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"What the hell?" Valder uttered at those exact words."Spirits don't come back to dead bodies, lass. What are you, insane?" Clearly the former knight didn't put two & two together."Enough about fairytales. Someone help me pull this guy off the road." He requested as he threw some flint at Ben.

Whether Valder got some help or not ,he pulled the massive blob off the road with some difficulty. The skin was heavier than he anticipated. However, as soon as as the poor guy was off the road and onto a sandy patch, Valder would look solemn and lower his head, in prayer."Hopefully whatever God he believes in will see it fit to accept him in the afterlife, at least."

"Well, yeah. We know that now. If I'm remembering what I learned in school right, for some reason Ancient Florin thought the dead could just stop being dead if they wanted."Isabelle explained. It was obvious the sight of this man was still disturbing her as her voice was somewhat shaky.

The elf put his weapon away at last, and the elk bent its legs to allow him to dismount more easily. Walking up between Isabelle and the other two males in the party, he put a hand on the stinking girl's shoulder, but did not look at her.

"We will collect wood and tinder," he said simply. A glance at Yester was as much invitation as he offered before turning away, his hand firmly gripping Isabelle to guide her to follow. Of course, he wasn't about to drag her if she really didn't want to go, but she seemed like a break from the others would be a relief.

Yester removed a necklace from around her neck, before throwing it to Ben. It consisted of a simple leather strip tided around a moderately sized flintstone. She then got off her horse, using the chance to stretch her legs a little, before tying its bridle around a nearby treebranch and walking up to to Marchessa, describing the way to the dead man's destination. "Ulmary lies by one of the great lakes in the area, further North-East from here. And if I'm not mistaken the road should split in two further on, the right one leading there. On horseback it should take around two days to reach it from the tavern, meaning around a day and a halves ride from here. There should also be small village further up the road called Callindale, we can spend the night there."

By the time Yester was done explaining Valder seemed to be done with the body. She nodded to his remark, before she went off in the same direction as Elodar and Isabelle. She figured if the few cremations she'd seen were any indication they'd need a lot of firewood.

Ben caught the flints with agility, first the dwarf's and then the former waitress', and proceeded to help the dwarf drag the cursed man's corpse, letting go as soon as it was off road. Ben wiped hand hands on his trousers and took a step backwards, observing the thing in distaste and refraining from commenting about the dwarf's words. He glanced at the elf and the girl, raising an eyebrow. "I would be careful if I were you: curses attract many kinds of attention." Perhaps the elf wanted to talk with the girl, although that was hardly characteristic for the ranger. Isabelle did look nervous: perhaps the elf thought he was doing her a favour. Would the dead be shaken by the cursed? He decided not to question them. "Go into the forest, if you must, but don't tarry. We should burn the man as quickly as possible."

"I see. We'll make sure we reach it by then: by the rate of this, we may have to ride briskly for a while. " Marchesa said as she listened to Yester's words. She approached her horse, stroking its flank as she led it towards a nearby patch of grass, for it to graze. She glanced at the woman's direction as she also left, following the elf and the undead. She turned her attention to the bard and the knight. "We should keep an eye out for any passing travellers. The populace is a superstitious lot, and I would hate to explain this to them."

"And what will you do if someone does pass through, my lady?" The bard asked with a hint of malice in his voice.
"Nothing short of the unnecessary. Something like the Ylfaulë is difficult to hide, as you well know. Perhaps you could sing them a clever song? You seem so adept at doing that these days." Marchesa glanced at him meaningfully.
"Oh, I'm sure it won't come to that, darling. Speaking of music, perhaps I could play something to pass the time? But no, I don't think that's hardly appropriate, not with that thing close to us. Although I suppose I could sing something from that awful play, it's certainly morbid enough." The bard mused, then turned to the knight. "About that song you wanted me to compose, Valder..."

Valder was glad he had his gloves when he pulled the blob of skin across the roads. Turns out this being was quite oily. Gross! Like a proper gentleman he wiped his hands on a cloth before sitting down in the grass and taking a whetstone out of his backpack to sharpen his axe. After all, they had a little time left now that the others were going out to gather kindlewood.

The former knight couldn't help but chuckle a bit."We're better off telling them we're a circus act. If they see our ragtag group of misfits they're more likely to believe such rather than the truth." He mused as he kept on sharpening his axe.

"Ah, yes, I suppose we have time now. You see, a few songs have been written about my exploits in Ironfang Keep. But those songs were... lost." He couldn't find a better word for 'distorted after his banishment'. "So, I want a new one. A current one. More specifically, about this quest if it ends up being worthwhile. I'm assuming I didn't sign up for any deceitful shite. And seeing as how we'll be sharing the road for a while, it seems like a golden opportunity to write about my heroic deeds that will undoubtedly happen! I'm sure you'll be able to spin a tale out of that, aye?"

Isabelle glanced at Elodar, and followed. Isabelle began gathering sticks and timber as they walked on. She was silent for a while before speaking up. "I can't believe magic could do something like that...."Isabelle said. "We really need to find who ever's doing this and stop them."She added. "I mean... if they're trying to help people, atleast we know they're hearts in the right place and that they aren't intentionally hurting people."Isabelle said.

Bluejay kept aware of where everyone was, and though he listened to what snippets of conversation he could overhear, he didn't respond to any. Even when Isabelle seemed to be including everyone in her statement, he said nothing. Once he had gathered a reasonable amount of wood, however, he drew near the foul-smelling girl on his way back to the path. He lingered only long enough to quietly tell her, "You should go home. If you wish to travel, listen before you speak and understand that you are the strange one."

Upon his return to the others, he unceremoniously dropped he wood and brush he'd gathered near the bard after his near-silent approach. He promptly turned then to go search for some more to ensure the pyre would burn hot and long enough.

Yester returned, noticing that either Isabelle or Elodar had already been there, before throwing her own findings into the pre-existing pile of wood. She then walked back to the outskirts of the woods and resumed her search for broken twigs and branches, all the while still feeling somewhat paranoid, but finding reassurance in the fact that she could still hear those who stayed by the body. This continued until she deemed their pile had grown about big enough for a pyre.

The old man was fishing by his river.
And the river was his, as much as the trees that blew gently in the wind were his. It was a cold, cruel stream, the type of stream that mothers forbade their children to go swimming in, the type of stream with a current that ragged anyone short of an excellent swimmer along with it. And nevertheless it had fish, salmon and carp and trout, and for this the old man was fond of it.

The old man cut a lonely figure in his wooden chair by the riverbank, sitting above the fallen autumn leaves with the fishing rod in his wrinkled hands. To his right was the bucket, a crude empty thing devoid of anything even vaguely similar to a fish. Even so, the old man had been by the river for a long time: it managed to soothe him, and for this the old man was fond of it.

A cold breeze knifed through the air, the first signs of the coming afternoon. The old man brought his cloak's mantle closer to his neck, still holding the fishing rod with his other hand. Today, the river was not soothing the old man: instead, it made his thoughts melancholy and his temper mournful, reminding him of the past that would never return. The old man who fished remembered a time when he could swim better than anyone else, when he could go from shore to shore without so much as an effort. When the river was his, by pride and prestige if not by ownership. When a cool autumn breeze didn't send him shivering.

The old man's thoughts turned bitter, but he wasn't too enthralled in his own sorrows to miss the tug at the end of the string. The old man inhaled deeply, his breath raspy, and he pulled, sunken mossy green eyes alight with a sudden ferocity.

Seconds later, the fish was lying inside the bucket, and the old man smiled, pleased with himself: at least he could still fish, perhaps not as often or with the same strength as when he was young, but with the same skill. The old man was rearranging the fishing rod, taking out a new bait from his small pouch, when he heard someone behind him cough politely. The old man's hands froze, and he placed the fishing rod on the ground before letting them drop on his lap.

"Is it done?" The old man asked, his raspy voice barely a whisper above the trickling noise of the river.

"Yes, your grace. The green lord is here, your grace. He's waiting, your grace." The servant man behind him said, eyes on the floor. The old man turned his head around, and for a moment one could see that the old fisher king was not that much of an old man at all, despite his baggy eyes, white hair and decrepit state. He was surely in his fifties, perhaps even in his early fourties? But then the old man's strength left him again, and he was nothing more than an old king by his river, impotent and doomed to die. But not powerless.

The fisher king turned back to look at the river, and not only so the servant couldn't see the tears on his face. One of his trembling hands formed into a fist, long fingernails cutting his skin.
"Bring him to me. Tell him we have much to discuss."

"Oh, I'm not sure if they would believe that, as ragtag as we are. We lack the animals." He pointed at the dead bag of skin with his spear before continuing to polish the tip with a piece of cloth. "I suppose we could say we were a travelling freak show, though." They already have the insufflable skin balloon to use as a prop. "I could throw a few knifes..."

"Ironfang keep, you say? Shame about the songs. I'm sure they must have been quite exciting." Ben pointed at the corpse again, smiling a small little smile. "Well, you've already seen an abominination, and the sun hasn't even set once yet. I'm sure this adventure will be productive, at this rate. So tell me? What kind of song do you want me to craft? A ballad? A jig?" A limerick?

"They're back with the wood." Marchesa announced. While she waited for the others, the woman had been calming down one of their horses which had grown restless from the proximity to the victim of the curse.

"I'll get the fire going, darling." Ben said, springing into action as if he and Marchesa were getting ready for a barbecue with their neighbours. The bard lay down his spear on the ground and helped the rest of the group gather all the wood in a single pile, slightly off the road, and begun to drag the corpse to it, grabbing its feet.

"Oh, you bet your arse they were good! A band of inexperienced Dwarves taking out a big fish like Kog'mavol the Eyeless One. That crap's worthy of song, I assure you! In any case, make it a ballad. I do like me some ballads." Valder explained as he grabbed the blob of human skin by his flabby arms.

Still having the flint Ben gave him, the Dwarf knelled down and started hitting it against his axe as soon as the corpse and the wood were in place. Eventually, sparks flew off and set the dry wood aflame.

Valder then got up, watching the fire spread."That ought to do it. Best we stand back lest this bastard explodes or anything like that." He proclaimed as he took a few steps away from the pyre.

Isabelle watched the fire burn and consume the pier that was made.

As the fire burned, Elodar only glanced toward it and the others periodically. His focus was on loosening enough dirt to properly smother the coals when the fire died down. The dirt was mostly taken from the path itself, but he took care to spread it out across a wide surface rather than just dig a hole in the road. Having only a small shovel that wasn't a great deal more than a spade, he also spent the whole time crouched low and clearly unbothered by the awkward little steps he had to take or that it made him resemble a spider. Then again, those awkward little steps could hardly have been done more gracefully.

Yester kept her distance, so the stench of burnt meat wouldn't soak her cloths too badly, as she watched the fire. She wondered who the dead man had been, if he'd left behind family, if he was a honest man or a scoundrel, how acquaintances might react to his disappearance, those kind of questions. It was almost weird to listen to the bard and dwarf who meanwhile merrily chatted away about ballads. But then again they had likely seen more corpses in their time, so perhaps they were used to situations like these.

The flames licked the body of the corpse lying down in the makeshift wooden pyre, its skin melting down under the intensity of the heat. It seemed that the Ylfaulë did not, for what it was worth, make its victims immune to fire. Ben stood near the corpse, watching the pyre and the monster within with something akin to fascination as the tinder crackled and the flames soared, fed by a sudden wind and completely engulfing the corpse. Then he blinked and took a few steps backward, joining the others in their poisition further away from the pire and any possible exploding cadavers.

"Kog'mavol the Eyeless One?" Marchesa asked the dwarf with interest, also seemingly unnafected by the grotesque scene in front of her. "They usually have lots of eyes. You must tell us all about this one, Sir Valder!" Marchesa exclaimed, but then her eye caught the sight of the elf digging the dirt. "Or rather, you must tell us all about it later. Anybody in the radius of a few miles will see the smoke rising from the pyre. We should get on our way."

"Let it burn for a while longer, Marchesa." The bard said, the man's green eyes having wandered back towards the fire. "It could just come crawling out. Or something could be crawling out of it. It won't take long before it's ashes and dust, at any rate."

It was true, and soon enough the pyre was extinguished and the corpse burnt away by the ferocity of the flames. The travellers themselves gathered their mounts and steeds and were quickly on their way, for the morning was beginning to fly past and there was still a long road ahead.

"So a ballad it is then." Ben said at last when they were on the road. "We might cross a few noble courts in our travels: perhaps I shall start spreading my new song by the time we reach them. Wasn't there a duke or count's castle to the north?" The man asked, glancing at Yester.

Valder felt a bit of pride when he got asked to tell more of his story. But of course he wouldn't show that. A giddy Dwarf was a pathetic one. He nodded curtly as he got back onto Skiddel, ready to head out again. Knowing this kind of magic could happen, the Dwarf didn't really want to find out what else this chalice could have wrought.

"I'll tell you about Kog'mavol over a cool mug of ale. It's a long story. You'd need to know about my people and the ongoing war against the Hobgoblins." The Dwarf explained."It'll parch my throat if I have to do it sober."

"Well, I have some drinks with me. Mixed somewhere in my assortment of potions...."Isabelle said, looking through the saddlebags of her goat. "Not sure if they're what you'd be looking for or not, but they're better than nothing."Isabelle said.

"North-East." Yester corrected him, before commenting "But I suppose there is. And one would think that the owner would be someone of title." She then went back to her horse, untying her, before carefully mounting the steed and catching up with the rest of the group. However, on her way, she couldn't help but cast the pile of ash one last glance. It was no longer possible to distinguish the human remains from the wooden ones.

"One would think so indeed. I'm sure they'll welcome our company." Hopefully they're not very religious fellows, the bard thought as he looked at the sorceress talking about her potions to the dwarf. Or very bright ones, for that matter. He called out towards them. "Well, if Isabelle's potions don't suffice to sate your thirst, you could always try your luck and ask my friend here about one particular vintage she is insisting on keeping to herself." The bard sighed dramatically.

"Your friend is keeping this particular vial of bottled Fougue Farouche for any possible meeting with your Duke or any other powerful lord." Marchesa said easily, but her words were not entirely devoid of double meanings. "Or the eventuality of us needing to get far too drunk than would be adviseable." The woman added. "I'm sure Isabelle's potions are more than enough to satisfy Valder's thirst, though, at least until the nearest inn. Hopefully there'll be one in Ulmary: I'm getting thirsty myself. What sort of potions do you have?" Marchesa asked. A part of her really was fairly thirsty, but this was a good opportunity to see the girl's alchemical skills in practice.