Fate - First Reply A Rude Awakening

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Cormund Augur

Cormund Augur

Doomsayer
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Cormund rolled his eyes while the bandit poked him with a stick repeatedly, flashing a grin with a few gaps.

"C'mon, eh? Tell my fortune."

The bandit continued egging him on while another whittled, two more played cards, and another two napped. Still one more drove the cart that they were riding on. Cormund sighed into his reply while he looked at the passing woods on the road going East.

"I told you, I only know when bad things are going to happen, and I can't focus it on just you."

"So what's something bad that'll happen to me, huh?"

If he weren't shackled to the cart he'd be tearing his hair out. He couldn't believe he'd been captured while he was sleeping. He didn't think anyone would he stupid enough to harm a dreadlord, even an initiate, this close to the Anirian Reach. He was so close to Vel Cirak where his assignment was, and now this cart was just taking him further south, down to the Falwood.

"You're gonna get k-killed when they come find me, for starters."

Cormund grunted after being poked in the ribs hard by the bandit.

"A real one, you sod. Not often I get to speak to a soothsayer for free. Know you arent fibbin' coz you're a dreadlord, kid or not. Now tell me somethin' 'fore we get too deep in the Wood"

"W-What makes you think the elves will pay anything for me? We're not even at war"

"Got good Intel they're looking for Dreadlords right now, beats me why, maybe to torture but-"

"ZIPPIT!"

The bandit at the reins shouted suddenly, startling the one poking Cormund. He glared at the driving man for a second before shrugging and turning to the two playing cards, getting them to deal him in.

Cormund knelt there, magic dampening shackles pinning him to the cart. He wished he was any other dreadlord right now, able to swiftly dispatch of seven by himself while shackled. If he could just get the damn things off him. He brought his gaze up and to the left where his horse, Hemlock was led along.

Gods if only they didn't have his Horse.

Once more he looked at his surroundings. The vegetation was thick off the roadsides, it was more like a path, probably a smugglers road. Wasn't he supposed to have a second on this mission? It was strange they hadn't showed up yet. He shifted his body into a more comfortable position and got ready for a long ride...
 
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The cart trundled down the meagre path, wheels churning earth and clacking over roots creeping over the path, the forest overstepping its bounds on human soil. The trees whispered secrets to one another in the wind; dark things -- things only they had seen. Bloody deeds far from the vigilant eye of Vel Anir, and well beyond the reach of human law. In nature, chaos and death bloomed like wild oaths. The roots remembered all the blood spilled here, drinking it like any falling rain. And now, they thirsted for more.

Any traveller on this road could feel it. That tight grip in their throat, the tension in their chest, expecting to see someone step beyond a tree -- a sudden arrow -- a pack of glinting, yellow eyes and bristling fur. Anything. But the gnarled oaks and plane trees that sloughed off their own bark merely teased the wary traveller with the possibility of an unwanted stranger around every corner. A gentle mist lingered close to the ground, like a carpet rolled out by the dark mind of the woods, inviting errant souls to their doom.

Perhaps this had prompted the leader of these outlaws to silence his flock. Perhaps he sensed what this forest had in store for him. A flutter of wings brought some heads to look up. Black, beady eyes looked back down upon them. Two crows, one on either side, observed them like a lonely audience gathered for a spectacle -- or an upcoming feast. Faint metallic clinks, like weak woodchimes, issued from iron anklets around their thin talons.

And at last, after many a bulbous tree, twisted in their petrified dance, mocking in their nebulous danger, they parted and produced a figure. A tall one; wreathed in a black, ragged smock, hood drawn over his head, dark-grey hair and beard spilling out as rampantly as the undergrowth about him. The hood shadowed his eyes and the wind tousled his braided beard, slightly swaying like some distant silver snake. He was leaning against a smooth walking staff, both hands grasped around it for support. Staring straight at them.

The wheels of the cart ground to a halt.

"Oy, who goes there?" The leader cried and stood up, addressing this old wanderer. Their horse snorted, smelling anxiety. "Speak up, man."

The figure didn't answer them. Instead he drifted behind a tree trunk; and the trees conjured him away gleefully.

Cormund Augur
 
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The cart lunched to a stop, bringing Cormund forward with it, hitting his head on the wood. Bringing it up, the forest seemed noticeably darker, like dread was dripping from the leaves themselves. His visions danced at the periphery of his sight, leaving the lead bandit his focus, looking off to the right somewhere. His eyes were wide and posture straight, the highwayman looked like a deer startled in the woods. The other bandits followed where he was looking, so naturally Cormund did as well.

Seeing this older man was nothing but confusing at first. He looked harmless, like he couldn't walk without the staff he held. Was he lost? At first he couldn't understand the bandits trepidation, but a shiver ran up Cormunds spine as the man slipped back into the thicket. Then, he understood better than most.

"Mortivore..."

The name escaped his lips in a whisper. He had never spoken to the man, just seen him. Once. An academy trip to The Palace in Vel Anir, walking through the hallways. Their group was being lectured about the portraits on the walls, the various important dreadlords and statesmen that they held, when Cormund began to stare off like he often did.

He was witnessing a vision of a man looking confused and screaming for his mother. Like in a dream, Cormund just knew things he couldn't possibly know about the man, mainly that he was having his memories stolen one by one. Then in the vision he saw the one responsible, an older man with a long braided beard and a bored look on his face. Cormund jumped and yelled when he saw the man step out of the vision and into his real world. He and Cormunds proctor exchanged words, where he heard the name Mortivore. It wasn't one he would soon forget. When the Dreadlords eyes settled on Cormund for a moment, it was like he saw an aura of dread about him. His presence of mind returned to the moment, not knowing if he should warn the bandit

"Oy! Give us your name and your business, you shriveled prune!"

The Bandit vaulted the seat and walked hastily to the treeline. It seemed he wasn't happy about having been seen mid kidnapping. Something in Cormund didn't want to see the man suffer such a horrible end, even if he was an enemy.

But he kept his mouth shut as the thief grew closer to his fate.

The horses grew restless.
 
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