Ceannric limped through the forest, favoring his left leg heavily. The battle with the undead had not been kind. A dozen purple bruises covered his upper body where blows had barely deflected off his thick knight's armor, and the Black Reaver's glaive had laid open his thigh nicely. It pained him more than a little, and he stopped to inspect the wound, leaning up against a tree as he unwound the makeshift bandage. The failing light of dusk wasn't helping matters any. With a sigh he dug out his travel-worn book of Blessings, and recited the words mostly by rote of memory, " Lig solas ann, a chaitheamh an oíche, agus mo radharc a ghlanadh...(let there be light, to banish the night, and brighten my sight)". Within seconds a pale light wavered into existence, emanating from his palm, and he peered at the gash with some trepidation. He frowned--the wound was starting to fester, probably rendered unclean somehow by the very nature of the thing that inflicted it.
He straightened and wiped his brow. Well, there was nothing else for it, it was too far to go back to the King's manor. He'd have better luck finding a cloister of monks somewhere nearby, or better yet, nuns. Nuns were fun. Especially ones that had forsaken their vows and hadn't seen a man in months! ...Idiot. You're delirious, that only happens in old hunters' tales. Most of the nuns he had met wore dour expressions and had thicker mustaches than he did after five days in the woods. He shivered at the unpleasant image and wished he'd just learned a bit of healing when he had the chance. Pushing off from the tree with a grimace, he promised himself he'd do just that next time opportunity presented itself. For now, though, time to move on before it was fully dark.
A break in the trees ahead seemed oddly out of place, and he caught a glimpse of a weirdly green illumination, floating over a low field of fog. Some sort of structure, or the remnants of one, stood in a small clearing, seeming to absorb the moonlight with an unhealthy appetite. Steely eyes narrowed, he sucked in a lungful of cool air and battened down the pain, advancing closer on the soggy leaves underfoot.
Green, fey-lit vapors swirled between two basalt obelisks, weather-worn, heavily engraved and pitted with what looked to be corrosion. The light was an unnatural green, more the color of toxic venom or corrupted fungus, and it was contained between the stones, the entire affair standing half again as tall as a man and twice as wide. Other chunks of black stone lay in disarray on the ground, but these barely registered on the senses of the Themsian as he realized what he was looking at.
A portal. Another gods-damned portal. Why did he always have to be the one to find them? That would be at least three in as many weeks. What were the chances?? He scowled up at the dark heavens in petulant annoyance. No, seriously, what were the *#@$% chances! Expelling a litany of curses, pain forgotten, he turned and stalked in the direction of the nearest forest path, now intent on finding that cloister as soon as humanly possible. With any luck they would have a rookery, and he could send a raven out before the sun rose. He started formulating the message in his head as he moved.