Unknown Trial, Yminden 713
Twilight covered the world in a pale shine, the last of two suns peaking over a vast horizon while giving way to the yellow of the moon. Beneath a fading black blanket of starlight two hooded figures trekked over swaying grass, their cloaks billowing in the evening winds. Hesphali took the lead. Her own green configuration made her a beacon against the coming blackness. Sol followed, set against the wide, open plain, he grasped at a woolen collar and pulled it closer, ducking his head low into the warmth. Behind lay an ever-faded treeline from what he learned was called the "Hang Wood",' an appropriate title if any. Bandit swarmed there, and Sol fell for one of their oldest tricks - hire a guide for a shortcut, end up sold to the easiest bidder. Into slavery, or worse. He shuddered at the thought. No matter now, then, a Knight took vows of honor, and this one felt indebted to him. Or so she said. Sol sighed and took wider steps, his pace depositing himself beside the smaller - yet no less thick - woman.
"Where are we now?" Sol's rasp barely pierced the gale of the winds.
"Venora." Hesphali's tone dripped with irritation. "You going to ask that every time the land changes?"
"Yes." He nodded then glanced about, his eyes taking in the terrain. Flatlands against the backdrop of sweeping forests, then high peaks in the distance. "If I'm to pass for a Rynmerian I should at least know the names of the land. Venora is a province?" He felt the woman roll her eyes.
"A village. West of Andaris. I'm not the best with geography, but once we hit the road we can follow it east to the city, it doesn't get much easier than that."
"Unless we've missed the road." Sol grinned at his own jest. His companion cared little for humor. No matter, he lowered his voice and allowed himself to fall back, glancing now at the second shadow that followed in his own wake. "You've got a sense of humor at least, yes?"
No. This world means little within dreams. The Harvester's form shimmered. Sol took that as a sort-of shrug.
"Just me then. So be it."
"What was that?" Hesphali paused and turned a head over her shoulder. "Did you speak?"
"No!" Sol offered her a genial half-wave. "Not at all. Tricks of the wind. Mayhaps it wishes you were more vocal, you know, to pass the idling hours of travel?" The woman scoffed then her eyes narrowed. One hand moved to rest on an axe that hung from her waist and Sol arched a brow, his own hand grasping at the hilt belted to his side. His muscles still ached, but he felt rested now - enough so to defend himself.
"Riders. And dogs. There." Hesphali flicked her chin up. Sol glanced back, following her direction until several mounted figures appeared in his vision. Three? Three. Damnable luck. Some Immmortal somewhere had it out for him.
"Can't outrun horses." Sol grunted and drew the arming sword form its sheath. He longed for a good tower shield. "Nor mask our scent." Hesphali lowered her hood and grabbed the haft of her axe. In her spare hand she held a dagger, it's base weighted for throwing. Handy, that. Her silence betrayed her acceptance of the situation. All the lessons taught to Sol in the Legion flooded back to his mind. Calvary, he remembered, fell short to a steady shield and a long spear; neither of which he possessed. Best thing to do in that case, he recalled Isaak saying, was give up and hope your enemy was merciful. By the gait and speed of those mounts he imagined they possessed none.
"I'm hoping those are friends of yours, yes?"
"The fat man, you one you called Gerald? He said something about being avenged, there being more of them, the usual life pleading."
"To which end you believed him and spared his life, and we all lived happily ever after." Sol tightened his grip about his sword. He squared his shoulders and placed his feet shoulder-width apart, giving himself a fair, even stance in light of the coming charge. The blade shifted to a slight angle as he held it aloft, pointed in the direction of their soon to be aggressors. His shadow widened and a whisper played over his ears.
Do not rely on such mundane implements, Devourer. Embrace the Emea as you did in the cave. Reality is mutable, finite. Surrender to the whiles of creation; chaos rules, so let it.
Solsarin's eyes flickered to the wisp of an ethereal from to his right. The cave. A brief image of skulls and death flashed in his mind, tides of blood washing against shores stacked high with corpses, a ruined city. Now was not the time. He envisioned a black void, a paragon of nothing and fed it the vision. He allowed the void to consume his thoughts, his fear, it enveloped all but his senses, muting all that served to distract his mind. Not gone, the focus made the shaking of his legs stick in his mind. The horses neared - he could hear the vicious barks of their pursuers. Another fight loomed as the last sun disappeared beneath the horizon and the light of evening faded to darkness.
Twilight covered the world in a pale shine, the last of two suns peaking over a vast horizon while giving way to the yellow of the moon. Beneath a fading black blanket of starlight two hooded figures trekked over swaying grass, their cloaks billowing in the evening winds. Hesphali took the lead. Her own green configuration made her a beacon against the coming blackness. Sol followed, set against the wide, open plain, he grasped at a woolen collar and pulled it closer, ducking his head low into the warmth. Behind lay an ever-faded treeline from what he learned was called the "Hang Wood",' an appropriate title if any. Bandit swarmed there, and Sol fell for one of their oldest tricks - hire a guide for a shortcut, end up sold to the easiest bidder. Into slavery, or worse. He shuddered at the thought. No matter now, then, a Knight took vows of honor, and this one felt indebted to him. Or so she said. Sol sighed and took wider steps, his pace depositing himself beside the smaller - yet no less thick - woman.
"Where are we now?" Sol's rasp barely pierced the gale of the winds.
"Venora." Hesphali's tone dripped with irritation. "You going to ask that every time the land changes?"
"Yes." He nodded then glanced about, his eyes taking in the terrain. Flatlands against the backdrop of sweeping forests, then high peaks in the distance. "If I'm to pass for a Rynmerian I should at least know the names of the land. Venora is a province?" He felt the woman roll her eyes.
"A village. West of Andaris. I'm not the best with geography, but once we hit the road we can follow it east to the city, it doesn't get much easier than that."
"Unless we've missed the road." Sol grinned at his own jest. His companion cared little for humor. No matter, he lowered his voice and allowed himself to fall back, glancing now at the second shadow that followed in his own wake. "You've got a sense of humor at least, yes?"
No. This world means little within dreams. The Harvester's form shimmered. Sol took that as a sort-of shrug.
"Just me then. So be it."
"What was that?" Hesphali paused and turned a head over her shoulder. "Did you speak?"
"No!" Sol offered her a genial half-wave. "Not at all. Tricks of the wind. Mayhaps it wishes you were more vocal, you know, to pass the idling hours of travel?" The woman scoffed then her eyes narrowed. One hand moved to rest on an axe that hung from her waist and Sol arched a brow, his own hand grasping at the hilt belted to his side. His muscles still ached, but he felt rested now - enough so to defend himself.
"Riders. And dogs. There." Hesphali flicked her chin up. Sol glanced back, following her direction until several mounted figures appeared in his vision. Three? Three. Damnable luck. Some Immmortal somewhere had it out for him.
"Can't outrun horses." Sol grunted and drew the arming sword form its sheath. He longed for a good tower shield. "Nor mask our scent." Hesphali lowered her hood and grabbed the haft of her axe. In her spare hand she held a dagger, it's base weighted for throwing. Handy, that. Her silence betrayed her acceptance of the situation. All the lessons taught to Sol in the Legion flooded back to his mind. Calvary, he remembered, fell short to a steady shield and a long spear; neither of which he possessed. Best thing to do in that case, he recalled Isaak saying, was give up and hope your enemy was merciful. By the gait and speed of those mounts he imagined they possessed none.
"I'm hoping those are friends of yours, yes?"
"The fat man, you one you called Gerald? He said something about being avenged, there being more of them, the usual life pleading."
"To which end you believed him and spared his life, and we all lived happily ever after." Sol tightened his grip about his sword. He squared his shoulders and placed his feet shoulder-width apart, giving himself a fair, even stance in light of the coming charge. The blade shifted to a slight angle as he held it aloft, pointed in the direction of their soon to be aggressors. His shadow widened and a whisper played over his ears.
Do not rely on such mundane implements, Devourer. Embrace the Emea as you did in the cave. Reality is mutable, finite. Surrender to the whiles of creation; chaos rules, so let it.
Solsarin's eyes flickered to the wisp of an ethereal from to his right. The cave. A brief image of skulls and death flashed in his mind, tides of blood washing against shores stacked high with corpses, a ruined city. Now was not the time. He envisioned a black void, a paragon of nothing and fed it the vision. He allowed the void to consume his thoughts, his fear, it enveloped all but his senses, muting all that served to distract his mind. Not gone, the focus made the shaking of his legs stick in his mind. The horses neared - he could hear the vicious barks of their pursuers. Another fight loomed as the last sun disappeared beneath the horizon and the light of evening faded to darkness.
