Pegulis, Chapter 1

[fatalrendezvous]

Ilsa Lisbon ― Within the Halls of the Aldus Council, Indigo

Within the walls of the Aldus Council building, Ilsa stood patiently in the Mayor's chambers. She had already handed Mayor Valeckis the scroll sent by Medwick, and the good mayor had spent the last thirty minutes poring over the scroll intently, almost as if questioning the handwriting, attempting to verify its validity. Still studying the parchment, he called to the assistant outside his chambers.

"Nathaniel!" the man's voice boomed against the bookshelves lining the walls, prompting a mousy looking red-haired young lad to creak the door open and shuffle inside. "Summon the other members of the Council to my chambers at once," Valeckis commanded without lifting his head. "It's urgent."

The young man scurried off, and one-by-one the other four Council members made their way into the chambers. Once the full council was represented, the Mayor shooed the errand boy out with a flick of the hand, then stood and spoke, handing the Council the letter and summarizing it for them, explaining the situation. When he was done, the council members murmured amongst each other in worry and concern.

"As Pegulians," the mayor continued, "it is our duty to support our nation and the Northern Archon to the extent of our ability." The statement garnered nods of affirmation from the other Council members. "I move that we assemble a band of Aldus' finest: warriors, mages, scholars... to make for Barvelle, to assist the Northern Archon."

The Council members expressed their approval. To make it official, it was put to Council vote and each member responded with a resounding "Aye." The decision was made - they would assemble that night and make for Barvelle at first light the next morning. As the meeting adjourned and the council filed out of the mayor's chambers, Ilsa turned to follow them.

"Ser Ilsa." The mayor called, prompting Ilsa to freeze in her tracks before turning to face him. "Yes, my liege?"

"I want you in charge of the caravan bound for Barvelle." Shocked, Ilsa opened her mouth in protest but couldn't find the words. "They will need your leadership. Gather some of the Aldus Watch to take with you, and take the Draken messenger along as well."

Finally ridding herself of the catch in her throat, she sought to protest but felt the need to show gratitude first, if for no other reason than out of respect and for honorifics. "Thank you, Mayor Valeckis. I am honored you would select me to lead the caravan. But would it not be wiser for me to stay to keep guard―"

"Nonsense." The mayor stopped her. "Ilsa, you must understand the scope. If Aldus falls, Pegulis can recover and still stand. If Barvelle falls, it will be crippling for Pegulis. You must go. If you do not wish to lead I can find another. But you must go."

Ilsa fell silent, considering the proposition. He was right, of course; she couldn't simply stay. If she wanted to help, she had to act. Newfound resolve apparent in her eyes, she nodded. The call of a falcon echoed in through the window.

"I will lead them."

 

[Asmodeus]

Medwick gulped, shuddered, threw up a little in his mouth, swallowed then hissed. He put the tankard of Black Stout to one side and glanced at Shardis.

"To date, we have slept in a crevasse, an ice plateau, a swamp, and a horse paddock. I for one relish the opportunity to be eaten alive by fleas and violently raped in the comparable comfort of a rat infested common room."

The comment was enough to disrupt the blossoming argument between Aerie and Shardis. It was always a sign of high morale when the cat and the avian were at each other's throats. Looking away from their stares, the mage addressed his third companion, Caoimhe. The Wolf-Girl was clutching her backpack as usual, like it was full of liquid gold. It was one hell of a nervous compulsion she had.

"I don't want to be here a second longer than we have to. When Glyph gets back from Dokar's meeting, we move out, whether he has good news or bad."

He peered to a window, half-veiled by rat-gnawed curtains. A few holes showed the rain lashing down outside, and the jagged roofline of the Black City lit by intermittent lightning. The storm was like the chittering of vermin, the drum of footsteps, the clack of pickpocket fingers. None of them would last long in this hellhole.

Medwick flinched as a man at a nearby table roared with laughter. Everyone here was loud. Everyone was abrasive. He missed the quiet forums of Barvelle.

"Nothing to do but wait," he muttered while pawing his stout again. "I sent Arcantos to Aldus, Resmic to Tavark, and Tegol to Barvelle. They ride with everything we learned of Kal..." he stopped himself, dismissed the name by which their enemy had deceived them, "... of the Ghoul Sage. All being well, the Blue Nation will be on alert."

The man on the next table had lit up a pipe. Medwick eyed him sternly and gave an exaggerated cough.

 

[guygombaa]

SIRIS - TEN MINUTES FROM BARVELLE, purple

Siris fell back into the snow, heaving in air as blood trickled down his hand. Slowly, he retracted the small blade attached to his right wrist, tiny dribbles of blood running into the snowy plains. Then, he flicked himself up in one smooth motion, grabbing the sword wedged in his attackers chest. "Damn Bandits." He said to nobody in particular. As he sheathed it, Mi called out to him. "You should hurry, Siris. No use in procrastinating." Siris stared at his Aux. "No use in me trying to kick you, either." And they remained in silence as they ascended to the caves, the man with bloodied hands.

-BARVELLE-

"At last, the icy tunnels of Barvelle again!" Siris sighed with relief. He had reached his destination. "Now to find the Northern Archon." But before Siris could head off to find the Northern Archon, Mi again interrupted him. "What is wrong with you, Siris? You can't head off to meet with the Blue President looking like that!" Siris looked himself over. Small cuts lined his arms and hands, he was coated in snow, and his clothes were stained with blood. "Oh." Was all he could manage. And so now Siris faced possibly his most difficult quest yet. Cleaning up.

 

[Noctis the Devious]

Tavark

Word spread like wild fire through the town of Tavark of a letter that had arrived speaking of godly weapons and Barvelle's failed expedition, but with it also came a warning. Amara was running errands for her mother when such talk caught her ear. She paused what she was doing and watched the gossipers escape into the local tavern bearing a thoughtful look. Perched on her right shoulder was a some sort of animal with goat-like ears and seemingly endless black depths left in the absence of actual eyes, and yet at that moment it managed to look rather torn. Or rather, he looked rather torn. He also wielded a small wooden cane and though being incorporeal limited his effects on what he could do with it, Tang could still very well catch the young huntress' attention.

The gentle tapping against her collarbone was sensed more than felt as odd as it was, but Amara was used to the peculiar sensation with having grown up with it and all. "I know, I know," she murmured distractedly, despite having no intentions of completing the errand for her mother. "It'll be quick." Tang huffed out a puff of air knowing better than too hold Amara to her word, but made no further attempt to redirect her attention again.

The tavern wasn't overly packed nor was it particularly slow that day, smelling of cooked meals and alcoholic beverages. Amara had no intentions of getting either and instead focused on obtaining more information of that letter that seemed so important to everyone, but her search came to a screeching halt when her name was bellowed across the establishment in a welcoming manner by the bartender and the proud owner, a close family friend actually. Amara grinned in turn and approached the jolly man but curiously didn't take a seat. "Long time no see, yeah? How's your old man doing?" The question was rather casual and the meaning didn't escape Amara in the least bit, though opted to humor the man nonetheless.

"He's still out if that's what you're asking," she replied, leaning over the bar with her weight on her folded arms. "Hey, what's this talk about a letter and Barvelle, do you know?"

"Nah, nothing a young lass like you should worry about." That was to say her mother had told him to keep his mouth shut about it. "Care for a drink?"

The young huntress opened her mouth in preparation for a polite decline, but a loud bang resounded from one side of the establishment and Amara turned just in time to catch the last bit of what was said. "No thanks, I think I'll take as rein check," as a thoughtful plotting smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.

 

[unanun]

Deep inside the mountain ridges in Pegulis, an ancient pillar crackled. Carved from rock by unknown methods and stabbed into the Earth Mother with violence, the stone conduit was an open sore, a disgusting, crude fetish from a primeval time.

A figure stood at a distance from it, flanked by a trio of humanoid objects. Spell lines flew through the air, bold and black, ribbons coming from the pillar and wrapping around its body. It thrashed against the bindings, desperation foaming from its mouth, pouring from its eyes and nose. The other three moved as one, reaching forward to grasp the lines.

As one they pulled. The blinding light shot upwards, exploding from the tip of the mountain into the sky. It thundered in response, black pillars of clouds gathering over an enormous region between Barvelle and Tarvark. The gale roared a Dragon's roar, full of vengeance and fury. Thunder and fire churned at the eye of the storm.

From the ground, torrential flooding churned ancient soil. The flora and fauna were drowned; their bodies would lie stagnant for weeks, barely escaping the slow rot in the cold. The song and anger of a dragon-like storm was approaching.

The pillar developed another deep fissure, sending a bellowing keen through the cavern. The only other things that remained were the three figures, which melted into the ground, and a scorched spell circle, inside which lay a charred, lifeless family heirloom.

"Eirene."

"... Eirene!"

"E-Eirene!" The wispy figure of a scholar chased after the Northern Archon, the flowing robes meant for mobility and comfort in maneuvering the archives obviously impeding his movement. In his hands he clutched a bloody scroll, his own fingers stained red.

This scholar was Arktus, the Calm Sage. One of the three of the Inner Council of Pegulis, he was the representative from the settlement of Barvelle chosen to execute the people's will in matters concerning all three cities. The Inner Council convened on a semi-regular basis, often to discuss or lend insight into matters where the wider democratic body was in need of learned persons to contribute towards immature opinion. Most of the time, they were somewhere in the caves of Barvelle, the other two making periodic trips back to their home cities. Arktus was the archtype of a Barvellian; scholarly to a fault, and usually not prepared, on the outside at least, for the weather. His gentle demeanor, always with a faint smile, was wrinkled in worry.

That he was personally delivering a message was unusual. But it all became clear.

"A message from the gates .. r-rider lashed to h ... "

He had to stop, placing his fingertips on his lips. With the other, he held the letter from Medwick inside.

Roaring in the distance. The faintest scent of brimstone.

Arktus stared into space, the scroll falling to his side and painting his robes pink. His eyes grew dark and pensive, a most unusual facade. A white marmot trembled in his sleeves.

 

[Doughguy]

Aldus, royalblue

Aramadis sat atop one of Aldus's tallest structures, a great ruin of some unknown material that couldn't even be felt below the layer of snow. The wind blew strong and cold up here, piercing through any number of layers to deliver its icy kiss to the bones. The man enjoyed such places, where the howl of the wind was the throaty roar of a blizzard that quickly drowned out his own voice in its fury. None would follow him here, up the frozen sides in a perilous climb and across the icy tops where the wind plucked at you like a bird snatching a fish from the sea, helpless to resist. Where the land voiced the power his own voice drew upon were the only places he could be alone.

He looked down upon the city below but could make out few shapes and only those of buildings, certainly no people from his height. There were some houses and guard posts in the section he was on, but they were lower down where the wind and snow didn't blind the eye a dozen metres from the face. The weak torchlight that shone from those places formed a safe path back down, while every spot of darkness held a potential pitfall.

Satisfied with himself for now Aramadis began the slow climb back down, dropping from ledge to outcropping, sliding from high point to low and oft times using his spear as a handhold to swing across a gap or drop a greater distance. It took him half an hour to travel the well known route back down and he was sodden with sweat by the time he made it. On the plus side the climb always helped remove the frost from his joints and get the blood circulating once again.

He looked around, trying to decide where to head next. He was close to the council chambers but there was nothing for him there. The council had its own guard and didn't need his entertainment, not publicly at least. He had had little luck recently in finding jobs, relying more on his voice than his arms. He had thought the rumours of golems in the region would mean those with money would want extra protection yet no offers had reached him. And so he stood in the centre of the street, wondering what to do.

 

[PigIron]

Two weeks ago, lightblue

The ancient pillar glowed, blue light spilling from the cracks running up and down the column. A glowing mote hovered near the pillar, tendrils of essence flowing into it. Before the glow became too strong, it was trapped in a slew of spell circles. At the same time, the ice and snow below it liquefied, rushing upwards to wrap around what was now the golem's core.

Proditius awoke for the first time atop a stone pillar. Around it, a cyclone of snow, ice and magic raged, sparking, roiling and writhing, pulsing back and forth in waves, helping, or maybe forcing Proditius to construct a body from the element that had held Pegulis in it's grasp all these long years.
"Stop the ones from Aldus who would go to Barvelle." Came the command. It etched itself indelibly on Proditius' mind. Simple. Straightforward.
Thus, when the magic constructing the golem finally ended, and Proditius was sent hurtling to the floor below, the method for completion of the task was already forming in it's mind. The golem glowed, light spilling out from the orb at it's centre through channels of electric blue, the ice making up it's body seeming to groan and creak.

"I go."Came a quiet reply.

Last night, lightblue

Proditius chose a humanoid body of black ice for the infiltration of Aldus. In the dark of night anyone looking into one of the many alleyways Proditius took to it's destination may seen the figure weaving in and out of rubbish bins and water butts, but very little could be said about a tall dark figure in an alleyway in the dead of night, especially when its' features shifted and changed with the falling rain.

There were a few detours around populated areas of the city, as Proditius shied away from voices and activity, melting into the rain soaked shadows of the Aldus backstreets, but eventually Proditius reached it's destination. The Aldus post office. Looking up at the building with its attached stables Proditius weighed its options, before a small blink of electric blue light willed it into action.

The golem broke into the stables attached to the building, forming it's left forearm into something reminiscent of a cutlass. The creatures shied away from the ice golem in their stalls, but they were trapped. Proditius went from stall to stall, beheading all the fastest horses Aldus had to offer. After the shrill whinnying of the horses were all silenced, Proditius circled round to the back of the building and came to the back door. It was large, like one might find on a barn, and had a wide pathway leading up to it for carts to drive up. the doors were old pine belted in iron, strong. But the hinges where on the outside, and rusted from the near-constant rain. A couple of blows each and the old metal bent and snapped, the doors falling onto the cobbled path.

Proditius hurried inside and searched for the one thing it needed to complete it's task:A map of the passes and roads between Aldus and Barvelle.

The present, lightblue

Proditius hurried away from Aldus about fifty metres parallel to the main road towards Barvelle. The map Proditius scanned vivid in its' mind's eye. Ice golems have spectacular memory for things relevant to their task.
Right now Proditius was viewing in its minds eye the one point in the road between Aldus and Barvelle that bottlenecked: a pass that shaved two weeks travel off of a treacherous leg of the journey through the frozen mountains of Pegulis. One impassable point could be all Proditius needed to prevent travellers from ever making it to Barvelle.

 

[Diana]

THE CITY OF BARVELLE, royalblue

"Ethelwen. Hmm..." she repeated his name softly, her head tilting to the side as she seemed to give his name casual thought. "You-"

Her comment was cut off by the approach of the sage Arktus. As she stopped, her posture changed. Eirene stood a little straighter and the relaxed amused demeanor she held for Ethelwen was now replaced by a concerned frowned. One that grew deeper with the news of a rider.

Then her knees felt weak. As Arktus seemed to freeze, Eirene's hand was pressing against her stomach to ease a strange twinge of uneasiness. Her eyes shot up, as if she were trying to see the sky, but they were already well in to the city. Whatever it was that resonated deeply enough to cause her stomach to churn, to echo it's roar through the cavern's of Barvelle, it was a bad omen.

"The message, Arktus." Eirene spoke gently, but she retrieved the bloodied scroll from Arktus with a quick jerk of motion. As she read the words, her mouth tilted in to a grim line.

To venture out to the Dragon will only invite death, and play into the Sage's hands.

But it was too late. The white dragon's carcass was already being scavenged. It's most precious resources were already within the city walls.

Something did not feel right. Were they already reaping the consequences, or was this something else entirely? The white wolf at her feet mirrored her sentiments, whimpering softly and shifting with unease.

"I want someone sent out. See what has happened. These-" she gestured at the boxes in Ethelwen's arms, "must be brought to my chambers. If there is news from Tavark or Aldus, I want them sent straight to me."

She began walking down the street to lead Ethelwen, but stopped, turning back to Arktus. Holding the bloodied scroll up in question. "The messenger that arrived with this was dead?" she surmised out loud, not needing Arktus' reply to know the answer. "Send no one from Barvelle alone. Two or more. They will be less likely to die."

 

[Peregrine]

ETHELWEN - BARVELLE, royalblue

Ethelwen could feel his heart pounding inside of his chest, but somehow his expression stayed blank. It was one thing to walk behind the Northern Archon, and imagine that he would soon be standing in her office. It was quite another to find himself standing behind her as someone ran up with a highly significant letter; a letter that, by the look on Eirene's face, was going to have some major impact on Barvelle at the lest, maybe on all of Pegulis. How desperately he longed to sidle in a little closer, shift under the weight of the boxes until he could read over her shoulder. Even a glimpse...

But no, it was not worth it. If she saw him... Maybe later he could ask. Maybe she would tell him. Maybe not. Maybe he would make a way to find out anyways. There were far too many maybe's for his tastes. But he was terrified that Eirene would look at him and somehow see the passion that burned in his heart. He was a nobody, a stranger, just one more in the crowd. He didn't want to be, but he accepted it for now. How could she possibly believe that someone who had only been a proper citizen of Pegulis for a couple of months would care so much about... about everything that was happening, inside of Barvelle and out?

So he hid face behind the boxes, waiting until he was sure that the passion burning in his yellow eyes was once more buried behind a rigid self-control. Ethelwen kept close behind her as she began to hurry down the corridors once more, keeping the boxes balanced even as he lengthened his stride to keep up. He would wait. He wouldn't bother her now. But still the curiosity burned inside him. If he stayed silent now, he may never be able to find out what was in that letter. And for some reason that thought felt unforgivable to him.

"Archon?" he asked hesitantly. "What has happened?"

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Ilsa Lisbon ― Aldus, Indigo

Word spread quickly in Aldus about the impending departure expedition to Barvelle, messengers and town criers all spreading the message in whatever fashion they could. The news of the attack on the horses of the post office was secondary, and many didn't hear about it, if at all.

The expedition gradually grew throughout the day, with caravans assembling in a large field near the front gates. Men, horses, hounds, carts, wagons, supplies, all poured in as onlookers gathered around. As nightfall approached, the expedition group was becoming so large that Ilsa began turning people away to make sure Aldus still had some able bodies left.

Ilsa's friends and colleagues in the Aldus Watch were among the first to join. They understood her, could help keep things orderly, and help teach if needed; but most importantly, Ilsa trusted them. The Watchmen were busy directing volunteers, organizing caravan order, and taking care of other administrative tasks.

Meanwhile, Ilsa was busy contemplating a map of Pegulis with Arcantos, the Draken messenger, to determine travel plans. It of course made the most sense to circumvent the mountain path as much as possible, and leading carts and wagons on the cliffside trail was clearly out of the question. The shortcut around the mountains seemed the most logical; not only was it the easiest to traverse, it would save travel time - and a company this size would have to move slowly. She estimated at least ten days of travel assuming everything went by without a hitch.

Making her way to the field where the caravan was gathering, Ilsa couldn't help but notice a man in armor standing in the town square, seeming a bit aimless. "Excuse me," she inquired as she approached, "I am Ilsa Lisbon, and I'm organizing a military expedition to Barvelle. You seem a capable looking fellow, and we could use you if you're willing."

She awaited the man's response as nightfall fast approached.

 

[ReaperOfFlames]

Aldus: Front Gates, Blue

It took the guard a few moments to allow Castagarian entrance, but no sooner had he and his horse entered the front gates did he almost immediately run smack dab into the middle of what looked to be a gathering caravan. Now, Castigarian was a simple man cut from simple cloth, but by no means did was he unable to put two and two together. "Mus' be 'bout tha letter..." he muttered to himself as he dismounted his horse and began to look around the crowd. If he was being honest, this was far easier than his plan of trawling the seedier taverns and bars for information. If he was lucky, the caravan would be headed to Barvelle, if not...well he'd just have to improvise once he'd followed the caravan to the end of their route.

With a sigh, he reached behind him and pulled forth his drinking pouch, all that riding had put a terrible thirst in his throat and nothing quelled a dry throat quite like a spot of ale; he was going to have to compensate for his lack of bar diving somehow at any rate. After a long drink, he pulled it away from his lips with a satisfied sigh, returning his pouch to its place on his belt, taking a moment to eye a few people who'd taken to staring at him. Perhaps they'd never seen a man quite like Castigarian before in Aldus; perhaps it was his more rustic clothing, or his long auburn hair and beard, or perhaps it was just the fact that he was a giant of a man, easily clearing 6 feet in height.

Maybe it was all three, or none at all...but he couldn't say he enjoyed being the center of attention; likely the hunter in him speaking up on that one. "Wha? Ain't never seen ah man drink afore?" he said with his thick accent, giving them a look that sent them shuffling off back into the crowd. At this rate, maybe the person in charge would find him if he just stood still long enough, it wasn't as if his dark green and brown clothing offered him any camouflage here in the city after all.

 

[unanun]

"Ah ..."

Arktus flowed after the Archon. A small delay later, he became aware of the anima at their side and panicked, quickly shuffling his robes into a more presentable manner. Unfortunately, one of his hands still had blood on it - the robe would have to be washed later. The marmot in his sleeve folds darted up onto his shoulder, preening itself in a similar fashion.

The wispy smile returned to his face, his hands disappearing into the sleeve pockets. His gait resolved itself into a smooth stride, not the jerking tap step from his initial entrance.

"It seems that our Archaeologist has warned us against tampering with the dragon's corpse. I'm not especially learned on such creatures, so I am not sure how credible his claims are ..."

"The Archon is very pretty, no?" He winked. "A very beautiful woman, but sometimes hard to approach." When creatures governed by logic were presented with distress beyond their ability to grasp, it often helped to shock them back to themselves with anecdotes and quips that seemed nonsensical. A sheepish smile. "I have sometimes asked the Archon to dine, myself."

The scouting reports arrived from the outside. A storm - if it could be called that - of terrific ferocity was sitting between Barvelle and Tavark. Unusually black, resembling smoke. Red fire and yellow lightning spat from its center onto the land below. The thunder and gale echoed through the mountain, like a dragon. Like a dragon. But the storm was moving towards Tavark. And there was no dragon in sight.

The people of Barvelle were shaken, but besides the fact that the storm was unusual, not in a state of panic.

The Sage's eyes were glazed as he contemplated, but refocused quickly. The marmot actively ran circles around his shoulders, constantly jumping in and out of the folds in his clothing. "It would appear," a satisfied smirk sitting on the Calm Sage's lips, "that many people covet the eggs."

"We need to ascertain if a message - by Medwick - has arrived at Aldus or Tavark ..."

"And if what is written is the same as on this scroll."

 

[Asmodeus]

Ambience

Now the arms of the Ghoul Sage made mischief.


In Aldus, as Ilsa gathered the caravan on the city outskirts, little did she know the tumult behind her. In the stables of the city postal guild, old men collapsed to their knees in horror. What once had held their prize horses was now a slaughter house. Seven animals executed, heads severed from their necks. No hint of a weapon. Only blood and ice flakes.


And in Barvelle, all eyes went upward, to the curved ceilings of the subterranean chambers. Every woman, man and child could hear the storm gather and spur eastward. A roiling mess of ice and thunder. It would strike Tavark in hours. And those in Barvelle could only flinch and pity the fate of those hunters out there who would be caught in its path.


The Blue Nation was entering an hour of darkness.

 

[Peregrine]

ETHELWEN - BARVELLE, royalblue

It took Ethelwen a moment to notice that the Sage was speaking to him, and when he did he suddenly realized that he had been staring rather intently at the back of Eirene's head, almost as though he was trying to peer into her mind. He quickly looked away, his eyes dropping to the ground before looking up at the Sage who had spoken to him.

Ethelwen knew the Calm Sage. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he knew about the Calm Sage. The Council member was one of those who had been firmly imprinted within his mind by the political lessons his master had given him. On any other day he would have been absolutely delighted to get a chance to meet Arktus. Now, however, he found his eyes longing to stray back towards the Archon. But it would not do to be rude to the Sage. Not in the least.

"The c..corpse," he stuttered briefly, glancing nervously at the boxes in his hands. He suddenly realized that he had no idea what exactly it was that he was carrying, and for a moment he let his brain run off on a flight of fancy, where something nasty, grown suddenly from the remains of the dragon, hopped out of the box and tackled his face.

Ethelwen was drawn firmly back to reality by the Sage's next word. For the second time in as many minutes, Ethelwen was grateful for the fur that hid his blush. But still, an honest, sheepish smile spread over his face, almost exactly mirroring the one right across from him on Arktus' face. He dipped his head in agreement, ears flat against the back of his head in embarrassment, just as glad to break eye contact with the young man. However, his eyes flitted up again a moment later, passing briefly over the Sage before returning to the back of Eirene's head. His mind gallivanted off again, but this time to much more pleasant grounds. Himself and Eirene, sitting in a room in the evening, a large meal laid out on the table before them, him somehow not making an utter fool of himself... But that was the point where his daydream got hung up. There was no way he would make it through a whole evening in her presence without doing something innocently foolish.

Once more he was pulled back to reality, but this time it was a conscious effort on his part. Arktus was speaking again, but his words were not directed to Ethelwen. The snow leopard swished his tail from side to side as he walked, automatically balancing the boxes, but all of his attention was on the conversation. His curiosity at least temporarily assuaged, he was content to listen.

 

[Forgotten Hero]

Jalidin

Jalidin reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his map and with it tumbled out his Aux, Rayne, she was glowing a light green as she fluttered around reflecting his uneasiness. It was the only thing he didn't like about his Aux, that she changed colors with his mood luckily very few people knew that. Bad way to play cards. He thought idly to himself as he unrolled the map. It was highly detailed map of Pegulis that he drawn himself during his time guiding various people around the country. He knew it by heart but looking at it was something to do. Rayne looked at him with worried eyes. She didn't talk much she did much of her communication with her facial expressions, he liked that about her. He felt connected to her on intimate level but that's what Aux's do, he reckoned at least.

She walked in the air like she was walking up a set of stairs and sat down on his shoulder. He looked at Tarvak on the map. "We could go back home." He said in a whisper to Rayne. "Ain't been there in some time, ya know. Might be safe there." Rayne whispered in his ear about a man looking at him. He turned his head slightly to look at the the man she was talking about. He sat at a table not far behind him wearing black and a red sash. He didn't look like the sort to be in a tavern like this nor did his companions, they all seemed sober and they had the look of hard travels. They could be potential clients he thought to himself as he took another puff from his pipe and blew smoke rings into the already smoked filled ceiling. But the one wearing that red sash was giving him a hard look which sent chills over his body. He pulled his white fur cloak tighter on him and turned his attention back to his map.

 

[E.T.]

With a slight shake of her head Caoimhe answered Shadis's question. Although a moment later the gestured became worthless as Aerie appeared between Caoimhe and Shardis. With a sound that was somewhere between a high whine and a sigh she greeted their winged companion, glancing over her shoulder before returning her eyes to Medwick. She watched him address Aerie and Shardis with slight amusement, they bickered like den mothers over the last scrap of marmot. When spoke directly to her she gave a low sigh and nodded her head in consent before giving herself a slight shake as though dispersing water.

While she did hope that Glyph hurried so that they could move on, she was also worried for the old man. She did not trust this town, it held the sticky sweetness of lies, and the deadly promise of Blackroot berries. True there were few, if any, settlements that she liked even Pegulis had something flat and complacent that did not totally agree with her. But here, here reminded her a bit of the forest, with everyone trying to survive, however the Black City lacked the passion for survival that the creatures of the wild learned to cultivate. And it seemed that here those who were keenest to survive were often the most dangerous, and if she had learned anything it was that hunters liked to pick off the weakest targets first.

"If all is well." Caoimhe said echoing Medwick. For a moment she made as though to rest her head in the table but feeling her sleeve catch on something sticky she thought better of it and instead placed her chin on top of her bag. Hearing the cough she looked up and followed Medwick's gaze to the man a few tables over. With a low humph bordered on a growl she fixed the man with her own intense stare. She only looked away again when the man had looked over and then turned back to what he was looking at with a nervous shift. Her senses had been overloaded almost twenty minutes ago so she was not completely sure why Medwick was giving the man such a look but she was sure there was a good reason and in any case she would support him if the man decided to try anything funny.

 

[DotCom]

Aerie

Whatever the Notorious C.A.T. had been about to say was swiftly trundled aside by a heart helping of somewhat sage advice. Or whatever Bossy Human seemed forever to be offering up. Aerie supposed the rights came with the title, but still. A person could only be subjected to so much smug patronization before snark was no longer just expected, but appreciated.

But he had a point -- things had improved. Granted, considering all matter of former dire straits, 'improvement' was rather too weighty a term for what had actually happened. Caoihme seemed not to agree, but the WolfGirl was also desperately loyal, though to Medwick or Aerie herself, the Avian couldn't guess. Still. No one had tried to kill them, or not directly, in at least a few weeks, and despite the deluge outside, she was in possession of full feeling and mobility of all her parts. Including her wings, which was far and away the most impressive bit, considering they'd practically had to swim to the musky tavern.

Better than that, Aerie felt more among her kind here, however slimy that kind might be, than she had even in Pegulis. Northern Avian were infamously uptight, aloof creatures with noses made all the longer by the effort of looking down them at virtually everyone and everything else. Even in Riven, her people had not been so imperious, but then they had been the 'free thinkers' who'd thought to take to warmer climes half a dozen generations past. And while she greatly preferred adventuring to lectures, there was something to be said for the relative freedom, if not anonymity, the Black City offered.

"All being well, the Blue Nation will be on alert."

Bossy Human had, as per usual, said a great many words before and after Aerie garnered and subsequently lost interest in his speech, but the three that caught her attention also drew a chuckle from her lips.

"'All being well?'" Aerie parroted, even as Caoihme did the same to her right. "Because we've had such luck with everything prior. Tell me, Merrick, when has even half of 'all' ever been well for us?"

 

[PigIron]

The journey to Fissura Pass, lightblue

As the day went on, the rain of the previous night and morning subsided a little, reduced to a drizzle rather than the downpour that had hammered the surrounding region like the tears of so many long-fallen gods. So in a hesitant acquiescence, the life that filled the evergreen forest that Proditius now tracked through made itself known. A vast cacophony of birdsong began, and, half-seen through bushes and foliage, flashes of movement hinted at the deep web of predators and prey stalking and sneaking about, vying for the right to live and eat, and above it all the steady, rhythmic thumping of Proditius' Icy feet on the damp, patchy grass set a muted beat for the other sounds of the forest. Oddly, it didn't all pass Proditius by as it rightly should have. Something about the music of the bird's songs, or perhaps the warm creatures, so alien and different to the cold mechanism of Proditius' existence, caused an odd new experience to worm itself into Proditius' mind. Proditius felt.

The golem stopped stock still for a moment as his programmed instincts demanded an explanation.
The activity that unfolded in his mind came without language or image, but with the tone of one who had come, wearily and bedraggled, to the last stop on a very difficult train of thought. Proditius felt the paradoxically cool cosiness of calm.

Proditius was broken out of its reverie by a sharp flash of electric blue from his core, and so; the numerous seals on his core attempting to force Proditius to forget the odd experience, the golem walked on.
But the calm of the forest followed.

Fissura Pass, lightblue

Flakes of fresh snow brushed at Proditius as the trees thinned. Proditius had reached the base of one of the mountain ranges that dotted Pegulis. The Golem started climbing the incline toward the Fissura pass, carefully climbing onto the snow-dappled road, watching for fellow travelers as he did so. This was the one point between Aldus and Barvelle where the traffic was confined to a single path, and Proditius was prepared to do anything it took to stop travel through the pass.

Proditius hunkered down, curling into a ball in the centre of the road until he looked like nothing more than a snow-covered boulder, then, the falling snow being sucked in ever so slightly, Proditius began to grow, his form soaking in water and snow until he would easily be fifteen foot tall when he eventually stood up. But for now he was large enough to touch either side of the pass, and block passage from either direction. And if anyone tried to blast their way through? They would have a very large, very angry Proditius to worry about.

 

[Doughguy]

Aldus, royalblue

Aramadis turned to the source of the sound and saw an armoured woman standing beside him. It took him a minute to place the face of the commander of the Aldus Watch. And then the meaning of her words sprung into his mind. It appeared his long wait may indeed be over. However he was worried by her request, had something befallen Barvelle while he had been up on the walls? if so there was a lack of urgency over the news. "I would be glad to." he replied courteously. As he joined her in walking to the caravan he inquired further, "What's the purpose of the caravan? Why does Barvelle need military aid?"

 

[Tegan]

The Shambles

"And that's how the Black City stayed... a town remote from the nations, stuck out in the wilderness. The people it drew were the desolate kind - lawless and reclusive. Those who were over-taxed or over-regulated back home came to the Black City to start over. So it didn't take long for the Thieves Guild to put a lockpick in every pie. The whole town is controlled by this racket. And anyone who's connected... anyone who's important... speaks the Cant." –Galain Medwick

The old bard weaved his way through the narrow paths that curved through the knacker's yard. The fences enclosing the path were just high enough that the swine who were led down it would be blind to all that was happening. Crudely painted on the placard above the narrow entrance were the words: Schlachthof-Fünf.
It was quiet inside, save for the whine of iron chains that swayed from the high ceiling. The chains were tipped with mean hooks, from which hanged the skinned carcass of a massive boar. The severed head still rested on a scale, its three dead eyes staring ahead at stray dogs as they fought over its entrails.
Once Glyph's old eyes focused in the dim light, he spotted the merchant Dokar waiting by the butcher's block. Behind his massive frame was a wall lined with every sharp, serrated tool of this bloody trade. It was not Glyph who greeted Dokar, but his Aux, Quill.
"Chosen a place a bissela more kosher you could have, maybe?"

The Greased Dragon Tavern

Glyph found the Pegulians as he had left them: squabbling with one-another in a piss-soaked tavern. In that way, they were reliable. He sat at their table, slowly for his joints ached, and searched the innards of his cloak for something. By now, their conversation had dwindled, and they watched him with expectant eyes, that nervous twitch of the young. He did not humor it, for he was older than he would care to admit, and no longer saw any need to rush the inevitable. The soothsayer withdrew a long, slender pipe and a pouch of dried kratom leaves.

Glyph blew a smoke ring that hallowed above their heads. At least, he leaned back with a contented sigh. "Chailo sim... Nothing soothes the nerves better." The light glared from his glasses as he leaned forward, holding the pipe to the other's in offering. "You Pegulians look like you could use it." Though Glyph spoke their language, he did so with a strange dialect. He did not speak or act as one raised in the Blue Republic. His skin had been seared brown by the sun. When he breathed, there was a faint rattle in his lungs from a life of inhaling toxic fumes and sand. The bard was Kaustir-born.

Medwick wrinkled his nose, wafting the smoke away from his face. He remembered all too well the effects the khat had on his senses. "We must keep our minds sharp."
Glyph smiled and reminded Medwick with paternal warmth. "Sharp minds tend to cut themselves."
It was Caoimhe, his vilde chaye, who leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Grandfather, please."

Quill's hedgehog face popped out from within Glyph's cloak. "It's all fercockt, I tell you!" he plotzed. "That scaly momzer—"
"Will not be guiding us to Avarath." Glyph finished for him.

The Shambles

"O xonxano baro—their safe passage has been arranged, Lootslayer." The draken traced his scaly hand over the dried blood caked on the butcher's block. "Deliver them like good quiet little malchicks."

"What will happen, after you shlep them to Avarath?" It was a strange thing to speak directly to the Aux of another. A taboo in some cultures. But the merchant and the bard were strange folk.
"The Red Czar holds games in Avarath. I will sell them—"Dokar closed his mouth, his reptilian eyes widening as the truth poured unbidden from his jaws. He looked to Glyph who smiled serenely back in the afterglow of an Advent. Dokar hissed, summoning the nocturne cutthroats hiding amongst the carcasses.

"Oy gevalt, now you've done it." Quill moaned as Glyph stepped forward, whispering.
"Ashen Zmey, Romale..."

The Greased Dragon Tavern

"He refused our offer and I do not blame him. The Red Czar is in Avarath, searching for his next general, he will have eyes everywhere." Glyph paused to cough wetly into his sleeve, flecking it with red. There were dried bloodstains already on the fabric. "If we were discovered in Avarath, it would mean a live-burial in the desert for us all."The bard pulled a map from his travel bag, unfurling it on the table. He gestured to a road through the Chersonese, which led to the coast of the Prosperos Sea.

"Your better option is to brave the wilderness to the sea," Glyph tapped a place in particular on the map. "There is a secret cove along this shore, where pirates are known to dock and unload their spoils. I know a few of their names. Perhaps they will be willing to smuggle you to Hosia." As he continued, Glyph accepted the waterskin offered by Shardis. He drank from it deeply before adding. "Of course, this will be wildly expensive and dangerous."
He looked on them with something akin to pity.

"What do you say, Pegulians? Perhaps it is time you returned to your snowy mountains. The Green Realm is no place for philosophers."