Fantasy Witchhunters of Andarun - Cauldron of Souls Arc

[Sincerely Me]

Background thread here =): http://www.rpnation.com/threads/genesis-of-andarun.32297/

~There is a certain.. Order... to unlife, in as much as life is the natural way of things.. but the path is narrow.. precarious on the ridge of chaos for the River of Life is turbulent, even as it flows in one direction and that those who seek to reverse its flow.. should be wary less he descend into chaos. Such is the sojourn of Maferath, his ways often misunderstood in a journey he willingly undertook on his own~ Nefari the Arcane

Day 16, Fall, 20th Year of Peace. The air is still as I waited for the other Vaan's to arrive.. We are in the era of peace they called it.. yet I feel no rest.. The stillness, more like a lull before a storm. The lines have been drawn and treaty's have been made, yet I still sleep to the sounds of battle and the cry of men in my mind. We have but temporarily settled our childish bickering in the playground only to return to sort the mess back in our homes.. mere children, in the scale of things.

Day 17. The last of the Inquisitors have arrived. Thirty in all, lead by us five Vaan's.. that in itself is a rare sight these days. We are told that Number One won't be joining us... off on a mission.. period. We are led by Number Five and Number Eight. Vaan Elise the Swift and the infamous Blood Baron: Vaan Goldach the Cruel. Almost legendary for his creative ways of torturing his victims. Elise the Swift is a beauty of a woman, yet there is more austerity there than I am comfortable with. Rumour was that she and the now defamed Vaan Sebastian the Dread, former Number One, were lovers; I cannot imagine how such a cold woman could be capable of love. Elise and Goldach.. they barely tolerate each other, the tension is unmistakable.. the Baron especially; but he defers to Number Five. It should not take long. The Coven of Soulrender's is large.. but now that we have enough intel, even they have no hope against us.. We will purge the Emperor's land off their evil filth.

Day 20. The last few days have been uneventful. What little stragglers we have found after leaving Gavort's Dale have been kicked aside like the pebbles under the hooves of our horses. The younglings are eager, their enthusiasm barely held checked by our presence.

Day 24. We draw ever closer.. Resistance have more than doubled. They are cunning.. their path harder to track. We lost three men.. their lives will be avenged when the Fire of Iolos descends on the witches' pitiful existence.

Day 25. Ambushed! Vaan Goldach is missing.. the men say he was injured and taken. There were many.. too many, and we lost more men. But we prevailed! Number Five is injured.. but she says it is minor.. We press on! The Coven cannot stand against us.. We have killed the Soulrender's Mistress.. her blood stains my blade.

Da-

(Nothing could be read in the following entry. The remaining pages stained with patches of mud and the slight rusted tint of dried blood)
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Gavort's Dale... a small town sitting on the edge of the Kingdom of Arya, along the foothills of the Ashtop Mountains.. Usually a place of isolated solitude have as of late, seen an increase in witch activity. Young girls from the surrounding villages have gone missing.. Even some lads. For a whole year the Church of Iolos had been scouting the region.. gathering intelligence. Then it was the time to act. A command of Inquisitors lead by five Vaan's was dispatched to make quick work of the Witches who called themselves the Soulrender Covern. An easy task, especially with the presence of the Vaan's; skilled inquisitors without equal amongst their peers.


It has been two weeks since the group of inquisitors had passed by. There has been no sign of the inquisitors nor of any witches. But the villagers knew something was not right. Then a body floated downstream, blooded and mutilated beyond recognition, carrying nothing but a tattered journal... and they knew that they were in a very dire situation... They waited.. and waited... but nothing came. No rush of blood hungry hags leading packs of grotesque abominations. Even the witch sightings stopped overnight. Days lead to weeks. Then months.


The Church of Iolos, concerned at what might be seen as a failed and costly operation, publicly declared the Inquisitors successful martyrs, victorious in the name of Iolos; of course, there was the customary sweeping of truths under the rug. The whole affair was then aptly named Gavort's Sacrifice, in 'honour' of the fallen inquisitors.


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Inquisitor Vitka de`Mordred. Or should I say, Vaan Vitka de`Mordred. You see, it isn't every day that a young ordinary inquisitor gets the privilege of facing off in a duel against his superior. Of course, it wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter...


Rather, if it wasn't for the fact that Vitka was so full of talent, and hence, full of himself, then he might not have challenged that conniving bastard to a duel. Well, at least that's what his fellow inquisitors would say; that Vitka.. always pushing his luck. He should be careful less it pushes back!


But ask a local, and they would tell you of a brave soldier, standing up to a pompous fat greedy Vaan for bullying and threatening to arrest a poor young boy.


In actual fact... said young boy had just stolen a little something of value out from under Vitka's crooked nose. Alas, the young lad snuck away and had almost outran Vitka but instead bumped into the potbelly of... hello! The fiftieth Vaan in all of Arya! t'was Vitka was in a dilemma, should that kid be arrested by fat Vaan, poor Vitka would lose the only possession most dear to him. There was no doubt what le fat Vaan would do if he found the amulet on the young boy. The thought of his precious wrapped around a pudgy neck spurred Vitka forwards, thus he stood up for the innocence of a young boy. What happened next is history. The tales of his extraordinary feat often bloated beyond the proportions of even the stomach of the former Vaan Lukhouse rang out in the local taverns for days on end. The stories ranged from Vitka playing dirty with dirt-to-face tricks to Lukhouse falling over his potbelly and landing on his own sword.


Nevertheless, he was now the new number Fifty, by way of 'fair' challenge. This created a plethora of problems as it now seemed that becoming a prestigious Vaan seemed all too easy. Add a gang of jealous, rich, noble spoiled brats and what you end up with is the new Vaan being assigned on a new task, 'worthy of a Vaan'. Of course, it was plain obvious said task wasn't going to be easy, even the word 'doable' was pushing it. Needless to say, the other Vaans weren't going to stand up and defend their fellowman, afterall, nobody thought he deserved the 'upgrade'. Entrepreneuring bureaucrats, seizing the opportunity, decided to offer Vitka a compensation. We'll assign you a royal alchemist, to help you get the job done. A certain young lady, daughter of a certain noble, very talented! So much so that she became the youngest royal alchemist ever. Of course, she was also the last of her line. Her parents had no other children, see... it was convenient.. pitting two young talented individuals together to prove their worth. Two birds with one stone they said.


Their task? Return with solid proof that the Soulrender Coven is no more.. should be pretty easy. Whoever's heard of the Soulrender Coven anyway?


--

 

[Sincerely Me]

Anara

struggled out a thin shaft of light from between the dark angry clouds, as if a final desperate plea to not let her soul set below the horizon. Somewhere across the sky, Eweca had begun her ascend to take dominion over the heavens. A cycle repeated since the beginning of time itself. The dying rays of morn, those that broke through shone across a landscape of rolling hills draped in a white so pure. A copse of pines clustered here and there, as if struggling to keep warm in the company of others. An action no doubt mirrored by the inhabitants within the stone walls of the border town that lay in between two congregations of pines, the glow of warm lights that peeked out from behind glass windows bespoke of comforting warmth.

A figure cloaked in black, wide black feathered hat with a brim was so broad and angled low it hid his face in shadow, paused a few yards from the towering twenty foot stone archway that was the portal to the border town called Brookeshold. There was nothing remarkable about the fellow except for the emblem that held his cloak together at the collarbone; the size of a child's palm, with a smiling sun engraved in its center, it glimmered sullenly in the pale light like weathered gold. A symbol it was, one of prestigious rank worn only by forty nine others in the whole of Empire controlled lands. A leather glove appeared from within the folds of his cloak, palm angled diagonally to catch a wispy snowflake as it swirled amongst its cousins, ushered on by a blustery wintery breeze, strong enough it could almost be called a gale. A cold shimmering ray from the setting sun illuminated the snowflake, as if a watchlight shining upon the main character of one of those theatrical plays that was all the rage these days back in Midranthos. The figure seemed to sigh, there was the telltale shifting of shoulders. The feathered hat angled up, revealing a bearded chin, as the figure approached the gateguards and nodded in greeting. More concerned about keeping warm around a brazier than fulfilling their duty, they barely spared him a glance.


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Brookeshold

the Steel Empire's furthest reach northwards held back only by the resource-dry marshes that bordered upon its lands to the north and the Alliance's lands to the west. Thirty foot stone walls surround the town, where just about two decades and a half prior, it had been the protectors of regiments of Aryan soldiers and a conclave of some of its finest generals. Now it held but a small fraction of that military might, and was run by a governor instead of generals.

Vitka stood and paused once again, this time just outside the largest tavern in Brookeshold - The Doddering Dwarf.. and not for the first time, he cursed his luck. A full day late from the appointed date, he was held up by the stupidest bunch of bandits he'd ever come across. Not only had they failed to notice the significance of his emblem, they had agreed to sit down with him to in order to listen to his explanations on why there were only fifty such emblems in the whole of Andarun. After which, they had simultaneously agreed to get on with their plan to rob the Inquisitor anyway. The odds hadn't been in their favour of course, but Vitka's rented horse saw it as an opportunity to make for their hills, and did exactly that. Luckily for Vitka, he hadn't been too far and thus was able to make the rest of the way on foot.


"Bugger..." The inquisitor cursed again, a waft of condensation puffing out infront of him in the cold air. Starting forward, he roughly shoved the tavern doors open with a bang. A roar of merry laughter greeted the Inquisitor and he caught a glimpse of oaken tables and chairs filled with townsfolk, soldiers and adventurers alike, even the telltale whiff of that exquisite boar stew the region was so famous for. It was then that the double doors decided to gang up with the pressure differential, causing them to rebound off their hinges and straight back into Vitka's already broken nose. Just inside, the tavern patrons sitting by the entry portals, startled by the banging doors, barely got a glance at the cloaked newcomer before the doors swung shut anticlimaticaly. Shrugging their shoulders, they turned back to the mugs of ale.


A string of even more curses spluttering out from between gnashing teeth, Vitka bent down to retrieve his fallen hat and glared at the petulant doorways. The laughter that fluttered out from between its cracks now sounded as if they were directed right at him. Replacing his hat, and carefully this time, Vitka pushed the doors open daintily and darted in on his tippie-toes as if dodging some monstrosity. Sure enough, the door banged shut like the snapping jaws of a huge beast, so intent on keeping the errand inquisitor out. Clutching at his 'petticoats' Vitka glared at the door again, turned and glared at the two wide-eyed patrons just infront of him, no doubt they had been laughing about his girlish antics. Adjusting his hat once again, he started towards an empty space at the bar. It was then that he realized he had forgotten something. He hadn't the darndest idea how this Royal Alchemist looked like. However, a quick glance around and he'd already spotted a handful of those round cylindrical weapons.


"Bah! At the very least he should know what a Vaan's emblem looked like. I'll probably have to go bother these lab rats one-by-one... but first-"


"Barkeep! A bowl of stew please!" With that, Vitka sat his aching behind down on a stool.. only to realize it was slick wet with the chunks of someone's regurgitated dinner.


"Dammit.."

 

[Daeya]

When the sun had dissapeared shyly behind winter clouds, a dark figure approached two large doors on horseback, face shadowed by a looming black hood. The figure's empty face turned upward, reading the antique sign that hung over the arches aloud; "The Doddering Dwarf, sounds about right. The bastard should be here already, wasn't here yesterday." With that, the cloaked citizen dismounted. A drained, colorless palm reached up to stroke the horses' face, then gently tugged the leather lead towards the tavern's porch. In seconds the mare was tied onto a wooden stake, alongside several others. With a sigh, the figure made it's way to the porch and rested a hand on the knob, turning it slightly to enter.


The loud, joyous laughter of drunken men leaked out into the dead silence outside, but was cut off upon the figure's entry. Two, long and graceful hands lifted from the depths of the cloak up to the hood, downing it to reveal the figure's face. Red hair shot up like the flames keeping the bar alight, in contrast to skin that looked like it had never been touched by the sun before. "What, you blokes never seen a woman in a tavern?" A female voice cut through the silence, removing the heavy cloak from her shoulders to reveal an equally weighted dress underneath. The woman lifted a hand up to her hair, as a silver twisting bracelet came into view for the most likely wasted audience. Hushed snippets of sentences flew throughout the room, sounding something like 'youngest ever', and 'royal alchemy' to the woman's ears.


Her ice blue eyes searched the crowd of people, trying to find one that bore the emblem of a Vaan, but failed to see the smiling sun imprinted on any of the men's outer cloaks. Turning back towards the doors, she noticed two almost identical males had blocked the exit. "Are you," started one, and the woman replied quietly, "Yes. I am." The second only gaped, forming the words 'Aistaraina of Sommerhart' to his twin. The other nodded, reaching out to touch Aistaraina's bracelet. "Yes, it's real! No need to validate it!" The woman hissed, stomping her way to the end of the bar and stood against the wood, both arms resting calmly against the surface. "Ale, please." She spoke, casting her eyes icily towards the bartender.

 

[Jays]

Sins of the father, now of the son


Blood tainted heart, fate's weave undone


Remnant of hope sizzles and sparks


True faith shaken, Time's Wheel respun

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​

The blanket of moonlight fell upon the land, just as a total calmness settled on his troubled mind, soothing his ever-present worries and filling him with a sense of freedom and ease. He inhaled a lung-full of the fresh night air, feeling the usual tingle as the white light of Eweca cleansed him with its touch. The scent of mud and wood filled his nostrals, while the distant sound of laughters and singing drew his attention. The road was quiet and empty except for the clinging of his mount's hooves on the rocky path wounding its way across a field of exposed earth and stone. Torches blazed from windows and on the sides of the road, leaving deep red flickering light and even deeper shadows. It wasn't as late as it was dark, but Anara had set early that day, as if fleeing from some unspeakable evil. One he wasn't entirely sure was not himself.


He petted his mount's neck affectionately while staring off further into the town. Brookeshold was like any other town he had seen, so insignificant and oridinary he felt as if he had passed through the place a thousand times before. Town folks was gathering for dinner, the smell of food saturated the air, ruining the sacred refreshing breezes he had breathed in just moments ago. Smoke poured from fireplaces and torches, suffocating the atmosphere in its sickening grasp that blotched one's skin in soot and watered one's eyes. Not that he paid much attention to such inconviniences, his whole life had been spent with them.


As any other town, Brookeshole held a tavern, from which the deafening noises echoed through the air as far as half a mile away. He dismounted in front of the stable, tying the rein of his horse to the nearest post and throwing the stable boy a copper penny. His leather boots trailed noiselessly on the wooden porch, his dark cloak covering him from head to knee parted as he reached for the door. The air was hot and damp, which seemed to suit most people fine, as farmers and merchants drank and sang, yelled and laughed and drank again. A perfectly normal tavern. No one even shot him a second glance, and if someone thought it was odd for him to have his hood up indoor they did not mention it.


Arerus chose a table in the far corner, one far from the fireplace but near the back door. Not before a waiter noticed him was a female alchemist walked through the very door he had just came through.

 

[Sincerely Me]

To those who reside in the Mountain Kingdoms, they're the Vakassah.. to some others, Tainted Ones... As for me, I'm more inclined towards simplicity... I call them, Witch... mm.. bittersweet, even if their name is but a whispering taste on the lips. Pure and innocent maidens by day, with wide staring soulful eyes that will draw even the sternest of men in. They catch your gaze, enraptures you, and then you're lost. It is said that even the straightest of women are not immune to their wild charms. Lose yourself till the moonlight shines, and as the first drops of the silvery light falls upon their delicate face, you'd wish you never strayed from your path. If they don't claw your heart out, rest assured you'd probably be allowed to run only as far as their amused.. and oh! They sure like to play! I've seen witches shoving a kid around like some sick pass-the-ball game. Foul runes inscribed on the poor child's body, magically filling it with vile toxins to the point that it can take no more. Bursting apart in a shower of flesh and blood. I've seen men.. soldiers, thinking they had the upper hand by attacking from afar, take a faceload of darkfire and have their pretty faces melt and decay off their bones as they lie screaming on the ground, still very much alive. Witches... oh I like the sound of that! An excerpt from the Journal of Witchhunting, by High Inquisitor Toren Silverbolt

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He was quite aware of the slight undercurrent of murmuring and rustling of feathers that seemed to pass over the inebriated crowd of tavern patrons, stemming from a newcomer entering the merry establishment. Even as Vitka broke a piece of leavened bread and dipped it into the steaming broth of stew set before him, he could see in his mind's eye the scene set before him, or rather, behind him. Drunken farmers, checked, off-duty soldiers, checked, travelers and adventurers passing through, checked, on-duty soldiers that decided a tavern needs guarding, checked, hooded lurkers in the corner, checked. Vitka had never really understood them. The ever present few that always thought it was some kind of cool fashion trend to keep one's face shrouded in their hooded cloaks. Theirs was to lurk at the darkened alcoves, shadowed tables or in the corners nearest to the back doors, there were just a handful of them in the Doddering Dwarf. Lastly, not forgetting the newcomer who seemed to be causing a slight commotion with just her mere presence. And it was a her alright, the inquisitor had not missed her resonant middle pitched voice. It sang brightly in his ears, long after after her speech ended making his head hurt a trifle bit.


Vitka removed his broad-brimmed feather hat and placed it on the counter beside him, revealing his artfully styled sleek dark brown hair, side parted with the left side longer than the right and a ponytail that fell just below his shoulders. The girl, and yes, Vitka was quite sure she wasn't an old hag from the tone of her voice, decided to take the seat right next to his and promptly ordered a drink. The inquisitor allowed her time to settle in before half turning his head in her direction.


"That's a fine bracelet you got there.. Does it belong to your mother? I know a few Royals (slang for Royal Alchemists), perhaps I might've heard of her if you give me a name?"

 

[Daeya]

Moments later, the woman- or rather girl, received an ice cold cup filled to the brim with brewed ale. Despite the chilling night temperatures outside, Aistaraina took in the beverage with delight. Days before, she had spent hours with a map in hand and herself on horseback, lost in the rolling hills of farmland. Alcohol soothed the headache that made her irritable before, only for it to be brought back when a questioning voice spoke above the resurfacing joyous tone of the tavern.

Only one profession would dare to question a young girl- an Inquisitor. Any other respectable man in Arya would ask why in their mind, yet dare not to speak a word. Instead, this man asked the origin of Aistaraina's bracelet.

"My mother? Absolutely not. Indeed, this bracelet is of my own earning. If you would like proof, I would be more than happy to aim my Cylinder at your head. As for names, I prefer not to reveal my identity to nosy men. However, if you insist, you may call me Aistaraina of Sommerhart, Alchemist.."




Although keeping her voice low, she made a point to sound annoyed at his question. The girl took another discreet sip of her ale, and took to awkwardly straightening things- as if to not draw attention to the situation unfolding. Aistaraina would fiddle with the ring wrapping one of her slender fingers, absently twist a strand of her waving red hair, before turning back towards the man with an arrogant expression.

"And you, sir, whom are you?"



​

 

[Sincerely Me]

"Oh now now.. nothing to get all excited about.." Vitka quickly raised both his palms outward in defense at her threat to blow his pretty head off.


Sure is feisty.. and a little.. arrogant. He could smell it.. he could always sniff them out. The dismissive overly-assertive way of which she spoke and looked at him. Noble-born. Of course, Vitka himself could be somewhat cocky too. But he'd never admit it other than to say he had a healthy dose of self-confidence. Her name rang a bell.. or rather, her family name did. He thought he'd heard the name before. He was sure it was off a noble family, a fairly significant one. Though that significance was lost on him. Which was queer, as usually Inquisitors made it a habit of knowing and remembering. Maybe it was the girl herself.


Maybe he had purposefully forgotten her.. hah! Vitka chuckled inwardly.


"My name? Why my dear lady Sommerhart, Vaan Vitka de`Mordred at your service.. Forgive my.. ah.. impudence.. I had thought Royal Alchemists to be greying old men or women.. and not such a.. young and... spritely lady. They must be selling certificates nowadays huh?" The last bit was said in a kind of offhanded way, but he quickly added, in anticipation of a fiery protest from the girl.


"Ah, but I'm sure you must possess exceptional talent.." Vitka coolly winked at the flaming haired girl. Despite the mix of sarcasm and deference to the girl, Vitka was enjoying himself. A fact, as he was often found tiptoe-ing the line between being outrightly offensive and polite teasing.


"Say, greetings aside.. I'm not here to get to know the locals. I'm actually on a task of great import." Vitka fished into the folds of his cloak and retrieved out a letter. The red seal on it was opened, but it was clearly the official seal of the Steel Empire.


"I'm looking for a certain Royal Alchemist. I'm supposed to meet him here.." Vitka was about to say yesterday but decided to leave it out. "We're to investigate a witching covern over at Gavort's Dale." Up till this point, for an inexplicable reason, though the girl had revealed herself Vitka still did not assume her to be the one. Perhaps he was still scoffing at her apparent identity and was just playing along.

 

[Daeya]

At his attempt to silence her rage, she let her shoulders go slack with an exhale. Aistaraina adjusted the ring on her finger, hoping that she wouldn't break out again. First impressions were not always easy, but they shouldn't be this hard for a young girl to talk to a man, politely.

The two were silent for a while, so the lady took back to her ale quietly, receding back into the maze she called thinking. Oftentimes, she would imagine what her mother would say if she had experienced the arrogance Aistaraina had displayed. In this situation, it was almost comical. For sure, she would get a rash lecture, maybe a few slaps across the cheek. Before she could manage to dwell on the imagination more, the voice of the man next to her spoke again.




"My name? Why my dear lady Sommerhart, Vaan Vitka de`Mordred at your service.. Forgive my.. ah.. impudence.. I had thought Royal Alchemists to be greying old men or women.. and not such a.. young and... spritely lady. They must be selling certificates nowadays huh?"

Instead of protesting to the slight humor he had displayed, her ears lingered on his name. Vaan Vitka de`Mordred. Wasn't she looking for a Vaan, someone she would be accompanying in a search of some sorts? Of course! The girl had been so busy testing her neighbor's limits of attitude, that she had completely gone blank. At about the same time he did, she dug deep into the pockets of her coat, retrieving an almost identical letter, sealed bright red with the Empire's insignia.

"Well, I too was sent here on request. To meet up with a certain person, investigating a witching covern. What a coincidence. They didn't give me many details, instead a map with a large 'x' on where the tavern was and the site we would be investigating. Have you met your alchemist yet?"
​

 

[Sincerely Me]

Vitka wished he hadn't. Met his alchemist I mean. The inquisitor recalled his mother telling him once, when he was just this little wee thing. Life is like a box of dessert pastries.. you never know what flavour you were gonna get. Vitka always had a problem with that, he didn't like most dessert pastries anyway.


"Why hello! That's such a coincidence! Let's see if our letters are really the same... Oh, look here.. you've got it all wrong." Vitka replied chirpily. He reached for the girl's map and rotated it.


"See! You're waaay north of where you're supposed to be.. that's too bad. Such a pity. Well you better be off then, got miles to cover.." With that, he escorted the lady to the door, and saw her off into the gathering night. Waving at her departing back, a broad grin on his face, he turned back to his seat and (back to reality. This was the original ending, the following is my newest edit. SORRY FOR THE FAIL!!) dragged himself out of his evening reverie into the harsh reality of realizing he had only imagined sending the girl off.


Here he was, staring at the seal bearing the Emperor's insignia on a letter that was almost certainly identical to his. He wasn't really sure what to expect, or if he was expecting anything nice at all. They said only the top ten Vaan's had their own personal Royal Alchemists to aid them in quests as well as developed highly customized and personalized equipment. The idea that that the Principles had decided to give him the services of one, for whatever reason, was quite the luxury. But now that he was here, facing her right now, he wasn't sure what he felt. What was the nature of their relationship? As far as he had observed, those Royals following the ten Vaans around were simply that; followers. They didn't seem to mind being ordered around and doing every whim, beck and call of their assigned Vaan's. To Vitka, they looked more like butlers than anything else. While the idea might be quite appealing to most, it wasn't so with Vitka. He had always worked alone, and despite his father allowing him similar privileges to his half-brothers; which usually comprised of a battalion of maids and butlers, Vitka had lived most of his life with just the two whom he treated very fondly, quite unlike an ordinary maid.


"oh..." The inquisitor managed out, before quickly catching himself and coming back to attention, a grin on his face. "Well met Lady Sommerhart, well met! Something for you to eat? The stew's splendid stuff. It's on me" Vitka offered, allowing her a moment to consider before he continued on.


"So.. I have no idea how this works.." Vitka gestured at the both of them, indicating that he referred to their partnership. "Can I give you my flintlock and let you do your thang, and it comes back to me with more powpow than ever before?"

 

[Daeya]

Editing.

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[Sincerely Me]

Please help me retab D: