Pegulis, Chapter 8

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Just a little frustrated
"You .. "

Medwick stared at them over a cup of his infusion, then took a deliberate, loud sip and carefully set it down. The tin clinked loudly in the cavern. "You met the khasidim?" He almost immediately rounded on Ethelwen, who shrunk back before he could even open his mouth. "What were you even doing in the sewers? Did you not get the memorandum?"

"We only just arrived-" Amara volunteered.

"So why ... " Medwick's vision blurred and he saw Shardis staring at him, blank faced, instead of Amara, "WHY DIDN'T YOU CHECK THE NOTICE BOARD?"

If they had not summoned more of the shamans before, his echoing shout would certainly do the job. Ethelwen had heard stories of Medwick's legendary lectures. But as the venerable sage-archaeologist slapped backhand into palm to emphasize his point, the anima felt that he was slightly unhinged.

"We didn't-"

"Oh, that excuse again! Medwick, I didn't know that grabbing onto the dragon's wing would send me flying around like that! Medwick, I didn't know that the spores in the jungle were poisonous! Medwick, I didn't know that the natives communicate in dance - I just guessed and got lucky, teehee!"

Medwick flung his arms wide. "Ilium's sake! Did you not go to school? Your teachers took you on the learning walks, taught you philosophy, skepticism, curiosity .. what happened to the lot of you?!" He sunk to the ground and buried his face in his palms.

"Well," Art ventured, "Maybe you could tell us about-"

"Shut up." Medwick gave a loud, resigned moan. "You have, at least, noticed that we've been killing many dragons recently?"

"Uh .. " The aldus rogue pursed his lips. "There was news about the one at Barvelle, and the one in Tavark ... "

"One for each city. Baited or descended from the storms caused by the Aviary's crash." Medwick pushed some dirt around with his boot. "And we must have made someone - somebody, very angry."

"There are a group of organized pests-" He spat the word, "that have been squatting in Barvelle for many weeks. They know very well how a city works, how the waste is managed and how we grow our food. The most worrisome part is that they know how to get in and out of the city in ways we do not."

"SO." He heaved himself to his feet and rattled his sword in the scabbard, "You fou -- thre .. three and a half idiots are going to come down with me. Because if we don't stick together, we'll die."

"Can't we just go back? Sage Medwick, you must have an alternate route .. "

"Can you rock climb?"

"No?"

"Come along then."

"And what are you doing down he-"

"Research." He limped on ahead, scratching at the burn on his chest. Despite how cool it was in the caverns, he was in a cold sweat.
 
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[fieldbox="Dane Myros - Echoes of the Past (cont), gold, solid, 0, Garamond"]
Captain Marin furrowed her brow at Dane's question, which brought back unwelcome memories. Her dark green eyes stared at the townsfolk working away at rebuilding the Wall, though she wasn't looking at them so much as she was looking past them.

"A few years ago, Callen went out by himself on a routine patrol outside the boundaries of the city. He'd made the route dozens of times, even did it unaccompanied once or twice. Quiet route."

The raven-haired woman took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. "This time, he didn't return. Because the patrol was quiet, nobody worried. It wasn't until the next morning that Ilsa pointed out Callen still hadn't come back and that she was starting to get concerned."

Marin swallowed hard. "So, we sent out a search party."

-----

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Boots crunched hurriedly through snow, and the winter winds whipped at hair and scarves as they howled through the trees. Voices called out for Callen, but the sounds of his name were handily carried away by the wind.

Ilsa was joined by Marin, Bridgette, Taye, and Warren of the watch. Sweeping their perimeters was Kalhart, the huntress. They scoured the patrol paths, following endless sets of footprints to dead ends or simply following them only to end up back where they started. Searches turned up fruitless, but Ilsa would not allow them to quit. So they returned, day after day to scour the paths before the snow could have enough time to cover their tracks.

One of these days, Kalhart finally found something. She let out a sharp whistle to alert the others, who came as quickly as they could, trudging through nearly knee-deep snow. Blood splatter flecked a hardly-traveled path that branched off from the typical patrol route.

Ilsa stammered. "That... that could be anyone's blood. It could be the blood from whoever attacked him."

Kalhart noticed a glint beneath some of the snow and crouched down to dust it aside, revealing an Aldus Watch mirror pendant, badly dented.

As Ilsa's eyes caught sight of the pendant, her heart sank. She fell to her hands and knees, gloved fists clenched and pounding futilely at the snow before collapsing in a sobbing heap of armor and golden blonde hair. Her fellow Watchmen stood silently around her, heads bowed in sorrow and reverence.

-----

Marin exhaled a shaky breath, creating a small cloud of vapor as the warmth of her breath condensed into mist in the cold Pegulis air.

"We never found him."
[/fieldbox]
 
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No time
A wet log split in front of them, shooting embers. Coul had pushed his delegation hard and fast. They walked during the day and as far as they could into the night, until they were in danger of being frozen where they stood. They were lucky that a blizzard did not come upon them; the moon's cold rays blessed them instead. Only when his men were on the verge of mutiny did he finally order them to set up a proper camp.

They were passed out in their sleeping bags, and that left Coul and Sage Helena around the fire. She shuffled her hands, attempting to will life back into them, and clutched her cup of hot tea until she could feel the burning.

"What are we going to do, Coul?"

"I have already given the order many months ago. Conscription and fortification. You trained the first batch of soldiers." The General pulled the bear pelt tightly around his shoulders. "All the entrances to the city are filled with traps (Coul). If they make it to our gates, we can hold them off until winter approaches (Coul). We have the berzerkers from-"

"COUL!" Helena shook her head. The General was a brilliant man, splendid at moving troops and T shaped wooden blocks on the maps, but he was missing something important. "You don't get it. Why have the rear scouts reported that the Czar is moving north? The merchants know about Tavark and Aldus, but nobody knows about Barvelle. Why is he going true north - for fun?"

A pause.

"It there doesn't are matter traitors." Helena's mouth gaped. "What do you mean, it doesn't matter?!"

"Does it matter why they are marching north?" Coul's eyes bore a hollow gaze into her's. "They are marching, all the same." Helena kicked the snow and retired to her tent.

~​

"We are home."

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Coul blinked and the frozen mirage faded. The beautiful ramparts, turrets, and buttresses faded into scraggly mountainside. Their band murmured and shifted the leather straps on their shoulders. For the last leg of the journey, they had slaughtered the dogs for meat and pulled the sleds themselves. It was hard to believe that the Czar would ever be able to make it this far. Yet, as Coul looked south, the slim columns of black smoke hinted at his terrifying industriousness.
 
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Barvelle Caverns
If her surprise trip to Barvelle taught her anything, it was she hated feeling lost. She knew Tavark even more so than the back of her hand and always seemed to know where she was at even in the middle of the evergreen forests surrounding her home. She prided herself in her sense of direction, but now? Her head spun. The caverns were disorientating enough with their many winding paths, nooks and crannies to hide in, and the constant feeling of something, or someone, watching them without a distraught old man adding to the mess. No, he didn't just add to it, to grabbed it by the reigns and lead it!

She stalked after him, each footstep sounding too loud no matter how she shifted her weight, each breath echoing off the walls-- it drove her absolutely mad! She was a huntress! Contrary to popular belief she liked being quiet - well, when she wasn't talking - but hearing her own footsteps put her more on edge than she already was. Her eyes narrowed at the... Sage? Ethelwen referred to him as 'Sage Medwick' and there was a scholarly vibe coming from him, but a Sage? She shook her head and watched him mindlessly scratch at his chest. His skin was sleeked with sweat despite the chilling temperatures of the caverns and he seemed sort of... out of it? His body seems to be fighting some sort of infection, she mused. The huntress wasn't exactly a doctor though, so she didn't put much stock into her own diagnoses. Ugh, I never even been to Viridos
let alone knew any natives!

"
And I didn't grab the dragon's wing!" she blurted, making the person who made the mistake of bumping into her nearly jump out of their skin. Or, rather, feathers, seeing as it was their poor avian companion. He looked about ready to bolt.

That was another thing that bugged her; the suspicious little bird. He carried himself as if he suspected to be jumped at any given moment and she didn't blame him (she really couldn't since she fought the temptation to string her bow or draw her dagger for some time), and if he hadn't spent the entirety of their meeting being so jumpy she wouldn't even pay him a second thought. But he had and her interest was piqued, and then there was Ethlewen, who Medwick claimed to have worked at the side of the Archon.

On her shoulder, Tang shifted, compensating for whatever interest in their ragtag group Amara wasn't revealing. His whole body had been tense from the moment they stepped foot in the sewers and it was only getting worse. She honestly feared he'd run at the first sign of trouble. Thankfully, he eventually slipped back into the folds of her hood and she purposely shifted her pack, which rested under it, jostling him a little. She giggled at her own antics, needing a relief from the serious atmosphere.

"
So, isn't this a lovely advent-" Her foot caught a cluster of loose rock and before she even had time to comprehend the laws of gravity, she was sent tumbling down the side of a pitch everyone else had the mind to avoid. Instinct had her shielding her face as hard rock dug into her sides, her pack doing absolutely nothing to soften the blows, if not made them worse. Her breath caught in her throat when ground was no longer underneath her, only to have the feeling last for a split second before she dumped onto her her stomach. She groaned and coughed, trying to get lungs reworking. Once again, her luck left her stranded in yet another crappy situation

She
really hated feeling lost.
 
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[fieldbox= Aldus - The Assembly, plum, solid]
Deliberation had been dragging on and Viule was exhausted. He’d been moving amidst the crowd every time Turin’s name was mentioned which on its own wasn’t such an ordeal that he couldn’t manage it. However, he’d quickly come to realize that Aldus citizens really liked to argue. No. That was not exactly right. After all Aldus had been through, having a civilized and intellectual discussion that concerned the future of the city was a situation of comfort. This they could handle. This they were familiar with and knew how to confront. Even the cold was forgotten by the enthusiastic crowd and Viule found himself sweating. He sluggishly swayed towards the edge of the Assembly, hoping the crowd was done with Turin. Victory was all but official anyways.

As he slipped out into the frigid empty streets he heard the distant discussion rise in fervor. They’d moved on to Nuria the Avian, which is why Viule knew it was safe to step out of the mass for a break. That particular candidate would lengthen the Assembly considerably. Nuria’s representative was very capable and so far had given very good arguments in her favor, but it would take more than the usual logic to get her elected. Avian votes might be enough, but the city was not made up of Avians and the rest of the Council certainly wouldn’t be. To succeed in the future she had to plant a seed in the elections, or so Turin of Belfast had smugly informed Viule, and Viule hadn’t been sure of what it meant and nor did he care. His head hurt.

“Pardon sir! Has the voting started?” heaved the heavy bearded man. He’d clearly ran all the way from the wall, where he’d likely been helping.

“No. They’re not likely to start anytime soon,” Viule answered dryly as he leaned on a building and slid down into a squat, pulling off the cloth around his neck in the process. “Although, it should be more than halfway through,” he added.

The burly man huffed and seemed to hesitate to either join the deliberation or go back to the wall. Viule lowered his head as the man made his choice. His own sweat made the cold seem colder and as the wind blew sending shivers down his spine, Viule woke up. He hadn’t even realized he’d dozed off. Quickly, he stammered back into the crowd as it dispersed. Voting was over. Results had been announced and Turing of Belfast had won. So had Nuria the Avian, but Viule was already walking way. He was already late.

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[fieldbox=Barvelle Caverns, #008080]As a guide in the front of the line, it was not Ethelwen’s job to point out the dangers of the path on which they walked, only to make sure that there was a passable route for everyone to follow. All the same, when he heard Amara’s surprised and pained shriek he whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat.

Amara was sliding down a sheer slope, made up of tiny pieces of shale. It had most likely formed from some sort of collapse in the tunnels, but luckily it didn’t look too dangerous. Ethelwen hurried back to the edge of the slope.

“Are you alright?” He called down.

“Fine,” she called back, voice sharp with frustration.

There was a moment of silence before Ethelwen asked hesitantly “Can you climb back up?”

There was the sound of Amara working her way to her feet, and the clatter of loose stone as she tried to scramble her way back up the embankment. It was followed a moment later by the sound of her crashing her way back down to the bottom. “... No.”

“Well,” Artorius said, voice cheerful. “Looks like it is time for me to earn my pay.” He grinned toothily neatly dodged Ethelwen’s attempt to grab him, and slid with surprising grace down the rocky incline, sending a cascade of the loose stones down with him. Down below, there was a brief, rude exchange as Amara complained about all the rocks that had hit her on his descent, and Art reminded her that he was, in fact, saving her.

Ethelwen waited tensely, somehow certain that now both of them were trapped down there. Such was proven true a moment later, when Artorius cried out in frustration. “I think we may... both be trapped down here now.” There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

“Idiots.”

“Can you see a way out?”

“Yeah,” Artorius called back. “Looks like there’s a tunnel leading out of here, but it is remarkably dark.”

Ethelwen looked around at the other two who were with him, his tail swishing in frustration. “It looks like we have to go down as well.”

“Oh, isn’t that just perfect.” Medwick complained. “I should never have brought you useless idiots along. Did it never occur to you that this is important and that it might be in your best interests to actually watch where you are walking?” He turned to face Ethelwen. “Get them back up.”

It took Ethelwen a moment to find his tongue under the force of Medwick’s ire, but find it he did. “I can’t. Besides,” he continued, as Medwick looked prone to interrupting with another stream of insults, “we wanted to go down, and I’ll be able to get us back on course just as soon as I find out what tunnel that leads to.”

And so, with great reluctance and an even greater shower of loose stone, the three others followed down the slope. At the bottom of the hill they paused briefly, in order to light lanterns, before heading off into the pitch black tunnel.

There were a few minutes as they walked in silence, and as they went Ethelwen’s eyes got steadily wider and wider. But, eventually, Medwick interrupted their silent procession. “Well, cat. Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Ethelwen sounded remarkably indignant about the fact.

There was a moment of silence. “I am surrounded by idiots.”

511

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Ophanim Hayyoth

The lecture of sage Medwick startled the Avian a little, wondering whether he was ‘half’ the idiot he spoke of, or one of the three. It didn’t matter, for it seemed that they had made a huge mistake by meeting the khasidim, whoever they were. There were more frustrations it seemed, all taken out and unleashed in that one speech before he ordered the group to follow. It seemed that they had evolved from lost voyagers to researchers underground in the damp stench. What kind of research it was Ophanim had no clue at, but his gut feeling told him that this ‘research’ could help him in his search. Besides, the clockmaker felt a little intimidated after the little outburst.

So they walked in silence for a while, moving around in the dirt underneath them that also covered their hair and clothes. He dreaded this silence in which he could only hear the rats tripping around and the water dripping. It felt heavy and tense, or perhaps it was the air itself that felt that way, Ophanim wasn’t sure, but he was far from comfortable. He wanted to complain about how his muscles ached from all that running and how his bag was too heavy, but the Avian kept silent as he knew he had brought it on himself. Besides, what was the rest of the group to tell him? Ophanim knew that his impression had been far from impressive and he didn’t want to worsen it all.

However, the sudden burst of the only female member in the group made him jump up in surprise. His nerves tensing up again as he stared at the female wide eyed. What was her story? Gulping a little the clockmaker tried to hide is discomfort as he shifted the hinge of his bag a little. Looking over to the other two strangers he wondered the same. What were their stories? The male felt curious in knowing for what reason they had decided to go on this adventure, but again he didn’t ask. And when the female stumbled and fell Ophanim took a jump back, trying to avoid the dirt that spat up even though he was already covered.

Bumping into the wall behind him the Avian breathed a little, wiping the sweat of his forehead with his arm. Sweat? Freezing his arm mid-air Ophanim pursed his lips a little. Since when had it been so warm? Realising that the stench radiated more warmth than before, and that the air felt thicker and harder to breathe, the male tried to look around for a reason why. Was it only him who had noticed such? Pushing himself off the wall to move over to the iron bars, that served as stairs, he grabbed one, only to release it when instinct kicked in.

Staring down at his hand that had now a slight red mark, the clockmaker made a confused expression, gulping to himself as he looked up to the rest of the group. It wasn’t his imagination, he was sure of it. “It is hot…” he then exclaimed a little dumbly, wondering what they were to do now.
 
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"There is a blizzard. Wait until tomorrow."

"We cannot." The barbarian's thick voice echoed in his helmet. "General Coul's summons must be obeyed with utmost haste."

The five-hundred strong pack stepped from the western gates to Tavark.

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[fieldbox=ALDUS, teal, solid, 15]
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It is well known that civilizations spring up around stable sources of water. The rivers in Viridos flooded their banks with the seasonal monsoons. Aided by groundwater upwellings and occasional meltwater floods, their geography frequently changed. Likewise, Zirako was built upon a mountain of springs. It's entire city was wound around the points where the ancient water flowed.

Sometimes, there are things more alluring than water.

The people of Aldus were drawn to its structures, which ranged in wonder and scope. Myths (or lies) said the Aldus Wall was a piece of armour, dropped by a dying God as it fell during the cataclysm. Other structures were intricately detailed, a mound sculpted by a million elite artisan ants who then perished long after their completed work. Perhaps the entire city was the decaying body of a God of Metal, who sang and shaped the alloys to his bidding. Many Aldusians could agree that there were always faint whispers in the walls.

If there was one place where the whispers echoed the strongest, it was in the pits of the hollow Pillar. Most things in Aldus were described simply, for lack of better words: the Wall, the City Proper, the Outer Rim. In the Pillar, things echoed that always remained at the edge of perception. Sometimes, in particularly lucid states or deep meditation, one could catch the faintest verse of the song. The name "Aldus" came from the very first philosopher-monk who meditated near the wall for a week.

Deep in the Pillar, the inaugural meeting of the newly elected Council gathered. Like everything else, the Pillar distorted their voices into one.

"The first order is the reconstruction of the Aldus wall."

"General Coul's summons have also requested the utmost haste from us."

"The wall must be secured for the western front."

"If reinforcements do not make it to Barvelle in time, the entire nation could fall!"

"Tattersal has blocked Hosia. Our scouts on the southern tip have confirmed. Giant mangroves, reaching into the sky ..."

"There is nothing to fear from Viridos. We most focus on sending reinforcements to Coul.

"And what if the Czar should turn to Aldus?"

"The mountain passes are too treacherous for him to take an army here."

"The avians can assist in rebuilding the wall." All heads turned to Nuria, who sat sweetly with her hands folded across her angled legs. "This way, we can afford to send reinforcements to Barvelle."

There were many councilors who objected to Nuria's proposal. They also took offense to her use of 'we'. But they remained silent.

"For the time being, that is the best proposal." Turin stepped forward. "I will offer the excellent services of my foreman Viule Vanukar. Through Viule, and through me, the council remain completely aware of the reconstruction, and we can spare as many as possible to Barvelle."​
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[fieldbox="Vrein Baelithar - The Return - A Week Prior, #1048cb, solid"]

Battered and weary eyed, Castigarian and Vrein had finally returned to Barvelle after months of travelling across the northern mountains of Pegulis, the home of an ancient tribe of polar bear anima, The Ursani. Now the only two remaining member of the original party that had left Tavark three months ago, the two men were relieved to be home from their quest and with new company.

Trailing along behind their cargo of Pegulian Ice Ore were three of Vrein’s tribesmen; Keicht-Xun, Uthach and Turuzu, who towered over them all like giants, even Castigarian had to look up.

The leader Keicht-xun walked alongside Vrein, garbed in a simple loincloth that was held by a belt decorated in the teeth of his old enemies. Behind him was Turuzu, slightly smaller than her male counterparts in both weight and mass, only slightly less terrifying, the shaman carried large pouches of herbs, stone tablets and crystals. Following up behind their flank of the group, the smith Uthach charged forward, encumbered by the heavy weight of a cart of ore on his back. Although smaller than the average Ursan male, what he lacked in size he made up for in brute strength.

Approaching the gates, Vrein could see the guard’s fearful gaze at the sight of his companions “Vrein Baelithar, Castigarian Grendheim and friends. We have returned on a quest to find ore to aid the Pegulian army in building their defences” it was half the truth at least.

Attempting to veil their anxiety, the guard nodded sternly, pointing toward the sled dogs “Let us see your cargo,” he ordered.

A breath of silence fell between their gaze, daring not to move until Vrein gave them the word to say it was okay.
Warning the Ursani of the gaurd’s intentions, Vrein turned his head to Kheict-Xun, Vrein, lifting his hand to signal toward the cargo “Zufen Osh,” he said, elicting nothing more than a nod from the great war bear.


After a few moments of the men inspecting the cargo, the guard eventually agreed to let them through “Very well, welcome back to Barvelle, Yithan will escourt you” the guard gestured to a young fair haired boy with blue eyes, clad in what Vrein recognised as cheap iron armour, likely put on guard duty as one of his first tasks in the Pegulian army.

Exchanging nods between the Ursan to indicate they were allowed to pass through, the party followed behind Yithan.

“Wi fahnally mayd it,” Castigarian’s hearty voice cheered beside him.

“We have,” a sigh of relief left Vrein’s lips, he remembered all of the good times he had shared with his companions in Barvelle; Ilsa, Castigarian, Oberyk...Blythe.

The disappearance of his companion’s smile fastened to his thoughts as warm tears of uncertainty trickled down his face “...We have.”[/fieldbox]
 
[fieldbox=Backtrack, grey, solid, 15] Hot.

It was hot.

But Medwick didn't know that. He felt the perspiration drip down his brow. When it trickled into his eyes, he wiped it away, irritated. He licked his lips and tasted the salt.

Ever since he climbed the mountain to Eirene's nest, his heart burned. The thermic harness left his flesh raw, and he felt dizzy. Hot flashes, dizzy spells, and nausea. A while back he had paused to check if he still had a penis, because if not he might have been pregnant.

And although the warmth was almost welcome, his mind screamed at him. He paused, and steadied himself against the wall, resetting his expectations. If he was feeling comfortable, then it must have been quite hot. He swiped the side of the wall and his finger came away wet from condensation.

"Hotspring."

"Hot wha"

"Hotspring." He had been uncomfortably incoherent at times during their trek so far, but he moved with a clarity and alacrity that anyone could instantly recognize as the famed mountaineer Sage, Medwick Galain.

"We have to go back." At the lowest levels where their thermic torches could reach, there was already a flicker of upwelling, boiling water. It slowly crept upwards. If they slipped, or were overwhelmed by the steam, they would be slow cooked alive.

Now that he was going up, not down, Medwick's step took on a new confidence. He scrambled upwards, nimbly grabbed holds, and used a piece of chalk to scratch them for his party down below.

"Come on!"[/fieldbox]
 
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[fieldbox=Viule Vanukar, plum, solid]
“Remember what I’ve told you. I didn’t offer your services out of the goodness of my heart. In fact, that little stunt has given my household unnecessary bother.” Turin of Belfast meticulously cleaned his pipe as he sat behind his desk, all necessary tools organized before him. Today’s choice from his collection was an old rustic wooden pipe of an unconventional shape. As he worked on the small carvings of the pipe’s stem, he said in an absentmindedly though calculative way, “now be the excellent and loyal servant you have always proven yourself to be, and be cautious when reporting back to me.”

Viule gave a well rehearsed bow and exited the room. He shut the double doors and leaned on them momentarily. There had been a tint of familiarity in the atmosphere of that room but he couldn’t figure out why. There had been nothing out of the ordinary, just the lord being his Turin self. Dismissively, Viule turned away from the door, hideous Vanu at his feet, and walked away in derision, his manner as sharp as ever. For once, the hellhound walked out in the open as it followed its counterpart out of the house. The majority of the house was people-free as the staff prepared themselves to manage the house without him.

Crux and Aux made their way through the outskirts of the city. Viule had done enough socializing before elections, and though he knew it was a good thing for him in the long run, he convinced himself that the constancy of it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Small steps. However, he couldn’t help but to think of it all bullshit as he stole occasional glances of Vanu.

“Disappear. I’m entering new and unknown territory. Don’t be a hindrance.”

Obediently, the hellhound took a sharp turn before Viule entered the city streets. Viule could feel it following, but was relieved by his own inability to see it. Nevertheless, its continued capacity to do that in the Lisbon household was daunting. Viule supposed, for the first time, that having continued his training had been the right choice. With both hands, he slicked back his hair as he proceeded to knock. With the sharp stillness of his steward persona he introduced himself and asked for permission to meet with Nuria. Following every etiquette rule he’d mimicked from the servitude, Viule found himself standing at her door. Cautious glances for any sign of Vanu were performed as the knuckles hit the door.

[/fieldbox]
 
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Ophanim Hayyoth

“Hotspring”

A little dumbfounded the Avian stared at the sage. A hot spring? Down the sewers? Ophanim wasn’t going to deny that he longed for a long and hot bath, but he doubted that this ‘hotspring’ Medwick spoke of was anywhere near pleasant. Specially not with the sweaty air around them before they’ve even reached the spot. It was steaming, he was steaming, and with that the clockmaker turned around on the ball of his feet, waltzing down as he felt a little disoriented on what to do.

He did say go back, right? Doubting his ears, like he had been doubting all of his senses, Ophanim turned around to check on the rest. Noticing how there was heat radiating from the shit underneath them. They were following, so he was doing well conforming to the rest. Feeling a little dizzy because of the dense air he leant against the wall, pushing himself forward as he could feel the sweat trickle down his back, mixing in with the dirt he was covered in. Gross.

He felt thirsty, he was tired, his limbs were sore, and the stench was playing around with his imagination in ways he did not want. Ophanim was done with the sewers and hoped that whatever this journey was, and whatever he was looking for, was soon to be accomplished. Heaving a deep sigh the male complained a little more to himself, mentally scolding himself for packing so heavy and preparing so little.

Still pushing onto the wall for support Ophanim suddenly felt the bricks disappear, making his arms slide to the side in which his body followed. He hadn’t realised that there was a side way there so close to the group. Staring into the glaring darkness the Avian glanced over to the rest of the group. They said that they were to go back down the path, but did they had to do so all the way? As his eyes met that of one of the others, gaining their attention, Ophanim then slid away into the shadows. He trusted that the person would notify the rest.
 
[fieldbox=No Rest for the Weary, grey]

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When Coul and Helena arrived back at Barvelle with the party of wearied dignitaries, it was almost as if they had never even left. Before Coul could even make it two corridors into the underground city he was swarmed with people, each needing something from him. For them it was a relief. They were freed from the burden of having to make decisions that might very well determine the fate of Pegulis as they knew it. Coul tried not to let it show exactly how much it was costing him to act strong.

The General did not notice at what moment precisely Helena left his company. He hoped she was going to take a well deserved rest, a rest he so dearly craved, but he knew that she could no more rest than he could. There was simply too much to do. Most likely she was going to find the other two Sages, and let them know that their worst fear had come to pass. Kaustir was invading, and there was someone in their midsts who had given them the information of the secret city.

For Coul, it was problem after small problem.

“How far off are the Barbarians of Tavark and the Battle Sages of Aldus?”

“Only a couple days off by our reports, General.”

“Good. Send out a call for recruits to man the southern fort that borders the Cheronese. It isn’t much right now, but it is our first line of defense once the Kaustirian army gets past the Black City.”

The soldier saluted, before quickly hurrying away. Was Coul sending those people to their deaths? There was no way they would be able to stop the tide of the army. He had no time to dwell on the thought.

“Have the exterior tunnels been sealed?”

“We’ve tried our best. All the major ones are either caved in or guarded.”

There were so many tunnels, undoubtedly countless ones that the Barvelle residents had never been able to see. They could not guard or block them all. But if they didn’t know about them, surely Kaustir couldn’t either. Could they?

“What is the state of our supplies.”

“We can withstand a week of siege, sir.”

“That’s it?”

“We are still trying to clear out the lower tunnels and the mushroom colonies. Whatever that blight was, it is persistent.”

There was no safer place to send the people of Barvelle. But at this rate they would all starve to death instead. Better that than at the hands of a Kaustirian torturer.

When it all finally came to a halt, when Coul was left alone for more than a few moments, he nearly collapsed. How long had it been since he had slept. Had he managed to get more than an hour here or there since he left for the Cheronese with the faulty golem?

Now was not the time to rest. His body gave him no choice. He slumped against the wall, his head nodding forward and his eyes closing. The soldier that came rushing in moments later saw the crumpled general and let out a shout of horror, trying to shake him awake. Coul barely managed to open an eye before he fainted again.

A group of Sages would carry him to his small bed, where he would sleep for only five hours before his mind would force him awake again to save Pegulis, one small problem at a time.
[/fieldbox]
 
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[fieldbox="Dane Myros - Echoes of the Past (cont), gold, solid, 0, Garamond"]
Dane dreaded leaving work.

He hated when he could no longer busy himself with the mundane drudgery of the day, keep his mind occupied with organizing and assisting in the rebuilding efforts. Being a part of such trivial ordeals kept him sane, made him feel human.

It was when he couldn't be involved in them, when people had gone home to their families and children and loved ones, that Dane was troubled. Haunted. By the persisting, unshakable notion that he was something less than human.

Or perhaps greater?

Visions plagued Dane's mind, persisting like burned-in afterimages in his vision, as if he had stared for too long into the light of thermic gems. But any time he tried to capture those images, to grasp them and examine them, they vanished, disintegrating into grains of sand that slipped through his fingertips.

Maddened, he spent his nights toiling over them. He could sit for hours, staring at a single point in the grains of the wood on the dining table in the Lisbon home. He would trace circles around those points with his fingers, over and over and over, rubbing his fingertips raw and wearing his fingernails down from obsession. Dane could see the shapes both everywhere and nowhere.

For that ever-fleeting time when Dane was the city, he knew. He both was, and was not.

Just as the man born blind has no understanding of sight or color, just as the man born deaf has no concept of sound, so too are humans limited by their senses: sight, smell, touch, taste, hearing.

But what else?

Dane was no better than a blind man who, for but a fleeting moment, could see - colors and shapes and landscapes, rich and vivid. He was a deaf man, given but a taste of sweet melodic rapture, before it was all ripped away from him.

He had been stuffed back into this human shell that no longer felt like it belonged to him, thrust back into the mortal coil. So he was forced, and struggled to perceive this sixth, or perhaps seventh, or tenth sense with but his own meager five, attempting to understand a concept that every piece of his reality told him was impossible.

Dane looked up abruptly, shuffling feet pulling to a stop.

His aimless wandering had brought him past the Lisbon house where was staying, past the homes and the markets and streets. Before him stood the entryway to the Divination Spire, one of the three towers of Aldus not destroyed in the chaos.

"We gotta be curious, Dane!"

The memory of Karissa's little voice grounded him, giving him a brief respite from the torturous grip of his visions. Even in death, just as in life, she had that way of bringing Dane an ethereal sense of clarity.

"Mommy and Daddy always tell me," Karissa puffed up and wagged her finger to mimic the lecturing stance of her mother, her girlish voice as low as she could muster. "You must always improve and challenge the things you know!"

Dane and Karissa shared a mutual laugh at the impersonation. "That's why they send me to school with the boys. That's why I like talking to the Avians so much!"

Hoping the answers he sought were within the Spire, Dane wiped the tears from the memory away with his forearm, and pressed forward.
[/fieldbox]
 
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Col. Mason Kavactian
Location: The Wall

The wind blew down from the mountains and brought with it a stinging bite of cold that ripped through the skin and clear to the bones of the soldiers and laborers in the camp. Men shook violently from their burdens but mostly from the weather. Each and every soul had been born and raised in Pegulis but there was something about the way the lake air and mountain downdrafts combined which had them all wishing for a warm fire and a soft blanket.

It should be noted that there was one man who didn’t seem to mind the weather. One could speculate that the man might not have even noticed the bitter cold. He stood on a crag outcropping in the foothills that overlooked the worksite. The wind tore at his cloak of furs and blew fresh powder into his hair and the coat of his Aux; a great dire wolf. In truth, they resembled a painting that rested behind the bar in many-a tavern. A lone warrior and his trusty companion staring into the depths of a daunting challenge with no fear and no hesitation. What the painting didn't show was the real emotion; the truth behind the struggle.

The commander was struck by the determination of so-called average men. Farmers, masons, carpenters and every other undersung profession were working together to complete what some (including the man on the mountainside) are calling Pegulis’ saving grace. A whimper from the big wolf caused the man to turn his head. He stared into the eyes of his Aux and she tilted her head allowing her ears to perk a bit. The commander turned his head back towards the work site and several things caught his attention that he had missed before.

The wall, gate and gatehouse which have effectively sealed off the pass leading to Lake Kaikas from the Chersonese are completely at the mercy of a singular mechanism. This device was the only reason that the project had gone this far in the construction phase. On either side of the gatehouse behind the wall was a cylindrical platform. These twin pillars were etched with symbols of the arcane and embedded with enchanted stones. A mage stood atop each one and was constantly casting a spell and channeling his or her energy to maintain the facade. The pillars were topped by a series of bars which the mages clung to at various times in congruence with their incantations. The change in placement and movement were seen as necessary to prevent hands and fingers from freezing fast to a steel pipe. One of the mages was faltering. A sway in his stance and droopiness in his face is what caught the wolf’s attention. The commander reached down and stroked his Aux’s mane. He motioned for a runner who was held in the ready just to his right.

The man knew the mage could not be allowed to drop the spell. The colonel recognized this man to be the mage who had been sick all week. Even though the mage only had to spend an hour twice a day to maintain the illusion, the spell is excruciating in terms of physical and mental exhaustion. That's part of the reason why there are two pillars and two mages. The spell would kill one man if he attempted it alone. The colonel let his eyes wander to the keep that was being erected. Rumors were beginning to fly but if there was a way to finish that building before any attacks were made, the chances of holding the pass would double. The wolf whimpered again and the man’s eyes darted to the mage who was struggling to maintain his strength within the spell. He was fading fast and the commander doubted help would make it there in time.

The commander got down on one knee and wrapped his arm around the neck of his companion. They drew a mutual gaze for a moment. The man knew the wolf understood. Seconds passed and the wind kicked up white powder around their bodies in a small cyclone. The wolf’s body began to glow a faint blue as she stood facing towards the wall and the weary wizard. The commander was suddenly whisked away by the wind and drawn into the animal’s body. Now that the two had become one, the advent could be achieved. The wolf puffed up her chest and howled sending a huge wave of sound across the camp. The howl could be heard by many but only one would feel it.

A cone of unseen energy left the wolf whose spirit was merged with her companion and traveled along the cold wind down to the mage near the wall. In his weary mind, the sound of a wolf howling registered but meant nothing to him. Then, like warm rays of sunshine, the energy soaked into the tired and beaten man. Instantly, he felt a burst of strength and focus. The pain of cramping hands and frostbite faded into nothing. His chanting became bold and held fervor that wasn’t there when he had first begun. This enchanting feeling of being rejuvenated continued for a solid minute. The illusion of ‘nothing to see here’ was maintained. Just as the minute was coming to an end, the spell was finished. By the time the exhausted man made it to the bottom of the pillar, sixty seconds had passed since he first felt the energy and now he felt it leave him. Drained and a bit confused, the wizard made his way to his quarters for some much needed rest.

On the outlook, a brisk wind peeled away the remaining loose snow from the rocks and the image of the lone wolf was suddenly of her and her human friend. The commander smiled a smile that said his initial stress had left him. He scratched behind the ears of the massive carnivore and made his way down the mountainside towards the camp. He had to get a report together to send to the General and the Archon. This would involve much him-hawing with engineers, architects and foremen who would all insist that any delays were someone else’s fault. The soldier just hoped that there would be no delays to report. This was especially true having received the latest field report of Kaustir’s troop positions. He and the wolf meandered through the tent city mingling some but not too much as everyone was busy with something important to do. Life on the wall hard but everyone knew, down to their marrow, that this would save many many lives.
 
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Barvelle Caverns
Amara caught the avian's eye and called out, "Wait! This way." The darkness was absolute but the huntress didn't falter, ignoring Medwick's complaints and trusting the rest to follow. The water would still get to them, sure, but she honestly rather take her chances running than climbing and exhausting herself; her eating and sleeping habits weren't exactly stellar and the less energy used on the expedition the better. The tunnel twisted and wind, and even went down before evening out and opening...

to a dead end. Ophanim stopped with Amara right behind him, but it wasn't until the other three stumbled into the cavern did they hear the crack and froze. The boiling water was hot on their tales and within minutes the cavern would be flooded. There was only one way out. "Don't--" Amara jumped and completely broke through the glass-like floor, dumping her and her unlikely companions into a down sloping tunnel. The steep incline allowed the five to tumble down it gracelessly, jabbed by the rocks jutting up from the otherwise smooth surface.

And then the water came.

A hot springs water temperature could be anywhere between one-hundred and thirty degrees fahrenheit and one-hundred and forty, she recalled her mother once saying, or less given the means of heating. An adult can survive two seconds in one-hundred and forty degrees before obtaining third degree burns, thirty seconds in one-thirty, and a whole five minutes in one-twenty. The huntress prayed the tunnel wasn't that long and the water nowhere above one-fourty. She could hear it eating up the distance they had put between it and covered her head, not entirely sure the many layers she wore would be enough.

Thankfully, they may not have to prove themselves. Just as the water cascaded over them, a hole in the tunnel suddenly opened up and they soon found themselves free falling. A surprise yelp escaped Amara. Her arms flailed, a gasp caught in her throat upon spotting the pool of water waiting below. She instinctively snapped her legs together and held her breath, allowing herself to be submerged and hoping she didn't end up drowning. The water was luke warm and fairly shallow, enough for her to kick off the bottom and breech the surface. She struggled with her pack and clothes but after a scary few seconds she managed to find where the pond swallowed out further and gasped for breath.

"Out of all the stupid, moronic--"

"Get used to it," Amara snapped, cutting one of Medwick's rants short. "I sure have." She threw off her fur coat, leaving her in in a long tunic worn over a cotton shirt and a pair of thick pants, and stuffed it in her pack. She ignored everyone while they regrouped and gathered their barings, more angry at herself then anything. So far she proved to be a hindrance than actual help, but has she ever been of help? The huntress dug out her mother's salve, eyeing the amount left. She wished she knew how to recreate it. Wished she didn't have to... she shook her head and treated the burns accumulated over their little trip and tossed the glass container at Art and the others to use. There most likely wouldn't be enough left over for any future accidents.
 
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[fieldbox="Nuria, #eede7f, solid"]

At the point of a feather, black ink danced across dried parchment in the echoing silence of concentration. Buried in the depths of an endless well of thoughts, Nuria had secluded herself from the world until her obligations had concluded. Avid emotions of distress clasped at the forefront of her thoughts, fighting back a memory not long since passed, that clung to the veil of a haunting recollection.

Spiral steps of a shaded promise surfaced underneath dignified strides of her loft feet as she diligently descended to the dungeons of Aldus, seeking counsel with the knight of the free child. Stuck to her mind like the sap of a broken tree, the events of the spire quizzed her with a pandora of unanswered questions.

As she drew closer, she could hear the howls coming from behind the confines of Dane's cell, the muffled sounds of his despair echoing against the stone walls, crying“Help!” between hurried gasps of breath, that were occasionally preceded by the word “Angel!” At the twist of a gold key nimbly grasped between her fingers and the click of the lock, Nuria swung the Iron door open “Shhhhh,” wandering over she knelt at his side “I’m here,” she hushed.

Extending her forsaken hand, Nuria placed it against his forehead and brushed the hair from his face.“What are you going through?” the coo of her gentle, velvet voice whispered deceitfully into innocent ears.

Emanating from the radiant glow of Nuria's aura, white light began to disperse into a luminous stream of energy, swirling toward the heavens. Connecting her mind with a man so broken that his glass edges cut into the depth of her own thoughts. In an instant, she finally understood his pain; the lives of hundreds of souls one by one, flowing through her mind armed with weapons of pain, joy, misery and love that chipped at the rock of her sanity as if the siege against her memory were not enough.

That day, white turned to gold and purity had twisted into wisdom so frightful that sin would dare speak against it. As if all the agony in the world in a battle of love and hate in life so fragile was worth the sentiment of living it out because of the simple yet raw instinct of-

Knock, Knock, Knock

Nuria’s eyes lifted toward the door “Come in,” she announced, delicately resting her quill against its stand, awaiting to discover the explanation behind this unsolicited interruption.[/fieldbox]
 
Ophanim Hayyoth

For the second time that day Ophanim felt the ground disappear from underneath his feet. This time the path was cleaner, but much rougher, feeling the cuts and bruises form on his body. Instinctively he pulled his arms up around him, trying to protect his face even if it was a fruitless attempt. Clenching his jaw the male tried not to think of the heat nearing. When he complained about a hot bath earlier he certainly did not mean this. Or that what followed.

With a painful slap the Avian fell into the water face first, diving into the liquid as the air was forced out of his lungs. Opening his eyes, Ophanim’s vision was blurred by what seemed like glowing glass, glass in which he could move in. It was a beautiful sight, the clear lukewarm water and the light surrounding him made him feel safe, as if held in a mother’s embrace. However, there was one problem that threatened him while under water and that was air. He needed air, immediately.

Bringing his hands to his throat the Avian felt himself choking, his lungs burning longingly for some oxygen he couldn’t have. What was up? What was down? His sense of direction, which never had been great to start with, was turned upside down by the light surrounding him. He was unable to recognise which way he had to swim into, not that he knew how to move in water anyway. Kicking around, in good hope that he would reach the surface sometime, Ophanim felt himself growing heavier, feeling how he was pulled by the weight of his bag.

“Hopeless,” a male voice grunted at the Avian. Ophanim didn’t bother to recognise who it was, but he was grateful that he wasn’t left to drown. Filling his lungs greedily the Avian coughed out some water, feeling as if his chest was torn into shreds and slipped off his bag next to him. “Th…” Breathing in deeply the Avian tried to catch up, his chest heaving up and down. “Thanks.” He gasped, holding the fabric to his chest tightly. His breath was still rough, but it went better as he listened to how the rest of the group were bickering with each other. A sound he felt grateful of, for once.

Trembling the winged man looked up from where they had entered this place with. A gaping hole from which hot liquid fell down into the lake that had caught them. Long clouds of steam escaped from the surface as it cooled down, merging into the brightly lit up soup. It was then that he realised from where the light came from. Crystals and fluorescent worms were surrounding the water, resting on the rocks, and forming out of the rocks. Even underneath the water surface there seemed to be gems that exuded light. Letting himself fall on his back Ophanim stared up against the rocks above, gulping a little as he wondered where they had ended up now. It felt serene here, as if time had stopped and for the first time in a while the Avian felt calm. His skin itched from the hit he made earlier, and his head throbbed from the adrenaline that now escaped him, but finally the male felt at ease.
 
They all pulled themselves from the alkaline water. Medwick immediately shook his backpack off, emptying its contents and spread them out. He surveyed, with worry, the soaked firestarters, maps, and charcoal pencils. The compass was waterlogged, and his climbing ropes weighted ten times more with the water. They would have to rest.

Sometime later they huddled around a smokeless fire. A thermic gem emitted strong radiant heat from the center of a focusing circle. A thin web of cracks was spreading from its kaleidoscope core, and in under an hour it would shatter and die. While it still had life, wisps of steam rose from their clothing and gear, arranged on rocks around it.

Medwick rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "By dead reckoning, we are about a hundred paces or more below the sewer level. Furthermore .. " he looked up to the ceiling, where through the thin-as-glass rock they could see the trickle of hot spring water fall into the pools below, "we will not be able to go back the way we came."

The situation was becoming dire. Water would not be a problem; it did not have the ominous taste of sea water. But their food would not last forever, and unlike on the surface, they could not scavenge or trap - the caves were cold and dead.

They would starve to death, or eat each other first - then starve to death.

As they sat, around, Ethelwen suddenly stood up and swiped his bottom.

"?" Art gave the anima a questioning look.

"A leak. Or something .. water on my butt .. " Ethelwen mumbled, before moving to a different spot. A little stream of water was indeed flowing past them.

Punctuated by the loud impacts of water from the broken ceiling, Medwick removed a delicately carved, faceted egg of glass from his pack. He placed it over the gem, and the group shielded their eyes from the blinding light. Then gasped in wonder.

0090b4613e094c2b098526630ac4321f.jpg

A terrace of pools. They must have been fed maddeningly slow from geoheated water, the hot water evaporating and leave its salts behind over aeons to build little cups for themselves. The stream from above slowly tripped into the top pool, and it gently overflowed, cascading down the terraces in little streams before flowing over the ground upon which they sat.

An isolated relic. It would have been wrong to describe it was 'forgotten', since it was never discovered. A wonder that formed for no eyes and for no purpose, stumbled upon by a wandering group. Medwick imagined that the caverns stretched out in an endless ant's nest below him. A strange sense of vertigo filled his stomach, even though it had never down so on the mountains.

While the group studied the caves, Medwick followed the stream of water. Without knowing, he assumed a mudra of thought, foot flat on the opposite calf.

"At least we know where to go." His voice echoed in the cavern, and all eyes turned to the water, as it traced a path down into the dark.
 
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