49th of Ymiden, Arc 717
They arrived in the night. It was a long journey to the south of Shirnrad, and Alistair had not yet mapped out the Jarldoms that surrounded the city. The path to the agricultural hub had been fairly peaceful and orderly, surprising of the region they were frequenting. While there were certainly corpses of both animals and monsters alike, parties of Jeger carried swiftly across the perimeters of the road to ensure relatively safe travel. Around the hub of Stahlmark, things weren't so terrible. A rowdy Stekir, a Scython-Ur in the distance... all dangerous, but nothing so vile had fallen into their laps.
Of course, the mage quickly learned that such thoughts were inappropriately held, and that complacency in Gauthrel was worth a million lost lives.
As they passed through the Shirnrad's capital and down again into the open wilderness, Alistair was met with the humming of a familiar voice.
Aah... she whispered, rising from a pile of bones, a bare body covered in dirt. Her skin was notably paler than other, more living women and men, and her arms and legs were decorated in black feathers that clung to her skin. She had a pendant, and several rings... as well as a collective of beasts behind her. An Albion, though he didn't know its name yet... a massive winged beast at her back. It was a Gaunt, and animated by a powerful well, likely Emetyte. A Lurker of the Cliffs - he could recognize that one without thought. This one was as large as Gorgolas had been. Maybe even... bigger.
Then, another animal. It was a Scython-Ur, but inflicted with a virus he'd seen before. Rhiannon. Why did she... why did she preserve such an awful affliction? It had to be for the sake of spreading it to others, and now she brought it here, to West Idalos.
Around her, those bones... he wondered their purpose, how they got there, everything. He knew he wouldn't need to ask, though. She would explain.
"Mother," he called her. Ellasin Dathlande. She drew nearer, and placed a single cold, dead digit upon his lip, before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Behind him was a large Willow Redbear, but she already knew what it really was. A man - a particular man. Someone she'd asked for.
"Alistair. I'm glad you arrived when you did -- they're more active past midnight," she stated.
His brows raised. "Who?" he inquired.
"Them. I don't know their name in Haltunga. In the Ancient Tongue, they are Kaedhan, Duskwraiths. Very few exist outside of this region. Here, however, there's a whole civilization of them. They prey on the Lotharen, and their susceptibility to spirits. They live in the night, and occupy nature in the day. Have you ever noticed since arriving to this region... holes within a tree, with globes staring at you from within?" she asked.
"Or a looming feeling as you stare upon your reflection in a pond. If you looked further, beyond just the feeling, you'd see a shadowy man standing behind you, hands creeping behind your shoulders, ready to push you in. Drown you, and brutalize your body while you drowned. His lips would stand open and awry, with a maw of sharp white fangs within... his eyes an amber darker than any flame, the slits within them long and sharp like a cat." As she described these oddities, Alistair could feel a sensation in the world around them. Something was... happening.
"Anah bella forzana men tou ba lah, zostra ellah, nor da mentos fendaer."
Her voice echoed. She did not speak alone. Her Familiar echoed from within her.
"Look into my eyes, Alistair," the Lich commanded. "What do you see beyond the cold, beyond the pale? Reflecting from my eyes... I see you. And him," she called it... and she was right. He could see something, a black silhouette standing behind him, with a maw clear as day, and orange eyes accompanying it. It was difficult to make out, almost impossible, but he could see. "Kaedhan, Duskwraith, a great spirit of the plains. He's decided not to reveal himself. Instead, he would rather loom and follow, drawn by our magic, straying for reasons not known to us. I want to make these reasons known. I want to draw him out," she said, grinning.
"These bones are the remains of fallen caprinae, whom the Duskwraith are drawn to. They serve as their eyes, and from their sight they..." she trailed off. "I don't know how they use them, exactly. No one does. But I killed these caprinae to incite attention from the creatures, and now I have it. I doubt the one lurking quietly over your shoulder is the only one. The task now is to bring them forward," she explained.
"That's why he's here. A Lotharro, vulnerable to spirits. What we see, right now, is different than what he does. He'll be more perceptive to them the longer we wait, and weaker to their influence. After a certain point, they won't be able to resist appearing before their prey, and they'll manifest. At that point, we kill one."
Alistair... didn't really understand. It seemed, to him, incredibly unlikely that they would simply be able to draw in the spirits by having Fridgar sit around. And wouldn't her words, just now, ward them off? They'd know her plans, and they'd avoid it.
"They don't speak Common," she stated, as if reading her apprentice's thoughts. "The Duskwraiths know only the language of their host, and as you've learned, Common is not very common here."
He didn't like using Fridgar as bait. Not at all. But there was nothing he could do -- this was her command.
They arrived in the night. It was a long journey to the south of Shirnrad, and Alistair had not yet mapped out the Jarldoms that surrounded the city. The path to the agricultural hub had been fairly peaceful and orderly, surprising of the region they were frequenting. While there were certainly corpses of both animals and monsters alike, parties of Jeger carried swiftly across the perimeters of the road to ensure relatively safe travel. Around the hub of Stahlmark, things weren't so terrible. A rowdy Stekir, a Scython-Ur in the distance... all dangerous, but nothing so vile had fallen into their laps.
Of course, the mage quickly learned that such thoughts were inappropriately held, and that complacency in Gauthrel was worth a million lost lives.
As they passed through the Shirnrad's capital and down again into the open wilderness, Alistair was met with the humming of a familiar voice.
Aah... she whispered, rising from a pile of bones, a bare body covered in dirt. Her skin was notably paler than other, more living women and men, and her arms and legs were decorated in black feathers that clung to her skin. She had a pendant, and several rings... as well as a collective of beasts behind her. An Albion, though he didn't know its name yet... a massive winged beast at her back. It was a Gaunt, and animated by a powerful well, likely Emetyte. A Lurker of the Cliffs - he could recognize that one without thought. This one was as large as Gorgolas had been. Maybe even... bigger.
Then, another animal. It was a Scython-Ur, but inflicted with a virus he'd seen before. Rhiannon. Why did she... why did she preserve such an awful affliction? It had to be for the sake of spreading it to others, and now she brought it here, to West Idalos.
Around her, those bones... he wondered their purpose, how they got there, everything. He knew he wouldn't need to ask, though. She would explain.
"Mother," he called her. Ellasin Dathlande. She drew nearer, and placed a single cold, dead digit upon his lip, before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Behind him was a large Willow Redbear, but she already knew what it really was. A man - a particular man. Someone she'd asked for.
"Alistair. I'm glad you arrived when you did -- they're more active past midnight," she stated.
His brows raised. "Who?" he inquired.
"Them. I don't know their name in Haltunga. In the Ancient Tongue, they are Kaedhan, Duskwraiths. Very few exist outside of this region. Here, however, there's a whole civilization of them. They prey on the Lotharen, and their susceptibility to spirits. They live in the night, and occupy nature in the day. Have you ever noticed since arriving to this region... holes within a tree, with globes staring at you from within?" she asked.
"Or a looming feeling as you stare upon your reflection in a pond. If you looked further, beyond just the feeling, you'd see a shadowy man standing behind you, hands creeping behind your shoulders, ready to push you in. Drown you, and brutalize your body while you drowned. His lips would stand open and awry, with a maw of sharp white fangs within... his eyes an amber darker than any flame, the slits within them long and sharp like a cat." As she described these oddities, Alistair could feel a sensation in the world around them. Something was... happening.
"Anah bella forzana men tou ba lah, zostra ellah, nor da mentos fendaer."
Her voice echoed. She did not speak alone. Her Familiar echoed from within her.
"Look into my eyes, Alistair," the Lich commanded. "What do you see beyond the cold, beyond the pale? Reflecting from my eyes... I see you. And him," she called it... and she was right. He could see something, a black silhouette standing behind him, with a maw clear as day, and orange eyes accompanying it. It was difficult to make out, almost impossible, but he could see. "Kaedhan, Duskwraith, a great spirit of the plains. He's decided not to reveal himself. Instead, he would rather loom and follow, drawn by our magic, straying for reasons not known to us. I want to make these reasons known. I want to draw him out," she said, grinning.
"These bones are the remains of fallen caprinae, whom the Duskwraith are drawn to. They serve as their eyes, and from their sight they..." she trailed off. "I don't know how they use them, exactly. No one does. But I killed these caprinae to incite attention from the creatures, and now I have it. I doubt the one lurking quietly over your shoulder is the only one. The task now is to bring them forward," she explained.
"That's why he's here. A Lotharro, vulnerable to spirits. What we see, right now, is different than what he does. He'll be more perceptive to them the longer we wait, and weaker to their influence. After a certain point, they won't be able to resist appearing before their prey, and they'll manifest. At that point, we kill one."
Alistair... didn't really understand. It seemed, to him, incredibly unlikely that they would simply be able to draw in the spirits by having Fridgar sit around. And wouldn't her words, just now, ward them off? They'd know her plans, and they'd avoid it.
"They don't speak Common," she stated, as if reading her apprentice's thoughts. "The Duskwraiths know only the language of their host, and as you've learned, Common is not very common here."
He didn't like using Fridgar as bait. Not at all. But there was nothing he could do -- this was her command.
