimpse. She senses in the company a tension that infects her also, a fierce and deadly calm. A killer she may be, but her hunt was nothing like this. Keeping an eye on Aidilian's position, she crouches against a stump.