• PM To Join • [Old Dynaash] Do Webs Catch Tears as Flies?

[Woe]

Dawn breaks on 82nd of Ymiden 722

The gash in his right arm had healed well enough, once Woe had a chance to tend it for a few days. He'd been stranded for the last dozen trials, thinking what would be a quick thirty bit rescue, ended up being marooned in some strange country he'd never seen before, surrounded for miles around by wilderness. He wasn't used to making camp when he had no inkiling or knowledge of where he was. Usually he had a point of reference, from where he came, to where he went. He knew where he was last cycle when Opal took him to Etzos, to meet Natalia. But then, that'd been a familiar scene.

Now, he hadn't the slightest idea. Was it Yaralon? The Crags north of there, near Imperial territory? No, too green, too much gray rock, too... not insane in the way of wildlife.

Woe had probably already left tracks, and left the farmboys alive in his wake. They'd probably be back at their homes now, wherever civilization lay in this miserable land. Woe half hoped that whoever they gathered up to find him, would, so he could simply ask them for directions.

Woe plodded along, tracking Fleaface's footfalls as best he could. It wasn't easy, but Fleaface was no woodsman, and wouldn't be able to avoid him forever.

The mortalborn of Sintra walked along, not even bothering to pass unnoticed. He wanted to be found, in all honesty, and had no need of his abilities to pass unnoticed and undisturbed... Yet.

Still, there was something strange about the atmosphere, as he walked along, cradling his wounded arm in a sling. He thought he heard a sharp sound from behind him, and whipped around, instantly conjuring a short-sword from the shadow of his underarm.

[Russel Kandor]

Obsession drove him deeper into the plains like a riding crop; whipping spurring wounds into his wild mind.

For trial upon trial he had hunted at rumors of Webspinners. Ever since last season's abductions, they occupied a small corner of his mind, but with the renewed effort of the Army idle interest became consuming fixation. Morsels of information drip-fed from friends of friends, from a neighbor's cousin's uncle, and from imagined irregularities in anyone's behavior. The entirety of Old Dynaash was a wildfire of rumor and misinformation, and as soon as Russel had a grasp on one throughline of truth, the thread slipped back into the domain of deception. Lies threaded through each other like a stitch through silk, and the young Stalwart was tearing at the seams trying to a track a lead that led him to Syntra's Cult.

This fog of falsehoods is what brought him into the wilds. It was clear that the Webspinners were far better than he at navigating a social environment, but Russel had always excelled in more natural setting. They might cling to shadows in cities and villages, but everything in the plains left a trail of some kind. Lies would do them no good amidst the craggy hills of Old Dynaash. The stony plains had a harsh honesty that tended to bleed into the people that walked them.

A splash of scarlet against that self-same stone caught Russel's eye as he wandered on foot, glinting like a ruby amidst the gray-brown ground. He knelt low, the edges of his longcoat brushing against tufts of green grass as he inspected the spot. He touched a finger to the spot, then smiled as the liquid stuck and stained his finger. Blood. Fresh too, by Russel's estimation. And leading away from it, scattered footprints disturbing the dust and dirt.

He finally had his honest lead. His smile grew wider. Russel couldn't think of many reasons why an injured individual would wander further from civilization rather than double back towards the village a few miles away. Not unless, of course, the harmed party was running towards a safer spot for their purposes. A holdout, like the one that Russel suspected Webspinners might've been using to escape Imperial investigation.

He could play it safe. Go back to the nearby village and collect information about any strange sightings or confrontations in the area. But, doing so would cost time. Time this injured individual could use to get away.

Russel's feet were moving before he finished the thought. He kept his step as quiet as he could, but the promise of capturing a potential Webspinner muddied his intention and made his chase more reckless. His boots joined the dusty tracks of his quarry as he raced after them. The trail wasn't hard to follow, no signs of any attempts to hide oneself from a pursuer. That told Russel the injured individual was either desperate enough to try and make a quick disappearance, or confident enough to not fear capture.

Good, he decided. He could turn fear or cockiness to his advantage when their paths collided.

The figure came into sight soon enough. A tall, wiry man cradling what Russel assumed to be an injured arm. Another smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. An injured mark would make for a quick capture, and the sooner he get this individual in front of Imperial Interrogators the quicker the Army could put the Webspinner threat to rest.

Russel elected for the quiet and quick approach, slowing his speed to manage the sound of his steps but still moving at a rate of intercept. Thirty paces behind. Twenty paces. Fifteen.

He drew his dagger from it's sheath. The blade sang a sharp note as it cut through the air. Loud enough to cause his quarry to turn and summon a blade of their own out of shadow. Russel's eyes widened as the shortsword weaved itself into existence. He did not know of any magic that could create weapons out of nothing, and the blade's dark nature was enough to all but confirm Russel's suspicions. This man must be a Webspinner.

"By the Empress' authority, drop the blade, Webspinner!" he demanded, blade hovering as a warning. If Woe dropped the shadow sword, Russel would move to restrain the mortal born and proceed to interrogate him about his presence here.

If not, Russel had no qualms about striking a non-lethal area to subdue the stranger and no idea how outmatched he was. He would rush at Woe's injured side, hoping to capitalize on his opponent's wound and score a stab into the shoulder of the hurt arm. The attack would be quick, perhaps surprising, but leave Russel undefended for a counter assault.

[Woe]

The shortsword grew slender as it extended from his hand, his wrist, and formed into more of a fencing blade. Woe thought there were only one set of footfalls, fast approaching. Yet there was an unsettling feeling about the presence swiftly arriving at his back.

An unnatural miasma that engulfed the crown upon Ornthrus’ crown. Something he’d not sensed since meeting the Condemned of ashan on Mount Ornthrus.

But what were the chances of meeting another cursed fellow here, in the middle of nothing but rocky highlands?

Empress… Woe thought, no, he couldn’t be in the Empire. The Webspinners had no place here. Of all the… Wait did he call him a webspinner?

To be called a webspinner by anyone, much less one who was a devotee of the Empress Raskalarn, was to lose all credibility. It was unlikely that Woe could talk him down as such. Yet, he could subdue the man, perhaps he could convince him that he wasn’t what he thought. And they might find common cause?

At any rate, the youth wasn’t giving him anymore time to ponder these possibilities, before he cocked his knife ready to strike, and thrust for Woe’s right shoulder.

“Ashan’s mossy pits!” as he noticed the creature fast approaching him, his knife unsheathed and ready to do some stabbing. It was not prudent to try and bind his dagger, the mechanics of such a move would prove to the assailant’s advantage. So as he closed the distance between them, Woe’s swordarm shot out to push aside the youth’s wrist with the hilt of his shadowy weapon, letting the knife sail past his shoulder as he turned his torso. Then he shot his leg beneath the youth’s knees, aiming to trip him.

However well this worked, he wouldn’t give the youth another moment of recovery before making his next move, which would be to conjure a spear of rock from a nearby boulder. The spear made its way, hovering over Woe’s hand.

Wherever the lad ended up, whether it was his back facing Woe or else on the ground, the Soul-Forged would toss his earthen spear at the lad.

The spear would fly true, but should it hit the Ashan Cursed lad, it would disintegrate into dust before so much as making a scratch upon him. Woe stood stunned, no quite sure what to make of that. Spiritual magic wouldn’t work, clearly, for whatever reason.

“Ashan’s thorny cock…” Woe let the curse out, and retreated some few paces before the young man could recover his footing.

“What manner of creature are you? Cursed by the Lord of Spring?” Woe asked. “Loshova?”

He frowned, and extended the point of his the fencing blade that his shadow had materialized, at the boy’s nose. “You’re too young to die, boy. Don’t make me.” But that hesitation would give Russel an opening, should he wish to take it.

[Russel Kandor]

A moment of strained silence hung between the two as the stranger considered his options, and a moment was all Russel would afford him. Russel rushed to close the distance, dagger singing through the air as he lunged at the suspect's injured side. He had expected to hear the sound of steel sinking through sinew, followed promptly by a cowardly plea for mercy.

He had not expected to hear his opponent swear out “Ashan’s mossy pits!”. He had also not expect the stranger to be adept enough with both blade and arm to push his assault aside, and then capitalize on his extended footing to trip up his stance. He did not all-the-way lose his balance, as might have been intended, but the trip attack did enough to turn him around and leave his back to his opponent.

His eyes shot wide. He had not expected an injured opponent to put up such a solid defense, taking his own attack and turning it against him. He needed to recover, push his advantage, and turn this into a fight of endurance so that his opponent's injuries might provide him an opening to bridge the gap between their skills.

Russel turned quickly, legs still not quite steady enough to launch another assault, and was greeted with the sight of a stone spear sailing towards his head. Time seemed to slow as it approach came closer and closer. He couldn't move fast enough to avoid it, he didn't quite have his footing back, and he had no means to deflect the blow. The only option was to take the hit, and pray that it was not lethal.

The spear never landed.

A breath away from piercing his skin, the stone spear turned to dust and fell harmlessly to the ground. A smirk split Russel's face as he watched the dust drift down, shock clear on his opponent's face. A Spirit user? Now that was an advantage Russel could press. His cursed skin would bear no mark or injury from a Spirit's hand. His opponent would find any assault by Spirit magic or summoned sprites fall away uselessly.

However, Russel's smirk quickly turned as the suspected Webspinner stepped away and called out his curse. He knew what he was? That in itself was a rarity, and a great disappointment to Russel. As quickly as his advantage appeared, it dusted itself before his eyes. The youth doubted that the stranger would attempted any more Spiritual assaults with knowledge that he had been marked by Ashan's hatred.

"Aye, th' Lord o' Spring marked me," Russel replied from his unsteady position, dagger gripped in a reverse position as he once again sized up his opponent. Perhaps he could stall the man, find a way to through him off-balance through conversation. "But it's the Empress I serve. Though, you'd know nothin' of loyalty, would ye 'Spinner? Everyone's just another fly in yer web, ain't they?"

Primal fear sparked within Russel as the stranger replied, his blade lengthening and angled at his nose. Something about this man screamed at Russel like eyes in the night, unnatural and dangerous. It was clear he would not win this fight, not through any martial means. His death here would be meaningless, just another dead hero tallied under the Empire's total. And as his mentor said, dead heroes weren't worth anything anymore.

He narrowed his eyes, slowly going to sheathe his blade. The stranger was different than the rumors he had gathered of Sintra's servants. They weren't exactly known for offering mercy. Perhaps he was a recent convert? Still new enough to be unsteady in his beliefs? New enough to be turned?

"And what exactly is yer plan here, 'Spinner?" Russel inquired, eyes still staring down the narrow point of the shadow blade. "Kidnapping a few old Ithecals, now that's bad, but not bad enough for the full force of the Army. But killin' a Stalwart? Now that's bad enough to call down at least a Garrison on yer whole lot. Whatever Phaerra is offerin' ye, it's not worth it."

Russel raised his hands above his head, far away from any blade on his person. He took a step towards injured man, letting the point of the shadow blade rest on his cursed skin. It was a gambit in two parts. One, to see if the stranger would listen to reason. Two, to test if the shadow blade was another form of spiritual magic. After their initial exchange, Russel knew that the stranger was skilled enough to kill him with the blade. Yet, he was also the type to offer mercy. Russel was betting that he would be willing to hear what he had to say.

"Aye, I might be too young to be dyin'. But from the looks of ye, yer far too old for this particular brand of bullshite. So why don't we put the blades away, and we talk like reasonable folks, eh 'Spinner?"

[Woe]

"But it's the Empress I serve. Though, you'd know nothin' of loyalty, would ye 'Spinner? Everyone's just another fly in yer web, ain't they?"

It never ceased to amaze Woe, though he ought to know better, how easily the assumptions about Webspinner motivations occurred to those who so hated them. Did they really think one could operate with any sort of efficiency or fanaticism without some degree of loyalty, if not to their fellow cultists, then at least to Labrae and Sintra herself?

Woe was not a Webspinner, not anymore, but he wouldn’t deny it at the first mention of his assumed allegience. Instead he sought to cut the tension with a light jest, “Well, everyone needs to eat. But let’s not speak of loyalty as if her Majesty the Eternal Empress is the only one who deserves it.”

Woe listened to him opine on thoughts of what the ‘Webspinnenrs’ plan’ was, of kidnapping Ithecals, and killing a Stalwart of the Eternal Empire’s army.

“Who is Phaerra?” Woe asked, furrowing his brow. Oh Fleaface, what have you gotten yourself into? Was it really so bad to serve me, compared to whatever spider has you now in her clutches?

“The truth of the matter, should you believe it to hear it from the lips of one you deem a ‘Webspinner’, is that personal bonds are what bring me here, to this strange place. I’m guessing I’m somewhere within the Eternal Empire, although that doesn’t quite narrow it down very well does it?”

Woe shrugged, “No matter. I presume you’re looking for a nearby cell of Webspinners. It just so happened that Webspinners absconded with a dear old friend of mine. I nearly fell in battle to one of their number, an old man with a flea-bitten beard and shabby appearance, wielding a rusty axe?”

Woe looked at Russel, trying to suss out any signs of recognition in the lad’s face. In case he’d seen Fleaface. But the son of Sintra didn’t expect he would.

“But I’ve been following his trail for several trials now, since getting stranded here.” Woe shifted his arm, out of the sling he’d crafted, yet still wrapping his silken bandage around the scratch on his arm. “

As he did so, he let the shadowy blade melt back into the shadowed under-side of his arm, where it belonged. “But all of that aside, would you believe me if I told you I’m not a Webspinner?”

Woe shook his head, “You’d be a fool to believe me, mind, and it’s prudent not to dismiss all the various possibilities, although not insofar as it cripples your ability to complete whatever mission you’ve set yourself upon.”

“Whatever you think I am, I propose a temporary truce. Until I find who I’m after, and you find who you’re after. I’ll even help you fight, though I will not kill. I leave the killing to you, should you wish to deal in death.”

Woe looked at the young man, and wondered where his judgment would land. “What say you?”

[Russel Kandor]

The stranger's blade did not disappear at it's light touch against Russel's skin. One part of his gambit had failed. But, he got the foreigner talking. And by the Empress did he love to talk.

Russel tried to keep his face plain as the stranger showed his confusion at the mention of Phaerra, but he was not so practiced in that subtle social art. His brows knit together in concern. Did he have the wrong man? Was the lead he thought so clear and honest actually muddled by his own bias?

No, he couldn't be sure either way. If the man was a Webspinner, every word out of that silken tongue could have easily been a lie. If he wasn't, then at the very least he was a unknown element wielding strange magic that had some knowledge of the cult. Dangerous either way, and obviously not a man to be left unattended or to his own devices.

At Woe's questions, the nodded slightly. "Aye, yer in th' Empire borders. Phaerra's the most known 'Spinner in th' Empire at th' moment." All true, but vague enough to keep the control of information squarely under Russel's domain. There was no need reveal anything more than what the man could guess, and he couldn't be sure any information he provided wouldn't be twisted against him in some way. Helpful enough not to die, but not so helpful that he gave the stranger any edge.

"Phaerra's the most known 'Spinner in th' Empire at th' moment. Put 'round six elders in sickbeds. Tongues removed, all. But no, I've nae seen your friend. If he's with her, he'll find no mercy in our borders," Russel offered. His eyes drifted down to the man's wound as he adjusted the bandage. The Imperial was Graft mage, and he could heal the injury if he was of a mind to. He was, however, not of a mind to. "Surprised an old man with an axe did that to ye'. I thought ye' were fairly handy with a blade. Maybe I was wrong."

The blade, still held at Russel's nose, bled backwards into the man's shadow; leaving only the tension of what may happen next hanging between them.

He did not expect it to be broken by the offer of a truce. His points were fairly made, and the stranger was absolutely right in one assertion. Russel wasn't convinced of his innocence. There were too many variables that led back to the soldier's initial assertion. An instinct that pricked at the edge of his mind like the thorns sprouting under his skin. Somehow, Woe had ended up in the Empire in the middle of Webspinner hotspot without any knowledge of where he came from. It was too convenient, involved too much coincidence. And there was no true coincidence in the wilds. Merely tracks, and those who made them.

Still, if there were more Webspinner recruits wandering these woods, Russel wasn't confident he could take them by his lonesome. An extra arm, especially one that could summon unknown arcanum, would prove useful. Besides, friends close and enemies closer and all that.

"Fine," Russel said finally and with a curt nod. "We'll walk this path together till we find the web, 'Spinner. But best let me lead. I'm a fair tracker and I know the terrain." The youth's eyes drifted down the dusty outline of boot prints that wandered away from their position. Not a hard trail to spot or follow, if one knew what to look for. The thought occurred to him that it would be perhaps a bit too easy to trail behind.

His eyes turned dangerous, shifting back to the man. "Know this: if ye be pushing me into a trap, I won't hesitate to leave ye lost and absent in the wilds. These plains aren't the forgiving sort, especially to strangers."

With that, the youth turned his gaze back to the tracks that wandered away from their position and deeper into the craggy hills of Old Dynaash.