The Kalarian Precipice - Chapter Six

[Jeovanna]

Jeovanna grunted at Metea, but didn't add anything to her statement. She'd hesitate before settling in across the fire- perhaps she was stalling. Instead, she'd dig through her pack, removing the butchered meat and passing it off to Otiroth.

Let's see what he had, then.

Mostly, she was keeping an eye on things. Half of their team seemed of the sort to be quickly trusting; and why not? The man's story was a tragedy, surely. Why would someone lie about that?

Why indeed?

<Insight check=20>

 

[Carthum One-Tusk]

Carthum took the offered seat as well, alongside his sister. His heart ached for the pains of this traveler, but he knew that many others suffered like him- and some had not survived to suffer, or would not, if they lingered too long.

"We are traveling north," he'd confirm, "though to where, even we yet cannot say. The pathways south are still at least somewhat clear, aside from the dangers of hungry and agitated beasts..." which in itself was not a small threat, but this man had made it thus far.

 

[Otiroth]

Otiroth joined Metea and Carthum at the fire, listening to the man's tale. He would ask, gently of course, about the rumors the hills-folk had brought of the beasts from the north. Had he seen any of them himself? Either way, he had likely made the right choice, even if it was a tragic one.

They had not seen any elves themselves so far, though wood-elves did tend to be secretive and likely could avoid their group of they wished.

The sorcerer seemed quite appreciative of the warmth and look of their new friend's bread, but did not eat any, as he had his own task to take care of. Once the snake meat was provided, he got to work. Otiroth's cooking kit was neatly bundled up and there was more in there than it looked like it could hold- though when he dipped his hand into the case, it was difficult to tell what he was grabbing- something real, or something conjured?

He worked quickly and expertly to prepare and season the meat and then bury it in the coals to cook. Otiroth hadn't cooked snake before, true, but it's texture and smell was familiar enough to make some guesses...

<Cooking roll=21>

 

[97mg]

The hermit relaxes even further, as you settle and let your ingredients begin to sizzle upon coals and ash. A late breakfast or an early lunch? Masto the hound sniffs the air, an approval of whatever the mysterious flesh it is that you’ve donated to the cause.

Surprisingly, the bread is quite good, and the cheese though hard as stone, has a lively tang hidden beneath a thick and crusty rind. It should all turn out to be a rather tasty combination.

Jeovanna and Dain may be of few words, but hunters and trackers know how to read signals, be they broken twigs, the sounds of scurrying animals, or an elderly man’s facial expression and tone.You have little doubt that he is being honest with you. Beneath the facts though, probably lie regrets and pains that one doesn’t just share with passers by. He has lost something along the way, that much you can be sure of.

He is pleased with the ranger’s understanding, and smiles at the tiefling’s young-hearted wisdom. It is then that the half-orc speaks of their northwards journey.

“It seems none of us truly know where we are going then,” he says not unkindly. “It is better that way, to savour the walk, rather than obsess with one’s destination. I should probably tell you that northwards is unwise, convince you to tread some other way, but all have their reasons. At least… you have safety of numbers and the liveliness of youth. Also…” he looks towards Otiroth, poking and turning meat, “a rather good cook. Smells very nice!”

“So what takes you northwards? I try not to pry, but curiosity has got the better of me. Off to serve in a battle to protect soon to be besieged settlements perhaps? Or family, family calls? There must be duty in what you do, to take such risk.”

“They are ugly, the beasts that come. Searching. Feeding. Clever. Varied. Beware those with a broken red stripe on their back, even the small ones.”

The man hesitates a moment, as though contemplating revealing something further, when a sharp wind gusts through the trees and a swirl of leaves and grit cuts through the air. It lasts only a moment, until once again all is still.

“The Sands blows upon us, and each time a little stronger.”

Thankfully, for now Magaw is still safely perched atop his well-placed staff, listening in, and you can probably almost make out a grin on his "face".

 

[daindarkspring]

Dain absorbed the information the man was giving as thoroughly as he could. So it was all real. The visions of the creatures might have begun to fade, with each passing day becoming more like a dream than a prophecy. But now, as the man spoke of them, his eyes filled with horror and sadness at their recollection, the images of the creatures returned to Dain's mind fresher than ever before. This man was not lying.

"We go north to try and stem the tide. Or even stop it altogether." It sounded ridiculous, Dain knew. They were young, inexperienced, and perhaps reckless to the point of suicidal. He stared into the fire.

Even so, Dain had nothing to return to in Kalair. If there was a chance he might find some trace of his past beyond the mountains and the sand, then creatures be damned. Better to die yearning to live than waste away.

Fluttering banners, snapping in the wind, passed before his eyes briefly but long enough to tease his memory. But then there was only the fire, and the void of his origin. The smell of bread and exotic meat coiled around him, and he wondered what hearth smells had welcomed him as a child.

Foolishness. Essithea alone knows my past, and yet she torments me with her passion instead of telling me...why?

 

[Metea]

The smell of Otiroth's cooking was amazing. Then again, Otiroth did always tend to smell good. How did he do it?

Well... she knew how. And maybe she was biased, too. She was tempted to reach out and take a little pinch of the sorcerer on offer, but he looked quite obsessed with his current work, and Metea knew she rated just below cooking when it came to his interests. A pout very nearly developed- she was barely listening to the man pour out his heart to them- but was distracted when an unnatural wind blew through their camp, stirring some dried grass fronds and summoning another lovely whisper of cooking meat.

 

[Otiroth]

Otiroth began to carefully uncover the cooking meat, before carving off pieces to hand off to everyone around the fire. Yes, including the dog!

But he did know where he was going. Alath. A place that would give her answers... that could tell him about the past that was growing even now in sparkling scales across his back and arms.

Where Alath was... that was the question! And not one he expected a wanderer on the road to know about.

"Perhaps we are foolish," Otiroth had to admit it. "But someone must go north."

It wasn't always destiny that drove men forward... though it was certainly as such in this case. Desperation was sometimes just as good as destiny.

 

[Jeovanna]

Someone must...

Duty.

Obligation.

Jeovanna stiffened a bit at the unnatural wind, muscles tensing like a cat ready to pounce- but she'd relax almost immediately afterwards. It was imperceptible, really. Only a moment. She'd take her share of lunch when Otiroth offered. That was a decent distraction as well.

So they would go north, and for perhaps a little while longer, it would still be safe on the roads. But only a little bit longer. And who knows far the creatures from the sands had already dug their way in on the heels of their camp friend?

It didn't matter.

 

[Carthum One-Tusk]

Carthum looked skywards for a brief moment. Into the blue skies- so serene, but carrying tremendous heat from the north. Monsters. Ruin.

He seemed to snap back to reality soon enough. Of course, he would impart a blessing upon their meal- of the 'speaking Suru's grace' part, not an actual spell. Let Suru look favorably upon this succor, and let it carry them onwards to their needs! Though their two groups traveled in opposite directions, they both were set upon a marked path.

 

[97mg]

The meal and company is pleasant, despite the temporary interruption of a southbound gusty breeze.

“North,” the hermit repeats, clearly curious as to what inspires this group to go against the grain, to face that from which others hastily retreat. But he does not press you or request elaboration on what lures you so. Perhaps he thinks you fools, young and naive, but it doesn’t show. If anything, it is more likely that this man respects your decision. Each to their own path.

There is honor in the ranger and sorcerer’s words. A sense of duty, that the fit and willing go to aid those weaker and now under immediate threat. The elderly man nods, and smiles as he finishes his final piece of meat. The hound of course, finished his long ago. A few licks, a quick gulp, and the offering is long gone.

“Tasty!” the canine remarks to Dain with a small yap. The treat is appreciated, and likely better than most of the meals he’s had for many a day.

As your lunch concludes, the dog turns to watch a half-orc, apparently transfixed by the skies overhead. A blue which is being eaten at, gnawed away by the taints of dusty sand-coloured hue and splashes of gray. The weather is soon to change, it takes no expert to notice that.

The hound too looks upwards then, spotting a small dark shape flapping about, forced backwards by a strong wind high above the treeline before pulling in its wings and diving down to rest in some distant tree… perhaps.

“Hrrrumph,” the dog snorts. “Birds. Why are the tastiest things so damn hard to catch. Wait…”

He stands on all fours to sniff the air, catching the scent of something close and to your northern edge. He growls quietly.

“I know that smell. Annoying!”

Without further ado, the dog rushes off, it's old paws scattering leaves as it darts off into a nearby bush.