Pegulis, Chapter 1

[fatalrendezvous]

Ilsa Lisbon ― Aldus, Indigo

"I would be glad to." he replied courteously. As he [Aramadis] joined her in walking to the caravan he inquired further, "What's the purpose of the caravan? Why does Barvelle need military aid?"

Ilsa nodded briefly as they walked, unsure of exactly how much to tell the man she had just met. "We don't have much information right now. Barvelle recently came under attack by a summoner," she explained. "Luckily they held their own. We are sending support in case they get hit harder." Ilsa selectively chose to exclude the portion regarding artifacts from the cataclysm.

As they headed towards the gathering caravan on the outskirts of the city, Ilsa's eye was caught by a tall auburn-haired man, green and brown clothes sticking out like a sore thumb against the grays, blues, and otherwise pale colors of the backdrop of Aldus. "Excuse me one moment," she said to the man walking beside her as she approached the redheaded man. "Excuse me, sir. I am Ilsa Lisbon, Guard Captain of the Aldus Watch and leader of tomorrow's military expedition to Barvelle. You seem a capable man and a worthy addition to the caravan if you're willing. Time is running short - please follow me if you'd like to join."

Ilsa kept it brief, motioning for the man to follow as she turned and continued to move towards the caravan. Nightfall was coming and she wanted to get a sense of the numbers before everyone turned in for their last night in Aldus.

Arriving to the fields, she was approached and greeted by Warren, of the Aldus Watch. "Good to see you, Ser Ilsa." She nodded a greeting to her colleague, motioning for the men following her here from the town square to seek another Guard for direction or to fall into formation as she and Warren broke off, heading towards the front of the caravan. "How many do we have?" Ilsa inquired.

"Just over 100. Mostly fighters, but several mages and scholars are intent on coming as well." Contemplation was apparent on Ilsa's face as they arrived near the front of the caravan, where she approached her horse and took hold of the reins. "Accounting for a few to have changes of heart between now and the time we leave, that will be about 90 men and women," Ilsa estimated, to a nod of her fellow Guardsman. "Let's hope that's enough for Barvelle." With that, she slid her foot into the stirrup of her horse and hoisted herself into the saddle, looking out at the expedition which slowly quieted upon Ilsa's arrival.

An immense sense of pride washed over her as she looked over the mixed crew that made up their makeshift military company. Virtually every profession of Aldus from stonemason to shoemaker was represented. Where any others might have been nervous to speak before the expedition, Ilsa instead found an overwhelming reassurance. Pax circled the company in flight high above them. After a few moments of silence, she spoke.

"I am Ser Ilsa Lisbon. Many of you know me as the Guard Captain of the Aldus Watch. I've been tasked with gathering you all so that we may support our capital city of Barvelle, which has recently fallen under attack. Make no mistake, citizens of Aldus: when we depart at first light on the morrow, no longer will we be citizens. We will be soldiers. We may see combat, and we may see death. While we must all do our best and watch out for each other, I cannot guarantee your survival."

Ilsa waited, wanting to let that sink in.

"If that gives you pause, I assure you there is no shame in remaining here in Aldus. We will disperse overnight. Stay in your beds, in your homes. Rest up. Enjoy your time with your children, husbands, wives, friends and family. Those of you still willing to risk losing that for the Northern Archon and for Pegulis, we will regather here and I will see you here before daybreak tomorrow."

 

[Asmodeus]

Medwick sucked through his teeth. He didn't believe that Dokar, the oft-foreshadowed purveyor of safe passage and resident scumbag of the Black City, had simply refused to help them. There was more to that story. But it was a book he had no time to read. The news of the Draken's departure was followed hard upon by two more harbingers of despair.

Namely that the borders of Avarath were swarming with imperial guards. And that their only recourse was to throw in their lot with pirates.

"Pirates?"

Yes, pirates.

Medwick waved at the cloud of smoke now pooling around their table. "Well that's just wonderful! Avarath is overrun with psychotic kitten-stranglers, and your solution is to get us all robbed and sodomized on the high sea?"

He glared at Glyph - a glare all the harder for the casual air the old man exuded while looking over the map. Then he slammed his hand on said map and pulled it away, making it the new target of his glare. "We're not going back. We can't. There has to be something else."

The map was written in Thieves Cant.

He tossed it back to Glyph. "So you know these pirates? What expenses are talking about? Kidneys? Do we have to marry off the Avian?"

Glyph took another puff on his pipe, and Medwick answered his own questions.

"And I suppose a writ from the Republic isn't going to satisfy the likes of pirates!" He glanced at the others around the table. "Now's the time to speak up if anyone has diamonds in their boots."

 

[Forgotten Hero]

Jalidin

Even though Jalidin turned back around to face his map. He couldn't help but to keep his ears open towards the curious looking group behind him, it was best to know who was who in a place like the Black City. After only a few minutes of eavesdropping he didn't really catch much due to on goings of the tavern. But he did hear the word Pegulians. "Aye, I figured they were from the north." He whispered to his Aux Rayne. She just narrowed her eyes giving him mean look saying It's not nice to eavesdrop. He rolled his eyes back at her. "This could be our ticket out of here. They look like decent folk and that one is clutching her bag like her life depended on it so you know whats gotta be in there. Money. And we're running low right now those bounty hunters didn't really pay much, the bastards."

Rayne flipped her hair at him. "Shouldn't spend it all drinking then should ya?" He couldn't help but laugh, she turned gold along with his mood of joy and amusement. She always did worked up when he drank. "Let's just go see what they say, eh?"

He stood up taking his mug of ale with him. He noticed that they had a newcomer there, an old man. He's got the look of Kaustir on him. Jalidin thought to himself. He grabbed a nearby chair and sat down right at their table straight across from the man wearing the red sash the same one who gave him that stare. Before he sat down though he managed to catch the little bit of what he was saying. "You don't need to know pirates to know you can't trust em, they're a fickle bunch and love the sea to much if you ask me. Now if you're wanting to go some where I'm the man you want. Jalidin Hornwood is my name and guiding is my aim." He gave a wink and took a drink of ale. "And you won't even have to marry off the Avian."

"But her on the other hand." He said indicating the woman clutching her bag. "You might have to." He let out roar of laughter. "I only jest, cheer up, eh?" Rayne rolled her eyes as she continue to sit on his shoulders shining a bright gold.

 

[ReaperOfFlames]

Aldus - Early Evening, Cadetblue

Well, that certainly hadn't taken very long, it seemed that his strategy of standing out as much as humanly possible had paid off. Sure, he had his winter clothing tucked away in his pack that would have allowed him to blend in more naturally to the colors of Aldus, but with so little information to go on, sometimes it paid to look a little off; more often than not, it piqued interest and got people talking to him that might otherwise be afraid of his overbearing stature...not that this young lady in armor seemed to mind his physical assets. Castigarian listened in silence as she approached and made her case, a small smile passing over his face once she'd finished as everything she'd explained confirmed his suspicions. "Ah'd be delight'd t'company ye lass, 's why ah made m'way 'ere in t'first place. Things ain't 'xactly peachy o'er in Tavark, lemme tell ya. There's some manner o'blight foulin' up our woods 'an ah'm aimin' t'find out what's goin' on."

With a small stretch to get his body limbered back up, Castigarian began to follow Ilsa as she made her way out towards the gathered caravan and stood with his arms crossed as she delivered her speech. She definitely had a power to her voice, a commanding authority the tall man could respect; there was no doubt she was a born leader this one, no wonder she was the captain of the watch here. It was as a speech should be; short, sweet, and right to the point. She made everything absolutely clear and then set the group to disperse that they might tend to any business they had before leaving, and speaking of, Castigarian had a few more supplies he needed to pick up before he embarked on a long journey...namely more alcohol. What was a man without his drink, after all.

The Rusty Tankard - Night, Cadetblue

The moment that Castigarian had set foot inside the establishment, he could tell that the mood was off. There were no songs and the laughter was almost muted by the hushed whispers that were floating around the tavern, it was enough to put even a man of his size on edge. With his clothing changed to the lighter blues and greys of winter, he fit right in as he made his way to the bar and sat down, the bartender giving him a once over before speaking. "Tavarkian, eh? I suppose you'll be wanting my deepest tankard then." the man said as he turned to fetch Castigarian's drink, seeming to know exactly what he was going to ask for before he even said a word, something that caught a deep, boisterous grin from the large man as he nodded, "What gave m'away? T'was it t'beard?" he said with a chuckle, taking the tankard filled to the brim with a thick mead.

"We can tell our own. I might've left before you were born, but you never forget your own people." Castigarian nodded and raised his tankard up before drinking heavily from it, the cool, sweet liquid rushing easily down his throat and filling his stomach with a fiery warmth he'd been missing these past few weeks. "Y'made this yerself I see, yer definitely from Tavark then, ain't no mistakin' it." It was always good to see a man of his own ilk, but besides filling up his travel jugs with booze, the other reason he had come here was to get a hold of any information he could...right now, he wanted to know what was keeping everyone in here so subdued. With a quick look around, Castigarian leaned in as he whispered to the bartender, not looking to dampen the mood with his questions any more than it already was, "So...cannye tell meh wa's got everyone so quiet fer?" he said casually, keeping one eye on his drink while the other kept its focus on the man.

He seemed a tad uncomfortable himself, though he answered the question regardless...part of being a bartender was keeping the people informed after all. "Apparently...a few of the postal horses got killed. Nothing natural either, seven in total I hear, all with their heads cut clean off and no one can figure out how..." That was all Castigarian needed to know to understand why everyone was so tense...horses were large and powerful creatures, how anyone could cut seven horses' heads off in the middle of broad daylight and make off like a thief in the night was beyond him...he was a good hunter, but even he couldn't pull something that brazen off. With a small nod, he finished his drink and set a few large jugs on the counter for the bartender to fill up and with a small thanks given to the man, Castigarian set off with his alcohol secured to the place were he was supposed to meet Ilsa. "Ah feel somethin' wicked on t'air..." he mumbled as he felt a stray breeze ruffle his long hair, his eyes looking skyward as he finally came to a stop and proceeded to sit under the light of the moon for the caravan to gather.

 

[Diana]

THE CITY OF BARVELLE, royalblue

If Eirene overheard the comments of the Calm Sage to Ethelwen, she made no mention of it. Even if she wished to, Barvelle was in a sudden whirlwind of activity. The scout's news did not settle well with Eirene. Barvelle was in no danger, and word was that the storm itself was odd, but was stated as no cause for alarm. Fears that a dragon was involved were squelched and thus the sorcerer's of the city were much more excited about the discovery of a strange new phenomenon rather than being concerned.

Eirene could not shake the ill feeling churning at the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it was paranoia, but she preferred to be cautious and prepared. The scout was sent away, ordered to find the fastest riders in Barvelle to send a message about the impending storm to Tavark. But more importantly, she wanted him to bring information back. The nature of the storm and it's affect on their sister city. To ask both Tavark and Aldus if they received letters from Medwick about the dragon. If nothing was amiss, Eirene would be relieved. If not...

Her silence was heavy, as the Northern Archon was lost deep in thought. She must have expected Ethelwen and Arktus to keep following however, as her white wolf would trot alongside them or behind them as if trying to heard them along. They were led deeper in to the narrow routes of Barvelle. Away from the towers that were carved in to the mountainside. Away from the cavernous chamber that held the inner city inside the mountain itself. These were the long, stone streets that made up the famed labyrinths of the secret city. Where wrong turns could land a soul lost for weeks under the fluorescent glow of wild fungi and strange wriggling creatures.

She took a turn down a passage that was very nearly an invisible turn. A sort of optical illusion of camouflage against the repetitive pattern of rock and moss. Soon it opened up in to a fairly large chamber. A soft glow of white and orange hues were cast about the room by lit stones strategically placed around the ceiling. It was comfortably warm, enchanted rocks stacked in a make-shift fireplace kept it toasty. Near the fireplace were several very large crates, one of which had it's lid slightly askew. Dragon eggs, carefully lain within beds of pine straw.

Eirene strode to a solid table, littered with books, scrolls and smaller boxes. She dropped her arm full of scrolls on top, beckoning with a hand for Ethelwen to bring those boxes and set them down. Medwick's bloodied letter was opened up in her hands again as she lay it flat on the table, scanning over the words for a third time.

"Why kill a messenger, yet not take the message..." she mused out loud. That was the most important question. Eirene motioned for Arktus to come closer and take another look at the scroll. "If you don't want important word to reach someone, you make sure the message doesn't get there. You kill the rider and take it. Yet, they made sure we got the message. Strapped him to his horse and let him go. Something about this is not right."

Her eyes shifted Arktus to Ethelwen. "What would you do? You have intercepted an important message bound to the Northern Archon and killed it's rider. What is your reasoning? What happens next?"

This was a test. How the anima responded to her question would color her opinion of him. Even her Aux seemed to stare at Ethelwen expecting an answer. Siting at Eirene's feet, thumping her tail in a slow impatience.

 

[Navras]

Aldus - Enter the Madman

An impressive speech given by the captain of the guard in the grand city of Aldus. Some would not live to see the city again, others would likely regret taking part in the trip the moment that they stepped out of the gates. Some would fight, some would die, others would find glory if they could last the nights that were to come. These were the thoughts that went through the head of one of the guards as he made his way over the gathered caravan high up on the wall. The wind blew and bit his ears, making him shiver and turn his head. That was no thing for him down there, he should focus on his duty of guarding the walls. So on he walked, wrapping up tight from the cold, trying to place his mind somewhere other than down below when there came a resounding cry of one of the guardsman:

"A traveler approaches!" he cried, drawing the passing guards attention. Perfect, just the thing he was asking for: a distraction. Making his way over towards the front gate, the man looked over the walls of Aldus to try and get a glimpse of this traveler. What he saw at first was just the shade of the person, no definite details. As he and the traveler both drew close to the gate itself, seemingly at the same pace, the features because more defined. This traveler was garbed in a black cloak, most likely lined with furs to fight off the cold. They had with him a staff or a walking stick and they clutched it from beneath one of the wings of their black garment. At first the guard thought they were bald, but as he drew closer he saw that their head was merely wrapped up in a cloth of some sort. No features of their face could be distinguished, and that made the man uneasy as it did the other guards on patrol. Two men were positioned just outside the gate, two above it on the wall. The wandering guard who had been looking for a distraction stopped right next to the guard on the upper left side of the gate. The traveler stopped in his tracks not far from the front of them.

This close, the guards could see markings on the cloth. Black and simple looking, they denounced no house nor known crest so they gave no sign as to who this traveler was. Things seemed tense at the moment, with the caravan heading to Bravelle tomorrow behind them and an unknown, featureless figure before them. Turning to the guard beside him, the patrolling sentinel asked, "Why is no one letting him through the gate?"

Turning to the man who had spoke to him, the guard said, "He appeared out of nowhere, walked right out of the snow... or so it appeared..." Frowning, the patrol man said, "That's no reason to not let him in is it? A gust of wind blew some snow up as he walked towards us." The guard shook his head, turning and looking at his fellow guard to his right before looking back at who he was talking to, saying, "It is not just that, he hasn't said a word, and he's just... standing there. We cannot make out his face and he's giving us no word to take action."

Just then, one of the guards down below in front of the gate spoke, cutting across the patrol man as he was about to reply. The guard below called, "State your name and business, traveler! What brings you here to Aldus?" That drew both of their attention back to the cloaked traveler who continued to stand there in silence for a few moments more. Raising their head, the cloaked figure called back, "I am Azareth, a traveling court scholar who has come to Aldus to seek knowledge and employment. The winds are very, bitter cold and I have been traveling for a long while now. I would very much like access beyond these gates, so that I may warm my bones and seek refuge from the harsh snow and ice." He spoke in a tone and with a warmth that did not suit his appearance. It was as though when he spoke they could see his face, and it was a familiar face, a kind and warm face that assured them no harm, never mind the fact that his name was not familiar and his visage mysterious. The patrolling guard relaxed and let out a shallow breath, believing that now he would be let in and that would be the end of things.

Yet, even with his name and occupation the two guards down below hesitated. Why? They were no more than five meters from the man, they had a much clearer view and better hearing of what the man had to say than what the guards up above did, so why were they fumbling? Tension seeped back into the air again and for a moment, the two guards standing beside each other were worried that action would be called against this traveler. The moment passed, and the guard below called, "Open the gate!" and turned to assist in doing just that. The guard beside the patrol man sighed, turned to him and said, "Guess it was nothing after all," to which the patrol man nodded and wrapped himself up more. He looked down at Azareth and for a moment, he could have sworn that Azareth was looking at him. Then he walked forward, staff in hand and cloak and made his way beneath him and into Aldus.

Then it happened. It was only for a moment, the faintest of which, and so sudden that it could hardly have been said to have occurred at all. As Azareth passed through the gates and thus under the two guards, a faint twitching movement and a dark visage appeared in the corner of the patrol man's eye, as though both far away and very near at the same time, big and small all at once. He turned his head to look and it was gone, vanished without a trace. Had he imagined it just then? Had it been but a trick of the light? Blinking a few times to make sure, he scanned the horizon for any movement in the distance but could see nothing. "Are you alright?" his fellow guard asked beside him. The patrol man turned his gaze to the guard and nodded his head, "Yeah, I'm fine... I must be tired is all," he rationalized with himself, turning and walking back along the wall, turning over in his head what he had seen and trying to decipher it.

Below, Azareth walked forward into Aldus and was met with a rather large crowd of people. Not wishing contact with any of them, wanting to be left to his own business for the time being, the scholar turned and made his way around the crowd, walking quickly and avoiding contact with everyone. Despite the fact that his face was covered, he walked just as any other man would and with a grace even. Quietly he made his way past the gathered caravan, hoping to discreetly walk by them without being noticed, looking, searching for the knowledge he sought as the sun sank and the evening drew closer and closer to nightfall.

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Ilsa Lisbon ― Aldus: The Lisbon Home, Indigo

"Dismissed!"

The caravan dispersed. Ilsa dismounted her horse as she was approached by the members of the Aldus Watch who had chosen to come along and were, for now, serving as her officers in the caravan. "Alright," Ilsa concluded, "I'll see you folks dark and early tomorrow morning. Get some rest. We've a long trip ahead."

-----​

Ilsa approached her home in the residential district, unlocking the door and cautiously easing it open. The door, without regard for Ilsa's careful movements or for anyone else in the home, creaked and moaned on its hinges, bringing a subtle cringe to Ilsa's face.

"Mommy?" came a hesitant voice from within the house.

A sigh escaped Ilsa's lips as she opened the door the rest of the way. Of course, now that Ilsa had no need to move quietly, the door hinges complied without complaint. Out from the shadows further in the house burst a five-year-old girl clad in a pale-blue nightgown, blonde pigtails bouncing as she ran to greet her mother, hugging the plate armor around Ilsa's leg. Pax swept in from behind Ilsa before finding his crate and perching onto the side bars.

With a gentle laugh, Ilsa closed the door and pulled off her plate gloves, lowering a knee to the ground as she gave her daughter a hug. "Karissa, you should be in bed! What's gotten into you?" she wanted to scold, but at the same time couldn't help but be happy to see her little girl before setting off the next morning. The girl looked tentatively at her mother. "I wanted to see you before you leave, mama."

Ilsa's eyes softened as she smiled. "I won't be gone long, and grandma will be here to take care of you in the meanwhile. Don't worry about mommy, Kari. Now come on. Let's get you to bed." They walked together to Karissa's room, and Ilsa tucked her daughter into bed. As the little girl got settled in, she looked up at her mother with seemingly sudden concern apparent in her eyes. "Mama, you're gonna come back, right? I already miss Daddy too much. I don't wanna miss you too."

The statement brought a thin sheen of moistness to Ilsa's hazel eyes as she knelt down by her daughter's bedside, a hand gently running through the worried girl's hair. Ilsa was torn; she wanted to tell her the truth, that in reality she might not come back - but how could she? For all the perils of the battlefield Ilsa could face down with steadfast courage, she would still succumb to the worries of her little girl. "Of course Mommy is coming back, dearest. Don't you worry." She leaned forward to gently press her lips against the girl's forehead before standing back up. "Now get some sleep, Kari. It's late." The little girl nestled in, curling up and closing her eyes. As Ilsa headed out, she opened them for a moment. "Good night, Mommy. I love you."

Ilsa didn't turn around to face her daughter, afraid she might see the tear already beginning to roll down her cheek. Clearing her throat to mask her faltering voice, she answered. "I love you too, Kari."

In the solace of her own bedroom, the tears flowed freely now. Ilsa stood staring at an Aldus Watch mirror pendant hanging on the wall, identical to her own save for a few dents around the decorated edges. Delicately picking it up, she pressed a kiss against the glass, leaving a lip-shaped mark against the mirror as she replaced it on the wall before going to bed.

-----​

Before daybreak the next morning, Ilsa was already back up and about in the field, making final preparations. She'd heard nothing about the post office's horses - probably for the better, since her natural desire to get to the bottom of things would've delayed the departure of the caravan.

As Ilsa had estimated prior, a few people didn't show up to the caravan. Whether that was because they simply didn't wake up in time or because they had chosen not to go was unclear. Nonetheless, the company was still ninety strong. As the sun peeked up over the eastern horizon, the Aldus Watch guards cranked the gates open as the company moved as one out the gates and setting on the journey to Barvelle.

After a full day of travel, they would likely reach Fissura Pass by sundown, or by sundown the following day, at the latest.

 

[Peregrine]

ETHELWEN - BARVELLE, royalblue

Ethelwen remained silent as he hurried after the Archon, subconsciously plotting his route on the map in his head as he always did when he wandered through the great labyrinth of a city. After only a couple of months within the city, it was all he could do to keep himself from getting lost. Of course, now he did not need to worry about such a thing, for Eirene led them on with great haste, her impatience clear in every step. Ethelwen did his best to stay close to her, his eyes still locked onto the back of her head. He wished now more than ever that he could plumb the depths of her mind, because it was clear that the Archon was thinking very deeply about something. Maybe if he knew he would be able to help.

But Ethelwen's thoughts were sidetracked when the small group suddenly stepped off the paths with which he was familiar, and began to dive deeper into the heart of Barvelle. His eyes went slightly wide and he glanced about somewhat wildly, trying to reorient himself now that he had stepped off the edges of his mental map. He ordered himself to relax, lengthened his stride for the couple of steps it would take him to catch back up to Eirene, and then devoted himself to walking. In his mind's eye he did his best to map new portions of his map. Normally he wandered through new tunnels slowly, becoming familiar with them, but there was no time to slow now. He would simply have to make do, and retrace these steps a little later to make sure that he remembered everything correctly.

He was taken by complete surprise when Eirene turned suddenly off the tunnel, and seemed to melt right into the wall. Only the fact that he had been walking based on the back of her head for the whole journey kept him from pausing. Instead, he realized a moment later that there was indeed a pathway here, one that would not be seen until you were right on top of it, and even then only if you knew what you were looking for. He hurriedly scribbled bold circles around this spot on his mental map. Once he had been somewhere, he did not like to forget about it.

He swallowed eagerly as he followed Eirene in, shepherded between her and the white wolf who padded silently along behind them. His cloak shortened and tightened, contracting even as Ethelwen's own stomach tightened with excitement. He licked his lips hastily, reminding himself to breathe. So much had happened in such a short time that he almost didn't know what to make of it. But he would cope, and he would adapt. It was what he had always done. This was such a great chance, a chance to convince some of the most important people in Pegulis that he was trustworthy despite his short time within Barvelle. It was the best chance he had yet received to become valuable, to show his worth. He knew he was being vain, knew that he was expecting a lot, but he could not expect anything less of himself.

At a gesture from Eirene he hurried into the room, delicately placing the crates onto the floor next to their companions. He unstacked them, ensuring that they would not suddenly topple at an inopportune moment, before finding his eyes drawn to the eggs nestled in a box. He let out a small breath, but a smile spread across his face all the same. He had no ambition of raising dragons, but the eggs were beautiful. He was glad to get a chance to get a glimpse of them.

His attention was draw away from the eggs when the Archon began speaking, but realized after only a moment that these words were primarily directed at herself, and he allowed his attention to drift back towards the eggs. However, he looked away suddenly when he realized that she was addressing him. He stood up hastily, carefully taking a step away from the crates, which he was now almost certain really did contain dragon parts, just in case his fidgeting brought him in danger of knocking one over.

What did she want from him? About what was she thinking? Did she think that he was some sort of master strategist, someone who would manipulate and kill? Did she not trust him?

What could he possibly offer her? He desperately longed to help her somehow, to prove his worth, but he did not know what he should tell her. Ethelwen had been raised in the wild, brought up by a small group of his own kind that lived off the land. He had left, desperate to seek out his own life away from the eyes that could never forget that he only looked like them because he chose to do so, but he was no scholar. Not yet. He had a ready mind, but he did not know about politics. No matter how hard he tried, that would always be his past. He couldn't forget that. He couldn't try and go beyond himself.

Yet Eirene certainly expected something from him. He had to come up with something. His clan had taught him how to act, how to enter into the mind of a character and show those thoughts and feelings perfectly to others. It had been the one right they had allowed him, as a shapeshifter. The right to pretend not to be himself. To pretend he was truly accepted by his former people. Maybe... maybe he could pretend to be this person. Even though he knew nothing, maybe he could play-act as someone else, and that someone else would certainly understand his or her own motivations.

Some of the panic that had entered his eyes at Eirene's unexpected question faded, and he took a deep breath as he closed his eyes, hoping that neither the Archon or the Calm Sage would interrupt him. He was risking making a complete fool of himself, he knew that. But offering nothing would be far, far worse.

"I have just intercepted an important message bound to the Northern Archon and killed it's rider." he mumbled quietly to himself, trying to get into character. "What is my reasoning? What would I try and do next?"

When he opened his eyes, all of the panic was gone. The youthful enthusiasm that normally burned behind his eyes was gone, replaced by cool calculation. Inside, a part of Ethelwen was panicking at the fact that he was making something up so completely, but it was smothered beneath the other personality he had created. For now, there was only room for one.

"Information is precious," he began, eyes somewhat unfocused. "With it, empires can be built or toppled. I knew whatever was in that letter must be important. Otherwise there would be no reason to send it in such haste to the Archon. Most likely I did not want to have to kill the messenger. There was simply no other way to get what I needed to know." He paused, thinking wildly. What next? The letter itself. It was the next logical step.

He held out his hand for the letter, foot beating out a staccato rhythm in impatience. It did not even occur to him how strange it was that he would demand such a thing. Not at this moment. Later he would remember it, and then there would be panic and apologies.

As soon as the letter was in his hand he unrolled it, eyes rapidly skimming across the words, trying to pick up on what he, the killer, would find important. "From here things get tricky, because my actions depend upon my ultimate goals. It is almost certain that I am not an ally of Pegulis, because otherwise I would not have killed the rider. I may have incapacitated him, but I wouldn't have killed him. And I certainly wouldn't have tied him back to the horse and sent it towards the city. That is something that is done to intimidate.

"That means, one way or another, I am looking to harm Pegulis. But this letter only says the dangers that are already on their way, not dangers to avoid. Well, except for the part about not approaching the dragon..." Ethelwen's brow wrinkled momentarily as he said that, it didn't seem to fit, something was off with what he was saying, but for now he dismissed it. He slid back into character, and continued. "There is little I can do to negatively impact Pegulis with this information. Which means... which means..."

Ethelwen looked up suddenly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Which means I have to make something. Something in this letter is false." He scanned the letter again, eagerly looking for anything that might give him a hint. And then he found it. "The dragon. Not approaching the dragon." He hurriedly moved over to Eirene, offering the letter. He pointed to the title as he began rapidly speaking again. "This letter is mass. It is sent to Aldus and Tavark, at the very least. Yet I made a mistake. I was too eager to draw your attention. The letter was copied over multiple times, meant for multiple cities. Yet the letter cautions 'all' from approaching the dragon. All in Barvelle, certainly. But those far away would not attempt to approach a dragon corpse, since there is no dragon corpse. Why caution all when it only needs to be said to those in Barvelle? But I was in a hurry. And so I warned 'all' forgetting, or not knowing, that this letter would be going to others outside of Barvelle. For some reason, I want to separate you from the dragon!"

Suddenly, at the completion of his 'scene,' all pretenses dropped from Ethelwen, and he was left just as Ethelwen. He realized that he was standing right next to the Northern Archon, trying to tell her something at which he could only guess. His ears dropped back in shame, his tail pressed in tight to his legs. His blood was pounding in his head like surf. What had he just done?

 

[Navras]

Aldus - The Madman Searching

Azareth hated the cold. The sting of the wind, the bite of the snow, the nip in your lungs as you took in breath - all of it displeased him. The only rason that he tolerated it now was because he had to. It was necessary, required of him to wrap up in thick cloaks to try and preserve some semblence of warmth. They needed him to, and so he would without complaint. None the less, the snow that crunched beneath his feet continued to do its best to get on his nerves. He needed to learn to ignore it though as the odds were he would be here for a long time.

The Ghost Walls held many secrets. This was a known fact throughout all of Pegulis. He would be foolish to think that he would find what he was looking for in the first day or two. Knowledge required patience. He prayed that his outlasted the snow. His staff acted as a third foot as it delved down through the frozen water flakes and onto the ground below, his black cloak trailing behind him. People walked past him, people talked, people saw him and were curious about his wrappings. Azareth paid them no mind though, his energies were better spent towards his duties. The first of which was to find a place to lay his head for the evening - he had walked many miles and his body needed the rest. His feet complained and his legs strained to hold him up so much as a minute more. They were his legs though and they would do as they were told.

Some fifteen minutes after walking through the gates of Aldus, Azareth came upon a tavern that went by the name "The Rusty Tankard". Taverns had food, water, and often a place to sleep even if it was just a corner. He would do well with a corner right about now. The body needed rest, and tomorrow was the start of a big day, an adventure that was still years in the making. Stepping inside, the scholar cloaked and bandaged immediately drew the eyes of a few of the bars patrons. Not that he noticed or minded, he was going to be here in Aldus for a while yet. The more people that recognized him the better. Word traveled fast in big cities such as this and he was sure his presence would be noted before long by those who mattered...

Picking up his staff and holding it at his side, Azareth came in from the cold and shut the door behind him, taking quiet, ginger steps towards the bar. The bar tender was cleaning a tankard with a rag when he caught sight of the cloaked figure walking towards him. Azareth stood at the bar rather than sit and just... waited. He didn't make a sound or a request, he merely waited. After a few moments of awkward silence from the bar keep, he set his mug down and placed his hands on the bar. "Can I help you, stranger?" he asked, offering his services. That was what he had been waiting for.

His head twitched and his gaze fell upon the bar keep. The three black markings acted as eyes and gave the bandages around his head character, features, something for the eyes to focus on. The bar keep looked at these markings as Azareth spoke, his tone warm and inviting. "I need food, water and a place to stay. Does this tavern offer lodging?" he asked and the bar keep visibly relaxed. Nodding his head, he asked, "How long would you be staying for?"

"Indefinitely," Azareth answered, and it was at this that the bar tender began to feel a slight sense of unease. It wasn't his words that were putting him off but his body language, or rather, lack there of. Azareth stood perfectly still, his "face" poised to follow the bar keep. The lack of movement was subtly unnerving, causing the bar keep to inquire, "I hope you have coin to pay for it then..."

"I do," Azareth assured in that same warm tone. It was slightly upsetting given the lack of movement the man presented. The bar tender almost flinched when Azareth moved his left hand under his cloaked, rustling about for one thing or another before pulling his hand out and setting it down on the bar. His hand, too, was bandaged like his face and as it slid away, a small gemstone that glistened and twinkled in the light of the bar drew the bar man's eyes. His hand was short to follow. When he took it, Azareth asked, "Where are your rooms? I wish for my food and drink to be brought to me."

Gesturing his head towards the back left of the tavern, the bar keep stuck the gemstone into the front pocket of his apron, saying, "Food and drink will be brought to you shortly, pick a room that's empty." Nodding his head in return, the cloaked scholar turned his body in the indicated direction and walked towards it quietly. How he moved so well with his eyes covered up was beyond the bar tender, but he had learned long ago to not ask questions of his patrons. So long as they had the currency to give, he would put up with quite a lot in his tavern... to a point, of course. He prayed that this still standing stranger did not meet that point...

 

[unanun]

"An excellent deduction," Arktus opined softly. His arms were folded into his sleeves as he peeked over the anima's shoulders to look at the scroll.

"The issue that worries me is the access that this ... Ghoul Sage," he hesitated to attach the prefix to his own title, "has to such advanced magic. This wizard is able to redirect the flow of weather and life, and has consorts all over our nation that can influence the flow of information."

He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Words flowed, but seemed to more a stream of consciousness.

"From the letter - and our own studies - we are aware that the ancient weapons grant the wielders immense powers."

"The person we have trusted to find such artifacts - and placed our faith in his integrity and resistance to corruption - would be ..."

"The Chief Archaelogist ..."

"Medwick."

Arktus snapped out of his reverie, an apologetic smile on his lips. "A seemingly outrageous conclusion. We will need information from Aldus and Tarvak to confirm."

"As well as his current location. If his loyalty has been corrupted, it is possible that he may already be moving to strike a deal with our neighbours."

"Luckily, I may be able to see where he is." The Calm Sage produced a small fragment of wood from within his robes.

The piece of Eldritch wood inside Medwick's clothes shivered.

 

[PigIron]

Fissura Pass, lightblue

As the caravan approached Fissura pass, soldiers, men of knowledge, and beasts of burden all turned their furs against the cold; White snow gave way to bare rock in places, the frigid wind blowing the occasional smattering of snow off the cliff edges above, augmenting the light snowfall. A silent place, a cold place, a place of wild things and icy hearts. Here echoes bounced from cliff to cliff for minutes without end, as if the very mountains themselves were mocking the travelers. In that quiet pass Proditius had sat for hours, not a soul stirring for miles around. Now, his quarry approached, the challengers to his undeniable task. Proditius held fast, an impassable obstacle.

A group of soldiers at the head of the convoy squinted up at the huge icy boulder blocking their convoy's path and let out a chorus of sighs and harrumphs, before they approached, looking for a way up the near flawless ice.
A tall, confident looking man with a halberd waved to a younger recruit; "Pelagius, get word to Ilsa, say that Fissura pass has been blocked and we need her up here." The soldier took an ice pick from his side and swung it up, slamming it into the ice "This'll take some time to work through!"

Proditius let out a low rumbling, The sound of a distant landslide growing closer. his mass grew taller, the snow around him whipped into a localised blizzard as he drew it in. legs snapped clear of the underside of the boulder and stomped down on two tree trunk-like bases. leftover shards of ice splintered off the body and rained down on the soldiers, some large enough to break bones. An arm tipped with five shard-like fingers cracked and splintered off the main body in jerky movements, swinging like a god's pendulum and throwing a couple of unlucky soldiers fifty metres clear of the unfurling golem. Another arm broke clear, the hand shaped into an elongated club, swinging up and into the crowd of formerly confident men, sending them flying, following through and crashing into the cliff wall of the pass.

A bellowing roar rent snow and rock from the cliffs around the forward-most point of the convoy, raining shards down on the soldiers and men of learning. A deep, anger filled rumble came from the Ice golem, drawing itself up to it's full height, now twenty foot tall, towering over the men trying to pass him. A low, rumbling voice emanated from a head as it snapped and cracked free of the body, the deep tones with no apparent point of origin; "Muh-ai Cuh-ree-ay-tor." it said in a deep basso voice; "Sahys go no Fuh-thuh."

The words were almost unintelligible, but the meaning was clear: turn around.

The young recruit, Pelagius, complied. Cradling an arm broken by falling shards of ice, he heaved himself onto a panicking horse and began to gallop down the convoy to Ilsa "Ser Ilsa! Ser Ilsa! Th-there's a-an ice... monster, at Fissura pass! A big one! It scattered the vanguard in moments, miss!" the boy shivered, cradling his arm, and let out a slight whimper.

 

[lynzy]

"Pirates?"

The word had a bad sound to it, especially the way Medwick said it. Sure, she knew what a pirate was and with Medwick, had on occasion, had to deal with one or two... but this was different and not sounding good. Then there was the mention of dead kittens and being sodomized then something about kidneys but the last part didn't sound so bad, wedding off the avian. With that she turned towards Aerie with a smirk and a chuckle. Shardis was all for just grabbing this 'Dokar' fellow and tearing his arms off, slowly. She sneered and then quickly shrugged when she noticed Medwick staring at her.

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Ilsa Lisbon ― Fissura Pass, Indigo

"Ser Ilsa! Ser Ilsa! Th-there's a-an ice... monster, at Fissura pass! A big one! It scattered the vanguard in moments, miss!"

A sudden unease swept over the group. The rumbling of the ice golem merely seemed like a nearby snow slide to those further behind the vanguard. To find that it was something much more ominous was certainly a shock - especially since they'd barely left the Aldus region and weren't expecting danger for quite a while.

Within a matter of moments, Ilsa had mounted her horse, sword drawn. "Aldus, to arms!" she shouted, needing to remind the company that they were now soldiers to prevent them from panicking. As that realization began to settle in, the men and women drew their weapons. The clatter and fumbling of steel and staves was a bit disorganized, but it would have to do for now. Anyone who had a horse with them mounted up.

"Riders first. Fighters to the front, casters and archers in the back!" she commanded, riding up to the front of the formation as they assembled behind her and pushed forward as she led the charge. Riding into the biting winds, she approached the chaos of the ice golem swinging at the members of vanguard, bodies being scattered across the walls of the pass, swords and weapons haphazardly strewn about on the snow. Her eyes focused on the ice golem, studying it in the short amount of time she had. She'd heard and read of golems and constructs before, but never encountered one. Nonetheless, she was undeterred.

Ilsa leaned forward on her horse, riding faster as she coiled her arm back, preparing to swing as she did a pass-by on the Golem's right leg. She had no choice but to count on her speed to keep her from harm from the golem's relatively slow (though clearly very powerful) swings. As she passed, she swung down against the ice block that was the golem's leg, the steel of her sword letting off a resounding metallic clang as the ineffectual blow glanced off the golem's rough ice shell. Riding past and behind it, she stopped to turn around and face its backside, the blade of her sword still ringing as it settled from the vibrations of impact.

They were going to need a better plan.

 

[E.T.]

As when Aerie had arrived Caoimhe greeted Glyph with that same hoarse whine however this time she added a few short snuffles, rapidly passing air in and out of her noise as though she had smelled something interesting. Quickly she slid to the side so that he had somewhere to sit. Conversation carried on for only a few moments after the elder man's arrival and soon they were all watching him in expectation. Caoimhe herself had to be content with watching Glyph send smoke rings up to the smog obscured ceiling. At the offer of the pipe she leaned forward slightly interest but quickly sat back as a collection of sneezes shook her frame. They left her feeing a little light headed and when she finally managed to get herself focused again she leaned forward and laid a gentle hand of Glyph's shoulder.

"Grandfather please." She said. Her tone soft and her head tilted to one side in question. She actually jumped a little when his Aux pocked its spiny head out and started shouting. On a normal day she had to think words through to understand them, but accompanied by the thick accent and unusual words Caoimhe had no clue what the hedgehog said. It sounded negative and indeed that was confirmed as Glyph finished his Aux's sentence. With a frustrated groan she pressed her face into the top of her bag taking a moment to grumble incoherently to herself in the wolf tongue. However when she raised her head again the grumble continued, like a harsh rustling of leaves in the way of a gust of wind. Her Aux, which had remained silent for much of the day, was voicing its own opinion about being denied passage. In response Caoimhe pressed one hand against her chest, most likely on the spot where her Aux lay, and after a moment or two the chatter died away. As she pulled her hand away she noticed flecks of red staining the palm, at first she was only curious as to where the stain had come from but her eyes were drawn upwards by Glyph's ragged cough and it took only a moment more to spot the source. Brow drawn in concern she stared at the one she had come to call Grandfather, hand held aloft almost in question.

But Medwick was quick to voice his own opinions on the matter and she was distracted again, and even as she opened her mouth to speak a stranger approached and sat down at their table. Voice momentarily caught in her throat Caoimhe found herself stunned into listening to the man's pitch. She was even more taken aback by the man's last statement, but language proved a filter and she ended up just very confused as to whom she would be marrying. That is until instincts kicked in, and if she was anything it was territorial. Slowly sliding her bag so that it rested on the bench on the side further away from this man. A low growl rumbled up from her throat and she fixed the man with a cold stare. Releasing the vice like grip she had had on her bag she slowly started to push herself up, ready to deal with this "intruder".

 

[Soul Wright]

Soul found himself, once again, on the road. Traveling to the next town, to sell his skills in the Arkane to anyone willing to pay. He keeps moving because he has enemies in a lot of places. Leftovers from his previous years. Quicksilver, a hand crafted blade designed for quick movements, gleamed brightly in the sunlight. Soul's white hair and black jacket fluttered violently in the wind. He pulled his flask from his belt and opened it to drink. It was then he realized he had better get to the next town soon, for he was out of water, and he had other matters to deal with as well, such as the maintenance of Quicksilver, the appraisal of a few gems, and the investigation of a lead. A lead to what, probably nothing. Supposedly an object of great power, said to have been created by the gods themselves. Oh well, he'd just have to see for himself.

 

[PigIron]

Proditius - Fissura Pass, lightblue

Ilsa defiantly charged at the growing golem, now easily twenty one feet tall, slashing it in a strike that would cripple a weaker being. Proditius, however, barely stumbled, but it hollered in pain nevertheless. A traveller had passed it. Proditius' task, its reason for being, was endangered. Enheartened by the apparent cry of pain from the beast, a platoon of cavalry charged forth from the caravan.

As Ilsa passed Proditius, all swiftness and singing blades, Proditius watched her, following her with its frozen face, featureless but for a single rune.
Proditius' left arm, the shaped club, let out a rumble of creaks and snaps as the beast followed the adversary with it's magical gaze. Over the space of a second or two, the arm shook as if held by some invisible force, shredding itself into bits and reforming into a blade. Proditius raised its' new weapon and viewed it, as if inspecting it; an exact replica of Ilsa's broadsword in flawless ice, ludicrously scaled up yet razor sharp. The huge blade whistled as Proditius span, angered by Ilsa passing it, before the blade thumped down into the earth, cutting a thick, deep trench between the convoy and Proditius.
As the blade cut the earth, it left behind spines of black ice, cruelly welcoming the charging cavalry into it's cold embrace.
The screams of impaled men and animals echoed through the pass, as if the mountains themselves felt their pain.

Proditius turned back to Ilsa and her horse as it whinnied and shied away from the frozen beast before it.
Proditius raised it's right arm, the localised blizzard surrounding Proditius subsiding for a moment as snow was drawn into a ten-foot javelin of ice. Slowly, almost ponderously, Proditius brought it's arm backward before, it's arm cracking and creaking with the force of the throw, it whipped forth, throwing the icy spear whistling through the air, like a raging banshee racing towards it's quarry. If Ilsa had remained still it would have torn her apart, but years of combat experience kicked in, and, spurring her horse towards her enemy, she charged, ducking the gigantic javelin.

Proditius swung down its sword as Ilsa grew closer, but the warrior changed direction in an instant, her horse weaving around the path of the colossal blade as it rocked the earth. Ilsa's blade sang once more, only this time Ilsa's voice, cutting through the air like the roar of some Kaustirian Lioness, joined it; "Virtus en ignis flamma", and with that a roar of flame accompanied the whistle of steel. The blade didn't lop off the limp, but it cut, the wound causing proditius to falter, either in confusion or care. The enchantment was eaten after the blade cut, sapped by the golems' innate absorbency, but the damage was done.

Proditius looked down at the wound, as deep as the warrior's sword could bite, and locked it's eyes gaze on the swift rider darting in and out of its range. Proditius rose up, the golem's localised blizzard whipping up faster and faster until the snow looked like a solid wall of frigid white, and let out a long, blood-hungry howl. As the giant began to lumber straight for Ilsa, her horse reared up and turned, it's will broken, nothing on it's mind besides escaping from the impending hell of frost and rage. The beast catered towards the caravan, not seeing the trench until the huffing beast was all but upon it. The horse tried to jump, a desperate leap, but fell far short. Ilsa, her entire form coiled like a spring, stood upon the beasts saddle as it fell, leaping just as the horse reached the pinnacle of it's arc. She flew the extra few feet and hit the convoy-side edge of the trench with a bone-jarring slam, but her arms held fast, hanging the warrior above the writhing form of her horse below.

Proditius approached, inevitable as an avalanche. Within seconds it would be in range for a swing of it's blade.

 

[Lord Wraith]

M'Vae Don, blue

he sharp aroma of pine filled the wide nostrils of the Anima as the resounding thud of metal biting through wood echoed through the evergreens. A loud crack could be heard as the tree was suddenly felled, crashing to the ground as needles flew up into the air only to settle as the branches came to rest. Inhaling deeply, M'Vae let out a low rumble of pleasure as the familiar smell filled his lungs. Raising his ax again, M'Vae went back to work as he severed branch after branch with each powerful swing of his tool. Sliding the ax into his belt, M'Vae pulled out a harness, attaching its leather thongs to the log, before swinging the harness over his shoulders. With a roar, the Anima dug his feet into the ground, the open toe boots allowing his clawed toes to dig into the dirt as he took a step forward struggling to build momentum as he dragged the log through the heavy brush, towards the nearby mountain stream. Though the journey wouldn't have taken long at a normal walking pace, it took nearly three times as long while the powerful Anima was weighed down by the ten foot piece of wood. Arriving at the water after what felt like days, M'Vae took a moment to catch his breath from the tiresome struggle, Stretching out his muscles before he removed the harness, M'Vae gave the former pine a sharp kick as he rolled the log into stream. Pausing as he took a moment to watch the crystal waters flow and ebb before they caught the wood and carried it towards Tavark. M'Vae felt peace wash over him as the small waves envolped the log before spitting it up again and sending it on its way. Pulling out his ax again, the sabertooth turned Godric around so that the pike was facing out as he went into a slight jog, running alongside the stream while he kept up with the log.

[spacer]The water twisted and wound through the roof mountian side as it made its way down towards the large city. Though M'Vae had no intention upon entering Tavark today, the way those not cursed with a bestial appearance looked at him wasn't welcome even if he was in the highest of spirits. Jumping over a boulder, M'Vae landed softly as he dashed forward, drawing Godric out as he swung the ax over his head before dropping it over the water and driving the pike into the log as he caught up with it. A loud grunt echoed through the woods as M'Vae hauled the log to shore before collapsing in the dirt and moss, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath once again. Re-attaching his harness to the log, the Anima turned and headed away from the stream as he followed the scent of smoke and wet fur. Emerging from the brush into a clearing, M'Vae felt a small smile cross his lips as he caught sight of the elk hides tanning on the racks and the small log cabin from which rose a steady stream of smoke. With a final mighty heave, he dragged the log alongside the cabin before releasing it to dry out before he chopped it into firewood. Moving around to the front of the house, M'Vae pushed aside the heavy leather curtain that made up the door as he dropped his own coat onto the table and unhooked his various belts which held his tool and weapons. Looking around the empty room, he pulled a strip of dried meat off the nearby wall as he bit down upon it, savouring the salt and smoke flavour imbeded in the meat. Standing up, he grabbed a hide flask and swigged back the fermented berry juices within it before putting another piece of wood on the small fire pit. Dropping himself onto the small bed, M'Vae looked up through the opening in the ceiling as he drew the fur blankets over himself. Another day done, another day she'd been gone, his thoughts turned bitter and he let out a low snarl as he rolled onto his side. Once he had enough to trade in Tavark, then he would begin to hunt.[/spacer]

[spacer] Like the fire burning within the small cabin, so too did the thought of revenge burn within the chest of M'Vae. Thoughts of vengeance kept him warm on a cold Pegulis night when not even the warmest of fires could. It was the thoughts of vengeance that pushed him through the monotoneous days of felling trees and skinning animals. But the real animals, they lived within the walls of Tavark, the animals that M'Vae truly wanted to hunt. He had wanted to change, and she had helped him do so, but now with her gone M'Vae found that even a Sabertooth couldn't change his stripes. A small smile crossed his wide mouth as he looked at Godric leaning against the rough table. Soon Godric would have a few more notches upon its handle.[/spacer]

 

[Diana]

THE CITY OF BARVELLE, royalblue

Eirene smiled at Ethelwen's response, a simple warm and approving curve of her lips. It was the only indication she gave that she liked his reasoning. It was gone in a flash, as her attention was now focused on Arktus. That usual grim line of thoughtfulness being her default expression.

"I have faith in Medwick. This sort of deviousness is not something I see in him." she responded. She curved one of her arms around her waist, her other hand tapped gently on her chin. And if not Medwick, they would need to uncover who else would steal a message and dare to alter it. What did they want from the dragon that warranted making sure no one touched the carcass. Her eyes wandered towards the fireplace where several of the boxes were stacked. Eirene frowned.

"It will be vital to know where he is, however. In finding him, we'll have a fair idea when and where the message was intercepted."

She turned, that slender finger gesturing at Ethelwen. "You may go if you wish, but if your master does not mind lending his apprentice I could use assistance. There is a man named Siris arriving in the city today, I would like you to send for him."

"I fear we're going to find him very necessary in the near future..."

 

[ReaperOfFlames]

Castigarian - Aldus [Night], Cadetblue

The sun hadn't even touched the edge of the eastern skies by the time the caravan had gathered once more; the people were nervous, as was to be expected, but they more or less seemed to be of firm resolve to see their mission through. Castigarian had simply been sitting beneath a tree as he waited, his cloak fending off the worst of the night's cold and his tolerance for it felling what left of it that might other bother a normal individual. As he waited, he set about maintaining his bow, taking off the tendon that made its string as he began to use a rough stone to file down the wood that had become rough and splintered with use; his mind wandering back many years to the day his father had given him his familial birthright.

Castigarian - Tavark [24 Years Prior], Cadetblue

"Breath slow, only one as ye draw t'string. Hold...be steady...focus yer eye on t'target, yer arm'll follow. Now let yer breath'n bow go at t'same time." The quiet voice behind him instructed as Castigarian followed the muted instructions. He'd trained for months for this one moment; days in and out of only holding the bow string as long as he could, of squatting in place for hours on end without moving, of rigorous and extensive physical exercise. He was ready. He could feel it in every tensed muscle and the way his eyesight lined up perfectly with the unsuspecting doe standing in the clearing told him without even checking his bow that he was lined up perfectly. With a silent exhalation, the arrow was loosed from his bow with a soft twang; only a few seconds later did a powerful thumping of wood embedding itself in flesh let him know that all of his efforts had paid off.

He felt a powerful hand clap itself on his shoulder, the smile behind him so warm he could feel it as if the sun had suddenly sprung up from behind the veil of trees surrounding him. "Ye make meh damn proud t'be a Gredihm m'boy. Tha' bow is yers now, Castigarian. Keep it well, an' it'll keep you well, remember tha'. Nao less go get ye yer first bowstring, eh?"

Castigarian - Aldus to Fissura Pass [Early Morning], Cadetblue

"Ser Ilsa! Ser Ilsa! Th-there's a-an ice... monster, at Fissura pass! A big one! It scattered the vanguard in moments, miss!" A panicked shouting roused Castigarian from his daydreaming as he rose to his feet, listening to the broken man whimper through the pain of his broken bones, informing the group that a great creature of ice had taken up residence in the very place they were heading for. The large man scowled darkly as he restrung his bow quickly and looped it over his shoulder, making preparations to move quickly as Ilsa commanded the caravan to make haste to Fissura Pass. He wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen, but he had a bad feeling in the back of his heart as they all rode out.

Upon reaching Fissura Pass, it was evident that a giant of an ice golem was there, and the cries of the wounded mingled sickeningly with the smell of the dead int he air. Castigarian had barely a moment to ready himself before Ilsa was charging the creature, laying into it with both steel and magic before she was beaten back to the caravan as the creature approached. With no time to think, Castigarian drew his twin axes from behind him and prepared himself as the Ice Golem drew closer to Ilsa, calling up towards the air, "Krienn, t'me!" At once, a powerful hawk descended from the air as if it had been hidden amongst the clouds and landed on Castigarian's shoulder, seeming to fade into his very being as his eyes dilated heavily.

His vision extended and even through the whipping winds, he could see his target clearly. One step; Castigarian moved forward in a powerful motion, letting the weight of his axe draw his arm back as he rotated his body to the left. Two steps; another movement, a slight shifting of his weight from his right leg to his left as his right foot slide forward, all the tension in his legs flowing upwards into his right arm. Three steps; it happened with a sharp snap, as his right foot came to a stop, all of his weight shifted right back onto it as his arm came up, lashing that built up tension into his wrist as the axe came up and was released with great force as it hurtled towards the face of the Ice Golem with enough power behind it to cleave into a solid boulder. If it did hit its mark, it would likely have enough behind it to cause some real damage and maybe even blind the Golem. If not, it would at least give Ilsa enough time to get back to a safer position, and that was the most important thing to consider here, at least to Castigarian.

 

[Tegan]

The old man blinked from behind his moonish glasses. Then scratched his beard as he regarded this man who had the chutzpah to sit at their table, listen to their conversation and insult the wild girl. In the lands of his birth, they admired courage, but Glyph could not be certain if this man was a fool or something more sinister. By his accent and manner, the braggart was clearly Pegulian, like his employers. But what was this Pegulian doing so far from home? And in a place like the Black City? The item his employers sought was precious, too precious to trust suspicious shmegegges.

"Welcome!" He greeted the Pegulian warmly. "You are a guide, you say? That one does not need pirates to be smuggled into Hosia?"

He had already used his advent on the draken, Dokar, but there was more than one way to persuade a man to speak the truth of his intents. The bard signaled the barkeep, an ogre with a purple hand. A wench came to the table, placing shots of Kreshnik before Glyph and Jalidin. In order to hold audience with the Red Czar, one must drink it, for it makes all men speak the truth.

Glyph then spoke to someone over Jalidin's shoulder, someone in the crowd. "Love k-o vast," He then added, grinning his silver teeth at Jalidin. "Bori k-o grast."

Jalidin felt the cold against his throat and became still. Someone had approached him from behind and put a knife to him. Glyph was still speaking to the cloaked figure, in that same hurried language. He paused mid-sentence, looked to Jalidin, smiling apologetically. "You do not speak the Cant. How rude of me." The old man continued in the common tongue.

"Jalidin Hornwood, this is my friend Lorn." He felt another blade press to his liver. "And Sayles." Then his testicles. "Ah, there is Cherno. He is not very tall." Glyph tipped the Kreshnik back, allowing time for Jalidin to process what was happening. "I am Glyph; a bard. I have many friends in many places."

"You are not from this city; you are no doubt unaware of the common saying," Glyph cleared his throat, eliciting another rough, wet sound from within his chest. "Call one wolf; invite the entire pack." Quick as ghosts, the blades withdrew, and those who welded them melded back into the raucous crowd.

Glyph continued, patient. "Of what value is an eavesdropping pisher like you?"