And a woman in armor appears with an expression of shock turning to determination as she grabs a glowing shield from her back and begins to gesture something.

And a man appears halfway through a fall to the ground, but in an instant he's up with his sword drawn and slashing at whatever that blurry dark shape is.  He's never seen a demon before, but the situation is clear enough.

The woman finishes her gesture and incantation and a sphere of golden radiance blooms behind the--fiend? undead?--whatever it is, it's getting blasted.

The cloaked thing screams at the sword-blow and again at the burning light, and turns to flee at the speed of a galloping horse.

The man looks at the miraculous radiance with clear awe on his face, but turns to glance around them for more enemies or urgent tasks before reacting further.  Are there more of the cloaked things visible anywhere?

Samora looks at Phrenk to give her flight so they can give chase--Phrenk isn't here. Marshall isn't here. Whatever happened on the road only happened to her. Where is she?

They're on top of a hill at night. There are no more cloaked things around, but there is this halfling who's on the ground looking like he's been stabbed.

Also this man, who is clearly a powerful adventurer and is only not stabbing the two mysterious arrivals because they both immediately attacked the wraith.

Also three other halflings.

Marc is a stranger here, and should not give them cause to fear, now that there isn't need.  He sheathes his sword, gives a reassuring nod to the man and the strange small people, and a low bow to the woman.  Gestures questioningly to the hurt one on the ground, standing back away from him.  "I can bind a wound if I have to, but hopefully one of you can do better?  I have no supplies and don't know where I am."

He looks disoriented, but not in an urgent way – if someone is hurt, his questions can wait.

His clothes are those of a high nobleman – bright-dyed wool edged and embroidered with silk all in blue and gold, with a few pieces of jewelry to match, and a large gold sunburst on his belt.  He goes nowhere without a sword, but he was at home and wearing no armor; he doesn't look equipped for travel, or even dressed for the outdoors at night.  None of this is anywhere near the top of his current list of concerns, but it is what the others see when they look at him.

The woman slings her shield back on her back; it keeps glowing. She's wearing a cuirass and gauntlets over simple, sturdy traveling clothes with a few pieces of much finer work; her cloak and headband and belt and one of her gauntlets gleam with something more subtle than light. Strength is in her hand, protection around her shoulders, and wisdom upon her brow. She's young, not yet twenty, but she stands and moves like someone accustomed to combat.

"I don't know where I am either, but it was morning there, I have all my spells," she says in perfectly understandable if oddly accented Gorhaut (as heard by Marc) or Sindarin (as heard by Aragorn) or Westron (as heard by the hobbits). "I'm going to heal him." Samora taps the downed one with a Cure Light Wounds.

Frodo goes from "facedown and unconscious" to "awake enough to moan and curl up on his side".

"One of you speaks a language I have never heard, and the other has a form of magic I have never seen. Who are you, and how did you get here?"

So she speaks his language but the man doesn't – which is a rather strange state of affairs, but who is Marc to know what to expect after death.  "Thank you, my lady," to the strange priestess-healer, and "I cannot understand you" to the man, who seems understandably concerned about the situation and whom Marc doesn't want to ignore even if they can't communicate.  Back to the woman: "Can you understand him?"  If she speaks Marc's language even though so much about her is entirely alien to him, then clearly she is better-traveled or better-learned than he is.

"Oh, my apologies, I have Truespeech. He asked about available healing, he asked about my magic, I can translate for everyone going forward," she says, pointing as appropriate. "I'm Samora and I have magic as an empowered priest of Iomedae, Lawful Good goddess of prioritization and the defeat of Evil. I don't know how I got here; one moment I was walking down the road with my party and no enemies in sight, next moment I was here. I don't even know if it was a Teleport or a Plane Shift." Phrenk and Marshall are probably terrified right now; if she's not back home by tomorrow she needs to prep a Sending and tell them she's alive.

She sounds impressively efficient at dealing with being stranded in another world.  Marc doesn't feel half as well-oriented as that.

"I'm Marc d'Ambray, a coran of the god," clearly a set phrase, which translates to her as something halfway to an unempowered paladin, "--Of the god Corannos, since there are more of them here than I'm used to."  Which may mean none of it means anything to them, but he doesn't have a prepared one-sentence summary of everything he is, having never met anyone who didn't recognize the symbols.  "I'm fairly sure I just died, but I'm starting to think this is not the afterlife."  A rueful smile.  He does not look noticeably upset about dying.

"I still have all my items, so I'm pretty sure we're not dead, but I guess you could have died and then been resurrected here? I'm afraid I don't know Corannos, which suggests you're not from Avistan." She turns to the man who was here two minutes ago. "Do you know how we got here? What is this country?"

Aragorn has been examining Frodo's wound. "This hill is Weathertop, east of Bree and west of Rivendell. We're going to Rivendell, and if there's anyone who can get you home I expect its lord Elrond has the best chance. But my guess is that you were brought here by the intervention of a Vala, and so here you will stay at least until you have achieved whatever purpose she had in bringing you."

"I also think it must have been a god who brought me here, in whatever way it happened," though he does remember dying, or at least something very much like it, "and so far it does not seem an evil thing, so I have no objection to staying."

"I have never heard of Avistan, Iomedae, or Rivendell. Or the sort of magic you wield, lady Samora. But I expect if we start asking each other questions about our worlds, we will not stop all night. First - what were these dark things, and do you expect more of them? What else should we know about what's happening, if we were sent here to help?" 

It is of course possible that they weren't, but the way to find that out is still to stay and see, not to ask strangers to justify themselves.

Samora is getting concerned about the stabbed man. Usually when someone is alive enough to move but not alive enough to stand it means they have something other than regular injuries going on. She taps him with another Cure Light Wounds, in case the first one was a dud or he had started out moments from death, and frowns when the only response is one slightly opened eye and a mumble that could be a thanks or a question or neither. Even a dud should have done a lot more than that.

"They were wraiths, servants of the enemy in the east. I do not think they will return tonight, if we are watchful, but return they will. The sooner we can get moving in the morning the better. For now, we must keep the fire burning. As for Frodo's wound . . ." 

Aragorn peers into the darkness past the edge of the firelight, takes a few steps into it, and returns carrying a long thin knife, broken and notched but gleaming with a cold and deadly light. "He has been stabbed with a morgul blade", Aragorn says, as the blade melts into mist and then into nothing. "Few now have the skill in healing to match such evil weapons. But I will do what I can." He starts examining the knifeless hilt, singing an incantation over it.

That is less than fully informative, but it will do for now, and the man is busy with more urgent things.  The blade looks evil indeed, to melt in the firelight.  "I have no healing magic, nor any other sort, but tell me if there's anything I can do to help."  And in the meantime he can keep watch, at least. 

A priest, a swordsman, and a woodsman. They don't know how to work together as a party, and there's something the local one isn't telling them. But it's not a bad set of skills, as far as it goes. And the way that one halfling looks at her every time she gets close to Frodo has her thinking that this might be more like a party of four or five escorting two or three than a party of three escorting four. (She wishes her friends were here, except that if she can't get back then it's important that they're still in Otari and have a chance to stop Belcorra.)

"If we can keep him alive until an hour after dawn a Remove Curse might help, or a Lesser Restoration."

"That much I can do." Aragorn pulls some leaves from one of his belt pouches, long and thin and green-black.  "These leaves," he says, "I have walked far to find; for this plant does not grow in the bare hills; but in the thickets away south of the Road I found it in the dark by the scent of its leaves. It is athelas, a healing plant brought out of the West, and it is not known in the North, except to some of those who wander in the Wild. It has great virtues, but over such a wound as this its healing powers may be small."

Everything the man says carries suggestions of meaning that Marc doesn't know this world well enough to decipher.  The one clear impression is that he knows a lot of things that most people don't – which is certainly valuable, but there's a tint of secrecy to it that puts Marc on edge.  Then again perhaps the man finds the barrier as difficult to cross from his side.  It would be a lonely thing.

"Still, he is clearly lucky that you are one of the few who can use it. May we have your name?"

"And yours as well," turning to the rest of the company.  "And – forgive me – is there a word for what you are?  Small people such as you are on the long list of things I've never seen before."

"I have many names," says the man as he sets up to make a tea of the herbs he found. "In this company I am known as Strider."

"We're hobbits. I'm Pippin, this is Merry, that's Sam."

"Very mysterious of you," a wry smile.

He gives a polite introduction-bow to the hobbits.  "Well, if the gods want me to protect you, I will, and perhaps one day you will tell me why.  But I would be surprised if you were just common travelers meeting the usual kinds of misfortunes on this road.  Unless people appearing like we did is common here?"  For all he knows, it is, although he thinks their reactions didn't point that way.

"No, I have never seen the like, nor heard tales of it in all my travels." He pauses, staring intently at Marc and Samora in turn. "We are not ordinary travelers, and our business is not ordinary business. But there is danger in speaking of it, even to trustworthy folk."

Marc holds the eye contact calmly, and nods.  "One day, as I said.  I truly do not mean to press you.  I would feel less strange if I knew more of where I am and what I can expect here, but there should be plenty you can tell me that isn't secret."

"And you, lady Samora?  What are your thoughts on all this?  You seem one who might know more of the gods and their designs."  And no matter how much she knows, she is just as alone here as he is.

"I know a little about the gods, but not which one sent me here or why. If I had to guess, the Inheritor would have an easier time sending Her own priest than another god would, and whatever those wraiths want I'm very likely against it."

"This world is known as Middle-Earth, and the most important thing to know is that the dark lord Sauron is gathering his forces in the East. He seeks to bring the whole world under his rule, and all the free peoples of Middle-Earth--Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Hobbits--must unite against him if any of our homes are to survive. It is to that end that we are going to Rivendell, and there a Council of the Wise will decide how best we may withstand him."

Ah, so an Evil tyrant is trying to conquer the world with an army heavily featuring undead and there needs to be both diplomacy and war done about it. "Yes, that sounds like just the sort of thing Iomedae would want to help with. You will have whatever aid I can give you."

"And mine as well.  If everything is as you tell it, it sounds a straightforwardly awful thing.  Though... I'm surprised it's quite so straightforward.  Who are this dark lord's forces?  I ask because," a touch of hesitation, a sigh, "my countrymen nearly became a dark god's army, in the last year, and if others are in that situation I would want to at least know.  Though I will grant you that the wraiths seem like demons rather than anything one can treat with."

"Not all of the enemy's forces are like the Nine. Most of them are orcs, a fierce race he breeds in great pits and raises knowing nothing but war, and some are men he has already conquered. None serve him willingly save his fellow spirits of darkness and the wraiths he has warped to have no will but his own."

"None, truly?  I have seen people willingly do very terrible things.  Perhaps it is different here.  --I don't mean to argue with you, but if I don't tell you what I find difficult to believe then you won't know what to tell me so I can understand."  It is a new world – things really might be entirely different here, in some way he's failing to imagine, and he doesn't want to antagonize his companions in discovering it. 

"There are those among the dark lord's forces who would serve him willingly, out of greed or the love of strength, but he does not desire willing service. He desires fear, and those who have once bound themselves to him cannot leave."

"I'd say that was good news, in that if he can be killed his army is likely to fall apart without him, but that's easier said than done. If I say I'm fifth circle that probably doesn't mean anything to you--hmm, if my party were here and prepped for it we could take on a dragon that was just barely an adult?" And here she thought the conversion scale from circles to dragons was for silly people boasting in taverns. "What does he use to keep his army in line, fear or enchantments or a mix?"

"Fear, in the case of the men; in the case of the orcs, they know no homes but his strongholds and no way to support themselves without his artifice, and they are trained all their lives to thirst for blood."

"That he doesn't desire willing service might be the worst thing I have ever heard said of someone.  But yes, good news in many senses."

"I... have no idea what a dragon of any size is like, and always thought them a story for children. You could perhaps just tell us what you can do?"

"He is not a man, but a dark power. There have been few in the history of the world who could surpass him in cruelty and malice."

If he's an actual fiend that helps a bit. "I'm primarily a spellcaster, mix of offense, healing, and spells for strengthening my allies, but I can prepare any of a pretty wide range of spells in the morning if I know I'm expecting a particular weird situation. I get three of my most powerful type of spell per day, five of the next strongest, then eight, then seven, then some cantrips like creating clean water I can cast as many times as I want. I can detect Evil creatures. I'm especially good at attacking fiends and the undead; I think those wraiths earlier may have been undead and it sounds like it's possible the dark lord is a fiend? I have an aura that extends twenty feet from me in every direction that suppresses weak magic done by Evil beings and makes it harder to enchant anyone standing in it. I can see in the dark. I don't need to eat or sleep and I don't get cold. And I'm alright with a sword in a pinch."

She just... has magic, fountains of it, whenever she wants.  This is past being a great holy priestess and into – Marc doesn't even know what.  Clearly her world is very different – she doesn't speak as if all this is as unprecedented as it is for him – but there are many ways for this to be true.

"You don't... need to eat or sleep?...  Forgive me for asking, my lady, but are you human at all, as you seem to me?"

"Yes, I'm human.I have some of the gifts Heaven gives to its residents that clerics don't commonly get, because I stepped in a planar tear by accident, but I was born to a human man and a human woman, and when I die I'll go before the Judge same as anyone."

The athelas tea Strider has been brewing is now steeped and cooled to his satisfaction; he pours some over Frodo's wound. The sweet smell of the leaves rises all around them, clearing heads and restoring strength.

Frodo breathes a little sigh of relief and tries to move his arm, but stops again with a wince almost immediately. "Thank you."

"Do you think you can stand?" he asks gently.

"No. Not long enough to matter. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . ." he trails off and tries to pull more of his cloak around his bad arm with his good one.

He nods at Samora's answer, and sits in thought for a while, still lacking a way to think of her that makes sense of what she's like.  Well, it's only been an hour. 

The healing herb really is wonderful.  He smiles at Strider, taking in a deep breath, then looks at Frodo with sympathy.  "You don't look very difficult to carry, if walking through the night would help."  They're all exhausted with travel and fear, clearly enough, but Marc was just at home in the middle of the day, well-fed and well-rested. "But it's not as if they can't chase us. Or is Rivendell close enough to reach before they manage it?"  It's odd to have so little idea what course of action might make sense.

"Rivendell is a fortnight from here at the best pace we can sustain. We'll leave at dawn. Until then, everyone who needs to sleep should do so." He proceeds to ignore his own advice, sitting down facing away from the fire and staring into the darkness.

Sam helps Frodo curl up in his cloak as best he can beside the fire, then lies down next to him. Frodo still looks cold and miserable, but also so exhausted he might fall asleep any moment anyway.

Samora drapes her Cloak of Resistance on top of Frodo and sits down by the fire on the opposite side from Strider, staring into her own patch of darkness.

Marc is not inclined to argue with the man who knows what's happening and has a reasonable-sounding plan, but it's still very... something... to have a stranger so flatly telling him what they're going to do.  Well, they'll be traveling together for a long while, they'll have time to get used to each other.

Still, all three of them sitting up all night is a little ridiculous.  "Do you also not need to sleep? It was midday for me, I might as well keep watch.  Unless you're worried to leave the two of us unwatched."  He doesn't sound insulted by the possibility, though it doesn't seem very practical for a fortnight's travel cross-country.  Unless the man indeed doesn't sleep.

"I want to stay alert tonight," he murmurs. "We may be watched more closely than we seem."

"I can watch until dawn and then I need spend an hour in prayer," Samora whispers back. "I'll be able to walk with the rest of you during that time, but not fight or be fully alert for danger."

It makes him feel at home, that someone else prays at dawn here.

"What will you do if we're attacked then?  Or what should we do for you?"  It goes without saying that he will do anything he has to to keep her safe.  She is a woman and a priestess – not of his god, but of someone so clearly aligned to light and protection that he is treating her similarly without conscious thought.

(His god does not have priestesses, nor his homeland women in armor.  It is a strange thing.  But one it is clearly not for him to judge, in a strange place like this, and doubly so if it's a god's intervention.)

"The tradeoff is that if I stop praying I have to stop preparing spells and can't start again, so I won't get my full set for the day, and fewer the earlier I'm interrupted by attacking or getting hit. When it's worth it for me to stop and join a fight anyway . . . probably depends on the price and availability of diamonds in Rivendell. How confident are you we can't be overheard here?"

(She can tell that Marc has started fully treating her as a party member in a way that Strider hasn't yet, and is making sure to signal that she's fine with both of those. She also suspects she's accidentally given Marc the impression she's nobility, but maybe this is just how he treats fifth-circle priests and she's not used to it because he's foreign and she mostly interacts with people who've known her since she was second circle, and there's no polite way to clarify that's robust to being wrong. She'll find an excuse to mention her parents at some point.)

"The wraiths have strange senses. I doubt greatly that they could hear a whisper at the distance they must now be keeping, but anything that can wait for dawn should do so. There are many diamonds in Rivendell, though I know not what help that may be to us here or there."

"I'll explain in the morning, then." And if they are attacked during her prep then she'll prioritize her own survival above the hobbits', and let them all think her a coward for an hour.

Marc has some diamonds on him, but it sounds like at night is not the time to bring this up.

He will sit up for a while, just in case, but follow Strider's advice to get some sleep after an hour or two.  It is usually a good idea.

Aragorn keeps watching for a few hours after that and then very deliberately and in a manner undetectable to anyone more than a meter away from him falls asleep sitting up.

And then wakes instantly to full alertness as the sky begins to lighten several hours later.

That's a neat skill. As soon as the first sliver of sun becomes visible over the horizon, she kneels, draws her sword, and begins to pray, mostly about the tradeoffs involved in escorting weaker allies and ways she can demonstrate trustworthiness to Strider no, that's the wrong goal actually, she needs to give Strider an accurate picture of what classified information she should and should not be told and of how to interact with her in general, bearing in mind that he has never met an Iomedaean and may not have a concept of Law at all similar to hers.

She ends up with:

Fifth circle: Dispel Evil in the domain slot and two Breath of Life.

Fourth: A Sending to tell her party she's alive, Blessing of Fervor and two Holy Smites, and a mental note to ask about diamond dust in case Frodo needs a full Restoration.

Third: Searing Light in the domain slot, two Remove Curses, two open slots for two more Remove Curses, or Create Food and Water if she gets lucky with the first two.

Second: Bless Weapon (probably for Strider), three Align Weapons, two Lesser Restorations, and a Marching Chant.

First: three Protection from Evil, two Comprehend Languages in case Marc and Strider want to have a conversation without her, and an Ant Haul for whoever ends up carrying Frodo.

While that's happening, the hobbits eat a quick breakfast and pack up their camp. Frodo is still too weak to walk at anything like the pace they need to make; a discussion ensues about how to get enough of the baggage off the pony that Frodo can ride it all day.

Marc is too out of his accustomed schedule to be up with the sun, but does wake, quickly and quietly, the moment anyone starts making noise.  Walks back and forth briskly for a few minutes to warm up, whispering the sunrise prayer under his breath.

He'd like breakfast too, if he's offered it, but-- do they have enough supplies for two more people for the journey?  Or one, Samora said she doesn't need to eat, although perhaps she might like to if there's enough.  He asks how they intend to deal with it before eating anything, tries to do two people's worth of camp chores, volunteers to carry Frodo's weight in baggage.  (Strider is more oriented and a better woodsman than him, and should be unencumbered for scouting; the hobbits are small and do not look very sturdy; the idea of asking the priestess to carry anything does not occur to him at all.)

Samora has nothing of her own to pack up, since she never took her armor off, but is basically useless as regards helping everyone else. When they start walking, about twenty minutes before she finishes, she follows, still holding her sword in both hands and with a distinct lack of situational awareness.

They are not attacked during this time.

Excellent. "Right then!" Samora chirps, sheathing her sword, "Anyone got a reason I shouldn't just start trying the fancier healing magic on Frodo and see what sticks?"

Aragorn wants to finish that tactics conversation from last night, but not more than he wants Frodo functional as fast as possible. He's looking worse than he was when he went to sleep, if anything.

Sam isn't going to say anything but she should hurry up.

Hearing nothing apart from Sam's loud subtext, she matches pace with the horse and puts a hand on Frodo's knee. "Remove Curse."

Her magic fights against something for a moment, then breaks through, and Frodo sighs with relief and sits up a little straighter on the pony.

"Thank you."

First try, woo! "Do you think you're basically alright, or alright except for having been stabbed and another Cure will fix you, or like there's still something more than regular being-stabbed going on?"

How would he know? He's never been stabbed before. "It still hurts, but it's not so cold anymore."

That sounds like the response of a guy who hasn't been stabbed much and doesn't know what it's supposed to feel like. Hmmm. Lesser Restoration and then a Cure spell, to make sure he can get the most out of the Cure? Or Cure and then only try a Lesser Restoration if that doesn't work? Cure first means a first circle spell if she's right or a second and two firsts if she's wrong; Lesser Restoration first means a second and a first either way. So Cure first would be the safer bet, except she can tell from the way he's sitting on the horse that he's not just in pain, he's also weaker than he's used to being. She'll try the Lesser Restoration first and then a Cure.

This clearly helps a lot! "Thank you again! Why, I feel I could get down and walk now, and perhaps ought to, since the rest of you are."

Also, when the Cure goes off, a small piece of metal is forced out of his skin and falls out from under his shirt.

Samora breaks her stride to examine it, but it vanishes into mist before she decides whether or not to pick it up.

"No wonder you felt so poorly! The tip of that knife must've broken off in your shoulder. But it's gone now."

Marc also stops to frown at the ominously disappearing knife shard, but it seems entirely gone.

He smiles at Frodo.  "Please don't get down and walk. The magic is wonderful, but we wouldn't want you to need any more of it."  When you suddenly feel better, it's easy to overestimate just how much better, and they have a long way to travel.

"I'm happy to take more of the baggage if anyone else is uncomfortable." Meaningful glance at Sam, who is keeping pace with everyone else but has definitely ended up with more of the baggage than any other hobbit. "Tomorrow someone should just hand me a bag, I'm never going to be useful during packing-out but I can still hold things."

"I'm alright, ma'am, I've got a light load already," Sam lies through his teeth. 

Marc looks uncertain at her request, then realizes he should really just ask. She gives a very strong impression of being someone you can simply talk to when you're uncertain about something.

"Back home I would never let a priestess carry baggage I have the strength for, if there wasn't dire need. I can let you be handed a bag in the morning if you truly prefer that, but you needn't carry anything you don't want to, and," a wry smile to make it clear his discomfort also doesn't have to be her problem, "it may take me a while to get used to it if you do." 

Sam clearly does not trigger the same reaction -- and looks like he's doing well enough that Marc is not inclined to argue with him.

Oh, of course, without casters who can keep up with fighters you could hardly have female adventurers and probably couldn't have priest adventurers either.

"I think priests on my world are different from the ones on yours. Back home I spend most of my days underground killing monsters. And the belt I'm wearing makes me stronger than I look. I'm not going to say that adventurer women are just like the men, I am still a woman, but I'm, hm, more like a male adventurer than like a female civilian, in a bunch of ways? Including the way where there's no reason for me not to do a share of the carrying." 

That gets her a thoughtful but no longer uncertain nod, and then a smile. "That still doesn't tell me whether you want to do a share of the carrying."

There's a bit of a narrow path between two awkwardness-traps here, the mirror image of the one preventing her from pointing out Sam's blatant lie. Ah, there's the answer. "Of course. Wouldn't you?"

"I would, but I'm really quite sure not everyone does."  But if she's the way he is about it, then he's certainly not going to try to prevent her from doing what she thinks she should.

"In more important questions – your world has so many monsters that you spend most of your time killing them??  And I've been slowly getting an impression that it's not just you."

Samora chuckles. "Oh, definitely not, there are thousands of adventurers on Golarion. We've got monsters in the forests, monsters in the oceans, monsters in the mountains, and more importantly we've got multiple open rifts to the lower planes with fiends invading through them. My friends and I are trying to stop one particular evil witch from attacking one major city; it's important work and if it didn't seem to be the gods' will that I be here I'd be anxious to get back to it, but I'm fundamentally replaceable. The problem is that there are so many separate threats that civilization has to prioritize."

"Oh. That's... my world had one problem like that, and we solved it, and now all that's really left is-- people and their difficult personalities and disagreements. Which can go awfully enough on their own, but not very soon, I hope." 

How much larger and more complicated her Golarion has to be!  No wonder she sounded so well-prepared for this deeply strange situation, if her world is full of them.

"And..."  The strategy of just talking to her seems to be working well so far, so: "You would, in my world, be the greatest holy priestess in generations."  All of them, quite possibly.  "Nobody can do that much magic that easily.  So-- that's how I've been reacting to you, if that helps explain anything?"  He's not sure what about his behavior needs to be explained, but it's increasingly clear that some things do.  And of course there would be some, really.

"That--does rather explain some things, yes. I think I should tell you plainly that I'm not at all like that back home. I'm a blacksmith's daughter who got to go to theology school because I got lucky with magic, and I've been an adventurer less than half a year. It is unusual to end up as powerful as I am this quickly but that's because I've been getting in an unusual number of dangerous situations and that's the kind of life where either you die or you get powerful fast. I'm good in a fight but I'm not--unusually holy, I'm not quite sure what having a lot of magic means on your world but on mine it just means my small amount of life experience contains more getting stabbed than average. Does all of that make sense?"

She sounds like she thinks he... what... would regret the way he treated her if he knew she wasn't highborn?  "There is, to be clear, no reason at all why a blacksmith's daughter shouldn't be the highest priestess.  I think it's often better that way than if she was born to a noble family.  And that you aren't a particularly high priestess wouldn't-- well, it would make me look at you with less awe in my eyes, but it wouldn't make me stop offering to carry things for you or calling you 'lady Samora', except that you clearly don't want me to do these things."  So she gets a straightforwardly friendly smile instead.  It's not as if he ever wants people to do those things for him either.  "I will do my best to ignore the fountain of miracles, if you ignore all this I'm wearing."  A slightly embarrassed gesture.

"I wouldn't say that it all makes sense, and I think it won't for a while, but I'm starting to see the sort of person you are.  I just don't know what getting stabbed a lot has to do with magic, or what being lucky with magic means, and I'm not sure what you can mean when you say your goddess giving you a lot of magic doesn't mean you're unusually holy.  Does she not give magic to people she thinks are doing the right things with it?"

Friendly smile and tippy-hand gesture. "The gods give magic to people who will use it to pursue their goals, but some people having more magic than others is because they've been in more of the kind of stressful situation that makes people stronger. Our wizards and swordsmen work the same way, they get stronger the more they do things where being stronger helps. Back home there's an older priest who I ask for advice on moral questions when I need it, and he has less magic than me but a lot more life experience and when I don't know what to do, he does. Which of us is holier? It's not how we'd think about the question, generally." 

"And then my getting lucky is unrelated to all of that. I stepped in a weird magic thing when I was twelve and got useful powers instead of being horribly cursed, which really it could have gone either way, I was a fool at twelve. But my parents and the local priest decided that it'd be a waste if I didn't use them for anything and they thought I'd make a good priest so they sent me to school for it, which was even better luck for me than the powers in some ways, I'm good at my job and I like it."

Awwwwww.  "I'm very glad you didn't get horribly cursed!  And that you had people to guide you as well as they clearly did.  It sounds a very good life."  He has to admit to himself he envies her a little.  It sounds so simple, in her world, to find a clear and good place in it, and one that makes you stronger and better with every year.  Though likely it's not quite as simple as she makes it sound.  She seems the sort of person everything goes well for, in a way that looks effortless, but only because she doesn't mind the effort.

"It's difficult to improve with the sword in any way other than by taking risks with your skill, but I never heard of priests being the same way.  I suppose I don't know much about the stresses of their lives, and I would not be surprised if it took trials of one sort or another to become the right sort of person, but– I wouldn't expect it to be risk, or certainly not the fighting sort of it.  The high priests are mostly people who don't leave the sacred places much, except when the kingdom needs their advice."

"But we have barely any magic at all.  I had not seen any for over thirty years of my life, and one of my friends didn't even think it was real until we were blessed by one of the handful of people in the world with the gift of healing."

"The gods find it costly to act in the mortal world, and choosing priests is one of the cheaper ways but it's not free. They say that direct divine intervention is a sign you've screwed up; maybe the gods don't do much on your world because they think your people are doing a good job already and don't need help." 

A soft laugh.  "I doubt that, unless it's because our problems are so much smaller.  But... the entire system of choosing priests more cheaply and giving them specific abilities, instead of just... intervening directly, even if still through a person... I don't think our gods have that.  Or... it's possible they could have it but neither of them would use it, each for their own reasons."  And more quietly, half to himself: "I wonder if the third one would have."

Would have? Did they have a god die? He might not want to talk about it. "Would you like to tell me about your world's gods and their teachings? Or I could give everyone the rundown on the rest of the spells I have prepped today."

"Your spells sound much more important to know, for the moment."  Though it is also important to have normal human conversations with the people you're fighting alongside, and he's very glad they had this one.

She'll ask about the potential dead god when they know each other a little better.

"Alright. Least powerful to most powerful, I have: three of Protection from Evil, which does the same thing as standing close to me in terms of being a lot harder to mind-control and harder for Evil creatures to damage; if there's a fight where we might need to split up and we have eighteen seconds of warning I can get it on three people."

"Two Comprehend Languages, which will make someone able to understand but not speak any language; if Marc needs to have a conversation without me being in it I can use those for that. Lasts about an hour and a half."

"And one Ant Haul for making it easier to carry heavy things; that one will last most of the day as soon as" and here she grins to make it clear she's joking "someone is willing to admit to wanting it. If nobody does, perhaps I'll cast it on the pony."

"Second circle I have Bless Weapon, makes a weapon much more effective against Evil creatures. If a fight starts without warning it's going on whichever of you two" points at Strider and Marc "is standing closest to me. We should figure out who gets it if we do have warning."

"Two Align Weapons, which are like Bless Weapon but a bit less good; I can only get one copy of Bless Weapon a day. Both of those only last a few minutes so I can't just do them all now."

"One more Lesser Restoration, same kind of thing I used on Frodo. If nobody else gets injured I'll use that one on Frodo too this evening, sometimes two does more than one but sometimes it doesn't."

"Marching Chant, which will make us cover ground faster but only as long as I'm continuously chanting, so we should get all the conversation and spellcasting we're likely to want out of the way and then I can do that for the rest of the day."

"Third circle I didn't fill all my slots immediately, so I can prepare a couple more spells with fifteen minutes each. I wasn't sure if I'd need multiple tries to remove the curse on Frodo but I didn't so I can prepare some other things. One good option there is Create Food and Water, which should make enough food for everyone including the horse. The food goes bad after a day if nobody eats it but until then it should be the right kind for the people I'm casting it for even if people here need different food. If we have enough food that it's not worth the slot, I can do two more copies of Searing Light, which is a combat spell that hits undead especially hard."

"At fourth circle I have a spell to tell my party back home that I'm alive, as soon as we're done planning for the day I'll want to spend ten minutes on that. Plus some combat spells that hit everyone in an area--more on the tactics of those later--and one that makes all my allies a little better at fighting."

"At fifth I have Dispel Evil, which makes me harder to hit and can let me counter some Evil spells, and two of Breath of Life which is a healing spell that can heal someone who's technically dead if I get to them within a few seconds. Also all my other spells can be turned into basic healing spells if we need them."

That is a fountain of miracles all right.  He gives a soft laugh at the Ant Haul, and nods at the rest, though it's taking more and more effort to remind himself that all this is normal in her world. 

"I have no conversations I don't want you – or anyone else – to hear.  If someone wants to have one with me, he can, though I think we are all confused enough without adding more circles of secrets."

For all the rest, Strider is clearly the one whose input will be the most valuable, since he knows much more about their situation and their enemies.  Marc waits for him to speak first.

"Create Food and Water would be most welcome; we have provisions enough to reach Rivendell if we stretch them and forage, but more food means greater speed, and greater freedom to go off the straight road to evade pursuit. But you mentioned last night some magic that required gems. Tell me of it; I doubt there will be a safer time."

"There's a spell I didn't prepare today that requires a diamond the weight of a couple grains of rice, and consumes it in the casting. It can restore life to a body that has been dead for less than nine days."

That would shape the choices she makes in battle, wouldn't it. "Many such jewels can be found in Rivendell at need."

Then she is uncomplicatedly the most important one here to keep alive.  He's glad – it's easier when the tactically correct priorities are what he would naturally do in any case.

"Then it's very important that Samora knows how to reach Rivendell even if the rest of us are dead."  It might not be an easy route to find, but he can hope Strider can explain enough of it to be of some use.  

"And..."  He pulls a pendant from under his tunic – a little gold lute with a spray of mixed gemstones going up from it.  "I don't know the weights of diamonds; would any of these do?"

Samora matches her steps with Marc's and examines it. "I don't think so, but it's good to know you have it so I can try it if there's an emergency. I agree I should learn as much of the terrain as possible between here and Rivendell; my priorities in a fight unless advised otherwise are Strider, myself, Frodo, Marc, and then everyone else, with maintaining control of any corpses roughly equal to keeping myself alive."

Pippin grumbles about this, loudly enough for Aragorn and Samora and probably also Marc to hear but not loudly enough for anyone to think he actually wants a response.

Sam would be inclined to complain about how far down that list Frodo is but doesn't actually want to contradict anyone, so he doesn't say anything.

"Once you have any hope of getting to Rivendell on your own, Frodo should be your highest priority."

Ah, so they are outright having this conversation.  He is glad of that too – many of his friends didn't want to think this way, didn't want to think about who might die at all or couldn't agree on who it should be, but here they probably can agree, and it will feel so much better to know that they do.

"I still don't know what exactly we aim to accomplish, but-- you before Strider, surely, given that you can bring people back if you're alive and manage to find anyone else who can point you to Rivendell?  ... No, that's true if everyone else is dead but it might not be true if they aren't...  But I'm not sure that Strider and Frodo have better chances than you and Frodo, either."  He might be underestimating Strider, but it seems really difficult to overestimate all the incredible reach of Samora's magic.  "And..." he will actually look at Frodo rather than asking Strider about him, given that he is apparently the center of all this: "do you have a chance of getting to Rivendell on your own? Or is that not an outcome that would gain us anything?"  If Strider means truly the highest priority, then what Samora has a hope of doing afterward doesn't matter.

(He is deliberately not thinking about what about Frodo might be important enough to spend all their lives on, because they don't want him to know.  Though it takes some effort not to think about it, because detail would help.)

He spares Pippin a sympathetic look, and the rest of the hobbits along with him.  It can be hard to get used to thinking about who should die and why it might need to be you first, and the lack of real complaint means doing well enough at it.

"I can--keep riding East. But I don't know the way, and we just saw last night I'm no match for the black riders." 

"I have some knowledge of the art of not dying. But should the worst happen--" Aragorn launches into a detailed explanation of the geography of the area between their current location and Rivendell, including such facts as that the Hoarwell can only be crossed by the bridge on the main road and where best to ford the Bruinen.

Samora listens intently, and wishes she could take notes but not badly enough to stop walking about it. 

"The bridge over the Hoarwell is going to be a choke point, isn't it."

"Yes. My hope is that we will not see the Riders between now and then, but the root of that hope is that they will seek to hold the Last Bridge against us."

"That seems likely. Do you have a plan for what to do then?"

"I had planned to draw them off, send the hobbits over the bridge, then circle around and run for it myself, but with more allies I expect we can make a safer plan than that. Though the fundamental approach of some of us acting as a distraction for the others is still wiser than a frontal assault."

"I nominate myself for the distraction: I can strike at range, over fifty yards, and I'm terrible at stealth." The latter is obvious. She clanks. "And if we know we'll reach the bridge by dawn on the day we do, I can prepare mobility spells for--wait. I have a better idea. What if we go off the road and I prepare a Communal Air Walk the day we expect to reach the river? It will let us all walk on the air as though on the ground for ten minutes--oh, but horses can't Air Walk without a lot of practice. We'd need to spend hours between here and there training the horse and even then it might be too afraid to make the crossing. So perhaps I should be the distraction after all."

He nods agreement at Strider's plan, but his face lights up at Samora's.  "No, Air Walk sounds perfect.  I doubt we care that much about the horse, especially with Ant Haul for carrying."  You really cannot pass over a plan where the enemy is waiting for you in an unavoidable place and you simply aren't there.

"We might still want some of us to draw them off once they realize we crossed elsewhere. Unless between Air Walk and Marching Chant we can have them still waiting for us at the bridge for days after we're gone..."  Oh, he knows he's probably being too optimistic, but it would be such a great escape if it worked.

Hm. Do they want to leave the horse? What are the operative considerations? Would being able to cross the Hoarwell off the road let them avoid that encounter permanently, or just have it on different and perhaps better ground? Is their current mission important enough to totally ignore the fact that those black riders are clearly a hazard to the populace that needs to be dealt with? The horse has option value, both for a burst of speed to get Frodo out of combat, and if his condition worsens or someone else gets injured the horse can carry someone without tying up a combatant.

Aragorn speaks before Samora has decided which side to argue for. "What circle of spell is Air Walk? I've taught horses not to fear the clash of swords or the dark things that walk in the north, and this pony has a steadfast heart."

"Fourth circle. I can spare the spells for practice, and I or Marc can carry Frodo over the water while you lead the horse. It would be a tricky place to be ambushed, but the whole point is to avoid a fight. Just to check explicitly: getting Frodo to Rivendell is important enough to outweigh the threat the black riders pose to other innocents if we leave them be?"

"While Frodo is free they will pursue no other quarry save as a means of reaching him."

"Then I hope we can lead them on a long chase.  Will they assault Rivendell, if they know he's there?  ...Will they know he's there?  It sounds as if they know something about where we're going, but I don't know how much." 

Likely they are getting ahead of themselves and do not need to settle the entire fortnight's strategy this morning, but asking the questions is still yielding information that will give him a better idea of what is happening, and he would dearly like to feel like he knows.

"They must know we're making for Rivendell. It's the only place in this part of the world that can stand against them for a time. As for what to do after, wiser heads than my own will advise us, for there lives Elrond the elven-lord, and there I hope to meet Gandalf the Grey, wisest of the Wizards of Middle-Earth."

Ah, yes, "go where the allied archmage is" is such a good strategy it's still the right strategy even when it's obvious to the enemy. "If we make good use of Marching Chant we may be able to get over the river before they realize we won't be coming to the bridge, but it depends on how much we're slowed down by the terrain relative to the speed we'd make on the road. Teaching the horse to Air Walk may do double duty there, if it lets us take any path that can be taken on two legs."

"Let us try it and see how far we can get."

The tactics talk carries on for a bit and winds down with only minor revisions to the plan from there.

Samora does a Sending to Marshall, "Alive on other planet, probably divine intervention, return likely impossible, important quest here. Sorry to miss fighting Belcorra. Good luck, and the Inheritor watch over you." 

When it gets to be time to stop for lunch, Samora casts Create Food and Water and passes out waterskins, bread, butter, cheese, fruit both fresh and dried, cold meats, jerky, and oats and a bucket of water for Bill the pony. It's enough to feed twenty-four adult humans through a day of physical exertion.

"Why, there's enough here to eat a decent lunch and have the rest for supper!"

This does a lot to restore Samora's reputation after the "whose death is the smallest problem" conversation.

Excellent. 

After the food is eaten and the leftovers packed away, Samora starts up a Marching Chant. The incantation is less like a sentence than a song, at times wordless, at times telling the party of their own strength and endurance with a bright, clear tune that makes it easy to believe. Jogging along deer paths and stomping through underbrush becomes as easy as walking up a well-made road. 

The food is good, but the song is lovely.  Marc hums along happily for a long while, until it's been enough hours without a conversation that he wants to talk to someone more than he wants to enjoy the music and the wonderfully effortless movement.  Not that he can exactly have a conversation, with Samora busy with her magic, but it's not very hard to get the more talkative hobbits to teach him some words in the local language as they walk.  He doesn't remember them perfectly, but he picks things up well enough over time, enjoys the interaction, and doesn't mind being laughed at when one of his mistakes turns out particularly funny.

The ability to say "I am walk many fast" isn't going to be very much use even once they correct all his grammar, but once he has even a bit of the language, it'll be easier to pick out more just by listening to everyone talk.

The hobbits thinks his accent is hilarious and are happy to do language lessons until they stop for supper and sleep.

This time Aragorn trusts Samora's qualifications as a watch-stander enough that he and Marc can get half a night of sleep each and still have coverage in two directions. Does Marc want first half or second half?

Oh good!  He'll take the first watch – the Sun here goes down earlier than his own did, so he's not sleepy in the evenings anyway. 

(He tries to explain this to the hobbits in Westron, for the sake of practice, and they all get into an entertaining muddle about it until Samora rescues them.)

Before the hobbits go to sleep, Samora deputizes Merry to make sure she has a fair share of stuff to carry tomorrow, even if she's impaired at the packing-things-into-bags part.

He will graciously do her this favor.

People are delightful. 

Samora and Aragorn agree that the best time to start on teaching Bill the Pony to Air Walk is during the lunch break, as all three of them need a shorter lunch break than the hobbits and doing it on the march would slow them down more. She prepped two copies this morning in case Aragorn wants one on himself to get the hang of it, demonstrate to Bill that it's safe, etc.

Aragorn would like to start by being the one to hand Bill his bucket of oats and then giving him a good brushing, but after that Air Walks for both of them would be excellent.

She tells Aragorn that the Air Walks last ninety minutes each and Bill that he's a very good boy who can do anything, gives them both Guidances, and stands back to watch an expert at work.

In the morning Marc gets Merry to tell him the Westron names for all the things in their baggage, and then gets into joking arguments with him about who should carry what.  (He doesn't actually want to deny Samora her desired fair share, though he's not sure how much that is.  Less than his, surely, but maybe not much less.)

He will also watch the Air Walks curiously, ready to help if there turns out to be need.

Aragorn wants his a few minutes before Bill gets one, to get a feel for it and also to get above the trees and survey the area. (If what he sees up there is surprising, he gives no sign of it.)

Then when Bill's spell is up, he tells Samora to watch everyone's backs and turns his focus entirely on the pony. His body language changes, and suddenly Bill is completely focused on him in return. They walk together over level ground, then over a slight dip that Aragorn doesn't go down into, and Bill is looking at Aragorn and not his own feet and doesn't go down either. And they turn, and drift slowly upward, and by the time Bill notices he's six inches above the ground. 

The first time they try it, Bill whinnies in alarm and runs back to ground level, and once there needs petting and calm deep-voiced reassurance to try again. The second and third attempts aren't much different. By the fourth try, he's willing to stand still in the air, and from there it's only a little additional coaxing to take a step. And then they head back down, calm and controlled, before Aragorn's Air Walk runs out.

Well that's really rather adorable, in addition to looking like a very fun sort of amazing magical thing to do.  Marc is definitely looking forward to getting to try it himself when they go over the river, and tells Samora so, grinning.

In the meantime he makes sure to do some watching for other dangers rather than getting entirely distracted, but he does ask Strider if he thinks it possible to teach Bill to walk through the air on his own rather than only when accompanied, and if having a second person so that he could go between them would be any help, even if on the ground.  It might be useful, if the river crossing goes less straightforwardly than they hope.

"A wise idea, if not for tomorrow then for the day after."

Oh good, they are planning on more practice. 

In the meantime they have another Marching Chant's worth of walking until the evening camp and supper, and afterward Marc can ask Samora all the Air Walk questions he couldn't bother her with while she was concentrating on the magic.  It's just such a fascinatingly touchable thing for magic to do - not a spell that simply does what it does and perhaps carries you along with it, but something you need to work with, and learn how to work with, on the same physical level as you might do any other thing.

"How does it work, exactly?  Do you just find the air solid under your feet no matter where you put them, or does it only stay level?  What happens if you fall?"

"So the funny thing is, today was my first time casting it on anyone. I've never actually tried it. But I've heard you can decide where the 'ground' is or how steep of a slope you're on and it just works, so long as each step carries you forwards at least as much as it carries you up. So you can't climb an imaginary ladder but you can walk upwards in a spiral. I'm not sure what would happen if someone else was air walking and tripped you but my guess is that you'd land on whatever level you'd been standing at."

"Ah, that's true, it wouldn't often be the most useful thing you can do, out of so many of them.  So, no ladders, and you can make a spiral staircase but you can't jump off of it?  Well, I can try that when you do it for everyone," grin.  "I really want to know what it's like to fight like that.  Not that I imagine there's reason to do that very often."  

"I have occasionally fought in the air, but it was with a different spell my friend Phrenk has that lets us move up and down and sideways freely as fast as we can run. And it was all indoors, so my fancy maneuvers were limited to staying on the other side of Phrenk and Marshall from the enemy while they closed to melee range."

"Oh that's even better!  Of course you'd have more than one.  But I expect it's for the best that there's a calmer way to walk on the air, for the pony's sake."

"... Do you ever do those things just for fun?  Or is that not something your goddess would want?"

"We're supposed to do something enjoyable for its own sake at least once a month. I have a good bit more downtime than that, because I tend to run out of combat spells for the day before I run out of things to do that aren't combat. I've flown for fun once or twice, but I'm more likely to spend an evening talking and singing and drinking with whoever's at the inn, or reading in the library, or doing some itemcrafting if there's a project we're in the middle of, or just walking around town enjoying the fresh air. How about you, what do you do when time isn't the thing you're short on?"

"Talking, drinking, singing, and walking around I am all quite happy to spend my time on.  Exercise, of just about any sort anyone's ever devised, though I do prefer the practical ones.  Temple services, or just prayer, though I don't imagine I'd do more of it often if an hour a day was required of me.  I'm not much of a scholar ...by which I mean I've never read an entire book."

"If we're ever not walking from first light to last, we should spar. I expect you'll get me ninety-nine times in a hundred, but I'm used to that from sparring with Marshall."

"We should."  He was rather hoping she'd offer.  "Though if you expect to get me even once ­– which I think you are right in, by the way you move – you will likely get me many times more than that, before I get used to striking at a woman without holding back.  Which I clearly should get used to.  I mean you no insult, it's just that I know I will need the practice – and that is a flaw you should take full advantage of while it lasts."  He sounds more cheerful than apologetic about it, really – he doesn't think she's the sort to be insulted instead of just hitting him until he improves, which will be far more enjoyable for them both than acting awkwardly polite about either side of the problem.

"Taking advantage of the enemy's flaws is a very Iomedaean way to win," she grins back.

"Oh good."  He likes her.  And feels like he knows her, now.  She's really a very knowable person.  "If I'm lucky perhaps you will find more of them."

"What else are your people like?  The prescription to enjoy yourself once a month certainly draws a picture."

Samora's face shines with pride and affection. "Oh no, if I tell you half the things I love about my people I'll wear out your patience. My homeland Lastwall is Iomedae's country, that she founded before she ascended, and the government works closely with the church. It's the only country I know whose people see themselves as having a mission that we're all working on together. Our army holds part of the Worldwound border, and we keep the arch-necromancer Tar-Baphon sealed away, and we contain the Orcs in Belkzen, and we advance the Inheritor's interests in a bunch of other things and deal honorably with all other nations, and our people live well and reach Heaven. We can't do everything we ought to be doing, but we are doing everything we can."

Oh she is so good and so happy.  Marc is filled with reflected happiness for a long moment, until it's tempered with the contrast to his own life.

"It sounds a wonderful place."  A softer smile, and then a sigh.  "I wish I could love my own country half so uncomplicatedly.  I do love it, but... twice in my life, most of the honorable men of Gorhaut were led by evil to attack our neighbor and to murder women and children, and-- it's not really that I don't understand why Corannos lets us do these things, but... I hope we can keep it from happening again, and I am not sure."

(He does not think, consciously, that this is really rather a lot to tell someone, unasked, in a conversation that started on a different and cheerful topic.  He wouldn't have said these things yesterday, and wouldn't have thought of it consciously then either – but it's very clear, by now, that she's the sort of person who would want to hear, and who will react well to anything she's told.)

"I'm sorry that happened to them. One of the greatest injustices of the world is that some people face worse temptations and pressures than others."

Oh.

Oh, even knowing she would react well he did not expect that.  Perhaps he should have, but... it's been increasingly clear today that he doesn't know what truly good places are like, and maybe he knows as little about people who grow up in them.

It takes a moment before he manages to say anything.

"You are not making it easy not to look at you with awe in my eyes."  But he shakes his head a little and smiles at her like she's a real person.  "But I think I know what you'll say already – that you were lucky, to be shaped by your country and your goddess into someone who would say that.  Still... Thank you.  You can't know how much it means to me, to hear a stranger say that they were still worth something."  There are tears in his voice, and he's not particularly trying to hide it.