Open Chronicles To Return to Malakath

[Kiros Rahnel]

"But does She reward your devotion? Think on this..."

Those words had stuck with him.

Spoken by one so foul in appearance, and bearing such malicious power. Kiros dared not place his trust in the wretched entity. Was he not better than that, than to give in to forces so clearly malevolent?

The Pilgrim did not think so.

It wasn't the question that was cause for reflection, Kiros had long known the answer; it was a simple 'No.' The statement was correct in assessment, yet wrong in implication that Kiros concerned himself with his own reward. But if Itra did naught for him, what did She do? Of what purpose was it, and why did She do it? Clearly not out of care, for that was not the goddess She was. She had not cared about those in Farreach. She did not care for the dwarven boy in Ixchel, and what aid She had provided carried ulterior motive. Her actions in Malakath had made Her saviour, according to Her. But Her word was as consistent as the shifting desert sands themselves.

She had sworn him to secrecy, yet had announced Her presence to all.

She threatened worship with death, yet he had seen others who made attempt survive without harm.

She had told him Seneschal was no more, yet She ever held answer as to why the aid of any other god could not be his.

He did not believe Her; not any of it! And yet he had ever done Her bidding out of fear of damnation.

She made salvation his obsession!

But what cost was he paying in its continued pursuit? He had placed the fate of all within the wing of one he viewed with such mistrust. Heralded one he knew to be cruel, for reasons he'd no understanding of, with perception of no other answer in that moment.

Had obsession blinded him so?

What had he truly done?

He would have to learn.

* * *​

“Look, either it is or it isn't. If not, we'll just make our landing on the shore. The bay waters offer plenty of suitable locations.”

“Again, I do not find this wise.”

“Again, you know shit about sailing!”

“It is not the waters that ought concern us! I know the land, and what threats lay upon it. I have seen them! We both have.” Kiros continued his protest, with a gesture towards Xzaar Vixneel. The two of them had found themselves among the crew as guides, their familiarity with the continent rendering the both of them a valuable addition to the archaeological expedition. But these were the sailors he was attempting to get through to, not archaeologists. The latter sought answer; the former, set in their ways, seemed to believe they already held them.

“Do you really think we'll leave the ship anchored near the shore!?”

“Do you really think none of them can fly?” Kiros shot back, his tone noticeably tinged with increased frustration.

“We really think you ought leave the navigational decisions to-”

“Port ahead! Port ahead! Starboard side, three hands right!” Cried out the barrelman, both interrupting and ending the squabble between Kiros and crew. He still held their disdainful gaze, but it mattered not. The village of Petakauata laid ahead, and the ship would best be kept within the safety of its harbour. Malakath was new to them, but the straline had long made their continent their home. If the village had remained secure for years, their ship would be safe for a fortnight.

Headway was made towards the village immediately. It would only be a few more moments until their arrival, and the deck had become a flurry of activity in hasty preparation. Sailors organized the mooring lines and buried themselves with the ship's rigging, while assistants prepared the horses for those making the journey on a deck below. Those passengers they were intended for slipped over to their rooms below deck to make themselves ready for the landing.

Kiros too was among them, disappearing to his quarters to don white robes beneath the the red kaftan he'd sported for the voyage’s duration. Though he had made mention of his visit to the new continent, he had not divulged his true place in the events that preluded Malakath's awareness to the rest of Arethil. He wasn't prepared to divulge his role here prior, having scarcely understood it himself.

He also had a trinket with him; a brass beacon the size and shape of a coin, inlaid with a red gemstone. A sign of fortune, that Kiros held not just one payout awaiting his return, but two. The cartographer's guild had caught wind of the voyage and sought to know the fate of one lost during explorations. If he could find this brave individual, the gemstone would light and the payout would be theirs.

The medium-sized ship dwarfed the smaller fishing vessels it sailed past on route to a far dock, where the village's straline denizens rushed over to meet their arrival. Language was not shared, but words were not needed for both straline dock hand and human sailors held understanding of sailing and the procedures that came with it. Mooring lines were pulled taught by some while others, armed with spears, boarded the ship to give their inspection. Any wariness of the newcomers was soon overcome once it became clear that they not pose threat, and it was further aided by the gold and trade goods provided.

The straline did not speak trade 'tongue'; but they clearly understood the concept.

With the ship docked and formalities behind them, a ramp would enable the adventurer's egress onto the docks and ground beyond.

“The journey should take us three nights, according to the map.” Spoke Kiros, with the unfolded map he’d been provided with by the guild. A marvel it was, that this time he held what he'd longed for during his last trip: guidance. A strange irony that he received less guidance from Her, than from one he believed he'd yet to even meet.

Even this E. Vergeßo-Avellini had surely done them all more good than She ever had.

Xzaar Vixneel Szesh Arnor Skuldsson Empyrean Sirius Tonwee Asa Renwyk

 

[Empyrean]

Artamese Prewitt
Linguist | Archaeologist | Professor​

Artamese had her nose stuck in a book, but she was a restless creature and wandered around her small cabin. As she read, she picked up her things and moved them around, absentmindedly packing—daring to not part from her reading. She paused long enough to strap on her high harness, spelled quill and codex, brimming with notes and sketches. It was not the first time she had been on an excursion—though she hoped this one didn’t have a dragon passing as an absurdly attractive—albeit naked—man, broken bones, sunburns, large snake encounters and hoards of swarming ants the way her last excursion did. She slipped on her inkpot ring and silently begged for no more ants.

Only when the lookout sounded, and the quarters deck she temporarily called home came to life did she snap her book shut and begin packing as everyone else did in earnest, leaving a few things out she hoped to trade with Straline. She was dressed for outdoors and travel in cool greys and light blues. The top deck was bustling with activity by the time she surfaced, and Artamese shielded her eyes to spot Petakauata’s village harbor and a small army of Straline to greet them.

She had been assigned her own horse and got busy adjusting the saddle. A thought occurred to her and she came to kneel by a Straline, coaxing a paw to press to her throat. The Straline recoiled in surprise at the sensation of the purr, but it understood the very single, clumsy word: Trade. From there it was a simple matter of showing wares for wares, and Artamese scored a case of new fishhooks, lures, two oilskins, an extra lantern and a blanket.

Saddled, Artamese mounted along with the rest of their party, nudging her round spectacles along her button nose. She unconsciously checked each stone threaded through the eyeglass holder, feeling the prickling of power that was magick stored in each one. Hopefully they would last the excursion; at worst, she’d lose the damned things. They were a long way away from Elbion where she could get them respelled...

She was four people behind Kiros, who advised their journey should take three nights. Though the map was surely a boon and the Guild a noteworthy organization, it was also better funded on a much bigger scale and could probably afford better protection from the continent’s more aggressive citizens than they could. She couldn’t help but call out and ask, “Is that interrupted, or uninterrupted?” Like all adventures, she expected some manner of trouble—and Kiros had indicated there’d be as much in previous conversations. She was already pulling her Codex out and flipping to a blank page while they traveled through the village and beyond, letting her horse lead while she sketched a semblance of the Straline she traded with from memory and making a note of the success of the brief language exchange.

 

[Xzaar Vixneel]

He hadn't been around humans for a while now, and he's forgotten just how stubborn their species is. Now, Xzaar tries to remain neutral in these situations as he strives to uphold the peace and remain unbiased, but Kiros was absolutely correct about ever word he spoke to this navigator. Nobody was telling this man about where to anchor the ship or how to sail the waves. As Kiros said, it is the dangers on land that concern them.

As he sat on the crate, a leg crossed over the other and observing the argument amongst he would chime in on occasion to attest to Kiros claims. The way he sees it is why were they chosen for this exhibition as guides if they won't let them guide?

Nearing the conclusion of their squabble, Kiros said something so specific that Xzaar was sure he was alluding to...

Spoiler: Do you really think none of them can fly?

Watching such a small group of tiny humanoids, they knew the group would not survive in the open for long.

The creatures of Malakath would barely even leave bones if they attacked the visitors so the Skycre had decided to fetch the meal for themselves first.

​

The very memory sent a frigid chill down his spine that forced him to stand and take a few steps around the deck. They only faced a handful of monsters that day, but they were all formidable and nothing to be taken lightly. They made him realize just how dependent on his magic he truly was, and it didn't sit right with him. Magic had been restored, but what if it falters yet again? There's something off about this continent and if these people want to make it out, they'll have to listen to those who have experience, because they barely made it off as well.

When another man informed them of their arrival, he turned and entered his quarters as others had. The confrontation with those bug-creatures from before had instilled a paranoia in his mind that he'll have to be ready if they crossed paths again. One of them tried to make sure that he'd never fire an arrow again, but he recovered through physical therapy. As a result, he's didn't come here without armor.



And he's thankful for the golden bowstring that Itra gifted him after the battle. Kiros is lucky to have a benevolent Goddess on his side such as Her—at least that's his assumption. Kiros may be living in luxury as Her prophet. Xzaar really has no idea. Hell, until he met Kiros, he didn't even believe that Gods existed. As they began the journey, Kiro's read from a map as they saddled onto their horses. "Three nights..." those words sent a searing pain straight through... his finances, "If I feared anything on this land, it is was not the insects nor the vultures... but the goddamn merchants and inn keepers. Screw that. I'll sleep in a tree." It was not the first time he had done so.

 

[Tevnir Rahjal]

Tevnir was not prepared for such an extensive ship ride. He had thought he was, but a half-a-days ride up the creek in a canoe to visit family four times in a month, and the occasional short jaunt between locales when portal stones weren't of help apparently doesn't constitute extensive water experience.

And he paid the price. In between expelling his stomach contents first from railing, then porthole, and finally as he holed up in his quarters a bucket, to quite literally crawling his way across the room just to get the proffered meal bowl or to lay down and sleep for the first week or so, he was begging whatever hometown deity beheld him to just end it all quickly, for anything was better than this.

Some time after that- he isn't precisely sure how long, having slept away another bout of puking -his balance and stomach began to give him some bit of mercy, and his crawling turned to staggering. From then he was able to ease his way on deck and do as he preferred; perch himself out of the way for minimal creative distractions, watch the people, and write songs. Thank the Gods his clothing was spared during his repeated upheavals.

---

“Port ahead! Port ahead! Starboard side, three hands right!”

He whoops loudly and runs- well, jogs enthusiastically -below deck to his quarters, hastily changing from his velvet finery into more travel-appropriate clothing, removing the feather and cock from his hat, stowing his jewelry, and putting the rest of his odds-n'-ends he'd strewn around his cabin back in the "lid" half of his sizeable travel case, before giving the light strapping over his lute, rebec, small bell, small rattle, and small frame drum a check. All he requires for adequate entertainment wherever he may go.

Once assured his case is well enough for travel, he hoists it onto his back and rushes swiftly on-deck, the rush of relief quelling his stomach's protest at the swift motion.

"Land, my sweet, dearest foothold! The bearer of my burdens, oh how I missed ye!" He calls towards the docks, dodging around sailor and Straline dockhands alike for the gangplank. "Leave her, Jonhi!"

---

Case tied firmly to the horse, hat cord firmly tied under his chin, and rump-in-saddle, he looks to Kiros, Artamese, and Xzaar in turn. The corners of his lips downturn at Artamese's question, and he sucks his teeth at Xzaar's comment on insects, vultures, and inkeepers.

"I take it this excursion will be quite interesting, Messirs... I don't believe I caught your names." He indicates the trio in question, giving a slight wave. "I am Tevnir Rahjal, here to elevate the spirit, lend my blades, and write the tale."

 

[Vulpesen]

The wind whipping through his hair was a welcome feeling as Vulpesen descended towards the deck, line in hand. Above him, the sail was coiling upwards, brought up by the loop that had been set about to dictate its length. Between the resurgence of his master's court, and his work on land, his life as a mortal had almost seemed forgotten, at least until he heard of the expedition and its need for a crew. A quick sign later and he was seabound and free to see the new world.

"Main sails up, sir!" Vulpesen called out to the master rigger as he hit the deck and ran to secure the line. Given the dangers of the land, even if the straline were friendly, he decided to use a simple mooring hitch, secured by a half hitch to keep the line from coming loose.

His hands reached up to his shirt, adjusting the ruffled fabric as he made his way to the side of the ship. While his ears remained open for orders, his eyes searched the horizon, his body buzzing with anticipation for what new adventures malakath might have in store for him on this expedition.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He was glad to have Xzaar to back up his concerns; a comfort to have another with experience on the journey. No doubt he remembered the last arduous excursion as well as Kiros did; the implied mention of the winged beasts appeared to cause visible discomfort. As he walked the deck to shake it off, Kiros exchanged another incredulous look with the sailors. None but Vulpesen seemed to regard the dangers of the new continent with the seriousness they truly ought. The seas might be the sailor's present domain, but the bellies of Skycre young would become it, should they not exercise requisite care.

Landfall did lighten his mood. At least rather than spending money, the trip offered him an opportunity to earn it. A stark change; he remembered well the staggering prices for even a modest room at an inn in Tirnua. And yet he paid it, spending his coin as if it were his last day on Arethil. For all he knew it might have been; She had sent him then, after all.

The odd sound Artamese made didn’t escape Kiros' notice, and the purr earned a look from him while she had her fingers still pressed to her throat. A hint as to how she’d managed to make such a noise, and the subsequent exchange of goods further hinted at the meaning behind it. It wasn’t exactly a display of fluent Stalinian, but that she knew any at all was nothing short of remarkable. Not even a year had passed since the last adventure, upon which the continent’s discovery was made – and by extension, the language that the straline spoke. It was a true testament to her talent as a researcher, that she held such knowledge already about a land so new.

It also bid worry that she knew of his role here during that adventure, or worse still: Hers. Itra's holy symbol threatened to give his connection to Her away. Unhelpful as always, She had made the symbol a permanent fixture; so two thin pewter disks had been pressed against both sides. While it may have looked a touch conspicuous, it did conceal the symbol from view.

“Is that interrupted, or uninterrupted?” The fair and wise question was asked of him by Artamese.

“Uninterrupted; though we ought be swift and careful through these lands. I do carry medical knowledge, should injury be incurred.” He replied, omitting mention of his healing magic that could undo even gruesomely traumatic wounds. While he held the magic, it truly belonged to Itra. He'd resort to it if needed, but doing so would alert Her, and he would much prefer to avoid that, if possible.

Xzaar was the next to speak his concerns:

"If I feared anything on this land, it is was not the insects nor the vultures... but the goddamn merchants and inn keepers. Screw that. I'll sleep in a tree."

“I must concur; if you need anything, best to make the purchase now. I know not if we will encounter any trade on our route, but wares and lodgings will not be cheap.” Kiros replied, taking note of another as he divulged advice to the adventurers. The man was now absent his bright attention-grabbing garb and looking much better now that he had solid ground beneath his feet. His former clothing implied a noble lifestyle; one Kiros missed as much as this man seemed to miss land.

"I take it this excursion will be quite interesting, Messirs... I don't believe I caught your names." Asked the man, before introducing himself.

“Kiros Rahnel. I wish to discover more of what has been discovered, and make record of it. Further, I am here to guide, as I and Xzaar have tread these lands before. ” He replied, omitting any mention of Her. For the best – he had arrived in search of answers, after all.

Truth might become casualty, should She become involved.

Vulpesen Tevnir Rahjal Empyrean Xzaar Vixneel Arnor Skuldsson Tonwee Asa Renwyk Szesh

 

[Empyrean]

“You look terrible. Are you alright?” She had taken a note of the way Tevnir quickly seemed to make way for the docks and eventually joined them, but now without the hubbub of sailors and Straline, she couldn’t help but notice he looked sickly. Though he didn't immediately answer, he finally seemed satisfied enough to introduce himself.

“Artamese.” She replied in turn to the flowery-dressed man, nudging her glasses up the bridge of her nose. He was a man of flowery words, then? One of those singing types she had seen back in her home city? “It’s my first time here. Master Kiros, am I to understand that you’ve been here before? From the sound of it, it’s incredibly dangerous but not so dangerous that you’re chancing to come back—clearly what you’re looking for is important.” Artamese knew that Malakath was something of a frontier—and she was one of the few in Academia that had the chance to see it first-hand.

There were a lot of things she wanted to see—mainly the ruins, and—if they were truly heading in that direction—various parts of the Valley of Decay. If she could perhaps just take a sample—enough to make a difference—she could take it back to Elbion for further studies. Perhaps they would even discover what caused such a mass graveyard. Mass extinction? Who knew?

“My benefactor would be most curious to know the results of our exploits, nosy woman that she can be. Will these be published, or should I keep my trap shut?” She noted that Kiros seemed—was it on edge, maybe? She couldn’t decide if it was a suicide mission to be here or not—but she was here so clearly she lacked some kind of common sense. For all she knew she had been lied to and hired by a group of mercenaries who might screw her over at any given point. To that end, she nodded in silent agreement with Xzaar. If this continent were as new as she researched—in so far as new to the other continents, then prices might have skyrocketed. It was why she chose to barter with the Straline. She lightened her load of useless items instead of spending exorbitant fees.

Granted, the last time she slept in a tree, she woke up to a snake she wished were anywhere but slithering across her body.

 

[Tevnir Rahjal]

“Uninterrupted; though we ought be swift and careful through these lands. I do carry medical knowledge, should injury be incurred.” The man replied to the archaeologist, followed by “I must concur; if you need anything, best to make the purchase now. I know not if we will encounter any trade on our route, but wares and lodgings will not be cheap.” to the archer. Tevnir twisted in the saddle to check on his case.

Naturally, he had left his little tent with a troubadour friend back in Minaris, and hadn't brought a shred of food to eat after the ship ride. Damn him. At least he had travelling wine in his wineskin.

Tevnir makes an acknowledging hum towards Kiros, making note of his intriguing quarterstaff as he looks past him to scan the various little stalls for vendors. When Kiros finishes speaking, he introduces himself, and listens as they reply.

Tevnir nods to Kiros, a slight bow, before smiling, all tooth and charm, trilled Rs becoming more distinct. "Kiros. Am I right to assume you are from Amol-Kalit? You and I are in a similar boat, if you ever wish to compare what is written to ensure best records kept, you need only ask. Your experience here brings comfort, as does your great stature."

Tevnir nods and smiles to Artamese next. "Artamese. I am doing well now, thank you. The docks and grass usually don't pitch violently under my feet and turn my stomach. I appreciate your astuteness, and I'll lend my writing, if you wish." He pauses for a moment, "I feel like we've met before. It must be your lovely eyes, like the river's edge over rock."

Then to Xzaar, giving a similar nod-and-smile. "Xzaar. I appreciate the fair warning of the merchants and the dangers, I have a feeling the price of food will floor me. You must know how to shoot well, you have the build of a skilled archer."

Tevnir gives another wave, "I must stock up, I was an idiot and left my tent behind."

He steers his horse over to one of the stalls, jangling his purse and pointing out dried meats, fruit, and other well-keeping food items he wants to the Straline seller. "These, please."

Seeing the price did indeed make his eyes widen, and he began trying to barter down by gesturing in as many ways as he could think to indicate less or smaller, to little avail. After a few minutes of struggle, he breaks and pays the seller, food and drink is worse a need than anything. Only after ensuring he had some did he take a minute to truly appreciate Petakauata. It was quaint, but pretty. It would make a good setting for a sailor's ballad. Or an erotic, seafaring sonnet. He hadn't decided.

He reaches through the front of his brown travelling casaque, pulling his small journal and graphite crayon from an inner pocket. He makes a quick sketch of the village, and some notes of the colours, cats, and feelings the scene evokes. A few lines come to mind;

As the lights fall low, in the village,
and the sunset lightens yon' bay,
How I wish to see them there, in the village,
Oh~ oh~, how I wish to be there,​

He frowns softly at the paper when he hesitates. He will have to continue writing later, and puts his equipage away as he makes to find a tent to buy, should no one stop him.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

"Kiros. Am I right to assume you are from Amol-Kalit? You and I are in a similar boat, if you ever wish to compare what is written to ensure best records kept, you need only ask. Your experience here brings comfort, as does your great stature." Tevnir replied. It was a fair assumption, and the colourfully dressed man actually pronounced his name correctly; among the few easterners to do so. The response implied that he had joined them out of a desire to discover the mysteries here – much like Kiros had claimed to himself. Rather than camaraderie, the statement caused concealed concern beneath his unflinching expression. He could trust Xzaar with the knowledge, Itra seemed to like him; or at least didn't carry the scathing hatred She often did in her views on matters. But he knew not how She might react to Tevnir, should be too eager to discover too much. Running afoul of Her would be too much, by far.

Artamese continued with another question, following her first.

“My benefactor would be most curious to know the results of our exploits, nosy woman that she can be. Will these be published, or should I keep my trap shut?” she asked of him, which caused him to take an immediate pause. He wasn’t expecting the choice, but having been granted it, he'd push for the offered option of silence. Given Itra’s involvement, it seemed best to deny Arethil any further awareness of Her miserable existence. Given his own sordid past, secrecy further seemed best for his own well being. He knew not whether She no longer held secrets to keep, but he most certainly still did.

But as this was an archaeological excursion, a flat denial wasn’t possible. His benefactors would not tolerate a return devoid of information, though he need not report what facts might be deemed inconvenient.

“I am merely here to make a record of it to return with; whatever lies in Ravaryn will remain unpublished.” he responded with a statement of half-truth. Ravaryn was the place where She had revealed Herself to not just those among him, but to all of Arethil – or had at least attempted to. She did not seem to be widely known as a result, which Kiros was grateful for. Further gratitude was held for the apparent opportunity to seize control over what might become committed to history.

Tevnir soon departed, heeding the warning to shop for supplies. Here in Petakauata ,they made their purchases as a sizable group; and further had buttered up relations through diplomatically strategic gifts. Prices were a far cry from those of the fleecing shopkeepers he’d remembered in Tirnua.

It had now been about three hours since daybreak. Kiros remained by the village's gate, occasionally packing his pipe to smoke during the idle wait. Once all had returned and were ready, the trek to Ravaryn would commence. The journey would begin at steady pace, easy enough to not tired the horses. While it was surely best to make the journey through these dangerous lands as soon as possible, 'The Valley of Decay' held a name that implied it was doubly so. He'd no clue what waited for them there, but he'd rather not risk exhausting the horses in case they needed to make a hasty escape in case it was bad.

But guessing would only ever get him so far. Now was the time to venture forth and discover.

Empyrean Xzaar Vixneel Tevnir Rahjal Vulpesen Szesh

 

[Empyrean]

“You’ve a way with words, Bard.” Artamese arched a brow, her lips twisting—as if fighting not to grin. It was not immediate disgust; Ridiculous though Tevnir appeared, he was far too amusing—and Bards and Scriveners had a common ground in that it was their job to record history—to an extent.

She wondered, then, how much of his fanciful songs and poems held any manner of accuracy. She would have to pick his brain when camp was made. Still, Artamese felt the knee-jerk reaction to withdraw—she knew what they did for a living, but she was not Empath like her benefactor—she had no way of knowing if he genuinely thought her eyes were pretty, or not. Her ears turned pink and she avoided eye contact as she typically did—it was not that she avoided him altogether—for if she didn’t look him in the eye, he couldn’t look her in the eye. She looked at—his nose, she decided. She wouldn’t admit that she was grateful when he departed to stock up on his supplies, sparing her of more embarrassment than she already felt.

It was not a terrible nose, anyway.

Tevnir in general was interesting because he was pretty. But beyond that—he was remarkably astute, to have assessed what he did—whether it was a compliment, genuine or empty, it was that he was so specific in what he pointed out. She did not notice such things, and doubted she had the eye or skill to. She studied magick, and even that was a struggle to do and something she was no expert at. Magick was raw and esoteric and difficult to wield or manage and wasn’t so terribly common in Arethil.

Arethil in of itself was something esoteric and raw and new and different. How could anyone in this world presume to know the ins and outs of such power so casually? Just as speaking was a natural evolution, she didn’t wield magick so much as study it and learn more of it. Just as there were several languages in the land, there were several ‘schools’ of magic—some more pronounced than others. Some mages treated it with reverence, while others abused it and lorded over others with it. Even those who were not human were flawed in their perception of magick.

No, songs and tales told stories that likely bent the truth of things because that was the folly of men. And, she thought idly to herself as they traveled along, perhaps it was a folly of her to think she can understand magick? Malakath was dangerous and Kiros indicated that whatever was here was worth coming back for—and she respected that. She wanted truth and she decided that was something she and Kiros had in common. She wondered that if all else failed, what masterful, poetic words Master Tevnir would spin to control the situation, to tell the story and shape the history of what happened here?

Would people understand it, or would they take it for granted and remain ignorant of the dangerous world they lived in? Elbion had the privilege of its education but even the college was steeped in arrogance, ignorance, and prestige. Here, they were making history.

Would the world care?

Vulpesen had also been absent, perhaps to gain or lose supplies before they went. To travel light or heavy was a difficult decision. Xzaar had given fair warning as is; Artamese had taken her chances with the Straline when they first arrived, but it gave her time to converse more freely. “I’m a Scrivener—it’s simply my job to study magick in its chaotic habitat. It has a way of causing trouble. A wayward object imbued with things man can’t comprehend but try vainly to." She shrugged, not masking her disdain for her own species.

"The way it shapes nature, for better or for worse. How it can tether a soul or destroy it. I hope to understand both for good and for maleficence. I can only study and share my findings, I can’t control how others perceive and use it. I think at the end of it all, we will be our own destruction, and yet we pray for higher powers to save us from situations we’ve caused ourselves. I sometimes wish magick wasn’t so alluring, or we’d be safe and ignorant in our homes…”

Magick was neither good, nor bad. It simply was—and Artamese knew it. Malakath had the potential to prove it could sway either way. What history was here and what sort of magick lived here? She adjusted her glasses, feeling the faint warmth and hum of the small spells imbued into each tiny, decorative stone laced on.

She wanted more, and she hated that.

 

[Lord Blackwell]

An old gentleman awakes in a boat, pith helmet covering his eyes. Uncovering it, he notices the stillness of the ship, and the noise of purring and shouting alike outside. He sits up, looks about, and properly realizes his situation with an exclamation,

"Bumbling Blackwells, I'm late!"

It was indicative of the Blackwell family's attitude that the phrase meant to mock them among the other nobles of Alliria was the phrase being used by a member of the family; a member that was hurriedly trying to stuff a pipe and a bag at the same time. Stumbling, bumbling Lord Johnathan Blackwell III hurried to dress himself and still keep some semblance of being put together. After finding himself passable enough, his bag was slung over his shoulders and he stepped up onto the deck of the ship.

The bright sun struck his eyes, and Johnathan felt the mild climate strike him in a very mild way. He stepped onto the gangplank and down onto dry land, trying not to get distracted by the adorable little creatures managing the docking process. Instead, he looked further into the village of Petakauata and recognized the guides. Lord Blackwell had only interacted with a few crewmembers, and had yet to talk with the members of this expedition. He was a bit busy with the wildlife in the Asherah Ocean. It didn't take long to spot them, since he remembered their faces (and they were the only humanoids actually in the village). Blackwell lit his pipe and walked up to the group, wearing his habitual smile.

"Good morning, my fellow expeditioneers, and apologies for the tardiness. I am the naturalist Lord Johnathan Blackwell III, pleased to meet you all. If you're in the circles I believe you all are, you might have heard of my father, Lord Johnathan Blackwell II, discoverer of the famed Crobhear Stone. Or perhaps you've caught wind of my sister, Anna Blackwell IV, she recently discovered a brand new fish off the Cortosi Coast. If nothing else you must know the story of William Blackwell, my great uncle, the first one to map the Ixchel Wilds. A whole quarter mile before he was mauled by some blasted beast. "

Lord Blackwell removed his helmet, and put it over his chest as a sign of respect, taking a moment of silence for his great uncle.

It was a very short moment.

"Sorry about that, I always get the morbs when I remember dear great uncle William. Anyhow, "

He clapped his hands together, smiling a bit wider with excitement.

"What's the plan? I can hardly wait to document these gargantuan beasts I've heard about."

It was a natural wonder that someone who smoked so much could be so long-winded.

Empyrean Xzaar Vixneel Tevnir Rahjal Vulpesen Szesh Kiros Rahnel

 

[Vulpesen]

The wilds were often unforgiving. It was a truth known by all trialed zorrens, and while he had hidden his tail, Vulpesen wasn't so foolish as to hide away the lessons that had kept him alive in his exile. While everyone went out to buy their own supplies food, the warlock simply set about reorganizing his pack. It took some extra time, but it helped him keep to the necessary tight budget of the land.

When he finally caught up to the main party, he was humming a soft sailing tune, while a hand stroked the neck of the steed he had been offered. While he'd been prepared to act as his own transportation, this simple change made life so much easier as he could converse freely with those he travelled with. "Hope I haven't missed anything, but by the looks of it, the fun is far from starting."

His eyes turned to Kiros, who had so far proven to be the expeditions leader. If anyone was worth asking about the plan it was certainly him. "I would like to know our heading or what lands you're planning to stop by," he added, taking his cue from the verbose Lord Blackwell.

Kiros Rahnel Tevnir Rahjal Empyrean

 

[Xihuitl]

There has been an arrival...

...Farseeker friends- no. Allies? Cohorts.

Harbingers.​

Go. Receive. Question.

Learn.​

I obey.

My Queen.​

 

[Tevnir Rahjal]

Stocked with provisions and a new olive green tent, Tevnir slowly makes his way through the village, journal and graphite crayon in hand to sketch the scenes he finds inspiring. Keeping the horse at a slow walk as he goes to avoid extreme tardiness, as there is only so much bardly distraction to be tolerated.

Finally lacking sights to see, he stows his equipage and trots up to the group gathered outside of the village gate, smoking and talking genially. He glances between the two new arrivals and hums, light smile coming to his lips.

"Ah, what a crew we have here."

Tevnir salutes slightly towards Vulps. "Hail. Tevnir Rahjal, here to elevate the spirit, lend my blades, and write the tale. I don't believe I caught your name, Messir."

Tevnir then looks fully to the resident Lord of the group, and whets his lips to save an amused grin.

"You're one of those Blackwell chaps, no? I believe I met one of your cousins once, fine lady. She nearly broke my arm. I hope you're just as strong, if this land is as dangerous as our fine guides say."

He takes a pause, surveying the gathering, and yet again pulls out his equipage to sketch the group at large, glancing between everyone and his journal with frequency...

Puff thy pipe, one more draw for giving up on thee,
Lo' one more, just to kill you sooner than our expectations,
Ah, from my favourite fibber, to my favourite mar-​

After a moment, he fixes Kiros with a more direct look. "I can't imagine I'm the only to ask, Afénti, what is our plan?"

 

[Zakarias]

Upon a stone some distance before the riders, there cut a figure in a bright and angry red, and a cloak of black that did drape about its square frame. Two horns, like bloodied thorns, rose from the shape, and gold flecks glittered at its ends and along its trim, bright beneath the sun

A stray note may have carried on the wind. A sweet tune from string that invited the ear and begged more to hear. It seemed to come along their path, just a stray song from a stray stranger perched upon a stone.

A few straline, armed with hunting kit, gathered about the figure, and stirred with jaunty dance. And as the party grew closer and closer, so too did the figure in red, begin to leap and bounce and dance beneath the sun alongside the straline, strings a pluck, bright with manic cheer.

 

[Xzaar Vixneel]

It appears that several new adventurers had disembarked onto this foreign land with them. Some seem knowledgeable and well-grounded, some energetic while others seem quite eccentric. One man in particular—Lord Blackwell of whom he's never heard of, nor his family—feel like an usual amalgamation of all three. Regardless of their distinctive personalities, they all sought one thing in common: a plan. They turned to Kiros as their guide, who seems to have established himself as the party's leader.

Xzaar did not have anything to add to their conversation. He took up a role of his own, and that's protecting the group from unperceived threats. He's unaware of their own capabilities or how they sense the world around them, but he was granted the gift of Empathy. He can sense the emotions of those around him, and an influx of malice could be dangerous towards the entire time if he doesn't siphon it. As a result, he can sometimes discern a persons true intentions via his own senses.

Nothing had managed to disturb his mental probing of the immediate vicinity. The horse ride wasn't even giving him nausea! Although, soon something had skimmed his mind. He didn't have enough time to process the feeling he picked up before it was yanked away from him. Perhaps that was too harsh... drifted? Whatever the feeling was, it ambled away from his mind and he wasn't even able to recall what he was on edge about.

His attention shifted towards the music that was playing. The alluring song scrubbed away nigh all worry in his mind and replaced it with a jovial song that brought him tranquility the more he tuned in. He's always been fond of lyre; the elegant tunes have always seemed to put him in a good mood when the Dreadlords back at falwood had him fucked up. Although, something about this felt—dare he say it—enchanting. Almost as if it implored the listener to cease in attendance. Against his better judgement—or he absence thereof—he steered the horse to divert from the others and stop at the gathering of straline and their musician. He knows street performers back in Fal'addas, and they've always been a pleasure to watch.

If only Xzaar was able to register in that moment that the feeling he felt was none other than discord, which is the antithesis of what his magical discipline represents, and it's in stark contrast to the melodious chords this individual plays. The discordant emotions came from the very figure who's performance he's enraptured by. Someone might have to shoot the clown!

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

“I hope to understand both for good and for maleficence. I can only study and share my findings, I can’t control how others perceive and use it. I think at the end of it all, we will be our own destruction, and yet we pray for higher powers to save us from situations we’ve caused ourselves. I sometimes wish magick wasn’t so alluring, or we’d be safe and ignorant in our homes…” explained Artamese, telling the cause that had brought her to join their journey. She was correct in that it had a way of causing trouble. He'd formerly believed that such power was a matter best left to the gods, until Itra's existence made such a notion questionable.

Whom does one pray to, when a higher power won't save one from a situation She caused?

“Truly incomprehensible, yet we may only try.” Kiros replied, concealing what knowledge he held. Atramese could surely not to understand Her, Kiros had spent years trying. He could only hope to keep such awareness safeguarded, and spare her the regretful wisdom of the divine he held.

"I would like to know our heading or what lands you're planning to stop by," asked Vulpesen

“Our first day will take us south towards the inlet here. We shall break for camp at its easternmost extent.” Kiros explained, touching a fingertip to the map paper to identify the terrain he described.

“From there, we shall move south-east for another night, then though the Valley of Decay. We should reach Ravaryn one day after, should our schedule be maintained.” Kiros continued, tracing a path inland along the map to a marker identifying the destinaton.

As he folded the map back up and tucked it away, the group was met with the introduction of Lord Blackwell. The man was having a smoke. Kiros knew a good idea when he saw one, and withdrew his silver pipe from a pocket in his robes. As the man continued on, Kiros packed it and set it alight while taking a draw and listening. He looked to be a well-respected man, and by his introduction he was a genuine explorer. Kiros was simply pretending to be an explorer, himself. He knew nothing of the man, nor the historical exploits his lineage carried. Tevnir thankfully did, and Kiros could simply follow his lead and pretend that he did, too.

“An expedition fitting of a Blackwell. The lands are but recently known and scarcely explored.” Kiros answered, before both men posed the same question:

"What's the plan? I can hardly wait to document these gargantuan beasts I've heard about." Asked Lord Blackwell.

"I can't imagine I'm the only to ask, Afénti, what is our plan?" asked Tevnir too, referring to Kiros through the Kaliti honorific Afénti. The term told him two things about the bard; that he held familiarity with the culture of Amol-Kalit, and that he viewed Kiros as a respected noble of the region. Which really ought hardly come as a surprise, given that such an alibi was exactly what he presented himself as. But to hear it spoken aloud was a stark reminder of the implied ruse he was putting on. None knew him for what he truly was. Only Xzaar knew him as a priest. Even so, the term was truthful as a description, but not as a title. He held no such noble rank, having foolishly forfeit it in an impulsive act of anger. He was neither hero nor Afénti. Just a fugitive.

Naught but the vagabond priest of an uncaring goddess. Yet he'd been regarded as an esteemed individual, when he was really just here to ensure he hadn't made a mess by enabling Her intervention prior. Uncomfortable as the lie was, it was better they did than to know him as Her priest. Better too that Xzaar knew him as prophet, and not murderer.

As unfitting for his comfort as it was fitting for his guise. He leaned into the notion and allowed Tevnir to believe his assumptions to be true, so that there'd be no cause to question who Kiros really was. Though it had been sixteen years since he fled Amol-Kalit, he still remembered how to conduct himself as a noble.

He hoped he could actually be one again, someday.

“Wise to inquire, my esteemed companions. Expediency shall be key, we should arrive to Ravaryn as soon as possible. From there we should have a day, perhaps two, to properly survey it and record what is there. The uneasy response was delivered in a cordial tone.

“Much remains that has not been documented.” Kiros condluded. He knew little; that he was the leading authority on the subject spoke to the truth of the statement.

With all present and prepared to depart, Kiros led them off and began the day's journey. The group did not travel far before catching sight of another, clad in colourful garb and plucking a string instrument among a small straline crowd. The unusual sight bid him to slow the horses to a stop as he processed what to make of it. The straline were given to dance, and this entity appeared far out of place, even for Malakath.

Zakarias' song bid Xzaar's, approach, and Kiros too diverted to follow. Xzaar had bravely accompanied him in time of danger, and Kiros would do nothing less. Further fitting that he was present, as Her enchantment upon his mind would keep it safe from whatever tricks this entity might play upon it. As they approached, so did he. Kiros could only wonder what his purpose or desire here was.

“An unusual place for song and dance.” Kiros spoke, courteous but cautious before whatever Zakarias was. Whatever charm he wove indeed fell flat upon Kiros' psyche, protected as it was to mind-bending magics. Entirely uncharmed and stoic before the being, he continued on.

“We ourselves arrive on an expedition, in exploration of lands formerly unheard of.” he continued, both telling the cause of his surprise at his presence, while making it clear that they were on a journey and would need to soon continue.

Barely off to a start, and they had already encountered a delay. Kiros hoped they would be on their way soon, and not face any danger from either the wildlife, or the being before him.

Empyrean Lord Blackwell Vulpesen Xihuitl Tevnir Rahjal Zakarias Tonwee Xzaar Vixneel

 

[Tevnir Rahjal]

Tevnir jots down his own little copy of the map on a free page in his journal, nodding intently as Kiros notes their path, and explains the approximate duration of their travel. It seemed befitting, keeping the route next to the quick sketch of the crew.

As the group makes way, following behind Kiros and Xzaar, Tevnir makes it his duty to break up the silence. He is a bard after all.

"Persons befitting the keen eyes of the stage, together meet for danger and intrigue. How many sonnets could there be to cover it? Perhaps as many as leaves of grass... How do you all feel about the spoken word?"

"Drawing Cards."
"You are my mossy chapel.
In my eye is a sentinel, overworked
and in want for cloak.
Do you look to me for solace? Could you? Would you?
Two of cups, sharing a draught as we look,
eyes and ears wide, lips wry and impugning.
(I see you as a dream, high and bright,)
Our memories alight, and at our relief we sleep
deep and sound.
At our wake we eat, sharing beef and bowl.
Do Kings share this way?
All the better to remain the Fool,
if it means keeping warm."​

It is not long after his orating that they come upon a stranger on a rock, playing as Straline dance happily, a little jaunt back and forth, a shimmy, paws raised. Cute indeed.

Xzaar heads immediately in the direction of the bright player, seemingly entranced, with Kiros following after him. He notices nothing out of the ordinary, and follows the duo, a grin slowly forming.

Tevnir brings his horse to a halt nearby and listens for a moment, before piping up, making to twist and open the case on the rear of his horse.

"Say, my good sir. Would you like to have a pluck-stringed duel? I have with me my lute."

With some difficulty, he manages to extract the lute, and brings it to tune before opening with a distinct set of chords, hoping for the stranger to join him.

---

OOC: Pretty please click the link, it'll bring you to a youtube video.

 

[Zakarias]

With eyes large and bright, that did burn silver and hot behind the twisted guise painted upon his pale mask, Zakarias looked down at the first who rode toward him, and his fingers did not miss a pull or a strum as he went on, with a step this way and that. There was something to be said about vibrations, as the clown tip-toed and hopped, and spun. Brass bells a-jingle and chime. Feelings. Auras. Intentions. He stopped his feet, and kept his tune, and his eyes fixed on the stranger, golden haired and long of ear. His gaze narrowed to dagger points, and his lips, hidden, were wide and his teeth bared with glee.

Would he shoot?

A second came up next to the first, polite and proper. Zakrias played on, fingers steady and true, for the Straline danced on and he would not ruin their fun, oh no.

"Unusual?" Zakarias called back, tone thick with mock disbelief. "Fine fellow, pray tell, what, I ask, what, is so unusual about this place?"

The polite one went on. Explained.

Zakarias chuckled softly and hot and then his strings did still on a harsh note, dissonate, the pang rang through the air as he frowned in those shadows unseen. "Yes, unheard of, most unheard of and unusual I am sure, to those who would not hear of such a place, or dance such a dance."

The Straline growled softly and hissed as they looked down at the others, with catlike judgement gleaming in their eyes.

A third approached, plucked his strings, bright and simple, and clear through the air.

"Now," Zakarias said in a voice long and low, and he plucked a retort, and added a little. "There is a fellow most fine indeed,"

---

 

[Vulpesen]

The retired scout leaned over in his saddle, his eyes peering over the map. "Well, looks like we better fill our canteens and drink while we can. 'Less you got a creek or rain, we aren't gonna have many chances to top them off later." He leaned back and took his own advice, swallowing down some of his fresh water. "And I'm not really enthused to be drinking in a place called the valley of decay."


"Blackwell," he mused, looking over what he could only describe as one of his most eccentric companions on this mission. "Sound's vaguely familiar. Should have found himself a local guide. The beasts may be savage, but they have their patterns. And if he only made it a quarter, It's rather likely he didn't even meet some of the things that I grew up fearing." He frowned a bit as the callousness of his own words reached his ears. "No offence, of course. A quarter is still some rather impressive cartography for an outsider."

Any further discourse would be interrupted by a jaunty tune, played by what could only be described as the jester from some children's book from his hometown. "Most folks I know dance in a tavern or a ballroom," he announced, answering the question of what was so strange about the jester's choice of venue. "I'd join y'all in this duel of yours, but I've found my voice a more reliable instrument on the seas. Less maintenance."

Zakarias Lord Blackwell Kiros Rahnel Tevnir Rahjal

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

"Yes, unheard of, most unheard of and unusual I am sure, to those who would not hear of such a place, or dance such a dance."​

“...That is true.” Kiros replied, not knowing what to make of Zakarias’ presence, nor his eccentric response. Tevnir too, was seemingly entranced by the imagined power of the song, or so he imagined. Immune to any controlling effect laid upon his mind, Kiros could only assume that Zakarias was weaving magical charm though the strings he plucked. The notion was entirely false and erroneous, yet also fair to make. Accosted by a strange, lute-playing entity far from civilization and the common tongue, it seemed a fitting explanation.

Heirahit gave no sign of agreement, however. As much as he tried to focus upon the arcane sense the quarterstaff granted him, he noted no disturbance of it whatsoever. The granted ability of magical detection was known to be fickle, but an effect this obvious ought to be potent enough to be felt. Provided the effect – that existed only in Kiros’ imagination – was actually of arcane nature. He could recall one able to weave effect similar to that he believed Zakarias wove, and during a time when magic had ceased to properly function. Kiros gripped his staff tighter as grave concern overtook him; was Zakarias an agent of Andekhah?

But before he could question why, Tevnir began to recite poetry. The deliberate structure of the words caught Kiros’ full attention – and further, granted him full relief from his former worries. Unless Andekhah or her minions had aptitude for pleasant and sophisticated poetry, it was doubtful that Tevnir’s involvement was involuntary.

Devised with such deliberate detail and spoken almost akin to a hymn, the poem might have been devised by the lector-priests themselves, aside from deviation from format and a theme absent of the divine. Rather, the theme seemed to be of worldly existence, an ode not to the holy, but companionship. Upon it’s conclusion, the bard had a further performance to give – he challenged Zakarias to a musical duel.

"I'd join y'all in this duel of yours, but I've found my voice a more reliable instrument on the seas. Less maintenance."

Clearly not charmed enough to join in, Vulpesen’s reaction confirmed what was recently suspected; that the music was without supernatural nature. No longer perceiving possible threat, but still unsure what to make of the strange entity, Kiros eased back to watch the duel unfold. They had another moment after all.

* * *​

Once they had concluded, travel resumed at a rapid pace, yet remained uneventful. The first night’s camp was established at the coastline to the south. The shore served useful in that it would prevent attack from the monsters of Malakath from that direction, reducing the directions in which watch needed to be kept and rendering the camp more secure than otherwise. Enough so, that all would be able to get a good night’s sleep. And best that they do, as the security the shoreline provided would be absent once they travelled inland, and time for rest necessarily shortened.

Two days travel would take them through the arid land, vigilant for aggressive wildlife the entire way. When they established the third night’s camp, the Valley of Decay was scarcely visible in the horizon.

They would tread there the next day.

Mountains and hills were lined with skeletal remains so massive that they dwarfed even the tallest giants he had ever seen. That they were deceased seemed for the best, as they would doubtlessly have been terrifying in life. It was the first time he had set foot in the region, yet Kiros could not shake the feeling that these remains were familiar.

He’d seen something like this before, but could not quite place where…

Tension was highest within the Valley, where hillsides and half-buried bones obscured potential ambush points. Despite his great paranoia and repeated warnings, none sprung forth to assail them. Kiros still hardly considered them all to be safe, merely lucky.

He hoped the fortune would stay with them as the group approached the foreboding entrance to Ravaryn.

“We have arrived.”spoke Kiros, dismounting from his steed a moment after.

Xzaar Vixneel Zakarias Tevnir Rahjal Vulpesen Xihuitl Lord Blackwell Empyrean Tonwee

 

[Itra]

Meanwhile in the Astral Valley, Itra was busy tending to Her boredom...

Drag the blade and cut through skin
Slicing down to bone
Only pain exists within
His new hellish home

Pull his hide and tear it free
Insects start to bite
All inflicting agony
To My great delight

Flesh exposed and organs spilled
Vultures tear away
Vengeance for the goddess killed
Taken every day

All that he deserves and more
Justice for his crime
I'll bid forth his anguished roars
Through the end of time

Tormented wails
To no avail
His torture shall not end
Made known to all
So none else shall
Do such a thing again!
​

Avellini's torment served both to entertain and distract. Engrossed in the activity, Itra remained oblivious to anything else.

Xzaar Vixneel Zakarias Tevnir Rahjal Vulpesen Xihuitl Lord Blackwell Empyrean Tonwee Asa Renwyk Arnor Skuldsson

 

[Xihuitl]

He was, once again, far from his comfortable desert home. Xihuitl had never sought greatness, nor recognition beyond the quiet gaze of his queen. The last time Kiros, Xzaar, and indeed anyone from the far lands had been here... well there was a saying about greatness being thrust upon oneself.

The Chi'nzen scout, or former scout, had done what was required of him. Had he known the magnitude of the events he would witness, the things he would survive to retell to his hive, he would have had the good sense to be afraid.

Yet choice had never been a luxury he possessed. The Mighty had expressed interest in him (he dared not think pride), and though he knew not what She had seen in him, She nevertheless praised him, and renamed him. No longer scout, but Farseeker. Few with this title, he the first in ages. Search the wilds far beyond the hive. Search even beyond Her sight.

He had the good sense to be afraid, but he obeyed.

The travelers were not difficult to track, nor to follow unheard. The one in red robes who spoke to the light, and the one with long ears who wielded it from afar, these he recognized. They had three more in their number this time, and Xihuitl did not know them.

A colorful creature with a wooden face. A soft-skinned man with a loud voice. A creature with tail like straline-fiends... but too tall.

It was not difficult to determine where they were going. Xihuitl had not been back to Ravaryn since Then. He did not wish to go back. He did not like that Andekhah-killers were going back There. It was unwise to disturb such powerful dead, lest your presence reawaken them. Determined to get there first, Xihuitl foraged ahead. A native of these lands, small and fleet-footed, he found the entrance before the party.

At Kiros' announcement a pair of sand-colored antennae surfaced from the ruins, and Xihuitl slowly made his approach. His antennae twitched this way and that, and he still wore the magical stone at his throat, which he tapped as he spoke to Kiros: "Krsz akh. Quiro zch xaulu?"

 

[Zakarias]

From atop a foraging beetle, which he had charmed and had ridden, Zakarias did rise as the party arrived, according to the tall and brooding one, and he kept an eye on those who kept bows and blades so ready and close.

Keen eyed and ever suspicious. Zakarias knew the type. Oh yes. Vigilant, those shepherds of those lost and seeking. But give them no cause, and they would not be quick to run off the crows and the ravens that did follow in their wake. A mercy in their minds. Perhaps. Or was it fear? Fear to stir the shadow that followed, for that would only invite more. Danger and death.

In the days that had passed, he had done little and more than follow the band of adventurers. Never did he ask a question, and less they asked of him, a question or a thought, he would remain silent to them, distant save for the pluck of strings and the sway of his songs. Their entertainer would play, and the jester would follow along. Jump ahead. Dive back. Run quick, and lul slow. Without tiring or faltering, did the Red Jester go. On and on as the days passed them by.

Now, before the ruins, he came close to them. His mount, large and shiny as the dark sea in a full moon, stayed close, but it would flee as soon as his charm wore off. And with eyes wide and expectant, Zakarias, who was an enigma still to this lot, smiled from behind his mask at the insectoid's approach. It made some noise, and Zakarias laughed.

"Wonderful," he said to himself.

Lord Blackwell Kiros Rahnel Xihuitl Tevnir Rahjal Empyrean Tonwee Asa Renwyk Vulpesen Arnor Skuldsson

 

[Empyrean]

Artamesis did--as she was prone to do--fell behind the group. She was a student of magic and by extension, science--and there was a lot to be studious about. The group were three days out as Master Kiros had said, and in the throes of their travels, Artamese got distracted. She stopped to observe, occasionally adjusting her glasses. Her steed grazed where it could in the arid landscape, chuffed and disturbing the ground where the nose wandered, yet never stayed too far away. A stone overturned in her hand. A detailed sketch of flora or the scant fauna she came across, stopping to observe the remains of an animal she couldn't readily identify but had opinions about.

She was so thoroughly engrossed that she was nearly abandoned. Sometimes she spoke to her horse, whose ears flickered back attentively, swiveling forward, wherever a sound caught attention. Artamese clicked her tongue and sighed when she realized how lost she had gotten again. How far ahead could the group have gotten? She paced ahead of her horse, a hand shielding her eyes to see--but she saw no one. Was it the wrong direction? She made a wide circle, trying to swallow the distress that was mounting in her chest as she caught no sight of their venturing party. All these bloody hills looked the same!

A sudden overturn of rocks from feet not her own had Artamese spooked enough that she walked as fast as she could to her horse, snatched the reins and led them at brisk pace in--what she could only hope was the right direction. She made the mistake of glancing back over her shoulder to see if they were being followed when she slipped on a bone that rolled under her heel. She tumbled a short ways before rolling to her feet, her horse far more graceful in their descent, disruptive as it were--only to realize their party was several meters ahead--and that Kiros has stopped.

Artamese adjusted her glasses, dusted the dirt and--dare she guess--ground bone dust? smoothed her disheveled braid down to regain any dignity lost and wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Oh don't look at me like that, you were frightened, too!" She chastised her horse quietly and brought up the rear. A quick glance around and she realized she had fallen down a bank of bones. It felt right to be paranoid; Even with her glasses, it was difficult to see up, but likely far easier to look down and watch from unseen vantage points.

Lord Blackwell Kiros Rahnel Xihuitl Tevnir Rahjal Zakarias Tonwee Asa Renwyk Vulpesen Arnor Skuldsson