Quest The City That Can't Forget

The sun stood high in the air, beading down on the caravan with little hope for reprieve. A dry wind swept perpendicular to their path, forcing those few outside the three carriage sleds to have tightly wound shemaghs to assure they didn’t breath in too much dust. Those few within were given at least the smallest amount of salvation from the elements, able to do much without the overwhelming urge to cough at the meer inhale; through to what degree was no longer a great deal, as the few weeks they’d spent traversing the dry environment had proven harsh, forcing many to regret their decision to ever come on the expedition, and many others to actually turn back.

Each on the expedition had been hired specifically by the infamous Agron Salim, The Plague Doctor of Elbion, to search the ruins of Valen and discover the reason for the massive disappearance of life. A task given to him by the a Maester of the Fifth Order, and standing member of The Merchants Council, Eimur Emisol, a widely known mage of aggrandized reputation, mostly for his eccentric practices and fringe magic theories. Still, the mission had been given a goal, and Agron used all he had to hire the outright best he could for the expedition; knowing that with unknown dangers, and an unknown endgame, it would be far better to be safe than sorry.

Those who had been hired knew all this, set out in a caravan through the harsh climates to the west of Vel Anir for the sake of discovery; with the mild promise of riches. Few had travelled to the city since its disappearance, as innumerable rumors had sprung that the ruins were haunted, that the god’s had forsaken whatever sins had taken place and left nothing but hell in its wake, even that it stood now as a mausoleum to mankind’s impudence, that all of this is a sign of what is to come. All of these things the well versed among them knew, but the truth was that nobody had truly attempted to reach the location in many years.

No notable caravans at least.

Each group had been separated accordingly, with three carriages carrying a total of eight a piece in relatively tight quarters, each horse drawn and slowly making it through the canyons of Valen’s surroundings. They were still an hour from the city, so as anxiety began to fill in the many a few began to speak, do whatever it was they could to pass the time that much faster. Time would only tell if the connections they made today would last.​

Douglas glanced to the book in his lap, every few moments sliding a hand across to wipe away the build up of sand and grime. It was a methodical, slowly growing annoyance as his mind fell back on the events of Alliria, the death’s he had witnessed, and the results of their expedition. It was tough to focus, in those moments, all things considered. The fact of the matter was that he hadn’t seen death so close to him, so personal, and yet it stood like an aggrandized monument in his mind; the peak of his attention at any given moment.

He simply wasn’t well suited to war yet, but in time he would become accustomed to it. It was likely Agron’s plan all along.

With a sigh, he closed the book and glanced through the caravans, sitting next to the driver of the one in the forefront; leading the pack. His face was covered, fully wrapped by thin layers of cloth soaked just slightly in a mixture of sweat and water from his supplies; enough to keep cool, while keeping the dust from his respiration. Douglas’s gaze moved towards the rear, watching as Acillio wandered through next to he majority with a slow gaunt, and Douglas motioned him with a hand, hoping to catch his attention with a secondary whistle.

With that done, he glanced to the drive, speaking just over the sound of the wind;

“How close are we?”

“About forty-five minutes, then we can stretch our legs. Maybe celebrate a little… Still got that flask?”, the driver asked in his thick, Vel Anir accent.

“Of course.”, Douglas responded with an unseen smile, patting to his side pocket.

“We’ll settle down after we stop.”​

​

Just as the bickering and malpractice of conversation began to take hold, a messenger would be sent through the caravan by Douglas; a man on foot going to each caravan and informing them of their proximity to the ruins. It seemed fortuitous in timing to interrupt, as the somewhat youthful courier offered each a simple knock on the door, followed by his mission statement;

“Thirty minutes from camp. If you look outside, you’ll start to see the ruins.”, and with that said he’d move on to the third caravan, only to repeat the process.

With that said, any that looked outside would begin to be graced by the beauty that was ancient ruins; as the city of Valen seemed to be a somewhat populace town many years back. Winding through the canyon, the entire area was not yet visible, but the outskirts that they now witnessed involved up to three story buildings carved straight into the hard rock of the Canyon; built in such a way that likely helped them stay very cool in the midsummer afternoon. The architecture was beautiful and uniform between each building, though any color they once held was now faded to a subtle orange and light blue; some lacking a covering at all, it seemed.

While the more scholarly of the group could certainly identify the purpose of some buildings, their grandeur nature or statues outside giving hints to long dead gods and places of worship for example, the nature of most seemed to be nothing. Their purpose long gone, some stood collapsed or weather worn from a near eternity of winds, while others still seemed built only a few months prior, though hardly kept up with. The contrast was reasonable considering their purpose, but as the group moved deeper into the metropolis, they’d begin to witness just how large and grand some of the structures were.

For the more magically sensitive, a small ‘thrum’ or methodical vibration in the air seemed to carry itself carelessly through the ruins; bouncing off this structure, or centralizing our this figure for only a moment. It was hard to tell, exactly what this meant, but it was easy enough to assume that it was the latent echoes of magical energies used long before our society came to be known.

Even still, the city stood as a monument to a culture now gone from history; often scrubbed in certain accounts, but what stood here now was far beyond the limitations of any books description; but the magnificent city of Valen, that which stood steeped in sand, and the unknown blood of its inhabitants.

Summary -

• Each caravan has been told the time until camp is set.
• Those who look outside will begin to see the city, and the buildings slowly moving from farms to temples, to marketplaces and more.
• Those with a very strong magical acuity will notice a vibration in the air first, while the closer the group moves into the city the more others will notice as its presence increases.
• There are no obvious signs for abandonment yet.