"I never said my wishes were supposed to do any good," said the Djinn...
91 Zi'da 717
The Tundra north of Viden
The tent was not well insulated, that was the first thing to note. The Eidisi in the tent did not seem to mind, but this cold was different than anything the others had ever experienced, even those from the frozen north. Except one man, who'd felt the chill of the most bleak winter once in his life, and had barely survived to tell the tale. First Ranger Alucard Prynn, thirty-nine, sits by the entrance to the tent, surveying the sleeping bodies. A grisly scar splits his face, where an axe attempted to make its way through the density of his skull and into the soft squishy part beneath. But not Alucard, no. He was a survivor, and when he'd awoken in the tent, along with the four others, he wondered how much longer he could ascribe himself that title.
All of them had been moved overnight, though some further than others. The two Eidisi, residents of Viden, had only gone a mile or so north of the city to the makeshift encampment, but the other two, residents of Rynmere, found themselves a long way from home. Alucard watched them as they slept, moving silently and without moving much of the tent to survey each closely, learning their faces before he’d ever learn their names. Faces didn’t lie, especially in the throes of dreams, and the First Ranger knew all he could without speaking to them in mere bits. Five packs in dull grey burlap rested on the edge of the tent, but everything else was sparse. It was obvious whomever had brought them all together had planned it ahead of time. Immortals knew, it was probably a suicide mission.
The first to stir was Caius, who never slept much anyway. Still, he felt as if he’d been asleep the whole season, and awoke feeling refreshed. Smelling the cloying scent of menthol tobacco, he turned to see the grizzled First Ranger smoking a pipe at the mouth of the tent, the lip folded back a few inches to allow the smoke to escape without letting in the biting winds. It failed on both accounts.
The man’s piercing blue eyes skewered Caius as he sat upright, but his expression never changed. The three women roused quickly after, Yolande first, then Darcyanna, then Maebella. As each one did, Alucard smoked his pipe and stared at them each in turn, saying nothing. He gave them the chance to gather their surroundings and ask questions of each other before interrupting, pointing at the packs with the charred black wood of a pipe stem.
”A’right, yuhs. S’posin’ none o’ yuhs’re up to speed on why we’s here, eh?” The man’s voice was gruff and deep, and it was obvious he’d been smoking that pipe longer than a few of them had been alive. When none of them did, he nodded.
”S’bout right then. A’right, here’s the deal. M’name’s Alucard, an’ I’m the First Ranger o’ Viden. Dunno as ta why any o’ us’re here, but I can bet it’s gotta do with them packs. So, rouse yerselfs, roll up yer sleepin’ bags, an’ let’s go. Map’s on the wood thingie here, an’ it says north.”
Direct and to the point, Alucard was never one to mince words. He could take the time to learn their names, their homes, their talents, their dreams and aspirations, their secret fantasies and how much their mommies loved them… Or he could see them safely to their destinations, and if they died on the way, not have to give a eulogy on account of not knowing any names. It was a foolproof strategy for the old Ranger who’d buried more men than the four had collective arcs of life.
Picking up his pack, he emerged from the tent, allowing in a bite of icy air and a swirl of snowflakes, each melting as it landed on the skin of the four in the tent. In the distance, a snow wolf howled, and Alucard answered, the sunslight showing his shadow through the meagre fabric of the tent as he cranked his neck back and howled high. Nothing answered him, and the four in the tent were sure if that was more chilling than if something had.
Once they were packed and equipped, they exited the tent to see Alucard already pulling from the ground the stakes holding the ramshackle shelter to the frozen ground. Southward, they could see the very edge of Viden on the horizon, gray and dull against the sunslight from the distance. Pointing a hand missing a finger at it, Alucard drew their attention.
”If’n ye think yer here by mistake, start yer walkin’ that way. It’ll take ye two trials, but ye’ll make Viden ‘fore ye run outta food rations. I checked. Otherwise, yer agreein’ to keep each other safe down there. If’n ye don’t, I’ll leave ye in the Tundra meself, believe ye me.”
With that, he spun and started marching off towards the north, a frozen expanse of emptiness. He’d never ranged as far North as the map was instructing, but whomever had left it clearly indicated where they were going. Unwilling to show the map to the other four, Alucard memorized the clear handwriting above a cave drawing: “Treid’s Sanctum”. The First Ranger set a breakneck pace, hoping to make it to the Sanctum within two trials.
But it was frigid, and the four behind him weren’t trained in fieldcraft. 1 in 5 rangers die on an expedition in the Tundra.
Alucard prepared to bury them all.
The Tundra north of Viden
The tent was not well insulated, that was the first thing to note. The Eidisi in the tent did not seem to mind, but this cold was different than anything the others had ever experienced, even those from the frozen north. Except one man, who'd felt the chill of the most bleak winter once in his life, and had barely survived to tell the tale. First Ranger Alucard Prynn, thirty-nine, sits by the entrance to the tent, surveying the sleeping bodies. A grisly scar splits his face, where an axe attempted to make its way through the density of his skull and into the soft squishy part beneath. But not Alucard, no. He was a survivor, and when he'd awoken in the tent, along with the four others, he wondered how much longer he could ascribe himself that title.
All of them had been moved overnight, though some further than others. The two Eidisi, residents of Viden, had only gone a mile or so north of the city to the makeshift encampment, but the other two, residents of Rynmere, found themselves a long way from home. Alucard watched them as they slept, moving silently and without moving much of the tent to survey each closely, learning their faces before he’d ever learn their names. Faces didn’t lie, especially in the throes of dreams, and the First Ranger knew all he could without speaking to them in mere bits. Five packs in dull grey burlap rested on the edge of the tent, but everything else was sparse. It was obvious whomever had brought them all together had planned it ahead of time. Immortals knew, it was probably a suicide mission.
The first to stir was Caius, who never slept much anyway. Still, he felt as if he’d been asleep the whole season, and awoke feeling refreshed. Smelling the cloying scent of menthol tobacco, he turned to see the grizzled First Ranger smoking a pipe at the mouth of the tent, the lip folded back a few inches to allow the smoke to escape without letting in the biting winds. It failed on both accounts.
The man’s piercing blue eyes skewered Caius as he sat upright, but his expression never changed. The three women roused quickly after, Yolande first, then Darcyanna, then Maebella. As each one did, Alucard smoked his pipe and stared at them each in turn, saying nothing. He gave them the chance to gather their surroundings and ask questions of each other before interrupting, pointing at the packs with the charred black wood of a pipe stem.
”A’right, yuhs. S’posin’ none o’ yuhs’re up to speed on why we’s here, eh?” The man’s voice was gruff and deep, and it was obvious he’d been smoking that pipe longer than a few of them had been alive. When none of them did, he nodded.
”S’bout right then. A’right, here’s the deal. M’name’s Alucard, an’ I’m the First Ranger o’ Viden. Dunno as ta why any o’ us’re here, but I can bet it’s gotta do with them packs. So, rouse yerselfs, roll up yer sleepin’ bags, an’ let’s go. Map’s on the wood thingie here, an’ it says north.”
Direct and to the point, Alucard was never one to mince words. He could take the time to learn their names, their homes, their talents, their dreams and aspirations, their secret fantasies and how much their mommies loved them… Or he could see them safely to their destinations, and if they died on the way, not have to give a eulogy on account of not knowing any names. It was a foolproof strategy for the old Ranger who’d buried more men than the four had collective arcs of life.
Picking up his pack, he emerged from the tent, allowing in a bite of icy air and a swirl of snowflakes, each melting as it landed on the skin of the four in the tent. In the distance, a snow wolf howled, and Alucard answered, the sunslight showing his shadow through the meagre fabric of the tent as he cranked his neck back and howled high. Nothing answered him, and the four in the tent were sure if that was more chilling than if something had.
Once they were packed and equipped, they exited the tent to see Alucard already pulling from the ground the stakes holding the ramshackle shelter to the frozen ground. Southward, they could see the very edge of Viden on the horizon, gray and dull against the sunslight from the distance. Pointing a hand missing a finger at it, Alucard drew their attention.
”If’n ye think yer here by mistake, start yer walkin’ that way. It’ll take ye two trials, but ye’ll make Viden ‘fore ye run outta food rations. I checked. Otherwise, yer agreein’ to keep each other safe down there. If’n ye don’t, I’ll leave ye in the Tundra meself, believe ye me.”
With that, he spun and started marching off towards the north, a frozen expanse of emptiness. He’d never ranged as far North as the map was instructing, but whomever had left it clearly indicated where they were going. Unwilling to show the map to the other four, Alucard memorized the clear handwriting above a cave drawing: “Treid’s Sanctum”. The First Ranger set a breakneck pace, hoping to make it to the Sanctum within two trials.
But it was frigid, and the four behind him weren’t trained in fieldcraft. 1 in 5 rangers die on an expedition in the Tundra.
Alucard prepared to bury them all.
"In fact, I swore they would always do as much harm as possible."