The Kalarian Precipice - Chapter Two
A week later the mountain dwellers came.
The swiftest among them to bare the news, dwarves and hardened tribal folk, arrived in Kalair upon horses and sometimes more wild of beasts. They brought tales of great devastation. Sand whirling through the sky, whipped upwards by great gales and then cast down to pepper the earth with blazing heat. Whole communities torn apart by winds and inhabitants of caves dying from a simple loss of breath. Great packs of animals fleeing in fear down the slopes and trampling all who stood in their way. It sounded like a most horrific natural disaster, until they spoke of that which followed.
These winds that had arisen in The Sands, the cursed and barren desert behind Marix’s peaks, had disturbed and awoken other things. The hillspeople weren’t the only refugees making their way to civilisation. Creatures unheard of, were said to be passing through the mountains to leave nothing but death in their wake. Serpents with horns, great armies of scurrying ants the size of a man, scorpions with tails some two storeys high…
The news spread like fire through Kalair, though how much was truth was impossible to surmise. Alas, the mountain folk were well known for their pension for tales and building from molehills. The council did all it could to see the refugees safely housed around Cillat, a sparse town that might benefit from the extra hands. It was also a strategic decision, a perfect place from which to scout and assess the truth of nature’s new threats. They hoped that soon enough the issue would retreat of its own accord.
Some days later in the dark corner of a nondescript room, quiet words were spoken. They discussed old allegiances, friendships and the mingling of blood. Facts and theories were toyed with, presented and argued. Marix Isle’s very history was brought to the table, as six sets of eyes sifted through what might be, digging the sands of time for a glimmer of truth. The possibilities were many and the risks greater still. Together they would work to see their people’s needs met, above the law and beyond the council’s realm of influence.
Carthum & Metea & Otiroth: The half-orc’s visit to the law office was a short one, only an hour or two in fact, as it seems the guard was more interested in making a point and blowing off some steam, than causing any harm to Carthum or his reputation. Perhaps a good thing that the church and the council are able to see eye to eye, as you expect some politics might have come into the equation, but nothing is said of the matter during your following days at Suru’s church.
News of the fate of the hillspeople is obviously on the lips of many of the church-goers during the following week, and then you are both summoned by Elle, one of the elders. In a private meeting she offers Carthum a task, that he may take in service to the church and as a reinforcement of his new priestly status. You are told to be at the fields near the southern cliff faces, directly above the old Cinto mines at first light. Carthum is invited to bring his sister, as they understand that your bond with the Tiefling brings strength, and that together the sum might achieve more than the one. You are told to pack well and are provided rations, but the nature of the task won’t be made clear to you until making it to the meeting place.
Naturally, once word of this is passed from Metea to Otiroth the young sorcerer can hardly contain himself! He pretty much invites himself along. Perhaps he has mentioned a little of this to The Burning Rose, and they agree that he should follow the priest in order to collect any information that may be valuable to them. Otiroth would be a fool to assume that in some way Suru’s church and The Burning Rose don’t share something of a shaky allegiance.
Dain & Jeovanna: Over the course of a day, the ranger deciphers the markings on the wooden disc, a bear on its face and a bridge on its rear, to be a very old tavern on the far outskirts of Kalair called The River Bear. Going there and eventually showing the unusual token to the barkeeper, he simply says “there is no news for you this day, perhaps tomorrow” and refuses to comment further.
You visit every day at first dark, hoping for the young woman to be there, but each time you are simply told there is no news. Until last night. He passed you an old scrap of paper which simply reads, “The grounds above Cinto mine. First Light. Bring strength you trust” Below the words are a sketch of an apple, a bucket and a broken ceramic pot.
Being a nice quiet drinking hole, you invited Jeovanna along that fateful night to share a tale or two, and there is a good chance she will want to accompany you on the strange visit to Kalair’s southern cliffs of black.