Open Chronicles An Open Daght

[Farzad Oldsummer]

Plumes of smoke rang into the sky with drizzled motion, sophomoric winds playfully catching and rolling them between each breath. Down it went, the long lingering new clouds that seemed to be consumed by the wilting moonlight. The day was approaching that solar formation to gaze and stare upon it's world, seeking and reeling back the darkness and with it the damned and the dead. Hallow's Eve may be over but the last remnants of it's beautiful encore still clawed into this world screeching in final gambits.

Farzad though was not phased. He was unphased. One might even say his phasement was like a ghost in that the phase was ethereal and not really phasing anymore due to properties he didn't quite understand. Sort of in the same way he didn't quite understand why or how Hollow's Eve worked. Something about spirits he assumed. Though again, he, was unphased. Instead he was far more phased with finding that sweet spot where his toes and feet sizzled at the warm cusp of the firepit but didn't quite get charred and burnt from licking embers and cinders. It was tough but he was worming his way into finding it.

All the while, absently he lit a few more incenses, strong odorous stuff born to invite and detur. The undead would leave but teh curious would stay. In fact, anything Sentient should want to come in as he laid his body on a small rock of lichen and moss, himself with what amounted to candy drinks. Cold liquid made sweet to an almost bitter taste sat at his side, the moss was a flourish to the drink, letting the otherwise wet sop absorb some of the flavour. He wasn't sure if it would work. But what was the harm in trying as he narrowed a toe closer to the firepit, relaxing on his day off on that sweet cusp of day and night. He would call it...

Daght. No... No that sounded dumb.

But he'd work on it. ​

 

[Namidre Dhendizad]

She ran. This was the sixth time since leaving her home that she'd been caught by slavers, the second time she'd escaped from them. But she knew better than to stay still, she ran, and she ran far. Trying to get as far away as possible so that the enchantments she was able to detect in the steel collar that hugged her neck kicked in.

She had tried removing it, only to find that it had essentially become one piece of metal, no hinge, no lock, seamless and solid. So it was stuck on her, but that could be handled later.

She stumbled on a root and fell face first into the ground, but she didn't stop there. She just happened to land on a slope and she slid a good ways down. Which brought her into sight of a fire and the smell of incense. A priest? Surely they'd help her, so she ran in that direction, so that she might ask for help.

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

Tranquility...

Silence...

Peace...
​

These were the three ingredients that Farzad always seemed to lack. He put a finger onto a ladle, rolling and swishing his Potato's and Sproot over the dimming and licking embercast flame. He gave a long sigh, the sound of rumbling, branches snapping and panic filled the air. "Tsk... I was hoping to get a break..." He mused to himself as he peeled himself from his lichen throne, tiny flecks of moss still hanging and drooping to his figure of paper and fabric. He pulled up his Bandanna, a single intake of air as the crisped smoke rolled into his lungs. He sputtered and coughed.

It made a gastly sight, he was trying to be cool for his new guest as he bent hunched over on his quarterstaff, turned from a man into a feeble man denied oxygen and air as he waved and tossed his hand around, pawning off the smoke to give him some small respite. "Wh..." Wheeeeeze "Who goes there..." He inhaled and exhaled as the wind turned, giving him back the air he so desperately clung too.

 

[Sir]

Not all the undead would be turned away by the sun. At least one, still bearing the steel armor from a life wiped away, walked through the forest deep in thought. Although the morning's light had yet to filter through the thickest leaves he saw clearly through eyeless sockets. Through his thick helmet he heard, with fleshless ears, the beginning dawn chorus of birds.

His feet were clumsy, for heavy boots did not mingle well with roots, but he kept upright as his attention was drawn mostly to his hands. The gauntlets upon them had been washed ruddy and red, a color that had likewise found its way up his forearms and across the front of his breastplate. Blood of a necromancer who had claimed to be a master, blood of a man who had tried to command, and blood spilled by a creature born to confusion and fear.

He wasn't sure what to make of it all. He was a "he," he was pretty sure... or had been. He didn't understand why the man had ended his death, or why he had been so cruel. He didn't understand exactly why he had killed him, either, only that he wanted him to stop yelling, and to stop hurting.

Firelight was easily seen, and a desire to seek the company of others overtook him. Perhaps they could help. Help with what he couldn't say, but he would ponder that later.

"H... hello-" started a hollow voice, but another thing ran to the fire. The armored figure recoiled, he did not wish anyone else to attack him today.

 

[Namidre Dhendizad]

It made a gastly sight, he was trying to be cool for his new guest as he bent hunched over on his quarterstaff, turned from a man into a feeble man denied oxygen and air as he waved and tossed his hand around, pawning off the smoke to give him some small respite. "Wh..." Wheeeeeze "Who goes there..." He inhaled and exhaled as the wind turned, giving him back the air he so desperately clung too.

She didn’t even notice the knight, undead or not. Her focus was on whoever was beside the fire. Which turned out to be what appeared to be an elderly man haunched over a staff and wrapped roundabout in a cloak. She didn’t much care who he was or what he was, so long as he wasn’t in league with those slavers from whom she fled.

She stumbled to a stop, “Please, sir, I need help. I’m called Namidre. I’m running from some unsavory people, slavers to be specific. Please, I just need help getting away from them.”

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

Farzad was a wheeze as not one footsteps had trodden along but a duo. A pair. Technically, a quadruple of footsteps, but that seemed at best semantic and at worst nitpicky. A duo it was than. He stayed hunched over as the elf seemed frazzled and in sorts, he couldn't really blame them considering their dire strait. He had been there, a few times too many in personal experience.

He raised his hands, bringing pause to the situation. "Hold on... Hold on let's all relax..." Farzad stated, solace in his voice as soft arcane magic became limelight, accenting the curves and folds of his clothing. It was barely that, on closer inspection he was more paperwork and a litany of writings, long strands of scrolls wrapped and coiled around his body and the soft pink saturation of his clothing peaking out like eyes in darkness. He took a deep breath, and exhaled softly.

Sil Pulae Bulgel
​

His words rolled with calm sensation, his body and limelight becoming muggy and caught as fog and mist slowly pololed from around his form. Magic. Pure and unadulterated began to take every corner around the campfire, the light becoming mixed and soft nothing more than tiny sporadic specks appearing through the thick cloud. "Now. First of all."

He turned to the undead, "Hello." His words rung with the sensation of song, lifting in spirits as it seemed he was the only one keeping his calm right now. "How are you? Fantastic weather we are having no? I find the mist is quite strange for around now. More a dusk sort I feel." He mused, prodding a response at his own creation. Sometimes it's best to seem senile. This probably wasn't it. He then turned to the panicked elf, "Now, come come. Take a seat. My Sproot and 'Tater stew should be ready soon. Slavers rarely ever feed their captives I find." He shook his head, "Really an immature lot. Superstitious too." Farzad continued holding control and trying to maintain calm. He was realizing, his magic didn't actually do anything of the sort. More just to establish the ambience. "Actually, can you eat Sproot and 'Tater stew friend? You do seem to be lacking an overall stomach." He quizzed, curiosity at it's pique.

 

[Sir]

The skeleton lowered its arms as the gentle mist pooled out and the magic sparkled within it. This was different than the magic he had felt just a day or so before. This didn't hurt, or pull, or whisper evil things to him. This was... nice.

The mention of slavers had agitated him, but not to those present. He did not immediately know why, and the notion of those foul men took form slowly, like a memory being pulled from fog not unlike that surrounding them now. He remembered that they were evil, and that they would hurt poor people like this Namidre.

Farzad's voice was soothing, though, even if it surprised him. How did he know there were only bones beneath the armor? He didn't seem upset by this, merely curious. How... refreshing.

Armored feet stepped closer, and he lowered himself to the ground in a cross-legged seat. He reached up, hesitated, and then removed his helmet. The skull beneath was clean and whole, but nothing more than bone. He looked to the wizard and the elf with featureless pits and answered.

"I... do not know," he gingerly touched at his face. He had teeth, but no tongue to taste with nor a throat to swallow. He felt his armored belly and tried to imagine what lay beneath. Just an empty ribcage and backbone.

 

[Namidre Dhendizad]

She had no idea that the knight was there, she was surprised to see him there and was absolutely shocked to see he was a skeleton. But she herself had never encountered any undead before and she was not too well familiar with their bad reputation. Either way, she was only a little put off by his skull head.

She was thankful that he seemed to be willing to help, and she stood a short ways away from the fire to keep warm while remaining far enough away to make a break for it should things go south.

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

Theirs was mottled and muted footsteps in the distance. He could hear it. That familiar padding of feet, roots bent beneath a rough untrained trudging charge. Farzad took in a deep breath of the mist, it still pooled. Slowly forming and blanketing the world in it's mystical light, the final few strands of moonlight distorted and twirled in it as Farzad relaxed a little, taking his ladle and pouring out the Sproot and Tater stew, the shimmering of a single feather serving as a garnish for the meal into two small bowls all the while letting the aroma and scent fill and mix in with the mystical ambiance, the Sproot's clandestine wing and colour bedazzled in the mixture of mist and fog.

They were getting closer. Their footsteps. Farzad still seemed unperturbed.
​

"Now. Eat up Nami... Namu... Nam. Gonna go with Nam for now." He stated before turning on a heel to the undead knight. "And you can have your serving when I get a name friend. And be something easier than Namidre. Such a difficult name to pronounce." He poked in amusement, letting the aroma placate on what he hoped weren't mimicking senses.

They were now at the fog. He could hear it. They were playing in it. Plying their way through.

It wouldn't be long now.

Farzad still held the stew.​

 

[Sir]

His gaze turned from the strange wizard to the frightened elf and back again. Neither of them were frightened of him. He hadn’t met very many people yet, not since waking, but he had some lingering sense that most would be scared by him. He didn’t mind being wrong.

"And you can have your serving when I get a name friend.”

The empty sockets aligned to the twinkling of Farzard’s eyes, and although their direction could not be pinpointed, it certainly felt like they were staring directly at him. He thought, trying to wrest some answer from the aether that clouded his head.

”I do not remember.” There was disappointment in the dry tones, and the gaze fell back down to his dirtied hands. A name... a name would be nice.

Then he looked up and past the pair of them. Where those footsteps he heard?

 

[Namidre Dhendizad]

His gaze turned from the strange wizard to the frightened elf and back again. Neither of them were frightened of him. He hadn’t met very many people yet, not since waking, but he had some lingering sense that most would be scared by him. He didn’t mind being wrong.

To say she wasn’t afraid of him was a bit of a stretch, but she wasn’t afraid of him for being undead. She was just an easily frightened woman overall.

”I do not remember.” There was disappointment in the dry tones, and the gaze fell back down to his dirtied hands. A name... a name would be nice.

She looked at him with a sympathetic expression, “I’m sorry.”

"Now. Eat up Nami... Namu... Nam. Gonna go with Nam for now." He stated before turning on a heel to the undead knight.

She took the bowl and said, “thank you sir. And Nam will work fine. What do we call you?”

She too heard the footsteps that approached them, and she looked cautiously in their direction.

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

Farzad inhaled.

An arrow was flung.

Farzad exhaled.

A roar and commotion.

Farzad turned.

They had arrived.
​

The mist had twisted the arrow. Or, more specifically warped Farzad's figure and form in the bubbling and rolling mists. The thick blanket was a shield that turned distance into a mystery. He took a single step forward, allowing the aroma of a warm hearth and comforting food to take to the air.

"Hello."
​

Farzad repeated and greeted. A sly smile ran along his lips, though hidden beneath his bandana mask. He allowed his eyes to shimmer, rolls of arcana and magic to shimmer as the mist slowly continued it's dance around the people gathered. "Would you like some..." Than came the rumbling, the footsteps were stark and shrieking in the calm twilight of dawn, the first true rays of sunlight glinted over the deep horizon, funneled and flickered between rumbling leaves. And the first swing of a blade was swung, another arrow darted with failed trajectory and landed in the husk of a fallen tree. Farzad was quick, ever so slightly quicker as if he exhausted just enough effort to counter. His staff stabbed the man in the gut, the thick knobby wood placating his bellybutton and making a comfortable seat before he used momentum to fling the man over his shoulder and just a hairs breath away from his Sproot and Tater soup. But not far enough away that licking flames didn't do magic to his hari.

 

[Sir]

A short and piteous moan escaped the skeleton’s fleshless throat as arrow and sword made their presence known. He could not see them through the fog just yet, but he could sense the tension and hostility.

He rose to his feet and stepped back as the shadow of a man thudded to the ground by the fire. He grunted again as a sword banged off the back of his armor. He turned to look, his head rotating further than it should have, to meet the shocked and terrified eyes of his attacker.

The undead knight’s gauntlet swung around in a desperate backhand, knocking the stunned assailant to the ground. These must be the bad men the elf had spoken of, and out of instinct he looked to where she was.

He could see others converging on her. ”No!” came the dry and stagnant plea, and he drew his sword without thinking, charging across the firepit to block their assault. The blade caught a slaver in the chest and sent him tumbling backwards.

There were no specific memories that drove him, but a deep-seated conviction. He knew that he must protect this person, and so he did.

 

[Namidre Dhendizad]

She was easily frightened yes, but she was not defenseless. The small horde of oncoming slavers was definitely an issue, and something that merited a reaction. She jumped back, away from the nearest slaver and flung from her hand a bright blue projectile that tore through the slaver’s chest, a comet. But she was not in the clear, in fact, had she not been defended by Sir she likely would have been taken out of the fight.

She summoned another comet, ready for use.

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

A few more arrows were flung, and this time they had managed to make their mark through foggy shapes. One had punctured through his left shoulder, another landed carefully into his quarterstaff, the metal bridging keeping the staff in shape while the third and final had only managed to graze his feet.

Farzad was quick to slump back. A slavers blade coming an inch from his face as he caught a glance of a rock cracking and slamming into one of the slavers. Huh... Rock magic... His mind was still wistful before he cracked back into reality, the slaver had twisted his blade, going in to thrust for Farzad's gut before he could flare open a spell. It was an overlap, the blade had cut through an inch of fabric before the first limelight of arcane truly flared. Not that soft pitter patter that it had been up until this point.

Real, real and primal magic.

La Felza Fore

The blade grew deep and jagged, the first two inches made it into his stomach before the man was growing limp. Flesh. Muscle. Bone. Limbs.

Flesh. Muscle. Bone. Limbs.

Flesh. Muscle. Bone. Limbs.

Flesh. Muscle. Bone. Limbs.

They were hungry.
​

If they had an equivalent in nature, they were piranhas. Starved, vicious Piranhas. Except whatever they touched, they seemed to eat in equal measure. One brushed against an arm and the first layer of flesh was exposed. Another moved through a body with little resistance, a short burrowing motion as it left nothing except a casam for the mystical light to fade and flicker through. The benefit, was they were slow. Except for the one directly in front of him. He was nothing more than a multitude of gaping holes, a mouth hung half chewed and left agaped as whatever wisps of wind were left in his lungs were now to be found in the deepening chasm of his chest.

 

[Sir]

The flash of the comet reflected off of his breastplate, and he was momentarily stunned by its splendor. Its violence almost matched the beauty, and he did not like it quite as much as he had before it smashed through the person ahead of it.

The fog had changed, and it was little easier to see through now. The skeleton could tell that the slavers had come with great force, but few numbers. The two he and Namidre had slain were joined by a single reinforcement, whose swing was interrupted by his horror at what he saw. He had only hesitated for a moment, but it was long enough to allow for a parry and a swift kick to the gut. He sputtered on his back, sword discarded, as the risen knight loomed over him and pointed his blade at the injured chest.

”Do not rise.”

He turned his head with a quiet sliding of bone to see if Namidre remained safe, and let nis naked jaw fall slightly slack and the horrific scene that Farzad had created.

 

[Namidre Dhendizad]

Namidre’s second comet tore through another slaver and she looked around to see if there were any other threats to take care of, but the only potential threat was currently being subdued by the skeleton knight. She smiled at him in thanks before turning her attention to Farzad and his show of graphic disembowelment.

She wasn’t exactly good at keeping her food down with things like that but she’d killed a few people with comets and didn’t throw up near as often as she used to. Luckily she hadn’t eaten much, and it all stayed down.

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

Farzad was rather undisturbed. The bolts of magical energy leeching and siphoning the corpses to leave little in the way behind helped to alleviate the whole cleaning up process. Really it just made it easier for him to turn on a foot and return to his Sproot and Tater stew. All that was left was the archer slinging arrows. But what was that when the inorganic bolts of magic danced like haunting silhouettes through the unperturbed mist. Nature didn't care.

Which was also, true of Farzad.
​

Little extreme don't you think.

You assume I think?
​

Y... How else do you explain talking to me?

Jazz Hands
​

Di... Did you just say Jazz Hands?

Well you don't have a concept of reality. Nor can you see what I do.
​

Fair.

In that entire dialogue he had made himself comfortable by his seat once again, the throne of moss and lichen sticking sensation against his clothing as he took a deep sip of his soup. He was ignoring the arrow that still lodged out from his shoulder, a passive smile between the duo. "So. No name huh? Tough." He took in another audible slurp, a piece of sproot stuck on his teeth as he looked at the duo. "Oh, do you two know each other by the by? Introductions would be in order if not." He continued, rather still blissfully ignorant that he had yet to introduce himself.

 

[Sir]

The man beneath the point of his sword continued to whimper. He might have said some things about giving them money or giving up the slaver life, but it was hard to hear when the knight was so distracted by the fantastic events around him.

It was horrific, but beautiful in its own way as the energy bolts consumed their adversaries. Farzad had resumed eating and was seemingly unaffected by the battle. It was almost as if it had never happened.

"I think I had a name once," he turned down to Namidre. "I do not know her. Hello." His pitch was monotone, but his intent was genuine. Etiquette hadn't been raised alongside him, and it was coming back very slowly.

"Should this one live or die?" he asked the elf, swiveling his head almost completely around to look at her from Farzad. She had been the one they were chasing, after all. She would know best whether the lone survivor could be trusted.

 

[Namidre Dhendizad]

“No, I don’t know him either. It’s occurred to me that we don’t know your name either.”

"I think I had a name once," he turned down to Namidre. "I do not know her. Hello." His pitch was monotone, but his intent was genuine. Etiquette hadn't been raised alongside him, and it was coming back very slowly.

The skeleton was an odd one. She didn’t disdain him for it though, she found it funny truth be told. “I’m Namidre, it’s nice to meet you. Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

"Should this one live or die?" he asked the elf, swiveling his head almost completely around to look at her from Farzad. She had been the one they were chasing, after all. She would know best whether the lone survivor could be trusted.

“That depends.” She turned to Farzad, “Do you know any nearby settlements? If so why don’t we bring him in and turn him over to the authorities. I’d rather not kill him here but if he’s going to be more trouble than he’s worth we should just kill him to save us all some trouble.”

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

Farzad was finally called out with little place to rebuttal. He took in a long plume of smoke mist and air, the heavy concoction rolling in his mouth before coming out as a dirty cloud, shaping and twisting not by magic but by skilled craftsmanship.

Dang.
​

"Well, depends on where you are and who you ask. In the big cities, I'm known as King Applewine. In College of Elbion, more annoyance." He replied, dragging a finger through the cloud as he destroyed his small image of a fluffy if dirty bunny. Good work. If we keep using our Synonyms Farzad they'll never know. "But most people just call me Farzad Oldsummer." Asshole.

As he rounded that off he took in another bite of his food before raising a finger. The despondent shapes of light were flickering through the mist, hungry cats to an injured bird wisped and wrought slowly around the slaver the mists and shapes were methodical as they slowly one by one were dissipating from reality. "No idea really. I think I saw some buildings across the moor. I mean, it being a moor is a pretty good indicator though." He explained before having a hearty slurp of soup.

 

[Sir]

”It is... nice to meet you... too,” he answered, the words feeling somewhat familiar in his tongueless mouth. He then turned his head to Farzad and repeated the phrase. ”It is nice to meet you.” Yes, that felt right. That was what people said at introductions.

The man on the ground continued to tremble, and the skeleton continued to hold his blade to the quivering throat. He would never tire, nor grow hungry, so he had no reason to move from the position that gave him control over his enemy. If need be, he could pin the slaver down all day.

He had already decided to accompany this band wherever they went, at least until he felt that Namidre would be safe. He hadn’t been ordered to, and he couldn’t explain why, he just thought it to be the right thing to do.

 

[Namidre Dhendizad]

"Well, depends on where you are and who you ask. In the big cities, I'm known as King Applewine. In College of Elbion, more annoyance." He replied, dragging a finger through the cloud as he destroyed his small image of a fluffy if dirty bunny. Good work. If we keep using our Synonyms Farzad they'll never know. "But most people just call me Farzad Oldsummer." Asshole.

“Farzad? A nice name.” She said with a smile.

”It is... nice to meet you... too,” he answered, the words feeling somewhat familiar in his tongueless mouth. He then turned his head to Farzad and repeated the phrase. ”It is nice to meet you.” Yes, that felt right. That was what people said at introductions.

She smiled. He was a delightful skellington. She looked down at the slaver, who glared back up at her. She looked away from him to Farzad, “Which direction were they in? They might actually be the slavers den.”

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

Tut. Tut. Tut. Tut. Tut.
​

He rolled his tongue in loud musings, looking left, right, up and down and one quizzical glance between the two towards a patch of empty sky. In the meantime he pointed his finger, following his gaze with an expression of confusion.

Tut. Tut. Tut. Tut. Tut.​

"I'm... I think... Mayhaps..." He said aloud in his findings. His findings of course being that he couldn't quite seem to remember where it was. "I'm not quite sure." He finally got out. "I'd assume in the direction I came. But I don't quite remember which way that was." He was rather straightforward, if a little curious to see how the duo would than handle this new addition.

 

[Sir]

He liked Namidre’s smile, it seemed to make the morning a little bit warmer... but that could have been the steadily growing daylight.

He looked about, the mist now dissipated, and saw the heavy tracks in the ground around them. The footsteps were easy enough to follow. ”They came from that way. There might be more.” He did not wish to encounter more slavers, so traveling in the opposite direction seemed a good choice.

The slaver beneath him took the skeleton’s diverted gaze as a chance to escape, and started to scramble on his back. A heavy armored boot fell on his chest to which he responded with a pained groan. The empty gaze had returned to him in full, and a question formed of its own accord in the empty calvarium. ”Where did you come from? Why are you chasing her?”

His own curiosity startled him.