The night in Adharca Cathair is silent.

The Clan is still reeling, a new Chieftain, a declaration of war. And since then, feuds have been started, the desire to go to Stonehammer again has been made clear, and Hoath hunts the Elkhorn. Ahearn Pictkiller, Ahearn Mac Jarlath, Ahearn "Chieftain," the founding leader of the returned Elkhorn continues to heal in the tower of the Shaman, while the new Chieftain, Fearghus Mac Finnegan has taken a proactive approach. The Warchief of Clan Hoath must be found, and so he has been leading skirmish bands across the plains. But now a new call has been sounded. The Warchief Gertrued, and the Huntmaster Isleene have been tasked with an important task - take the Wolfskins out hunting, with any who would go with them.

The torches are crackling, as a drum sounds. It is the sound of the Chieftain's return from his own scouting mission. The Skirmish band returns quietly, with none dead, but bringing back trophies of their hunt. No Warchief was found, but several Hoath were discovered in the remains of Clan Cael. Their heads were taken, the Chieftain carrying all five by their long stringy hair.

Fearghus himself sends several of his own skirmishers with the band, including Cathael. He orders the Elders to get their hunting party together - and prepare to find the Warchief. He tells them that their destination is infact, the smokey and blood soaked ruins of Clan Cael - if Hoath were found there then... surely more could be found later.

With the hunting party amassed outside the gates of Adharca, Gertrued makes her way from one end of the crowd to the other, and back again. With the band sized up, she gives a single nod of approval, and looks to the direction of Clan Cael's ruins. Without expression and with no hint of emotion in her voice, Gertrued says: "We are to find Clan Hoath's Warchief, capture the worthless bastard, interogate 'em, and then kill him dead. Any Hoath found along the way will be bled dry where they stand. The dogs will be scattered throughout the ruins of Clan Cael and in the surrounding area."

Gertrued scans the group one final time, and motions for them to move out.

***

Kullen prepared for the battle, gathering the tools of his bloody trade. He could not help to think back to a previous battle, but quickly removed those thoughts from his mind. This would be bloody, savage work, his time of late had been spent on dull, and mundane labors and this would be a refreashing change.

His two handed axe slung over his shoulder,his elkhorn dagger strapped to his waist,and his wolfskin skulcap adorning his head he moves out near the front line as the War Chief motions the barbaric mass toward the ruins.

He looks from side to side too see others who travel with him.

***

Isleene lingers outside the line-up of the hunting party as Gertrued makes her inspections, with an almost serene posture not unlike the stony visage of a statue, her eyes cast solemnly on the ground in a gesture that means one thing – she’s listening. She'd have never visited Cael before today. She could have done without being reminded of the atrocity that took place there, but it wasn't time for a past anger to be rekindled. She'd push it out of her thoughts.

Her stomach fluttered with anticipation, her hand drawn to check the bow and quiver strapped to her back. At the crunching of footsteps she silently waits for the Wolfskins to pass by, falling in line behind them with the rest of the archers.

***

In the middle of the hunting party stood Rommach, still like rock, with a stern look on his face. He was new to the Elkhorn, and for the first time he finally stood at the gates of Adharca. Its walls, towering over the land, filled Rommach with a sense of pride he'd never felt before.

While Gertrued was passing by him, Rommach was sharpening his swords with a stone. His hands were calm and steady as he was trying to hide the excitement he felt, blood pumping through his head at the thought of the hunt to come.

***

Keelyn rode up quickly to join the ranks of Wolfskins. Having just returned from the Eiglophian Mountains, Keelyn hid her exhaustion and stood ready for battle. Her sword secured to her back, and her Elkhorn dagger tucked into her boot. She struggled to keep her eyes open as Gertrued passed her for inspection.

Gertrued motioned, and Keelyn followed in line with the Wolfskins as they moved out.

Starring at the ground Keelyn found herself unable to concentrate on the coming battle, instead her thoughts kept returning to her disappointing failure in the Eiglophian Mountains.

***

Beorl walks towards the hunting party that gathers, holding a long axe before him in an odd manner - almost like a mother would hold a child. He gazes at the ornate blade gloomily, looking up only once to nod at Kullen.

Today the pillaged axe would return to the place from whence it came, back when Alether still lived and led the raid against Clan Cael. He would bury it there - whether in the earth or some lifeless Hoath warrior's body, it mattered not. Cael was a bloody place, and Beorl's mood soured with each passing moment.

***

The march toward the ruins was nearly uneventful until Kullen's keen eyes noticed a rise of smoke from a distant hill. To close to be from Clan Cael, but not one of Elkhorn make as the smoke had an erie bluish haze to it.

The smoke arose from an area the clan would pass through along the march, so Kullen alerts the warchief, and elders of possible trouble ahead...

***

Cathael and Sluaghadh both looked on, each with different opinions on the smoldering ruins of Clan Cael. Bloody work had been done that day, bloody bloody work. From the distance, each could see it, though far they were. Sluaghadh could simply smell it - his work, his bloodshed had been looked at as a crime against his own people. A crime - doing what was necessary. Cathael meanwhile shared a different opinion. He had only learned of what happened. But he held the opinion of the many - that day had gone too far.

Both saw Kullen's view - something was amiss.

***

Isleen sucks a breath of cool air into her lungs as she travels, burying herself under the heavy fur cloak hanging from her shoulders. She follows the sound of her kin crushing gravel, snow, and grass under their feet, the blind woman cautiously following their path. Despite the journey she’s lost in her typical silence, thinking of nothing save for the sounds around the party. At Kullen’s warning both a sense of relief and a tightening in her gut falls upon the Huntmaster, as she calmly takes the bow from her back and keeps at the ready in her hands.

***

Staring at the ground still half in a daze, Keelyn quickly looks up upon Kullen's warning. Looking up at the distant bluish smoke, Keelyn leans her head left and then right, the cracking and poping of her neck easily audible throughout the ranks of Wolfskins. Her eyes now fixed upon the smoke, she rubs her hands together while breathing warm air on them.

***

Beorl comes to stand beside Sluaghadh and brings a hand to his brow.

"Something foul about that now, isn't there? Not natural...not natural at all," he whispers to the Cutter in his low brogue.

Beorl had the sense that the band might not reach Cael for some time.

***

"A bad omen", thought Rommach as he was watching the blue smoke dance in the cold air.

His hand resting on the hilt of his blade, sniffing the air around him, he moved on, hoping to detect the smell of any incoming evil.

***

Clan Cael had not yet been reached, and indeed, something was amiss. Sluaghadh had nodded his head at Beorl's voice, but he didn't quite register the sounds. He was focused ahead - much as quite a number of the hunting party were. Torches lit up all around them. From a distance they appeared as tiny lights. Yet as they came closer, the realization was all too clear.

Hoath.

They moved swiftly. It was a hunting party of the Hoath - they had anticipated the arrival. At the head of the host was a man boasting strong arms, a great axe, and a braided beard. No doubt the Warchief. They had the Elkhorn surrounded - it was a matter of time before battle would begin.

The Hoath came close. They circled the Elkhorn party. They brought steel to fight, and fight they did. Flashing blades danced as warriors of two clans did battle - a flurry of flesh, steel, and blood. Hours would pass, as neither side would give in, neither side would surrender to the other. The Warchief of the Hoath seemed intent on finding someone. Perhaps the Warchief of the Elkhorn? Yet in this crowd of warriors, none could be truly spotted individually. They fought, and they bled, and they died with each other.

Yet the Elkhorn gained momentum. Only few had fallen - skirmishers and hunters - but more of the Hoath began to fall, skirmishers and pikemen both. The Warchief seemed reluctant - almost too reluctant.

He turned, called for a retreat, and admist the dust kicked up on the grounds, he was gone, vanished into the night.

And when the Clan returned, the Chieftain demanded scouts find them...

Yet another change was upon the Clan.