<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: gradl;"><strong>Briar Character Post</strong><br/><strong>Time of day beginning post:</strong> Early Morning<br/><strong>Time of day ending post:</strong>Noonish<br/><strong>Location beginning post:</strong> Forests south of Dulon Landing<br/><strong>Location ending post:</strong> West of Dulon Landing<br/><strong>Characters currently interacting with:</strong> Possibly Hollywillow<br/><strong>GM Intervention Request\Required?</strong> Possibly</span><br/><hr/>Twenty miles south of Dulon Landing, a wanderer occupied a small clearing among a grove of trees, a lean-to made of canvas and driftwood shielding him from the world. Briar, wrapped tightly in his bedroll, slept fitfully as dawn brought dark clouds in from the sea, suffusing the space with gray twilight. Strange dreams finally woke him from his sleep, somewhat to his discontent. It was early still, far too early for his tastes, but Dulon Landing was still half a day's trek north, and he had no intention on staying another night in the woodlands. Rumours of crazed elves circulated among the animals, and he had no companion to share a nightwatch with.<br/><br/>The last thought soured Briar's mood further. His last two companions had attempted to stab him in the back in a gambit to liberate Briar of his possessions, not to mention his third of the loot. It would seem that he had misjudged their characters as much as they had misjudged his prowess, and he could only hope their corpses made a good meal for whatever creatures roamed in the mountains south of here. He crawled out of his bedroll onto the forest floor. No time for a fire or to hunt for fresh food, Briar unpacked some of the dried rations he had already collected. He ate atop his bedroll, before packing the camp away. Morning had finally graced the forest canopy, but the light failed to reach him in full; it was beginning to feel like an ominous day.<br/><br/>And so Briar made his way north, careful and vigilant. He avoided the road, knowing all too well he would be outnumbered by any gang of highwaymen that might be sharing it. But it was not bandits he came across when he ventured a little closer to the path, however. A lone Blood Elf, armed with a pair of wicked knives, was travelling south... And it had spotted him between the trees.<br/><br/>The elf made a beeline for Briar, it's face set in a crazed grimace. Startled, the Jun fumbled for the blade strapped to his lower back, pulling it free-- and dropping it. A string of curses later, the assailant was upon him, swinging wildly with both daggers. Briar weaved and ducked, hand dipping to his leg to free a dagger of his own, which he lifted between the elves outstretched arms. It sunk deep under the elf's jaw with a squelch of broken flesh. The lunatic's scream of pain was muted, it's teeth forced shut by the knife, it's throat choked with blood. A few spastic, aimless swings later, and the elf went limp in Briar's arms; he set it down carefully, eyeing his surroundings for more surprises.<br/><br/>A second straggler moved along the side of the road, creeping through the ditch. It's bloodshot eyes moved to and fro, searching for its brother who had run off again, into the forest. It tentatively padded along; first on its feet, dropping occasionally onto a hand to gallop through the underbrush, before shifting back up to sniff the air. Blood was spilt recently. A brother's blood.<br/><br/>Retreating deeper into the forest, Briar plucked his longbow from his back and an arrow from his quiver, knocking it and drawing back the string. He had spotted the distant blood elf carefully wandering over, but like the first, it was aware of something. Briar would have to make the kill soon, or run. He glanced down the long, monocular sight attached just above the shaft of the arrow, before angling the bow upwards. Briar checked one last time; the Blood Elf had stopped, head upturned.<br/><br/>Just as the his mark let loose a howl of personal anguish, Briar let loose his arrow. It sung through the air, and with a quiet<em>fwip,</em>sunk it's biting head deep in the elf's throat. The howl turned into a gurgle. Blood shot forth in a jet, and it collapsed backwards, a length of oak tipped with feathers poking through it's neck. Briar swore again, lowering his bow. The returning cries of his victim's companions rang out from across the forest, and already he could see them converge upon the body, tufts of black moving among the trees. He would have to take a detour, Briar conceded, retreating west and away from the road.<br/><br/><div align="center">*</div><br/>When Briar finally began moving north again, the forest had begun to give way to plains to the west. Several long hours of brisk walking followed, though he never relinquished his hold on his bow, the blood of the first elf caked to his gloved hand and armored chest. He continued to skirt along the forest, using it as cover, but the only living thing he became aware of was a herd of horses, and the man tending them. The horses were wild, and their owner-- or protector, rather-- seemed to exude the same feeling of unbridled power. Voices were carried on the wind, one matching the man, and another, more delicate voice, belonging to a still unseen woman. Briar approached with quiet, cat-like strides, observing from a distance.