Private Tales Dust

[Aeyliea]

The wind howled, carrying the sharp alkali scent of the Sea of Grass on wings of sand and dust.

The contrivance continued to grind on behind her. She did not like the thing or the creature that dwelt within. The conveyance resembled an enormous cookpot turned upside down, a crooked chimney jutting out one side and spewing white smoke that whipped away in the howling wind almost immediately. It was even black and made of iron. Two horses pulled the thing, driver's seat empty and reins tied in place. They never seemed to need direction from a driver, anyway.

Aeyliea pulled the scarf covering her face tighter and higher so that only slate blue eyes and a sliver of flesh showed, adjusted the buckler on her aching left arm so that it did not rub so much/ The air was full of sand and grit and dust, the air yellow with it and it managed to work its way everywhere and into everything. She could not see more than a mile through the haze, though that was far enough to see the next little outpost on the edge of the Sea. They were still far enough out from Vel Anir and Norwood that only small settlements existed. The region was too arid to support large populations, unless those populations were particularly hardy. The Komodi and the No'rei chiefly lived here, outside of individual settlers that never stayed long. If not for trade crossing the Sea, it would be one of the most empty places on Arethil.

She growled an oath in her native tongue as the horse she rode stumbled. She was an indifferent rider at best, but they insisted on being mounted. They also never left their wagon unless there was a specific reason for it. It had been many weeks spent out on the Savannah with a creature she did not know the name of and simply referred to as the Shrouded.

The road they followed (if it could be called such a thing) broadened as it came into town. Even calling it that might have been a stretch; there were eight buildings in total along the narrow way, and a dozen or so more scattered out away from the strip. She wouldn't be surprised if there were only a couple dozen souls living here on the edge of the grassland. She noted a cold forge and general store rolled into one, and a wayhouse for travelers to let rooms and locals to get drunk.

No one was outside. The howling wind made it unpleasant to be out-of-doors, and in any case this wasn't the time of year for trade to really have picked up. Winter still held sway in most of the world, and soon the rains would come here and make all of the roads nearly impassable for a month or two. Where there were roads, anyway.

Her horse snorted and came to a stop in the middle of the street as the great iron carriage ground to a halt and sat there, dark and ominous and silent, for a long minute. She did not dismount yet; just because they were in some kind of town did not mean anything. It was not easy to get on a horse when she had effectively one hand. No sense in dealing with any more embarrassment than necessary.

A few minutes went by. Eventually, the carriage rocked once, and the wheel on the door spun until something clicked. Opening, her patron stepped out; inky blackness obscured everything behind it as they stepped onto the ground, closing the door behind them.

The Shrouded wore a mask concealing their face, their body and head enshrouded in cloth and leather a similar shade of black to that of their carriage. Even the eye-holes in the mask showed nothing. They looked around them in a nearly comical fashion, and then clicked their tongue against the roof of their mouth. "He should be here by now," they said, the voice that of a young girl. The No'rei knew that didn't mean anything; the Shrouded did not have any one voice. "That is what I should expect, being in the wildlands," they said to themselves, this time in the tone of a nobleman, the ring of snide arrogance a perfect match for the real deal.

She said nothing, as there was nothing to really say. Apparently they were here to meet someone, although she would never have known if not for the SHrouded's presence right then. All she could do was wait to see what fresh nightmare the creature had drummed up this time.

 

[Eamon Stroud]

The wind was always a bitter thing to contend with.

It didn't matter if it blew cold air in from sea, or helped cook the ground below that bright yellow orb in the sky by dragging arid heat across the ground. In some way it found a way to creep past even the best cloak or clothing to bite at one's skin. And the savanah was no better in either regard at different times of the year. His mare trudged along at her own languid pace on the way to that little town. And the whole trip had been a miserable affair of its own if only because of the strange location.

Eamon had seldom ventured near here given the locals and their ways. They always had a strange way of simply existing without issue, and they had little need of a blade for hire. Then again the savanah usually seemed to have it's own strange way of dealing with troubles. And his lingering where no coin was to be made didn't sit well.

The cloak about his gear had offered little against the winds as he patted the old horse while they walked through the main thoroughfare. They'd made good time in their own way here, and they had come back from a bit of roaming only a bit ago when he'd caught the strange sounds. A large carriage ahead of them bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. Someone had wanted him to meet here and his only guess was that was likely the one in question. The visor dark and revealing nothing with the cloak drawn over once more as man and mare stepped closer. Even from afar, there was a strangeness to the one standing astride the carriage. As if their form never seemed to settle on one thing without revealing what was truly beneath.

The one still mounted however was easy enough to figure out. A small buckler and assortment of long pointed weapons painting a clear canvas of a fighter biding their time.

His armored hand resting against the hilts at his hip as he walked closer. A half stride taken to loop the reins over the mare before smooching at her. Both hands now free as the mare continued to follow him as he closed the distance to speak with his possible employer. Clandestine meetings were a coin toss of what was to come. Some traps, meant for him or the one seeking help, required both hands to deal with.

"Eamon Stroud." Faceless visor moving between the two as the mare came to a stop several steps behind him and pinned her ears back.

A heavy crossbow tied off to the saddle as the mare shifted and scanned the ground around her. Turning to spy the girl before fixing the carriage horses with a stare from the safety behind her rider. A troubled snort coming from her as Eamon shifted into an easier stance, resting both hands against the hilts of his swords.

 

[Aeyliea]

The Shrouded danced a little caper as Eamon appeared and made his way, the creak of leather the only sound to accompany the movement. The only sound; the eldritch and greasy feel of some kind of sorcery wafted from them like a solar wind. Aeyliea was sensitive to the arcane and thus noticed it, but it was not noteworthy. Shrouded had displayed tells and ticks of magic numerous time, even if significant sorcery had yet to maniest.

"A walking arsenal waltzes whimsically in the wind with weapons on his back," the Shrouded sang, the words melodious but off-kilter with the voice. "One kind of savage to counter another! Well met, and well met! The brooding one is Aeyliea - no, not the horse, but the horse warrior!" They tittered to themselves as if it were the funniest joke in the world.

Aeyliea scowled at Shrouded, blue eyes glittering. She cut her eyes back to the man so similarly shrouded as her employer, pulled the scarf down from her face and smiled mirthlessly. "Well met," she said in thickly accented common, tone cautious and unwelcoming. She took him in from head to toe, gleaming steel and dusty cloth and the quiet sense of danger only a seasoned warrior could exude.

Shrouded made some complicated gesture with one of their slender hands, and a leather purse clinked into their palm. They muttered to themselves, laughing at a joke no one could hear. It wasn't that they were whispering; the words were loud enough to hear, they just didn't mean anything.

Aeyliea's scowl deepended. "Not need another," she grumped at the shrouded creature, but of course she was ignored. She shifted in the saddle and winced at a particularly vicious twinge in her bad arm.

Shrouded tossed the purse to Eamon. It clinked as it flew, filled with silver. "Up front, as agreed, if the terms remain agreeable." They spoke in the tone and manner of a child. "Into the unknown go we, dancing where the dead dare not." A pause, a giggle "Because the dead can not!"

They waited, poised, eyeless gaze fixed on Eamon.