Pyre in the Night.

Bodies.....
Mith walked away from the debate of what to do with the chickens who were once drow. with one Kicked into the afterlife, one beheaded and two turned to stone then Subsequently melted with acid it left only the one live chicken and the tied up drow near the path. But that was not his immediate concern. He set to work on retrieving those defiled by the Dark kin. Fourty or so bodies, fourty Families to send personal effects to. He would let Vaelin and Dae'mir handle the return of personal effects. they could explain the horrors that had befallen their missing kin. He set to building the pyre, havintg sent Shimmer to gather fuel from the debris on the forest floor. Those Drow deserved nothing but death for this. Lady Silverhair's edicts were clear. But this one time, for the sake of showing both Dae'mir and the dark kin Hate was not the way, he had showed mercy upon the initial encounter. A mistake that could have turned out much worse than it did. The Drow set the final pieces of the base of the pyre into place and then began setting the bodies upon the decently sized Zigurat like structure. Vaelin brought the final body, resting it in the last space upon the pyre. A snap an a cantrip uttering later a small flare lite the pyre ablaze.

Mith knelt upon the ground, stabbing his blade bearing the dual symbols of Eilistraee and Mystra into the ground. In the elven tongue "Maiden guide these sould to their resting places with those to whom they served in Life. Let these fires purge from them the evils they suffered at the hands of Darkness that has escaped the shadows."

Hours passed as he tended the fires that burned the bodies into nothingness. at times he would add the strength of magic to the blaze to ensure the fires left nothing behind. Hours spent in thought and contemplation. Using magic a stone marker was shaped, set upon the side of the path. When the last of the embers had cooled, the Wizard called up a wind and scattered the cold ashes to the forest, putting the tortured victims to a final irrevocable rest.


He would remain till the others had long gone. he would then follow the blood trail and the accompanying tracks. He would find the rest of them........


"Come Tralla, one has escaped his proper fate"

It felt good, to melt the stone drow-turned chickens. All of the frustration that she had bottled in holding back, in keeping herself from killing those that she hated with so much passion, was released, melted with the stone.

And then he snapped at her. Arran, the reason that she had not killed, the reason, in her mind, that all had gone south and that they had all been put at risk again. She snapped back, and the exchange continued for a few moments before she stalked away.

Her first action was to check upon the drow they had left tied before they entered the camp. She frowned, finding only cut rope, and a trail of blood into the bushes... This was not good.

She moved quietly, almost sullenly, back to Mith, and, on his orders, began collecting fuel for the pyre, helping him build what would be a funeral for elves that she had no names for, no knowledge of. Quietly, while tending the fire, she told him of the missing drow, and his cut ropes and trail... And then, when others left, she stayed with him, tending the fire, helping with her own magic when needed, until the ash was all that was left, and he blew that away with wind.

A half-sized shadow behind him, she fell in step as he began tracking, eyes blazing. One had missed his fate...