On Cursed Ground
Seventh Day of the Second Month 294 AC
A deal is struck once more, a second note, more muted than the first but ringing no less true. As you leave the city, Tyene wonders aloud where you would even find agents who would be able to walk freely among the dead of Mardosh and jests that Wyla's magic may be put to use sooner than you think, but ultimately there is a much simpler solution at hand, shadow spies. They are subtle enough not to accidentally break the facade most of the city lives under by and clever enough to find enemy agents abroad, while being neither alive nor dead themselves, and thus hopefully more resilient to Powers holding some dominion over that Veil.
Back along the line of the Sarne, you ride across the paths of air, a deathly cavalcade such as you imagine would inspire frightful tales to any below who beheld it by light of sun or moon, were there any of the living still aboard in the Great Grass Sea. Eyeless faces look up from weed-choked fields in only faint understanding of what crosses the face of the moon.
So the journey goes back towards the south, towards Kasath with its temples and it caravans, its people murdered as much by their own fellows as the Dothraki. You have no hope of forging even a tentative alliance there, but perhaps some can be found who have kept their sanity in the shadow of the towering monstrosity Eskil described.
Before you are more than half way back, however, Waymar points at a flash of crimson flame on the planes below you. "Look! I think there are living people down there, fighting. We have to..." the words cut off.
The scene below you is not one of living people valiantly holding out on the wide plains somehow, years after the fall of Vaes Dothrak. Instead what looks like hundreds of the
Hungry Dead, eyes burning crimson and forms emaciated by their gnawing curse, are clashing with what looks like an embattled company of chariots under the banner of Gornath. What they are even doing this far east you could not say, but it is clear their foes are winning, staging a dark almost mocking reflection of the fall of Sarnor.
Riders on
accursed steeds, half caked with blood and grave dust, flashing fangs as sharp as their masters, wheel and twist around the heavier chariots. Skeletal steeds do not tire, but they have to contend with the simple mass of vehicle and rider where the dead Dothraki flow through the grass like the wind. They are not using bows as they did in life you realize, but heavy javelins meant to shatter bone and fling the Sarnori wholly out of the saddle.
The leader of the riders calls out in a harsh, but still clear voice, "We will kill you rats, kill you true for the blood you spilled! Kill you forever and gnaw your bones." On his shoulder is perched what you had at first thought was some manner of unliving bird until you see the horribly small, but undeniably human head upon it;
Infantis. Alas, Craster did not hold a monopoly on that breed of unliving dead, and you can well imagine the atrocity that raised the Dothraki from the poisoned earth to fight their slayers in turn.
Eskil's guards look torn, some of them might be inclined to aid their fellow Sarnori were these not the very warriors who picked over the spoils of their city like vultures.
By contrast, your companions look as pale and horrified at the scene of senseless butchery below as you feel and in their gazes, you read the same question ringing through your mind.
Can any of them ever rest?
What do you do?
[] Intervene
-[] Aid the chariots from Gornath, you could use knowledge of the city of the Rat King perhaps even eyes there
-[] Aid the dead Dothraki, you would know how many others shared their fate and where they might congregate
-[] Try to stop the fight altogether, to bring some sanity back and end this cycle of murder
[] Fly on there is little you can do here
[] Write in
OOC: And here is our friend random encounter, not something personally dangerous this time around, but a matter worth a vote. Not yet edited.