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Vel'duith Voiryn

Vel'duith Voiryn

Dark Trickster
Noct Yaegir
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With a crudely-buttoned, improvised fur-lined cloak and her mottled, cloaker-leather mantle covering her spidersilk robes, shod in a pair of slightly too large, wool-packed leather boots, and her wide-brimmed spidersilk hat pulled down to shade her sensitive eyes from the bright mid-morning light, Vel’duith Voiryn stood uneasily before Warden Gabriel Sionoma in the Crobhear Keep courtyard. She grimaced slightly, fingers beginning to fidget with the hilt of her shortsword. Scanning all the faces ringing the pair, she recognized that all the collective eyes of the dozen or so Yaegirs present seemed to be set solely upon her.

Abruptly, the Warden cleared his throat and spoke out in his husky, commanding baritone: “The hour has now arrived, Miss Voiryn: speak the laws!”

Vel’duith’s voice immediately rose in reply, clear and shrill: “Never shall a Yaegir attack another Yaegir! A Yaegir shall heed any call for her aid, whether from the great or the humble! All Yaegirs are peers: none better, none worse! Every keep and den is a trusted sanctuary! When a monster is slain, trophies must be taken to claim the reward, and all Yaegirs who took the risk share the bounty! The word ‘monster’ is easily spoken, but a Yaegir must always be diligent to only hunt true monsters! A true monster thinks only to destroy, and kill! If words may dissuade it, it is not truly a monster to be hunted! A Yaegir shall not interfere with the various sovereigns, meets, and moots of the world! Their wars and plots are none of her concern! A Yaegir shall plan her hunts to avoid needless slaughter, and she shall defend any who lucklessly blunder into harm’s way!”

The warden grimly stared the dark elf up and down, before locking his grey-eyed gaze on hers. Her brim-shaded garnet eyes met his fearlessly yet unaggressively, telegraphing her full ownership of her words and her determination to face whatever came of them. The drow suddenly seemed to still herself, almost as though frozen in mid-faint. As quickly as the fit started, it ended, though her jet cheeks seemed somehow a half-shade less black, and her eyes watered ever so slightly. To the drow’s apparent surprise, Warden Sionoma’s steely gaze softened slightly, a bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrow arching.

“Vel’duith Voiryn, you have spoken our laws… well, in adequate enough of a manner. You are hereby apprenticed to Yaegir Sigrun Flintfeet. Prepare yourself, for you shall soon leave on your first mission. We shall await news of your success- or, should you fail and fall, the litter bearing your corpse. Heed Yaegir Flintfeet well, lest it be the latter!”

Vel’duith rocked back onto her heels, rubbing her temples a moment as the shock passed, before again resuming her usual, borderline languid posture. The warden walked calmly over to the rather surprised-looking dwarven axe-maiden, stooping to lightly clap a hand on her shoulder.

“Well, Flintfeet, as I’ve told you before - you bring it home, you get to deal with it. So now, why don’t you take the greenhorn to town, and see what Maester Beldarion might know about this strange mummy in our basement that you brought back. You know, before it curses and dooms us all.”

Sigrun Flintfeet
Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher
 
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A sigh escaped Sigrun like wistful wind rustling through a squat oak tree. Gabriel was never going to get off her back about this artefact. Especially since strange disturbances and walking nightmares had been reported throughout Crobhear Keep. It seemed no matter where it was placed, it caused evil to fester.

And with Irman Harefoot gone, it was left to her to deal with it. Well, her and Vel'duith, the newest member of the Noct Yaegir, and Karskgorak, one of its oldest members. One a shifty drow who had spoken her vows like an expert mummer on stage, well-rehearsed and oiled, the other an unhinged 'fiend-slayer' who tended to talk with his fists and yelled proclamations more than anything.

Sigrun would have to straddle between these two extremes like a cart driver handling an exotic steppe horse and a wilful mule, as like to kick backward as to plod forward.

"Aye, I'll handle it," Sigrun said briskly, before catching herself. "I mean, *we* will handle it."

Soon enough, they left the old yawning gates of Crobhear Keep, straddling the road with the same cart and burden she had driven in with the day before. A drow, an orc and a dwarf. It almost sounded like the beginning of a classic bar joke. Though Sigrun forgot the punchline.

Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher
Vel'duith Voiryn
 
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A light fog wrapped around the mountainside, obscuring the otherwise expansive Vistas one could see from the path leading out of Crobhear.

“How unfortunate! I had hoped to see our Plum-faced recruit be dazzled by Lake Crobhear reflecting the morning sun, yet even I cannot see but a scant few tree tops down below!”

there was a loud clapping sound as the old orc clasped his hands together and looked to the sky.

“Let us pray that this be the only injustice we cannot overcoming on this virtuous journey!” Karskgorak said with a wide and carefree grin while turning to face his fellow hunters.

Originally, the Karsk hadn’t been considered to aid in this quest. Yet, as soon as he heard of a mysterious monster making mummy and the opportunity to help a new recruit on her very first mission, it was all the old orc would talk about. Eventually, Gabriel caved and agreed to have Karsk join the party, much to head Archivist Hojen’s umbrage.

In fact, just before the party was set to head to the court yard, Hojen pulled Sigrun and Vel’duith aside to speak his peace with them privately.

“Look, there’s a reason Gabriel was insistent on sending you along with Yaegir Flintfleet, miss Voiryn. The town where Maester Beldarion resides is a dwarven settlement, going back all the way to the time of the old empires. The people there are well intentioned but sure to be uneasy at the sight of a drow.”

Hojen paused to take a breath.

“I wasn’t supposed to share this information with you as navigating that was meant to be a final test for miss Voiryn’s joining, but I need to warn you both about Karsk. Many of the dwarves there still clearly remember the times when Orc warlords had a chokehold on the northern Spine, with some even swearing lifelong grudges. So while they might be Cagey around a drow, things could potentially turn violent if Karsk isn’t kept in check. Just, try to avoid riling him up, is what I mean.”

In the present though, Karskgorak was checking over the cart being pulled by Honey pepper, the trusty Riding Elk. Though it wasn’t quite clear why Karsk was doing this, besides an opportunity to ‘hmm’ and ‘hah’ at the workmanship of the cart in motion as he scratched his beard.
 
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Vel'duith had nodded understandingly at Hojen's explanation; it certainly seemed to fit neatly with Sigrun's own first impression of her. And who didn't know of the reputation of the orcs? To the dwen'deles, she could expect to be received at best as some sort of fabled bogeyman... well, at least until they beheld the sorry, makeshift quality of the improvised doe-pelt cloak layered under her mottled cloaker mantle, and her wool-stuffed oversized boots. As for the garrulous, gregarious storyteller Karskgorak, well... orc-raids were a constant, real, and present danger for anyone living within a couple weeks' march of their current domains, even the drow themselves, who rarely mustered sufficient numbers in their outposts to withstand any sort of straight-up conflict with a cretok invasion force. There was a reason the Undercity lay in the very deepest bowels of the Underrealm. Little wonder that Sigrun looked even grumpier than usual.

The briefing concluded, the dark elf climbed up onto the bench of the elk-cart, sitting amidst the pair of senior Yaegirs with her comforting hat-brim pulled low. The elk's apparent name, "Honey Pepper," made Vel'duith grin whenever she heard Sigrun speak it; she resolved to ask Voe when next she saw the tiefling ranger what honey peppers actually looked like, and what one might cook with them.

The ever-chaotic weather in the Spine seemingly served up some fresh novelty for the drow nearly every day. Today's offering was a cold, chilly mist that stubbornly clung to everything, obscuring all but a handful of fathoms ahead of the plodding elk-steps, while somehow making the sunlight come at her from all directions at once, albeit somewhat diffused. She laughed at Kasrkgorak's comment on the weather.

"Indeed, Karskgorak, though this clammy mist does at least dim the sun some slight amount. I fear I am still adjusting to it, even after dweomering the brim of my hat to grant my eyes some additional relief."

She turned toward the dwarf. "Sigrun, if I could ask - might you have any family in this dwarf-town we are headed to?"

Sigrun Flintfeet
Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher
 
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Sigrun sat beside Vel'duith, holding the reins to Honey Pepper. Indeed, the mist made it troublesome to see, but so long as they stuck to the road, they would be unlikely to stumble across any wheel-gouging rock.

Hojen's warning lingered in her mind like a stubborn stone in a shoe. If Karskgorak and Vel'duith were like to spark animosity in the village, she couldn't help but wonder why they of all people were to join her. Was it some elaborate test on Gabriel's part? Or a subtle nudge from the Warden to ease up prejudices in the town itself? Perhaps there was another reason entirely that Sigrun wasn't aware of.
Vel'duith Voiryn said:
She turned toward the dwarf. "Sigrun, if I could ask - might you have any family in this dwarf-town we are headed to?"
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Family. She was reminded of the unanswered letter in her quarters, and a chill layered in her gut, as if the clammy mist had managed to seep through her skin. She had hoped to avoid any mention or indeed sight of kinsmen, but she didn't see any way to evade this possibility.

"Aye, I may have . . . one. Distant cousin on my mother's side." A complete footstool of a dwarf, if mutters among her family amounted to anything. The crazed loon had spent too much time in the open air, they'd said. Which made her wonder what they might say about her, who was likely to spent more time under the open sky. Especially now that everyone were waiting for her . . .

The cart rocked, a wheel snagging on a fat branch. Sigrun hadn't seen the obstacle, and it caused a jolt through everyone seated in it - including the dessicated corpse wrapped up in the back. Sigrun reverted her attention back to the road, cursing inwardly.

"Name's Torjen Flintfeet. A cobbler, or 'master' cobbler as he likes to address himself." Sigrun scoffed. He also happened to be a spirited talker. If he saw her, word would surely reach home. It was not without significant hope in her voice that Sigrun added: "We might not meet him. He's a travelling sort. Could be in the next town or beyond for his work."

Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher
Vel'duith Voiryn
 
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“well at the very least, he will not find us struggling over a broken cart!”

Karsk chimed in with a chipper tone to his deep and hearty voice. Clearly, whatever investigating he felt he needed to do with the cart was done with how well the structure of the thing had taken its unexpected, stick based, bump.

“But, regardless! I would quite like to meet a master cobbler, and a cousin of Yaegir Flintfeet besides. Perhaps he could make me some sandals that do not break at the strap? Ga-hahahaha!”

Conversation ebbed and flowed as the trio made their way for the nearest pass though the ridge that divided the Crobhear region from the lands allowed by the dwarves for human settlement.

It was the same pass which Sigrun and Honey pepper had gone through just a couple nights before. though now, with the daytime sun, it could be seen how the pass had been artificially expanded at some point. Wide enough to fit the cart through likely twice over, with the fine stonework of the dwarven imperial style adorning the supports and walls that kept the mountain ridge from collapsing in.

By the time the pass had been crossed, the morning fog was subsided, and the vista that greeted the trio was breathtaking in its immensity.

It was the largest valley on the western slope of the spine, reaching all the way from the highlands to the midlands with little more than a gentle lip preventing it from going all the way to the lowlands as well. Warm grey stone and bright green grass blended together to create a sprawling partner to the cloudy sky up above. Though unlike the sky, ancient ruins and works joined the cloud-like stone as well. Roads and towers and statues that spoke to the strength of dwarven empire just as much as the widened pass. Though, these works bore the marks of centuries past far more clearly, for one reason or another. There were also, many settlements of various sizes. Some were in ruins themselves while others seemed to be flourishing. And in the far off distance, the prosperous trading town of Quarry Hill could be just about seen.

“The Grand Valley”
Karsk remarked, turning to Vel’duith.

“Most regions of the spine are addressed in wildly different manners depending on what tongue you speak, though this valley is agree upon by most to be notable for its grandness.”
 
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The drow smiled at Sigrun's description of her cousin.

"I do find myself in the market for a master cobbler, as it were! But Sigrun, you seem perhaps skeptical of your cousin's claims?"

"Folt lnaya ib'ahalii!" the dark elf exclaimed as the elk-cart emerged from the fog and the valley appeared in all its verdant majesty. She stood up and removed her hat a moment, just to fully take it in; before finally sitting back down again half-blinded, the pupils of her garnet irises having become tiny pin-points. She replaced her hat seemingly reluctantly.

"Grand hardly seems to do this place full justice, Karskgorak! O Sigrun - what surely more splendid name has your ancient tongue given to this vast, roofless cavern of cascading green, crowned by craggy gray?"

Sigrun Flintfeet
Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher
 
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"Big Valley."

The words dropped flatly from Sigrun. She wasn't even joking. Dwarves could wax lyrical all year round when it came to gold mines, diamonds, fine metallurgy and the like. But the sky and the surface?

Too big. Too vast. Too empty.

But not to her. Despite her lacking praise in words, her spirits always lifted at the sight, and she did smile as her companions acknowledged and lavished the vast, splendid vista of mountains dancing a slow ballad with valleys, all overseen by the sky.

"Aye. It is a beauty. Though my kin are not the right folk to appreciate it. Come on, let's make our way to town."

Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher
Vel'duith Voiryn
 
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The old orc smiled at the under-elf’s amazement towards the Grand Valley’s grandeur. He then nodded his head at Sigrun’s suggestion and took out ahead the cart with a spirited jaunt. A map had been provided to the trio, on how to reach the dwarven town using the old roads, as overgrown as they might be.

Karskgorak cleared the roads as they went, moving logs like they were twigs and boulders like they were pebbles. The map led them back south along mountain ridge, passing Crobhear Keep just opposite the towering peaks. Eventually, after several more hours of traveling south, the old watch tower finally came into view. Though that description hardly did the structure any justice. Compared to the abandoned and crumbling ruins that occasionally passed with faded majesty, this tower stood defiant to the withering power that time claimed to have over all things.

It was a fortress of a thing, comparable in footprint to Crobhear’s main hall but likely three times as tall. Up along the walls all manner of platforms, alcoves, and turrets jutted out, giving the whole thing a peculiar shape and texture from a distance. As did the metal piping that seemed to weave in and out across the whole tower surface, most of which seemed to empty soot and smoke from who knows what solely out the ridge-facing side of the tower. While an odd feature at first glance, This was likely meant to keep the smoke of daily life contained, for the sake of the tower’s impressive ‘crown’.

A bulbous chamber at the tower’s peak made of metal and wood and lined with windows all around. Save for a single spot facing out to the valley where sticking out was a long and wide metal tube covered in elegant filigree.

“I had wondered when mention was made about a dwarven town, if it did refer to one of many buildings or a single grand fort. it seems that now I acquire my answer.”

Karsk pushed a boulder out of the way of the cart with a heavy thud as it rolled into rocky outcropping.

“This whole stretch of the valley seems to be a forest of jutting stones, it is no wonder that this town-fort has stood when so many others have fallen. It would be no easy task to quickly march an army up to this tower’s front gate. And if memory serves, even when Gobar’Nhan lade claim to grand Valley in eight generations past, this tower was the one surface monument to dwarven control that did not fall.”

Karsk then pointed up at the top of the tower.

“One of my predecessor’s was present for clan Nhan’s greatest attempt to take the tower. She witnessed how the top of it would move and watch the army from a great distance with a crystalline eye embedded in that large metal tube. It was a failure that embedded itself deeply in her memory and the survivors of clan Nhan. Even now, us orcs preserve our respect, by speaking of armies and warriors that fight, as if guided by crystal eyes.”

“But such matters are in the past, we march now this time for more civil cause than some great invading horde.”
 
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Vel'duith's jaw fell open as they drew near the distinctive, bulb-topped tower. It cannot be... She turned to look toward the town proper and gasped, trying to mouth words but failing. They have added new defenses, certainly, but 'tis the same tower! Her breaths came quickly as she turned to face Sigrun, as wide eyed as when she examined the mummy in the main hall.

"Sigrun... I know now why Seelah called me specifically here to atone. I have been here before."

The dark elf took a series of controlled breaths before continuing, deliberately slowing herself from hyperventilating, rubbing her temples vigorously to avoid falling into the flashback pressing against her mind's eye.

"When I was a girl of but twenty-one years, some 133 autumns ago... for my training cadre's final test, we were sent here, to this very town. Our yathrin told us that the dwarves mustered to move against the Undercity. We were ordered to find where the warriors slept and overwhelm them there. Only... there were no warriors. None at all. Whilst my cadre-mates set fire to houses and took chase against any and all unfortunates fleeing the blaze, my abillen - meaning my house-cousin and our closest ally within the cadre - they came with me to keep trying to seek out the army, lest they fall upon us for slaughter. We soon came to this tower. We breached the wards guarding that very third-story window just above us, and we ascended the stairs to the top despite two clever traps laid along the way. In the topmost room - it must be that bulbous thing, we could not see it clearly that night, for the fire-smoke from the town - we acquired and made off with the master's spellbook, a fine battleax, and as many potions as we could carry. We hurried back to the Underrealm to warn the yathrin that we were too late, and the army had already left."

"Sigrun - I can only say for ourselves that we three slew no one from the town. We left two small stone-children alive in the tower where they hid beneath their bed; they may yet reside here. It is all that I can say for myself and my abillen, however, because many, many in the town were lost to the carnage wrought by our cadre's raid. I feel that I must reveal myself to the tower-master as its one-time burglar, and undertake whatever tasks of repentance he may demand of me, in addition to my obligations to the Noct Yaegir."

Sigrun Flintfeet
Karskgorak Fiend-Crusher
 
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