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Angkar: Wet season. Precipitation is common during the late afternoon and evening hours. Vegetation grows significantly during the summer, but flooding is a danger due to the monsoons that ravage the country. The rainforest sees evenly distributed rainfall throughout the season.

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Morrim: Relatively hot and dry, but with a chance of thunderstorms from time to time. The heat may cause forest fires.

Soto: Hot and humid, tree cover is dense while ground growth is restricted. Thunderstorms see the most amount of rainfall during the season, and it can be very windy. On occasion, there are flash floods that can destroy homes and farms built on flood plains.

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January 16, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has a new skin, all thanks to Mel! Don't forget to check out the new OTMs as well!

December 2, 2017 Winter has settled on Elenlond, bringing sleep for some and new life for others.

September 26, 2017 With the belated arrival of autumn come some interesting developments: new OTMs, a Town Crier and the release of the Elly Awards winners!

July 14, 2017 After a bit of forum clean-up, Elly Awards season has arrived! Head on over to make your nominations!

May 31, 2017 Summer has arrived and so has activity check! That's not all though – we also have some new OTMs for you and some staff changes!


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    The Tomb of Vespasian
    Topic Started: Apr 14 2018, 02:26 AM (320 Views)
    Castor


    Southern Mountains

    Castor had travelled for nearly four days, passing from Kinaldi through the Morrim farmlands, on his wqay to the mighty ranges that rose in the east. He had conversed with his companions, sought guidance by weak candlelight, searching ancient scrolls and any clues he might find within them.

    And now, he was here. He had arrived at the place of his destination. At the southern end of the Do'suul, he had come at the place where he believed would be the resting place of his lord. The locals called it the 'Hill of the Visions', and it was this strange connection that had drove Castor there in the first place. What was it, that drove the villagers away from that place? Whether something supernatural or something passed from legend, Castor was determined to find out the truth. After all, that was his line of work.

    Their objective was simple: to locate the final remains, or anything at all, of their lord Vespasian. Castor had good hope for finding something. For even if t was just some empty tomes, some scrambled parchments, or some broken stone, anything of value would prove his worth. And since it was the Academy funding him, it was of the upmost importance that he find 'something' in the first place.

    Castor had drove them to the nearest village, at the foot of the hills that led to the mountain range. A small town, called Estafa. Castor had the intent of getting to know the people there, learn from their stories, before he would ascend to the hill. He entered the town, through a small gate within a low palisade, meant to draw out predators. As he passed, he descended from his horse, and ordered the others to do the same.

    He was greeted by the guard captain, a bearded men of average age, who hailed him. " Hello, strangers. I am obligated to ask, what is your business here?" Castor smiled. Of course the man was. " We are here on business of our lord, Vespasian. We intend to stay here for a while. Where may I find an inn, captain?"

    The man raised his eyebrows, and nodded, speaking: " A friend of the lord, is a friend of the people here." Then, he pointed eastward. " You can find lodging within the Tumbled Carrage Inn, near the east end of the village. May Vespasian guide you, good sir." Castor made a quick bow, and thanked the captain. He walked, with his horse at his side, to the direction where the captain pointed him.

    Soon, he found where he was searching for: a small two-story house, with a terrace. He left his horse at a low stable shed, and then, proceeded to the front door. Although it was just after noon, some men were already enjoying some ale. Castor shook his head. He detested the stuff, but could not resist the taste of some good whiskey. As he entered the Inn, he was greeted by the innkeeper at the other side of a long bar table. Castor answered his greeting, and then approached the bar. " Good day, sir. What may I do for you?" Castor was again surprised by the kindness of the townsfolk. Therefore, he politely answered: " I am in need of lodgings for the coming week, and perhaps after. Do you have room for myself and several others?" The innkeeper, an elder men, looked thoughtful, and then said:
    " We have room in the upper floor for you. How many persons are you speaking of?"

    " It is just me, my assistant, and some other men. I believe 10 in total?" Castor said. The innkeeper nodded. " Very good. We have room for you and the others upstairs. You and four others can sleep in one room, the others in the one next door." Castor smiled, and nodded. " Certainly. I shall inform the others. How much is the wager?" " I request only fair compensation, good sir. Payment up front, however. 2 pieces for each night, each room." " Let's make it 40, for now." Castor said. Although he had little negotiating skills, he believed the innkeeper would agree. " Excellent. That will make ten nights. Your breakfast is included. Dinner and drinks not, unfortunately."

    Castor thanked the innkeeper, and walked outside, to his companions. He spoke to them: " All right. We have stay in this inn for the next ten days. You can move your important belongings to the upstairs room. five persons per room. We will rest for this evening. Tomorrow I shall begin looking for clues, and I hope we can start digging in four days." Castor's crew nodded and mumbled in agreement. Castor nodded in himself, and when he began unpacking his stuff, mumbled: " Now we are getting somewhere."

    (OOC: Continuation of this Thread)
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    Castor


    The next day

    Castor awoke from his sleep with fresh energy. Although he had to admit his bed in Kinaldi was a better one, the wooden planks he had laid his head on early last evening were much more confortable than the bedroll he had spent the last four night in.

    Castor stood up from his bed, greeted by his companions, who had all awoken. It was apparently customary for the innkeeper to awaken his guests, in order to prepare their breakfast. Castor was greeted by some of them, and then, a young maiden arrived at the door. She bowed slightly at the sight of Castor, who smiled, and said: " Do not fear, milady. I am no lord nor robber." The maiden mumbled, and nodded nervously. Then, she said: " Your dinner will be served in ten minutes, sirs." Castor thanked the maiden, and then ordered the others to follow.

    The maiden immediately began with cleaning the room, but Castor said: " You may leave that, for now. I will have some of my man do it." The maiden, however, shook her head, and said: " You mustn't. The master pays me per room." Castor nodded, and then concluded: " Very well. Remind me to tip you later, then." The maiden took another, and Castor decided to let this one slip.

    He walked down the stairs, where he was greeted by the sight of his companions, who had seated themselves down. The innkeeper welcomed Castor as he stopped at the bottom. " Good day, indeed." Castor said. Then, he remembered something. " I am terribly sorry that this has passed my mind, but I did not give you any name, did I?" The innkeeper laughed, and answered: " No. But I presumed you were a mere scholar, and simply had forsaken your name." Castor smiled, however, said: " And I often have, indeed. My name is Castor. I have come from Kinaldi." The innkeeper nodded, and simply said: " Well then, I shall cross out 'pilgrims' and fill in Castor, now. Now, then, good Castor, what brings you to our town?" Castor nodded back, and spread his arms. " My apologies. We have on business of lore. That which concerns our lord..."

    " ...Vespasian?"

    A voice spoke at the other end of the bar counter. It was an elderly man, who was enjoying a plate of porridge, as several of his teeth had fell out. Castor was shocked for a second, and then turned to the man who had spoken. He continued, with a coarse voice: " Oh, yes. New travels fast around these parts, young lad. Your company was spotted ten miles west of here, near Altyron. We reckoned you had something in mind with that mountain of ours?" Castor was surprised by the amount of information the old men had. Then, the innkeeper cleared his throat, and said: " Ah, yes. Castor, meet our local scholar and scribe, Pallatus. He came in here last night, a short time after you did. He was looking for you, in particular, I believe." Castor looked at the innkeeper, and then to the elder man, who had placed back his spoon on the plate, and looked at him eyeballing.

    Castor took a moment to take the old man in, but could discover no ill intent. And so, he nodded, and walked to the man. " All right, then. I greet you, sir Pallatus. My name is Castor, and I have come for evidence of Vespasian. I was sent here by my great-grandfather, Loren. Or so it would seem." Pallatus looked up when he heard that name. " Paul will suffice, young Castor." Then, he looked up, and said: " I have once met Loren, when I was a young child. They said he was a master of healing. Well, I can assure you: What he did for me, was nothing short of a miracle."

    Castor was again suprised by the man's story. " You have met Loren? But then you must be at least 90 years old?"
    " 97, good boy. Thanks to your grandfather." Paul answered, grinning. Castor was very pleased to have found a man who could give him answers. " So then you know of the hill, and what it holds?" " They are mere rumours, young lad. But I have heard them for many years know, and I have searched through our library. But I am afraid it holds little knowledge. That which you may need, is in hands of some higher powers in these lands."

    Castor nodded, somewhat bumped now, and said: " Then I might need someone else." Paul nodded, then greeted Castor, saying: " That is all I have, for now. I will stay here if you have any questions. My house is at the other side of the inn." Castor took a soft bow, thanked Paul, and then returned to the innkeeper. " So, what's for breakfast?"


    Afternoon
    Castor and his companions had sought out any words from other people, but they all knew little beyond rumours or stories about the hill. At noon, Castor stopped by the guard captain, who greeted him: " Good day, Castor. I have some news for your expedition; you have caught the attention of our Lady, Mordecai of Asenath. There been sent word that she is to visit here soon. Perhaps you'd like me to warn you before that?" Castor nodded, and answered: " Certainly, that is much appreciated."

    A short time after, Castor had taken his company back to the inn, where some of his crew began planning the way up to the hill. Castor had taken up a place at the long end, but had led his men work out the best route. He knew little of geography, and for that matter, he was certain that his endurance was good enough to scale a small mountain like this. Just when Castor posed a question concerning their equipment, he was interrupted by the captain. " Castor. Our lady has arrived."

    Outside, a small company of horsemen made their way to the north entry of the town. In rows of two, heavily armed knights flanked a person that rode in the middle. A knight, dressed in black armour, her face covered by an extensive gorget. By all means, a noblewomen to be reckoned with. As they approached the gate, they slowed down, and the gate was opened to let them in. When they had entered, they slowed down even more, making use of a soft canter. They came to a full stop at the large market square in the center. Castor, who had walked out of the inn when he heard the captain's notice, now approached the group, and stopped in front of them.

    " We greet you, milady Mordecai. What brings you to our town?" Surprisingly, it was Paul who spoke the words. He had come out of his house as well, and now stood next to the guard captain, who had saluted the knights. Some other villagers gathered as well, all awaiting the words from Mordecai.
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    Phaedrus
    Member Avatar
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all/ And thus the native hue of resolution/ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

    The tomb of our Lord.

    Whispers had broken out like wildfire across northern Morrim. It hadn’t taken long for word to reach her ears, some more fantastical than others. Some said they had found Vespasian’s tomb. Others insisted that they’d found his skeleton. Still others said his ghost had come to them in a vision, commanding pilgrimage. In some tales the man seeking it was a priest, a warrior, a knight, an oracle, a madman— but whatever flavor of rumor she heard, she knew one thing: she would have to investigate.

    Soon enough all rivers led to the same place: Estafa. And so she’d sent word ahead, praying her message would find the right person. As she tugged on gloves and saddled her horse, swinging her legs over Hermaeus and stroking his mane, the faintest smile played on her lips.





    Estafa was a small town huddled under the shadow of the mountain.

    Today the sky burned a fierce blue and the air bit crisp; a breeze stirred the pines, sending them whispering overhead. Hermaeus nickered as their company filed in a line on the dirt road. Some stubborn remnants of a morning snow clung to its banks, but the rest had melted to dirty sluice. Mud sucked at her horse’s hooves and the boots of her retinue: four homunculi and four pious soldiers from the surrounding fiefdom, all marching proud in their armor.

    They made quite the sight as they entered the gates. Townspeople popped out of their homes and shops to stare, springing up like weasels. One little boy gaped at the knights, clutching his mother’s skirts and sucking his thumb. Some women and men looked away entirely, fearing to make eye contact; brooms stopped mid-sweep, swords forgotten on whetstones, wheelbarrows groaning to a stop. For a moment the town held its breath as Lady Mordecai of Asenath came to a halt within the square and reined in Hermaeus. The black stallion slowed, clopping in a half-circle before letting out a whinny. Beside and behind her, the retinue clattered to a stop.

    Mordecai offered a faint smile and tilt of the head to the guard captain, watching as two men filed out from the inn. One looked scarce older than her; age had withered the other to a prune, stealing his teeth and bending his back to a gnarled oak. Still, a sharp intelligence glittered in his eyes, and he addressed her first.

    We greet you, milady Mordecai. What brings you to our town?

    “I have heard tell of an expedition to find the tomb of our Lord Vespasian,” she called out, sitting ramrod upon her horse. “To find it would bring glory to our Empire and the reign of our Emperor Hollemark.” Her dark eyes flickered over the crowd of spectators. A mix of awe and fear shone back, a sight she had long grown accustomed to.

    The common folk had no shortage of opinions on her, many of them wary. At best, they found her a terrifying protector. At worst, they whispered that she was a blackwitch of the mountains, and lived in fear of her servants. Eater of dead, raiser of dead, defiler of dead… she’d heard it all. Never mind that her family had protected them from Andromalius' necromancy. Such was the ignorance of peasants. She left the commoners to rest between Paul and Castor, her stare heavy.

    “I offer men to labor and fight, for brigands and tribes overrun these mountains. It is a dangerous task you are undertaking.” Her voice held the grim tone of experience. Mordecai nodded pointedly at the gates of the town, placing a hand on the pommel of her own sword. Her knights followed in kind.

    "Who is the head of the expedition here?"
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Mordecai
    Member Avatar
    What is to give light must endure burning.

    The tomb of our Lord.

    Whispers had broken out like wildfire across northern Morrim. It hadn’t taken long for word to reach her ears, some more fantastical than others. Some said they had found Vespasian’s tomb. Others insisted that they’d found his skeleton. Still others said his ghost had come to them in a vision, commanding pilgrimage. In some tales the man seeking it was a priest, a warrior, a knight, an oracle, a madman— but whatever flavor of rumor she heard, she knew one thing: she would have to investigate.

    Soon enough all rivers led to the same place: Estafa. And so she’d sent word ahead, praying her message would find the right person. As she tugged on gloves and saddled her horse, swinging her legs over Hermaeus and stroking his mane, the faintest smile played on her lips.





    Estafa was a small town huddled under the shadow of the mountain.

    Today the sky burned a fierce blue and the air bit crisp; a breeze stirred the pines, sending them whispering overhead. Hermaeus nickered as their company filed in a line on the dirt road. Some stubborn remnants of a morning snow clung to its banks, but the rest had melted to dirty sluice. Mud sucked at her horse’s hooves and the boots of her retinue: four homunculi and four pious soldiers from the surrounding fiefdom, all marching proud in their armor.

    They made quite the sight as they entered the gates. Townspeople popped out of their homes and shops to stare, springing up like weasels. One little boy gaped at the knights, clutching his mother’s skirts and sucking his thumb. Some women and men looked away entirely, fearing to make eye contact; brooms stopped mid-sweep, swords forgotten on whetstones, wheelbarrows groaning to a stop. For a moment the town held its breath as Lady Mordecai of Asenath came to a halt within the square and reined in Hermaeus. The black stallion slowed, clopping in a half-circle before letting out a whinny. Beside and behind her, the retinue clattered to a stop.

    Mordecai offered a faint smile and tilt of the head to the guard captain, watching as two men filed out from the inn. One looked scarce older than her; age had withered the other to a prune, stealing his teeth and bending his back to a gnarled oak. Still, a sharp intelligence glittered in his eyes, and he addressed her first.

    We greet you, milady Mordecai. What brings you to our town?

    “I have heard tell of an expedition to find the tomb of our Lord Vespasian,” she called out, sitting ramrod upon her horse. “To find it would bring glory to our Empire and the reign of our Emperor Hollemark.” Her dark eyes flickered over the crowd of spectators. A mix of awe and fear shone back, a sight she had long grown accustomed to.

    The common folk had no shortage of opinions on her, many of them wary. At best, they found her a terrifying protector. At worst, they whispered that she was a blackwitch of the mountains, and lived in fear of her servants. Eater of dead, raiser of dead, defiler of dead… she’d heard it all. Never mind that her family had protected them from Andromalius' necromancy. Such was the ignorance of peasants. She left the commoners to rest between Paul and Castor, her stare heavy.

    “I offer men to labor and fight, for brigands and tribes overrun these mountains. It is a dangerous task you are undertaking.” Her voice held the grim tone of experience. Mordecai nodded pointedly at the gates of the town, placing a hand on the pommel of her own sword. Her knights followed in kind.

    "Who is the head of the expedition here?"
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    Castor


    Castor looked silently as the lady answered Paul. Castor tried his best to weigher some kind of sense from the noblewoman, as to see if she twitched. But she sat firm, and even toughed the pommel of her weapon, as if ready to strike some ill-mannered person, or just an unfortunate one who opposed her at the wrong time. Then, when she posed the question about him, he stepped forward.

    " That would be me, milady. You have heard much, indeed. I am certainly here to investigate the matter of the tomb of our lord, Vespasian. Only to see if it is true, and indeed, if we could find anything of use." Castor spoke. He looked a moment at the guards, continuing: " Had I known that these lands were so hostile, that your ladyship would bring so well-armed a following, I would not have come here without a guard of my own." He walked closer to the company, and then looked at the lady as she descended from her horse. Her face showed some unnatural pale colour, and her arm was replaced by some manner of ill-put sorcery, resembling at most a edged marrowbone rather then an arm.

    " I wish not to seek any trouble upon the mountain, or any, for that matter. I have come in service to the lord, and my grandfather, Loren. I am certain he is familiar here." Although Castor was still fearful for speaking out his heritage, afraid that it might be washed of as a 'sham' or hoax, he was confident that lady Mordecai would recognise the name.

    After hearing Mordecai's reply, Castor concluded: " I am certainly glad to receive help, even if it is in the form of an heavily armed host. We might need all the labour we may get, if we ascend the mountain. Where do you wish to stay, milady?" He made a soft bow, as to accentuate his humbleness, but in fact, he was terrified by the pale woman in front of him.
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    Mordecai
    Member Avatar
    What is to give light must endure burning.

    That would be me, milady.

    She turned her stare to the wiry young man that stepped forward, the hems of his simple toga fluttering by his feet. The sun had kissed his skin, suggesting long days spent hiking in fair weather, and his accent exposed him as a southron. Kinaldi, perhaps?

    “It is a noble pursuit,” she approved, inclining her head. “One that gives glory to our Lord.” It wasn’t the first, however. Plenty of pilgrims had gone to their death in pursuit of the famed Tomb. There were claims in the south, the west, the east—some even said Vespasian laid in the disputed territories of Ashoka. But this rumor had come upon her doorstep.

    A wry smile crinkled her face. “It is true. The North is not as peaceful as the South. The land of the Do’Suul is fierce, and produces fiercer men. I am glad Vespasian has given you a peaceful journey.” He might as well have been a lamb for the brigands. In a practiced moment, she dismounted from her horse, riding boots hitting the cobbles. Mordecai turned to look at the pilgrim, holding Hermaeus’ reins in her left hand. His stare did not escape her; those unnatural fingers clenched on the leather.

    “By the grace of the One, I pray we do not,” she responded, lofting her chin. "Still, it is wise to carry steel in these lands.” She motioned with a hand, and one of her men stepped forward, dipping his head. Mordecai handed him the reins, nodding.

    “See that he is watered and fed,” she ordered, turning back to Castor and Paul as the horse clopped away. She folded her hands, striding forward. The young priest stood just a brush taller, and she proffered a faint smile up at him, for the fear in his face did not escape her.

    “Familiar indeed. Although — quite the extraordinary claim, brother in Vespasian.” Her eyes shone with some amusement. I hope I did not ride out so far to meet a charlatan. She studied him awhile, looking for any flicker of guilt or deception, but the man looked earnest. Either he speaks true, or has swallowed his own lie.

    “Come,” she murmured. “This inn shall suffice. And there we may speak more comfortably over food and drink.”







    “I understand,” Mordecai spoke to Castor over her wine. “My retinue must look frightful. But your cause is a noble one, and many may seek to disrupt and use it to their advantage. From what I am told, the tomb lays in the midst of clansfolk territory."

    She weighed him with her dark eyes, her false hand placed upon her lap. Around them scurried nervous barmaids, bowing like sycophants and offering her more extravagance than they could afford. She’d shaken her head at each one, supping instead on the same meal of mutton and potatoes as the other inngoers. The greatest luxury she accepted was a cup of mulled wine that steamed faintly between them.

    Her men chattered by the fireplace, making idle talk with some of Castor’s retinue. Everyone gave a wide berth to the heavily armored knights that flanked the doorway, standing like a silent wood. Mordecai had waved away the barmaids that tried fruitlessly to offer them food and drink, and they seemed eager to flee from their burning eyes and the glimpses of unnatural whiteness beneath their helms.

    The noblewoman took a sip of her wine, regarding the priest over the wooden rim of her cup.

    “Tell me,” she murmured, placing it down with careful grace. "How is it that you came to know of the Tomb’s location?”
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    Castor


    Castor listened intensely to the lady's words, and was uncertain what her comments on the guards of the door meant. Although Castor saw that they were a strange contraption, shoved into their armour to hide their apparent unliving body inside, he was not going to stare at them to get their true appearance.

    He had taken the same dinner the other innkeepers had gotten, taking it in with slow bites. To his suprise, the noblewoman across her had done the same, not taking any luxuries other than a simple cup of wine. Castor, although thirsty, had declined and simply asked for tea. Mordecai spoke across the table from Castor, saying her retinue was nothing to be scared. Castor smiled, and nodded.

    " I believe that the looking clanfolk, not unlike ourselves, claim the mountain to be a place of worship. I do not know, if it is the same worship, however." Castor said. Mordecai took another sip of his wine, and Castor one of his tea, when she asked how he came by the tomb's location.

    " If have heard these rumours, as you have, that our lord's resting place is claimed by many places. South of Kinaldi, or near the Black Tower. And then there are those who claim that our lord lays within the border ranges in Ashoka. I cannot believe that."

    Castor called his personal assistant, his trusted Arcturus, to bring the map of the region. When he returned, he laid it down between Castor and Mordecai, facing the lady. Castor nodded, and Arcturus took a bow and retreated back to the others. " This region intrigues me. It has been in the hands of the Empire for centuries, and it is amongst the very first where the Cult of the True Vespasian first took hold. I have searched endlessly for scripture and maps from around the time that Vespasian lived. And it is around that time that the locals have come to call the mountain the 'Hill of the Visions'." Castor took a breath, and a final sip of his tea, before he continued.

    " I am not sure what these 'visions' entail..." He said, spreading his arms at the mention of visions, " But I am certain that they have a strong connection to Vespasian, or indeed, of a powerful faith." Castor sighed, taking a time to let the woman across take it all in. Then, he concluded: " To be honest: I must ponder this more closely, milady, if we are to be certain. But tomorrow, I shall ask Pallatus to take us to the foot of the mountain. For now, I wish to rest, if that is all-right? I wish you good night, milady." Castor stood up slowly, taking another slight bow at the noblewoman. He said a goodbye to his companions, although some, like Arcturus, followed him.

    Castor made a quick wave at the innkeeper, who nodded. To Castor's surprise, Paul had been sitting at the same place he had been this morning, and waved at Castor as well. Castor smiled, and took a nod back.
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    Mordecai
    Member Avatar
    What is to give light must endure burning.

    The mountain as a place of worship, indeed!

    The nobleman’s brow rose a fraction. She inhaled, fiddling with the stem of her goblet. “Indeed,” she murmured. “If you include bloodletting and cannibalism to be worship.” The edge to her voice suggested she had personal experiences, and the woman’s lips ironed. “They are savages, nothing more.”

    A constant pain in her side. At best they were marauders. At worst they blasphemed Vespasian in their hillside caves and forests. The Dark Conquest had destroyed Morrim, poisoning its land from the inside out, and left the inhospitable Do’Suul even crueler; it was easy to imagine why some clans took to devouring their own. But it did not make it less of a sin.

    Mordecai flicked a crumb off the table, fixing Castor with her dark eyes. She tipped her head in agreement. “It seems every generation brings a new location, new evidence, new visions.” Will you be different, I wonder? “I may be a noblewoman foremost, Brother Castor, but I consider myself a scholar. And to hear such claims upon my soil warrants investigation.” She lifted her chin, folding her hands as a man called Arcturus brought out a great map. Mordecai’s eyes traced the webs of ink, following the familiar hillocks and crests of mountains. Wood creaked as she leaned forward to examine it, her still face giving no indication of her thoughts.

    The Cult of the True Vespasian. Hill of the Visions.

    Her heart pounded. Mordecai tilted the map to see the X more clearly, eyes flickering around the notes in the margins. Could this be where her ancestor first received the visions of Vespasian? Of the One’s power? Or perhaps—heretical as it was to most Morrimians—where the man Vespasian was buried, but greater forces, the true God, rose him?

    “I see,” the noblewoman murmured, her careful tone a poor indicator of the thoughts buzzing through her head and quickened pulse. She leaned back in the chair, her face thoughtful. “This is much to consider. If it is true, and such a momentous discovery is made…” Mordecai sucked in her lips, trying to keep composed, but even so, a gleam of excitement shone in her eyes. She would have been happy to discuss it all night, her mind abuzz now, but the priest did not share such energy. She saw the sleepless bags under his eyes and the slack exhaustion of his face, relenting.

    “…Of course. It is a long way through these mountains, and longer still on foot.” Mordecai offered a faint smile, rising. Her own legs felt weary from days of riding, which meant her men must be thrice as tired as she. It felt odd to travel with those of flesh-and-blood; she’d grown so used to her homunculi, silent and indefatigable, that she nearly started every time a soldier asked her a question.

    “My retinue shall be ready at first light. Good-night, Brother Castor. Rest well.” With that she nodded to her men, and they broke from conversation to rise.





    The morning air was chill.

    Mordecai tugged on her other gauntlet, curling each finger. Satisfied at the fit, the woman adjusted her sword belt, blowing out a breath that misted before her face.

    Dawn had lent a rose blush to the fog that rolled down from the mountains. As they breakfasted in the tavern, the sun had slowly burnt it away, but a few tendrils still lingered, wrapping around the hills like spectating ghosts. The first morning birds had started their chirrup, breaking the quiet of her company.

    Her men yawned and rubbed the sleep out of their eyes, but she did not share their exhaustion. Last night’s conversation had galvanized her, keeping her mind racing with possibilities far into the wee hours; at some point she’d fallen asleep, and the nighttime pall of stars had been whisked away to reveal the pale roses and yellows of morning. It took little but a knock and tentative milady to get her out of bed— her excitement had continued well into the dawn, and the chill morning air braced her lungs and cheeks, shocking her into further wakefulness.

    Hermaeus nickered. He had been well-fed and watered—and she’d seen to it that the stableman received extra coin—and the noblewoman patted him, double-checking his saddle and supplies. Everything looked well. That just left…

    “Milady,” one of her men nodded, pointing at the approaching figures.

    “Brother Castor,” Mordecai turned, addressing the spindly priest and ancient man beside him. “Brother Pallatus. I pray you slept well.” A faint smile played on her lips, and the woman turned to squint at the climbing sun. But for the chill wind, the sky looked light: Vespasian willing, the weather would remain mild, and unexpected snows would not mar their expedition.

    “My company is ready to depart,” she resumed, turning back to look at them. “We await yours now.”
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    Castor


    Castor arose from his bed, along with his companions, in the same way that they had, the day before. The maid stood by the door again, but she had learn to keep her demeanor behind, saying simply: " Breakfast is about to be served." Castor nodded, and thanked the maid again.

    Castor made due with the breakfast of that day, until Paul sat down across him, apparently excited beyond his old bones. " I hear today you are going up the mountain?" Castor looked up from his plate, and smiled, answering: " You do know much. It is true: I have made plans with the lady Mordecai to investigate the top of the mountain. I have suspisions that there may be clues upon the hillside, or inside the caves." Paul nodded intensely, then, replied: " And you need my help?" Castor looked at the old man, and nodded, answering: " Yes. I will not ask of you to make the trip yourself, but if you have any guidance, it would be much appreciated." Paul nodded, and Castor could see a sparkle within the man's eye.

    As Castor finished his food, Arcturus came to him and whispered: " Castor? Lady Mordecai awaits you outside." Castor nodded, and stood up, saying to Paul: " I believe our presence is needed outside."

    Castor, who had donned a simple coat for the chilly morning weather, walked outside along with Paul. As he saw the lady's retinue already saddled and seated upon their rides, Castor mumbled in himself about his loitering. Mordecai greeted him, and Paul next to him. Castor took a light bow, and answered: " I have slept well, milady." He saw that his companions began getting their horses, and Arcturus brought Castor's own. He looked again at Mordecai, saying: " We are ready to depart. Paul, do you have any guidance?" Paul looked at Castor and then to Mordecai, then to the clear sky above, and then to the high hill outside the village. " The winds have guarded you well, young people." Then, he pointed to the mountain. " There is an old goat path at the western side of the hill. It was used by our previous herder, Altus. Until it became to dangerous with the wild-men. It is perhaps the only way to get to the very top." Castor asked a question, one which he hoped would not stop the tour altogether. " Where do these clansmen make their home?"

    Paul took a deep breath, and then pointed slightly higher from before. " Before he steered clear of the path, Altus placed some guide-poles where the clans marked their territory. I would advice to steer to the right of those. They have been used for idols and all sort of foul display since then, by the wild-men. All with all, without delay and hostilities, you will reach the top of the mountain within ten hours on horseback. There is large glade at halfway, where Altus used to stall his flock. I suppose you can use it." Paul nodded, and lowered his hand, concluding: " May our lord guide you, Castor. And of course you, lady Mordecai." Castor smiled, and then took a quick nod to Paul. " Thank you, brother. We shall follow your advice to heart."

    Then, Castor ascended his horse. He concluded to Paul: " We shall return here, either bearing the fruits of our success, or the scars of our struggle." He then turned to Mordecai, and said: " Let us go, now. It is a long journey ahead." With that, he set his horse in motion, with Arcturus beside him. His companions followed, in rows of two, as Mordecai had done the day before. He took a quick glance at the noblewoman, who had set her company in motion as well.

    They rode towards the palisade gate, greeted by the guard captain, who saluted again to lady Mordecai. As soon as they left they made a steady acceleration, going into a medium trot, until they reached the foot of the mountain, where they were greeted by a scout. Castor returned to banter, and asked of the scout: " Any visitors today?" The scout laughed, coming up from his position, and answered: " No wild-men at least, good sir. Be careful of wolves, however. They are stalking the northern parts of the hill." Castor waved at the man, thanking him.

    The scout waved back, and took of his head when he saw lady Mordecai: " milady Mordecai. Your presence is most welcome in these savage parts." Castor smiled at the man's sudden humble demeanour. But he had seen before that lady Mordecai indeed had an aura of power around her.
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    Mordecai
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    What is to give light must endure burning.

    An old goat path.

    Her dark eyes flickered in the direction Paul pointed at. She listened, silent, at the exchange, nodding at the old man’s explanation.

    “My thanks, Brother Pallatus,” Mordecai dipped her head, offering a soft smile to the ancient man. “Your knowledge shall serve us well.” The thought of a glade brought clear relief to her mens’ faces, though they blanched at the mention of wild-men and idols. Fair enough. She’d seen her share of horrors—both during the Dark Conquest and the Do’Suul itself—and she had no desire to see more.

    “Take heart,” the noblewoman turned to her men, raising thick brows. “The weather is fair, and our company is large. It would be a fool of a wild-man to challenge us. Still, keep your blades at the ready.” They exchanged nervous looks before adjusting their belts; the armored figures stayed quiet, their gauntleted hands braced on the pommels of their greatswords.

    “We shall take our leave now,” she announced, climbing atop Hermaeus and swinging her legs over the saddle. The noblewoman took the stallion’s reins, making him cant in a half-circle; she gave one last look over her shoulder at Pallatus and her company, nodding. The two silent men flanked into position—the others took a formation behind her, two abreast, and waited as Castor ascended his own horse.

    “Let us pray there shall be no scars,” Mordecai muttered, rubbing the wrist of her false hand. She raised a brow. “Whatever the outcome, it shall not be in vain. For it is done in service of the One.”





    Soon enough they left the gates and came to the foot of the mountain. It towered like a snow-capped sentry, silent and watchful over their small company.

    “Hail,” she greeted the scout, some of her smile fading at the warning. Wolves. Those beasts be damned. She’d not soon forget her own encounter with the dire version of their kind in the Windswept Plains; she’d scraped away with her life.

    “—and your warnings are most welcome,” Mordecai joined smoothly, resting her hand upon the pommel of her sword. The remnants of her smile became crooked. “…We shall be on our alert. Men,” she nodded, and they came to attention. The noblewoman looked from the unarmed pilgrims back to her own, pressing her lips. Not a single dagger between them, it looks like. “…Two of you stay at the back of the line. And take care; the path narrows on the ascent.”

    At the base of the mountain it could hold three men or two horses abreast; but as it snaked up the mountainside, it narrowed to two abreast, and finally, one alone. Trees loomed like snatching crones on either side of the path, and the wind sent them whispering amongst each other. An easy enough space for foes to hide and pick them off one by one…

    Nerves wormed through her guts. Mordecai nudged Hermaeus towards the foot of the path, turning to Castor.

    “Let us begin.”
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    Castor


    Castor watched as two guarded men from Mordecai took up place behind him. He didn't much mind to have some armoured company aside. After all, all he carried was some old books and a white toga, along with a few bristles, that were no use in any kind of fight. He had too rely on a great deal of diplomatic skill in order not to get killed.

    Not that the companions that he brought with him were of much more use. Aside from Arcturus, who carried around a small dagger for defending his boss, the others shoved around only tools. And although a shovel might help against blunt force, a armed attacker would not quickly waver. And aside from that, his companions were not trained, although still strong enough, no doubt.

    And so, Castor looked as the company took position, with him firm in the middle, protected from all sides. Mordecai turned to him, telling him to go. Castor nodded, and simply replied: " Indeed. Let us find this glade before the sun is at its highest." He then turned to the scout, and greeted him: " Thank you for your help. Good day to you."

    The company was set into motion, and the scout greeted Castor and Mordecai, before returning to his small tent he had set up somewhat deeper inside the forest. Castor noticed that the man must have been camping there for only a short time, perhaps sent there by the guard captain because of some troubles. He also saw, that the scout had lined his horse there, so supposedly he was an early warning system for the Estafa townsfolk.

    They made steady progress, and as Mordecai predicted, the path became smaller as they ascended. Where first they were able to walk with two side to side, the company soon found they had to ride in single file. Although the hill had a somewhat steep slope, the trees still grew on both sides on the road, and Castor feared that there was danger lurking inside. Luckily for them, the wolves were resting those early hours, perhaps noticing the heavy arms that it carried and content with letting them pass for easier prey.

    As the sun began rising, and the time approached noon, the forward man of the company called for Castor and Mordecai, speaking: " Look, milady. The road-signs of the old goat-herder." He pointed towards a turn in the road, and Castor, who had feared this outcome, was now faced with the truth.

    Although the soldier had referred to the large beams as 'road-signs', they were in fact defaced beyond recount. Inevitably the work of the wild-men that stalked these lands, Castor looked at them in dismay. They were statues of dead skulls, above crossed bones. And when they came closer and further up, they became entire skeletons.

    Castor had to avert his eyes at the revolting sight, whispering only: " What creatures would create such statues of anguish?" And although he did not necessarily desire an answer, he was still happy Mordecai gave one that eased his pain. They passed the clan's gruesome border, until they turned again, somewhat south-eastward, towards the summit of the hill.

    Just after noon, as they passed another turn, the alleged meadow showed itself. It was not more than simply an inlet into the mountain, that formed a small platform, but it would offer them space to rest, and sit in the shade. Castor, still reeling from their previous encounter, looked at Mordecai, and said: " I am not certain about you, but I suggest we stay here for a little while, until the sun passes it's highest point." He looked at Arcturus, who had been walking just behind him, who was visibly happy that they would get some rest.
    Edited by Castor, May 8 2018, 01:11 AM.
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    Mordecai
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    What is to give light must endure burning.

    It is as I feared. 

    The path narrowed like a closing gullet. Her nerves sang high as they ascended; the woman's grip tightened on Hermaeus' reins, other hand alighting on her sword hilt like a nervous bird. All was silent but for the chirrups in the trees and crunch of gravel under foot and hoof -- everyone strained their ears for the sound of any danger. 

    Once a stick cracked, and she startled, hand at the ready--only to see a goat dash away, bounding up the mountainside. The noblewoman exhaled, shoulders sinking, though she daren't let her guard down at any moment. 

    At last they came upon the markers. Bones. Skulls leered at them from further up the path, their jaws dropped in a final scream. Ahead twisted skeletons limp at their poles—they had woven in antlers and deer skulls, making hideous half-beasts. Disgust flipped her guts; the woman’s face contorted, eyes flashing. Her hackles raised, a shiver fleeing down her spine.

    The sight of the dead was hardly new to her. Locked in her own tower were scraps of human bone, sometimes entire skeletons -- the very essence of which sustained the two homunculi that clomped behind them. They would make a good source of bone meal, some heartless voice in her thought. The woman's hand itched beneath her glove, but she tore her eyes to fix on Castor; the man looked visibly shaken. I doubt one sees such things in Kinaldi, she thought wryly.

    "Come, Brother Castor," Mordecai jerked her head, hoping to snap him from his stare. Her own men looked pale, hands clenching on their swords as their eyes darted around. She held an even tone, clutching her own weapon. “If a simple goatherd passed this place without harm, then an armed company shall." She drew up her horse's reigns, urging Hermaeus on with a small tap of her heels. She felt phantom eyes on her, wondering what lurked between the trees past the markers. “Let us not linger."

    And they continued the ascent. 

    The silence of the company grew grim, now, hanging above them like a cloud. Her rump went numb, thighs aching; she could only imagine how her men felt, clattering along in armor and huffing up the mountain. Only her homunculi marched on without bent backs or stumbles, indefatigueable. 

    "Yes. We shall stop here and rest," she called to her men, whose sweat-slick faces shone with relief. With care, the woman slung her numb leg off Hermaeus and dismounted, suppressing a wince. 

    A small stream trickled through the meadow, and she led her horse to water, tying his reins to a nearby tree. Giving his supple coat a few pats, the woman turned to the men flopping down with varying groans. The soldiers took off their heavier plates, fanning air into their armpits and necks, and she pushed a sweaty lock back in sympathy. The sun had climbed high as they ascended, beating down on their backs, and sweat ran under her armor, but she daren't remove it. Instead Mordecai took a swig from a canteen at her hip, grateful for the chance to stretch her legs. 

    She blew out a sigh, heading over to her pack and drawing out the day's rations. The innkeep had nearly cleared out their larders for the company, providing them with meat pies, salted pork, cheese and bread; she broke off a piece of the loaf, chewing as she walked towards the center of the grove where the others had gathered.  She nodded to her towering creations; one ambled off to guard the mouth of the path—the other began a slow patrol around the meadow.

    “Eat,” she nodded to Castor and Arcturus, sitting down beside them. “You shall need your strength.” With the horrors of the markers behind them, she began to feel the stirrings of excitement—a swelling buoyancy in her chest that eased the ache of her legs and back. “We ought to get there before nightfall—we can pitch our tents then, and on the morrow the excavation can begin in earnest.” A smile crept across her face, eyes twinkling.

    It was short lived, however. A great crack came from the trees, and Mordecai leapt to her feet, hand flying to her sword. Friend or foe? Her heart pounded, eyes trained on the thicket.
    Edited by Mordecai, May 9 2018, 05:38 PM.
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    Castor


    Castor was relieved when Mordecai ordered them to rest. He had been on horseback as long as the others, and he had taken the liberty of taking of his coat. The sun had begun to climb, and on the last part, it had shined directly above them, so it was beginning to get warmer. Also, they were no several hundred feet up, and the air began to become thinner.

    He took his horse to a thicket at the left side of the meadow. Castor descended from his horse, and the creature began to munch at the bushes as Castor loosened his noseband. Castor saw that the others descended as well, and the soldiers took of some of their armour, since it began to heat them up. Arcturus, and the others of Castor's crew, also took of their coats. Castor looked at Mordecai, who unwrapped some of the provisions that the innkeeper had gave them upon departure. The others took out some blankets to sit on, and some of their own provisions.

    Castor smiled as Mordecai spoke to him. " Indeed." He answered. Then he listened attentively as she explained the plan for the evening and tomorrow. Castor nodded, and replied: " Very good. We shall begin the excavations near the top of the mountain. Paul has spoken to me about a text that reveals a cave in their. I guess that's where we'll start." He looked around, and his companions complied, and the soldiers, being hardened by training, seemed to attest little against it. Castor enjoyed his meal, taking some of the bread and cheese that the innkeeper had given him. He thought of him, and so murmured: " The poor man. I hope he has enough for the rest."

    His train of thought was interrupted by sudden sounds from the bushes aside their camping spot. Mordecai leapt up, and Castor stood up beside her. He had hoped to avoid any trouble on the way, but it had come nevertheless. Whether it was a wolf pack, who saw their first attentive prey caught off-guard, or some wildling trying to attack and kill them, it meant trouble. And Castor was in no condition to fighting. Arcturus beside him, determined to defend his boss, took out his dagger.

    Suddenly, a man rushed forward out of the trees. With axe in hand, he ran straight to Castor. Luckily, Mordecai caught him before that, blocking his likely deadly slashing. Apparently surprised by this sudden obstacle, he looked at Mordecai in anger, and decided to point his attacks to her. But his rage was no match against the calm defence the noblewoman put up. He quickly was bested, and fell down. Two other soldiers rushed to Mordecai's side, And pointed their spears at the stranger. They were ready for the kill, but Castor stopped her.

    " Wait! Stop! Let us not kill anyone in this peaceful place." The soldiers looked at him, visibly irritated by Castor stopping them from their duty. " He is simply afraid." Castor came closer to the man, and realised it was just a child. An adolescent, perhaps not older than 17. Still , the boy was as muscled as some of his elders were, probably. Castor walked until he stood in front of him, stretching out his arms. " Do not be afraid. I am not going to harm you." The wildling looked Castor, puzzled by the man's placid look and calm voice. But he spoke not in the Morrimian tongue, and so only his own speech came out. Castor could make little sense of it, despite knowing multiple tongues. And so, he tried to level his head with that of the boy: " My name is Castor. What is your name, son?" The boy understood little, and rattled on in his own language, but finally stopped and uttered one word that Castor understood: " Vespasian."

    Castor was surprised by this sudden twist of fate. The wildlings did not know of the One Vespasian, did they now?
    " How have you come by this name? Vespasian?" The boy looked at Castor intently, and began rattling on again. He pointed towards the mountain, but Castor could make no sense of it all. The word Vespasian reappared several times in the boy's words, but Castor shook his head. " I don't understand any of it. Mordecai, can you make out anything?" Castor said to Mordecai, looking at her as puzzled as the soldiers visibly were. They had their spears pointed at the boy still, but now some distance as not to strike him in accident.
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    Mordecai
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    What is to give light must endure burning.

    Her blade caught the wildman's axe just in time.

    There was a great clang and then she looked into a set of narrowed green eyes and bared yellow teeth.

    With a snarl, the noblewoman deflected another chop; the boy yelled, hacking like he meant to fell a tree. Mordecai grit her teeth, digging her feet into the ground as she parried—the boy’s blows were brutal and swift, but sloppy, and she saw sweat break on his face, lunged forward and—

    The axe flew out of his grip. The noblewoman’s knee shot up into the attacker’s gut and he bent double, winded. This close, she could make out the dusting of pimples on the attacker's chin and matted brown hair; nothing but a boy.

    “M’lady!” A man’s voice cried. Sunlight flashed off the head of two spears, aimed directly at the wildman’s heart. When he staggered upward, the boy scraped in a breath, eyes widened with fear at the two guards. They aimed, drawing back their weapons—

    Wait! Stop!

    The priest wedged himself between the spears and the boy, causing a snarl of contempt to rip across the guard’s faces. Mordecai’s eyes flashed with anger at the interruption, a muscle flickering in her jaw.

    "He is simply a fool,” the sorceress retorted coldly, keeping the barbarian at sword length. “And he would have slaughtered you without thought. Step away from him, Brother Castor." She kicked the axe away, unmoving as Castor attempted to soothe the boy. He chattered in a tribal dialect she knew little of -- the only words she could make out were mountain, protect, perhaps sacred…

    Did he know its location? If they captured him… perhaps he could be of use to them.

    "Boy," she cut. "Did you think we were going to attack Vespasian's grave?"

    The boy stared at her, his face slack with incomprehension. Licking her lips, the noblewoman tried again.

    "We--" she gestured to herself, then to the party, enunciating slowly, "--are--not--" she shook her head, "--going--to--harm--“ Mordecai gave a phantom swing of her sword, “you—“ she pointed to him. “or--the--mountain--" and she swept a hand up to where he had.

    Fear and defiance still shone in his face. His eyes darted between Mordecai's weapon and the guard's spears, wild with desparation.

    It happened in an instant.

    Before she could stop him, the wildman shot towards Castor and seized him, wrenching a dagger from his furs and putting it up to the priest's neck.

    No move!" The boy yelled in broken Common, shaking the priest. "Or... kill!" He jerked his chin at the spears and Mordecai's sword, eyes widened. The dagger tip bit into Castor’s throat, threatening to draw blood.
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    Castor


    Castor was stone struck as the young boy, first petrified, now swept up and came right up at him. Before he knew it, Castor was in a close encounter with death. While the soldiers leapt at the boy with spears and swords, Castor spoke up: " Woah, woah, woah. Okay. Let's be smart here. You've heard him: don't come any closer." The boy didn't like it, though, and he pulled his knife even closer. "Well, let's not do anything rash now." Castor felt it approaching his veins, and, so, attempted his best to assuage his position.

    " I would strongly advice against this, boy. If you strike me, they will kill you without mercy." Now the boy looked at him, and while still his eyes full of hatred, he pulled back his knife a little to let Castor breathe, and said:
    " You...destroy...holy...mountain." As it appeared, the boy, now knowing he had some valuable leverage, tried his best to use the few words that he knew. Castor looked at him, surprised. He said: " Oh no. Quite the contrary. We want to save this mountain. Strangely enough, from you." The boy looked a little surprised as Castor mentioned his own motives, and slowly lowered Castor down, however keeping his knife close.

    " What...that...means?" he said. Castor relieved to be standing on the ground again, said: " We seek the tomb of Vespasian. I think we seek what you try to protect." Now, the boy was even more puzzled, laying down his knife.

    At that moment, two soldiers moved forward, grabbing the boy by the arms, and pushing him down. Castor sighed as the danger at his throat was gone, but nevertheless said: " I think some cuffs are in order?" A soldier nodded, and soon brought the man to a tree. He took a rope, knotting the boy's hands, and throwing the other end over a branch. After that, he tied the end to the knot. The boy was now trapped on one end to a high branch, and while still having his legs free, he couldn't run very far.

    Castor looked over as the boy was tied up, and saw that the soldier intended to muffle the boy too, but he said: " Not his face. We need him to talk." With that, he looked at Mordecai, and remarked: "Well. That could have gonna terribly wrong. Our Lord must be watching."
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    Mordecai
    Member Avatar
    What is to give light must endure burning.

    Fool!

    He shouldn’t have stood so close to the boy— wild men were always unpredictable— and the noblewoman was forced to stand there, her jaw flickering, hand clenched on a sword no more useful than a toothpick in that moment. Her homunculi started to rush forward, but the woman put up a hand to halt them, lest the boy panic and kill the priest; she watched with bated breath as Castor talked his way out of danger.

    ”He speaks the truth, boy,” she added, lowering her sword in a false show of concession, making eye contact with the guards…

    There. They rushed forward the moment the boy put his knife down, seizing his dirty wrists and wrenching him away from the priest. Soon enough they’d tied him like a pig, suspending him from the tree like meat at the butcher’s.

    “Clever,” the woman breathed to Castor, lowering her sword by her side but not sheathing it; her nerves buzzed, hackles raising. “Keep sharp. Where there’s one, there’s bound to be others.” What fool of a boy would charge their party alone? Unless it was meant to be a distraction…

    “Patrol. Guard,” Mordecai ordered her constructs, and they snapped into place once more, circling the grove like armored vultures. She turned to the priest, sucking in her lips. He looked shaken, his face pale with the brush of death.

    “The One is watching indeed. Keep by me,” she nodded, clapping him on the shoulder in sympathy. “Have strength, Brother Castor, you shall be alright. Now…” her eyes turned to the prisoner, hard like chips of obsidian. One soldier held him at sword’s length, the tip of gleaming metal held close to his throat.

    “Boy,” the woman called out, stopping before him. “Are there others?”

    He stared at her, his eyes wild with fear, face slack and uncomprehending. The boy’s hands twisted in the binds, and he tried to lean backwards, away from the soldier’s blade, but didn’t get very far. A whimper left him.

    “Boy,” the noblewoman intoned in warning, and the sword tip pressed closer.

    “No,” came the garbled response. “No more… no… me. Only… me.”

    Her brow arched. I doubt that.

    “Protect,” the wildman moaned, wriggling away from the blade tip. “We… protect. Me, protect.”

    “The mountain?”

    He nodded, wincing away from the steel.

    “Where is this tomb?” Mordecai cut, taking a step closer. But the boy shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

    “Protect,” he snarled. “Me protect…”

    The noblewoman exchanged glances with Castor. By the One, if only they could speak the mountain-tongue… taking a deep breath, she turned back to the boy.

    “This is Castor,” she explained, gesturing to the man and enunciating her words. “He is a priest of Vespasian. He worships Vespasian. We wish to find his tomb to—”

    “No tomb!” The boy shouted, shaking his wrists and writhing around in the rope. “Find tomb and bad happen! More come, tomb destroy!” Now a wildness shone in his eyes, yellow teeth bared. “Protect! We protect! None find!”

    And he spat in the soldier’s face, trying to land a kick. Instead the boy near-fell over, hanging by his wrists and moaning.

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    Castor


    While Castor didn't really like the idea of any helpless man haging by his wrists as the boy was, for the moment he was happy that at least he couldn't run at him any more.

    He looked as Mordecai tried to get some sense out of the boy. He was intrigued by the boy's warning. A wildling cult dedicated to Vespasian? Now that is something new. Castor thought to himself. " What bad things?" Castor asked. The boy looked at him with large eyes, but he understood little. " Bad things, come to men who seek tomb. You destroy, mountain angry." Castor looked deep in thought as he pondered that answer. " We do not want to destroy the tomb. We come to safe it for Vespasian. Strangely, we thought from you. If you protect, you can still do so after we find it."

    The boy looked a little less angry for the moment, but was still unsure what the man and woman across him were saying. " You say...not destroy? Safe?" He softly whispered. Castor nodded, and said: " We promise." He looked at Mordecai, and let out a sigh of relief, before returning to his horse. He then spoke to the others: " I guess we could use some more rest after this chaos. We leave in ten minutes."

    After ten minutes, the company took of, some throwing away the last pieces of their meal, or taking the last gulp of their coffee. Castor looked at the boy, who was still hanging by his wrists. He had calmed down after their talk, but he still looked at Mordecai with an angry look. Castor looked at the noblewoman, and walked to the two guards standing watch over the boy, saying: " We can't leave him here. Plus, he could be of some use." " What would you suggest, milord?" said the guard. Castor looked at the boy, and then pointed at the rope. The other guard took it of the tree, but still grasped it firmly to see if the boy reacted. The boy moaned, but looked at Castor in relief. " One of your horses can take the extra burden. I suggest you tie his hands to the saddle, however, to see if he runs again."

    He looked at Mordecai, who had walked to the prisoner as well. " Unless, of course, milady, you think we should leave him by the side of the road?" Castor spoke to her.
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