Fool's Errand: The Assassin and the Princess

This post is for reference.

Aern: Human border town
Artaneer: Serutur's choice of husband for Rhavana
Bandor: Elven Kingdom
Brandon: Half-Elf (Assassin)
Barathiel: Rhavana's mother, the queen
Catanion: Rhavana's cousin
Chron: Human leader of Orcs
Daffyd, King: Human king
Despurden Guild
Minya: Capitol city of the Elves
Rhavana Barathiel: Elven princess and ambassador.
Serutur: Rhavana's father, the king
Tannith: Rhavana's female servant

Rhavana Barathiel sat on her fine mare daydreaming as time and distance slid past. She was traveling with her retinue from the capitol city of Minya in the Elven lands of Bandor to the human kingdom in order to finalize and sign a treaty between the two kingdoms.

She had eschewed her carriage for the time being where her handmaid dozed preferring to be out in the air. She wore leather riding clothes and looked more like one of her lesser retainers than the princess that she was. She had never been one to bow to propriety. Along with the delicate arts of needlework, music and song, Rhavana had demanded to learn the use of the bow and the sword. She felt a future queen should be proficient in all manner of things. Much to her parents' disappointment.

She thought back to the conversation with her parents that brought her to this place.

"Father, as your daughter and future heir, it only makes sense that I should be the one to go to the human king. Who better to protect our interests while showing our trust of the humans?"

"But this could be dangerous, that is why I choose to send your cousin, Catanion, to represent our kingdom. He has proven an able negotiator. Besides, Artaneer should be arriving within the week, I should like you to consider --"

"--a suitor? Father, I am not yet ready to make such a decision."

"Which is why I have taken the initiative. If you aren't ready for a husband, take him as a lover and see if you are compatible."

"Father, really. You embarrass me." Her pointed ears twitched with annoyance. "Mother, are you listening to this? I am far too young to be married off. I want to know more of the world. I am bored to death here. All of my knowledge is from books. I want to experience things. The sages say I was born to a strange fate, how will my fate be made known if I am kept inside this castle? Bound by our walls? Like a princess of old waiting for her knight to rescue her." She paused to take a breath. "The humans encroach on our borders, The Orcs grow bolder. Something must be done. If we unite with the humans, we can join forces to stop the Orcs. Sending me to negotiate the treaty would solve many problems."

"Perhaps we should let Rhavana go with Catanion." Her mother suggested. "They will have our Elven guards and King Daffyd has promised to have our contingent met with his guards at the human village of Aern on the other side of the border. Who would dare attack such a party?"

And so it was that Rhavana was permitted to leave her home for the human kingdom.

She was jolted out of her reverie by the forward scout galloping back shouting that there was a downed tree across the road up ahead.

The group stopped. Rhavana's handmaid who had been anpping in the carriage stuck her head out the window to see what was the matter.
Catanion feared an ambush. The horses could easily go around the roadblock, but the princess's carriage and supply wagon could not. They were still most of a day's ride from Aern.

"Weapons out, be on your guard. Rhavana, get back into your carriage."

"No. I am as good with the bow as any here. Should we be attacked, you will need me." She was already pulling her bow from her side pack.

"Then at least stay near the carriage." Catanion's voice showed he would tolerate no more objections. "It will take a good hour if not more to get the tree off the path. A few will work while the rest keep guard."

They moved forward warily. The sun was still high in the sky, but the trees were dense here and it left dappled sunlight in patches across the road. It gave the scene a near twilight atmosphere.

This far from Aern there was nothing but forest. Although technically in human lands, the place where the elvish party were stymied looked as wild as any elven land. There was no press of brick walls, no cleared away woodlands to make way for fields. The Bordertown’s fields would come later, once the party grew closer to the city.

It was however, the perfect place for an ambush. Catanion had sensed this, and drew his warriors in tight around the carriage. The young elvish lord had no more than a dozen men with him and with himself and his cousin that made 14 bows that could be brought to bear on any potential threat. That number dropped to 12, as Catanion tasked 2 men to begin to work on removing the fallen log. That number dropped to 10 in moments when those 2 called for assistance, and Catanion reluctantly nodded to 2 more of his men to assist their comrades.

Ten Bows was just not enough when the attack came. There were close to a score and a half of heavily armed orcs who came pounding out of the trees just as Catanion started to relax. The elves, outnumbered almost three to one put up a valiant struggle, killing quite a few of the brutes in those first few seconds, but then the orcs were in too close for bows to be affective. The orcs had timed it right so that most of the elves did not have time to drop bows and draw swords for the ensuing maylay.

Elven bows were built sturdily, but most snapped when put up against the axes and hammers, clubs, and swords of the orcs. One of the few to actually draw a blade, Catanion stood protectively in front of his cousin, determined to defend her. Sadly—the orcs outnumbered him, and while defending against 2 orcs with club and hammer in front of him, he did not see the orc whose single ax strike separated his head from his body.


Cold eyes watched the brutal attack and execution of the elven ambassador. He had received a tip that some orcs had been spotted in the area—clearly a report which was accurate problem wasn’t the orcs, the problem was who lead the orcs, at least to the owner of those cold gray eyes. The leader was in fact as he suspected not in fact an orc, which meant there was something more going on here than merely orcs being orcs. What made it worse was that he knew the leader.

Chron was a large human, bald, with bulging muscles. However it wasn’t Chron’s appearance that concerned the watcher, but who he was. He was one of the despurden guild’s enforcers. Last time he had seen him, he had been involved in some “business” which the watcher had been hired to stop. Was this connected to that earlier crime spree that the assassin/bounty hunter had been hired to put a stop to? The half-elf suspected it was as he watched the orcs subdue and throw a woman to the ground, before dragging the other woman out of the carriage and likewise throwing her down beside the first. The women were the only survivors and to the watcher, this was telling. He had never gotten to the bottom of that sex slave ring those years ago, however it had seemed to be put on hold, for the kidnappings had stopped, now seemingly it was starting again, for Chron’s presence meant this was not just an orc raid, it was something much more. He could speculate about the reasons for the kidnapping, but maybe this had to do with the fact that they were elves and not women, it was entirely likely that the despurden guild was up to any number of plots, the only thing Brandon knew for sure at this moment, was that they were involved, which meant more than likely he would become involved, not just for the money, but also, his former guild mates had made it personal those years ago, and—Brandon the black hearted always paid his debts.

((Sorry this took forever to post. I'll pick up inside the tent in my next post unless you want to take over Chron for a bit to play out the scene.))

Rhavana watched in horror as the Orcs killed all of the Elven Guard and her cousin, Catanion. She was scratched and bruised, but surprisingly unharmed from the rough treatment by the Orcs. Tannith, her maidservant, was sobbing uncontrollably beside her. Both women had bright white hair and amber eyes as was typical of their race. Rhavana's was braided tightly for riding in the open air, while Tannith's was in a style more typical to the court.

While most of the Orcs were busy picking through the wagon and carriage for valuables, Rhavana turned to Tannith, "Are you unharmed?"

Tannith nodded and tried to stop her crying. "They killed everyone."

"Not everyone. But we've no time to mourn now." She sat up and looked around trying to gauge how fast they could run into the trees.

"Down. Now!" The large human yelled at Rhavana. "No one gave you permission to rise."

Tannith cowered on the ground. Rhavana sat up straighter and glared at the man. "What is the meaning of this? We were on an important diplomatic mission to the human King. You will have both the Elves and the humans after you. They won't let any of you live. Let us go and avoid that fate."

The large man laughed. "You are in no position to negotiate, little archer. We will be long gone before anyone knows you and your princess were taken."

Rhavana's eyes grew wide at the realization that this man had assumed Tannith was the princess. Perhaps that would work to their advantage. She gave Tannith a look and hoped her friend would keep quiet.

"Taken where? And by whom?" Rhavana snapped.

The man backhanded Rhavana sending her reeling. "Speak when spoken to. Hasn't your princess taught you manners? Tsk Tsk. I suppose I shall have to do it. You may call me Chron." He shouted out some orders in Orcish then turned back ot the elf. "We have to be going. Do put up a fight, I'll enjoy subduing you. It will be a pleasure to bring an arrogant elf to heel."

Two Orcs with ropes came and tied the women taking great liberties with their hands laughing all the while. They hoisted them over their shoulders and left with their comrades.

Into the woods they went covering the ground at a fast lope. They camp to a clearing that was obviously a temporary camp. Orcs stacked trunks and boxes that they had raided from the wagon and carriage. The women were unceremoniously dumped on the ground. They spoke in Orcish and leered at the women.

"Patience. You can sample the goods shortly. Once I find out if they're virgins." Chron said.

That set Tannith to whimpering again. "Nine Hells, stop your whinging." Chron dragged Tannith onto her feet, pulled up her skirts and rather gently stuck a finger inside her. Tannith wailed in shock and outrage. "Humpf. No virgin, but tight. you lot can stretch her out--mind you, no permanent damage. Elves are worth a pretty penny, but a princess..."

"Leave her alone, you beast!" Rhavana struggled to try and kick him.

"Ah, now there's a lass more to my likin'. Dular, you take the princess. The little archer is mine." He grabbed Rhavana and dragged her off to his tent.

Brandon shadowed the orcs through the trees, as they made their way swiftly to a destination only they knew. The assassin’s mind worked quickly, formulating and discarding many plans within the span of that day, settling on the night—the night was his friend.

Even as the half-elf’s eyes watched the camp, Chron dragged the princess into his tent. He reached for the laces of Rhavana’s riding pants. Fully intending on inspecting the archer’s status. He wanted the archer for himself, but if she was virginal, she would be worth more to their employers. It wouldn’t stop him from having his fun, it might just change what fun he had with the woman. His hand was less gentle as he pressed between rhavana’s legs, after all to his eyes this was no princess.

He snorted at what his thick probing fingers found. “I heard all you elves were sluts,” he said with a smirk, finding that she indeed was no virgin, “What a pity for you, I might have gone easier on you had you still been innocent.” He said with a leer. He considered her, “Do you have any particular talents archer? Or should I just use you as I see fit?” Chron, although not above raping a woman, found sometimes more pleasure could be found if the woman participated, it so gave them the illusion of being in control, which made it more fun when they came to the realization that, they were not in control.

It didn’t take the orcs long to strip and begin using Tannith. Orcs rarely obeyed orders, and they quickly grew carried away. Her screams soon filled the clearing, echoing into the forest, even penetrating the walls of Chron’s tent. Brandon watched the torture of the elvish woman, as he moved in closer, wishing to do something, but knowing he was only one man. He was resolved that he would end this woman’s misery, one way or another. As much as he hated elves for their treatment of him, no one deserved what was being done to this woman.

"Of course you have to cheapen Intercourse between consenting adults. Something you know nothing about." Rhavana struggled away from him. "My talents are not for the likes of you."

Tannith's screams cut the air louder than before. "You let this happen to a princess? She is worth a high ransom. Make them stop. They're killing her." Rhavana had thought the deception that Tannith was the princess would shield her maid from the worst at the hands of their captors, but instead, it was the opposite. She could not fathom why they would treat her so. Any elf would be worth a high price, a princess even more so. Her heart clenched in anguish.

It would be days, weeks, before word reached anyone who could help them. They could both be dead before morning. Or wishing for it.

Rhavana looked around the tent for something she could use as a weapon.

Another scream cut the night. Rhavana turned to her captor. "Please. Make them stop and I'll do whatever you want." This was as close to pleading as Rhavana had ever come in her life.

"Strip for me and I shall consider calling off the Orcs." He paused. When Rhavana made no move to undress Chron stepped close and tugged at the ties of her tunic. "Or shall I just rip the clothes from you?" He leered.

He looked like he would very much like to do just that. Rhavana didn't want her clothes shredded. She took a steadying breath and toed off her boots. She unlaced her leather jacket, folded it, and put it on the floor.

"If you think to delay--by all means, do so. It prolongs your princess's torment and only whets my appetite."

Rhavana turned her back and pulled off her tunic. She pushed her leather riding trousers off her hips. She was built like all of her kind: lithe and lean, with little body hair. Her slim waist blossomed to round hips and a heart-shaped bottom.

"Turn around, archer. Unless you prefer it from behind. I do enjoy the view, but I would like to see all of your charms."

Rhavana slowly turned to face him. The crux of her thighs showed a downy patch of pale hair that matched that on her head. Her small nipples were rosy and puckered from the chill in the tent.

"Please call the Orcs off the princess and I will do whatever you ask."

"A fine offer, especially since you've no idea what I might want from you. You'll do what I tell you and I'll consider it." He said once again.

Rhavana was beginning to think he would never tell the Orcs to stop.

He was a man of quick action, snappy decisions. In his profession instant decisions were often the difference between life and death. So it meant that he was rarely in the position he found himself—torn. He belly crawled closer to where the orcs held the elf, beginning their violation of her body.

He had the choice to attempt to rescue her, and or investigate what Chron was doing in the tent with the other elf. He figured Chron would have the higher profile prisoner with him, and he was the one that truly mattered, not some dumb orcish underlings. That being said he could not continue to let her suffer so obviously in front of him. It so clearly violated his most sacred principles. Yes, contrary to what most thought, Brandon “the blackhearted” had his own strict code he lived by. The code was built not by Brandon the killer, but Taurean the—whatever Taurean was, the man behind the mask, perhaps?

He knew he could never get both elves out alive. Chron would most certainly kill the elf with him if He became aware that someone was trying to rescue the other one his men controlled. By this point, Brandon could have reached out and touched the orcs who were pinning down the woman’s limbs, holding her spread-eagled, face up. He shuttered at what the 5th orc was doing to the woman. He had to time it, just right. He couldn’t make a mistake or he would be found out and unfortunately he was not one who lived his life by his principles all the time—after all he accepted money to kill people for a living. In other words, this elf’s pain was not worth his life.

He moved with infinite slowness. He fit the dart into the small hand cross-bow, the drow weapon rather uncommon for this area, but a tool Brandon knew he couldn’t live without. Instead of the infamous drow sleeping poison, this dart was coated with a more deadly concoction, one that would bring sleep, but followed by death soon after. He lay there for many minutes waiting to make his move. Then it came, just as one of the orcs, the one mounting the woman struck her across the face, he fired, the dart going unnoticed. The blow to the woman’s face hiding the wince of pain the sting in her bare foot would have revealed. Simple as that. To the orcs, it looked like the one ravaging her had simply knocked her unconscious. He hoped that these held true to unintelligent orcish standards and would not find the dart for the precious minutes he needed.

He could hear muffled voices coming from the tent, and moved there quickly as the night air suddenly grew much quieter as the woman’s screams faded away, to be replaced by the gruff tones of orcs arguing, presumably the holders blaming their rutting companion for ruining their fun. He had no doubt they would continue to use the woman, until someone realized she was not just unconscious, but dead. He had to get to the other elf and find out if possible what Chron was up to. Was he the only despurden present? Or were there more around? His gray eyes never stopped moving looking. He had this feeling that Chron wasn’t alone, but he had not spotted anyone else other than the orcs, yet.

Chron unbuckled his leather armor. "Kneel."

Rhavana looked at him.

"Girl,are you deaf or just defiant? The longer you delay, the longer your princess," he sneered the word, "entertains my friends."

Rhavana knelt.

Chron removed his padded jerkin. He undid the laces on his breeches and stepped close to her. "Show me your skills little archer."

Rhavana shuddered, but had little choice. She could not believe this man would allow the elf he thought was the princess to be harmed beyond repair. Chron's large cock was already hard. It was thick and had veins. She found it to be the most repulsive thing she had ever seen. Yet, she took it in her hand and began to lick it. Chron groaned his pleasure. "Mmm. nice." He grabbed a handful of her hair and tugged. When she gasped at the sharp pain, he thrust his cock in her mouth.

She sucked his cock as best she could. Chron used a firm hand on her head to let her know the pace he liked, which was fast and hard. Every time Rhavana gagged, Chron laughed. "Too much of a man for you, am I, little archer? You'll get used to it. Or not."

The screams outside stopped. Rhavana stopped. She didn't know if she should be relived or frightened. "Seems the Orcs have finished. Or perhaps your 'princess,'" He sneered the word again. "Has passed out. You'd best work quickly so you can go tend to her." He grabbed her hair again and fucked her face once more.

Rhavana tried to block out what had happened to Tannith. She focused on making Chron come and come quickly. Anything to get this over with.

The other elf was on her knees before Chron, pleasing him. Or being forced to please him, from his angle he couldn’t be sure, he was sure that fellatio was involved, though. He knew killing Chron at this time was out of the question. He needed a plan. His cold eyes watched the sight and dispassionately observed how Chron ruined what was such an enjoyable exchange between consenting lovers, but that was the man’s way. He had known the enforcer for years, and although not the brightest, he tended to get the job done, the question was what was the job.

“They’ll pay well for such a skilled mouth,” Chron commented as he continued to thrust into the open mouth of Rhavana. “Yes I am close, like I said if you please me you can tend to your princess.”

It was Chron himself that gave Brandon his plan, and also told him that indeed Chron was still mixed up with the sex trade, a ring that He had never broken up years ago much to the irritation of his employer at the time. He had to get her free, she did not deserve to be a sex slave, but moreover, he guessed his former employer would still pay him to free her, so for once the bounty hunter was planning a rescue, rather than a hit. Either way this would not be easy. He wondered how the elf remained so calm, pleasing the brute of a human so. Brandon admired very few but he had to admit she had not lost her composure, yet. How he wanted to kill Chron, but he needed information, needed to follow him, information he would not get from Chron’s corpse. That being said he knew that Chron’s time would come. He detested inefficiency, but if he had to terminate Chron without his information, he would do so.

Rhavana tugged on Chron's balls and pressed on a spot behind them while she sucked him deep into her mouth.

"Fuck!" He held her head tightly and came hard pumping his seen down her throat. "Shame I'll have to give you up eventually. But in the meantime, you will sleep here with me. The Orcs won't touch you."

Rhavana sat back on her haunches. "May I see to the princess now?"

Chron waved her away. "Don't be long. I want to see what else you can do."

Rhavana couldn't pull her clothes on fast enough. The Orcs had had their fun and were settling down for the night, two were positioned to stand watch. They made some catcalls to her, but none approached. She belonged to Chron and none would cross him.

She found Tannith motionless where they left her. Her clothes were bloody and torn. Rhavana knelt and touched her cheek to waken her and found her cold. Rhavana let out a heartsick wail. "You've killed her! You beasts!" She sobbed over her friend and servant until Chron came out and began dragging her back to his tent.

She kicked and punched and scratched. Chron laughed. "I like your spirit princess, it's sauce to my lust. Did you really think I didn't know who you are? It became clear rather early on." He stood and let her beat him until she finally crumpled on the ground.

((Wasn't sure what the next move is, if your guy isn't ready to make a move yet, you can be Chron for a bit))

He watched and waited. He knew a moment would present itself. He was proven to be right moments later as the elf appeared, leaving the tent to presumably see to her companion. Brandon sought to make his move then, but even as he approached her where the first elf lay, presumably dead now she set up a horrid cry of agony. Before he could grab her silence her, Chron came out and grabbed her again. Things were not going according to plan.

Nothing was ever easy. He thought as he slipped over to the tent again, and the flap he had cut in the tent’s back wall to observe. Chron left her in the heap where she had fallen as he returned to the table where he had a small dinner laid out. The half elf wondered if this was the time to try to get the woman’s attention, to at least let her know that someone was there. He took long moments to drag his mind back to his time in Kierielle, his own elven homeland, if it could be called that, it had never been much of a home to him. That being said there might be something from that time that might be useful. He wondered if the elves from Bander used similar signal codes, and this lass knew them, all he could do was try. He took some steps away so he would not be so easily placed by Chron, should he become suspicious. He whistled a quick one two note, low, nowhere the typical volume that such an attention message was typically whistled at. It was a common bird noise often heard in the forests of these parts, however elvish hearing was acute enough to detect that it did not have the characteristic resonance of a true bird, that this was an elf messaging. Ordinarily the attention notes would be whistled as he did, a ready signal would be given and then more complicated messages could follow. He highly doubted she could even send the ready signal without Chron growing suspicious, but perhaps if the human left the tent for some reason she would send acknowledgement, if not maybe she would just hear it and be ready for anything.

As far as plans went, so far this one had very little substance, but he had to start somewhere. Had she pleased Chron well enough that the bastard would sleep well? Could he dart the man once he was asleep. At current, he knew he did not have the right angle to dart him. He would keep thinking, he just hoped that the woman had realized by his bird call, which he cautiously repeated one other time, meant she was not alone.

Chron tucked into his food. "There's enough here for you, if you want it." He said chewing and talking at the same time.

Rhavana grimaced. "No, thank you." It was a whisper. She had no retort for him. She only wanted to grieve.

"You'll get hungry eventually. And if you think to starve yourself, don't think I won't force feed you. I've heard that spunk is nutritious. I plan to feed it to you often until I have to give you up." He went back to eating.

Rhavana barely heard him as she sobbed.

Chron, threw a crust of bread at her, "Shut it, you whinging cunt! Or I'll shut it for you."

Rhavana pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle herself. In the silence that followed she heard a bird call. At night. Except she knew it was no bird. Could rescue be at hand? But how could help arrive so quickly? Perhaps guards along the road discovered them, but ... That was a signal used by elves. Could one of her escort survived? She made sure to keep her eyes down lest Chron see the hope that suddenly sprang in them.

She flinched when he pushed his chair back. "I'm going for a piss. When I come back, you can decide which hole I should fill." He snorted a laugh and swaggered out of his tent.

Rhavana looked around the tent for something she could use as a weapon gathering her clothing as she went. There were only the utensils, a spoon and a small knife, that Chron used with his dinner, and a large sword too heavy for her to lift. The knife would have to do. She quickly pulled on her clothes knowing if he came back and found her dressed she'd pay for her transgression with a beating or worse. But she had to be ready whenever her savior or saviors made the attack on the camp. She only hoped it would be very soon.

Brandon waited for the right moment. One presented itself much sooner than he expected, as he watched Chron leave the tent, hearing the brute claim he needed a piss. The half elf reacted quickly, knowing he had seconds, a minute or two at the most. Perhaps they would get lucky and Chron would also check on his men.

The black clad half elf slid under the gap in the wall and made sure to stay out of the lamp light. That was all they would need for someone to see there were 2 shadows in the tent. He whispered in elvish “Speak you the elvish trade language?” He spoke the common dialect that elves used to communicate with other peoples, not the high elvish of his birth, not the gray elf dialect he suspected she used, nor the form the sylvan used. “If speak it you do know we have but seconds, you will follow me.”

He did not speak in the human tongue, though he could, figuring that she may be able to pass it off as speaking to herself if anyone heard her speaking elvish, without anyone knowing the content of her message. He made a sharp gesture to the back wall and lifted the tent for the woman. His hood hid his face from her, she would just have to trust that he meant her no harm, and was better for her than Chron.

Rhavana nearly jumped out of her skin when the man spoke behind her. She nodded not trusting her voice. He was not one of her escort. His voice was not one she recognized. She would question him later, now all she cared about was that he was here to rescue her.

She tugged on her boots, grabbed her pack, bow, and quiver where they had been tossed in a corner, and ducked through the rip in the tent.

She had so many questions for the man. But knew enough to stay quiet until they were far away from Chron's camp. It wouldn't be long before Chron returned and discovered she was gone. She loped along behind her savior trying to move as silently as possible.

Brandon gestured for her to follow him and with that was out of the tent, assuming she was behind him. He led her towards the trees, weaving in-between guards. They were half way through the camp when a guard stepped out before him. The only sound was the click of the half elf’s hand crossbow, and the man fell away, out cold. Brandon stooped to retrieve his dart and they continued on.

They had just neared the tree line when Chron’s call came forth; he had noticed the woman’s absence. He had hoped to be in the tree line before her absence was noticed. “Nothing is ever easy.” He muttered. He slit the throat of the first guard to attack them, the orc’s cry cut off with a sickening death gurgle. “That will alert them.” He snarled in common, forgetting to speak elvish for her, not realizing that she probably spoke the human tongue just as well.

He dispatched a trio of men before they reached the trees. The last Kill came when Brandon slammed his dagger into the center of an orc’s chest. A strange light flashed from the Orc’s eyes and he died. It was Brandon’s trademark kill, his calling card. He only killed like that when he wanted recognized. The assassin couldn’t help thumbing his nose at Chron. He wondered if Chron would even notice, or was he too stupid to make the connection. He knew the weasel or some of the other Despurden lieutenants would recognize his kill instantly but would Chron? So Far he had seen no side of Malic AKA the Weasel. He figured that Chron couldn’t be leading this party though. He still had that score to settle with Shyra Lath, and she had been mixed up with those kidnappings the last time, there was a good bet that if she was not already involved, Chron’s recognition of his kill would bring her out. He hoped so; he hoped it made the human bastard and the she bitch he suspected that was pulling his strings, fear the night.

He gestured her to silence and then turned back to finding their path. He hoped she wasn’t as squeamish as she looked. If she started some kind of girly crying over his killing of the orcs, they would be caught. Their entire survival depended on their silence. She sounded like a drunken bull in a china shop to his ears, but he knew that she was actually fairly quiet, something that he respected and approved of. Not everyone could live up to his personal standards after all.

Her rescuer moved as silent as a shadow. Rhavana did her best to keep up and follow suit. She didn't flinch when he took down the first guard. All of them deserved far worse.

She readied her bow when Chron's alert rang out, but her savior quickly dispatched any who sought to stop him. She could not have hired a better man (elf?) to see to her safety. She walked around the dead as fast as she could and wished the man had time to kill more of them. A fury burned in her that was quite unnatural to her normally staid temperament. She had been through a kaleidoscope of dark emotions this day. It would take months of meditation to regain her calm.

She watched him carefully, taking cues as to where to step. If they were captured she had no doubt Chron would simply kill the man. But she shuddered at what he would do to her. Better that she take her own life before Chron got near her. He and his men were sure to track them. How far would they have to go until they were safe?

Brandon got them to the tree line and began to pick up his pace. He knew her infrovision was easily as good or better than his; however this required not the heat sight, but memory of the ground. The dagger had vanished. He turned stuck out his hand and placed hers on his back, a silent indication that she would move faster following his movements. If she had studied any sort of combat she knew that whether you were sword fighting or dancing, or in this case running through a forest, the first thing you had to move was your core. This allowed her to read his movements through touch. He was not much taller than her, but massed a good bit more, which could be one of the signs that he was not completely human. If the lighting were better, the stubble on his jaw that no elf could grow would be the next sign.

It wasn’t long before there was the sound of water. They approached a small stream. He took her hand in his and guided her to a small boat. His grip tightened, steadying her as she stepped into the small craft. When she was seated, he slid in behind her, muscular thighs encased in leather breaches slid on either side of her as he wrapped himself around her, taking up a double ended paddle. He shoved them off, still not speaking. Once he had punted their boat into open water he leaned closer warm breath tickling the sensitive elven ear, “Keep quiet still, sound travels far on the open water. “We may have lost them, for now.” The tromp of heavy orc footsteps had followed them for the first few minutes of their journey, however that last bit prior to getting to the water they had grown more distant. “It won’t last long though; they’ll bring in better trackers soon.” He didn’t add the part where doubly so if the Human realized who had killed his men.

Rhavana followed man, although the way he moved through the woods, his eyesight had to be better than a human's. But he was built like a human. A half-elf? She would find out just who he was once the danger had passed.

The boat he helped her into was small. He sat behind her his chest against her back. She could feel him move as he rowed them to the middle of the stream.

“Keep quiet still, sound travels far on the open water. “We may have lost them, for now.”

She nodded not trusting herself to speak. She took the time in the boat to relax and center herself, to push ehr fear aside so that she could think more clearly about what they should do next. But this man seemed to have things well in hand.

After they were on the stream for awhile, she chanced speaking, "I'm Rhavana Barathiel, daughter of King Serutur. What may I call you?"

Brandon paddled in silence. It pleased him that she knew how to take orders, for now at least. Were he in her position he felt like he would be less trusting of a stranger. That being said he had seen what they had done to her companion, and had little doubt that Chron had done something to her, though he was unclear exactly what.

Brandon was content enough to continue paddling in silence. He lived much of his life consumed with silence, comfortable or not it was a space he was used to inhabiting. As he paddled he curiously was struck by the incredible similarity to how the last time had started. “If history must repeat itself, at least this time I do not have broken ribs.” He muttered to himself. Already sharing more with that sentence than he planned. Why did these little adventures always have to involve taking a boat through troll infested rivers? Maybe he thought because he’d survived the last time it was ok to tempt fate once again.

She was not like the first woman he’d rescued from the despurden sex slave ring. She was not a human priestess, no this woman was no human, worse for him, she was elven. His eyes widened, she was the elven princess or so her words indicated when she finally spoke. Just his bloody luck. “You may call me Brandon.” For once his typical response did not sound out of place. Most people asked him what his name was, and always seemed surprised when he always responded with “you may call me Brandon,” Never my name is Brandon. Brandon was only one of the names he carried and of all of them, the least personal. It was however the most recognized of his names. He reflected that this time, he was in the border lands, where a half elf would be more common. The last adventure had started in a region where he was the only half elf and therefore had been much recognizable as who he was based on his reputation. He was hoping at least for now to conceal his identity, somehow figuring an elven princess would not appreciate being rescued by a mongrel half-elf who was also a notorious assassin.

“A long way from your palace m’lady.” He finally said fishing for information, and also, living up to his personality which started at rude and generally ended there also.

"Call me Rhavana, please. We have been through too much to stand on ceremony. I was on a diplomatic mission. Trade negotiations, treaties and the like with King Daffyd. And the borderlands are not so very far, but I suppose for an elf it is." She kept her voice low. "I wanted to see more of the world." She made a small scoffing sound which cut off abruptly when she realized she was perilously close to crying. If she started to cry, she was afraid she wouldn't stop. She could not afford to give in to such emotions. She swallowed and thought a soothing mantra to center herself. She let the sound of moving along the water soothe her.

"And you, Brandon?" She began once she was sure her emotions were under control. "Do you live in Aern?" He had to be a half-elf. That would explain his build, his ability to move so easily at night, and his accent when he spoke the trade language. Living in the borderlands would make sense for a half-elf. She had so many questions for him, but they would have to wait until they were someplace safe. She wondered where that would be. Brandon had said Chron would send out trackers.

The half elf listened in silence as she spoke. He made no direct reply. He had seen much of the world, in his opinion it was more or less the same no matter where you were. He didn’t bother to tell her that though, she would learn. There were decent people, and monsters everywhere, and even wolves in sheep’s clothing.

He could hear the catch in her voice, the signs that she was going to cry. That was something that he didn’t want, it made too much noise, and he knew that tears wouldn’t actually help her in this situation. For the wrong reasons or not, he nevertheless took one hand from the paddle, his strong arms still wrapped around her, her form pressed the entire length of him, and let his hand fall on to hers which were in her lap, thumb gently smoothing over her knuckles for a brief moment before he put his hand back up on the paddle.

She could feel his shrug as she asked him where he lived. “Aern is not my home, no.” he responded finally. He offered no more than that though. To be honest he wasn’t sure where to say he was from, it was no longer Kierielle, land of the high elves that he was related to, no longer Belbarren Major the original home of the despurden guild. No, he had rooted the despurden guild out of that city. However, most of the leaders had escaped his wrath. They had come here to the kingdom of Maldorf. Brandon had followed, fairly certain that his benefactor, the one paying him, would no longer pay him to track the despurdens after he left the kingdom of Ersheath, however the despurdens had made it personal. Brandon had little doubt that this king Daffyd, or someone in Maldorf city would pay him for handing them the guild. He wondered at what point had an assassin such as himself known for killing for money become a vigilante?

As the boat began to pick up speed, he kept his eyes on the banks, watching for when they began to transition from rolling hills to steep cliffs, this would mean they were headed towards the troll crags. “You will find flint and steal in my belt pouch. Between your feet are a couple torches. Be prepared to light them.” He spoke softly still not trying to be heard by anything out there. “It will light us up like a beacon, but fire is the only thing those bloody trolls respect.”

Rhavana was comforted by Brandon's touch, but moreso by his mere calm presence. She was beginning to truly relax when he mentioned trolls.

She twisted around so she could get to his belt pouch. She found the flint and steel and placed them where she could use them when he gave the word. The current moved them faster, perhaps the trolls wouldn't notice them.

She was tense again peering at either bank trying to see danger danger that might attack them. She did not need to be told to keep quiet.

This was not the adventure she imagined when she set out on this mission for her father. She shuddered again thinking of Chron and the Orcs and poor, poor Tannith. But she controlled herself. She could not give into emotions when they wer still in so much danger.

Her hands slid around his waist, feeling for the pouch. Her fingertips were cool on his bare skin where they brushed him, beneath his tunic. He was worried that he shivered, like some kind of naïve innocent. She did not seem to notice, which was a relief to Taurean. He had better control than that. However, her proximity felt better than it truthfully should.

He was almost impressed at the speed with which she identified flint and steal by touch, and prepared herself to do as he asked. His own eyes scanned the waters ahead. He knew there were trolls, and he knew they would be spotted, he just did not know when. As he let the current take them more than the paddle now, not wanting to disturb the water more than necessary, he hoped this did not lead to a waterfall like the last time. They had survived, but it wasn’t something he really wanted to repeat.

He tightened his arms around her, urging silence, she had stayed quiet so far, but he still felt it necessary to remind her as a low growl filled the air. Had they been spotted, or worse scented? His breath tickled her delicate elven ear. He normally would have far more respect for the erogenous zone on an elf, but now was not the time for delicate sensibilities now was the time for silence. “Wait for my signal, but be ready.” His words were barely louder than his breath, but he was sure she would hear him; at the least the breath would get her attention for it was his experience that when one breathed in the ear of an elf, they were more than highly aware of it.

Rhavana readied herself to light the torches. When Brandon tightened his arms around her, she felt protected, safe. He was so much bigger than an elf. Broader, more solid. It was reassuring. She had so many questions for him, but there was no time right now. Here they were escaping from one danger and sliding straight into another.

She shivered at his whisper and had to close her eyes for a second and settle herself. It was because of the danger. Her senses were heightened. That was all it was. She nodded to acknowledge that she understood.

She heard another growl. It was hard to tell if it was another troll or the same one. The water played tricks with sound.

Brandon waited tension obvious in his own body. He would have reached for a weapon, but the paddle was as good as any against such rubbery skinned adversaries. His blades would do nothing but increase their enemy’s number. After all, a troll could grow a new hand; sadly, the hand could grow a new troll. Very disturbing to watch.

Suddenly something struck the boat and there was a monstrous face coming out of the darkness, a blur of heat against the cold of the night. Brandon struck the face a sideways swat with the paddle, causing the growling maw to pull back. There was the sound of breaking teeth where the half elf had struck. “I sure hope the teeth can’t grow a new troll, too.” Brandon muttered.

“Now.” Brandon told the elven lass, he assumed somewhat unnecessarily as the troll came back for more. There was a crunch as Brandon smashed the fingers of the next hand to come over the back of the boat, but not before he hissed out a breath in pain as long talons raked the side of his arm. “Knew I should have brought a mace.” He added. Hopefully the fire would scare them off, clearly this was not working. At least Brandon wasn’t enduring this battle with broken ribs, like the last time.