Salted Sands (A Caves of Qud-Inspired Cultivation Quest)

0~0~0

The Eldermost's den fills with the sweet scent as Kell walks through the entrance flap. Three sticks of incense, crossed at the middle and propped up in the bowl, burn at a slow pace, the timid smoke casting a haze about the room.

"I bid you fair tidings, Kell Nakesh of Surran," the Eldermost himself sits atop a pile of mis-matched cushions, his hairy legs poking out from beneath the folds of his robes as he sets aside a well-browsed magazine—the cover worn away with age. Pink slippers of the rabbit variety clad his white sock-adorned feet as he waves Kell towards a seat. "I assume my message has found you?"

"It has," Kell says as he lowers himself onto a convenient cushion, feeling oddly naked without his weapons on hand. "You have news for me?"

"Indeed I do," the Eldermost chuckles as, with a wave of the hand and a breath of ka, he conjures up... nothing, "this is the Library at Nash, where scholars of all devotions congregate."

"I am sorry," Kell says as his salted gaze does its work, "but I cannot see the illusion you are casting."

The Eldermost's lips twitch into a frown, "Ah, Eyes of Salt, I should have known that would be the case." He sighs and shakes his head, "Age must be catching up quicker than I thought. Regardless," he clears his throat and centers himself back on the conversation, "my sources, who I cannot name out of respect for their desire of anonymity, tell me that a recent addition to the Library at Nash brings with her the secrets of quick cultivation. The veracity of this information is doubtful, I'm afraid, but it is the only lead I've found."

"What is this scholar's name?" Kell asks as he retrieves pen and paper from his robes—one never knows when inspiration might strike for firearms, after all.

"Julika Lash, a young researcher out from Harlow," the Eldermost says before adding, "I've heard her current research focuses on salt-touched, so that should give you an in with her." He then clears his throat as a ka-tendril leaves his mouth, drifts over to the bins lining the room, and retrieves a circular medallion from storage. "As I'm sure you're aware, the merchant council has been more than a little rattled by the recent attempted raid and have decided to send the yearly silk-caravan now rather than the traditional time." His face doesn't betray his thoughts on the matter as he extends the medallion to Kell, "I've taken the liberty of securing you a spot in the coming caravan, should you be so inclined. It would also give you a chance to get a measure of the Baron and his men."

"Thank you," Kell says as he takes the medallion. Made of copper and pressed on either side with a visage of scales, the scale medallion is a symbol of trade all across the known world. Tucking it away in his robes, the flicker of a thought crossing his mind stops him flat, "I... I worry I may have offended Karter. How can I make it right?"

The Eldermost lifts a quizzical brow, "As far as I am aware, the only times Karter has ever been angry with someone was when they doubted his strength. Did you do that?"

"I did not."

"Then, like as not, Karter is not nearly as offended as you fear. Regardless," the Eldermost huffs as the sharp scream of a boiling kettle splits the air, "words are a powerful tool, but only when used." Hopping to his feet, he scurries over to an open door before pausing in the doorway, "Clear communication is the key to solving many of life's conflicts, I advise you use it here."

And with that, he disappears into the back, leaving Kell alone with his thoughts.

0~0~0

Breathing in and out, Kell steps through the entryflap and into the common space of his now-home. With little in the way of time spent decorating, the room is only barely more furnished than previous. Chairs, benches, and a table lay scattered across the floor as a few shelves house useful items like bandages, minor balms, and certain often-used tools. Food-splashed dishes sit in short stacks as bags of gunpowder slump half-tied across the table. Crates of Kell-made ammunition give the room an oddly militaristic feel.

Karter sits hunched over on one of the benches, his bandaged fingers hard at work at lacing up his boots. Bronze plating lines either side of the shoe, providing him with a modicum of protection from below. His eyes lock to Kell's as he enters, a stretch of silence as wide as the Sands itself billowing out between them.

Kell takes a deep breath and focuses his mind, thankful for the blanket of calm soothing his nerves. "Karter, I would like to talk to you."

Karter nods as he pulls his laces tight, "Alright, but let's do this outside." He casts a look about the dust-laden room, neither cousin especially skilled in the art of cleaning, "It's a bit musty in here."

Kell nods as Karter stands up, leading the way from the building. The moment the sun hits his head, a sneeze escapes his mouth and breaks Kell's hold over the tide.

"I am not sure _why_ I acted the way I did," Kell says, his words flowing from his mouth at an uneven stumble, "but it was wrong of me and I apologize for it."

Karter is silent, fractured eyes staring out from the shadows of his white-planked mask. Wind jostles dark hair as he glances to the mist-swept trees. Bandaged fingers follow flowing strands as he sighs and tucks them back in place. Eventually, he speaks, "A lot of people would have killed you on the spot for treating them the way you did Giden, you know that?"

Kell blinks, brows twitching inwards as a flicker of confused concern. There had been no sense of danger stiffening the hairs on his neck, no terse tensing of terrorized air. Was he really so blind to have missed the peril he was in? "I did not."

"Well, they would." Karter says as he combs fingers through his hair, each pass fixing some while displacing others. His voice gains a humorous tint as he chortles, defusing the tenson building between them, "Not Giden, though. He was worried he'd done something to offend you, even!"

"He was?"

Karter laughs, "Guy's not got a mean bone in his body. I've seen him cry at flowers blooming!" Karter's chuckles fade away as he turns a tilted look on Kell, "You know, though, you really should be talking to him about this. I'm not upset with you or anything, but he's the one that deserves your apology."

"Where is he?"

"Looking for you, last I saw," Karter pauses as a wide yawn exposes his chin and hints at the sharp teeth under the mask, "But he's probably working as a guard or hanging out at the training grounds, seeing as he, obviously, didn't find you." Thanking him, Kell turns to leave just as Karter lifts his head and calls out, "Hey, before you go, you wanna see if we can't figure out the why?"

"The why?" Kell tilts his head, "Behind my attitude towards Giden?"

"Exactly that," Karter nods as he stands up straight. Looking around for somewhere to sit, he soon lays eyes on a deserted bench resting just off a lightly trodden pathway. Inviting Kell with a nod and a wave, the cousins find themselves seated at each other's side, "So, you said that you aren't sure why, right?"

"Correct."

"Well," Karter hums as he thinks, bandaged fingers drumming a musing rhythm against his mask, "why don't we take it from the top? Like, how did you feel when Giden showed up?"

"Nothing," Kell says before adding, "maybe a little apprehension, as he was an unknown."

"Makes sense, makes sense," Karter nods, his tapping fingers replaced by a bouncing knee. "When you saw me greet him, how did you feel?"

Kell blinks, mind turning back the clock, "I... I think I was worried."

"Why?"

"Because," Kell says, the blanket of calm helping his words along despite the prickling they leave behind, "because you treated him with more affection than me. I was worried you would abandon me for him."

Karter's hum lowers a pitch, "That does make sense, yeah." He nods, one of his hands falling on Kell's shoulder and pulling him into a warm hug, "Kell, this I promise you," Karter's shattered eyes gleam with untold strength as his shoulders roll back and his spine straightens, "never will night's chill reach you, for I will stop it always."

"Thank you, Karter." Despite the over-the-top presentation of Karter's promise, it does little to stop the hint of a smile tugging at Kell's lips. "I thought you said that you were bad at judgement."

"Anytime, Kell," Karter says as he releases the hold on his cousin, "And yeah, I am, but I've learned a couple tricks over the years. As the Eldermost says," his voice lowers to a vague resemblance of the Eldermost's, "clear communication solves many problems."

A shallow snort flees Kell's nose, "He said that to me earlier today."

Karter chuckles, head tilting into a 'smile', "It's one of his favorite lines. Pretty sure he read it in a magazine, 'Wisdom Weekly' or some such."

"Curious name," Kell says as Karter shrugs.

"The silk-caravans bring a lot of things back with them after dropping off the year's harvest," Karter's shoulders hunch as his voice gains a deep tremble, "Course, that doesn't stop them from always 'forgetting' to bring me my damn scale wax!"

"Scale wax?" As far as Kell is aware, none of Karter's mutations brought him scales.

"Yeah, for Nero, likes her scales to shine," Karter says as he leans back, his head resting against their mudbrick house. "Her favorite kind of scale wax is this imported stuff from the Kendeshi Apiaries, but since it's difficult to get here in Melka, she's forced to settle with the local stuff," he says with a sharp scoff, "I love this place like nothing else, it's my home, but even I'll admit that the wax is less than sub-par."

"I see," Kell says as a sudden idea comes to mind. Reaching into his robes, his fingers emerge with a copper disk between two, "The Eldermost secured me passage on the caravan. I am sure that, should you wish it, it would extend to you too."

Karter tilts his head to the side, eyes gleaming with shimmering curiosity, "What business do you have in Nash, Kell?" Humor flickers in his gaze as he chuckles, "Not planning on killing the Baron, are you?"

"Not yet, no."

Karter's laughing cuts off with lips-thinning silence. His gaze sharpens beneath his mask as he casts a casual look about their surroundings, some of the tension leaving his body as he notes the lack of any passerby, "Kell, I love you, but you have got to learn better jokes!"

Kell blinks, "I see."

"Seriously, though," Karter's voice drops to a low octave as his eyes stay on the move, "don't talk about things like that in public. I'm not much of a fan of his Baronish behavior, but even he has those who support him." His voice lifts to his normal level as he shrugs, "Anyways, even if you can't get me a spot, I'm sure they wouldn't mind an extra guard, especially with the snapjaw raid still fresh."

"Yeah, the snapjaws..." Kell's words trickle off like a stream run dry, unsure of how to word his feelings on the matter—something which Karter takes note of.

"Kell, are you doing okay?" Karter shuffles a half-inch closer on the bench, "I know you said you killed before, but, well, seven is a lot."

Seven _is_ a lot, he's right. Images of the dead, portraits of their final moments pass across his mind in an ever-repeating cycle of pictures. In contrast, he hardly even remembers the face of the Nordenite he'd shot—though he doubts the snapjaws will ever leave him.

"A month ago today," Kell says, his eyes falling to the misty distance, "I killed a man and thought nothing of it. He was a Nordenite, one of the ones who had stolen away my siblings. I shot him through the spine. I do not regret it. I would do it again, and I will do it again."

"But?" Karter takes a stab in the dark.

"But," Kell takes a deep breath as he collects his thoughts, his mind once more playing through the events of the day previous, "but I cannot understand why this time is different. Why do the snapjaws' faces linger when the Nordenite's does not?"

"Well," Karter rubs at where his chin would be had he lacked his mask, the noise a gentle tug in the air, "I don't really know what you're going through, honestly." The words pull Kell's meager hopes into the inky depths, dashing any faith in good tidings, "but, I can only imagine that killing in defense of your loved ones is different than it was with the snapjaws."

"Maybe," though Karter's words bear truthful ounces, they still ring hollow to Kell's ears.

Karter stares at Kell for a long moment, his breathing a steady stream of ins and outs. "Well, I'm always here to talk about it, if you ever need anything." Kell nods, which Karter takes as his signal to change the subject, "Do you want me to come with when you go see Giden?"

"I believe I would like that, yes," the certainty in Kell's voice surprises even him, but Karter thinks nothing of it.

"Well, in that case," Karter leaps to his feet as he stands with hands on his hips and feet spread far apart, "shall we see this through?"

"I suppose we shall." Infectious as Karter's attitude is, there's little Kell can do to prevent it from affecting him.

Together, the cousins set out in search of Giden.

It doesn't take long to find Giden, as large and stand-out as he is. Sitting on the back of his bat-mount—whose name, Kell would eventually learn, is 'Steven'—Giden rides a wide patrol around the outskirts of the Melkan residential district. He notices Kell and Karter as soon as they see him—probably even before either of them, knowing cultivators—and lifts a hand in a broad-grinned greeting.

"Hail, sons of Melka and Surran!" Giden fuels his cheer with plenty of full-belly gusto, feathers swaying in the wind. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?"

Kell takes a deep breath, an odd sense of repetition passing over him as he steps forward. "I have come to make an apology to you."

"Whatever for?" Giden asks with a tilt of the head, "Surely it should be I who begs of your forgiveness?"

"Why?" Kell blinks, his words escaping his lips too fast for him to stop.

"I failed to offer a proper greeting to a stranger!" Giden shakes his head, disappointed shame clear as day as he collapses in a slouch.

"But," Kell's voice hitches as confusion runs rampant, "but I was the one who rebuffed you."

"After I failed to follow proper procedure," Giden sighs as he slides down Steven's back and lands on his feet. The bat-mount shuffles out of the way as Giden makes his approach—the sheer size difference making itself known with every step. Stopping a handful of feet away—though well in Giden's reach, Kell can't help but note—Giden speaks once more, "I can see my words fall on deaf ears, that the shame you feel runs deep. So, I come with an offer of compromise; we both apologize, at the same time."

Kell purses his lips, the offer a gentle olive branch waving in the wind. Nodding to himself and those around him, Kell waits until Giden returns the motion before speaking—Giden not one step behind, "I am sorry"/"I apologize."

Giden smiles, big and wide, the many rows of teeth gleaming bright in the sunrays, "I'm glad that ordeal is over and done with! Come, friend, and embrace me."

Before Kell can get a chance to speak—or do much of anything, for that matter—Giden is on him and scaled arms hold him tight. His feet leave the ground as Giden tilts his body back, a mischievous shine to his teeth and eye.

This... This is going to be a running theme, isn't it?

Kell sighs as he, a bit apprehensively, returns the hug with a trio of pats as interest.

Well, at least it isn't so bad.

0~0~0
Total XP Gained: 6, including 3 bonus XP for a good plan

Now, however, Kell must make a decision. Does he go with the caravan, potentially missing his siblings waking, or does he discard the opportunity and stay in Melka?
[ ] Go with the caravan
[ ] Stay in Melka

Note: Opportunity never knocks twice. If you choose to forgo the caravan, it may be a long time until you next get a chance to visit Nash. It may also be a short while.

No moratorium.