Pescado Branch
Leader of the Saurid Remnants
[Kesmek] Mother's hide your children, darkness lurks in daylight. (GF'd Closed)
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He walked in silence as usual, although his black boots conversed in a soft whisper with the ground beneath him. Nimavel Mynendil had never been prone to indulge in idle discourse. He found it to be a waste of time and breath. More often than not, he became easily agitated with those who attempted to engage in meaningless conversation with him, that is, those rare few with the constitution to brave his callous demeanor first. His reticence notwithstanding, the Lord of House Mynendil was a superb listener. While his hollow gaze generally bespoke inattentiveness, his long ears soaked in everything, not that he needed much prodding to listen on this particular occasion. There were rumors that the Xet had been found. The silver earring that hung from his left earlobe chimed almost inaudibly in the wind as he turned his head to regard the rogues, the men who had purportedly stumbled upon the location of the Xet. The mere thought of the legendary insect elicited an unsettling feeling in the elf lord’s gut, a feeling that he seldom experienced: nervousness. He had seen the abominable bug in the undead Legionnaire’s brain; he had seen the heightened power that the undead Legionnaire had consequently exercised. How much more could be expected from its master? A lot more, Nimavel thought uneasily to himself. He had killed men, women, and children. He had toppled small governments and overthrown rival criminal factions. He had killed an Archmage Necromancer with his bare hands. But the thought of squaring off against a Xet with companions like the useless mage Limbus or the meddling faerie Tiarela did little to boost his confidence. Nimavel sighed and drew the folds of his raven cloak closer about his slender frame, the mantle secured by a clasp fashioned in the shape of a horned owl’s talons: the insignia of House Mynendil. He would have enjoyed his brethren’s companionship any brightening to the medley of fools that he traveled with now. Perhaps he was a fool for going with them. The thought had plagued Nimavel ever since he had agreed to accompany Section Eight to its final task: the destruction of the Xet marauder. His knowledge of the abominable race was limited to what he knew from the horror stories, but if there was an ounce of truth in their prose, then he feared what awaited them. The reaper was never far behind him. He sighed and clung to the edge of the dense fog, the Shadow Gaze alerting him to his other comrades in the nearby vicinity. How many of them would not return? He wondered, although he hardly cared. Sliding his magical gloves, the Claws of the Great Horn, onto his scarred and raw hands, the master assassin flexed his fingers within them to acclimate to the coldness of the enchanted elfin steel. And then he waited, only he did not wait for a prey to come into his sight or for an accomplice to initiate one part of a broader scheme. No, he waited for the others. He waited for those who would march with him to the Xet . . . for those who would march with him to their doom. |
Amber had not been completely convinced that Xet were the one and only explanation to the undead plague. From what they had found and leaning on the knowledge Gazi had provided them with, it seemed to be the most obvious explanation however and when put next to what the other groups had brought in as evidence it was clear: the Xet were back. The corpses had turned up to be animated by bugs, rather than Arcana or souls. With that fact, the Faerie had lost most of her initial interest in this situation. As there was no Arcana involved, there was nothing to learn from it in that regard and neither was there a need to counter-act the source to prove not all Necromancers were vile. Without the souls, there was less of a drive to exterminate them all to please Jalat either. All that was left were the stories of Xet... and those were more than sufficient to renew her interest in this ordeal. Every story and story teller seemed to agree that this was the worst possible explanation one could think off, but the Fae was not one to be impressed that easily. She had to agree that while tales tended to be exaggerated, the disappearance of whole legions was a fact and proof that these oversized bugs were not to be underestimated. She had seen an Archmage Necromancer tear through a legion once with ease however and for all the power he had, in the end he had been just another member of a simple mortal race. If the mages that had marched against them would have ambushed him rather than meeting him head on, their strength against his, he would likely have been the one that perished. Still, she was no fool and she would be very cautious in how she approached this situation, taking good use of being so small and hide behind the bulk of the eight section when she thought it would increase her chances of surivival. If these Xet proved to be as dangerous as an Archmage, that was very bad news and it would likely mean the death of many of those that marched with them. She would take the advice of the dead mages and try not to pose any threat until she was certain she would have the upper hand. |
A Xet had been found. The buglike creatures that had torn the saurid asunder in Rak'harin, as well as the rest of the saurid nation, were back. At least according to all of the reports. Pescado, a bound mystic, looked around, and then made his way with the group of Section eight to where the rogues were. Part of him felt that he would be useless against the Xet, armed with nothing but knowledge of the war between the Saurid and Xet that his ancestors had fought. Wearing his black leather armor that contrasted with his green tinted scales, the saurid had his spear in his left hand as his right arm hung there dead as could be. Upon his waist was a bag full of imbuements, ones he could use to assist with his combat against the Xet, a bag of tricks of sorts. As they continued their hike, he would take note of his other companions, specifically the elf lord and the fae that had proved to be quite useful in their earlier combat with the zombies and undead. She had also proven to be observant as well. As the saurid, whom was going by the name of Kri'Sri'Kaloss at the moment, given Pescado Branch was a wanted man, made his way with the group to their deaths, his mind thought about Ra'Ssss'ni, and if he had gotten to the Saurid mounds of th Ssss'Rak'kk alive with the message that the Xet could have returned to Aelyria's borders. He was hopeful that Ra'Ssss'ni had made it there alive, and had been able to deliver the message. Emerald eyes looked onwards in a similar fashion to those of sadness, knowing full well he could die at any point in time on this mission, and was well prepared for it. He had taken on a human persona, so fear was part of his mind now, but perhaps that fear would keep him alive longer. Then again, he remembered his saurid teachings so as to never fear death. He wasn't afraid of it, just knew it could come unexpectedly whenever. As he looked onwards, a simple prayer to Rak to guide his spear to where it needed to go was issued. Nothing more, nothing less. The Planetar of Power would not want the saurid to be asking for help, as it was his destiny to control fate with his own hands. He was the fourteenth power-monger after all... |
Xet... as if the Kingdom didn't have enough to worry about. It was not that Duncan Sythe could exactly solve the problem single handedly either. No, all he could do was assess it and work out exactly what this was going to mean. Were changes going to be needed? Or was this just a...fluctuation in the western border? Fortunately though, it seemed this time he was joined by at least a few who possessed considerable talent. Firstly there was the fairy, they'd met before though never exchanged words. Amber Brightwing he knew merely by sight, but she was at least able. Then there was Pescado. Duncan so far had kept intentionally back from the group with his cloak up so as to avoid bumping into Pescado and instead to give him a chance to study the assembly; though it was clear he was not the only one who sought solace. That? That brought him to the other curiousity, an Elven man by the look of his form but one who radiated power and self-assurance like a cloak... quite one of the most lithe men Duncan had ever set eyes on in terms of his movement; and his weapons? Arcana dripped from them, how this figure, whoever he was, had escaped the Mage's notice over the Eras raised many questions, whoever the Aeternia he was as Duncan observed him, as he did the rest of the group, in Clara. Duncan for his part was equally unshielded in terms of displaying his Arcane ability and assets, the ring on his finger and the Ardentium over his heart with the same Elven steel greaves he'd worn on the previous patrol and the Aetherium sword at his side, Ardentium blade on the opposite hip. He'd heard the rumours, he knew what he'd seen too, he knew that this was merely the first foray in something greater...but it needed to be done, especially of the Xet had graduated to infecting others like parasites. Abigor had been bad enough, a corrupted object left to steal souls, how many more were laid out over Aelyria to be caught by powerful mages? How many others were already pawns of the Xet. Since Draelmar Duncan had thought it a one off, now he was...not so sure as he finally speeded up his pace and drew level with Pescado. “Pescado.” His voice was quiet, although probably Nimavel would hear, not that it really mattered. |
As the group assembled the fog seemed to thicken slightly, its white haze blocking out the suns above and leaving all with a chill, creeping feeling. What they hoped to find was still uncertain, there had of course been the smaller bugs, and the reports, but no one had actually confirmed what the supposed Xet looked like, at least the specific one or ones they were on the trail of. The first four had come together rather quickly, even beating their captain, or commander to the site of their departure. The air had a certain thick dampness to it that slowly made its way into their cloaks and clothing. It hung on the thin blades of grass in the form of tiny droplets and even in their hair only adding to the chill each breeze brought. In truth it was quite a miserable day to set out, a day which only those raised on the sea could appreciate and only because it would have reminded them of home. With the water laden air vision was not the only sense muddled. So to were scents, and even sounds which had been clear on brightenings past seemed distant and muffled through the gray thickness. Pescado and Amber were rather relaxed in their demeanor at this point, in stark contrast to Duncan and Nimavel who had their guard up before even taking a step into the wilderness. They were the first to notice, another form gracefully approaching from the camp. For Duncan it was the Vis of a fellow Mystic, one that seemed familiar, for Nimavel it was the cat like form that stalked their group hungrily. From the fog emerged a lithe, bronze skinned woman with chocolate colored almond shaped eyes. Her raven hair had been carefully braided back in thin tight rows which now hung loosely behind her head. She moved like a cat, not a katta or simple feline pet, but rather a hungry, vicious beast that stalked about looking for her next victim. Her body was wrapped in a set of intricately decorated leather armor that was stained the color of the sands residing to the south of here. It gave light to her, though the design on the armor itself was rather macabre. Upon each of the piece, from her breastplate to the grieves and bracers right down to the individual strands of her tasset bodies in contorted, suffering, and disarming poses had been cut. At each hip there was a dagger resting in matching leather sheathes, their handles made of sun bleached and gleaming white bone. “Duncan, Heru, I’m disappointed in you, neither have taken the time to come see me. Am I so bad that you are ashamed of me?” She smiled darkly, her eyes narrowing a bit as the wide toothed grin both had seen before spread across to woman’s full lips. “For you two, my name is Etana, the honorable Sultan has asked that I look after this little party and insure that you all stay alive, personally I make no promises. Enough of that for now though, I think we will give a bit more time for the others to arrive. Surely there are more brave souls in this camp than the four of you, so until then feel free to talk amongst yourselves.” |
Pescado's snakelike head turned at the mention of his true name. There was only one person that would ever recognize the metallic tailed saurid for whom he truly was, and that was Duncan Sythe. He knew the true nature of the saurid was not one of a murderous beast, but then again, he also probably knew the saurid had some problems of his own to deal with, internal struggles and all of that. The powermonger turned to look towards Duncan, and allowed his emerald gaze to settle upon him. "I prefer the name Kri'Sri'Kalosssssss nowadaysssss, but call me what you wissssssh..." he said briefly, his mind still elsewhere thinking about the Xet, and about the saurid history he had learned when he was much much younger. "I didn't know that you were apart of thissssss group," said the saurid, his body turning towards Duncan, his right arm hanging there useless, and his left arm holding the spear he happened to be carrying. The bound saurid knew they were in trouble, and knew he himself was in trouble just for being on the opposite side of the law at the moment, but didn't know if Duncan would, or could do anything about it. He had sent his daughter to parlay with Alexis about certain subjects, mainly helping to move the Saurid mounds to the eastern borders of Arakmat, but then again, he hadn't heard word from Ra'Ssss'ni yet, in hopes of what was good news. "Eitherway, glad you could come, if the rumorssssss happen to be all but true..." the saurid then said, his eyes downcast towards the ground briefly before looking back up towards Duncan. It was then that a lady arrived, and seemed to know Duncan and the elf personally. Allowing his gaze to look up towards her, the saurid quickly said to Duncan under his breath, "I believe sssssshe meansssss to ssssspeak with you..." As he spoke, his s's were a bit more silibant, than normal, as he was unsure of how to act now that he had been made out to be who he really was, and not by his former name... |
Still quite shaken from the ordeal of that fateful darkening, Tiarela Iceglitter and Sir Aslan approached the forming group with reservations about whether or not they should be there. However, the back of her mind tingled with remembrance that Iallea’ryn could make use of this Xet thing and the absolute terror it could provoke. This would indeed prove useful… as long as the waking form of the little Guaan survived. She approached with reserved silence, eyes only glancing about her every now and again to make sure that legionnaires and giant bugs who lived in metal buildings in jungles… or was it jungles made of metal? Were not at the present able to jump out and slit her throat or steal Aslan for their own. Of Aslan, it could be said that the Cabbit was noticeably apprehensive of what had come before, when he had to save his pet’s life. His nose twitched often, eyes darting about him as he half hopped half walked after Tiarela, keeping close out of an instinctive desire to protect the frail little creature. Eyes catching a glint of the metallic tail she had seen only once before, and Tiarela’s eyes widened as her mouth gave a half smile. The lizard from before that had summoned the sweet-tasting snot dragon. Delightful. It was a shame Willow was not here to assist in the explosion of Xet heads. One other form, besides Nimavel, who Tiarela purposefully avoided given how capable and ferocious the man could be (and that was something Tiarela both respected and felt the need to avoid) that the Faerie recognized: Duncan Sythe. And oddly, she recognized Duncan Sythe for who Duncan Sythe actually was, considering they had met one particular time in Arios when he was not under some ridiculous illusion… and she had fallen off or perhaps onto his boot. There was also another time that Tiarela had hidden in his cloak, and his pocket. Duncan had also gotten her off of Arios in that freak storm that proceeded to follow her there… and back to Ethgan’tor. Fluttering up behind them, Aslan in tow, Tiarela cleared her throat and gave Pescado a tired but cheesy smile. She waved a hand in the air at him and said, ”Have any more issues with dragons exploding into candy-boogers lately Mr. Lizard?” before noticing that she was not the only Faerie present. Tiarela regarded Amber quietly for a moment, sizing her up (a literal statement, considering she was nearly half Tiarela’s size)… But one could have even said that they were related. Both had blueish wings and black hair. Of course, Tiarela would be quick to disagree with this relation, citing that their wings were of starkly different colors and black hair was a common trait amongst families. Also, given the revelation about her bloodline… It was hard to say that her line had actually progressed any further than Tiarela herself in the past hundred and fifty Eras. And quickly to Duncan, before he could depart to speak with Etana, she added, ”Allo’abe, Mister Sythe.” with a small incline of her head. Should she catch Nimavel’s eyes, he would get a small nod too, and quick, quick diversion of the eyes… For despite all he had done to essentially save Squad One previously, Tiarela was still afraid he was going to break her like a twig with that steely gaze and shroud of complete badassery. |
[nomedia="[MEDIA=youtube]ikQXY4qnFNs[/MEDIA]"]YouTube - The Gael - Albannach[/nomedia] The cool damp of fresh air, alive and saturating clouded over the horizon. Cold coastal climes were blowing in. Generations of the Inovantes tribe had tested themselves against the environ, driven by a will to acclimate and enjoin the harsh land. Alden felt it prudent to dress down when the chance afforded, where furs would have little use to the comforts of light and supple leather alone. His bare feet toed the wet ground cover, placing him somewhere in the medley of adventurers. There were many missing faces, their fates unknown or undecided. He breathed a memory of them, but did not linger to wonder on the thought. The rumors had filtered through many of the camps warriors, infiltrating fire circles in whispered and hushed tones, or in contrast, with terror and delirium, men visibly frightened by what were obvious signs of the fabled enemy; the Xet.The barbarian seemed in rare form by the matter, heightened with a sense of life, his thoughts precise and turning to a prophetic manner of assessing. The young savage had been tasked by his tribe to seek out the wisdom of the gods, and to contemplate their ways, and much of his journey had walked him through the seasonal cycles of Carmelya via the metaphors. His journey was compelled by Nature the whole way it seemed, even as he stood at this threshold, detoured from his path in to the Heart of The Forest. Every fiber of his body felt a presence of great omens. The ancestors, they were all there, watching their Son of The North. The Xet. The mere thought of them brought the barbarian closer to the gods. The gods brought him to their battlefield. There had been a great change taking place in the mindset of Alden over the course of the last few cycles, and thoughts had turned chiefly to battle. The culture of war and victory called to him, and the hunger to rise to the occasion left him insatiable. It was in his blood, and tribe commanded it. He radiated sacrifice in his own silent way, and believed the purpose of his tribes geas has provided him with every omen worthy of this moment. Many faces of power were present, many people of skill, and much was at stake. The whispers of the fair one called Nimavel had spoke of certain death on the battlefield. The words and common knowledge of Duncan Scythe spoke of mastery, arcane force, and ordinations of experience. The rumor of political power play, and intrigues to imply the Nairu and elves left him clinging to his oath, and the honor he placed upon finishing the task. The presence of Royals could surely stir such a remote land as this, so far and so independent from the throne at a distance. Through all of those obstacles there he stood, a raider's ship caught in the storm. Shores of glory awaited though. Which one of them would deal the blow? How many of them would it take to make that blow count? What would a man be measured by if he held the head of a Xet in his grasp, and laid it before the wondering masses? What fire would he be forged from? The barbarian inwardly radiated a sense of veneration, visibly proud to be here. From across the realm he was called to be here, and every step out of Boergnar, from Jaedaxia, Trysvale, Solace Isle, Paxia, the mountains, and Kesmek was steering him toward a true test of contemplating the gods, and learning from their wisdom, and offering service where opportunity presented itself. Those were the exact tenets of the geas bestowed upon him. He had not understood their full meaning, but every step seemed to lead him unerringly toward the extremes of reality. It was much to absorb in such a short time, but through the span of a season he stood in a deathly crux. He looked to the mist in the sky, and could hear in its depths the war songs of the Great Hall. The sky was chill, wet, and the wind blew with purpose. The ancestors of his land were here in the air. No Vagaran could have been given a greater opportunity to enter the same battlefield with such a foe as the Xet. Warriors of the old ways could only dream of such a death. Men of the tribes were known to give their lives just to land one first blow upon a great enemy; something made up of fear and respect co-mingled. The barbarian's glossed-over expression revealed his immersion in visions of ages long ago. The barbarian believed with all his heart that he had chosen the right battle. The prayers, songs, and sacrifice had been answered. |
The collective group stood for about a quarter candlemark waiting for any more to show. Here and there the last of their squadron wandered in. There were eight in total; Nimavel the shadowy assassin, Tiarela and Amber two fae who had much in common but were also very different, Kri’Sri a suarid with his mysterious secrets, Duncan the puppet master and manipulator of minds, Alden the wandering barbarian, and Etana their leader. The arrival of the eighth was the signal which the cat like woman had been waiting for. From the mist emerged a brutish man smeared with coal to darken his pale flesh and hair that burned like the flames of any strong forge fire. A long curving bow at his back and a single bladed woodsman’s axe at his side seemed to be the weapons of choice for the second uncivilized of their group. Alden had met him once before, in the brightenings that preceded his first mission, a man from the mountains with a namesake befitting his appearance. “This is Pyre, he will be our guide, and with his arrival it seems we are ready to face death now.” Etana’s voice purred as she turned and followed the burly man into the mist, simply assuming the rest would follow. Taking up a small pack that had been just out of sight, she imagined that the others would have what was needed to survive. As word had spread of the encounter those who had been asked to join were also told that they would be in the wilderness for some unknown amount of time. It meant that each would be in need of basic essentials for the journey, food, water skins, perhaps a blanket to keep warm in the chill darkening air were the very least of what they should have. What each actually brought was up to them, some would likely have chosen little others a need to bring too much, it was a careful judgment call to be made, bring to little and suffer, bring too much and fall behind. Whatever the case their leader was likely to let them lay in the beds they made. While they marched the fog refused to lift, it covered the land like a blanket wrapped about a child. The half vaporized water continued to seep into their clothes and mixed with the thin beads of sweat forming upon their brows. It was a hard hike over the rolling hills of the land as Etana pushed them continually forward. Her body was a testament to fitness, her pace one that bordered a jog as they cut through the lands and the entire time the burly scout lead the way, backtracking his earlier path. She did not seem to worry at whether there was anyone, or rather anything, lurking in the fields and further did not seem to care who had followed, or in what way. The only thing the woman seemed to be sure of was their direction and pace. “We march for six candlemarks, then we shall stop. Our pace will slow at that point as Pyre has only found clues of our scouts to that length. We eat, and then move on until we can walk no more. That will be where we set our camp for the darkening.” She announced at last, giving them direction to their course of action. It was going to be a long brightening and only the gods knew what was ahead in that mysterious veil of shadows. |
Few were the brightenings when Nimavel Mynendil’s stoic visage capitulated to emotion, but as the Grandmaster of Demir Kum stalked towards him like a feline in human form, the elf lord could not mask his surprise. The corner of his mouth subsequently curled into a half-grin as his lavender eyes roamed her deadly features. “Lady Etana,” He greeted with a curt nod. “I would have visited much sooner had I known you were in the area.” The elf lord confessed. Indeed, as Etana had agreed to be his eyes and ears in the Province of Arakmat, Nimavel was most interested in learning all that had happened in the region since his last visit. Perhaps it was the psychological effect of seeing the formidable woman again, but he felt a sharp pain suddenly lance through the bridge of his nose, which she had shattered during their duel several eras prior. Some wounds never healed. “Your presence will be . . . most welcomed,” The assassin candidly said as his Shadow Gaze heralded the arrival of the other members of the group. He glanced briefly to the human who Etana had called Duncan, a man whom Nimavel was neither acquainted nor familiar with. There was something about the nondescript human that was innately puzzling, but the Heru Mynendil could not quite place a scarred finger on it. Perhaps it was the fact that Duncan was a human. The elf lord wore an invisible frown. The last human who Nimavel had traveled with, Limbus, had been more useless than an umbrella with dozens of holes in it. As Etana introduced herself to the remaining adventurers, Nimavel stole the opportunity to segregate himself once more. He returned Tiarela’s quick nod with a glance, one that conferred minimal acknowledgment. Other than her and Etana, the assassin was familiar with no others in the group, and thus he opted to refrain from socializing while his prospective comrades mingled and reunited with one another. Ever the lone wolf and apathetic towards the majority of mankind, he was most relieved when Pyre arrived and Etana indicated that the group would be departing. He followed in silence as usual, one hand assigned to his traveling bag and the other hidden beneath the folds of his raven-colored long coat. Nimavel did not mind the fog so much, not when his Shadow Gaze enabled him to weave around the terrain’s obstacles as if he were strolling in broad daylight. He kept a stable pace behind the gliding Etana, whose fluid movements continued to impress him despite all that he knew about her already. As she explained their route, he replied with a tacit nod, his thoughts far more concerned with what awaited them than how they planned on getting there. |
Amber glanced at the other members of the group, but saw no faces she was particularly familiar with, other than Kri’Sri’Kalos who had been part of the same expedition as hers a few days ago. Duncan she had met before as well, but as he had been in one of his guises when they met, she did not recognize the mystic. When Tiarela sized her up, she wondered what the other Fae was thinking. If camp rumours had not informed her yet, the three rings on her fingers should make it obvious enough that she was a Necromancer. Since she had been accepted as a member of the Acrane Council, Amber no longer saw a reason to hide. Most Faeries had a notorious dislike for the Sphere of Death however, so she would stay clear of her for the time being, not interested in provoking enmity unneeded. A long flight was tiring and when you had to carry food and beverage for a few days worth, it was not something Amber could keep up for long. Fortunately, she would not be flying a whole lot. Her Spirit Minion spell was probably the most useful one she had created so far. It allowed her to pick up human sized objects – such as the rations she had taken with her – and do other things that were difficult for a Fae living in a Human’s world such as opening doors. On top of that, being an advanced form of the Spirit Shield, if offered her protection from basic assaults as well as the cold. It was a bit chilly to the touch, but nonetheless it was a much loved spell during the Vortex winters, and now it proved its use against the chill darkening air. Having been put in an enchantment, she needed it and turning it off when not. Right now, she had formed the bottom half into a crude pair of legs and the top half into a seat of some sort, allowing her to travel comfortably and without tiring. When the six hour candlemark march was announced, Amber sighed softly. Not that it would be a very tiring trip for her, but she had become used to travelling great distances at great speed. She flew closer to Etana as they were walking. Her shadow walk would be too draining on her to guide the whole group, especially since the sun would soon be up, and it would be confusing for this Pyre person to lead them as well, assuming the lot of them would get the hand of being turned into shadows in the first place. There were other things she could do to speed up the trip however. “Excuse me miss Etana, but could I perhaps aid our progress by a few candlemarks by providing us with horses.” They would not help beyond their first stop if Pyre needed more time to pick their path, but they could greatly reduce the time needed for the first part of the trip. “I could summon some of the... ‘untiring’ kind for a few candlemarks.” No doubt she had, as leader of the group, been informed of her skills and with the way she had put emphasis on ‘untiring’ there should be little doubt about the nature of the summon she was proposing. |
Ah the joys of the utterly unexpected, and judging by the Elf's response – the other figure addressed by Etana – not expected by him, either. Surprise on that face was a rare thing, although his own no doubt mirrored it. Yet Etana seemed to have a talent for turning up without expectation, and so.... and so what the Elf said was correct. Etana was one of the few people in his life to have fought him to a stand still. Granted, he'd not been quite working at full capacity but it was none the less an entirely impressive feat, and she'd won. “Indeed, very welcome.” Duncan offered in turn, mirroring Nimavel after taking a long, careful look at him. Out of everyone else in the group there was something about his grace that suggested it made quite a lot of sense he would know Etana out of any of them. Of course Duncan by contrast was....competent in his movements but hardly exceptional, his talents lay in other areas. Armed as he was and with supplies for the trip to come and a backpack containing a tent and all the other things one might need to survive in the desert, Duncan was as prepared as he had ever been for a trip across the sands. Not perfectly, but then with Etana around he suspected they'd be pushed well enough. “Miss Iceglitter.” was the only other thing he said, having acknowledged the small, strange little Mystic fairy and her equally strange companion with a glance... A cabbit? |
Tiarela took note of the coming of the eighth and final addition to their group: Pyre, as he was called, and the Faerie immediately saw why he was named as such. Perhaps he had been placed in one and somehow miraculously survived. Face death, Etana had said. Tiarela cringed. Death was not exactly something she felt like confronting but it seemed she and Aslan had little choice. The Faerie, after all, knew that facing it meant that if she failed to best it, she’d be standing face to face with her creator soon enough… and that woman was probably not going to be happy with her. Probably was an inept word. There was no doubt about that. Having gathered supplies in the camp previously to their departure, Tiarela was lucky in that rations for herself and for Aslan were actually not a very big hamper like they would have been for the rest of the traveling folk. Sure, her pack was considerably smaller in comparison but when one’s stomach was so small, the thing she was more packing for was the survival of the Cabbit and not of herself. The fog forced the Faerie’s eyes to squint and she wiped idly at her arms every now and again, the exposed skin collecting the dew in a way she found slightly irritating. Luckily despite Etana’s push of those who walked upon the land, Tiarela found it considerably easier to surpass the hills. The only hindrance was poor Aslan, who had to walk amongst them. Perhaps she should have asked if someone would pick him up so he didn’t get left behind. Considering Nimavel’s already expressed dislike for him though, the Faerie had thought against it and occasionally tossed him a nut or a tiny piece of a ration to entice him ever forward along their path. As Etana paused to announce their march, Tiarela felt her heart drop a little. Six candlemarks! Luckily Aslan had experience with long treks, considering the Faerie had picked him up in Demios of all places and here they were on the clean other half of the Kingdom a few months later. She said nothing, however, but would request that someone – anyone help her out if Amber did indeed summon those horses and that was how they were supposed to proceed… specifically with picking up Aslan to put him on one of the blasted things, since she herself could not manage. An idle thought went to how Aslan was going to need some imbuements and enchantments of his own… Something she would look into as long as they survived this, anyway. |
Death would come to them, at least one of them, the saurid was not looking to get out of this alive, given the nature of his binding, as well as his only basic experience with a spear. It would be nearly useless against the Xet. The most he could offer the group was knowledge of the Xetan's weakpoints, and the tactics used by the saurid against them. It was not much, but if asked, he would provide the lore of his ancestors, the Xetan conflict that they had undergone eras and patterns ago. Hopefully Ra'Ssss'ni would get the message to the other tribes about the Xet being here, but if not, Pescado might have to try to get out of it alive and with Rak's blessing to stay alive. He was a power-monger, a changer of fates, and this event would prove it. He was sure of it, but then again, he didn't know what exactly it would prove if he died. Perhaps that he was just to weak to defend his race, or perhaps that he wouldn't be able to defend them in their time of need. Marching with the rest of them, he chose to be solemnly alone, walking away from the group, much like the elf, but keeping his senses alert, so as to make sure that whatever was out there, hopefully wouldn't sneak up on him, or the group. He was quite sure that others would notice it before him though. Emerald eyes downcast upon the ground, he didn't speak another word to Duncan, for he didn't have to. The man knew in particular what they were going up against, and was quite aware of their impending doom. The power-monger would remain silent much of their trek, and hopefully his silence, and focus on Rak would be answered when the time came. Hopefully, the planetar he held so high in regards would see him for what he was, a powerful being and individual that could change the fate that was lying before them, a fated death... |