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"Gathering Wood"
Date: July 26, 2000 (Aether: November 4, 3906)  Forest Edge - Farmlands: The gathering, while not large, is not small, either. Around twenty men of varying age and a cart pulled by oxen trudge out of Haven's gates, axes rattling in the back of the rickety vehicle. Varati to the last, they are hard men, with the look of hard labor about them. In the back, one smaller boy with a missing front tooth whistles through the gap as he skips along behind. Ambergaze slips from the darkness of the forest and approaches along the path. The long walk has dented the ardor of many of the men as they trudge forest-wards, but the strength and endurance of Varati is well known. As they slow at the forest's edge, many already show signs of springing back. The axes are hauled out of the wagon and passed around, and the first few step up to the edge of the woods, looking for deadfall, and resinous pine. Itsak, the boy in the back, trots up a few moments later, wheezing now, rather than whistling. Towards the middle of the group, a ox-faced man in the colors of clan al'Gul blinks as the group slows, eyeing the trees. The man, Khadle d'Harmal al'Gul, stares in his simple-minded way as he walks forward, ax in hand. Huge, serpentine beasts suddenly appear along the road from Haven, with hisses and faint growls emanating from their maws. Maws containing needle-fine razors that, decidedly, are meant for flesh-rending. Upon their backs are different sizes of men wearing suits of armor and bearing numerous instruments of death; weapons. As they enter the area, one huge man, nearly seven feet in height, dismounts the largest and proudest of the beasts to stand, glittering, in his navy and silvered armor. Holding the beast's reins, unafraid of this behemoth that could likely tear him in half, is Sumai. The current Lord of Messala. His guardsmen and their pilots dismount as well, taking care to not look like tempting treats for the wyverns. The sounds begin, unmistakable in the quiet, as metal teeth bite into the softer flesh of wood. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! A few men carry nothing, standing around to load the branches into the cart as they come free of the first dead tree. More gather around, making swift work of its length. Itsak's wheezes rattle to a halt and he grins vacantly at the efforts expended. Wood and branches clatter into the cart, and he whistles through his teeth, rocking back and forth on his heels. At the sound of wings, the young boy looks up and then gapes in open awe and fear, letting out a sudden squawk and then a shriek as he dives for the cover of the wagon, hands over his head. Drawn by the sound of axes in wood, the first of the Sylvans arrives. For now, just a pair of eyes, only visible to those who know the ways of the Forest as well as she, Ambergaze watches the goings-on. Brought from her patrol of the far borders to this place by the racket, she places herself carefully downwind and under cover from above as well as to the sides as the wyverns come into view. Soon, Sumai's thrumming, baritone voice commands his men in loud and easy manner. "Stake down your mounts, set the guard to five. Be wary, lest the beasts eat the help or you," he says in a dispassionate tone of voice, even as several men move to restrain the savage serpents safely and set about guarding them. The huge Messala Warlord himself moves towards the work area along with three armed and armored guardsmen bearing his leonine banner. His muscular frame moves easily despite its own size and the weight the armor must bear upon its wearer. Itsak trembles beneath the wagon, face covered with hands that shake as if with palsy. It is only after his immediate death is not forthcoming that he ventures to peer between each finger as he cowers in the deep shadow of the cart. It is hardly an effective hiding-place, as loud as his unthinking, terrified whimpers are. The wyverns hardly earn a second glance from most of the workmen. They are stolid folk, and most not particularly intelligent. One, a reedier fellow that somehow has managed to direct most of the labor so far rather than involve himself in it, draws his wiry length to its full height and starts towards Sumai, gesticulating wildly. "Oh, most honored Imphadi! Most esteemed warlord! Most high one! You do us such great honor to see over our humble efforts here!" The simple-minded Khadle just continues chopping, ignoring anything but what his boss says. Due note is taken of the temper of beast and Varati both, and Ambergaze cannot help but smile a little at the distinct resemblance she has seen between beast and rider. The one in all the armor, in particular. But, for now, she will watch and wait -- by taking deadfall, they break none of the laws of the Forest -- but they must still be watched. The Ettowealona Forest-Master is confident that she could persuade the beasts to be more friendly, but the people? Not too likely. She stays where she is, loosening her belt-knife in its sheath and gently touching her magic so that if need be, she can Shift in a bare moment. That deadwood is fast disappearing. And the cart is near half-full. A good sign, as the branches found will burn hot. But they will not create a very pretty spectacle. One of the thick men on the end of the tree reaches out to slap Khadle's shoulder and then gesture with a shovel-like hand towards a towering pine. "Ought t' take tha' one, too. Trim th' branches, take the trunk. An' what's extra might do for decent carving." The men surrounding him all bear heavy crossbows and a number of quarrels; each also bears a selection of personal weapons, from hand axe to scimitar. When the small workman, some good level beneath him, approaches him, Sumai turns and dips his head briefly. "Indeed, workman. Continue with your efforts, and we shall all be much happier for the outcome," the roiling voice of the Messala Warlord comments. "The work goes quickly, I see," he notes as he nears the cart, "We should have a good fire this year for the festival." "Duh..." the simple man says, shuffling forward as asked. He raises his ax and swings, hitting the bark and slowly shredding the woody flesh and protective bark. Ambergaze steps out from behind a tree, a little way further around the clearing. "Stop. You will take no living tree from Ettowealona lands," she commands, loud enough to be clearly heard over the dull pounding of the axe. Amber eyes gleam fiercely, and massive canine teeth are on display. Hasim grovels, half-stooped so his frame seems knotted and gnarled all out of proportion as he snatches the edge of Sumai's tunic where it peeks from beneath breastplate and fervently presses his lips to it several times in enthusiastic display. He bows over and over again, "Yes, most powerful Warlord. A most excellent fire. Why... I, myself, found this place for its strong woods and uncut expanse! It is perfect. We will have the most glorious display!" "It is a..." Sumai begins to say to the man, then lifts his head, plated in the Shaped steel as it is. His panzerhand moves the man's head away from his armored personage none too gently, though not as though he were striking him. The large people of the Flame are not so tender as many of the other races, and such force rarely offends them. The scrape of steel against steel can be heard as he and his men turn towards the sounds they hear. The 'commanding' voice. The Warlord simply says, in an unconcerned and perhaps pointless manner, "Torch," and then waits a few seconds before adding, "Follow," even as one of the men draws out a simple torch and lights it while Sumai begins to move forward. Khadle, not too bright, continues to cut the trees up, wiping his blade every so often as sap runs onto it. Itsak, startled by this new voice, scrambles to the other side of the cart and simply gapes. Sylvans! One of the beast-people! Nearly as feared as the dreaded wyverns (for how many bedtime stories involve being fed to one??), he cannot help but stare, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Khadle's mate and foreman, on the other hand, blanche at the order and the smaller of the two nearly drops his axe, turning to stare with open amazement at the Sylvan warrioress. A swift leap, and a hanging tree-branch accepts the weight of the graisha, shielding her from sight behind the leaves as she vanishes back into the forest. A few moments later, just long enough for her to have walked the distance normally, she lands back on the ground, appearing from the branches like magic to arrive softly behind Khadle. Politely, Ambergaze taps him on the shoulder. "Might I have the axe?" she asks, holding a hand out for it. The idiot looks at his foreman and, after seeing him drop the ax, that that's what he needs to do. He clumsily hands the ax over, and starts to pick up branches he knocked off. ShadowEyes slips from the darkness of the forest and approaches along the path. Stepping onto the scene then is the glittering form of the huge Varati Warlord. What is visible of his face -- chin and lips only -- is stolid and commanding. "What brings out to cause bother to our pilgrimage?" the baritone voice rumbles from deep within the cavernous chest. A man used to being heard over the tones of dying men and ringing steel, Sumai's voice carries. His own warriors draw out high powered crossbows but make no other movement. "We have not come to harm you or your people this day, little one," Sumai says in a dismissive tone, dispassionate and unworried. While most of the Varati seem a bit put out by this interruption and stop their work to see what comes of the debate between the Warlord and warrior-woman, Hasim looks about ready to collapse. His dark skin is a strange shade of greenish-grey, almost chalky, as all the blood drains from his features. He hems and haws uncontrollably even as Sumai steps out to take charge of the situation. Hasim might simply sit in the back and soil his clothing -- after all, he promised this was the perfect place. And now this!!! "Thank you," Ambergaze says to the Varati simpleton, before casually turning and hurling the axe further into the Forest, to land in the dirt where no-one else stands. Then she turns back to face the Warlord, smiling a little. Of course, those great teeth are showing -- but she can't really help that when she smiles. "To harm the Mother is to harm my people, big one." A simple statement of fact, without much trace of other implications. "Most of those who come to partake of the bounty of the Mother understand this." From further back, amidst a small group of Varati, a grumbled protest refutes, "They're just trees!" After getting all the branches, the idiot pushes on the trees, and because he had cut so much, the tree falls. Like moths to a flame.... or ticks to blood... several Sylvan warriors emerge from the trees. Most brandish spears, though all of them wear grim looks. They look to the stone-walkers, and then to Ambergaze, gripping their spears tighter at her words. Coming from behind in a less warrior-like manner is ShadowEyes. Carrying his staff, he waits at the edges, listening. Perhaps it is the torches, or perhaps it is something more. The smell of smoke hangs in the air, spicy and faint, laden with the tang of pine-sap and the dusky taste of smoldering leaves. "Intriguing, I'm certain," Sumai's powerful voice replies to the woman and her strange smile. He's seen graisha and shifters before, several. The Maharani keeps a few as pets, even. "Your people can stand to lose a few trees, I think. We take very little," he explains to the she-creature in an unimpressed tone of voice, and then shows his faint irritation at the simpleton's actions before his lips curl into a snarl at Hasim, "Will you control your men before he gets himself shot?" in a voice as cold and hateful as any ever heard, and as fiery as the forges of Masada. Itsak gasps as more Sylvans arrive, looking swiftly between Sumai and Ambergaze, the wyverns and the warriors. Suddenly more excited than afraid, he grips the underside of the cart and half-hangs there, almost drooling as he waits to see the fight! Redtree slips from the darkness of the forest and approaches along the path. Hasim shrieks at the sudden command and then quietly sighs as he crumples to the earth in a boneless heap. A few people take heart as the idiot continues to work and pick up axes and start to chop. Most are al'Gul, and don't want an idiot to show them up. The newly-arrived Sylvan warriors start to raise their spears, moving in on those who would seek to harm the Mother. Negotiations are for fools. They have been warned. The only question is, though, how many more wait in the shadows? Ambergaze catches the shoulder of Khadle in an attempt to turn him, and shove him gently towards the foreman. There is mercy in her heart for those with too much innocence to know what they do -- however, the others here do not fall into that category. A few more Sylvans melt from the woods, with drawn bows trained on those who continue to chop. "Cease, now," the graisha commands again. "You and I may talk, big man, but not before they stop cutting." While al'Gul seems to be a Clan that has had one too many marriages among close cousins, it is not true of a goodly part of the rest of the group. More axes hit the earth and hands go up as about one-third of the Varati back towards where the wyverns 'protect.' But that knot of eight-or-so from which the protest came, that stands firm, axes gripped in whitening knuckles. Redtree follows the Sylvan warriors down the path. She is small, but has no trouble keeping their pace. She slips into the cover of the brush not too far from the point of conflict, hand on the hilt of her knife, just in case. The huge lord gives the faint little man a sharp boot to his unconscious side, which propels his full form several feet with a feeble kick from this powerful Lord's boot. "Pathetic," Sumai spits on the man before he roars the order himself, "You will cease collecting the wood for the moment. Anyone who continues will receive a beating from me personally." His voice can be easily heard by anyone within several hundred yards. Khadle stops and sits down. The others just faint or fall to their knees, depending on their personalities. On the wind, it comes again, as the breeze shifts fitfully from northwest to a northeasterly flow and then back again. A cookfire, perhaps? But there is no smell of meat, and the acrid hint of pine is too sharp for that. ShadowEyes sniffs the air and shakes his head, gripping his staff tighter now. He remains away from the Ettowealona warriors who are paused now, waiting only for some reason to strike these stone-walkers. Redtree drops to a crouch. The faint sound of metal against leather as she draws her knife from its sheath is lost in the turmoil of the situation. The warning is enough to forestall the knot of Varati that seem too intent on the Sylvan warriors, but only for a time. Instead, they focus now on Sumai's every word to see where this will lead. Safiyyah slips from the darkness of the forest and approaches along the path. "I hope that is your forest fire nearby, otherwise your forest is in far more danger than losing a few trees to horrible Varati marauders," Sumai's voice says to the larger female, the one who has directed most of the efforts thus far. "It's an interesting quirk of Varati breeding that we seem to be able to know when a fire is nearby, though I'm guessing that even the children of the earth will feel that one soon," he says as he looks at the workman. "Go to your carts and prepare to depart. Carry your foreman and the other mewlings, and stack them with the wood. Maybe we will burn them too, for their tender hearts," the Warlord commands the others who didn't topple over in a dead faint. Ambergaze distractedly holds a hand out, five fingers displayed, then pointed to the source of the scent of fire. Five Sylvan warriors -- two bowmen and three spearmen -- fade back into the woodlands, and faint sounds can be heard traveling in that direction. Most of Ambergaze' attention remains focused on the powerful Varati before her -- she has not missed the fact that most of his own people are more intimidated by him than they were by the Ettowealona graisha's appearance. "I have a question for you, big man. Do you realize that your people are a goodly way from the edge of the Forest, well into Ettowealona lands? If you must take a tree, take one at the very edge of the Forest, near the farmlands." The group-of-eight leap to the command, although the axes in hand seem just as ready to bite wood or Sylvan flesh, should either present themselves too closely. They take the last of the deadwood with outthrust jaws, as if to challenge, and head back to the cart. Now three-quarters full, it is likely to serve well enough for any bonfire that might be burned. The idiot stands and starts to put his mates onto the piles of wood, like the big man said. He then picks the axes up, ignoring the Sylvans. The al'Gul who didn't faint start to gather around the cart, carrying the uncut tree on their backs. The underbrush crackles softly -- another Sylvan perhaps. But with that is a flicker of gold and a shadow, half-hidden in the thinning cover of the forest. No fight? At least.. it looks like no fight. Itsak looks distinctly disappointed. He pulls back a bit further under the cart so as not to be seen and drafted to haul the last of the branches by the approaching men. "To my knowledge, you are not an acknowledged nation. This territory belongs to no one," Sumai says simply as the workmen hop to obey. "You should look into having proper maps drawn for your territories, then we wouldn't make our way onto it by accident," he says in a dispassionate manner. His panzerhand, plated in silver and navy enamel, glitters as he moves it languidly in a dismissive motion. The spikes and studs reflect dully in the lighting of the forest. A growl emanates from ShadowEyes at those words, and it seems all he can do to stop himself from attacking. Redtree draws herself erect, staring off into the distant forest, toward the crackle of flame. With a quick, skilled motion, she begins to climb a thin hardwood. Ambergaze snorts. "This land was deeded to us by Delphi, to Apisachi and Ettowealona both. We are acknowledged nations, and you invade our territory. Perhaps you should have more recent maps?" The smell of smoke is making the wolf-graisha uneasy, and a touch nervous, and she shows it by the way her amber eyes keep flicking off towards the source of the smell. The crackling continues, louder now. No Sylvan worth his salt makes this much noise forcing his way through the underbrush; they are the wind between the branches, silent and untrackable. Gold flickers again, not cloth-of-gold, but the warm light of a campfire, bringing with it the scent of burning pine-needles. Under it all is a low, murmuring sound akin to plainsong, broken upon occasion by a low laugh, or sudden silence after a particularly loud crack of a snapping twig. The whole al'Gul crowd watches, wide-eyed. A savage talking like that to a warlord...! They watch in interest, all but Khadle, who just stands there looking nowhere in particular. WindRyder arrives from the path to the southeast. Most branches stacked, axes go in the wagon as well, and as an afterthought, Hasim is tossed on the top. The weaselly Varati hardly groans, and lies atop the pile like a discarded, gaudy rug. One of the five Sylvans sent to investigate the sound and smell returns to Ambergaze' shoulder, and whispers something in her ear. "I do not know much of Delphi. I have little respect for them," Sumai says to Ambergaze, and then lifts his soot-black eyebrows beneath his helmet. "Prepare to leave. And don't dally like the fools you have acted so far," Sumai says as he looks at the nearest workman. His thin lips, flecked with tiny scars here and there, turn upward ever so slightly in a faint smile, not one that could be described as entirely kind. "I will leave you to your land, for now. I will look into your claims and will send you money, or trade, in return for the harmed trees, if they claim true." Left unsaid is the fact that an angry Varati with the flame at his command can wreak havoc in a wilderness. Ambergaze already has a fair idea of the havoc a mage with the affinity for fire can cause. And when a rather warm Varati girl is shepherded out of the concealing forest by a pair of Sylvan warriors, it is obvious why. "If you can help us deal with this little problem," she says, waving her hand towards Safiyyah, "Then I will show you a large tree that you may take." No sound is made as a dark-clad figure makes his way through the woods. Soft-soled feet land lightly upon the forest floor, and despite the fallen leaves of sparse, deciduous trees, the feet find bare ground, and move in silence. Clad in deep browns and greens, the colors which surround him, WindRyder moves cautiously, listening intently to the sound of the crying spirits. He can feel the pain, the loss, and it brings him ever closer. Shadows resolve from the forest, three in the shape of human. In the forefront, a strikingly tall woman in tattered clothing stumbles unevenly, the air around her rippling oddly with the sense of heat. Where her feet step, the pine-needles curl and smolder. Behind, two fierce Sylvan warriors. The two seem to be reluctant to touch the woman, but bows drawn and nocked with arrows don't need to be too close to find their mark. Redtree gazes out as far as she can toward the sounds of movement and the smell of smoke. Pursing his lips a bit as he thinks, the huge man looks at the small woman brought before him. "What is it that you would have me do with her, precisely? She isn't one of the people I was sent with," Sumai says in an explanatory tone of voice as he turns his lips into a frown while he looks at the girl. Then back to whom he is forced to assume is the Ettowealona leader, or de facto leader for the moment, in any case. The silver-and-navy clad Warlord remains unimpeded by the flame that he knows is inevitably coming. The idiots finally manage to get the tree on the cart. But do they smash the overseer? Ambergaze shrugs eloquently. "Ettowealona would rather she, and her aura of heat, leave the Forest before they start a true fire. For her own sake, as well as that of the Mother. I personally would rather that she be treated well, and taught to control her power a little better." Ambergaze knows there is no fire, but she is not going to inform the Warlord of this fact -- although she is a lot less nervy than she was. She doesn't seem to see the others around her, stumbling without thought to path or heed to direction. The plainsong is hers, soft Varati words tumbling together until they become one unbroken line of sound. Her feet trip to a halt as Sumai presents himself, an immovable object before her. Safiyyah looks up, blinking blearily. Stopped, now, the pine needles curl beneath her feet with growing enthusiasm, their tips glowing cherry-red before shriveling to black and then grey ash. Unkempt hair and a ragged hood partially hide her features. The woman gropes as if expecting Sumai to be a ghost, placing her hand flat against the silvered breastplate. Hasim is lucky, if you could call it that. Trapped within the maze of branches of the pine, he is likely going to need to ride the way back within their pointed embrace. A shame. Redtree begins picking her way down the tree, back toward the commotion below, when the smoking woman approaches. The child changes her mind and stops on a branch about eight feet above the ground. Wondering what the source of distress for the flora could be, WindRyder moves stealthily through the brush, getting ever closer to the torchlight. Forms are illuminated before his emerald eyes, and soon he can feel the felled pine, crying out like a martyr in the night. There is nothing he can do for it now. Scanning those forms before him, he spies the figures of Varati workmen, and... Ettowealona? One look to the bows, and determining his position in the woods, he is sure that this borders their territory. How odd. It is with much creaking and cracking of the whip that the oxen are driven to move once more, and the cart is pulled into a rattling, lumbering roll. They drive towards the forest just a bit more and then turn slowly, the workmen trailing behind as the cart heads back towards Haven. Itsak yelps and then scrambles up on the top to perch in the pine's swaying branches and ride the way back. The wyverns and riders, on the other hand, make no move to leave, and watch the Sylvans closely should any make a move to halt the cart's progress. No. Sumai is no ghost. He is quite solid and looks down at the girl for a moment as she touches his mailed chest; he only wears plate on one side of his body. He looks at Ambergaze and simply nods his head a little bit to her, "I will take the girl with me," his thunderous voice says to the graisha woman, as though it were as much a command as a statement. "The tree is unimportant. We will take some from nearer the forest's edge and call the deal an even wash, I think?" Sumai adds in a slightly agreeable tone. Likely as close as real, traditional Flame-fearing Varati come to anything agreeable with other races. The other Ettowealona warriors frown at this statement, their spears thirsty for blood. The Sachem would not approve, seems to be the sentiments floating on unspoken words. The Varati are mocking them. "Calls.. calls.. calls.. calls. He calls. I must go..." Safiyyah's hand trails over plate, tracing the molded muscles in its argent shield and then higher to boldly touch Sumai's face, fingers tangling in his long, black hair. She seems disinclined to let go, and utterly unaware that this is the Warlord of Messala she is 'manhandling.' "You will take me, yes? You will take me where the fire calls. I heard you, and I came... and you will take me." Self-satisfied, Safiyyah gives a definite nod and continues her tactile-exploration of Sumai's armor and skin. Redtree watches in utter amazement. Never has she seen anything like this. Ambergaze says, "I will show you a tree I think will be sufficient. It is lightning-blasted and mostly dead. It will burn well, and is truly massive. It should suffice." It will have to, given the graisha's tone. "If you wish for more than that, you must seek deadfall, for more living trees you cannot have. And you will agree payment for the felled tree with a man we will send to you. Wergild will be paid in full, or blood will be paid." There is steel in the woman's tone -- in her element, on the land acknowledged as her Tribe's, she need not bend too far. "The choice is yours." Hidden within the brush, WindRyder's keen eyes spy around for more information. The moving cart can hardly be missed, but the presence of more Sylvans is perhaps a bit harder to discern. A tree nearby bears added weight, this much he can feel. And looking up into the darkness, the dim form of a young girl can be made out upon the trunk of a tree. The child, posing little threat, is easily disregarded, and the wayward adept focuses upon the scene before him. The trees shift uneasily above and about him, as his mood hovers near irritation. Odd to hear branches shifting when there is no breeze. Sounds of the cart moving fade slowly into the distance. It simply cannot move that fast, especially once laden. And since the venture was meant to be one that lasted overnight so the oxen might rest, it is likely they will end up camping in the farmlands a bit down the trail. "Blood or money. I have enough of both," Sumai says in his deep voice, and then touches the tall, unkempt girl's jaw with his gauntleted hand. Not the panzerhand with the barbs and spikes, but the more common gauntlet. A motion that is meant to ease her seemingly simple mind with his presence. "Bring your man forth and he may ride with us on our way to your tree," the deep voice comments to the graisha again. The big man's hand takes the smaller woman's, though she be not that small by feminine standards, and he makes his way towards the wyverns. Wyverns, by and large, are testy and mean creatures. Even when tamed they tend to be meddlesome and fierce, but they are well-heeled nonetheless by trainers. Like a warhorse, very little spooks one which has been trained for battle; especially when trained for battle by men who shape fire and heat as easily as normal men tie laces. Their sharp, yellow eyes watch the Sylvans around them, for they can smell them and do not need sight. Ugly, forked tongues poke out to taste the air and feel for presences near them. Sumai states over his shoulder as he begins to feel the shift, "If you value your forest or your lives, you will cease trying to incite me," he says simply as his eyes flicker to a hellish orange-red color, and an aura of heat appears around him, "Otherwise, I will burn myself out to destroy your forest. I am not so untrained as this one." Ambergaze is an Animal-Master, as well as a Forest-Master, and the wyverns, ugly as they may be, do not intimidate her in the slightest. "He is not with this group. I will ask him to call on you next time he is in Haven." The gauntlet is looked upon with undisguised curiosity, as if Sumai were golem and not warm flesh. Safiyyah allows her hand to be taken, expression almost childishly happy, the simple-minded smile unmistakably lacking in guile or sly thought. Like a toy, she stumbles along behind, as if drawn over the ground on lopsided wheels by the string of her arm, her song beginning again. Footprints of smoking pine-needles mark her way. The aura, however, draws an open awe, and she reaches out with her free hands as if to stroke it. "You... you are called, too! Can you hear... hear the fire calling...?" She trails off into snatches of melody again, clutching now at her hood. Shrinking back into the darkness, WindRyder begins to edge his way back into the forest. The Sylvans can handle themselves quite well, of that much, he is certain. As for the woods, it seems that Grandmother's protectors are all she shall need this night. With narrowed eyes and a slightly muddled mind, WindRyder moves back into the woods and disappears into the darkness. With a forefinger, Redtree traces the outline of a wyvern, drawing it into her memory. This takes half of her attention -- the rest is focused on trying to keep all the other people in place -- where are they and what are they doing? ShadowEyes continues to remain aloof, knowing full well he acts only as a bystander in this matter. Listening and remembering, he tries to absorb all that is happening. Sumai's hellish orange-red eyes glow, brilliantly so that anyone can see for a moment, and then he turns. He tugs the young woman's hand lightly, not very strong at all as he treats her more gently. "Show us your tree," Sumai says finally after he has made his point and it appears that the change in that one of the Earth has reverted to the manner it was before. "We will be on our way as soon as we are done," the huge man says and then walks away to the wyverns where his huge, proud steed rests, watchful and hideously serpentine. The beast is regarded with wary curiosity, but Sumai's hold allows for no hesitation. Safiyyah is drawn to it, and the wyvern's stench is enough akin to that of flame that the tension that briefly rounds her shoulders is burned away in sudden surety. In that moment, flame sheets briefly over her body from head to toe, leaving behind the scent of scorched cloth and burned hair. Ambergaze decides not to make a point. She doesn't know exactly how the beast has been trained, for a start, and it may think that Wolf is something highly edible. Instead, she settles for calling her magic. Her Sylvan body dissolves into amber, bronze and blue motes, which flow downwards towards the earth and then into it. A scant moment later, the flecks of magic reappear and shape themselves into a wolf, still within the clothing the Sylvan had worn. With practiced ease, the wolf shakes herself free of the encumbrance before turning in the right direction, looking over her shoulder to be sure that the Varati will follow. Most of the other Sylvans fade back into the undergrowth at this point, leaving a few to be obvious. The huge, glittering Warlord lifts the burning girl onto the saddle of his own magnificent beast, hissing in its own wicked manner as cold, heartless yellow eyes peer at the world. Moving his hands in silence, Sumai straps the girl to the saddle even as his guardsmen begin to strap themselves in, several guarding those strapping in while they await their own turns to mount. Eventually, all are strapped to the hideous mounts, and leathery wings beat the air, bringing about a fierce stirring wind that buffets the ground and the troupe of warriors is off into the sky to guide the cart and follow the graisha. Redtree chews on her lower lip, turning to look at ShadowEyes. He was the one she followed here, so she trusts his judgement on the situation. Yet, she cannot read his feelings about what is going on, and she has no frame of reference for such creatures or events. She stays in the tree and watches the procession leave. Safiyyah seems a bit uneasy at being bound, but somehow that agate gaze of the warlord calms her. She plucks at the bands absently, as one without a clue of what is forthcoming. ShadowEyes uses his staff to stand standing against the wind caused by the wyvern. He, too... waits. With an agreement made, he can do nothing more but return to the camp and wait to see what will become of these Varati. Ambergaze turns to the trail ahead, and lopes swiftly down it. ShadowEyes heads into the forest along the path to the northwest. Redtree climbs down from her tree. She followed ShadowEyes here... she'll follow him back. Redtree heads into the forest along the path to the northwest. Within fifteen minutes, a tree can be seen in the distance. A true giant of the Forest, it once was, topping the trees around it by ten or twenty feet. That very fact has led to its demise, as white bark and a splintered trail from branch to earth can testify. What is left has fallen victim to disease and rot, and will not survive much longer. The wolf sits, tongue lolling from the corner of her mouth, waiting for the Varati to arrive. Wyverns circle and aid the drivers of the wagons in following them; a tree of such size is not easily missed. Hopefully, the workmen are not so foolish as to miss it with the guidance of the wyvern riders. Sumai guides his own wyvern with the smaller unkempt woman in front of him, careful to keep her balanced on the sinuous sky-serpent. He alights near the tree with a beating of wings to slow the descent and looks down at the wolf-woman, his eyes now their normal olive-brown hue. Again, the motes dance their magical path, and a naked Sylvan woman (completely unconcerned by her lack of clothing) stands before the Varati. "I trust this will suffice?" Ambergaze asks, with a slight smile. "It will," Sumai says as he looks at the woman indifferently, much the same as a master looks at a hound. Certainly, it may be a fine example of the beast it is, but it certainly wasn't intended to be mated with. Such is unnatural. In fact, every tree has been eyed longingly by the passing workforce. Since negotiations did not take that long, and the oxen can move only so quickly as laden as they are, it is fortunate happenstance that Sylvan graisha, Varati Warlord and moving cart converge on more or less the same position at once. The train comes to a grinding, gaping halt and Itsak openly whistles at Ambergaze, beady brown eyes nearly popping from his head. Safiyyah absently pats the Wyvern's neck and then begins to trace random patterns across its hide. The thread of melody has never completely stopped, only occasionally broken by some thought or another before wandering on again in her low, throaty voice. She murmurs platitudes to the beast she rides as if it were a favored child's pet, talking to the back of the wyvern's head as if it might answer. Ambergaze, completely unconcerned with nudity as most Shifters are, hasn't even the vaguest idea about the massive nudity taboos of most Varati women, and so she looks at Itsak with more-or-less complete bafflement. She thinks of most Varati in the same way she thinks of most other peoples -- a nuisance to the Mother, and a threat to Sylvan lives. Nothing to be mated with, and definitely sub-Sylvan. The Forest-Master nods to Sumai before fading back into the woodlands, becoming lost to view within seconds and giving no telltale sounds. It is almost certain, however, that at least one pair of Sylvan eyes still watch the alien Varati, and will watch until they leave the Forest behind them. The cart rumbles to a halt, every Varati, even the al'Gul, staring to Sumai for orders. Muffled in the branches of the pine, faint protests can hardly be heard as Hasim strives to escape from he temporary prison. And at a gesture from Sumai, the party attacks the tree with a vengeance, as if to vent earlier frustrations with the Sylvans upon its unoffending limbs. It is reduced within the next couple hours to lengths of wood and tinder, over half of which is left by the roadside to be retrieved by a second cart. As dusk draws near, the cart clatters off and wyverns vacate the area, leaving two golden eyes to watch the Varati slip from the forest and back into the relative safety of the farmlands and 'civilization.'
FIN
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