Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Enormowls?

Cold weather gear?

It had indeed been Faith who was kidnapped.

Pash listened, trying to imagine how exactly what Padraig described had happened actually occurred in broad daylight and no one doing a thing about it. The neighborhood was residential, it was true, but weren’t there guards? A military? Weren’t there city guards who were also patrolling on enormowls on occasion throughout the day? Wouldn’t they see something? Apparently not. Well, it was a damn good thing he could defend himself, then, given how reliable officials he was expected to trust were turning out to be, from guides to guards, and the tall Biqaj was only more motivated to assist the other man after his telling.

It was going to really be a terrible thing to be those kidnappers soon enough.

The question he wanted to ask, but didn’t, was why? Why would anyone want to kidnap Faith? He clearly didn’t know enough of anyone’s history to even make a guess.

His tide pool gaze lingered on the stone when Padraig mentioned magic before looking to the chewed, broken pieces of the wooden doll. Aware of other Domains, he didn’t need to be told: Necromancy was also his conclusion. Perhaps for Kali’s sake, he should have said something out loud, but he didn’t. Whoever had Faith was really going to be pissing off an Immortal or two as well, considering those she followed with tale-worthy devotion despised most magic, but especially Necromancy.

Everything was about to get very ugly.

“O’ course we’re comin’.” Pash answered the question that was not asked as if it was an unnecessary assumption to even be made. They’d come to see if what they’d heard was true. It was more than true, and the seafaring minstrel wasn’t just going to stand around and hope for the best. He was going to make sure of it. That, and honestly Padraig did not look like he should be going alone. This was beyond personal, yes, but Pash could only guess at how dangerous the situation was for some solo rescue, “I doubt y’ should be goin’ b’ yourself, as much as y’ may be able t’ pull off th’ one man army thing, maybe an extra mind an’ arm’r two will do some good. For you an' for Faith—”

Someone had to be the anchor of sanity. It would probably have to be Kali'rial.

“—We will meet y’ back here.”

And so they did.

It was a tight squeeze of time for the pair to get back to his sloop, The Muse, and gather supplies. Pash had decided after the misadventures of the Immortal’s Tongue and the Scalroth Jungle that he needed to be properly equipped should some other adventure call his name, and a few hundred nel later, he indeed was ready for just about anything. He couldn’t help but complain, tugging on heavy, stuffy boots, looking to Kali as they both gathered their things from his boat, but at least the barefoot Sev’ryn could commiserate. They could talk quietly about how crazy this trial was, how strange that someone they knew had been kidnapped, and how finally—finally—they were doing something dangerous together instead of apart. Not that this at all felt like an adventure, no. This was a different fish entirely, but just as slippery.

That said, it was Ymiden. He wasn’t about to completely dress for cold weather adventuring until he needed to, so most of his winter gear—a coat, a hat, gloves—he packed neatly into his rucksack, also grabbing the spelunking kit he’d graciously allowed the over-excited shop owner to convince him he needed. He left his lute behind, of course, but did tuck away the Eligrund harmonika he’d picked up earlier in the season, completing his preparations with his leather bracers and Masterwork tamo daggers.

Once Kali was ready, they raced back through the streets, probably looking somewhat a strange pair, to meet back where they’d promised, already sweaty and out of breath from the heat that seemed to drift from the very ground here in Scalvoris Town, let alone the weather itself.

When Padraig landed, it was all the seafaring musician could do to contain himself. He didn’t like large land mammals and now he wasn’t quite sure if he liked large birds. Pash had never seen an enormowl up close, and even in his surprise and awe over the creature, the tall Biqaj could count,

“No’ t’ be th’ ass pointin’ out th’ obvious, but that’s only one, uh, enormowl.” He knew he was indeed overstating the obvious, calloused fingers reaching to rub the back of his neck in concern and confusion. The baritone of his voice wasn’t rude, but the adrenaline of the moment was not enough to keep his words from sounding enthusiastic, either, “An’ we’re no’ gonna all fit. If we’re goin’ o’er land, there’s no way we can keep up with you—“

He paused, aware that Kali had a horse and gave her time to speak for herself on the subject. He had an idea where they were going (Ishallr, the mountains, a place cold and frozen no matter what the weather on the rest of Scalvoris), but even a horse couldn’t keep up with something that flew. That much, he knew. He’d ride it again if he had to, it was true. Faith was worth getting on that awkward land mammal for. Mostly,

“—If we’re leavin’ Scalvoris by sea, I’ve got a sloop. It’s prob’ly jus’ as fast t' reach Ishallr by sea anyways, ‘specially if th’ wind's right.”

The seafaring minstrel rolled his shoulders, willing to do what was necessary as quickly as possible, but only if it was, indeed, possible. He’d just lugged all his gear from The Muse and now he was going to have to lug it back again. In damn boots. Thank goodness he was not the priority here. Pash kept his complaints to himself, instead choosing to pass a bit of resentful judgement on those who claimed to serve Scalvoris as protectors.

Pash was observant, but not necessarily of his surroundings when focused on people. And right now, it was true, his focus was on people. Padraig, he’d decided, could use some assistance. Faith had been kidnapped. And Kali was at his side. Did he even know which house belonged to his friends? No, he’d never been invited over, and it was probably for good reason. They’d found the street thanks to the talk around town, not out of familiarity. So, whatever was on the roof watching them? The tall Biqaj was clueless.

“We should keep sight o’ each other, aye? I’m easy t’ spot. Th’ Muse has an orange hull that should be visible above th’ waves. That thing—th’ enormowl—I can’t miss.”

“I’ve got a feelin’ you’ll be damn hard t’ miss. Give us a few bits an’ you’ll know which sloop be mine. Don’ fall off that thing. Th’ water’s no’ so soft when y’ fall from too high, jus’ sayin’.”

For everyone’s sakes, Pash hoped Padraig held on well. When the other man admitted that he didn’t quite know what he was doing, the seafaring minstrel understood. Sometimes, things just had to be done. This was one of those times. His tide pool gaze may have lingered for a trill or two on the enormowl taking flight, but the rest of him was already moving. Any other trial, any other circumstance, and he may have complained about lugging adventuring equipment from his sloop, through all of Scalvoris Town, only to drag it all back again. But, to-trial, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Someone important was in danger and that was that.

Pash didn’t dawdle. He had enough trouble sitting still, let alone standing still. When there was something to be done, he did it—arcs of working for his father in his shipyard had hammered any fantasy of idleness out of him, despite the usual assumptions about his creative profession. This time, the way back was easier, the path familiar and thus faster, both because it was now known and because he now moved with a sense of urgency and importance. He’d sailed a bit around Scalvoris by now, from town to Almund, from town to Faldrass, and back. He’d passed the mountains near the northern tip of the island when he first arrived, their cold, imposing visages hard to miss on a clear day, no matter how strange the weather was. He knew to be careful, the weather unpredictable and the wind today somewhere on that thin line between favorable to too strong.

The docks were busy, but that was far from unusual: Ships were being loaded and unloaded. People were milling about. Voices and noises. Everything in motion like the sea itself. To anyone else, perhaps, it would have been distracting, but to the seafaring minstrel, it was comfortable. Every port, every dock, every sea-washed stretch of wood was home, no matter what part of Idalos he was visiting. He knew his sloop, too, the orange hull low in the water, sails still stowed and wrapped tight against the boom instead of raised and ready, moored far from the tall merchant ships and far from the regular traffic, as far as he could be, though not isolated. He still had neighbors moored on either side of him. The ship he’d built with his father during his last arc home. It had over the arcs become an extension of his very existence, another instrument like his lute that he knew in ways only a Biqaj could know a sailing vessel his own hands had put together.

Maybe it was the glint of metal. Maybe it was the movement. It wasn’t natural and it wasn’t part of his sloop. While Rakahi curses came to the tip of his tongue, he stopped them with a hiss, still quite a few long strides from being able to clearly make out the creature—surely that’s what it was. Was it similar to the wooden doll Padraig had shown them in chewed up pieces?—he reached a hand out to Kali’rial’s arm without his usual affection or coyness, his need to get her attention obvious in the brush of calloused fingers,

“That.”

He grunted quietly, furtively, with a dart of his suddenly near-amber gaze, aware that he had no distance weapon other than his voice. She’d have to put an arrow in it and quickly lest it see them coming, and the tall Biqaj looked at her for just a trill with the expectation that she’d know his request without speaking before he tilted his head to imply he was going to attempt to cut it off from another direction. Pash’s attentions lingered for a moment on the small blade it held, not needing to be told of its destructive intentions, even as he moved to climb over a few barrels and a box and scramble onto the deck of the ship next to his. He drew a dagger and crept low against the wooden hull of the larger vessel, ducking under the boom and sidling toward the stern, to one side of the larger ship’s sail preparing himself to jump the very short distance from the higher end of one ship and onto the bow of his own, the hull of this ship practically bumping and touching his own sloop.

His plan was to wait, though, until Kali hit her mark before leaping at the doll to snatch it, arrow and all. If she missed, however, he’d rush in as well, ready to attack the thing with his own weapon or at least catch it before it slashed his sails. A cut or two he could deal with, but if the doll ruined the entire mainsail, they’d be stuck. He had the nel for new ones, but not the time, not with two lives—Faith’s in one way and Padraig’s in another—on the line. So, either way, the dark-haired Sev’ryn’s arrow accuracy did not affect his choice, so long as he ended up with the wooden thing in his hands or skewered by his dagger, so long as his sails remained undamaged and ready to unfurl into the stiff wind, tacked loosely and yet at beam reach for speed with a hint of safety.