AC 2021 Round One: Team Two

[Storm Veritas]

The sun rose over the easterly seas and poured over the canopy of the wizard’s tent, first with a gentle glaze of red and then orange before he rose. In truth, he’d slept terribly; his back ached from the humble lodging. His eyes were long open and had been waiting for the sun. He’d packed a tight parcel for the road, but elected to leave the horse home; it had occurred to the electromancer more than once that while Attila would be murder on his back this morning, his legs would benefit tremendously from not walking the forty miles of cold and bumpy plain that lay before him.

But the horse was no damned good on the water. He would have been more trouble than he’s worth.

It was pride reckoning with his bad decision, and pride had won so far. Stepping out from the small tent, he quickly produced his cherrywood pipe and lit up a pinch of tobacco. It was very soothing to feel the warmth rocket into his lungs; the cold air he mixed from the biting chill of the morning winds smoothed out and calmed him. The air around his tent took on the pleasant aroma of pipe tobacco, and a cloud of light gray smoke surrounded his head before dissipating. The dry, cold air stung his bare chest as he allowed the mild pain to bring him alacrity and focus.

His eyes were pulled into a squint as he saw others begin to emerge from their tents; the local tavern was overfilled and the traveler opted not to overpay for lodging. Presumptively, Leoric or Sorian may have bedded some of the bar flies; Storm was still plenty drained from his travel on the seas. Besides, his focus today was on the road ahead.

Stay with them. Elite will keep the little flocks away; the girl will probably guilt away any of the mid-range scoundrels. Of course, if there are any REAL shitheads on the walk, they’ll come to her, but that will be a quick end.

Smirking at the notion of dispensing justice, Storm held his left palm over his cheek. Tiny tendrils of white-blue electricity rocketed rapidly against his face, emitting a faint smoking smell as he incinerated his whiskers. Rolling the palm around his jawline, he was “shaven” perfectly clean within moments. This time his parlor trick was simple efficiency, as no one was watching to behold the wizardry. Brushing the ash from his face, he took another draw from the pipe and pulled a fresh shirt from his satchel. He’d be dressed in minutes; the day would draw long.

The sun had barely risen above the treeline before his tent had disappeared into a bundle of sticks and canvas within his satchel, secured over the shoulders of his pristine leather trench coat. His sun-bleached and gray speckled hair was wetted and pulled tight against his head, and he looked as if he had just stepped forth from a day spa. Rolling his head to the side, a few dutiful pops brought relief to his neck and shoulders. A long draw from his large (and heavy!) water satchel was refreshing, as he used a horse-hair toothbrush to wipe away excess tobacco and bits of the mint sprig he had chewed to freshen his breath. A quick expectoration left him feeling clean and ready for the day.

~~~~~~~~~~

The tavern was opening; he entered to grab some more food for the road - extra salted meats and dried bread, as well as a few citrusy fruits to keep scurvy at bay. Leoric had beaten him to the bar and looked very ready, sipping on coffee with eyes that darted about the room, soaking in information. Approaching pleasantly, Veritas began the day by greeting the strapping young fellow with a wave.

“Sleep well? Going to be a long one!” His effortless greeting was met with something equally friendly and yet noncommittal. He hadn’t been able to get a read on the swordsman; it was likely the entire group was still sizing Storm up and deciding if they trusted him or not.

Both of which are fair and shrewd; still have work to do.

Regardless, the adventurer held his pack tight as he hoisted it back upon his shoulders. They made small talk about nothing as he observed the bustle all around them. He saw the looming Elite outside with the Sorian fellow that confused him so. The girl had also appeared from the dock area, looking a bit forlorn but remaining quiet.

It was Cazri that greeted the tandem quickly; she had emerged from the quarters above via the sturdy teak stairs that led down to the back of the first floor within the tavern. She was packed and ready, and eyed the tandem with a judgmental gaze.

“Old man, you look like you are ready for City Council. I hope the Crown wasn’t foolish in sponsoring you, but you’re packed a bit light for the road ahead.”

Perfect, then. Mission accomplished.

The diplomat looked indeed like a naive, novice world traveler, and none would see the daggers tucked behind his hips or think twice of the small bag of little metal balls by his thigh. Onlookers wouldn’t see the calluses formed under his dress boots, shoes which were heavier for travel for the metal soles that afforded him flight. None would notice the agonizing creaks from his back, or the other signs of age beyond crows feet and some white hairs. The uninitiated certainly wouldn’t know of the horrible magics that existed within him. If they learned of these abilities, it was likely too late for them.

“Sweetheart, do me a favor and worry about yourself, or help keep an eye on the girl. I’ve got -socks- older than her, and have been to far worse places than Alerar.” A cunning grin snaked across his face as he touched her shoulder, the contact not unwelcome as the silver fox began the slow predation.

After fifteen minutes of formalities and double-checks, the group was on the move. The sun lit the plains behind them, and in fact they were the first from the harbor to leave in the morning. They began the long march northwest from the port to the reported portal, still largely strangers thrown together in this strange land. What lay before them was a horror for a later day.