The Stone Circle, Deep in the Dark Forest

The eerie silence in the dark woods was a clear message, a momentary relief for the men to exit the area safely. The plagued beasts that they slew remained as they were, lifeless and still that reek of a noxious odour that send a few to vomit. The signs of the rot were notable, easily to describe of their striped purplish veins, and their eyes paled of orb white.

Valeran dared to glance at the dead, and a cold chill ran beneath his spine. While the Partishan, such as himself, were immune to such diseases, the regulars were not entirely in the case. There was a bit of worry inside of the Partishan as he wondered if the survivors were exposed to the corruption. If that were the case, then he feared that the expedition had failed and that he had no choice but to kill the survivors in sight.

Valeran stride toward to the canine doctor in a slow, but steady pace, his feet heavily stomped on the ground. Questions began to form in his head upon the many possibilities about the world. Although the blood ritual would serve as an option to extract information on the local inhabitants, he hoped to refrain from such practice. Its result was quite overall efficient, but turning bright minds into drooling halfwits had left a distaste in his mouth.

The Partishan was inches close to the doctor, able to spectate the performance that was underway. With keen observation, he had come to admire its talent. Its wrapped, bandage paws worked on the patient with an elegant poise that told years of experience and the knowledge of anatomy.

The canine, with black pearled eyes, took a momentary glance back at the massive character in white armour before turned focus to its patient. It then quickly pointed at the satchel.

"Do you mind fetch me a bottle of laudanum?" Its voice had a rough tone that suggested the canine to be male. He sniffed and wiggled his nose as if about to sneeze but manage to hold it off. “You can't miss it. Small bottle. Reddish-brown glass with a black cork on top.

Valeran glanced at the brown handbag then back to the dog with raised eyebrow. It was clear that he hadn't met a Partishan before. Nevertheless, he did what the doctor told and leaned down to check the contents of the bag.

The satchel inside was meticulous, placed neat and proper that was easy for Valeran to spot the bottle. There were several notable herbs and remedies of some kind, but unable to tell the purpose of its use.

The canine doctor took notice of the strange armoured man handing out the laudanum. He took the bottle from his hand and gave an appreciative nod.

“Hmm, since you give me the right one in your first try I take it you understand on what I am saying?"

Valeran gradually removed his helmet to reveal a paled man with blue eyes and a bald scalp. “Are you the one that I must give thanks for tending to the prisoners?".

The canine smiled and chuckled, quite surprised at the question. “I did little much," the canine turned around to meet eye contact. “Although I wish I could save the others. The wolves weren't as cooperative as I thought it would be. They aren't the friendly lot. Say would you mind as to help me out with this patient? I take it you have some knowledge of medicine."

Truthfully, Valeran had little knowledge when it comes to healing the sick and the injured. The Partishans were more focused on killing people. He sat on the opposite side of the doctor and followed his instruction, careful of not making any mistake.

The patient that they were on the progress was a critter, a squirrel, coated in light brownish fur. It had a chubby, but a feminine look with long bushy tail at the end. Valeran noticed the dried bloodstains of the squirrel's outfit, originating from the right side of her stomach.

“Poor little thing," The canine sighed. “After all of my years of travelling, I have never met a reckless character like her," He popped out a cork from the laudanum and poured on a clean sheet of cloth. “Lift her up, would ya? Need to press this on the wound."

Valeran gently pulled the squirrel to his side, revealing a large wound that was about the size of his thumb. The canine quickly pressed the soaked cloth into the wound as the squirrel squirmed in response to its painful sting.

After several minutes of bandaging and stopping the wound from further bleeding, the canine placed his tools aside and sighed with relief.

“There, all done," He said, cutting the loose bandages with a scissor. “You have my thanks, stranger. It would have taken much longer if not for your help."

Valeran smiled and nodded. It was the least he could do. He was sort of overjoyed that the squirrel was recovering and suspected that she would survive in the long run. Yet while he was in the state of gladness, gradually, his mood shifted into a serious look.

“Doctor," He said with a firm tone. “As much as I am the bearer of bad news, I must ask you something about what we saw at the outpost."

The canine reacted neutrally, bearing no sign of emotion, looking up to the starless night a moment before he turned to face Valeran with a weak smile. “The crow is called a Bane," He declared. “And it is a terrible creature. Why do you want to need to know?"

“The same like you, doctor," Valeran stood up to his feet. “To survive, your knowledge of this…Bane…is worth more than anything at the moment, and I would very much like to know how to kill it."

“Kill it?" The canine burst out into laughter, shaking his head. “My paled friend, the chances for you to slay a Bane is slim to none, but since you killed those things outside," He glanced at the fallen plagued animals. “What will you do with us once this is done?"

Valeran paused in a moment to answer as he adjusted back on the helmet. “Not to worry, doctor. After a long observation on your work, I can say you are more useful to me alive than dead," He coldly declared. “That is said, I haven't been wholly convinced by your squirrel friend."

The canine watched the armoured man lift the squirrel with one arm, cradling her as if she was an infant. A cold fear ran all over his face. “Please, I beg of you. Spare her. She has done nothing wrong."

“Ah, but you are correct on that part. This squirrel hasn't done anything wrong. Yet." Valeran wiped gently of the smudge from her cheeks with a napkin. A napkin that had little traces of her blood. “I assume you are going to tell me about her crimes in the past and that she is in league with a group of unsavory characters."

The canine was shocked, dumbfounded. He hadn't told the man about the squirrel's past.

Valeran sighed. “I like you, doctor. You remind me of an old man that used to help the sick and the helpless, always ready to give it all for the greater good. He was a good man until the end." He leaned closer to the mutt, his eyes glowed behind the helmet. “I wonder if you will serve the same fate as he did?"

The canine understood right at the instant that the man who had come to help wasn't a likeable sort. He remained in utter silent, unable to form any words that came out from his mouth as the man motioned his free hand to reach for his weapon.

“Come along, doctor. We have much business to discuss." Valeran turned around to proceed to the exit. “You're expertise is much needed at the moment."

It was kinda fortunate that Valeran had his helmet on. Otherwise, he wouldn't feel guilty about it. While the man was good with threats and blackmail, he had no intention to harm the two or to make them suffer. If he wanted to kill them he would have done it at the spot not too long ago, but instead played a different role as a supportive kind. He wanted to help.

“I-I thought you were a man of reason?" The canine finally spoke, shivering with fear. There was disgusted look on his face. The one who had no other choice but to give in to the man's demand.

Valeran stopped in his track and glanced back to the canine. Once more, he paused in a moment of silence. “I am a reasonable man, Ruffcoat," He said as his eyes still glowed eerily of blue. “I am the only reasonable thing that you've got."

Somewhere over the Mountain

The rustles of the prisoners' chains were bound tightly together, hands restricted to resist their would-be wardens. They marched onward in the snowy landscape, forced to travel under terrible condition. Without any suitable wear to combat the cold, it didn't take long before they fell one by one. Out of the ten, only five were left to endure. The youngest of the batch, Ewin, was the latest victim to the weather.

Among the first to be in line was Ulfric Spiel, an average soldier wearing a dark yellow-green uniform. Spiel was the last of the unit, the Grosbeak company, or might be considering that he hadn't seen anyone else wearing his type of outfit. The four that were behind him belonged to their respective company. Two Bluejays, a Black Swan and a Nutcracker.

Spiel had lost count since their departure from the outpost. The Grosbeak soldier felt tired, eyes grew heavy and feet and hands stung by the ice. Exhaustion had taken over the men after their descent from the mountain. Its rugged terrain of sharp rocks and slippery ice was arduous, dangerous to cross from its steep cliffs. The wolves, overseers and executioners, cared little and, in their sadistic nature made their life a nightmare. Unable to communicate between different language, the prisoners remained obedient to the wolves, biding their time for a chance to strike. Yet the opportunity to succeed was slim at best as the wolves were well aware of their little rebellion.

Not long ago, two soldiers from the company, the Silver Condors, made the first move, striking at an unsuspected wolf. Sadly, the two were killed in an instant. The wolf that the soldiers targeted had a small figure than the rest of its kind, with a grey-white shade of fur and yellow eyes. The soldiers that thought they could overpower fell by the edge of the wolf's blade.

The trip to the cold and desolate wasteland was miles and miles without end. The landscape littered with snow and ice from as far as Spiel could lay his eyes upon. He felt uneasy, concerned about the whole ordeal. He was quite unsure of what would happen once they reached the end of the destination. Would the wolves force them to serve as mere slaves or be meals to the slaughter? Whatever the result, Spiel wasn't confident on either the two.

From the snow-covered plains, the trip came to a sudden halt when a giant and brutish wolf with one right eye hollered out something to its pack. The pack, who heed at its command, went off into separate direction, leaving a couple to guard the prisoners. One of them was the small wolf.

The prisoners sat at the edge of the frozen lake, huddled close together in a desperate attempt for warmth. Spiel didn't felt like to discuss plans of escape with the rest of his comrades. He was cold and tired and wanted to sleep. He was getting drowsy. He could hear a faint echo from one of the soldiers, trying to force him to stay awake. But he wouldn't listen, wouldn't be able to hold much longer. He fell sideways on the ground like a ragdoll, his face splattered against the snow. With tired eyes, the last thing before he passed out was the comrades that was beside him and the small wolf with a cold, yellowish gaze.

At long last, Spiel had earned his rest. He was coming home.