The Tent

Thunder boomed overhead and the flickering of high lightning was incessant. The patter of rain on the tent was dampened by the ward Rosalyn had conducted, but the humid air still dampened everything. Anya frowned at her plate of fried fish. It smelled delicious, but the dim lamplight made clear that the dampness saturated anything. The army’s camp had welcomed them readily, but they had learned sadly that Argen had gone missing after their last engagement. She lay back on her bedroll comfortably, twining her fingers in the soft wool fringe of her blankets. He could not have gotten far.

The Cave

The cave was dry and cool, a relief from the dry heat outside. The light just barely stretched to the rear, where it revealed a small pool of cool, clear water. Argen refilled his waterskin and washed his face of dust. He stripped off his clothes and retrieved fresh clothes from his pack. Washing quickly with harsh soap, he re-dressed; chewing sweet, salty dried beef while he laundered. This place was better than most for spending a night. How long had he been on the run? Where were Anya and Rosalyn? He hoped they were faring better than he was.

The Healing Ward

Blood ran down her face from her burned scalp, staining singed cloak and grey dress alike. Smoldering, unrecognizable remains interspersed with shattered wood and stumps littered the scorched clearing. Anya wavered afoot, in better shape than Rosalyn. Smoke, ash and death surrounded them. Rosalyn momentarily cursed her abilities. She had a knack for wards, healing and negating that led her to the Path of Temperance. She knew how to kill, if not utterly destroy like Anya. Conducting painfully, she set to creating a healing ward. Anya would benefit from it as much as she once out of her dreamlike trance.

The Field

The sun was bright, but provided little warmth. This far north, the snow became ice as soon as it hit the ground. The chill killed scent, dampened sound. Even wrapped in all of their cloaks and coats, they would have frozen to death in hours without the protective field they were taking turns conducting. It was useful for keeping rain off, and it could control the temperature moderately. It was still cold inside, but not deadly so. Behind, they left a swath of melted, refrozen snow. It made them easy to track, but anyone after them would know their destination.

The Range

She was alive, more alive than she had ever felt. Anger, love, loss, and pleasure all surged within filling her completely; muscles flexed, nerves tingling. Even wrapped in the stillness, the barrier between her and the inferno of emotion, she was nearly consumed by passion. Sweat poured down her face, soaking her white Anointed’s dress. Ahead of her, she marked the painted targets out to five-hundred spans. She conducted her inner tempest at the first. As if by a giant invisible grinder, it was ripped apart. She smelled the sawdust from this range. Pleasure pounded within; she destroyed the rest.

The Gathered

A small room had been set aside for them, furnished in utilitarian fashion, with four well made chairs, a table, and a desk containing writing supplies. The walls were tiled ivory, but an enchantment laid long past attuned the interspersed colors to the Cavaliers within; Passion, Solace and Temperance were called forth. A mild scent of scrubbing powder indicated the room had been recently cleaned. Anya sat opposite Rosalyn; Argen opposite Steven. Anya, Argen and Rosalyn wore the white garb of the Anointed, accented with red, blue and green, respectively.

Steven wore his formal blues, “We are together at last.”

The Master and Apprentice

Shadows danced in the firelight as the acrid smell of smoke crept from burning green wood. Steven whittled quietly upwind of the fire, shaping a dry piece of wood he pulled from his pack. Argen lounged on his bedroll, avoiding the smoke. He had a full stomach and though tired, he felt vitalized. Not since Uncle Din’s death had he felt so safe. Steven, aside from showing him how to control the rift, was a kind, gentle instructor; harsh at times, with high expectations, but fair and just. Uncle Din had been a good teacher; Steven was an excellent master.