Roan Launder awoke to the raw stench of earth, his face pressed down against dirt and frozen greenery. Sharp needles dug into the back of his neck, forcing him to stay put. Although his body was still weak with his encounter with the Baraks, his mind was alive and restless. He couldn't bring himself to even lift a finger, his lungs running out of air rapidly.

Roan cursed loudly, spiting dirt from his mouth as he struggled under the pressing weight. The needles dug deeper into his neck, drawing small beads of blood. Just as Roan thought he was to the point of suffocation, his head was raised by his hair, and the acrid smell of swamp filled his nostrils. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden light, he noticed several figures gathered around a small fire, men in fact. There was no mistaking where they were. They were near the edge of the Wetlands, the snowy deciduous forest and the smell of rotting plant material giving it away.

A face appeared in front of his; a man with twisted features. In his left hand he held a vile filled with a smooth orange paste. He forced it to Roan's lips, smiling wryly as he did so.

"Drink it, you useless gilt! Drink it if you want to live."

Hesitating, the youth opened his lips, allowing the man to trust the vile to the back of his throat. Roan gagged, fighting hard to keep the liquid down, afraid of what his captor would do to him if he didn't. The fluid coated his throat in the manner of mucus, burning him slowly like strong ale.

The man released his grip on Roan's hair, letting his head drop to the ground. Grunting in pain, the Southlander twisted his neck to the side so he could face the man.

Stooping down so he was almost level with Roan's face, the man putted out a short knife and held it to his prisoner's throat.

"Get some sleep. Now that you are awake, you can give us some information tonight, and you better be cooperative," he said.

Roan nodded wordlessly, his eyes darting about the area. There had to be a way he could get out of this now that he was awake. They seemed to be taking him somewhere, but unfortunately, he had no idea to where. If he was going to escape, he had to do it as soon as possible, for he didn't know how much longer he had. He didn't even know what they were keeping him for.

When the creatures had attacked him in the woods two days earlier, he had lost all conscience. It wasn't until that afternoon was he able to hear and feel his surroundings, yet he wasn't able to open his eyes or move his muscles. They had tied up his hands and legs, but didn't bother gagging him. Twice a day they forced the liquid vile down his throat, not giving him anything else. Yet he was alive and strong with out food or water. They stopped frequently during their travel, mostly when the air cooled at night. During the day they carried him using two ropes to hold up his feet and arms. The strain was tremendous, nearly tearing his limbs from his sockets. He couldn't do anything about it though. His body wouldn't permit him.

A half and hour later he became drowsy and slept for a time, the warm sun on his skin like a wool blanket against the cool winter air. His captors didn't bother to blanket him; they left on his cloak and set him apart from the fire. Surprisingly he wasn't ill and he didn't think his limbs were frostbitten. He believed the thin paste they forced him to drink did something to prevent that. It kept him alive and alert, more so than he thought he could ever be. Each day he could feel his muscles build and his thoughts came quicker. They could be giving him a drug that enhanced his strength, but why would they do that? What benefit did that give them if they just made their prisoner unshakable? It could have been just side affects from the strange liquid also.

Later that night around midnight, the man that had spoke with him earlier came to him, Roan already awake upon hearing his footsteps. Hauling the youth up, he untied Roan's binds, then took a hold of him by the back of the neck. Again his fingernails dug deep into his skin, causing him to flinch.

"The Commander would like a word with you, little one." The man chuckled; his voice rather high pitched for a man of his size. "You think you are so bold, so manly. You are nothing but an ignorant boy!"

He kicked at the back of Roan's knees, causing him to stumble forward, the other's fingernails ripping his skin. Straightening his posture, Roan muttered under his breath and started forward. Surprisingly, the pain he had received faded quickly; leaving his skin feeling as it had before. He longed to reach to the back of his neck to see if it was actually bleeding.

They traveled for quite some time in the woods, plowing their way through the snow until they reached the edge of the frozen lake. Releasing his grip on Roan, the man wiped his hands off on his pants, then turned towards a large, leafless oak tree.

"I have brought him, Commander."

"Nicely done, Selig."

A woman appeared from behind the tree, wrapped in black robes, only her eyes visible. The night concealed her well, enveloping her body and making her apart of it. She paused in the moonlight like a cat stalking its prey.