Open Chronicles The Pilgrimage

[Tal]

​

Tyr - Cities Edge

Twelve slaves, two Ogre's formerly of the Death Watch Guard, half a dozen mercenaries and scholars, a gaggle of hanger-ons, and one Prince.

That was who would be stepping into the ashen wastes of Sheketh.

Chewing on his cigar Talmanes surveyed the make-up of his caravan, wondering how many of them would make it to the end. He knew that some would die, some had to die, but looking at them all now he wasn't quite sure which it would be. Fingers drummed on his knee, teeth pressing at the cigar between his lips as he dragged a puff of smoke across his tongue. "Eh."

He said to himself.

"I guess we'll see." The Prince murmured, the sound of kicking dust signalling someone's approach. Head turning, Tal watched as Volstus stepped up to him. The massive Ogre towered most everyone else in the caravan, his clothes matching the loose robes that many of them wore. In the ash wastes you were more likely to die of heat than anything else, one had to dress for the occasion.

A hand raised in greeting as the Ogre came lumbering close. "Everything ready?"

"Aye." His voice sounded like roiling thunder. "But I still have my doubts, Tal. We're wandering into nothing, the mountai-"

The Prince clicked his teeth, a sound of that shouldn't have been as loud as it sounded. Almost instantly the Ogre fell silent, lips pressing to a thin line. The two of them had been friends long enough to know when a conversation was done, when it would do no good. Especially when he'd already repeated himself twice over. Volstus thought this entire venture a fools-errand.

"It's there." Tal said simply. "I didn't spend the last decade just sitting around."

He assured the Ogre, though no answer came to his rebuke. Volstus simply sighed and shook his head, knowing that the argument would go nowhere else. All that could be done was push on and head into the desert. Retrace the path their ancestors had walked so many years ago.

 

[Trista]

Tris stood by her master's side, her sheer, black robes billowing lightly in the oppressively scorching breeze that swept through the molten city. The fabric clung to her perspiring skin, a stark contrast to the bleak landscape that stretched out before her.

The caravan was preparing to embark, and she was here to accompany Master Ridoc, the Royal Physician, on what was likely to be a perilous pilgrimage, led by Prince Talmanes, known to her only for his ruthless reputation and unforgiving nature. Her true purpose however, was veiled in secrecy. As the eyes and ears of Princess Calliope, she understood the weight of her role as a spy, and was entrusted with unraveling the Prince's intentions and safeguarding the interests of her dear friend.

Her palm bore the fresh wound of a recent cut—a discreet signal from the princess to remind Tris of her allegiance and the delicate balance she needed to maintain. It served as a constant reminder of the risks she faced and the intricate web of loyalty and deception she had willingly entangled herself in. And it also bound her to her Princess.

Tris kept her head bowed, her gaze fixed upon the barren ground. She dared not make eye contact with the others in the caravan unless specifically addressed. Her silence was her shield, concealing the thoughts and emotions that churned within her. In this world of treachery and uncertainty, words were often more dangerous than silence.

As the members of the caravan prepared for the journey ahead, Tris observed the interactions around her with a keen eye. The mercenaries sharpened their weapons, the scholars exchanged hushed whispers, and the slaves moved with a resigned obedience born from years of servitude. She noticed the gazes that occasionally lingered upon her, curiosity mixed with indifference. To most, she was just another nameless slave, her presence inconsequential. But to some of the older generation, they knew her as the daughter of a traitor, confirmed by the brand that marked the back of her neck.

She risked a glance to Prince Talmanes as he spoke with the ogre, another commanding figure with a perpetual air of authority. The faint flicker of his eyes betrayed an astute awareness of the power dynamics at play. Tris couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the Prince's enigmatic facade, what motivations propelled him to embark on this treacherous journey, and what secrets he hoped to unearth in the desolate expanse of Sheketh.

Her heart raced with anticipation and apprehension, for this journey held the potential to unravel the mysteries shrouding the Prince and, perhaps, to unveil a path towards redemption for herself and her family. But the dangers were manifold, and the consequences of missteps were dire. First and foremost, she had to stay alive.

As the caravan prepared to set forth, Tris swallowed her fears and steeled herself for the trials that awaited. With every step they took, she vowed to remain vigilant, to observe, to listen, and to fulfill her role as Princess Calliope's unwavering sentinel in the shadow of Prince Talmanes. Her silent presence would be her strength, her discretion her shield, and her dedication her guiding light in the unforgiving wilderness they were about to traverse.

 

[Tal]

For a brief few more minutes Talmanes seemed to linger, standing upon the edges of the great city of Tyr. He watched the skyline, a soft smile touching his lips.

How long had it been since he'd seen his home?

Ten years, more. A decade had passed since his father had exiled him, thrown him to the wolves and sent him to the furthest reaches of the earth. He had spent every second of that time plotting and planning his return. Calculating and marking every action that he could take which would help him assume his rightful place upon the throne.

Already he had set things in motions, pulled the strings of the ancient church and dragged the Blood Witches into his conflict. Now? Now he was stepping into the desert, taking himself voluntarily from the place that he most wanted to be.

The worst part? He did so in the company of foreigners and slaves.

A Prince of the Blood should have been ashamed, but Talmanes was not. He knew that this was necessary, and he knew that in the weeks to come he would be proven right. This was the way forward, it had to be the way forward.

Once they found what he searched for in the desert, once he had what he sought...things would change. The King's would see it, the people would see it. Even his wife, so besotted with the tide against him might finally see the truth he had to offer.

Talmanes knew that he needed none of them, knew that he would succeed despite them, but he wanted them to know. Wanted them to understand. He was more than the rogueish boy that had left Tyr so long ago. So much more than the rebellious teenager who had been thrown out.

He was more than worthy of a crown.

He was worthy of three crowns.

Nine days into the Ash Wastes.

A week and a little more until they found their first foe that was not heat or hunger. A Wyvern came crashing down upon their caravan. It's massive maw snapping forward and it's huge claws rending through flesh and earth as though the two were one and the same.

The attack came swiftly, born of no malice but seeking retribution still. Two of the mercenaries found themselves eviscerated within mere moments, their armor rent by huge claws and the flesh torn from their bones with a single swipe of the drakes massive jaws.

I was Volstus' hammer that brought the creature low, A spark of magic from Talmanes own hand ending the beasts life. In the aftermath those still alive gathered quickly around the carts. Pulling the overturned wagon back to it's wheels as those injured were seen to by Master Ridoc and his 'apprentice.'

Tal sat patiently, a deep gash upon his ribs from where the beast flicked him with it's tail. The rent of red steadily dripping crimson. "Not so bad, is it Vol?"

He called to the great Ogre whom Master Ridoc was currently seeing to.

"That Leviathan in Ixchel did more damage." The great giant answered only with a grunt. Still clearly displeased to have been on this journey as at all. Talmanes only grinned, regarding the physician's assistant as he spoke. "He's only mad he didn't land the killing blow."

The Prince jested to Trista.

 

[Trista]

Tris's heart pounded in her chest as chaos erupted in the wake of the wyvern's attack. The screeching of the creature had pierced the air, followed by the horrifying sight of its devastating assault. Two mercenaries lay lifeless, their bodies torn apart as easily as fragile parchment. There was nothing to be done for them. The air was thick with the stench of blood and fear, and the ashen ground was now littered with the aftermath of the violent encounter.

She watched as Volstus swiftly brought the beast down, his strength and determination evident in each thunderous blow. As the drake's life was extinguished with a flash of magic from Prince Talmanes, his power resonating through the air, Tris watched in awe and relief as the creature's once menacing presence turned into lifeless stillness.

As the survivors gathered around the damaged caravan, their trembling hands working together to right the overturned wagon, Tris's instincts kicked in. She rushed to assist Master Ridoc in tending to the injured with steady hands and a calm demeanor. Her training and knowledge allowed her to swiftly assess the severity of wounds and administer the necessary care.

But amidst the flurry of panic around her, Tris's attention was drawn to Prince Talmanes, and to the wound he wore across his ribs. Her heart stumbled as she realized that she would be responsible for tending to the Prince's injury. Her hands trembled slightly, a mixture of anxiety and determination coursing through her veins.

As the prince's voice reached her, Tris maintained her composed demeanor. Her gentle smile, though shy, concealed the turmoil that churned within her. Every interaction with Talmanes was an opportunity to glean valuable information, to piece together the puzzle that was the prince's motivations and plans, but Gods, she hadn't expected for his attention to make her as nervous as she felt, and she couldn't afford to let her nerves betray her.

Summoning her courage, Tris approached the wounded Prince with measured steps. She locked eyes with him, her gaze steady and filled with silent determination. As she prepared to wash and sew the gash on his ribs, she offered a silent smile, hoping to convey her willingness to assist him in his time of need.

Tris's hands moved with practiced efficiency as she tended to the Prince's wound, all the while keeping her true purpose hidden beneath a veil of servitude. It was a delicate dance, one that required her to balance her loyalty to Princess Calliope with the need to remain inconspicuous.

When the wound was tightly bound, Tris produced a small bottle of cloudy tincture and offered it to him. "For the pain, should you wish it, My Prince." she dipped her chin, and waited to be dismissed.

 

[Tal]

Talmanes didn't move or flinch as Tris treated the wound on his side, keeping his arm raised so that she could apply the salve and bandage him. A bemused smile touched his face throughout, though he hardly seemed to pay attention to the girl. As she treated him Volstus rose, offering a quick muttered thanks to Master Ridic.

"No." He said with a surprisingly soft tone to the slave, waving off the tincture. "Addles the mind."

Volstus scoffed as he stepped by, the Ogres steps shaking the earth. "Yeah, his mind is addled enough already."

Talmanes expression soured almost instantly, not quite rage, but a clear annoyance. He jumped off the edge of the cart that he had been sitting on, gnashing his teeth as he took two steps towards the massive Ogre. Squaring up to the former Death Watch guard, though he stood at nearly only half his height.

"I've had enough of this!" The prince barked, keeping none of the anger from his tongue. A finger flickering up to point at Volstus' face.

"You're acting like a child." Talmanes hissed. "Pouting at every opportunity and acting like you're already dead."

The Ogre growled, a sound which echoed through the air around him. Rumbling the air as though a swarm of bees were surrounding them. "Because we are!"

Volstus bellowed back, loud enough for every member of the Caravan to hear. Most immediately turning their heads to look at the argument, though some doing their best to pointedly ingore the conversation. Perhaps hoping that they would not be involved.

"You ancestors barely made this journey! Hundreds of thousands began the road, and hundreds survived!" Though the ogres had not made the journey alongside the Tyrians, they knew the histories well. Volstus especially, being the son of a Seneschal. "You've lead us into these wastes to die!"

Talmanes fumed, his eyes flickering with a sudden bright yellow hue. The magic raising across his skin as fury took hold of him. "I'VE LEAD US HERE TO RECLAIM MY BIRTH RIGHT!"

His voice boomed, the ground around him seeming to quake, the air crackling with energy.

"I know where it lays, and I will have it." Talmanes stared up at the Ogre, his hand seeming to spark with bright sparks of red lightning. "If you want to go back, go."

He pointed back the way they came, staring Volstus in the eyes.

The Ogre did not answer, only stared down at his old friend. For a moment it seemed as though he would do indeed as he was told, but instead his jaw snapped shut. A low growl echoed from the giants throat, and then he turned away from the Prince and stalked off towards the cart. Setting to aid those still gathering the strewn about supplies.

Talmanes remained where he was, his lips pressing to a thin line, the magic around him slowly fading back into the ether.

His lips parting as he spat on the ground.

 

[Trista]

Tris's eyes never wavered from the intense confrontation unfolding before her. The tension in the air was palpable, and she found herself holding her breath, keenly observing every word and gesture exchanged between Prince Talmanes and Volstus. It was a rare glimpse into the true nature of the prince, a glimpse that she couldn't afford to miss.

She kept her outward expression neutral, her features carefully schooled into an expression of deference. Inside, however, her mind raced, analyzing every nuance of the exchange. Talmanes' reaction to Volstus' remark revealed a vulnerability, a raw nerve that had been struck. It was clear that the prince's journey held personal significance beyond what met the eye.

Tris couldn't help but wonder what Talmanes sought to reclaim, what birthright he spoke of so fervently. His words were filled with a determination that bordered on obsession, fueled by a desire that seemed to consume him. It was a puzzle piece, a clue that added to the intricate tapestry of his motivations.

The surge of magic that accompanied Talmanes' fury only deepened the enigma surrounding him. The sparks of red lightning dancing across his hand held a power that both fascinated and unnerved Tris. She wondered about the source of his magic, its origin and its limits. Perhaps it might be the key to understanding his ambitions..

As Volstus turned away, his growl resonating in the air, Tris couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the conflicted friendship between the prince and the Ogre. It was a bond that had clearly weathered trials and challenges, now strained by the weight of their present circumstances.

Tris knew that these moments of vulnerability, these glimpses into the prince's true self, were invaluable to her mission. They provided insight into the depths of his character, the driving force behind his actions. And yet, she also understood the delicate balance she had to maintain. Any misstep, any sign of her true intentions, could jeopardise not only her mission but also the safety of the Princess.

As the dust settled, and the caravan slowly resumed its rhythm, Tris resumed her role as a silent observer. Her gaze followed the prince, her thoughts swirling with questions and possibilities. She knew that she needed to tread carefully, to continue her discreet investigations while remaining a trusted member of the caravan.

 

[Tal]

On the thirteenth day in the ash wastes they finally reached the far cliffs of the Akai mountains.

No less treacherous than the lands they were leaving behind, the tumultuous spires of Akai were named for the Fire-Giant that had once ruled over them. Thousands of years ago, when the Tyrian's had first made their great pilgrimage, Shogun Akai had been the last of their living challenges.

The final test before they had entered the wastes which the Caravan had just passed through.

In a way, the mountains would almost be a reprieve. Though no Terran forest could live upon the craggy rock, the Akai were famed for a massive woodland of fungi. A forest that burrowed into the rock and far beneath it, reaching into huge mushroom stalks covering the mountainside.

It presented its own sort of dangers even now of course, long after the Fire-Giant it was known for lay dead. But at least here none of them would starve to death, and the blessed presence of shade was something even the Tyrian Prince reveled in.

He leaned against one of the 'trees' settling in the shadow as one of the slaves called out. "Water! We found water."

The voice rang out, and Talmanes almost let out a prayer in relief. For the last two days they had been on rations of water, barely drinking enough to sustain themselves. Digging for a well had been the first order of business upon reaching the mountains approach. The fact that it had been found so quickly was a stroke of luck.

Despite the thirst in his throat, Tal didn't move, letting others quench their thirst first.

 

[Trista]

Tris stood among the thirsty crowd, her eyes scanning the faces of her fellow travelers, their weariness etched upon their features. She could not recall the last time she had felt quite so weak, though many were weaker and it was her duty to stay on her feet and care for those who required it. The discovery of water had breathed new life into their tired bodies, offering a glimmer of hope in the midst of their challenging journey.

Her dark gaze settled on Prince Talmanes, and she sensed the heaviness that weighed upon him, a weariness that mirrored her own. It did surprise her that he had not demanded water be brought to him immediately, that others had not been forbidden from wetting their lips before he did. Tris knew better than to dare to quench her thirst before all others had taken their fill - even if it meant that the well had run dry, but the Prince could not allow himself the possibility of the same fate if he were to continue leading this caravan.

Quietly, she slipped through the crowd, her steps purposeful yet measured. Tris approached the well where the water had been discovered, her hands reaching for a small wooden cup that lay nearby. She dipped it into the refreshing liquid, allowing it to fill to the brim. As she made her way back towards Prince Talmanes, her pace steady, she held the cup delicately, mindful of every precious drop it contained.

Drawing closer to the prince, Tris stopped a short distance away, her eyes respectfully lowered. She cleared her throat softly to gain his attention, breaking the silence that enveloped them. "Your Highness.." she spoke with a calm yet unwavering tone, her voice carrying a mixture of deference and concern. "Please, drink."

With a gentle yet purposeful movement, Tris extended her arm, offering the cup of water to the prince. In this simple act, she sought to provide him with a moment of respite, a brief reprieve from the burdens that consumed him, and she hoped it would be received with gratitude, fostering some sense of trust between them.

Her gaze flickered upwards, meeting his eyes briefly before returning to its lowered position. Tris awaited his response, her heart beating with a mixture of anticipation and caution.

 

[Tal]

The thirst in his throat was enough to choke him. A constant and painful pressure that stuck within his chest as his body aches for water and the life it brought. He remained frozen in the chair as every other thirst was quenched, staying out but letting his eyes flicker towards the approaching slave. He watched her with a careful eye, noting her as the one who had helped bandage his wound after the Wyvern attack.

As she approached him and bowed her head, Talmanes watched her.

His expression was entirely unreadable as she offered the small bowl of water. Every sense within him calling out to reach and grab it. Cracked and dry lips pressed together, almost beginning to bleed when pushed into a thin line. At first, it almost seemed he would yell at her, but instead Tal only shook his head. "No, thank you."

The Prince told her softly.

Reaching out and gently pressing an index and middle finger against the rim of the bowl.

"You have it." He told her firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. Moving the bowl back towards Tris, his touch soft enough that not a single precious droplet spilled from the simple chalice.

The one that a second ago had been meant for a Prince, and was now being pressed upon to a slave.

 

[Trista]

Trista felt a mixture of surprise and concern wash over her as Prince Talmanes refused her offer, declining the water she had brought specifically for him, and she instantly worried that he suspected her of poinsoning it. That he suspected her of anything. His voice though, carried a softness that hinted at a deeper understanding, his eyes revealing a complexity she had yet to fully grasp. But she knew better than to question his decision or engage in any form of defiance.

As he gently pressed his fingers against the rim of the bowl, signaling for her to take it, Tris hesitated for a brief moment. She felt the weight of the situation, the significance of this exchange between them. The simple act of allowing her to quench her thirst before he did.

With a respectful nod, she pulled the cup back to her chest, cradling it carefully, Her gaze flicked up to meet the prince's eyes, conveying a mix of gratitude and determination. Though she remained silent, her expression carried a quiet resolve. "Thank you, my Prince." she replied quietly, and brought the cup to her lips to drink, her eyes on him, as though expecting the gesture to be some trick.

Tris drank until she was breathless, the cool water soothing the burning in her throat. "Now, might I bring you some water?"

 

[Tal]

The feint hint of a smile touched the edge of his lips,

He could practically feel the skin breaking, begging for some form of hydration. Still, his head slowly shook no even after Tris did as she was told. "No."

Talmanes told her softly, letting his eyes glance towards the 'trees'. Most of the caravan had now drunk it's fill, taking all the water they could and ensuring their skins were full. It was all most could do not to bath themselves within the small pool.

"It's against the tenants." The old histories. Stories long forgotten by most Tyrians. The guide Tal was using to see them through the wastes. "No water from the well."

He quoted. "Only that which falls from the sky."

The decree was written more than once through the journals. The tales which told of their peoples crossing of the ash wastes.

A smile touched Tal's face as he looked to the slave. "I figure it's decent luck at least one of us follows along"

 

[Trista]

Her brow furrowed gently as once again, the Prince denied a drink. Tris listened attentively as he explained the reason for his refusal, referencing the ancient texts and traditions that dictated the pilgrimage through the ash wastes. The weight of the history and the rules governing their journey were not lost on her. She understood the significance of adhering to those teachings, even in the face of dire circumstances.

Lowering her gaze respectfully, Tris replied in a soft but unwavering voice, "I understand, Your Highness. It is important to honor the teachings and the journey that our ancestors undertook." Her words conveyed respect for the traditions while acknowledging the difficulties they presented.

She took a small step back, ensuring she maintained the proper distance between herself and the prince. Her eyes briefly met his, conveying a sense of gratitude. "I shall pray for the rains to come, and make sure the water is used wisely." she said, bowing her head before turning to return to her duties.

 

[Tal]

Tal nodded his head, his throat too parched to answer her in thanks.

Though there were many Tyrians who still worshiped the old gods, it was rare that anyone truly stuck to the tenants. The blood witches did of course, but other than that it was a struggle to find those still faithful enough to hold to the ancient creeds.

The Prince certainly never had, not before.

It was part of why Volstus was so angry. He had not minded the thought of the idea, not originally, but when Talmanes had made his intent the Ogre had practically exploded. The journey was already perilous, but while following the tenants?

Suicidal. "Wait."

The Prince croaked, a frown touching his lips as he glanced back towards the Slave.

"You're Tyrian." He noted, almost as if it sparked in his mind for the first time. Perhaps he had never noticed it before, or perhaps it was simply the first time he could think to speak on it. He looked at her, yellow eyes flickering up and down. "How did you become a slave?"

Slaves were common in the city, but Tyrian slaves? It happened still, but so infrequently that Talmanes had only ever met one other.