Cursed Earth | IC Thread

Morgan · Sep 15, 2020

Oryn

There were a million other things he would rather be doing at the moment. Hell, fighting the Hollow Knight didn't seem so bad now. There had been so many things to take in. Vardis had fallen and while Oryn hadn't forged a particularly close personal bond with the strange knight, their company had lost a comrade and he would be mourned. Oryn would do so in his own way, with a mug of ale in his hand. Egret had approached him and thanked him, to which he didn't know what to respond. Aria had slain Maud. The Hollows would need months to rebuild. Oryn did his best to focus on the good things. Nathyen, Aria, Niowyn, Blanc and he were all alive. Still there, battered and bruised as they were.

But despite his efforts, it became increasingly unbearable with each person who came up to pat his shoulder and give thanks or praise. Looking and feeling like a trapped animal, he tried to smile, raised his mug of ale and nodded. He remained at his spot at the bar for as long as he could, his mug refilled as soon as it was empty. Where he would usually let himself be carried away with the singing, dancing and drinking, he felt more and more uneasy. Eventually it had built up and became almost suffocating. He tried to search the crowd for his companions, but the crowd blurred their faces.

"Hell…" He drew out and stood abruptly from his seat, aiming for the door. It seemed to take forever getting there but once he was outside, he sucked in a long breath of nice, cool evening air. Oryn paused before he exhaled and tried to calm his mind. He had paid no mind to those who had watched him with puzzled expressions when he left. In fact, he would prefer if they minded themselves.

The moon shone less ominously upon the Hollows as he walked down the street. Whether that was because they had defeated their shadowy enemy or for some other reason, he wasn't sure, but he liked to think it was because of the former. His feet carried him past the stables and before he knew it, he stood outside the walls. His blue eyes stared into the gathering dark and it was quiet around him. That uneasy feeling he'd sensed upon his arrival was no longer there, however. Perhaps it had disappeared with the Hollow Knight. Perhaps it was all in his mind. Oryn's stream of thoughts was interrupted by a noise coming up the path before him. He stood, head cocked to the side and watched in silence. After a few minutes his lips cracked into a grin which then became a laugh.

When Dale reached him he neighed gently and pushed his muzzle into his shoulder. Oryn patted the horse on its neck and then rested his head against it. Dale seemed not the least bit concerned with the destruction that had been brought down upon the Hollows. He seemed content to be by his master's side, to which Oryn could only shake his head.

"You are the most stubborn, dim-witted horse I have ever met." He said, looking the horse in its eyes. "Almost as stubborn as Niowyn." Dale made another sound and nudged Oryn's shoulder, who in turn sighed and patted the horse again. "You like her, I know." Chuckling at both the stupidity and loyalty of the horse, he turned and led him back into the Hollows. "Come along then, my friend. Let's get you fed, otherwise there'll be no end to your belly-aching."

Once he had taken Dale to the one half of the stables that wasn't destroyed, he fetched him water and hay. The horse was content and at ease. Oryn watched for a few moments before he shook his head and, with a lighter heart, walked back to the Cat and Rooster. Once inside, he maneuvered his way through the crowd and back to his spot at the bar. The music was still going and it was lively and joyful. He caught sight of Aria in front of Nathyen and decided that he wouldn't miss the two of them dancing for anything, if that was indeed what she was inviting him to. With a hollow sound, a fresh mug of ale was set down on the bar in front of him and Oryn took it, raised it to the barkeep and thanked him.

ze_kraken · Sep 15, 2020

Background Music

MOLESTOWN

By unspoken agreement

the companions had begun their preparations to leave the Hollows in the next week. Niowyn had continued to fuss over everyone's injuries throughout the week as best she could, but for Oryn in particular his chest still ached where the dragon had struck him. Aria's cut was healing into a nice scar along her wrist, and Nathyen's own gash had left little but a crusted scab as evidence of its passing.

Though the specter of destruction was still ever-present in the village, reconstruction had already begun by the day of their arrival came. Blanc led most of the efforts, leading parties out of the village to fell trees and gather lumber to rebuild the wall while scaffolding was erected where once there had been dwellings. The villagers seemed eager to find anything to preoccupy themselves in the aftermath of the battle, but still their shoulders remained slumped with more than the burden of their tools.

Through equal parts resourcefulness and expenditure, the companions had all procured horses for the road ahead and laden them with what supplies they could. It was enough to see them through the five day trek to Molestown, but as Nathyen had been quick to point out the road past was harsh and there was undoubtedly not to be much more food to be found at their next stop.

So it was that when the day of their departure came the companions stood beside their horses in the dawn sun, boots crunching in the dried mud and gravel underfoot. Nathyen commented on the lack of fog for the first time in ages, and they made a passing jest with the guard at the gate as they went. Once they cleared the village they mounted their horses and set down the road at a trot to conserve the energy of their steeds.

For much of the first day the scenery remained constant. Pine trees dotted the sides of the road, with the Crags looming all about them. The Fangtooth River accompanied them along their journey, constantly to their left as they proceeded south along the road. At night they traded watches, making camp in the relative shelter of the trees to either side of them.

By the end of the second day the Crags gave way to flat scenery in front of them, dotted sparsely with patches of trees and granting the companions a wide view of the land from atop the rise upon which they had made camp. That night they shared stories of their travels, and Nathyen had poured out some whiskey he had nicked from the innkeep back in the Hollows. It was foul stuff, tasting of spoiled wheat and barley more than proper whiskey.

Come the third day, the companions put the Crags behind them and followed the Fangtooth as it bent south. It was then that they grew aware they were not alone in the forested grasslands. As Aria had noted on one of her watches, she had seen eyes watching her from the dark - and not the eyes of a beast she knew of. From then on they doubled up during their watches, but still the eyes lurked each night until they were within a day's ride of Molestown.

"Misshapen, I bet," Nathyen explained on the fourth morning of their trip. "They followed me through the valley to the Hollows - terrible creatures, Misshapen. Heard tell they're those types you hear that go where they've no business shovin' their noses. Alderstone, the Dreadwood, and the Shadowpass - all those places from the stories meant to scare mischievous boys and girls. So long as we keep a fire up, should be no trouble."

By the time the sun was beginning to set on the fifth day they came within sight of Molestown. Like the Hollows, the village was encased in a wooden palisade of pointed wooden stakes about as wide as a man. They passed a handful of small farms along their journey, greeting what farmers they say with a wave or a nod. Once they came within hailing distance of the guards atop the wall, the companions made clear that they carried no weapons openly.

"Lo! Who approaches?" Shouted one card in a steel half helm in a nasally voice, for half his nose was missing.

"Travelers from the Hollows, if it please you," Nathyen called back. "Headed to the Shroud by way of the Dead Sea."

"What business have you in the Shroud? You lot don't look like merchants or craftsmen or any other type I've seen 'round these parts," the guard countered.

"We're makin' the pilgrimage to pay our respects to the Raven for her guidance fightin' off the others a week back," the locksmith replied. "The lass here is a Knight of the Raven, we're givin' her safe passage back home, sayin' our words, and then headed back in time for harvest. The rest o' is are farmhands, hope to nab what we can from those parts, and bring back some better tools for our folk."

The guard gave them one last look-over before calling to his fellows to let them pass. The men on the ground, who had been baring the entrance with crossed two-handed axes, stepped aside and gave them passage.

"Oh and, 'fore we go - you got a good inn 'round these parts?" Nathyen asked.

"Aye, that'd be the Salty Tusk over on the main street," the man missing half his nose replied. "Got a mammoth on a shield for a sign, and it's got stables for your horses."

About them the village stirred as the field hands returned home and the laborers and craftsmen closed up shop. Lamplighters went about setting fire to the torches, casting their flickering orange glow in a dance with the fading golden sunlight of the setting sun. Molestown was a fair deal larger than the Hollows, and it took them some time to find the Salty Tusk. It was a charming inn with two floors and a slated roof of red stone. Its chimney billowed out pleasant-smelling smoke from its kitchen, and its light was rich and warm.

They left their horses with the stable boy, paying him a few silver coins for the hassle before setting down inside the inn with a supper of soup, salted bread, and goat cheese. After they ate, the companions went off to bed, awakening with the crowd of workers as they clattered and clanged their way through the streets below.

"So the plan is to spend the next day or so gettin' supplies, seein' if theirs any other folk headed out to the Shroud or at least part 'o the way," Nathyen explained over breakfast. "The way's dangerous, so any extra hands are welcome. In the meantime, best to stay quiet and just go about our business. Aria, if anyone asks, you're a Knight 'o the Raven and you show them that sword of Maud's. Oryn, keep the hammer hidden, and be as good a farmhand as 'ya can. You already like that horse 'o yours enough to sell the lie."

GM NOTES:

Mentioned IC: @Pupperr @Elle Joyner @Morgan
Other: @CasketCase

MOLESTOWN

You all have arrived in Molestown - a quiet, unassuming village along the Fangtooth River. It is a hub of trade for the west, and lifeblood to the rest of the world for the Hollows. Travelers of all sorts gather here, and there are plenty of specialized craftsmen to see to repairs of gear, or to see about purchasing new equipment.

Of particular note are other travelers to seek out to aid in your perilous journey to the Shroud, including one particularly grizzled dwarf in the Salty Tusk...

INTERACTIVE ELEMENTS

Purchase Supplies:
There are supplies (salted bread, jerky, dried cheese, etc.) for one person to consume in the span of about 2 weeks. There are 5 such packs of provisions for sale, seeing you through most of your journey but not all of it. The general store owner will inquire about your travels, where you're headed such that you need so much food, and so on. He will also let slip that there's been rumors of a band of demons wandering about the Dead Sea from travelers from that way.

Repair Equipment, Purchase New Equipment:
Molestown has a blacksmith, cobbler, and tailor all of which are open for business and eager for the business travelers bring in. The blacksmith specializes mostly in tools and repairing said tools, as well as horseshoes, but has a handful of axes for sale as well. Additionally, he has 2 mail shirts cut for a human male and a pair of gauntlets made of leather lined with iron at their tops.

The cobbler sells boots and shoes, with a wide variety of sizes.

The tailor has padded leather armor, gambisons, and other quilted garments for basic protection. Additionally, he advises all those heading on the Dead Sea to take a heavy traveler's cloak (and is quite the hard sell about it).

Seek Out Travelers:
Seeking out other travelers to join you will be a largely fruitless effort, but will lead you to a particularly stern-looking dwarf who, as it so happens, is in the same inn as you... @CasketCase

CasketCase · Sep 16, 2020

Erskine Rimebarth

Mention(s): N/A

It came to him, mostly in the night through troubled dreams, but there were occasions where he would be fully awake and something would drag him back into those nightmarish memories. It was hard to determine just what triggered this, for each time it was something small, trivial in nature, but it was just enough to remind him of a smell, maybe a sound, or sight from back then. This time, it was from the lit tobacco from his pipe. This wasn't the usual mix he had found on the road; this one carried the familiar aroma of the cherish stash his friend once had. His mind's eye flung him back into those dark, damp trenches back when he could nothing but watch his comrade die horrifically.

Closing his eyes and squeezing them shut, he began tapping gently on the top of the table he sat at, the rhythmic tapping and the feeling of the soft impacts running through the digit were comforting signals that he was safe and that he was no longer in those blood-soaked trenches. While not a permanent cure, this was the salve his mind needed to pull himself back to the present day and his mind's eye realigned with the ones he now opened. He caught some of the glances the other patrons of the Salty Tusk had given him, but it was difficult to tell if it was because of his tapping or just because he happened to be a dwarf

"No good..." He muttered, realizing that while he had spent a decent amount for this batch, he would not be able to appreciate it, for even now just a whiff of its scent threatened to send him back to that time. Blowing out the small amount he had taken in from the initial puffs, he would snuff out the rest by tapping out the packed leaves from his pipe and crushing it, "A shame you had such good taste, Akesel." Erskine Rimebarth, mercenary-for-hire, had only been in Molestown for under a fortnight, having initially came here as a result of an escort assignment. Since then, he had made do with minor jobs to keep on top of his bar tab and inn cost but he knew he would not be able to keep this up for long. He had to find some meaningful work and fast, but for now, he would focus on the little things... such as his current tab.

"Excuse me, good sir," He said, approaching the bar, the tender visibly caught off guard, despite the fact that this was not the first occurrence that he had heard the uncharacteristic cultured twang of the dwarf. Then again, other dwarves had also made the same face, as had any other race, which was clueing him in on the realization that perhaps his ancestral home had truly been so disconnected for so long. Fortunately, he could use this startlement to his advantage, "I apologize for intruding on your work and I dare say that I have never seen such finely polished wine glasses in my life! Anyway, my good sir, I would like to make a proposal to ya, a bet if it were, for it seems like you are a seasoned gamblin' man!"

"Get on with, dwarf," The bartender curtly retorted, the dwarf's compliments ignored in favor of annoyance.

"Of course, my good fellow. Now, as you can clearly see, I am fully equipped to pay off the previous night's tab, plus a little extra for tonight..." Producing the coined amount, he placed it on the table yet when the tender reached to collect it, Erskine drew it back, "However, like I previously declared, I wanted to propose a bet... one that might make you a nice sum of change should you prevail." Although still annoyed, the faint gleam of interest could be seen in the bartender's eyes. Regardless of who it came from, money was money, after all. With some consideration, he sighed and replied, "All right, let's hear what you got."

"Fantastic, my good sir! I could tell at first blush that you were a man who enjoyed risks and the great rewards that come with them! Now, if you don't mind, could ya kindly produce a cup of water? Doesn't have to be clean, hell, I don't mind if ya scooped some from the horse trough! Just needs to be water." Raising a brow, the tender eschewed the dwarf's more extreme suggestion and just poured some from the pitcher, sliding the wooden cup cautiously towards the mercenary. "Good, thank ya kindly for your acquiescence, I promise it'll be worth it. Now, what if I told ya that I could turn this water into fire with just a tiny pebble? I promise ya it is no sorcery for my kind lacks the means to produce it, of course!" Erskine laughed, mostly to himself, but managed to eke out a small smirk from the tender before the latter replied, "I'd say you're a goddamn fool."

"Ah, there it is! The crux of our bet, for you see, my good sir, I can and will do just that! Should I prevail, I simply ask that you relieve me of the burden of my bar tab and grant me an exception for tonight's revelry, and should I fail, you will receive the payment you are so rightly owed, doubled for the inconvenience of my presence!" It didn't take long this time, as the bartender's feelings had already been known, with a solid 'hmph' and a nod, the gamble was on, sealed with a handshake. Delighted, Erskine reached into his pocket and produced a small pebble of silvery gray material. From there, the dwarf had begun leaning back while the bartender did the opposite, leering closer to the mouth of the cup as the former held the pebble over the vessel.

"Sir, I should warn ya that this might be a bit violence, it might be best to step back," "Shut it and drop it already. I'm making sure you're not trying to pull a fast one on me," "As you wish," Dropping the pebble, the reaction was instantaneous the moment it hit the water, the pebble glowing hot like a forge-heated piece of iron before the liquid simply exploded, launching hot steam and evaporating water upward and it was only by the bartender's quick reaction and Erskine knocking aside the cup was the former spared receiving a face full of the stuff, "Raven dammit it all! What the hells just happened?!" "I believe, my good man, that I am the victor of our agreed conditions, do you not agree?" A snarl was the best he got from the loser, but no objections were made, "Good, now I am off to attend to some business, but I will back tonight. Perhaps then, I might tell you after a few drinks."

Elle Joyner · Sep 16, 2020

Arianell Oresh
INTERACTIONS | @CasketCase || MENTIONED | Nathyen @ze_kraken, Niowyn @Pupperr, Oryn @Morgan

The Hollows

Molestown was every bit what Aria anticipated. While larger than the Hollows, there was still a familiar sense of murky greyness to everything that spoke of the challenging ways of life beyond the Northern border, and at the same time of the resilience of its people. Cobbled roads were alive with workers as she meandered from the inn towards one of the many shops she had been directed to by the keeper of the Salty Tusk. The vambraces, sadly, were beyond repair - one split nearly in two from the assault by the demon raiders, and with no delusions that the next bit of their journey would be any easier, she set out to purchase a new pair. Thus far, few had inquired much about the strangers that came from the Hollows, but from Nathyen's warning she was prepared to expect as much. It was a loathsome thing, lying again... Particularly about a knighthood she'd neither earned, nor fully understood, but she was swiftly learning that there were great differences in this part of the world, and survival sometimes relied on doing things to which she was opposed.

Maud still clung to her mind, and while every night those memories became a little more distant, it was a scar as deep as the one on her palm, one she knew she would not fully heal from. His death had been no less necessary than the demons that invaded the Hollows that day, but it pained her greatly to know, all the same, that he had left her no choice. He had stolen a piece of her, an innocence that she would never recover.

It became easier to find distractions, out on the road, as it was both necessary to keep watchful and stay rested, but back in a civilized town, sleeping in the quiet safety of the inn, her dreams were once more plagued by horrifying images of unclosing eyes and thick grey fingers clamping down on her throat, of shattered masks and her friends, lying still in pools of their own life's essence.

In the waking hours, an ever increasing dread filled the blank spaces within her, a disquieting assurance that consequences for her actions would come... Someday, she would need to answer for Maud's death, and she couldn't help but wonder if that might mean never finding Matthias.

Her companions were a comfort. Niowyn, in both her wisdom and her remarkably brazen efforts to point out every time she caught a stray glance from Aria to a certain locksmith, or grinned knowingly when that same locksmith would offer to take watch with Aria, Oryn, who for all his noble assurance and courage could not seem to manage more than abject snark from a horse who loved him all the same and Nathyen, a constant stream of ridiculously bawdy stories, amusing anecdotes and comforting resonance. But some grief could not be dispelled… even through the warmth and amusement of one's friends.

It would come, in time… She would navigate her way through the maze, as she had when she'd lost her mother and Callum. But her journey through the Northern lands had left her wondering just who she might be when all was said and done.

"Welcome. What can I do ya for…?" The shopkeeper fixed her with a slightly rudimentary gaze as she approached through the front door. He was a tall man, with wispy white hair and deeply tanned skin, a pair of slightly warped spectacles dangling from the end of a long, hooked nose. When he spoke, there was a warbling gravelly quality to his voice, and a vague lisp that suggested there might be a tooth or two missing from his mouth.

"I've not seen your face much around, Miss."

Miss. It still took getting used to… the notion of not needing to hide who she was. Her hair had grown out enough that she could plait it, but occasionally she would leave the ivory curls to wild abandon, an oddly fetching look she found she didn't entirely mind. Still, it came with its own subconscious awareness, no less than hiding had… Blowing a stray curl out of her eyes, she set the vambraces on the counter before the man.

"Had a bit of a run in back in the Hollows. Afraid these are shot. Do you have anything similar?"

"Back in the Hollows, you say?" The man asked, as he plucked up the leather pads, inspecting the large gash. With a brow working upwards into his hairline, he turned to open a drawer beneath the counter, "You hail from thereabouts?"

As he lay a pair of leather plates out, Aria gave a shrug of her shoulders, "Thereabouts."

"Where you headed?"

"The Shroud. Business… for the Knights of the Raven." The lie felt thick on her tongue, but she knew from the shift in the man's expression it had come out far smoother than she imagined.

"I see. How's these for a replacement?" He asked, gesturing to the counter.

"Not bad…" Weighing them in hand, running his fingers along the meaty leather, Aria nodded, "I'll take them."

"Right… Trade or…?"

Digging in the pouch at her waste, she lay two gold coins on the countertop and judging from the widening of his eyes it had been some time since he'd laid hands on a bit of shine, "That'll do, nicely, Miss."

"Thanks… Oh. And you wouldn't happen to know of anyone heading out that way, interested in making travel arrangements?"

"To the Shroud? Not that I'm aware of, Miss. Folk like that… Could be a post near the square, or you might find 'em at the inn. Not exactly a run of the mill trip, that..."

"Right. Thank you. Good day." Taking the gear, Aria left the shop, returning out into the streets of Molestown. The trek back to the inn brought an uncomfortable dampness to the back of Aria's neck as the humidity in the air waged war with the chilling breeze curling through the alleys and streets, unhindered this far from the mountains. She was grateful for the warmth of the fire that met her upon returning to the Salty Tusk, and approaching the bar, Aria gave it a gentle rap with her knuckles, grabbing the attention of the innkeeper.

"Aye, Miss? How can I help you?"

"I'm not entirely sure if you can, actually. It's rather a long shot. Did anyone come through here by the name of Theod? Taller man… Probably wearing armor. Greying hair and beard. Talks too much…"

"Ah… Name rings a bell, yeah. Slight hunch… Likes his ale?"

"That sounds right, yeah."

"Yeah… Stayed here a few nights, gatherin' supplies, I reckon. Left maybe a week or so back. Was headed Southwest by the sounds of it."

"Thank you." A sigh escaped, and Aria turned, but something gave her pause and looking back, she cleared her throat, "Um… You don't recall anyone by the name of Matthias passing through?"

"Mm. Not that I can remember, no. Can keep an eye out, if you're waitin' for someone?"

"No. That's alright. He… he'd be long gone from here, by now. Thanks. If anyone from my party comes in, will you tell them I've gone upstairs?"

There was a sudden flash to the right of her and a shout, and Aria glanced down the bar as the tender pulled back from a geyser of water erupting from a cup on the counter. She almost missed the second figure, which was saying something, considering how small she was. It was a rare occurrence that she should find someone shorter than her, and, in fact, she had felt rather dwarfed since her arrival beyond the border. Yet there he stood...

Curiosity clutching at her, she found herself heading away from the stairs as intended, and instead towards the man, "Excuse me… I don't mean to interrupt. It's… I've only seen one other person who can do what you just did, and you don't strike me as her kin, yet I would be doing her a great disservice if I didn't ask, all the same… you're not familiar with the Ta'Lassa tribe, are you?"

CasketCase · Sep 17, 2020

Erskine Rimebarth

Interaction(s): Elle Joyner
Mention(s): N/A

"Excuse me… I don't mean to interrupt. It's… I've only seen one other person who can do what you just did, and you don't strike me as her kin, yet I would be doing her a great disservice if I didn't ask, all the same… you're not familiar with the Ta'Lassa tribe, are you?"

With a song in his heart and skip to his step, the dwarf merrily sought to leave if only to ensure the barkeep would not attempt to go back on their agreement. It was only due to being approached that his exit was stalled; after all, rarely had anyone acknowledge him aside from being a nuisance (for some unfathomable reason). Perhaps she might have noticed the wave of emotions that came over him as she took notice of her; a beaming smile as he initially thought her as one of his dwarven kin, only for a brief twinge of confusion as realization came over him, only to settle on a less, yet still friendly smile.

Although just a hair taller than him, her proportions were more human-like, although he wouldn't blame another for mistaken her as otherwise. He could only imagine how often she must have encountered this confusion, although her gait suggested that she probably had stopped caring long before this point (or most likely she probably made the speaker of any short jokes regret his or her folly). Still, Erskine wouldn't have objected to naming her an honorary dwarf, as her small frame came damned close to mimicking the hardiness of one, although her complexion spoke of a lifetime of sunshine rather than dwelling beneath the mountains. If he was a poetic man (well... he was but for the sake of phrasing), he'd liken her to a rough canvas from which the foundation of a beautiful painting could be made.

The girl (or was she a woman? He still had difficulty determining certain aspects of humans) spoke, and Erskine pondered, idly stroking his beard in thought, "I apologize profusely, my dear, but I cannot recall such a tribe of that name. It does pain me, for rarely have I came across those who are well versed in the knowledge of chemicals. That scene you might have witnessed was simply the reaction of potassium, an element found in a variety of certain foods, and our everyday water." That last portion was spoken in a much quieter tone, not wanting to tip the barkeep on the secret just yet.

Another realization dawned upon him and the dwarf took a step back, bowing briefly at the waist, "Forgive me for my lack of manners. I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Erskine Rimebarth, mercenary-for-hire. Now etiquette among my kind usually dictates that I would kiss your hand in greeting, which I would gladly do, however, it has recently come to my attention that such traditions are considered... outdated, so I shall spare you of such things." It had taken quite a few slaps and punches for him to connect the dots, something he was not quite proud of.

"My dear lady, while I have failed to provide the connection to your associate, I still see that you are seeking something, perhaps someone, and are not long in this quaint town. If my assumptions are correct, perhaps I may still be of help to you?"

ze_kraken · Sep 19, 2020

Background Music

EAVESDROPPING

Celothel gently brushed the scar along her face

as she watched the dwarven magician swindle the barkeep out of a handful of silver coins. It was a good parlor trick - one that preyed on the ignorance of folk out from the rest of the educated world. Once she might have cowered in fear from the brilliantly glowing rock and burst of steam, but in the void left by the absence of fear was an idle curiosity. As the words were forming on the tip of her tongue, mouth held slightly agape in preparation to speak, Deormund spoke up, knowing her question before she even bothered to ask it.

"Reactive metal," he posited, scratching at his clean-shaven chin with thumb and forefinger.

"Just so," Celothel replied calmly. "But what metal? That's what I would like to know. Shall I go and ask him?"

"What business do you have with a dwarf conman?" Deormund countered with a huff, taking a sip from his water skin and scanning the tavern.

"I want to know what he used to swindle this honest innkeep of a handful of coins," Celothel protested, crossing her arms across her chest. "Do you truly believe a knife would slide between my ribs in the five paces from here to the bar?"

"Aye, it might," the Shielder responded.

"Absurd," Celothel chided, knowing better than to give the man the satisfaction of seeing her sigh. "Besides - I think I have my answer. Potassium would be a likely choice. Curious that a dwarf would have a drawing to alchemy and not to the forges. No matter - it seems..."

A delicate hand gestured out across the largely empty tavern floor.

"...that this is just a den of danger and villainous scum. My, look at that barmaid."

Deormund grunted, making no move to look up to where Celothel pointed.

"No, my protector - look, look! Her blouse is far too high, she might be smuggling a knife meant for my heart in her bosom."

"Will ever you tire of mocking me for performing my duty?" He grunted.

"Only for performing it so rigidly as to the point of - and I hate to use the word again so soon - absurdity," Celothel said, mirroring the Shielder's reserved smile with one of her own. "Wait - perhaps another village idiot?"

A woman was approaching the dwarf now, and Celothel craned her ears, raising a hand for Deormund to remain quiet. He shifted back in his chair, tilting an ear towards the bar as well as he clasped his water skin and let it fall back about his hip on its strap. Celothel could only make out about one word in four, but what she heard brought an amused smile back across her lips.

Sweet, sweet girl, so dressed for war yet knows nothing of the natural order of things, Celothel mused to herself as she listened in on the exchange. And then she heard it, and a cursory glance towards Deormund was enough to confirm he had heard it too. Ta'Lassa Tribe. A name she had not seen nor heard in a long time, not since she her time as an acolyte back in the Shroud rewriting aged texts. Not since she had been burned. Again a hand brushed the scar along her face tenderly as she pondered the girl. Naive she might be, but acquainted with Ta'Lassa?

"That would explain the whispers on the Essence I heard when first we came into this town," Celothel said matter of factly, eyes drifting back to the dwarf and the slender girl by the bar. "It surely was not this dwarf."

"I'll accompany you," Deormund said, already knowing Celothel's next words without her needing to say them aloud. "Two sets of eyes are better than one, besides."

"Though you would doubtless say you are simply performing your duty by doing so, I believe it best we refrain from frightening our young Ta'Lassa friend by presenting her with an ugly burned woman and her brooding, imposing Shielder," Celothel remarked, adding in a light-hearted tone. "And, before you dare offer to search for me - do recall the barmaid with the knife in her bosom. The moment you leave I'm as good as dead."

"Is that why the Order put you in the field?" Deormund asked dryly. "I must admit, where once your wit was charming it's become rather grating."

"Fret not, for the feeling is mutual," Celothel said with a giggle, one matched by a low chuckle from her Shielder. "Now, leave me to my business. Enough mucking about."

Celothel rose to her feet, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head to conceal the burn along her cheek. Her blonde hair, fair and beautiful if grimied with dirt and dust from half a year on the road, hung in a long, loose braid that rested along her chest, snaking out from the hood and clasped at the end with a plain clasp of pale silver. She tugged her purple cloak tight to her chest in an effort to mask the tunic and flowing trousers she wore though any and all learned in the ways of human mages would know her for one of the Arcanist's Order by the color of her cloak alone. Judging by how few stares such a garment had earned her in Molestown, she doubted if any would know her as such, but still best to keep her mysticism concealed around such folk.

As Celothel's feet touched the graveled, muddy road outside she shut her eyes for a moment and tugged on that thread of her connected to the Essence. She let the power weave through her, feeling one thread become many, pulling her in many directions about the town. There was an orc pulling on her gemstones to heft a stone block atop a cart. A blacksmith calling upon the wind to stoke his bellows. A mother entertaining her child with a ball of water held aloft.

None of these, she thought, focusing her efforts on those threads which pulled on her the most. Little by little as she intensified the burn of her energy to sustain the flow of the Essence the weaker threads vanished until one remained. On the market street. She was not pulling on the power like the others had been, but still her thread was stronger than the rest. Celothel returned back to the physical world, eyes opening and feet urging her by some unseen force towards the source of the thread. She wandered past laborers and merchants and watchmen as she went, seeing them but not truly perceiving them. With single-minded devotion she let the flow of the Essence guide her until she saw her.

A woman clad like any other traveler at first glance, though with silver adornments upon her wrists and a gourd decorated with fringes of silver and illustrative bands shaped like flowing water upon her back. There was no mistaking her for just another traveler, no - this indeed was the source of the power she had felt, and could still feel ebbing from the woman as she admired a loose-fitting tunic atop a rack in a market stall. Celothel approached on cautious feet and waited until the woman was in earshot before speaking, tone respectful and calm.

"Greetings," she said, flinching as she realized she had caused the woman a bit of an alarm in speaking unannounced such as she had and a hand reflexively went to conceal the scar along her face. "Pardon the intrusion - my name is Celothel, of the Arcanist's Order of the Shroud. I met a companion of yours and heard mention you are Ta'Lassa and I had to confirm for myself if that is the case. Might I interest you in taking just fifteen minutes of your time?"

Applo · Sep 20, 2020

"Scuse me."

Pirouetting around the armoured woman and the dwarf, Aoife came to rest against the bar only to instantly recoil as she leaned in something wet. A questioning eyebrow was raised at the bar keeper as she shook her arm dry before sliding a solitary coin across the soaked surface. The barkeeper responded with a barely perceptible nod and bustled out of sight. With the immediate issue of getting something to drink sorted, Aoife turned so her back was to the bar and visibly bored, let her eyes wander around the room seeking diversion.

She took particular care not to let her eyes linger on the pair she had dodged around on her way to the bar for more than a moment lest she catch the armoured one's eye. Aoife had noticed the woman the previous night. They had arrived the previous night as part of a group that stood out from the usual road stained travelers that normally stumbled into town. It was the way they held themselves that marked them out as different, that and the rings one of the men wore in his ears. Mercenaries had been Aoife's guess; maybe treasure hunters. Interesting, but not important. Or so she had thought at the time.

Running into the woman today had been a coincidence. Following them on their little shopping expedition, a spur of the moment gut decision. What she had overheard, a revelation. The woman was a key to a lock that had been in the red-head's way ever since she had washed up in Molestown. On top of that, she and her friends seemed to be looking for new faces to travel with.

There was a part of Aoife's mind, the part that so many nights kept her awake when she should have been asleep, that wanted her to go and introduce herself to the woman now; to say that she had heard they were looking for people heading to The Shroud; to seize this opportunity before it slipped through her fingers. It was overruled. She hadn't made it this far in life by diving head first at things no matter how badly she wanted or needed them. For now she was content to sit, drink and watch the little knight; learn a little about them and their friends. If possible she would orchestrate it so that they found her. Things would likely go easier that way.

A flash of distinctive purple in the corner of her vision put a torch to Aoife's plans of reconnaissance. Where before green eyes had skipped from spot to spot, now they homed in on the figure disappearing out of the inn's door. In that instant, all thoughts of the knight were pushed from her mind. A wandering knight was one thing. An Arcarnist, that was something else. Something far more interesting. Far more concerning too.

For an agonizing few seconds, Aoife forced herself to sit still and gaze at the inn's other patrons before finally allowing herself to make for the door. The wave relief that washed over the red-head when through blinking eye she saw her quarry's distinctive cloak was palpable to anyone around her.

Following the Arcarnist turned out to be a simple affair. Aoife flitted from doorway to doorway, shop front to shop front as the woman slowly made her way through Molestown's streets. She was pretending to examine a melon when she heard the woman call out to someone. So much so had recent events thrown Aoife, it took her a moment to recognise that the woman the Arcarnist had struck up a conversation with was one of the fellow travelers the knight had arrived with the night before. Putting the melon down and silently waving away the vendor who tried to persuade her to pick it back up, Aoife sidled into the shadow of a doorway a little closer to the pair, wandering as she did so if she had followed the wrong person earlier.

CasketCase · Sep 20, 2020

Arianell Oresh / Erskine Rimebarth
Collaboration

Interactions: Elle Joyner

He wasn't half as gruff as she'd expected, and that probably shouldn't have astonished Aria. She found, in most instances, the more highbrow a person appeared, the more their personality seemed to fall in commonality with the muck she cleaned out of the stables back home. Fancy people were rarely, if ever, so fancy in their countenance. Still, there was an old-world charm to the dwarf that surprised her, all the same, and it was enough to pull the ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips, as she bowed her head in greeting.

"Arianell Oresh. Aria, to most. Well met, Erskine. Can't say I've come across too many mercenaries for hire… Least ways one with such a polite way with manners, but all the same, well met. Rest assured, where I'm from, your customs aren't quite so undervalued, but they are more generally reserved for those who haven't forgotten how to lace a corset for lack of wearing one." Lowering her voice, almost conspiratorially, her smile broadened slightly, "They don't exactly make a great deal of sense beneath armor."

Straightening again, she looked around for a moment, hoping to catch sight of her companions, but the bar appeared relatively less occupied and with no one that she immediately recognized, "Ah. Seeking? Maybe. For the moment, however, just passing through. My company and I are on our way to the Shroud, by way of the sea."

"Nonsense, my dear! Manners are to be reserved for a person's character, not their appearance. Besides, I doubt I would be the man to judge another considering my own dishevelry, but as we are both aware, the adventurin' life is not kind to those pampered sorts." In all honesty, the memories of last when he wore anything presentable to "high society" were vague and hazy, drowned out by darker recollections of blood and mud. Of course, what shabby apparel he had was cleaned and maintained, even if he had to use another type of cloth to patch it up.

Proceeding Arianell's introduction and greeting came her objective in all of this, "The Shroud, eh?" Erskine said, his hand continued stroking his beard, fingers tracing the outline of the intricate braids of those coarse ginger-hued locks, "Unfortunately, I cannot say that I am acquainted with that region... save for the occasional rumor, of course. I myself have only begun my career of mercenaring."

As someone from a well-studied (all things considered) background, he was very much aware that "mercenaring" wasn't exactly a real word, but it felt right saying.

"By all accounts of hearsay I have heard, the Shroud is the place to be if you are lookin' for a taste of the southern life," He shrugged, "As I have not the faintest idea as to what the southern life might be like, I cannot say it adds any appeal to me. Regardless of any reasonin', if you or your associates are in dire need of some professional assistance, do not hesitate to inform me. As comfortin' as this town may be, my coinpurse is going to be mighty light if I linger for much longer."

"As it is, I was told to keep an eye out for anyone heading that way." Aria said, with a small nod, "I imagine in the very least, my companions would like to meet you. That is, if you don't mind waiting until they've returned…" Her words trailed slightly, as her eyes followed a hooded figure walking towards the door, a brow raised slightly when a second figure slinked after her. For a moment, she considered following behind… the thought occurring that there might be trouble, but her fingers gingerly brushed the faint yellow reminder of the last encounter she'd had with trouble, hidden beneath her blue scarf and the inclination dissolved.

"I can tell you about it, if you'd like…" She finally continued, gaze connecting again with the dwarven man, "Southern life. It's where I came from…"

The briefest of moments clued him in as Aria's words drifted and her eyes seemed focused on events taking place above his shoulder. Something had caught her attention, or perhaps, someone, but judging by the continuation of their conversation, it appeared that no threat had been lurking just beyond his sight, or at least this time. Still, he couldn't help but feel annoyed despite it. Decades of war against creatures who knew only the cunning of a full-on assault had dulled his senses to those who did not bare their fangs so openly. Erskine knew that there were those whose malice hid behind friendly words, but just how many daggers had his back been exposed to since he had begun traveling about these lands? He would need to fix this soon lest his journey become an unfortunate one.

"Good," He replied, although his enthusiasm was a bit lacking compared to previously words, yet he would also note this and quickly did his spirits return, "My fair dear, it awaitin' here means the promise of adventure and profit, I will gladly do so until the sun extinguishes itself on the horizon." He paused for a moment upon saying that, somehow caught off guard by his own analogy, "Huh, a tad bit extreme that one was, you'll have to pardon me. Sometimes words tend to get away from me."

Dismissing them with the wave of his hand, that same one gestured to a nearby table, "Until your associates return, I will be more than happy to listen to your origins. I do suggest we sit over here, away from the bar for I fear a close proximity to my presence might rub the poor bar keep's wounded pride full of salt."

As she followed alongside the dwarf, Aria gave a light laugh, "I never mind words that flower a phrase… even if I've never been much good at it, myself."

Settling into a chair, Aria folded her hands on its surface, taking a moment or two before going on, "Korin's the name of where I'm from. Small village a couple hundred miles from the border. I'd not wager life's as fancyfree as folks up this way might paint it. It's a harsh living by average, and most folk survive on humble means and hard work. My family owned a farm, not like the little ones you'll see scattered here about, but wide and lush with crops and livestock. Might just be cause of all the fog and mud, but it seems brighter back home, too. Not sure how it is elsewhere, but Korin did its best to keep spirits up. Festivals and bonfires and the like. And the food... What I wouldn't give for a pot of my Mum's pheasant stew." She paused, savoring the nostalgia for a moment, before continuing on a more sober note,

"Course, it had its downside, too. Women aren't terribly regarded as useful. There's this wild thought that if we do something heroic it might be we dishonor the man the deed was meant for or some codswallop like that. Makes it hard, when you got the sense to protect the people you love. What demonkin came through the border on occasion had to be beat back by someone, and conscription wasn't exactly a choice. Lost my eldest brother to it when I was nine, another brother fled… And the one just above me, Matty, well… He's why I'm headin' for the Shroud. I was told he might've gone that way, and I mean to bring him home. My dad woulda been next to go, if I hadn't the sense to steal his sword and go in his stead. Spent the better part of two years disguised as a boy for it… but it kept Dad safe. And well, it got me here, all the same."

Erskine was quiet during all of this, imagining how life must have been for her based off of her words. It seemed quaint and peaceful, or at least in comparison to his own, for which those words did not possess a concrete meaning to him until only a year or so ago. Before then, peace was an ideal, a goal to strive for while fighting for one's life, but now he knew that it was only something defined by the beholder.

"Aside from obvious prejudices," He began, his eyes drifting downward to the tabletop, "It sounds like Korin's a lovely place to go. Especially if it produces people like yourself, who have so valiantly defied social norms for the sake of securin' the safety of your kin." It was faint, but he noticed an imperfection on the tabletop, a scar left when something sharp had come across it, healed by time and varnish, no doubt. "I suppose I should reply in kind, although I'm not sure my contribution will be worth speaking of."

His eyes focused on the grain of the wood, seeking some meaning from it, "I came from a mountain, but then again what good, self-respecting dwarf does not originate from one? Nezsohrcan, that is what we called it, or at least officially. I could not tell you the meaning behind the name, and if you asked any other who came from there, you would never receive a straight answer. The name, Nezsohrcan, and the mountain itself, meant a lot of different things to each one of us, so it was only fitting that there was no definite meaning. They, being the elders, always said that we were once part of Gol Badhir, but we had become lost and or forgotten, although I never understood how someone can lose or forget a damn mountain," He smiled and laughed, but it seemed distant.

"Anyway, I can not say how "proper" life went on about there. Of course, the elders would tell us various stories and what not, but I was but a child when the demon folk attacked. I don't know what they were after, but it was enough to lay siege on a mountain for a few decades," The feeling was coming back, he could feel it trying to drag him back down into mud. "Perhaps it is best if I leave it there for now."

Watching him as he spoke and his countenance shifted ever so slightly, Aria reached out and without much thought behind the action, she gingerly touched just her fingertips to his arm, with a small nod of understanding, "...B-before we the Hollows, a few days back, I… um… we… my companions and I… we lost someone. There was a fight. The demons. We did our best. Held them back. One of my friends managed to take on the Hollow Knight. And I thought it was over. I thought we'd done it. But there was another… an orc. We had run into him on our pass through the Crags. We had something that he wanted and he would not take no for an answer. He killed one of our numbers… a mage named Vardis. A strange and… oddly wonderful man. And he nearly killed someone I…" Clearing her throat, Aria shrugged, "...He had been weakened by Vardis, and I took the opportunity for what it was. A small grace. I fought him and…"

With another pause, her breath hinged as she flipped her hand over to look down at the scar running the length of her palm, "I killed him. I thought… I know in doing so, it was the only option, but… but it lingers. Strange, how it lingers." Meeting Erskine's gaze, she managed a small, weary smile, "I think perhaps you should come with us to the Shroud. I would like that."

That's right, these lands were cursed, after all. To think he the only one who went through hardships was to be a selfish fool. They had all been hurt, one way or another, and they were all healing each in their own way. "Killin' is not something one does lightly. Now some may think otherwise and the depraved relish in it, but life is not something so easily quelled. It stays with you, remindin' you that it was once there; like a wound that throbs every so often, but perhaps in time, it will heal and fade, leavin' its scar."

The dwarf nodded, although it could be uncertain whether it to was her or himself, and he withdrew a flask from his person, "Pardon me for bringing down the mood," He said, taking a quick draw from the vessel, "But you're right. I believe we will make for fine company to the Shroud."

Chuckling drly, Aria shook her head, "Look where we are… I'm not entirely sure there's my to bring the mood up. Though I suppose it can be found here and there. I could tell you the story of…" In thought, she bit down on the edge of her lip, finger tapping her chin, "The first time someone serenaded me. It was rather… I'm not sure there's a word for it, really. Between horrifying and incredible, all at once."

"Back home or on the road?" Came his question, followed by an amused chuckle, "Was it one of those playing a lute on one knee situations? I always wondered how those played out." The books had always made them feel like these big passionate affairs, but authors rarely drew inspiration from how awkward most things could be. Thankfully he never took romantic advice from them, however, he'd be lying if I said the thought never crossed his mind.

"On the road… Just before the big fight. He… well, you'll meet him, soon enough. I still rather think he was teasing me. There was talk of fancying someone, or something along those lines, but well… The fight was the next day, and… Anyway. In front of everyone… the whole room, he got up there with a lute and sang this song… By the stars, it was… tasteless. And yet, somehow, despite being mortally embarrassed, it was all rather amusing. I think you'll like him… Nio and Oryn, too. They're… well… they're rather wonderful."

"I've found that it is best to go on a journey with people like that. Most forget that the travelin' aspect is just as much part in our lives as is the destination and I don't intend to spend a good portion of my life dreadin' the interaction between comrades. The merchant I accompanied here was somethin' like that. That boy was all business, fussin' about schedules and what not. Could not afford to enjoy my pipe without bein' scolded at like I was some misbehavin' hound." The dwarf sighed and shrugged, "Then again, maybe that's what being a merchant is all about. I suppose it might be worth retiring young, but that is if you even make it to that point."

"Oh, I don't imagine anyone would take to scolding you of my company. Unless you tread on a book or something. Niowyn, she's very keen on books. Only time I'll ask for a measure of focus is when we're out on the road, but I don't imagine I need to explain why, or even ask it of you. I think you'll fit in just fine."

Pupperr · Sep 21, 2020

Niowyn of the Ta'Lassa Tribe

Molestown, a small town but still considerably bigger than the Hollows and her own tribe. It had been almost a month since Niowyn passed through the town on her way to the small village where she met Nathyen and the others. Time had passed so quickly but with what their small entourage had experienced, it was more than what any normal person would experience in their lifetime. But it was those very experiences that forged a bond between them that couldn't be rivaled by any other. It was an experience that Niowyn would choose over and over again.

The tribeswoman parted with her companions after breakfast but not before visiting Dale at the stables. Niowyn welcomed the steed's head nuzzling into her hands as she brushed the length of his nose with her hand. "I'm glad you've returned, Dale. This journey wouldn't be the same without you and I know that your master was crushed when he had to let you go." She pressed her forehead against the flat of his nose before departing for the marketplace.

The marketplace was as she remembered it - cobblestoned roads, vendors lining the streets, and even pushy salesmen here and there. Niowyn had visited a few different marketplaces in her travels and all of them resembled the one like in Molestown, though on differing scales. She wanted to find a tailor that offered something other than the commoner's clothing or warrior's plate but it was proving to be a challenge. The few stands she had approached were adorned with pants and shirts of whites, browns, blacks and greys. There were a couple of pieces that had flashes of red or orange, but nothing stood out to her. The tribeswoman knew that she would have to settle for something less than what she would find back home but that didn't change the hope she clung onto to find something that wasn't so ordinary. And then she found it, a stand that was littered with dress dyed uncommon colours and pieces with intricate designs stitched into them.

"Good morning to you, miss." Niowyn smiled at the vendor as she approached. "You have some beautiful pieces here."

"Ahh, welcome, welcome child." The vendor responded, her voice raspy similar to the old men from her village that enjoyed smoking from a pipe. "Thank you. Not so popular with most people but you don't look like a common lass, what with that there pack you have." Her aged finger reached out to point at the gourd on slung over Niowyn's back.

"You have a wise eye, miss, I am not from around here, and in fact, come from a small village where garb like this is common. So I must thank you for not giving up and packing away when the regular folk pass you by."

"What an interesting place you must be from. Well, take all the time you need child."

Niowyn smiled and turned to browse the old woman's wares. Her hands ran along the different pieces until it stopped on top of a blue top. She plucked the piece from its place and held it in the air to examine it. It was a lighter blue than her last top but it had similarly large sleeves and was cut longer. She studied it until a chill ran down her spine and goosebumps nipped at her skin. There was a sudden pull in her stomach that made her uneasy. Icy blues moved to the corner of her eyes to survey the area but there was nothing there. 'What a weird feeling…'

"Is everything OK miss?" the vendor's voice came. Niowyn looked over at her with a small chuckle, nodding her head. "How much for this one?"

"I'll give it to you for a trade or for a silver piece."

Niowyn pulled a small burlap sack from her things and found a silver piece for the woman. She smiled and passed it to her but didn't have a chance to put her purchase away before a woman's voice appeared behind her. Niowyn turned to find a cloaked woman, dirtied blonde hair tied in a neat braid on her chest, and a hand hiding something on her face. But it wasn't the sudden approach that startled her as much as it was when the name of her tribe fell from the woman's lips.

"I'm sorry, lady.. Celothel of the Arcanist's Order of the Shroud. But who did you say pointed you in my direction?" Niowyn was cautious. In all of her travels, she had yet to meet someone who knew about her tribe, except for their fallen friend who had made mention of seeing the name of her tribe before, but this was different. This woman said that Niowyn was Ta'Lassa - a fact she had to confirm for herself. The cloaked figure Celothel talked as though she was intimate with knowledge of Niowyn's home, and as exciting as that was, it was also peculiar.

"A small woman, dressed in armor as if wearing her father's plate like a young boy might when playing at war," she remarked cooly, cocking her head. "Blonde hair - not like mine, more pale. And she wore a sword at her waist."

The stranger's hand shifted and bared a patch of red, bubbled skin about her cheek. She made a move to hide it, but gave up after noting Niowyn had seen it. Slender green eyes came to rest on Niowyn's own blue ones as she stood there, a light edge of curiosity adorning what was otherwise a passive look of indifference.

"Though, you have not answered my initial question," she added. "You are Ta'Lassa, no?"

Aria… Niowyn stepped away from the vendor and closer to Celothel, her blue eyes studying the stranger. "I am. But how are you familiar with my people?"

"That is a question not so easily answered as it may seem at first glance," the Arcanist responded, adjusting the fit of her broach about her neck as she spoke. "Your people occupy a remote, but very crucial cornerstone of this land's history. One that is both incomplete and elusive, but speaks to great importance to the shape of things as they were and how they came to be as they are now. All those learned in the arcane in the Shroud know that name, and know magic is as close to that bloodline as sap to a tree or lightning to thunder."

"The history of my people was lost following the wound that Piersym inflicted on this world but you're telling me that history exists in the place you call the Shroud?" Niowyn asked, now smitten with curiosity and intrigue but battling her excitement and desire to ask one hundred questions. Her tribe held onto bits and pieces of traditions of their old world but so much had been lost…Her people had tried for years to reclaim their history to no success, the only hints of their past being the few traditions of their people and their affinity to water. The Ta'Lassa were slowly starting to abandon any hope they had of recovering a world lost until Niowyn whispered the words of the wind.

"And what do you mean 'those learned in the arcane' know of my people and…" her words drifted, thinking about what the woman was saying. Magic tied to her bloodline and her people being a cornerstone in the land's history. What did she mean? How long ago did she mean? Magic belonged to so little before… but her people always were called to it. Celothel knew more than she did and she had to know everything this woman knew about her people's history. "Are you saying that magic is a part of us in a natural and inherent way? Because that… would.. No, it's impossible."

"So many questions - perhaps fifteen minutes was too few," the woman said with a small smile, glancing uneasily about as if alerted to the presence of an unwelcome stranger. "Come, walk with me while we talk, I find it makes my words clearer. And there are fewer prying ears than in a crowded market where gossip spreads."

Celothel guided Niowyn through the market street, the pair walking side by side. The woman kept apace with Niowyn, and yet it was she who seemed to set their path through the streets of Molestown as they talked. Her voice remained flat and calm, an almost soothing musical quality to the rhythm of her sentences which were almost devoid of pauses, stutters, and fillers.

"I shall start with your last question first," Celothel said. "Magic is not something exclusive to a select few - given enough time and practice, any human might learn to tap into the power of the Essence and use it. Some may only learn fragments of it, words or techniques they adopt and can repeat on command. But as no good bard learns music by simply copying music note for note, so too does no good mage exist using only what rigid instruction and doctrine has given them. It is here that…"

She looked Niowyn over.

"...natural talent has its place. All humans may use magic, but not all humans may wield it like you or I have learned to. For us, the power makes itself known - we do not seek it out. So, while your people may have been without a trueborn mage for quite some time, that does not mean the magic ceased to be. Just as a son might be born with hair unlike his father, but like grandfather, so does trueborn ability skip generation to generation. It is written that even the worst of Ta'Lassa talent would, when trained, outclass any similarly exposed human of any other people, family, or region."

She paused then, taking a breath that was somehow both deep and shallow before continuing.

"There are others like me in the Shroud, other Arcanists. Ours is a small order, but a proud one that preserves not just the instruction and practice of magic but the history of this land as well. What texts we have on your people are limited, and many cite a time before Piersym broke the world, but while we know of scattered fragments of the story, the whole is beyond. We have but a page of what is likely a tome of history lost to time."

When that seemed to do little to satisfy the curiosity that threatened to boil over Niowyn and engulf her newfound idol, Celothel cleared her throat and continued before Niowyn let loose another deluge of questions.

"What is known is this - the elves spoke of this great undoing of the world long before Piersym, and long before humans are believed to have arrived on this land. Whether it be prophecy or an understanding of some law of the natural or supernatural we have yet to uncover ourselves we do not know. But what is clear is that the elves carried a vested interest in your people, and in the times of Piersym's ascension through the kingdoms to the south before he turned his eyes north, the elves were hunting and killing off key members of magical bloodlines for reasons unknown."

The sound of leather boots against cobblestone road came to an abrupt stop as Niowyn stood in her tracks. Her blue eyes were wide with confusion and excitement. "...elves?" Her voice was small, smaller than it had normally been, like she was afraid to say it out loud but it gave way to an eagerness seething from her lips. "Elves were interested in my people?"

Her head spun with everything she had learned about the ancient race from before her travels to now. All the scribbled pages, all the texts, and pictures. Small murmurings of teachings… it washed together like a kaleidoscope of colours in her head. Niowyn's eyes wandered to the ground, and then back to Celothel, and to the ground again. She didn't know how to react - why was this woman telling her this, how did this Arcanist's Order know so much about her people, and what exactly was it that she wanted? Niowyn wanted to know more, she had to. "How… How does the Order know this? And more importantly, why did you approach me? What is it that you want?"

"The elves seemed interested in all notable magic bloodlines, of which your people were prominent," Celothel corrected, beckoning Niowyn to resume walking beside her. "It may be of little surprise to you, but knowledge is scarce in these lands. This town works with techniques cobbled from a mere three centuries of knowledge - the smith here cannot make plate mail, the tailor knows nothing of textile but what he might make with his own hands. Magic and history are even lesser fields, for they relate not to putting food on the table and a roof over one's head. The Shroud is afforded many luxuries, ones townsfolk this far west are so detached from as to not even recognize their absence."

The Arcanist paused, speaking slowly and deliberately after seeming to rediscover her train of thought.

"My Order has dedicated much of its time to reestablishing that which was lost, which is no small task. Some of our texts come from the south, most are from these lands and obtained at great peril and expense. But now that I have seemed to sate your initial curiosity as to what I know, here is the answer to why."

A smile passed over the woman's lips, and for a moment her scar seemed to fade at the warmth and authenticity of the expression.

"I must admit, it was in part selfishness and my own curiosity to meet you. I rarely see others skilled in magic during my travels, but the other, greater part stems from a desire to see you not waste your talents," she said. "You are older than most acolytes - but I believe you have a natural talent many lack, and with some refinement you would be a welcome addition to the Order should you seek such a position. Though my first duty is to secure knowledge and bring it back to the Shroud, another component of my duties is to scout out and instruct those I meet in the field such that our art is not lost."

Celothel didn't waste any time, she barely even let Niowyn interject and ask questions, let alone process the information - likely done on purpose. The Arcanist had probably noticed the wild intrigue in Niowyn's eyes and wasn't willing to risk being bombarded with one hundred questions before getting across what she wanted to. Niowyn studied the woman, she must have been about her own age but she was a product of years of tutelage. It was clear in the way she carried herself and how she spoke - even though Niowyn herself was schooled at a young age, what she learned was immensely different; traditions, teachings, the way of her people, and the responsibility she would assume as Zah'le one day. Groomed might be a better word than schooled. And now this woman was offering her a position in something she didn't know anything about, but potentially held the secrets to the past. Niowyn should be cautious but there was a pang in her heart and a whisper in her head that said this was her path. But she wasn't alone anymore - she had precious companions she had to think about and promises that she intended to keep. Promises to Nathyen, to Aria, and to Oryn.

"You want me to be your student?" she asked, an eyebrow raised in inquisition before she sighed. "I would like to accept but I'm not alone here, as you know. And I have responsibilities to the people I've been travelling with. I would also like to know more about this Arcanist Order and just what it is exactly the Order is doing, presently. I would imagine more than just collecting knowledge, though you were right when you said knowledge is sparse in these Cursed Lands, which means it is valuable."

Her blue eyes wandered over Celothel. It was almost too good to be true but she had to explore the option this woman was presenting, she just had to be careful about it. "I am seeking knowledge myself and to pass up on a chance to learn about the past of my people would be empty-headed." Niowyn was careful not to tell the woman the sole purpose she was even away from her tribe was to discover the mysteries of her people that were buried so long ago. "We are headed to the Shroud, and if this Arcanist's Order is there, you can accompany us, should my companions agree, and we can discuss more of the details on the way. I'll give you my answer by the time we arrive there and after I've seen this place with my own two eyes…"

Her tone carried a sense of finality to it and she wasn't prepared to negotiate the terms. And as much as she desperately wanted to follow this woman into the unknown, she had lived long enough to know the dangers that brought with it. Even though she was confident in her own ability, if this woman's words carried truth to them, the woman likely could prove trouble, or even best her in her own art. And she couldn't endanger her companions for her own selfish desires.She refused. Besides… one of them was from the Shroud and she wanted to know what he thought about all of this.

"Of course," the Arcanist responded. "Perhaps we shall meet later in the tavern to discuss this arrangement further. You will doubtless meet my own companion as well - Deormund he's called, and I am sure he would welcome a sparring partner along the road as well. Your friend, the blonde girl, looks naive but like she clearly knows her way about a blade in ways I simply do not."

She glanced over her shoulder with a note of caution, ushering Niowyn off with a wave of her hand.

"Now might be time for you to run along now," Celothel added. "I have matters of my own to attend to. It seems we have picked up an interloper, and I wish not for you to be involved in what might become a messy state of affairs. I will meet with you come evenfall."

"I would be careful to assume anything about that girl. Naive as she may be, she is capable of things far beyond what you might imagine." Niowyn felt the need to come to Aria's defense. Although the young lady was unsure of herself, she had the courage of a thousand men and in their travels, she had come to think of Aria as the younger sister she never had.

"I said nothing of her virtue or talent," Celothel remarked calmly. "She is obviously skilled, and if her companions speak so highly of her, then I look forward to meeting her."

"We are staying at the Salty Tusk, but I imagine you already know that." Niowyn offered, starting to turn away from Celothel in preparation to leave. "I'll be sure to see you there this evening."

And with that, she walked away from the Arcanist stranger that approached her in the market. Her eyes drifted to the woman who had followed them when she passed by, and she headed back to the vendors to finish her shopping. 'What a strange day…'

L: The Marketplace | M: Aria @Elle Joyner, Nathyen @ze_kraken, Oryn @Morgan, Dale @Morgan, Aoife @Applo | I: Celothel @ze_kraken

Morgan · Sep 21, 2020

Oryn

Had it not been for the sword at his hip, Oryn would have looked more like a builder than a warrior. Upon inspecting his armor, he'd found that his brigandine armor was in a sorry state and would only do little to protect him. His boots were beyond repair and he needed new belts and other leather straps. The part of his clothing that was still in good shape was his cape which he had not worn during all of the fighting back at the Hollows. Therefore, his first errand would be visiting the tailor to have his armor repaired.

The tailor agreed, and it was clear he had a less-than-friendly relationship with the blacksmith, whom he assured Oryn that he would not be asking to repair a few of the iron plates in his armor - he was capable of that himself. Oryn shrugged and nodded, not caring who repaired his armor, only that it was repaired. After talking for a while and settling on a price, they shook hands and Oryn went to the next man - the cobbler.

He was decidedly less grumpy and more than eager to help. He took one look at Oryn's boots and shook his head. He gestured to a stool and commanded the warrior to sit and take them off. The aging man disappeared for a few minutes, leaving Oryn alone in the front of the shop where it didn't take long before he started tapping his fingers on his knee. When he finally returned, he carried with him three pairs of boots. One pair was heavy and offered good protection, but too cumbersome for Oryn. The second pair fit him poorly and would become unbearable on the road. The last pair were extremely durable and warm. They had clasps instead of laces. Despite a steep price, Oryn paid and left with a pair of extremely comfortable new boots. When you were constantly on the road, a fresh pair of quality boots was incredibly valuable.

As he found himself back in the street, the wind felt chilly. He shuddered and rolled his shoulder. He was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. The cloak he owned lay in his room. It was warm, but now he considered buying warmer clothing. Perhaps when he returned to the tailor, he might have a look at his wares.

Oryn spent the next hour browsing various shops and stalls, buying small things he might need for his journey forward. He did his best to ignore the aggressive shopowners and more than once he had to firmly dismiss them. At the end of his shopping, he hadn't spent much of his coin, he realized. Oryn had his warm cloak in his pack and he was waiting for his armor to be repaired but didn't expect it to be done until the following day. To encourage the tailor, he had given him a silver piece in advance.

When he had visited the craftsman once more, he had bought a set of warmer clothes consisting of dark breeches and a dark shirt - both made of wool. As he was returning to the Salty Tusk, he spotted Niowyn further down the street in conversation with someone he didn't recognize. Oryn eyed the two figures for a while but eventually shifted his focus and headed back to the inn. Leaving his purchases in his room and checking on the hammer, he appeared back in the main room of the inn, went to the bar and ordered ale and bread from the innkeep.

Applo · Sep 21, 2020

Celothel seated herself calmly atop a lone stone barrier that rested at about the height of her hips and jutted from the entrance of a house to her left. Calmly she scanned the crowd, spotting a crop of fire-red hair stand out against the backdrop of browns and blacks and greys that made up the rest of the inhabitants of Molestown. This was the one, her gut told her - this was the one she had noted following her and the Ta'Lassa girl through the market.

One familiar with the Arcanists, unlikely to find here, she mused, unafraid - for any danger she felt would be translated to Deormund back in the Salty Tusk through the Essence.

There she waited calmly, letting the interloper and eavesdropper approach her rather than the other way around. As she waited, she probed for sources of fire about her should she need to defend herself. There was heat from the smith's forge, but that was too far away. She could use her own body heat should she need it, but that would leave her too drained too quickly. There. A row of candles by some unmarked temple opposite her end of the street. Small, but it would do to guarantee her escape. Celothel vested a part of her energy into the Essence and reached out to plant that energy in the flames, keeping the connection tethered as the stranger approached.

"Hello there, my dear," Celothel said calmly, cocking her head. "Might I help you?"

In the moment where the stray Arcarnist's eye had landed on her, Aoife could have put her fist through a wall. How had she gotten so rusty, so careless that she couldn't evade the attention of one such as this blonde. At her sides, knuckles indeed went white as hands were bunched into tight fists but at Aoife's side is where they stayed. Recriminations could come later. Right now she wanted to know what a scholar of The Shroud was doing so far from home. Whatever it was that had drawn the woman from her ivory tower was worth knowing about, if only so she could let it slip to someone more deserving or at least with some coin. Pointless displays of anger would only feed the woman's ego. Better to bottle it up, save it for when it was needed and make it seem as if she didn't care.

"You're a long way from home. Life in the Atherstone Keep too cosy for you or did you get lost on the way to the privy?"

"That's far enough," the Arcanist said, lifting a calm hand up.

Aoife came to a dead stop some five paces from the barrier, right hand resting on her hips as green eyes raked up and down the cloaked woman. Her guess was they wouldn't have anything more than a knife on them, but only because they didn't need it.

"Or did they just get tired of looking at your face and push you out the door to do some research out here with the rest of us?"

"So you know enough to be able to identify me by how I dress," Celothel stated dryly, seemingly unfazed by the cutting remarks but a hand shifted defensively to her scar all the same. "But not enough to know that seldom has an Arcanist ever occupied the Aetherstone Keep. Judging by your tone, though, you seem to be one to paint with a broad brush, so to speak. So rather than try and dazzle me with whatever rhetoric you've adopted to justify your stance, I think it would be in both our interests for you to state what you came here to say so we might go about our business."

"Hah, what would you know about real business?"

Stepping sideways, Aoife moved in a circle around the woman, keeping the distance between them carefully the same until she too reached the low barrier. Unlike the Arcarnist, she chose to stay on her feet, leaning on the structure only slightly as she watched the to and fros of the towns inhabitant.

"I wanted to know if a world of shit is about to rain down on this town. Now I want to know if a world of shit is about to rain down on that woman. Also I'm curious what it is that drew you out here in the first place. I don't really like surprises. They tend to be unpleasant."

"No surprises," Celothel replied, her tone equal parts confused and stern as if that were an obvious fact. "I am merely on a return visit from the dwarven ruins in the Crags, and have stayed in this town to collect supplies and learn all I can about my route home before committing to one path or the other. That woman you saw me speaking with is another talented mage, one I believe might be capable of a great many acts in the service of others with the right training. Is that something that one should be accosted over?"

"How nice that you should just run into her like that. Very fortuitous."

Shifting ever so slightly, Aoife twisted her head so she could watch her conversation partner.

"Do you think she is more talented than you? Or were you just damned careless?"

It was a cheap shot. Aoife had seen how the Arcarnist's hand had moved to hide their scars. It had taken her longer than she cared to admit to stop doing the same thing. On anyone of almost any other station, such disfigurement would have elicited a little sympathy; on this woman, it was a way to get under their skin and see what they would do. There was also just a certain satisfaction in just the act wounding the woman.

"Her friends' plans align with my own is why I ask. They are headed for The Shroud and I have my own reasons to travel that road. Be nice to know if I need to watch her in case she is prone to little accidents."

Celothel's next words were slow and deliberate, her previously indifferent expression tugging downwards into one of restrained fury and agitation.

"You dare speak to me like that in the presence of my Shielder and you will regret opening your mouth," she said, fighting furiously to keep her tone pleasant and failing. "The words I speak are true - I mean no harm to you, nor any one of the woman's group. Should we truly be tied at the hip for the next month, then let us both keep clear of one another, hm? I believe to do otherwise is to invite those accidents you mentioned."

"So, just more talented than you then."

Where the blondes face has twisted with anger, a smug smile spread across the red-head's. Finding people to be just as you expected them to be was rather satisfying. The fact that the woman had blurted out information she hadn't been asked for was a nice bonus. Aoife was tempted to push further. Not to try and elicit any more information, she was fairly certain that the woman was telling the truth, but just for the sake of seeing the entitled indifference further wiped from their face. Instead, she propelled herself upright and slowly closed the gap between her and the Arcarnist, stopping only when the latter's knees were all but touching her stomach.

"A little advice. Next time you threaten someone, don't make the threat your minder. Makes you look like a silly little girl running to her daddy because someone was mean."

Gently stroking those blonde locks to reinforce her point was a temptation that was not resisted. For a long moment, nothing was said as green eyes met ones of the same shade and then Aoife spun on her heels.

"You shouldn't let that burn bother you. People out here in the real world deal with worse every day. Even in The Shroud most have it much harder. Besides, you really are still quite pretty in a way, you know."

"You've said your fill," Celothel said meekly, lip quivering in lingering agitation. "Are you done?"

Looking back over her shoulder Aoife basked in the result of her words before her eyes turned skyward, seemingly searching for something in the heavens for a few moments.

"For now, unless you have anything else to say? If not, I guess I will see you around."

Walking away, Aoife knew that the price of the fun she had just had was that she had probably ruined her plans for approaching the knight and her companions. Giving the Arcarnist a chance to speak to them first would be a bad idea so she was going to have to be far more direct than she would have liked. Still, she was certain she could make it work. And she had had a lot of fun.

A collaboration with @ze_kraken

ze_kraken · Sep 24, 2020

Background Music

NEW COMPANIONS

Nathyen entered the Salty Tusk,

sword on his belt, coat already coated in the dust and grime of the road. He had trimmed his beard and cut his hair before leaving the Hollows, but already he was beginning to look as ragged as he had when first he had arrived in the village weeks ago. His boots were caked in dried mud, which trailed on the mat by the door as he tired to brush them to clean to no avail.

Though spring had come and brought color and light to the land in small pockets that dotted groves and patches of flowers along the riverbed, the air outside was still chill even in the height of day. The river's chill touch, coupled with no mountains to fend off the winds that rose from the Dead Sea and sailed up the Fangtooth, meant that even early spring was still a time for a long coat.

The locksmith nodded to the barkeep, laying a handful of silver coins atop the counter for lunch and a drink. The barkeep shouted something incoherent back to the cook, who cursed back and began working as the man fetched a cup and filled it from the keg beneath the bar. The beer was stout, thick, and tasted of grain and hints of molasses - a brew that Molestown was renowned for, though that hardly made the trip to the otherwise utterly forgettable village worthwhile.

Lunch followed swiftly after and consisted of a bowl of broth filled with potatoes, carrots, and onion as well as half a loaf of dried, tacky bread coated in a thick layer of salt. Nathyen took the food and drink and seated himself by the bar. There was hardly a crowd gathered for lunch - Aria spoke animatedly with a dwarf at the bar, an armored man sat alone in a booth by its rear. A handful of orcs dressed in the same kit as the rest of the guardsmen Nathyen had seen shared a pair of tankards over their food by a table by the door.

He found his eyes drifting back to Aria before too long, clad still in her brother's armor. In the nearly three weeks Nathyen had spent with her, he had seen her remove it only once and then only at his insistence she should try and sleep comfortably. On the road, he'd mentioned that in Molestown it was unlikely that she would still need to tote it around, yet here she was still looking every bit as fierce and yet unsure of herself in her paradoxical demeanor he had found so charming back in the Cat and Rooster weeks ago.

Oryn suddenly came through the tavern's doors, and Nathyen waved over to him, receiving a nod as way of reply. He made no move to greet the warrior, who tended to keep to himself and whom Nathyen would have plenty of chance to speak with in the coming weeks. Besides, Niowyn had spoken enough for the lot of them along the road, and Nathyen suspected the lump would appreciate some silence himself.

Just as Nathyen finished his meal and tipped the bar maid for taking the plates and cutlery from him, Aria waved him over to where she sat by the bar with the dwarf. Curiosity piqued, Nathyen shifted on sore and bruised legs from he and Aria's sparring sessions along the road and approached the bar. He extended a hand out to the dwarf, greeting him in a crude and heavily accented Dwarven.

"Ah, greetings, kin of my kin," he said, in the traditional Dwarven greeting, reverting back to the common tongue. "I see you've been acquainted with the warrior maid Aria. I'm Nathyen, I'm escortin' this here lass with a few fellows 'o mine to the Shroud."

"So we've been discussing…" Aria noted, with a small, pleasant smile.

It had been quite some time since Erskine had heard the traditional greeting, and it was first that a non-dwarf had made it. A wide smile crossed his lips and he gleefully took in Nathyen's hand for a shake, a traditional dwarven handshake, mind you, that consisted of seeing whose knuckles would collapse first (although he'd go easy on Nathyen… just a little), "Set down your cup, kin of my kin, so that I may fill it," He replied back in Dwarven, completing the traditional greeting he had grown up with.

"I am delighted to make the acquaintance of one so well-versed. Felt like I was almost back home when I heard that," The dwarf declared, letting go of Nathyen's hand, "Erskine Rimebarth, at your service."

"As it so happens, my new friend Erskine here, is keen on a change of scenery, himself. I've put the offer out for him to join us, should there be no objections among the others. You alright? Seemed a bit slow, comin' over."

"Ah dwarves are always welcome company in my book," Nathyen said with a nod to the dwarf, Eskrine, as he flexed the fingers of his now-tender hand. "Aye, 'n that'd be because you're ruthless with that stick 'o yours, lass. If 'ya ever dare take that armor, off, though, it'll be just as nasty for 'ya in a few weeks time I'm sure."

Grinning slyly, Aria gave the locksmith a pointed glance, shaking her head, "That would probably be true, if you were ever able to land a hit." With the teasing words, she reached out to give a prod to a spot on his arm where she'd landed a rather merciless blow just prior to their arrival in Molestown, "Or, you could get yourself some decent padding."

Leaning back, she edged out a chair with her foot and nodded to it, "Have a seat. You're better adept at explaining our travel plans to Erskine. No sense, me muddying it up..."

A small chuckle rumbled from the barrel-chested dwarf. It had been a while since he'd seen such camaraderie and it reminded him of the small slivers of good memories he had of the Hell Maw, "Now it sounds like to me that she delivered quite the whallopin', I will definitely have to ensure that I am in our dear lady's good graces," He said, the last of his chuckle trailing off. With the mention of travel plans, a hand returned to his beard, stroking the coarse fibers of red, "Ah yes, it would be mighty informative if I heard what routes we are to take to the Shroud. I have much of my supplies ready, but you can never be too prepared."

"Ah well, no honor to be had in beatin' on the sons of fishermen," Nathyen said with a chuckle before holding up a finger while he rummaged in his pack, fetching a map which he laid out atop the flat top of the bar. "Plan is to follow the Fangtooth all the way down to the Dead Sea and seek out a ferry that'll take us over. I don't' like lingerin' 'round there longer than I have to, but the alternative is trekkin' down south and past the Wailing Keep and that I don't like much either. River trolls are one thing, dead men walkin's another. After that, we'll skirt 'round the mountains by Groveland here and…"

He pointed out a river, by a village labeled 'Rohdri's Hold'.

"We end up here - dwarven settlement made before the dwarves tried to retake Gol Krakka and get it runnin' again, they'll have ferries to take us up to the base of the mountain the Shroud stands on. Shouldn't take more 'an three, four weeks all told. Might be five, pendin' trouble and weather."

"No honor?" Aria scoffed, "I'm the daughter of a farmer. That excuse won't work on me… Way I see it, you just liked dancing with me so much, you can't bear the thought of stoppin'..."

As the map unrolled, Aria leaned forward to take a look, a brow raised in what might have been mild concern, and arching higher at the mention of trolls and the walking dead. It was something to grow accustomed to, certainly… the horrors the north held, yet. But as she skimmed over the page, the concern melted into something else and a thin smile took its place as she gingerly prodded a finger, "...Niowyn's going to be beside herself if we're headed through the woods. Elves, you told me, yeah?"

"Aye, that'd be the Dreadwood, though the Groveland was a prominent Elven settlement as well," Nathyen nodded. "Both of which we'll be avoidin' - Elven anything means trouble."

"You'll hear no complaint on my end…" Shaking her head, she looked to dwarven man, "No offense meant if you're anything like our Nio and fond of that manner of thing, but I've had my share of elven magic, and I don't care to go through that again."

"I cannot say if I am either fond or not when it comes to elvish things, on account of havin' never really dealt with their works," Erskine said, shrugging his shoulders, "I already have my hands fulls gettin' used to human culture, erm… cultures, to wanna dip my toes into another pool," While Nezsohrcan had its eccentricities, dwarven culture was rather uniform across the race, or so he had been taught. He hadn't encountered enough dwarves to really make a call in that regard.

"As for the topic of our route, I cannot say I see any particular flaws in it. A tad bit roundabout, but considerin' the alternatives, roundabout looks pretty good."

"Sounds like a plan, then," Nathyen said, furrowing his brow as he considered the map. "I reckon, there's a fishin' village opposite the Dead Sea we'll be able to stop and recover our supplies, but might be tight on 'em 'til then. Any rations we bring'll have to be saved for the ferry if it can be helped. I don't trust anything that comes from those waters is safe enough to eat, to say nothin' of accidentally fishin' up something nasty."

"I can set some traps along the way… This time of year, there's bound to be something that'll wander into one. Should give us some leeway with rations, at least…"

The locksmith glanced to Aria for a moment then back to the map, beginning to fold it back into a neat square. He did not know this dwarf, but he knew Aria and trusted her judgment well enough. Just weeks ago they had all been strangers, and here he was willing to march across the country on account of her missing brother. Fate, it seemed, was a strange creature, to speak nothing of the hammer Oryn now carried with him.

"I wager we'll be set to leave no later 'an the day after next," he continued, realizing his glance at Aria had turned into an impolite stare. "Sound good, Erskine?"

"Sounds quite dandy for me," Erskine's left brow was rising faintly as he took note of Nathyen's rather intense stare at Aria, only to recall her story of one of her travelling company serenading her. With all of the new information he had received in the span of a few moments, he would be lenient on himself for forgetting that the boy's name had been mentioned then. To be young… Thought the dwarf who was barely thirty years past a pup for his kind.

"Say, all of this plannin' has gotten me quite parched. Fortunately for the bunch of us, I happen to have made certain… arrangements with our good barkeep, who has so graciously chose to waive my bar tab for this night. Now I believe if there is cause for celebration, the meeting of new friends and associates is but one of the highest reasons to do so."

"I can think of very few other reasons, myself." Aria agreed, with a small smile, "But be careful not to celebrate too much, Nathyen. I won't go easy on you later, if you over indulge."

"Ah, so then I should get 'ya too drunk to hold 'yer sword properly, then," Nathyen jested. "Seems as good a way to spare my precious features any more abuse as any."

"Not even you're that charming, Nathyen." With a laugh, Aria looked to Erskine, "But a celebration, all the same."

"Then we are in agreement then. Once the rest of our compatriots have assembled, we shall have us a grand old time," The dwarf declared, loudly enough so that those situated near the bar might have heard the tender give a defeated sigh...

Pupperr · Sep 26, 2020

Niowyn and Aoife

Mud splashed up Aoife's leg as her foot struck the ground at the edge of a puddle. The slow confident swagger had been replaced by a quick jog just as soon as she was sure the Arcanist hadn't been able to see. With each passing second, antagonizing the stuck-up tart seemed like a worse idea. In the moment, the look on their face had been worth a bag of jewels, but now the elation had faded and only a fool would think that Aoife hadn't made an enemy; an enemy who from their words, appeared to have already gotten her cloven feet in the door with the knight's strange friend, and so probably the whole group. If they realized they could, surely they would try to stop the person who had just humiliated them from doing the same. Aoife knew if the roles were reversed, she would; that meant she needed to make sure her feet were equally under the table before they could. That meant running.

The actual amount of time that passed between Aoife disappearing from the Arcanist's sight and spotting the odd woman that they had been talking to wasn't actually that long; certainly no longer than the time it would take a few sparks dropped on a pile of tinder to become a raging inferno. To red-head however, it felt like a small eternity. By the time she finally spotted the apparently magically inclined woman she had been looking for, enough doubt and nerves had built in the pit of her stomach for relief to hit her with all the force of a smith's hammer.

"Excuse me…" Stopping a couple of paces short, Aoife put her hands on her knees and made more of a show of catching her breath than she really needed. "I saw you come into the inn with that knight last night, yes. One of the shop-keepers told me they are looking for folk looking to head for The Shroud. Are you stopping here or are you traveling with them?"
"Hmmm.." Niowyn thought aloud as the voice came from behind her and she turned to see the red headed woman slouched over her knees and panting heavily. She recognized the woman from the one she passed after leaving Celothel – the one Celothel hinted that was following them. The tribeswoman adjusted the small bag of items she had accumulated in the time it took Aoife to speak with Celothel and then catch up with her before sighing and smiling. "It appears that I am mighty popular today."
Niowyn chuckled lightly with a hand slightly covering over her mouth. "And it looks as though you ran after me. I suppose I should be flattered! I've become a celebrity here in Molestown."

The knight Aoife was referring to was likely Aria – the only other person that might resemble a knight was Oryn, but certainly not Nathyen. A blank expression fell on her face as she pictured the rugged man all proper in a suit of armour ready to devote himself to the line of duty. She chuckled again, but this time at the image in her head and not at Aoife's expense. "I might be moving on… or I might not be. But maybe you should start with your name, miss. And maybe finish with why it is you are following me."
"Urm… sorry, the name's Aoi-" Aoife stopped mid syllable as a well-honed sense of mistrust kicked in. One of the leeches that ran The Shroud wanted her dead; thought she was dead. It would probably be better for it to stay that way and seeing as the Arcanist and their lackey were part of the group, it would be better if she kept exactly who she was hidden. She had already committed to some of her name but a decade's worth of experience came to the scarred women's aid. She sneezed. It was a good sneeze, a well-practiced sneeze. Aoife even caught it in the crook of her arm.

"Sorry… must be the dust or something." Straightening up, the redhead put on what she knew to be her most winning smile as a hand was extended forward. "I'm Elyssia. Like I said, I saw you arrive with that Raven knight, then a shopkeeper told me they were looking to head for the Shroud and then I saw you. You were talking to that mage though so I thought I'd just wait yeah."

A suspicious eyebrow raised itself above Niowyn's left eye as she watched the woman produce a well-timed sneeze and a well-practiced speech. But the tribeswoman extended her hand nonetheless and with a smile, introduced herself. "You can call me Niowyn."

Following a slightly tighter than a normal squeeze of the red head's hand, she retracted and shifted the bag in her arms once more. Elyssia's story still didn't explain why she had run after her. Was she so desperate to have a group of people to travel to the Shroud with? Two strangers seeking her and her companions in one day. Coincidences often weren't just coincidences. "We are going to the Shroud. Are you looking to head there?"

"I've got business down there and I've been stuck up north for too long." By itself, the squeeze of Niowyn's hand would have meant nothing, but Aoife had seen the skeptical eyebrow. The woman was examining her. Questioning her. It was probably the right moment to try and elicit and exploit a little sympathy. "I was part of a caravan. One night the man on watch fell asleep at his post. Misshapen, they, well.."

Falling Silent, Aoife looked down at her feet for a few moments, apparently hesitating. When her eyes left the floor, Aoife brushed what little hair hung over the right side of her face behind her ear and twisted so Niowyn couldn't avoid looking at the twisted and gnarled scars the misshapen had left her with.

"As far as I know, I'm the only one that got away; and that was only because the Shieldmaiden must have been watching over me that night." That was broadly the truth if you were content to forget some of the finer details of that night, which as the sole survivor, Aoife was. "I have been wanting to head south for a while now, but… well after that, I've been waiting for people who aren't farm boys or idiot merchants."

Niowyn watched with a compassionate eye as Aoife shared her story. It wasn't an uncommon story either - almost all walks of life in the Crags had faced challenges, hardships, turmoil… and sometimes death. The redhead was lucky to have gotten away with her life as it would seem. Niowyn sighed before smiling softly. "I guess it can't be helped. We are looking for some travelers to join us, as you likely know the road to the Shroud is not an easy one. But, your company is conditional on my party's acceptance or not. I'm not traveling alone, as you know, and I can't welcome in a stranger without their blessing. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course, of course." Taking a step back, Aoife crossed her arms and exhaled slowly. "I'm headed to the Salty Tusk now if they have any questions they want to ask me. I guess I'll be there most of the evening. If I'm not, the inn-keeper can tell you where I rent a room."

Pushing Niowyn any further on the matter likely wouldn't help her case. They seemed agreeable to the idea of her joining their little group, but, Aoife wasn't entirely sure the woman had fully put their suspicions aside. At the same time though, she wasn't ready to let the issue go. If the blessings of the rest of Niowyn's group was what was needed, then that was what she needed to work on and meeting new people went so much better if they knew that you knew someone they knew.

"Actually...I did see your knight friend in the inn not too long ago. With your blessing, I could introduce myself to her. Save you having to do it and you know, let her take a look at me."

"We are staying at the Salty Tusk as well, so I am sure there will be plenty of time for you to introduce yourself once we head back." Niowyn looked up at the position of the sun in the sky, her arm creating a shadow over her eyes to protect her from its light. Her gaze fell back on Aoife and she smiled lightly. "Might as well head back together. Unless you have some more shopping to do?"

"Me, no. Nothing that won't wait anyway." Head shifting back and forth, Aoife looked up and down the street. The various stalls of the market all sold interesting things, but none of them really sold anything of interest to her. Besides, what coin she had was largely already spoken for. Meals were just about her main expense, and the Salty Tusk made a little coin go a long way in that. Well, perhaps drink was her main expense, but the inn filled that need too. "Before we get there, you know how I got here. Can I ask how you and your friends ended up here?"

Niowyn had started to walk toward the Salty Tusk, Aoife matched her leisurely speed and walked next to her. The tribeswoman shifted her bag of goods a few times as the two made their way back. "We are from the Hollows and are indebted to the Raven Knight for her strength in fighting back the Other. And so we offered to help her on her journey home."

Aoife seemed satisfied with the answer, only nodding and making sounds of acknowledgment at a few key points. The two exchanged small talk for the rest of the short walk back to the Salty Tusk and once the building was at there front, Niowyn turned to Aoife with a kind smile "Well, here we are. I'll see you inside." and disappeared into the tavern.

L: Walking back to the Salty Tusk | M: Aria @Elle Joyner - Nathyen and Celothel @ze_kraken - Oryn @Morgan | I: Aoife @Applo

ze_kraken · Sep 30, 2020

Background Music

OLD FRIENDS

Nathyen had remained reserved in his indulgence of Eskrine's open tab,

mindful of the threats Aria had leveled against him. He had managed to procure a pair of wooden sparring swords earlier that day from a tutor who had been thoroughly confused at the prospect that the swords were for one as old as Nathyen, who already wore a real weapon at his belt. He had taken the locksmith's gold all the same, and as Nathyen glanced into the frothy head of his second beer before him and then down to the floor where the wooden practice swords hung tied to his pack, he shoved the mug aside.

Bruises and a splitting headache, he thought. That's what it'll earn you.

A stranger tapped his arm, and Nathyen snapped to attention, about to politely refuse whatever request or offer the stranger was about to let loose when a silver armband on the stranger's wrist caught his attention. Niowyn. His gaze followed her arm up to her face, recognizing the tribeswoman and smiling.

"Ah, still not used to you dressed like that - hopefully 'ya found some suitable replacements in the market," Nathyen said, but he could see plain in Niowyn's face she had not come to talk about her finds in the market, though doubtless she would show them all in excruciating detail along the road.

"Ahhh, it's difficult for me as well but I did find something more to my taste in the market." Niowyn responded, though her signature warming smile was absent from her face. Her blue eyes landed on the Dwarven man sitting with Nathyen at the table and she looked about the empty mugs surrounding them. "Good day to you, kin of my kin." Niowyn nodded her head at the Dwarf before she could no longer resist the devious grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. "It appears as though you have drunk my friend under the table. I hope you don't mind if I borrow him for a moment."

Erksine laughed at the black haired woman and nodded in agreement to her request. "Of course you can, my dear lady."

Aria, meanwhile, had taken leave somewhere in the midst of another hilarious anecdote from Erskine on the stunningly awkward differences in dwarven culture. Excusing herself, two mugs in hand, she made her way across the bar to find the fourth member of their ragtag crew where she had seen him a short while earlier. As she approached, she cleared her throat and holding out the froth capped draft, gave Oryn a nod, "Courtesy of a new friend. If you've got a moment, I'd like you to meet him."

The smile he had offered Aria as he saw her approaching widened as he took the mug of ale. He raised it to her but before he could thank her, she spoke. For a moment he eyed the contents of the mug and then looked back up at Aria, wondering who that new friend might be. Oryn shrugged, took a sip of the ale and nodded.

"If you can vouch for his character, I'm sure I'll like him." Reaching out to give her shoulder a squeeze he gestured with the mug and cleared his throat. "Lead the way."

Grinning lightly, Aria shook her head as she turned back to the others, "I'm not too sure you should be lookin' to me as a great judge of character, Oryn. I keep Nathyen around, you know." Giving him a wink, she led him back in time to see Niowyn approaching the table, "Ah… Perfect! Gang's all here. Successful shopping venture, I hope?" She added to the tribal woman.

"What's it 'ya needed me for, Nio?" Nathyen pondered aloud, interrupting Aria's question as he approached with a mug clutched in his hands still despite his better judgment, and for a moment his eyes drifted uneasily to the practice swords tucked beneath the table by Eskrine. "I'm sure 'yer new clothes are just as lovely as those robes 'o yours."

Niowyn looked at the locksmith blankly - she couldn't tell if he was teasing her or being serious and judging by the mug clutched in his hand, she figured he might not even be sure either. "As much as I would love to model my finds from the market. I have a more serious matter to discuss with you and everyone else."

"And I think I'll be taking this as well." She continued, as she reached for the mug of alcohol in Nathyen's hands and declared it as her own. "Shall we?" she asked, looking to Aria and Oryn before stepping away and into the corner of the tavern.

"Oh what a shame," Nathyen protested, making no move to take the mug back from Niowyn as she took her own sip from it. "So disrespectful to the…"

He fumbled for the right word for a moment, annunciating it slowly and purposefully once he found it.

"Generosity of our dwarven friend over there," he said at last. "'Twas a drink for our bond of friendship! Aria - was Nio here part 'o that bond?"

"You'll thank her later…" Aria noted, with a sly smile as she followed Nathyen's brief glance to the practice swords, "Or maybe you won't. And you should know by now, these two…" She gestured to Oryn and Nio with her free hand, "Are always included in bonds of friendship. Particularly where celebrations are concerned."

Looking back to Erskine, she gave the dwarf a gesture to let him know they'd be back, though not entirely sure it was necessary, given he seemed well on his way to pleasant oblivion. Turning back to Nio, her expression softened to something a little less amused, "Now, what's going on? I take it you've pulled us away for something a little more important than updates on your shopping trip?"

"Right. A woman named Celothel approached me in the marketplace. She's from the Shroud, particularly from an Order of Arcanists." Niowyn began, not bothering to scold Nathyen for his remarks. She shifted the paper bag of goods in her arms before her eyes scanned the tavern for others. There were a few others in the Salty Tusk beside their group and the new Dwarven friend. And Elyssia would surely be stumbling in soon enough. One of the men sitting alone must've been the comrade Celothel mentioned. "She has a friend here in the tavern, she called him Deormund. Anyway.... she approached me because of my tribe. Apparently this Order she is part of has historical information on my people. Nathyen, do you know anything about them?"

"Ah, that I do," Nathyen said, scratching his chin as he roused his dragging mind into motion. "Back in the Shroud, well - I was part of the Locksmith's Guild. Thieves, truly - but, suppose you all already guessed as much. I worked as a page for the Guild for some time to get an understandin' of their habits and-"

One look from Niowyn told him she had no interest in what valuables the Guild might have had that were worth stealing. He cleared his throat, nodding.

"They're a strange lot. Not many 'o 'em in the Shroud, and a few wander about lookin' for relics and magic users such as yourself. I've seen mages, 'n you're not quite like any 'o most of the lost. Most know one or two spells, fewer can douse flaming walls and impale trolls with ice. Talked with a couple here 'n there, they mostly keep to 'emselves about what they do, but a fellow in the Guild used to be one 'o them. They mostly like to fuss over books 'n the like, and they try to teach the 'proper' way to do magic, but besides that that's all I know."

"Hmmm.." Niowyn looked down at her shoes for a moment, clearly processing the information before sighing heavily and giving her attention back to her comrades. "She mentioned elves and somehow… there is a link there between them and my ancestors." Niowyn looked to Aria, the young and courageous woman that Niowyn had agreed to help search for her brother. "I told you that I would help you to find your brother and I will not take back my word on that. But this woman and this Order know something about my people. I have to know what that is."

There was a long pause before Niowyn drew a breath and spoke again. It was a sensitive subject for her and an impossible choice - in one hand, she had people who had become her dear friends, people she didn't want to turn her back on, and in the other… she had her people. Her life and blood. "I'm not in this alone anymore. All of you have become a part of this and a part of me now. I would like to ask that this woman and her bodyguard join us on the road, so that I can assess just what she knows and determine whether she is trustworthy or not before deciding about pursuing a position with the Order once we reach the Shroud.. But… I understand if you think it is too dangerous to allow them to travel with us."

Frowning lightly, Aria's gaze shifted past Nio to the man sitting alone. She recalled earlier, seeing his companion leave after spending a good portion of their conversation with their gaze on her and Erskine. She had initially thought the woman's interests were in the dwarven fellow, but now she had to wonder…

"...Blonde? Wearing a purple robe? Fairly certain I saw your young mage in the tavern a while ago. And if that's the case, her guard's still here, as well. I'm not one to tell anyone what to do, Nio, but I'd certainly be cautious of anyone knowing more about me then they've a right to know. Still… If you think you can access as much on the road with them, I don't see why we'd begrudge an extra pair of eyes and ears." Expression gentler, she reached out a hand and gently cupped Nio's forearm, "But you should know… you don't owe me anything. I can see this is important to you, and I've no intentions on taking that from you."

Niowyn smiled, returning the cupped hand on Aria's forearm. "Thank you. But you're wrong to think I don't owe you, or anyone of you, anything." She looked between her companions, her expression soft and vulnerable. "I meant it when I said all of you have become a part of me now. And I hope you know what that means."

"Yeah…" Aria offered, with a quick nod, "Pretty sure I know what you mean."

"Aye, 'n Shielders are no jesting matter either," Nathyen interjected. "Might be they're helpful - 'n if they've got wrongful intentions, I doubt she'd 'a let 'ya come back to talk to us. 'Sides, if her Shielder's still here 'n done nothin' yet, should be no problem."

"I agree with Aria." Oryn spoke up and scratched the back of his head. He didn't trust anyone that weren't in their little group. Perhaps that was for the best, but it was clear to anyone that Niowyn held a burning desire in her heart, to know more about her ancestors. Oryn couldn't bring himself to speak against that. "We'll have to be careful, but I think you're right." He looked first at Aria but then at Nathyen as well. "Both of you." He drank from his mug and then shrugged before he slapped Nathyen hard on the shoulder. "Besides, if it turns out we can't trust them, our fearless leader can beat them to death with those sticks he's carrying." He flashed the locksmith a grin.

"I'll swing for the knees, you hit 'em with that hammer," Nathyen laughed, slapping Oryn on the shoulder. "Unstoppable, see Aria? Don't need any of your lessons! I've a big, strong man to protect me now, Hero of Hollows! Hero of… the Hollows? And his fearless aid."

"You'll need his aid, if you keep tryin' to get out of training…" Aria teased, giving Nathyen a pointed look, "But I suppose it's settled, then?" Looking to Nio, she smiled, "Your Order companions… our dwarf fellow. We're turning into a regular troupe. If anyone but Nathyen could play an instrument for its worth, we might actually be able to earn our keep to the Shroud."

Niowyn laughed as she watched Oryn and Nathyen tease back and forth. It reminded her of a pair of siblings back home. She finished off the ale in her mug, slammed it on the table next to her, and wrapped her free arm around Oryn's while looking at Nathyen with a cheesy grin. "Sorry, locksmith. But this big strong man owes me his life and I plan on using him for my own protection. You'll have to face the music and endure the abuse from Aria some more."

"Ah, I believe it's Aria that faced the music," Nathyen teased. "But if the welts are any indication, she's makin' me pay for that one."

"Won't distract me with that memory…" Aria quipped back, with a grin, "If anything, it's half at fault for the trainin'... Just… tending to your needs like a young lady ought to, eh?"

"Ah don't pretend to be all clever stealin' my verse," Nathyen said with a laugh. "'Sides, we all know how that tale ended, 'eh?"

"Hm. I dunno. Seemed a bit vague, if I'm honest…" With what could be nothing short of a teasing smirk, she turned back to Nio, "You'd better let your mage know she'll have an earful on our journey. Hopefully she can keep her sense about here enough to have somethin' to teach you when we get to the Shroud."

"Might be you can convince that Shielder to teach you a thing or two 'bout fightin' as well, lass," Nathyen said, brow furrowing as he searched for the man in the tavern. "Those lot are trained better 'an anyone I know, had my ass handed to me by one in the drill yards back in the Shard - used to call me his warmup."

For a moment, Aria's appearance shifted as her gaze proved briefly distant. They'd had this conversation briefly along the road - all of them. The idea of improving their skills, of challenging themselves. But for Aria it came from a complex web of uncertainty in her mind, a crippling self doubt… How close she'd come back in the Hollows… The idea of facing anyone like that again drove a wave of nausea into her stomach, but the moment passed and she nodded all the same.

"I'll consider it, certainly."

Oryn shifted his weight onto the other foot and cleared his throat. He hadn't moved away when Niowyn took his arm even though it had been his initial thought. He did his best not to look at her, but after a while he had to resist the urge to put an arm around her shoulder. Whether that was because of the ale or something else, he didn't want to think about at the moment. Instead, he focused on the conversation at hand.

"If you do get tired of fighting with sticks, should we come up against enemies that actually want to kill you, I think I have something for you." He said, making a gesture toward Nathyen with his mug. "Found it back when we were headed for Gol Badhir." Oryn nudged Niowyn with his shoulder and continued. "We pulled it out of a pond but it looks fresh-forged." It had been a long time since he had seen the blade, but he kept it among his other belongings still. "I have no use for it. It's yours if you want it." Oryn finished and took a sip of his ale.

Growing somber, Nathyen took the sword, admiring its hilt and guard for a moment. It was finer steel than he had held in his life, save the hammer Oryn now carried. It reminded him of purchasing the sword he carried now in an alley in the Shroud - it had been a few short days after he had left the acting troupe his mother had bartered him off to in exchange for money to pay back a not insubstantial sum of gold. He had tussled with the Watch just a day before, and his nose had still been broken when he cobbled together what coin he could to pay the blacksmith.

"Aye, tell me something boy," he had said. "You takin' that to gut someone, are 'ya? The one who did that to your face?"

Nathyen had nodded, offering the coin purse again. The smith had taken him in instead, put a roof over his head, fed him. One day he had woken up to the smith making a simple breakfast of bacon and bread, a rarity he had never seen in Maidenholm where meat was spared for no more than one or two meals a year, and sat down beside him.

"You need work," he had told him simply. "Somethin' tells me, that coin you took to pay me wasn't 'yers.

Again Nathyen had nodded.

"So then we'll be takin' it and sendin' it back to the miners or the farmers out in the city, else it end back up in some noble's pocket. From here on, you work for me, 'eh? I'll teach 'ya what I know, keep 'ya from tusslin' with anyone else. You're too scrawny for it, it's a bad look to keep 'yer nose busted up like that."

The smith had died just barely a year later, but the sword had remained. Nathyen had never been an extraordinary thief - neither particularly graceful or quick-footed, but as he eyed his own blade in its sheath for a moment, brought back to that morning with the smell of bacon cooking atop the fire, he nodded, recalling how, perhaps unskilled as he was, never had his coin gone to waste. He turned the sword over, unsheathing it to look at the inscriptions along its edge. The gesture by Oryn spoke to him in much the say the smith's lessons had, and Nathyen looked gratefully to the larger man.

"Stonebane," he said, recalling the name Vardis had given it along their journey to Gol Badhir. "That's what Vardis had called it."

The gathering was still for a moment in remembrance of their fallen comrade.

"Thank you, Oryn."

Looking from Oryn to Nathyen again, Aria managed a small smile, "...Looks like we'll need to up your training, then. Best we get started… Unless…" Shifting, she looked to Nio, "Was there anything else?"

Niowyn retracted her arm from Oryn, giving him a curious eye before moving her attention to Nathyen. "Just one more thing actually" the tribeswoman nodded in the direction of the red headed woman walking in the door of the Salty Task. "That one there approached me in the market as well. Name's Elyssia - told me a story about her caravan being attacked and she's heading back to the Shroud. Asked if she could join us on the road and I told her I would have to confer with the lot of you."

"Seems we're a popular crew…" Aria looked over to the woman with a curious glance, "But then, we were looking for as much. But it does mean we'll need to be cautious. Of… certain things we discuss. Things we reveal." Her eyes shifted to Oryn, "A certain hammer, for instance…"

"Doubtful many'll know 'bout what the hammer is, this Oathsworn business aside entirely," Nathyen said with a shrug. "But anyone'll know what it's made of at first glance, 'n that ruby's quite a big one. All's to say, I think you're right, lass."

The locksmith paused then, stroking his beard as he eyed Niowyn with one eyebrow raised.

"Though I'll be curious to see what this…" he hesitated, mouthing the next words carefully. "Celothel can teach 'ya that 'ya don't already know, what with icicles through trolls' heads 'n those 'lil sculptures you do with water. But this Elyssia's got a story common as any in the mainland. Mountains are safe, edges of the country the safest. Out by the Shroud near the coast'll be the worst 'o it, but…"

A hand clapped the tabletop.

"That's a matter for the morrow, isn't it? So, then, we all in agreement to let this lot with us?"

"Aye… Agreed on my part." Aria nodded.

"By the time we reach the Shroud we can call ourselves a militia." Oryn said by way of agreement.

"Aye, might be you're right - Dale's Heroes, we'll call ourselves," Nathyen said with a laugh. "Right, then - on the morrow we leave."

Elle Joyner · Sep 30, 2020

Arianell Oresh
COLLAB WITH | @ze_kraken MENTIONED | All (and the best horse)

The Hollows

True to her word, and not so surprising to anyone present, Aria pulled Nathyen away shortly after their celebration came to its close. Their newest party members, or those that were present, were introduced and conversations dissolved into pleasant quips and amusing stories. As night closed in like a blanket around Molestown, Aria gave the locksmith a nudge with her foot, and nodded towards the door of the inn, "Time to put that new blade of yours to the test."

It wasn't as easy finding a proper place to spar in the village as it was out in the open, but eventually Aria passed a few coins into the palms of some stable boys and after promising that nothing would be destroyed, desecrated or stolen (apart from Nathyen's ego), they were given reign.

Inside, Aria wasted no time as her fingers nimbly unlaced the ties of her plates, and with a heavy clank, she dropped the armor beside an empty stall, pauldrons, vambraces and greaves soon following. Finally, her mail vest and her sheath joined the pile, until all that remained were a thin linen shirt, a pair of chausses, leather boots and the knowledge that beneath those was a waifish young woman who by all physical value had little right to wear the armor she'd discarded.

Gesturing to the bag Nathyen carried and the two wooden swords, she held out a hand expectantly.

"Right, my liege," Nathyen remarked, making a show of presenting the wooden sparring sword hilt-first to Aria, bowing his head in an exaggerated method. "Here you are."

As he bowed forward, Aria reached out, but rather than grabbing the wooden weapon, her fingers curled around Nathyen's forearm and giving it a twists, she spun the locksmith around and locked his arm across his chest. Her free hand divested him of the sword and she pointed the tip of it to the small of his back, leaning onto her toes to speak close to his ear, "Left yourself open. Have I taught you nothing?"

Releasing him then, she gave him a teasing smile and free arm extending outward, she held the sword in front of her, "Now then. You know the drill. Disarm me."

Aria saw the locksmith about to open his mouth and deliver his usual quip: what, with my charm? But then his eyes shifted to the sword in her hand, and the wrist he now shook to let loose some of the pain, and his mouth shut. He nodded, an unusually determined look on his face as he adopted their usual stances.

His first swing was sloppy - too wide, and easy to spot the moment his foot stepped forward but his sword arm did not follow. Aria was able to swat it aside easily, but Nathyen's arm rocketed back down to parry the counterblow, the wooden sword whistling past where his shoulder had been and slicing clean through the air. Rather than fight it out with Aria, who was remarkably stronger than him despite being no bulkier than the locksmith, he slid back on his feet, their swords just within tapping range of one another.

"Evasion… Smart." Nodding in approval, Aria gave her wrist a flick and her sword cracked against Nathyen's, "Now, find a way to get in close. I've said before, your strength is your speed and your size. You get inside their reach, and they won't have room to fight back."

Nathyen nodded, though it was not the first or even tenth time she had said it now. He thrust his blade forward in a lunge towards Aria, flicking his wrist as her blade came up to parry it. The blade circled under her own, but this was a tactic she had seen him use twice before now. Where his blade went left, hers followed, and left his sword point surging forth, carrying the locksmith with it as Aria's blade smacked his shoulder with its blunted edge.

"Variation, Nathyen. No amount of cleverness or cunning in a fight can be overlooked. But predictability will get you killed, every time. You are a man I have seen overcome impossible and impractical odds in nearly everything he does. You shouldn't by any rights have made it out of the Hollows, but here you are, and that's not because of me or Nio or Oryn or any of us. Not entirely, at least. You've a mind for strategy, but you're trying too hard to think like a soldier or a warrior, and not using your gifts the way you ought to." Stepping back, she held herself at the ready again, "I know you can do this… so do it."

"I'd like to protest that," Nathyen countered. "I reckon you've got a lot to-"

Aria's sword smacked his, urging him to stop talking. He nodded, shuffling left into a more comfortable position. The pair circled one another for a while, Nathyen's eyes studying Aria for an opening. Their blades mirrored one another, Nathyen finally seeming to grasp the basic guards she had taught him - where she went high, he did. When she went low, he mirrored.

As Aria shifted between guards, Nathyen lashed out with a swing from the edge of his sword from his right shoulder. Wood clattered as the blades met, and Nathyen flicked his wrist to both shove Aria's sword aside and swing with its false edge. The practice sword thwacked into Aria's sword wrist, and Nathyen immediately reached out with a hand, seemingly both in shock and genuine concern.

Laughing lightly, Aria shook her head and held him off with a hand, before rubbing her wrist, "Good! That was very good. If you'd followed through, you'd've had me." Arm extending again, she gave a nod, "Again."

"Oh I think that's all my luck's going to give me today," he replied back, equal parts glum and self-depreciating.

They sparred for another ten bouts in total, Nathyen losing about twice as often as he won. Aria could notice improvements - he no longer made his movements easy to spot from half a league away, and his footwork no longer resembled a drunkard's. But still, he was unconfident, and his concern for her wellbeing each time a blow landed left him open time and time over.

Before their final bout, Aria paused, and as she brushed a thumb over a small knot in her arm where he'd gotten a particularly impressive hit on her, she looked up at the locksmith, "Let me ask you something, Nathyen. Do you know why am I doing this? Training you?"

"Can't say I do," he replied, wiping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his tunic - though the night was chill, both their blood still ran hot. "If I were a dolt, I'd say it's because you delight in tormentin' me, but somethin' tells me it's got a bit more than to relish in my bruises."

"You wouldn't be wrong." Studying the edge of the wooden blade, running a finger along it, she shook her head, "You're important to me, Nathyen. I care about you. But I can't protect you out there. Not always. There will be times when I'm not there, and you'll need to fight… and if you're not prepared to use everything within your arsenal to get out of it alive, then I will have failed you." Teeth pinching the inside of her cheek, she looked up at him again, "I know you don't want to hurt me. And that does you credit… really. But if you never learn to follow through, you will never be able to, out there."

"Oh I wouldn't say it's quite so noble as that, Aria," he said softly, her name still foreign on his tongue to her. "You're doin' me a great service, 'n I enjoy your company, moreso 'n anyone's save maybe that horse of Oryn's, but you don't owe me anything by virtue of our companionship. Aye, I'd like to not have my throat slit in my sleep, and for 'ya to fairly take up watches 'n the like, but my life is not one 'ya should feel to add to your burdens."

He paused then, sighing.

"But I suppose you're right - 'sides, you've done nothing but hit me, only seems fair I do the same, 'huh?"

"That… or you could teach me to write pretty songs about my feelings." With a sly smile, Aria extended the sword out to him, and shifting her steps, she turned so she was facing the nearest column in the stables, taking a step back, only but a few feet from the wooden beam, "Now then. Disarm me."

"Ah, who would want another awful singer? One's more 'an enough," Nathyen quipped back, rolling his shoulders and adopting a ready stance.

"Oh, I don't know… Sounds like you're worried I may upstage you." With a chuckle, Aria gave a small flex with the tips of her fingers, taunting him forward.

"Blushin' like you do, I doubt it."

That earned him a near-thwack to the arm, which he ducked back from as Aria's face scrunched in agitation. Nathyen darted back into the fray, and their blades flew, clattering against one another in what was perhaps their first true contest. Nathyen kept just outside of Aria's reach, forcing her to have to lunge and leave more space for the locksmith to exploit an opening. Nathyen for his part seemed content to dance about on his feet, shuffling them to throw Aria off to then dart opposite the way he had positioned himself.

Watching his footwork, Aria took another step back, angling herself in front of the post as she gave a wide swipe towards Nathyen's outer flank, her center briefly exposed. It wasn't much of an opening, not one that many would recognize... and those with a modicum of training, those who were taught to regard the practice of nobility and honor might have missed it entirely, but Aria was banking on the idea that Nathyen was a thief… a man with a gift for the very line of thinking most proper knights abhorred. She had given him a gap to exploit, and there was no small part of her that hoped he would do just that.

The point of her blade whistled in its arc, just past where the locksmith stood, and it had been any closer it would have caught and wrenched his tunic to the side with it. Nathyen lashed out with his boot, striking Aria's shin in the same motion he used to lunge forward, point of his practice sword ending right atop Aria's collarbone, wooden edge snagging uncomfortably on the neckline of her tunic. There he paused, pushing the sword forward ever so slightly to drive home the point he had managed to pull out a win.

Aria grimaced, but there was an air to her expression of pride. Her own sword swung to nudge his away, and she gave a small nod, straightening, "I'll feel that tomorrow… You learn to use that sort of thinking more often, and you'll do fine out there, Nathyen. First thing I was taught by my father was that outside of a duel, you'll rarely come up against a fair fight. Trying to be honorable against a person who can't care less for honor is a quick way to die. Use your environment to your advantage… If there's dirt, throw it in their eyes. Mud? Trip them up. If it's cold, you aim for their fingers… If they leave an opening, you do what you just did and you use whatever you have to your advantage. Admirable qualities… they are what they are, but it's an antiquated notion that anyone will follow standards out in a real battle. Demons certainly won't. People… men like Maud won't, either."

Pausing, she breathed in, a short, shuddered sound, "Th-that's probably enough for tonight."

The locksmith stuck the practice sword point-first into the soft earth underfoot, fingers gently reaching out to offer Aria's hand a quick squeeze. Just as quick as his fingers had come they were gone, back at his side as he examined her with one eyebrow raised. For once, she noted, there was none of the usual brevity in his plain brown eyes as he studied her.

"Ah, so that's why you've been so quiet these past few days, 'eh?"

Working her jaw, teeth briefly clenched, she shook her head, "It's um… it's been hard. Moving past it. I… Normally it's fine, but I… sometimes when I sleep…"

"Words are a curious thing," Nathyen said, leaning up against the post and sitting, patting the ground beside him for Aria to do the same. "Yours just said the opposite 'o the ones that came before. That's to say, you just told me nothin'."

Sinking down beside the locksmith, Aria pulled her knees up to her chest, rubbing her shin where he'd landed the kick, "I see him. In my dreams. Not… not even then. Just… when I close my eyes. I'm afraid that it won't stop. That I won't stop seeing him. Thinking about it. F-feeling his fingers on my neck. I… I thought… today, in the inn. I thought for a moment I'd actually seen him. I keep… I keep thinking that I'll look up and there he'll be. I know he was just a man, and I know he's gone, but… I can't shake it, all the same."

A gentle hand gripped her shoulder firmly.

"It's no easy thing killin' a man," he said, softness in his voice, but still a certain grim edge of steel lurked in his tone. "When… When I was in the Shroud, barely more 'an eight, I was in the middle of nabbin' a loaf 'o bread. Guard comes up and…"

He smacked one hand against the back of another.

"His cudgel hits me square in the face, breaks my nose," he prodded his slightly crooked nose to accentuate his point. "Tells me to keep my hands to myself, and if he catches me again it'll be off to the mines. Ugly fucker had a memorable face - great big scar down 'long from ear to chin. So I did what I thought was right - picked pockets, earned coin, went to buy a blade to run that bastard through for what he'd done."

Nathyen swallowed back, continuing.

"So there I was, buyin' the sword from a smith. My nose was still crusted in blood, 'n he asks me if I plan to kill someone with it. I told him I did, 'n rather than chase me off, he takes me in, teaches me honest, good work - but I still picked pockets and got into trouble," he continued. "Before that year was up, he was dead and all I had was that sword 'n a blacksmith's shop I had no clue what to do with. He had no family to leave it to, so I sold it off, 'n that guard from before. He. I… He caught me 'bout a week after I sold the shop off - well, after it was picked from me. I sold it for a fraction of what it was worth. Boy 'o nine or ten, didn't know better so when I was offered ten gold coins for it I'd never seen money like that in my life. But still… That guard comes 'round, recognizes me in the Shroud one night. It was me or him and… and I stabbed him clean through the gut."

A shaky hand wrapped about the other in a gnarled ball.

"They… they never tell you how bad men stink when they die, and I.. I left him there, ran far as I could back… I met Sabine - an orphan girl, workin' for the Locksmith's Guild. I found my family there, but that face… That fuckin' face, split open with that scar. I still see it, and it's been years, Aria. So I won't say it'll get easier, but know yours is not a burden you alone carry."

Hand reaching out, Aria's fingers curled around his, and shaking her head, she turned to look him in the eye, "...That's not a burden a child should ever bear. Y-you… you were just… I don't understand. Where was your family?"

"Never knew my father, 'n my mother sold me off for drinking money when I was six," he said. "I was a decent enough singer, 'n this troupe from the Shroud came through to town. They paid my mother for my talent, 'n I was with 'em for a while tourin' the villages in the east. I left 'em as soon as I got to the Shroud, far as I know they either fell apart or are still leavin' a warrant for me somewhere posted up somehow."

"Oh, Nathyen…" Shifting, Aria turned fully to the man and while her fingers curved tighter around his hand, she reached her free hand to gingerly cup his jaw, "...What you must have thought… felt… I didn't know… There are no words for… There are not strong enough words for a person who would do that to her own child. I'm so sorry…"

His hand gently brushed her aside.

"It's a life more fortunate than most ever dream of," he said. "I grew up in the Shroud, and though my work was by no means honest, it's been more than most can claim tryin' to work in the fields or toiling away in the mine. Aye, I've plenty 'o scars, both in and out, but then so does everyone here, save for those few nobles left in this country."

He hesitated then, opening his mouth before shutting it just as quick.

"That doesn't make it right." Brow creased lightly in a frown, Aria shook her head, "That's I hear, hereabouts. That this is life, but… but that doesn't make it right."

"Maybe not, but then it doesn't seem so important now," he shrugged. "It set me on the path to meet you."

A pause, then he added in afterthought.

"And the others."

"...Right." Meeting his gaze, she managed a small, weary smile, "Where would we be without Dale?" Breathing out, her eyes dropped slightly, wavered slightly, "I don't… I can't say that I don't wish that things had been different for you. Because no one should have to grow up that way. And I won't so that I wish that my own life had been different, too. That my brother would have lived… that Matty would have stayed. But… but all the same, I don't regret where it's brought me, either. To you." Swallowing, she looked up and nodded, "And the others."

"I've stopped wonderin' if there's much of a plan for us - I used to, back when I was learnin' under that smith back in the Shroud, but then it's been one disaster after the other - this though," his hand absently gripped her own. "This is a small shred 'o light, I think."
Glancing down at his hand, she laughed lightly, a huff of a sound, "...Small? Sometimes it feels like the only light there is. And I admit I didn't… I still don't quite know what to make of it, but… but I am grateful for it."

"Ah well - as you're livin' proof of, sometimes small is all it takes to topple a darkness twice the size, 'eh?"

"Then I suppose that makes you proof that light can be seen, even in unbearable darkness." Taking a breath, she paused briefly, "Nathyen, I… Um. Huh. What was that you were saying about words being curious?"

"I believe I was sayin' you should stick to swords, just as I should stick to my singin'," he said, nudging her good naturedly with his shoulder.

"It was a very good song, you know…" She added, quietly.

"Oh, if you thought that was good, just you wait 'til I'm actually tryin' to serenade 'ya. I promise it won't be in front 'o a crowd like that, though - I've no intention gettin' run through with a sword."

Laughing, Aria shook her head and with a sigh, leaned back onto his arm, "Well, that's something to look forward to, I suppose."

"Well with that soulful chat - I'm goin' to go see if Eskrine's offer on the tab is still good, might help to fog my head for a bit," Nathyen said, brushing his knees off and hoisting himself to his feet, offering Aria a hand. "Care to join me?"

Reaching up to take his hand, Aria pulled herself up and gave a nod, "I think I will. You may actually have given a bruise or two to feel in the morning." Looking up at him, gave a sly smile, "One last thing, before we go, though…"

"If you're about to hit me with a sword or kick me, I swear…"

"Well, that was the plan, but since you spoiled that…" Pushing onto her toe, she pressed a small kiss to the edge of his cheek, before settling onto her feet again, "You're a good man, Nathyen. Don't forget it."

"Don't let that kindness 'o yours go to waste on sods like me," he said, cheeks uncharacteristically flushed. "Come on, then, lass - lest 'ya start fillin' my head with other nonsense."

Moving to her pile of armor, she gathered most up in her arms, after slinging the sheath back around her waist, looking over at him with a smile, "Get used to it. Because you're worth it. Now… let's go, before I change my mind and decide you need another beating…" As she brushed past him, she gave him a nudge with her elbow, before heading out of the stables.

Pupperr · Sep 30, 2020

Niowyn and Aria

By the time she and Nathyen returned to the inn, the limp she'd beene favoring from where Nathyen had kicked her had begun to subside, but she could already feel bruising on her wrist and her shoulder where the wooden sword landed its mark. Despite the soreness, she could feel only immense pride in the man she walked beside…

He was learning, swifter than expected, and though she wasn't entirely convinced it would be a good idea to let him loose on a Hollow Knight, she felt significantly less concerned for his well being. It helped, too, in a way, knowing how he'd grown up. His honesty with her had been somewhat surprising, but then, while Aria was a lot of things, she wasn't entirely oblivious. A lot of things were changing, and those changes would need to be addressed… eventually.

For now though, Aria's focus was centralized on the journey they would be embarking on. They would leave in the morning, and there would be little sense in pretending their trip to the Shroud would be anything but simple and easy. But what they might find along the way was far less frightening then the prospect of what she might not find at the end of it. Eventually, whatever the outcome, the purpose of her journey would come to fruition, and the question that came at the end of that was one that had become increasingly more difficult to answer…

What came next.

It wasn't a question anyone but she could answer, but Aria had a suspicion that revelation would come whether she was ready for it or not.

She had head upstairs upon entering the Salty Tusk, but after dropping off her armor, found even after the talk she'd had with Nathyen the appeal of turning in still drove a small spike of anxiety through her. Instead, deciding the locksmith had probably endured enough of her for the evening, she returned to the bar and approached another familiar face, sidling alongside Niowyn with a moderate sense of sheepishness.

"Hey, Nio… C-could I talk to you?"

"Aria!" Niowyn turned on her stool with swift speed, a mug of ale in one hand and another on the bar. Her signature gourd was missing and she was no longer wearing the common clothes left for her the morning after the battle in the Hollows - she had taken the time to pack her belongings away in a room and slip into her findings from the market before joining the others at the bar. "What do you think of my new clothes!? Much better than those boring ones from the Hollows but it's still missing that Ta'Lassa flare" With a grin from ear to ear, she pushed the second mug of ale toward Aria.

"Here! For you. Although it's not particularly good… or strong for that matter. Or maybe the celebratory drink back home is just stronger. Regardless, come, sit, share in a drink with me. You said you wanted to talk about something?"

Sinking down beside the tribeswoman, Aria smiled and gave an approving nod at the outfit, "I like it. It's enough of the old style, without… standing out so much. It's you, but you'll blend in better on the road." Her fingers wrapped around the mug, but she didn't take a drink, pulling it closer and tapping the pads of her fingers against the hardened wood, "Maybe once this whole thing is over, you can take me shopping for something new. I… I'll admit I wouldn't know the first thing about it, when it doesn't involve armor or weapons."

Chuckling lightly, she looked up again from the amber colored liquid, meeting Niowyn's gaze, "You've lived here your whole life, right? The North?"

Niowyn turned on her stool once more to face the bar but she gave Aria her attention. She listened politely until a chuckle crept up on her. It wasn't the first time that someone pointed out that she didn't blend in and it likely wouldn't be the last. "Stand out, me? I think you're mistaking me for someone else." Niowyn nudged Aria with a playful elbow and a grin. "But I can take you shopping, it just means you might stand out too. Do you think you can handle anymore eyes on you?" The playful hint in her voice could only mean she was teasing Aria about Nathyen.

She lifted her mug, taking a long drink from it and looking at Aria from the corner of her eye. A curious brow raised in question as to why the warrior wasn't participating alongside her. Whatever it was that Aria wanted to talk about was surely bothering her if she wasn't interested in celebrating with her companions. "I have. I was born here and as were many generations before me. Why do you ask?"

"...No one's looking at me, Nio." Aria returned, though there was a slight flush to her cheeks, and absently, she brushed her fingers over her other hand, recalling the last few moments in the stables, "Especially not when you're around!"

Shifting the mug around in a circle, she shook her head, "Coming from the South… It was never perfect there, but being here, it's… it's eye opening. The differences. And I feel like there's still so much I don't know. So many things I don't understand. We never talked about it much, up here, back home. It was always that place that… it seemed more like a story parents told their children about to keep them safe and scared. But being here, there's… there's this strange dissonance. It's as bad as they say, but… but then I look at you and Oryn and… and Nathyen and the others that we've met and I can't help but think that there has to be some good in there, too, right?"

"Let me ask you this, Aria…" Niowyn started, returning her mug of ale to the bar as she stared at the liquid slosh back and forth in it. "In the South, where you're from.. Are there not those who are considered to be bad?"

"I'll be honest, I… I never really thought much of it. I kept to my farm. The village, sometimes. There wasn't much reason to go anywhere else. But it would stand to reason there are bad people, bad things everywhere." Pausing for a moment, she shrugged, "Here, they just seem more prevalent, I suppose. But the thing is, I never expected to care as much about it all, as I do. These people… they're strangers. The ones in the Hollows, too. I came here to find my brother, but it's gotten a bit more… complicated."

Niowyn sighed and turned to Aria with a smile "It might be true that the land here in the North is harsher and breeds a harsher people but… at the end of the day we are all the same. People are people are people. We all bleed the same. There are those of us that have kind souls and those of us that have souls saturated by darkness." She paused briefly before taking another drink from her ale and looking back to Aria. "You might have come here for a purpose, like I have come for her a purpose, as did Oryn… and as did Nathyen... " Her blue eyes fell on Aria before she reached over and gently squeezed the girl's forearm. "But there are certain complications that aren't always a bad thing, you know."

"...I'm not sure how a complication can be anything but bad…" Aria sighed, and her fingers uncurled from the mug to brush through her hair, "My intentions were to find Matthias… and go home. Find a way to go home. But I never… I never anticipated there might be a reason to… I never expected there might be any reason to want to stay."

"That's because you're only looking at it through one set of eyes." Niowyn retorted, drawing her hand back and pushing a lock of her black hair behind her ear. She turned around in her stool to look at Nathyen and Oryn enjoying their drink with their newly acquired friends. A soft smile touched her face. "If you were to look through my eyes and see what I see… you would see the most beautiful complication. You would see people who care about you… people who would follow you to the end of the world. You would see a connection, a draw between them that is a mystery of this world. Souls that are connected by something that we cannot see…" she paused, looking over to Aria "but by something you feel."

"The more you are afraid of that feeling or try to ignore that feeling, the harder it is going to be when you have to admit what that reason for staying might be." Niowyn looked back to the rest of their companions, her gaze falling on Nathyen. "What is so scary about having a reason to stay?"

"...A reason to stay is something to lose." Staring into her untouched mug, Aria breathed out a little shakily, "Feelings are… they are not my strong suit, Nio."

"...sometimes something to lose can be beautiful.." Niowyn responded gently, her eyes softer than before. She looked down at her hands and remembered the blood that soiled them. Oryn's blood. "...life would be dull and colourless without complications.."

With a heavy sigh, she looked away from her hands and back to Aria. "You say feelings aren't your strong suit, but feelings are something we all have. Some people just have more practice with them than others. Were you always good at sword fighting? Or did you have to practice at it to get better?"

"...Fighting is easy, Nio. The sharp end goes in the other person. It's footwork and paying attention. I… I am already so afraid that I will never find my brother. Or worse, I will, and he'll be gone. I don't know how to feel with that fear taking over. I keep thinking about what happened in the Hollows. To… to Vardis. What might've happened if… if I hadn't come when I did. It's easy to be brave and strong when all that matters is surviving one day to the next, but… but when you… when there's someone else that matters, too… There doesn't seem to be a well of courage deep enough to make that fear go away."

"That would be a lonely way to exist…" Niowyn offered, the cheer behind her voice seemingly having vanished. "...but you know.. even if you might not have the courage to face the fear on your own… you're not alone anymore. This beautiful complication you've found yourself in means that there are people there to support you, carry you, and shoulder your doubts, fears, and worries… when it's too hard to do it alone."

Nodding slowly, Aria's fingers curved once more around the mug, and she studied the contents in thought for a quiet moment, "You're very wise. And I hope you know, I'm grateful for you. And Nio?" Looking up at her again, she managed a smile, "You shouldn't be afraid to stand out. There… there's not a lot of things up here that can cast quite such a lovely brightness." Breathing out, she lifted the mug and held it to the tribeswoman, "I may never figure it out… and it still terrifies me to know that there will always be a chance to lose something… someone, but if the north has people like you in it, then that's reason enough to stay."Looking past Niowyn briefly, Aria's smile brightened, "One reason, at least…"

Niowyn reached for her mug and tapped it against Aria's, her playful grin returning. "Ahh, but I'm not the reason you would be staying. We both know that… but I, at least, can say the reason with confidence." She took a mouthful of ale before returning her mug to the bar. "And Aria… no one ever figures it out. But maybe you can start by saying it aloud to yourself." Her blue eyes crossed the room and landed on Oryn. A smile appeared on her face. "Some people just have to practice."

Setting her mug down, Aria nodded, and her gaze followed Niowyn's briefly, as she rose from her seat, "Maybe you're right." Reaching out, she gave the woman's shoulder a pat, and her smile turned ever so slightly sly as she shrugged, "Maybe we both should practice. I'll see you in the morning, Nio. Thank you."

"Maybe…" Niowyn echoed, finishing her ale before heading over to her remaining companions.

L: The Salty Tusk | M: Everyone! | I: Aria @Elle Joyner

ze_kraken · Oct 1, 2020

Background Music

THE ROAD EAST

Celothel could not sleep.

If she was to be honest with herself, it had little to do with the words the woman had so unceremoniously leveled at her in the market that afternoon. They had stung, and though she hated to admit it, they carried with them kernels of truth that were as persistently painful as the gritty oats she had been forced to kneel upon when she had been disobedient in her youth. They carried the same bite, and the longer she dwelled on the sensation, the deeper it crept. She had been a hint jealous of this girl - Niowyn - and her gift. She had hidden behind Deormund like a girl might cower behind her father's leg.

But that was not what kept her awake, not now in any case.

Deormund, ever perceptive, had entered her room at the inn come dawn to discover her sitting upright in bed, eyes red and strained from their forced wakefulness. She had noted that her Shielder had been about to scold her for failing to take proper care of herself, but as she felt his thread tugging gently at hers, she felt understanding dawn and his face shifted from that of annoyance to compassion. Or, at least, indifference, which was as close to compassionate the man's face seemed capable of displaying.

"I know, I should have slept," she said flatly, head stirring so that her eyes might gaze listlessly forward towards the Shielder and not strain themselves at the slight angle they had been forced into.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to - tell me, why do I worry so?"

"That's my responsibility, not yours," Deormund scratched his chin, lips tugging in a frown as he heard the scrape of stubble beneath his fingertips.

"You know I was not asking for one of our jests, though I appreciate the effort," Celothel said, offering him a polite smile out of a sense of courtesy.

"Is it the thought of returning to the Shroud?"

"I thought so as well - but no, the Order does not frighten me anymore, regardless of the circumstance of my dismissal to the field," she said. "I will bring them Niowyn, and they will see in her what I see. No, I think I fear finally coming to a sense of purpose. Of having stakes larger than myself."

"Do you truly believe the girl might be-"

"Perhaps. But forgive me, I am running ahead of myself - how did you sleep, my dear?"

Deormund stirred, hand flashing to his sword at his belt as footsteps creaked along the floorboards outside. A knock came on the door, which Deormund answered, door swinging open in a grating protest of screeching, rusted hinges. The blonde man, the locksmith, stood there, gazing up at the Shielder who loomed about half a head over him.

"Ah, 'pose that's as good a way to greet a fellow as any with your hand on your sword," he said half in jest. "I heard from the barkeep the Shielder was awake, thought I'd come by 'n tell 'ya we leave at just before noon. You have horses?"

"Aye, we do," croaked Celothel from the bed.

The locksmith nodded.

"Just so," he said. "We've got ourselves a pack mule, should you wish to spare yourselves or your steeds the burden."

"Thank you," Celothel replied softly, pausing before speaking up as the locksmith turned to leave the doorway. "Wait - Nathyen, was it?"

"Aye, that's the name."

"Tell me, that girl, the one you claimed to be a Knight of the Raven," she began slowly. "That was a lie, was it not? I care not for the reason why, but-"

"Before somethin' slips out 'o that mouth of yours you might come to regret, I'll just say perhaps it's best we start as a fresh group 'o companions on the road," he interrupted. "That girl's been through more hell 'an you can believe in a short span 'o time, so I'd let whatever lie we told to get into Molestown be the kind men tell ladies about the cut of their dress or color 'o their hair. A pleasant, 'lil farce. Agreed?"

"I thought she was too lanky and unsure," Celothel said, waving her hand. "That's all, you can go."

Celothel sat atop a pale, ashen grey percheron dappled with white spots - a tame beast, unlike the destrier her Shielder rode beside her decked in bits of leather and steel barding. About them rode their newfound companions - the locksmith strode alongside the warrior woman at their front, sharing in some quiet talk. Likewise, Niowyn and her partner were idly chatting astride their own horses. Elyssia hovered atop a horse that the locksmith had bartered for on her behalf, and trailing in the rear of their party was the mule and the dwarf atop his own, sturdy horse, both burdened with chests and packs and bedrolls.

Elyssia's gaze met Celothel's, narrowing into a glower. Celothel averted her eyes, fixating them instead on the dirt path ahead. The locksmith at the head conducted a quick headcount before urging their group onward, out of Molestown and to the road beyond. To their left the Fangtooth rushed, swelled still with glacial melt from the Crags further north and recent rain. The arcanist shut her eyes and willed the noise to cease, the babbling and rushing river sounding loud as a war drum to her sleep deprived ears.

Let us find a comfortable pace so I might sleep in the saddle, she thought bitterly, cursing the fact she must stay alert.

Her eyes were ringed in dark shadows, hanging with bags and crusted at the corners. Her voice was haggard when she spoke, and she kept to herself for much of the first day. Come nightfall, Deormund volunteered to take her place at the watch that evening so that she might sleep. And sleep she did - rising early the next morning feeling inexplicably more exhausted but more functional than the day before.

As they pressed further away from Molestown, the growth of the Fuelenmark about them began to grow more rampant, more wild. About the village, the trees had been sparse and loosely dotted the countryside. Now they hung on their right side, tightly backed with elm, pine, and cedar. The further from the Crags they went, the warmer the air became until it was unmistakable that winter had truly faded into spring. The cold rushed from the Fangtooth still, but it melded nicely with the warm sunlit air, keeping the group temperate as they pressed further into the mainland.

By night they kept their presence obscure within the trees, lighting no fires close to the road and doing their best to obscure their wisps of smoke that trailed up over the trees. At any time there were no fewer than two on watch, and when they marched at day, Deormund took the helm, and the large man, Oryn, held up the rear. The locksmith and his waifish warrior companion often spearheaded along the road ahead, bagging rabbits, squirrels, and sometimes fish to cook when they broke for lunch.

They passed no stragglers along the road towards the Dead Sea, for few went that way in the spring. Most would be coming from the east to seek treasure in the west, and their road would take them further south to pass by the Lonely Tower, Fervendar, and Ogreton first before daring the road north to Molestown and the Hollows. Few opted to cross the Dead Sea from east to west, particularly in spring when the Bloodvines were in bloom.

It made no difference to Celothel - contending with trolls and bloodvines and demons was warrior's work. Hers was to instruct Niowyn, which she began along the first stretch of the road in small snippets, attempting to grasp an understanding of Niowyn's abilities and her understanding of the Essence. She was gifted in her application of her water magic, with a burgeoning talent in manipulating the air, but her vernacular was foreign and stranger to Celothel's ears. Talks of spirits and vitality and life energies.

"We shall need to work on your vocabulary," she had said come lunch of the second day. "But it is clear there is talent within you - but I will not be teaching you ways to control your art better directly. We shall work on the fundamentals first, before teaching you more theory of Essence. But this is a good start, very good start."

The second night passed as uneventfully as the first had, with Celothel sharing a watch with the warrior woman, whose name she had discovered to be Aria, and the dwarf, Eskrine. Aria was a reserved one, Eskrine quite the opposite. Though they had talked little, what conversation they did share was amicable enough. Come morning, they awoke to reports from Deormund and Oryn that they were being pursued by a band of Misshapen. The creatures had picked up their scent in the Crags, Oryn had said, and had been following them throughout their trip. That night they had lurked just within line of sight but remained close to cover, not daring the two armed men.

With this news, the party remained closer together, Nathyen and Aria not riding ahead anymore for fear they might be ambushed by the creatures. The third day went by peacefully, and when they broke for lunch, Nathyen informed them they were still half a week from the Dead Sea but that their progress was steady and measured. When they packed up and resumed their march, Celothel was finally beginning to recover from her lack of rest, feeling alert and talkative for the first time since departing Molestown. She and Niowyn shared stories of their first attempts of using magic, and Deormund felt secure enough in her health to relax about their new companions.

That evening, the watches were set and Celothel had taken Niowyn away for some private lessons in magic when a disturbance shattered the peaceful twilight...

GM NOTES:

@CasketCase @Pupperr @Elle Joyner @Applo @Morgan

BACK TO THE ROAD

You all have set out on the road from Molestown and have traveled for 3 days. Presently, you have minimally utilized your rations and still have roughly 2 weeks of food without additional provisions from hunting. You are 3 days out from the Dead Sea, but have come upon a disturbance in the night during the 3rd night. During this round of posts, you are welcome to have interactions on the road, but here are the interactive elements for this plot point:

INTERACTIVE ELEMENTS

The First Watch:
Those taking the first watch will first be notified of the disturbance in the night. If they choose to follow it to its source, they will discover that a band of Misshapen (roughly 5 of them) have begun to circle Niowyn and Celothel who are presently within line of sight but not earshot of the camp.

Remain in the Camp:
Though first watch has been set, it is not quite time to settle to sleep just yet. As you settle into your bedrolls, go about your evening rituals, and so forth - as the first watch leaves, you hear a rustling in the trees and before you know it you see the outlines of twisted, morphed beings circling the camp but making no move to attack.

Wandering the Fangtooth:
The Fangtooth River roars ahead, and is a peaceful sight by twilight. Wandering its length by night will keep you in sight of your comrades, but put you at risk of the Misshapen lurking about... As you turn about to the sudden signs of distress, a Misshapen greets you with its sword clutched in twisted, gnarled hands.

Elle Joyner · Oct 5, 2020

Arianell Oresh
COLLAB WITH | @Morgan , @ze_kraken || MENTIONED | @Pupperr

The Road

Hunting had always been a bit of a sore spot for Aria back home. There was something to say for the success she and Nathyen had had thus far, but it was, at large, due to the great number of rabbits in this particular time of year. Her traps were well crafted, but in the back of her mind she could always draw to mind her brother's teasing voices regarding her height, and it never failed to throw off her aim just so. But their journey would them on a perilous journey across the Dead Sea and if anything Nathyen had told her of its nature was true, there was little guarantee that even the week's time estimate might hold true. Rations were waning and their travels were far from over.

That evening, Oryn had volunteered to go along with her, and Aria was grateful for the company as they wandered from the warmth and comfort of the fire. She'd left her armor behind, finding Nathyen's suggestion irritatingly accurate, that it would make her stealthier and quicker without it. Part of her was certain he preferred her without it because she intimidated him less, but all the same, he was right. Along with her sword, she carried a length of twine and a few twigs, tied into snares, and as she walked, she moved with a sense of quiet purpose and concentrated focus.

They had been followed for a while now by the creatures Oryn and the Shielder had described, but to no purpose. It wouldn't be long, though, before they were met by some opposition to their journey. She couldn't imagine, afterall, that the extent of dangers on their trip would be gnats and low-flying birds.

As she set the traps, she had Oryn keep watch, but it wasn't the man's warning call that attracted her attention to trouble. Instead, it was the cry of alarm from another familiar voice… Niowyn had gone off to train with the mage, and it was a sound most unmistakable. Bolting upright, her eyes found Oryn, who she imagined had enough cause to be concerned without her suggestion. Her sword unsheathed mere seconds before she saw the movement behind Oryn's left shoulder, "Get down!"

He threw himself forward without thinking. In a fluid motion he rolled over his left shoulder and as he rose to his feet again, he unsheathed his sword and stood at the ready. His pulse was faster now and Oryn's body seemed to prepare for battle all on its own. Faintly, the runes in his sword glowed. He had left the hammer back at camp. Oryn was still trying to get used to the weapon, but it fit poorly with his fighting style. In close quarters it was devastating, but he relied on speed and his undeniable skill with his sword.

Worry filled him at the thought of Niowyn being in danger and it fueled his will to fight and kill this Misshapen, so they could help the tribeswoman and her new teacher. As he always did, Oryn rolled his shoulder and set his feet. As he did, he felt a warmth spread from his fingertips and move slowly up his arm. The runes on his blade became brighter and he remembered for a moment what had happened when he had fought the dragon. "There could be more than just the one." Oryn said and glanced toward Aria, moving closer to her.

"What the hell is that thing?" Pushing up the tip of her blade, Aria stared in fixed horror at the deformity, before shaking her head, fingers gripping her sword tighter as she looked to Oryn, "You go left and high, I'll go right and low. Wait for my count… on three…"

The creature might once have been a man - its back was hunched, and in its hands was clutched a woodsman's axe. Beady brown eyes, pupiless and soulless, stared at them through the trees. The Misshapen reared its head back and snarled, fanged maw ripping open like a door hinge, its tongue lashing about wildly. Rustling could be heard through the undergrowth and two more emerged, just as malformed and emaciated as the first. Their heads were abnormally large in comparison to their skeletal like figures, and like the first the newcomers carried weapons that might have once been their tools of trade in their previous life.

The first of the trio lurched towards Aria, tripping over a tree trunk as it stumbled along on thin, pale legs. Its fellows were quick to ensure that the blunder could not be properly exploited, one shifting to take on Oryn, the other looking to flank Aria with its pitchfork brandished aloft.

"Damn, that's three, I guess!" Aria called, before swiftly twisting to knock the pitchfork aside. As it swung out of her line, Aria drove her blade into the hip of the creature, both startled and disgusted to find it barely registered the wound. Prying her blade free, she swung against, catching it near the back of its calf, but it stumbled forward and jerkily turned, the pitchfork narrowly avoiding Aria's neck as she ducked beneath it, "Should've brought the hammer!" She growled, backing away from the thing.

"What, and miss a challenge?" Oryn said, laughing perhaps mostly to himself. Even though two more had appeared, he welcomed the chance to use his sword again. The muscles in his torso still felt stiff and a little sore, but he was able to move well enough. As he eyed the Misshapen that advanced on him he levelled the sword at it and pointed the tip at its head. A threat as much as an invitation.

The creature made a growling sound and raised its weapon. Its mouth was open and it seemingly couldn't close it because of the deformity of its jaw. It was as if the bones there were bent and broken out of shape. But he didn't have time to study its physique in depth as the Misshapen now truly threw itself at him with the axe held high. When it came down, Oryn shifted to the side and swung his blade in a horizontal line, catching it across the ribcage. It hardly seemed to notice however and quickly turned to face him once again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the third Misshapen circling, trying to flank him.

The one facing Oryn made a move, but it was untrained and slow. He moved out of the way again, using his speed to dodge instead of parrying with his sword. He knew, however, that he had to force an attack and make the creature expose itself if he was to avoid fighting two of them at the same time. And so Oryn advanced now, bringing his sword down toward the creature's shoulder but before he made contact, he shifted, stepped to the side and felt his blade slice through flesh across the misshapen's stomach. It growled in anger and swung at him as he had hoped. Oryn used the momentum of the swing to parry the axe wide before levelling the sword at the throat of his opponent, aiming to stab through it.

Ducking the pitchfork again, Aria jabbed forward at the Misshapen. The hits weren't enough to pierce so much as the skin of an orange, but it flinched back away with every thrust and just enough to put her out of its reach. These weren't fighters… not soldiers. Vaguely, in the space of her mind that could rationalize, Aria was fairly certain what she was looking at, but the thought made bile rise in the back of her throat and she forced it away as quickly as it came. She'd learned in hunting that mercy, sometimes, was ending a thing… and whoever they had been, these weren't people. Not anymore. Maybe not for a very long time.

Steel clashed to the side and she caught sight of Oryn in his own battle, but it was the creature flanking him that drew her attention. In its hand was what looked to be a curved handle, ending in two sharp blades… a tool for shearing sheep. Approaching Oryn with lumbering haste, it raised the blade high. Swearing, Aria flipped her sword up and grip loosening on the hilt, she hurled it, spearlike into the back of the Misshapen. The action took less than a second or two, but in that time, the creature before her had regained its ground and Aria only had a moment to reach up and catch the barbs of the pitchfork as they plunged towards her again. With a twist, she tipped the pitchfork to the side, but the Misshapen gave another heave and she felt metal pierce with a sick squish into the soft space beneath her clavicle. A cry wrenched from her throat as she held the makeshift weapon at bay, but she could feel it pressing deeper and blood slicked the pitchfork prongs, now as she dug her feet into the soft ground beneath her, "Anytime, Oryn!"

Head snapping to the side he saw Aria as she was struggling to fend off the Misshapen. The one he had stabbed at in front of him fell to the ground in the same moment. The last one had backed off as Aria had hurled her sword at it and out of the corner of his eye, Oryn could see its shape with the blade sticking out from its back. But that wasn't his immediate concern. No, Aria was in trouble. Her cry had sent a chill down his spine. He hadn't expected any of them to get close enough to either of them, to actually injure them.

With surprising speed he closed the distance between himself, Aria and her assailant. His sword whistled through the air once he'd reached them and cut through flesh and bone with ease, severing the creature's right arm. It screamed. A guttural noise that was more anger than pain. But again Oryn attacked and this time he stabbed the blade through its heart. Not taking any chances, he withdrew it quickly before finishing it with a slash across the neck. It fell to the ground and made no more noises. But there was still one standing.

Glancing once at Aria, he reached without thinking and pushed her behind him. His blue eyes were now fixed on the remaining Misshapen as it looked like it didn't know whether to attack or to run. Oryn wasn't about to let it live, however. He put his sword in his left hand, kicked up the pitchfork that was lying on the ground in front of him with the creature's severed arm right next to it, caught it and hurled it at the last Misshapen. It caught the creature in the neck and for a moment, the deformed monster stood and wobbled on its feet before it collapsed to the ground. For a moment there was silence and he looked around, making sure there were no more enemies. Then he spun around and looked at Aria.

"How bad is it?" He asked, putting his sword down. Immediately, his hand moved to rest on her shoulder without putting pressure on it. The pitchfork was a nasty weapon to be wounded by. It was rusty and dull. Cutting yourself on a sharp blade rarely hurt as much. Oryn looked at the wound. It wasn't deep enough to be life-threatening, but it would need to be thoroughly cleaned and bandaged.

"Feels kinda like I got stabbed by a pitchfork…" Aria answered, with a wry sort of smile. Her hand pressed against the wound and she swallowed back the urge to waste rations, as she looked up at Oryn with a shake of her head, "Oryn, go to Nio. I'm fine."

He paused and watched her closely for a moment, a smirk briefly apparent on his face he nodded slowly. It worried him to send her off alone although they weren't very far from their camp. Oryn went to retrieve her sword and seconds later he put it in her good hand. Then he took the other hand and gently lifted it so it could rest on the opposite shoulder, knowing it would cause her a bit of pain. But this way, the tissue around her wound would be pressed together. "There, it'll slow the bleeding and you'll still have your sword hand." Oryn then took his own sword and straightened. "Now you get straight back to camp, fast as you can. Anything else happens to you, you know I'll have a certain tribeswoman to worry about." He tried to smile but it became little more than a tug at the corner of his mouth. Then Oryn nodded and turned and ran toward the scream they had heard before.

"Be safe!" Aria called after the man, then gripping her sword tightly, she made her way back up the bank towards the faint glow of firelight, breaking into a run at the sudden sounds of chaos.

Pupperr · Oct 5, 2020

Niowyn and Co'

Celothel sat before Niowyn, legs draped to the side elegantly as she gripped a waterskin between steady hands and drank from it. About them, the sounds of the night began to sing their steady chirping chorus. Crickets creaked, owls hooted, and through it all the distant din of the Fangtooth River to their back churned and rang out. The air was still and warm, warmer than Niowyn had felt in weeks of traveling through the Crags.

"I believe it is time we might begin with formal instruction," the arcanist said, capping her waterskin as she cocked her head. "Though it might be patronizing for one so skilled as you, I would like you to take the water from this skin here, lift it up, and put it back in. Then, tell me what you think happened that let you do so."

Niowyn stood in the clearing, eyes closed as she listened to the distant hymn of the river. It was a peaceful sound, one that she had so desperately missed from home. And she swore she could smell the water of home standing in the clearing of the forest. Her blue eyes fluttered opened with a relieving sigh, welcoming the warmth the distance from the Crags gifted them. She turned at Celothel's voice and watched as she sat there, prim and proper, giving her instruction.

"Formal instruction?" Niowyn asked, almost rhetorical. Since the beginning of their journey, Celothel had commented on Niowyn's strange way of describing her understanding and use of magic, which was bizarre to her because Niowyn thought the same thing about the Arcanist.

"It's a feeling." She began as the blues of her eyes radiated a faint mystical glow as the water from Celothel's waterskin flowed from the opening in a steady stream and danced in the air for a brief moment before circling back into the waterskin and settling to a stillness. "Feeling the water and listening to it lets me borrow its strength. I know that it's there… anywhere that it is. I can feel it. I feel it in my gut. And it's like it pulls me towards it and I pull it toward me. It's the relationship and connection that makes it possible."

"Though that may be how you have conducted your art since it first made itself known to you, that is not the entire truth," Celothel said in a neutral tone, neither accusatory nor disapproving. "The water is not letting you do anything to it - you drive the change. You use the Essence."

She paused then, repeating the motion Niowyn just had - raising the water up and letting it fall back into the waterskin with a move of her free hand, spindly fingers dancing in a fluid motion.

"When you access the Essence, you are touching a Source - there are plenty of Sources," she explained as she capped the waterskin and laid it beside her on the ground. "Some are stronger than others - as the Essence is all around you, invisible but ever-present. When you tap into the Source, you tire yourself relative to the Essence you take, and are now what we call a Root."

Celothel gestured to an exposed tree root by her foot to hit home her point.

"Once you become a Root, you may use the Essence - and is likely that feeling in your gut you described. That is your innate knowledge tying you to the magic, to the Essence. When you are touching the water with it, the water becomes a Tether, and you make a Thread. The Thread, made of Essence, is what lets you manipulate the Tether. Some Tethers are more easily controlled than others - your talent and preference is for water, but if you wished you could likely learn to manipulate a plethora of elements. The greater your understanding of the Tether, the greater ease you manipulate it. I say this to establish a framework from which we will work. As we practice, I shall refer to Roots, and Threads, and Tethers and do not wish to confuse you using terms you may be unfamiliar with."

Niowyn just watched Celothel as she explained the proper terms for using magic. Her expression was blank - it was a foreign subject and it felt strange on her tongue to refer to herself as a Root for using Essence. "I know about the Source. And I know that I can only call so much magic from the Source.. But once that is exhausted… my physical body is used to call magic and it is a lot more taxing."

The tribeswoman shrugged off the gourd on her back and it hit the ground with a satisfying thud. The water sloshed inside its casket and Niowyn placed a gentle hand on the neck of the gourd. "Thread and Tether…" she started, contemplating what it meant. The Arcanist used such odd vocabulary for something that seemed so natural and innate. Magic was a part of her and she was a part of magic. "This pull that I feel… is that the Thread and the Tether?"

Celothel nodded.

"That is exactly what it is," she said, as if such a thing were common knowledge.

"And the Essence - I read about that in the libraries of Gol Badhir…" a thinking finger reached for Niowyn's chin. "But the readings all pointed to Essence and the Source as being one in the same. The traditions passed from generation to generation in my tribe.. Always regard the Source."

"They essentially are," Celothel affirmed with a nod. "But for purposes of instruction, Source is the term we will use to describe the physical space you draw Essence from."

Suddenly a twig snapped and leaves rustled a few paces to Niowyn's back, away from the camp and the fire. A low snarl followed, and she could hear the scrape of metal being dragged along the earth. Celothel stood up, drawing her shoulders up and raising her arms in a defensive stance.

"Niowyn, dear, at the ready," she remarked dryly.

Niowyn's eyes wandered to the edges of the clearing where the trees swallowed the darkness like an endless abyss. She smirked lightly and released her chest full of breath. "I was wondering when they were going to show up.. I've felt them lingering out there for awhile now."

"How much water do you have in that gourd of yours?" The arcanist inquired, stepping such that she was back-to-back with Niowyn, hands outstretched. Niowyn could feel warmth budding about the woman as she spoke, like a brisk summer air - heavy, warm, oppressive almost.

"Enough to deal with whatever creatures are lurking about" she paused, her blue eyes slowly illuminating. "And if things get desperate… there's always the water in the ground."

"Right, then - consider this a second lesson then, hm?" The woman's voice was uncharacteristically playful in contrast to her usual stiff, formal demeanor.

The first rushed from beyond the trees to Niowyn's left, but her intuition tugged her in that direction by the familiar touch of water drawing at her senses. A hunchbacked, ashen grey creature darted towards Niowyn from a gap in the forest about her, using its arms to navigate just as readily as it did its feet. Its teeth were filed to points, and its clothes clung in tattered, rotten tatters about its body. Once it closed the gap to be just beyond arm's reach it reared its head back and leapt forward on powerful, deer-like bestial hind legs.

"For whom?" Niowyn asked cheekily before her eyes settled on the Misshapen creature advancing on her from the left. A stream of water shot from the gourd and circled around Niowyn before twisting into the shape of a dragon in front of her with its maw clapping at the creature.

The water dragon crashed against the creature, tossing it backward like a rag doll before circling around the tribeswoman again, its clawed foot wrapped itself around her shoulder and assumed a protective stance, like it was a living beast. Another pair were coming towards her now, leary of approaching her for fear of the watery guardian she carried aloft about her. They prowled, encircling the pair as they waited for their companion to return to its feet. Celothel in the meanwhile let loose a jet of flame seemingly from nothing as a pair of Misshapen lunged at her, driving them both back clutching at their burning clothes and screeching violently.

The putrid smell of the grotesque creature's skin burning started to permeate the air around them. Niowyn scowled at the smell. There was a benefit to killing creatures with water and ice - it never smelled as bad as it was beginning to. The sculpture of the dragon atop her shoulder released her, its great wings carrying it above them where it circled the three wounded creatures.

The water holding the creature's shape together fell apart, rapidly cooling into jagged daggers and shot outward toward the three Misshapen beasts. Ice crackled and Misshapen hissed in agony as the shards of the dragon fell down in a flurry of deadly razor-sharp spikes. Blood splattered out across the trees, and battered the Misshapen began to withdraw into the woods as a new pair of them emerged, either to pick off one of the two mages or to cover the retreat of their fellows, a fact unclear by their lack of an obvious stance and bestial, unpredictable movements.

Niowyn stared at the creature in front of her and looked over her shoulder slightly to see his friend standing in front of Celothel. She grinned once more before another jet of water flew from the gourd. It broke into two streams in the air, one flying toward the Misshapen in front of Niowyn, the other toward the one in front of Celothel.

Four legged beasts with snarling faces emerged from the water as it flew toward the Misshapen. The ugly creatures growled at the approaching pursuers, throwing their oddly shaped arms about in protest and skipping place but when the water beasts didn't back down, the Misshapen turned and fled in a panic.

Niowyn's triumph was short lived, for no sooner than the last of the Misshapen vanished into the waning light of twilight did Celothel collapse to her knees, gripping Niowyn by the sleeve of her tunic to steady herself. Her skin was paler than before, her eyes glossed over and hazy. She fumbled for the waterskin, shivering as she did so.

"Water," she croaked. "Blanket, quickly…"

"Celothel?" It was more of a surprise statement than a question as Niowyn looked down at the Arcanist. What happened to her? It didn't look as though any of the creatures managed to even get close to them. Niowyn gently dropped to her knees, reaching for the waterskin nearby and handing it to Celothel. "Here…"

Niowyn looked around for a moment to find something to warm the Arcanist. Her things were back at the camp and the only thing she had on her was her gourd and what she was wearing. She sighed lightly and quickly pulled off her poncho-like top layer. It was warm, made from thick cloth. It would have to do the trick. Niowyn wrapped the long teal coloured poncho around Celothel and pulled the Arcanist closer to her to lend Celothel her body warmth. "What happened… are you hurt? Do you need healing?"

"No, that isn't necessary," she said just above a whisper. "I used my own heat to scare them off - foolish, but I will be fine. Where's Deormund? I could have sworn-"

As if to answer her own question, the Shielder suddenly emerged from the trees, instantly recognizable and distinguished from the Misshapen by the sword in his hand and glint of steel plates of armor that adorned his person. He rushed by the two mages and knelt, clutching Celothel tenderly by the small of her back.

"Was she hurt?" He demanded curtly of Niowyn, examining the arcanist for wounds.

"Calm yourself, Deormund," Celothel said, that same reserved snappish tone back to her voice. "Our friend here did admirably. What of the others?"

"Drove them back," he said flatly. "They're probing. This wasn't meant to kill us, just see what we're about."

"I fear you might be right," the Arcanist croaked, tugging Niowyn's poncho tight. "Thank you, dear - this is much appreciated."

Niowyn sat back from Celothel once Deormund arrived and rushed to her side. The devotion and worry for his companion reminded her of Oryn and she couldn't help but smile at the ironclad man. "I think she's OK." Her attention turned back to Celothel. "You're welcome. But if you should require it, I can heal you."

"This is a temporary ailment, nothing some time by the fire won't solve," she said calmly, voice regaining a bit of its strength though she made no move to budge from her kneeling position, sinking down into a seated one after seeming to contemplate the merits of standing up.

The sounds of rapid footfalls reached them from somewhere in the dark between the trees. Not long after Oryn appeared with his sword at the ready, but when he saw that there were no Misshapen, he lowered it. Immediately his eyes landed on Niowyn who looked unharmed. The same could not be said for the arcanist. He approached, looking them all over for a second before he spoke.

"Are you alright?" First his eyes landed on Deormund, as if he was asking the Shielder about Celothel's condition rather than the woman herself. A breath later his eyes almost instinctively moved to Niowyn and he found that he stepped closer to her.

"I'll be fine," Celothel said softly, waving aside Oryn's question with an unsteady hand. "Where are the others?"

He nodded, taking her word for it. "I sent Aria back to camp. She was injured." He shifted and glanced at Niowyn again. "Not seriously, though." And then he cleared his throat. Any wound was serious on the road, but Aria would be fine. "She could use someone to take a look at the wound, though."

Niowyn sprung to her feet at the word of Aria being injured but relaxed her stance when Oryn mentioned it wasn't serious. With a hand on her chest, she sighed in relief. "Thank goodness.. I'll take a look at it once we get back to camp."

The tribeswoman glanced at Celothel - with Deormund at her side, she would be alright now. Niowyn approached Oryn, reaching for his free hand and holding it at waist level as she studied it for a second before looking up at him and smiling. "And you? Are you alright?"

He clenched his jaw and looked back at her, nodding slowly. In his mind he hoped he had made the right decision by leaving Aria, but he still felt bad for it. Oryn let out a deep breath and without realising, his grip on his sword tightened somewhat.

"Not a scratch." He said finally. The Misshapen didn't seem a threat when there weren't more of them. But there were more of them out there. Depending on their route, Oryn doubted this would be the last they would see of them. "How many of them were here?" Oryn let his eyes rest on hers, the knot of worry disappearing from where it had felt cold in his chest.

"I counted five but…" she released Oryn's hand and turned three quarters to face Deormund and Celothel. "I'm going to have to agree with Deormund that the creatures were just testing us. I'm sure there will be more… hell.. I can feel them lurking out there. It's faint but it's there."

"The next few days will be the most dangerous," the Shielder said, hauling Celothel off the ground and nodding back towards their encampment now that the sounds of battle had faded. "A wound here, a broken arm there, and what was first an easy fight becomes harder and harder. And…"

He looked disapprovingly down at Celothel.

"It makes matters no easier making an amateur mistake."

"Oh hush," she sighed. "Niowyn is more than capable - and you arrived when you were needed, your duty is fulfilled."

"This time," Deormund grunted, dropping the matter. "Come along, you two."

Nodding he looked from Deormund to Celothel and then to Niowyn. He was right in all he said. "Best get back and fix up Aria." He mumbled before smiling briefly and starting off back toward camp.

Niowyn lingered in the clearing for a moment as the three of them started back to camp. She turned to face the shadowy wood, her eyes scanning the tree line. She walked gingerly to where her gourd sat in the center of the clearing and looked at the earth where Celothel's feet were once planted. She used her own body heat… could it be the same for me… Niowyn looked at her hand for a brief moment. I wonder.

"Niowyn, are you coming!?" Oryn shouted back. "Yes!" she replied as she picked up her gourd and slung it over her shoulders before trotting off toward the others.

L: Scaring baddies away | M: All the peeps | I: Celo Green @ze_kraken and Oryn @Morgan

Applo · Oct 6, 2020

A Flask for a Friend & A Flask for a Foe

Stone slid across steel. There were other noises keen to make themselves heard, however it was the harsh scraping that hung heavy over the camp. Sporadically, moments of blessed silence settled over all and sundry, but they lasted all of a few heartbeats. Then, the familiar and unpleasant rasping reasserted its dominance in the evening's sound scape. If anything, the all too short pauses only made the noise impossible to ignore.

By the fire Aoife sharpened her sword just as her father had once taught her how. The red-heads hands moved deftly along the short blade, but anyone watching would see the tension in her movement; the slight tremor in her hands. It was also pretty hard to overlook the way she all but jumped out of her skin when a noise, the cracking of wood in the fire for instance, caught her by surprise. She had been like this ever since Deormund and Oryn had announced that the group was being followed by misshapen. Gone was the laughing, joking, laid back woman of the first two days of the group's journey. In her place was one who had uttered scarcely more than ten words all day and whose eye never seemed to stop moving. Sleep for her, Aoife knew, wasn't a likely outcome of the evening. Consequently, she had been the first to volunteer to take a watch and had since busied herself with undertaking every possible preparation for the ordeal to come.

The fragrant scent of tobacco wafted across the camp, resonating from the dwarf's pipe. Erskine had busied himself by whittling wood down to make additional bolts for his crossbow. His initial supply hadn't taken too many losts, but the news of misshapen stalking the group meant that he might need to start preparations to make a lot more.

As a "gentleman", he had volunteered to take first watch, a habit he had made nearly each time they made camp. His partner-in-watch's personality had grown somber, no doubt from the news of their eventual pursuit and while he could not blame the girl, it did make for a lonely, quiet ordeal. In fact, one could say her silence intensified the sounds of everything around them, for they knew what was coming, but the anticipation in waiting made it much more stressful. Blowing out the last of his smoke, he gently tapped the remaining embers into the nearby fire before returning to his bolts.

"Waitin' is always the worst part," He began, "Although I cannot say if it worse out here in the open, or back at the Hell Maw." While the dwarf had made mention of it in passing, he had not quite yet explained the Hell Maw for he did not have the mental strength to return there, not yet. Of course, demonic forces rarely waited patiently for their foes to recover from their wounds, physically, none the less mentally.

"Horseshit!" The sharpening stone didn't stop as Aoife's gaze rose to meet Erskine's. The flickering orange light of the fire illuminated the scowl painted across her face as she glared at the dwarf. "The part where those things start feasting on your guts while you watch will be worse than this dwarf. The part where they rip your tongue out will be worse. The part where you beg the gods for death will be worse! ANY MOMENT WHERE THOSE ABOMINATIONS ARE NEAR YOU WILL BE WORSE THAN THIS!"

The silence that followed Aoife's verbal onslaught was almost as loud as the words she had spat had been. It took her several moments to realize she had risen to her feet, sword and sharpening stone hanging limply at her sides while her chest heaved. Taking a step back, the red-head sat back down and without saying another word, resumed the task of sharpening her already razor-sharp blade. After a few slow grinding strokes she looked up at Erskine once more.

"You should know that."

Erskine didn't reply, merely continued whittling as Aoife vented her anxiety and fears. He couldn't blame her, no one really could. He himself still had nightmares and the "visions" as he called them. Hell, he might still be afraid of them, but muscle memory had long since grown numb to those beasts after decades of fighting them. Still, he could only wonder at what had happened to the girl for her to be so… reactive to the topic.

What he wanted to tell her was for all the horrors those demons could inflict, they were the easy enemy; honest with their intentions and no one batted an eye if you slay one on sight. The ones he concerned himself with were the ones who smiled at you while stabbing you in the back. Fighting at the Hell Maw for most of his life had left his sense of danger sorely lacking when it came to deception, a discrepancy he had noted back in Molestown. For all of his genteel swaggering, he was practically a babe when it came to that.

The dwarf didn't respond verbally, not yet, but he would extend his flask towards her as a peace offering, "I must say, I believe I might need a sip to calm the nerves. Care to join me?"

Green eyes, shining with the fire's glow, cut to the proffered flask. At first, nothing about Aoife changed. After a score of heartbeats however, the relentless grinding of rock and steel faltered. The sharpening stone made a gentled thud as it landed in the dirt as Aoife reached over, lifting the flask from its owner's grasp. In her hand the vessel shook as if an ancient crone on death's door was holding it.

"Thanks."

The sound of the flask's contents sloshing back and forth as the flask kissed the red-head's lips was easier to hear than the mumbled gratitude. Aoife had no idea what it was that she was drinking, only that it burned as it was swallowed; it didn't really matter. She drank rather more than a sip, rather more than was polite to drink from another's flask; neither concerned was given any thought. When the vessel was handed back to its owner, it weighed perhaps only half of what it had when it had left them. Still the woman's hand shook, the nose hair melting refreshment apparently having done nothing for her nerves.

"I hope you are right. That this is the worst of it. I just know it isn't."

The dwarf chuckled to himself as he took the flask back, "If there is one thing I am aware of, my friend, is that whatever may be out there in those woods has nothin' on a woman who can down half a flask of Basilisk's Glare without sputterin'." Satisfied with his work, Erskine slipped the bundle of bolt shafts into his travel pack for the time being, followed by the knife used to whittle and the flask. "Just remember, you ain't alone. You, myself, and the rest of this merry band are all now compatriots until our paths diverge."

Reaching to his side, he placed the large crossbow he had previously set aside onto his seated lap, resuming his duties as watchman just in time to catch something. A sound, a glimpse, a scent; it was hard to tell which one registered first, but it was enough for him to jump to his feet. His weapon already loaded as an early precaution, all he had to do was spot the target, "Looks like we shall find out which is worst," The dwarf said in a hushed voice, gesturing with his head for her to come with him beyond the camp fire's glow.

Eyes suddenly dancing all around her once more, Aoife was slower to her feet than the dwarf. She was halfway through reaching for a stick from the fire before she realized her companions intended a stealthier approach. Her hand diverted to the carefully packed pouches on her hip. They were there, just as they always were. There was a comfort for her to be found in fingering the bone dry tinder. Reassurance. Confidence bolstered just a little, she crept after the dwarf and away from the safety of the fire

"Where?"

Pushing further into the brush, attempting to keep his footfalls as quiet as possible, Erskine strained his senses and quickly realized what had drawn his attention. Two of their group, Niowyn and Celothel, had gone out to practice their mysticism (no doubt to get out of range of his presence), and while they had previously been within sight, it appeared they had gone just a bit deeper in and found themselves in the company of misshapen.

"Ready your sword!" He hissed to Aoife before he raised his crossbow and fired at one of the creatures, hoping to catch their attention.

The bolt sailed through the air, landing with a decisive thud in the right shoulder of one of the creatures, catching it by surprise. It jumped back, thick black ichor dripping from the wound as it stumbled back and vanished into the fading light. Its companions screeched and howled, lurching along on clumsy legs and lashing out with scrounged farm tools. One clutching a shovel in three pale, skeletal arms swung its makeshift weapon towards Aoife like one might a mace, its flat slicing through the air in a wide arc towards the woman's side.

Instinct took over; Aoife dived under the wildly swung farm implement, hearing it cutting through the air as she hit the dirt before wide eyed fear pushed her to scrabble back to her feet. Her entire world became the nauseatingly twisted creature that was slowly turning to face her once more. She could hear its foul companions just as she could hear her own compatriot; all she could see however was the fiend in front of her. Already it was slowly starting to close the distance between them one more. All three hands locked tight around the shovel. At Aoife's side, the knuckles of the hand holding her sword turned white.

This time when the shovel swung at the red-head, she didn't try to dodge it. Instead, she caught it with her free hand. She was nowhere near strong enough to stop the blow and the tool crashed into her side like a kick from a horse. White-hot pain bloomed up Aoife's side, she would have screamed if the blow hadn't knocked the air from her lungs. Now, just inches from her face, her foe's maw opened and closed as it tried instinctively to bite at her while pulling it's weapon away. With every iota of strength she could find Aoife held onto the shovel with one hand as the one holding her blade jabbed at the beast.

One, two, three wild stabs that sprayed the ground and Aoife with foul black lifeblood skewered the misshapen before it was able to react; one of the twisted hands that had held the shovel tried to claw at Aoife. The feeling of it ripping into the leather of her jacket only made Aoife redouble her efforts with her sword

She didn't stop till she realised that by holding the shovel she was propping the creature up. Stepping back she watched with a mixture of joy and disbelief as the creature crumpled to the floor. Her sword dripped ichor, her legs and stomach were coated with it too. The floor was all but a sea of the viscous black liquid. After taking a moment to recover her breath, Aoife stepped forwards, and with still shaking hands, pushed her blade through the twitching fiends head until it was entirely motionless.

The creature's fellows were upon Erskine now, threatening his sides as the dwarf was driven back. Aoife could see their shadows dancing through the trees, seeming to ignore her in the aftermath of her relentless butchering of their fallen comrade.

Stumbling upon Aoife pulverizing one of the Misshapen, Aria arrived from the bank incline, still clutching a hand to the grisly wound in her shoulder, her other hand gripping her blade with an unrelenting fury, "Took down three down by the bank!" She called, certain the context would follow, "And Oryn's gone to help with the others!"

Seeing two on Erskine's flank, she drove forward, and thrust herself between one, bringing her weapon up in a sweeping strike to block the creature's assault with a rather rusted looking sickle. With a circular flick of her wrist, she parried the makeshift weapon aside, then bringing her blade down, she hacked against its wooden shaft, grimacing as the blow drove tension along her shoulders.

"Nathyen!" Her voice echoed in the direction of their camp, "Get out here!"

"My thanks!" Erskine shouted out, catching sight of Aria's quick entrance into the fray as she disarmed one of the misshapen that had begun circling him. His plan to gather all of their attention had worked, perhaps worked a little too well, but he was not so defenseless as to be worried just yet. Releasing his crossbow, the weapon held with a wide leather sling, smacked uselessly against his body while his now freed hands sought to fill themselves with more fitting weapons. His dominant hand reached behind his back, seizing a knurled wooden shaft and upon wrenching it free from its holster behind his back, the misshapen were no longer the only ones armed with a shovel. Weathered and beaten, the trench spade was quick to meet its foe as he bashed the closest of them, the metallic sound reverberating throughout the clearing. His other hand reached into a pouch on his side, producing a curious bottle with an extended cork stopper.

Before he could get a chance to reveal its contents, the dwarf was nearly knocked off of his feet as a rusty pitchfork struck him although, thankfully, the shriek of metal on metal told him that the prongs had been unsuccessful at piercing through the armor plating. Still, the force behind the blow jostled him and he nearly dropped the bottle but his grip held firm and with his thumb, he pushed down onto the cork, revealing a powder tablet hidden inside the stopper. The particles began to glow immediately upon contact with the fluid and with a vigorous shake, the fluid shone, going from a dull red to a bright orange.

"Watch yourselves now!" It would be his only warning to his companions before he smashed the bottle against the pitchfork wielding misshapen, the concoction reacting to the oxygen in the air and igniting into a liquid flame that now bathed the creature. While the idea of using fire within a forest was risky, he hoped the fear it brought the beasts would be enough to send them fleeing.

The sudden flare of light brought Aoife's free hand up in front of her eyes. In the evening light the torrent of flames was far from blinding, but the sudden wave of heat felt like stepping in front of a blacksmiths forge and threatened to glue her eyeballs to her skull. When deluge lessened slightly, it took the red-head a few moments to understand what she was seeing. Somehow,gods only knew how, Erskine had enveloped one of their foes in flames. Around them, she could see the fiend kin's eyes twisting towards perhaps the only sight that brought them fear. The barest smile crept onto Aoife's face. Fear it they should

All it took was a small push. Fire was power, raw and wild. It wanted to consume the world and leave nothing but ash. The trick was to guide it, not fight it. First the flames jumped to the demon that Aria had engaged, Aoife holding them back just for a moment to allow the woman a chance to avoid them. Then a gout of flame erupted from now two burning beasts to a third that had been approaching through the trees. Aoife dropped to her knees sword falling to the dirt as her hands balled up tightly at her sides. The inferno's final maneuver was to spread out in an arc towards the direction its mistress had seen the creatures come from, burning all in its path, as small drops of blood dripped from her clenched fists.

Aria barely had time to back away when Erskine's sudden explosive display erupted into an inferno. The last time she had seen so much in the way of fire had been the Hollows, and it had been significantly unpleasant then, but she had been at a distance… Here, now, in the blazing heat as the flames danced their way from partner to partner, she felt sweat prickle on the back of her neck, and an uncomfortable warmth lick at her cheeks and nose. Backing up, nearly toppling over her own feet, she stared as the Misshapen shambled around before collapsing, the others that caught like kindling flailing as their oddly disturbing visages became all the more a horrible nightmare. Briefly, her eyes flickered to the girl who had been the cause of the devastation, but only briefly. The others… they weren't back… and...

Fear scraped at the back of her mind as she looked almost frantically in the direction of their camp, "Nathyen!" She repeated, with more desperation, her way to their tents briefly blocked by the grotesque beacons now lighting the darkness.

The misshapen howled and screeched as they withdrew, their light fading along with their horrible cries of agony. In their wake they left smoldering patches of flame along the ground and low-hanging branches of the trees above, and just as swiftly as the night had devolved into violence, it was quiet again, broken through with Aoife's fierce breathing and the crackling wood. Rustling joined the tense silence, wrenching the heads of the companions to its source as Oryn, Niowyn, Celothel, and Deormund emerged from the trees, weapons raised. Deormund clutched the arcanist in his arms delicately, and she was deathly pale - standing out like a patch of moonlight in her own right.

Nathyen was quick to follow, emerging off from the inky black forest beyond, sword clutched in one hand smeared with black blood. His face was scratched, his cheek bruised, and his eyes were shot through with adrenaline. He waved behind him, back to the trees, as he collected himself with a deep, shaky breath.

"There's dozens of those fuckers back down the road," he croaked. "Get the horses. We don't have long 'til they're right on top of us, maybe an hour if we leave right now."

The scent of burning flesh, the dull feelings of pain, the chaotic and panicked screams; Erskine wished they were foreign to him, but in truth, they were practically kin. A broad patch of flesh, starting from his left eyebrow upward towards the left portion of his head's crown had been scalded, although it is unknown whether it came from his flame or Aoife's. Thankfully, that was the most he had suffered, save for his humiliation.

The misshapen were retreating, yet he had acted like a fool by prematurely using fire against them when his companions had been in risk of danger. If there was anything positive about this, it was that everyone had survived. It might not be that way soon, if Nathyen's words were to be believed. He would have to beat himself up later, for now, they needed to leave.

A collaboration with @CasketCase @Elle Joyner & @ze_kraken

Cursed Earth | IC Thread

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Beautiful like a Forest Fire

One Rib Short of a Cage

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Beautiful like a Forest Fire

Professional Squid

#canadaland

Professional Squid

Moop.

#canadaland

Professional Squid

Moop.

#canadaland

Beautiful like a Forest Fire