Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

74th of Zi'da, Arc 716

A Skinbane lurked closer, driven by the wisdom granted to him by his tendrils. Within each of them were many glands, expanding and protruding - though out of sight - digging their sensory perception to the wind and uncovering their surroundings. Each tendril held taste, touch and smell - and they smelled something indeed. The blood of many others of their kind, all gathered around one snowed-in clearing, scattered in a messy formation.

The entity between them was a man, tall, of blond hair. He wore light, leather armor with a fur coat to dampen the cold, and had a long blade at his back, scarcely used. A mage, beside a winged companion, now currently diving down from another round in the wind - moving carefully so as to not descend right into the hard end of a tree's branch. Alistair had come to the Willow Woods for the sake of research, and he'd brought his Becomer companion. The man was Kaiserion Par Thogg - his slave - now currently taking the form of an Uthaldrian Sohr Khal, a rare sight in the wilds of Ne'haer. Utilizing the Sohr Khal's extended mobility, and the sparseness of the creatures in Zi'da, he was going to examine the ruins of the Willow Woods at what was clearly an opportune time.

Unfortunately, a blasted Seeker had thrown a wrench in all of that.

The conflict between the Seekers and the Coven was well-known, and as of the past dozen or so trials, the presence of Alistair - who was a prominent member of the Coven - had been documented in the city of Ne'haer. After his betrayal and murder of one of their Coven double agents, he'd been a target for the faction, still consistently seeking to isolate and expunge Coven agents to assert their dominance over Seraas. When Alistair had entered the forest, a Seeker had gone ahead of him, and by using Empathy he'd manipulated the Skinbanes of the area into a wroth frenzy.

It wasn't the most clever trick, but it had resulted in a great deal of time being consumed, as the man and his beast had been pinned down in order to dispatch the brunt of these hostile creatures.

The Sohr Khal landed beside his master, and the large shift of kinetic force caused for the few Skinbanes lurking to charge the man and his winged beast. Alistair reacted quickly, crafting two portals between one of the Skinbanes and using pull on each side. The creature, pulled into two opposing directions via extreme force, was paralyzed by the internal pressure. Alistair focused on one of the other targets enclosing him, creating a scrying portal (a sight portal, one that rejects entry) in its running path. Upon the creature diving forward into the portal, its tentacles were disassembled by the scrying's rejection, and the creature flailed and reared back. Falling over in its pain, Alistair drew his unused sword and felled the down target, plunging the long blade into the Skinbane's gut and slicing through his chest.

Turning around, he was pleased to see that the two pulling portals had successfully drawn and quartered the others, and so he dispelled them with a faint snap of his offhand fingers. The last Skinbane had been cleaved and partially devoured by Rhion, and with this trio downed he imagined he was finally done dealing with the Seekers and their game.

"Rio," he called his companion. The Sohr Khal squawked in reply, launching a ball of spit at the mage. Worst of all, the saliva was clearly filtered with chewed up Skinbane... parts. "Ugh, really?" he asked.

"Let's go back to the city," the man suggested. "While I'm content to engage with any Seeker members that want to fight me," he began rowdily, almost as a taunt, "I'd rather not sit around and wait for one to put a knife in my back while I'm clearing my bowels." The drake nodded, leaning over to allow his master onto his back. Before he mounted the creature, however, he paused... hearing footsteps in the snow. A small portal began to form amidst his palm, preparing for a reactionary attack if necessary.

Kaelrik knelt in the cold dirt of the Willow Woods. The hunter was dressed in the simple clothing of his station, a cloak, common clothes with only a leather breastplate and greaves to cover himself. Slung over one shoulder was a shortbow, the corresponding quiver of arrows resting on his back. At his hip hung a longsword that, while not having seen a terrible amount of use lately, was still familiar to him at least on a basic level. The brown haired young man studied the ground in earnest. His indigo eyes searching for patterns known only to those who made themselves comfortable amongst the dirt and debris of the woods. Gingerly he brushed the tips of his fingers over the vestiges of dead leaves. He narrowed his eyes at the imprint in the ground that revealed itself. It was far from one that he was familiar with but it was that of an animal of some kind nonetheless.

In the back of his mind, Kaelrik knew exactly what he was looking for. The signs were unmistakable but he had yet to see them in any of his explorations into the Willow Woods surrounding Ne’Haer. The lack of signs pointing to the beast that he searched for, troubled him. Still, this particular track might prove promising. He wasn’t overly familiar with the fauna that surrounded the City of White Stones and High Walls. So while he hadn’t found precisely what he was looking for, he’d found something nevertheless. Rising to his feet he took off in the direction that this trail was leading him. The only goal he had in mind for that day was to see as much of the wilderness surrounding Ne’Haer as possible. The more of the land he knew, the better he knew its creatures and the temperament of the elements around it, the better off he would be.

Kaelrik kept his footsteps as light as he was able, which wasn’t very effective. He was unfamiliar with the terrain. He did not yet know how to expertly navigate the corridors of these woodlands but such knowledge would come with time. There were a few basic things that stayed with him even in this foreign land far away from the halls of Uthaldria. The animals still marked their territories in the same ways, paths could still be found if one but took the time to look for them, tracks were still hidden beneath the refuse of the forest. Bearing these things in mind it wasn’t difficult for him to feel at home again. For too long he’d been trying to make it in the city exploring avenues that simply didn’t ring true to who he was, a hunter of the Lotharro, a warrior down to his bones. Over the past year, he’d tried being a dock laborer, he’d tried being a groomsman for stables, he’d tried being a hired hand for a tavern. The only thing that had come close to fitting had been his short stint as a blacksmith. The fire of the forge and the pride of the craft had called to him but ultimately he still found himself back to where he started so many years ago: with a bow in his hands and a sword at his hip.

Perhaps he’d been running from the memories of his more recent past. Perhaps he’d wanted to see if maybe he could be something other than what he’d been raised to believe he should be. In the end, the truth was simply that he felt most at home when he was on the Hunt. It had been a thought that had ruminated in the back of his mind for some time but it hadn’t been until he heard about a particularly ferocious beast haunting the woods that he’d caved in to his roots and taken up his bow and blade again. The snap of a twig drew Kaelrik’s attention away from his casual observation of the woods around him. His head turned quickly in the direction of the noise and not but thirty feet from him stood a creature that could only be described as grotesque. Frightening? Perhaps, but Kaelrik found himself more curious than afraid. The beast was hardly any more terrifying than the monstrosities that roamed the Fields of Gauthrel…and certainly not as intimidating as the one he was hunting at that very moment.

A writhing mass of slithering tendrils flailed at Kaelrik before the creature let out a croaking squeal of warning before charging. The Lotharen Hunter smirked.

Finally.

Turning on his heel, Kaelrik sprinted away from the beast. He could hear it crashing through the woods behind him and at the rate it was darting toward him it wouldn’t be long before it overtook him. Scanning his surroundings, Kaelrik spotted an opening in the trees that looked promising. Reaching behind him he grabbed an arrow, unslung his bow and attempted to knock the arrow properly. His finger slipped and the arrow drooped. Frowning, Kaelrik reprimanded himself for letting his archery fall so far out of practice. Skidding to a halt, the Lotharen dropped to his knees, raised his shortbow and released the arrow blindly without aiming. His arrow careened forward splintering off the hide of the monstrosity that lumbered forward through the trees toward him. It screeched before surging forward, obviously intending Kaelrik harm.

Rolling away, out of the direct path of the beast, Kaelrik picked himself up feeling a twinge in his leg muscles, reminding him just how very much out of practice he was. He stumbled just a hair and that split second was just enough for the beast to take a swipe at him with one of its claws. Kaelrik leapt away from the creature’s reach even as he felt claws slice into the flesh of his left thigh. Sprinting as fast as he could, Kaelrik barreled into the clearing he’d spotted and as he did he registered a few things at once.

First, there were several corpses of the very creature chasing him.

Second, there was a man standing right next to a magnificent Sohr Khal, a strange sight outside of his homeland.

Third? The tendril flailing beast was still hot on his heels.

Tossing the man a friendly smirk and a brief salute, Kaelrik rolled, or rather just let himself fall to one side and roll away from the beast that chased him. He felt the pang of hard earth sting his shoulder and knew that he’d be sore for letting himself roll so haphazardly come the morning. It was, however, better than getting skewered. Gripping his shortbow he came to a kneel, drew another arrow, followed the movements of the beast as it slid to a halt in the snow and whirled around to face him, its intended prey. Fueled by the thrilling rush of adrenaline that came with a worthy hunt, Kaelrik released his arrow. He didn’t wait for it to make its mark before immediately drawing a second and losing it at the creature. The first arrow shot past the beast but the second landed square in one of its shoulders causing it to screech in irritation.

Rearing back, the tentacle brandishing monster prepared to charge ahead, hellbent on devouring Kaelrik.

Peering between the winter trees, it took not more than a moment for Alistair to uncover the source of the sound. It was a man, quite tall with brown hair, ducking into the clearing and engaging with a Skinbane. He had knelt down, with his kneecaps against the snow, knocking arrows and firing at the creature that had aroused his ire. What Alistair immediately wondered was why the man was here, at this period - hunting Skinbanes in the fallen snow, as he had. Was this some sort of game by the Seekers? A false perception, created by Mirage?

While the mage did not act, erring on the side of caution, Kaiserion chose to act for him. The Sohr Khal noticed something that Alistair did not: the man's place of origin. Upon seeing Kaelrik, Rhion - who was in truth a Lothar - felt compelled to act against the Lysorian Skinbane, who had targeted one of his brethren. The creature ascended quickly to the skies, circling over the trees, and swooping in to claim its kill. Before Kaelrik's eyes, the Sohr Khal would grasp the Skinbane's neck within its jaws, ripping into its flesh with his draconian fangs before hurling it against a Willow tree amidst its flight. The creature landed shortly afterwards, impaling the beast's jugular on its tail and... being met with a very sanguine reception as a result.

While the Becomer had made his intentions to defend the stranger clear, the mage did not react. He had not yet made a determination as to the prudence of speaking with this man. He could have been a Seeker, merely disguising himself as something different: a hunter, at least by his appearance. Alistair had spent an entire trial dealing with the tricks of mischievous Seekers, and attempting to garner false friendship with him was not something he'd put above them.

After all, they were dealing with the Coven. A group filled to the brim with manipulative sociopaths. They could only fight fire with fire.

The Sohr Khal returned to the clearing, but came to Kaelrik rather than Alistair. The creature's transformation ceased, returning to the form he was more commonly known by: Kaiserion Par Thogg, a large Lotharen man... just as the hunter was. His guise shifting, the man was now covered in naught but his own skin, while they were out in the midst of the cold cycle. Alistair shook his head.

"Whew," the Lothar sounded, shivering. "That's a chill I haven't experienced in quite a time."

The man knelt against the snow, checking to see if his fellow clansman was in good condition. He smiled faintly at the hunter, then parted his lips to speak.

"Stop, Rhion," the mage commanded, interrupted the Lothar's words. The slave rose to his feet, stepping back and withdrawing to the side of his master. Alistair removed his fur coat, placing it over Kaiserion's shoulder.

"Who are you?" he asked, glancing to the Lothar, who - in his eyes - had very conveniently appeared as the Skinbanes were cleaned up by Alistair and his slave. "You're not a Seeker, are you? Be honest. I can't stand playing games. This infantile dance of cat and mouse through the forest has gone on long enough."

Kaelrik had seen his fair share of Sohr Khal’s in his life in Uthaldria. They were a mount of prestige and beauty with intelligence and ferocity that was second only to the heartiness of the Lotharro themselves. It never failed to inspire Kaelrik to see one of the great winged drakes in flight and it only made him that much prouder to see the beast slice into the tendril riddled monster and know that his people were the ones to domesticate them. He watched, unflinching as the Sohr Khal tore into the screeching monster before it was rendered silent with the piercing of the drake’s tail through its throat. As the drake pulled back, Kaelrik gave the winged beast a nod of respect and thanks. The hunter shifted, feeling the sting of his thigh wound as he did so. He frowned looking down at the claw marks. Blood seeped from them slowly, the red falling into the white snow staining it scarlet. Looking up he was given witness to one of the oddest things he’d seen yet as the Sohr Khal in front of him shifted and changed to become a man.

While all Lotharen were possessed of their own individuality, there were certain things that spoke true to their people. Momentary surprise touched Kaelrik’s features but he pushed it aside in favor of the warmth he felt at not only meeting but having been saved by one of his kinsmen. Without speaking a word, Kaelrik clapped the other Lotharen on the shoulder giving him a grateful bow of the head.

“The winter winds favor you, beastwalker.” Kaelrik wasn’t all too familiar with them but he’d heard of men and women who walked about in the skins of beasts. In Uthaldria they were a religious group though Kaelrik had never had direct dealings with them. Beyond the stories that surrounded them he’d never paid them much attention. If this man were anything to go by, they were an impressive lot indeed and he immediately regretted not seeking them out more avidly. Before his fellow Lotharen could speak further, their meeting was interrupted by the other man present in the clearing. Kaelrik didn’t miss the commanding tone in the man’s voice. Nor did he miss the immediacy of his kinsman’s response, falling to the man’s side. Kaelrik quirked a brow but offered no other comment. With a sigh he placed a hand over his thigh and rose to his feet. He felt a twinge in his leg but it was not serious enough for him to find it overly bothersome. Waiting a moment to answer the question, Kaelrik rolled his shoulders and stretched.

He was going to be mighty sore after that brief ordeal but the rush of it still had his senses on high alert. It had his blood pumping and it had served as a reminder that in his heart, nothing pleased him more than the journey that each Hunt brought with it. He still had much to learn and he certainly needed to brush up on some of the lessons he’d learned when training to take up the mantle of his Path but he was pleased with the outcome, even if he had not secured the kill for himself. It was a fool who scoffed at the helping hand of others for no other reason than to be prideful. Besides, he’d been aided by one of his brethren. There was naught but honor in that.

“I am Kaelrik.” He spoke not to the blond man but to his kinsman. With a half-bow he flashed Rhion a smile, displaying his sharp canines in full. “Thank you, Rhion. A fine kill.”

“I am a Hunter.” Finally, he answered the blond man. He spoke plainly. It was the truth. He was indeed a hunter but his emphasis of the word was enough to imply that there was more to it than what most associated with the title. He gave the blond-haired man, who surprisingly enough wasn’t much shorter than himself, a half-smile and a nod. Normally, Kaelrik had to look down at people from an angle as he and his twin brother typically stood a head or so taller than most.

“As for games? Well, the only ones I know don’t involve cats and mice. Normally just ale, loud songs and plenty of good food.” Shouldering his shortbow, Kaelrik stepped up to the carcass of one of the felled beasts. Crouching, he reached out to touch his fingers to some of what was left. He was cautious, not knowing anything about them he lifted and observed what he could. Taking one of his arrows he lifted some of the tentacles, inspecting them curiously. He noted that there was a mouth hidden in the mass of fleshy appendages. When he was satisfied, Kaelrik found the nearest tree sturdy enough to support his weight. He hadn’t thought ahead with enough foresight to bring his travel pack so in order to bind his wound he’d have to take some cloth from his cloak. Bringing up the tail end of it, he tore off a strip with little more than a grunt of effort. Diligently he applied the makeshift bandage then glanced up at his present company.

“And you are?”

While he sternly observed the man, his eyes gathered information. He noticed the clear cordiality between Kaelrik, as he'd called himself, and Kaiserion . . . one that did seem genuine. Was it merely because of their shared race, he wondered? Or did they know one another? Turning his head to inquire upon this with his slave, the other man immediately shook his head upon Alistair's glance. They did not, in fact, know one another. Which meant their seeming friendliness was forged only by racial lines. The mage nodded his head, once.

"It was nothing," the Lothar replied, smiling humbly at the compliment thrown at him, though the expression across his lips was quite quickly dulled as he recalled just how cold it had been. Despite being a Lothar, a people naturally more accustomed to the cold, the chill of the wind was fierce this day; fierce enough to supplant his resistance. Alistair would begin to note it soon as well, now that he was brought down to only his leather gear and the simple clothing beneath it.

The slave calmed himself, exhaling cold air and wrapping his arms around his chest to contain his warmth. Sighing, he continued in speaking.

"I apologize in advance for my master," he said, eyeing Alistair with a silly grin disguising his face. "He's currently embroiled in paranoia, and has been since we arrived back in this city."

The mage pushed the Lothar away, slightly, as if to fire back at him. "I have good reason to worry while in Ne'haer," he said. "This may be one of the wealthiest cities in Idalos, but it's also one of the most dangerous." The mage stated this factually, and he wouldn't need any of the council's numbers to prove to them his words. It was clear to any who lived in or outside of the city.

"And," he began, "it's only going to get worse. The undercurrent of conflict in the magical community is rising. You know that, Rhion. Don't be ignorant."

The slave shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, I understand."

Turning to the man, who had claimed to be a hunter, Alistair sighed. "Perhaps you're not a Seeker," he questioned. "I don't know. I don't really know what to believe at present. It's been a tumultuous winter." He placed his hand against his forehead, before raising his fingertips and scooping his hair back into place, made unkempt by the conflict with the Skinbanes.

With the Lothar questioning who he was, the man's demeanor shifted, and he stood with more poise - as if the question of his identity demanded he exude professionalism. "I am Alistair Venora. A doctor," he said, whilst glancing down at the man's makeshift bandage, "and a mage. I'm here to research the layout of the Willow Woods, particularly in relation to its ruins and ancient fortresses. Unfortunately, that goal has since been... compromised," he spoke, biting his lower lip.

"By the Seekers," the slave added.

"Yes," his master confirmed. "By... the Seekers. I think he already gathered that, however, when I asked him are you with the Seekers?"

As always, the two of them bantered endlessly. The two men wouldn't have appeared at all like master and slave if one did not know by their own admission. Yet, that was the way it was.

And, simultaneously after their bickering ceased, the two of them returned their vision to the stranger they'd met in the woods. Alistair began to question him once more. "And you... Kaelrik?" he asked. "I'd assume you're here to hunt, given your... profession, but I can't imagine the frozen wastes of late Zi'da are optimal conditions. You low on nels, or something?" He asked, bluntly.

Kaelrik found himself staring much more intently at both Rhion and the blond man at the mention of the word “master”. His brow furrowed as he stared back and forth between the two. While he would not yet jump to conclusions, the term did not sit comfortably with him. Master could mean a number of things but in traveling away from Uthaldria, Kaelrik had learned it typically only meant one thing with regard to one man and another. As the two of them spoke back and forth, Kaelrik remained silent. He drank in what they were saying with careful observation. He held on to key words such as turmoil, Seekers, conflict and uprising. He was vaguely aware of some of the factions in the city of Ne’Haer so he assumed that these Seekers were one of them. If they were making this man paranoid it stood to reason that he was in opposition to them. When the man introduced himself, puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders as if to make himself appear much more important and commanding than before, Kaelrik simply stared at him flatly.

“Well met, Alistair.” He gave the doctor a nod. “Fortune smiled on me indeed to have been saved by not only one of my brethren but also a doctor. I wonder, which Immortal have I pleased?”

Kaelrik chuckled at his own humor. With a sigh he pushed himself up off of the tree and stepped forward to more clearly observe the clearing in front of him. Closing his eyes for a moment he felt the cold in the air. He took in a deep breath letting the icy wind flow into his lungs before exhaling with a content sigh. When he opened his eyes he caught Alistair’s question. Turning slightly he shook his head.

“No. As I said, I am a Hunter. It is my Path, not my profession.” He shrugged. He knew he didn’t have to explain this to Rhion. It was a difficult thing to describe to those not native to his homeland. The rigors of living on the Fields of Gauthrel demanded a different lifestyle than what was common in most cities. How was he supposed to explain to Alistair that being a Hunter was not his job but his calling? How was he to explain that it was not even as simple as that? Every instinct inside of him leapt at the prospect of the Hunt. Every muscle in his body was trained, built and bred for the Hunt. How could he explain that his life and everything that he was, was created for the singular purpose of tracking the terrors of the Fields in service to and defense of his people?

At that moment in time? He couldn’t explain it. Not because he didn’t have the words for it but because he’d stepped away from that purpose in search of a different purpose. Without meaning to, Alistair had prompted Kaelrik to further contemplate the reasons he’d left his homeland. He knew what he was. It was simply…he didn’t know if he was that because it was what he loved and what he wanted or if merely because it was what was expected of him. There was joy in the Hunt, yes. But it was the only life he’d known and this journey away from Uthaldria was his attempt to understand why it was that he felt the way he did.

“I am here to Hunt, yes…just…not in the way you would understand. To put it simply, I am trying to understand my environment.” Not to mention follow rumors of a very unsettling sort. He gestured vaguely to the woods surrounding them. It was the only way he could give an honest explanation to why he was out in the wilderness in the cold of the winter season. In knowing the land he lived in and the beasts that roamed it, Kaelrik felt better prepared and more aware of his place.

“So, in a way, you and I are doing the same thing: exploring.” Glancing at the two of them he noticed their growing discomfort with the cold. “I would suggest warming ourselves by a fire before we freeze or, if you’re done exploring, we could part ways?”

Kaelrik moved to go in search of some kindling. His leg sent a stinging reminder that it was injured making him flinch but he ignored it.

Fortune smiled on me indeed to have been saved by not only one of my brethren but also a doctor. I wonder, which Immortal have I pleased?

The Venora almost laughed alongside Kaelrik, acknowledging the strangeness of the circumstance, which ran beyond merely the fact that Alistair was a doctor and Rhion was a Lotharro. The greatest oddity between the two men Kaelrik had been faced with was instead the fact that both of them were mages. To encounter two powerful arcanists in the woods was something worth writing home about. If Kaelrik truly wasn't a Seeker - which was a strong possibility, the nobleman admitted - then the situation was only more... strange, and equally dangerous as it was strange. "Are you sure you've pleased the Immortals? You're met with two powerful mages, both of them capable of rending you open. Perhaps you're not a Seeker, but you are... something," he said, poking beneath his chin.

Though, in truth, he was just being silly. While Kaelrik was a stranger, he wasn't all that enigmatic. He'd been exceptionally open so far, and the mage detected no signs of lying. He would allow himself, temporarily, to lower his guard. Especially considering the man was something close to a subject worth research. He was a Lothar from a clan other than Nordhoff, like Kaiserion, who had given him a very skewed view of Lotharen culture.

"Your... Path?" he asked, brows raising. The Lothar beside him spoke up, clearing the confusion for his master.

"A Path is a... way of life. It is who a man is, as well as the way in which he wishes to contribute to his community. Nearly all Lothar have paths. Even my clan - distinctive from the rest - possesses Paths. They're just obscure. The Path of the Conqueror, the Path of the Slaver, and the Path of the Builder. Most Lothar... fall into three different Paths; Hunter, Breeder, Defender. Jeger, Bonde, Kriger. This man is a Jeger," he said, bowing respectfully.

To that, the mage nodded. "I see," he said. "Well, my lovely Jeger, I apologize for mistaking you for a common hunter... and a Seeker, for that matter. These woods, as dangerous as they've been, have made me wary." He sighed, wrapping his arms around his chest, much as Rio had. He did not speak in hyperbole, as he rarely often did; since arriving in Ne'haer, Alistair had experienced exceptional tribulation in the Willow Woods. Paranoia while amidst these trees was something he could not expect himself to stand above. It was merely... a result of many experiences he'd been forced to withstand.

Well, somewhat forced. The battles with the local fauna were mostly optional.

Hearing the purpose for the man being here, Alistair nodded, displaying a level of cordiality in his smile. "We are here for the same reason, indeed," he said, nodding. As for whether or not he wished to part ways - the man shrugged. "Well, I'm not done exploring, to be entirely truthful. The day is still young. I was considering leaving before you arrived here, but it appears as though my veiled escorts have taken a break from pursuing me." For now, he added, muttered under his breath.

In short, he wished to remain, especially considering Kaelrik was of some relative interest to him. Though he couldn't claim to know how to build a fire. And he didn't even know if it would be possible in their current environment. Could one really build a fire from these hibernating trees, and keep it burning through winter's cold winds? He bit his lip, feeling somewhat ashamed by his ignorance on this matter.

"You can feel free to build a fire with Kaiserion," the man said, gesturing for his slave to assist the Hunter. "Meanwhile, I'm going to search my pouch for something that might help your... predicament," he said, referring to the man's leg. Digging aggressively into his pouch, sitting along his belt, the man searched for anything that could help. "Something... anti-infection... or perhaps... Acid Crocodile blood? Ah, here we go!" he exclaimed, pulling a container of Scarf Rot from the bag along his waist. It was a poultice, blended by Alistair upon his last visit to his medical offices in Rynmere.

"Come here," he said, beckoning to the Lothar whilst smoothing over some of the blend onto his fingertips. The mage seemed to genuinely want to help him. In truth, what swayed him to seek to help Kaelrik was not altruism, but a sort of responsibility. The Skinbanes had only been so volatile as a result of the Seekers pursuing Alistair, which had unintentionally provoked one of their flock into assaulting the Jeger.

That just... didn't sit well with him.

"Show me the wound, in its entirety," the doctor requested. He appeared quite casual, which would assure Kaelrik - he hoped - that it likely wasn't very bad. The Skinbanes weren't known for any venom or toxin, and as a result the wound merely needed to be disinfected and wrapped up, as he'd done earlier.

“If your intent was to hurt me, I think you might have let the beasts finish the job.” Kaelrik shrugged his shoulder as he continued searching for sticks that were as dry as possible. He wasn’t so naïve as to believe that he could very much end up dead and gone before their encounter was at its conclusion but he got the distinct impression that neither Alistair nor Rhion considered him much of a threat. That being said, he had no reason to threaten them. After all, he owed his life to one of them. At the statement of Kaelrik being “something” as it were, he merely shrugged his shoulders again.

“I am only what I am.” Kaelrik reached up to a tree and snapped off a decently dry branch. He inspected it for a moment before nodding to himself. Stepping up to another tree he searched for an equally adequate source of kindling for the fire that could be built to warm their bones. Briefly he listened to the explanation that his kinsman provided. As Rhion spoke a few things captured Kaelrik’s attention. Conqueror, Slaver and Builder. Those were the hallmarks of the most disreputable Clan of the Lotharen and it made the hairs on the back of Kaelrik’s neck stand on end. He stiffened and turned to stare at Rhion openly suddenly becoming ever more aware of the Lotharen’s station with relation to Alistair. A heavy frown set itself upon his features.

“You’re a Nordhoff?” By his tone of voice, it was abundantly clear that this revelation surprised Kaelrik. He’d heard many a rumor about the Nordhoff Clan though he’d never had the privilege of meeting one in person. The muscles of Kaelrik’s jaw flexed as he assessed the slave in front of him in a new light. From his posture, it was easy to tell that the brown haired Lotharen was struggling with a few internal perceptions. Growing up in Uthaldria, he’d been lead to believe that most the Nordhoff were a disgrace to what it meant to be Lotharro. They lived only for themselves and used the back-breaking slave labor of others to gorge themselves on wealth they did not rightly deserve. Yet, there he stood in the Willow Woods indebted to one. While it might have raised his hackles, Kaelrik reminded himself that they were not in his homeland and that it was clear, the slaver had become the slave. He wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about that but for the moment, he kept such critical thoughts to himself. There was a stretch of silence between the three of them before he responded in kind to Alistair’s apology.

“The wilds give everyone reason to be wary.” Kaelrik gave a nod when Alistair spoke his intent to stick around. He couldn’t help the small smirk that touched his lips at seeing the man’s dubious look about building a fire. If they could but get a small spark going, Kaelrik had it within him to see that spark become a blaze. He finished gathering up a few more mostly-dry sticks as best he could find then handed them over to Kaiserion. With the toe of one of his boots he cleared away as much snow as he could forming a circle. Kneeling down, Kaelrik brushed his hand over the dead grass watching as bits of snow flaked away. His expression softened as the flat of his palm rest upon the cold, hard earth. Within himself, Kaelrik touched upon the Spark of Defiance that flared within his being. The effort took a few moments of concentration, during which he ignored all outward interaction. Gently he reached out to the earth that touched upon his palm, searching for its voice that he might speak with the element.

Several moments passed and all Kaelrik could feel or hear was silence from the earth before the dimmest of recognition flashed on the outskirts of his reverie. He pressed his awareness toward that dim acknowledgement. It was small and lethargic as if awakening from a deep sleep but it was there nevertheless. Drawing upon his understanding of the power within him, Kaelrik imparted his desire to the earth. His gaze remained fixed upon the ground in front of him, his hand never moving, his face relaxed as though he were regarding a friend. From within him flowed the desire for the earth to soften that it might be more malleable to his hands as he sought to dig a fire pit. The response was slow and it didn’t come in words so much as Kaelrik simply felt as though he were being allowed to proceed with his intent. Little by little he felt the hard earth beneath his hand soften until he could press his fingers into the dirt and soil. With a smile, Kaelrik dug his hands into the dirt to begin scooping it out. He dug as deep as his small coercion of the earth allowed him to which was just far enough to make a suitable pit. With the remaining earth, he packed it around the circular clearing he’d made in the snow to create a small wall around the pit.

The whole effort likely took him the entirety of the time Alistair spent searching for his poultice and just a few minutes afterwards. When he was finished he sat back on his haunches with a pleased sigh motioning for the sticks to be placed in the fire pit.

“If you have a tinderbox, that will make this easier.” Brushing the dirt off of his hands by rubbing them in the snow, he held up a hand signaling for Alistair to wait a moment. Rising to his feet he trudged off into the woods for a few brief moments until he found a suitably sized log. With a wince as he let his weight rest upon his injured leg he pressed the sole of his boot on the log and gave it a shove. It wasn’t so large that he couldn’t move it with a bit of effort. Grunting he managed to move the log a few inches which was good enough for Kaelrik. Crouching, he wrapped his arms around the log and using his legs as leverage, hoisted the log up onto his shoulders. In short order he returned to the clearing and dropped the log onto the ground so that they had something to sit on besides the snow covered dirt. Wordlessly he motioned to the log then lowered himself onto it with a sigh and extended his injured leg as previously requested.

The mage shrugged. It wasn't as if he had endeavored to save Kaelrik - that was the work of Rhion. He couldn't have cared less if he lived or died, at that time, and he was only slightly leaning towards 'live' now... just because he was of a somewhat interesting character. For how long that would remain to be the case, he did not know.

Upon being asked of his clan, the younger mage bit his lip. "Hmmm," he said, his back turned to Kaelrik as he searched for logs and large sticks to be made into flame. The man knew well enough that Nordhoff wasn't a popular clan, especially among the Stahlmark and Alfweyr. The Mac Teagan didn't quite care about the Nordhoff since they were so far away - and frankly he had a suspicion that they believed in enslaving non-Lothar too - but the Stahlmark in all of their... moral vices had disowned the Nordhoff. It was all over the case of slavery, which did not actually contradict Thetros' teachings, and the Immortal still made many a visit to his people in the south of Gauthrel.

In truth, despite his cool demeanor whenever asked about this topic, the young Lothar was passionate about his clan being integrated and accepted among others. He did not find distaste for any of the others, but his loyalty to his own began early in his life. After all, he was born the life-mate of the leader of Nordhoff, and had been treated with love and respect from the moment of his birth. Many would say that was impossible, considering he'd been sold into slavery by his clan... but it was by his own will, upon discovering a strong devotion for Famula.

"I am a Nordhoff, yes," he said. "And you... you're an easterner, definitely. Alfweyr? Mac Teagan? Or one of Stahlmark's many vassal clans?" He didn't imagine he was actually a Stahlmark, considering it was a fairly small clan in comparison to the others, which were more like nationalities at this point. He knew, however, that he could have been wrong. Turning around to witness Kael's shift in demeanor however, the slave knew that the other Lothar was judging him upon discovering his background. That was fine, though - it was the typical response from others. They didn't understand, in Kaiser's perspective, what it meant to be a Nordhoff. To find true freedom, and glory, by means of ruthlessness and liberation from arbitrarily created moral vices. It meant to create a great society, albeit on the backs of slaves. They had built massive cities and great walls, and a navy to surpass all the rest of the clans. And all of this was because they accepted that Thetros had given them individuality, and free will. And that included the free will to subjugate others, and be subjugated by others, however poorly the other clans may have viewed it.

Both Alistair and Kaiser paused, though, prior to the slave offering the other Lothar a more nuanced perspective on the south (which he had every intention to do). They noticed something peculiar, something that only mages could really catch on so early. There was a shift in the energy around them, and certainly around Kaelrik. Alistair in particular had to visualize and control ether in a space to utilize Rupturing, and he found that the ether around them was being altered in a way. Magic was being used. It was as if his fears had been made real, and the Lothar was actually an agent of the Seekers. This was, in Alistair's mind, the beginning of a spell that would mean his end - or at least attempt his end.

Immediately after the man created an earthen pit for the fire, and without Alistair's serious acknowledgment of what he'd actually done with his ether, he charged Kaelrik and pushed him to the ground. Pressing the Lothar's head into the snow, the man cocked his fist back and balled it, ready to beat his knuckles against the Lothar's head if need be... or even a more severe, lethal attack.

"How the bloody hell do you not know what the Seekers are, despite being a mage?" he asked. A portal appeared beneath Kaelrik's head, though it did not do anything. It didn't pull him in, or even phase him. Instead, it was insurance. If Alistair wanted to, he could push the man's head back, shortly before closing the portal. Instant decapitation.

"Answer me, Kaelrik," he commanded. "You've been playing dumb."

Kaelrik had, in all honesty, not been expecting to be charged so abruptly. Reflexively he rebuffed the assault on him, pressing a hand to Alistair’s chest and baring his fangs in a defensive snarl. When the initial shock of the attack passed, Kaelrik looked up at the mage in front of him in both anger and confusion.

“Are you so blinded by fear and paranoia that every shadow becomes a demon? Every act becomes an attempt on your life? Calm yourself!” He glanced at the gaping hole that was punched into living space. There was no fear in Kaelrik’s expression, nor in his demeanor. He got the distinct feeling that either of these men could easily put an end to his life if they so desired. Death, however, did not frighten him. His only thoughts in that moment were of his brother and the hole that would be left in his twin’s life if anything were to happen to him. Returning his gaze back to Alistair, he glared at him defiantly.

“Explain to me, is every mage in the world outside of Uthaldria your enemy? If I am a Seeker, it is only in that I seek a path for myself out of the shadow of my father. Whatever fight you have with whoever these Seekers are, it is no fight of mine.” He gestured to the fire pit in the ground.

“Or is the simple moving of earth by an injured man that terrifying?” Kaelrik met Alistair’s gaze. He was unflinching in his demeanor. While the muscles of his body were tense and his fangs were bared in agitation, there was no nervousness in Kaelrik’s demeanor. Indeed, he didn’t appear at all threatened by the fact that he was mere inches away from losing his head because he had no knowledge of what the gaping hole in space could or would do. His anger stemmed from being so rudely assaulted by a man who was quite obviously very paranoid and who kept company with the likes of a slave herding Nordhoff. If there had been any impression that he might view his enslaved kinsmen and this man favorably, that impression was now smeared. Not that it mattered. When he was back on his feet, if he got back on his feet, the Hunter would likely take his leave unless he could be convinced otherwise.

“If you need proof of my honor, ask your companion. I am Kaelrik, son of Taelin the Darkseeker of Clan Stahlmark.” Kaelrik seldom invoked his clan name but if it would help diffuse this situation then perhaps it might lend some credence to his claims.