The people of the Barony of Saint Aldwin were an eclectic lot gathered together by the ideals and actions of Alain DeMeur. Sylvia found the simple company of the port side pub goers a cheerful respite. No matter where they had started, nearly all their raucous or solemn tales ended with a saluted and lift of a pint to the Baron.

In their rounds of drinks as the smoke thickened along the rafters, they asked of her story and arrival to Saint Aldwin. Sylvia was not a master of disguise, but she had lived a varied life. She presented that portion of herself that was freelancer going where the wars were, or any skirmishes that had life and death in its balance.

There opened the path to plenty of tales of the recent struggles in Vrashne. Rumors from some and witness accounts from others filled the common room with minor squabbles of who knew best what had happened. From these tales she learned the customs in transfer, the mode of society upturned.

Such stories blissfully ate away the hours. Locals stood from depressed cushioned seats, clapping shoulders of friends in good night wishes. Each had left taking a bit from the pub's atmosphere like a hearth ashing to quiet embers. Sylvia made her way from the pub along low lit streets to the ship lolling at dock. The next day it would take her with its needed cargo to Vrashne, and she would see for herself its remains in the ebbing tide of war.

Kiema ran the tips of her fingers around the edge of the bowl. It was the dinner hour. A cave with its damp, cold sides served as the stronghold for the upland insurgents. But they still cooked their meals over a hot ember fire. They felt sure of their place in this thick wood. And if the scouts gave their cry, the food would be sacrificed for a swift fleeing into the winding passages of the caverns. This much she had learned in her short time with the group. That and the man she knew as Gwyr was a trusted member.

She had not yet approached him. Her own position tenuous and based on her constant contact of soothing talent connected to the leader. She made herself useful in the mending of wounds, told the tales of their exploits, and sang the songs of the homeland they once knew now turned on its head.

Across the way, from the gathering, she saw Gwyr and she wondered if he remembered her.

The beard had grown more grey and the face more tan, more leathered. And he didn't go by Gwyr in the caves, among the insurgents. But he walked among them, one of them own as it were and he was sitting by a group of four that was huddled by one of the fires. He didn't speak much, nodded his head on occasion to what was being murmured, occasionally glancing around the dim light play off the different faces. He kept track of her since her arrival at camp, watching her tend to the wounded, singing and sharing tales. And he caught her eye briefly, before his gaze moved on. Another nod of his head, perhaps to what he was hearing, perhaps to her.

The leader, Rajesh, entered the circle with the stride of a man fighting fatigue and frustration. Hitches in his step, and Kiema turned her attention from Gwyr to him. Through the thread to Rajesh she encouraged that frustration and tried to turn it into doubt, just a note of it, like a distant breeze in the leaves. "My friends," he began. He always called them friends even when he was demeaning them or barking orders. "We took a loss today, but even in that we have won. We won information from one of our foe we took captive." He paused and looked everywhere but at her.

Kiema felt his emotions turn, but not into doubt, into anger. She pressed a little harder to soothe it away, but she did not try to alter it again.

"What information have you?" The voice from Gywr, known as Tanosh here, rose to greet the man as he sat up, attention on Rajesh who'd joined them.

"That we have one among us who does not belong." Rajesh answered and shared a sorrow in his eyes with them. "And I am saddened by it. Should I hope this spy will come forward alone? Is it too much to ask for the decency my friends?"

Murmurings rippled through those gathered, tension...suspicion?...stirring. Gwyr placed a hand on the shoulder of the man who sat beside him and pushed to his feet. As he did in his other life that Kiema knew of, he only spoke when needed and even then it wasn?t often. "How can you be certain this isn't a planted idea by our foes? To sow dissention and doubt among us? To tear us apart from within?"

Rajesh nodded and approached Tanosh. "Yes, true, and good of you to see such a possibility, Tanosh. Since your joining us, I have counted you a most sure comrade in our cause. Reason and steady nature. My passion often overwhelms me, it is so. And you are right to ask." Gwyr met man's gaze, looking him in the eye as he approached. Rajesh set a hand on Tanosh-Gwyr's shoulder and then patted it. "But we have heard of this spy ourselves. Even our own troubadour, who mends our wounds and sings our songs knows of whom I speak." He kept walking until he stood in front of her. "Is that not so." His voice dropped and scraped out.

The Barrister's loyal manservant settled to his usual quiet once more as Rajesh turned his attention to Kiema. Indeed Kiema garnered Gwyr's attention, along with the attention of everyone else gathered in the caves.

Kiema felt the tremor of anger along that thread and there was no turning it aside without breaking him down and destroying him before everyone else, and that would only prove him right. She had to keep her own calm though, before her eyes revealed the darkness of her concern. Calm blue they stayed as she shook her head. "If you mean that because I can play music and am a foreigner, that I must be that woman who joined the Prince's court, I would be disappointed. You are more far sighted than that." She played to his confidence and tried to ignore his anger.

A play that did not work. Rajesh grabbed her by the shoulders. "Bind her. We will deal with her tomorrow."

Kiema grit her teeth against the pain of the rough handling, and she looked to others, touching each one to see if any would bend to her will. The time wasted and now when she needed to speak to Gwyr the most, it was impossible and most dangerous.

Gwyr pushed through those gathered who remained unmoving, stunned at the accusation of betrayal among them and made his way quickly to Rajesh and Kiema. He grabbed Kiema, pulling her from Rajesh's grasp. "I'll see to her." He led her away, jostling her with feigned handling and barked a single word to her. "Come."

Kiema struggled only enough to make it look as if she were unwilling to be bound by anyone. "I will forgive you your fears, Rajesh, when you realize you have been duped by the enemy." She spoke over her shoulder as she walked away in Gwyr's grasp. When the distance was far enough, she whispered. "Be careful of him for a few days."

Gwyr led her away from the main encampment and gave a faint nod in reply to her warning. "I will try and convince him to keep you under my watch. What do you need me to do?" he queried in a muted whisper.

"At some point in time, tell me what you are doing here." She tried to keep her responses short and combined with the motions of her being captured and bound so any looking might think she was trying to convince him to let her go, which she was not.

He pulled her down a bit roughly, pulling her to her knees when they neared an area near his tent, away from Rajesh's quarters. There was a look of apology in his eyes that didn't linger. He looked sharply at a young guard that approached to help and barked an order, sending the man running to fulfill it. "I could you ask you the same, M'Lady," he whispered as he reached around her to bind her hands.

She glared at him in her role of captive to his prison guard. "There were hearts to change and news to hear when this began. I thought to make my gift of some use in helping others adjust to the new order." She had some success on the road here, but the stronghold had proven just that--strong against her influence. She blinked up at him to encourage his own tale of why he was there of all places.

He had secured her, although her bindings would fall away with a few twists and tugs if she chose, or rather needed. "I came at M...." the faithful manservant caught himself. "...his orders to help with matters in the north." Gwyr tipped his head toward a small tent a few yards away, identifying his tent. More details of his arrival and presence would have to wait for another time.

She hung her head, but there was a bounce of a nod in that. Gwyr had been heard and understood. Falling into the role of captive, she slumped into the bindings. "We will talk again if you can convince Rajesh. But one thing," she paused, "if he orders you to kill me. Do so without hesitation. Risking us both by trying to convince him otherwise does our cause little good."

"I will do what must be done, M'Lady," he replied with a sober nod. "Rest assured." Was that levity, a break in the man's typically stoic tone that carried the added words to the Minstrel? "Is there anything you need at the moment?" The last query came in a rushed whisper.

She shook her head subtly and there was a twitch at the corner of her eye, a wink so small but true in its reassurance. Things had taken an unexpected turn, but she would use her time to think of how to use it. Another nod wished him well and a soft warning to take care.

He gave the faintest nod and rose to his feet, just as two men approached. "Keep watch of the prisoner. If I find her escaped or so much as a hair out of place on her head, I'll kill you as traitors to the cause myself," he warned the two before stalking back to the cave to speak with Rajesh...and find the captive who gave up the Minstrel.

((adapted from live play with thanks to Gwyr))

Whether it was something in Gwyr-Tanosh's voice or the fact they wanted to be anywhere but be in Rajesh's line of ire, they did just as they were supposed to. Some relieved the patrols of the perimeter, others returned to making the evening meal.

Sylvia made sure to keep her distance from those patrolling guards. Everything had a pattern, or it left possible gaps. It was expediency that worked for her sake, and she started her way around to where Kiema was bound.

Kiema watched Gwyr and the others, lowering her influence now that the seeds were firmly planted.

Once everyone had moved on to other duties and tasks, he knelt back down by the Minstrel as if he was finishing that which Rajesh's outburst had interrupted. "How far is the house split?" he queried the Minstrel and he reached around her to 'retie' her bindings. "And how soon?"

Kiema sent out a thread to touch the emotions of everyone again, how they felt without her influence. "A little more than half are still doubting, wondering, uncertainty. Only...six, no five other than Rajesh are angry, mad at these changes. The five are still with him. As to how soon? This is a barrel of black powder just waiting for a fuse. What that fuse will be?" She shook her head as it was never a certain thing. Some swayed by words, others by things they see.

Five. Beside Rajesh. Gwyr had a good idea as to four of the five. The last he would have to draw out soon. There was a good chance that sending Pellam to watch Andreal would be the fuse. He realized that when he tasked the young man to guard. If not, the woman would be sacrificed to the cause.

He tucked a small knife under the leaves and branches beneath her hands and loosed her bindings. "Leave during supper. You should have a two hour window at least."

"And you?" She dared to ask and kept herself from immediately stretching fingers out to that knife. She had to ignore it just a bit longer. "If you remain and things continue, you will have to be careful of Kathal, Remas and his brothers, and Imhel." She could feel them out, sense the tension in the five men?s thoughts.

Kathal. He was the fifth and the surprise one to Gwyr. He would start there. "I will do as required," he answered before rising to his feet with a gruff growl at the prisoner. He gave a nod to a guard that neared then stalked off toward the mess. Rajesh had given him two hours. That would be plenty of time to deal with the five, particularly amid the dinner preparations.

"They're gone!"

Gwyr's next thought was stolen from him as an alarm rose over the camp from the direction of the mess. Immediately his hand reached for his weapon as the camp was roused.

What Kiema felt surging through the camp was a chaotic wave of emotions. Anger the overriding one, but differing notes, some fever pitched and sharp -- dissonant. Rajesh stormed from his tent, blade in hand. Kathal came from the other side at the call, his own gun and blade, a man of varying means of arms, also in hands. Kiema wasted not time but grabbed at the knife left for her to start cutting her ties as smoothly as she could while the explosion of distrust and shaken faith brought fighters to their feet and in confrontation. Kathal's gun was the first shot aimed into the dissenters.

Sylvia checked her surroundings, wary as she made her final approach to Kiema. There was still time for waiting to see how far confrontation dare go, or if one shot would shatter the dissenters' new vision.

Gwyr spotted Rajesh and Kathal just moments before the shot rang out. He pushed through a a small group who were tending to the camp's supper and remained stunned and still. "We're being attacked!" he hissed as he rushed by, sending them into a flurry of motion, and ducked behind a small cluster of trees near the caves. He didn't have time to spare, and he took the shot, firing the knife he stole off one of the cooks who he brushed past at Kathal.

Food forgotten, hands went to weapons, and an array of weaponry to be seen. Shots crisscrossed in the encampment. Dissenters took their cue from Tanosh-Gwyr, aiming at those who desired a lost and horrible past, which had fooled them into some glamor of bygone days. Sparks and smoke barked from the barrels. Cries of shocked hurt, but none fell. Perhaps hard to take true aim at one who had shared the cause just days before. When bullets were done, the blades came to bear.

Kiema finally cut herself free and was surprised at Sylvia's sudden appearance at her side. It was not the time for conversation, as clearly was seen on the Baroness's face. She held her blade up and at the ready to defend Kiema, her gaze searching and Kiema knew who it was for. She looked for Gwyr herself. In the same time, she began to ply her gifts, heartening the dissenters, bolstering their courage. She relied on Sylvia to keep her safe as she focused her talents to that. And it was then Rajesh focused his wrath -- on her. A blade crashed against blade, the battle was in earnest.

His throw was rushed and Kathal was easily able to avoid it. His face grew three shades redder as he emptied his weapon, then blade drawn he charged. Gwyr jumped out from behind his cover and engaged the enraged man, metal striking metal. In the back of his thoughts, Gwyr hoped that the Minstrel had freed herself and was long gone from the camp.

What Sylvia could not deny was Rajesh was a better swordsman -- in the essence of skill. Of course, as a mercenary, she had run into such situations before. That is why she also fought unfairly. With their blades locked at crossguards, she threw a punch at his throat. It staggered Rajesh back, and infuriated him more. That was enough for her to gain a better ground and drive him further from Kiema.

Around them it was apparent how skilled these surviving militants were. They exchanges were heated, fierce, but not over quickly. One fell, then another as opponents made costly mistakes. Cries rang up to the silent, still branches and the hollow witness of stars above. Shadows of fires danced around them, flashing off metal and glinting in wide eyes. Rajesh drew the first blood across the back of her hand in a circling parry. It forced her to use her off hand for the blade.

In time it was Kathal and his opponent, two other dissenters looking for ways to help, and two more seeing to the wounded and dying.

"Traitor!" Kathal roared at Gwyr as he pushed the man back on his heels. The man was many years Gwyr's junior, at least a head taller and fueled with rage. "You deserve to hang!" the man bellowed. The barrister's manservant barely parried the low strike away, his hand ringing for the effort. Gwyr was not quick enough to catch the following strike and the blade struck home catching him in the side. He dropped to his knee and Kathal, smelling blood, moved to strike the final blow.

Kiema felt the surge of pleasure from Kathal. Her throat closed in fear, and then she screamed out as she narrowed the entirety of her gift on Kathal, pushing the pleasure and hate he felt for the coming vengeance into a terrifying doubt of who he was and what he did. It was so close and yet in the scale of emotions far from what he was feeling that she knew she was breaking him as she never had since the Wilding so many years ago. She drove her own hate at him, drove it until his mind was shattering into madness, but it did not stop his blade falling fully. The energy was gone, the aim muddled, but the blade still had its arc to follow.

Sylvia heard the scream, like so many battles of her youth, it filled her senses but did not distract her. Her blade beat aside Rajesh's next attack with a lame swipe and she kicked out, sending him stumbling over the fire. The cloth caught flame, his hair singed and he cried out. She did not hesitate to plunge her blade into his side as he squirmed free of the fire.
Certain of his bleeding death, she turned to Kiema just as a forgotten patrolman came up from behind and stabbed the minstrel in the back, her pupils widened and she slumped to the ground.

Gywr also heard the scream. Even amid the chaos in the camp, he recognized the Minstrel's scream. As he pushed to get back up on his feet, he could see the change effected by Kiema in Kathal's eyes. Gwyr threw himself at the man, driving his shoulder and his own blade into Kathal as the man's blade came swinging down around him.

The two men fell into a bloodied heap onto the ground. Gwyr felt himself being pulled up off the ground and he yanked his bloodied blade out of the dying man. He yanked free of the hold and spun around, blade poised to strike and found Pellam standing there with his hands held up.

Sylvia heard more than saw the upheaval between Gwyr and Kathal. The patrol man stepped over Kiema's prone body, aiming his lone pistol shot at Pellam. It's aim thwarted when Sylvia swung her blade at his hand, causing him to flinch and sidestep. He threw his used pistol at her, causing her to break momentum on the next strike lest she be clocked in the head by the metal. Her hand stung, snug against her belly while her left dealt out justice and vengeance. Two of the last four dissenters still there took an opening from the side, stabbing down the patrolman and following with a definitive slice to the neck, half severing the head from the body. Sylvia thanked the maker for a sturdy cowl that protected her neck.

She gave a glance around for any other attackers before going to Kiema's side to assess. "Do you live?" She shouted over her shoulder, meaning to Gwyr, and well she knew Lucky's right hand man would know it. Kiema was silent, blood pooling out of the back of her. Sylvia cut free the Kiema's sleeve to act as bandage in staunching the flow.

Gwyr stood watching Pellam, keeping him at bay with his blade. The young man kept his hands up and opened to Gwyr. "You're hurt, Tanosh." A breath passed before the barrister's manservant lowered the weapon and shook his head as if to wave off any concern about his injury.

Then he heard her voice call to him. The Baroness. The barrister's sister. A new urgency took hold and he went to move to her side. But alas, although the spirit was willing, his body was not. Gwyr took a half step, before falling prone and still. Kathal's strike had cut deep and Lucien's faithful servant was bleeding out.

Even before the years at court, there had been the years at the head of a freelancer troop. "You," she snapped at Pellam. "See to his wounds. You, get me a blade in that damn fire." She didn't even look at the roasting corpse of Rajesh. She could smell him. Her mind was on saving the two people she cared about. The rest could stew in the aftermath of what they had wrought. A quick wrap to her own hand and she set to business. "Neither of you are allowed to die, you hear me!" She shouted as if her command would penetrate the shroud trying to bind and conceal their mortality.