Fate - First Reply Shifting Winds [Eretejva]

[Sigrith]

She'd kept some distance in case he'd been struck with an ailment of delirium. Having lived through the Red Mist crisis and seen what happened to others stuck inside of warped realms had given her a healthy amount of care for familiar situations. Luckily, aside from his obvious pain, he did not look worse for wear. Sigrith stepped closer as he pulled away his hood and leaned in to sniff at him.

Her enhanced wolf senses could detect nothing askew. Hackles flaring for a brief moment, the wolf glanced out at the fog. It need'nt be said she could see, hear, and smell nothing of threat.

"We should keep moving," that was the only answer here. The man had no visible injuries to heal and she was without powers to detect anything ethereal. They needed to find a way out, "Lean on me if you cannot stand."

 

[Kol]

Kol looked up at the Wolf for a moment, frowning, then slowly reaching out.

He used her to prop himself up for a brief second, simply pushing himself to his feet before drawing in another deep breath. His head seemed to spin for a moment, but The Sorcerer steadied himself and withdrew his hand from the Witches furs.

"I am alright." Kol said quietly, pulling himself together.

For the first time in his life he wished for the voices of the Dark Gods. He hoped for some sort of guidance, for a look into the future, for a whisper that might lead them to their salvation. Yet when none came, he had no choice but to continue their path.

"Watch the mists." He said softly as they trudged forward. "Whatever attacked me still lurks out there."

As they began to walk Kol could practically feel eyes settling on them. He was not sure if it was his imagination or if something lurked beyond, but he felt them all the same. The fog seemed to thicken once more, the stone pillars became twisted and fused together. Instead of tall obelisks they passed through archways and beneath bridges, all still inscribed with runes after after.

Eventually the landscape began to change, and the sounds of a roaring river echoed out.

 

[Sigrith]

Bristled against the strange nature of the realm, Sigrith kept a close track to her companion. Wouldn't do to become separated again, especially with how their surroundings was slowly evolving. When the distorted spires grew scant and the fog brought in the scent of water, only then did she get the very first inkling of not where in the tundra were they, but where in the spirit realm.

Perhaps that is why the gorge had such a history to it. It existed as not only a wound in the sprawling lands of Eretejva, but an opening into this haunted plane that could be claimed by no one but the dead.

The sound of water grew stronger and slowly the fog parted to reveal not a rushing river of grey and blue, but of deeply shadowed red.

"Rihs Hexeth," Sigrith spoke in Fiirevik, turning her gaze one way and then another, "we must walk against the current until we find the bridge."

 

[Kol]

It was there within the red that Kol saw the grinning face.

Time worked differently here. They could not have been within this...world for long, but it weighed on him as though they had stood there for a year. That time had passed within his mind, and it seemed like an age since he had seen one of the Dark Gods looking down upon him.

There within the red river he saw it. He recognized it, saw that familiar grin, but this time there were eyes along with it. Lips thinned for a brief moment, and he glanced at the Witch as she spoke. "We should be careful."

He could feel the eyes move as the two of them began their trek. Slowly they followed after the pair, watching, grin growing wider.

As they moved the mist slowly began to creep towards them. Goosebumps ran along his spine, and then a whisper rang within his ears from the River.

"Look out."​

The words barely echoed above the sounds of the river, and as he heard them Kol suddenly grabbed Sigrith and forced her down. Above them swiped a mass of shadow, rushing over their heads as a strange screech rang out through the air.

 

[Sigrith]

The dire wolf hit the ground with a grunt, hackles flared along her back and neck beneath the weight of the man. The growl that escaped her couldn't be stopped, but the screech that cut through the air above them did give her pause. It wasn't a sound she'd ever heard before nor one she wished to hear again.

"We must keep moving," the wolf snarled, "we must find the bridge. I know where we are-" she shuffled out from beneath him, hunching close to the ground, flattening herself as a second shadow screamed overhead, "take my tail, we're running."

She only waited to feel his hand on her tail before taking off and pulling him with her.

 

[Kol]

His fingers wrapped around the length of fluff, feet moving as soon as she suddenly dashed forward.

That unearthly scream echoed out behind him as he stepped, his head half turning back to see the fog part just long enough for that odd inky blackness to slam down where he had just been standing. The earth did not shift or move, yet lines of abyss spread out within the ground.

Don't let it touch you again.

The words rang within his mind, rupturing his thoughts and dragging his mind towards the chase and the chase alone.

His feet thundered against the ground as he ran, that odd blackness within the mist suddenly surging forward. It rushed into the fog and disappeared, a wisp of nothing. The sound of their steps was all the noise that could be heard, and then the creatures screech echoed.

Inky blackness poured from the mist, an odd maw of darkness opening to snap towards the Witch.

As the creature rushed through the fog seemed to part, and towards the left they could see the bridge.

 

[Sigrith]

As a wolf she was particularly quick and agile, but with the added weight of the man at her tail she wasn't as fast or as agile as she needed to be. The shade's gaping maw snapped shut just as she made to dodge - it caught her by the nape instead of the head. She would count her blessings later, presently the overwhelming horror of feeling its fangs sink into her soul had taken over.

Sigrith let loose a bloodcurdling wail of pain and seized on the spot. Eyes wide and wild, she was caught in the unexpected terror of the moment, incapable of thinking how to get free.

How did one free themselves of a soul ensnarement without the ability to touch magic?

 

[Kol]

The beast bit down onto the Wolf, and Kol half scrambled to stop himself before he fell head over heels and crashed into the both of them.

A curse echoed from his lips.

His boots skidded within the earth, foot kicking forward to stop himself as he slid to the side of the wolf. He watched as the beast crunched through the Witch's flesh. He watched as it's teeth seemed to almost sizzle, it's claws coming up to grasp at her.

Kol's fingers shifted, grasping into the air for a knife that did not appear. Another curse passed his lips, not quite knowing what to do. Then he shifted again, pulling himself down against the earth and dragging his fingers through the red river.

He cast a wave of the crimson waters over the beast, it's mouth suddenly unlatching from her skin in a shriek of horror and pain.

 

[Sigrith]

Sigrith couldn't speak over the intangible, indefinable agony she felt, but all manner of thought as the shade released her focused instead on getting to the bridge. She scrambled to get her paws beneath her again, finding her body lacking proper response time. It was a sensation akin to great and deep drunkeness that made the stories of old taverns, but it felt so much worse than that.

Her soul was having trouble staying with her corporeal form, as if the anchor that kept it in place there had been damaged. When she moved she felt her spirit lag behind and her breath start to leave her lungs.

It felt like she was trying to cling to fog to keep from dying.

Her legs buckled awkwardly, her paws fumbled for solid footing. She persisted. The bridge was so close.

But so far away.

 

[Kol]

The creature shrunk back away for a second, it's form shifting and slowly dragging through the Mist that still surrounded them.

It peered at the fallen wolf for a moment, then glanced over her and towards Kol. Those strange teeth seemed to glimmer with pale light, black eyes like the abyss staring at him as though he were nothing more than a meal to tear into.

He felt his heart skip a beat.

Eyes flickered towards the River for a moment, and then slowly he took half a step back. The Creature lurched forward, rushing over Sigrith and dashing towards Kol.

The Sorcerer flexed his fingers once more in desperation. A prayer shot through his mind, but no answer came from the Dark Gods as the monster rushed towards him. His feet scrambled, he dove quickly, not towards the monster but towards the floor.

His body struck the rocky earth, the beast pouncing over him.

Kol kicked out his leg, desperate, scrambling. He felt his boot hit the creature, and then suddenly drag into it's flesh. His eyes bulged as the shadowy form flickered, drawing around itself and slowly shifting so that it's entire form turned itself around.

His boot slowly dragged into the monstrous shadow, as if the Abyss itself were pulling him in. His mouth fell open, fingers digging into the earth as he looked up towards Sigrith who was slowly crawling away.

 

[Sigrith]

The wolf had collapsed mere feet from where it had recovered, the whites of its eyes rolling outward as the spiritual tether of soul to body continued to fray. The witch was dying and she could not save herself.

But in the mists another figure moved: large, white and grey, and tearing through the fogs like a knife through flesh. Glowing green eyes blazed a fury through the veil and a bone-trembling roar pierced the heady atmosphere along the riverbanks. The creature upon Kol suddenly found itself within the grips of a great and ghastly bear. It screeched in its own terror as the bear tore into its incorporeal form, rending it to shreds that fluttered from its gaping maw like ash from an erupting volcano.

With a final huff of snarling breath, the ghostly beast cleared the fog of the realm, leaving them along the crimson river banks within the fathoms of cold nothing.

"Get up," it growled at Kol, its ethereal voice a rumble that echoed strangely around them, "more will come."

The beast slowly trod over the man's prone form, its massive paws the size of a shield stepping around him, but missing only by a hairsbreadth. It moved on, up the bank to the fallen form of the wolf whose spiritual wounds were gushing spirit ichor. Along the bear's back, a gaping scar of faded red cut his white coat down the line of its spine.

It was a place known as Aragath's Breath, where an old Nordenfiir King gave his life in a fit of delirium that he believed to be salvation. Somewhere down in that fathomless gorge lay his bones, far beyond the reach of his people to burn. It was rumored his Svalen, a hulking beast of white with a great, gaping scar that ran the length of his spine, still lurked. Still captured the minds of those too weak to fight against his raging neurosis, to toss themselves over the edge into the same fate.

King Aragath still lingered here yet but not quite how the tales had been told...

He lowered his great skull and plucked the dire wolf from the ground in his maw, making his way to the bridge and, hopefully, their salvation from this place.

 

[Kol]

For the first time in his life, Kol quietly begged for the voices within his skull.

The Dark Gods did not answer, not directly.

Yet a small surge ran through his muscles, like a spark of electricity touching his flesh. It rushed through him, jolted energy into his system. As the great beast moved above him Kol took in a sharp breath, his eyes sparking for a brief moment as he shifted on the ground.

As soon as the massive beast was a step away from him, plucking up the dire wolf from the ground Kol practically sprang up. His fingers seemed to crack for a moment, teeth gritting as a strange spark rushed over his flesh.

Go.

The word echoed. It was not the thousands upon thousands of voices that normally called to him, the overlapping cacophony of screeching, instead it was a single tone. He remembered it, knew that he had heard it before, though which of the Gods spoke to him Kol could not have said.

Quickly he treaded after the great beast, glancing up at it. "Who are you?"

The Nordwiir asked as they rushed towards the bridge.

Behind them he could hear something, the snapping of jaws, the loping of creatures rushing after them. The mist seemed to shift and snap, growing and waning every instant as if pushed aside but trying to force itself back into place.

The mist itself seemed to chase them as they stepped upon the bridge.

 

[Sigrith]

Aragath moved with purpose, his massive paws mounting the bridge to cross over the river of red. He could not speak to answer Kol's question, not that it mattered much anyway. Who would believe them? The bridge creaked and groaned under the great bear's ethereal weight, and the further across they got the less they could hear or see the side of the river from which they retreated.

Soon the river itself below them disappeared from sight. A wind prevailed, a whiteness surrounded them. The bear disappeared from Kol's view as he pressed forward through the growing storm, then the bridge began to sway under Kol's feet.

Then it shuddered as if something heavy had been dropped upon it.

A sudden gale of snow whipped around him, blinding whiteness that stung at exposed skin and eyes. The cold of the world returned, as did sound, and then sight.

Kol would find himself upon that same bridge from before their fall, only this time it was still connected and the witch on the path across from him was collapsed, but alive, just beginning to regain consciousness.

They were back in the living realm, right where they had first met one another. A second chance, perhaps.

 

[Kol]

Kol took one more step, one last step.

Then a thousand voices came crashing into his skull all at once. Every scar on his skin reappeared, every mutilation, every cut, every mark of the Dark Gods that had ever been left upon his flesh. In an instant they came down on him like a tidal wave. Some shouted. Some whispered. Some wracked every muscle in his body with their words.

Escape!
Kill her!
Cut your throat!
Take her off the bridge!
Seize her heart!
Burn the soul!​

They shouted all at once, a cacophony of voices that screeched within his mind.

Fingers wrapped around the rope railing of the bridge, his knees feeling weak as the Dark Gods forced their way back to where they belong. His muscles seemed to twitch, power flooding into him as his eyes grew black and then suddenly snapped back.

A dozen blood vessels popped within the white of his eyes. Crimson seeped around his iris', head twisting down as he grit his teeth and sucked in a breath.

Fingers tightened around the rope, and slowly he pushed himself up fully to his feet. The voices were still there, still shouting, but their echoes dulled to whispers once more. Slowly the Sorcerer looked around, his vision slightly blurred.

He saw the witch ahead of him, still collapsed. Slowly he made his way over to her, palm clutching at the rope as he offered her a hand.

 

[Sigrith]

There was always consequences to the esoteric. Staying in her wolf form for too long often ended badly. When the proffered hand appeared in front of her face, eyes still gaining focus, she snarled and snapped at it with teeth still pointed but growing dull. She missed, of course, and her racing heart slowly calmed as her vision and senses returned completely.

"Sorry...I," and then she realized where they were and her breath caught in her lungs at the relief. The pain from before still lingered, a deep and stinging ache of her soul trying to reattach itself to her corporeal form. Sigrith winced and rubbed at her sternum through the many layers she wore, taking stock of herself as much as anything else. Kol looked to be in one piece, the bridge was solid again.

It was as if it never happened.

She looked up at him with an expression that said much more than her voice ever would and held her hand up in a gesture to take his now that she was fully present again. Her legs strained beneath her on the wobbly bridge and another brisk gust of wind rocked them over the gorge back and forth. The Witch cast a leery glance off to the south and the grey roiling in the distance, "Storm's coming. There's a safehouse not far from here."

 

[Kol]

"Then we better go." Kol said with a frown, his head panning slowly around the mists which still surrounded them.

The Nordwiir drew Sigrith up, grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet so that she could actually stand.

He did not fully understand what had just happened, the world that they had entered and now left behind. Whispers of the Dark Gods fell on his ears of course, some offering explanation, others urging him to cause as much chaos as he could.

In a strange way it was almost comforting, knowing that they had not changed.

Slowly Kol took up the witches weight, wrapping an arm around her hip and beginning a slow walk over the bridge. Every step was calculated, taken as the wind buffeted them back and forth. Snow crunched beneath them as they stepped off the bridge, the sound almost welcomed to the Sorcerer's ears.

He glanced towards Sigrith as the rush of wind swept over them. "Which way?"

Kol asked, peering through the gathering storm.

 

[Sigrith]

Though rarely one to ask for help from another, the Witch was not too proud to accept it when it was warranted. She hobbled at his side, precarious floating bridge legs having difficulty cooperating, and then hit solid ground and managed to find some semblance of control. Her strength still wasn't with her, though.

"Follow the path west," Sigi nodded at the middle branch from where they stood, "it's just within the treeline before the riverbed."

The going was slow and by the time they'd navigated the rocky trail through the ridge and down the off-side they were both wearing a layer of wet, heavy snow. Visibility was quickly diminishing as the treeline came in sight through the gale. Once inside the woods the great hulking conifers blocked the wind, leveling it to a distant wail beyond their trunks and shielding branches. It was quiet in the thicket with no sign of traveler or passerby - not even prey creatures.

"We're in the lands of Indeholm," she said, "home of the giant boar. Don't leave the trails," a warning of the wise, "the boar don't take kindly to anything in their territories."

And there, not far in the distance along the trail sat a squat and bulky log cabin.

 

[Kol]

Boar.

In a way the idea was almost quaint. A more natural beast than the animals that roamed the Lost Isles. His fingers tightened on Sigrith's hip for just a few second. He steadied himself upon her for just a moment, his other hand digging into his own exposed flesh. Blood dripped from his thigh, wisping away in an instant.

Behind them their steps disappeared. A gust of wind burying their tracks, snow drifts washing away the path they had carved through the Tundra.

As they approached the cabin the Dark Gods continued their whispers. They spoke of survival, of lasting gifts and what sacrifice he could make of the witch. Kol ignored them, pushing their words to the side as he and Sigrith reached the small chalet. "Suppose there's no point in knocking?"

Kol asked, a tinge of humor to his tone as they reached the door.

The cabin appeared almost entirely abandoned. The windows were dark with curtains, the door barely clung to it's hinges, and the chimney was dim.

It seemed as though the cabin had not been touched in years.

 

[Sigrith]

A witch might have advised prudence of using magic when caught in a blizzard, but that required the witch to be of prudent nature to start. Sigrith couldn't be said to be that sort of witch - net yet, anyway. She took that moment of respite while he covered their tracks to shut her eyes and take a few steadying breaths. The exhaustion from their ordeal was weighing upon her quite heavily and she was silently uncertain if there was something to be gleaned from it or not.

Time would tell. So would sleep, a meal, and other forms of self care.

"Suppose there's no point in knocking?"

Sigrith turned her wilting gaze up to the dilapidated door, thinking that it had looked much different the last time she'd visited here.

"Just an outpost storehouse. Most Nordens go around the pass. They don't use this route much anymore."

Which meant the food and supply stores would be hit or miss for them. At the very least they had shelter and could start a fire, and that was two very important necessities right now. She reached forward as they neared the door, unlatched the lock and watched the door topple inward off its hinges. Well, that was a good start.

She grunted, pressed her hand against the door jamb and carefully stepped away from Kol's support to make her way inside. The place was silent and dark, but all the right shapes were in all the right places. Hadn't been raided or damaged - simply abandoned. She staggered forward to the firepit at the center and allowed herself to slump down onto her knees beside it. The witch placed her hand into the coals, closed her eyes, muttered a few words, and pulled a stone from the remnants.

It had been at least two winters, if not more, since the pit had seen flames. Turning the stone over in her palm, Sigrith reached to a covered stack of wood to the side and pulled the burlap from it. Enough to last a few nights at least, needs be.

"So long as the storm doesn't outlast what's left here..." the witch trailed off as she busied herself with setting up the logs for a fire.

 

[Kol]

Kol stepped in through the door, glancing around the inside of the cabin and finding only eyeless gins staring back at him within the shadows.

The Sorcerer let his gaze linger for a moment, and then he bent down and with a grunt hefted the wooden door. Against the press of cold wind he slammed the heavy wood back in it's place over the doorway, pulling a half broken chair under it's handle to ensure that it stayed in place.

A grunt escaped him, hand running through his dreadlocks as he began to circle the small outpost.

Briefly he glanced towards the Witch.

He did not know the south as well, but in the Lost Isles storms could last for weeks at a time. It was not uncommon for the clouds to linger in one island in particular, striking it with a torrent of hail and snow that lasted for months. Old wives tales often spoke of those storms as punishments from the Dark Gods for some crime or another.

"We'll make due." Kol said as he looked around the small cabin.

There was a bed, some ratty blankets, a shelf with what appeared to be a few empty crates and a scattering of what appeared to be books. Kol moved towards the shelf, plucking one of the leather sheaths of parchment.

"It looks like a logbook." He told Sigrith as he flipped through the pages. "In many different languages."

 

[Sigrith]

"Norden Rangers and Scouts are tasked with restocking outposts between their missions," Sigrith explained with tired, quiet words, "keeping inventory, listing supplies taken or used against supplies stocked. Keeping the dates of their travels."

She was being selective and sparing with the wood chosen for the fire. It wasn't much, but it would be enough to warm them for an hour or so. Kindling set at the heart of the logs, she plied through her affects for her flint to strike up a flame.

"It is not unusual for allied peoples ... Nord clans, elves, passing witches, even fae to use our outposts if they are available and in need. Let me see?" she held out a hand toward him to indicate the parchment. Her own knowledge of local languages might help, but she was hardly fluent in them all.

 

[Kol]

Kol flipped another page of the logbook, frowning a moment before he turned it in his hand and offered it to Sigrith.

"Nordwiir do not have a written word." Kol mused quietly.

He was not sure how much Sigrith knew of his people. Most within the Tundra thought of them as little more than nightmares and barbarians. Raiders that would sometimes come south seeking violence, and other times come north seeking trade of what they had stolen.

The Nordenfiir, Brenna, had known next to nothing of his people. Nor had Ruvsa when they had first met. He expected it to be much the same for Sigrith.

Kol himself had learned some of the written word in his travel, though none of those that Sigrith had mentioned. Most of the scratchings within the journal were nonsense for him, though he knew enough to tell them apart. "It seems some are more than marks of supplies."

He noted, pointing to the open pages which appeared line after line of the same written hand.

 

[Sigrith]

Sigrith made a thoughtful sound of affirmation when he explained his people did not have written word. She knew this. She knew this because she was an outcast of her own people, and an outcase of the Tundra. The Tundra Witches covens were spread far and wide across Eretejva, from the southernmost bogs to the northernmost ice caverns of Eirie.

She took the book and studied the pages, gently flipping through them, "I think that is why the Nordwiir and the tundra witch covens are able to keep their terms...the witches prefer to sing and tell stories and whisper into the ethers...even when most of them are capable of reading and writing in one language or another."

Her hand paused over the page he indicated, "Yes it is," her eyes narrowed as she looked over the gentle scrawling, "it's elvish." The tundra elves she knew well enough. The witches had cozied up to them over the years, a tentative agreement of non-violence if ever there was one. The elves were untrusting, rightfully so.

"It's a warning," gently, the witch pressed her fingertips over the words on the page, "about the gorge. Mm - it says ... they were followed across by spectres in the storm, their entire party was taken. The survivor found this cabin and took refuge here. Only fire kept the spectres at bay. When the storm passed they returned to burn the bridge to keep others from the same fate."

She blinked as she reached the end of the passage, "It is dated less than ten days ago."

 

[Kol]

Kol had met a few of the Snow Elves. The Dark Gods had utterly despised them. He could still remember the warrant screeching that demanded nothing less than complete slaughter. The why of that Kol still did not completely understand, none of his patrons had been willing to speak on it.

Nor had the Elves.

"The bridge is decidedly unburned." Slowly the Sorcerer looked around, glancing about the cavern and it's state. His frown seemed to deepen as he stood there, gaze flickering over the shelves and the dust that clung there.

One of the eyeless grins in the corner of the room seemed to shift. It's smile reduced for only a brief moment, a flicker of emotion.

Kol stared at it for too long. Rarely did the Dark Gods waver in their mirth.

What was happening here? Something touched this place. That Gorge. The Dark Gods seemed to not be as strong here, their blessings somehow running in the tides. "What of some of the other entries?"

He turned back to the Witch.

"Are they the same?" The Gorge was not a thing of death, at least not as far as he knew, but perhaps something changed. The only question was when?

As the questions soared through his mind the Dark Gods began to whisper once more, and their intent for him became clear. Whatever it was that lurked within these depths, Kol was bound for it.

 

[Sigrith]

"The bridge is decidedly unburned."

Another grunt in affirmation, the witch continued to read back through prior entries. As much as she could - some were in languages she did not know how to read, though she recognized most for what culture they came from. Seemed this hidden cabin had been quite ... busy as of late.

"No..." Sigi replied distractedly, flipping back through again, "but it is strange. There are a dozen entries at least dated within the last moon cycle ... at least, so far as I can tell. This cabin hasn't been in such regular use for nearly four hundred years. Not since before the reign of King Aragath."

Her gaze shifted from the book, back to the cabin interior. It made no sense at all. The place looked as though it hadn't been touched in several years. The hair along her nape bristled at the howl of the wind outside, giving her pause in her decision to stop here. But there was nowhere else near to take shelter in this storm, and given both of their states it would be best to take their chances here.

Furrowing her brows, she set the book aside and returned to tending the fire, "We will keep the fire burning through the storm then. Have you found any rations?"