With the escalation of hostilities between Etzos and Rhakros, a series of small walled towns is being established as a network of early warnings and defenses against Rhakros' reprisals. Only the very bravest and most formidable of characters should risk themselves on the Witches' Wilds frontier.
The sun was just about to set and painted the sky in different shades of orange, red and pink as the Mortalborn arrived in the town of Foster’s Landing. It was the first time since Ashan – since his arrival in Central Idalos, after a flight that had taken him across half the known world – that he had come there. The journey had been relatively uneventful – the Army of the Etzori had kept the river road that he had been travelling on in prime condition – and the weather that seemed to get worse with every passing trial and that his travelling companions had frequently complained about had bothered him little.
He would be meeting a merchant that had arrived in the city earlier that trial, if everything had gone according to plan. The man would be delivering a few valuable and potentially dangerous alchemical reagents – too valuable for him to simply send a servant to retrieve them. Besides, he was interested in the stories that the merchant had to tell and in the news that he would bring. If he wanted to reach his goals, he needed to be aware of what was going on in the world.
Having bidden his travelling companions farewell, he walked through the city at a swift pace, only occasionally stopping to check his surroundings, a necessity when countless people wanted you dead because you had dared to attack one of their deities. When he had last contacted the merchant, he had told him to meet with him in a tavern near the harbor. It did not take him long to find said tavern – he had studied the layout of the city beforehand.
When he pushed the door open and took a look around the common room, he noticed that the merchant was already there, sitting at a corner table, wearing the clothes he had written that he would be wearing in order to be easily recognizable. He approached him immediately.
~~~
A break later the Mortalborn was sitting alone at said table, a glass of fine red wine in front of him. His cloak was draped across the back of his chair, and his sword was leaning against the wall next to him where he would be able to grab it quickly should it be necessary. He had decided to stay there for another couple of bits before he went upstairs, to the room that he had rented for the duration of his stay in Foster’s Landing and think about what he had learned.
The boy king of Rynmere had decided to outlaw magic – another foolish move after his wedding to the Empress - and trouble was brewing all over the world. Perhaps, he thought, there would be another war soon.
"By the Seven kid, that was really something else." The voice of his acquaintance gruffly murmured as the older gentleman wiped the sweat from his brow, both he and Patrick had taken a couple chairs at the fireplace with drinks in hand. Crowley of course had himself a cigar he'd started smoking, one left on the table in between them in case Patrick wanted it. "You always cause a ruckus like that?"
"Not really," Patrick chuckled with a bit of a wince at the wet rag he pressed at the side of his forehead, "I can admit I've a penchant for trouble though."
"No kidding..." Crowley remarked with only a fraction of a smirk. "Well I know I said it before, but thanks again for getting me out of that mess."
""Yeah, don't mention it." Patrick murmured as he took a sip of the ale from his mug. "Now we just gotta figure out where the chalice is."
"Whoa now, one thing at a time kid." Crowley assured him as he leaned a little closer to Patrick, a look over his shoulder to the others in the bar. "First off where's my journals? The sooner we get those back, the sooner we can decipher the runes."
"Still safely back in Rharne," Patrick answered as he looked over as well, "Nobody knows where to find any of it! If we get the chalice first then I can make a trip back home, and make it back to Etzos before Cylus hits."
"Okay..." Crowley's eyes fell as he scratched his chin in thought. "Chalice it is then, we should get some rest first. I'm gonna call it a night, hopefully these old bones won't feel so sore tomorrow."
"Yeah, rest up old timer." Patrick encouraged with a wry smile while the older man rose onto his feet with a groan. "I'll call it a night after I've had a few more drinks." Crowley chuckled and with a couple of nods he moved on to the rooms where their door was located. Patrick remained slouched in his chair with his eyes fallen on the flame, Zi'da had just started and here he was in Foster's Landing with no clue of the territory. What had gone down two trials ago definitely made waves, though thankfully the local guard didn't seem too occupied with locating both him and Crowley. Whoever these treasure hunters were, they didn't want to get anymore people involved then they would have to apparently. Stealing back the chalice would be a problem though, unless they had it hidden somewhere the law didn't necessarily apply...
"Ack, dammit." He cursed in his breath as he looked at the rag he'd pressed on his forehead, just a smudge of blood from the pressure he'd applied.
In the event to rescue Crowley from his captors, Patrick had taken a few hits and almost one too many close calls. Thankfully just scrapes and bruises were all he walked away with, although the headache he felt had yet to dull entirely. Thankfully the alcohol would help with this, he at least believed it to be the case anyways.
As he sat there, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace and the taste of the wine in front of him, snippets of a conversation reached the Mortalborn’s ears, and he turned his head ever so slightly in order to see who was speaking and, perhaps, to be able to hear them better. One of the men, a rather unremarkable looking fellow that was probably in his late twenties or early thirties – his own apparent age – seemed to have been in some sort of fight, judging by the rag that he was pressing to his forehead. They were talking about journals and a chalice. Ordinary treasure hunters or thieves, he mused, or maybe something more, something worthwhile.
In spite of the fact that he had taken a relative interest in the pair’s activities and the chalice they seemed to be looking for, the Mortalborn did not approach them. He was not the kind of man that rudely interrupted other people’s conversations, but preferred to observe them quietly instead and bide his time. As far as he was concerned, there was as much to be gained from listening as there was from talking. He only rose to his feet once the older gentleman had retreated to his room, retrieved his sword – he did not trust those people not to steal it - and walked over to where Patrick was sitting.
“It seems to me”, Patrick would hear him say in a somewhat dry tone. If the Cursed of Syroa looked up, he would find himself facing a tall man that was dressed in a dark suit and held himself completely straight. The expression on his face was cool, but not impolite. “as if you have run into some trouble during your treasure hunt – if that is what it is. I could not help but overhear your conversation with your friend. Perhaps I might be able to give you some advice.”
As he said that, he let his gaze drift across the man, quietly appraising him. He did not seem to possess much in the way of weapons – and while he seemed to be in shape, he did not have the build of a seasoned warrior. Perhaps getting involved would not be worthwhile after all, he thought. Perhaps Patrick was just a fool, as most of them were, ill-prepared and barging into things head-first.
But then again, there was the mystery of the chalice and the runes … if they did indeed exist …
Last edited by Doran on Wed Jan 17, 2018 5:57 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 413
He hadn't been keep to pay mind to the fact that there was another not too close by, really he'd spent too long watching over his shoulder that it slipped his mind. Raimeus's watchdogs could've easily barged in looking for him if he wasn't careful, yet after two trials had passed it looked as though the incident was already covered up. Did their rival want to keep it that quiet? So far as to likely pay off the guards so that they wouldn't be involved? Patrick didn't like this the more he thought on it, if Raimeus was willing to go to such lengths in keeping this expedition under close surveillance.
He had to bear in mind the commander as well, being the one that actually did the number in on his forehead. That guy had to be a real piece of work to just act on the fly, then again he probably had right to suspect Patrick as another criminal intent on getting a piece of the action... Which he certainly bit off more than he can chew. Regardless the voice of the man nearby chimed in as he approached, and once he drew close Patrick's eyes slightly narrowed to glimpse his appearance in detail. For someone who sounded so... experienced in his tone, he definitely looked impossibly young for the part. A very handsome looking sort but that only meant the man possessed dangerous charisma, the fact that he'd actually waited until Patrick was alone spoke another important detail.
Patience may have been one word to come to mind, but perceptive was more along the lines of what Patrick considered. Had this stranger really listened to their conversation? "Yeah," He responded to the observation, "Could'a fooled anyone else I'm sure." The humor had been met with a short chuckle as he leaned forward with the rag pressed on his gash once more, the mug of ale in his hand sipped as he listened closely to what the man had to say. He wanted to give advice? Sounded a little difficult to believe given the fact he was young, probably a little younger that Patrick himself now that he looked closely. Yet even though his physical appearance gave the implication of a young and inexperienced being, the way this man held his posture as he stood with sword in hand heavily suggested otherwise to Patrick.
Or maybe he was just another cocky bastard much like Patrick was... But that wasn't the impression Patrick gained at least. No. This man's tone was too heavy, to full of knowing as though he legitimately experienced things. "As sound as that comes off pal, advice isn't gonna make this an easy job. Not when it's gonna be hard getting back something that belongs to me anyways." He brushed off with a sigh as he took another drink from his mug, but then after a moment to consider it he finally gave in. "Besides," He murmured after almost a Bit had passed, "nothing is ever free in this world; advice included I'm afraid."
"What sort of advice is it though? And just what might the cost be in return?" When he asked these questions he did so with a speculative eye on the man, curious to see just what sort of approach he had with this sudden advice he wanted to offer.
As Patrick spoke, the Mortalborn realized two things about him. The man was bold, almost stupidly so, and he seemed to have arrived in Etzos fairly recently, most likely within the past couple of trials. If he had been in the city any longer, he would almost certainly have come across one of the paintings or plays or heard somebody talk about the Hero of Oscillus and what he had done in Treidhart – or rather, what they thought he had done in Treidhart, for stories tended to change and be embellished as they were passed along.
Doran was not the kind of man that was offended if people didn’t recognize him though. In his opinion there were certain benefits to people not knowing who you were – or at least not finding out immediately. Neither did he care particularly that Patrick called him ‘pal’, a term that implied a certain kind of familiarity with each other or perhaps a certain kind of disregard, although he did briefly raise an eyebrow as the man continued to speak.
“No”, he finally agreed. “My advice probably won’t make your job easy. It will make it easier though – if you pay heed to it. I can teach you how to fight and win and protect you against further injuries – and what to do when it looks as if you won’t stand a chance.” He said those words in a matter-of-fact tone. Doran never made promises that he would not be able to keep, and he did not exaggerate what he was capable of either. Only people that were insecure and had low self-esteem did that in his opinion, and he possessed neither of those character traits.
“Of course”, he agreed as Patrick spoke about how nothing was ever free and inclined his head. “I wouldn’t have approached you if I hadn’t thought that I would be able to gain something from doing so. I rarely tend to play the part of the Good Samaritan.”
“Rest assured that I have no interest in money or a share of the treasure that you are currently looking for though. I merely wish to know what it is and whether it has any unusual properties. I care more about information and future favours than monetary compensation as certain circumstances keep me from moving about the world of Idalos as freely as I wish - for the time being.”
Patrick had to admit that this guy was definitely something different, unusual compared to the cocky types Pat dealt with in his lifetime. He'd grown up knowing enough to determine arrogance plenty, but not once did that seem to register in the confident posture of this sole individual. Was he really some wise ass swordsman? Who knew. It did intrigue Patrick to consider the fact he could learn probably learn a thing or two from this guy, given that the last time he picked up a sword it was to fight shadows within his home. It wasn't that Patrick was too weak to hold his own, just that he never really practiced much with actual weaponry.
It'd only been recently that he'd just picked up a few things on the crossbow after all, and even then he still had a lot to learn before he could consider himself a decent shot. For a moment Patrick narrowed his eyes as he considered on the man's offer, an extreme innate curiosity born within as he tried to figure out if he knew this person. Whether it be by name, rumor, or just face by chance. None seemed to occur within his train of thought however, and so he'd been left to learn from impression alone just who this figure was. And then there was the fact his generosity wasn't so generous entirely, that there existed the mutually beneficial reward expected for such a courteous gesture. At first Patrick presumed him after money or perhaps a cut of the treasure's worth, something he probably would've had to deem nonnegotiable without consent from his partner.
Yet the swordsman seemed apt to point out what he wanted in bargain for his advice, which wasn't the stone or a portion of the share when they cashed out. Instead the man wanted to know what the treasure was itself, and the properties it actually possessed within. So he was a purveyor of information, just as Patrick liked to be sometimes, and that meant he understood the wealth in information just as the drunk did. Somehow that fact brought a smirk to his lips, and sure enough Patrick leaned a little forward with elbows rested on his knees. "Sounds fair enough. Feel free to have a seat then." He offered to the man in the event he wanted to sit next to Patrick, if he didn't then the drunk would merely shrug and look to the fire before speaking.
"I don't know what it is necessarily, but have you heard of something called 'the Jewel of the Emea' by any chance?" He inquired with a glance over to his new companion. It seemed unlikely that he would've heard of it, but Patrick more or less wanted to see his reaction when asked. "There's not much to go on at the moment, but apparently an old tribe worshiped the Emea a long time ago. They left behind artifacts that'll reveal the location to their cities entrance even; a three bladed dagger which looks ornamental if not ceremonial, and then a chalice made out of a pure crystal that they used for rituals. These two items, along with an ancient tome written in their language, are the only guide we have to locating the entrance to the ruins they left behind. The chalice... unfortunately is in another's possession, but I have the other relics stashed in a lockbox back home." He looked from the fire back over to his companion.
"I can't promise we'll come back with the stone intact, as there's no telling if there actually is a jewel or gem to find. But if it's connected to the Emea in some way, then it's gotta have value with the right kind of buyers. Ashan's balls, I'd bet even the Immortals would like to know what it is and what it does." He surmised with his cloth pressed back to his forehead. "Obviously there's more greater danger than just an expedition, we could very well be discovering a piece of history lost to the ages. Imagine how people would react if we recovered a fraction of our world." By that point he chuckled and proceeded to shrug once more. "Least that's only a possibility waiting to happen, nothing's for sure if we can't find the entrance."
"So how's that do?" He checked with the swordsman. "That enough to earn a little friendly advice? Really wouldn't mind not dying in the course of this journey." Although he added that last part for good humor, he admittedly spoke truly about it. Dying while on this quest... would by far suck if it were to happen to him.
“I’m familiar with the realm of Emea“, the Mortalborn replied and took a seat. The memory of what had transpired there was still fresh in his mind. Jesine had guided them through her realm to Oscillus. He had attempted to escape the same way after he had made his move – and failed. The portal had been closed. There were other things that had happened within Jesine’s realm as well … a red-haired woman … a wife and a daughter that he had never really had, memories that were just as bitter as the first one, but that fortunately had little impact on his existence in the waking world and his chance to succeed.
“Once upon a time I travelled to Jesine’s realm while I was awake. I have not heard of the Jewel of the Emea though”, he admitted. The tone of his voice was the same as always, and neither did his posture change, but there was a strange glimmer in his eyes now, a sign that what Patrick had said had caught his interest. When he had approached the mortal he had been wondering if he would be wasting his time – he had no interest in conventional treasure, in silver and gold – but apparently that would not be the case.
“Do you have any clues in regards to the location of the chalice, the dagger or the tome?” he wanted to know. He agreed with Patrick as far as the worth of the jewel was concerned. It was likely valuable beyond measure and would even catch the interest of the Immortals. He was interested in it, in holding that jewel in his hands for just a few trills and marvel at it.
He had assured Patrick that he only wanted information, but for a moment he thought about killing the mortal regardless once had returned from his journey, but then again, it was likely that he would find more treasure and make more discoveries. What was one jewel compared to a myriad of them and secrets that few in this world were privy to?
Patrick would be more useful to him as an ally and alive, and both of them would benefit if he became stronger, if he learned how to survive the dangers that he would without a doubt face.
“That is enough, for now”, he thus replied. “Although I would appreciate it if you contacted me once you have found the jewel. I would very much like to know if your search was successful. As for my advice, follow me outside. I doubt that the proprietor of this tavern would appreciate my drawing a weapon here and possibly damaging their furniture. It won’t be enough if I just tell you what to do. You need to see in order to really learn. Do you have a weapon? If not, we’ll be using one of mine.”
“Rest assured”, he added in a somewhat dry tone in case Patrick was worried about going somewhere with a man that he had just met and rose to his feet. “I do not mean to cause you harm. If I did that, you would not be able to make any more discoveries, and I cannot allow that to happen.”
It seemed this individual knew more than he let on about the Emea, at least more than what Patrick had been led to believe. It seemed as though this man had managed to meet Jesine also, though somehow managed to physically travel to her domain within the Emea. That was a possible thing? Could mortals actually do that and live? Well... considerably so it seemed plausible otherwise Pat wouldn't have been brought here. Ymiden did transport him to Etzos through the Emea didn't he? So the idea didn't come off as far-fetched as it initially sounded. At least not until he thought about it well enough, still the idea proved something beyond the scope of mortal capacity to Patrick.
"Oh they're within arms grasp mostly." Patrick answered when it came to the question of the three items. "Both book and dagger are back in Rharne, I intend to fetch them and make it back before season's end. The chalice..." He paused and for a moment sighed. "is in another's possession right now. So far we've come to understand, that's the vital clue that'll help us find the entrance to the ruins." It was a minor setback he wished to have remedied when he rescued Crowley, but unfortunately his rival proved a very cautious man to keep it hidden away when he did. Now it looked as though both Pat and Crowley would have to be doing a little reconnaissance, just to figure out the best way to nab the chalice without either one of them getting caught.
With the comment mentioned that he'd like to be in touch when the jewel was found, Patrick shot a smirk at the man as he could only nod in agreement. If this character seemed to be anything like he said he was, and none of the confidence was actually a bullshit facade, then maybe he would know or discover some secret pertaining to what the jewel really was. That is... if there existed a jewel to begin with. It all seemed like a myth that everybody suddenly started to chase, yet as Cylus seemed around the corner it felt as though too many people were invested in just one 'myth'. "Trust me. You'll be one of the first few to know when the jewel's in possession. If we beat our competition to the punch that is..." At the incentive to be told to follow though, Patrick's eyebrows folded down a little with intrigue as to what this wise man had in mind.
Clearly he wouldn't be giving just a few lectures tonight.
"Well that took a different turn than I actually expected." He admitted as he rose to a stand out of his chair, the rag left on the table next to his chair while he threw on his coat. Admittedly he'd tried hard to avoid the fact he'd felt a slight cold coming on, thanks to the quick thinking getaway he pulled by jumping into the river. Needless to say it paid off with just a minor hitch, as both he and Crowley nearly froze to death when they got out. Felt like it at least. While he probably wasn't in the best condition for a lesson in swords, it might've actually been a good idea based on a couple reasons. The activity could help keep him warm for starters, and also make sure he lives to see another day. "If you have a broadsword then that might work, I tried using one a while back in Rharne but it didn't really work out very well." He admitted with a tug at the collar of his coat, while he followed the man outside the establishment.
The outside felt much chillier now that night had fallen, and with the assurance for little harm on his adviser's behalf, Patrick looked at him with a earnest nod as he stood there ready for whatever lesson he had. Admittedly he knew next to nothing about blades and weaponry, though found himself able to learn just as well really. It was the same process as learning Rupturing after all, though less likely to involve a rebound from the magic if done improperly. "Yeah you too pal, would hate it if I made ruined a perfectly good shirt by accident." He mused with a shrug to create humor, though clearly he probably came off as cocky like usual.
"Whatever sword is available I guess, they're all the same aren't they?" He reasoned with uncertainty as he waited for Doran to provide the weapon in question.
“What did you expect then?“ the Mortalborn asked as they stepped outside. Unlike Patrick he was bothered little by the cold. On the contrary, he welcomed it as it made him feel alive. Maybe he did have something in common with his sire after all, he mused as he drew his sword, the same sword that had nearly taken an Immortal’s life once. Both Ziell and he were bothered little by temperatures that made others seek refuge in their homes and huddle together in front of the fireplace, desperate to get warm again. “That we would share a bottle with some kind of alcohol beverage and maybe more while we talked about the dangers that you might have to face during your hunt and got to know each other better?”
“Talking might be sufficient for academics that never intend to set a foot onto the battlefield, but the people that you are going to meet out there won’t care how much you’ve heard or read and how much theoretical knowledge you possess. They just want what you have, and they will stop at nothing to get it. Out there only the law of the strongest matters. You have to be faster and stronger than everybody else if you want to reach your goals and find your treasure - and live to tell the tale.”
“Always keep that in mind, Patrick. There is no mercy, and there is no second chance”, he spoke, came closer - so close that he was not much more than an arm’s length away from Patrick - and looked directly into the other man’s eyes. There was intensity to his voice and to the expression on his face now that had not been there before, and then he abruptly made a step back and flatly told him: “No. Not all swords are the same. They vary in width as well as in length and are used for different purposes. Some of them – like the broadsword – are designed to be wielded with one hand while longswords such as the one I have are meant to be wielded with both hands.”
“I promised you advice though”, he spoke and handed Patrick a sword. “There are several things that factor into you winning a fight. It begins with something as simple as holding your sword a certain way and moving a certain way. A lot of beginners believe that holding your sword in a vicelike grip so that you don’t lose it is the way to go. This is not true. Holding your sword in a vicelike grip will only tire you out and render your attacks messy and inaccurate and you don’t want your attacks to be messy and inaccurate, especially not when your life depends on it.”
Patrick could see that Doran had placed his dominant hand near the guard, on the flat of his blade while his other hand held the grip near the pommel. “Survival is the primary objective of a fight. It is one thing to attack your opponent without regard for your own safety, but quite another to defeat them and walk away from the fight unscathed though. The best way to keep your opponent from hitting you is to hit them first of course. You should strife to maintain the initiative. However, there will be situations where your opponent will attack first.” As he said that, he stepped forward again so that Patrick would understand what he meant. All of a sudden the tip of his blade was pointing straight at the mortal’s chest.
“Contrary the popular belief the best defence isn’t parrying, especially not for a beginner like you. If you can, step out of the way of their attack. It is never enough to just react to your opponent’s attacks though. That will only exhaust you and draw the fight out unnecessarily. Every one of your defences must already be made with an attack of your own in mind. Now show me what you would do!”
As he waited for Patrick to react to what he had just said, he realized that the man reminded him of somebody. Sintih had just been as cocky and self-confident. Unlike Patrick, the Yludih hadn’t possessed any riches though, he hadn’t had any secrets, and allying himself with him hadn’t had any great benefits. Sintih had just been the son of the woman that he had once loved, maybe more than his mission, and her last wish had been for him to take her son under his wing.
Last edited by Doran on Wed Jun 20, 2018 3:43 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 765
"Well when you put it like that, it actually doesn't sound so bad." Patrick remarked as they took to stand outside in the cold next, admittedly he preferred the idea of sitting by a warm fire with a drink in hand. He was never big on cold environments so usually when the colder time of the Arc rolled around, he'd spend all Breaks inside for as long as he could if at all possible.
However he only shrugged with his hands clamped into fists, his body somewhat tensed to reduce the amount of shivering that would occur. In a sense while his lecturer spoke the lesson, Patrick could actually agree with the philosophy found within those spoken words. There were people out there, like Raimeus, who cared little for the wants and needs of others. People that just did what they wanted, screwed over anybody in their way; once their usefulness had ran it's course. So far Crowley hadn't done that and hopefully he wouldn't, but as far as Raimeus was concerned Patrick read him like a book easily. There was no clearer moment when Patrick made his bluff against Kleo the other day, when Raimeus displayed little disregard for her well being once the thread had been made.
"No mercy or second chances huh?" He reiterated curiously as the two looked one another in the eyes, somehow Doran's words of wisdom felt more personal than just experience alone. With the beginning of his lessons to start the swordsman first answered his question tactfully, and described the variations between sizes and purposes in one go. Broadswords which was Pat's preference were intended for single handed use, while longswords which was what Doran had were for two handed usage. Still the drunkard played along and accepted the broadsword handed over to him, careful to alternate the grip of the hilt with both hands. He'd basically done the same as Doran had, the right hand near the hand guard, while the left rested below the pommel to control the hilt itself.
The sword Doran wielded appeared heavier upon closer inspection, almost the same as a broadsword except... just a little more longer. Which was probably why Patrick preferred the Broadsword, since the blade was already a bit heavy enough without having to hold it upright. He couldn't help but question the position though when Doran elaborated on the vice grip, and placed his left against the right to cover the pommel after he had the moment to consider it. Then of course there was the elaboration on survival in a sword fight. "First hit them. Sounds pretty simple." He murmured as he listened to the lesson.
Next was the highlight on initiative also, something that became more clear once Patrick noticed the tip near his chest. It's appearance there reminded him of how close he'd been to being murdered, as the memory of Kar flashed to remind him of the close call he had back then. Had he not caught the dagger well enough to divert it, he would've suffered a nasty puncture wound to the chest then for sure... Still it made him uncomfortable enough to step back a few feet, the grip on his sword a little tighter as he appeared a bit more defensive in his stance. Which being provoked into attacking Doran led Patrick to crane his head a little, a bit of hesitation displayed as he inhaled and went in for a swing with the blade.
With the sword held overhead Patrick brought the blade downward in an arc.
Last edited by Patrick on Wed Jun 20, 2018 4:45 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 604
