Knights of Anathaeum Kingfisher's Cry

[Isander]

Early Spring, 373
Valen Wilds, 3 Days from the Tree​

The mottled gray of falling dusk cleft Isander's brow in shadows. It suited his mood. That dark cast made mirror of him, for he had come on business bleak as it was cold. Poachers this side of the Spine, spilling the blood of babes and disturbing the balance of the Loch. Dark thoughts indeed filled the Knight.

He knew not whence these men came, and nor did he care. Action had signed the warrants for their deaths, and Isander would see his hands tie the noose. Hunters for sport, profiteers who found arousal in cruelty, these were the folk he came to kill. Were it that they were found deserving of mercy, but the Knight had none to spare.

Spring unfurled around him, in verdant buds that plumped branches of the sparsely populated wood. The year's first melt drew nearby tributaries to babble. Running water, the hum of incessant wingbeat, a nattering of movement that beckoned from noise to near indistinguishable cacophony all filled his ears, steered him from blanking his mind. It offered him solace with which to comport himself, to relax the alert edge that afflicted his gaze.

He rode in silence, unbowed by the accoutrements of murder. Gauntleted hands held the reign loose, and his coat of maille and cloth sat slack upon him. His spear, butt couched in a stirrup and haft resting in the crook of an elbow, stood ready for use but unthreatening. Sweat had begun caking his neck and back, spots of color dampening his collar. Even this early in the season he felt the effects of a maddening sun; it roused warmth in him, quite in contrast to the heavy chill that seemed to stride atop the cresting eve.

Raising a hand, he bade his mount ease into a stop and cast his eyes to the map that sat astride his lap. The knoll to his left, ringed in weather smoothed stones and patches of mushrooms, could be twin to its visage christened "Erebit's Rest" on his map, right down to a log-bench that spoke of a civilized touch.

To his companions he said, "All reports agree that this group operates from these grounds. Sightings put them roughly here"—he held the map, gesturing with a thumb for their perusal—"and with the day running long as it is, I see we have two options: we wait for full dark to espy their fires, or we press on in search of tracks to come upon them while light yet remains in the sky."

 

[Alouette]

Alouette was no stranger to poachers, even if the thought of them made her stomach twist and turn. Her kin had traditions when it came to the flora and fauna, and these beliefs were woven into her, physically and mentally. She had no appetite as they came closer to their destination, settling into mild reservation until spoken to. Her mind matched the sky above as she considered what was to come.

She was not a fighter, at least not yet. Equipped only with a citrine wand that looked more like a arrow than a way to help channel her magic, Alouette had to wonder if it was wise for her to even assist in a sensitive matter such as this. The only thing that was capable of drawing blood was her small pocket knife that was better at cutting apples than cutting through humans.

Her spring green eyes stared at the back of Syr Isander’s blonde head as he spoke. She could hear him, even if she was behind him so his voice was muffled. Her stomach dropped, understanding that they were now at their destination, that action would need to take place. Lou didn’t feel prepared for it in the slightest, and felt any suggestion that came from her lips to be silly even if Syr Isander had neatly laid out the two choices before her. All she had to do was choose and yet even that felt like a task too great.

Fidgeting in her saddle, she felt the trusty mare lent to her grow uneasy with her. She felt bad for adding her anxiety, as well as her weight, onto Marigold. The black hoof stopped pawing at the ground as Alouette directed her attention elsewhere, looking up to the sky, wishing to see a bird in flight so she knew good graces would be with them.

 

[Josai]

"Night time," Josai said simply. "By the moon's light, would be my vote,"

Dusker that she was, she had a preference to those hours shrouded in darkness. Those hours where most mortal eyes struggled to see.

But she was no such being. Aided by Loch and Wyld, heeder of death, caller of life. She was a knight of Anatheaum.

"It will be easier for us to happen upon them unawares," she said with a nod from beneath her wide brim hat. Sat high upon the saddle of her beast. Snoot. Her spear rest at the ready against her shoulder, the three charms tied about the base of its head, swayed gently in the air, as the long necked lizard tread low to the ground.

"But," she added. "We have the means to give pursuit by day," she said with a grin, and pat her great beast proudly, just above the saddle horn as it flicked its tongue about the air. "If we feel too afraid of the dark," she winked at Isander in turn.

 

[Nacht]

Nacht was unsure why anyone would want to kill an animal, even for lots of money. Animals were cute little things that deserved peace and to remain adorable from a distance, like how one might see a dog and not run to pet it. Well, perhaps he was the exception to the rule in that respect, for the joy he felt looking at fluffy animals was far more than enough to make him want to say hi.

That got him thinking about kittens and then he smacked the side of his head in a way to refocus. Basically, the point was that he really wanted to bring these poachers to justice however possible. Like all raids on an enemy encampment, that effort first required a plan. Syr Josai advocated for tracking by dark, which had its merits, surely: The poachers would likely be grouped and also in less visible conditions.

Nacht had always been able to see abnormally well in the dark as a part of his magic, so he would be at home as well. However, what of the others? “Well, I can function similarly in the physical sense whether it’s day or night, but my abilities would better be suited for a night raid.” He offered, thinking about what abilities he had. Yes, most likely he would be of the greatest use as a stealthy combatant.

“Alouette, Syr Isander, any thoughts?” he asked politely, waiting for a response.

Josai Alouette Isander

 

[Isander]

Their merry few: a pair of knights in asynchronous pursuit, squires paired yet green about the collar to stand in defiance of uncertain odds. The scouting reports and farmer's gossip colluded little in the way of solid fact. Perhaps a dozen of the brigands roamed hereabouts, no more than thirty.

Isander flicked a glance to the dusk drawn knight and offered a nod. Some boyish remorse of his decried the notion of sneaking upon their prey under the guise of night. Honor served the righteous, he had to remind himself. The cowardly abused such grace. They skulked within the bounds of reason in full ken of the common folk's hesitation to extract retribution of their own volition, even here so deep in the heartlands of the Wyld.

Isander could afford no such hesitation. It was but a job that needed doing. A senseless one to be sure, one that promised to test what taste the knight had for spilling unblighted blood. That settled it.

"Dismount," Isander called, making example of himself in turn. In his brush to the forest floor, his boots cracked hard against compact dirt and half-budded weed. He wrapped the reigns loose around his wrist, keeping his spear close to shoulder while using its butt to brace against his step as he approached the moss-bitten knoll.

"We dine cold this eve," he said, squinting through the canopy at the near setting sun. Drawing a set of stakes from his saddlebags, he began to hammer in a crude post for their mounts.

"Squires Alouette, Nacht, distribute the rations once you've hitched your mounts. At dusk, we'll ring the area in pairs to scout the poacher's likely camp. Once we've a solid estimate of their numbers, with luck we might isolate some before falling upon them in full. Until then, we eat and enjoy what company the day yet provides."


Alouette Josai Nacht