Like The Wind... (Closed)

[Mordelain]

“Where is here exactly?” Mordelain mumbled. Her lip quivered with both trepidation and fever. The blood in her tired limbs was poisoned – Suresh’s fiery ammunition beautiful yet bane of the living.

Coradan stepped out of light and waved at the portal. Cocksure and demure, his tattoos came to life resplendent. The glow illuminated his piercing eyes, rugged skin, and sandworm platitudes. Like all the Tama, his presence in the room was god-like. Commanding armies of unseen with his voice the man brought Mordelain to her senses. She stood without the need for words. Spirits plucked her up on strings.

“Be wary, daughter,” Suresh warned. He erred on the side of caution even though he found himself easing from his troubles and warming to the man so presumed to be their enemy. “Snakes slither even when dead.”

The proverb of old wives and haggard bazaar merchants put the il’Jhain ill at ease. With shaky steps, Mordelain advanced. Out into the corridor illuminated she wavered. Immediately, her eyes narrowed, focussed, and flickered with realisation. She knew exactly where she was.

“Jihta!”

Her exclamation was undoubtable heard for miles, despite its entombment in the depths of Jya’s Keep. The word bitterly bounced buoyantly along the boardwalk and out into the great hall beyond. Like a scared pup, she scuttled make into the cell with strength renewed.

“What is it?” Suresh rose despite his bondage. “Mordelain!”

Sweating fear itself, the il’Jhain tried to calm her nerves. She balled her fists, wrapped in bandages bloodied and brittle. Coradan clapped and lit the room, sand flames dancing from torches in long rusted brackets. The fire was grainy, but warm and nourishing.

“We’re in the Keep.” Coarse words cut deep.

“When your colleague shot you I had to bring you to the one place in Fallien equipped to contend with such wounds.” Coradan circled Mordelain, inspecting her recovery in the light of half-formed day. He had done the best he could with the guidance of his spies in the ranks of the priestesses. “To keep you safe whilst I sourced the lightning stone, I had to disguise you as enemies of state.” Enemies of state were not gifted death as a reprieve from their crimes.

“So unchain me,” the merchant spat.

“Gladly.”

Coradan did not look at Suresh. He raised a fist, conjured a staff, and drove its end into the dirt. A lash of soil given structure shot across the chamber. It darted behind the merchant, entered the lock like a thief in the night and undid the chains. They fell to the floor like the severed heads of a fallen hydra.

“The stone?” Mordelain heard whispers in the recesses of her mind. The Void, the space between worlds was reaching out to her. Like the wind, like the sand, and like the seas of Fallien…this seemed right. This seemed natural. This seemed like an alliance forged of necessity, good, and fate.

“You’re not considering listening to this madman?” Suresh armed himself with a cocked pistol.

[Mordelain]

Mordelain showed the merchant she was sincere by staring down the barrel of his gun. The memory sparked in her mind like an unwelcome guest. Her shoulder twanged with pain and regret and instinctively her fingers probed the seeping wound.

“Odd sentiment, given the only one here who has brought us harm is you.”

Coradan and Suresh stared at one another furiously. Had Mordelain not been present she was sure a shot then a curse would be his answer. Suresh dead a moment later, returned to sand and the state of being the Radar call ‘Stasis’. She would have found him the next day, oblivious to his trials and eager to make a dishonest days wage in the spice bazaars.

“I will pull the trigger myself with the barrel pressed against my temple. Will you be happy with that, should I as much as sneeze?”

“There will be a long line, I assure you.”

“It’s just all too convenient. How did you know we were looking for a stone?” Folding his arms the merchant slipped the pistol beneath his bellowing robes and stood resolute and bitter as ever. Little could please Suresh, save Mordelain’s laughter, date wine, and profits.

Coradan, a man with all the answers, twirled flamboyant. He walked forth, like a god amongst believers and disappeared into the room beyond the cell. Mordelain, assuming he was taking lead, practically dragged Suresh with her amidst painful limps. Sodden hair, mucked cloth, and grime her still regal attire.

“The Cult is less than secretive about its attempts to infiltrate the Hydroclast network. I have monitored the towers for centuries. Rebuilt them. Maintained them. Improved them.” Arms outstretched, Coradan pointed at the different machinations that hung from the rafters and stood atop frames and steel trees on display.

The workshop beneath the Keep appeared abandoned. Jya, perhaps in her foolish ‘wisdom’, had once experiment with the technology once promised to bring peace and eternity to the once verdant metropolis. Though the dusty machines themselves appeared in working order, the tools that tinkered were not. Rust. Ruin. Rage. An endeavour given up to faith’s fickle fallacy.

“Instead of challenging them directly I chose subterfuge.” He turned centre of the workshop and waited for Suresh and Mordelain to catch up.

“To what end?” she asked.

Curling lips into cruel smile, the Exile set his staff at ease at the centre of the ancient glyph set into the stone. It was worn, paced and prodded by pedants and priests countless times over the centuries. Try as they might, only a Tama could wield the power contained within. It was the Troubadour symbol for key – success came only with a birthright all but extinguished from the universe.

“I wished to find an answer to an age old problem. How to restore the network once and for all.”

“Like Suresh said,” she said softly. Her eyes, piercingly strong despite her weakened state besieged Coradan’s confidence. “It is all too convenient.” The glyph ignited at her doubt.

[Mordelain]

Wrapped in light and purpose Coradan worked the mechanism with his staff as rod of command. He pointed up into the shadows. Something stirred and whirred. Mordelain and Suresh turned their attentions as instructed and settled sights on a distant blue star. It grew. It grew again. Down on chains, a blue sphere akin to the ones atop each of the towers set all across the desert island.

“They tried to activate it without the Orrery. When they did, I drew to it. Within its sphere, celestial and clear, a memory.”

With a mental push Coradan made clear they were to move away from the glyph and the ebb and flow of energy that ensorcelled his body – he was conduit as much as controller. Life and death in his hands. Sand evoker.

“I saw in that imagery a tall, red haired woman and her bulwark father figure.”

The stone came to ten feet above his head. It seemed to be working, but Mordelain was not certain if it illuminated by his magic, or its own. It was magnificent all the same.

“’Bulwark’?” Suresh snapped. He bit his lip when Mordelain shot him a glare. He took a deep breath, to calm his nerves, and settled on a draft of liquor from a gourd the il’Jhain had yet to confiscate.

Dropping his guard, gaze, and gallantry, the Exile released the spell. The glyph faded, and with it the veins of magic that operated the various tools and hidden depths of the Keep. Mordelain was certain other edifices of ancient technology hidden in trapdoors, cupboards, and corridors. One day, when this particular mystery became mystery no more, she would return.

“It showed me a battle. A war waged in secret, save for the final death throes of the enemy.” He clapped his hands. A single tendril of sand writhed out of his shoulder and seeped upwards to the stone. As though it were wary, and sentient, it teetered between touching and cowering from the thrumming artefact.

“I like the sound of this,” Mordelain said. All too ready to hear of her success.

“I am afraid it is not all triumph and testimony through the ages, dancer.” Mordelain narrowed her gaze at him at the use of a belittling title, but he continued all the same. “I will show you what I saw. I will give you what Reva Featherblood denied you. I will allow you to take this stone, lost to the Hydroclast Network for zealot’s inquisition.”

Silence.

“What will you want in return?” Mordelain folded her arms across her chest, despite the pulled muscle tightening around the bullet like a death grip. “You always were…mercantile.” A flash of malice brought illumination to her for once. Charisma became her weapon, not his, for just long enough.

“I want you to tell me that you want to truly attempt what you intend to attempt. Ask me to see the future. Ask me, Mordelain Saythrou, to admit that I was wrong.”

“Admit you’re wrong.”

[Mordelain]

A lonely mountainside but not alone. Below, a vein of silver concurrent with the skyline. Its apex a jade opal, shining in the glare of the spring’s zenith – sun unrivalled in ferocity or beauty. Flanked by tulips and guarded by poppies, Mordelain Saythrou watched in hope. Dead trees, dirty ground, and golden leaves were her thorns, a brow beading with sweat and suffering and blood. She, the martyr, had sacrificed much to look upon this Eden. This paradise. This sanctuary.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

The bulwark figure of her mentor shifted on the log. They had perched on the fallen sycamore hours ago, and not buttocks ached and spines groaned beneath the weight of indecision. The mountains that rise up from the tributary had begun to lose their splendour, lustre, and lucre. On the edge of vision, mists obfuscated peaks grand and pious pinnacles. Sun, crashing through clouds churned the heavens into ambrosia butter: red, gold, and yellow, orange, eggshell.

“You have searched for these people for centuries my daughter.” The flat tone was dismissive of her emotions and entirely to the point. The merchant looked down at the valley. He followed the river from eastern view to western panorama, and settled on that green and pleasant land.

From this high the people there were miniscule. Black specks crawling through grass like insects. North of the field a camp: tents, no more than canvas canopies to chide the wind for interfering. Mordelain imagined the Tama would paint symbols of old upon the walls. Tama wards and glyphs against the supposed evils of the wilds. She chuckled, leaving Suresh pious and alone in his conviction.

“I searched for an answer, not a people.” Goosebumps on skin. Hair eschew. At peace, the planes walker rose. “I wanted to know if I was truly alone.” She was not. The valley was testament enough to that. “Still, I feel lonely.” Suresh her mentor, Fallien her home, and the desert full of her people Mordelain felt torn between a step forwards to the unknown and a step back to the familiar.

Looking at the pine slops beyond the river, Suresh could see why such a realm would intimidate even an il’Jhain. Though no harpies haunted and harried the skies, no doubt new dangers awaited them if they chose to climb down the descent and travel along riverbank to the Bedouin’s camp. He took a deep breath. The air was refreshing, a cold snap of conscience to the soul.

Mordelain took to tightening her belt, straps, and wits. Her auburn hair was ablaze against the turn of winter and autumn’s end all around. Evergreen in the folly, the mountaintops were becoming a barren shrub land. Only the flowers, specks of blue, red against a brown, and slate backdrop reminded her she was near life; love rotation.

“Only one thing will put me to rest.” Her decision came with the appearance of the sun proper. The sky ignited. Heaven descended as she did.

[Mordelain]

The sand tendril retreated into Coradan. Mordelain breathed heavily. Sweat poured more profusely from her brow and down her back with the strain of portent. Suresh, uncertain what witnessed dropped to his knees. His eyes glazed. His heart raced. His body broken.

“I.”

Coradan frowned. “The death of Jya will lead you on a journey spanning worlds.”

“I…didn't ever.”

“You, Mordelain Saythrou, will overcome the stigma levied at our people by the people of the Kalithrism.” Truth seemed to permeate the chamber. Each of Coradan’s mounting statements elevated the dim sense of hope that buried itself in the recesses of her heart.

“Why would Jya’s end make this come to pass?”

Taking it upon himself to elaborate, the sand mage utilised his skills to conjure facsimiles and animalcules of the priestess and the people close to her. As they danced like puppets, he became animated and excitable. Like a troubadour proper, he brought the story to life, literally and metaphorically with words and wonder.

“People freed from Fallien. Trade brought to shores. Days of old rekindled in ancient, withered ruins.” Flute song bounced into being. Mordelain smiled a childhood memory sparking. “One death,” he paused, to scatter Jya to the shadows. “Thousands of lives.” Hundreds of statuesque citizens appeared life-size about the Exile.

A hundred souls, eyes lifelike and staring caused Suresh to scuttle back and feebly take aim. His hand shook, his eyes tired, his worldview crumbling. Coradan did not attempt to defend himself. The desert robes of his ensemble flickered in an unseen, tepid wind. Warmth filled the chamber. Prospects. Hope. Continuing his enunciation of tomorrow, the sand mage trilled.

“Pariah though you may become in days ahead my child, all the same, a lonely daughter wandering winds wayward worlds in wicked wonder.” He bowed, and the crowd bowed with him. When he righted himself, the people cascaded into minutes of music, and then dunes. Coradan turned. Fallien’s landscape mimicked on the floor.

“Away from the desert, once crossed in earnest, I assume?” She smirked. This was a prophecy spoken by Bedouin and bandits for decades. One woman to lead the people to new horizons. They all believed the woman was Jya. In truth, it was. However, it was Jya’s death, not the many lives she led that brought courage.

Coradan walked over the desert. His feet made light work of the dunes, soon crushed to footprints and long-forgotten beauty. With his back to them, he began to fade.

“Where are you going?” she pleaded. Cut from the heart of artistry, she found herself exasperated, separated, and alone. Disconnected from the Void filled only by the search for her people.

Coradan said only one word as he set the Tower of Ghubar into the ruins of Fallien of Old. It pierced the stone and rested tree-like feet away. His robes formed blackened wings. His eyes, star like, cast torchlight through the chamber’s darkness as though guiding her honest way.

“Junkyo.”

To be continued in Soul of the Somnambulist...

[Quentin Boone]

Thread Title: Like The Wind...
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Mordelain

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Plot: 20.5/30

• Story- 7/10

The story was a solid one with enough intrigue and mystery to keep the reader hooked. It also did a good job of linking past and future to make the reader interested in older threads and looking forward to future ones. The only downside to the story was the lack of a real cllimax; there was the final reveal, true, but it didn't feel impactful enough to quite make the story complete. While the story does continue in a subsequent thread, following the usual plot structure for 'episodes' will make your score higher here.

• Setting- 6.5/10

In the early half of the thread, setting is very well described and utilised multiple senses to really bring the desert of Fallien to life. The effects of setting on your character were also well used to help bring their environment to life. Towards the middle of the thread, this started to die off a little. Description was lacking in explaining the Orrery, which made it difficult to really envisage how it looked. The final scene in the cell also felt lacklustre - the room was difficult to picture and it was hard to place your character's positions within the room.

Description was there, but didn't really immerse the reader in the same way as the earlier parts of the thread.

• Pacing- 7/10

Mostly, the thread moved at a reasonable pace - it wasn't too slow and generally didn't move too fast. The score here was hurt due to two things: Firstly, the Orrery flashbacks/forwards were a little jarring and didn't have real transitions to and from them. Secondly, the time jump from the encounter with Coradan to the cell felt rushed and out of place in a thread that mostly ran in 'real time'.

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Character: 23/30

• Communication- 8/10

Spoken and unspoken communication were both used near-masterfully. The reader got a real impression of the characters through their communication. Coradan's speech took on a tone that really emphasised his age power. A higher score was missed however because it felt like the characters, especially Suresh, would have a very foreign-sounding accent and it would have been good to highlight this through the writing.

• Action-8/10

Actions were used effectively to bring characters to life and really show their interactions one with another. Little details really added colour to the writing, such as Mordelain trying to get up in the cell towards the end. Having Suresh pull the trigger on Mordelain was a fantastic use of showing, rather than telling, his current state of mind. A higher score could have been achieved here had that 'trick' been used more often so that actions showed emotion a little more, rather than simply telling the reader.

• Persona- 7/10

An excellent job was done of bringing the characters to life. Relationships were brought to life and the reader got a good feel of how Morderlain and Suresh viewed each other, and the complex relationship between Mordelain and Coradan. The only thing that didn't ring true was Mordelain's very swift transition from murderess intent and distrust toward Coradan to trusting everything he said. On that note, however, Suresh's maintained mistrst and hostility towards the sand mage was a real highlight and only added emphasis to the father-daughter-like feelings.

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Prose: 20/30

• Mechanics- 6/10

Mechanics were generally fine, but there were a few stand-out errors that repeated throughout the thread. There was a few places where words were missing. Commas were also missing in various places - they were used to 'open' the start of an additional clause in a sentence but the 'closing' comma was often missing. An example of each follows:

South, which is the road Mordelain trod along was the ragtag assortment of strange architectures and tradesmen called the Outlander Quarter.

There should be a comma after 'trod along'. This would properly separate the additional clause and make the sentence much clearer.

Coradan shook his disapprovingly.

Should have been 'shook his head...'

There were other minor spelling and grammatical errors that would easily have been spotted with a thorough proof read. Without these errors, a much higher score would have been achieved.

• Clarity- 7/10

Most everything in the thread was clear. The score was hurt by the points raised above about Setting and Mechanics. If these weren't present, a near-perfect score might have been awarded.

• Technique- 7/10

The writing was peppered with enough imagery to give it real flavour and flair without feeling bogged down by metaphor. Other devices were used really well, especially during Coradan's almost-prophetic speech towards the end of the thread - the word and sentence structure choices there really brought home that he was a troubador.

There was also a definite comfort in personal style, and while the slightly 'heavier' prose carries a sophistication that speaks of older writings, it can sometimes be too heavy. This occasionally slows down the reading and distracts from the content more than is intended. If the prose was made even only slightly lighter, an equilibrium would be reached that keeps the same tone without detracting from everything else.

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Wildcard: 7/10
I really enjoyed this thread - the story was interesting and gave a good insight into Fallieni history and origins. I especially enjoyed Coradan's little speech at the end - it reminded me of Thom Merrilin, from The Wheel of Time, telling stories in 'High Chant'.

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Final Score: 70.5/100

Member Link receives:

• 2961 EXP!
• 297 GP!

Congratulations!

As it currently stands, you don't yet meet the requirements of the mission. You have found the artefact, but have yet to steal it and escape unnoticed. If this is covered in the sequel thread, please reference this judgement which confirms you infiltrated The Keep without being noticed or killing anyone, so you can be considered for the rewards.

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!