The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

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Geo_&_Bio
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The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#1 Post by Geo_&_Bio »

{Born from the Hell fire of the Sun, the Night breath of the Moon and the Steel form of the Earth, lies the Man and Mok. He who lives eternally, never prospering and she who lives briefly and prospers more. Their journey will judge their soul and their wellbeing. The journey begins with four and four.

The earth shook and crackled across the land and came across the mok. “I am the face for which you stand upon, one in three. The Earth bones for which you seek serves to hold the land in place. You, dear mok, are the bearer of the seed. You seem bleak and barren, but spread thy fruit across the land and thou shalt receive many children. Do this for my Sister, she who will come. This beith my name.”

The Earth shook and swallowed the two whole and transported to the other side of air and clouds. They floated within this realm in two of two days. The Moon brushed the two in grand gesture, winds so great and approached the Man. “I am the Air for which you breathe, one in three. The Sky eyes for which you seek serves to illuminate the night for you to see. You, dear man, are the bearer of fertile grounds and great harvest. You may seem overwhelmed, but in time you will reap what you will sow and raise many children. Do this for my sister, she who will come. This beith my name.”

The Man and Mok was then eaten by the Moon and sent to the realm of Clocks. Working together, Man and Mok farmed the land, it with great tracks, through blood and sweat they bore many fruit. As a Gift, Mok gave the Man sweet honey and in turn the Man ate the honey for the Mok.

The Man then bore an egg within the stomach. The egg talked “I am the warm honey for which you have swallowed. Take me to the land of Wheat and Barley, head to the lands of Vah-Keh-Rah, for I must go and be with my brothers and await the great Gorakora. Be warned, there are those along that path who will lead you astray. Keep faith and the road will be clear, no matter the obstacle. Three who wish to harm, one who wishes to trick. Do this for my bothers, they who wait. This beith my name.” the Honey spoke.

The Man and Mok went to find the lands of Vahk.}

~The Lesson of Sola 1: Genesis.


_________________

Wal'nagga finished reading the letter sent by the mysterious Cazadore. Her mind still trying process the information as it stings her repeatedly. She wonders why her life has taken such an inappropriate turn. It was still amazing that she was able to read the letter; her hands shook sporadically, trying to muster the strength to hold a simple piece of paper. But this piece of paper was nothing simple about it, it was written by the hands of death itself, he who waits within the abyss. Little wonder why it holds such a devastating weight. She had to get to her lamp and leave; according to the letter, she had two days and it will be enough to pack up and leave forever. Such a sad life, she had hoped to keep it in her own hands rather than let it all slip. There was a positive side to her now misfortune, at least it isn't the Walkhanate, specifically the House of her previous master, hunting her down; a fate worse than death.

She climbed towards her room, the area was dark, but it is normal for such a morning. Dawn is breaking and Her path begins today. Wal'nagga broke through the door and was greeted by a worried fairy. “Dear sweat gods, where the hell have you been? Its literally been ages since I have seen you, I thought you left me.” Wal'nagga ignored the worried fairy, but not out of malice. She gathered her Bag of Holding and quite literally dumped her entire life into the bag: money, ingredients, books, and the sort; if she could fit her bed through the opening, she could have, but she was merely left with her sheets and her feathered pillow as a means of comfort. “Careful, witch. You're going to break a lot of stuff in that bag and I'd rather not spend all night watching you clean up because you were careless. I would be extremely livid with you and turn off to spite you.” Wal'nagga continued to pay no mind to the fairy within the lamp, finishing up stuffing her bag filled with everything that made Wal'nagga the Ashen Witch, Wal'nagga. Wal'nagga decided it was time to break the news without mentioning anything that would bring the poor fairy more distraught. “I...I have to leave. I'll bring you with me, but I can't stay in this place anymore.” The Fairy felt that the Witch was begging the question. “Leaving for what? Surely, you jest. You left before without give anyone a notice and suddenly you come back and now you say you need to leave. What the hell is going on with you?” The Witch looked upon the fairy with fear. “I need to leave, I feel that the past has caught up to me.” With those words, the fairy understood everything, despite the fact that the witch was still withholding her new founded enemies.

“What about...Her?” Her. Wal'nagga stated. The one who found me, in my time of need. Wal'nagga left her room and entered in another. This new room was more ancient than the one Wal'nagga was living in. It dangled pictures of life and happiness throughout the room and in the corner was a bed with a stand next to it. In the bed lies an old woman, Time-honored even. Her nose was large, long and wide, with a few warts upon it. Her hair was gray and waning. The woman was sound asleep. Upon the stand was a brazier, enchanted to always keep whatever it needs to be heated hot, yet never burns or soils the contents, like a fiery fridge. Wal'nagga placed a nice bowl of broth that would kick the woman up and out of bed to do her usual ingredient gathering; Wal'nagga knows how much the woman hates sitting idly by. Wal'nagga kissed to woman upon her head and prayed for her health. “Good bye and thank you for all you have done for me. I pray we meet again.”

“Oh, we will meet again, young one. I am sure of it.” The woman was now sitting up, awake and fully aware. “You see, witches have this natural ability to know when another of her kin will leave and know that they will return. I wish you luck on your journey.” the old woman smiled. The witches hugged before Wal'nagga decided to leave, knowing that she will return thanks to the foresight of the woman. Goodbye, “Wal'nagga” the witch; I'll have to take back my name for now.

The Witch and the Lamp headed downstairs and out into the street where they were presented by an alarming number of people worried out of their minds. They all began huddling around the town square in hopes to find some sort of salvation. Wal'nagga gave a closer look at the situation and it appears that the people also suffer from the same affliction she is having. The terrible disease of the carved necks and the horrid and inevitable death as the result.

___________

People huddled around the crowd. In the middle stood a stage for the Mayor and his trusty sheriff to declare the situation a dire threat. The Mayor was an incredibly fat cat who actually hailed from the desert rather than the Framan Heartland. By his side was a smaller, more animalistic cat which merely purred and hugged its owner's leg. The sheriff was much more lean and hardy looking, short as well, and his armor was even more frightful with him inside it. “Citizens, citizens. Calm down, calm down.” He urged. “I know we are in a desperate situation, I too am afflicted with this curse. So isn't our lovely sheriff.” Both the Mayor and the sheriff exposed their necks to the panicking public to try and make them see reason, but it was still to no avail. “Sire, me and my wife have children, we can't simply leave our children.” One arose the question. “Sire, who will tend the crops? Some of us need food and the harvest is coming.” Another begged. The questions popped all over the place, those who do and do not have this terrible affliction are scared for the lives of everyone else.

Truly a cruel world.

{The world is open now, feel free to chat around and talk to each other for now. Get your barrings and prepare to move out.}
The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.

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MrFlyingAmoeba
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#2 Post by MrFlyingAmoeba »

      The small glass mirror shattered as it was flung against the wall of the small inn, its owner stomping around the small but clean room, small fists clenched almost to the point of breaking her palms open. Her voice filled the room, high and shrill with impotent fury. "Cazador, Cazador, I'll show them a ritual or two!" She had been ranting for several minutes, after three failed attempts at removing the black mark on her throat and multiple re-readings of the letter left on the humble bed. "Righteous and spiritual, so faithful and necessary, I'm sure!" After one more wordless yell, she flopped onto the bed, burying her face in the once-scratchy cotton, made soft by a spell the night before.

      A few minutes later, Amelia mumbled into the quilt, curiosity replacing anger. "You're being awful quiet."

      Her lips moved, but the quivering voice was gone, filled by something more distant and well-bred. “A window and a chimney, both needed but by the fire and cold, not sharing the same burden. A slave learns under the lash, and a lesson taught widely will serve even more.”

      "Widely?" Amelia perked up as the clamor reached her ears, scrambling across the bed to look out the small circular window to the town square below. Mouth open as she looked across the worried town assembling, the clear marks on many of their throats visible even from her vantage, the mage grinned. "More of them, less to chase me, I like it."

      "Stacking firewood atop the blaze, only to burn hotter." Amelia gathered her few possessions, the shards of glass drawing back together into the mirror's frame. She set it on the mantle, drawing her cloak around her neck to hide the mark as she exited her room, noting the emptied dining area. The occupants were likely now in the square as well. "Not mine to decide. Not yours."

      "Not like you'd let me, seeing as how you're in charge of the moving as usual." Amelia grumbled, coming to a halt at the edge of the crowd. "Still, you read the letter same as me, so we're going to find a few to go with us." She explored the sore flesh around the scar sullenly. "Couldn't at least let me take the itching away, I'll tear down the whole thing before I end up on some altar." A few of the closer townspeople cast confused looks at the girl talking to herself with two very different tones, but remained focused on the larger issue before them.
Red Mage Statscoski wrote:That is not how we do things around here, buddy. First we have to argue incessantly over semantics.

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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#3 Post by TheNewGirl »

Ta’vril awoke that morning knowing that something had changed. The city lay quietly sleeping as the first rays of sun kissed the rooftops, but that quiet would break soon to be replaced by the clamor of confusion and the stench of fear. With an air of ritual, the pale young woman sat up and began carefully replacing her jewelry, sending up a thanks to each person who had gifted her the piece as she placed it on her body. That done, she clothed herself in gauzy robes made of silver and finished by binding her hair in a braid before covering it with a similarly colored scarf. She could tell already that today would be a day where the sun’s light fell softly rather than in its usual harsh, burning gaze, so she left her face uncovered, trusting that the shade thrown by the scarf would be sufficient to protect her. It isn’t until Ta’vril checks her story bones that she discovers the note left for her. The dry whisper of her fingers on parchment when they should have felt only the smooth faces of bone causes a feeling of numbing dread to creep from her fingertips up her arms, where it steals over her heart. This is not a good omen, she thinks as she unfolds the paper and begins to read.

When she finishes reading, Ta’vril sits for a moment, gray eyes staring sightlessly ahead. Then she gives her head a small shake and tucks the paper in a separate pocket of her robes. Such a thing did not belong with her story bones, but neither could it be discarded. She again resumed her morning preparations- smoothing the wrinkles in the unused blankets on the mattress, shaking the dimple of the weight of her resting head from the pillow provided by the boarding house- a luxury she had rarely experienced. She re-folds her other robes and places them carefully in her plain brown pack, then sets her divining bowl on top of them, facing downward. Throughout this process, her eyes carefully avoid the plain, bone-handled knife. While the room she rented at the boarding house was small and plain, lacking furniture save for the small bed, little more than a mattress on the floor, Ta’vril had placed the knife as far from her as she could. She had even gone so far as to drag the bed close to the door, as if she thought the knife itself would leap up to attack her as she slept and she needed to be able to escape the room in a single fluid motion. The knife called itself Sei’lith, and since renting her room had afforded her the luxury of escaping its smothering presence for at least a few hours, she had taken to sleeping as far away from it as she could, for while Sei’lith’s presence could leave the knife, he rarely bothered her at night anymore.

She dreaded picking up that knife, because her touch would rouse the presence within, and it would pick apart the contents of her mind and seize upon the letter. I am already in the service of the divine- why should this selfish god choose me to fulfill his purpose? But Ta’vril knew better than most that everybody feels their purpose to be superior to any other task they may be called to, and she knew better than most that this pride often lead to foolishness that cut a life short of fulfilling its potential. She had 48 hours to make herself scarce, and she did not want to waste them. She could lose herself in the vast sands of the desert in which she had lived most of her life, and she would live her life there much the same as she had always lived. Speaking of…

Ta’vril unpacked her recently-packed story bones and divining bowl, made of smooth willow with small, intricate runes carved around the lip. She poured her story bones into the bowl and studied the way they fell, then began picking bones from the bowl and placing them once more in the inner pocket of her robes close to her heart. In the end, three bones remained in the bowl- two knuckle bones and one fingertip. Ta’vril closes her eyes and grips the edges of the bowl delicately, murmuring a prayer-like incantation and closing her eyes. When she opened her eyes, three spirits stood in front of her. One looked to be a young girl, not yet out of her sixteenth year, of Valamok descent. Though her form appeared hazy and indistinct, as if seen through a veil, Ta’vril knew her skin would be deep ebony. One of the knuckle bones was hers, and her name had been Alya when she was alive. The second was another Valamok, a man in his later years of life. His name had been Maouna, and the second knucklebone was his. The third was a human man, also in his later years, named Istvan, to whom the fingertip had once belonged. These three had all been spirits she had met in her years in the desert. The way their bones had landed in the bowl had told her that their energy was strong enough for their spirits to make the journey from the desert to her boarding house room, if only for a few minutes. That was fine- a few minutes was all she needed to inquire about the state of the desert. They told her that all was as usual in the desert, though Maouna’s part of the desert had been experiencing unusual weather and it had the wild beasts behaving strangely, and Istvan’s segment had been disturbed recently by a Valamok bloodline scandal, though that should be resolved by the time of her arrival should Ta’vril choose to travel there. The young woman thanked them and they faded away, leaving her alone once more. She re-packed their story bones and divining bowl, and then sighed. Nothing remained to be done but to gather Sei’lith and prepare to go. She glanced out the window and was mildly surprised to see the sun higher than she had expected. She had delayed long enough. Despite her dread, Ta’vril’s hand was steady as she reached out and grasped the bone handle.

Sei’lith was roused from its brooding as the girl’s hand touched the knife. A momentary flash linked their consciousness and it knew what she was thinking about. Running into the desert. Fleeing these Cazador dogs. It wants to berate her, to curse her cowardice. But Sei’lith could not. She may not remember all that had happened, but from its bind with her it had seen the ritual that she underwent. What the reason was, it did not know. What it could glean from her note and its memory of the event simple: the ritual’s magic was beyond him. And these Cazadors, they were dangerous. Not something it could just brush off in its anger.

So instead it sends a cold reassurance to the girl and hides a glimmer of expectation. These Cazadors are more than just a threat to it, they can become its cattle. The longer she flees from them, the more will come and slowly but surely, she will rely more and more on the spirit to protect her. Everyone it kills, anyone she slays with the knife will grant it power. And that is something it can live with. Go now Ta’vril. While you have time to leave.

Rather than return to its considerations of returning to power and punishing this forgetful world, it opened itself to the flows of magic and observed the world. The streets were rowdy, and it seemed that it would only get worse. Had Sei’lith a face, it would have cracked open in a malicious grin at that thought. But there would be time for that later, first was ensuring that the pair made it out into the expanse beyond the city. It focused on finding anything, anyone that could be a threat and if need be, pointing it out to the girl.

Go now, Ta’vril the entity said, and that urging gave Ta’vril pause. Throughout their rather intimate acquaintance, the girl had learned to be wary of the things Sei’lith said. She shudders as the memory of their first encounter washes over her. She had trusted that voice calling out for help, the voice which had led her to the bone-handled knife. She had seen that sort of thing before, where a distraught spirit latched on to an inanimate object and tethered itself to the material plain and needed her help to pass on. She had grabbed the knife out of the sand that day much as she had grabbed it off the floor of the boarding house room moments ago, but when her fingers had brushed the smooth white haft, the confused but friendly presence of the wandering spirit had unfurled its dark wings and enveloped her mind. Its icy tendrils had invaded every corner of her consciousness in seconds and wrapped around the core of her being with suffocating force. She didn’t remember fighting the spirit, but she must have done so because it had withdrawn its attack. She had regained her senses to find herself lying on the hot sand, blessedly still covered by her robes and head scarf, her hand clutched white-knuckled around the knife and knowing in the depths of her soul that she had somehow become bound to an entity that would overwhelm and destroy her at the first opportunity.

She had trusted that voice once and ended up eternally cursed. She hesitated to make that mistake again. Instead she tucked Sei’lith into her belt, grabbed her staff of cherry wood inlaid with bone from the wall and exited the boarding house.

It knew she wasn't going to cooperate. The girl still did not trust it after that first attempt to take over her. And it could not hide the malice it contained from her. Perhaps constantly harrassing her every night for weeks on end to weaken her resolve had been a poor choice as well. No matter, in the end, it would find a way to profit.

Ta’vril found the streets crowded with people, all of them gravitating towards the center of town. She moved among them like a ghost.

"Couldn't at least let me take the itching away, I'll tear down the whole thing before I end up on some altar."

The voice registered with Ta’vril a split second before she collided with the speaker, a shorter woman, freckled, with blonde hair. Her eyes flashed to the scar across the woman’s throat and Ta’vril wondered idly if she had one across her own neck—having never had a mirror growing up, she was unused to giving thought to her own appearance.

Se'lith looked the person over and dismissed her instantly. Another traveller in a city of travelers. You should be more careful, Ta'vril. Steering this one was a challenge and more than slightly frustrating. Still, providing sound advice would get her to see that it was rarely unreasonable and always a trustworthy ally.

“Forgive me, I wasn’t watching where I stepped” Ta’vril stammered, lowering her head and not meeting the stranger’s eyes. In her experience her appearance tended to be off-putting, and the energy of the town was very disturbed. In Ta’vril’s experience people didn’t need much of an excuse to resort to violence, and she did not want a confrontation.
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Stryder221
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#4 Post by Stryder221 »

Oalei stared in disbelief at what he'd just read. "This... What...? This can't be real, can it...?" As much as he wished it weren't, the scar the Cazador had left him with said otherwise. A shuffling sound nearby alerted him to his sister's presence; Either she'd just recently woken up or she was fiddling with those contraptions of hers.

Immediately, he was filled with dread. He rushed into the tent Lorym had been using, hoping desperately that she'd not gotten the same mark. "S-sister, are you alright?" He asked nervously. Lorym, hearing her brother's voice, turned her head and gave a curious look. She had indeed been tinkering with the cylindrical devices, and had yet to even put on her usual grey coat. "I believe so. Is there a reason I should not be?"
Oalei breathed a sigh of relief. Even if it appeared that his life was basially ruined by recent events, at least Lorym wouldn't be forced into it. "I should be asking you if you're alright." Lorym said. "You're acting incredibly odd, and looking incredibly pale. Is something the matter?"

He froze, his hand idly running across his neck. His sister, noticing immediately, was at his throat in an instant. "Brother... When did you get this?" She asked with concern as she moved Oalei's hand aside, examining the scar on his neck. "It's nothing." He said quickly, pushing Lorym away and pulling up his shirt to better cover the scar.
She wasn't amused in the slightest. "Then I suppose that is just a plain scrap of paper?" Lorym had said, motioning towards the crumpled note in her brother's hand. "Yes, nothing to be worried about." The brother had said. Lorym's response was to glare menacingly.

To Oalei's credit, he managed to last far longer than usual under his sister's glare before he caved. "Fine, take it... But you're not going to like what it says." The former knight said, handing over the note. Smoothing it over a bit, Lorym scanned it's contents, and had almost torn it in half by the time she'd finished. "This is barbaric. These people, these Cazador... They can't just force you into this."
"They can, and they will. If I don't they'll hunt me down and gut me like a fish for their damned god." His fists clenched, remembering from his 'nightmare' just how many others there were. "Me and hundreds if not thousands of other people... Path of righteousness, my [censored] [censored]."

Silence reigned supreme for several moments before the younger of the two sighed. "Lorym... They haven't marked you; You don't have the same scar as me. For whatever reason, they're not making you go through this little game of theirs." Lorym held up a hand to stop him. "If you dare suggest I stay behind, I will punch you. I stayed with you when you abandoned the knights, and I refuse to desert you now, not when you need my aid more than ever."
Oalei shook his head, a sad smile making itself visible on his expression. "I should've known..." He sighed again as he made for the entrance of the small tent. "Grab your coat and start packing everything up. When that's done, we're gonna take a trip into town, see if we can find any others."

He received a nod in response. "Alright. In the meantime, I'm going to grab my robe..."


Minutes later...


"What kind of god would demand so much suffering...?" Oalei had muttered to himself, shaking his head sadly as he arrived to the sight of all the people in town panicking. His sister didn't respond; He wasn't surprised, she never spoke terribly often in public. Even so, he could see just from the expression on her face that she was having similar thoughts.
And speaking of Lorym, any other time Oalei would've cast a perception filter on her or simply left her at camp. She was a highly recognizable figure and he hadn't wanted to risk someone recognizing her. Right now, though... He doubted anyone would really care, not with the panic going around. He just hoped that her lugging that hammer around wouldn't cause unease, she was intimidating enough without it. "They're all going to die... Many of these people look like they can barely stand against wild animals let alone hardened killers." He kept his voice low as possible for that particular bit of muttering; He didn't want to spread even more panic because someone overheard him.
E͎͖̯̱̻͡r̲͇r͢҉͈͚ò͈̹̰̩̺͓̝̘̟̕r̨̡̺̥̲̰͕̭̬:̵͙̦̟̮̖̯̞́͢ ̴̛̞̙͙̠̲̝̟S̵͎̼̖̜̯͕̺͔̀i̶͉̟̝̻͕̺g̢̤͕n̴͈̩̝͓͖̹͕̟͢a͕̺̱͞ț̸̛͓u̢̥̣̣̰̪ͅr̨̠͙̯̣̣̘̠ḛ̡̨̟̗̥̰̱̻ͅ ̻̮̼̥͕̼͉͎u͏͔̳n͏͔͈̭̭͟a̮͕͖̲͕͙͔ͅv̺̦̼̥̭͙a͏҉̦̺̫̯i̝̙̳̜l̴̡̳̥͠a̢̘̬͈͢ͅb̶̶̦͉͙́ḷ̸̙̙̳̩̥́e͔̪̳̦̫͚̪̹ͅ.͖̠̗͔̖̞ͅ

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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#5 Post by InceptionBwaaa »

Samos always awoke still tired. Nothing he did would help with that; no kind of magic could make him energetic in the morning, not cast the night before, and he was to tired in the morning to cast at all. He slept as he normally did, with a bedcloak draped over his arms. This morning, however, it lie on the floor. He picked it up and slipped in on, his ears adjusting to the clamoring from outside. He probed the streets lightly, sensing a very large crowd of people. He couldn't make out very many people in particular, but he recognized the energies of the mayor and the sheriff. He felt a bulge in the chest pocket of his bedcloak and grabbed it out. A note. He unfolded it and read, intrigued. Surely, this was a prank. He knew it was. Until he felt the fresh scar on his neck. His eyes widened and he quickly slipped on a cloak proper, rushing to check on his wife and daughter.

"Miranda? Rosalyn?" he cried. Receiving no answer, he nearly panicked. As he peered out the bedroom window and into the garden, he spotted something that confirmed his worst fears. He rushed outside to the still warm body of his wife, Miranda. Her feathers were coated with blood, and she did not breathe.

"Miranda! No!" He cursed himself a thousand times over for starting a family, risking the lives of the ones he loved. He knew he was a target of many organizations, but this Cazador? This had to be them. It was too coincidental. He stood, his entire form twisted by rage. He searched through the rest of the house desperately, searching for his daughter. As he entered his room, dread filled his heart. His daughter was not there. He cast the door aside, melting the handle. The wood caught fire, and soon his house was ablaze. He ran to his study and found every book on ancient cults that he could. Feeling the scar on his neck once more, he rushed out into the night to find a treetop to perch in.

_________________________________________________


He sat in the tree, having read through every book. Nothing said anything about the Cazador. They were relatively knew, he guessed. Either way, he would find them and destroy all of them. How dare they take his daughter, and kill his wife?! He took a flying leap from the tree, gliding towards the town. He landed on a rooftop, using a hookblade to dangle from the edge. He found himself returning to the burning remains of his home, and, to his surprise, found a few ape folk and a cat standing outside of it. They looked to be searching the wreckage. Probably for his corpse. He dropped down behind them, and braced himself. He let loose a few bolts of lightning that ripped through the air towards them. The men barely had time to react, and they were either dead or unconscious. He checked the insignia on their jackets. They were mercenaries, of the Lionclaw Company. He found inside one of their pockets a letter with a broken seal. He read it quickly.

Your orders are simple. After you've taken the child, kill the parents. Our clients are paying very handsomely for her arrival, and in one piece. Make sure that she is not harmed.

It was signed with an elegant B.

So.. these Cazador had not taken his daughter. Rather, they had somehow sliced his throat and returned him to his bed without rousing him, the very same day that his daughter and wife are taken from him. Well, he would have to pay the Lionclaw Company a visit. Wherever his daughter was, he would find her.

_________________________________________________


Rosalyn awoke to find her wrists bound, as well as her ankles. She was in a dark room, and she could hear water dripping in the corner. The iron bars that were the exit were guarded by two armed men, one of which was talking about his neck. He spoke of a note appearing in his pocket, and a shady organization called the Cazdon or something like that. She stood quietly, glad that there were no chains attached to her. She made her way over to the door, listening closer. She jumped back as she heard a loud bang, and splinters of wood came flying down the hall. The two guards brandished their weapons, but it was no use; one collapsed with an arrow in his head, and the other fell back. He didn't last long. The attackers continued down the hall, ignoring her. Once they were gone, she crawled back to the door. She was so close to the guard, and the keys dangled from his waist. She reached out, but was not close enough. She pushed the roped up her arm and tried again, her feathered fingers brushing the metal ring. It fell into her grasp, and she laughed. She stood up and unlocked the door, breaking her binds on one of the men's knives. It was a quick run to the storeroom, where she guessed her stuff would be. She was right; it sat atop a crate, and she grabbed it, slipping on the black robe and rushing outside. She leaped into the air, soaring over the walls of the compound. As she was home free, an arrow ripped through her wing. She faltered and fell, but she was already outside. She made a brisk run for it, escaping into the forest. She fell asleep in a treetop, holding her injured wing closely.
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#6 Post by Myperson54 »

The previous night, Gawain went to sleep with a troubled mind. He had a kind of instinctual sense that the peace he'd discovered in Gutesova would prove to be fleeting. He brushed it off as nothing more than worry over a horseshoe that was giving him trouble at the forge. Nothing more, nothing less.

This morning, he awoke to an insatiable itch, a scar, and a letter which fortold of his impending doom. There was also the issue of an upset-looking human woman standing in his house. "You- Caitria?" he sputtered unbecomingly, "I was under the impression that you were travelling to your hometown. Why are you back here?" He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, trying to bring himself to alertness more quickly, and his eyes drifted over Caitria's neck. It couldn't be - The mark! Gawain frowned with worry as he asked, "Caitria, tell me things are alright. Please."

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Caitria had set up camp maybe a day's travel from her hometown, somewhat excited about being back home after so long. She almost wished to see her mother again, despite all the nasty things Caitria would say about her if given the chance. That night she had trouble sleeping, not just because of excitement. Something was off, and it put her on edge. Eventually she fell into a light sleep and had what could only be described as a fever dream.

She awoke early in the morning the next day, to find her camp set up in the same manner she had the night before, but in a completely different location. She recognized her surroundings, finding herself to be in the outskirts of Gutesova. Amused, she sat up, thinking this another dream, before a tingling sensation akin to an itch made itself known on her throat. She scratched and felt pain, which meant this was not a dream and judging by the tender patch of skin neither were the events of the previous night.

Close to an hour later she entered Gawain's estate, the spare key right where she'd spied him stashing it in the past. Perhaps half an hour later Gawain himself awoke, and confronted her so to speak.

"Yes, it is I." Caitria murmured inbetween mouthfuls of stew. "If my estimates are correct, I was about a day's travel from my hometown last night. And now I am here. Curious, is it not?" She gestured towards the letter in his hand with her spoon. "Judging by the fresh scar that we share, I would assume we received the same letter as well."

She pondered the lizard's question for a moment before answering, quickly finishing the bowl of stew in the process. "I am well, if that is what you are asking. If it is not, then I do not know. The stew is lovely, by the way."

Gawain heaved himself out of his bed, using his tail to flip the sheets back into a bedraggled mess. Keeping his wings folded about him, he fetched some warmer garments. "Of course. My lamb stew is the best in the village. Now the mark, have you any clue what it means? I read the letter, of course, and I have no explanation for how I was branded without being awakened, but I am unsure as to how seriously I should take this."

"The mark... It is a ritual of sorts, from what I have heard. Rumors, mostly. I believe this has happened in the past, perhaps many times. Did you not dream? I did, and I believe it was not a dream, but the ritual itself. I think we were drugged. How or why that drug is not still effecting us, I do not know." Caitria sighed deeply, betraying her worry. She left the small bedroom and set the bowl and spoon down on a table, along with a couple other dishes that needed to be cleaned. "This should be taken very seriously, if nothing else these Cazador are a definite threat."

Just then, a loud bell rang out. The church bell, most likely. This early in the morning, it would only be ringing to call a town meeting.

"The bell? A town meeting, interesting. Perhaps we should attend?"

"Definitely," Gawain growled. He did not appreciate being toyed with.

As he'd come to learn in the next hour, neither did most of Gutesova; Almost everyone seemed to have this "Cazador" mark, and everyone was panicking over it. He lingered near the back of the crowd as he listened to the mayor and the Sheriff. His dream of lifelong peace had been shattered, but considering the circumstances, he was coping incredibly well. That is, until he heard the mutter of someone standing near him: "They're all going to die... Many of these people look like they can barely stand against wild animals let alone hardened killers." Gawain's eyes narrowed at this comment. "And those who abandon them at their time of need are no better than the murderers who have sentenced us all," he retorted.

Caitria had taken the time to get properly geared up, letting Gawain go on ahead. It didn't take her long to catch up, and she was at his side before he reached the crowd. She had wrapped a green scarf around her throat to keep the scar hidden, although that seemed unnecessary considering how many of the scars she had seen.

"Gawain." She nudged him lightly through her cloak to get his attention, speaking in a whisper that was just loud enough to be heard over the crowd. "This is hardly the time to be picking fights, though I have to agree with the man. I am afraid that there is not enough time to truly help the villagers, and if we stay to defend them we shall die with them."
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#7 Post by MrFlyingAmoeba »

Amelia stumbled, voicing her frustration and fear at the stranger as she whirled to face the much taller woman. “A ’course you weren’t, but I’m so thankful you decided to tell me, since I’m sure I wouldn’t have noticed, you-” Her mouth closed with an audible click, caustic expression twitching and then melting into vague warmth. Narrowed eyes softened to match a new, quieter tone almost lost in the unsettled crowd.

“One to another, then to the first again, of no importance but held dearly for a moment.” She gestured at her own throat, then to the unnaturally pale woman’s matching scar, silver shining on marble skin visible from her lower view. “Many hands make the load lighter.”
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#8 Post by Stryder221 »

Oalei only sighed. Damned nosy people end up hearing him anyway... He was just relieved it was a retort he got, and not something more upsetting. Like a punch to the face or outright shouting. Those would've caused a mess real quick, he was sure. "I'll be sure to remember that when my trying to help these people ends with my corpse being left to rot in the wild." He replied, barely even turning his head to look at who he was talking to. He paused briefly, realizing that his tone was more than a bit rude. "Ugh, sorry... I'd help if I could Outsider, believe me, but there are things I simply cannot do. Keeping these people safe somehow is one of those things."

'Though... Now that I think of it...'

"But... If the townsfolk gathered supplies now and left as soon as possible in one large group, then maybe..." He trailed off, and shook his head a second after. "And then there's a whole different set of issues for 'em... Not enough supplies most likely, too few capable guards, too many tracks left behind, the overall vulnerability... Damn it, no matter how I look at this situation, it seems hopeless! You'd need a miracle to keep even half of these people alive...! I can't-"

Before he could continue, the former soldier felt a hand on his right shoulder. Looking behind him, he saw the owner of that hand was his sister attempting to calm him down. He was going to cause panic at the rate he was going. With this crowd, one wrong comment could be disastrous.
"Right... Sorry. I guess I'm as anxious as just about everyone else here..." He said, more to Lorym than anyone else.

It was then that he realized another human had entered the conversation. As Oalei assumed this bearded man wasn't speaking to him in particular, he didn't respond.
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#9 Post by InceptionBwaaa »

Samos towered above the people of the town, not entirely to his benefit. Many noticed him, and a few even shoved him. He didn't care; the people could hate him all they wanted. His mind was numbed by the loss of his wife, and the only other thing he could focus on was the recovery of his daughter. He came upon two women having a seemingly one-sided conversation, before the speaker gestured towards her neck. His eyes widened as he saw a scar to match his, and another on the shorter woman. He continued along towards them, and was soon upon them. He spoke softly, trying to sound as unthreatening as he could.

"Pardon me, but I couldn't help but notice your matching scars." He tilted his head upwards to reveal his own lateral scar, and, looking back down, gestured in a friendly manner. "These Cazador -- and I do assume you got the note -- seem to be a most deadly, and secretive, foe. Perhaps..." he began. His eyes flitted to the taller woman. "...you are correct in that travelling together would make a more formidable target. If, of course, that is what you meant. My proposition is this: we do as the note says, and find these nodes. We eliminate any who stand in our way, and we survive. As is probably for the best, we should attempt to recruit more people to our cause." He glanced away. "Plus," he said, turning back to them, "it couldn't hurt to have a mage watching your back."
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#10 Post by Nikolai-097 »

Irritation flashed through Sei'lith. Getting the girl to do as it wanted was going to hard enough without interference from anyone else. It focused for a second moved toward the newcomer's thoughts looking to find something to take her away from Ta'vril. And it was unlike anything else it had seen in others' minds.Grind the wheat and be replete, a god of fulfilled lies and-Maybe if I...no, there's bound to be bandits once they panic, especially in that fat one over there, probably has more than one in him, hah! I need to-Ply the broken wing- There was a discontinuity here, a split of some sort and it was confusing enough to get Sei'lith to leave. Wary of a trap, it warned Ta'vril, "There is something...

A rank, rotted stench filled its essence. A sweet feeling, like returning home after a journey. A fleeting moment of briefly held enjoyment cut into Sei'lith as the bird creature neared the small group. It wasn't hard for Sei'lith to guess what this thing was: Necromancer. The creature was not unskiled in the art either. And certainly something that the girl would dislike, if not outright hate. At least a lever to use. Satisfaction and wariness in equal parts tinged the end of its sentence, it hoping that the girl had not noticed his momentary lapse. "...dangerous here girl. Do not trust the bird. Unwilling to step into the woman's mind again, the spirit could only sit back and wait for its carrier to decide how to react.

"Something dangerous? Like what?," Ta'vril asked. Sei'lith's voice filled her mind with wary fear regarding the Torlman that had approached the pair of women. For a moment she struggled with the strong urge to take a step back from them. The, with a deep breath, she wrestled her emotions under control. Sei'lith could access her thoughts and could sway her emotions to suit its purposes. just as she had mistrusted its urging her to run, now she mistrusted its warning about the Torlman. Could he be trying to isolate her by making her fear a potential ally? Or was his warning genuine?
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#11 Post by the red soldier »

The cowering man before it was scared witless, out of breath and incapable of screaming, of course that could have been the bone lodged in his neck. The creature known as Ysst simply looked at the man, contemplating what he was about to do. Oh, he wasn't having an attack of morality, just contemplating, for once, that he was probably making the man's end more painless compared to his newly carved necked fate. Of course, such fate was now his owned though that did not bother Ysst that much. A hunt is a hunt, be it man, beast or godly fanatics. Although these ones were more efficient then others.

Whatever thought went through his head, it dissipated from his head as the hunger came. The never ending hunger, always there, never gone, simply brought to more tolerable levels. Ysst current form began to melt, his pretty face and blond hair seemed to melt away as flesh and bone tore and shredded, seemingly hundreds of bottomless maws moaned in hunger. The feeding would not be delayed.


5 minutes later...

This man, he was called Brob, common name he thought, yes, this man would do for now. A farmer who had lost his wife months ago, kids died of ice fever years ago. Yes, this man would do. Going into the crowd, "Brob" slowly made his way through the festering pit of food... people, he was one of them again. Yes, just a normal person in a normal gathering... Wait this was no normal gathering, yes... that god thing again. Ysst, or Brob... almost forgot about that. This was going to be inconvenient for Ysst, cant a Ze-Hyst get a few decades of feasting and sloth to enjoy? Whatever, normal man, normal worries, Ysst must keep that at the forefront of his mind.

Anyone who actually knew Brob would have remarked on his seeming lifeless stare, his straighter then normal posture and the fact that he was not drunk. Ysst did not have the time to study his current form more then he was used to but luckily the man did not have many friends and no direct family that still lived. Nevertheless some colleagues seemed to have identified Brob through the masses. Coming next to him , they let out a booming shout of greeting, worry in there voices but they were doing there best to hide the fear in their voices. "Brob old boy! I didn't expect to see you out at this hour! You cursed to?" Cursed? Aahhh... yes... the mark... "Nobody has been spared that I know..." Brob said. "Seems everyone has had there necks cut..." Truthfully, Ysst did not even know the back story behind this neck slashed cursed god sacrifice thingamajig so he decided to play the town idiot, which Brob was well known for beforehand, luckily for Ysst.

Dismissing his "friends" without a word, Brob made his way to the front of the crowd and waved his hands in the air. "Scuse me Mr. Mayor!" Brob shouted. "I know this curse will sacrifice us an all that but why exactly are they sacrificing us for?" He quickly added another line only to play it even dumber. "I's we going to heaven or what?"
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#12 Post by Myperson54 »

Gawain harumphed in exasperation. "I have no desire to thrown away my life needlessly," he rumbled, "Yet there must be something I can do for these people. They have been extremely kind to me, and it would be dishonourable of me to simply leave them here to be slaughtered." He ruffled his wings in discomfort. Looking around the gathering, he could see a few other creatures who seemed capable of surviving on their own: A Torlman male, improbably tall (He probably had brittle bones, Gawain noted), sifting through the crowd; The small group of people near him who seemed capable enough; And although he was completely inept as a magic-user, Gawain had faced enough mages to know the icy grip of evil magic. There was at least one entity here which was undoubtedly powerful enough to take care of itself.

"However," he eventually grumbled in the general direction of the bearded man and the rest of the people around him, "One must pick and choose his battles. If these Cazador are indeed as fearsome as everyone believes, I doubt any of us will survive long individually. In the name of self-preservation, perhaps it would be wise to travel together."
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#13 Post by Geo_&_Bio »

The Witch and the Fairy shifted through the crowd to get closer to the stage where the mayor and the sheriff was trying to calm the town. All over the towns folk seemed to have some sort of arguments all over about what they are going to do, who will look after the children, who will tend the crops, who will charter the trade, ect. It wasn’t until Wal’nagga overheard a couple of unfamiliar voices and one slightly familiar voice talking about the wellbeing of the entire town, as if to save the entire town from this new frightening foe. The way they talked, she knew most of them were not from town and felt the need to intervene. “Those who wish to save everyone will be disappointed that they saved no-one; those who try and save what they can, will be astonished when they saved more than they realized. I would not trouble yourselves with worried thoughts of the towns folk. If you have spent the time in this town as I have, you would realize that these people can handle themselves rather well.” Wal’nagga added towards the group, trying to ease them. “There are probably enough spears, crossbows and harkbuses to arm everyone. I’m sure that combined with your strength keep the group alive much longer.” Wal’nagga assumed.

____________________________

The Mayor was interrupted by a rather blonde farmer looking man. He looked into the eyes of the man, it was scary and soulless. The Mayor leaned towards his sheriff in secret. “Sheriff, who exactly is that man?” He queried over the identification, unknown of the status of the man’s past behavior. “That, dear mayor, is Brob. He’s our local trouble maker, often intoxicated. I try and clean him up when I have the chance, but he will always find himself outside of bars inebriated beyond help.” The mayor gave a face of slight disinterest, “Ah,” he responded. “Well, Brob. If I truly had an answer, you’d been the first to know.” He then placed his entire gaze upon the crowd. “I truly don’t know why this is all happening, but I know something: We are strong.” The crowds panic seemed to die down. “We will arm ourselves and head out onto this pilgrimage; we will do this all together, for we are must stronger in a group than we are separately. Our sheriff will take the lead in helping us get to each point as specified and I will help with supplies. My first order is to head towards the armoury and grab spears, bows, whatever you need to use to help us on this perilous journey, and then we will take stock from the granary for food. Along the way, we will do whatever we can in order to make money in order to keep supplies going throughout the trip. I believe in every single one of you, and now you have to believe in yourself. We will need to leave today if we wish to beat these hunters at their own game.” The crowd was less panic-y at the situation, now. There were still some major concerns with the people, but perhaps the mayor will clear that up later.
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#14 Post by InceptionBwaaa »

Samos's head tilted lightly in the direction of the mayor as he made his speech. The idiot named Brob was familiar; he'd seen him stumbling through the streets before, and had even a confrontation with him once. It hadn't been pleasant. Samos did, however, remember one thing: Brob was always drunk, and the drunk had a particular was of speech. Today, Brob's drunk-dialect was different. Perhaps he's discovered fine liquor, Samos thought. He turned his attention back to the two women.

"The mayor's suggestion is a good one. You should proceed to the armory to get whatever you need. I'll follow behind, but I won't be taking anything; I find most weapons quite useless, and most often too heavy, and armor is a no for anything beyond leather." He looked around. "And you'd do well to get there fast."
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Re: The Pilgrimage: The Crusade Ablaze Act I

#15 Post by the red soldier »

These idiot foodstuff walking on two legs really thought of doing the pilgrimage in some united mass. Didn't they know anything about being hunted? A flock of clueless peasants will be spotted quite easily by the hunters that were surely coming as they organized this doomed march of theirs. Ysst however knew the value of a couple of meat shields, particularly as a distracting role if he was ever found by the hunters.

Looking around, there was clearly some warriors in there midst, probably a few magic users as well though Ysst is not one who can tell such things with a glance. If he could have his way, Ysst would hitch up with one of the inevitable warrior groupings that will probably form in the hours to come. Those kind of people tend to stick together.

However Ysst now needed a new body if he is to hitch to such a group. No one wanted a known drunkard as a survival buddy. No, he would need to find someone whom seems to know what he's doing and has decent equipment to boot. Some authority would be nice as well, its been a while sense Ysst has played the mayor or lord. And would you know it theirs a perfectly good sheriff who fits just that role. Now to be alone with the man...

"Oh gods! We's all dead men arent we?!" Brob said shouting. "Them hunters will kill all of us!" Like a man slowly realising his fate, Brob began to panic. Slowly at first but ever increasingly screaming and flailing around. Brob started screaming about dead families and starving children and how it would be merciful to kill said children now instead of letting them endure what is to come."None of us will survive!" He said, screaming now. "Ooh's among you ever heard someone survivin the pilgrimage?! None that I know! Never be done! WE'S ALL DEAD I TELLS YOU ALL!!!"
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