[Eastern Sherian] Liberation March

[Gye'ron Val Oriden]

Phondra, with it's lazy Imperial Garrison, lay behind him. Ahead of him, The Deadlands, with all of their darkness and misery. He'd tried the journey three times, and he'd never gotten to his destination. Maybe the saying was wrong. Maybe the fourth time would be the charm. Shadowstrays, fire demons, Trolls, Orcs, Vysstichi - he'd fought them all in the desolated band of land that he'd had a hand in creating all of those eras past.

And so, he came prepared for more of the same this time. He wore Elven steel mesh armour, with a black leather tunic emblazoned with the Lion of Aslan, to match the golden pendant honouring the Prince of Aetheria that hung from his neck. At his left hip was a Dwarven steel longsword with a pommel fashioned into the head of a wolf. A damascus steel dagger with a silver pommel, also shaped into the head of a wolf, was sheathed at his right hip. On his back there was a black steel shield covered in 2" spikes, with a bladed edge. Amongst the adventuring gear he had burdened his horse with was stowed a composite shortbow and 2 scores of arrows - some barbed, and some armour piercing. In his right hand was his spear, and his left gathered up the reins of his horse. An easy journey was always desired for, but he knew crossing the territory between Phondra and Taralon would take every bit of skill and strength he had, plus a little goodwill from the Gods.

His Mellan stirred under him, restless on the edge of oblivion. What would've become of the province he called home if he'd never let some misguided obsession with a woman he barely knew cause him to betray his friend and his beliefs? Perhaps nothing would've changed. The war was coming, and whatever happened in Narim settled the fate of the province. Perhaps he could've convinced his uncle of the evils of the Ancients and Prince Milo. It was unlikely. Eyvind hadn't been able to, and he'd stirred millions into attempting to save the Empire.

They had all failed. Failed in a way that none of them could've imagine when it all started.

An eternity had passed. The Empire had shattered. Xet had invaded and been beaten back. Rhysatra had abdicated. Orcs had taken so much of the province - an ironic outcome to the course of events they had set into motion with the 2nd Sherian War, followed by the 3rd. Whoever sat on the throne in Aelyria Prime clearly didn't believe whoever, or whatever, was left south of The Deadlands was worth saving.

But for Gye'ron, what was south of The Deadlands was the lands he had grown up in. It was his home. It was the last place his sister had been, before everything was lost. He had to reach Taralon. He had to see the land that used to belong to his family. He had to know if his sister was still alive. He had to know if there was something down there that was still worth saving. He had to know. And so did everyone else. Maybe it would be enough to make provoking Orckon worth it to whoever was rich and powerful enough to make that decision and benefit from it. Maybe that would be something that could pull together the fractured union of provinces and breath life back into the idea of an Empire.

Or it could all rot, as long as his sister was alive and he could bring her back to the relative safety of Northumbria. At least there she could be watched over and protected by himself and their uncle.

The last time he had been here the Baron of Trysvale had assembled hundreds of mercenaries. Now it was just him, and whoever the fates would gather to brave whatever was between Phondra and Taralon. Gye'ron had sent letters to both the Drake-riding spellbreaker, Jade Alanon, and his uncle, Keldon Elsdragon, requesting they join him at that time and place. He'd find out soon enough whether or not they'd answered his summons.

He kicked the sides of his horse, urging it on to discover whatever destiny had in store.

Spoiler: Equipment/Skills/Boons at start of thread

Equipment:

• Dwarven steel broadsword
• Damascus steel dagger
• Spear w/fine steel head
• Spiked/bladed round black steel shield
• Elven steel mesh armour
• Composite shortbow
• 20 barbed arrows
• 20 armour piercing arrows
• Adventuring gear (bed roll, blanket, small tent, mess kit, tinderbox, sewing kit, whetstones, crowbar, grappling hook, 50 ft of rope, lantern, lamp oil, rations)
• Mellan Horse

Skills:

• Lvl 2 Sword - 22 xp
• Lvl 2 Sorcery - 16 xp
• Lvl 2 Laeon (soldier's unarmed combat) - 12 xp
• Lvl 2 Spear - 6 xp
• Lvl 1 Bow - 2 xp

Boons:

• Increased strength, stamina, resistance to necromancy, and resistance to necromantic poisons.
• Glory of the Conqueror ( The Aspect of Constantine infuses your words and actions; when you are engaged in armed or magical combat, commanding armies on the tactical battlefield, or planning a military stratagem for warfare, you will have a decisive advantage against a character of the same relative skill, all other influences being equal, and will be able to out-maneuver them.)

 

[Eyvind Redbeard]

It was a sudden change, like an imperceptible shift in the wind. The realisation hovered over his spirit and took its time to settle down, so he continued to perform his appointed tasks. Simple enough as they were they started taking little by little more out of him. More effort, more time, more of his will. The realisation took days hovering before it brushed ever so lightly on his spirit and weeks before it settled down and formed a cohesive meaning and renewed purpose on his mind.

It had been the better part of a decade since the need to think much beyond the routine of Terramarique had occurred to him. Here he was … Antonson, convicted criminal of the most heinous crimes paying for his deeds with a lifetime sentence of forced labour on the salt mines, but the realisation brough back another name and a doubt on the contentment he had felt to endure his condition. Eyvind Björnsson Avormagor, known as the Redbeard, had been given a mission of silence which he had gladly accepted by one Milo L’Evienne, one time Prince of the Realm. In silence he had toiled the salt mines content in his sense of loyalty and fulfilled by the continual success of his disguise. Not once in all these years had anyone recognised or exposed him for who he was, and not once had he been tempted to leave to protect the Kingdom to which he was beholden.

The Kingdom.

The Kingdom?

What was the Kingdom?

The realisation coalesced into this very same question. He was beholden to something else, something far more ancient and powerful. Something that was beyond the material and existed primarily in the world of ideas. An idea he had followed and through which he had commanded thousands to march to their demise in order to protect in a bloody war against mountain-dwelling greenskinned Orcs in a remote corner of the continent. A land of mild climate battered by the iron tipped boots of the Orckish Assembly. A land called Sherian that belonged to the Empire. Yes, the Empire. His duty was not with any Kingdom or any L’Evienne, but with the Empire and the Crown which ruled it.

The realisation took a long time to settle on his mind and for all those days and weeks and months he kept on toiling the salt and enduring the small rations, the cramped hole he was forced to sleep in, the needless cruelty of the guards and the inhospitable weather of the Great Northern Sea. Terramarique truly was Aeternia on Telath.

Then something happened. A storm, was it? One day he was there and the guards over yonder, the next day the guards were gone and the storm was coming. The next thing he could remember he had been washed ashore near the ruins of city. Some sort of battle had been fought there, he discovered later as he walked confused among the shattered streets. Dry bones of men, beasts of burden and strange creatures littered the ground, but nothing of this mattered.

The moment he had stood up on that windswept beach he had renewed purpose. He was a good and dutiful soldier and he had been gone to too long. He had been given a mission, to destroy the Orcish scourge and safekeep Sherian to the Empire. Something had come between him and his mission, something he had no recollection of. One day he had been there and the next he was coming to his senses in Terramarique just to be tossed about by a storm and wake up in what he now recognised as Paxia. Something terrible had happened here, something terribly was happening in the Empire, and he had no idea what. He had to find out what was going on and make amends for the time had been away and there was only one place to go, one place to come back to, one place where he knew he would find trusted companions, loyal Imperials and, perhaps most important of all, the reason why he had fought so hard, his daughter.

This place was Sherian.

In the distance a horse neighed. Arthalof, his horse. The jet black Carmelyn steed he had bonded with when he was posted to the 9th Imperial Legion, the Manjet. He approached, stumbling through the ruined cobblestones of the pavement. Old friend, you have grown old but…so have I. A reflection on a piece of broken glass showed his once fiery red hair diminished into a dull grey. His beard and moustache had grown grey as well, his eyes sucken. What beauty he might have had was gone now, replaced by an old wooden face beyond his actual age. But where his face had aged his body had ripened. Years of labour had built into him sinewy muscles to rival his archenemy, the greenskin scourge. He was a monster, but a monster with terrible purpose. Jumping on Arthalof both rode into the distance like they were one.​

* * *​

It had taken him weeks on the road, weeks he had grown ever more perplex at what had happened to the Empire. Something very wrong had been done to this land. Little did he stop to ask to the villagers he met. First, he had to get home, find those he knew he could trust and make sure his daughter was alive and well. So, he kept on riding south across blasted Arium, silent Centripax, refugee crowed Prime and finally across the border into Sherian. In Phondra he saw Imperial flags he could not recognise so he carried on until he came upon the coastal plain between the Great Sea and the Khardran and found the corpses of the fallen. They had been left there, thousands of them. All dressed in livery he knew, some in livery he himself had designed. Manjet and Serpents and many others dead by the score, their swords and spears protruding from the ground. Helmets serving hiding place for rats, skulls smiling to the skies and standards waving faint-heartedly. What had befallen this land?

He decided to make camp and, to his delight, was eventually visited by an old companion at arms.

In the morning he rode out down to the plain below ahead of his friend to meditate on all the revelations he had received the night before.

There, amidst the mangled corpses of his companions, he dismounted and sat cross-legged looking south and waiting for a sign of the gods.​

Spoiler: Equipment/Skills/Boons at start of thread

Equipment:

• Mostly rags and a pair of good boots he acquired under suspicious circumstances.
• Aethergem Dust - Though the reddish-purple dust lacks any of the latent magical energies you experienced in the Dreamscape, it is a powerful reagent that can be used for a variety of applications, though each and every adventurer will find their own specific secrets to unlock in how they use this dust;
• Medallion of Aslan that shines when Jorelites are nearby.

Skills:

• Lvl 3 Long Blades - 16XP
• Lvl 2 Spellbreaking (lacking mastery of the techniques) - 7XP
• Lvl 1 Spear - 2XP
• Lvl 1 Archery - 2XP

Boons:

• Hair of Mighty Survivability (Caster: Z'kron) - Single shot imbuement via Eyvind's hair, of the following spells to be activated on severe wounding. - Adaptation: Healing version [1. Healing of Eyvind towards current level of health, using the vis-pattern identified in this thread; 2. Combined with "Carrotskin", forming a protective sheath around Eyvind during the healing using the protective design created during the airship creation; 3. “Restoration” Temporarily enhancing Eyvind's strength and reflexes and removing fatigue so he might battle or flee for a short period of time in order to continue the healing process.
• Mark of Barbarism (Caster: Aethergem) - Eyvind has received a "Mark of Barbarism" upon his soul. Placing him in touch with his Vagaran roots, Eyvind can discard his civilized whims and seek out the lust of battle and will always be able to gain the initiative in combat when matched against a foe of equal or lesser skill. However, when confronted by a foe who has greater skill in a discipline that Eyvind does not, he loses civilized composure and can be overcome by fear and will lose any initiative and be placed on the defensive.

 

[Jade Alanon]

It felt as though it had been forever and a brightening since she had last found herself away from Demios. On a horse no less... Emrys, bless his scaley hide, was still recovering and though he was capable of flight, Jade did not wish to exhaust him when it was unnecessary. Not only that but she felt as though her child was safer in Demios with Emrys being there, he adored the child and would burn anyone alive who might have dark intent towards her. Of course she had Vaishen as well but it wasn't quite the same... A fire-breathing 'Uncle' of a drake was far more frightening then an angry father, just ask anyone.

The letter that she had received had been unexpected and yet, despite how long it had felt since Jade had taken to the roads on her own, it was not unwelcome. There was a certain freedom that Jade had ached for since she found herself settling somewhat between Demios and ZA. What had become of the once great hero who had fought in serveral xet battles, helping to beat back the worst of the insectoid titans and enjoying the thrill of nearly losing her life every time?

Perhaps it was such wonderings that had drawn her out of her home. How magnificent it would have been to arrive upon the back of a fire drake, the power that such an entrance held and the advantage it gave her against those they would likely come against. The drake-rider wished to remind others as well as herself that she was a force to be reckoned with even without Emrys beneath her. Even without Nymira at her side... Even when Jade was alone, she was still something and she needed to remember that, needed to relive those times in order to reconnect with who she was before that dreadful event where she and Emrys nearly lost their lives.

It was, perhaps, the only reason she had decided to answer the call to arms given by Gye'ron. She had no loyalty towards any military body and there was little loyalty to be had for an Empire that had more than fallen into disrepair since Rhystra had abdicated the throne. It felt as though chaos reigned and given Jade's lack of skill when it came to politics, she saw little wrong with it. Such was the way things went, people rose and then they fell. Either the Empire would find a way to cling to its power through some new little puppet or it would truly fall. Jade didn't mind either way so long as she was left to her own devices. She had a particular affinty for Demios and would do what she could to protect it but so far Eunesia seemed to be doing just fine.

Ah the Deadlands, such a cozy sounding sort of place...

For the most part, Jade had little difficulty on her journey towards Taralon. Of course she silently begrudged how slow it was to ride upon a horse but it had been her own choice to take such transport. Her sandbred mare, Echo, was still useful if not a bit older than she had when Jade had reluctantly acquired her but she was steady and able to cover ground well. Not near as useful as Emrys but then again, no animal was.

The former Sanguine had no way of knowing that her path would cross with Eyvind once again else she might have chosen not to come. While Jade knew little of Eyvind through his reputation, she did know him as the man who had branded her with a pendent of Aslan a long time ago and she had never truly 'thanked' him for that bastard decision. Perhaps she would have a chance soon enough.

It was a rather sour mood that Jade came across for it was not Gye'ron that she found but rather the corpses of many who had fallen in what seemed like a nasty battle. Kneeling on the ground was a man who did not appear wounded but rather as though he was waiting for something? Jade did not recognize Eyvind right away given how long it had been since she had last seen him, instead she looked out across the field of corpses and then back at the cross-legged man. "I am going to guess that this isn't your doing given your lack of...well, you know." Hardly an insult, she was just stating what she saw. "Any idea who did this?"

Spoiler: Equipment / Skills

• Kemite Sword - Kemite-forged sword, well maintained. Has a custom hard leather sheath with a metal edge to further protect the blade inside.
  
  
• Compass Rose Shurikens and Throwing daggers - Bought in Zinn'Sunn, Jade keeps the shurikens in a sling that often hangs around her waist and the daggers on various places on her person. Both types of weapons have been warped and then reified using sorcery and mysticism essence. They have better aim, being slightly guided toward Jade's intended target and can be called back to her hand with a thought, weapons must be within line of sight to be called back.
• Horn of Drannor - forged by the best smiths in Northern Arium, the lance was presented to the Jade for her heroics during the raid. The perfectly balanced spear was designed to be wielded on her famous fire drake. The polished wooden shaft was made from the remains of Ygg. While it was originally ivory-white, the blacksmith was troubled to discover that its coloring inverted when the wood was successfully crafted into a weapon. The material is heavier than normal wood but much more durable and difficult to break. Unique.
• Aganadara
  Artisan Level Focus
  This Kemite-style long knife is about 3/4th the size of a short sword but it is well-balanced for Jade’s grip. The high-quality steel alloy creates strange, dark shapes along the blade obscuring it to some degree. It also drips a foul-smelling liquid, which reacts to blood and flesh.
  Active Effect: When this blade strikes a living foe and draws blood, it afflicts them with “Impotence” akin to the initiate Necromancy spell. Aganadara’s victims will be crippled and their strength, energy and stamina siphoned while the caster is simultaneously slightly empowered. The target’s body will become limp, generally requiring the greatest efforts to even lift a finger. The effects will persist so long as Aganadara continues to cut and partake of their blood.
• Warped leather armor beneath a corset dress and brown leather boots.
• Dark cloak - Magical properties, allows the user to become near invisible in the shadows. Thread given.
• Snake Skin gloves - Snake skin gloves with padded leather inside to keep the hand insulated but prevent any moisture from entering. It was also an excellent grip when wielding a weapon.
  
  Skills
  
  
• L3 Spellbreaker
• L3 Quarterstaff
• L2 Throwing knives/shurikens
• L2 Brawling

 

[Gye'ron Val Oriden]

As he rode up behind them, Gye'ron was happy to see that the white-haired beauty had answered his call. She certainly hadn't owed it to him, but he respected her skill and her mettle. She hadn't come on her Drake, which might have been useful - even if it did draw unwanted eyes. The beast didn't make the woman, though. She had earned the respect and obedience of that creature, which meant between the two she was the more powerful one, in her own ways. When he noticed her assortment of Kemite weapons, he couldn't fight off the smile. He always appreciated seeing someone give life to the art of his peoples arms, despite rarely doing so himself.

Her question to Eyvind, however, wiped the smile off of his face.

If the sound of his Mellans heavy hoofbeats didn't alert the pair to his presence, his heavy sigh and the words that followed would, "I did. Eyvind did. Veleraen did. Milo did. The Ancient Aelyrians did."

It was a crude summary of everything that had brought to bare the armies of the Kingdom and the Confederacy on this eastern battlefield. Who wanted to delve into all of that unpleasantness? Gye'ron spent enough time there in his head, and his heart would be heavy with it as they travelled through the desolation of the province he was born in.

"The Third Sherian War ended this way. My uncle led the Kingdom's forces at Narim. I led the vanguard here, near Phondra. The battles were intense, but being fought to a draw. Then something happened with the Titan Veleraen's fist, and a wave of energy crashed across the province. It created the Deadlands, and turned the soldiers and people into...something not dead, yet not alive either. It ended the war because nobody had anything left to fight with...or for."

He grunted in displeasure, "The Empire doesn't give a fuck about fixing it or about what's happened to the people in the south of the province. They let the Orcs take over." He spit on the ground, his own private curse upon them.

"I've tried to get through three times. It hasn't worked yet. I've gotten as far as the Vorgan mines, though. I used to want to try to fix it. Now I just want to know if my sister survived in Taralon."

He looked at the unarmed Eyvind, then to himself and Jade. Two of them, at least, were prepared for what was ahead of them.

"Eyvind, you might want to pick something up from the battlefield...rusted as it might be."

"Let's get going," he said, as he urged his horse forward again. He had hoped for his uncles sword, but it appeared the man hadn't come. Hopefully he was just delayed.

 

[Eyvind Redbeard]

The night had been troubled by the revelations of Gye'ron. The man had told of wars and rebellions, wild tales of massacre and insane destruction wrought on mortals by those who held powers beyond their own understanding. It was a lot to process and it would take his time until the now grey-haired Vagaran had settled his mind on the matter.

The road lay open ahead of them now, the path to Taralon, the way to his daughter Rainn and more answers he now was unsure he truly wanted.

His musings were interrupted by a rider coming from the north. An elegant woman with a perpetual frown. There was familiarity on those features but with all the things coursing through his mind it a chance encounter in Vortex over a decade prior wasn't exactly forthcoming to his memory. Her remarks were witty, her pose confident. She had come to do battle, not with him though.

Gye'ron wasn't so happy with her words and made so quite clear, in the process revealing Eyvind's identity to the newcomer.

Carefully among all the bones and weapons the Vagaran stood up and approached an aging relic that somehow had not been fully covered in rust – a standard issue Imperial Longsword just like the one he had trained with in the Jade Legion. Mounting Arthalof he followed the pair.​

 

[Indefinite]

OOC: As should have been noted to all participants, this thread will be regularly posted to regardless of whether all PCs involved have posted. Current iteration: 1 week. There may be consequences due to not making the deadline. If you know you can't make it because of circumstances, reach out and I will accommodate accordingly. [Note: next round will be delayed as I'm on vacation.] [Double note: not to late to join the thread if you're coming along.]

One does not simply walk into Sherian.

Although truth be told, it would start out simple enough. Situated in Prime, one merely had to head south. The geography of the Khardran Mountains in the west naturally funneled a traveler in the general direction of Sherian. That trip was relatively easy enough to make, for all that the further a person went, the larger a Legion presence they would see in the area. These were lands dominated by the Second Legion, Striking Thunder, and Third Legion, Crashing Lightning, mustered in the aftermath of the sweeping reforms that the Imperial Legions had seen in the aftermath of the devastating Xetan Invasion. All the thousands and tens of thousands and hundreds(?) of thousands of soldiers and other related personnel that had existed in ledgers and documents and bookkeeping, ready to be mobilized in an instant and appear at what seemed like a snap of a finger in face of whatever enemy the Imperium might be facing, were now relegated to a humble ten legions, each containing some thousands worth of personnel. Seven sent west to fortify Lauryl, one to guard the capital of Aelyria Prime, and two assigned the task of tackling what was left of Sherian.

Or at least that had been the plan, before the "Troubles." The Empire was disintegrating even as the plans to survey Sherian had been drawn up. There had been that disastrous expedition involving a Baron and his mercenaries. The demise of the orcs had been found to be greatly exaggerated - that's what you get for leaving the job to the Ancients. Not to mention the pirates harassing shipping and coastal settlements in the south, and the rodenti that had begun to swarm all through the underground, but particularly in the vicinity of the Khardran Mountains. As a matter of priority, venturing into Sherian dropped in priority. Simply maintaining the status quo became a challenge in and of itself.

Journeying southward towards Sherian would see a marked increase in Legion encampments and fortifications. Two Legions once assigned to Sherian now had to stretch themselves along the Khardran Mountains as well to contain the rodenti, and assist in the defense of Maeve's shores from marauders and raiders. For Gye'ron, Eyvind, and Jade, there was a rather predictable trend of the sights they'd get to see as they continued on their way.

Passing the humble hamlet of Phondra on its lonely peninsula, the sole Sherian settlement still regarded as within the Imperial sphere of influence, marked the entrance into Sherian. A small garrison befitting the size of the town in question sat in defense, helping watch over the small supply depot that had been set up in the area, taking advantage of the existing infrastructure present. All roads led to... Phondra? Not quite, but it was easier to adjust what already existed than to create something entirely new.

It wasn't much further along when they all stumbled upon one another, it seemed.

Gye'ron and Jade found Eyvind there in that ghost of a battlefield - ghost perhaps being the imperative word. As Eyvind leaned down to pick up what he thought to be a rusted sword he'd find it disintegrate in his very hands. The scene around him, disappearing, like ash in the wind. Perhaps a lingering memory triggered by his arrival into Sherian, some phantom recollection that remained in the aftermath of the war, and the magical catastrophe that had so abruptly ended it all. The incidence might have been fresh for some, but the battles had nevertheless taken place over a decade ago. Battlefields had long since been overtaken by nature, such that any scene "out in the open" would probably have been rather... suspicious. In these lands, there were no dead who had been allowed to rest for so long.

Were the undead capable of laying ambushes? Well, hopefully they'd never have to find out.

By this point they had begun to approach the most heavily fortified sections of what could be deemed Imperial holdings in Sherian. The Legions had secured their foothold in Phondra and held the region in the vicinity of what might be called the 'Phondra Woods'. All around were the banners, the symbols, the insignias of a Legion unfamiliar to any Kestor Imperatis who had retired before the reorganization, any man who had commanded them over a decade ago, any... whatever... Jade was in this context. (She didn't seem to meet the quota on Nostalgia Points.) It only served to further the reminder that there was a departure - of time, of organization - between the Legions of past and present.

Really, the only traffic in this area was military in nature. Perhaps it wasn't a surprise that the trio, who were definitely not military in spite of their armaments, found themselves stopped before long. Arguably, all that weaponry made them even more conspicuous. The group ran into a Legion supply caravan heading the opposite way, a group of wagons bearing crates full of... well, there was no way to know, really, with an escort of mixed infantry and cavalry.

There was, of course, the option to try and run away. But failing that the supply caravan would halt, and two of the cavalrymen rode over. III - Third Legion.

"You all there, halt!" one would call out as they approached. "Identify yourselves. What is your business in these lands?"

 

[Jade Alanon]

Perhaps it wasn’t the best of times to make quips at the expense of a random stranger sitting next to a bunch of corpses but then again, when was there? As far as she was aware, she didn’t know the figure and for all she knew, he was a traumatized survivor of the attack, not that such knowledge would have changed her approach of course. She wasn’t the solemn type, she deflected most things with either humour, anger, or violence and she doubted Eyvind wished for the latter two options. She got very little in the way of response from the figure sitting on the ground but Gye’ron’s response as he trotted along behind where she stood was less than impressed.

And here she thought he had a sense of humour… How disappointing.

She rolled her eyes at his solemn tone as he spoke of all that had brought this place to the shape it was in now. “Gods Gye’ron, could you be more depressing?” He had known what she was like and yet he had chosen to send her a letter to accompany him in a potentially mad attempt to reclaim Narim or something to that extent. In truth, she had mostly skimmed the letter so she didn’t have the full details but she had come. She didn’t have Emrys but in truth, she didn’t need him to make some impact. That and he was doing well to keep her daughter safe, that was the most important thing for her.

Orcs… That was one word that had caught Jade’s attention for personal reasons. When there was a chance to kill orcs, she took part. She didn’t really need a grand reason beyond her hatred of them. “The Empire barely exists anymore. Most places have been left to scrape together what they can.” She shrugged, she was no politician nor someone in a position of power to make any real change, not yet anyway.

“Fair enough, Gye.” He wanted to check on his sister, she could only imagine how bad his brightening would get if the news was not good. “Lead on, let’s see the damage the orcs left.” She glanced over at Eyvind, certain that she knew the name. “Eyvind Red…something?” Why did she feel there was more than a few reasons to want to punch him in the throat? "I think I hate you but can't remember why."

It didn’t take long before the small group found themselves halted, not much of a surprise of course. Jade was happy to let Gye’ron do the talking, it was his thing after all. Still, she could always introduce herself. “Dame Jade Alanon, Hero of the Xet Wars and probably other things as well.”

 

[Gye'ron Val Oriden]

He laughed at Jade's mockery of him. It was fair, and he knew he could be incredibly droll and sometimes felt like he was too serious himself. He couldn't help it when it came to the Gods and the Empire, but he was actively trying to not be quite as grim as he once had been. It had led to a lot of pain and a lot of loneliness. It turned out that being obscenely rigid about your beliefs and demanding that others adhered to them left you without many people on your side. Most of the relationships he had managed to maintain were maintained by people who thought they could use him to their own ends. That, in itself, was a painful reality.

"Sorry," he smiled weakly, "just hard when you feel like a prisoner to something in your past." There had been many traumas in his life, but Sherian was the greatest of them. It's destruction and his part in the events that led to it haunted him. The worst part was being utterly powerless to do anything about it. He had once been one of the most powerful people in the Empire. In all the eras since, he hadn't been able to adjust to the reality that he was just a man again. The frustration was constant. Sometimes it was ego. More often than not it was just frustration with his inability to do more. But that had been his choice, and that had been entirely fueled by ego.

Her comment about the state of the Empire wounded him further. He used to think it had to exist because it was the Kingdom of the Gods on Telath. Now he just wanted the people to live safe lives like they used to - or sort of used to. What was there now, as it all fell apart again? His body was riddled with scars from eras of trying to hold it all together. All of that was for nothing.

When the soldiers approached he got some finality, for the first time. Whatever the Legions had been, they weren't any longer. His memory was just that, a memory. It bore no resemblance to the reality of the world that now existed. Perhaps after this one last mission, to find his sister and Eyvind's daughter, he could lay it all to rest.

"Lord Gye'ron Val Oriden, Kestor Imperatis, retired," he answered, after Jade. His old title was defunct now, from what he understood. It used to mean a man who commanded three legions and was in charge of one of the nine provinces. From what he knew, there were simply Imperators and then the Imperial Marshall now.

He thought to answer for Eyvind, afraid that the man would give his real name. He didn't know what implications it held. Some might recall the claims that a doppelganger had done all the harm attributed to him, but who knew for sure.

"We had family left in Taralon. We're going to see if there's anything to get back, one last time."

He wasn't sure they'd like the truth, but that's where he'd start. They let the Baron and his mercenaries do what they wanted. They let them pass then. Why not now?

 

[Eyvind Redbeard]

Sherian was complicated. It had always been so and that was exactly why Sheng Kaldres and Jonathan De'Bali had originally sent him there. The exact words were lost, but the general sense had been take care of it, somehow. He had been taking care of it until word had reached him that some winged beings had gone over him and solved the issue with an awesome display of Arcana. After that his memories were clouded except for his stay in Terramarique and what little he had managed to piece together from hearsay and Gye'ron's benevolent explanations.

A decade later and Sherian was still complicated. Even the land seemed adverse and inimical to him. Shadows from the past had tricked his eyes and Gye'ron's most certainly showing them their failures where now nature had overgrown all.

It was through nature they now rode, ever deeper into the woods Phondra had always been famous for. As they rode the woman engaged him in polite conversation. She carried his name and had a recollection of his cognomen Redbeard. Names did carry meaning and power, but it was not something he was looking for at the moment.

"Maybe. A long time ago. I am Marcus Antonsson now." He answered with a neutral voice as Aslan's medallion he had carried on his neck since before Vortex dangled around his neck.

In no time they were meeting a supply convey. Eyvind took stock on the number of infantrymen and cavalry component, checking their gear with a trained eye for quality and any similarities with the Imperial Legions of his time. So long had passed that he wanted to ascertain how they equipped themselves now. One could tell quite a lot about a fighting unit's training and tactical functionality from looking at their numbers and equipment. The Imperial Legions of his time mostly fought with spear and shield in concentrated phalanxes supported by archers and whatever scant cavalry was available, and only used their swords when the press from behind and the front prevented them from using their spears' longer reach. He had thought of changing all this, but time and the constraints of war had not allowed. A decade had elapsed, how did these new ones fight?

"Marcus Antonsson, I'm trying to find my daughter." He half stuttered while bringing his horse to a halt when commanded by the Legionnaires. At seven feet was by far the tallest man present in this small rendezvous and his tattered clothes revealed his muscles arms from hard work at the salt mines; a contrasting figure when one looked at the enormous jet black Carmelyn Warsteed he was riding. It really didn't look so enormous with an oversized rider as it was.​

 

[Indefinite]

OOC: Thread is still open to be joined at this point. Next post is scheduled for sometime on August 5th, Pacific Standard Time.

There were cynical things that could be said to people looking for family in Sherian all this time later. Nevertheless, the legionnaires were polite enough to keep their thoughts to themselves. For now.

Now, if there was any constant in the world, it was the book on Imperial tactics. There were some things that were well-ingrained in the Imperial Legions that wouldn't change anytime soon. Even so, the crucible of battle did tend to forge more efficient soldiers capable of dealing with circumstances around them. Because, you know, otherwise those soldiers tended to die. Survival of the fittest! So the shield was still there, but the "spear" was instead replaced with multiple javelins that were thrown out first before the infantry drew their swords. In a pinch, of course, a javelin could also serve decently as a short spear, but the idea was to get those thrown out before the crush of the front lines came together. Heavy infantry, these lads. And of course, they had a light cavalry escort with them, which seemed much the equivalent, just put on horses. Javelins, shields, swords. Less armor, though. Think of the poor mounts, would you? Battle-worn, the lot of them, that equipment had definitely seen some use, but it was all well-maintained. Even a cursory patrol accompanying some wagons in an extremely secure part of the province was ready to tackle trouble as needed.

Granted, there was only so much information that you could glean from a single patrol. Heavy infantry with a light skirmish cavalry escort, sure, but one imagined there was much more to a legion than just that particular format copied and pasted over and over again. (Hopefully.) And only so much you could tell from mere appearance, without actually seeing them in a fight.

And, of course, hopefully none of the trio would have personal experience in that anytime soon.

"The site of Taralon is currently within a designated restricted area beyond Imperial control," one of the cavalryman began to explain to the group. "Access to this area is denied to all non-Legion-related personnel without the express permission of a General, either of the Second or Third Legion, or higher authority. Until this permission is granted and properly documented, you are not to pass into the restricted zone."

There was a gesture of the cavalryman's hand, vaguely towards the south. "You will know the demarcation into the restricted zone by the massive wall that has been erected along the border. Passing, or attempting to pass, beyond the wall without appropriate permission will be treated accordingly as the crime that it is. I highly recommend you turn back now, lest you be stopped by every passing patrol and given the same spiel."

Did the cavalryman believe that their group had a good enough reason to actually get the permission they needed? Well, he'd keep those thoughts to himself, too.

Would the cavalryman explain how they could get that permission? Naturally, no. There was little patience these days for people who didn't belong.

Bureaucracy!

 

[Z'kron Kha'Serith]

The dracon ambled down the road, munching on his provisions as he did so.

The first thing one might note about Z'kron differentiating him from other dracons was that he was tall. Very tall. The second would be that he was old. He was old enough that there was almost something primordial about him; fangs that were oversized, horns that belonged to a bigger creature, and a wingspan almost disproportionate to the comparative thinness of his frame. The third was that he was blue; almost every part of him except for his teeth, which were white, shiny and sharp. On his scales there were fine layers of scars.

The blueness was due to an incident with a bluestone amulet many years ago; which through a series of very confusing events had become irrevocably fused with himself, body and soul, and wrought havoc on how he had conducted magic. Since his death and rebirth he was largely back to his normal self. The blueness, however, remained.

On top of his head, an ancient draconic helm made good accomodation for his horns. Similarly, across his chest, an ancient draconic breastplate made some accommodation for wings. He'd taken these from a tomb of one of his relatives, and developed quite a fondness over the years. The belt also happened to hide the faint markings of the ikosian avatar rune that had been branded upon him through a process he didn't quite understand, and often tried to avoid thinking about. In his hand there was a staff, which seemed simple and not particulary magical. And on his belt, there was a sword, which he didn't use very often.

Affixed to the outfit were the colors of the old empire; the markings that indicated he had (at some point) working in the office of the imperial high magus. These markings too were battered. But when looking like a dracon, it served well to have others also be aware that you'd served the empire well in the past.

He'd been on the coast not that long ago, coming into Narim via a ship. And at another time, he'd simply wandered the wastes. But he'd not made it to Taralon in his wanderings. He hadn't actually tried.

Taralon had not really been his purview when he worked for Milo. He'd been the Naream of Narim for a time. But Taralon had always been very much his own thing. That was the Taralonian way.

For the most part, since recovering from his episode of insanity whilst surviving the fog, he'd been relatively unplanned in his travels. Content to wander and to see how events unfolded. He'd encountered all sorts of things this way. The empire, it seemed, was still quite a small place.

He waved his hand at Gye'ron, Eyvind and others. And then at the cavalrymen.

Maybe today would be a good day after all.

Spoiler

Relevant skills
Druid (Level 3)
Unarmed combat (Level 2)
Architect (Level 4)
Perfumist (Level 2)
Engineer (Level 2)
Sword (Level 1)

Relevant Equipment
Old draconic helm
Draconic metal chest plate
Many carrots and seeds
Stuffed lizard
x1 Create water imbuement
Crossbow

Relevant unusual abilities

Marked permanently with an “avatar rune” (Z'kron assumes it does nothing.)
Detect necromantic energies at will
Can transform into a night-drake very occasionally
Mental resistance
Empathic attunement: “Empathic attunement to those around him. Unuseable as a skill. Ability can be nerfed by cosmic rays and other mental shielding available to a spirit. Prolonged exposure to mental attunement results in madness. Madness is temporary if treated quickly. Permanent if not. Empathic attunement treated by cosmic rays returns over time but at a slow pace aided by Z'kron's skill in Mental resistance.”
Attempting to read Z'kron's mind has strange effects due to attunement

 

[Oliver la Penne]

And the journey ended before it even got started.

Sensing that the Imperials were not going to very helpful, Oliver cleared his throat and plucked a few choice chords from his lute.

Then he began to sing:

Spoiler: To the tune of "Landslide"

Video

"We took a trip to the Sherian,
Climbed the Khardrans, didn't turn around.
Saw our reflections in the snow covered hills,
But the legions let me down.

Access was denied by the gov,
Can this dude that isn't Eyvind riiiiiise above?
Can we sail through checkpoint in our lives?
Can we see Taralon with our eyes?

Well, we're still afraid of orcs and aging,
But we have a mission like you.
Dreams makes you bolder,
We're all getting older,
Won't you help us go through?
Won't you let us go through?"

The verse was intended to create feelings of compassion and sadness. Ollie channeled his Vis and emotion through his voice with each strum of his lute. Solemnly and sorrowfully, he continued to sing the verses in order to maintain the effects of the spellsong while his own party attempted to negotiate with the riders.

Spoiler: Equipment/Skills

Head / Helm / Accessories

• Head: Leather Cap
• Neck: Rope necklace
• Armor: Hair tie
• Accessories: Cheap Earrings

Torso / Clothes / Body Armor / Backpack

• Torso: Cheap Tunic, Thin leather Jacket
• Clothes: Low Quality
• Weapon: Lute-Harp ("Betty")
• Armor: None
• Pack: Rusty Dagger, Toiletries, Clothes, Rations, Waterskin, Visa

Bottoms

• Legs: Cheap Pantaloons
• Boots: Low Quality leather Boots

Skills

• Level 1 Song, Level 1 Lute, Level 1 Singing (Voice), Level 1 Daggers
• Expert: running away

 

[Jade Alanon]

Gye'ron apologized for his rather droll way of speaking and Jade could only offer a dismissive way. She got it, better than he would likely ever know. "No need to apologize, just try not to be so damn morbid." And yes, she was well aware she was asking such a feat when they had literally just come across a bunch of corpses but Jade meant it. She got that death happened as did grieving the losses but she didn't really care for it putting a damper on their journey. "You can't quite pull off a sexy brood, just letting you know."

Her attention had then returned to Eyvind who she was certain she knew and whom she disliked but she just couldn't fully remember why. It would come to her eventually and gods help Eyvind's throat when it did but for now he remained safe. He seemed to have foregone his previous identity, perhaps because Jade wasn't the only one he had pissed off in a previous life? One never knew but Jade didn't much care either, offering a shrug of her shoulders as she refocused her attention on the situation at hand. She could jest as much as she liked, mainly to hide the roiling in her gut that came when she knew she could be encountering orcs, but she knew it was going to likely be a bloody battle.

Or rather it would be if they were allowed to pass by the useless legion. Jade was a warrioress but she was no soldier, she refused to fight for any one army. She understood those who made the choice to but the way the legionnaire spoke down to them made her really dislike the armoured prick. Jade could only roll her eyes and bite her tongue, allowing Gye'ron to handle the talk because if she stepped up, she'd likely get them run off rather than let through. Instead, she glanced over at the rather odd appearance of a dracon in the distance and it appeared that he was waving in their direction? Did he know them?

And now there was music playing as well. Unexpected but Jade wouldn't deny that it was lovely.

 

[Gye'ron Val Oriden]

Somehow, his freedoms felt impinged upon. Who was to say that he couldn't go to Taralon? That was his home. As far as he was concerned, those were Imperial lands - the Imperium just wasn't fighting for them. He felt the anger in the center of his chest building and burning. He wanted to lash out. Part of him fantasized about killing the entire patrol. But that was just a thought that flashed through his mind in the briefest of moments. He took a deep breath and tried to remind himself of a time when he would've issued orders just like that to his soldiers. Had to defend the civilians. Had to avoid starting a conflict when unprepared. Had to be in control. Had to be obeyed. Suddenly he began to understand some of the hostile reactions he used to get from civilians.

Thankfully, Jade always had a quip to make him crack a smile. That was enough to release the pressure on his temper. Then he saw Z'kron, which was a pleasant surprise that he never expected to have again. And then a lanky, scruffy, young man came up singing and playing a lute. Gye'ron didn't know who the feth that was or what the feth was going on. But maybe it would be a good brightening after all.

Gye'ron waved back at Z'kron, glanced awkwardly at Ollie, and then decided they didn't have much choice but to go along with all of the bureaucracy. Sure, they could try to fight the legionnaires and take their gear, but would that get them past the wall without orders? Probably not. Sure they could just go on their way, but would that get them past the wall without documents? Probably not. Was there a way around? Probably, but the journey would be long and hard enough without having to sneak past the Legions there and back again.

"That's inconvenient, but I understand. Where can we find the Imperators of the 2nd or 3rd Legion?" He assumed the answer would be Phondra. That's where a General had been the last time he had crossed the border when the Baron of Trysvale had tried to do what the Imperial government wasn't.

'If we hear a no after jumping through this hoop, I'm going to teleport an Imperator into the ocean,' he thought.

 

[Eyvind Redbeard]

The Legions were different, but not too different. Progress was a good thing, but from the looks of the whole situation they were progressing the wrong way. There was a reason why the old Legions used a spear in Sherian, besides the javelins of course. Orcs were massive, muscled and towering compared to Humans. Letting them close in, to the press of bodies of battle lines, was like pitching a child against a lion in the confines of an arena. Therefore the old Legions in Sherian used spears in closely packed ranks to balance out for the superior strength of Orcs.

The Provincial Army, the Sherian Serpents, had taken an even more radical approach and compensated its rushed wartime training with massed Regiments of long pikes, similar to sarissas, forming porcupines that had proven themselves solid rocks against the ocean of Greenskins.aybe that was why the New Legions were being beaten back where the Old Legions had prevailed.

Unfortunately, it seemed, they wouldn't be seeing them in action anytime soon.

They were denied. Denied to travel within what was officially the Empire or denied to travel beyond its borders. No matter the definition they were denied. There was a wall though, another wall apparently, to their south marking the border. Phondra, it's region rather, was apparently sandwiched between two walls.

As Eyvind waited for his leading companion to make his choice on their new course of action a number of bizarre things occurred. First Jade gave him the look. That look she gave people just before kicking them in the groin with pleasure. Maybe she was coveting his medallion of Aslan. It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to steal it either because of its metallic value or the fact it carried Aetherian magic capable of detecting the presence of the followers of Jorel. It also add a rather pleasant look, depicting the lion of Aslan as it did. A lion hanging from the neck of another lion, Eyvind liked to think.

Then ancient Dracon showed up. Covered in scales as he was Eyvind could not recognise the man made of carrot that had visited him in Vers as he recovered from an injury and cast on his hair an imbuement to, the man had claimed, save his life. The imbuement seemed the only thing still giving Eyvind's greying hair the shade of its former red glory. The Dracon dressed in the livery of the Legions, not the new nor the old, but the oldest. That uniform had been outdated before any of the others gathering here had even been born. To him the Vagaran gave a respectful nod of salutation.

Finally the strangest thing happened. Someone started to sing and sing his name no less! A small boy had somehow joined them along the way. The boy, because that was his age range, looked frail but somehow brave as well? At least he was capable of bravado and had a way with strings.

What was he thinking though by walking into Sherian with this band of obviously hard looking veterans? The insanity of youth and the chase for glory most definitely.

As all this happened he paid attention to the attempt at negotiating the most basic of informations Gye'ron was conducting with the mounted Legionnaires.​

 

[Keldon Elsdragon]

Very little posed a threat to things in the sky of Telath within the inner circles of the empire, or what fragments of it remained. Several candlemarks had passed since the pair touched down on what one would describe as a roadway through the once vibrant Sherian province. Tathar stretched his wings outwards to stretch with a small groaning neigh towards Keldon. Apparently displeased with walking on the pavers rather than flying. Keldon couldn't take the sights from the sky any longer, it had been what felt like a lifetime since he rode south from Northumbria and Dragons Cliff.

But, family meant everything to the spurious duke. When he had received the missive from Gye'ron he set aside the affairs of the castle-city and prepared to make his way south. Bringing what remained of his guard, or ships would have been a mistake. The waters around the fragmented empire were not as well protected as they once were, and various pests lurked not only at sea but within its borders as well. Instead, he ventured alone with his companion.

Keldon's hand gently slid down Tathars neck as he took a deep breath, they spent the better part a decade give or take a few eras here or there on patron in the lands around the castle this was not much different than those times or the times before on the fields of a battle or whatever idiotic things they both managed to find themselves in. Keldon's eyes glanced down as his gauntlets made a clinking sound, and so he readjusted the sword of sages clinking against his gloves. Keldon was formally dressed for combat, a long red cloak in the colour of the ministry of war, affixed on the sash was the seal of the ministry itself. Though, the ministry was a shadow of what it once was. Keldon did not feel like being stopped or questioned during his travel and he knew all too well a Pegasus was how you drew the interest of everyone and everything within visual sight. While no longer serving as the Imperial... Royal Marshal under the miniature sailor, Keldon was free to return to his own personal affairs. But that did not have the odd thing from his time of service remaining. Keldon had a finely crafted chainmail tunic reinforced with a plate at the joints and feet. A small travel bag at the rear covered by the cloak carrying various supplies to camp and rest while on the ground. One of the downsides of travelling by air meant one could not travel with such a heavy bag of supplies.

After a brief while, Keldon heard the sound of what started out a rather lovely tune. But then the odd crackle in the voice. "What in the fuck...." was the only thing Keldon could half mumble as he glanced further up the road at the assembled group. As they approached Keldonw would look towards Gye'ron and nod his head gently, it had been quite some time since they had seen one another. As his eyes glanced at the group inf front of him he almost wanted to laugh, and perhaps sigh at the same time. The assembled group all appeared to be together in front of the single patrol unit, and it was a unique mixture of individuals from what he could see.

 

[Indefinite]

This was ridiculous. Now there were six of them!

Seriously, though, usually they didn't run into anybody out here. All of a sudden, a bunch of people showing up? Those were not auspicious portents. How well were legionnaires paid, exactly? Was it enough to really want to deal with... whatever was going on here? If they had been lazier, they could have just patrolled right on by and let somebody else deal with these people. They'd have hit the wall eventually, anyway, and been unable to progress further. But, no, this was the thing about duty. The job had to be done, regardless of how onerous it could be!

Still, who had set up the system where neither side of the conversation seemed to particularly want to be there? Save the bard, of course, he was a chipper ray of sunshine amidst the dour company he seemed to keep. Naturally, of course. Being the bard and all.

Z'kron, in the meantime, was probably lucky that none of the legionnaires were particularly devout, and thus managed to avoid immediately getting a javelin to the face. Hopefully that'd be true of... all the rest of the legionnaires from here to the wall? There was a reason why his kind tended to avoid walking around in their natural forms, after all, save in those locales which explicitly stated FUCK THE CHURCH OF FAITH somewhere in the town charter. It might have been a while ago since Sacrum expelled all the dracons from town, but the policy was still pretty clear there.

Anyhow. Oliver did his little song and dance and one of the legionnaires just glanced over at Gye'ron. Were they all just going to... sit and wait for the bard to finish? Yes? That was the plan? Well, all right then. If Oliver's spellsong did anything, it at least prevented the legionnaires from interrupting him as he performed. Off in the distance, there was at least one foot soldier gently tapping his foot to the beat of the rhythm. Aha, a man of culture.

So!

No, they couldn't just go through. It wasn't as if the legionnaires couldn't empathize, but 1) they had their orders and 2) it wasn't as if that was the patrol's call, either. They were just here to guard the supply wagon. They weren't posted at the wall, nor did they have any sort of authority either.

Still. Pretty good tune. Wait, Oliver was just going to keep going? While Gye'ron asked his question? Well, all right then.

"I can't really speak as to where the Imperator of the Second Legion is," the legionnaire from the Third Legion noted, and while he might not usually just hand out information like this, hey, Oliver did a decent job of convincing the legionnaires to have some compassion and help these people out. (And them out of their hair ASAP.) "However, the Imperator of the Third Legion can be found in Daltina. If I had to guess, you might even find the Second's Imperator there. Big, important provincial capital and all." Seemed like the place an Imperator would hang out.

So yeah. Whoops! Wrong side, guys. The eastern entrance into Sherian was a 'solved issue', just slap a huge wall that watched over the orc fortifications and call it a day. (Emphasis on HYUGE.) Locking down the western side was where the current focus was at, the original 'lesser priority' that had become a much bigger problem with the rodenti swarming from the underground! And, you know, what sort of crazy people would want permission to go into eastern Sherian anyway? Why would the guy needed to hand out the permission to do so possibly hang out over there? It's not like anybody going that way would actually ask for that permission or anything. A silly notion.

So, uh... all these people who had shown up, they were all part of Gye'ron's group, then?

OOC: Next post slated for sometime on August 13, PST.

 

[Oliver la Penne]

To be fair, there was no dance. Not yet. Ollie wasn't one to give out the goods without promise of payment.

But he was happy to continue his spellsong. The chant, despite its limited degree of power and effect, seemed to be loosening tongues and lubricating the situation. Oliver smirked at that thought. Lube amirite?

To keep the chant's effect going, Oliver added a few sustained chords and even threw in a minor-7 and minor-9 occasionally to mix things up. Variety was the spice of life, after all. Whoever said that clearly enjoyed spices. Ollie thought that black pepper was spicy enough for his palette.

The bard had zero interest in the bureaucracy of the Legions; nor did he particularly care if they ever reached Taralon. As long as they went somewhere and not stuck out here like sitting ducks, he'd feel better.

 

[Z'kron Kha'Serith]

"Hi Keldon" said Z'kron, as he waved with one taloned hand.

He adjusted his helmet carefully. Made sure the straps were on properly. Twitched within his breastplate. Making sure his wings weren't impinged on too much. Wings were important. I mean, so were other body parts. Particularly if there was a spear stuck through them. But wings were something Z'kron was particularly proud of.

Even if being out in the open as a dracon did get him a lot of stares, he had something that Moraden simply didn't tend to have. Working wings. The concept that someone would willingly sacrifice the ability to fly merely to fit in to society was, to Z'kron, mindboggling. The old druid was a dracon, and fairly proud of it.

Of course, back in the old times, some dracons had been able to both fly and shapeshift. He might have met some of these folk way back when. And at another time, he'd been forcibly transformed- perhaps even trapped (!) into a human form for what seemed like eras And he might have even met some of these people back then - when afflicted into an unwanted, unwinged form. But since those times, and particularly since he'd been given his old body back, his mindset had solidified. Z'kron was a Diantar through and through, and by now had been for many eras.

Then a polite salute to Eyvind. The salute from the times of Valerian Constantinus, if anyone was particularly focused on the historical specifics. There were nuances to it. He vaguely recognised the man, he thought. Hard to pin quite where. There had been so many faces over the years. But politeness offered should at least be reciprocated.

He bopped along to the bardic music. For the edge of a wasteland, the entertainment wasn't bad at all. Groovy, even.

 

[Jade Alanon]

Well, this certainly was not turning out as Jade had imagined. That being said, she wasn't entirely sure what she had expected when she had received the letter from Gye'ron, anything could have taken place. Still, finding their entry into Taralon barred by a bunch of legionnaire arseholes who were little more than border patrol was more than a little disappointing. If only she had brought Emrys with her, he could have sorted this entire mess out with a quick fire stream. Nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble...or catch fire.

Thoughts of violence filled Jade's mind as she stood to the side whilst their trio slowly became more and more motley by the moment which a new addition every few moments. Who knew, perhaps they would have an army of oddbods and they would easily overrun the orcs and whatnot that now existed around Taralon. Such thoughts were hardly helpful in the situation but honestly, Jade had to bite her tongue lest she upset someone and get them arrested or attacked. Sure, she would feel better after having her say but she didn't wish to add dead legionnaires to her list of regrets. Not that would regret it in the moment...

If Jade was being honest, she was getting rather bored with the nonsense of this all, why did the legionnaires care if the group went off to possibly die in Taralon? It was their choice after all... Jade never did understand such rules, it was the very essence of adventuring but alas, it seemed that Gye'ron was considering doing as they said rather than arguing or trying to find a way around. They were to head to Daltina? It was a bit out of their way surely, it might be the right step but it felt like it was just going to set them back.

Thankfully Jade's boredom was alleviated slightly by a distraction in the form of a randy bard and a druidic dracon who seemed rather friendly. Jade had little trust for dracons but that was mainly due to the stalker that had been Dante Asunder... Other dracons might be alright. It was Keldon's arrival that had surprised Jade, not because of him since she didn't even know who it was but rather because of his mount. It wasn't often that one saw a winged horse. It was nowhere near as impressive as a fire drake but still, it was nice. Perhaps the winged horse would come in handy since they were unable to persuade the legionnaire idjits to let them through. "We need to decide on a course of action before I die of old age...or boredom...or a lack of stabbing something. I was promised violence." She pouted as she waited for someone to make a decision.