[art cred]
Somewhere near Iuk-‘u Delta, at the start of the River Iuk.
Kalix disliked missions that were to the east of Vel Anir. More specifically, when one went past the Falwood and what Kalix liked to call the big three: Alliria, Dornoch, and Oban, one would find themselves in territories that held some sort of extremity to them. Freezing weather and ice, lots of mountains or a lot of flat, barrenness. However, there was one sort of terrain that Kalix despised the most: marshes. The ground was wet, the air was wet, Kalix was wet, everything wet, wet, wet.
And despite using the portal stones to ease up on the traveling, the Ixchel North Stone was still incredibly far from their destination. Plus it’s not like the scenery was all that spectacular, at least not to someone like Kalix.
But they were finally here, finally at their destination. Kalix hoped that the moment they crossed the old bridge made out of rotting wood and covered in moss that there would be nothing else for them to do. Go into the cave, dismantle the bandits and their leader (no trial needed to be held, the initiates were given full permission to kill) and retrieve the stolen items. A book, a ornamental dagger, a crown, a necklace, and a abacus. These were Anirian treasures that had been stolen from the Royal Family’s historic and grand vaults and needed to be brought back by any means necessary.
It also meant that if the initiates brought them back broken in any sort of way that they were screwed. And not in the way that Kalix liked to be screwed. Post-revolution didn’t mean that one could go unpunished for failure. Kalix didn’t even want to think about what could possibly happen to them if there was even a scratch on that crown or if a page had been ripped from that book.
Kalix’s feline features were scrunched up in a scowl as he expertly tied his hair back, making sure every long, dark strand was neatly out of his face. The entrance of the cave could be seen from where the motley crew stood, an ornamental wooden archway with wood that was beginning to rot as well, being so close to the large Iuk river. The air was heavy with the scent of rain, the sky a dull blue with gray clouds beginning to form overhead, something that Kalix realized was a rather consistent feature on their travels over here. Kalix squinted his gold eyes. What were those strange things hanging from that archway? Wooden tiles? Weird.
These bandits had no sense of style, or home improvement.
Kalix looked at the rotting bridge that seemed to float on top of the thick, still green water rather than to be built over it. One wrong step and he’d fall right in. He shuddered at the thought. Water. He never did well around water. The anxiety prickled at his gut, growing stronger the more he looked at the bridge until it felt like his stomach but nothing more than upset hive of wasps that were trying to escape. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and then grabbed his beloved pernach off from it’s slot on his hip.
“Listen up! I’m the strongest so I’m in charge! We go in, we kill everyone, and someone is gonna carry the stuff back and it’s not gonna be me!” Kalix was actually using his inside voice although his voice was still raised two or three volumes too high. With that command finish however, he pivoted on his heel and began to march over to the bridge, his gold eyes a blaze of ferocity.
If only just being fierce was what was needed for this mission.
