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As the Gods Will It (DudeGuy and Sorrows Solace)

S

Sorrows Solace

Star
Joined
Jan 26, 2009
The village of Coldspring was a sleepy hamlet nestled against a woodland valley, a quiet place where little of interest happened. It had a peaceful tranquility that chafed faintly, though the woman did not know why. Truth be told she recalled nothing of her life previous to awakening in the village healerâ??s home the year previous. She had been found in a small forest glade, gravely wounded, the damage done had left her with no identity and pink-white scars that ached faintly in the cold weather. Apparently such injuries were not uncommon; she had discovered numerous scars, silvery with age, tracing along her skin and a questionable brand under her right collarbone that was always cold to the touch. She avoided looking at the brand, a mixture of unease and distaste filled her when she saw it. The brand itself and the scars were an utter mystery, she had no recollection of war or battle, but the weapons she had been found with (all honed to razor sharp edges and kept well) and the faint dreams that left her wide awake and sweating. She was unable to recall much beyond a blade in her hand, shouts and the coppery smell of blood.

The dreams left her confused and brooding the day after, when usually she was quiet and distant, interacting with the people of the village and enjoying her work as a blacksmith. She had found a strange amount of ease when in the forge, mending knives and swords after a brief few months of clumsiness. It seemed that she had a knack for such things, finding a measure of peace with each blow of the hammer against molten metal. It was, she reflected, using tongs to quench the red-hot steel in a barrel of water, a relief that she could be of use. She owed these people her life; they had let her stay and recover as the months passed, it was the least she could do to offer her services in a way she could be useful. Standing straight the woman wiped her brow, letting the metal cool as she walked to the open door for a brief break, before returning to her work. The firelight from the forge outlined the woman in a reddish glow, she was slim and muscle hardened from her work as a smith, moving with a light grace that seemed effortless. Black hair was tied back from a pale face, charcoal grey eyes narrowed in cool concentration as she began to work once more, the steady clanging of metal against metal filling the forge once more in a ceaseless din.
 
It was about an hour past noon now. The sun hung high up in the air, it's rays bathing the earth with it's warmth. The winds blew calmly, providing a comforting cool kiss to those fortunate enough to bask in the warmth of the wilderness on this picture-esque day.

In all of her years of life, she had traveled through many things. The rain, the snow, crossed oceans and had the misfortune of being caught up in the most violent of storms the sea had to offer. There were even times when she ventured through flames to reach her destination. Though it was hot outside, she enjoyed this kind of weather. It was simply the best to travel in.

As she made her way through the streets of Coldspring, it was exceedingly obvious that she wasn't from around here. People stopped and stared, some approached to greet her and welcome her to their small, humble town. She was directed towards the local inn and tavern, where she stopped to eat her fill and put her bags away. Out of habit, she locked her room up behind her and tucked the key to it into her pocket. There were many things that she had with her that were valuable and more that couldn't be replaced. Not until she reached the next big town in a couple of weeks anyway.

Her knee length boots tapped the hardwood of the stairs, carrying her back down through the tavern and into the streets. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her form flattering pants. On her belt she wore a single longsword over her left hip. The blade of which was in serious need of repairs. It had been far too long since her last visit to a smith, and the blade showed it. It had been dulled considerably, and had even begun to chip from being used so much. The most striking feature about her appearance wasn't the light, violet tone of her eyes, but rather, the fact that she wore an eye patch over her left eye. There was, what looked to be, an intricately designed katana cross guard mounted to the front of the patch, with small straps that held it down in place.

She brushed a stray strand of her short, chin-length ebony hair back into place as she stopped and asked for directions to the town smith. Thankfully, they were close by. Moments later, she would step into the forge. Though there was no one in her immediate line of sight, she could hear sounds coming from the back of the building. The smith must have been busy now. "Hello," she called, attempting to get the smith's attention. She pulled her weapon, scabbard and all, from her belt and placed it on the counter before her.
 
Noontide was approaching and the woman was ready to lay her work aside and take lunch in the inn. Setting aside another set of finished nails, and some worked farm tools; she blinked, hearing movement in the brief silence. Looking up, she banked the forge fire until the dull red ember glow filled the forge. Her eyes roved over the woman, of her clothing suited for travel, to her build, honed from wandering and from battle. The eye patch was a question, but she did not venture to ask as she walked up to the woman, her frame outlined by the red glow of the forge. She was pale, with shoulder-length black hair tied back for her work; sweat glimmered on her temples and throat. She was dressed in light breeches and shirt with a heavy smithâ??s apron that went over that. Stripping off gloves that protected her hands from the heat she nodded at the woman.

â??Greetings. Your blade is in need of repairs?â? she asked, voice quiet, lightly accented with a formal tone. With a slim hand she brushed away black locks from her forehead and behind a slightly pointed ear. The woman was a half-elf, with the delicate features of an Elf melded with the more sturdy build of a human. Her forehead was high, nose straight and chin rounded, her cool grey eyes narrowed in concentration as she looked over the blade. â??May I?â? she asked, carefully picking it up, a very small frown making lines deepen along her mouth and eyes. â??Hm, it has been well used, it is quite dull and there are many chips, from striking against armour I would believe.â? She murmured, tone becoming professional which belied the puzzled look in her eyes. It was a question that she asked herself as to how she felt at ease talking about weapons. â??Standard long sword; there is a fuller to lighten and strengthen the blade. The metal is sound, which is why there is not more damage to the blade then there is.â? She added and blinked, a faint sheepish look crossing her face. â??Forgive me, I did not mean to speak at length. I will be able to prepare the sword for you, do you have any other weapons?â? she asked, looking at the womanâ??s face once more.
 
A female smith? While not unheard of, they were definitely uncommon. What was more, this woman was a half elf. They were just as rare as female smith's were. Usually, they lived in elven settlements scattered about the woodland area's of the world with elves. Their attachments to humans usually dying as their close friends usually did while they remained seemingly forever young. To live and watch the ones you loved die again and again was such a hard thing. If only those who wished to live forever knew how hard such a thing truly was.

This half-elf appeared to be well accustomed to combat herself. The untrained eye would see her build and believe that she was just toned from working in the forge all day long, but combatants knew better. There was a very different way that a swordsman touched a blade, looked at a blade, grasped a hilt, and the look in their eyes? It was hard to explain the exact differences, as both knew how to appreciate a finely forged weapon for it's practical and aesthetic beauty. The way that the smith approached the weapon that just told the traveler that she must have been a student of the blade herself.

There was something else about this individual that was. . .different. A strange aura that lingered in the air about her. At the moment, the traveler couldn't make out exactly what it was. Perhaps it would have been for the best if she stuck around here for a while, just to see what happened. After all, such things were what she was payed to do. Payed very well at that.

"Not at all. I found it to be quite informative," the woman replied, almost laughing at the way the smith responded to the sight of her blade. "I'm a drifter, I exterminate demons, monsters, and other things that go around causing turmoil. It's been a long time since I've come to a town with a smith, so my companion here has. . .suffered from neglect. I assure you, all of my other weapons are in much better condition. They don't usually see the level or intensity of combat that this one does."

She paused for a moment, examining the weapon with her eye once more. "How long would you say it would take to restore this weapon to a better state? I get a bit uneasy when night falls and I don't have my weapon at my side."
 
If asked about her race or her people the woman would have been at sea. She knew she was a half-elf, but that was all. And besides she had spent little time with these people and had not gotten to know many of them very well. It was also fortunate that no one had passed on to the next life; the village had not suffered any past trouble from bandits, disease or any other of the disasters that usually plagued small places in the outer realms.

She was not concerned with such matters now, instead carefully running a thumb along the dulled edged of the blade carefully. While she did so, her body rested in the defensive stance of a warrior, lightly balanced on her feet as the muscles in her arms flexed subtly when she began to spin the sword in a few careful passes. â??It is well balanced, one handed, strong hilt. A good weapon. It will not take me long to repair this sword, an hour, less perhaps. I will be able to supply you with a whetstone as well, so you will at least be able to keep your blade sharp by your own leave.â? She replied simply, giving a small smile in acknowledgement to her statement of her small speech being interesting.

That smile faded when the word â??demonsâ?? hung in the air and a look of tense watchfulness filled her grey eyes. Her body had gone rigid and her hand tensed around the swords hilt. The moment passed too swiftly to be fully noticed and she nodded â??Then I will repair this sword to a mid-winter keen edge. The chips will be erased as well.â? She murmured, tone more relaxed now â??I would not ask a large fee for this work.â? She added, seeming to be more interested in doing the work then being paid an large sum.
 
Further proof of her experience could be seen as she played with the weapon in her hands. It didn't seem as if they smith were consciously doing any of the things she was doing, but rather, it looked as if her body had grown accustomed to doing such things and was naturally reacting as it was now. The way she stood, it was almost certain that she would be able to defend from and counter any attack that came from any direction effectively. The traveler was having quite the time attempting to hold herself back from launching a random attack at the smith, just to see how the woman would react to it.

"Any price to restore the blade would be more than worth paying I assure you. I thank you in advance for anything that you can do for it. I was afraid that I would have to retire such a fine crafted blade," the woman replied, bowing slightly as she did so. "I'll return in an hours time then, looking forward to seeing the fine work you'll no doubt do. Swordsman always make the best of smiths. The more skilled the better. From what I've seen, I've drawn the luckiest lot I could have in such a situation."

By that, she of course, meant that she had come across an exceptional swordsman. Perhaps one of the best she would ever meet in her life. Someone able to do the things that the smith was doing with so little effort had to be extremely gifted. This woman had to have lived a considerable amount of her life with her blade in her hand, locked in combat. For one such as her to repair such a well made and valuable weapon? It was as if fate had brought her here.

Just as she turned to leave, the woman wearing the eye patch paused. Her back was turned to the smith, but she felt she had a pretty good measure of the distance between them in her head. Curiosity had gotten the better of her and she needed to see for herself just how good of a swordsman this smith was, even if it meant there was a chance she could end up damaging her weapon more. First came a quick backward shuffle. Her left leg was then lifted up to her chest, and suddenly thrust backward, directly at the smith. It was a very straightforward attack, but it came quick and with a considerable amount of power.

It was nothing that couldn't be stopped by a simple block or sidestep. How the half-elf responded to the attack would show just how great of a fighter she was.
 
The woman kept her attention on the blade, stopping the smooth passes with a final spin, placing it down on the small table. It was vaguely disturbing, the sense of right she felt holding a weapon, and she knew deep down that it did not simply come from her work as a smith. Her dreams, the vague instinct when holding a knife or sword, and her scars all pointed to her past life being in the realms of being a warrior. That was also why her present life seemed to chafe so, with the marks of battle she had to travel often, though she did not know her age.

The half-elf smiled faintly, lightly touching the hilt of a sword strapped to her side, the blade had been found with her and it felt very strange to not have it at her side. â??I understand, though I wish I could share my experiences of such matters. To me it would feel as if I was unable to use a limb to be without the sword I carry. Is it the same for you?â? she asked, and nodded at her statement. â??Very well, I will be here.â? She commented, looking over the blade â??A word of caution. To have a blade sharpened too many times over the course of the years can wear the metal down, making the blade useless. If there are enchantments on the blade that is not a danger, it is a thing to think of if that is not the case.â? She commented, tone professional once more as the faintly befuddled look filled her eyes.

She placed the sword down once more, about the state her farewell so she could get to work. Looking at the woman as she walked away she saw her customer pause; and frowned as she shuffled backwards. What happened next occurred very quickly. The table the half-elf stood behind was sturdily made but it was not very heavy and she lifted it into the air to strike against the womanâ??s leg and deposit her on the ground if she was not fast enough. In nearly the same moment she plucked the womanâ??s long sword from the air and her knees bent into a readied stance, the blade drawn from itâ??s leather scabbard and pointed at her, the half-elfâ??s grey eyes cool, grip on the sword hilt sure and firm.
 
The customer had almost been caught off guard by the table. If she hadn't been able to see the half-elf strike it, she would have been flat on her stomach now, and in a completely disadvantageous position.

Her reflexes were just barely fast enough to allot her proper time to react. She kicked off of the table and roll forward onto her shoulder. When she landed, she was facing the smith, watching as she skillfully grabbed the weapon and landed ready to strike if need be. Those actions told her a multitude of things. First, it let her know that this woman was no stranger to combat. She knew how to use her environment to her advantage. Secondly, it told her that the smith was a cool and level headed individual. The woman was waiting to see what would happen next before taking any further actions. And most importantly - it was more than obvious that the half-elf was excellent with a sword in hand. No. . .not excellent, she may have been a master.

The traveler stood upright, dusting her hands off on her slacks. "I'm sorry, I get a bit too curious for my own good at times. Seeing the way you handled the weapon made me think that you had a lot of experience handling swords. I see now that a lot is a gross understatement. You say that it would feel as if you were unable to use a limb but I think you know exactly what it's like. It's nothing like not being able to use a limb, rather, it's like not having that limb at all," the woman said, extending a hand to help the half-elf stand. "Truly, I must apologize once more. I hope you can forgive me for being so impolite."

To merely offer an apology after doing such a thing didn't seem to be adequate. She would have to do something extra nice, to make up for being such a terrible customer.
 
To merely offer an apology after doing such a thing didn't seem to be adequate. She would have to do something extra nice, to make up for being such a terrible customer.

The half elf blinked, watching the woman roll in the air and smiled faintly, feeling strangely impressed. Her customer had swift reflexes and the instinct to be ready to continue to fight, she was obviously a veteran of the field and it gave the woman a quiet sense of kinship to realize that. It was a good thing to be able to relate that instinct and the distinction that came with having memories of battle even if she could not recall her own life. Part of her wanted to offer a quick duel, to take the measure of both their skills, but she had no idea what she could do and was still faintly confused as to how her body could well remember this so well. It was vaguely disturbing to think of how long she had been a warrior to be able to react the way she did.

She raised a brow at the womanâ??s words and shrugged, sheathing the longs word once more â??I do not know what experience I have, only that handling weapons is second nature to me. To be without the sword on my hip feels strange, as if a piece of me is gone. The sword is an extension of oneâ??s being, and it is disturbing to not know much more then that.â? She replied and took her hand to shake it in s firm grip. â??There is nothing to be forgiven for; it was truly an interesting diversion. Might I have your name?â? she asked.
 
The traveler was relieved to see the way that the smith replied to her actions. Instead of pursuing combat, she understood what was done and even seemed to understand why it had been done. To her, that said a lot about her character. Honestly, not a lot was expected on the part of the drifter, but she was admittedly and thoroughly surprised by the half-elf blacksmith in more ways than one. And though there were no ill feelings held, it would still be polite to do something nice for this person after such behavior.

"You may call me Corvo," the eye-patch wearing woman said, firmly shaking the hand of her new acquaintance. "Your skill is most impressive, undoubtedly worthy of praise. Keep a blade at your side at all times if, for no other reason, than to feel wholeness. I'm sure it will aid you in the future. . ." her voice trailed off, her way of asking the black smith for her name. Corvo traveled often and never knew when she would find herself where. There was a good chance that she would be returning to this village more often now that had found something interesting here.
 
The half-elf turned the table back to its normal state with a simple heft and laid the blade upon it. The brief foray into combat made her feel awake and alive and a faint smile rested on her face. It was not often that that instinct returned to her and it left the mixed feeling of interest and confusion, fortunately more eagerness and interest this time around.

â??I am called Sarathya. Those in the village called me â??Lost Oneâ? during my recovery. Later the name was suggested by a passing Elf, it means â??Seeker of the Pathâ??. I have no memory of my life before the past year and more, it seemed to suit my state.â? She replied with a light shrug. She watched Corvo and nodded slowly â??Perhaps it will, thought I feel weapons can cause misery as well.â? She mused, voice quiet as she began to gather whetstone, oil and cloth to start her work.
 
Corvo could certainly see how such light and simple action drastically seemed to improve her mood. The whole time that she had seen the half-elf, she seemed to be happiest when she was handling the long sword. Just a small taste of combat seemed to be enough to make her want even more. Sarathya, as she had introduced herself, was a warrior. It seemed as if her path was lost to her along with her memory. Such a thing was quite sad. To not know who you are had to have been a difficult think to say the very least.

"That could very well be true. With a sword, you could slaughter this village without question. Or, should something happen, you could pick up the very same blade to defend the life of every single man, woman, and child in this village. Would such a gesture cause misery for those people, or, would it bring them joy," Corvo said, heading for the door. She wanted to make Sarathya think long and hard about the matter. "Wield your sword for the greater good and I'm sure you'll be able to find the things that you seek."
 
Perhaps it was the surge of adrenaline that had not yet faded from her veins; but the smile still rested on the womanâ??s face, finding herself wanting to use the sword she carried in a test against the womanâ??s own blade. It would be a test of skill, allowing her to satisfy her own curiosity of whatever prowess she possessed.

The woman watched Corvo a long moment, eyes unreadable before she nodded â??Sound advice. I would not bring harm to this village, not after they aided me so. I would rather defend, if I was able.â? She replied simply, sitting down as she began to sharpen the blade unable to get rid of the nagging sense of familiarity as she worked.
 
"I am quite sure you will be capable of doing just that. I'll leave you to your work now," Corvo said, bowing slightly before slipping out of the building. She moved back out onto the streets of the village. She'd visit the local apothecary in order to purchase some potions and tonics for her continuing journey. It always payed to have many of each on hand, as one could never know when they would need such things.

A traveler? It was rare to see them here in the village. The last person who had come to the village that hadn't lived here all of their life was the elf who suggested a name for Sarathya. The elf was here for a little more than an hour, only stopping because. . .well, he didn't really know. Not that it really mattered anyway.

Rios was the name of this young man. He was one of the many proud protectors of this village of Coldspring. A summoner to be more precise. Though he didn't have any physical abilities himself, he was more than capable of directing his summons in battle. His strength was of great help to this village, the few times that it was needed that was. Rios was the man who found the strange, bloodied half-elf a little more than a year ago. Since then, he had checked in on her often, out of genuine concern to make sure that she was doing well.

He was best described as a simple fellow. He was five foot eleven in height, not the tallest or most formidable man you would meet. His body was toned from working out in the fields on the small farm that he and his family lived on just on the edge of the village. Rios' skin was lightly tanned from being out in the sun, the hue of it matching perfectly with his short dark brown hair. Thankfully, he took a moment to clean himself up before he left the farm to come out of town, pulling on a clean white cotton shirt, a pair of brown trousers, and a pair of stitched loafers.

He passed by, nodding a friendly hello to Corvo before stepping into the smithy. As soon as he entered, he could see that something had happened here. Perhaps something with the traveler? Whatever the case, Sarathya seemed to be in a good mood. Women thoroughly confused him most of the time, and figuring out their logic? Near impossible. So long as she was in a good mood though he guessed. "You seem to be hard at work. Perhaps I should come and visit another time," he said as he joined Sarathya at the side of the table.
 
â??Very well, I will see you again, Corvo.â? She replied and watched her walk away, returning to her work. She passed the whetstone carefully over the blade, carefully smoothing out the chips. Next she sharpened the blade and oiled it to a high gleam. A movement in the doorway made her look up and she blinked seeing Rios, one of the young men of the farming regions near the village, and the young man that had found her after her injury. Smiling faintly, she continued her work â??Not at all. What do you need young Rios?â? she asked, watching him.

The Day Before

Quewyn Kruger usually liked forests, but she was starting to dislike this one. For one thing, she was lost; secondly she was running out of rations and couldnâ??t really hunt unless she managed to sneak up on an animal without making it flee away from her. So it was little surprise that she wanted to get out as soon as possible, find a village and regain her bearings. It didnâ??t seem to be in the cards because a loud crack sounded behind her, followed by a shuddering growl. Red eyes gleamed from the underbrush and the girl found herself facing a wild and rabid boar. It pawed and stomped at the ground, before charging. Letting out a yelp of fear, Wyn fled, apparently being rabid overrode the sheer terror animals, and boars were nasty creatures at times. She was a quick runner, emboldened by fear and the sound of the boar faded before she realized it was gone, or that she was falling down a hill. Rolling and bouncing a few times knocked the breath from her and she felt a moment of weightlessness before hitting the ground with a crash that rattled her senses. Blinking she found herself looking up from her position in a deep pit to the star studded sky. It was much too high for her to climb out of and when she tried to stand her ankle flared in pain. â??Hel-hello?â? she called, voice rising to no answer and Wyn sat back down, fear and embarrassment coursing through her.
 
Rios could remember the day that he found Sarathya vividly. He had just been out, tending the fields when he saw that the goats had gotten loose. While he managed to get most of them back in fence, there was one that was determined to get away. He remembered chasing it for about half an hour. Mostly around the fields on their property, but then it darted into the forest. But as he ran through the woods after the four legged animal, he tripped over something. Only to find out that it wasn't something but someone.

A half-elf who looked as if she had been beaten to death, but somehow managed to come back from the afterlife. She looked as if she had been part of an army of some sort, a battle unit perhaps? She was armed to the tooth. Rather than continuing to chase after that single goat, Rios carried her back to his home, then, to the village chapel where the priests cleaned her up and healed her wounds. Her care was left in their hands, but Rios came to see how the woman was doing everyday.

He hadn't stopped coming to see her since then. Not because there was a physical attraction to her, but rather, because he was concerned about her. Anyone who had seen her in the condition that she was in when he found her would have been.

"Nothing in particular, I just came to see how you were doing today," he said. His eyes wandered from Sarathya to the weapon she was working on. Such a well made blade couldn't have belonged to anyone in this village. Though Sarathya was a good smith, she hadn't been able to make any of the weapons of the men in the village look as good as the one that she was working on. It was clear to them all that she could have made even better weapons for them, but they were stubborn. Most of the weapons used by the people in this village were family heirlooms. No one wanted to even attempt to replace them.

"Is this one of yours," he asked. He immediately knew that answer to that. Her weapons were elven in design. This one wasn't.
 
If asked about that day Sarathya would have been able to recall little but pain and a shaky voice stating that she would be alright, the soft prayers of the priests and the numbing of her wounds before she was unconscious once more. She awoke two days later, with no memory and the weapons she carried the only clue to what could have happened. The woman did admit that young Rios was a comfort, his concern for her and his kindness meant a lot to an amnesiac half-elf with few friends. So, her face softened faintly when he was around and she was relaxed as she worked on the blade. â??I am well enough, a customer arrived, a traveler from, well it is hard to say. She tested my mettle in battle, it wasâ?¦interesting.â? She stated, a near grin passing over her face at the thought of the brief bout. Shaking her head she inspected her work a moment â??No, it is not, it is the sword of the traveler I spoke of, a woman named Corvo.â? She explained, patting the sword strapped to her side â??My own blade and the other weapons I use are in my room.â? She added, looking at him â??And what of you, what are your plans for this day?â? she asked.
 
Rios immediately deduced that Sarathya was talking about that woman with the eye patch that just left here. The eye patch was a bit odd, but other than that, he didn't think much of the woman as she passed by. But for someone to just waltz into town and give his friend here so much of a thrill that she smiled like this? There must have been more to this woman, Corvo, than he thought.

"Nothing really. Now that I'm finished with my duties at home I've nothing to do really. I thought I would come and spend some time here. Chat a while, maybe find something to do later on," he replied. Rios ended up spending several hours there, chatting with his half elf companion. The woman named Corvo dropped by, introduced herself, and spoke with them both for a while before she retired to the inn where she was staying. Rios eventually returned home after his younger brother and sister came into the smithy, grabbed him by the hands, and dragged him away. Apparently there was some kind of emergency back on the farm.

Honestly, he thought that they were making a big deal out of nothing until he got to the farm himself. They hadn't seen what happened, they had only been told to get him. Another of his younger siblings was shaking when he returned home, while his parents and older siblings were all trying to figure out what exactly had happened. Rios didn't get any of the excitement or concern until he had been shown the partially eaten cows and what was left of one of their pigs. No human could have done the things that had happened to them, which meant, there was something attacking the town.

While this didn't happen often, when it did, Rios always took up arms and went to help the other townsfolk. He ran up into his room and pulled on his robe, grabbed his staff and his spell book, then hurried back outside. Whatever had been there was long gone now. It must have been heading. . .

Corvo had been resting on the bed peacefully, staring up at the roof, waiting for sleep to come to her. For some reason. . .she hadn't been able to settle down. She felt restless. Which meant that there was something nearby. A monster? A demon? Some incredibly powerful magician maybe? Rather than remaining in her room here at the inn, she decided to meet whatever this was head on. She grabbed her belt and pulled it back on, strapping the main part around her waist and the secondary part around her upper left thigh. She tucked her sword into place, and pulled on her fingerless gloves, making sure that she was all prepared before rushing downstairs and out of the front door.

The other customers stared at the door in confusion for a moment, all shrugging as the woman disappeared before going back to what they were doing before.

She stood now in the village square, her violet optic scanning her surrounding carefully. Something was here, but where? She suddenly heard a noise behind her and spun around, drawing her sword from her hip all in a single motion.
 
Sarathya nodded, finishing a few final passes along the blade before looking back at the young man and smiled faintly â??It is always good to speak with you Rios.â?? She commented warmly, her gratitude that the young man had saved her life by finding her swiftly had not abated in even a year. He was a kind lad, and she wished him the best in life. When Corvo returned the woman presented her sword, razor sharp and gleaming, the chips gone. She chuckled as Riosâ??s siblings pulled him away, chattering, they always amused her. She was working in the forge when a sense of wrong filled her and the brand on her shoulder throbbed with a bite of cold pain. Wincing she dropped what she was doing and let the forge fire die as she ran out into the village, sword drawn. Her face was tense and she saw Corvo up ahead, joining the woman â??Demonâ?¦there is one here, I felt it.â? She stated, worry and confusion in her eyes.
 
Corvo quickly pulled her weapon back, skillfully spinning it away from Sarathya's neck and tucking it back into it's sheath. It was a good thing she looked before she went through with her swing. Otherwise, she could have ended up beheading her new friend. Though Sarathya still had the heart and mannerisms of a warrior, she had forgotten one important thing - not to sneak up on someone like she had! Especially with her weapon drawn!

"Sorry," Corvo said, turning her attention back toward the village. "You feel it too? I. . .can't get a lock on it's exact location. It's either jumping around or. . .it's blasting it's power to confuse our senses. W - "

She suddenly stopped speaking as she felt something approaching from behind again. The aura. . .that killing intent. This was the demon! She quickly draw her weapon and held it back behind her head, narrowly blocking the blow that was coming down on her from above. Almost immediately, she slumped forward, to give the demon the impression that it was overpowering her before expertly rolling onto her back. She quickly swung her arm upward, aiming for the evil creature's vitals. It quickly jumped away, landing a considerable distance away.

Corvo spun her legs around above her head, quickly coming back up to her feet. As soon as she was upright, she tucked the blade of her sword back into it's sheath and dropped back into a stance. This was the first time she was able to see the demon clearly. It was large, almost the size of a bull. Two large horns curled back from it's head, it's teeth dripping with blood. It looked as if it were chewing on something. . .pink. Fleshy. Not human thankfully. It's eyes flashed as it crouched backward, preparing to spring forward and attack once again.

"Are you sure that you are prepared to walk this path again my friend," Corvo asked. She positioned her hands so that she could see the demon between her fingers, as if she were locking on to her target.
 
Sarathya paused, muscles reacting as the blade flashed nearby her face, her body responding in an instant. Her arm flashed the blade in her hand moving to deflect Corvoâ??s and if it had connected she would have rested the blade on the womanâ??s shoulder, near her neck. But that did not happen, as Corvo retracted the blade. She shrugged at her apology feeling that she would have done something quite similar. â??I do not know its location; I only know that it is near.â? She agreed, and tensed, feeling that sense of unease as her brand throbbed.

Turning on the balls of her feet, she felt her body settle into a readied stance, grip tightening on the hilt of her hand and a half sword. She shifted to the side as the demon attacked Corvo, and the woman evaded. Her eyes narrowed, mind swiftly calculating the distance between her and demon, ignoring its baleful eyes and the steady drip of blood. She did not hear Corvoâ??s statement, suddenly seeing everything in a sharp clarity as the demon snorted and pawed at the ground. It charged, churning up mud and small rocks as it barreled towards her. As the demon neared, it leaped and the woman rolled back onto her shoulder blades, hips and legs thrusting upwards as booted feet connected with the demons chest, sending it flipping backwards with a earthshaking bellow and crashing through a chicken coop. Fowl was sent clucking and scattering as the woman flipped to her feet, watching the demon struggle to its feet and shake itâ??s head, slipping in the wreckage, giving Corvo ample time to target the thing.
 
Lost in the thrill of the fight eh, Corvo thought. Alara was very formal and very polite. Even if she didn't have an answer for her comment, Corvo knew that she would have responded. The demon quickly moved on to attack Sarathya, the wanderer stood by waiting for an opening for her attack. Once she saw the demon flying toward the chicken coop, she was on the move. She rushed past Sarathya, jumped the fence, and was on the demon as soon as it was starting to try and regain it's bearings. Her first attack was a spinning kick to the head. On the next go round, she slammed the hilt of her weapon against the demon's throat, then swung out with it at her weapon in several rotations.

None of her attacks had the effect that she had been hoping they would. The demon seemed to be. . .almost completely unphased by the attacks? The demon's hand slammed into her chest, sending her flying back about four yards. She rolled over several times before coming to a stop against the wall of a home.

"Strike," Rios shouted. What appeared to be a beam of light struck the demon in the chest. Another flash came by and struck the demon across the face, tearing into it's flesh. The lights flashed around several times, only scratching the surface of this demon's tough hide. "This thing is tough," he said as he came to Sarathya's side.

Corvo stood upright and swiped some of the mud off of her clothing. Her chest hurt from the shock of the blow she had taken. She glanced over at Rios, then to Alara. It seemed they were both ready to get going.
 
Sarathya looked close at the demon a bit of memory nagging at her, its skin was too tough for conventional attacks. She had seen this before, she knew that and found herself looking at the sword in her hand, as well as the double line of runes that channeled on either side of the fuller, she blinked as they glowed and brightened faintly and her mind honed in on what they did. The runes on her blade were engraved to channel magical energies to be of greater damage against demons. This knowledge came to her as Corvo was slammed backwards and as the lines of light lashed against its skin. She looked up, eyes cool â??Rios, blind its eyes! Corvo, distract it on the left!â? she called, voice pitching to carry to them both as she began to move.

Whether or not they listened did not matter overmuch, but it would be of great aid to her in this endeavor. She was already running as the creature began to move towards her in a swift, lumbering lope, head down and horns at the ready to gore. It was nearly in front of her when the woman leaped into the air, jumping up as her feet connected with the horns allowing her to launch herself further upwards. Her body flipped forwards and she landed on the thingâ??s back, the runes on her sword flaring brightly as the sword dug deep into the demons back. It scored a line deep along the spine, scoring along its ribs and she used the momentum of the attack to roll off of itâ??s back and spun about as the demons roar filled the air, growing louder as her sword bit into itâ??s upper leg and Sarathya was away from the beast, to let the others attack.
 
Rios sent both of the summoned spirits towards the face of the creature the metallic blades they wielded were aimed directly into the eyes of the beast. The blades narrowly missed their targets, as the creature moved it's hands in to defend itself. As it heard, the other person would be coming in on it's left, so it quickly defended in that direction.

As soon as she saw this, Corvo circled around the creature and hit it on the right, causing it to stumble just as soon as it started to move forward. What followed after this was an amazing display of skill and athletic ability on Sarathya's part. It seemed as if she remembered something in the midst of this battle, as she just. . .well, It was safe to say that Sarathya was much better than even Corvo had been expecting. The enchanted blade that she carried did a number on the demon, causing it to flail about in pain. Corvo's weapon was tucked back into it's sheath and she jumped back a bit, preparing to attack it once more when she noticed that it was moving. . .strangely. Rios called his summoned spirits back to him and took a defensive stance with his staff. This demon was doing something.

"You. . .all of you. . .you haven't the slightest idea what you've done," the demon said. The language it spoke in wasn't English, rather, the ancient language. Even if Sarathya and Rios didn't understand it, Corvo did. "Consider your insignificant lives forfeit. You're heads will be mine. I will present them to my master. You fools who dared to stand in the way of a God," it snarled as it thrashed about. Suddenly, it let out a blood curdling scream, then it turned into a cloud of what appeared to be black mist and disappeared.

Dared to stand in the way of a God, Corvo thought. Her eye narrowed as she stoop upright, one hand resting on the hilt of her weapon. At least they were all still alive. She body ached from the heavy blow that she had taken, but she knew from this demons declaration that it was time to pack up and leave. If they remained here, there was a good chance that they villagers would be dragged into the mess as well.

"What did it say," Rios asked, looking to Sarathya and Corvo for answers. He knew that it was speaking in the old language, and had been abel to pick up on a few words, but he wasn't quite sure that he fully grasped what was said.

"Basically, you're a marked man. It's wants your head," Corvo said bluntly.

"But - "

"It doesn't matter. Right now, it's probably for the best that you, both of you, leave this village as well. That thing will come searching for us again. It's best if we don't fight that battle here amongst all of these innocent people," she responded, placing a hand on Rios' shoulder as she walked by.

Rios looked down to the ground. What was he supposed to tell his family? Some demon wanted to kill him so he needed to run? So that they weren't hurt? His family needed him. He worked, he made them money, he helped out. . .he did so much. And what about all of his siblings? What would the younger ones do without their favorite big brother? And who would the bigger one's nag at every chance they could? Would it really be okay for him to just go?
 
Skidding to a halt and shifting her body into a crouch she frowned as the demon began to speak in a foreign tongue, one that she did no understand in the least. Whatever he was saying, it did not sound pleasant in the least. The scream made her go rigid, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as a chill rolled along her spine. When it vanished she looked to the others Rios seemed shaken, small blame there and Corvo seemed mostly uninjured though the blow she had suffered had to ache.

She listened to Corvo and frowned, looking thoughtful, what she had said had a disturbing ring of truth. The woman felt an eerie sense of doubled memory, recalling beasts that attacked places more then once for the blood-frenzy and vengeance, leading to disaster. She walked to Rios and gently placed her hands on his shoulders â??Heed me now. Corvo is right, creatures like the beast we fought have the tendency to return and wreak more havoc. If we are far enough away it will come after us alone, cold comfort I know, but it is better then the demon attacking those of this village to lure us out.â? She murmured her grip light and sure. â??There are still ways for you to send money to your family, they will be well supplied for now, and the harvest has been done. You will better be able to care for them, by not putting them in danger, I will go with you, this attack, it did not feel right.â? She stated, her instinct stating that her time in this village had ended, it was time to travel on, for what ends, she did not know.
 
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