The Scorched Lands
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Exotic Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Galactic Druid on 29-12-2013, 09:59:38</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Galactic Druid</strong> on <strong>29-12-2013, 09:59:38</strong>
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				"Spread out boys! Don't give 'im anywhere to run! We'll 'ave his back to the wall when we hits the veil!" Risni didn't need to look back over his shoulder to know the bandit's men were heeding his words. He could hear it in the crunch of their heels on the scorched sand behind him. It mattered not, if they felt they had him cornered against a wall at the edge of the forest, they were in for a surprise. He just had to keep moving. His pursuers had chased him all the way to the edge of the wastes, out of the canyons and crags and ruins that surrounded the crater and into the vast expanse of sand. At the very least, he could his forest, as well as the thin strip of plains that separated it from the wastes. It seemed to grow smaller every year, and he could only wish it was because the forest was growing.<br><br>Behind him, Risni could hear chanting. Planting his next step into the ground hard, he braced himself and jumped to his side, hitting the ground running as best he could, trying not to loose too much momentum as the bolt of flames shot past his left shoulder, singing the dried leaves that camouflaged his armor, turning the brownish grey to a dark black. The sand a few feet in front of him exploded with the impact of the flame, some melting into a smokey, molten mess.<br><br>At both his left and right, Risni could make out men closing in on him, the one to his right swinging a length of rope tied to a heavy iron ball. He'd already taken a few hits from it, though the thick leather under the dead leaves helped to pad it, and he had been careful enough to avoid being caught in the rope. They'd been chasing him for leagues, the entire way from the edge of the canyons where he unwittingly had walked past their camp. He was out of his element in the wastes, his comfort with his own abilities made him far less cautious than he should be in areas where they couldn't be used.<br><br>"There's nowhere to run, now!" The leader shouted at Risni as they hit the end of the sand. The wastes ended as quickly as they began, the plains springing up everywhere that magic hadn't scorched, with his own home just beyond. "The Veil will offer 'ye a worse death than we ever could!" For most, is was true enough. The guardian beasts and fae of the Wooded Veil showed no mercy for those that disrespected the sacred forest, and were especially quick to make reminders of humans who disrespected it or even dare tread inside. Many tribes had attempted to hunt it's bounty or pluck it's trees, and often, the examples made of them were enough that each tribe rarely tried more than once. For all these bandits knew, Risni was far better off in their hands. "Stop all peaceful like and we'll make it quick!" their leader bellowed. On fair ground, they'd be all the harder to outrun.<br><br>Sure enough, Risni came to a stop, turning to face his pursuers. For a brief moment, he and the leader simply stared at one another, Risni catching a deep breath as he pulled the loose strands of dark black hair from his face aside, the leader of the raiders simply looking dumbfounded, as did most of his men, than his 'promise' had seemingly worked. "Decided to stop running then?" he finally bellowed, breaking the silence, the mage to his left already beginning another incantation.<br><br>"No more need." Risni replied plainly, his tone empty, neither sarcastic nor jovial. He was simply stating a fact. Dark blue eyes scanned each of them men in turn as each of them began to shake off their confusion and advance. With a few steps back, he took in one last deep breath. The feel of grass under his feet once more, the freshness in the air, the forest to his back... it was all... invigorating.<br><br>"The hell is this?" The man formerly to Visni's right demanded, startled enough to let his own iron smash into his leg. As Visni stood there, the dead leaves that covered his armor had begun to turn, first to all hues of yellow, orange, and red before darkening and turning a vibrant green. A modest wind swept in from the direction of the veil, tossing his braid up over his shoulder, the ground trembling around them, causing the raider's caster to lose his footing and fumble with his spell.<br><br>"It's the avatar of the Veil!" one man shouted, turning to flee back to the sands, basely crossing the edge of the plains in time. With an unnatural swiftness, Risni plunged his fist against the ground. Massive vines and roots tore up from under the plains, snaring and tangling all those around him, snaring all but the one who made it back to the sands. The caster who had lost his footing never had a chance to stand back up, and found himself trashing against the vine at his neck as he coughed and struggled to breathe.<br><br>Taking a step forward, Risni pulled his bow from his back. He had long since run out of arrows before he had even ran across the raiders, though that too was no longer a problem. As made his way towards one of the bandits, grabbing an arrow from his quiver, a small bush was already sprouted and blossoming at his foot, bearing a dark purple fruit which Risni jabbed at with the arrowhead before notching his bow, pulling back the heavy string, almost half the length of himself, with ease, releasing after only a moment's aim, striking the runner in the back, sending him topping to the ground, going into small spams without ever standing again.<br><br>"What do you want?" The leader of the raiders begged, barely able to hold back the vine that had crept up along his body and was currently coiling around his neck.<br><br>"To return home in peace." Risni replied simply. "It was you who attacked me, after all. You brought this upon yourself. All over this..." Risni reached into his pouched, pulling out a shimming piece of crystal, suspended in a coil of silver without ever actually touching any part of it. "An artifact? One you didn't even find yourselves. You're willing to fill your own kind over gaining a trinket?" The leader didn't answer, though it was more likely because of the vine tightening at his neck. "Had you have just let me go, I'd of done the same. Instead, you had to threaten me and my-" Risni cut off, gripping his chest with his hands and groaning in agony, falling to his knees, nearly doubling over in pain as he turned about. One of the bandits Had managed to get to his weapon, hacking away at the roots that gripped him. With each swipe, Risni, winced in pain. The raider wasted no time catching on; what the roots Risni had called felt, Risni felt, from the pleasant glow of the sun to the pleasure of another's touch, to the sudden pain of being severed. It was all he needed to turn the tide, raising his weapon once more. "Stop!" Risni demanded, the vines wrapped around both remaining bandits suddenly bursting with thorns that grew from their stalks within moments. It was far more than they could bear, the weapon hitting the gross with a soft thump with one last wince from Risni, before everything went silent, aside from the sound of the breeze from the woods, and the chirping of passing birds. Slowly, Risni got to his feet, staggering with his first few steps as he made his way to the veil. At last, he was home again.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aadreal</strong> on <strong>29-12-2013, 19:50:38</strong>
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				She was crying again.&nbsp; The woman that Riest followed, the woman that always seemed just out of reach and barely visible.&nbsp; Pinpricks of light blanketed the sky, providing a glow the sliver of moon failed to generate.&nbsp; Even still, the sand was dark, always so dark.&nbsp; Despite the darkness, heat from the day burned at her bare feet and hands as she tried to struggle up the dune.&nbsp; Falling back as the loose sand shifted and slid, sending her further from the woman she desperately needed to reach.&nbsp; Every sob tore at Riest’s heart, physically paining her until it was near debilitating.&nbsp; <br><br>“Please.&nbsp; Please, Mother!&nbsp; Help me!&nbsp; Guide me!”&nbsp; Calling out to her goddess, the shroud wrapped priestess continued to struggle, sinking deeper and deeper into the dune.&nbsp; Sand found its way under the wrappings, grating against her skin until she was sure it would be rubbed raw.&nbsp; But still Riest struggled.&nbsp; The cries grew distant, the ever elusive woman moving deeper into the Waste.&nbsp; Always moving away from Riest.&nbsp; She just needed to find the woman. Needed to quiet her tears, then all would be better.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Panic began to replace despair as the pressure built on her legs and then her hips.&nbsp; She was sinking faster and faster, no matter how she struggled.&nbsp; “No! No!&nbsp; Don’t leave me!”&nbsp; Up her stomach and chest, tightening like a vise.&nbsp; “No!”&nbsp; Granules spilled into her open mouth as she screamed, no longer able to move, to struggle.&nbsp; Drowning in a sea of sand, eyes ever skyward, looking for some sign of her goddess’ favor.<br><br>Something brushed against her leg, something that shouldn’t be there.&nbsp; Then it happened again, harder, sharper.&nbsp; Breaking Riest free from the tormenting dream with a start.&nbsp; Heart pounding, the young priestess jerked away from the offending boot that had nudged at her leg, trying to remember where she was and why.&nbsp; <br><br>“We leave now.&nbsp; If you come, you come now.”&nbsp; The Wastelander’s accent was thick, telling just how far he was from his normal hunting ground.&nbsp; Looking up in time to see him turn away, Riest simply nodded, not yet trusting her voice. The dreams were getting stronger the more time she spent out of the Wastes.&nbsp; Taking in several deep breaths of cool air, the woman looked through the pre-dawn gloom.&nbsp; She’d slept outside, unable to bear the thought of being confined in a stifling building.&nbsp; Merchants were starting to set up their wares under flickering torches, caravan masters calling for their people.&nbsp; There would be several hours before the heat of the day chased everyone back inside.&nbsp; <br><br>Rising stiffly Riest followed the retreating Wastelander, listening to the rise and fall of the various tongues such a place attracted. She was lucky, this tribe did not know what she was or didn’t care.&nbsp; Either way they were happy to take her gold as well as have a healer along for their next journey.&nbsp; From what little she’d gathered they were heading deep into the Wastes, seeking treasures from the time before.&nbsp; Exactly where didn’t matter to her, she just needed to get deeper than she had been.&nbsp; Needed to find what called to her.&nbsp; <br><br>Cramped muscles protested as she rose, the pack she carried made for poor bedding.&nbsp; Pulling her waterskin, she took a small sip, just enough to rinse the taste of grit from her mouth.&nbsp; The dreams were too real, tasting the sun blasted sand that threatened to choke her in her sleep.&nbsp; The Wastelanders were finishing their final preparations, securing the last of the supplies.&nbsp; “I’m coming.”&nbsp; Calling out so she wouldn’t be left behind, Riest hurried as best she could through the growing crowd.&nbsp; The eastern gate was difficult to miss and was where she found the caravan master shouting his crew into movement.&nbsp; Unseen through the high walls, the sky began to lighten to the east.&nbsp; <br><br>The Wastes were a varied place, hard packed earth and broken lands to mountainous dunes of loose sand further from the center.&nbsp; As the world changed with the aftereffect of the magical destruction so too did the land.&nbsp; What was once fertile farmland wasted away, lakes and even small seas drying in an instant.&nbsp; That was where she found herself, in a city on the edge of the Dune Sea.&nbsp; Once it was a thriving inland sea, now it was nothing more than wave upon wave of shifting sands.&nbsp; A proper Wastelander could guide a caravan through it in two weeks, knowing the few places where shade and water could be found.&nbsp; Others simply never made it to the far side.&nbsp; Either way was no matter to Riest, she simply needed to get deep enough to find her way once more.&nbsp; Hopefully this time she would not be forced to turn back before she found what pulled at her soul.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Chtozahuinya</strong> on <strong>30-12-2013, 04:07:46</strong>
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				The glaring sun cut through the arid skies with a sharp, golden heat. Wearing naught but a linen kilt, Gozer knelt behind a loaded wagon. He deftly tied the hempen rope holding the goods in place. A squat woman with more years behind her than most had ahead tossed him a wineskin.<br><br>"Thankee, young'un. If ye do that each eve and morn on the road I'll keep ye well fed fer sure." She waddled to the front of the wagon, screeching at one of her brood. "Quit yer gawpin', ye scandalous tramp!"<br><br>Wine spilled from the sides of his mouth and down his chest, Gozer payed no mind. He knew the young girl was more interested in his tattoos than anything else. Jessirat were not common in these parts, one of the many reasons he was here. <br><br>Gozer gave the girl a tight lipped smile he did not feel before she turned away hurriedly. One of the boys he had payed to watch his gear ran over. Kol was his name. "Don't worry 'bout Meeshay, Suh Gozuh. She be moon eyed today, Granmarm say so."<br><br>Lok, the younger, smaller brother hefted Gozer's armor and falchion into view. With a grunt of exertion he dropped it all and gave the large man a gap toothed grin, eyes shining expectantly.<br><br>Gozer pretended not to notice their drooping faces as he donned his gear, even going so far to take a swig of of wine before flipping the boys a tarnished coin. They squealed with glee and scampered off to parts unknown.<br><br>Two nights ago he had traded hands with the old woman, known only as Granmarm . Promising the matronly old merchant that he would safeguard her goods until the first village. If he found the job distasteful he would find work there or leave, and at the very least negotiate a more lucrative deal for the rest of the journey.<br><br>Her sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters went to and fro securing baggage and brokering last minute trades. She had quite the clan, and it reminded Gozer a bit of home. Aside from the evident lack of lascivious women, with a few exceptions.<br><br>The city was the biggest he had ever seen, an immense gate guarded the entrance. Temples that payed homage to more gods than he could name lined the streets beside taverns, brothels, and the occasional guard station. As he walked down the line, passing by other merchants and laborers, Gozer got a feel for the caravan. There was no way of knowing how things would turn out until it was all said and done. But things felt promising. His real aim was to find the priestess he had glimpsed the night before. There was a brand he wanted to add to his left arm.<br><br>As he thought he must be close; two men rounded the corner sharply, almost bumping into him. "Aye, the fools says the spirit of the Veil murdered Hurk and his gang- Whoa, fella watch your step. We're headin' out."<br><br>The men passed him without a second glance, "Nah, but I'll tell ya who done it. Yart has had a score to settle with 'im for months. Both gangs disappear into the wastes and only one returns with tales of spirits? Ha!"<br><br>Gozer headed towards Grandmarm's wagons, he would find the priestess later. He chuckled to himself, startling a woman hanging tarp over her cart bed. Spirits.<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>phoenyx</strong> on <strong>30-12-2013, 22:50:49</strong>
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				Luth’ol and Nika had just spent a Moon Dance with the Aishnak Vhiasse after spending several long Moon Dances out in the Wastes. While Luth’ol loved her people, she was used to the solitude of just traveling with Nika. So, it was understandable that there was a bit of a bounce in her step, and an eagerness to be off as she bid her Pride goodbye. It didn’t take the two long to disappear from the sight of the Pride as they topped a nearby rise and went over it.<br><br>With the tribe long out of sight, Nika and Luth’ol finally slowed their pace. Neither was prone to haste as a rule. Taking their time as they wandered, poking into whatever caught their attentions. Though Lut’ol had grown up traveling the Wastes all her life, it was always changing, either from the elements or the creatures and people that called the Wastes home. So she was not surprised to find Undines busy making… something a half a day’s walk from the Pride she’d just left. <br><br>She and Nika stopped at the top of the rise and paused watching, making sure to keep their distance. Undines were small little gnome like creatures that peppered the Wastes. They had a strange love for working the earth and normally didn’t pay the other inhabitants of the Wastes much attention. Unless, of course, they felt threatened, like most anything. Luth’ol and Nika made sure to stay far enough back to not cause them to feel such. It was usually better to let them approach you if they took a notice.<br><br>Nika flopped down and lay there, while Luth’ol squatted next to him and scratched his ears idly. After about an hour, the two rose and continued on their way, careful to skirt the area. Luth’ol still had no idea what the Undines were doing exactly, but she wasn’t so curious as to bother them either. She still remembered all too well the first time she’d ever encountered the Undine, it was a lesson she wasn’t about to forget for the rest of her life.<br><br>Luth’ol had a mission, she very much wanted to travel the entire Waste and learn it as best as any could in the changing environment. Scraps of parchment and drawing utensils stowed away in her pack, she was slowly mapping the place. She wished to know just how big the place was and mark the more fixed landmarks. Someday it might be of use to the Pride as their roaming territory was slowly shrinking due to the encroachments of Others.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>31-12-2013, 08:31:40</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c9/424955_10151308184782958_110644116_n.jpg)</div>Dawn broke bright and hot over the strangely silent bandit camp.&nbsp; There was little chatter among the normally talkative women, and all made frequent glance toward the northern horizon.&nbsp; The camp was a new experience for Miri – the people here were all outcasts and misfits, driven from their tribes or villages for reasons she often could not fathom.&nbsp; Some of the tribes she’d been with the last year were raiders, but these folk were different.&nbsp; They had no loyalty to each other except that of necessity, and no one here was related to anyone else.&nbsp; That alone made the camp strange in this tortured, barren land.<br><br>But odd as the assemblage was, there was still a structure and some sense of community, a vestige of stability.&nbsp; A threat to that stability kept the women silent.&nbsp; No one wanted to speak the obvious.&nbsp; The men had been gone too long.&nbsp; Rare was the hunt or the ambush that kept the raiders away from camp more than a day.&nbsp; And this dawn ended the second night of their absence.&nbsp; Bad as the men were – crude and uncultured and unbathed and mean-spirited – worse by far was their absence.<br><br>Without the game and supplies they brought back from their outings, the women and the children would starve.&nbsp; Already food was short.&nbsp; There was never much surplus in the Wastes, and many would go to bed hungry this night if the men did not return.<br><br>And no one wanted to talk about it.&nbsp; Voicing their plight wouldn’t make it any worse, but it would make it seem worse by confirmation.&nbsp; And the water was almost gone.&nbsp; The seepage that fed the rock-shaded pool they drew from was not strong enough to label as a spring.&nbsp; The pool was deep and collected the seepage well enough.&nbsp; But their numbers drained it quickly.<br><br>If they moved on to the next camp, the slow upwelling from below would refill the pool, but that would take months.&nbsp; Someone had to say something, and though she was new here Miri was already respected.&nbsp; Perhaps mostly because she was the Leader’s woman.<br><br><strong>“Does anyone know where the next water is?”</strong>&nbsp; Miri asked the group of sullen wenches.<br><br>Quick glances shifted about the group – ricocheting one from another until most stared at a flaxen-haired woman.&nbsp; She was of Wasteland blood, of a tribe that shouldn’t have lost women to mere bandits, and she stared back at the others defiantly for a while, but finally spoke.&nbsp; <strong>“It is to the west, but I am not sure I could find it.”</strong><br><br><strong>“I heard the men talk about a trail to the north.”</strong>&nbsp; Miri spoke.&nbsp; <strong>“A trail leading from Trade Town.”</strong>&nbsp; She had been to that place, though she never saw it except through the veiled drapes of her master’s tent. But tent gossip had it that the place wasn’t much by Western standards.&nbsp; Of course, none of this was much like the comforts of the harem.&nbsp; <strong>“They planned an ambush on the trail.”</strong><br><br>That started an argument – what should they do?&nbsp; Stay and wait for the men?&nbsp; Head west and hope the nomad girl could find water?&nbsp; Or head north to the trail that several of them knew to have been the men’s intended target?<br><br><strong>“What would we do when we found the trail?”</strong>&nbsp; Demanded one woman barely older than a girl.&nbsp; <strong>“We have no weapons to make ambush, or trade goods to offer.”</strong><br><br>Miri glanced quickly around the faces – not one of them was very young, or very old, and all were of passable beauty.&nbsp; They were all booty, captured and kept because even bandits wanted women.<br><br><strong>“We have ourselves.”</strong>&nbsp; She stated the obvious.&nbsp; <strong>“If we stand by the trail – some man will come along and take us.”</strong>&nbsp; Not that women couldn’t provide for themselves.&nbsp; Usually.&nbsp; But they had no weapons, and few of them knew how to use them even if they did.<br><br><strong>“The men wouldn’t like that.”</strong>&nbsp; Someone spoke.<br><br><strong>“The men are not coming back.”</strong>&nbsp; Miri replied with the thought they’d all been avoiding.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>phoenyx</strong> on <strong>03-01-2014, 01:01:41</strong>
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				Woman and Lion continued their travels in the Wastes. Though they had traveled this way many times, they still checked out oddities. With the changing of the Waste, one never knew what one could find. A handful of finger spans of the sun’s movement, such dedication was rewarded as Nika unearthed a strange object. He gave a chuffing sound to alert Luth’ol to the find, long since used to her interest in such things. With growls, mewls, and chuffing sounds of various tones and lengths, she asked what he’d found. She got a ‘How am I supposed to know. You are the one interested in such wasted meat’ reply back in the same sounds. Luth’ol gave a chuckle as she approached and looked at the item. <br><br>It was small for starters, not much longer then her hand, and thin enough to wrap her fingers around. One side came to a thin end, not exactly a point, while the other end was slightly bulbous. It appeared to be made of some sort of dark metal on the smaller end, and a wood of some kind on the other. There were intricate carvings in the wood end. <br><br>Luth’ol moved away and found a stick, long experience with strange artifacts giving her a healthy respect for the unexpected from such things. Nika wasn’t too far behind her moving off slightly to the side of her. He too didn’t want to be too near in case the item turned out to be bad. Though she stopped when she found a stick to her liking, he kept moving, very intent on being as far as possible before she went back and toyed with it. Returning with her stick, Luth’ol poked and prodded the object, jumping back each time as if she expected it to attack and bite, which in a way, she kind of was.<br><br>Finally, when nothing happened, she dropped the stick and moved closer. Gingerly she picked it up at the thicker, wooden end. When nothing happened still as she held it at arm’s length, she finally brought it close enough to inspect the carvings. Flames and strange glyphs adorned the wood. It was beautiful in artisanship and Luth’ol was impressed. Turning it over and around and about in her hands, she noted that both the metal and wood were cool to the touch, strange since the Waste was a hot arid place. <br><br>Eventually tiring of just staring at it, Luth’ol wrapped her hand around the wooden part, careful to point the object away from herself and Nika. The moment she did, she abruptly was lifted off her feet and flew backwards to land heavily on her backside some distance away, the object flying from her hand on impact.&nbsp; She lay there a moment fighting to learn how to breathe again as Nika loped over and started to push her with his nose, trying to see if she was still alive.<br><br>Assuring him she was fine in Lion Language, she struggled upright as she tried to push him from her. He finally backed off as she stilled and stared in shock at the rock some distance away. It was burning, and melting. She blinked and even rubbed her eyes, but it was still burning. “Well.” She heard a grunt from Nika at her word. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Finally she rose to her feet, and hunted down the dangerous artifact. <br><br>Wrapping it in a scrap of cloth, careful not to fully hold it, she stuffed it away in a pouch. Already figuring out it required a firm hold to work. Woman and Lion then walked towards the burning rock. They couldn’t get too close, and Luth’ol was left wondering where she was going to even get enough water to put it out. She had a sneaking suspicion that throwing dirt on it might not smother it, after all, the rock was <em>burning</em>.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Galactic Druid</strong> on <strong>03-01-2014, 05:54:31</strong>
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				Though leaves crunched and twigs snapped under's Risni's feet as he staggered through the forest, none of the animals seemed to notice. Deer continued to graze as he walked by, as though he was as natural a part of their surroundings as any tree. "He's back..." Risni could hear the whispers of the fae in the treetops, speaking in their own tongues, their language one of the many gifts he had been bestowed by the veil. Ordinarily they were very friendly creatures, at least to him. They could be quite fierce with intruders to the forest, luckily, he was not counted among them. On days when he returned from they wastes, however, they would often stay hidden until he had finished his mission and delivered it, out of reverence for the master of the woods. "He looks hurt..."<br><br>He hadn't really felt it before he had returned and his adrenaline had a chance to thin, but once he was in the safety of the woods, Risni quickly began to feel the toll both the wastes and raiders had taken. Small nicks and cuts covered his legs, and his cheek still burned from the worn knife he hadn't completely dodged. Most notable, and the reason for his limp, was the heavy bruising at his right side, below the shoulder, where he had taken the impact of the iron ball. It was sore to the point he wondered if a rib had cracked, though it had still been the better choice than to allow himself to be tangled in the rope it had carried. Not to mention, bruises were easy to fix...<br><br>It took him only a few hours to navigate to the heart of the forest. Not only did he know the woods like the back of his hand, he had an uncanny sixth sense for it's navigation. There was little that happened in the veil that he didn't seem to know, provided he was in the veil as it happened. Leaving his sanctuary within the trees was becoming more common by the day. When he first became allies with the forest, he rarely left, often simply guarding the forest from intruders that would exploit the sacred grove and it's creatures, fae and feral. As the forest's needs grew, he found himself going out more and more often, speaking to his kind in the forest's name, from settling disputes between tribes before fighting broke out near the veil, to trading for things the forest could not provide itself, such as medicines and magics unfound in nature, to threatening those that simply refused to negotiate. Most recently, he found himself heading into the wastes far more often than he would like.<br><br>"I have returned." Risni called out as he reached a clearing in the middle of the veil, where a large, perfectly still, impossibly clear pond surrounded the largest of the forest's trees, a massive red oak with a trunk several times the width of Risni's body. It was so large it could easily been seen from outside the veil, towering above the other trees, and rumor was that it had been around since before the magwars. Without so much as a hesitation, Risni knelt before the water, wincing as he did so from the pain in his back, and submerged his head.<br><br>Pulling back for breath, Risni tossed his dark hair back behind his head as he gasped for air. His face was once again clean, and not simply clean of the dirt, grit, and sand of his journey, the cut on his cheek had been washed away as well, as though just another smudge of dirt. Bending down, he cupped his hands, letting the water pool in them before bringing them to his lips, letting the cool, refreshing water slide down his throat. He could feel the pain at his back dissolve, his legs feeling less itchy from all the small lacerations by the moment. Reaching to his sash, he uncapped a simple water skin made from a deer's hive, submerging it in the water. He'd need to remember to ask for the right to skin the next animal that passed away, one skin never seemed to be enough.<br><br>As Risni continued to bathe, drink, and resupply, the leaves in the oak began to rustle, the bark at the base beginning to shift, before long, the figure of a woman stepped out of the tree as though it were no more solid than fog. Her dark olive skin was barely concealed by patches of leaves and moss that seem to heave themselves into a makeshift dress. Solid black eyes locked on Risni as she silently stepped across the pond. Her hair, a vibrant green, was decorated by small blossoms. "Welcome home." she spoke softly as she stepped to the bank. Slowly, buds uncurled into blossoms around her feet, a single vine slowly crawling up the side of her leg as it grew.<br><br>"Thank you, Veil." Risni said as he looked up at her. He still didn't know her name. He wasn't sure she even <em>had</em> a name. She was simply the forest, and he had taken to calling her Veil, after what his former tribe, like so many others, called the forest. Reaching into his satchel, he produced the silver coiled crystal, releasing it over a stump just off to her side, right at the edge of the pond, where it hovered in place. "I'm happy to say I was able to find one this time, and not too far in."<br><br>As Risni spoke, the polishes silver began to tarnish as the crystal sunk into it and began to fade, both pieces of the artifact slowly graying as they naturalized. "You did well, Risni, the land needed that magic badly. I trust you've noticed the decline of life this last year?"<br><br>"Yes, I'd noted that I've been needing to find magic to return to the land more often lately. Is something amiss?"<br><br>"Indeed there is..." Veil paused to run her fingers along the vine, now at her hip, gently stroking it a moment, letting her fingers trace the tip, causing Risni to let out a short, staggered breath and shiver. "You've become far more connected to these lands than I had expected you would in just three years, I believe you're ready."<br><br>"Ready?" Risni snapped back to sobriety at the word.<br><br>"Risni, the forest is dying." She began to explain, holding up one hand before Risni could even react, and continuing. "Until last year, the land was slowly renewing, the wastes were shrinking, as they have been slowly since the end of the empire. It still is, except to the North. This last year, something has been feeding off the life of the forest."<br><br>"What is it?"<br><br>"That." she replied with a shake of her head. "I do not know. All I can sense is that it comes from the scorched earth."<br><br>"Why didn't you tell me before? We have to stop it! If this land dies-"<br><br>"That is exactly why I kept my secrets. You were not yet ready for this task. You are ready now."<br><br>It was hardly an answer Risni liked, but it was one he was used to. "Very well. What should I do?"<br><br>"That..." she began, peeling the vine from her leg and walking past Risni to the edge of the clearing. "... is for you to decide. This is a threat I cannot tell you how to face, for I know not what it is. It will be up to you to learn, prepare, and face the challenges ahead. Henceforth, you shall act of your own decisions, but remembering that you are the voice and avatar of this forest as you act."<br><br>Risni was at a complete loss for words. In the years he had served the forest, his goals were often clear cut. It had been carefully explained how he would carry out each task, who he would barter with, who he would threaten to keep their distance... as much as it pained him to admit, over so many years of service, he had nearly forgotten how to think for himself. "I... I understand. Whatever is happening, I will stop it."<br><br>"I have faith in you, Risni. Remember as you go, you represent us all in your words and actions. Before you leave, there is one last thing, a gift." The woman waved her hand, beckoning one of the elder fae from the edge of the clearing. His bright blue skin stood out as much as any flower, and though he only came to Risni's waist, his mossy beard was nearly the length of Risni's ponytail. "This piece of the woods will help keep you safe." She explained as the fae handed Risni his gift. It was a long, coiled vine that wove once through his fingers as he slipped his arm into it, and tightened snugly to his arm as he did, though not nearly enough to be uncomfortable. Once worn, it had the appearance of a gauntlet, though one made from a plant. Risni could immediately feel the same connection with it that he felt with all of the plants that surrounded him or that he called upon.<br><br>"Thank you, Veil, I have yet to be worthy." Risni replied, his mind already racing over the task at hand and his sudden freedom to decide how to proceed.<br><br>"You have yet to make me regret my decision all these years." was her reply. "I do not see any of us doing so now. Good luck, avatar, carry your title with price."<br><br>With that, the woman silently crossed the lake, disappearing into the same tree she had emerged from. "Thank you as well, elder. It is a wonderful gift." Risni turned to the fae, who chirped a response in his own language. "And you as well." Risni replied, before taking his leave of the clearing. He could barely begin to think where to start. Given a task, he would often analyze it and decide the best course to take while following his orders. Now that he was free to act on his own, he couldn't think where to begin. He needed information, likely needed equipment. He had no idea if he was in for a fight, but it was likely so, given the threat. He would need more than the forest could provide for weapons and protection. It was possible he needed allies, especially after how close his last trek into the wastes had been. One thing was certain, he wasn't yet ready to brave the wastes again. Not like he was. He knew of a good place to start, at least. He had visited Trade Town on more than one occasion, often trading the forest's bounty or skins from those that had returned to the land in exchange for goods or medicines the forest needed. It seemed as good a place as any to start. Risni made one last stop by his tree to gather what little goods and gold he had for bartering before beginning to head south. If he hurried, he could be on the trail to Trade Town before nightfall.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Galactic Druid</strong> on <strong>06-01-2014, 20:33:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It had been ages since Risni's last visit to Trade Town, one of the larger hubs of civilization on the continent. It was well out of the way of the veil, giving him little reason to venture out so far, unless there were trade goods he or the forest needed that simply could not be obtained elsewhere. Even before his role within the veil, he didn't see much use in the metal coins, shiny rocks, and trinkets the cities seemed to prefer to use, rather than simply trading goods like the Steppe had done with neighboring tribes. Even more annoying, the cities tended to place 'value' on the good he brought, the skins of elder deer that passed naturally were considered less useful and valuable than the tough leather of a buck cut down in it's prime, leaving him with very little to barter with in cities even after selling what goods he brought with him. Often, the fruit he gathered from the forest fetched a far higher price, but that meant losing his own dinner.<br><br>At the very least, he could take comfort in the fact that words were free, most of what he needed this visit was information. With any luck, he'd be able to find someone who knew the wastes more thoroughly than he, that could guide, or at least give him a direction to look for whatever it was that was stealing the life from his home, something different about the wastes that may have changed in the last year when it began.<br><br>Even in a city as busy as Trade Town, Risni was likely to stand out, even as he first made his way through the gate down the main street. The vibrant, forest green color of the leaves that decorated his armor stood out in a sea of dyed linens, as did the vine 'gauntlet' that ran from his wrist to his elbow. More than one head turned at the sight of him, and he could hear whispers pointing him out. "Is that..." one woman asked another. "No. That's just a hunter's legend..."<br><br>Stoic as he was, even Risni couldn't help but be taken in by the sight of the large city, his eyes darting between the size and variety in the buildings, and what they claimed to offer. In the middle of the street, there was a large caravan, preparing to set out for the wastes. Not a bad place to start, if he was looking for wastelanders. He'd have to hurry though, he still had to purchase supplies before it got too late.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aadreal</strong> on <strong>07-01-2014, 02:36:17</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				It was rare for Reist to join a caravan this large, but the Wastelanders promised they’d eventually return to their hidden home deep in the Wastes.&nbsp; While she neither expected nor asked to be honored to see such a place, they did offer to guide her to some of the ruins their people knew of.&nbsp; That was what she truly wanted, no, needed to find.&nbsp; A place of the ancients where the goddess may have once ruled.&nbsp; Following the retreating head of the man that kicked her awake, she could not help but feel pressed in by the noise and the walls.&nbsp; <br><br>There were too many people, her own people favored small enclaves where they could study and required only a few families to help support those called to serve.&nbsp; More than once she felt a tug on the wrapping that comprised of her clothing, the would-be pickpocket finding nothing but more folds.&nbsp; Her coin was nestled securely in her boots with only a small purse around her neck, a trick taught to her by an uncle that often travelled the lands.&nbsp; <br><br>The harsh bark of her guide speaking in anger drew her attention, causing her to pause and consider if she should continue forward.&nbsp; However she doubted the anger was directed at her and in her scant few years travelling few had dared attempt to harm her.&nbsp; Stepping out of the path of a couple young boys bickering over something, she finally found her way to her guide.&nbsp; His language was harsh as he spoke with one of his own, gesturing toward others that were joining the caravan.&nbsp; Reist’s dark eyes followed the gesture, drawn to an elderly woman.&nbsp; Out of habit she searched for signs of pain or distress, seeing the bent back and twisted hands of one who’d worked hard with little rest.&nbsp; She was tempted to offer what aid she could, the scriptures clearly stated that the elderly and infirm were to be given what comforts could be found before the goddess claimed them.&nbsp; <br><br>Once more there was a sharp sound, Reist’s head snapping in the direction out of instinct.&nbsp; Only this time it was the sound of flesh on flesh as her guide punched one of his men across the chin, knocking the young man to the ground.&nbsp; They were not largely built, her companions, the desert honing their bodies into lean yet sturdy weapons.&nbsp; They reminded her of the <em>chaka</em> lizards found on the edge near her settlement.&nbsp; Blending in with the background and seeming harmless until they took it in their head to strike, moving fast as a blink with bites that could leave a grown man huddled in pain.&nbsp; &nbsp;Shaking free of her thoughts she glanced in the direction her guide was looking.&nbsp; She’d seen such a look before, one of territorial thoughts and perhaps even a challenge to prove oneself.&nbsp; He was glaring at a mountain of a man with flaming red hair, tattoos covering what parts of his body she could see.&nbsp; Batak, the leader of her guides would cause trouble if able.&nbsp; The flame haired man bore the confidence of a warrior and a survivor, one not easily impressed with Batak’s command.&nbsp; <br><br>“Come!&nbsp; It is time!&nbsp; Before the sun rises we need to be free of this place!”&nbsp; Bellowing out in his broken common tongue, Batak yelled for the caravan to finish forming, striding to the gates as he did so.&nbsp; She’d been told to stay near the middle and out of the way, something she was happy to do as she had little training with beasts of burden or the sled-like wagons they pulled.&nbsp; As the people were roused into motion by Batak’s men she waited, watching those she’d be travelling with.&nbsp; It was a large caravan by her standards, at least four free merchants and a couple of trade wagons hauling the wares of clients on either end of the trek.&nbsp; She was grateful there were so many of Batak’s people accompanying them, such a collection would surely be a target for bandits.&nbsp; <br><br>Counting wagons and people she finally decided she was parallel with the middle, slipping in to join those walking the journey.&nbsp; Though it did not take long for her dark clothing and perhaps something else to empty a circle around her.&nbsp; Sighing at the inevitability of another lonely venture, Reist pressed on, shifting the straps of the bags on her shoulders to better bear the weight.&nbsp; &nbsp; As she walked she looked for the wagon of the old woman, deciding to visit it when they stopped at high sun.&nbsp; There was little she could offer but she would what she could, as was her duty and calling.&nbsp; Despite what many believed.&nbsp; She only hoped that the woman was not superstitious, unlike the last.&nbsp; Whispering a prayer for the man that fled into the Wastes out of fear she was some spirit seeking his soul she pulled the wrappings tighter around her face, shifting the cowl formed by loose fabric until it shaded her eyes to prevent the sun from touching her skin once it rose.&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>09-01-2014, 05:02:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c9/424955_10151308184782958_110644116_n.jpg)</div>The ridge was too rocky to truly be a dune, but the southern slope presented a graceful sandy curve up to the crest.&nbsp; Tracks marred the sandy slope, leading up to four oblong forms dangled off that crest, like the dark fingers of a giant gripping the edge prior to pulling himself up and over the wall beneath them.<br><br>That Northern slope started with a precipitous drop of redstone cliffs, down to a surface of jagged rock and scattered balls of wyndweed and greener clumps of cacti.&nbsp; Four round heads broke the crestline to gaze out across the wide valley towards another set of cliffs far to the north.<br><br><strong>“I think the Trade route follows the riverbed down there.”</strong>&nbsp; Miri told her companions.&nbsp; It wasn’t much of a river – from the looks of it water hadn’t filled the banks for decades, or perhaps longer.&nbsp; But at one time a mighty flow of water must have cut the miles-wide gash between the two lines of cliffs.&nbsp; <strong>“I think that white line is the trail.”</strong>&nbsp; Cut by foot and hoof and wheel of countless merchants and travelers.<br><br><strong>“How do we get down there?”</strong>&nbsp; Another woman asked.<br><br>That was a good question.&nbsp; A very good question indeed.&nbsp; Miri saw no easy way down to the wide sandy valley from their lofty perch.&nbsp; When no one answered, eyes cut toward the third of the four, the blonde Wastelander.<br><br><strong>“There are several trails down.&nbsp; I think the closest might be to the east.”</strong>&nbsp; She gestured along the ridgeline.&nbsp; <strong>“Many leagues.&nbsp; And away from Trade Town.”</strong>&nbsp; She hesitated before adding.&nbsp; <strong>“Raiders and bandits usually use ropes to lower themselves down, and to haul up their gain.”</strong><br><br>Miri remembered being hauled up one of those rope-rigs several months ago, another load of bandit booty.&nbsp; <strong>“We only have tent ropes and the leads for the pack beasts.”</strong>&nbsp; She observed needlessly.&nbsp; <strong>“How far West would we have to go, and is there water?”</strong><br><br>They were still discussing the problem when a bright flash of light flared off to the left and behind them. Whatever it was, it was bright enough to cast shadows along their right, criss-crossed with the shadows thrown straight ahead of them by the sun.&nbsp; The flare was very bright, but quickly faded.&nbsp; Faded, but did not fade away.&nbsp; A perceptible glow still shone, just over a small rise to the southwest.<br><br><strong>“What is it, do you think?”</strong>&nbsp; The last, darkest-skinned woman asked her fellows.&nbsp; None had answers.<br><br><strong>“It could be danger, or maybe it’s an omen.”</strong>&nbsp; Miri suggested.&nbsp; <strong>“We have to investigate.&nbsp; Pitar, go back to the others and tell them we went to the light.”</strong>&nbsp; And then Miri and the other two slid down off the dune face and made their way toward the glow.<br><br>It wasn’t far, the march taking perhaps a double finger’s-breadth move of the sun before they again crested the rise and saw…<br><br><strong>“Is that rock burning?”</strong> Asked the Wastelander.<br><br><strong>“Is that a lion?”</strong>&nbsp; Asked Miri.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Galactic Druid</strong> on <strong>09-01-2014, 19:19:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Is that a good deal?" Risni was not attempting to be sarcastic or facetious. For him, it was a completely genuine question. Despite his intention, the tanner behind the counter didn't seem to take it as such, wrinkling his brow and quickly taking a defensive stance.<br><br>"It's the best deal you're going to get for leather this soft!" He barked in reply, grabbing the stack of deer and elk skins by one side and curling it upward before letting it drop back to the counter with a flop. "No smith is going to pick this up, even after I'm done with it. If I'm lucky, I'll still make a profit off a clothier from this." He was exaggerating, of course. He'd never of ought it in the first place if he wasn't sure it could sell, though he was completely honest that the leather from the skins would never make a decent hilt or shoulder piece. If he didn't know better, he might actually assume the strange man standing before him in clothes made of leaves and petrified bark wasn't a hunter at all, but had simply stumbled across a group of animals that had starved. "Tell you what. You spend a lot of time out of town, from the look of you." He could offer a little more, but he'd rather hang onto his coin, looking Risni over, the hunter might actually benefit from some of his poorer-selling goods. "I'll give you the thirty silvers, and I'll throw in a replacement to that old skin hanging off your shoulder." With that, he laid out a water skin on the counter.<br><br>Risni had never seen one like it, the mouth of it was a small piece of glass, padded and sealed tight by layers of leather, and held closed by a piece of cork that ensured it would not leak. "I'll take it!" He quickly replied, worried the tanner might change his mind about simply giving away such a treasure. In his mind, it was an amazing deal, he'd never owned a piece of glass before, the means to work with it was in short supply around the forest and the surrounding nomadic tribes. In truth, the deal was a fair one, though after a small amount of care and dye, the tanner would certainly make a fortune on Trade Town's slowly growing demand for clothes that provided form over function. Blissfully unaware of the slow shift from recession to expansion of the wastes over the last year, the larger towns and few true cities of the continent were finally beginning to show a growing interest in luxury goods over the last year. Many merchants argued that this was a sign of a "return to civilization" at long last, though there were few things they wouldn't claim in order to gain some coin.<br><br>He could see the first bit of sun peeking over the buildings as he exited the tanner's. by his count, the caravans he had seen in the town street were likely to be leaving soon, meaning he had little time to fill his skin if he wanted to speak with any of the wastelanders that were likely leaving with them. Most were willing to talk, but only if he was willing to pay. It was a silly and confusing system, in Risni's mind, trying to put a value on words. Sillier still, that this value could only be met with pieces of gold, silver, and gems. It was so much simpler to trade goods as needed, rather than attempt to to assign values to them in pieces of stone. How was it decided that the skin willingly given by an elder elk was worth less of these pieces of silver than a few pieces of cloth sewn together and stained with berries? Who had decided that words were worth any pieces at all? Still, if he wanted those words, where in the endless expanse of sand to even begin looking, he'd have to play by their rules. <br><br>"If you'd mind," Risni asked, approaching one of the carvaners, a young man tying down a set of crates. "I'm looking for somewhere to fill my skins, and for a group who frequents the wastes that might be ale to provide information."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Scorched Lands</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>phoenyx</strong> on <strong>09-01-2014, 20:54:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Nika jerked his head around at the sound of voices. A loud, warning bark-like chuff had Luth’ol turning as well. Following his gaze, she noted three figures on a rise. Too talk to be Undines, her mind briefly flashed to the possibility of them being Fea, except Fea tended to stick to the Viel and not venture in the Wastes. She frowned thoughtfully and shifted to move for a better angle to see the strangers. Noting the various garb and that they were female, she deduced they were from some bandit group that tended to roam the Wastes in search of prey. Usually smart enough though not to mess with the Aishnak Vhiasse, she wondered at the women. That was another thing, the women were rarely allowed far from the main camp, for fear they’d escape. <br><br>Another sound had both woman and lion turning again. Undine were coming out of the rock work, and both suddenly made tracks from the area. Their haste brought them up on the dune with the three bandit women and they watched as the Undine proceeded to put out the burning rock. Luth’ol gave a small sigh of relief that there was a way to put it out, and that there were Undine close enough to do so.&nbsp; That was, until two broke away from the others and headed their way. Luth’ol gave a growl that strangely sounded like a lion’s version of a curse. Nika promptly moved to hide behind her, peek out to watch the approaching Undine, looking for the entire world like a child peeking from his mother’s skirts at the scary boogie man.&nbsp; A few growling and chuffing sounds at him, and all he did was reply back in mewls. Luth’ol rolled her eyes and squared her shoulders as the Undine finally came to a stop before her.<br><br>“Do not make any threatening moves towards them. Unless you wish to be dinner.” This directed at the women standing there as one Undine started to chitter at her in its language. She seemed to listen carefully, and then gave a nod of understanding. The Undine looked at her expectantly, and she quickly produced the thing that started the fire. Taking it from her, the two studied it closely, always careful not to fully grasp the item. Finally it was handed back to her, and a string of more chatter came forth as she tucked it away. The speech suddenly stopping, the Undines eyed her once more then finally both turned and moved back to their brethren, who by then had put the fire out. Luth’ol watched them leave a thoughtful look on her face. <br>
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		</dl>
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