2nd of Cylus, Arc 717
Venturing out beyond the city gates, Alistair sought to explore Ne'haer in the dark. Not in the safety of Ymiden, or the winds of a patient spring, but in the cold of Cylus with the sky blocking out the sun. The greatest reason for this was, in fact, his deeply ingrained fear that had come from thirty consecutive trials of being hunted night and day by the Seekers, whenever he'd dared to leave the safety of the city walls. He'd been identified by them, and as such, as never quite safe - except for perhaps in the quarters of the Coven's underground lair.
But in Cylus, few were desperate enough to follow. Their fight could come another day, when there was day at all, and when the world wasn't frozen over by the frosted winds of Treid. Alistair himself was no fan of Cylus, as he grew up in the warm, fair lands of Venora... where summer reigned eternally, yet somehow he had - of late - become fond of the isolation of the cold. The city of Ne'haer was congested to the point of invoking illness, yet now in the deepest of winter, all was silent within the city and without.
Of course, he had to be prepared. He wasn't going to just . . . step outside of his home in skin-tight silk brocade. This wasn't a chance meeting in a Venoran ball chamber, but an expedition into the world outside of this city, with a lot of risk to be had. He wore his thick coat of fur, and leather armor above his regular brocade vest and shirt underneath. The man's body was more than covered, and he assumed himself to have more than enough mental fortitude for an excursion into the south.
So, he went. He found sticks on one corner of the woods, and made fires on the other; he needed not eat, for due to his strange necromantic mutation, the man's want for sustenance was of a distinctive cycle. He'd not need to eat for days at a time, but would devour whole baskets when that day came. His body adjusted to it, oddly enough, and nothing about his health changed much from that point. All that it meant was that he could risk endeavors like this, not needing to hunt tirelessly for food. As long as he caught his meal before his departure.
Warming himself, and keeping an eye on his surroundings, he did manage to reach out from Ne'haer to the further expanse of its surrounding territories. And eventually, he found himself near the farming community of Treth, one of Ne'haer's many trading partners.
The first thing he saw, however, from his direction towards the south - was a collective of beasts encroaching upon a farm, with livestock exposed and crops laid bare for their pillaging. He bit his lower lip. Alistair didn't care for what may happen to the farm - he was more concerned with the fact that these creatures would likely be difficult to bypass. As a result, the man decided it would be best to slay them, getting the jump now rather than later.
All of these creatures, many as there were, were Lysorian Skinbanes. They were the most common blight of the Willow Woods, and facing the territories around it.
Ali knew how to fought them well, for he'd fought many. They could not sense the temporal disturbance of a portal opening, and so all he would need to do was alert them of his presence and they would be blind to the rifts he placed in their trajectory.
Holding out his hand, and creating a few windows to other lands around him, he began to stomp his feet to rile the senses of the Skinbanes. They noticed his presence immediately, and instantly began to enter a sort of pack formation to attack him from all sides. Two of them lunged from his left, and directly leaped into a portal that had been intentionally destabilized. Disintegrated, their remains were ejected from the portal, and the remaining couple immediately grew hesitant and drew a distance. The windows around Alistair closing, he bit his lower lip and stared. He calculated. Drawing a sword, the man decided he would fight the Skinbanes head on, and use magic if utterly of necessity.
Venturing out beyond the city gates, Alistair sought to explore Ne'haer in the dark. Not in the safety of Ymiden, or the winds of a patient spring, but in the cold of Cylus with the sky blocking out the sun. The greatest reason for this was, in fact, his deeply ingrained fear that had come from thirty consecutive trials of being hunted night and day by the Seekers, whenever he'd dared to leave the safety of the city walls. He'd been identified by them, and as such, as never quite safe - except for perhaps in the quarters of the Coven's underground lair.
But in Cylus, few were desperate enough to follow. Their fight could come another day, when there was day at all, and when the world wasn't frozen over by the frosted winds of Treid. Alistair himself was no fan of Cylus, as he grew up in the warm, fair lands of Venora... where summer reigned eternally, yet somehow he had - of late - become fond of the isolation of the cold. The city of Ne'haer was congested to the point of invoking illness, yet now in the deepest of winter, all was silent within the city and without.
Of course, he had to be prepared. He wasn't going to just . . . step outside of his home in skin-tight silk brocade. This wasn't a chance meeting in a Venoran ball chamber, but an expedition into the world outside of this city, with a lot of risk to be had. He wore his thick coat of fur, and leather armor above his regular brocade vest and shirt underneath. The man's body was more than covered, and he assumed himself to have more than enough mental fortitude for an excursion into the south.
So, he went. He found sticks on one corner of the woods, and made fires on the other; he needed not eat, for due to his strange necromantic mutation, the man's want for sustenance was of a distinctive cycle. He'd not need to eat for days at a time, but would devour whole baskets when that day came. His body adjusted to it, oddly enough, and nothing about his health changed much from that point. All that it meant was that he could risk endeavors like this, not needing to hunt tirelessly for food. As long as he caught his meal before his departure.
Warming himself, and keeping an eye on his surroundings, he did manage to reach out from Ne'haer to the further expanse of its surrounding territories. And eventually, he found himself near the farming community of Treth, one of Ne'haer's many trading partners.
The first thing he saw, however, from his direction towards the south - was a collective of beasts encroaching upon a farm, with livestock exposed and crops laid bare for their pillaging. He bit his lower lip. Alistair didn't care for what may happen to the farm - he was more concerned with the fact that these creatures would likely be difficult to bypass. As a result, the man decided it would be best to slay them, getting the jump now rather than later.
All of these creatures, many as there were, were Lysorian Skinbanes. They were the most common blight of the Willow Woods, and facing the territories around it.
Ali knew how to fought them well, for he'd fought many. They could not sense the temporal disturbance of a portal opening, and so all he would need to do was alert them of his presence and they would be blind to the rifts he placed in their trajectory.
Holding out his hand, and creating a few windows to other lands around him, he began to stomp his feet to rile the senses of the Skinbanes. They noticed his presence immediately, and instantly began to enter a sort of pack formation to attack him from all sides. Two of them lunged from his left, and directly leaped into a portal that had been intentionally destabilized. Disintegrated, their remains were ejected from the portal, and the remaining couple immediately grew hesitant and drew a distance. The windows around Alistair closing, he bit his lower lip and stared. He calculated. Drawing a sword, the man decided he would fight the Skinbanes head on, and use magic if utterly of necessity.
