Open Chronicles Dying to Find Something to Live For

[Varys]

A small permanent village built onto one of the more forgiving sections of the Aberresai Savannah during the wet season.
​

Varys did his best to focus on nothing but the sound of his shoes on the shoddily pathed scrubland as he burst from the small trading post building in the center of the village. The sound of alarmed shouts and enraged swears followed him out of the door. Hey! Stop, Thief!" He heard the shopkeeper he'd just been talking with rather cordially call behind him. He closed his eyes and shot down the path he'd come into the village from as fast as his less than well-nourished legs could carry him.

It had been an unplanned theft. Varys had left his home of Fal'Addas with nothing but a paltry few coins and the clothes on his back about a month ago, on a search for his own reason to be alive. It sounded morbid, but for Varys it was legitimate question; He'd spent his childhood with a man who only spoke to gave him a name, and otherwise only kept him fed and nothing more, and when he perished, the young elf had fled to the city of Fal'Addas, where he'd lived as a vagrant swindler up until just recently.

He'd visited his so-called father's cabin one more time before he'd left though. It had been ravaged by the wildfires that once plagued the land, but he nonetheless found something he'd never seen before: His father's journal. The book contained all manner of topics written in language that he couldn't even begin to understand, but it was on the page that had been bookmarked that he'd found something unexpected.

His name, circled and written in large letters, connected by a line to a drawing of another object beside it, labelled with the word 'Prism'.

He didn't know what this Prism was, or how it was connected to him, but it was the only lead he had to a purpose. If this Prism the book mentioned had the answers, it was worth seeking out, right? He figured it had to be some sort of magical artifact or treasure, judging on the magical terms he could make out from the rest of the journal. That in mind, he'd taken the chance to check every bookshop, library, or any other trading post for information on magical items. Kind of like the book he'd just stolen, tucked away snugly in his jacket, with that very same Prism emblazoned on the front cover.

He was confident in his ability to outrun any pursuers, but he continued to hear the whizzing of arrows as the flew past his head. Turning for a moment, eyes partially obscured by the white hair that had fallen down his forehead as a result of his sweating, he saw two... no, three men armed with bows trained on him, struggling to keep pace. They were far too slow, though. He was able to make it out of the village gate with only a few scratches from grazed arrows. They hurt, and his clothes were a bit torn up, but they were rags anyways. He'd made off with the goods.

Just to be safe, and to ensure no stray arrows followed him out, he ducked behind a large rocky outcropping a ways out from the gate. As he did though, he felt his body collide with something large, and rather foul smelling. Falling back onto the ground, he looked up at the tall, yellow skinned creature that he'd accidentally just headbutted, now looking down at Varys.

A Savanna Troll, and an angry one at that.

Varys felt the heat of the irritated monster's breath blanket him, and found himself paralyzed in fear. "T-this..." His dry lips struggled to form words. Maybe if he'd been on his feet and armed he could escape, but he'd already hit the ground, and he'd never wielded a weapon in his life save for his fists. Varys suspected that fists wouldn't do him much good. His hands dug into the scrubland as he attempted to pull himself away.

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty Boy liked the Savannah. It was the perfect temperature even in the warm season for the devourer, and he had found steady work in a nearby village trading rabbits. He ate some of them, stuffed the rest in his pouch, and traded them for room and board. A roof over his considerable head, away from the rains that plagued the land this time of year, and one bath a week. He was also able to save up some coin. Once the hunting ran dry he would have to move on.

He tilted his head at the man across the counter, who was counting out coins for the antelope he’d recently delivered. “Here. Fifty silver.” The shopkeep offered him a pouch, which Pretty delicately took with his lips and tucked into his throat pouch. Fifty more silver. He was making good progress.

“Hey! Stop, Thief!"

Pretty lifted his head and looked toward the shout. A boy was running down the street, away from the shopkeeper. The guards apparently thought it serious enough to fire arrows.

“Best just mind your business there, monster.” The butcher grunted at him. “No good comes out of elves like that.”

Pretty trotted out of the gate curiously, tilting his head. His great form was perfectly suited to the terrain here; six feet at the shoulder, with massive clawed paws and his shirt velvety fur. He saw the boy duck behind a rock and slam right into a troll. Well. Maybe he could help the shopkeeper?

The boy didn’t deserve to be stomped by a troll but neither did he need to be stealing. Pretty bellowed to get the troll’s attention, shaking his head back and forth to display his tusks. He was more than a match for a troll, but he’d rather just scare the monster off.

Varys

 

[Ezra Archiva]

A deep sigh of relief left Ezra's lips as the village slowly came into sight on the horizon, after who knows how many hours of riding his steed through the Savannah. At long last—a nice, warm bed, away from that near-constant rainfall he so dreaded about the region. Riding through the mud on a particularly disgruntled horse with your only protection from the elements being the robes on your back was not a pleasant experience, let it be known. Being back within the realm of civilization again was more than welcome.

Of course, the only reason he had to make that journey was because of the College. Apparently, they decided it would do him good to leave the comfort of the dorms and actually see the world a bit—put those book smarts to the test in the real world, so to speak. So, they told him to pick a village and travel there over break, see if he could learn anything from the experience.

So far, all he's learned is that he's not a fan of traveling.

Ezra was pulled from his thoughts by the sudden sound of arrows embedding themselves into the dirt near him. Very shortly thereafter, he noticed the presumed target of those arrows, a young elf, quickly try to make his escape from the village.

His gaze followed the elf as they darted behind a rock, only to charge headfirst into a troll. Now that just seemed unlucky. The young mage frowned, his eyes darting between the pair and the bellowing creature that made itself known shortly after. The elf was in a pretty precarious situation, down on his back just in front of the troll.

He had no clue what he did that warranted getting shot arrows at, but Ezra figured it didn't warrant getting left to die by an upset troll.

The conjurer slid off his horse, raising a hand towards the elf. Runic circles began to sear themselves into the air around his wrist, churning and humming with mana. Moments later, ribbons of arcane light surged forth from his hand, wrapping around the elf's chest as they pulled him back away from the troll and into hopeful safety near Ezra.

Varys
Pretty Boy

 

[Varys]

Varys wasn't resigned to his own demise, but there wasn't much he could do now that the Troll was more or less right on top of him. He'd heard it said that you had a moment of clarity before you died, that you're entire life up to the moment of death would flash before you in an instant. The stories that people tell themselves to make them more comfortable with the idea of death...

The Troll reared back and snarled, prepared to enjoy it's unexpected prey before Varys heard something else in the distance. It sounded like another beast, but not a troll. This one sounded even more ferocious in nature, not that Varys could see where it came from. The Troll however, did seem to take notice, and it's attention left Varys as it's ugly, misshapen head turned towards the other bellow that had echoed through the air.

Almost at the same time as the distraction, Varys felt a strange warmth wrap around his chest, as though somebody had taken a strong blanket and tied it snugly around his torso. Looking down, he saw the light that held him now, and instinctively moved his hands to grasp at what the elf saw as restraints. As soon as his hands were no longer braced against the scrubland however, his whole body was tugged away from his dilemma, and his back slid against the arid as the magic whisked him from danger.

Craning his head to try and ascertain his destination, he inadvertently strikes his head against a small rock buried in the scrubland, it's duller side colliding against his right temple. Starts seem to swim in his vision as he comes to a stop next to his rescuer, and his vision comes in and out of focus as he tries to sit up, the side of his head throbbing. So much had just happened at once, and the knock to his head had driven him totally out of the moment.

Looking up at the blurred visage of the conjurer, he attempts to form words.

"Th'hell you...?"

Pretty Boy
Ezra Archiva

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty lifted himself up and slammed his front paws on the ground, his lips curling back from his teeth as he snarled at the troll. They were more than a match for each other but with the boy removed, Pretty considered the matter settled. He tossed his head anyway to make his tusks flash in the sun; he wasn’t about to turn his back without making a point.

There was another stranger on a horse who had ridden up, and apparently yanked the elf away. Good. Now Pretty could settle this. He wandered up to the elf as he mumbled, and nosed inside his jacket. Ah ha! A book! He curled his thick, soft lips around it and pulled it free, head bobbing a bit in excitement. They’d stopped the thief from dying but they’d recovered the stolen property as well.

He carefully lifted his tongue and tucked the book into his pouch. It would stay dry and safe until he could find the shopkeeper. He nosed at the elf, licking a cut on his temple. He seemed a bit rattled. He lipped at his hair.

Varys
Ezra Archiva

 

[Ezra Archiva]

The arcane binds, having accomplished their task, quickly loosened their grip around the young elf's torso and unraveled into nothingness. Ezra leaned down to inspect this strange character, wincing slightly as he noted the fresh cut on his temple. Unfortunately, dragging somebody to safety wasn't exactly the most elegant method, but it was the only one he could think of on a moment's notice.

At the murmured attempt at words, Ezra replied, "Just saved you from that troll, it looks like. You might want to be a bit more careful next time you're running around—that's a nasty cut to the forehead you have there."

The mage was about to say more, perhaps starting by asking why he was running in the first place, when the creature that had helped earlier came up to the two of them. Ezra watched with silent bemusement as the creature wordlessly dug through the elf's jacket, took out a book, and tucked it into its pouch with its tongue prior to licking his hair.

He had to admit, the sight left him a bit at a loss for words. He glanced down at the elf once more, casually asking, "Unless that was the most casual looting I've ever seen, I'm going to guess that book wasn't yours to begin with, right?" Ezra looked to the creature for corroboration, though he still didn't actually know if they were actually capable of speech.

Varys
Pretty Boy

 

[Varys]

He was far too shaken to do anything about it when the beast who'd drawn his attacker's attention took his prize from him. It didn't mean he didn't try to, though. He weakly swung at the creature's mouth, mumbling inaudibly as he tried to regain his senses. In an attempt at retrieval, he springs forward towards the animal, but ends up on his hands and knees in a coughing fit.

His breath is far from him as he struggles to control his breathing. The hit to his head had seriously rocked him, and he felt darkness crawl from the edges of his vision as he lowered back to the ground, falling unconscious.

Whether it was solely the blow to his head, or a combination of that with the shock of a near death experience, his body was effectively done for the day. At the very least, his breath finally calmed under the blanket of sleep that now fell over him. Losing the book was unacceptable, but his rage would be tempered for the time being.

He wouldn't forget the creature's face, to say the very least.

Ezra Archiva Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty Boy looked from the boy who had swung at him to the mage. He lifted a paw, asking attention, and wrote in the sand. Thief. He gestured with the same huge paw at the boy. Why had he stolen the book? It wasn’t like he could explain to the guards. That needed someone with a command of the language. He sighed. This was about to be interesting.

Healing place. I carry. Am NOT EAT. He drew a line under the last two words. People got so confused over that. He grabbed the elf as gently as possible, minding that injured head, and into the pouch he went. The pouch was warm, and dry, and lined with soft velvety fur similar to the fur on his nose. At the bottom, the book lay, slightly crumpled.

Pretty looked up expectantly at the mage. He really did need someone to speak common, but he also wasn’t allowing the thief to just run off. They’d heal him, then take him to the guards, and that would be that. Though he had to question the inclusion of the book. Not liquor, not food, but a book?

Varys
Ezra Archiva

 

[Ezra Archiva]

Ezra's face contorted into one of concern as he saw the elf limply try to swing against the creature, only to devolve into a painful sounding coughing fit. He couldn't say he was surprised when the elf ended up falling unconscious on the ground, haggard breaths leaving his mouth.

The mage glanced back at the creature, realizing it was writing in the sand. Ah, so he had guessed right, he stole that book. Bit of an odd thing to steal, he thought. He was a pretty avid reader of books himself, but he'd think twice before risking his life stealing one unless it truly was special.

Ezra read what the creature began writing once more. His brow furrowed as he read 'NOT EAT', though confusion quickly turned to a vague sort of horror as the creature deftly engulfed the elf.

It took a moment for Ezra to realize the creature was looking at him for an answer as he grappled with the strange sight, answering after a few seconds, "Oh, I should probably help with that." He grabbed the reins of his horse, gesturing for the creature to move forward as he walked towards the gates. "The name is Ezra, by the way."

Varys
Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty Boy looked at the mage for a moment before the other seemed to realize something was expected of him. Pretty was about to start writing again when the man shook himself of any surprise and began to lead them somewhere. He walked beside the horse, though he spared a thought to how well disciplined the animal was to have a predator equal to its size next to it, and be perfectly behaved.

Dumb horse was going to get itself eaten by a Devourer with less scruples.

Pretty paused his walk to write his name. Pretty Boy. What sort of name was ‘Ezra’? He wasn’t familiar with it, even if he liked the way it sounded in his head. Mages liked to give themselves odd names and titles in his experience. He plodded next to the horse, bobbed tail wagging a bit with the excitement of it all.

Ezra Archiva
Varys

 

[Ezra Archiva]

The horse, indeed, was not the brightest of the bunch. Having a limited sense of self-preservation was rather necessary when it came to being the mount of a mage, especially one as reckless as Ezra. The long day's journey had already tired it out some, perhaps it simply lost the passion to care about the massive Devourer beside it.

Regardless of his horse's bravery and/or idiotic stupidity, Ezra peered down once more to see what the creature had written down. Pretty Boy. The young mage's eyes glanced back and forth, to and fro, between the text and the creature that stood before him. He supposed the creature did bear some cute qualities, in a strange sort of way, that would warrant the title. "Pretty Boy. I like it, it fits you," he replied amiably. "As for the elf, I guess we'll just have to resort to calling him Elf-Boy until he comes to."

As they stepped through the gates, the archers that had been shooting moments prior now anxiously looking at the pair who carried their former target, Ezra glanced about for a place of healing they could take Elf-Boy to as he deposited his steed in a nearby stable.

His eyes soon landed upon a sign that looked enough like a medicine symbol to do, gesturing for Pretty Boy to come with him as he strode towards the door and opened it up. As the door creaked open, it revealed rows of beds on either wall, the occasional one occupied by the ill or injured.

Ezra tapped one of the nearby nurses on the shoulder to grab her attention, "Sorry, I don't suppose you have room for one more patient? He's had a pretty nasty cut on the temple and is a bit on the unconscious side at the moment." He gestured towards Pretty Boy as if that would substantiate his point, only for him to quickly realize the current position of Elf-Boy. "He's inside there, not eaten or anything, just... getting carried."

Pretty Boy
Varys

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty followed Ezra, waiting patiently as the horse was deposited in a stable. Best place for such a dumb beast in his opinion. Horses weren’t supposed to act so suicidal. Thankfully the mage found them a place of healing, and Pretty looked up at it. Interesting symbol. This was what healing places were marked with? He made a note of it, tilting his head a bit.

There were beds along the wall, and Pretty looked at the patients in them. Ah. So that was where injured people went. He left the mage to deal with the nurse staring at him speechlessly, and approached a clean bed. He hunched his shoulders, lowered his head, and a series of muscular contractions along his pouch pushed the boy out. He was loosely flopped onto the bed, and Pretty had to grab his arm to stop him rolling onto the floor. He tugged him into position and wagged his tail.

Ezra Archiva
Varys

 

[Varys]

Murmurs were the first thing Varys heard as consciousness tugged at the edges of the darkness that clouded his vision, slowly pulling back the veil of sleep that had overtaken him. His head ached with a throbbing pain that seemed to pulse in time with the beat of his heart, blurring everything around him with every rhythmic thump. Both his wound, and the symbol burned into the back of his neck reverberated pain through his form.

He'd screwed up. He'd taken the worst possible misstep at the most critical moment, and now, he didn't even know where he was. His eyes were open, glassy and foggy, not yet processing what was in front of him as he wallowed in his own failure for a moment longer. He felt the softness of a bed beneath his body, the air of a building; slightly less arid and dry than the air outside.

He clutches the sheets of the bed, attempting to push himself into a seated position. A long, uncomfortable groan spills from his lips as he forces his body to lift with his arms. It wasn't over yet. If he moved fast, he could still catch up with that... whatever it was. He could get the book back and never come back to the Savannah.

"The book..."

Gods, he could barely speak? How long had he been out? His throat was so dry it felt as though he'd been eating sand. Finally, as he sits up completely, his eyes adjust, and he takes in his surroundings.

Ezra Archiva Pretty Boy

 

[Ezra Archiva]

It took a good deal of talking to reassure the nurse that, no, Pretty Boy is not throwing up a dead body he had just eaten onto their newly cleaned bed. Though the look of vague revulsion never quite left her visage, it did meld with understanding as she came around to accepting the story upon verifying the elf was still breathing, merely unconscious due to his injuries.

Ezra breathed a sigh of relief, nodding along as the nurse explained she would get to Elf-Boy as soon as she was finished up with her current patient. Hopefully, she wouldn't take too long; the elf wasn't in the best of shape last he saw.

The mage walked over to where he had seen Pretty Boy go off in the midst of his conversation, pleasantly surprised to see the elven man now awake and aware in his bed. Leaving Pretty Boy's pouch must have had a good effect on him, then. A jovial smile spread across his face as he sat down at one of the chairs laid out beside the bed, remarking, "Oh good, you're up! I'd stay here for the time being before running off again, though—one of the nurses can probably make you feel a whole better than you do right now."

Hearing the man murmur something about the book, no doubt referring to the one he stole, Ezra replied, "Right, that. Bit of an odd thing to steal, I'll admit." He didn't elaborate any further, but it was clear there was an apparent underlying curiosity to his tone.

Varys
Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty positioned his head behind the boy, helping butt him upright and hold him there with his tusks. When he was sure he wasn’t going to flop over or, gods forbid out of, the bed he sat at the end of it. He was mumbling about the book? Pretty pulled his head back against his shoulders and made a series of hurking noises that resembled a very large cat trying to get rid of a hair ball.

Small objects were always hard to get out of the pouch. It was made for pups and transporting prey, not storage. He got the book between his teeth and showed it. He still had it but there was no way he was giving it to the thief. He set it carefully in the end of the bed and flicked it open with his lips. Despite their size, his lips were sensitive and quite careful with the pages.

What was in here that a thief would want?

If the elf tried to reach for it he’d get a good smack with a very large paw.

Varys
Ezra Archiva