Fantasy The Black Seer

[Lekiel]

Lore: Fantasy - ANDARUN - A World Reborn (wip)
~Our Characters:~​

Name: Brielle Blightwood
Age: 26
Race: Vanharen human
Home City: Serahaz
Class: Black Seer
Appearance: Brielle has long raven black hair which falls just below her shoulders. Her eyes are equally dark, and her ruby red lips contrasts starkly with her pale alabaster skin. She stands at about 5ft 6 and is of fairly slim built.
Equipment: When travelling, Brielle dons a forest green leather bodice and breaches, over which she wears a black cloak, tied at her collar with ribbons. She carries a simple Ghastwood dagger, traveling supplies, a pouch of herbs for her magic, and her Seer's leather-bound tome.

Brielle is no fighter, despite the fact that her training as a Black Seer allows her to empower her fists with Seer Fire and hurl green flames at her enemies. Having the ability to do something does not mean one is good at it! HAH!
Background: Brielle was born the oldest out of only two children to the Blightwood family. The Blightwoods rose to fame as the 13th most powerful house in the Deadlands, earning her then grandfather a seat as one of the ruling Lords. After her grandfather's passing, Brielle's father (who was the older of two sons) took on the mantle as Lord of Blightwood Manor. Unbeknownst to him, his younger brother harbored a deep seated jealousy for his rise in status.

When she came of age, against her father's wishes, Brielle left her home to seek out a Black Seer willing to teach her the ways of the Argenon, the River of Life. After leaving home for half a decade, Brielle finally returns back to Blightwood manor to find out that a great tragedy has befallen her family.

. . | . .


appearance || outfit
name: harp sela
age: 29
race: heaten`hua
home city: nomad in the lorn drylands
class: stringmaster
appearance: harp's visage is constructed of sharp angles and high cheekbones. his eyes are dark and often calculating, and his lips are usually curved in a condescending smile. clumps of dark brown hair are often hidden beneath his hood, and the small bit of facial hair on his chin and upper lip is concealed by the mask of his trade.
equipment: having traveled with his troop for some time, harp has little in terms of personal possessions. however, just because he serves as menial entertainment doesn't mean he refuses to keep around some personal protection. because of the ever-present threat of the wretched, he always keeps a dagger hidden beneath the folds of his clothing and a curved scythe strapped to his back while traveling. additionally, he has a bag full of preserved body parts that he often uses for performing, as well as the very outfit he tends to wear most of the time.
background: harp was born in one of the nomadic tribes that wander the lorn drylands, living with his extended family and learning his father's trade when he could. living this rough life gave his a sense of wonder when he finally visited the vast cities of serahaz and farrowdown, which his family performed in when they could. and yet, this different world was not attractive to him; everything was so much crueler and twisted, and made harp relieved when he finally returned to the deserts, which were always the same.

but the sands do change, and when harp next visited the cities, he found them so much more welcoming and exotic than he had before. attracted by the adventurous lifestyles, he left his tribe and joined a larger, more entertainment-oriented group that allowed him to widely tour the Deadlands. and yet, after several years of running the same routine, harp found himself bored by the same crowds and the same responses. thus, he left the group with a hearty farewell and traveled to the three dragons tavern, hoping to hone in on his combat skills more strongly and explore that which the world had to offer.
​

 

[Lekiel]

The raven haired girl stared at the overly cluttered questing board with something akin to annoyance, frustration and a hint of desperation in her dark eyes. Finally spotting the corner of a tattered piece of parchment, she reached out with alabaster fingers and carefully extricated the letter she had only just placed on top in the morning. Half a day later and it was already burried. Carefully pinning it to the top of the mess (it wouldn't do to knock some of the other quest letters to the floor, though she wished she could), she stood back to survey her meager attempt. The Questboard at the Three Dragons Tavern was huge, spanning a whole side of the already expansive taproom. Once again, doubt crept into her mind. Was this the wrong spot? Should I put it higher? Did I make a mistake with the information? For the upteenth time, her dark eyes scanned the carefully etched words on the letter.

Seeking two talented individuals to aid on a quest!

Sellswords, Mages, Rogues or anyone with experience who can escort me safely to the Forgotten Tower of Ibn Catar is welcome!
Reward is ten gold shackles per person. Two gold shackles will be paid upfront, remainder will be paid at the end.


Regards,
Brielle Blightwood
(Ask for me at the barkeep)

A loud raucous guffaw disturbed her thoughts, and she turned around the see a portly dwarf and a rather burly looking human. They stank of ale even so early in the night, though they carried themselves with the casual arrogance of men who thought too highly of themselves. The dwarf laughed again, before speaking. His voice booming even over the noisy merriment of the taproom.

"Aye lass! On'l ten shackles for that? S' nay wonder I've seen yer behind here night aft'r night! And ye wish'n to git to the Forgott'n Tower?! Ye must be jokin!" With that, he and his ugly companion broke into more raucous laughter, which sounded alot like a pig farting through its nose. Make that two pigs. Brielle bit her lower lip, but said nothing. She made to move away, but halted when the dwarf spoke again.

"Me partner and I was talkin'. We decided, if ye culd double the pay... and perhaps off'r a lil' sumthin more..." The dwarf's beady eyes drifted down to stare unashamedly at her body. Even though she wore a voluminous dark cloak, Brielle suddenly felt very exposed. Her cheeks began to colour, as the set of her jaw hardened.

"We just might c'nsider takin' up the job!"

 

[boo.]

A day spent at the Three Dragons Tavern should not have brought Harp as much worry as it did. While he knew of the sort of things that were not tolerated there, he did not hesitate to walk with a knife beneath his hand and his scythe at arm’s reach. He would not call himself skilled, but he would call himself a dangerous person to be caught cornered. Indeed, he supposed anyone who was a wary as he would be well-prepared for any circumstance. And he was; any shackles he did have were tucked away in the seam of his cloak and thus unreachable by any pickpocketing methods. As far as he was concerned, the only people around these parts were thieves and vagabonds, although the unique questboard had offered some glimmer of hope that some sort of nobler people visited these parts every now and then.

The questboard itself had been the primary reason of Harp’s long journey here. After parting ways with his performing caravan, he had come to this place with the intent of earning a few easy coins and gaining some experience in this alien world outside the desert. And yet, while he considered the customs of many other races strange and unrealistic, he was somewhat fascinated with the diversity that existed within Andaruin. The desert had been home to only his people, which were the only ones brave and resourceful enough to last the cold nights and burning days.

As Harp made his way back to the questboard, he pulled down the painted mask before entering the regular throng of people that occupied the tavern. His dark eyes peered around the multitude, looking for nothing in particular, but finding more than he bargained for. There was shady business in the corners, laughing drunkards by bar, and sluggards who wanted nothing more than a wide bed and a female body. He shouldered past red-nosed beings to once again peer at the board, lips pursed beneath his mask.

Now there was something - a tattered piece of paper promised ten gold shackles in return for an escort. Ibn Catar wasn’t far; at least, not as far as other places, and there was a bit of pay beforehand, in case the dealmaker got cold feet. Harp needed the experience, and while the Forgotten Tower would pose a challenge, he suspected it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

All the same, he would have to meet the one he would be escorting in order to make a final decision. As he backed away from the board, his hip hit the gut of a particularly hairy dwarf, who immediately spun on his heel with curses and brown-stained spittle. Harp, who wasn’t exactly listening, found an interesting situation: there was a woman, and a higher-class-looking one at that, and she was being very apparently harassed by this dwarf and another, much heavier-set man. He could have very easily backed away; it was none of his business. But where he came from, no one dared treat a woman in that way, seeing as many women were proficient in the art of knife-throwing.

Simple tactics were best. Reaching out a bronze, calloused hand to grab the woman’s elbow, Harp dragged her backward and toward him, reaching a hand behind his shoulder in the same motion and revealing the curved blade of a scythe. Against his hopes, however, the duo were drunk enough to disregard the danger and make a move as if to reclaim the woman. Harp grunted in alarm, but began to retreat, still tugging on the woman’s cloak to convince her to do the same. He had no intentions of causing a scene.

As he struggled to put distance between them and the harassers, Harp turned sharply and muttered in the woman’s ear, “Hurt? Those men make me sick.” His tone was milky smooth, and his words were spoken with a lilted accent.​

 

[Lekiel]

Brielle felt the sudden jerk of her arm and she reflexively tried to struggle away, but the person's grip was too strong. "Let go of-" Her protest faltered upon her lips as her emerald eyes beheld the pale enigmatic mask of her errant rescue-er. If she'd have come from any other land, the sight of the masked vigilante might have frightened the young woman. But as it were, the mysterious cloaked man wore something she recognized from a fairly distant past. A time when she had walked the streets of Serahaz and stumbled upon a troop of nomads entrancing the crowds with their macabre plays. The Heaten`hua was what they called themselves. Wanderers of the Old Path.

It was evident that this nomad, far from home as she was, was on her side. Allowing herself to be drawn back, she saw the Heaten`hua brandish his blade and for a moment, thought that the confrontation was over. Boy was she wrong. The dwarf's eyes gleamed wickedly, as if relishing the thought of a fight. A knot twisted in the pit of her stomach. Oh... what have I gotten into...

“Hurt? Those men make me sick.” The man muttered under his breath. Though the situation was quickly escalating, she caught the lilt of his accent; pretty much confirming her speculation that he was indeed one of her fellowman.

"Tell me about it... Brielle groaned in agreement, as she backed away from the menacing duo. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, she was too preoccupied with what lay before her she did not see the busy barmaid with a tray load of hot food leaning down to place it infront of a green haired Saelas.

Brielle heard a surprised yelp, and turned just in time to notice that she had bumped roughly into the poor barmaid. This caused the both of them to fall against the table in a tangle, subsequently spilling the bowl of hot stew into the Saelas' lap. This of course escalated into a very surprised and scalded fae, who reflexively batted the bowl away, sending it flipping through the air to PLONK against the head of a very large chevalier in hulking armor. To no surprise, large chevalier was now a very pissed large chevalier. Bushy eyebrows narrowing with fury, he slammed the table and jumped to his feet, grabbing onto the dwarf's partner who just happened to be standing behind his chair.

Nobody knew who threw the first punch, but soon, Brielle found herself in a scrappy melee as the Tavern of the Three Dragons erupted with angry yells and shouts.

"OH FOR MAFERATH'S SAKE!" She clutched the sides of her face in horror.

Brielle scrambled to her feet, only to duck quickly as a chair was hurled against the far wall, narrowly missing her head. The seer grabbed onto her rescuer's hand and began pulling him towards the exit.

"We need to get out of here before the Crimsoncloaks arrive!" She shouted over the chaos, citing Haven's world renowned townwatch. She had no intention of spending a cold night in some rat infested lockup.

Weaving in between the shouting mass, they were just several yards away from the front doors when a furious brawl suddenly careened into their direction. Brielle found herself tackled to the wooden floor, abruptly losing her grip on the stringmaster's hand. When she turned back to look, all she saw was another redfaced dwarf grinning at her with two broken front teeth. Brielle tried to crawl away on her elbows but she felt a pull on her leg, dangerously close to her thigh.

"Oh no ye` don- ARRRHHHHOWW OWW!" The dwarf howled in pain, clutching his scorched fingers, which the Seer had twisted with a her own green flamed engulfed hand.

"URGH!" She sucked her teeth with an air of disgust, wringing her hand as she extinguished her Seer Fire. Finally pulling herself free, she made a mad dash for the door and burst out into the cool winter's night. Stopping a few yards out, she leaned forwards while grasping her knees to catch her breath, wondering if the Heaten`hua made it out in time.

 

[boo.]

Harp nodded at the woman’s agreement, his gaze wandering again as he looked about the bar, still finding the entire place very foreign. Now that they seemed to be out of danger, perhaps he could go to the bar and find whoever had written that request - even though the day was almost gone, it would do well to find out just what he would be doing. When they had extracted themselves, perhaps he could make a farewell and do just that. Resolving to do just that, he walked alongside the woman, trying to peer over the backs of tall men in order to find the bar.

Of course, however, fate never plays out just right. The woman, probably still shaken up after her encounter, bumped against some barmaid, which in turned spilled some hot foodstuffs all over someone else and essentially created a chaotic chain reaction that was soon to evolve into a full-blown bar brawl. Harp might have found the situation hilarious - indeed, it had already tugged the corners of lips upward, but his joviality slipped away as a croaking Nektara barreled into him, dust-like spores exploding from their fingertips and engulfing Harp in a choking cloud. Something grabbed his hand - he was vaguely aware of the woman leading him - and he stumbled away from the knot of strangers, coughing hoarsely and waving a hand before his face in a daze. His mask had done little to block the miniscule particles, much to his chagrin.

For a moment, the woman’s hand slipped away from his, and he bent over, finally able to take in a breath without inhaling spores. He looked up, startled to see the woman cornered by another one of those filthy dwarves. He had no time to aid her, for he was roughly spun around by a hand on his shoulder, and he came face-to-face with a snotty-looking human that made a swing for his chin. Ducking just in time, Harp rolled to the floor, his head snapping up to see that the woman had escaped, the dwarf cradling a scorched hand and screaming curses behind her.

That mystery would have to be answered later - as heavy boots trod around him, Harp struggled to his feet and quickly fled the scene, glancing behind him to ensure he wasn’t being followed. Satisfied that he had escaped, the Heaten`hua looked down at his once-black cloak, horrified to see that the spores had coated it in a pale yellow dust. Brushing himself off with both hands, Harp pushed through the bar door, a brisk wind reminding him of the frigid temperatures he was not used to.

“Some… Some people pay to see performances like that,” he shivered, bringing up his arms to cross around his chest. “I think you’ve got real talent there.”

Harp managed a laugh, although his teeth chattered uncomfortably. “Damn, it’s cold.”

 

[Lekiel]

“Some… Some people pay to see performances like that,” he shivered, bringing up his arms to cross around his chest. “I think you’ve got real talent there.”

"You think so?" That was big, knowing it came from someone of his culture. Despite the unusual circumstances of they had only just escaped from, Brielle let out a little tinkling laugh. Her breath coming out in puffs of vapour. She took a moment to brush at her garments, tucking the edges of her cloak closer to shut out the chill, thankful to serendipitously have all her belonging with her. Rowdy shouts could still be heard coming from within the Tavern, but the seer's attention was drawn to the enigmatic Heaten`hua stood before her.

He stood nearly a full head taller than her, and was swathed in the trademark wraps common to people of his culture. A glint at his back reminded Brielle of the scythe he had exposed earlier and she caught a glimpse of dark penetrating eyes from between the eye slits of his stringmaster's mask. Aware that she may have been caught staring, Brielle cleared her throat and offered out a handshake.

"I suppose I should thank you... I'm Brielle..-" She hesitated for a brief moment. "Brielle of House Blightwood. Serahaz."

"What brings you to Haven?" She added, almost as an afterthought.

 

[boo.]

Harp couldn't help but smile. She was humorous, considering what had just happened, but so was he. Or at least, he liked to think so. She seemed rational as well, and that was all someone could look for in another being these days. But she was also still a stranger, and Harp knew better than to trust strangers. He couldn't exactly tell if she was armed, but it was best to assume that she did, and that she was assessing him just as he was doing to her.

She seemed well-off. Her cloak did seem a little worn at the edges, but it was made of thick material and no doubt fended of this bloody wind with no effort at all. Harp was reminded of his own cloak, which had hung in what he considered artistic tatters for some time now and let the air cut him into frozen ribbons. He wasn't here for a cloak trade, however - actually, what was he here for?

Introductions seemed the proper place to go next, and Harp caught the woman's hand in a firm shake as she introduced herself as Brielle of Blightwood. House of... Ah, so she was well-off. He didn't recognize the name as one of the most powerful, but it was important. And hadn't he heard that name somewhere before? Somewhere not working long ago?

"Harp Sela," he began, bringing a fisted hand to his chest, then extending it palm-up. "And I - yes, I know your name!" Harp found himself recalling the last few minutes. "You had a paper on the questboard. You said you were looking for escorts to Ibn Catar."

Harp relaxed somewhat, things beginning to look upward for him. "I suppose I'm here for the job."

 

[Lekiel]

Again the customary greeting gesture evoked not too distant feelings of familiarity within the young seer's heart. It did much to assuage her mind, especially after the most recent incident. Though Harp was still very much a stranger, naive as it sounded, she found a kindred spirit in his mere pressence allowing her to lower her guard. One never knew how lonely they could be, until you were so far from home, that every little familiar gesture seemed like a warm hearth fire in a foreign land. The Heaten`hua certainly wasn't the only Deadlander she had come across thus far, but he certainly was the only one she had exchanged more than a simple curt nod. When he mentioned the quest, her dark eyes lit up briefly.

"Oh-! You're willing?!" She felt a mixture of emotions, incredulity and a dose of excitement. But as always, the ever present feelings of doubt reigned in her emotions. "I've been hoping for more..-" She halted mid-sentence, realizing that she might have unintentionally offended Harp. "I-I mean, I've been waiting for nearly a whole week, and you're the first one who seems... genuine enough..." Her eyes grew distant, as her gaze shifted to stare at the billowing flakes of snow that even now, began to cover the darkened cobbled streets in swathes of white. Elemental lamps courtesy of the Bloodsworn stormasters, glimmered at intervals along the pathway that led up to the tavern. Their warm halos reminding Brielle of the wisps that she had once seen meandering through the Miramoor Marshlands, from the time she had spent with her Mentor.

"I suppose ten shackles might not seem like much... especially when every single person I asked has never heard of anyone who has been to the Forgotten Tower..." The dark haired woman voiced her thoughts, to no one in particular. She turned to look at Harp, an embarassed grimace marring her normally composed features, "I... I don't even know where it is myself... except that it's somewhere north of here, on the southern parts of the Shattered Highlands." She was at a loss. In all honesty, she hadn't properly thought her plan through. The past month had been a blur. All she knew was that she was desperate. She hadn't come this far before. She had just assumed that she could find someone, who happened to know about the tower. And if she couldn't, she would've just gone wondering north herself. And even if she somehow made it there... she had no idea what she would do. She just felt like all her questions would be answered there. The more she thought about it, the sillier it all seemed to Brielle.

But what was I to do?? What can I even do..?


( boo. current lore is as stated, no one (known) has been to Ibn Catar in a couple centuries. But feel free to create whatever story or old wive's tale or rumour you like!)

 

[boo.]

Brielle seemed rather desperate. Why exactly would she need to go to the Forgotten Tower? During the time he had spent with his family's tribe, Harp had regular "lessons" with his father concerning geography, and in that course had been a little bit about the Tower. He had been rather vague and had only mentioned something about ancient relics and the like, although Harp now knew that there were powerful things there. Just what kinds of things... He wasn't sure.

He did remember a time, back when he had just joined his troop, when he and his mates had been trading stories around the fire, and something had come up about the Forgotten Tower. The exact story, he couldn't remember, but he did know it was something about a traveler who had tried to steal some kind of magical book. Their fate had been... less than ideal. There had been a shadowdancer haunting the halls of the Tower, and they had been none to happy with their unexpected visitor.

Harp felt a chill run down his spine, although he brushed it off as simply the cold. "I'm afraid I've never been to Ibn Catar," he admitted, "but I'm prepared. I do know that the Tower is among the snowy peaks. It shouldn't be hard to find."

Deciding that he wouldn't intrude on Brielle's reasons, Harp stamped his feet into the ground, his legs stiffening with the cold. He supposed he would have to get used to it, seeing as the Tower was further north, and that it likely wouldn't get any warmer than this. The new shackles could definitely help in buying warmer clothes beneath his cloak, but he wasn't sure how soon the woman would want to leave. He would, however, need time to gather more supplies and perhaps even a map. He was sure, however, that in following the north path, they could make their way to the Shattered Highlands without much trouble.

"I, for one, would like to get out of this snow first." His mask nodded toward an inn across the way. "I have a room there, if you wanted to talk more. We have much to discuss."

 

[Lekiel]

A flicker of doubt passed over her dark eyes when Harp suggested to join him at his place. But it passed over as quickly as it came. Now was not the time for overly cautious presumptions; besides, if she was to see this through she would've to learn to trust her judgement and her ability to protect herself. Brielle had spent nearly all her life living in sheltered protection, from that of her family when she was younger to the subdued and brooding company of her former mentor, Shade Blightbane. It was time she grew up. It was probably best to get used to the Heaten`hua's presence before they set off and what better way than to see what he might have planned.

"Lead on." Brielle gestured for the stringmaster to take the lead. As she walked alongside his lean frame, she began to notice that the cold seemed to be affecting him more than her.

"Here... the first part of your payment." The seer slipped the gold shackles into his icy palms. The touch of his chilly digits surprised her at first. A reminder of the fact that she was passively allowing the prickling warmth of Seer Fire course through her veins. Nevertheless, drawing on her magic continuously was not something that she should keep up, especially when they left town. "We should probably find warmer clothing... but that means we can only leave tomorrow morning." She finished wistfully.

 

[boo.]

Harp bowed, turning toward the inn, but he felt the icy sensation of shackles pour into his hand, and a wry smile graced his face. Brielle really was earnest - good. She wouldn't betray him, at least it seemed, and she could probably carry her own. Now, that didn't mean he fully trusted her. There was something about her he didn't know, and that was how she had fended off the dwarf in the tavern, who had been crying over a burnt hand. She was clearly a Vanharen citizen, so that combined with some kind of fiery magic probably meant she was a Black Seer. He had never seen that green fire in person, but perhaps he would be able to sometime in their journey.

"I agree," he nodded, walking across the snow layered street to the inn, which was thankfully close. "I find that journeys started early morning are best, anyway. A good rest is what we need." He pushed open the heavy door, holding it for Brielle before heading inside himself, stamping his feet to shake off the snowy clumps and put some kind of feeling into his toes. His room was on the second floor, so he headed toward a slim staircase to the left and climbed up, afterward making his way to the second door on the left. Harp took a small key from the folds of his cloak and turned it in the lock, which likely didn't provide much protection anyway. Inside was a small, simple room with a cot on the left and small pieces of furniture to the right.

"So - I won't ask what you're looking for. I only ask that you understand I will not put my life in any great risk. I'm here to escort you, so that's what I'm going to do. Nothing more, nothing less." Those were Harp's terms and conditions, if he were to call them that. He had previously decided that any jobs he took would be simple ones, and traveling was about as simple as it got.

Harp sat in a chair by a small, round table, and invited Brielle to sit opposite. He reached up with a cold hand and pulled his mask up and off his head, resting it on his lap. His face was angular and sincere in appearance, and frost tinged the hair above his temples and on his chin. There was no need to be concealed here; business meant being frank and honest. Harp supposed this might put Brielle more at ease, although he wouldn't know for certain.

"I will ask, however, how much experience you have in journeying to places such as this. I would not wish to... demean you by offering overly needed protection."

 

[Lekiel]

The Lush Gentlemen Inn. Brielle caught sight of the faded signage on the front of the tavern door just before Harp pushed his way inside. She'd seen its interior once, when she first arrived at Haven. It had rather stately if slightly aged furnishings and was much quieter than the more popular renowned tavern just across the road. She heard a melodious jingle as she nodded her thanks to Harp for holding the door for her. A rather large man in a black waistcoat was stood behind the bar, polishing mugs and Brielle was struck by the quiet chatter of the taproom; which was a stark contrast to the caterwauling raucous laughter that seemed ever prevalent back at the Three Dragons. She had initially thought to stay at this place but had changed her mind only because its notice board was meager compared to the Three Dragons.

The raven haired woman trailed after the stringmaster as he led the way up to the second floor. She couldn't help but feel a little self conscious, and wondered if the other patrons thought anything about the Heaten`hua bringing an unknown woman to his chambers. It obviously wasn't so much about what others saw, as to what she herself thought about how they looked. By the time she carefully plonked her derriere into the chair opposite Harp's her cheeks were already coloured by a pinkish hue, which darkened even more when the man removed his mask. He did not look particularly remarkable, perhaps a little unkempt and shabby, but the brooding intelligence of his dark eyes drew her in and Brielle had to keep herself from staring for too long. The seer rubbed her hands together, hoping that he would attribute her blushing to her reaction to the sudden warmth of a heated shelter.

Coming back to the present moment, a hint of a frown creased her smooth forehead as Harp laid out his terms for taking up the job. It sounded like something someone would say if they were the kind to bolt at the first sign of trouble. But at least he's honest about it?, her sarcastic inner voice remarked in head. Then again, he did mention great risk and if one were to scrutinize every word, as members of the upper echelons of society often did, this could mean that he would stick around only if he deemed that his life wasn't in mortal danger. What were you expecting though? A deathknight to proclaim a binding oath to protect your precious behind? Brielle sighed inwardly. It was beginning to sound like she was merely paying someone for companionship, which at this stage, did not sound like such a bad idea.

"I will ask, however, how much experience you have in journeying to places such as this. I would not wish to... demean you by offering overly needed protection."

It was a rather curious question, particularly the ending statement. Brielle leaned forward to the table, resting her cheek into the palm of her left hand as her dark eyes regarded the stringmaster. "To be perfectly honest with you, this is my first time traveling alone... I... have been taught in the ways of the Black Seer, but its all... what do they call it? book knowledge?" Since he'd been honest with her, she might as well return that honesty in kind. "I've killed my fair share of wild rabbits, in case you're wondering about my abilities." she added, with a straight face.

 

[boo.]

So, Brielle wasn't exactly an experienced traveler - that was something Harp had begun to suspect. She had, of course, traveled from her home, which was not quite as far as the Lorn Drylands, but had to have taken some time. Therefore, she wasn't without some knowledge of the dangers of traveling, and she was smart enough to know that she couldn't make the journey alone. Harp had to give her props for that, but there wasn't much else he would be able to count her useful for. She was a Black Seer, but she didn't exactly look experienced. Looks could be deceiving, however, so Harp decided he could trust her to carry her own weight.

"I've killed my fair share of wild rabbits, in case you're wondering about my abilities."

Harp snorted unexpectedly and sat up a bit, something tugging at the corners of his lips for a moment. Brielle was lighthearted, something Harp was not. That would make an interesting dynamic on their journey, which would probably prove to be a long one. The Daggerspine Mountains were in their path, and it would take longer to trek around them than to just climb over. But doing so could bring the two dangerously close to Gul Karadas, which was said to be a cursed place. While Ibn Catar would be no cakewalk, Harp had heard worse things about the former. He wanted to travel as far away from that place as he could. But was Brielle in a rush? Perhaps she would push the pace more than Harp expected. He supposed it would be up to his employer on which path they would take, but he wouldn't hesitate to put in his own grains of wisdom.

"At least I won't have to worry about that essential skill." Harp brought up slender fingers to stroke his chin, and his face returned to the placid, business-concentrated it had worn earlier. "But I'm afraid you'll have to learn on the road. After all, there is no better teacher than experience itself. I've heard that the Seer fire takes wisdom and patience, but I'll not be able to offer much more help than that."

"If we plan on leaving at first light, we have much to prepare." Harp motioned to his cot, upon which were strewn various packs and supplies that he had on hand. "I have rations, but we will forage on the road. Eh... More wrappings and bandages would be welcome, as would more substantial clothing, I'm sure."

Harp was no stranger to cold, as nights in the Lorn Deadlands dropped to dangerous temperatures, but it was the biting winds and the fierce snowfall that were foreign to him. They rattled his bones and locked his joints. It would only get worse from here, he was sure.

Harp pushed back his chair and stood, going through his supplies and pulling out a thin piece of parchment, which he proceeded to unroll on the table. It was a poorly drawn map of northeast Andarun, and despite its lack of named locations, there was a spiderweb of roads across the terrain like a weaving.

"The most straightforward road leads through the Daggerspine Mountains - to go around it would add a week, perhaps two." He brushed his fingers along the thin lines to show Brielle their potential routes. "To go through the mountains would prove a treacherous thing, as it takes us close to Gul Karadas."

There Harp paused, and he pointed to a rectangle nestled within the mountains. "It is your choice. I suppose it depends on how desperately you need to get to Ibn Catar."

//sorry for the delay!

 

[Lekiel]

Brielle couldn't help but snort a little, when Harp mentioned about her Seer fire. She wrinkled her nose slightly.

"Indeed..." Well Harp certainly was right as far as the sayings go. She couldn't count the number of times Shade Blightbane nearly lost his patience and acted unwisely at her amazing lack of both qualities under his tutelage. She let the Stringmaster rumble on, surprising herself for paying attention to almost every word he said. When he pulled out the map, she studiously cast her dark eyes over the etched markings. It looked alot like the one her father kept in his study. One which she would've packed with her, had she not been so careless.

Her ruby lips tightened nearly imperceptibly at the mention of the cursed ruins. Though if Harp saw her reaction, it could have easily been interpreted as the usual response to that forsaken place; despite it being something else. A momentary faraway look clouded over her visage.

"It is your choice. I suppose it depends on how desperately you need to get to Ibn Catar."

"We will cut through the Daggerspine." Brielle retorted, almost too quickly. As if realizing who she was speaking to, she added, this time in more measured tones. "I-I don't think we'll have to get too close to Gul Karadas... We... should be fine. It'll save alot of time as you mentioned." She cast her eyes to the side before letting out a sigh and standing up from her chair. She surveyed the room pointedly, debating if it was worthwhile to rent another room just for that night.

"I guess its best to get some rest... early start tomorrow and all...." Brielle gathered her things walked over to a corner where an empty clothing rack stood, just beside the door. "Y-You don't mind if I-?" The seer gestured to the floor, a mild blush colouring her cheeks. She had never thought she'd have to worry about such things as money, let alone asking someone if she could bunk in with them just so she could save on some coin.


(OOC: I'll do a time skip to the next morning on my next post!)

 

[boo.]

Harp really didn't want to take that shortcut through the Daggerspine Mountains - he would rather prepare for an extra three weeks than pass by that unholy ruin tucked in the craggy cliffs. But Brielle was the one paying, which meant it wasn't up to him. His face might have hardened a bit as the woman confirmed the shorter route, but he said nothing else in opposition to it. The pass itself would take just a few days, but there was likely little to no food up there. The two would have to hunt and gather provisions before they arrived - a few morsels a day until they got there would cover it.

The stringmaster was about to propose the separation of their ways until morning, when Brielle sudden interjected with a tone of embarassment, essentially asking if she could sleep over. Harp wasn't very keen on that idea. Then again, he had little to lose. If Brielle only wanted to steal from him, she would be greatly disappointed. If he wanted to make a better impression on her, then letting her stay would be the best option.

"Go right ahead," he finally murmured, rolling the map back up and tucking it into some hidden fold of his cloak. "Although you might want to be aware that there will be rumors. Not my fault."

Harp turned his attention to his bed, which was strewn with supplies that had been laid there earlier. He began to put it into some kind of order, putting everything into a leather pack and setting it on the ground. There was nothing else to do but fall asleep, but his eyes flicked toward Brielle in a sort of annoyance. Surely she didn't expect him to give her the bed - he wasn't a savage, but he had paid for this room himself. It was her idea to stay over; she would just have to take the floor.

Hoping the matter was closed, Harp slipped his arms under his cloak and lifted it over his head, folding it into a small stack and setting it on his pack. Underneath, he wore a black tunic and black trousers, each of which were fitted to his figure so as to minimize the bulk of his cloak. Satisfied, Harp slipped into bed after a second glance at Brielle, hoping she would have the sense to lay down as well.

 

[Lekiel]

~*~

The swift waters of Hastarae tugged at her shins, a constant nagging force that she had long become accustomed to. But within the Grey Realm, being accustomed to something was not a license for anyone to know nonchalance. She remembered her first careless step. And her first fall. How she'd felt a sinking sense of dread and terror as her soul was inexorably stretched away from her being. But Master Blightbane had saved her, right at the last moment. Pulling her to her feet from the dark depths of the Argenon. In retrospect, she'd often wondered what took her master so long. Maybe time ran differently when you were about to die? Or perhaps Blightbane wanted to teach her a lesson. Knowing him, the latter was very likely true. Regardless, the lesson stuck.

Her dark eyes gazed at the muted hues of the Argenon Grey, the eternal murky mists that shrouded the forsaken domain of Maferath. Smoky forms and slithering silhouettes played along with her imagination at the vestiges of her vision. Minor Denizens.... She paid them no heed. Weak cowardly scavengers of the First Precint of the Argenon. They lurked in the distance, waiting to leach on hapless souls or those unwary amateur necromancers who slipped up. She was no ordinary necromancer though. From her eyes flames of seer fire flared for a brief moment, marking her irises with simmering emerald, a warning to those who dared. Now was not the time to be distracted. The Argenon was no place for the unfocused. With deliberate steps, Brielle moved with the flow of the current, eyes scanning the dark waters before her as if she sought something within its shallow depths. She counted about thirteen steps forward, then stopped her slow track, before turning back around and walking against the current for another thirteen. They really should not be far. A sudden flash of white caught her attention, and she snapped her hand out towards it, magic words of revealing muttered from her lips. As soon as her incantation finished, the shade surfaced and her heart sank. It was the soul of their ghoul servant. Brielle recognized his face almost immediately. The only ghoul their aging butler, Magnon, could maintain. With a sigh, she released the shade and let it sink back into its watery grave.

"Mother...!" The mists muted her call. Muted everything but the trickling of the River. Brielle spat a curse. She was getting desperate. Where in Maferath's name could they be? "Father!" Were they really only sleeping? A mild poison perhaps? She hoped that was the case..- But it was impossible... she saw the signs... knew that their lives were hanging on a thread... literally. She trudged through the waters in circles, feeling its chill seeping through her skin and numbing her bones. She hated this next part, hated that it had come to this for multiple reasons. But the very fact that she had to do it, meant that her worst fears may very well be true. Brielle reached into the folds of her robes and pulled out a couple of thin fragile vials. They were filled with deep crimson liquid and some crushed herbs, stoppered on one end by hardened fat. The seer palmed them hesitantly, casting that tracking spell had many risks. The least of which was that it would immediately draw the attention of the lesser denizens within Hastarae. Should that happen, and the denizens disrespected her abilities, it may prove an annoyance nothing more. The real risks would come much later, should One of the lower realms chance upon traces of her spell. Brielle shut her eyes, and whispered a prayer to the Voidwalker, hoping that she was doing the right thing. One by one perhaps... Gripping one of the vials in her fist, she raised it perpendicular to her over the running waters.

"Sid had`urak caulor!" The incantations of a forgotten language passed from between her ruby lips once again and Brielle felt the contents of the first vial heating up. Just before it became unbearable, she squeezed her fist and snapped the vial in two, sending its steaming contents to the waters below. The crimson liquid hit the river with a hiss of smoke, but it was taken up and further down by the river's current. Brielle stared at the crimson liquid as it stretched and diluted into the waters. She waited... and waited... Brielle counted the seconds... the minutes... the moments... She had never stayed this long in the Argenon alone before. Its soul numbing chill and constant pull wore on her. But she could not leave... not yet. Something was wrong, the tracking spell had not worked. She brought her other fist up to stare at the swirling crimson liquid within the vial. Mother... The girl gritted her teeth. She dared not think what she would do if her next try failed. She brought her fist up once again, whispered the spell, and broke the vial.

eight... nine.... Ten... twenty... thirty.... .. one minute... Suddenly she was struck by an overwhelming sense of disquietude. It gripped her like a vice and chilled her like a stab of pure ice through the heart. Her mouth opened to scream but no sound came out... her limbs would not respond and she feared she would topple over and be swept into the river. But she didn't. Brielle stared with wide eyes, transfixed, as the mists parted and the shade appeared.

"NO!"

Brielle awoke with a choked gasp, shooting up from where she slept on the floor entangled in the folds of her bedroll. Her hands came up to the sides of her head to comb her dark hair back away from her face as she closed her eyes in an effort to steady her ragged breathing. Though the sturdy struture of the inn kept most of the winter cold away, she still felt an icy chill along her back and she realized her cotton shift was drenched with sweat. Or was it river water? Brielle rubbed her eyes and let out another sigh. She didn't know what time it was, and even a glance at the frosted glass windows revealed nothing but a subdued grey-white. She let her thoughts linger for a moment as she recollected her dream, or rather, her memories before deciding that going back to sleep was no longer an option.

Last day before the wilds... might as well. Sifting through her backpack, she got to her feet and briefly contemplated the wisdom of leaving the rest of her belongings unattended. Her dark eyes drifted over to the shadowed bedside before she shrugged to herself and carefully exited the room in search of the bathhouse.

The guilt of spending just a little extra coin to get a boy to collect hot water from the kitchens assuaged by the pleasant bath, she made her way back to the shared room. Her hands closed over the chilly chrome handle and was about to twist it open before she thought better of the idea.

KNOCK. KNOCK. She rapped her knuckles against the solid wood.

"Harp? Are you up? Can I come in?"

 

[boo.]

Harp slept for longer than he had first intended, but when he awoke, he found Brielle missing from the room. His first thoughts went to his money pouch, which had been stowed beneath his pillow. He breathed out a sigh of relief as his fingers closed around the lumpy bag, and he relaxed. She had likely gone out, then, to either eat or clean up. Perhaps she had gone out looking for supplies, but Harp considered that unlikely. Not many vendors opened their shops this early, for as his eyes peered out the clouded window, he could see only a sliver of light streaking across the horizon.

Not being much of a heavy sleeper, Harp swung himself out of bed and began to gather his things, folding blankets and putting everything into some kind of order. He gathered his hair, which hung below his chin, and pulled it back into a knot behind his head before wrapping his cloak around himself. His mask, which still lay on the table, he soon fitted onto his face, adjusting his hood until the pale white of the mask peered out in an almost eerie manner.

There was a knock at the door, and Brielle's voice floated from behind the wood, asking permission to enter. Harp obliged and swilung the door open, somewhat surprised to find his employer cleaned and looking somewhat... presentable. She hadn't exactly been filthy yesterday, but the strain of her previous travels had apparently been washed away by some kind of bath. It suited her; Harp surmised that her life before this had been a clean and comfortable one.

"I'm glad to see you're ready." Harp stepped aside so that she could enter, adjusting the pack he had slung across his shoulder. "Gather your things and meet me outside. Daylight sometimes runs faster than we think."

Harp left Brielle to get what she had left in his room, and descended the wooden stairs to exit the double doors of the inn. His payment for board had been settled the previous day, so there was no need to bother about that now. The Heaten`hua planted himself by the entrance, filling his lungs with the cold morning air and watching his frosty breath cascade down in a pale cloud.

 

[Lekiel]

The winter flurry had died down overnight, leaving the whole town of Haven like some sort of frosted sugary winter dessert. Snow crunched under her boots as she trudged her way along the icy pavement towards the looming Northern gates of town. After a short meal, the duo had decided to go about their errands separately and meet within an hour. The walls weren't impressive. Decently high worked stone ramparts with no fancy embellishments, just boring practicality. Brielle stifled a yawn. But as unassuming as it were, the neutral lands had always been guarded by more than mere stone walls. The (in)famous Crimsoncloaks, warriors, rogues and mages from all three lands who decided to make Haven and its surrounding lands their home. They say most were hardened adventurers and battle veterans, too old or experienced to be standard conscripts. Apparently they sought a quieter life, away from the pesky politics of their homeland, but could never really lay down sword and shield. So instead, they sold their swordarm to keeping the peace within Haven. Apparently, they were paid quite handsomely as well, what with the amount of trade that passed through the the town's walls from three directions.

Brielle passed a few of them on the way, their weather beaten faces more somber than a Deadlander funeral. She offered a friendly smile to a few of them, but a gruff grunt was perhaps the most enthusiastic response she received. Brielle gave up trying to lighten the mood after a few attempts, skulking her way closer to the edge of town. There weren't many travelers heading this side of Haven, obviously due to the winter.

A familiar silhouette appeared up ahead under the shadow of the drawn portcullis reminding Brielle to give her belongings another once over, not that she had much. She hated carrying along her entire house so-to-speak, more out of laziness than practicality. She had bought an additional fur tunic, which she wore underneath her cloak, and some odds and ends like preserved meats and oatcakes. A couple of the merchants had mentioned another town further north, and an old trapper had said that there was another at the foothills of the Dragonspine (though no one else could verify that claim). In any case, she had full confidence in her ability to catch wild rabbits for a meal, so it wasn't like she would starve to death. Finally, she reached the gates and found that Harp had infact, arrived before her.

"My mother used to tell me that the Heaten`hua weren't human, and that the masks weren't really masks but their real faces." Brielle tilted her head to one side as she eyed the lanky stringmaster's enigmatic facade.

 

[boo.]

Despite the extra weight, Harp was glad to have a heavier pack once more. He had gone out to the markets, looking at the early morning wares and buying what he thought he would need. Among the obvious, like dried foodstuffs and a sturdier canteen, he had splurged and bought new black boots, as well as leather-bound book with blank pages. Not only would it hold his rather frail map and protect it from the cold weather ahead, but it would allow him to keep track of where they were through documenting and the like. No, it wasn't a diary. Harp was a bit more grown-up than that.

It would have been a bright dawn, with ribbons of color through the sky, if it had not been for the overbearing cloud layer ahead. Harp shielded his eyes as he peered upward, a touch of homesickness resting in his chest. The world was full of wonders and things he would have never seen, had he not left the desert, but he missed the clear skies and the warm air, the striking sunsets and stillness of the evening. The stringmaster could clearly recall his youth, which had been spent in the company of family and close friends, and in learning his father's trade of entertainer. Now, instead of using his gift as a living, it was more of a pastime.

Was that a bad thing? Harp found himself lost in thought when Brielle finally approached, bringing him back to the real world with a question about his attire.

"My mother used to tell me that the Heaten`hua weren't human, and that the masks weren't really masks but their real faces."

Harp huffed beneath his mask, turning to the open gateway and stepping outside. If they were to chat, they would have to do it on the move.

"My mother once told me that Black Seers ate only the souls of the living, and that once they had fed, their victims would be nothing but a husk, destined to wander Andarun forever." Harp looked over to Brielle, a wry sort of smile forming beneath his mask. "But now I know you are more than willing to eat other things, too."

 

[Lekiel]

Brielle let out an amused chuckle at his retort. "To be fair, your mother is quite right... in a sense." She turned to briefly glance at Harp, an enigmatic smile curling her lips. Several score yards passed the gates and their feet were already crunching over a bed of packed snow a couple feet deep. Light fluffy snowflakes spiralled lazily in the still quiet air to the cotton white grounds. Other than it being slightly overcast, they were off to a fairly pleasant morning.

The girl continued. "Only, we don't just go around siphoning anyone and everything we meet. There are rules..." it seemed as if she was going to explain further, but instead ended with a rather flat "yeah... rules...". But then, after a moment "It tastes really bad too..." A slight shudder tremored through her petite frame. They continued north for the better part of an hour in relative silence, which if Brielle was honest, was somewhere in between companionable and awkward. They were making good progress, traveling swiftly through the white layered mountain forests. A mixture of evergreen pines and stark trees lining both sides of the travelway. Coming round a particularly dense copse of pines, Brielle was just wondering when her shorter legs would tire out, when the two suddenly beheld what seemed to be a wrecked caravan two score yards ahead. The nearest wagon to them was lying on its side, one wheel still spinning on its axel as if it whatever it was, had only just occured.

Brielle's striding steps immediately slowed to an abrupt halt. There was someone wrapped in leathers waving both arms at them, but she could not clearly make out his face. "I think they might have hit a burried rock..." The seer remarked, but her feet were still rooted to the spot. Her brows furrowed at the sight before her, and at the figure waving at them. Ironically, Brielle wasn't the most altruistic specimen of an individual. When your father is was one of the Vanharen Thirteen, you had to grow another pair of eyes on your back less you become a tool for exploitation. You were taught from a very young age that all relationships was simply a matter of convenience and practical gain.

"I think we should go around..." Brielle added, though her tone was somewhat undecided as if leaving the decision up to the other.

 

[boo.]

"It tastes really bad too..."

Harp decided to drop the subject. He had been joking, but it seemed as though Brielle was not. She truly was the wielder of a darker power than his, and there was nothing funny about that. His face might have paled at the quiet comment of consuming souls, but he was a little braver than that. He had seen much in his time and come across many different souls-

Alright, maybe it was time to stop thinking about souls. Harp and Brielle walked in silence after that, treading the snow-covered trail between trees and the tracks of animals. In fact, the only way Harp could make out the road was by the slight divets it made at the side, as it dipped a little lower than the ground beside it. There didn't seem to be any other marks of fellow travelers, which Harp was relieved at. He didn't feel like dealing with others at the moment, other than Brielle.

Surprisingly, she was bearable. Harp often found himself frustrated and bored with others he spent time with, especially those he was working for, but she was different. She was after something more than wordly, although Harp was almost afraid to ask what it was. It had crossed his mind that she was looking for something she shouldn't, but it wasn't his business to ask.

But it was his business to be cautious. Just as Brielle stopped in her tracks, Harp forced himself not to out out a protective arm. Odd. What appeared to be a decimated caravan of wagons was sprawled just a short distance before them, and it was obvious that it was just happened. But he had heard nothing, not so much as a rustle, before they had arrived, and the forest had been silent. Just as Brielle showed hesitation, so was Harp certain they should travel around.

"I think we should go around..."

"Agreed." Harp began to lead a way off the path, skirting the scene while his eyes remained on the individual that seemed to be pleading for help. He seemed innocent enough, but Harp couldn't help but sense something foul about the situation. It was too convenient, too well-placed. The wreck, being in an area with little trees and flat terrain, would be seen from many directions. The sympathetic and naive traveler would have little reason to stay away.

As they began to rejoin the trail, Harp grasped Brielle's shoulder and pushed as if to turn her from the scene.

"Don't look back." He spoke in a hushed sort of tone, forcing himself to maintain a steady pace. "It's too easy a trap. If they want real help, town is less than half a day's walk. They can find it themselves."

Harp found no remorse or guilt in the situation; he was simply protecting himself and Brielle.

But hadn't he said he wasn't a bodyguard?

 

[Lekiel]

It made sense of course. The setting seemed obvious enough if one went with the line of thought that those people were up to no good. Brielle allowed the stringmaster to lead her away and around the scene. Despite his warning, the seer was unable to contain her curiosity, turning around to look back at the wrecked caravan. She wished she hadn't. The man had stopped waving at them and instead, stood perfectly still, with arms hanging straight by his sides. Brielle thought she saw his lips curl into a smile, but she couldn't be sure what with the distance between them. An unwitting shiver ran through her frame as she hastened her steps until she was starting to overtake Harp, even with her much shorter legs.

They walked on without any further interruptions for the rest of the afternoon, with the snow falling gently about the winterlands around them. For the first hour or so after that, several times Brielle felt as if they were being watched, and she stopped to survey the their surroundings, dreading to see a darting shadow from behind one of the thick tree trunks. But she saw nothing. The feeling went away after an hour or so, but the Seer still could not fully shake the memory of their encounter and the eerie behaviour of the caravan man. It sobered up the usually fairly talkative girl. Nevertheless, the relative silence allowed her to pay more attention to the forests of evergreen pines and gnarly trees that gradually grew denser the further north they went. It was quite a beautiful sight, disregarding what had happened. The way the cottony flakes drifted in lazy spirals on the ground had a sort of serene hypnotizing effect on her mind. The concerns of her mind and the very reason why they were here faded temporarily into the recesses of her mind as the raven-haired girl found herself enjoying the moment.

"It never snows like this in Serahaz..." She'd remarked after a while. And it was true. Winter in the Vanharen lands weren't quite as magical as out here in the Dragonspine vales. It did not snow often and when it did, it was usually accompanied by hail, making for very wet and muddy streets which was nothing like the soft subdued wonderland they were currently in. There was just about an hour left of daylight, and even then it was rapidly being obscured by looming clouds. By that time, the vestiges of the travelway had long faded and they were relying mostly on compass directions and the map they had bought. The duo found themselves winding through low hills and large rocks until they finally saw the edge of the treeline. And beyond the edge of the last pine, was a great frozen expanse.

Brielle paused for a moment, her breath coming out in puffs of white as she reached in between the folds of her cloak to retrieve the map they had bought earlier. Her eyes traced over the worn yellowed parchment. "That should be... Sigrud's Run..." Brielle looked up at the snowy expanse. She could see the wind picking up from the way the snowflakes were beginning to drift diagonally to the ground. It was going to be another freezing night.

"Quite a peculiar name for a lake I must say..." She wondered aloud. She crunch her way further towards the edge of the frozen lake and squinted against the deepening darkness, trying to make out the far side of the lake. She could barely see the dark blurry masses of trees and the looming rocky mountains, but it was enough to assure her that the lake wasn't terribly large. Even so, it'd probably take a couple hours to cross. The waterline extended out wide on either sides, as did the forests that marked the shore. "There's one... possibly two villages between us and the start of our climb into the Dragonspine... according to the map, the village of Gortholm should be on the far side of the lake... We could continue through the forests... and probably reach Gortholm on the morrow night. Or.... take a shortcut." Brielle let the question hang in the air. She wasn't particularly fond of crossing a frozen lake, but it going across it would probably get them into Gortholm well before dawn.

 

[boo.]

The string master had encountered dangerous situations before. Clearly, none of them had ended terribly enough, but they had been enough to instill in Harp a wariness of the unknown. Danger was real; there were people out there who wanted nothing more than to hurt you. Harp was determined to avoid situations like those as often as he could. More often than not, however, danger just seemed to find him, as proved by the clearing in the woods behind the two travelers.

The two continued in warranted silence, communicating only through their shared desire to forget the sight behind them. It was no good to meditate on events of the past, especially events like that. The sooner they reached the next leg of their journey, the better. Harp found himself not thinking of anything; in fact, as they neared the shore of a frozen lake, he felt as if no time at all had passed.

"Sigrud's Run... Quite a peculiar name for a lake, I must say..."

Harp nodded his agreement absentmindedly, his eyes wandering over the expanse with a mixture of wonder and intimidation. Going around would take forever, as confirmed by Brielle's cartography, but it was undoubtedly the safer route. Who knew if the lake was frozen solid - although, to Harp, the freezing air felt more than enough to freeze an ocean.

It was indeed a predicament. Harp's head was telling him to travel around Sigrud's Run, but his body was loathe to spend a night in the aching cold. Was his desire for a warm bed enough to risk death for both of them? Harp crouched in the snow, balancing on the balls of his feet as he thought. His head turned slightly, as if studying the ice, but no observation could be made simply through sight. He had an idea nonetheless, and his hand crept to his side to unbuckle the leather pouch there.

Rising back up, Harp extended both hands before him and began to move his fingers in fast, almost unnatural twitchings. Immediately, his pouch began to squirm, and out of it began to creep a disembodied hand. It was covered in brown wrinkled flesh that glistened with the tell-tale sign of preservation, and a certain smell accompanied it, although it wasn't unpleasant. More like... Dried herbs. It dropped from the pouch and pulled itself through the snow, its fingers moving like independent feet until it reached the edge of the ice.

More things began to follow the hand - feet, elbows, ears - all coming to stop at the lake's start. Harp seemed to hesitate for a moment. If the ice cracked, and if he wasn't fast enough, the parts would be plunged into the water and destroyed by the cold. Preservation took time and patience, as well as actual body parts.

Ah, well. People died and that was just a part of life. He could always get more.

One by one, the jerking parts began to slide onto the ice, fanning out and tapping the frozen surface with their various appendages. Harp, still continuing to move his fingers in intricate patterns, found a glimmer of hope. The ice wasn't groaning, shifting, or cracking. Perhaps-

But there was only one way to tell. Clenching his jaw, Harp stepped down to the lakeside and extended a leg. His puppets froze as his thoughts slowed in a surreal moment before his foot made contact. He expected his foot to plunge through, his body brace for the impending cold, but he felt nothing. He looked down, surprised to see his foot, bearing his weight, on the unbroken ice. He smiled widely, taking another step before pivoting to face Brielle.

"Shortcut it is. Come on, daylight is bur-"

There was a loud crack that split the air like thunder, and all at once the ice gave way beneath Harp. His right foot plunged into the ice-cold water, and Harp cried out in shock. He twisted as he fell, his torso thudding on solid ice, but he could feel that it wouldn't remain solid for long. Both legs were now immersed in the dark water, but the more Harp tried to pull himself out, the more he could feel the ice mincing beneath him. He paused and looked to Brielle - he would have been embarrassed if he wasn't so terrified - and tried to calm down.

Harp was going to call out, but he couldn't speak. The cold was getting to him, locking up everything he did. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. His puppets were scattered, lifeless, on the solid ice around him, safe for now from the water beneath. What was he supposed to do?

 

[Lekiel]

As she pondered the newest leg of their journey amidst the falling snowy winterscape, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harp reach towards his side to unbuckle his pouch; perhaps to retrieve a drink was all she assumed. That is, until the leather bag jerked almost violently, causing the Seer to start. Mostly because she wasn't expecting an inanimate bag to move at all.

An animal pet perhaps- Then a disembodied hand crawled out of the space, with leathery skin stretched taut over its bones such that it appeared almost skeletal. Then Brielle watched wide eyed in shock, as more macabre limbs and body parts followed. Crawling over the powdery snow in jerky twisted movements towards the waters edge. Her eyes grew wider still at the unexpected sight as her mouth opened... and she let out a tinkling peel of laughter.

"By Maferath's darkened bowels! I was wondering when I'd see all that!" Brielle clasped her hands together in almost childish delight as a small squeal of excitement escaped her throat. She'd seen many a Heaten'hua play back when she was a child, and had always been fascinated by their often grisly but highly entertaining art. Such opportunities grew rarer as she grew older, and so the appearance of the stringmaster's disembodied puppets was a welcome sight.

Harp's grotesque minions continued on their merry way, oblivious to the enthusiastic girl cheering them on by the side lines. They knocked and tapped their way across the ice, a very practical act perhaps, to the stringmaster, though it delighted the young seer. Harp appeared satisfied with the preliminary checks, deciding it was time he stepped out on the ice. Brielle held her breath, thinking she'd hear a crack. But she didn't, and Harp pirouetted to give the all clear.

CRACK!

"Harp!" She let out a startled cry as the stringmaster plummeted into the depths of the frozen waters, but managed to hold on at the last moment. He'd only been a couple yards out from the shore, but there was no telling how deep it could be. Brielle raced to his side, doffing her cloak in the process. The frozen sheet cracked and groaned as her footsteps landed on its surface, and to her horror, she realized it might not hold. She hopped back to the shore before she too fell into the freezing depths.

I have to risk it. She knew just enough about the cold to know it could shock the body and contract muscles involuntarily. She had to help him. Perhaps a different approach. Brielle gritted her teeth immediately dropped to her knees, trying her best to spread her weight out before crawling out onto the ice. She felt it shift slightly but held largely in place.

"Hold on!" Crawling out just that short distance felt like it was taking an eternity, each step painstakingly slow. But she finally got to him. Brielle grasped at the stringmaster's arms, braced up on her knees, and felt immediately felt the ice around the hole begin cracking again.

"Voidwalker help us." The seer hissed under her breath.

She scooted around the edges and lay almost fully prone on the icy surface, though she still kept her grip on his forearms. "Come on Harp! You've got to slide yourself up! Try to kick your legs, don't let them freeze!" Her breath came out in labored gasps as she struggled to support his heavier weight.

 

[boo.]

Get out, get out, get out!

Harp couldn't think of anything else but to get out of the ice water, but his muscles refused to do anything but drag him further back. His vision was growing blurry, almost as if he was looking through a thin sheet of ice, although he could hear Brielle's voice nearing him.

No, don't - stay away - Harp's thoughts couldn't make it out of his mouth, and before he could make any sort of gesture, he could feel a firm grip on his arms, anchoring him against the edge of the ice. Gods, the water was creeping up his chest, enveloping his heart in a frozen cage. The blood in his veins had to be solid now, it was so cold... In a disconnected thought, Harp vowed he would never complain of the cold desert nights ever again.

Brielle was telling him to kick his legs. Harp wanted to do that so badly - he felt a twinge of something electric run through his leg muscles, and in a desperate effort, he acted on it and managed to thrash his lower half about in an attempt to wiggle onto the ice.

Harp's heart was beating a million miles a minute, and his breath was coming faster and faster. He wanted to slow down, wrap his mind around things, but his body wasn't obeying him.

Listen to Brielle - do what she's telling you!

Another kick, and Harp felt his torso slide up another inch. This small success, combined with the adrenaline rush, heartened him to try again, and again. He was making progress. Brielle's grip on his arms was pulling painfully on his arm sockets, but it was certainly helping. With a sort of coughing groan, Harp kicked again, thrusting himself up and onto the ice further balancing precariously on the edge of the ice before finally dragging his legs out.

The ice was silent for a moment, and Harp exhaled painfully, rolling onto his back limply. His mask had been knocked askew, and he brushed it off with a flip of his hand. Harp's inky eyes were shut tight, and his blue lips were trembling and twitching. He drew in a breath through his teeth, the chill in his bones still eating away at him.

Just when Harp thought he could possibly gather himself to get back to shore, there was a dangerous groaning beneath him. His eyes flashed open - he could see Brielle, still on the ice - and looked to his right, realizing with dread that the cracks in the ice had begun to spread like skeletal fingers, stretching from where they were all the way back to shore. There was no time to lose. Harp rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his knees, grabbing a handful of Brielle's shirt.

"Run - Run!" Harp finally spoke in a croaking voice, his hands pressing against the ice to push himself to his feet. He almost fell immediately, but there was no time. Already, the ice was beginning to separated where he had just been, and now it was going to do the same where he was any moment.

His finger shot out to point to the opposite shore, and he began to force his legs into some sort of motion. They buckled, but he managed not to fall on his feet by simply continuing to move. They had to make a break for it - they had to run Sigrud's Run.