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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 1209693" data-attributes="member: 227">The tale of Lazarus Thrazan was incredible. And you thought you'd fit his boots... Kale thought as they walked. Faithful to purpose and strong in battle, Thrazan was a name Kale wouldn't be disappointed to see honored. Lines and legacies, maybe four hundred years after the fact, the truth will be known for the man's family. Maybe there was justice in the world... just really slow, and dependant, absurdly, on misfits like Kale and the Merry Band. At the horses, the team tended their mounts and Kale shifted his cloak to exchange a gleaming helmet, fine medallion, and two fine boots from person to saddlebag. Before long, everyone was ready. Stepping down the valley path, the mercenary footman preferred to lead his horse, rather than ride. Wolf nor Cord nor anyone else seemed too concerned about hiking with no patrol or pointman, which seemed perfectly reasonable, what with an angel in thier midst. Walking along the road, talking informally with divinity, though, the mercenary was still a bit ill at ease. What would an angel think of bloodkin? For lack of anywhere else to be, the mercenary put himself between Klavius and Burl.Settling in to the walk, Sebastion listened quietly to the Emissary's words, smiling gently at the idea of being a Knight Errant. It was a shame they put such a stock in magic, or he might have felt the inclination to follow such a path, but... well... was there any 'need' for the magic? Presumably there must be some Order of Knights somewhere that didn't rely on such trickery? Something, though, did catch his attention. "The Wave Knight's preserved equipment... Kale brought that out to bury it properly... perhaps you know the proper rites and rituals?" "Or something like that," Kale interjected, voicing his disagreement with Sebastion's plan. He was a bit astonished at Sebastion's idea of resolution for the dead man's gear. Hawk Helmets and Medallions can be sold or donated to houses or museums- legends written, favors curried, histories told of a man the mercenary would have been priviledged to know. Besides, the items were badges of office that any of them could hardly use. The boots, on the other hand... "Those boots will still fit a soldier's feet," he tried to say with confidence, but his look gave him away, his eyes glancing at Klavius, at Wolf for signs of disagreement. But YOU are still sheepish as a tenderfoot, I see, he admonished himself, though in time he could reason that it could all be expected, within the tingle of devine glory dancing across his road-dusted flesh.The emissary carried on walking confidently as they reached the bottom of the ravine where its rocky floor descended into woodland. He gave a pleasant chuckle at the words of Sebastion and then Kale. "Perhaps I should explain more of the Wave Hawks. They are somewhat unique amongst the Elemental Orders in their role and way of life. The stalwart Iron Hawks watch vigilantly over the eastern passes. The Wind Hawks ride the rolling plains of the north and watch for dangers from the Kurgen lands. The brave Flame Hawks of Corvus keep our southern lands safe from the menaces of the Carthagians." "The Wind Hawks are travellers. They journey far and wide, exploring the world as best they can. They seek out evil and destroy it where they find it, or rally the cause of civilisation against it. Their organisation is far more loose than the other Orders, and most spend much of their time as Errants - the teaching of Water places much upon the concept of self-reliance. The name of adventurer often accompanies the passage of a Wave Hawk. They are very much, well, individuals." Wyshira stepped closer to Klavius in order to hear more about the Wave Hawks, pulling a strangely reluctant Melisande along behind her. Of all the Elemental Orders of Naseria, she was, of course, most interested in the Order of Water. Although she had been impressed by the feather-cloaked Air Hawks she'd seen in Tarravus, she had been hoping that one day she'd come across a Wave Hawk in her travels. She listened with undisguised curiosity to the emissary's words as he described them: travelers and explorers... adventurers, in fact. And above all, destroyers of evil in every land.Klavius continued. "Most veteran Hawks of the Order of Water have objects of arcane nature, pieces they have acquired during their travels and struggles. They put such objects to use in their fight against the foes of Naskha. Such things are to be used, not to be buried away or locked up in shrines to be stared at. The Wave Hawks are nothing if not practical." "Lazarus of the noble house of Thrazan would, I would imagine, be happier to see his wargear put to use by worthy souls than to see it fester beneath the soil. The boots are indeed those of a warrior, a soldier. Now ask yourselves this - who amongst you considers yourself a worthy soldier to wear the boots of a Wave Hawk?" Mel stared at her feet. She was trembling with emotion. As if he knew what she was thinking, Klavius' question burned her like a reproach--or a challenge. The boots of a holy knight! Who could claim them? Who would dare? Wyshira was a priestess and she suggested Kale, and she probably knew what she was talking about even though Mel thought Kale didn't strike her as the holy avenger sort. At any rate she felt herself in no position to begrudge them of anyone; and besides, she did not covet the boots themselves so much as the worthiness to wear them. "I'm not," she murmured, still looking at her feet in shame. I'm no soldier of Naskha. "Not yet." For the briefest of moments Sebastion thought of himself donning the boots, draping the medallion about his neck and slipping the helm over his own unruly hair. Springing atop his horse, he charged off through a village, blades flashing right and left as he clove through a hobgoblin horde before pulling up as a the bolts of magic began to fall about him... That was the falling point. The ideals of the Wave Hawks - the little that Klavius had passed on thus far - seemed laudable, but the methods. There was something out there for Sebastion, he knew it. The pistols tucked into his belt hinted at it - something... more natural than magic, and yet different as well. Either way, it was not the boots that made the knight, nor the knight that made the cause: and lack of neither could prevent him trying to live up to the ideal. Nevertheless, he felt a slight disgruntlement when Melisande didn't proffer his name - for a polite declination, obviously - in response to Wyshira's instant suggestion of Kale, but he found himself echoing her words as she spoke the answer quietly. "Not yet." "Kale is worthy," Wyshira spoke up. She doubted that the mercenary would say so himself, but she knew that the boots were just the sort of thing that Kale would covet. "Pffffff!" Kale exhaled flippantly, before realizing that the priestess was serious. For a while he said nothing, looking to Wyshira with a questioning eye. The mercenary appreciated her extraodinary voice of support, misplaced though it might be.In the dusty footsteps that followed, humility, honesty, even... hope was the prevailing response from his companions. Kale didn't consider himself 'worthy', though his reasons were more fundamental than calculated. Surrounded by the most peculiar jumble of powers and fates, worthiness seemed to have as little bearing as any other kind of sense that railed to exert order on the whole mess. The mercenary watched the ridgeline, cared for his steps, and made eyes to see they wouldn't walk cow-dumb into ambush. Angels notwithstanding, simple common sense and an open eye had saved more lives than 'heroics'. Hmm, common sense and a quick blade, Sebastion might very well make a good soldier, he realized as an aside, putting the pieces together. His humility was a peculiar thought, a better side, though, than the sense of entitlement that struck on the other face of that same tin coin, that token called 'self value'. "Deserve's got nothing to do with it," Kale tried to explain his thoughts. He felt a bit helpless to Klavius, to Wolf and the rest. If there they required 'worthiness,' what was Kale to say? "Gods!" Kale skipped a beat at that, wondering if it meant anything to take deities' names in vain before an angel... "If we asked Sir Wave Hawk Thrazen himself, he'd likely say he never felt 'worthy,' leastways not until he got cut down in battle. "If it's all the same, I think I'll avoid worthiness as long as possible," he concluded, though that wouldn't keep him from wearing those boots. A great share in the treasure, those would be. Something more about them, too. Kale was a bit self-conscious that his nearly cynical attitude would chip away at Melisande's adventure of a lifetime. No, of course, the woman hadn't noticed. Just look at her, I didn't know a person could google like that, he thought without disdain, mildly glad that his wet-blanket attitude wasn't catching. His conclusion seemed clear enough, yet vaguely, the mercenary could imagine a resplendant Knight emerging round the bend... "You're wearing my boots..." You think he'd mind? Frustrated, Kale grimmaced. It seemed the angel was toying with them, or at least playing the role of the wise bloody guru who knew much more than he said. Just tell me the meaning of life, already... "It's funny you should ask. I mean, fate is more your business than mine. You know better than we- I wonder what you could say for us: rangers, monks, priestesses... a death mage," he said it flat out, what did the being really think of that one? Surely he knew. Kale's stomach tensed. "and a... distant cousin of yours, perhaps?" Confronted with a direct portal to the gods, Kale figured if he wasn't to be immediately smitten, he may as well ask some dying questions to the Folks in the Know. The mercenary was immensely curious, but did not get his hopes up regarding what kind of answer he would recieve. Ah, yes, grasshopper, you must seek the answer in the wind, the stars... He was thankful of the being's intervention, respectful of the power, but he still was suspicious, maybe just a bit resentful over great power that could do so much more. But then, there was always the ageless adage, "Ours is not to reason why..." Coming to his senses, the mercenary cast his eyes back to the valley about. Philosophy, it seemed, was good only for stumbling into ambush."Were you a Wave Hawk at one time, Emissary?" Wyshira went on, asking a slightly less impertinent question than the one which was foremost in her mind: What exactly ARE you anyway, Emissary? The emissary shook his head at Wyshira's question. "No, young priestes, I was never a Wave Hawk. I was deep into the study of sorcery when first the Elemental Orders were founded by the teachings of Illamar. I sympathise with the ways of the Wave Hawks though; like them I am often a traveller." He seemed to have heard the quiet words of Melisande and Sebastion, smiling sadly in a quiet way as he continued to walk confidently down the track. At Kale's direct questions, he chuckled. "Fate, my business? How amusing... and I assume by distant cousin, you mean the young lady with the blue skin there." He focused his attention on Melisande, a gentle smile on his face. "No, she is not a relative of mine. She's an aasimar, whereas I... I am more of a proof that even with the bad blood of ancestors in you, you can still achieve something. The technical term for my heritage is tiefling, but that doesn't define who I am. Others had the kindness to look past the suspicions tied to my blood and gave me the chance to be the person I am now. What you are and who you are, can often be two different things." He strolled on for a few moments in reflective silence, then Wolf spoke up. "Thank you for your timely intervention there, ," he spoke in a wary but respectful tone. "I'm sorry if there's some title we should address you by, but if there is I don't know what it is." At that the divine emissary chuckled. "It's not every day we meet your kind. What do you plan to do with us now?" "Let you go on your way. I have no need to detain you from your own businesses. As I said, it was considered that thanking you for freeing Lazarus's soul was earned, and besides... I wanted to get a look at you all." "Get a look at us all?" "Yes; even a wandering messenger of Naskha has his curiosities and interests. Now, if you don't mind, I shall make my own way, for I think we are far enough from the beholderkin for you to be able to progress on your way safely from here." And with that, he was gone. He did not disappear in a flash of smoke or a pulse of light, he merely carried on walking forwards but somehow sliding out of vision no matter how hard one tried to keep looking at him, till all that was left as a trace of his passage was a cheerful whistling that quickly diminished into nothing. Wolf sighed. "I'll take it as a bad sign that some divine emissary is 'taking an interest' in us."</blockquote>

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