Magic is not an unknown force. It is old and powerful and hails back to the most ancient of the tribes' bloodlines, heroes blessed by the old spirits with the power to lead, to nurture, to bring their people to prosperity and power.

But it is rare, the blood so thin within the lines of the tribes that any power is coveted and sought, used by despots and madmen to bring themselves to power and to keep others beneath them.

Hoards-Fang Keep was one such place; a mighty fortress village nestled and built into a dangerous mountain pass, protected both by cliff and the almost year-round snow the sharp mountain range offered.

Outside and far below, campfires speckle the tall-treed forests, smoke lazily billowing through snow-covered pines as warriors move about their tents, offering prayers to mountain spirits and their gods as they tend to their lives out of fur line tents and mull of strategy to take the formidable mountain town, liberate those they could, and gain the territory in their favor.

~~~*~*~*~~~

In the largest tent in the center of the encampment stands their leader, with a face as cold and as a rough as the mountain side they are set to besiege and strong shoulders that were wide and strong. Fur draped over his shoulder, the hide of a powerful and large wolf.

His hair, a dusty blonde speckled in gray, fell in his eyes as he spoke with those who stood around him, pointing to an area on a wide map. He spoke, quickly and roughly, looking each in the eye before turning his attention back to the rough-drawn map.

Jarrith the Wolf-Claw had set out to conquer the mountain village of Hoards-Fang Keep, expending his resources to take the town. And he was confident he could. Though the matter of the citizenry still bothered him.

They would not be too keen to switch to what could be another tyrant. No...they would have to be won over. And soon if he wished to take the Keep before winter truly fell.

Kneeling upon the bare stone floors would have made anyone else shiver. The figure swathed in white, surrounded by no one and yet watched over by many, made not a move or sound to show discomfort. This was after all one of the small things that served as payment for the power running through her blood. Ice and snow, wind and clouds, the natural protectors of the village and Keep had failed for once. Mountain passes had not deterred these new invaders, and now it fell to the people to protect their lands.

Slowly, Bracken, Speaker for the Mountains, stood. Weather worn hands smoothed the ceremonial robes as she walked from the empty room with it's windowless view.

"Lady, have you seen anything?" The lord of the territory, Harrock, lay a hand upon the hilt of his sword.

The pale woman nodded. Her blue eyes flashing. "They are bellow us. Waiting for the moment to strike. They are making their preparations as we speak." She paused. "Be ready."

Bracken swept away. Her duty was done, for now ... The thought of the battles to come sent shivers down her spine. Men and women both greeted her with cold looks. They stepped away from her as she walked through the castle, and then into her set of rooms. She lived in one of the towers. Easy to lock in, and easy to control.

Jarrith's attention only left the map when the flap of his tent was pushed aside, a haggard looking scout stepping in with the light bounce in his step that Jarrith appreciated; fast and silent. He was breathing heavily, the fact that he had come as swiftly as he could evident.

By the way he smiled through his gasping pants, he had some wonderful news to share.

With a dip of his head he gave the scout permission to speak, silencing the words of his commanders with a simple raise of his hand.

The scout approached, removing a roll of rough paper from his bag and rolling it onto the sturdy table in the center, flattening it. It was a drawing, rough drawn in charcoal and showing a side of the Keep Jarrith could not see from here.

Smiling, the scout jabbed the paper with a finger, indicating a benign looking rock face. "Here," he started, grinning, "there is a door here, my Lord. It's hidden. They use a boulder to hide it."

Jarrith eyed the map, looking it over with eyes the color of cold stone. He glanced back up at the scout, a silent indication to continue.

"They brought horses out of there, Sir. They take them through this passage to graze. If I'm right," he said, "it leads straight up into the Keep."

Jarrith's lips twitched upwards, showing teeth.

"Good job, Lleyiim," he hummed, voice low and soft. He clapped a large and calloused hand on the young man's shoulder. "Go now. Rest. You have earned it."

When the scout bowed and left, he returned his attention to the table, his commanders mumbling among themselves.

"It is likely to be guarded, my Lord," Kale, a gruff looking man with a jagged scar on his lip, spoke, keeping his tone low and respectful.

"A passage such as this is meant to guard itself. I doubt they even have it lit," he responded, pushing the the paper Lleyiim had brought him to the side, producing a stick with one burnt end from a bowl to the side.

With a fluid motion of his arm he circled the area of land where the secret tunnel was roughly located. "Never the less, I will take a small party and check it myself. If Lleyiim and I are right, then we have found our way into Hoards-Fang Keep."

From her tower room, Bracken could stare outside at the roiling storm. It was just beginning. The snow falling with a deceptive gentleness. Above everything grey cloud hovered, blocking out the sun. The wind began to pick up. It started to sing through the wind, and in through Bracken's open window. She breathed in, and smiled. The white of her teeth flashed, and suddenly she looked like a predator ready to pounce.

Beneath her mane of unruly warm brown hair lay a mind ready to be free, free from the dominion of the castle's lord and all those like him. She knew it would happen soon; her dreams had told her so. The information she'd witheld might have prevented the coming attack ... but Bracken had seen no reason to tell her current master everything. Let him figure things out as any normal man would, without the guidance of a dreamer.

The wind was cold against his skin, the chill lessened only by the heavy fur on his back and head, the hood pulled tight over his head. The sharp ends of a wolf's ears bounced on his skull, the scarred muzzle draped over his brow, casting his face in shadow. Fur-trimmed armor warmed his body, heavy boots crunching through snow and foliage. A heavy and deadly sword hung at his hip.

They had circled around the mountainside, keeping their presence hidden and taking advantage of the gloomy skies and the falling snow.

By the wind starting to howl through the stone, a storm was coming.

Jarrith's small party, a small band of three including himself, came to a halt at the western side of the Keep. A a small stream bubbled over rounded river rocks, trees waving in the wind. It seemed entirely natural. Not a single thing of interest in sight.

With a sniff Jarrith splashed over the shallow stream, approaching the rocky face of the cliff. He scanned it, looking along the cold stone for any hint of the passageway Lleyiim spoke of.

It appeared to not exist.

The soldiers he had come with grumbled something about a lost cause before a particularly violent blast of wind rocked them, chilling them to the bone as it pelted them with icy flakes,

A large stone rumbled with the wind, catching Jarrith's attention.

All three approached at Jarrith's command, putting their weight in as they pushed. After a few moments it budged, moving to the side on a carved grooves in ground.

Beyond it lay a tunnel, cold and only partially lit by a single torch near the boulder door. Stone stairs led up into the darkness. Grabbing the torch in one hand, Jarrith turned, eyeing his soldiers as they entered after him.

"Close it," he ordered, turning to the stairs and starting to climb as his men pulled the doorway closed.

A massive trunk dominated one wall. Bracken knelt down to flip the lid open, and pulled out the first layer. She didn't need the collection of dried herbs and semi-precious stones, not for what she planned. The collection of leather bound books, from worn to brand new, didn't catch her eyes. The brunette pushed aside her collection of phials, bottles, and potion making equipment to clear a space at the very bottom of the box.

She rummaged around inside the compartment until she emerged from the trunk with a few dark velvet bags in hand. Everything else could be left behind, but not these. One by one, she spilled the various feathers, sharp creature teeth,horns, scales and claws into the palm of her hand. There was an aura of super reality about them. Each bit of animal was more present then anything else near.

One by one, Bracken replaced them, and then tucked them away into her dress. She checked to make sure that the pouches weren't obvious when she stood, when she sat. Satisfied, the young woman settled down upon the ground and closed her eyes. She felt it was time to wait, certain that something would happen.

It did indeed lead into the Keep, the tunnel branching into a series of tunnels heading in many different directions. From the smell of hay and horse dung, the closest exit did indeed lead to the stables.

Jarrith smiled, looking around before heading off down a tunnel leading in a northward direction. He did not know why, but it seemed the best direction.

They walked for a few more moments, passing by other branching tunnels before reaching another flight of stairs, this time curling off and out of sight. He looked back, eyeing the two soldiers he had brought along. Both seemed nervous, but they did not protest, one staring up the curling flight with an almost eager look.

They were good men.

With a soft exhale Jarrith took the first step, starting them on their journey upwards. It was for a long ways, natural stone walls soon changing to the geometric patterns of man-laid cobblestone.

It wasn't long before the stairwell ended, ending at a mundane looking door. Barred from this side. Whatever was inside, Harrock must covet.

Jarrith licked his lips before he handed the torch to one of his soldiers, moving to lift the wood from the hooks with a soft clunk.

((I like to think Bracken's room has a secret door behind a tapestry or something. Something Harrock can use to visit without anyone noticing.))

((I love that idea!))

Bracken had fallen into that deep well within her where her magic rested. It was where she felt safest, and entirely in control. Her imaginary garden shattered when a loud sound broke the silence of her tower room. The brunette slid to her feet, and turned to face the tower's north wall. A heavy tapestry covered the stone. It was the only pop of color in an otherwise dull world, depicting the dragon that had inspired the Keep's name.

She pushed the tapestry aside. Bracken gasped, then stepped away. She looked from the armored men to the floor. Her fingers searched out the hidden pockets in her sleeves, and the talismans hidden within. All it would take was a second, a moment, and the men would be overwhelmed enough for her to escape.

There was a woman, fair skinned and brown haired. She was smaller than him but that did not mean she wasn't dangerous. Her hands were moving to the inside of her clothes. A hidden dagger possibly.

With a fluid motion and a tense jaw his hand was on the hilt of his blade, the wicked metal sliding free almost silently as he took a step forward. His free hand darted up as he went, grabbing her wrist roughly as the other raised the blade, pressing the deadly edge against her throat.

"None of that," he whispered, eyeing her coldly. He glanced behind him, signalling for his men to secure the room, at least for now. This was bad. They had a witness now and there was no way he was going to just allow her to inform her Lord about their presence in his castle.

As he saw it, he had few options. And none were particularly nice to think on.

She swallowed. Bracken glanced at her captured wrist, but stopped when she felt a sharp edge against her skin. "You are the one leading the force against this castle, aren't you?" Her eyes narrowed. She wanted freedom. They wanted the keep. "Perhaps we could come to some kind of agreement. I could help you, after all." Oh but the risk! She would be gambling with more then her life alone, and that was the center of the problem.

The thought of her sisters and their fate if her treachery or betrayal was discovered sent her shivering, more so then this intimidating man and his people ever could. Her free hand slid into the folds of her dress, disappeared under the fabric to find the tip of a feather. A snow-hawk, as cold and dangerous as a winter storm, appeared with a screech. It landed upon the woman's shoulder, and glared at the man holding her. "Calm down, my friend." The young woman murmured to the bird softly, bearing the freezing cold upon her shoulder in silence. That was the price for summoning a storm spirit, this particular one.

"You are no position to negotiate!" Bruhn, a sharp faced young man with just the barest hint of a beard on his chin, hissed, turning to glare. Any further comments were silenced with a cold glare from his leader.

He turned back, eyeing the girl. "I do want this Keep. It is protected and my people would benefit," he mumbled, shifting his grip on her wrist. "But he is right. You're at the disadvantage here."

Then there was a shriek and a hawk was in the room, glaring at him and his soldiers with the cold eyes of a predator. There was an intelligence in there, a deep understanding that reminded him of dreams of dark woods and a goat-faced man.

He inhaled sharply, turning his eyes back to the woman. "You're coming with us," he ordered, causing Bruhn's lip to curl and to cast his eyes toward Svend, a fair looking man with eyes colder than ice.

He did not say that he had considered slitting her throat and hiding her in the maze of tunnels. But he would warn her.

"If you try to run, if you scream, I will not hesitate to run your through," he whispered, voice dangerous and cold. "Do you understand?"

Svend had approached, producing a length of rope from the pack at his belt. He moved behind her, his intention obvious. If she was coming with them, the less ability she had to resist, the better for everyone.

Bracken smiled. "One captivity is much the same as any other." Her hawk dove at Sven, and snatched the rope from the man's hands. It returned to the young woman's shoulder after having discarded the chord somewhere outside. It's sharp eyes rested on the men, almost as if it was daring them to try binding Bracken again.

She stepped towards the opening in the tower. The leader's hand around her wrist stopped the young woman, near as much as thoughts of her siblings. "But I cannot leave yet ... My sisters are captive here, just as much as I." Bracken spat on the ground. "For generations the lords and ladies of this castle have controlled those possessed of Skills such as mine in this way."

Her sapphire eyes had turned to ice. The woman's hawk bristled and a cold wind whistled into the room. It swirled around, tugging at the men's clothing and leaving Bracken untouched.

Jarrith simply watched her, eyes only darting to Svend when the hawk stole the length of rope. So...cooperation wasn't something she was keen on.

That made the decision for him.

When she mentioned her sisters he turned, tightening his grip as he shifted the one on his blade. His eyes only moved to the hawk when the wind entered the room, ruffling his hair and the fur of his cloak.

"You will have to forgive me then," he started, lifting his blade. "But your sisters will have to wait longer."

He brought it down, the heavy pommel slamming into the back of her skull with a dull thud. His intent was to knock her out and carry her out of here. He would not risk his men. Not here where they were outnumbered and outmatched.

They had the safety of the tunnels coming in, but he would not risk their luck much further. They had what they had come here for and, unfortunately, a little bit more.

The hawk disappeared the moment Bracken lost consciousness. It had been diving down, claws extended and aiming for the blond man's eyes. All that remained was a swirl of snow in its wake, and a stray gust of wind. Bracken collapsed, and fell into the stranger's arm. She had dreamed of him, but didn't know his name. Now she fell into dreams again, though her unconsciousness hadn't been her idea.

The mountain peaks loomed high. Something stirred within, an ancient force woken by the activity below. One emerald eye opened, followed by another. Nostrils flared, and steam rose from the creature's mouth. Sharp jagged teeth gleamed in the suddenly appeared mage light.

The woman shifted and moaned, but did not wake.

She was slung over Jarrith's shoulder effortlessly, the man turning and leading his men back out the door he had come. Passing her to Bruhn, Jarrith latched the door as he had found it before tuning and leading the way back down, torch raised high.

They were quick in retracing their steps. It took much less time for them to exit than it was to enter, Jarrith replacing the torch on its stand as the boulder was pushed aside and they made their way back into the cold air. The sun had long since set, casting the world in frigid darkness.

They returned to their camp, greeted by arrow and sword point. After the confirmation that it was, in fact, their lord, the weapons lowered and they were greeted, Svend moving off into the crowd to join another near one of the many fires.

He motioned, for Bruhn to hand the woman over, carrying her gently as he retired to his own tent. He lay the girl down on a small pile of furs, taking the time to quietly, and as respectfully as he could, search her clothing for any of the weapons he suspected she had.

There were none, but she had a variety items, none of which really made sense to him. He placed them all in the bag at his belt, turning to grab one of the thick furs and drape it over her.

When he was finished, he exited the tent for a small moment, warning the man who had been placed as a guard to watch her when he was gone and not to let her out unless he approved. He re-entered when that was finished, moving to the table in the center to go over his maps and construct a plan to raid and take the Keep.

Warmth surrounded her, covered her. There was a chill too. Cold breezes tickled her nose, the wild kind that hadn't been tamed by castle walls. Bracken's eyes snapped open. Cloth, instead of a stone ceiling, filled her sight. Furs covered her whole, were the source of the heat along with the brazier she saw.

Her eyes traveled to the man who'd taken her, the cause for her aching head. Silently, Bracken slipped her fingers into every pocket of her dress. She wasn't surprised to find nothing there, though she doubted this man knew what he had taken away from her.

"So, I see you chose force instead of believing me." Despair filled her. There was no way the lords and ladies wouldn't hurt her sisters now. One of them would be forced into her role, with all it's implications. They were no better then possessions after all, only treated better then most slaves because to hurt them too much would cause them to lose themselves and their abilities.

"Because you are here does not mean you were not believed," Jarrith said, glancing up from the map to eye her. "My men were outmatched and outnumbered. I was not going to lead them to their deaths on a fool's errand."

He moved away from his table and approached another near a fur-covered cot, lifting a old looking pitched from where it rested and pouring water into a simple wooden cup. He replaced the pitcher before making his way over to her.

He knelt, holding the cup out for her to take.

"Like I said, your sisters will have to wait. Until we are confident to take the Keep I cannot risk my men unnecessarily. You are only here because you saw us."

When she had taken the cup, he stood, moving back over toward his table.

"If thing shad been ideal, you would not have even known we were in there."

She accepted the water warily. "They have more men then it seems, and among them number others like myself. Those gifted by the gods are forced to do battle, and my sisters will be among them." Didn't this man understand anything?

Bracken took a sip, and sighed. She had no choice but to stay with this new captor. Surviving out in the cold was beyond her. She had always been taken care of in a way. She had been a valuable asset, a weapon without compare, after all. "What do you need to make your plan run smoothly?"

"Your sisters were none of my concern," Jarrith said simply, looking at her almost coldly. Though not without sympathy. "Like I said, they will have to wait. But if I can I will reunite you with them." His voice was low and honest, holding a warmth that hadn't been there before.

He turned away after that, looking over the map once more before moving away, heading toward a small set of chests. He stopped when she mentioned what he would need, glancing back at her.

"Ideally, I'd need the people on my side. Other than that a map of the Keep and its tunnels,"he said, opening one trunk and rifling around, finally pulling out a set of heavy looking clothes, each lined with fur and heavily weighted in cloth and insulation.

He brought them over to her, placing them down next to the pile on which she lay. "You may change into these. It is cold here at night and will be getting much colder soon."

Bracken grabbed the clothes and slid under the covers. Grunts and unintelligble curses spewed forth from beneath the furs. Then, suddenly, the woman was popping out from under the bundle. The clothes were too big for her, hanging lank on her frame and making her look like some kind of fur covered tree. "I can get you that map, if you would give me what is rightfully mine." She would help her kidnapper happily if it meant freeing her sisters and riding the castle of its rulers.

Jarrith looked away when she grabbed the clothes and burrowed under the furs, giving her the small privacy of changing without someone coldly watching. He knew the humiliation that came with such surveillance.

When she popped back out he looked back, eyeing her in the too big furs. He'd have to have those trimmed and fitted. "I'll get you some rope for those," he muttered, motioning to her clothes. "Make them a bit tighter..."

He blinked at her when she spoke, tilting his head. She was proposing a trade...a map for her sisters. He couldn't help the smile that split his face.

"Your sisters for a way to win the coming battle?" he mumbled, looking away, toward the fire pit near the end of his tent, domed and cut in the top to ventilate and circulate. "Seems almost fair."

He turned to look at again, smile still on his face. "Deal," he finally said, turning and walking toward his cot. "We will discuss the how in the morning, however. I am tired and I would like to sleep. You may sleep as well if you want....I'll see you tomorrow."

She eyed him with a raised eyebrow. Crossing her arms, Bracken tilted her head towards the cot. "And where am I supposed to sleep? Beside you?" Her voice was cold. Bitter. The man certainly looked charming enough, but under that facade he was probably like the Lords. Vain. Entitled.

The young woman looked away. Really, she had no other options. If that was what this man wished ... Her hands inched to the hem of her furs, tugged at the fabric. Soft skin burst out into bumps when cold air hit. She eyed him as she exposed a bit more, up to her belly button. Would he tell her to stop? Was he different? Really?

Jarrith blinked as he stopped, humming slightly. "I had not thought of that..." he muttered, lifting a hand to scratch at his stubble. "I will have to get one made together...for you..."

His voice trailed as he turned, watching as she undressed herself, removing her furs slowly and almost hesitantly. Why was she...?

His eyes widened and, for the first time in a very long while, horror crossed his features, fists clenching. "Stop that," he hissed, looking away. "Put your clothes back on. Please."

He waited, making sure he kept himself looking away from her. When she had, when he was certain she had covered herself back up entirely, he looked back, mouth set in a grim line.

He moved toward her, eyeing her with a much softer. "None of that," he murmured, placing a hand on her cheek. "I don't want that. I don't want you to feel like you need to do that."

He stared at her for a while, hoping he got his message across. When he was satisfied that she understood, he looked away, dropping his hand to his side and moving toward the tent. "I'm going to get you a cot. I'll be right back."

She dressed herself slowly. Swatted in furs once again, the young woman faced her kidnapper. If he didn't demand such things of her ... it would mean her kidnapping improved her lot tremendously. Life would be different now, for her. No more serving the lords and ladies, doing whatever they asked, bowing to their every whim. The thought made her tremble.

When the man touched her cheek, she lifted her own hand. Such a gentle touch ... Only her sisters and mother had ever touched her so kindly before, and those times had been as rare as a solar eclipse. Bracken nodded when he stared, and moved to settle down on his cot. She brought her knees up under her chin, and wrapped her arms around her legs.

Jarrith turned and exited the death quietly hen she nodded, leaving her to gather her thoughts while he went to gather her a bed. When he was out in the cold, when he left the comparable heat of his tent, he sighed, breath folding out in a thin mist. His hand came up and rubbed at his eyes.

This child was getting to him in a way he would prefer she did not. He would prefer it if she were annoying. Anything but this. Brought up too many memories.

He went around and gathered the supplies, taking the extra bed furs from their storage tent and hefting a folded cot onto his shoulder. He'd have to get her something sturdier, but for now the temporary bed frame would work.

He entered the tent again after only half an hour of gathering, eyeing her, still sitting on his cot. He smiled slightly before moving off to the corner where he had placed her unconscious form.

It took him a small while to set it up, but eventually the leather cot set up, furs from the pile resting on it like a snug, warm nest. He stood straight and turned back to Bracken.

"You may sleep here until I find something better for you, but until then this should do," he said, smiling softly at her.

((Please forgive the amount of time it took me to do this. I've had...a not so good time. My emotional strength evaporated and I've been on autopilot for a small while.))