Open Chronicles The Unfortunate Marooning of Valya Paige, or The Start of the Whole Mess

[Valya Paige]

THE SPEAR, SOUTHERN TIP - FAR FROM HOME

The sun beat down upon her, shining mercilessly from its high seat in the sky above. There were no traces now of the storm front that had brought her here; those dark and heavy clouds had passed over the horizon days before, taken away by the savage wind that had followed soon after. Now there was just the beating sun and the constant breeze that dried the sweat off her salt-crusted skin.

Valya bent down, digging in the sandy ground with a stick until she uncovered a stubby brown tuber, and ripping the thing in half, exposing a few drops of milky water that she lapped up eagerly, before pocketing the plant. She continued down the sandy animal trail, reaching the top of the ridgeline and looking out over the lines of jagged rock that lined the spit. Most signs of the wrecked ship were gone now, already taken under or scattered by the surf, but when she looked carefully, she could still see a couple of boards and half-submerged objects bobbing in the current.

She moved along, to where a makeshift shelter of woven grass sat squatly, and a cooking fire burned low, a pile of green brush stacked neatly beside it, waiting for a passing ship she knew would never arrive in time. Valya sat, and turned over the fish, a nasty, spiny little thing that would fill her belly and give her the energy to move along. Today was the day. She'd decided. She could wait here and starve, maybe get picked up by another band of pirates, or she could pick up and get out of here, up and out of The Spear.

And then collapse and die anyway.

Frowning, she cast a glance at the yellowing bandages wound around her arm, reluctantly peeling the filthy cloth away, wincing in anticipation. Sure enough, the angry red rash had spread further, and crimson tendrils were running up and across her shoulder blade as if locked in a race to see which one could kill her the fastest.

Cursing to herself, Valya wrapped the infected arm as best she could, and leant forward to pull the fish from the coals, ravenously digging into the meal to distract herself from the racking sob threatening to burst from her tight chest.

Not ten minutes later, she was walking, following the long, winding trail up The Spear, a small music box swinging heavily from its chain around her neck. Her first destination was a crumbling lighthouse she'd spotted when she'd first washed up. Clearly, it had been abandoned and was long-defunct, but it was the only visible landmark on the whole barren stretch of coast, so Valya couldn't help but start towards it.

 

[Virgil]

He had tracked an elvish renegade for some time from his hiding hole near Fal'Addas clear to the tip of the spear. Bandaged cuts and purple bruises littered him from the numerous attempts by other small groups of renegades that had tried to dissuade him from following Elithar any further.

Their attempts were wasted as he set his sights on finishing what he had been assigned to do. The arrows that they had sent were kept at bay by the travelling ward, a few strange arrows that had sang a different sound than usual making him wary of running at a steady pace.

He had learned to alternate his speeds while running, counting to a set time and dodging to one side before repeating the process and adding a second before dodging the other way.

It had worked considering the small bands of attackers had been annihilated before they could report the tactic to the next group that assailed him. He was tired though, worn thin from the extent of the elf's stubborn attempt to cling to life.

But Elithar had been slated for death, and Virgil was all to happy to oblige the assignment.

While it had taken some time given the other elves insistence on interfering, he had eliminated a number of other rebel elves. Which had counted for something in his eyes. His lip twitched at the thought of sending them to meet their maker.

Elithar's body now floated in the surf, washing out to sea. It was missing a branded hand that was now in Virgil's bag as proof the deed was done. He guessed the trip back was not going to be as hectic given he had cleared a path behind him.

Then again, other things could have moved in with the void of watchful eyes over the path he had made with his anger fueled incursion. The decrepit lighthouse that Virgil had chased his prey to was serving as a temporary campsite, his small fire lighting the lower levels as he cooked a meal for the evening.

He had managed to trap a pheasant for his dinner, his survival gear providing the materials for both a snare trap and some fishing line. The fishing line gave him the idea to return to Vel Anir via the coast, ensuring he had a sustainable food source on his way back.

Keeping one eye on the spit over the fire and another out of the small window's that dotted the lower level, he was feeling exposed with the obvious sign of life in the abandoned building. It was the best defensible place though, offering a small reprieve from archers and only two entry points.

The broadsword was on the fallen log he had drug inside to serve as a seat beside the fire. Elithar's bag was beside it, having found a few spoils in the thing before wondering what exactly to do with it. It had been an elf's possession only a short time ago, and he didn't really need another bedroll or bag.

He pondered as he cooked, wondering if a full stomach might help decide what to do with the thing.

 

[Valya Paige]

Something caught her eye as she rounded the bend, following the trail climbing up to the lighthouse. Valya halted, then crouched low as she spotted another wisp of smoke caught by the wind and carried away. She cast a glance back, frowning at the faint smudge of smoke from her own fire, perhaps a kilometre down the track. There were people up ahead, a camp. She didn't exactly know what to make of that, who would come down here, to what end?

Another thought crossed her mind: Perhaps one of the wrecked Corsairs had made it to shore after all, struggling onto the slippery rocks as she had done days prior. Maybe he'd been camping here this whole time. Whoever it was, it was possible she'd already been spotted. Valya had figured herself alone before and hadn't exactly been trying to hide. Maybe she should have been more careful.

Moving slowly, she left the trail, stepping down the hillside a ways to creep around to the lee side of the stone structure, keeping herself out of the sightline of anyone near the fire. As she got closer, the wind carried with it the scent of smoke and cooking meat, which made Valya's mouth water despite herself. She risked a peek over the shrubs and was surprised to see an organised campsite set up inside of the abandoned lighthouse. That ruled out a fellow survivor, at least.

She stayed crouched and still for a time, taking stock of the camp. There seemed to be only a single occupant, a tall, dark man sitting and tending to the fire, spinning a delicious-looking bird she had never seen before on the spit. His sword lay on a log beside him, and altogether he seemed oblivious of her existence, thank the Stars.

A couple of heavy packs lay beside him, obviously more than enough for one person. Briefly, she considered dashing in and grabbing one before whoever it was camping with this man returned, but she decided against it. She was without a weapon, and hardly confident or strong enough to lead a chase into unfamiliar territory.

But she couldn't very well stride off into the unknown with nothing either. She would surely starve or be killed before she made it far. Running now would be an easy option, but she would be giving up a chance for information and assistance if she did. Still, there was considerable risk in approaching an armed stranger, especially in a place such as this.

Valya crept past one of the windows, ducking beneath it and pausing by the door, wincing as her boots made a soft shush shush in the dirt as she moved. After a time, she merely stepped out into the open, waiting for whoever this person was to spot her, and ready to run if he proved an enemy.

She would have been quite a sight, with her filthy bandages salt-crusted clothes, and the music box hanging from her neck. Her headdress, usually the pride of her tribe's trading parties, was in tatters, with more than half of the bedraggled feathers broken or missing.

"Hello," she said, pointing at the bird on the spit. "That smells good."

Virgil​

 

[James Lanvarok]

James staggered along the beach with his crossbow on his back. Debris littered the sand, like bodies following a terrible massacre, asymmetrically placed and bumping along with the side. Brow creased, he looked to the horizon where the ship had crashed, and saw no sign of the woman who had come with it. Her footprints left a trail along the sand, which he followed in the hopes of finding food and shelter.

Passing through Vel Anir had been terrible. The dreadlords had seen him, and now there were several on his tail.

Muttering to himself, James groaned as he pulled his feet through the sand. A trail of smoke rose from the foot of a an old lighthouse, where a figure sat by a fire. James immediately froze, eyes wide and as blue as the sea. He backed away and reached for his crossbow, loading it effortlessly as he swung it around to his front.

He darted to the edge of the beach where the trees met the sand, and slipped into the undergrowth. Palm trees brushed his cheeks, the smell of salt and algae thick on the air. He swerved between trees, until he reached the bank overlooking the lighthouse, where the man was sitting. He rested his back against a palm tree and peered in between the trunks. The woman he had seen before was approaching the man. James combed their emotions. Most of what they felt was confused by fatigue, so he couldn't tell for certain if their intentions were violent.

Loosening the trigger on his crossbow, he lowered it, then stepped between the trees and onto the beach. He walked up beside the woman and swallowed a gulp.

The smell from the bird the man was cooking filled his nostrils, making him salivate. He could have eaten the whole thing. His shoulders rose up and down as he breathed in, his eyes veering to the side. He faced the woman, and recoiled, the ends of his mouth pulled perpetually downward.

"Are you okay?" There was a tremor in his voice. "I saw you wash up on the beach." He stared at her, brow creased in concern, but more so for himself.

"Man, I'm starving," he groaned.

 

[Virgil]

The soft scratch of soled feet on ground made his hand jump toward the blade, his eyes searching the surrounding before settling on the woman that had crept up. His other hand had made a sign, ring finger pinched under thumb while the other three were slightly bent, the beginning of a ward.

Keeping himself from putting magic into the movement was hard however. The sight before him was a strange one. A headdress and what was a large box of some kind around her neck, kept there by chains. She had been here for some time given the state of her clothes.

The bandage however looked to the be the worst of her person. He was certain that she wasn't doing quite nearly as well as anyone else in the world. His fingers had nearly loosened their gesture when another stepped into view.

"You human?" He asked simply, unable to completely tell from the headdress about her person. The other he could clearly see the rounded ears of.

Both of them had spoken of hunger. Or at least out of hunger, which was fair given his propensity for cooking even the gamiest of bird and beast. Not that being outside Vel Anir while being able to cook had anything to do with that ability at all. His hand backed away from the sword.

He guessed both were human by speech and stance, and not readily violent it seemed. The man said something about her washing up on the beach, and his eyes slid back to the woman and then to the spare pack that had once been an elf's.

"Take that pack, I've no need of it." He spoke to her. "Should have some bandaging left in it, didn't need it." He spoke quietly, eyeing both new parties. The sword remained in the sheath as he grabbed it by the scabbard and presented the bag to her from where he sat from the end of it. The bag was surprisingly light, but then again, it was elf built instead of human built.

It would fall apart within a fortnight he guessed with human use.

"Sit. Eat." He didn't quite command the pair, but didn't ask either. The sword went back to his side and the free hand dropped the gesture as he made a blanket statement that did not ask for questions. He wasn't likely to be as starved as they were, and it was going to be temporary company, something he could put up with for the evening.

Not like he would ever see them again.

 

[Valya Paige]

Another approached behind her, startling Valya when he spoke. She spun and almost bolted, managing to calm herself when she saw a rather pallid man standing in front of her. Valya frowned when her eyes fell upon him. She hadn't noticed him approach, so focused was she on the figure in the lighthouse. Internally, she cursed her foolishness. If this man had meant her ill-will, she would've been helpless.

That could still be the case, the voice in her head reminded her.

Eyeing the newcomer, she replied cautiously.

"You are right that I washed here, but I am fine. Who is the one asking?" Unconsciously, she folded her arms, uncomfortable being caught so suddenly between two strangers. Valya stepped inside, skirting along the wall of the ruin to allow the man behind her to follow, her eyes set on the man by the fire. She still hadn't decided if they were going to kill her, but at least they didn't appear in cahoots.

"Two men, each alone, wandering an abandoned, windswept peninsula. Strange, do you not think?"

Valya eyed the man by the fire with suspicion. "I am human, as you also seem to be." Reluctantly, she accepted his invitation to sit, her gaze falling hungrily on the pack resting against the wall not far away. She knew it would be better to reject the offer, to thank him, and to move along, but she couldn't help but think about tools and fresh bandages and a bedroll, a place to sleep at night off of the sandy earth.

But why would he offer the supplies? What did it mean that he no longer needed it? He spoke in a low tone, with the usual confidence of a young man. Not for the first time, Valya wished she had a weapon, any kind of weapon, in case things turned sour.

"What is this bird?" She asked, deliberately steering the conversation away from her nature. It smelled even better now that she was inside, the scent of roasting meat filling the small space. Valya's stomach growled, she couldn't wait for him to divide it up, her hunger overruling her sense of caution.

She decided to change the subject again as she leaned forward to grab the pack, opening the flap and beginning to rummage through the contents, retrieving a roll of fresh white bandages and pointing with her non-gloved hand at the man by the fire.

"You know medicine?"

Though she was tense and ill-at-ease, the fire and shelter provided the first real comfort she had felt since departing that Stars-forsaken fortress Cerak At'Thul. Slowly, she unwound the crusted yellow bandages from the shoulder, revealing the angry crimson rash running from her fingertips up. She held the bandages in both hands, staring first down at the rash and then back at the two men, gauging their reactions.

"It is bad magic," she explained in a serious tone, "the Shaman said I had two, perhaps three months."

Virgil | James Lanvarok​