Caravan Quest: Trial of the Vicewind

A twilit orb, sometimes considered the sun, sat affixed to the eastern skies. Its lukewarm gaze cascaded over the open plains that stretched westward, tapering off into a sickly glow the farther it reached. From a vantage, one could hear the faint grumbling of a spreading maleficence to the west. The Vice, and its myriad of terrible, corrupt beasts, fallowed the pristine earth and any unfortunate enough to lag behind in the never ending chase towards a tapering hope of benediction.

Eastward, forever eastward the threat lurched. The slaughter it sowed stilled hearts and shattered minds; a total and utter desolation that could not be faced, only evaded. This lesson reverberated in the minds of all remaining survivors strewn across the twisted landscape. In the wake of this devastation they push forward, their world reformed into an unfamiliar amalgam stitched together by desperate holy men. Eastward these survivors struggle, through this fractured echo of the past, nourished by a tapering hope.

Dim Palmfast pondered his place in this struggle atop a solitary bluff. Back against a tree, he sat in a practiced, meditative pose. The sickly glow of the sun scattered through the tree's tendril-like limbs, dappling across the ground. The warmth and light, like many facets of this new otherworld, lacked the substance and soul that once graced Dim's lost home. A wayward palm brushed against foliage; wiry grass flattened, buckling all too easily. Down the bluff, the tops of trees residing in a wooded meadow poked towards the sky, limbs outstretched, reaching in unnatural formations. A faint purplish tone pervaded this otherworld, its very substance marred by the promise of the spreading corruption.

Loosening from his meditative posture, Dim's eyes wandered to his right palm. A sifting vortex of rotted flesh and potent magics met his gaze. This gaping well menaced Dim, staring at him with the coldness of a condemned killer at the gallows. In a moment of absentmindedness, he let a paltry sum of Vice slip from this prison, tainting the ground nearby with a muted mauve discolouring. It seemed, to Dim's wary mind, a harmless mistake. He studied its probing nature; how it bled across the still earth slowly, rotting everything it touched.

Like a viper's shadow, it lunged across the ground towards Dim's still feet. No doubt it sensed a larger reliquary of life to infest. In a practiced motion, Dim jabbed his right hand downwards, turning the Vice's ravenous nature against it. In one painful moment, the discoloured shadow on the land blackened, and the Vice was imprisoned once more.

The sharp pain was familiar, and so elicited little response from the veteran. Still, it shook him from his reverie, and turned his focus towards a gathering of people in the distance. A gathering of wayward souls, looking for a shepherd to lead them. Luckily, Dim was not only capable, but obliged to serve them.

[]Wander the woods below for a little bit, the caravan can wait.
[]Report to the caravan post-haste. Better to move out before the Vice advances.
[]Spend some time meditating in order to gauge the strength and nature of the Vice maelstrom.

Caravan Status

As the caravan coalesced, Dim thought it prescient to check on the advancing Vice. Switching to the other side of the tree revealed the terrifying extent of his foe, a miasmic wall of churning terror. Pinpricks of deep mauve dotted the horizon, the trawling demons ambling ever forward. The landscape itself bent to the will of the Vice, deteriorating in its mere presence. This otherworld seemed a brittle bone ready for gnashing by the Vice's jaws, more so than the last and the one before that. In states of rumination, Dim often cited the increasing ease with which the world sundered. A creeping advantage, to be sure, but yet another worry for the future.

He grasped the side of the tree, placed another hand upon his brow, and threw his mind outwards. The nauseating sensation of vertigo threatened to kick Dim back into his own mind, but years of training assured at least a few minutes of survey. He used his outer eye to probe the sizeable horde of nimble beasts that lead the spreading plague. Some were as small as men, but others stood many times that size. Their limbs contorted and splayed in unusual directions, twitching as they ambled forward. Skin sloughed off in places, or gnarled into a jagged hide. If the beasts were intelligent, their bleak eyes made no indication. No, it seemed as though the force of the Vice drove them forward. They even preyed upon one another at times, tearing each another apart one moment, and continuing their trek the next. Some would keel over suddenly, or tear up nearby terrain, or abruptly halt. The years taught Dim a lot about the Vice, but forecasting their behavior only worked on the large scale.

He pressed onward, exerting his mind and throwing himself farther into the abyss. His senses grew clouded with the long distance, so that he could not clearly see what lay beyond a murky mauve mist. Certainly, there was activity. Creatures of some occultic nature inched forwards, delving themselves into spongey, corrupted land. A horrible grinding and tearing echoed, the very earth being torn asunder. The unwelcome sensations reminded Dim of the totality of this threat. The Vice was not a beast to be slain or a wild inferno to be tamed; it was penance. An exacting force of destruction meant to undo men and beast alike.

The outer eye began to disperse as Dim collected his thoughts. The maelstrom exhibited the same fearsome power as always, perhaps stronger. But this otherworld is young, so the Vice's zealous energy was to be expected. He would have to meet the caravan soon, before complacency undid everything.

Parsing a path back to the caravan was no problem for Dim, whose natural talents included a fine sense of direction. Or maybe it's one of the 'blessings' he'd received before this madness begun. The farther he travelled, the harder it was for him to separate the man from the shepherd.

The group gathered in the clearing, as agreed to before the jump. A passing count showed that about three quarters of the 'van made it. Not bad compared to the last couple times Dim 'hopped' the 'van away from the maelstrom. Still, there were bound to be a few wails and sobs in the coming nights. Dim always kept his distance from the 'van, emotionally. He was just the hopper and guide, not the councilor.

It didn't take long for a familiar face to show up. Lars Lurenson, the man responsible for the tallying and sums, jogged to Dim's side. Bookkeeping was one of the most important jobs in the 'van, Dim had learned over the years, so he always kept a studious type close.

"Sir Palmfast! Good to see you so soon. I was worried I might have to send some men off to find you. There's not much time, so I'll get right to business." Lurenson was never one to dawdle, to Dim's delight. "As usual, all the mages made it thorough, so Lillian would like to speak. Chern Du is fussing over all the 'folk, so some words would help her out. Turl and Vonus are both… debating over the proper allocation of battle-ready men. And, uh, Eidus—the queen of the Moski bug-people needs some convincing to stay with the pack. We're only so far ahead of the Vice, so you'll only be able to speak to a couple of them." Lurenson's stature didn't stop him from keeping pace with Dim. He listed the options while stepping over strewn supplies, eyes glued to some document. A bundle of papers that hung from the man's wide belt demanded adjustment every few paces, but it seemed like a well-practiced motion.

[] Lillian won't stand to wait, I'll see her first.
[] Chern Du looks after the most people, I should check on her.
[] Turl and Vonus? Fighting? Not surprised, but I'll see to it.
[] The moski queen is odd, but a follower all the same. I'll assuage her concerns.
[] We have no time to dawdle, tell the 'folk we're pressing on at once.

((Rolling to decide...))

Scanning the crowds of the 'van, Dim noted a distinct absence of the towering centipede-like moski. Concerned that their strength would be gone with their queen's arbitrary wishes, Dim though it prudent to lend his ear to Eidus first.


"Lars, be sure to tie up Lillian for a bit. I'm heading to the queens den before she does anything rash. Wish me luck." Dim catches a distraught look in Lurenson's eyes before walking off towards the queen. Lillian never liked to wait in line, but it would be interesting to see if timid Lars could keep up with her.


While passing through the camp, Dim threw some nods to the crowds of commoners. His mere presence would keep their hopes higher than any sort of promise or consolation he mustered. Still, with every passing, ragged face he felt his heart ache ever so slightly. Truly, he'd jumped hundreds of similar people throughout the last several years, but something curious seemed to awaken inside of him. Though he didn't realize it yet, this next trek would prove far more difficult than most.


Soon, he came upon a gathering of a few dozen moski, gathered around their queen. Most stood a head shorter than Dim, but several of a more beastly variety stood two heads taller. Their sectioned bodies coiled in an idling posture similar to a snake, rows of needly arms flicking on either side. Dim could swear they didn't even notice him, if it weren't for the fact that each nearby drone scuttled subtly to the side as he passed. They gave no other indication of acknowledgment, their many eyes glued towards the center of the crowd, towards their queen. As Dim approached, a tingling sensation of paranoia gripped at the back of his mind.


"Queen Eidus, I sense some form of insecurity?" Dim probed with a small smirk.


"You terrible man," the queen's manufactured voice echoed in Dim's mind, pointed but reserved. "Are you here to bewitch me with your ape-magic again? Or perhaps those were just the lies you humans are so fond of?" The subtle sensation of paranoia shifts into a trickling fear as the drones surrounding Dim shuffle closer.


"I know you won't sick them on me, Queen. I'm below your concerns, remember?" Dim threw back, his words sweetly sarcastic. "We don't have to play this game every time. We all grieve our losses, and there is no guarantee I can get your whole cadre hopped." The queen bristled with an unseen aura of bitterness.


"Do we all grieve, hopper? I've lost innumerable children over the years, and you've lost men and women, but no tears. Why is that, Dim? Do you care for them? How can I expect you to look after mine if yours are less than drones?" Her sharp words are from an uncharacteristically morose place. And somehow, they get to Dim. In some ways, her brutal words hold a degree of truth. Typically, Dim would buckle down, ignore the pain, and sort out the Queen like anyone else: with a curt word and callous commands. But, perhaps, today would be different.

[]Her words are born from a paltry grief, not suited for this caravan. Tell her to ship up or ship out.
[]Praise her. Appeal to her regal nature, appeal to her 'heartfelt sentimentality.'
[]Make a deal. Guarantee her lead of the caravan for a short while, to give her an illusion of control.
[]Give her tears. Tell her of your many losses, trials, and heartbreak.
[]Threaten her with the horrid nature of the Vice, and the nature of the humans it chases.
[]Write-in

1d2=1 to decide

((Caravan status added below OP))

Dim bit his lower lip, turning a wave of thoughts in his head. The queen's harsh words rung in his mind, molding his response. His clenched fist signified a degree of uncharacteristic indignation as he primed an equally severe retort. Was Eidus so blind to the bigger picture, did she not see what was at stake? Dim almost let loose a series of reprimands, but stopped short at the last moment. The queen towered over the hopper, bristling with a regal sorrow befitting only a matriarch in pain. Dim's reproach stilled in the back of his throat. He considered what the queen had to offer, what she had contributed over the last few months. A degree of sympathy ran through Dim's heart, assuaging his fury.

Instead of reprimanding the queen, or looking past her as a subordinate, Dim matched her gaze (as well as he could with so few eyes). "I've not been honest with you, nor myself," Dim began, lowering his guard. "I've seen people die, honourable and good people who wanted only to survive. The maw of the Vice, it consumes all in its path, and even I can do little to stop it." Eidus lowered her stance a bit, and Dim noticed drones around her following suit. He sensed a mellow curiosity in the air, overriding the paranoia biting at his mind. "Even still, what little I do does make a difference. I have to believe that, knowing everyone and everything that I've— that we've lost." The many 'folk that died in the name of survival flitted through the hopper's mind. Most of the souls had no name, as far a Dim was concerned, but their anguished faces resurfaced in his mind, intensifying his repressed grief. "You must understand the need for distance from your flock? If I allowed every man, woman, or child who died under my protection tug at my heart and resolve, we would be undone." The deluge of memories continued. Dim saw Lurenson, sword in hand, rushing towards the wall of corruption. The names he shouted rang out in Dim's mind. The same names Lurenson shouted all the way back to the 'van, dragged by close friends. He saw Chern Du eulogizing the dead at the head of a crowd. In front of grieving families she spoke, her face bereft of tears. A practiced sadness, all too familiar to this too young leader. Dim saw Newsaint at the foot of two shallow graves. The mage consult kept a stony face, unwilling to falter, the weight of the world pressing her forward.

All this rushed to the front of Dim's mind, sharpening the unfamiliar edge of his emotional appeal. "I haven't honoured them all… Truthfully, I can't remember all their names, but I fight for them still, and their families. I fight for yours too, queen. Not because it helps my cause, or to please you, but because life deserves a chance to carry on, in all righteous forms." Dim now felt an unfamiliar tightening in the back of his throat, a blur in his eyes. He couldn't muster another word, not without buckling further.

The harsh air of grief turned slowly into a stolid aura more befitting the aloof matron. Her drones and soldiers backed away, shuffling backwards only inches. "I've rarely heard such resolution from you, hopper," the queen started, her echoing voice adopting a puzzled tone. "Refreshing or worrying? I'm unsure. Curious, though..." She arched her towering form lower, to meet Dim's gaze more closely. Her many beady eyes hid a subtle cunning, and her mandibles clicked with indecision. "I wonder, how do you intend to guarantee the continued safety of my drones,?"

[FACTION DEMAND]

[] Offer to move more drones to the front of the 'van, farther from the Vice.
[] Cut drone's mandatory scouting [in half/by a quarter/completely].
[] Earmark drones for rear guard, in the event of a large battle.
[] Double the Moski's allotted rations for a week.
[] Give no guarantees; only assure her that Dim will take better care in future.
[] Write-in

Dim shook off the unfamiliar sensations of sorrow and responded to the queen. "I can give them the greatest boon I can offer: distance from the Vice." He waved his fallowed palm in the direction of the Vice, then towards the sun. "They can lead the way, heading the caravan with me and my trusted guard."

Dim felt a quick wave of satisfaction, but the feeling muted in seconds. It seemed his senses were adapting to the queen's psionics. "Oh? So they can fall on the spears of the madmen stalking this patchwork stretch of forlorn memories of worlds past?" The queen started, giving what Dim assumeed was her species' equivalent of a dramatic flourish. "The shredded fragments of the old world lie before us, hopper, their denizens driven to madness from the purgatory they inhabit. There is no guarantee that the unknown enemy is less vicious than the known."

Dim chewed on the queen's dramatic prose, hiding his frustration with further diplomacy. "In the event that we find such a threat—"

"When we certainly will…" the Queen interjects.

"… Yes, when there is a threat, I'll put your drones farther in reserve, so long as victory is clear." Dim sized up the warrior caste of the moski. Their dripping mandibles and jagged legs made them a fearsome threat, perhaps twice the threat of his own trained warriors. Still, they numbered less than a dozen, so Eidus would feel each death more strongly than the last. Her fragile temperament had to be considered.

"Is victory ever clear, hopper?" the queen mused, further agitating Dim.

"You have my guarantee, Eidus. I expect your drones to help where they can ahead of the pack, and in the less dangerous tasks. They're clearly capable of more than you credit them."

"You think Us idle?" the queen boomed, "No, I assure you We will do our part for survival." The queen seemed to shift sharply, dismissing a number of still drones and workers. The moski disseminated, spreading out in every direction. "We hope to see truth in your promises." Dim felt the queen's mental link sever, signaling a curt dismissal.

Dim, seeing no need to suffer the queen's disrespect any longer, returned to the camp to meet with Lillian, the mage director. He walked alongside a few moski workers on his way back. Unsuprisingly, they weren't a talkative bunch. Dim wasn't sure they even held any modicum of individuality. All he knew is what he saw: scarred flesh and missing limbs. Every slash and bruise incurred frayed on their queen's mentality. It's no wonder, then, that the queen lost her patience. Dim only wished he could convey to her—to everyone the doom that awaited divided groups in this corrupt world.

Crossing the caravan's body once more, Dim felt a growing anxiety from the common people. He'd developed a sense for it over the years. The people, ever nervous, obeyed a collective and well-practiced paranoia. Their frayed instincts ebbed according to the Vice. Even if none could see it, a pervading force of malevolence preceded the Vice's advance. Every moment spent stationary invited disaster. The 'van would have to move soon, or be consumed by the fire of havoc.
He passed a few children, hard at work fastening their family's pack animal. They couldn't be more than ten years old, and thus lived most of their lives scrambling away from the Vice. Wrapping rations and tightening improvised fasteners were practiced motions for these boys. Their faces showed no signs of youthful glee, only the stolidity of a survivor. Dim briefly considered helping them with their task, but it passed in light of larger concerns. He had suppressed such fool notions for years, so why did they emerge now? The caravan had to survive; it was the absolute only recourse for humanity. Dim stowed his musings, focusing on the big picture.

Dim crossed into the den of mages. A feeling of hope survived here, to an extent. The magi, with their potent magics and invocations, wielded power to compete with the Vice. Not only that, but their efforts were integral to sustaining the 'van. They coaxed crops from dead soil, or plucked it from other planes. They molded mana into tools necessary for everyday life. Truly, their contributions kept the 'van afloat.

In a nearby tent, Lars Lurenson, ever dutiful, stood defenseless against the insults of the agitated head mage. She turned her attention to Dim as he entered, breaking off her scolding. He braced himself as Lillian Newsainst approached.

"Palmfast! There's much to sort and very little time, so let's not mince words." She released Lars and marched over to Dim, her every footfall sharp and measured. "I have twenty-five magi in my retinue, and eight initiates. I have four overworked instructors, twelve conjurers, six researchers, and three diviners conducting farsight rituals. I need you to expend some of your cleansed energy for me, clear some vice from the researcher's tools, realign the diviner's insight for more accurate portents, and bring along a couple initiates for combat rounds. Please, sign here to appease Chern Du and her council." Lillian thrusts a scroll towards Dim, her eyes already scanning the room for able magi to pass along orders.

Dim, accustomed to the mage's impatience and stern requests, looked over the contract briefly. The allocation of magi, yet again, went against previously agreed numbers. It would take some negotiation to right Lillian's stubborn attitude regarding Vice research. And her demands asked a lot of Dim, in time and available power. Investing in all of her chores would leave other influential leaders with unanswered requests of their own, surely.

[RESOURCE ALLOCATION] [25 Energy|5 Vice|30/50 Capacity]
Energy is purified Vice held in Dim's palm-well. Energy is a potent form of mana with many uses, from enhancing other's capabilities or healing, to combat or utility spells. It takes time to convert Vice to energy. The more Vice is in Dim's system, the more pain and fatigue he'll endure.

[] Reinforce magi allocation. Demand Lillian pause the research of magical methods and enviced material for another time.
[] Expend energy from palm-well to bolster ALL magic endeavors. (Use 10 Energy))
[] Purify research tools. (Gain 5 Vice)
[] Assist the diviners, who will attain a clearer idea of the surrounding area. (Use 5 Energy)
[] Take on two initiates for a time.

Choose one to five options (Variable Energy/Vice amounts allowed)