Location: Clearing outside Marri-Glen, approx 1 and 1/2 miles outside village limits

As sure as death and taxes they came. The horde had sensed an intruder close to its lair and it exacted swift retribution for this blatant intrusion. Calaia Silverthorn was almost back to Marri-Glen when her ears detected a sound. By then it was too late; her distraction and urgent need to reach the village and arn her uncle and the mayor proved to be her downfall. For once her shields of attention and vigelence were lacking, and they took her from three sides. She wasn't even able to draw her scimitar or make a stand, they took her so quickly Still a mile and a half outside the limits of the village, there was no one to hear her screams. They did not kill the woman, but by the time they were through, the half elf wished they had. Each of the horde, the pack of vermin that had apprehended her did with her as he wished. She eventually blacked out... and knew no more.

Location: Clearing outside Marri-Glen, approx. 1 and 1/2 miles outside village limits.

Time: Three hours later, close to midafternoon

A freak of nature a celestial irony, one of those strange moments of perfect timing, four figures stumbled into a clearing in the woods about a mile and a half ourside the village of Marri-Glen. They had come either through the woods, or on the small trails leading to this clearing, which had the major road to Marri-Glen passing through it. So it was not too absurd that they would find they're way there; the strange part was that they all arrived at the same time, and moreover, all spotted the body lying in the middle of the road. There were obvious signs of a struggle, and it was obvious the figure had been trying to crawl along. The handle of the scimitar she clutched was covered with dirt as if she'd tried to use it to pull herself across the ground. She laid passed out now. She bled from a gash along one cheek, and the way the cloak was wrapped around her suggested a lack of clothing beneath. No one could say what had happened to her at first glance, but most could guess.

So it was that the four first saw each other, and the body. The four were suddenly thrown together; a hulking cleric of Tempus, a traveling herald, a mage, and a ranger.

The ranger seemed to be there not by chance, but had been following the tracks of hobnailed boots those most often worn by orcs and goblins---his specialty. The priest of Tempus was there following the footprints he had spotted from the opposite direction. The mage and bard seemed to have stumbled on the scene as a strange twist of fate to meet the others... and the fallen woman.

The hulking cleric rides into the clearing on a chestnut colored light war horse and sights the others.  He scans them over slowly before the bard yells for them to help him.  It is then he notices the woman on the ground. The behemoth of a man kicks the sides of the horse and the animal obediently goes into a trot.  He reigns up when reaching the bard and woman then hops down from his stead calmly with an audible 'thump' when he hits the ground, not even giving the bard a look as he kneels by the woman.

The 6'-6" man is a sight to behold.  He wears two bastard swords across his back and 2 warhammers on his belt.  He wears a deep purple tabard over chain mail and a gold painted medium sheild is slung across his back.  Both the sheild and tabard bear the symbol of Tempus, a flaming silver greatsword on a gold background.  He wears no helmet however, his long brown hair waving freely in the wind.

He rolls the woman onto her back and pushes her cloak aside.  The naked body it reveals doesn't even seem to faze the man in the slightest as he inspects the body for serious wounds.  Seeing that she is obviously in need of aid, he lays his hands over her mid section and mumbles a few inaudible words before his hands glow radiantly (Cure Light Wounds).  He then wraps the woman back up and easily lifts her in his arms, then shifts her about a bit as he mounts his steed.  He then shifts her so she rests on the horse in front of him, holding her stable with one arm while he clutches the reigns with the other.  If she ever wakes, he motions for her be quiet and calm, his face, though scarred, bears a very gentle expression.

He then looks up and down the road, and seeming to decide which way he wanted to go he looks to the others and jerks his head in that direction (toward Merri-Glen), motioning for them to follow.  The whole time he doesn't utter a sound except for the mutterings during his prayer.

(OOC: Hope I didn't take too many liberties in this post, just trying to get things under way.  Jeff, e-mail on the way.)

As Robert Davies neared the tree he shook his head.  He could clearly see, even from a distance, that the elvish word for “lost” followed by a question mark was carved into its trunk.  Unless someone fluent in elvish was playing an elaborate joke on him, he had been here before, less than an hour ago in fact, carving that word into the tree.  “Yes,” he thought to himself in answer to the tree’s unspoken question.  Well, he had gone right the last time, so this time he went left.

Much to his surprise after traveling little more than one hundred yards he stumbled upon a road.  As the mage steps from the woods with a look of glee upon his face he notices the woman’s body and the other three travelers.  He is a rather unimpressive sight at a slim 5’8” wearing a modest light blue robe with the hood down.  He asks the other three if they know what happened.  Recognizing the symbol on the cleric’s shield, Robert follows behind him as he approaches the woman.  He turns his head and looks at the ground when the priest exposes her.

After the priest lifts the woman up, Robert follows quietly behind.  It would seem as though the clerics silence is rubbing off on the wizard.