Noct Yaegir Sudden Arrivals, Creeping Portents

Threads open to all members of the Noct Yaegir group
"Thank you. I-I've been meaning to thank Sigrun Flintfeet as well but... well.... I saw you first so......"

He shrugged, keeping that gentle smile, and pushed his cap back up his head before asking.

"Shall we?"

“Uhhhh”
For a moment, Irman’s eyes had gone so wide that even the whites were visible. The dissonance between how he felt and how Ispir was acting was so wide that the the Allirian straight could have probably fit in between, length wise!

The sudden shock though sent Irman out of his stupor and gave him a chance to actually address Ispir. As soon as he collected himself first.

“Ah, well, it’s real sweet to hear your thanks kid. Glad I could give what I gave.”

Irman swerved around the bard to head towards the main hall. Going down the corridor, his movements were stiff and soldier-like.

“Now I would like to exchange pleasantries for longer but this discussion is mighty important and I don’t want to miss any more than I have already.”

Entering the main hall, Irman waved over at Sigrun and noted all the people he recalled from the gate and those who he did not.

“I take it Sigrun mentioned the tomb already. It was an odd thing, but I couldn’t help but feel like the whole forest there was tied to it.”

“The place seemed to get itself damp when the hellboars there were going crazy. And in the tomb itself it was like the tree roots were part of the walls.”


Irman walked up to examine the mummy, its split apart face still in the same gaping expression as when Irman had smashed it.

“Heck, thinking about it now, it was pretty strange how the boars it affected seemed dead set on smashing as many trees as they could first and foremost. Plus that freaky mural, shoulda sketched it when I had the chance honestly.”

There was a silence over the room. For so much that could be inferred or deduced, there was so much that remained unknown.

“Six above what are we even going to do with this thing.” Remarked Hojen, as he scribbled away notes on what was being shared.

“And how come I have to write all these gruesome details down? Shouldn’t that young scribe be lending a hand Gabriel?”

“Andel is lending a hand. He asked to check the archives to see if any tomes or journals could help our questions. Apparently something about this struck him as ‘familiar’, which sounded promising given how much the young man likes those books.”

Ispir Sione
Andel Moon
 
The caramel-blond spent most days at the Keep studying the texts and the behaviors of past Noct Yaegir experiences. The man's blue eyes scanned the few journals he'd been skimming through, and found the passage.

"Beautiful God of Nature." Andel's whisper was followed by a bookmark and the snapping of the diary before sliding the book on top of the pile he'd already compiled for the others. If there was one thing that the young Moon knew, it was how to find documented knowledge and use it for deadly advantage.

"Alright...." He said, his voice faltering a bit as he stared at his choice of investigation in dismay, realizing how heavy and tall it was, but that did not matter, and inconvenience would have to be overcome. So, sighing, the slender man picked up the pile and walked to where the mummified corpse and the rest of the team would be. The visage that greeted the crowd was a tallish man wearing blue, carrying documentation, and trying not to trip before setting the books down and nodding.

"The behaviors didn't make sense to me, so I set about trying to find some journals of a Hunter I'd read a while back. It was obscure but..." His delicate features were revealed as he found the journal and opened it to where his mark had been placed.

He read the passage out loud:

"I shared with him the many beasts I had seen and slain, and he seemed giddy at every detail I gave. In turn, the old man began to speak of monsters that he had known, in a manner as spectacular as I had come to expect from the hermit.

He had many strange and fantastical fiends to speak of, but one still remains in mind even now. A once beautiful god of nature, twisted by hate beyond mortal comprehension. This hate had made the god rotting and corpse-like, unraveled its beautiful eyes into fonts of poison light, and turned its sweet honeyed words into curses that twisted all that heard them into harbingers of the god’s uncontrollable contempt.

The old hermit then assured me that this god had been broken as thoroughly as a god of that kind could be, with its primal words of hate sealed and its memory upon the world erased to an absolute scale…”


"The journal continues, but that's the end of the relevancy." Andel looked up then and shrugged. "I gathered a bit more about the stranger behaviors of hellboars as well as tales of madness in the woods and one about a traveling band of swindlers, but I don't think those will be as helpful after I read this. I have also compiled some general phenomena of the region where the tomb was, in case we need a refresher."

Irman Harefoot
 
#Wordtober

* * *
Ilharess had scampered straight outside immediately after scenting the chaotic waft of mummy-magic, nose wrinkled in patent disgust. She was rather enjoying her fourth life, thank you very much! No need whatsoever to get caught up in that uncomfortably unpredictable kind of precarious kerfuffle until many more details were much better known, and she was more than happy to leave the messy, risky discovery part of gaining that yet-unknown knowledge to all the brave monster hunters within the keep. Andronicus would surely agree that ancient mummy curses and renegade wisps of wild magic weaving around transforming this into that all fell well outside the parameters of her geas! In addition to that perfectly considered, eminently prudent line of self-preserving reasoning, her empty gullet was indignantly reminding her about all those skipped meals today. Agreeing whole-heartedly with her panging, neglect-stabbed tummy, the winged tabby eagerly licked her chops, deciding that the unsavory prospect of potentially facing terrible magical peril positively demanded an equally worthy break for fortification first. Surely something tasty would be letting its guard down in the chilly dusk outside the keep…

With a hearty ‘murr-row,’ she alit on her wings, flapping strainedly for sufficient lift, her cobby girth seemingly in cahoots with the thin, slippery, ice-twinged mountain air. Her bushed-out, fluffy tail-tip grazed a parapet of the wall as she arced upward out of the keep.

Her preferred hunting height attained, Ilharess’s keen golden eyes rolled downward to start scanning the dark countryside below. Over crag and thicket she soared, as silent and hidden in the dark sky as the moon herself, tonight a subtle silvery glimmer outlining a steady river of wind-whipped cirrus clouds combed by the peaks of the Spine. A meadow of wildflower buds spread out below, and her nose caught the briefest note of the scent of springtime heat. Her eyes popped full open, and she made a tight, whipping wing-over turn in the direction her nose indicated. Sure enough! -a pair of tender, juicy young coneys were sharing a tender, dangerously blissful moment of courtship. She soared down upon them with reckless abandon, teeth bared and claws out!

Fortunately for the cause of lagomorphic love, the swooping tabby misjudged the thinness of the mountain air, crashing to ground a mere bound away from the long-eared liaison, and the terrified lovers instantly parted ways, their paths of flight forked into an ever expanding V, hurriedly hopping at full panic-pace toward the nearby thicket that lay a few dozen yards or so uphill. Ilharess’s spurned gullet urged her up out of her embarrassing faceplow into a scampering, flapping, gleefully chirruping hot pursuit of the male suitor, whose long, sinuous legs promised an extra couple ounces of delicious, tender backstrap than the scrawnier female suitee could offer-barely a snack! the tabby admonished herself after the briefest of wayward glances. The coney-lad darted this way and that, Ilharess’s eager jaws snapping just behind his toes, just beside his rump, now just missing the nape of his neck. She had him, she had him! She… CRASHED with a snap, crackle, and pop, breakneck speed to a sudden stop, draped awkwardly sideways in midair amidst a poking, prickly mass of thorn-vined, white-flowered blackberry bramble!

Well, scat! -she harrumphed to herself, a grumpy murr issuing from her muzzle. She wriggled this way and that, managing to right her rump-half, but her winged torso was firmly stuck one-third-way twisted round. As the cobwheels slowly began grinding in the winged cat’s mind, a peal of tinkling laughter rang out, followed swiftly by a second.

“What a delicious, nay, scrumptious treat! All the way from the Dawn Court to the Heights of the Spine, can you believe it, my dear Periwinkle? A true celebrity has graced us with her substantial presence!”

“Why, ‘tis truly an unbelievable honor, my darling Honeysuckle! Only… is she supposed to be all twisted up into a furry, feathery pretzel? Why, the pose she has struck reminds me of that newfangled Allirian artwork in the chest that ‘fell’ from that trader’s cart last month.”

The pair of snickering frost pixies flitted just beyond a paw’s stretch of Ilharess’s sidewards, grumpy maw, a thin, tickling coat of ice forming on the tips of her whiskers and ear-tufts as they approached. As best she could manage, she lowered her head in what would have to pass for a courtly bow.

Ah-haha! I salute your fond greeting and your good humor at my much-deserving expense, good sir and madam. I quite flew into this one! Niceties thus exchanged! Ahem! What shall it cost me to convince the vines I have so disturbed to, oh, I don’t know… let me go?

The pixie-warden stroked his smooth blue chin, considering. A grin bordering on malicious curled onto his thin lips, and he exaggeratedly returned a bow.

“Why, we shall ask only your solemn pledge not to go a-hunting in the parlour of the Winter Court! You shall not starve, though, in our lands! By this dweomer I bestow in friendship, for as long as you roam the Heights, you may take sustenance from the nectar of flowers, and by our grace, such fare shall sustain you!”

He waved his arm, and a thin blanket of frost covered vine and trapped tabby alike, before the bruised vines unfurled abruptly rolling and dumping the indignant gray tabbycat past the thicket’s margin and onto the meadow. The tinkling roar of pixie-mirth resumed, the pixie maid slapping her knee before adding a parting shot:

“Though, perhaps, not all of you! Your wings shall surely thank us ere long!”

Ilharess hungrily sniffed the air, but neither fur nor feather nor heat could be smelt; only sneezy puffs of pollen and the heady saccharine of blackberry nectar. The realization of the pixie's curse sunk in, making her already grumpy maw even grumpier. So that is how it is... Well, there is nothing else for it! She tentatively poked her tongue into a blackberry blossom, so starting the opening act of what would prove to be an hours-long comedic dinner theater performance for the pixies, rolling over one another, howling in amusement at their reluctant guest’s expense.
 
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