Fantasy cassari, the spiderweb — roleplay [open]

The sun had barely risen over the horizon, a subtle chill to the windless air. Within an hour the landscape would be washed clean with light and blinding heat. The dry air of the summer months was always ruthless, often more so than the cool darkness of night and the terrors it brought. Cerdiwen sat atop her bay stallion, assessing the wastelands with a trained eye. The stallion was an anxious one, constantly shifting and pacing but by the goddess he could run. Technically, he was company property, ‘Whirlwind’ they called him. Fast enough to outpace a sandstorm, a perfect fit for Silas’ little wraith. Although, she wasn’t that little these days.
Silas, or informally known as ‘The Blackblood Reaper’, had scouted her when she was a teenager. She had just started out as another piece of fresh-meat to him, he needed a scout and she could provide. Over time they had formed a professional relationship, akin to a friendship at times. She scouted for his important resource hauls, he paid her. Part of that job was the anxious stallion beneath her, who was probably too green for the jobs they did together. She couldn’t use him for anything but jobs, they were strict on leisure time when it came to investments. In return though… they ended up with an under-ridden, green, anxious mess of a stallion that she had to deal with.

Cerdiwen shifted in the saddle, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead as the sun rose higher. The wolf furs she wore to combat the cold of the night were becoming too heavy. Hood still up, she flexed her shoulders to let the layer fall off. Listening as the Vampyr Tribe morning bustle started up, she tucked the furs into her saddle bag. Silas was late, they were supposed to set off before the heat set in. She had never known him to be late, which worried her. She had been asked two days in advance to be waiting in Vampyr for this job, it wasn’t like Silas to flake on her. Especially when it came to her travelling alone through the wastes to get to a job.
Things in Bluewyrm had been rough when she left, with the summer heat the rivers supply had slowed. The water was unclean, muddy, stagnant. She would spend hours boiling her share just so she knew she’d have enough for all the journeys. The harvest had been bad this year too, too many attacks to Daar Tribe and Orcalith Tribe. The Wasteland beasts were either getting more cocky or bigger in number. There had been talk of the increase in attacks, the way the beasts were pushing their territories onto Tribe lands.

There was a clacking of many hooves on the hard stone path behind her which pulled Cerdiwen from her thoughts. Turning around, she recognised the face of Silas. He sat atop his grey mare, as scruffy and gruff looking as the day she first met him. Slowly turning Whirlwind, Cerdiwen tilted her head to the side. Behind Silas was a group of his workers, all hardy built men and women. The protection, warriors cut from the desert sands itself. They never bothered to get to know Cerdiwen, despite having worked together for years. They recognised her as an outcast, plus there was the reputation that followed her being a scout. Scouts weren’t meant to last long, at least not as long as she had. They feared her, her dark eyes, quiet nature and the symbols of Nellaser she carried in her pocket.
Behind them was one of the fanciest sand skiffs Cerdiwen had ever laid her eyes on, it was built from a reflective metal that camouflaged it among its surroundings. She could’ve sworn it was accented with gold, the mast standing high twinkling in the morning light. The sails held the symbol of a spider web, made from red and gold pigment. Cassari. The royal sigil. Cerdiwen took a moment to eye the Ox that pulled the skiff, their harnesses made from quality leather. The metal that hooked them to the skiff looked to be made from gold too.

“You’re late,” Cerdiwen said dryly to Silas as he paused beside her. His scarred and sun-worn face crinkled with the slightest bit of amusement in response.
“I’m sure you can imagine why,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at the royal sand skiff. Cerdiwen followed his gaze, purposely ignoring his warriors who sneered at her.
“Hardly,” she said quietly in response, looking back to him. “What is going on here? Pity resources from Thellone? Is that why you’ve got your best bastards lined up?”
Silas offered her a grim look in response.
“Careful,” he breathed, but Cerdiwen took note of the way he barred his teeth. “As if they would care that much,” he said under his breath. Cerdiwen raised an eyebrow.
“We are escorting King Thellone’s advisor, he’s been travelling the river and back again making an important announcement on behalf of the king.”
“What kind of announcement?” Cerdiwen asked, furrowing her brows as she glanced back at the royal skiff.
“I don’t know, kid. I don’t pay attention to that stuff.” Silas replied roughly, then paused. Cerdiwen took notice that he seemed like he was about to say something more. Then a shrewd voice rang out from the royal skiff, causing all of the company to turn their heads.

“Blackblood. Does this look like a family reunion? We have a schedule, we’re already two hours behind—“ A skinny, pale man spoke. He stood upon the skiffs deck, royal robes and all. The quality was almost as sickening as his skin. The working tribes didn’t have the luxury of clean, pale skin. They were all worn out by the sun and sand.
“We are behind because you insisted on breakfast,” Silas interrupted, which gained a few chuckles from the warriors. Cerdiwen held her tongue, watching as the mans pale skin went to an angered pink.
“Regardless, Blackblood, we need to get moving. Now.”
“If you insist,” Silas sighed, turning back to Cerdiwen. “Listen kid, there’s a war brewing. Don’t get involved, keep your head down. You’re a good rider, a good scout too. Now, run like the fucking wind and maybe we’ll all live to see another day.”
Cerdiwen didn’t respond, instead starting at the scarred, older man for a moment, then to the line of warriors and royal skiff. Whirlwind didn’t hesitate for a moment as she nudged him forward with her heel, galloping into the Wasteland.

———————————

The uneventful trip that Cerdiwen had hoped for was quickly crushed. She knew it was foolish to hope for peace in a place such as the Wastelands, but an easy job was her favourite. She was about five minutes ahead of the main pack, the midday sun beating down on her back. She had shed most of her layers, left only with a hooded shirt, pants and her boots. Whirlwind was growing tired and thirsty, his nose and mouth crusted with sand.
Letting out a sharp breath, she pulled on the reigns pulling Whirlwind to a halt. She pulled out her water, pouring some into her hand. Leaning forward, she held her hand under Whirlwinds mouth allowing him to lick the water from her hand. Her skin felt sticky, thick with sweat and grime. Taking another handful of water she used it to clean her face, then took a swig from her bottle.

Tucking her bottle back away, Cerdiwen squinted at the path ahead of her. Through the sand there was a permanently carved path. At some point in the history of the Riverian Kingdom the paths had been scouted, reused and trekked. They were the safest routes to take, avoiding known beast dens and were sure to end in the destination in mind. Cerdiwen had travelled these paths hundreds of times, yet every time she rode it, it seemed to change. New sands would blow it and new land marks would form. Sometimes she would have to go off path to avoid a beast, it was just all in a days work. Sometimes, Cerdiwen did find herself admitting it was boring to her. The constant nothing, waking up to risk her life for what? Some more money in her pocket? It was a cruel reality, but she could never see herself doing anything else.
Sighing through her nose, she went to kick Whirlwind back into a trot when she felt something. Well, a lack of something. The desert was silent, not even the whispering of sand in the wind. The desert had gone dead. The wind was gone, no sharp dry currents shooting into her.
That was not good.
The royal skiff had been using the wind to propel it forward, they would have to get out the Ox for however long this dry spell lasted. It was always dangerous when these windless patches popped up, travelling slowly was a death sentence.

Cerdiwen was about to turn Whirlwind around to warn the party, when she heard a grunt. Whirlwind twitched beneath her as they both silently recognised the sound. In her distracted moment of contemplating the lack of wind, Cerdiwen had failed to notice the black mass ahead of her. A large, male Karkadann had stumbled onto the path. Karkadann’s were herbivores, not extremely touchy. The slightest movement or violence around them could set them into a frenzy. She felt Whirlwind twitch beneath her against, silently praying to Nellaser that he wouldn’t bolt.
Luckily the Karkadann hadn’t noticed their presence yet, not did it pay attention as they swiftly turned and galloped back to the group.

It didn’t take her long to reach them, Silas seeing her as soon as she rounded the corner. He held up his hand, telling the group to halt as Cerdiwen pulled a spooked, panting Whirlwind to a stop in front of them.
“Why are we stopping? Girl, what is the meaning of this?” She could hear the grumbling of King Thellone’s advisor. Silas waved his hand dismissively as the man, as if to silence him. “What do you think you’re doing? I am the advisor of King—“
“What is wrong, Wendy?” Silas asked as Cerdiwen caught her breath, looking behind herself to make sure she wasn’t followed.
“The wind, it completely cuts off around the corner. Dead spot.” She replied breathlessly. Silas frowned, following her gaze.
“Well, get the Ox then! We are prepared for this, are we not?” The advisor was still spouting, the ring of warriors rolling their eyes. Silas grabbed Cerdiwen’s wrist to grab her attention.
“We need to push back, there’s a Karkadann on the path. Male. Massive. It’ll total the skiff if we get too close,” Cerdiwen said to Silas, her eyes finding his.

While this was happening, the royal advisor was already ordering the Ox to the front. Cerdiwen watched Silas visibly clench his teeth as he whipped around.
“Put them back!” He yelled at the men already unloading the Ox.
“What is the meaning of this, Blackblood?” The advisor seethed in response, Silas ignored him.
“Get that skiff turned around, pull it out of sight! You lot,” he shouted, pointing at his group of hired muscle, “Form a line, prepare yourselves. One Karkadann, aim for the belly!”
Silas’s attention turned to Cerdiwen as the organised chaos ensued, she could hear the advisor grumbling as the Ox were forced back onto the skiff.
“Draw it towards us, take it up on the cliffs there. We’ll shoot arrows into its belly,” Silas told her, motioning to some cliffs to their left. Cerdiwen nodded, tightening her grip around the reigns in her hands.
“You run that horse to it’s breaking point, you hear me? Fly like the world itself is opening up after you. We can’t fuck this one up, Cerdiwen.” Cerdiwen nodded stiffly in response, guiding Whirlwind forward. She didn’t bother looking back as she approached the corner.

With sweating hands, she untied the knot holding up her saddle bag. She would need the least amount of weight to make this work. Settling back down in the saddle, she listened as the voices of the party slowly faded away. Turning the corner, she felt the sweltering heat increase as the wind disappeared. Cerdiwen could feel Whirlwind tensing beneath her, breath shortening as they approached the Karkadann. One would expect her to have certain feelings of fear or terror approaching such a beast, but Cerdiwen was often one to suppress such feelings. Even if there was a sickening feeling in her stomach, she could put those emotions on hold.
The Karkadann raised its head from the bush it was nibbling on, black beady eyes assessing her as she grew closer. It looked as if it were going to ignore her, be docile and put it’s head back down. She knew better, but still fell for the trap of growing closer. Whirlwind stumbled on a rock, his last nerve breaking. The stallion reared up, squealing in terror. Ceridwen held on, guiding the horse back to solid land, but it was too late. The beady eyes of the beast had moved, a giant horn had taken its place. And it was charging directly towards them.
“One for sorrow,” Cerdiwen muttered under her breath as Whirlwind sprung into action beneath her, sprinting down the path on course for the ambush.

——————————

Bluewyrm was a shithole if Cerdiwen had ever seen one. The streets were made from dirt and clay, houses scattered across the barren landscape. Most were made from clay too, shaped into small boxes with hanging cloth for doors. The river was close by, ankle depth due to the summer heat and muddy too. In the centre of the tribe was the courtyard, it had the benefit of being made from stone. A large house stood a the head of it, a large bell a top of it. In the centre of the courtyard was a platform, only really used for announcements of auctions. Around the tribe people bustled, working hard. Shop keepers had their pop up stalls, the stables grooming the sand off the horses fresh from the Wastelands. Somewhere in the distance, Cerdiwen could hear the drunken singing of people in the tavern.
That was to be quickly interrupted, somehow the party had managed to take down the massive Karkadann. She could see Silas attempting to sell off its leather and shell to a group of shopkeepers down the street. The Kings Advisor had made his way into the house with the bell, Chief Catun’s house. Ceridwen was chewing a soft apple, leaning on a post in the courtyard. Whirlwind had been stabled and she had been paid. She was just anticipating the bell to start ringing, to signal an announcement.

Like clockwork, Cerdiwen watched as a young boy scampered to the top of the building, the loud sound of ringing sounding out. It didn’t take long for everyone to gather. Half of them had been eyeing up the royal skiff nearby, probably hoping for extra supplies. Cerdiwen followed the crowd who gathered around the platform, standing next to a group of drunk men near the front. She watched as the Kings Advisor took the stage, next to Chief Catun. He looked sickly pale again, a look of self importance on his face. Cerdiwen bit her cheek to stop herself from smirking. The faces that stared up at him weren’t ones of respect, they were hungry. They were angry. They had respect for Catun, but this man? He might as well be their next meal. She could already see a group of bounty hunters opposite her basically licking their metaphorical claws in anticipation.

“Greetings, Bluewyrm Tribe. My name is Belator, Advisor of our King Thellone. I am here to make an important announcement—“
“Is it more food? Water?” A voice called out from the crowd. Belator chuckled.
“No, no, it is more important than that—“
“More important than water? We are starving out here while—“ The crowd burst into outrage, shifting around like sand in a duststorm. Cerdiwen smiled to herself as she was jostled around with the rest of the crowd. The shouting grew louder as Belator looked at Chief Catun in disbelief, muttering something to him Cerdiwen could not make out.
“Enough!” A shout rang out from Catun, stepping to the front of the platform. The crowd quietened and stilled. “King Thellone has sent a message for us all to receive. If you will not listen, then I shall tell you. Settle down.” Chief Catun paused, as if waiting for any objections.

“The King is offering an opportunity for any warriors. He is requesting a group of the finest warriors from each tribe. These warriors will all be entered into a trial, which is to the death. Each team will compete until only one is left standing, there is money, luxury and glory on the line. King Thellone is offering a personal, military quest to the winners. He hopes to wage war.” The was a long pause of silence once Catun finished speaking, then the crowd burst into yelling once more.
“Why would we want that?”
“Why more war, have we not lost enough already?”
“We are starving and he wants war?”

“Remember,” Catun yelled over the commotion, “Remember how we got here? King Arathund barred us from the lake, from the life source! He took it from us and left us to the scraps, the Wastelands! It is not King Thellone’s fault that we are here, it is King Arathund! We will not die quietly or weakly, we will not be buried in this sand! That lake is our birthright, and it is ours to take!” Shouts of agreement followed Catun, Cerdiwen looked around, hardly impressed. She caught Silas’ eye across the crowd, he just shook his head. Stay out of it, right.
“King Arathund is dead! Their kingdom is weak, his son, King Arinholm is just a boy! Younger than my own daughter! How can he lead a kingdom? He can’t! So we will reclaim what is rightfully ours, who here will take the honour of volunteering?”

The crowd was riled up, people cheering on Catun, others pushing forward to volunteer. The crowd pushed back to make a clear space for the volunteers to step forward. Cerdiwen followed suit in stepping back, watching as Silas made sure none of his muscle volunteered. In fact, she was so focused on Silas that she didn’t notice the group of drunk men beside her shoving each other around. With a dull whack, the Cerdiwen was shoved forward by a misplaced shove. Adjusting her footing, she looked up to realise she was in the cleared space.
“Our first volunteer!” Chief Catun roared.

Beau screwed his eyes shut as his face was ground into the sand. It coated the inside of his nose and crunched between gritted teeth when he grunted. A sharp knee dug into his spine and he could feel hot, sour breath against his neck. At first his struggles only added to the pain, burning sand scraping his skin raw as he tried to claw himself free but then the pressure on his back shifted a fraction of an inch and without stopping to think Beau slammed his head back with as much force as he could manage, straight into the face of his attacker. It made his own head throb dully but it seemed to do the trick as they let out a howl of pain and rolled off him.

“Dickhead!” Kalen touched his nose gently, smearing some of the blood across his lips when he flinched. A bruise was already blooming across his tan skin and he gave a defeated hiss of pain as he slammed his fist back into the sand.

Beau wheezed with laughter as he hopped to his feet, whatever ill will he held forgotten in the face of his victory. His cousin accepted his hand when it was offered and the two of them stumbled to the scant shade offered by his uncle’s house. “It’s not like it can make you any uglier, calm down.” The two of them settled onto the soft sand, their heavy breathing slowly matching as Beau rested his head on Kalen’s shoulder. Beau burrowed a hand deeper into the sand, searching for the cool pockets that hid beneath the surface. “Anyways, you ran up on me first.”

“So? I didn’t draw blood.” A whine dragged through Kalen’s voice but the matter was settled. It was too hot to go after each other with any enthusiasm and neither of them could really remember what had set Kalen off in the first place. Most likely it’d been nothing at all, just another impulse they could blame on the vague, restless tension that been putting all of them on edge. Summers were always hard but there was something particularly dragging about this one. Even the beasts that prowled around the edges of their land seemed to feel it- they were ragged and angry and bold and for each one they slaughtered or scared off two more would take their place. Their own petty squabbles were rarely more than a way to pass the time, keeping themselves sharp for when something bigger came along. And it seemed like something huge was closing in on them today.

Beau wiped a thin mustache of sweat from his face as he squinted towards the main town. The air shimmered with heat, turning the scene into an odd watercolor blur. From where they sat he could just make out the vague movement of people and he felt his eyes droop as Kalen prattled on about some trader he’d been trying to bed. Despite the easy routine they carried out it was clear there was some kind of commotion in the town and when the bell sounded it wasn’t much of a surprise. The two of them ambled off towards the town square, other Wilmores joining them as they made their way past their family’s homes. They flowed together like water, everyone hopping between different threads in one large conversation. Most of it was rumor surrounding the strangers that’d arrived in their tribe.

That familiar warmth and noise enveloped Beau as they clustered at the back of the crowd. He spotted his father near the front of their group, arms crossed tight across his chest as he glared at the royal skiff. Jon’s lips barely moved as he murmured something to one of his brothers and Beau strained to pick up on at least a few words. Before he could wiggle through the bodies to take his place at his father’s side an arm wrapped around his shoulder and he jumped when Fia tugged a stand of hair that hung loose from his bun.

“Didja see that massive kark they hauled in?” Excitement pitched her voice higher than usual and Beau leaned into her touch, finally tearing his eyes away from his father.

“That doesn’t look like a hunter’s skiff.” Beau licked his chapped lips as he scanned the crowd. The tension that had weighed on him for weeks was kicked to a fever pitch by the excitement and he shifted his weight back and forth as the crowd tightened around them.

“The kid’s a goddamn genius.” She easily dodged the elbow Beau threw at her, switching over to a chokehold as he stumbled. “Swear to Maeliah, if that thing doesn’t have water on it I’m gonna break it down for scrap.” They both fell silent as the stranger from Cassari began to speak, though they joined in on the shouts when the crowd grew angry. Even as Fia’s arm crushed his throat Beau found the air to scream. Like most people from Bluewyrm they were used to scraping by with whatever scraps the Wastelands offered but they had enough pride to respond in turn to condescension from those who’d never known real hunger or thirst.

But when Catun began to speak Beau could feel his heart pounding like it did whenever he faced down a beast. It was a thrilled buzz of energy and nerves that made him feel violently alive, all of his muscles tensed for action. Luxury meant nothing to him and there were a thousand ways to earn money. But glory was harder to come by. None of his family could claim they’d gone to war and what bigger bounty was there than Lake Ouroboros? He was dimly aware of Fia’s arm tightening around him and he started to squirm despite her hushed efforts to restrain him.

When the call for volunteers came he finally slipped free and Fia groaned. “It’s a suicide mission, don’t be stupid-“ If she said anything more convincing Beau couldn’t hear it. He was deafened by the roar of his own blood as he shoved his way through the crowd, nearly tripping over himself in his hurry. Somehow he knew this was the thing he’d been waiting for and for maybe the first time in his life he moved with a singular purpose.

He hastily brushed at the dirt and dust on his clothes as he approached the clearing. Belator was the cleanest thing he’d ever seen and he was suddenly aware of the sand still clinging to the raw patch on his cheek, wet with sweat and blood. Was everyone there like that? And how the hell did anyone get to be an advisor looking like a newborn scorpion? Beau knew little of the people of Cassari aside from what his father said about them. That they were lazy, weak, foolish. It seemed unlikely that all of them were like that but Belator didn’t paint a flattering image of his people. A flutter of fear hit Beau as he broke through the wall of people. He was used to rushing into danger but not on his own. Despite the oppressive heat he felt a chill run through him as he took another step away from the people he’d known his entire life. Momentum carried him forward and he focused on the comforting weight of his sword against his leg.

It was too late for questions or doubts as Beau skidded to a stop next to the others. Being the shortest of the group was something he’d grown used to but he still stood a little straighter than usual, chest puffed out as he gave Catun what he hoped was a confident nod. A mixture of shouts and cheers rose from his family and he felt his cheeks heat as the younger children screeched his name, clambering onto their parents shoulders to watch him take his place among the volunteers.

Interactions: artfvlly

Little slivers of light passed through the straw ceiling, baking Fen’s face in a golden light; her eyes, focused. She looked to be in deep thought, occasionally swatting at the fly that was relentless in its effort to distract her. The young girl sat upon a rough mat in the center of the chief’s hut with her various rocks scatted all around her. She was carefully picking each one up, examining it with a certain intent, and sorting them based on density, shape, and the texture of its surface. Every now and again she would click her tongue and shake her head in frustration, throwing every invalid rock to the side. Was last night’s run truly a failure? Why did she have so many horrible rocks? Fen had to prepare for anything since any day could be the tribe’s last.

Even on her nightly excursions, she would notice that most creatures were closer to the tribe’s location than before. The likelihood of them getting attacked was high, and not having a stash of rocks for her slingshot prevented her from protecting everyone else.. The lids of her eyes lowered into a narrowed position, and icy blue orbs inspected her last rock thoroughly. She clicked her tongue once again and threw this particular rock farther away from the rest.

“Are you serious?” Fen muttered under her breath, placing what few rocks she had left into her leather drawstring. Perhaps she will sneak out again tonight and search for more potential ammo for her slingshot.

However, the commotion that stirred outside of the hut immediately interrupted Fen’s thoughts and brought her back to reality. She tilted her head to the side and tried to concentrate on the many voices filtering out the more important details. Once she heard her father’s voice, Fen widened her eyes slightly in curiosity and made her way outside towards the crowd. Despite attempting to force her way through the many bodies in the meeting, she could not get an unobstructed view of what was happening. Therefore, she took to relying on their voices to get the information she needed.

As Fen listened ever-so intently to her father’s announcement, she could feel her excitement grow and she could not help but grin widely through the entire thing. The only word that appealed to her, more so than luxury and money, was glory. All Fen ever wanted was to prove her worth to her tribe, and so far she was just a burden to those who went on hunts and to her own father. This was what she was preparing for, what fate was calling her to do. She was young, and inexperienced to say the very least. Of course, her father was going to shoot down her offer to volunteer. The very thought had made her falter to some extent, and for a moment she reconsidered. Though, whenever did her father’s unfair jurisdiction determine her decision-making?

She was among those who shouted her agreement with her father. The hype speech had gotten her blood pumping and made her incredibly antsy. An antsy Fen was usually not a good thing.

Light blue eyes flickered from volunteer to volunteer, some of whom she had never met before. She observed them, studied her facial features and made a note of every distinct characteristic of theirs. Fen almost admired those who stepped forward. Something she wanted to do desperately. She, too, wished to bring glory to her tribe and go on dangerous missions. This was a chance to not only take part in something greater than herself, but explore the outside of the wasteland and travel to places the rest of her tribe wouldn’t dare to venture. She was not about to let her conscience stop her from at least attempting to join the rest of the volunteers.

Once Fen decided and was set on joining, a look of determination crossed her face and she pushed herself through the rest of the crowd and to the front. On her way out, she tripped on someone’s foot and only narrowly regained her balance. Once she glanced up, she saw that she had finally made it out to the clearing. The quiet whispering of those behind her appeared to be significantly louder to her than anything else. With a deep breath and a puff of her chest, and stood straight, her fierce and defiant eyes fixed onto her own father’s pair of eyes.

She is going to take part in this competition, even if it is the last thing she does.

There will be nothing that her father can do to stop her from doing so.

One by one as a new person volunteered, Cerdiwen couldn’t help but weigh her options of sneaking away. Silas was going to kill her. She wasn’t one to seek glory or status, she was content working her days away in the wastes. There was little to no hope of her getting back alive, this was war they were talking about. There hadn’t been a war against The Lake Kingdom since… well since they were cut off.
She could see Silas staring her down from the crowd, a look of annoyance across his features. She conveniently avoided his gaze, sucking in a deep breath as she took in the other volunteers. A blonde haired kid, probably a bit younger than her, had stumbled in. A few bulky looking men too and two more women. They all looked pretty capable, maybe excluding the blonde-haired kid.

Cerdiwen sucked in a sharp breath. Bluewyrm had dug around in the scraps and found some hardened edges for this mission. From the looks of all the dirty, malnourished villagers around her…it wouldn’t be possible to just simply slip away. There was hope in their eyes, it was sad to think they thought something good could be brought from this. Silas had always told her hope was fools gold. It was hard out here, there was never an easy option.
Belator looked pretty pleased with the outcome, a crooked smirk across his punchable face. Cerdiwen wasn’t one who was quick to anger, but that man irritated her. Maybe it was the perfectly slicked back hair, whiny voice, privileged dress code. She rolled her tongue over her teeth to stop herself from scowling.

Next, her eyes fixed on Chief Catun. Cerdiwen was momentarily caught off guard as took it his expression. His once patriotic contentment had been replaced with a deep frown. Following his gaze, Cerdiwen looked to her side. Next to her stood a girl, probably no older than 15. There was a defiant look in her eyes, even just the way she held herself. It took Cerdiwen a few moments to click, but when she did she understood Catun’s dismay.
Cerdiwen didn’t know many people in Bluewyrm, she was pretty antisocial. Despite that, it was pretty well known that Chief Catun had adopted a daughter after the death of his wife. Next to Cerdiwen stood Fen Sternguard, and she had just volunteered for a suicide mission. The murmuring had already started, as if the crowd had realised at the same time as Cerdiwen.

Chief Catun turned to Belator, clearing his throat.
“Well then, it seems that you have your volunteers. Excuse my daughter, the young one. She seems to have lost her place in all the excitement.” A purposeful warning glance was sent Fens way. Cerdiwen took the moment to quickly survey her team once more. There was the blonde guy, scrawny but from the looks of it he had pouches attached to his belt. A healer maybe? The other men were large and muscular, grunts of some kind most likely. They would be good for physical combat, they all looked like they had experienced the wastes before. Hired hands maybe? She knew bounty hunters were also common in Bluewyrm. Then there were the two women, about her age and build. Hunters, scouts, rangers even? A good team, a strong team. But Cerdiwen had seen the other tribes before, she knew what people were built of out there. They wouldn’t be the strongest.

Belator and Catun exchanged some quiet words for a moment before Catun addressed the crowd.
“We will send off these warriors with a proper ceremony!” He shouted, the crowd roared in response. Belator looked content, motioning for Silas to come and help him through the crowd back to the skiff. Cerdiwen couldn’t help but smirk as Silas rolled his eyes, motioning over his muscle to help. Two of his hired muscle looked like they had taken a beating, when had that happened? With the Karkadann?

Chief Catun strode down the stairs into the courtyard, motioning for his guards to go grab what was needed. Cerdiwen hadn’t lived in Bluewyrm long enough to be accustomed to their warrior rites. She anxiously swallowed, eyes darting to Fen. Chief Catun paused in front of her, a small sigh escaping his lips.
“You. You stay by my side, you can watch but you’ve caused enough trouble.” His voice was stern but gentle. Cerdiwen watched as he tentatively patted Fen’s shoulder guiding her away from the line of volunteers. Chief Catun then turned to address the group.
“Thank you all for volunteering for your tribe. We will supply you with free resources for the trip to Cassari. I would recommend getting to know each other tonight before your trip, decide what route to Cassari you will take.”

Cerdiwen found herself silently nodding in response, glancing to the others.
“We could meet in the tavern… afterwards.” She suggested, eyes locking on Chief Catun’s guards dragged forward a chained Vampyr. The crowd quickly parted to let them through, a few people screaming in shock at the sight. Cerdiwen had heard that a few days previous they had been attacked by a hoard. Catun liked to keep a few Vampyrs on hand. He used them like guard dogs around the resource centre, which was pretty smart but absolutely feral in its on way.

The guards pinned the Vampyr down with ease, using a knife to slice open its throat. Black blood flowed onto the stones of the courtyard as the crowd gasped in horror. They placed a bowl under the Vampyr’s neck to catch the blood. Chief Catun took his pouch of water from his side, muttering something under his breath as he mixed it into the black blood.
“The blood of Maeliah and Adrierdas will bless you all,” He said, walking towards the start of the line where Cerdiwen stood. Taking a finger, Chief Catun dipped it into the mixture. With a steady hand, he drew a line with the blood-water mixture down Cerdiwen’s forehead to between her eyebrows.
“One for sorrow,” Cerdiwen muttered under her breath. Catun paused for a moment, taking in what she had just said. His lips quirking into a small smile as he nodded, walking to the next person in line.

Once Catun had made his way completely down the line, he returned to stand in front of them.
“We ask Maeliah and Adrierdas to bless these warriors through their trials.” He said to the crowd, who murmured in agreement. Cerdiwen quietly clutched the Nellaser pendant she had hanging around her neck. Bless them indeed.
“We will send these warriors off at the break of dawn! In the meantime we will collect resources for them, please leave any offerings with the resource centre. Adrierdas bless you all.” Catun said, the crowd quickly departing. Cerdiwen glanced at her fellow volunteers, left alone in the courtyard.
“If you need horses, please tell the stable that I will personally purchase them for you.” Catun said, looking over to his guards who were cleaning up the squirming Vampyr. They would probably throw it into the fires now it had lost its use.
“Come, Fen. We will leave these warriors to discuss their path forward.” Catun said, motioning for Fen to go back inside. He didn’t seem to bother to check if she had followed his instruction. Instead he nodded at the group in farewell, walking in the direction of the royal skiff.

Cerdiwen took this as her opportunity to move. Avoiding eye contact with Silas, who was watching from atop the royal skiff, she walked towards the tavern. She didn’t wait to see if the others had followed her, instead finding a seat at the bar. She was going to need a drink after today. A strong one too.

Everton slowed his breathing, blinking twice. ‘We’re alright, they just killed the thing. It never had a chance to attack you.’ he convinced himself, still feeling nauseous. Knowing the blood of the thing he most feared was spread across his forehead. He wanted to scrub it off right then and there. Who cared about warrior rites, he just wanted to forget that day had ever happened.

He didn’t like the look of the others. They were all worn by the desert. Battle hardened. And he was....Everton Winter. Resident wimp, coward, near pacifist. Idiot with a sword and a plethora of other insults. People never appreciated a healer until they needed one.
Everton spoke shyly. Adriedas help him, he was an awkward desert mouse. He sorted in his pockets for his money pouch. “Would it help if I said drinks were on me?”

At the mention of a ceremony Beau went rigid. The idea hadn’t even occurred to him but when the Vampyr was dragged out before them he thought his heart might burst in his chest. It’d been a long time since Bluewyrm had cause to perform proper warrior rites and being marked in front of the entire tribe was something he’d dreamed of since he first took up a blade. The mixture was still warm as Catun dragged a finger down Beau’s forehead. Even with all his restraint he couldn’t fight back a grin broad enough to make his cheeks ache.

Then things came to a close and the crowd began to disperse and the reality of his situation began to slowly hit him. He was actually going to leave. A year ago the thought of even wanting to leave Bluewyrm would have been insane to him and he felt a little unsteady on his feet. So when the lanky blond offered to pay for drinks he suddenly found himself incredibly thirsty. “Sure helps me considerin’ I left my pouch at home.” He gave the stranger a quick pat on the shoulder. The group was already beginning to scatter and he wasn’t about to be the last one standing in the courtyard. Before he could lose the last of his bravado he took off for the tavern.

“Beau.” Jon’s low voice cut through the noise of the dispersing crowd and Beau whipped around to find his father striding towards him. They met at the side of the tavern as the rest of the Wilmores headed back to the edge of town. There was an uncharacteristic softness to Jon’s expression that made Beau’s throat tighten. “Make sure you give a proper goodbye before you leave.” He paused for a moment before he grabbed Beau by the shoulder and pulling him into a rough hug. “And bring me back one of those Lakeian bastard’s heads.” A quick clap on the back and Jon had pulled back. “Get going. You were so eager to join in, I won’t have you slowing things down.” Before Beau could give more than a nod in reply Jon walked off. After taking a second to compose himself, Beau hurried into the bar.

The woman who’d suggested the tavern was already seated at the bar. It’d been a surprise to him when she’d been the first to volunteer. She wasn’t from Bluewyrm and the fact that she’d still wanted to represent them had impressed him.

But when he joined her at the bar she didn’t look very happy with the decision and his enthusiasm waned slightly as he struggled to come up with something to say. She didn’t seem like other people all that much and he didn’t even know her name. Desperate for something to do with his hands besides stare at them, he signaled the bartender for a drink. His own silence was made all the louder by the laughter and rowdy conversation from other patrons. A thought popped into his blank, panicked mind and he turned to the woman suddenly. “So, do you think everyone from Cassari is as fuck ugly as that advisor?” Luckily his drink arrived as soon as he posed the question and he took long pull in hopes of drowning the nerves that still rattled through him. For all he knew she could be from Cassari. “I’m Beau, by the way.” He wiped one sweaty, sand covered hand on his pants before thrusting it towards the other volunteer. “I’m, uh, excited to work with you.”

Interactions: artfvlly
Fen could not help but seem taken aback by her father’s warning glance; she felt her body flinch, and her foot took an instinctive step backwards. However, she remained standing with her fists tightly clenched to her side as she glared up at her father through her eyelashes. Was she surprised? No, not at all. She knew her father would shoot her down without a moment’s notice and skip her, regardless of how well-intentioned she was. Fen suddenly felt the urge to kick at the sand below in a fit of anger, but had enough self-control to prevent that. Everyone already thought of her as childish and petty, and she would rather not confirm their biases. Instead, she took on a more dejected stance, with her arms crossed and her icy blue eyes fixated upon the ground. No matter, Fen had already decided to join these lucky few in their ventures, and she was stubborn enough to not be convinced of otherwise. A sly smirk crept onto her face, her hand reached up to swipe away some stray sand particles on her face.

“We will send off these warriors with a proper ceremony!”

A ceremony? That same excitement from earlier had then bubbled once more within Fen. At that moment, Fen truly envied those who could volunteer. Not only were they given the honor to represent the tribe, but a ceremony to celebrate their decisions, at that? She anxiously shifted her weight between each foot and began fidgeting with the ruined cloth of her clothes. Though, her eyes trailed her father’s movements and watched as he made his way towards her.

“You. You stay by my side, you can watch, but you’ve caused enough trouble.”

“I—hrm” Fen spoke up, attempting to defend her position but thought against it. She measly nodded and allowed her father’s hand to guide her. She might as well not draw too much attention to herself, especially her father. Fen was keen on sneaking out and meeting up with the volunteers early in the morning, and if she were to show signs of reckless behavior, she was certain her father would take extra precautions to prevent any mis-happenings with her until the group had left. No, she will be obedient—for once. Thankfully, she could still watch the ceremony from a safe distance away._
_ _ _

As if she was going to not stalk the group of volunteers, what kind of person did her father think she was? She followed him, only to break off from trailing him and sneak off without him noticing.

“Tavern, tavern, tavern…” Fen repeated to herself, her eyes frantically looking for any sign of the group or the Bluewyrm tavern. Once she found the tavern, she tried to find a window that was the closest to the group and listen from outside. Of course, she would have loved to introduce herself to them directly and make it clear that she wanted to come with them. Though, she could not just walk up to them as if she had not already expressed her desire to take part in the competition. That would not only send off red flags, but one of them would most likely alert her father. She had no doubt that at least one of them looked down on the idea of a 15-year-old girl traveling with them on a suicide mission, therefore she was content with eavesdropping from a hidden location.

Occasionally, Fen would peek more into the tavern and observe the features of each volunteer. It was best that she got a good look of each one, so that she could better recognize them once she left with them in the morning. She wondered about each person’s motive to volunteer, perhaps some of their values aligned with hers? Additionally, some of them she could recognize from daily outings, while others she was unfamiliar with. No matter, they will all get to know her in due time.

All she needed to listen for were their route plans, after that she would prepare herself for following them at the break of dawn. Once again, a mischievous smirk tugged at her lip corners.

Cerdiwen silently watched as the barmaid prepared her drink. She had quickly signalled her down once she was seated. The barmaid had arched an eyebrow at her when she ordered, not many folk went straight to the strong stuff. Especially at midday on a weekday, but she needed it. Scrunching up her nose, Cerdiwen felt the strong liquid burn down the back of her throat. She cast a look towards a few of the other volunteers that had entered, rolling her eyes as the blonde guy offered to buy everyone a round.
Cerdiwen was ready to contemplate her choices in a drunken state. She knew Silas would hunt her down at some point, maybe it would feel less bitter if she were completely incoherent. Although, the idea of being hungover in the beating sun of the wastes sounded awful too. Despite that, she took a long meaningful sip of her drink.
As long as the peaceful contemplation lasted, it was quickly broken by one of the volunteers sitting next to her. She chose to ignore him at first, gaze firmly fixed on the wooden bar in front of her. Then he spoke up commenting on the physical looks of citizens in Cassari, Cerdiwen snorted into her drink. Keeping her expression neutral, she looked over at him. He looked like the typical desert grunt, a bit dirty and built.

Cerdiwen didn’t comment on his sandy hands, instead shaking it in mutual understanding. She forced a ghost of a smile across her lips, nodding her head.
“Cerdiwen, nice to meet you.” She replied, taking a moment to observe him once again. “Your family lives a little out of town, right? I’m sure I’ve seen you hanging about before.”
Small talk wasn’t Cerdiwen’s greatest skill, but she was good at getting information out of people. That wasn’t her intentions in this interaction, of course, but it was what she defaulted back to. She was about to say something else to Beau but her thoughts were lost as Nicholas made his entrance. Cerdiwen visibly rolled her eyes as she turned in her seat, looking over at him.
“I could say the same to you, he doesn’t take kindly to his investments getting damaged,” Cerdiwen said coldly, taking in his beat up appearance. She had also purposely avoided his attempt at flirting and didn’t plan to stay in conversation with him for much longer.

“We might as well plan our course if everyone is here, that way we will know how many supplies we’ll need.” Cerdiwen said, fishing a small map from her pocket. She mainly used it for navigating the wastes alone, it was easy to get turned around. The map highlighted the main settlements along the river, as well as identifiable formations, known paths and known monster dens. Spreading the map on a nearby table, she used two glasses to pin down the ends and keep it flat.
“There are two paths we can take, one much shorter and dangerous than the other. Heading straight through the wastes to the north will take us 7 days maximum, but the path is barely used and more dangerous. If we follow the well worn path, it will take us around 11 days to reach Cassari. It’ll be safer and we can stop in tribes along the way for food or shelter.” Cerdiwen explained, her finger trailing the routes she suggested.

“Or if anyone else has a suggestion, now is the time.”