[X] I am a warrior like you- only decades older.
[X] [Hunt] Yes
[X] [Everything Else] No
[X] Yes, I'll renew my contract.
Acheron, as the nameless aide summarises, is a shattered yet fantastical city. Caught in the crossfire of an ancient surface war, the barrier between your world and.. other places, has never recovered and likely never will. All sort of sorcerous beings can manifest here, whether by means natural or induced- one of two factors that has created one of the greatest centres of arcane study in the world, impressing even the mighty Olms!
…..the other factor is that Acheron is besieged by daemons, night and day, season by season. If not for their mastery of words as well as rune craft, there likely wouldn't be an Acheron to speak of.
Normally, animals know better than to associate with daemons, some sage instinct driving those who can to flee their presence... but that doesn't mean all get away. Of those who cannot run, most are devoured, swiftly or slowly as pleases the local 'metatype'; of those not devoured, most are broken and hollowed out to serve as enthralled shells, artificial bodies to better enable those hungry spirits' appetites. And of those the daemons try to hollow….
..well, sometimes, the animal wins.
Apparently, some beasts are more clever and wilful and resilient than others of their blighted kin, and with good luck and a weak yet overconfident parasite, can turn the tables on their butchers to be. These creatures grow all the stronger for it, but it is strength at an unseen and all consuming price.
These Daemonic Beasts are deceptively potent, physically and mystically; they're fast and cunning and bewilderingly cruel, unconsciously drawing on a desire to hurt, to bleed, to terrify their prey for no reason but their pleasure- even if they'd never hunted before! Exiling themselves from their 'fellow' daemons, those dark spirits will not normally attack a kindred being, but nor will their once fellow animals associate with them. Daemonic Beasts are rare and solitary, elusive from the strong yet characteristically sadistic to the weak.
It is all at the small price of their minds.
Daemonic Beasts seem to favour their own appetites over any physical practicality; they're constantly enraged and tempestuous; suicidal and alone. They do not herd, or gather, nor mate nor breed nor do anything but pursue but their endless, obsessive patrols. For all their might, the life of a Daemonic Beast is said to be ill fated, lonely, short and brutal, to say nothing of the state of their 'soul'.
….and so, naturally, the Olms wish to have one. It'll be a point of wealth, prestige and favours to acquire the largely intact corpse of a rare and powerful beast; although likely not scholastically fascinating, there's something to be said in favours owed in bolstering Kiromana's enigmatic agenda.
(In a flash of curiosity, you ask them who in the world would wish to purchase such a horrid being; when they eagerly recount the reagents and concoctions certain cliques would wish to grind out of the carcass, you're struck by the vision of Olmish alchemists scrupulously scraping the viscera off the streets of Nociva, surrounded by the wounded and dying.
You do not understand a word of what these secretive formulas may achieve, and somehow, you're not enthused to try them. You ask no more questions about Olmish artifice.)
Having seen the power of these 'daemons' first hand, you find yourself sceptical that any normal animal could resist their power, even if they did possess a mimicry of soul. By your reckoning, it seems to you less a victory and more a symbiosis- two wild beings bound in a single body, futilely battling to mutual death. Still, the aide's information is nonetheless useful. You listen as long as your patience tolerates; when their information eventually turns to the literally arcane, you politely excuse yourself. Congratulating yourself on your minimally intrusive violent fantasies, you step past the stoic guards into the bracing night.
(As you do, it occurs to you that you never got your name, even if they certainly had yours. In your frustration, your manners were left behind….
It is too late now, but you make a note of it, when you meet again.)
Nikolai has waited for you in the dark, upon a nearby bench. His relief when he sees you is as flattering as it is strange- what was he afraid of?
'Young Lord!', he calls out, unbothered by the cold and dark. 'You were in there for half an hour, maybe more. What took you so long?'
'Matters of coin. Nothing important.'
He gives you a puzzled look, but swiftly shrugs it off. It hasn't been the first time you've confused him today- but it will be the last.
'I'm leaving Ixcala tomorrow morning, Nikolai. You've been a good guide, and fair company- but this is where we say goodbye.'
Your guide takes the news with grace, silently bowing a final time. He has no real words for the ending of this bizarre yet pleasant day, so he does not use any.
You exchange final goodbyes with Nikolai, and then go your separate ways- likely to never meet again.
——————-
Do you wish to give a parting gift to Nikolai, who's proved more than useful in exploring Ixcala?
[] Of course!
[Write in a parting gift. Geln would consider even raw currency acceptable; he obviously wouldn't give that to a fellow Islefolk, but understands Nikolai has different ideas about acceptable gifts.]
[] …I.. don't think I can.
[The Islefolk are natively free with their possessions, but you are no longer in New Haven. Not being profligate is objectively wise, as it will not offend Nikolai.
Yet it still feels… alien.]
——————
You return to Ixcala's temple district nearly an hour after sunset, but Hallir- the Qor servant- had by now grown used to your sudden moods and wanderings. Recognising your accent and towering frame, he lets you in without comment. Despite the purposeful degree of distance you've maintained, he doesn't even question that you'd renew your contract- that you'd stay, more or less, on his side.
Past the convoy's camp you find a sleeping place- Sanctums are rarely well furnished, and this place is no exception. By now used to the strange… atmosphere, that Sanctums create- adjacent to the mists of New Haven, and yet so far away- you fall asleep wondering how much longer it will be, until the convoy can create Sanctums on their own.
That night, you do not dream at all.
—————-
Arranging your contract again is surprisingly easy. Although the convoy is larger now, and has another Servant defender, Blessed Johannes still seems pleased to have you on board. Now with more spare funds, they can afford to pay you worth your time.
——————
The trip to Acheron will take three weeks, but most of it will be via riverboat- the other, arguably more important means of transport throughout the Thalassic Leagues.
Geln will be paid five silvers a week, and be provided for in terms of supplies. Obviously, he'll serve as an escort until you reach your destination- an Acheron border fort.
—————-
The convoy is now thirty strong, a half dozen newcomers having joined in Ixcala, but it seems your reputation amongst the group hasn't truly changed. You are still left to your own business, sharing a cart with Aurora as you make the brief journey to the port.
Characteristically, the Sin Eater's unsurprised yet pleased by your company, and particularly in your agreement to come with her to Acheron. You trade stories on what you did the day before- sightseeing and diplomacy, healing and duels- but you've only half an hour before reaching the river port.
The barge that'll carry you all is christened the Verdant Hope. It's a grand name for a simplistic and bare boned transport, many internal furnishings stripped to make room. Between the small crew, the captain, and the passengers… you'd estimate perhaps four dozen crowded into the tiered boat. Even with people on the floor, some will have to either sleep on deck, or nearly on top of each other!
Despite the tight conditions, the mood is high as you pull away from shore. Excited pilgrims gather at the edges to revel in their travels, some already fantasising on far away lands. What price is the damp and discomfort, after all, when compared to a new home?
——————
Geln's a fairly social man, which is better than the alternative when on an overcrowded boat. Blessed Anthony is occupied this week, by which I mean worryingly sea sick (river sick?); thus, you can pick two of the below you'd like to speak with.
[] Aurora, about children, morals, personal history, prophetic dreams and hunting.
[] Captain Viktor, a half Tulani merchant and mercenary. When not at the helm, often spinning tall tales; will happily entertain your own.
[] Your fellow fighters- Jorge, Hallir, Suarez and Amantha. Two are on board; two follow on horses, unable to bear the separation. Impressed by your exploits, but uncertain who you are.
[] The pilgrims, who still don't know what to make of you, but at least aren't overly frightened.
[] Blessed Anthony, who… is not at his best. Perhaps he'd like the company?
[] Blessed Johannes
(You don't just approach an elder priest…)
However….
The Dawn Pact are a peoples of many talents- diplomacy, oratory, construction and cooperation. What they are not, however, is skilled sailors.
What went wrong?
[] Search and Rescue
[] Old Enemies
[] Hunted
[] Haunted!!!
[] Write in?
——————-
The second part felt more awkward than the first, but there was not much to say.
You'll have a while to vote!
Questions always welcome.
