A journey, like a good tale, is an unruly beast even at the best of times. Unlike tales, however, they tend to heed no author other than laughing fate herself, and are wont to end only after a great many twists and turns upon the road. Some never do, but instead wind on and on even after their initial wanderers have passed into the beyond; only to be resumed anew by those who come thereafter. Now, strange milennia since the dawn of time, there are so very few paths left to tread that do not bear the footprints of countless forebears, and only those blessed with great eccentrities even choose to look for them.

No more than two days ago it had occured to Aethel, in his musings, that it had been close to twenty years since he'd last wandered this particular one.

Just this morning he had spent near three hours pondering this. It was a rather fascinating thought, but in the end one that eluded a clear conclusion, so he had ultimately put it completely out of mind in favor of a song he had heard from a water spirit that same morning. He was still whistling it, in fact, and a perceptive person would notice that his legs were moving in tune with the melody, occasionally skipping a half-step or pausing in stride to account for a rise or fall in tone.

He was tall for a half-elf, just some inch or two shy of six feet, and his long white hair whipped around his narrow face. Dressed in bright, almost garish colors, he stood out clearly against the earthy tones of the forest around him. Draped around his slender frame was a short-sleeved jacket and a pair of loose britches of some light fabric, both dyed pure snow white and inlaid with twisting patterns of various colors. The leather belt around his waist was painted in a deep purple, and in a surprisingly anonymous scabbard at his hip hung a long, slender sword. His boots were perhaps the only concession to practicality visible about his person; a pair of simple, rugged traveller's boots which seemed to have seen a great deal of use.

Evening was approaching, and the sun bore down on him from the west as he walked. Fat and lazy it hung above the far horizon, casting a golden light across the forest. All about Aethel the trees cast long shadows, shifting figures which crept across the forest floor and came alive with each tug of the breeze rustling through the boughs above. A heady smell of flowers and peat moss hung upon the air, and the twittering chatter of birds grew less common as the day approached its darker hours.

Ducking under a low branch, Aethel peered ahead. He had reached a break in the forest, where the treeline parted along the banks of a slender river which wound through the woods like a silvery thread. Some dozen yards downriver a tree had been overturned, forming a rudimentary, if somewhat slippery bridge across the narrow stream. Were a traveller to follow the riverbed another two leagues to the south they would eventually end up where it merged with several others to coalesce into Norwood Lake.

It was with a melody still upon his lips that Aethel leapt onto the fallen tree, tip-toeing across the wet, mossy wood as surely as if it had been a flight of cobbled stairs. Just some few moments to his next campsite, where he would make a fire and partake of a particularily ripe patch of berries he had plucked from a favourite patch. They would go beautifully, he thought, with a cup of fresh spring water.

Just a little more, and then he'd rest for a spell. Lords below knew he'd earned it.

The golden sky above was a change in shift for most of the animals below. It was time for the day creatures to get some rest, and for the ghosts of the night to come out. Rarely did Jasmine see any animals about at night. That was why she called them ghosts. They could heard and even their presence felt, but never would they allow themselves to be seen. Maybe it was aura of evil that surrounded her, or maybe it was she was seen as a predator in their eyes. She could never come to a decision on either explanation.

Stars began to peek out of hiding in the daylight and the moon hung low and golden in the east. Flowing water was just out of Jasmine’s earshot. She was near the delta of rivers that eventually formed the Norwood Lake. The ground was soft beneath her feet, with moist, dead leaves barely making a crunch when she stepped on them. The air smelled of spring water and it soothed her. She was no fanatic of water but the smell did sometimes have that effect on her.

Jasmine was on her journey to Norwood Village. There were rumors reaching her ears that told of knowledge of the wilderness being found there. Storm Kindlers, they called it. It was a power that Jasmine had been longing to get her hands on. She had read stories of them when she studied at the Academy of Magic. Powerful wielders of the weather. Calling down lightning and harsh winds was a destructive power that was seducing in the extreme. Being a megalomaniac, it was something that Jasmine would stop at nothing to finally have her grasp on the knowledge of storms.

The sound of flowing water grew louder as she came closer to it. The smell of it was almost intoxicating to her. The sound of the water, the smell of it and naturally beautiful surrounding made Jasmine stop in her tracks and take it all in. It was a rare occasion for her to soak in the beauty, as she usually tired of it and wreaked havoc and chaos all about. It was in her Fire Genasi nature to embrace chaos and destruction. She looked up into the sky and saw that her phoenix was nearby. She always had to be prepared to get away if things got out of her control.

When she reached the river bank, she noticed someone nearby. It was a man it seemed. She could not tell in the fainting light. Jasmine targeted the human form and cast Faerie Fire. She wanted to know if it was a lowly bandit or something more.

Something was wrong. Balancing upon the log, Aethel felt it like little more than a twinge in the back of mind, a slight tugging upon his sensibilities, but it was nonetheless indubitably there. A sudden quietude had settled over the forest; and the low, restless sounds of small animals seemed to have ceased alltogether. Aethel suddenly felt... uneasy, and despite his best efforts he could not discern why. With a small leap he cleared the rest of the river, landing gracefully upon its western bank.

Perhaps it was simply the hour. By now the sun's underbelly had dipped beneath the high cliffs to the west, and its glow was beginning to fade, replaced ever more by the radiant sheen of silver starlight. Twilight had always been a time when strange things crawled out of their dark places, and Aethel had always been particularily susceptible to the ethereal pull of sprites and fey things. Still, even if that were so, this was a spirit of a kind he'd not felt before.

For this reason he was only barely surprised when he felt a tingle of magic crawl up his spine, though he couldn't keep himself from blinking as the purplish flames blossomed along his limbs, crawling up along his body and casting an eerie blush onto his pale garb. They licked along his flesh, but left his skin uncharred and caused him no pain beyond a slight prickling of magical suggestion. All bemused, Aethel raised a hand in front of him, watching the small blaze crackle and dance. It was a minor dweomer, and with a whispered suggestion he made one small flame flicker from one finger to the other, bringing a smile to his lips.

"A splendid magick!" he exclaimed, turning his eyes further down the riverbank. In a swift stroke his unease had been dispelled, and he was still grinning when the last of the flames popped out of existence.

Jasmine could see the pale light outline the person’s body. It was a male elf, or so it seemed to be. The features of an elf were strong, giving protruding cheek bones and long narrow faces. This one, however, had softer elven features. Most likely he was that of a half elf, born of an elf and some other species. Jasmine watched in delight. She had always enjoyed the faerie fire spell. So simple it was yet so powerful at the same time, exposing foes and throwing others off guard. She could see that he was a handsome man.

When he turned to her and exclaimed the wonder of her magic, Jasmine was slightly surprised. That was definitely not the reaction she was expecting. This made her curious about the elf man. Most people were afraid of her when they saw, mostly because of the tales that circulated the population. Perhaps this one was a newcomer. Jasmine might have use for one such as he. She walked closer now, getting a good mental picture of him, studying him up and down.

“What is you name, stranger?” She called out.

She remained approximately ten yards away, never ceasing her caution. Should he pass this questionnaire of hers, then he would prove to be useful. Jasmine thought of what it might be that he could do for her. A servant? A slave of lust? Or a prisoner? All of it seemed wonderful, she would have to figure it out later.

As his eyes fell upon this strange spellcaster, Aethel was reminded once again of the eerie sensation he had felt no more than a moment ago. She was beautiful; lithe and graceful, with defined features and possessed of a certain enthralling intensity of expression. A lustrous mane of blood-red hair framed her face, and as Aethel watched a shock of it fluttered across her face, driven on by the gentle evening breeze.

Yet even that impression was eclipsed by the sense of displacement which surrounded her, like some part of her was not wholly there. It was faint, even to Aethel, but at the very edges of her aspect he thought he could see flames, stark and violent, the tongues of some great blaze caressing her svelte frame like an eager lover. For a split second Aethel's nostrils were filled by the stinging smell of sulphur.

A heady combination of fear, attraction and curiosity sparked in the young half-elf's breast, and as she spoke he dipped into a bow, an intrigued expression upon his painted face. "I am Aethelenderaeion," he said, turning the name over upon his tongue and frowning, as if he found the taste somewhat bitter. "Aethel, if you will, of the whispering."

The dark of night prooved to be of no hinderence for Fara're. As always when she travelled alone she was in her tiger-form, appearing to be half human and half animal. Night was one time she did like quite a bit, she actually enjoyed all times of the day except when it involved waking up.

Hunting was not going as well as she would have liked. Most of the creatures of this forest seemed to know to keep their heads low once the sun went down. A long sigh escaped her lips, looked like she would just have eat her dry salted rations again. Those things really had no taste, fresh meat was so much better.

Moving forward on all for legs the were-tiger barely made a sould as she moved through the woods. She then lifted her head and sniffed the air, there were people near by. She flicked her ears about trying to see if she could catch a sound of them. Words could not be made out yet, but there were people talking somewhere close by.

She knew she could dissapear into the woods and they would never know she had come by, but there was no fun in that. It was fine evening and spending it with people could make it all the better. With the grace of any cat she glided through the woods barely making a sign off her passing.

As she poked her head out of the brush she saw a man and woman standing there. By his smell she could tell the man was a half-elf. But the woman had a scent about her she could not recognize, there was something different about that one.

Slowly she came out of the forest into full view. Still on all fours she did look like a tiger, who just happened to be wearing a short tunic, pants, and had orange hair with black streaks.

As she came to stand up on two legs and reach her full hight, she looked much more humanoid. She casually flicked her tail back and forth and smiled at them.

"A lovely evening we are having, are we not?" she asked.