The Old Days

[Pink Peterbilt]

{closed}

Nestled between the high, jagged mountains of the dwarves and the long plains that stretched over Alerar, day came. The sunlight lurched over the crest of the mountaintops, and fell upon long-bleached cracked and fallen columns. Broken walkways where a labyrinth of halls once connected now-gutted rooms stretched around, silent and sleeping, though beneath the soil and foundations that time forgot there was a stirring. In dim torch-light, echoes of footsteps and the muffled whisper of voices flowed along underground tunnels. A flash of shadow here, the whisper of cloth there, beyond the skitter of rats in the burlap bound rice stores, and life was there.

In a corner of the tunnels, there lay a room lit not by the fiery torches, but soft orbs of blue spell. It lay empty of all but a simple round mirror, watched by none, but a sinister presence. Within the mirror, there lay a scene unlike the far end of the room, but another cavernesque chamber, fitted with a single spell orb and a straw filled mattress. The figure that lay upon it was feminine, long-limbed and gaunt. Her head was pillowed on a rush of golden hair, her body curled into a protective ball. Pale features looked nearly ghostlike in the unnatural light, only enhanced by the fact that she slept still and silent.

A knock broke the silence, and the door into the room swung open slowly, a Delyn clad knight bowing his way inside. His mail was polished to a sheen, an aura of respect and reverence reverberating from his body.

"My lord...." he stated, hitting one knee before the empty chamber. For a moment, it seemed as if the scene had paused, before the voice spoke.

"Besthemar, rise and tell me of your young apprentice." the deep, rolling growl echoed within the knight's mind. For a moment, the man had to re-compose himself before bowing even further.

"She is ready, m'lord."

"I understand that certain skills of hers leave something to be desired."

"Yes, sire. Her learning has been going slowly, but for this task, she is ready."

"Very well," the voice conceeded. "Wake her, and leave. You know your purpose."

"Yes, my lord." the knight said, crawling out of the room. When the door was once again shut, the presence turned it's attention back to the mirror. There where the girl had slept, the space was empty, the straw mattress lay abandoned. A small moment of puzzlement froze as a figure moved back into the space, stopped, and turned. Two eyes, cold as ice, stared as if she could see through space and into the other side of the mirror. The presence flared for a moment, and in it's mind, it knew that if it possessed a body, a chill beyond the cool air of the tunnels would have gone through it's spine.

[Taviri Ambria]

"Ex Xen Uus. Sanct Corp Jux,"* A figure said as he moved his hand in the traditional signs. As he said this he gestured to the man beside him holding a torch. The man nodded as he stepped forward lighting the funeral Pyre as others began to drop off the bodies of their loved ones. Many tears were shed as the bodies burned taking with them the plague that had settled upon the town. As the man nodded his hat hid his eyes from the view of the others before he turned, his coat swishing in his wake.

"Paladin Ambria, I must ask why you insisted on Last Rites when we had already done so," A voice behind him said. The priest sighed as he looked up to the heavens the brim of his at letting the fading rays of sunlight shine and reflect off his glasses. Nodding almost to himself he turned to face the speaker as he steadied himself for the storm.

The man before him was the village priest. He wore the vestments that came with a holy ceremony, and had around his neck a chain of beads that were believed to be linked to different prayers that could be intoned. While they were of a sect similar to the Seraphs of Sintyre, many of their key beliefs differed enough for the two to be at odds. As he moved to walk back into the town he spoke softly, trying not to further strain their bonds, "When many gods are asked to watch for the dead, it is assured at least one will answer."

"I would think that asking those that they prayed to would insure their patron gods acts to benefit them in the afterlife," The voice retorted. Taviri stopped as sighed softly before he turned and looked the priest in the eyes.

"You would assume much in the name of your gods, where I would assume only that unless the gods are frequently asked, will we know what they desire. You say a simplistic prayer is enough; I say speaking in Homanic is enough for the gods to listen. It is often these simple key differences that lead to wars over beliefs. Today, it is these key differences that show why our tenants of faith are so similar yet so divergent," Taviri said as he tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Ahh but paladin, you must understand, you are but a hunter. For you the Homanic Language is your only pathway to the gods. We ourselves know that the gods listen to every word we speak, and if we are faithful, will listen when we cry out to them. While you busy yourself with a dead language, we merely keep moving forward," The priest replied.

The hunter sighed as he replied, "Perhaps this is a discussion best left for a dinner table. The living is mourning their dead, and arguments over the gods that watch over them do not befit the tragedy that they have endured."

"I would agree Paladin, perhaps tonight you can join me for dinner," The priest said.

Bowing deeply the hunter said, "It would be my pleasure."

(*Ex Xen Uus. Sanct Corp Jux. = Raise up the freed spirit. Protect it from Death's Trap.)

[Pink Peterbilt]

At the edge of Death's town, two figures on horseback approached. One was the Delyn knight, a figure of shining darkness. The day was warm, almost an insult to the cleansing fire that was raging in the center of the town, and he'd removed his helmet several miles down the lane. He was handsome, strong features wreathed in dark hair and dancing hazel eyes. Those eyes were haunted, though his expression was merry as he looked upon his companion and apprentice.

"You know," he started. "my wife grew up in a little town like this. When I met her, the most important thing on her mind was getting far away from her town, to a big city. She wanted to move to Radasanth, actually, but when we first married I couldn't afford big city living. I never could give her that life, really." His comment died off, and he stared at the township gates as they approached.

The second figure rolled her eyes, the expression hidden in the confines of her hood. The cloak was beginning to bother her with the day's heat, but now that they were nearing civilization she felt that it was too late to remove it now. They were waved through by the lone guard who stood at the checkpoint, and as they made their way through empty streets, towards the square where smoke flowed upwards towards the clouds, Besthemar found his voice again.

"I guess we're just used to it now, because she's just fine with country living.....just fine. Of course, that's better for the boy anyway. You know, kids get into all sorts of trouble living in cities. It's better for him to learn a healthy way of living."

The main road took them to the left, away from the market to a place where there was less traffic and the cobbles weren't in quite the state of disrepair as they had been upon first entrance to the town. Anathema ducked her head to avoid an awning that was hanging lower than it should, and squinted as the tip of her hood caught against it and her face was revealed to the sunlight. With a sigh, she rode on, not seeing the point in replacing it - her compatriot's armor had already brought unwelcome attention on the both of them. The road took another turn and they found themselves at the edge of the square, still riding. A large pyre had been erected and bodies were being fed to it.

"The Plague...." Besthemar muttered. "Death is so unfortunate."

"Why isn't there a smell?" Anathema asked quietly, though the knight was so lost in his own thoughts that he ignored her. Her voice was easy to ignore, quiet and rarely used. Her eyes, however, were in far better shape, and at the edges of the funeral flames, she caught the taletale glow of magic. With a deep breath - one that she was thankful didn't smell of burning flesh - she urged her horse onwards, wanting to put the sight behind her. As her gaze moved back, intent on setting itself in front of her, she caught the stare of another.

A priest stood at the edge of the funeral, talking to a man who's features were hidden by a hat. His eyes followed her to the edge of the square, where the market tents began to hide her from view. After she'd dissappeared, he frowned, and turned again to the man he'd begun to lead away from the fires.

When the robed woman's attention again turned back to Besthemar, he was speaking with the innmaster, a look of anger on his face. His hands clenched, and she could see the jump in his cheek that began when he was threatening someone. Rolling her eyes again, she cantered up, catching the keeper's heated retort to whatever threat the knight had spit out of irritation.

"...you and the horse you rode in on! I'm telling you, I'm not taking any liability for anyone! You didn't see the fires? People have been dying here, and until this place is clean, I ain't taking any more comers. Every place in the town is like that!" Besthemar openes his mouth, but the woman laid her hand on her friend's shoulder. He stopped, looked at her and closed his mouth, letting his lips settle in a thin look of indignation.

"Do you know where we could find a place to stay?" she asked the keeper. "We've been riding two days with little rest, and we need our strength for the 'morrow." At this, the man's eyes softened, and after a moment he took her hand in his.

"Miss, I bet you're a right kind soul to deal so gently with the likes of this cretin here." Besthemar began to protest, but a look from Ana quelled whatever defense he had for himself. "I'll tell you what. I know of a clean place to stay, and I'll send you there provided you take my advice and don't stick around for more than a night. It's dangerous here, and we don't want travelers getting the same misfortunes as we've been dealt and taking it out past our gates, you understand? But down the way, there's the house of a priest, and there are spare rooms to be had."

Anathema left the knight bewildered in the walkway, clutching his helmet perhaps a bit too tightly as she was ushered in so that the innmaster could write the directions to the priest's house. When she returned, they mounted their steeds and began the weaving path to Father Juukan Teshlar's house. After several long moments of silence Besthemar turned to her.

"You never say anything, but you've got great people skills! I never knew... How did you change his mind so quickly?" Anathema replaced her hood and double checked the directions before turning down a narrow alley pass. As the knight opened his mouth to repeat his question, she looked over her shoulder at him.

"Men are all the same. If you know one, you know them all."

As they dismounted in a small yard and approached a door lit by the fading sun, Besthemar frowned. That was the trouble with Anathema, he thought. She answered questions without really telling anything about what she thought. As he reached up and knocked on the door, she settled in behind him without removing the hood of her cloak. It was something else that puzzled the man. She wasn't a goddess of any kind, no beauty that would launch ships, but she had nothing to hide. As he heard footsteps approach the doorway, he rubbed the top of his helmet with a sleeve, and put on a personable grin. After all, Besthemar liked priests. They liked a religious man, and the knight had a great deal to thank religion for.

The man who opened the door was clothed in vestaments, and Anathema was surprised that she was uncomfortable knowing it was the same man who'd caught her eyes in the town square earlier. He had warm brown eyes and black hair that was kept trimmed short. The long day had brought the shadow of stubble to his chin and his nose was crooked, as if he had been the type of boy to need his nose set after a fight or two. Those boyish days had gone, however, and now his eyes held a maturity and peace that hadn't come from alleyway rumbles as a teenager. After the knight explained their situation, the priest moved backwards to clear the doorway and grinned.

"There are spare rooms just up the stairs and another guest in the kitchen. I'm afraid a bachelor's cooking isn't the best, but it's warm and filling and the more the merrier."

As they entered the house, Anathema took one last look into the waning evening around them and hesitated as she crossed the threshold. The presence that she always felt around her seemed to diminish and she knew that despite the warnings of the innkeeper, there were other reasons she would not stay long in this place.

[Taviri Ambria]

They had walked home squabbling about this and that. However, no matter how much they squabbled, it only seemed to make them friendlier towards each other until finally the important questions were asked, "What made you a Seraph Ambria?"

Taviri sighed as he looked up at the sky his hat staying on despite gravity as he answered, "Father Teshlar-"

"Call me Juukan, we're almost married the way we argue..."

Taviri chuckled as he replied, "Juukan, its more to do with a debt than anything. My village had a demon arrive in it, Amiya the Corrupted...She left no adult alive in that small village with her passing. So, until I kill her and repay the debt of them rescuing the children of that village, I will continue to hunt for them."

"Vengeance is not yours to give Brother Ambria-"

"Please call me Taviri, you make me feel old with the titles..."

"Taviri, vengeance while a good motivator, is a horrible carrot to run before the horse. I would not suggest letting the bitterness of vengeance consume your heart. You are a good man Taviri, I would hate that to change when you finally get what you seek," Juukan said. Finally they reached the house as they entered. Taviri took off his hat in the interest of getting comfortable.

COmfortable seemed to define the house. While many things were slapped together, they were done in a way to make them comfortable for the user. The chairs lovingly tied together so they would hold, and a thick cloth placed over as a pad, the table held a table cloth and a few candles. This was just the first room of the house with many others coming and going into this very one. As Taviri moved through the house he heard Juukan shout, "Spare rooms in the back upstairs, and make yourself at home while I begin cooking!"

Taviri nodded as he moved upstairs making the trek. Taking the door farthest from the stairs he sighed as he dropped his pack upon the ground. Soon his hat and coat fell upon the bed before he stretched. The simple clothing on a man who wore leather bracers revealed in the room. Pushing the bridge of his glasses he made it to stairs again before he went down. Entering the kitchen he sighed before he saw the priest cooking while humming a small hymnal.

Taviri coughed before the Juukan turned and smiled saying, "Well you don't look quite so intimidating now. Anyway sit, rest, it must have been a harrowing journey to get here..."

Taviri chuckled as he said, "I merely was on my way up to Berevar to report in, which is all. I merely decided to delay in order to help..."

"Isn't that how it always is?"

Taviri nodded before a knock on the door was heard. Taviri's head snapped before he started to get up, "I think I'll get it..."

Juukan quickly pushed him down back into his seat before he said, "Taviri, if a demon were to show up now, we both would have felt it. Relax and just be patient. I'll answer the door..."

Taviri sighed as he nodded. Juukan then left him as Taviri began to sift through his thoughts. A brief conversation happened before he looked up seeing two figures enter the kitchen. Smiling he waved as he said, "Good evening..."

He then stopped as he saw who entered, and considered taking back his salutation.