The Center of Time

Duncan thinks. "Unless you can find more of use, maybe if he's heard rumours about the trail ahead. What have they prepared for, or are they hoping their guards and arms can take on any threats? Aside from the North trail, what do they know about the journey? What else should we prepare for? I'll head over to our employer and advise him when we need to leave, and what direction. I expect we'll have some time, as hundreds of Aneen can't move too quickly."

Seregal shrugs; slightly amused at Duncan's obsession with the trail ahead, but is willing to indulge the glaive's demands for roadside information in the interests of group fellowship. He takes his tray of drinks back to the caravan guards. "Well met, friends," he says. "What can you tell me of the trail through the Sheer? What sort of tales have you heard, or what encounters do you expect?. You see, I'm going to be writing a book for the Order about this journey at some point, and your contribution to the cause of knowledge will be invaluable!"

Dross is happy to be plied with drink, and he and his fellow guards make considerable merry with the ale. When asked about the trail, there are some exaggerated tales, a few ridiculous anecdotes, and in one case far too much information about someone getting injured in a delicate place, but eventually some things of relevance surface.

"Other than that wretched warm place, it's getting damned cold this time of year. If you're heading the North Road, there's waterfalls coming down off the Clock, so there's icy patches in the trail sometimes, when it's not icing you over. You get occasional bandits or big predators near the watering holes, but usually more bandits than predators. The animals have better luck scavenging than hunting, if you take my meaning. And less bandits now that it's getting colder. There's a few camping places people have improved over the years, build up little half-walls, firepits, maybe taking advantage of some little permanent bit of numenera to keep the place warm or dry or free of bugs. Not so useful for our caravan because of our size, but the smaller caravans use them. Mostly you have to worry about weather and the occasional desperate bandit. More often than not they prefer a night raid - wait until a guard's asleep or looking away, knock them out and snatch as much as they can and run.

"But it's that warm zone that's been bad. Broken hounds and abhumans aplenty, though they die easily enough. Me and my mount Killer took out six on our own last trip."

Seregal chats with the group for sometime, developing a rough sketch map of the route through the Sheer. He works with the guards to get a rough idea of where the waterfalls are, and in particular, where the dangerous 'warm zone' is located and how to best avoid attacks from abhumans. It is late when he finishes his carousing with the guards, telling them a few amusing tales that he's heard on his travels. Then, he bids his new friends farewell and retires to his room, intending to enjoy his last night in a comfortable bed prior to the start of the expedition tomorrow.

Echo listens to the others ply guards and caravaneers for information for a little while, but when she sees that the stories are beginning to repeat themselves, she decides that the limit of useful data has been exhausted. There was only so much these people would know, after all. The essential points were covered. The hows and whys were outside their ken. Further probing was simply wasting time that could be used for resting.

She pays the man behind the bar a shin for a key to the sleep rooms, and trudges upstairs, still sneaking peeks at the map every so often.

The silver puddle gloops on her heels, as always.

Duncan follows Echo, paying a Shin and heading up to the room as well. His tactical mind is already planning out strategies for the trip, while his normal mind is ready to sleep.

ooc: assuming it's a dorm, or a room we're expecting to share with strangers. The intent is to guard the map, not come off as creepy. However, since we're in the same adventuring band I assume we're all bff's now. If Duncan had hair, I would expect any other party members to braid it. French braids, or the year 1 Billion AD equivalent of French.

The night passes uneventfully, which is a nice switch, and you're able to get a decent breakfast and head down to the Hex Market. Kolos Githian's herds have already begun to head out, and Sevarr greets with a cheery, "Didn't have second thoughts? Good." It seems there's a couple more guards with Sevarr's caravan; he hired a last couple of folks the prior evening. All of you tend to a few last-minute chores (lashing down supplies and whatnot), and some may take one last look around the Hex Market before Sevarr is ready to leave.

Seregal, when you go to help lash down some supplies on a wagon, you run into one of the other guards. While the dark clothing and leathers aren't unusual for mercenaries, the black mask over the eyes is. It's Xaion, the Legend of Legrash - a man whom about there are far more rumors than truth. Wisco, you recognize him too - You helped him escape from Legrash in the first place, and know how tough-minded the man is.

Xaion, it seems some quirk of fate has led you to this place, to people you know, though you know the next stage of your journey must be in Augur-Kala.

[OOC - This is your last chance to get anything from the Hex Market before you go.]

"Mount up!" Sevarr roars to his apprentices and drivers, and they scurry through the last of their preparations. Those of you with baggage can tuck it in a corner of one of the wagons so you can walk more freely, and those who would like to ride one of the free aneen may do so. With a snap of quirts and the bellows of reluctant aneen, Sevarr Trim's caravan rolls out of the city and into the impossibly tall embrace of the Sheer.

The walls of the Clock of Kala loom up like a barrier to the gods as Sevarr Trim directs his train to take the North Road, hugging the wall. Thin streams of water pour from the cloud-scraping tops of the mountains at regular intervals, breaking up into chilly spray on the way down, while larger waterfalls gush down every few miles, pounding into deep pools and providing watering holes for thirsty travelers.

The air is chill, but you make good time for the first three days (of a journey Sevarr estimates will take no more than 8 days, 10 at most). You keep watch for any trouble Kolos Githian's herd might have, but haven't seen any trouble yet. The food Sevarr's cook, Drugan makes is decent, hot and filling, and then tents you sleep in when not on watch are actually as good as Sevarr claims; no moisture or wind has gotten inside.

You watch the rugged sides of the north wall of the Sheer, but see no signs of habitation, only the remains of various camping sites from other caravans. What you do notice on the fourth day is a smear of green that means the easy part of this job has just ended.

In the rising sun you can see an obstacle ahead, and as you draw closer, there is a veritable jungle of plants stretching from the north side of the Sheer wall south out of site, with young trees climbing nearly thirty feet overhead. There's a sharp line where frost stops and lush greenery begins. Ahead of you is a large caravan, well, more like an actual herd of aneen with outriders herding them on breen. Githian's people and goods.

The aneen are bellowing and lowing with reluctance as the last of them disappear into the jungle. All too soon, there is no trace of them; just the jungle, waiting.

"Drit and spit, this is worst than last time," Wes, one of the drivers, mutters rather audibly to Father Seren. Already knowing that the priest is going to ask what in the world is going on, he clarifies. "Trees were lower a week ago, less greenery, and we could see the road better. Too much cover in there now for all what's hiding. And I don't know exactly what! Last time 'twas broken hounds as some abhumans. Wind knows what's in there now."

Sevarr, close enough to hear, passes on the sentiment to Wisco. "Thicker than last time by far." He purses his lips, and finally shrugs. "But that was Kolos Githian's herd that went in before us. They'll be breaking the trail up, and there's safety in numbers, says I." He signals to the caravan to move ahead.

With sharp commands and slaps of quirts, the caravan moves to enter the warm zone.

Echo, you've been keeping close track of the map all this time, and have noticed subtle variations in its symbols as you've traveled. While this jungle was not marked on the map, you took a look at it anyway, just to see if anything else has changed. As you do , a haze of light blacks out your vision again, not just you, all of you. For some, this is familiar, for others, entirely new. You see the inverted mountain, a metal city on the ground at its tip, and suddenly the vision pulls back at an accelerated rate. It goes along a path through lush lands (the trees are old), braided rivers (unraveling), synthetic springs (they're drying up, can't fix them), shining cities (losing their glory, gone all gone), pulling back to a huge structure of purple tentacled glass, back into the snow-covered Sheer, back through a band of unnatural jungle (it's starting, it shouldn't, I don't understand!) to you again. There's a sense of overwhelming loss, a sort of dream-emotion attached to the images.

And you're suddenly back in your own minds. Looking around, none of the others in the caravan seem to have noticed anything strange, but Echo, Father Seren, Xaion, Wisco, Antor, and Duncan all look a tiny bit stunned.

Seregal spends the first part of his journey getting into travelling again, dicing with the guards, exchanging gossip and information and trying to pick up any information to flesh-out his hand-drawn map, under the pretext that he is writing his book for the Order of Truth. He makes friends with one of the drivers, Wes, discussing the finer points of philosophy with him as he rides atop the cart.

(OOC Note: Change of Flex Skill to ‘Persuasion’)

"Drit and spit, this is worst than last time," Wes mutters rather audibly to Father Seren. Already knowing that the priest is going to ask what in the world is going on, he clarifies. "Trees were lower a week ago, less greenery, and we could see the road better. Too much cover in there now for all what's hiding. And I don't know exactly what! Last time 'twas broken hounds as some abhumans. Wind knows what's in there now."

Click to expand...

"I wonder what's causing the accelerated growth," Seregal muses. "Perhaps it could be a numenera with a sort of effect that spins out in a radius. It's almost like time is moving differently here than in other locations..." He sits bolt upright, recalling the story of the city, and the first vision he recieved from the map.

What if the first expedition to the lost city had worse than he'd originally anticipated? What if Zorak significantly damaged the Augur city, Iszat Girrem? What if time was severely out of joint?"

"How long as this 'warm area' been around for?" Seregal asks. "Was there any significant structure or feature around here that was there before the 'warm area' started to grow in and obscure it?"

Seregal pauses as the vision hits him. He presses his fingers tightly against his head. He excuses himself from Wes's side and slides off the caravan, seeking out Echo.

"Did you see that vision?" he asks her excitedly. "Have you figured out how to work the map?"

Duncan is stunned by the images, true, but most by the sense of loss. Grief always did strike him hard, when it got through the wall he put up that allowed him to do the job of surviving in the world. Though this was implanted grief, it injected itself past his emotional defenses. He took a deep breath to shake off his anger at the intrusion and looked around the caravan. Best to look around, make sure no one's watching to take advantage of... that little distraction.

"We should move through when we're ready. Best not to lag too far behind the other caravan." He says this a bit too quickly, then stomps around the caravan. Duncan looks around the wall of the sheer, the border of the jungle, all around the aneen and wagons, shaking off the strong emotions from the map.

When he feels more settled, he moves over to Echo. "So that was the Inverted Mountain. Does it always put emotions in people's minds like that?"

"No," Echo replies, to both Seregal and Duncan with the same word. "The map seemed to react to the location...it may be linked to a controller somewhere else, who is observing our progress through it and reacting to what we see."

She looked at Duncan then with her pale silver-blue eyes. Despite the emotions of the event, or perhaps because of them, she seemed flat in expression and affect. "I can only speculate about what the inverted mountain does. I've never seen or heard of it before. However...available data suggests this is not an isolated event."

Echo turned her attention to the map in her hands. "It may be a kind of communication device...but nothing I've experienced so far indicates the presence on the other side is aware of us, or that we're receiving these impressions. Recordings maybe...or it could be malfunctioning, letting us eavesdrop on his mind through whatever link it creates."

Her shoulders bobbed in a shrug. "Like I said...it's all speculation at the moment."

She hesited for a moment, the crease of a little frown flitting over her forehead and eyes. Then it was gone, and she rolled the map up and put it away.

"Hopefully that will not happen while we're otherwise engaged."