Ciri sits in front of a billowing fire almost entranced by it, her short golden hair shining in the heat. She prods it with a loose stick not to better kindle the flame, it's large enough as is, but just to occupy herself during these slow moments.

"Why are so sullen?" asks a sardonic voice from across the fire. The startled Ciri almost leaps of the rotting tree she's sitting on.

"Oh, it’s just you, Sten. You shouldn't startle me like that, I almost bloody fell over." Her thick elvosh accent sounds cute to Sten when she's surprised like this. A real hick this one, he thought smugly as she gathered herself.

"It wasn't as if I was trying t' startle you. Hell, I've been sitting here longer than you've." The Elvish accent is also present in Sten's speech but it's far more formal having a more noble peerage behind it. "Plus, you shouldn't get distracted so easily it might be deep woods, but where still in Dheginsea. We can't be three days away from either a human or tierzal settlement."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't stop thinking about those humans. They were, what, less than a score old. I know they grow fast, but putting someone so young at the front lines seems wrong."

"You're too kind Ciri. It several years those greenhorns will be veteran soldiers, more dangerous than any beast."

At that moment Hertha marches in from the trees hulking a large Stag, with Osmund silently following behind. Ciri gives a famished look eyeballing the dead stag with hearts in her eyes. "Ya' must be starving by now. Don't worry your pretty little head Osi here will cook this guy up and we'll feast.

Osmund looks at Hertha with disapproval. It's easy to tell that he doesn't like being called "Osi", but Hertha only returns a wry smile. Osmund can only sigh, and begins to cut into the stag. Meticulously cutting of the hide and slicing off fillets of meat. He marinates the meat with crushed lemons and sprinkles an arrangement of spices and salts. Ciri watches with voracious eyes as the meat is skewered and placed on a rotisserie. Every few minutes she reaches toward the simmering flesh only to have her hand slapped away by a stern faced Osmund. Hertha smiles and pulls a bottle out of her traveling sack. "Don't worry Ciri. I never leave without some good ale. This is Rotberg too, it'll keep you warm while we wait for the grub,"

Several cups into the Rotberg, Osmund finally takes a rotisserie of the fire checking how well it has cooked. "That looks about right," he says eyeing the meat with a squint as if he's looking through an imaginary microscope. Ciri almost pounces on him to get to the food immediately shoving a chunk in her mouth while another two are gripped in her hands. "Teleportation really takes it out of you doesn't it."

Ciri nods her head through bites. Her short hair bobbing up and down like child. Compared to her companions many would consider her nothing but a child playing at being a soldier. But she is one of three who can use the Heart's Amulet, so her presence is mandatory on the mission.

"I rendezvoused with the northern garrison," Sten said while holding a juicy sliver of flank, his eyes locked with the fire in front of him. His tone is serious now, not a hint of a happy man was left in it, eyes dark almost inhumane as if at any moment they would swallow up the fire they gazed at. Ciri takes notice of this change in tone, it happens in all her companions. Is it a byproduct of experience, this heavy presence almost like standing in water? Will this be me one day? she wonders while listening to Sten. "They want us to pull out, so they can launch a charge on the yigdra."

"What we came all this way, and we don't even get to fight? What a fucking waste of time!" Hertha yells in dissatisfaction, the Rotberg is really taking a toll at her.

"You don't need to tell me! It took me three moons to gather those skeletons and another sennight to capture that manticore. We gather the information and those bastards get the credit." Sten responds the darkness fading from his eyes leaving the usual happy commander everyone knew. The alcohol probably helps, but the company of friends aids more than all else at calming a serious air.

"Actually, I haven't heard what was gathered," Ciri says she hasn't drunk much, so is more inquisitive than blithe.

"Oh right, you and Hertha had to leave so you could rest, teleporting isn't an easy task is it. Well, it wasn't a grand sight. There were twenty-four yigdra, as you know it, but they only had twenty-three along with them. They had strength, but the moment teleportation occurred, most of them went into a panic. The only ones left fighting were the crownless king, his son, and two of the yigdra."

"Were they of any worth?" Hertha asks expecting much of the yigdra, that up until now were only considered fable. It would be terribly disappointing if all the stories added up to them being a gathering of craven children.

"Surprisingly enough they were quite the heroic duo. One a vanguard... or possibly a spartan put up a respectable fight with the manticore, but he would have lost in a drawn out battle. He was able to rally the troops allowing them to break through the skeletons, he'll probably make a good general. If he lives that long. The other one was especially impressive, I put him on the top of the list, probably a terramancer. The boy bound the manticore with earth magic, allowing the others to regroup and charge the skeletons. turned our little encirclement into a simple skirmish, the clever bastard,"

"A terramancer, maybe you should take him as your apprentice, eh Osi." Hertha added giggling under her breath at the idea of the stoic Osmund teaching some poor child the inner workings of magic.

"The boy's a fool. Ended up going into 3rd degree mana exhaustion. Being brave is one thing, but dyeing in the process just makes you 'nother victim," Osmund looks into the fire deep in thought. Ciri is surprised by the almost fatherly advice. Maybe he would make a good teacher?

"So, you think they're goin to be any real threat?" Ciri asks through a half full mouth marinate covering her face. Sten hands his hanker chief over causing her to blush and clean her face.

"The garrison commander, thinks so. He's planning on ambushing the yigdra and capture them." Sten explains.

"Why's in th' bloody hell is that? What planning on having some turncoats? The day I see a human in an elf army is the day I drink wine with a vanir and fuck a dragon." Hertha interrupts with a look of disdain. It's apparent she isn't sharing any fond memories of humans.

"There's half a chance they know something about the Aesir corpse. We might be able to use these weapons, but relying on something we don't fully understand is a fool’s folly." Sten explains

"Not that it matters. The real soldiers are fighting on the eastern borders against the tierzal. All that's left for our little espionage teams are scores of inexperienced wealthy brats either hoping to be safe from the front lines or hoping to make some war turning act of heroism." Osmund begins to rant while staring at the fire his usually bass of a voice increases in tone revealing that maybe he also has had too much to drink. His alcoholic tone reveals small amounts of his hegemonic accent. "Hell, ya remember the commander at the garrison. That pompous fool couldn't tell his cock from his sword, and he wants to lead an ambush. They'll be routed faster than the taxman on a bad harvest."

Everything goes quiet as Osmund stupors in a silent rage. Then out of pure silence everyone starts laughing, even Osmund's face grows into a grin. He missed these quiet nights drinking with friends simply sitting around a fire complaining about politics. "Be that as it may, we have our orders." Sten gathers himself stomping out the laughter with a serious face. "Osmund, you are to continue your work in Telenbrim, gathering information and the such. The rest of us are heading back to Astal"

Being the only one that speak the human language of vetran fluently, Osmund is the only one that can be sent to Hegemara. As much as he disliked being in larger cities, Osmund knows that he has a duty, and the information gathered is more valuable than an entire battalion. Osmund sighs and nods his head in agreement.

"You still working in that bakery?" Ciri asks. Osmund nods happy that at least he could do something he loved. "Your pie is just to die for. I could eat a hundred and still have room for a dozen more"

"Yeah, we know you've eaten half the deer," Hertha says pointing at Ciri's feet which are riddled with bones. Ciri's face turns red with embarrassment. Did I really eat all of these alone?

The moon is clear in the sky, not a cloud for miles the sun would come up in several hours. Sten takes a look at his pocket watch, and most the night has already past. "We should be heading back. Ciri are you good for a warp."

"yes sir," she responds happy and full from the hearty stag that sat in her swelling stomach.

"Shall we take our leave then." Everyone looked at each other somewhat saddened by their parting, but knowing full well that they must meet again.

"Will you be alright, heading back on your own?" Ciri asks Osmund with a worried look on her.

Her concern makes a small grin grow on his face. "Don't worry I've sobered up enough for bandits to be of no concern. Plus, I've got my old friend here to keep me company." Osmund gesures to the wepon on his belt his Aesir Weapon put him at the advantage against assailants.

Sten, Ciri, and Hertha walk away from the fire and gather around each other. Ciri clutches the Heart Amulet around her neck and whispers something, almost silently. Osmund couldn't quite make out what she had said. Certaintly it couldn't be a chant, the Aesir Weapons don't require chants.

A bright light encompasses the group accompanied by a magic circle appearing beneath them, and without a trace Osmund is alone. He sighs looks up at the moon and simply gazes into its light with the contrasting orange of the fire the surroundings have a peaceful ambiance. What a wonderful night to say goodbye. Osmund's face goes grim darkness dulling his eyes in shadow. He kicks dirt into the fire, completely smothering it nothing left but lingering smoke. The world quickly grows dark as if it could attack at any moment, the warmth he had is completely gone leaving only the familiar cold chill every soldier is accustomed to. It's a long way to Telenbrim, but there's nothing to fear. I'll be back home someday.