Settling a score

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Dunland Time and Weather Forecast

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Real Time is: Sun Nov 02 14:49:44 2008

IC weather is: Wind: fresh - Clouds: sparse

IC Moon is: Not visible

IC time is: Late Afternoon

IC date is: Sterday, Day 6 of May in the year 3045.

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It is twilight, not quite dark. Outlines of figures are still easily discerned but not features. The Old Village has doubled in population, and will probably triple by nightfall, if they keep coming.

Some wear grim faces, others are shaking with excitement. But they all come, carrying weapons of every shapes and forms imaginable.

Two giant pots are upon an open fire cooking up a hearty stew. A livestock had been slain especially for this night to feed those who made the trek, most on an empty stomach.

Already, men are on edge, as old enemies tend to be whenever they come near each other but on the whole, there has not been any outbreaks of violence among them.

Tet'Nak stays away from most people. There are those that think him the worst of men, and there are others that do not think him a man at all. Rumors have swirled about a half dozen deaths the man has succumbed to, after all, a man with that many enemies is certain to fall. He is here, though, defying any claims on his life so far. He is nearing sixty years now, a venerable ancient amongst his peers.

Sitting on a crate, he watches them gather. Most of them are dirt farmers, with not other weapon than a rake. He wonders if their passion will be enough. Idly he draws a whetstone over his Rohirric longblade he stole four decades ago in a raid on the Gap of Rohan.

Carac also keep a distance between him and the others, but where his thoughts are is not discernible from his face. His eyes move over those gathering for some time before they finally travel towards seated figure of Tet'nak.

A last glance towards the men and then he moves towards the older man. Though his journey is cut short, when a young boy comes running into the area from the north. "There's a patrol coming!" he calls out.

The boy's assessment would appear to be right. From the ravine path, comes the faintest of echoes. A falling stone, the tremor of the ground as it is shaken by booted feet, however softly they may tread. And then a muffled thread of speech rises clearly its owner has made no effort to whisper. "... told you before, I can take you to him, I know where he is. We have an old score to settle." The words are deceptively casual - whether the speaker is being coerced or not, they do not reveal.

Tet'Nak finishes one last stroke down the edge of his blade. He stands, tosses the whetstone to the ground, and looks out toward the sound of the voice.

His eyes look over to all the people standing about, wondering how they will react. Now will be their first test, he thinks. "We shall see what kind of backbone they have," he says to himself, sliding his blade into his sheath as he stands there waiting patiently.

"Had to fight me old lady to let me bring her good hoe. And I don't mean one of her ugly friends!"

A dirt covered man boasts to his friend. He flips the farming instrument, holding it by the neck and taps the edge with the pad of his fingertip. "Feel it! Careful now! It's sharp enough to lop the head off a boar with one swing. Surely it can fell a .." He stops mid-sentence as he hears the cry of the boy. Everyone falls silent except for someone who asks, "How many?"

But such words are too far away to be heard by the four patrolling Guardians. They walk with stern purpose, alert and well armed. These men are not the fat and lazy Guardians who sat all day.

"And I suppose you want a reward for your troubles?" The hooded Guardian talks in a normal tone, with a touch of sarcasm.

Another Guardian looks at Brev. "Are the two of them together?"

Brev, for the casual voice does indeed belong to him, would appear to have been working earlier, for the patched dun cloak pushed back on his shoulders is speckled with sawdust. The dagger is notably missing from his belt, though the sling still hangs there. It, however, is ignored as the young man turns his head to answer the Guardian's questions. "Aside from seeing that whores son brought to justice? I'd hardly say no, would I?" The same sarcasm touches his voice as his questioner's. The other query, however, is answered more gravely. "That I cannot say. The fellow called Tet'nak comes and goes - Carac, trusts me though. And he said he'd meet me. Last house, the one that's been derelict. We'll need to go right through the village - or round, but that's risky in this light. There's the burn to cross, and Kiern knows how many walls and ditches ..." Quite garrulous, the young man seems all of a sudden. His voice is loud and clear, no doubt it would carry well.

[Tet'Nak] Slowly walking over to Carac, he nods, "All is well?" he asks the man, leaving him to most of the planning. He hears the voice faintly on the wind, crossing his arms and allowing himself a smile. "Let the people spill the blood. Not you or I." He pauses momentarily, "It shall put them into a rage, into a frenzy, their heart shall pump, and they shall be ready for their next step."

Not all the men carry tools and farming implements, there are hunters amongst the gathered as well and the creak of bows being drawn can be heard in the shadows if one were listening close enough, the crudely sharpened wooden and stone arrows pointed at the cloaked Guardians.

Carac listens momentarily to the voices on the wind and then nods to Tet'nak. "Before we attack let us give them a chance to surrender peacefully. The less bloody the robes, the more likely we'll be able to slip past the gate guards beneath them."

Carac then moves towards the large cooking pots and calls towards the Guardians and their 'companion'. "I see our guests have arrived," he begins in a voice that easily carries. "I'm afraid that the stew is not quite finished, though. I hope you don't mind waiting."

"My father, who still wears the scars from the fire, told me that the man called Tet'Nak burned the fortress and killed his own kin. It would not surprise me if he plans to do the same. But Tet'Nak will be surprised to find that it is not the same Kirkgard." One of the youngest Guardians tightens his fist and clenches his teeth.

"Easy, Guardian. This is not about personal vengeance. We are here to protect the people. Already, I hear rumors of those traitors spreading dangerous lies to our people. That the lands are safe and clear of enemies. Such talk will lead to .."

They freeze in their tracks as they hear Carac's voice.

The youngest Guardians who walks closest to Brev looks upon the lad with fury in his eyes. "You tricked us!" He snaps his arm forward in an attempt to take the lad hostage.

To that there is no answer - well, not in words. As the youngest Guardian's fingers close around Breveg's wrist - alas the young man's quickness has not saved him this time - he will find that he is holding dead weight, for Brev stumbles, his other hand seemingly groping for his legs in an attempt to right himself. Perhaps he is as surprised as his 'companions'? Or perhaps not ...

His name is Garaig, and though he has spent the last sixteen years making his living as a hunter and trapper in Caerdh, before that he was an archer of Mathain Keep in the days when it was held by the Hawk. Though has taken the life of many an arc with his bow, this is the first time he has ever loosed another human. The arrows flies from his bow with a sharp twang and speeds through darkness towards the young Guardian attempting to sieze Brev.

A good portion of the mob seems frozen now that the enemy is actually, here but there a those who grasp their makeshift weapons and turn to face the Guardians. From amongst this group Carac's voice again calls towards the Guardians. "Lay down your weapons and come forward quietly or discover that the archers of Dunland, have as much skill taking down men as they do game."

Tet'Nak begins walking slowly toward the voices. "What might be the problem?" he quips. The man does not look overly concerned, but he does has his hand near the pommel of his old blade.

"Did I hear my name?" he says, laughing slightly. When an arrow flies, he looks over, following the route of the arrow as best he can. Impressed, perhaps, he nods to himself, content on waiting still.

The arrow finds its mark, though the shot was far from fatal. The youngest Guardian lets out a loud grunt and releases his hold on Brev to grab his wounded shoulder. As wounded as he is, he would attempt to trip the lad if Brev attempts to flee.

But the whistle of the arrow brings forth the chilling ring of metal as all three blades belonging to the Guardians clear their respective scabbards in unison. They move just as fast in finding cover behind trees and buildings. and quickly.

"I spoke your name!" The young Guardian answers Tet'Nak.

There is just a momentary pause - perhaps a sigh - before the captain of this squad speaks.

"The archers of Dunland will take down game, but not its protectors. Do not listen to these traitors, oh men of Dunland! Ask anyone! One is a known murderer, and the other is the son of a deserter! We are the Guardians! We speak for the Chieftains who look over you!"

Brev does not attempt to flee, instead righting himself into a crouch. His free hand, which had been groping in his boot, comes up holding a dagger. He twists round and then lunges, the dagger-blade slicing towards his former captor's knee - perhaps, if there is no weakness in the armor there, it will still unsettle and unbalance the one already injured. To the battle of words he makes no contribution.

The whiskey scorched voice of Garaig is the first to reply to the words of the Captain. "The same Chieftain's who turned against their kin the Hawk and tossed them from their home for only wanting a bit of what they had," he bellows back and looses another arrow in the direction of the first.

"And what of the Stag!" comes another voice from the darkness on the opposite side of the street. "There's been no Chieftain or Guardian in Laeg for some time. How's it your lookin' out for us!" He too releases a bolt towards the street, but the Guardians have already fled into the shadows.

"Archers keep the pass sealed don't let them move back towards the city!" Carac cries. "The rest of you make groups of four or more and seek them out, they can not hide forever." The it is towards Tet'nak he journeys.

Tet'Nak is careful not to interfere. Instead, he remains silent, allowing the mass of people to reply. They know what they are angry about, and allowing them to express it themselves is wiser than telling them. He smiles at the Guardians, a strangely dangerous look from an old man, like someone who knows something that they do not. But, is that not always how it has been, a man wiser than most Dunlendings? Smarter? Whatever it is, he stands here, while likely more blood will fall, and it will not be his own.

The dagger encounters the tough hide protecting the legs of the Guardian, but not every inch. The swift blade finds a patch of unprotected flesh and breaks skin, thus earning him a furious kick towards his mouth as a reward for his insolence. "I should have known a friend of a traitor can only speak lies!" He then look up angrily at Tet'Nak. "And YOU! It is your fault my sister cannot see and my father will speak no more!"

There is another pause as the leader continues to talk from behind the shadows. "The Bear clan offered its protection to everyone. There is still plenty of shelter within the great city that protect you from the murderous orcs. Now Carac - what are you going to do? Ask these farmers armed with sticks and shovels to go against Kirkgard? Men of Dunland! Do not be swayed by this young man who tries to avenge his father by spilling your blood!"

Breveg does not wait to be kicked. Already he is rolling away, dagger still gripped tightly, and as he rises to his feet again, further away from the wounded Guardian now, his left arm reaches to gather the folds of his cloak as a makeshift shield.

One battle paused for the moment in the interests of defence, he joins the other fray. "Protection? That'll be why Caerdh lies empty and the goblins roam freely? Because men who couldn't be arsed to hold their own border protect us?"

The words may flow freely, but his gaze does not leave that of his opponent, not for one moment.

Sighing, Tet'Nak shrugs to the accusations thrust in his direction. "Did I stab out your sister's eyes? Did I cut out your father's tongue?" He rolls his eyes, "I did neither. I have never, in fact, harmed those of Dunlending blood that did not deserve it. I know not what pains your family have went through, but I assure you, none of them are of my account." He turns over to the mass of people, "Yes, look how finely he eats and dresses. It is easy to uphold these so called nobility when you gain from them. Where are all your fine clothing? Fresh bread? Where is it? I do not see it here. Only with them. They should live your lives for a week and see if they would not be hoisting themselves up in revolt!"

Off in the shadows several of the village folks voices call out suddenly followed by a single blood curdling cry and the fleshy smack that can only come from something heavy and solid connecting with a skull.

"I think I see another over there," cries a hoarse voice, followed by the shuffling sound of several pairs of booted feet.

"There's one of your men gone," Carac calls into the darkness towards the Captain's voice. "Your words will no longer sway the people, they have seen the truth for themselves and know you for the thieves and cowards you are. As for my father? How would he be avenged by your death? Or the death of anyone in this land, no one of Dunland took his life. There was none in this land who could have, but perhaps if you come out of your hiding spot and face me, you can prove that I am indeed not my father."

The young Guardian too, continues to glare at his escaped victim, but his words are to Tet'Nak. "You may not have robbed her eyes but you caused the fire that did! My father tried to save her but he was so badly burned that he can no longer work. Before that, we were a happy family. It was all your fault!"

The Captain lets out another sigh. "Did you hear the lad speak just now, Men of Dunland? Goblins /do/ roam freely! Your leader lies! The land is NOT safe and we and the forces of Kirkgard are the only things keeping you safe from slavery. Now stop this nonsense before you destroy another family, like Tet'Nak did to Lachlain's."

He grits his teeth as his men are cut down one by one. With his back leaning against the building that gives him cover, he looks up towards the fortress that seems to loom so far. He closes his eyes and prays silently, before pushing himself off the building and making a mad dash back towards the fortress.

From the darkness behind the Captain steps the grizzled form of Garaig, arrow already nocked to his string he draws backs and aims the carefully for the base of the Captain's skull. "Kiern damned, gut maggot," he mutters softly and then twang of his bowstring sounds as the jets forward with deadly intent.

Brev eyes the wounded Guardian, then takes the the opportunity of the man's impassioned speech to Tet'nak to edge round, behind the man, perhaps seeking a blind spot. The Captain's desperate flight is observed out of the corner of his eye, but not acted on unless the fugitive should pass dangerously near.

"I never started a fire, I am no arsonist," Tet'Nak says. "Do not believe everything you hear. Do you believe I am a ghost? A demon? I have heard those as well." He laughs, "Kierkgard Dun has been burned to the ground so many times, do you suppose I did that, each time? Do you suppose I am the one who has caused all wrongs to this land? This is what the nobility would tell you! This is something only fools would believe!"

Lachlain's conviction wavers momentarily at Tet'Nak's words. But when he sees the captain struck down by Garaig's arrow, the young Guardian lets out a cry more pained than when he was hit himself.

"YOU SHOT HIM IN THE BACK!" His words of outrage are directed to both Tet'Nak and Breveg. Lachlain spins and hobbles towards the fallen leader, dropping to his knees beside him. The captain could have uttered something in his final moments for the young Guardian shakes his head vigorously, before succumbing to a sob. Whatever sway Tet'Nak may have begun to had, is gone from his eyes.

"I hope you do attack Kierkgard Dun. And I hope you all die."

Kiern!" Brev groans in disgust as his quarry moves away. A heavy scowl is on his features as he comes up behind the man - swiftly, for he is not hampered by any injury - and lifts the dagger high. Yet it is pommel, not blade, that comes down toward the final surviving Guardian's head, accompanied by a muttered prayer of sorts: "Hope I don't hit too hard."

There are few more cries from the shadows, but these belong to the villagers. The fourth Guardian actually managing to take down a pair of the townspeople before he too is overtaken by the mob. A few moments later the townsfolk return from the shadows carrying the robes of the defeated Guardian's.

After seeing the Captain fall, Carac's eyes turn back to the shadows so he does not see Brev's attack on the last Guardian, or know that his words will most likely go unheard by the young man. "We do not plan to attack Kierkgard, we intend to walk in," he says as he takes the robes that are brought to him and tosses one in the direction of Tet'Nak. "Are you ready to have more burning, blood, and pillaging pinned to your name?" he ask the older man with something of a smile.

"Perhaps," Tet'Nak says, looking down at the robe. He tosses it over his shoulder, "Perhaps," he repeats, his face stoney and without expression. He looks back over to Carac, "I shall be preparing myself," he says, walking leisurely back toward one of the hovels he has been staying. "All of you, prepare yourselves for what is rightfully yours!" Tet'Nak yells out to the mob that has gathered. He pays no head to the Guardians and their deaths.

The blow is hard enough to knock Lachlain unconscious. He collapses atop the captain who has stopped moving altogether.

Brev is already kneeling at the wounded Guardian's side, busy pulling off the cloak. He looks up, though, at Carac's final words and Tet'nak's response. "Worth waiting a few more hours?" he queries, his soft words cutting across the mob's response. This one," he shakes the unconscious man's shoulder roughly , knows something. 'Not the same Kierkgard', he said. If he comes round soon maybe we can get something out of him."

Carac nods to Brev. "We shall wait a few hours before making our next move," he replies. "Though not long, the guards at the gat will wonder if this patrol does not return soon." He looks down at the last living Guardian briefly and bats a lock of hair from his eyes. "We shall see if he has any information to share."

Garaig moves up as well and also looks upon the fallen Guardian. "Leave that to me," he says. "If he's got any secrets I'll get them out of 'im."

Brev's head dips in a nod as he pulls the second cloak free from the fallen captain, blotting at a blood-spot with a rag before he places it neatly beside the first. "Need their armour?" It is to Carac he looks, though he shifts to allow Garaig clear space.

"Armor, weapons, all of it," Carac replies. "We've little, if any of our own so we'll take what we can from the enemy." With a wave of his hand he bats a stray lock of hair from his eyes and gives Brev a half smile. "I'm glad to see that you decided to join us."

Garaig meanwhile has placed on his boots on the uninjured shoulder of the unconcious Guardian. A flask is pulled from his belt and when unstoppered the potent stench of whiskey wafts up from the opening. "Damn shame to waste good whiskey on the like of this," he mutteres and then pours some of the fiery concoction down on the wounded shoulder.

Now that Garaig has he prisoner situation under control, Brev focuses on the dead captain, grunting as he hauls the man onto his side for easier access to buckles and straps. He looks up briefly at Carac, and his lips curve in a tight-lipped grin. "Take it I've 'settled some old scores', then?" He chuckles. "Folk are deaf, sometimes. Tell them something half-way to a truth, and they just hear what they want to hear .." He falls silent again, and is soon industriously despoiling the man of his armour and weapons.

Lachlain stirs, then returns to consciousness though from the grimace upon his face, he must still be in great pain. He manages to groan and opens his eyes in a slit.

Garaig reaches out and takes hold of the shaft of the arrow protruding from Lachlain's shoulder and twists it violently from side to side. "Wakey wakey," he says in his whiskey scorched voice. "Got some questions to ask you."

Carac gives Brev a smile. "I don't know what scores you've settled, but you've made some new friends and some new enemies. Just know that you've chosen the right side."

He looks down then towards the awakening Lachlain. "How many Guardians are in the city?" he asks.

"Certainly hope so," Brev mutters, head down as he focuses on his task. The Guardian captain's sword is laid aside without a second thought, but his hand pauses as he pulls free the man's belt knife. He studies it a moment, then shrugs and obediently piles it with the rest.

He may not be looking at Garaig's equally industrious work, but the tilt of his head suggests he is indeed listening.

The pain from the protruding arrow that Garaig jerks seems to shoot down his entire body, for in an instant, sweat overflows from every pore of his body, especially his face.

He is disoriented from the blow and from the pain, but when his eyes focus, they look about him, and they fixate on the pile of the weapons that once belonged to his colleague. Once again, his eyes fill with hatred and he breathes hard through his nostrils.

"Why would it matter? You ignorant peasants don't know how to count. But if you want a number, I will give you one. There are eleventy two thousand of us."

Garaig gives the arrow another harsh twist. "Might want to think over that number again, boy," says the one time Hawk. His free hand draws a new arrow from his quiver and holds the sharpened point a few inches above Lachlain's eye. "Less you want to join your sister in permanent darkness."

Carac shakes his head. "Enough," he says to Garaig. "Tell us the true number," he says looking down at the Guardian. "Or I'll have you handed over to Tet'Nak for questioning, and I know you've heard the stories of what he does to prisoners."

His body is rigid with the pain, veins bulging and cords straining beneath his skin. Lachlain breathes fast and shallow through gritted teeth, not giving his enemies any reason to rejoice - until he mentions his sister.

"Don't you even mention her, you rotting piece of cow dung! You shot an honorable man in the back, you coward!" He explodes with fury and strains to rise against the foot that holds him down to the ground.

He then turns his head to Carac. "I haven't heard stories of that man nor do I care to. Knowing that he hurt my family is enough." He seethes with rage. "So it is not enough that he hurt my sister and father. Fine. Let him gouge out my eyes and cut off my tongue. I wouldn't expect any less from someone such as him."

"You'll be needing your tongue," Brev hisses in Lachlain's direction, irritation moving him to speech. "Unlike a few other appendages." He snorts. "If he were honourable he wouldn't have fled like a rabbit, would he?" The words are mocking, for all he's more interested in stripping away each piece of the Captain's armour.

"Nor would an honourable man lie to the people of Dunland about orcs freely roaming the land, for his own profit." Carac adds. "If indeed orcs have taken over most of the land as you Guardians claim, then was I able to travel from Bree without spotting even one? How were these men of Laeg, Caerdh, and Redvyrne able to reach the village all without being attacked or even spying a single orc?"

He glances once towards the dark outline of Kierkgard in the distance. "You shall keep your eyes for now," he continues. "Because I wish for you to see the fall of Kierkgard and the destruction of those who call themselves Guardians."

Simply seeing Breveg touch his mentor's belongings seems to roil Lachlain's anger. "The Captain didn't flee. He risked his life to warn the others of your treachery. Innocent people who have no idea that their own people plot their destruction even as they sleep safely in their beds. Besides, what would YOU know of honor? I'd wager you would turn in your own mother for an extra ladle of rat stew. That is, if your mother hasn't already done it to you."

The young Guardian then turns his head to glare upon Carac. "You ignorant peasant. Why do you think they do not attack? It is through the power of our worship that the gods protect us. We have close to one hundred Guardians, all serving a higher purpose. Destruction of the Guardians? You not only speak of treason, but of blasphemy. The people of Dunland will forever blame you for every misfortune that will curse this land, for curse it is you will be placing if you anger the gods!"

One of Brev's eyebrows raises, but he does not seem upset by Lachlain's words - that quirk to his lips looks to be amusement. Deliberately he strokes the piece he's holding. "Fine armour." He falls silent as the young Guardian continues, his face carefully blank.

"Did you know," Tet'Nak nearly yells as he walks from his hovel, "I have lived in Dunland longer than most of you are alive." He chuckles, "And, quite simply, I have lived other places as much as I have Dunland." He looks around, "Why? Because most chieftains that have come and gone know nothing about being warriors, doing what they should do! Working every day to provide for their people and take what was stolen from them!"

Carac chuckles softly. "Close to a hundred you say?" he asks the Guardian. "Well that's a quite a bit less than eleventy two thousand, isn't it? So now we know that not only are you thief who preys upon the weak and misinformed, but also a liar. I doubt these gods look to favorably on either."

He glances towards the armor Brev holds. "It is indeed fine," he says in agreement. "I think you will put it to much better use than it's previous owner, Brev. Go ahead and take what you need from the Captain's belongings, at least in your hands they truely will be used to assist the people of Dunland."

He then looks towards Tet'Nak as he appears from the hovel and speaks. "What of you young Guardian," he asks turning back to Lachlain. "What have you done to assist the people of Dunland today? Or this week for that matter, ah yes you prayed. Do those prayers fill empty bellies of Dunland's people? Or do you take the food that should be theirs so that you can continue your life of prayer?"

Brev, now busy setting the Captain's padded undertunic beside the pile of armour, looks up at the words. "Well, he doesn't need them any more," he murmurs, almost shamefacedly - any guilt within, however, does not stop him from lifting the armour. "If nothing else, it'll help one Dunlending live a little longer," he comments wryly. "A few Dunlendings, even." Conscience - or perhaps just a natural inclination to keep only what is useful - prompts him to leave the man's sword lying.

"I'll get ready," he asserts, heading towards the buildings. As he goes, he has a parting comment for Lachlain. "More likely the gods will thank us. Any god of Dunland clearly has a liking for change."

Lachlain's eyes peel back with rage, and his howls resemble that of an enraged animal. Straining against the foot that continues to hold him down, he cries out to Brev "Put down that armor, you son of a two bit whore! You touch the belongings of a holy man!" When he continues his struggling and flailing in vain before he turns to both Tet'Nak and Carac.

"Fools, all of you! We are at war! The Guardians have vowed to protect the people with our lives, and to give them spiritual guidance. In turn, they give us food for we have no time to hunt or till the soil in between our rigorous training. The people understand that! Why can't YOU?"

His head turn, and his eyes settle on the stars. Slowly, he begins to grin.

Tet'Nak does not like his grin. He rears back and kicks at the man's head as hard as he can. Even though old, he is still swift, and is able to put a whallop on a man in such a fashion. "These people do not understand that. Either you are mislead, or corrupt, just as your leaders." He gives Carac a look, "Why play with him, he is only causing a scene."

Carac looks at Tet'Nak and grins. "Because every word he speaks only serves to further prove what we have already told the people here," he says. "Those who reside in the Old Village have been close enough to Kierkgard to believe that perhaps there are orcs roaming in Caerdh and Laeg, but there are men here from both counties who can tell them the truth that the orcs are a tale spun by the Guardians to control the people."

He looks at Lachlain and shakes his head. "This one is so ignorant that he does not even realize the people now see him as a madman at best, and the lying scum we've named him at worst. He claims the Guardians are at war, but listen to the people around us," he pauses to allow the voices to carry to them. "They want to know if there is indeed a war why have there been no battles. Do the Guardians hope to defeat the orcs by hiding until the enemy has taken all they can from Dunland and simply leave. They have no time to hunt or till because of their rigorous training, but what is it they train for when they do not fight?" He turns back to Tet'Nak and grins.

"His 'scene' is only making the people angrier and more determined to finish what has begun."

His head snaps to the side with the force of Tet'Nak's fierce kick, and once again, Lachlain seems completely disoriented.

"I am sorry, Father. I will try harder.." he mutters in a pleading tone, then quickly, he shakes himself.

"Say what you will. But the stars are now in position and the patrols have not returned. The city will now ready itself for the worst." He grins again, eyes not quite focusing at his captors. "And the hunting and purging will begin. So why don't you just enjoy your rat stew? It shall be your last meal."

Tet'Nak looks over to Carac, "Is this guy for real?" he wonders aloud. "How many times to I have to hear threats such as these?" The old man sighs as if truely disappointed. "It gets old after forty years. Do not threaten, just do, if you cannot do, do not threaten."

Carac nods to Garaig who disappears momentarily into the shadows. "We have already considered that," he says to Lachlain. "We just did not know the time the patrol would be expected to return," he adds with a smile as he begins to pull one of the Guardian robes on. "I thank you for giving us that information as well as the number of Guardian's within the city."

Garaig returns as Carac finishing putting on the robe. "Ah, there we are," he says and nods towards the recently slain and field dressed boar the former Hawk drags behind him. "From what I understand it has been some time since there was fresh meat in the city. I think your gate guards will understand why it took us a bit longer than usual to return once they see the trophy we bring with us, and blinded by their stomachs they will see only the boar and not who they allow through the gates."

Exhausted by the pain and the ordeal, or perhaps through defeat, Lachlain stops his struggle. His body relaxes and he closes his eyes and remains still.