<span style="color: #BF4040">The woods were unnaturally dark as a cloud of thick smoke weighed heavily on the air. The normal merry chatter of wild life, insects, and wind in the trees were deafening in their silence. The snap of a twig under foot echoed strangely through the smoke, the only sign revealing the advancing predator that stalked her. Panting heavily, favoring one leg, she braced her back against a tree to catch her breath, glancing back the way she'd come with a fearful set to her jaw. Pulling a slim leather thong from around her neck, she drew a small muslin pouch from under her tunic. Loosing the tie around the mouth of the pouch, she dumped its contents into her palm. A trio of polished stones clattered into her palm. <br/><br/>There wasn't time to do it right. She would normally prefer to prepare a circle, meditate to clarify her focus, and arrange the proper materials to channel and solidify the spell. Of course that wouldn't be happening this time. It was her only option. The injury to her thigh left blood streaming down her leg, which no longer supported her weight. Since she could not flee, she would stand her ground. <br/><br/>Her voice was melodious, attractive despite the harsh, guttural words that ground from it, openly announcing her location. Rustlings and voices announced the impending attack that encroached upon her. She held up the stones in her palm, emerald eyes fixating on the stones as her words filled the air with a dark power. The stones began to glow, one a harsh, deep violet, one a glistening, liquid crimson, and the last radiated a dark, dense anti-light reminiscent of the deepest of shadows. She spoke rapidly, forming each word with precision, allowing the incantation to flow as quickly and intricately as she could manage without sacrificing pronunciation. As the conclusion approached, her voice reached a crescendo. <br/><br/>It wasn't fast enough. A crude mace, wielded by a thick arm, moved into her line of sight from behind just as a hand clamped over her mouth. The stones flew free of her hand, their light fading away as they crashed into the brush, lost forever and the mace struck true, impacting her abdomen with a solid thump. <br/><br/>Slight as she was, she put up an impressive fight. Biting down on the hand that gagged her, she tore free of it. Her face pulled into a harsh scowl. Long, midnight waves of glossy hair provided the perfect handle for her attacker, and he seized the advantage. She wore no dress, as was commonly considered appropriate in society for female attire. Her heavy leather leggings, white linen shirt, and dark leather vest were commonly seen on traveling foresters rather than female merchants. Heavy boots collided with her attacker's shins, eliciting no more than a grunt. <br/><br/>"Marvelous, Bruno... Simply marvelous..." the voice was male, and strangely gentle, "You did well. Very well indeed. He will be pleased. Now, hold her still, if you will..." <br/><br/>Thick, heavy arms clamped like iron bands around her, pinning her arms to her body in painful contortions. A gentle hand caressed her cheek as a second figure approached, just barely out of her line of sight. <br/><br/>"Hush now, little bird..." he cooed. <br/><br/>She felt the hand at her cheek slide up, fingers threading through her hair. It was a strangely intimate touch. The fingers in her hair lingered for a second before tightening. With a single jerk, she was looking up into the darkened canopy of trees over head as he forced her head back. Another hand, just as soft and warm, clamped over her jaw and pulled, forcing her mouth open. <br/><br/>There was no resisting the liquid that was funneled past her lips. She coughed and gagged and spat to no avail. There was seemingly no end to the liquid. It burned as it went down, tasting potently of many ingredients she recognized. <br/><br/>The fight slowly drained from her. She sagged into the arms of the one called Bruno, head lolling on her shoulders. Heavy lidded eyes searched for the second figure but he was nowhere to be seen. She quickly lost interest in finding him, unable to recall a reason why it should matter. <br/><br/>Some time later, after a great deal of unwanted jostling, she felt a solid, wooden collision against the side of her head, the only announcement that she'd been tossed into the back of a carriage. Good. She'd been hoping for a nap. Smiling vaguely, she drifted into a drug-fueled dream. <br/><br/>She never felt the iron bands as they were snapped over her wrists and ankles, the gag tied around her mouth, or the the canvas bag that was pulled over her head and tightened around her neck. Immobilized and blissfully unconscious, she was placed in a wooden box built into the front of the cart, by all appearances a tool storage. She fit perfectly in the bottom of the box, and a shelf of tools was placed over her, concealing her from view. Small holes drilled into the box here and there would provide enough air. <br/><br/>She slumbered on, happy in the darkness with a haze of drugs weighing heavily on her mind.</span><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><div style="text-align: center;">~ -- ~ -- &lt;@&gt; -- ~ -- ~</div></span></span><br/><br/><span style="color: #408080">Kell was a well-known man-- a decent, hard-working carpenter with a respectful air and a relative lack of refinement. All who got to know him called him a friend. He was kindly, merry of disposition and strong willed. <br/><br/>As was common, when the evening rush picked up, he found himself wandering into the tavern. Tonight, his long dark hair was tied back with a leather strip heâ€™d cut off an old pair of trousers. The linen shirt he wore was battered, stained from his labors, and torn off at the shoulders to leave his heavily muscled arms bare. Only a man of labor would be so muscularly developed, yet another evidence to the simple, wholesome nature of his life.<br/><br/>The common practice of old ladies sitting together on porches was knitting and gossiping. They speculated as to who was courting who, which political figures were doing what, and who was possibly a Practitioner. They lingered on the subject of Kellâ€™s possible magical ability only once. It was simply too absurd. It wasnâ€™t possible that Kell was a magician, whether light or dark. <br/><br/>Kell smiled as he entered the tavern, finding it crowded as ever, and scanned the tavern. His dark eyes, piercing, intense and observant, missed nothing. His sharp jaw line and chiseled features gave him an attractive, yet simple appearance. Old Willey and Stan were there, as usual, so he approached to greet his old friends as he ordered a drink. A few moments later, mug of mead in hand, he pushed his way to a back corner of the bar where a cluster of men stood watching an arm-wrestling match. As he approached, they all started speaking at once. It seemed he was due for a much anticipated match against the reigning champion. The night proved to be exciting.<br/><br/></span>