Quest What remains

Organization specific roleplay for governments, guilds, adventure groups, or anything similar

Raigryn Vayd

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Dusty stopped when her hooves approached the boundary between life and death. Raigryn hadn't expected it to be such a clear demarcation. They stood on soft, green grass. A small contingent of adventurers as well as a squad of dwarven warriors from Belgrath.

Ahead of them nothing grew. Dead, grey soil. At least they knew they were in the right place.

They had followed tunnels to take them out omfrom under the spine north east of Belgrath. Keeping out of the depth of the Wilds whilst avoiding the borders of the Blightlands. They had seen a naga patrol, but hadn't been attacked. Raigryn was fairly certain a jungle troll had been watching them from the undergrowth for a day before deciding to leave the party alone.

"What was it, a day on from this to the ruins?" Raigryn asked.

"Aye, but no one has been checking if the dead ground grows or shrinks," replied Klimbi, who led the dwarven squad. He always had a heavy crossbow across his lap and a full brace of quarrels within reach on the saddles of his pony.

They had come here for a lot of reasons. Some keen to learn if there were dangers of magic unknown to them. The dwarves, he suspected, would scrutinise the ruins for any inventions they could return to their people.

Before the location had been lost the last documented journey to the ruins had been a hundred years ago. They had reported nothing but broken stone and dead land. Just a few months ago the dwarves had met a tribe of wild men who had claimed to hear monsters in the dead ground.

Raigryn couldn't hear anything ahead. That in itself was strange. No insects. No birdsong.



Saul Talith Gronkle Footertoe Faelin K'Abveirin Vigil Eren Damar Magnan Smithson Fife

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It'd been years since Kjaran had headed south enough to be in Ixchel. He'd raided there often in his youth (and been raided from there as well) but he'd never gotten used to the baking heat of the jungle nor the constant threat of attack, whether it be from the autochthons or the jungle itself.

Snakes, poisonous plants, river monsters, fire ants, spiders. At least those you could see. The malaise or diseases it hosted were even worse. He'd seen armoured soldiers disappear in seconds when embroiled in quagmires or wounds fester and rot in the heat over night. Small wonder it was a place most civilised folk avoided if they had the chance.

"Least we didn't see any of those bloody lizards yet" he said, though he was damn certain there were eyes on from the trees. You were never alone in a place like this. He dismounted, grateful for the break from his horse. Padding forward, he stooped and picked up a handful of the soil. It crumbled away in his hand, dead and lifeless, like chips of stone. Nothing could grow in it.

He rose again with a sound of disgust. "Dhera, at least we know we're close". He made a sign against evil all the same.
 
“I have no clue how I find these places” thought Gronkle while overlooking the the land, which would be considered by most people as dead. The place was silent, eerily silent. The were no plants or animals within eyes view. Gronkle payed no mind, as long as he made it to the city he heard about and grab a few trinkets, he could not care less about the land. He looks over the land and spots a large group of people, it seemed like they were comprised of small humanoids, other goblins? No, squinting his eyes, he saw dwarves and two taller humanoids. That sparked an idea in Gronkle’s head, he did need protection for any nasty beasts ahead, if there were any. Perhaps if he followed them until they reached the city, he could be safe and loot their corpses if they die somehow. Gronkle giggled in amusement as he peeked over the rock he was behind and ran to the next, approaching the group.
 
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The short dark elf was here in the wilds before, but never in this particular part...Though to be fair this spot of fallow land felt more like home deep underground where for days all you could hear were the echoes of your footprints and the beating of your heart.
The prospect of going deep within a ruin excited him.
Alas as usual, he allways looked mildly peeved or indifferent at any given situation regardless of how he felt.

» Don't speak of the-'them', least they come with a warband, « jested Faelin at Kjaran. The little elf was very supersticious on that matter. Don't speak dismissively of danger as you might just summon it.
 
Mganan had stayed silent the entire time they journeyed, quite amazingly aware of the templar within their midst and doing his best not to draw any attention to himself. While he believed he had more than a good chance to best the mortal man in combat, he simply didn't want to hurt such a holy and righteous person in the first place, not to mention he believed that one way or another inter-party murder was looked down upon by the rest of their group members. Pausing at the barrier between life and death, the undead found himself almost... eager, to step foot in such barren domain. This kind of place would technically be his new home, right? Death for death, after all. Looking around at the rest for a moment, the ancient skeleton took a 'breath, as it were, and stepped across into the deadlands. Immediately it felt... as if he had had a weight taken off of his shoulders. There was silence around him, beyond the noise made by the party, and the soft sound of the dead earth beneath his armoured feed. Rolling his shoulderbones, he silently turns his head to look towards the party's designated leader, waiting for orders and feeling quite at home within the landscape.
 
A faint sheen of sweat lined the rogue’s brow as she waited on the peripheral edge of the party. Her expression the study of a distasteful grimace as she surveyed the dead, barren land that lay before them with a critical eye, attempting to find some sort of comparison to draw on to make sense of how such scenery could become so devoid of life and, well, anything really.

At only twenty summers, the Ixchel Wilds stood as the furthest point the young Erenaea Damar had travelled from her native Elbion thus far, bringing her well beyond the reach and scope of the Aves and the Thieves’ guild. Right now, however, it seemed hard to feel impressed by that fact when all they had to show for it was a whole lot of barren wasteland as far as the eye could see.

When she returned home to the guild, hopefully weighed down with the riches of plunder and spoils, she would have to carefully edit this section of the story. Maybe throw in an ogre or two. Perhaps even a marauding giant. Anything to distract from the reality that, barring the oppressive heat and the uncomfortable sensation that arose from being in a saddle for more days than she cared to count, this adventure had yet to even hint at a return investment travelling this far had cost her.

Blood and ashes,” Eren cursed aloud, nudging her mare towards the blighted soil. Not an entirely small feat given the animal’s obvious reluctance, perhaps sensing something in the air that its owner was trying to ignore behind the bluster of her following words. “If we’re here to sight-see, can I suggest we do it somewhere with a little more view? I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not looking to be as long in the tooth as old greyhair over there by the time we actually arrive.
 
"With this large of a group rogue, we will take our time. Otherwise, we may meet an early demise."

I too was not fond of having to be in a large group that took time to reach from one point to the other. However, there is a reason for doing so. Moving too fast, and we would not be able to pay attention to traps, or patrols that we may encounter. Not using caution only lead to lack luster results. Its not like the ruins and remains we sought would return to the living and move of their own accord. We had time to spend. We should do so wisely.

Currently I was playing around with a dagger that I had. Grooming my nails and tending to the dirt that was trapped underneath them. My fingernails were not pretty, but they were kept clean. Shine they did not, but short enough to not be a hindrance to me. looking up from my current attention, I gave a look-see to the rogue. Was she really this bouncy in her line of work? Time and deliberate action was needed in her line of work surely. If not, then she must have not done very much before.

I didn't think poorly of her, but did pity that this is new for her.

The others around us seemed intelligent enough, but all made their own voices heard in various ways. While I was not superstitious, I knew that more often than not, speaking of such occurrences that have not yet taken place, will only hasten their appearance. I merely shook my head with replacing the dagger in it's sheath.

"Keep your eyes open, and ears clear. Caution cannot be thrown to the wind."
 
His horse seemed reticent to cross that line between the grass and dry earth, but he urged it on. There weren't even burned out husks of trees. Just open ground and rocks.

"Cut the chat!" he called suddenly. He scanned a group of rocks where he thought he had seen something move. "A goblin. Not dangerous alone, but they very rarely travel that way."

His horse carried on walking, but he took his right hand from the reigns. It had been a few years since he had done any serious fighting from horseback, but his hands still remembered the way.
 
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Kjaran crouched to pick up a rock, testing its weight in his hand. "D'ya reckon he's a scout then?" the Blightlander said, squinting as he followed the other man's gaze. His other hand tapped the hilt of his sword for good luck. The grip always comforted him before a scrap. "The feckers make bad eating, won't get much of a meal out of it".

He rose and grabbed the reins of his horse, walking slowly after the others. Kjaran was no cavalryman, he'd take his chances on foot if it came to a fight. He kept his shoulders loose but he scanned about him. It was too bloody quiet and too damn sunny a day for a fight.
 
Perpetually following after Raigryn had its perks: free food, sightseeing, a burgeoning education in magic, new clothes, warm beds, and even a sassy little pony who she was now quite fond of. It also came with some slight drawbacks: involvement in illicit affairs, constant saddle sores from relentless traveling, dipping her hand into a taboo magic, and now joining potentially dangerous expeditions such as this.

The mute girl kept her pony as close to Raigryn's horse as he would allow, ever silent and watching their surroundings and their group. She presented as a young boy, shockingly young to be on an expedition such as this. Fife had yet to find the courage to tell her tutor that she was not actually male, and now that they were traveling among other people, she found renewed comfort in the false identity.

There was no need to slow her pony to a stop, because he planted his hooves several meters from the approaching line of waste and refused to budge. Other members of their company (a mix of dwarves and mercenaries and gods knew what else) rode past her as she kicked her heels into the pony's barrel of a belly.

Stubborn pony! she silently cursed him. She finally got him moving again, but she was now toward the back of the party. Fife looked around. Mute and appearing as a child, she had not interacted much with the rest of the company. She thought it best to keep that way -- less people to convince of her ruse.

Fife finally got her pony to walk along the border of dead land, and she peered down at the pristine line between life and death. She had heard stories of hubris and greed, of lands where plants refused to grow and nightmares stole your humanity. This barren landscape was certainly looking the part of the stories she'd heard in Elbion. It made her skin crawl. Socks required several more urging kicks to get him to cross over the line after the rest of the group.
 
Faelin waved his straw hat a bit dismissively before commanding the horse to move foraward. His stubborn nag seemed less daring today. She was flicking her ears forward and back rapidly.

Goblins were hardly ever a threat, especially on horseback. There's bigger things to worry about.
Namely the screeching the locals brought up. For a brief moment he disconnected hinself from the surrounding happenings and tried to listen with his fine tuned ears.
 
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Magnan paid very little heed to the warning about the goblin. They weren't the smartest creatures, but he doubted they would be stupid enough to try and attack a party as eclectiv and geared as this one on open ground. He didn't have much experience with them, but from what he knew they preffered surprise attacks. A far better area to do so would have been whilst they traversed the jungle, coming from all angles and not just trying to bumrush the party over a flat, open area. Of course, the skeleton didn't actually voice this opinion out loud, instead glancing in the direction of the Templar before continuing to march on foot. He would need to pretend to rest soon, he realised. He had yet to find a horse that could comfortably hold his weight for anny extended period of time, and so had instead been marching the majority of the way with the group.

He supposed it was somewhat of a blessing that their leader's squire seemed to also dislike the act of talking, a fact that had bought Magnan some leeway. He had to admit that it was... peculiar, to take a female apprentice, but he supposed he had seen far weirder to really be anything but mildly curious as to how that came about. Then again, he could be wrong. It might just be a somewhat feminine boy. That would make more sense, he supposed, but he was going to stick with the female theory until he heard otherwise. Lumbering onwards across the terrain, and feeling quite at home doing so, the undead scans the horizon, looking for anything particularly noteworhty among the deadlands.
 
Gronkle peeked over the rock he was hiding behind for just a moment, but when he did, he met eyes with the human on the horse. He looked quite displeased with Gronkle's sudden appearance, who wouldn't? Gronkle swiftly retreated behind the rock, praying that the man did not see him, although the chances of that are very low. He then felt the presence of other eyes falling upon him, you can't ignore that feeling.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no..." Gronkle thought to himself, cursing after. What if they want to attack him, or possibly torture?! The Goblin held his breath, trying to make himself invisible, even though he know it is for vain. Is this the end? Was he going to be beaten to death by a group of adventurers?! Gronkle's mind raced at the multitude of things the group could possibly do to a defenseless goblin. Tear him apart limb by limb, rip off his head and throw it as far as they can, or possibly just slicing him down into little bits of green? The possibilities were endless. He awaits for footsteps to approach him, expecting the worse.
 
Raigryn grinned at Kjaran Mak Aodha when he saw him pick up a rock. He supposed it was a more friendly way to ward off a goblin than what the dwarf Klimbi seemed to have planned. His crossbow had been serepticious winding it.

Raigryn was less amused about Fife being at the back of the group. If there was to be an ambush it would be from the woods behind them.

Slowing as they passed the rock, Raigryn looked down at where the goblin was hiding and canted his head to one side in curiousity.

"Can we help you?" he called out. He hoped the goblin spoke some common human.

His head snapped back towards their direction of travel. He could have sworn the wind had carried a whisper. Something felt distinctly wrong about this land.
 
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It seemed that most of the group was dealing with what looked to be a Goblin that had popped up. It seemed to be only one at the moment. However, Goblins, small and filled with guile, worked in groups or packs. Not as a single entity. Even while the others seemed to deal with it, I turned around and looked around us. Keeping an eye for whatever may happen to come our way.

While that was taking place, I did see quite the armored figure pass me. Armored from head to toe, and carrying a massive shield and sword. This man likely was of the fighting type where he stood in place, and did not waver. Looking the man up and down, I just had to inquire as to why he chose to be this way. Even more so, he had been marching along side me. My own legs were used to going long distances, but to this degree with my own gear was tiring to an extent. How much pressure was this man feeling then?

"Does the armor tire you Sir Knight? Surely the gear you carry would weigh more than a man."

Offering my hand, I attempted to reach out to the shield he bore upon him. I merely looked upon it. There was not much of note for it. A few scars from battle, but otherwise naught. The sword was very large. Even compared to the Nordic one I carried. Mine a shortsword supposed to be used with a shield off-hand, I instead supplemented it with Magic. I knew very little of how to use the weapon compared to my knives and daggers. Which I was adorned with upon my thighs and belt. The small of my back did have my long-knives. Blades that were longer than your average dagger, but too short to be a sword.

"Have you seen active battle?"

Magnan Smithson - Interacting with.
 
Magnan had been simply enjoying the weightlessness feeling of existing within the confines of the dead realm,pondering what it meant for his soul if such a land provided a sort of comfort for him, when he found himself disturbed by the sound of a nearby voice. Tilting his head downwards, he looks towards the... must be a kavosh, given the silver eyes, as he speaks. The undead knight's head tilts as he listens to the man's question, looking the kavosh up and down as he tries to place what sort of a fighter he was. Plenty of knives and daggers adorned his form, so he supposed he was one that relied upon speed. Maybe a little bit of magic? Kavosh tended to gravitate towards the art. He had to wonder why the young man was talking to him. There were far more talkative and less imposing members of the party, after all.

"I am fine." He replies to the Kavosh's original question, fully aware of his rattling and dry voice and keeping his talking to a minimum. He wanted to keep his nature as much of a secret as possible. He wasn't sure how members of the party would react, seeing an abomination among them and being told to act as if it were an ally of theirs. "I recently battled with a band of raiding orcs, not too long ago, and before that I was part of many a campaign." Both true,although one more so than the other. He was certainly part of many campaigns, but they were from before anyone here was born. "Why do you ask?" It would be a pretty stupid question to ask if the man weren't leading up to something, and you can't afford the luxury of being stupid in this business. Not for long, anyway.

Vigil - Interacting with
 
The goblin lets out a high pitch scream and falls on the ground. His eyes go into a panic, looking left and right rapidly then focusing on the Raigryn Vayd.

"D-don't kill me! Please don't tear me apart!" he squeals in fear, pushing himself backwards from the human. Sweat is running down the goblins face, he is in absolute terror.

"I... I... I can help you!" Gronkle begins bargaining, "I can build stuff for you! Please just don't kill me!"

Gronkle swiftly gets up and rummages through his heavy backpack, throwing gears and cogs haphazardly on the ground. Then the goblin pulls out a piece of paper. He unravels it out on the ground, revealing a map, it was the lay of the land around the ruins.

"Here! It's a map around the ruins, how I got it is unimportant, but please don't kill me!" yelped Gronkle in a fast paced voice, hoping that the adventurers would like his gift and perhaps not murder him on the spot.
 
Seeing the person merely answer with two words to my question, I had the feeling that he didn't trust me, or was merely not open to conversation. Considering I am a "Bad Omen" to many, it didn't bother me all that much. I had grown used to being alone, or left behind due to my blood. It was as though merely existing, was a Sin. One that I could never repent from. However, I had a slight change of attitude when I was answered.

He had seen open combat and even fought orcs. A species known for their superior strength over that of humans, and even more... brute-like fighting capabilities. While this was mere rumors I had heard, and not first hand experience, I couldn't judge them too harshly. Even with the mention of various other campaigns. Nodding my head at the man, he then returned to me. Asking as to why I would inquire as such. Sure it would have been easy to show the scuff marks on his armor, but it may have been handed down to him, and used before he even saw a single fight.

I didn't mind a little conversation. With him being clearly a Knight of some kind, and myself a Runic Mage, and more stealthy, I wanted to know more about this unknown fields of battle one could encounter.

"I myself have never seen true combat. Scuffles and such at best. Meeting someone who has, I ask in respect to learn of who they are, and what the battle was. So much of the past was lost due to a lack of recording it. So remembering those that fought is a way I can show respect to them."

Indicating my own sword, a nordic based short sword that I rarely even drew from its sheath, let alone had tested in battle, It occurred to me, that if this man was so adept at war, and the tactics of battle, maybe I could learn a thing or two from him.

"You mind if I ask about your time? Or any... recommendations as to how I could defend myself with some aptitude?"

Interacting with Magnan Smithson
 
Faelin dismounted off his nag and streched his legs briefly. It felt good to not be on the back of a beast that was naturally skittish.
One can always depend that their own body won't give in.

The calm, easter dark elf was not particularly tall or threathening in demaneor, in fact he was not even twice the height of the goblin whom he slowly aproached. The maps barely garnered his attention other than a brief glance. But he did believe the goblin was... rather harmles. Uncomparable to those that lived back at home.

»You are alone. ?« Faelin spoke to Gronkle Footertoe, not hearing any other life in this area. Or perhaps he was mistaken, the wind rustling the foliage behind could very much bring error to his conclusion. His ears afterall were atuned to listen for life in the utter silence of the underground.
 
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The goblin then turns to Faelin K'Abveirin, raising an eyebrow at his question.

"Of course I am, why would I associate myself with the unintelligent rabble of normal goblins, which I am not to have you know." Gronkle boasts in a voice that seemed to forget his life is in danger. "I am of the Footertoe tribe! The most intelligent goblins on the face of this land!"

The goblin then sighs heavily, calming down from his panicked state. After a few deep breaths, he looks back at Faelin, giving him a look as if he offended him somehow.
 
Once he had crossed the line, Socks must have realized he'd been left behind by Dusty, and let out a loud whistle that shook Fife in the saddle. Her face was a fantastic shade of red as she caught up to the group, having to hold him back from barreling through the rest of the party to get back to his friend. So much for being quiet.

Her embarrassment at her pony's behavior was (fortunately) brief, as the party stopped just a ways ahead of her and Raigryn announced the presence of goblins. Goblins?? Fife was in the middle of the group, and cast a covert glance at those around her, gauging their reactions. Most were alert and scanning the terrain for potential enemies, but some appeared unfazed by the threat.

Everyone there seemed so cool and experienced, which made her feel all the more infantile. Fife definitely didn't have to dig deep to find the youthful mannerisms of a fledgling on his first adventure. Traveling with Raigryn had been hard enough but this? One among them was even a woman, clad in dark clothes and armed minimally -- so much cooler than her.

It was near this woman, a silver-eyed human male, and the fully armored man on foot that her pony finally stopped. She could hear the conversation ahead, and was a bit confused. She'd missed something. Who was behind the rock?
 
"A map?" Raigryn dismounted and cast a glance over it before picking it up and passing it to the dwarven contingent to look at. He gave Klimbi a look that said don't trust what is written here. It wasn't beyond his imagination for goblins to come up with such a simple rouse that led to an ambush.

The fear coming from the goblin was entirely real. That on its own didn't tell him much. His tribe might have given him the map and threatened him if he didn't deliver it. In the end it didn't matter. They were going to the ruins and a Goblin ambush wasn't going to stop them.

"Keep up," he told the goblin curtly. He got back up on his horse and started Dusty walking on towards the center of the blight. "Why are you here in the first place?"

Raigryn cast a sideways glance towards Faelin K'Abveirin to see if they had any insight on the matter. He checked and found that Eren Damar was between Fife and Gronkle Footertoe. The young rogue probably wouldn't get caught off guard by a Goblin. Fife might.
 
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Faelin shook his head briefly over how quickly the little goblin got insulted at a mere question. But Faelin remained calm and nearby the tall man. For now, he'll listen, only shrugging visibly as Raigryn glanced over at him.
»I think it, the surface is safe for now...«
On the other hand, he gazed back, so far it seems Vigil and Magnan were in a deep conversation, not good for their senses the dark elf decreed. While most others seem to be relatively scattered.
Faeling for now kept his gaze at them.
 
Faelin K'Abveirin Fife Gronkle Footertoe Vigil Magnan Smithson Kjaran Mak Aodha

The Ruins, hours later

This did feel like a dark, foreboding place. Stone walls jutted up from the scorched landscape, looming against the clouded skies. In some places a wall was almost complete, despite the time since they had been built. Smooth stones of something resembling obsidian were arranged far more neatly than any wall Raigryn had seen.

"They say this was torn long before even the oldest elf was born," he told Fife. "The Age of Wonders brought to a sudden end thousands of years ago and this has remained mostly untouched. But that was only a few hours ride. The dead lands are shrinking."

He dismounted and a group of dwarves tended to the horses so that the party could proceed on foot. The sound he might have imagined on the wind came again. It wasn't a person screaming, no spirit either. It sounded more like metal on metal.



  • The noise of tortured metal begins again
  • The ruins are empty, picked clean.
  • Advanced building techniques are visible, the walls still incredibly strong
  • Within the broken walls of a very large hall is a hidden door in the floor. The sound is coming from there.
 
Faelin slid off his old nag and approached the ominous construct. Confines like these were more welcoming than the open desolation to the one whom was raised underground.

He would glance back at the company as they exhanged words before more daringly approaching the dusky masonry. Feeling the wall, it was compact and strong...Perhaps he could learn something from this, but alas they were not here for some ancient wall.

»I don't recall anyone saying this place was inhabitated...« His face would turn to the company, the elf concerned about the metal creaking. Unable to connect the sound to anything else he heard in his entire lifetime. Definitely some kind of metal and whistling. But armour wearers tended to not sound like this at all.
 
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