Fantasy Rifts [IC][Closed]

[Chaos Gallant]

Upon hearing Vera’s proposition for more pay Terrence nodded his head. “I am sure all powerful guardians still understand the value of hard workers.” He replied to Arnas while he unhitched Chowder and Abdula, walking them a few yards past the treeline. He made well sure they were barely visible from the roadside, as the others pushed the cart as far as they could maneuver it. Terrence lowered the canopy of the cart, putting a few branches and leaves to best mask the colors of it. ‘Well, better than nothing I suppose.’ Terrence could only nod in agreement with Arnas as he looked towards the cart from the road.

Terrence took note of the smell about the same time everyone else did. It was unfamiliar to him, but hearing Fraskia’s words left no doubt in Terrence’s mind, thinking back to the books about the orcish raids led against the old empires. He took out his handkerchief holding it up to cover his mouth and nose, placing his right hand over the head of his ax. “Nasty business…” He muttered softly.

 

[Oreo Cookie]

"Hells that's foul." Vera grumbled, her nose wrinkling at the unpleasant scent. "Don't think that's a smell anyone can get used to." She quickly donned her helm, an act that did little to mitigate the stench of death, but did show she was prepared for a potential confrontation. Placing a hand on the pommel of her blade, her grip tightened as they drew closer to the smoking source.

 

[Beann]

Along with the others, Aelestra helped conceal the cart as best as they could in a short amount of time. She also took some time to pet Abdula and Chowder as their reins were tied up, hoping that nothing would happen to the two of them in their absence. Her hands lifted slightly as she considered signing to the horses that they would return soon but she stopped herself, thinking it foolish to attempt to sign to an animal. Instead, she rejoined with the rest of the party and walked in silence toward the ominous smoke that lay ahead.

As the group edged closer, a particular smell filled the atmosphere, one that made her skip a step in her walk. Her eyebrows furrowed at the familiarity of it as she lowered her head, pulling her hood over. ‘So much for praying,’ she signed to Terrence as she knew no good could come from the smell of burnt flesh. Her case was the exception though as the smell reminded her of when she burned the corpse of her abusive husband. She recalled that day — she felt free.

Unfortunately, the smell now did not provide that same feeling of freedom. It only reminded her of the agonizing times before her husband passed. She clenched and unclenched her fists as they continued to walk, calming herself as she recited the teachings from her monastery in her mind.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Edoardo Vargas Melcher​

He helped the others hide their cart and steeds. Desert-tanned hands scrounged leafy greens to camouflage the tarp or ill-coloured segments of the cart. Before he followed his companions, the priest clasped together his fingers in front of his chest then giveth appreciation in voiceless gesture to the steeds. The pragmatic and cynical may see this as foolishness, but his kind harbour deep respect to the animals that serve them.

And off he went with the rest. Their steps took them closer and closer to the beckoning smoke trail in the sky. A wagging finger of a harlot inviting them, tempting them to plunge into misfortune. A pungent but utterly unfamiliar stench assaulted the Edoardo's nostrils. Unlike his human or orc compatriots, the Sobekon shuts his nostrils ignoring the acrid, dry, and morally vile of burnt remains.

In his people's culture, when a short snout Sobekon is burned on a funeral pyre, their life had been shorter than their snout but act bigger than their hearts could ever be. The long snouts have a similar yet altered saying. Regardless fire is a central aspect in Sobekoni culture.

To see its perversion of usage in distant lands fills the crocodile with a righteous heart. His vestments bristled in the carrying wind and his hand held his khopesh, still sheathed, in readied fashion.

 

[joshuadim]

Arnas kept his hand over his mouth and nose, trying to remove as much of the stench as possible from entering his nostrils but to no avail as he felt the taste clog the back of his throat. Additionally, for everyone the air became more pungent with smoke that made it more difficult to breathe. Small flecks of ash began to fall gently like snow, landing on the group and their surroundings as the trees began to thin out slowly. Seems they were approaching edges of the woods, which only served to make Arnas more tense as he gripped the hilt of his blade tighter. His pace slowed as hesitation set in, as he particularly didn't want to see what was the source of all this. The road ahead turned at a bend to lead out of the woods entirely as the sky was blotted out with smoke now and a red hue permeated the air. "Get ready." Arnas muttered to his fellows as they pushed onwards to the scene at hand.

​

As the treeline cleared completely, they came across large farmland that would be idyllic under normal circumstances but in this situation they were burning. And very quickly it became apparent that the community that had been here was also ablaze. A raging inferno stormed in many of the buildings further west of the road, away from the town center that had already been consumed and ruined by what had occurred here. This meant however it was relatively safe to enter by road, apart from the heavy smoke and devastation present. The odor of burnt flesh only grew stronger, as the group approached to further investigate which meant only one thing: victims.

The first bodies the group would come across were left splayed on the ground by whomever had despoiled this region: some with arrows still blotted in their backs, meaning they were shot as they fled, while others had gaping wounds on their bodies as they lay still in pools of their own blood soaking into the ground below. As the newcomers continued to walk, taking in their surroundings slowly, it became more evident there was some attempt at resistance by the peasantry. Some had pitchforks and equipment on or near their bodies, meaning they would have tried to fight, yet it was all for naught. What transpired here was not a battle, it was a slaughter. The stench in the air had grown strong enough at this point that Arnas' eyes were tearing up as he breathed in heavily. It would provide a challenge for others as well, depending on their level of expertise in these matters, but it would compare with nothing as they stumbled across their next finding.

At the village center there was a large building that had been completely burnt out by this point, likely a granary or barnhouse for storage. It was considerably larger than the dwellings and other buildings that once were shops and artisinal practices here, which meant this was a great point of pride for the village. And yet, it was reduced to ash. Much to their horror however, there were bodies stacked upon one another within its interior. Frozen in time and place as they died trying to clamber over one another in a desperate attempt to get out. And it wasn't just by what used to be the frame of the front doors, it was all along its interior. The villagers trapped inside tried to flee in any way they could from their predicament, but to no avail. "Oh gods..." Arnas managed to get out, uncovering his mouth as he stared in horror to the inside.

And then that's when he spotted it: a figure cradling something smaller in its arms inside, burnt black to a crisp like a grotesque, charcoal statue frozen in time. Her desperation and pleas for mercy having fallen on deaf ears, both from men and from gods. Arnas took a few steps away and turned to vomit, the sight having been etched into his mind. There were no words to be said from him as he coughed up what had been his breakfast earlier today. Acid stung in his throat as he continued to heave from both horror and disgust, and more tears welled up in his eyes.

Yet as soon as he thought it was over, another wave of sickness flooded him and he heaved once more only this time nothing came out. He remained quiet as he tried to recompose himself as best as he could in this situation, but a single thought permeated through his head: Why?

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[Beann]

The horrible smell was just the beginning as the road eventually led the group to a wartorn village. Smoke escaped the roofs of several buildings as the flames licked up the collapsing walls. The familiar scent grew stronger as they searched through the village, forcing Aelestra to hold her breath occasionally. The sight of it all worsened as bodies were found scattered across the village. War was indeed a terrible thing. She turned her head away from the sight of the village center. The image of innocents being burned created a pit in her stomach. It was a painful sight.

Her attention was torn away from the bodies as she watched Arnas take a few uneasy steps back before immediately vomiting. A natural response to all of this. Had her past been different, she probably would be vomiting as well. She did not know Arnas that well but she was glad to know that he didn’t seem to be plagued with the experience of death. Aelestra’s expression softened as she walked over to the mercenary, unbuttoning her cloak as she threw it over him from behind before rubbing his back gently. She remembered her mother did the same, whenever she felt ill her mother would rub her back until she fell asleep. Unfortunately, this was not a proper place to fall asleep.

After a moment of comforting Arnas, she turned to Terrence to translate for the rest of the group as she signed: ‘should we search for survivors?’

 

[Chaos Gallant]

The village was in a horrifying state, Terrence likely would have emptied his stomach like Arnas had he anything to lose. The only solace he had was that most of the smell had been masked by the cinnamon scented cloth he held to his face. He looked to Aelestra as she finished comforting Arnas to see her query.

He shook his head in response, “As much as I would like to, I think it better to make sure whoever, or whatever, caused this is gone. It would not do us much good to have extra heads to account for with an unknown danger still looming.”

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Edoardo Vargas Melcher​

The horror of the inferno burned its presence and image into Edoardo's mind. He was hardy, his kind hardier but this churned the acids in his stomach. As penance for his comfort, he released the muscles that blocked his nostrils. He took in this ashy smell edged with an earthy and hints of sweetness. The stench of earth was likely from the burnt grass or dirt, but it could also be from the clay layers wedged between the straw (where the saccharine comes from) in the buildings. By the divine, he could almost flush the contents like Arnas, the hardened-mercenary did moments ago. Miraculously, no pickled vegetables and dried meats left Edoardo today. Or at least for now, the priest could tell that there would be more twists in this horrid display of sentient cruelty, a hecatomb, an ode to brutality.

The crocodile rumbled in disgust. He heard Terrence's response to Aelestra. The greyish scales on his back shivered at the pragmatism yet knew that the merchant had been correct. He looked to the others, and spoke through the smog of ash, flesh, and wood. "Terrence astutely put it. Even if we could shelter or provide for the survivors, there would be no way that they'd wish to or want to travel with us, nor could we guarantee their safety even if they would." A low grovel, ice-cold escaped him.

Edoardo stepped forward, accidentally stepping into blackened Earth. His head declined to see the spot, his clawed toes splayed out with the connective tissue between them. It still felt warm, a sickening kind when you know why it is here. His slit eyes swam up to see Arnas having heaved once more. He read the mercenary like an open book, that one question penetrated his being deeply. He is asking about the nature of this... Event to put it coldly. Why must it happen.

He turns to the sky, choked by the black smoke of death.

"There will be time for mourning later, we must press on at least for now."

His hands hitch together and Edoardo prayed for the Gods to shed their tears on this village if nothing else to quench the fire so that their remains could remind of the barbarism. And if the Gods let his prayers go unheard then he shall construct a hundred and one effigies for these deceased men, women, and children.

 

[Breadman]

"War parties come through and do this sort of thing often." Fraskia gave a cold answer to Arnas "I get hired to kill natural monsters, but these beasts get to roam free and be paid for it." She looked around the devastation and carnage. "Unless they're hidden survivors somewhere, I'm afraid we can't be of much use for them beyond a ritual or two." The rune knight looked to Edoardo "Priest, will you assist me with this?" From her belt, she picked up a pouch and handed it over to the Sobekoni "Sleeping sands. I'm not sure if your people have something similar, but they're potent for preventing necrophages and restless dead from coming back. Doubly so if spread with a blessing."

 

[joshuadim]

Arnas hardly noticed the cloak being draped atop him as he continued to lean over with his hand on his knees, focusing entirely on the ground and the small pool of his own vomit that lay near his feet. His throat still stung as his acids burned ever slightly, though this was relieved somewhat with his back being rubbed. He wiped away at both his eyes and his mouth and coughed a bit to unclog his throat from any residual pieces that may have stuck. He looked towards Aelestra by his side and wanted to say something, but stopped himself short because of his throat at the moment. Instead, he signalled with his hands on one of the things he had learned from her: Thank you.

Arnas could deduce what was being discussed currently, as he slowly straightened himself out as best as he could. Another wave of nausea hit as he reoriented himself which caused him to bring a hand to his mouth halfway, but quickly swallowed it down as best as he could with a few deep breaths. The stench was still in the air, but he was now ever so slightly more acclimated to it. He listened to the others as he kept his eyes away from the barn and towards elsewhere in the village to try to take his mind off things as best as he could visually. "...we should bury some, at the very least." Arnas spoke quietly, waving a hand towards some of the bodies in dirt nearby. His mind then wandered over to the task at hand that they had been employed for in the first place, as he shuffled about in a pouch and fetched the talisman given to him by the Guardian. He fiddled it in his hands, feeling its cool metal rub between his fingers and he shook his head. "But maybe we don't have the time even for that."

 

[Oreo Cookie]

Vera considered herself accustomed to death and violence, but walking through the wretched aftermath of the village left a sour taste in even her mouth. A quick glimpse of the bodies they passed told her whatever occurred here was more massacre than battle, and her tactical mind raced at the realization. How large was the force that did this and where were they now? However, she brushed the thoughts of who and why aside as a more urgent notion came to the forefront of her mind: leaving this forsaken place. Fortunately it seemed most of the group shared the same idea.

"We don't have time." Vera reaffirmed to Arnas in a matter of fact tone. "We came to scout. We scouted. Now we leave and return to our original task." Her attention turned to the rune knight and priest, her impatient foot lightly tapping the ashy ground. "I'd rather we not linger in this burning township, so if your ritual must be done, make haste. "

 

[Beann]

It would seem almost everyone else was adamant about leaving the village instead of searching for survivors. Aelestra lowered her hands slowly, a bit disappointed that they would never know for sure if they could have saved one or two victims. The fact of the matter was it was never their goal to search for survivors or potentially fight whatever group tore through this place. As Vera put it, they only came to scout ahead for potential dangers and now that they’ve done that, they had to return to the task the Guardian had given them. While waiting for Fraskia and Edoardo to finish their ritual, she offered Arnas her waterskin — urging him to wash down the acidic taste.

 

[joshuadim]

Arnas wordlessly thanked Aelestra as he took the waterskin and began to greedily gulp down the cold drink down his throat; a welcome change to the acidic parchment and the smoke he had tasted in his mouth. After a few strong swigs, he gently handed it back to the monk and wiped his mouth clean with a strong sigh of relief. “…alright then.” Arnas then replied to Vera before turning his attention to Edoardo, “A quick prayer, but then we should get back to the cart.” Given the go ahead, Edoardo approached began to conduct his prayer ritual for the Gods that the Sobekon worshipped to ask for guidance for the dead. Lucina joined shortly thereafter as well, having witnessed such horrors today, and offered her own prayers to her patron goddess Alandra; to ask of her kindness and mercy that the villagers had been denied as well as to deliver them to the life beyond the veil.

Arnas watched with unblinking eyes as the prayer unfolded, placing a hand on his stomach as another bout of queasiness take him. The image of the farmhouse, and its victims, had been burned into his eyes no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else. Fortunately for him, he had already expunged what he had to eat earlier in the morning and thus could not vomit more even if he wanted to. Sorry. He signaled to Aelestra who was next to him, “But I think I might need more of that water in a bit.”

A silence had overtaken the group as they remained quiet while the two priests conducted their business in trying to offer some form of peace here. It was a solemn sight to behold amidst such treachery and slaughter, and mentally it did provide some comfort. And soon after, the two had finished with their final words to the dead. With the pouch given by Fraskia, Edoardo would then approach some of the nearby bodies while Fraskia did so with others strewn about. Sleeping sands, used in superstition to prevent restless spirits from returning to life, also had a practical use in deterring corpse-eaters from approaching by masking the scent of the dead from them. It would be likely some time before burials would be done here, and so this would help prevent the bodies from being defiled in such a manner.

But as soon as Edoardo approached the corpses of the villagers nearby, something changed in the very air itself. A low humming noise droned at a steady pace, growing in intensity as if it was a singer from a distance approaching. Arnas himself looked about in confusion as it grew ever louder and covered his ears from such sound. And grow louder it did as it began to not only vibrate the very air they breathed, but also the group’s innards as a terrible Song took hold in the area. For Arnas, he quickly realized what this was: he had heard stories back in Amber Crest, in the great mead hall of the Citadel where travelers spoke of their tales. And one such recurrence was the Song from beyond the Rifts that had taken root in the world and brough the dead back to life.

Arnas’ gaze traveled to a nearby body as he gripped the hilt of his blade, half expecting the corpse to lunge about and attack. He gritted his teeth and winced as the Song grew ever louder, until it suddenly retreated in its entirety. The air became filled with the sounds of fire once more and silence permeated from the ground as they tensely awaited for something to happen. Arnas himself remained still, eyes fixed upon the lonely corpse close to him but began to very slowly relax. Nothing had happened, it seemed.

The young mercenary allowed himself to breath out another sigh of relief, content that they had not had to cut down the villagers twice in a single day. “…we should leave. Now.” He then said aloud, turning to the road to head back the way they came. They were to gather the cart and then travel through with haste, but then something caught his eye. It was waving at them and approached with a steady jog, armored, and outfitted like a knight would be. It called out to them, but at such a distance none could make out the words being spoken. Cautiously, Arnas waved back to him as the figure continued to approach until after a few minutes the figure came well into view.

“Travelers? Here?” the armored man asked upon approach, “Gods, I didn’t think anyone would hear our prayers within a hundred leagues from here.”

Arnas remained wary as he remained in a somewhat defensive posture but did not draw his sword. “…who are you?”

“Wha- oh, my sincerest apologies. I’m Ser Faralt de Beaufort, Knight-errant of Lithurnia.” the figure then gave a small, respectful bow. His armor creaked as his helmet dipped downwards, and what was ever more surprising was his condition. His armor had charred tints all over, as if he had been in a fire itself, and his armor seemed particularly damaged as if he had been fighting recently. Arnas wasn't quite sure what to make of this exactly as he turned to the others, looking for their voice on the matter here.

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[Beann]

'No problem,' she signed back to Arnas as she watched the priests work quickly to sanctify the ruins around them. The sight was saddening and by no means easy to watch but Aelestra maintained a stone cold expression. There was no time to mourn for the dead — the whole party seemed to agree on that. She let out an inaudible sigh, turning her head to give her eyes a break from the tragic sight. Unfortunately, they were surrounded by the destruction entirely so there was no better place to look. At least staring at the nearby flames was easier to stomach. However, just before she could be mesmerized by the flames, the air itself started to vibrate.

It started off as a low hum, forcing the hairs on her neck and arms to stand. The intensity of the sound grew gradually, causing Aelestra to fold over slightly just to maintain her balance. She could feel her bones vibrating from within and she could have sworn her heartbeat was beginning to mimic the ominous tune. Just as its beginning was entirely unexpected, as was the ending. Though the atmosphere began to calm, Aelestra was still left on edge. Her green eyes were wide — alert — as she looked around, expecting danger to follow after the song. Yet nothing did.

Arnas was quick to suggest the party to leave immediately and Aelestra agreed wholeheartedly with a quick nod. Nothing good would result in staying here any longer. She turned her gaze to the main road, wondering if Abdula and Chowder were still safe. However, her concerns were overshadowed by a figure far off in the distance. It waved before taking off in a jog towards them. Aelestra shot Arnas a sideways glance when he waved back, unsure if the unknown figure could be trusted. Eventually, the figure closed the distance. He wore armor — charred and damaged armor. She quietly looked back to the burning village, the buildings badly damaged or completely destroyed, and then looked back at the knight who introduced himself.

'His name doesn't explain why he is here. What business does he have? Does he know what happened to this area?' Aelestra signed to Terrence, wanting answers immediately.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Edoardo Vargas Melcher​

The priest went about his business dutifully. Sanctifying this deadland so that the deceased could find peace so that they may cease their piercing shrieks for demonic retribution. Undeserving of their fate, the crocodile bore no smile. Austere as the coldest wind. This carnivorous conflagration waxed and waned as Edoardo grumbled in his kind's ancestral tongue. Gaze shut to the world, allowing only the barest of sensations to bristle him. This unyielding focus is not potent enough to stave off this disruption.

A droning buzz eschewing euphony for persistent annoyance filled the air. The eyes spring open, surreptitiously in anger. The pupils tighten to honed razors. That noise adopted an offensively malodorous attribute. Edoardo noticed his scales drying quicker from within, not without as expected from the shimmering temperature. His jagged teeth shook in their jaw sockets, threatening to escape him.

Arnas quick-witted as always suggested that they depart. He disagreed, at least for now. This minacious presence must be confronted, if nothing else then to look up the face of their enemy so that it may be burned into their retinas.

And at last, their foe showed itself. A charred knight hounded by the fatigue of battle. Defensively Edoardo retreated, but maintained eyes on the knight. He introduced himself as if that answered who it is, or why it is here.

"So, Ser Knight... I take it this filigree," Gesturing with a clawed palm at the broiling inferno. "is not your doing?" He inferred this from the knight-errant's words. "Speaking of prayer, what did you hope for?"

 

[Chaos Gallant]

As the sound of the subsided Terrence rubbed one of his temples, “That was… Less than pleasant.” He looked around briefly to the others to assure they were still standing. Fortunately it seemed as if the party was mostly unharmed aside from the headache Terrence now had.

“…we should leave. Now.”

At Arnas’ suggestion, Terrence turned back towards the road they came in on, his mind shifting to thoughts of his steeds’ and his cart’s safety. But his mind wasn’t allowed to linger on such thoughts long. Terrence raised an eyebrow as the figure on the horizon waving and drawing closer came into view. The man certainly didn’t look like a bandit of any sort.

Terrence listened to the man's introduction, noting his armor, or rather the condition of it. It certainly didn’t ease any suspicion that Ser Faralt had looming around him. Apparently Aelestra felt similarly, rapidly signing questions to Terrence. He nodded to Aelestra, whilst listening to Edoardo’s questioning.

“Indeed, we do not wish to invite hostility, Ser, but as you might know, this is not Lithurnia. Perhaps you would not mind explaining what exactly happened here, and what a single Lithurnian knight is doing near the wake of a tragedy such as this one?”

 

[joshuadim]

"Nay, 'tis not my doing. Nor this is Lithurnia, indeed!" Ser Faralt replied quickly first to Edoardo and then to Terrence, nodding from under his helmet that covered his visage. "It was those damnable soldiers, from Merish. To do this to their own countrymen... vile. Fiends, they are!" The knight seemed rather angry about what had transpired here, as he shook his hand in a fist into the air as if to curse some foe long past. He quickly straightened himself and his composure as he felt it was unbecoming of someone of his stature and shrugged. "Apologies... I lost my temperament for but a moment." Outside of his rather uptight demeanor, Arnas didn't notice anything unusual or malicious in the man's presence or words. But there was still that question that had remained unanswered: "Yes... well, what brought you here?" Arnas reiterated the question, placing his hands on his hips to try to assert some force in his words.

"Ah, yes! Well, I had embarked on a journey of... well... self-discovery?" the errant knight then spoke, "I had not been happy with my station back home. I sought something more to my knighthood... and of course I parted amicably with my lord. He even gave me a fine horse for my travels! Pale gray, like ash, for its coat... have you seen it perchance?"

Arnas shook his head, and the knight quickly course-corrected the conversation. "Ah, in any case. I had stumbled upon this village here. Kind folk they were, not used to having seen travelers from the west. Mostly south from the Free Territories, but for a knight to come through? Ah, they treated me as if I were royalty! Not that it was warranted, I insisted that I be only given hospitality like any other. I stayed for but a night, yet at the crack of first light... that's when the trouble started."

Before Arnas could ask, the errant-knight motioned a hand towards the square they stood in and continued to speak as if his words were a river torrent. "Soldiers, not rebels by the look of them, had come not only to requisition grain but also to hunt for 'seditious elements'. Said they were tasked by their commander, but if you ask me they were just using that as an excuse to steal from the folk here."

Arnas looked about the ruins of the village, many of which were still aflame or smoldering, and grimaced. "And that's where I assume things went in this manner."

"Aye. Some of the peasants tried to resist, refusing to give over their food. One of the soldiers even tried to force himself upon one of the girls here, but her father struck him with a club to defend her honor. He..." Ser Faralt spoke, stopping himself at the last moment and turned his gaze down and away from the group. He took a deep breath before continuing: "And he was met with a blade in his belly. I stepped away from my accommodations, shouting and yelling! Urging for peace, but blood had already been spilt.

“I drew my sword and tried to herd people away from the fighting, as some of the village men gathered to resist, but it was for naught. They had no weapons to fight back, nor armor to shield themselves, nor the training to… to avert this. It was a slaughter.” Ser Faralt then said, shaking his head. “I reckon some managed to flee, taking the road west from here. I gave a child and her younger sibling my horse to ride upon away from here. I stayed behind to fight.”

“What happened then?” Arnas then asked, “Did any others make it out alive?”

“If they did, I did not see it. For my mind was to exact justice on those… *marauders*, that stormed their way here.” Ser Faralt replied with a lace of anger in his tone. “I had felled a few of them, some of the regular infantry. Had only leather and cloth for armor really, my blade cut them down. But then, I felt something pierce my side and… and…”

The knight stilled for a moment, looking down upon himself in confusion. “And then I… thrown into fire… then I’m here…?” His hand reached down into the gap between the plating of his breastplate, touching there before reaching out, his hand slick with blood. An immediate panic set in upon him as his breathing audibly intensified from under his helmet. His feet staggered from under him as he stumbled away from the group and towards the well nearby.

He pulled at his helmet, a horrifying noise emerging as flesh tore off from bone before it came off from his head entirely and he could see his own visage in the waters below. A moment of silence before a yell of horror emanated from the man as he realized that he was dead, and yet still standing. A gauntleted hand approached his face as he touched at it, trying to see if he was by some miracle under some illusion. But the truth was plain as day as another yell from him pierced the air. “GODS!!! WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME!?!?”

Beann Breadman Chaos Gallant Oreo Cookie Worthlessplebian

 

[Oreo Cookie]

"Hells. What now?" Vera cursed once the decidedly unnatural sound finally subsided and a new figure appeared to approach from the distance. She had drawn her sword during the earlier pandemonium, and now she held it firmly at her side. It was only once Arnas returned the mysterious arrival's waves did she allow her grip to relax, if only slightly. The person revealed himself to be battle-worn knight upon closing the distance, and a proper one at that judging by his chivalrous mannerisms. Vera couldn't help but grimace from beneath her helm. Oh joy, he's one of those.

She listened intently while the others engaged the Faralt fellow in conversation. Her gaze lingered on the various scorch marks that coated his armor while he spoke, something she found to be a strange contrast to his good natured attitude. His tale of the massacre that transpired here wasn't too surprising considering the war, though it did raise the question on how this lone knight managed to survive against a force large enough to raze this village. Her unspoken question was answered as Faralt's account came to an uneasy close, who suddenly became all too aware of a dire wound upon inspecting himself. An uneasy feeling settled in the knightess' gut as Faralt rushed to well in a panic, and her hold on her sword tightened as she both saw and heard the knight tear his helm free. For a brief moment, she stood frozen at the sight, eyes trying to comprehend the knight's face, or lack thereof in this case. His sudden yell snapped her back into action.

"Oi! Calm yourself. Now." Vera's barked words came out as a command, and she pointed her sword at Faralt in warning. "You're clearly unwell." She knew that was an understatement. This man was clearly dead, or at least he should be. It was yet another complication on what was supposed to be a simple errand. "Perhaps our priest can help you with your...illness."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Edoardo Vargas Melcher​

Edoardo, the Priest, quietly nodded along with Arnas' exchange with Faralt de Beaufort. The stench of rot imposed his nostrils as keenly as everything else. Or perhaps, it is the absence of that natural aroma each personage has since their birth. The smell of wet, flowing copper stung him. Is that... blood? Visibly the crocodilian pastor stepped back aghast at realising the terrible fate this man suffered. Death has already taken his life, but the poor soul hasn't suspected anything. Greenish-grey claws threatened to impale the palm they fought pressed, Edoardo wanted to counsel him but did not rightly know how to reveal these news without discomfiting him. Fearing that Faralt would be disconsolate.

The tale of this village, which fell as a casualty of war, harrowed Edoardo greater than the sight alone ever could; surprisingly however, Edoardo unconsciously shifted the position of his body, his sword hand slowly moved to cup the bronze-brown, wrapped handle of the sword. Though it boiled over all the same. As a victim of this... Force, for lack of a better term, their minds are clouded to their own memories. Edoardo regarded this as an intense cruelty.

Vera barked commands, Edoardo moved to stop her immediately. He placed a hand on her shoulder, then spoke cleanly. "No, this fetid... affliction dwarfs my capabilities. Nevertheless It is not above my ken -- my erudition, if you will." He moved passed Vera, shielding the others by being an impressive roadblock to the knight hounded by undeath. His tail thumped against the dirt, crushing it with impressive force.

"Knight Faralt, heed my words. Breathe with me, stop your panic." As Edoardo's words concluded, his lungs drew the smoke edged air. It may seem counter-intuitive to tell a dead man to breathe, but dead though they may be, their human reactions are still housed in that mind of theirs. It is difficult to unlearn decades of instinct-imbued reflexes. "You are an undying now, however the valiance of your mind resisted that gluttonous desire, you retained your sanity." Edoardo assured with all the sincerity that he could muster. This is not a time for impetuous actions. "I've seen men who could not, but also a man who remained true to himself long past what could be expected."

"I will be blunt, there is no prayer or action I could take that would lessen the pain. The choice of what happens next is yours however and will always be yours, owing to your steel will."

 

[Breadman]

Fraskia didn't flinch as she saw the other knight's visage. The ritual was done and the dead wouldn't rise, but that's where the easy part of this would end. The presence of an undying would mean that this area was drenched in foul energy. Someone or something did this to him and it meant that any residual mana could manifest itself at a later time into something. Only thing she could do was send word to the Subotnitsi about this and hope they could send someone to investigate.

She approached with caution, next to the priest. This was a curse very few would bear and fewer still could survive. She pitied ser Faralt, for now his existence is doomed to eternal torment.

"Whatever did this, it's made you a marked one. An undying as the priest described. Your life is now set on a dangerous path. One look from the ignorant and hateful will mark you for death." Her tone was grim, as she saw no reason to hide anything. "Your noble actions will be met with suspicion as they scratch and claw at you with their hatred and prejudice." She reached for a parchment in another pouch on her belt and looked to the knight with her own stare "There is hope, however. For your safety and your revenge should you will for it. There are monasteries and places where you can seek refuge still." She held out the parchment as an offering "Castle Vrana is one such place, ser. Should you want it, a bed, library and other minor comforts will be provided."

 

[joshuadim]

Ser Faralt remained silent as others around him spoke, continuing to stare in shock towards his face reflected in the well. Either he did not wish to respond or he did not register the words that had been sent his way. Arnas himself looked apprehensively at the fresh Undying with his own quiet contemplation, seeing that there really wasn't much any of them could do to set the charred knight's mind at ease even by a bit. He wanted to say something but stopped himself short; What could I even say? Arnas thought to himself as he grimaced and swallowed his words. Fraskia and Edoardo were right, there was nothing they could say that would give comfort for what lay in wait for his inevitable future. However, perhaps they could give some modicum of safety in the meantime until such he was ready to move on.

"...we are traveling, perhaps for a couple days still. Safety in numbers, afterall, is the best we can provide for you in the short term." Arnas then spoke up, which did grab Ser Faralt's attention. He moved his visage over to stare for a moment, with unblinking and gazeless sight that made the young mercenary wonder how he could even still see without eyes. It unnerved him a bit even though there was no harm nor danger coming from the undying knight. He tried to not let it show as best as he could out of respect, but he could not help but feel uncomfortable around an unnatural being such as him. He also reminded himself that it was not by choice that he was in such a state.

"I... I couldn't possibly ask you to take such a risk for me." Ser Faralt then replied, letting his visage trail towards the bodies around him. "Enough people have died because of my own failings already."

Arnas sighed with a hint of frustration in response, for the nobility of knights did get on his nerves at the moment. "Then consider this a demand, not a request." Arnas replied, "I'm not going to let you stay here on your own, and I'll have you dragged if you think otherwise." Arnas was surprised by the words that came out of his mouth and as to how curt he was, but he maintained his position as he looked straight towards the burnt knight who simply sagged in defeat. He gathered himself quickly, washing the inside of his helm from as much flesh remained within, and put his helm on. "Very well... lead the way, er-?" Faralt then spoke, pausing as he realized he did not know the name of whom he had come across.

"Arnas."

"Well, Ser Arnas-"

"Not a Ser... gods forbid." Arnas replied quickly to lighten the mood, before speaking aloud to everyone. "Lets get going then, and get out of this place."

Everyone would pick themselves up and leave with haste, with the Undying knight in tow, back down the road they had arrived in. Abdula and Chowder were where they had left them, peacefully grazing on some of the nearby underbrush of the forest off the road they had arrived in, and it seemed that none had touched the wagon either as its covers were left pristine. A relief for those in the group that something went their way as they corralled the horses and the wagon back onto the main road. Joining them in the back was Ser Faralt now as they now quickly pushed up the road once more, passing through the ruins of the village with great haste as nobody wished to linger there much longer.

An hour of travel passed and the skies had cleared once more, with the fires now burning in the distance with its smoke plumes arching elsewhere. The knight had remained near the back of the wagon, acting as a sentry while everyone else went about doing what they did best to pass the time. Arnas however was not in such a mind as he dwelled back on the victims he had saw back in the town, trying his best to be rid of the horrors of the day but failing otherwise. He pinched his brow and squinted his eyes hard in frustration as he let out a beleaguered sigh, but was soon removed from his mind with a new development.

"Um... gentlemen? And ladies?" Ser Faralt then spoke up, looking down at the road beneath. "I think there's a problem."

Arnas snapped his head upwards and looked at the burnt knight with confusion, "What do you mean?"

"On the road, there's tracks. They are heading away from the village..."

Arnas peered over from the edge of the wagon himself to take a look, unsure what to make of it at first. Was it really something to be concerned about? "...perhaps its people who fled the carnage?"

"Nay, I recognize these boot marks. Hargreaves and sabatons!" Faralt then exclaimed, both out of excitement and anxiety, "Then that means the people responsible for their deaths had headed this way!" He then turned his attention to the others in the cart, "Responsible for my-"

The knight stopped himself short, not wanting to admit to himself fully yet of his current predicament. He looked back at the ground once more before shaking his head. Arnas himself kept his gaze at Faralt for a moment before speaking up: "Keep an eye out everyone. I don't want to come across these marauders by surprise."

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[Beann]

As the knight recalled the events that happened here, Aelestra unconsciously took a step back behind the rest of the group, wary of Ser Faralt’s circumstances. She may have come across a few undead during her travels but not one so sentient. It was disturbing, to say the least, especially upon his own realization. There was nothing she could really offer to console him so she chose to watch as Edoardo and Fraskia gave their own opinions on the matter. The idea of inviting him to travel with the group was unsettling as well, they would be putting a large target on their backs.

However, Arnas insisted the man join them. It wasn’t like Aelestra could say anything in objection. So, the group made their way back to where they left Terrence’s cart with the horses grazing undisturbed — much to Aelestra’s relief. She sat up front with Terrence in the driver’s seat, occasionally looking back at the others but mostly at Ser Faralt.

She was still wary of him but he did prove himself to be useful as he pointed out tracks on the main road. ‘What should we do? They burned down a whole village for food. No doubt we will be a target as well.’ Aelestra signed to Terrence with a small hint of concern.

 

[Chaos Gallant]

The knight's realization of his fall into undeath had seemed to have stunned Terrence as much as it did See Faralt. He'd never encountered undead before, nor had he read, or heard, of any that seemed capable of communication, or emotion for that matter, but the man stood before them, clearly distressed by his newfound circumstances. But Terrence could not muster any words of comfort, instead he could only stand silently as he listened to others' discourse. He tried to wrap his mind around the whole situation, still coming up short for words. He looked at Ser Faralt, then to Arnas, and back to Faralt. Terrence's eyebrows eased into a saddened slant as he looked back to the tragedy that had befallen the settlement.

Terrence remained silent throughout the rest of the party's discussion, his mind unable to pull away from the terrible scene for long. As his thoughts swirled, they pushed his family to mind, 'Were they safe? Of course they are, Dandolio's walls will never fall so easily.' He dismissed his worry, but he couldn't help but imagine a similar scene playing out in the streets and canals of his home. He paid little heed to the rest of the group, hardly noticing their conversation as they made their way back to the cart. Seeing Abdula and Chowder did lift Terrence's spirits a pinch, giving them both a pat on the neck.

The group loaded themselves back on the cart and set off. Taking a last look as they carried on through the village and down the road, Terrence couldn't help but feel like these disasters were going to become more commonplace. Despite leaving the town behind them Terrence couldn't take his mind off it for long, his thoughts now drawing him to the effects that the rifts would have on the spice trade. 'We will have to double the guards, at a minimum, at this rate. No, perhaps triple…' He hummed lowly as he thought, Ser Faralt's voice cutting into his thoughts.

Terrence's brow furrowed at the thought of an encounter with those responsible for the village. Aelestra called his attention next. "Indeed it will make us a target." He thought for a moment, then turned back to Faralt, "How many were in the band when they attacked?" He questioned the knight.

 

[joshuadim]

Ser Faralt pondered the question posed by Terrence for a moment in silence, allowing himself to recount his thoughts of the events that had occurred previously before breaking the air: "I could not say for certain... a score? Perhaps a bit more than that?" the knight spoke aloud in reply, "I apologize... it was such a blur. There were enough to overpower any resistance from the villagers. Beyond that I cannot say as fact." Arnas mulled over this information and scratched his chin, for a score was... not big. But it was neither a number to laugh at, especially since they were significantly less in manpower themselves. Coming across them would be dangerous if they were out for blood as well.

However, a part of Arnas felt desire to actually confront the brigands in levied clothing. If not to extract a reason for their actions, then to avenge them. Anger welled up at the thought of confronting them as he balled his hands into fists, the leather of his gloves squealing from this. "All the more reason to keep watch for anything." he stated, his eyes scanning the horizon nearby of fields and distant forest.

Chaos Gallant

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Edoardo Vargas Melcher​

The knight's recall of the murky past did not surprise Edoardo at all. Their mortal memories, himself included, were short, feeble, and mischievous. Especially when one suffers traumatic fates, the mind's fragility exposed for all to see right then and there. Still, the knight's estimates did not provide comfort. Twenty marauders razed an entire village to hell, that would be an accomplishment of skill IF the treacherous bastards had not assailed their settlement at the sun's awakening where the children dreamed sweet reveries, the adults groggy. Edoardo billowed discontent while surveying the land, the desert-rough skin around his eyes still dry from their sojourn into the flaming graveyard of the village. "If I were they, then encampment would be my next priority. Far enough away from their plunder, well concealed against interlopers looking for... Justice yet able to observe the path for potential victims." Edoardo states his reasoning for where the assailants might be.

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