A Short Cut and a Long Walk

“The Sundered Plains had another name once, not so long ago. Before the war and before we had to fight over who was less wrong. Very few people truly remember that name. I do. In the native tongue it was called ah’kiatñ’yshu. The Stargreen Sea. kiat. What a harsh, short word for the twinkling lights in the night sky. Then, of course, you have add the color modifier. The ğęÿñå were a people obsessed with color and their language reflects that. But I lose myself in thought again.

“ah’kiatñ’yshu once covered the entire region with rolling waves of tall grass. The ğęÿñå were split into many tribes, following the food, living on horseback from the day they were born to the moment they died. I wonder what that life would have been like. Before the fighting, riding to live, living off the land. Not because the job in Alrusa won’t wait. Not because I’m running from something. But because it’s simply the way of things. Would I have enjoyed that more? I think not, orryö,” Ashlin used the ğęÿñå translation of her horse’s name.

Nightstrider cocked an ear back, clearly questioning Ash’s sanity. Which, in the middle of the Sundered Plains was a fair thing to question. Technically it wasn’t the middle so much as a shortcut like a secant, saving days off of the trip to Alrusa. The Sundering Plains were a place of such magical and physical violence that the very ground itself was soaked not only in blood but in dark intentions. There was an awareness that haunted the uncertain borders of the plains and drove back those who came near. The land wanted to be left alone.

Most people would attribute the dread and disgust to their own knowledge of the events that took place, but Ashlin knew better. The land was imposing its will and using that strength to keep intruders out. Ash didn’t think there were all that many people who were sensitive enough to the flow of magic to separate the emotions imposed by the Sundering Plains from their own feelings of dread that the sight of the wasteland invoked.

Truly, it was a frightening place. Where the land wasn’t caked with dark, sunburnt earth, it was overgrown with thorned weeds. Where the weeds did not grow, rocks littered the dirt. Where rocks were absent, small fissures in the land itself made footing treacherous. All in all, it was an unforgiving, desolate place in all but the farthest reaching memories.

“I don’t like it much either, girl, but we need to be there yesterday,” Ashlin said in response to a flicker of Nightstrider’s ears. Despite having left from Shuriel’s Cove only four days past, they were already halfway to Alrusa. It was a trip that normally took a fortnight to travel because of the detour around the Sundered Plains. Ash and Nightstrider were on pace to cut almost a full span of time from that number.

“It will be worth it,” she said, uncertain if she was trying to reassure Nightstrider or herself.

Círdan was stomping about the Sundered Plains, cursing the day he'd ever thought it was a good idea to explore south. His thicker-woven northerner clothes, which were even made of greys, silvers, and blacks, were sweltering even with his coat and cloak off. His usually-concealed staff was in his hand as he used it to propel himself through the brush or across a rift, and his face wore a sour grimace.

He stopped his advance and looked up to the horizon, seeking any signs of civilization. He saw none, but he did spot a horserider in the distance. Hoping his legs were fast and the horse was slow, he hefted his stave and made his way towards the other individual with haste. If he could get a ride and stop having to walk so much it would make his life significantly easier.

And on they walked. Truthfully, Ashlin wasn't even certain what the job that lay ahead was to be. She'd been contacted by a messenger who knew naught else but that Ash had been summoned to Alrusa by the messengers patron and that the pay would be quite substantial. That was one thing she didn't like to pass up, good money. It wasn't that Ash was obsessed with money, but she'd lived without it for long enough.

She looked out across the Sundered Plains, wondering what it would have been like to watch the destruction caused by the battle. If it could even be called that. From the stories that Ashlin had uncovered in her searches, the gods themselves had clashed across the expanse that the ğęÿñå had lived upon. A knot of unease formed in her gut just thinking about it. She suddenly felt as if she were being watched from far, far away. "The heavy Gaze of God be upon thee," indeed, Ash quoted with a shudder.

The feeling past as she and Nightstrider pressed on through the plains. The heat of the day beat down upon them, but Ashlin kept her hood raised to protect her skin from the light. The sense of being watched came back, but weaker this time. Ash turned her head left and right, suspicious of the feeling. She saw a man approaching from the north, still distant enough that if she put her heels into Nightstrider they could easily outpace the man and leave him in the heat.

But Ash's instincts told her he was no threat to her, and her instincts were what had kept her alive to this point. She decided to trust them once more, pulling to a stop to wait for the traveler.

Círdan was beginning to feel the heat and the strangest pulling sensation at his legs, as if the plains were willing him to remain. He looked down and saw nothing, but now he could feel the wounded magics seething through and just above the ground like a cruel mist. It wove and twisted like a horde of breeding snakes and the more Círdan focused upon it, the more sucked in he seemed to become. Though he was still walking, his consciousness nearly became enraptured by the virulent magics vining into his spirit. His eyes nearly became lidded before they snapped open.

"Vintha. Exav." he hissed in his own ancient language, and the next impact of his staff upon the ground made the tendrils of malice recoil as if struck by their master. Free of the metaphysical binds, he finished up his sojurn to the rider -- who had politely stopped -- to see that she was female! He didn't expect anyone to be out, in this wretched heat, in this even more wretched part of the world -- much less a woman. This wasn't the time or place for any sort of flirting, however, so he decided introductions were in order.

"Hello, m'lady. I'm nae much but a wanderer - hardly even an adventurer - and, well..." he gestured to his northern clothes "I'm neither dressed nor accustomed to this damn weather. So I hiv tae ask ye, would it be possible tae get a ride on yer horse here?" His voice was pleasant, and his accent extremely foreign for this area. He would have secluded the staff to make himself seem less threatening, but magic wasn't exactly trusted anymore. He would have gone on to offer money, healing, or something people find valuable, but if he could catch a free ride that would be excellent.

Ashlin watched the man walk across the cracked and desolate earth toward her. She couldn't help but quirk and eyebrow as she sensed him exert his Will over that of the land. Ash realized that her hand had dipped unconsciously into the right-hand pocket of her saddlebag. Slowly, carefully, she pulled her hand free. Clearly, whoever this man was, he could take care of himself, despite his garb.

She wondered, though, if he'd ever ridden a horse before. Nightstrider was well cared for and in better shape than most of his kind in this day and age. That didn't mean he could carry the weight of both Ash and this stranger, through the heat of a day like this, after having walked a fair distance already.

"I'd be more than happy to lend you some water and bread. I'd not mind if we share a bit of distance on this walk, but my poor horse has walked far already and we yet have farther to go, still," she said. Ashlin had packed for the long walk to Alrusa. Her decision to cut across the Sundered Plains left her with spare enough food and water to share a bit with this wanderer from the North.

He smiled and nodded graciously, which made the edge of his mid-length hair shift from the tops of his ears and revealed the tapered curve that ended in a point. He felt the air upon his ears and immediately his heart sank. There weren't many elves -- or in his case half-elf (his ears were at least an inch shorter) -- left in the world. They were mostly slaves, hunted, or in hiding, as Círdan was warned that he should be, lest he end up as either of the former two options.
He kept his cool, for the most part. He rather froze with every muscle locked into either fight or run, and his expression was a failing attempt to look perfectly calm. His hand on his staff fought with his mind to grip until his knuckles paled. Thoughts of what could happen next raced through his mind, but his northern blood told him not to jump to conclusions. To be patient, and strong. If it came to an unpleasant encounter, he knew enough with his magic to at least get away.

He made a few silent prayers to the ancient gods Luya'a of the Winter and Chira of the Forest for strength. He wasn't devout, and didn't expect some great mystical beam of light to shine upon him and make him immortal; he only needed to bolster his confidence and find some sort of peace of mind. Even if the old gods didn't exist, the images they were associated with were calming and some were even empowering.

Ashlin's smile locked, rigid on her face. The tops of the wanderer's ears were revealed, pointing skyward for the whole world to see. Her first reaction was to glance around, making sure no one else had seen, but she reigned herself in before she could look. They were alone on the plains and there was no need to tip the stranger off that she had seen. She forced herself to relax.

But couldn't suppress a shiver as a bolt of electricity snaked up her spine. The wind whispered words into her ears and she realized the man was praying. Luya'a and Chira. It took her breath away and her eyes went distant. Ashlin felt herself expand to encompass the words as they were given to her. She felt like a metal nail was etching the words into the bark of her mind. They weren't alone on the tree either. It was filled with the names of gods in dozens of languages, some the same name for different gods, some the same gods with different names, but all of them real to at least one person.

Real to Ashlin now, too. Since she'd been Awakened to her cause, anytime someone prayed to their god in her presence, she couldn't help but absorb knowledge about that god. They prayed and she listened. And she never forgot.

It hurt her every time, but over the years she had come to understand that only the dead don't feel pain. That sometimes, the hurt was worth it. That more often than not, it taught you a lesson and these were lessons worth learning. Ashlin unconsciously pulled her cloak tighter against her, trying to wrap the knowledge and pain away in a blanket of darkness.

In the end, she only felt stifling heat.

Then the moment was past and she could breath again. A small smile came to her face and her brown eyes could focus on the man again.

"Shall we walk while we eat?"

Only the blind or foolish wouldn't notice the mishap with his appearance, but the woman made no moves to kill or capture him so he calmed his nerves and watched with slight interest as she went rigid but not from the encounter. The next gust of wind carried a certain unidentifiable energy with it, and he turned to face it, breathing in the little sparks that formed from whatever it carried. For him, it was like a refreshing breeze that reenergised and cooled him. For her... when he looked to his new acquaintence she looked like she wanted to curl as far into herself as possibe.

He turned his head back to her with a slight flick that readjusted his hair, setting it over his ear tips again, and he returned her smile as he gave her a small bow in gratitude.

"'Twould be a pleasure, milady." his voice soft and still shaken, which surprised him since his mind resumed its calm and tentative flow. He gripped his right hand at nothing for a moment while he regained control of his physicalities then he took the small pack of food and ufolded a corner, trying to rotate the contents to find something edible instead of more cloth.

"Time spent is distance traveled," Ash whispered, likely too quiet for the stranger to hear. She held out a small packet of dry, hard bread for the road. When he took his, she took out one for herself and hopped from Nightstrider to land lithely upon the ground. The horse nudge at Ash and she couldn't help but give a slight laugh.

"Of course, you'll get something too, girl," she said. True to her word, she gave Nightstrider an apple before setting off again. The horse followed Ash without any commands or the need for her to carry the reigns. The pair walked for a while in silence, the heat making it less than pleasant to talk. Their silence likely saved their lives.

Nightstrider stopped in place, the first sign to Ash that something was wrong. Ashlin grew up living on her instincts and then, once Nightstrider had come into the picture, on her's as well. She shushed the wanderer and sprung into action. Ash flowed into the saddle and then into a standing position atop it, moving so quickly and smoothly that the motion was clearly practiced. From her vantage point, she could see well into the distance.

The brightness of the light made it difficult to see in the distance, waves of heat distorting her line of vision. It was because of this that it took Ashlin almost half a minute to spot the white tents. Her mind raced with the possibilities. Here?

"Tents. There are hundreds, if not more of them set up. A camp. An army," Ash said looking down toward the man. Where are they going? There's nothing but death East of here, and West is only plains. South is the sea. North-

"They're heading to Alrusa. We have to get closer, to see if we can spot a standard. They'll have scouts though."

Círdan enjoyed watching someone have a good relationship, even if it was a horse. There were too many people alone in this world, though some were better off that way. He finally uncovered the bread part of the parcel and began to nibble on it. He didn't feel conversation to be really something to partake in when it was so hot -- especially for a Northerner -- so he carried on beside the woman in relative silence, a few passing comments at an ancient runestone or, once, a little green sprout.

He felt the movmement before his peripheral vision registered such. He looked to see the woman climb upon her saddle and look out to the distance. He took this alarm as a sign to remain silent, so he watched her, tried to look in the same direction she did, and nibbled on his bread. The long shadows were obscuring anything he could see without a vantage point, so he watched a field mouse run from a bush to a burrow. He was glad to see there was some life here, however scarce it was.

When she came back down with her report, he quickly bundled up the pouch of bread and slipped it into a small pack he had beneath his outermost layer of clothing. The second half concerned him quite a bit. His lessons weren't very thorough on the South when he was growing up, but he knew that Alrusa pretty much remained unaffiliated with anything except commerce.

"Doesn't that violate some treaty or... something?" he asked, his voice low and hushed. He looked up over the bushes toward the direction of the tents, considering what she'd said about finding a standard. He had one spell that could help, a simple cloak that worked as long as they weren't gazed upon directly, but he didn't know if he could trust this girl. Nothing about her implied she was threatening, yet, but at the same time nothing implied that she wasn't another magic-hating, close-minded nutjob who would just as soon run him through for making a dust particle sparkle.

It was only through a conscious effort that Ash stopped her response from being sarcastic. This man was clearly not from the area and even if he were, not many had traveled in the same way that she had. She wanted to say Of course, because someone marching with an army is clearly worried about a treaty that's older than the two of us put together.

"There's not been an active treaty for Alrusa in a long time.," she said instead. Her mind was afire with implications. It had been almost half a year since Ashlin had traveled to the Eastern parts of the Nessic region, but she knew there was unrest brewing. Apparently that pot of tea had boiled over and was making its way to Alrusa. Ash pulled at a couple of loose strands of her chin length black hair, the motion an unconscious one that occupied her hands while her mind was fidgeting through ideas.

Anyone who said Ashlin knew war would be mistaken. She had, however, been walking across this region of land for almost as long as she could remember and she'd interacted with people and their religions all across the land. Because of this, Ashlin could say with a relative certainty that this was a surprise tactic, otherwise there would be no benefit to coming through the plains. Someone wanted to catch people off guard and wanted to do it fast.

And she could say that it was likely going to be about one religion or another. She wondered if whoever was in charge of the army knew the history of the Sundered Plains. The ğęÿñå had been destroyed because of a religious war, and if this attack succeeded, Ash doubted that the people in Alrusa would fair much better.

"They'll be slower than we are, but that doesn't mean we can be reckless. Even if we can't find out who it is, we need to get around them fast enough to get to Alrusa before they do," Ash said. She wasn't really sure where this sense of leadership had come from, but she liked Alrusa damnit. She felt a sense of kindred spirit to the township. They were a mixing pot of knowledge and people, and maybe not pure, they stood fast in the face of the dangers of the world. Alone at a crossroads.

It seemed all she had was more questions. Why now? Why Alrusa? How fast can the army march? What can Alrusa do about it even when we get there?

"Got any ideas?" she asked the man. Another thought flickered momentarily by her mind, asking why she should trust this stranger, but she couldn't answer that either.

He nodded slowly at the woman's response, not sure what exactly to make of this situation anymore. He looked to the swiftly setting sun and knew a whole new book would open as far as his abilities were concerned. The moon held its secrets, after all. He took a few tentative steps further down the road and looked out towards where his companion had looked. He still couldn't see much but now he saw the tips of the closest tents.
When he was faced with the question of ideas, he felt like rattling off the full repitoir of his abilities, especially since it was nearing night. Instead, he shrugged his feigned ignorance as he felt the stirring of the shadows within his very bones. Mostly the little ones. He was no necromage, but there were a few little quirks that would make one think so.

He neared to be within close earshot, "'Less you have a cloak or some sort o' magic powers, the most we can do is cautiously approach... and hope for the best" he near-whispered his words, fearing that he would signal their presence but to more than simply the army's sentries. There was no reason to wake the dead early.

She nearly jumped when the man whispered in her ear. Ashlin had been so focused on the army sprawled across the plains in front of her that she hadn't felt him lean closer. Her heart returned to a normal pace after a few moments and she was able to process his words.

Ash knew the man to have a hint of magic in him, for she'd seen him repel the dark tendrils of the plains when he first approached her. It occurred to her that he had no way of knowing she'd known what he was doing. And this left Ash in a bit of a spot. Even among the civilized centers of the world, magic was often looked upon with fear and outright loathing. The less educated corners were often a game of dice, some using magic in their day to day lives and others fearing it with enough venom to make a slowknife snake look friendly.

But, this stranger had brought up magic first.

"I'm not sure I'd even know where to start a magic cloak. Do you think it would be better to enchant a cloak or to simply weave one of magic?" Ashlin asked the man. It wasn't a pointed question, or even a whispered one. Ash simply asked the man as if she'd been asking him whether they should eat potatoes or carrots for dinner.

Círdan considered if the woman's question was a clever trap or not. Aside from the obvious 'see if you have knowledge of magic', there was also the idiot trap in there. Anyone who answered the question as though it was their personal knowledge would have been just that: an idiot. In this age, there was no knowing who you could trust with certain information. He mulled over his answer for quite awhile, his spie prickling as the sun continued it descent. Finally, he answered her:

"I can't say, really. There was an old book I saw one time that compared enchanting to alchemy -- and not the herbal kind," he paused before giving a glance toward the camp then the sun, "At any rate, we need to do something before this place becomes even more dangerous than it already is." he looked to her for some sort of plan or scheme. The half-elf was practically useless until he knew if revealing his talent was safe. It was frustrating, bordering on angering, that he couldn't do anything when he had at least one good idea.

The last time Rani had watched the northern sun set over the Sundered Plains, it was not the Sundered Plains. The exact name eluded the saffron maned man as he contemplated the situation before him. The name before, Stargreen Fields perhaps, was of as little importance as the name it went by after. He was unwelcome there the day the stars mingled with lightning to raze the plains in streaks of molten light, and he was no more welcome this day.

Baalase alone broke the Sanctimony, wrecking havoc upon the land like a storm of pride and wrath. The sun rose over his bountiful arena in the viridian dawn; with the waking up of dusk it fell upon his prison.

Rani could feel his malice, his sorrow and hatred, emanating from beneath the tortured earth. Even entombed, Baalase’s reign over the plains continued. It was his legacy, and these agents of oblivion sought to take even that from him. Camped out in defiance of the horror they brought upon Nessa’s dominion and Baalase’s rebellion, the nihilistic knights’ crusade had returned to the place where it started. Churs did not understand their fixation with the area, nor did he concern himself with their blasphemous ideologies. The harbingers of oblivion would not reach Alrusa, not before he stacked the deck with his wild cards.

The storm would see to that.

Of course, now he had figure out how to perform a slight of hand to weasel the pair of rogues into the deck through the hands of knights and knaves. It was too late to stop the summoning of the blizzard – those events had already been set in motion. He would have to shuffle things up a bit to get them into play while keeping the foes out of the draw until he could place his own bet. It was bad enough to deal with that toe-rag bastard, Tock, entering the game. He had to bend the rules while he still could; soon enough they would be out the window.

The slender figure knelt to the barren earth, pale dexterous digits traced across the abrasive ground searchingly before he rose again. Rani glanced at the setting sun again, then at the encampment, and finally in the direction of the travelers. With the sun to his back, they would not see him. That meant he had little time to act, however, for darkness was approaching.

Again Rani knelt, unearthing a fist sized stone. The enigma rapped the stone slowly against the hardened ground, listening intently to the dull protest of the earth. After several moments of this, the struck earth produced an echoing thump that brought a smirk to Rani’s devious features. He placed a hand on the vocal area and mustered a spark of quiet focus. Holding his desire foremost in his mind, Churs uttered his plea in a language long forgotten to most. What was one more debt to pay, after all? If he lost this game, repayment was the least of his concerns.

The earth caved away to form a sink hole filled with glistening water.

The summoning would doubtlessly awaken things best left slumbering, but Rani couldn’t do all the work for the traveling pair. That would be no fun, anyway. Were he capable of remorse for his enemy, he might have lamented that the water was undoubtedly poison. Trusting the troops to see the reflection and investigate, Churs vanished in the direction of the setting sun.

"So weave one, huh? I don't know if I can manage that," Ashlin said thoughtfully. It was an easy way to slip into the conversation that she was a mage, but didn't accuse the stranger. Too many people were afraid these days and she refused to be. From the gods he had prayed to though, Ash felt secure that he wasn't someone who would freak with her being a mage. More than that, she had a feeling he was holding something back, but she wasn't certain if he was a mage. She opened her mouth to say more when a flurry of sensation washed over her.

It was the first kiss of the winter wind on a fall evening, the last drop of wine from the bottle splashing into the glass. Nutmeg and cinnamon pressed onto her tongue and the acrid stench of death in her nose. She whipped her head around, looking for the source. Ashlin had been around magic for most of her life and she could not place the magic being used. It was far enough away that she couldn't pinpoint it, but whatever it was shook her to the core.

"No... the ground is shaking," Ash whispered. So engrossed in her senses, she completely forgot about her companion and the army marching on Alrusa.

Ashlin knelt down on the plains, her cloak spreading out about her. She placed her hand flat on the dirt, and focused her mind. Her eyes snapped shut and her breath caught in her throat. Two quick pulses of energy shot through her, starting in the middle of her chest and radiating out to all the parts of her body that were in contact with the ground. And then she felt it snaking into her mind. What had once been the ah’kiatñ’yshu had grown and twisted, blackened by the events that had transpired. It was an awareness that tried to stop her.

In an instant they fought, Ashlin forcing her Will upon that of the plains. And in an instant it was over. A wave of magic cascaded through the plains, centered on Ash. It was gossamer, so faint and so delicate that only a mage looking for it or someone truly Sensitive to magic in the way Ash was would have been able to notice it.

Her head snapped up and to the left as her breathing returned to normal. She still wasn't sure what she'd sensed, but she knew what had transpired.

"We need to move. Somethings in ah’kiatñ’yshu are waking up and they aren't happy. Up, let's go," she commanded. Adrenaline was already pumping through her, causing her words to be frantic and almost too loud. As she spoke she vaulted onto Nightstrider, holding out a hand to the man before she was fully in the saddle. "If you can help me with that cloak, now would be the time."

Círdan's spine shook with the presence of whatever new magics entered the fray, from quite a distance away. It only vaguely registered in his mind that the woman in front of him just slyly admitted to being one of few Magi left in the world. He didn't catch the same feelings she did, with the strange synchronization she performed with this part of the lands. He was too busy with another problem.

Casting off under the horizon, the last rays of the sun were coming to crest upon the line of the world right as the presence and disturbance of other magic flowed through like a subtle, but just as damaging wave. It started with a shriek -- one not so much audible as... tangible. It rendered him deaf to little else for the moment it was there, but he knew what was to come. Soon, forms and figures cobbled themselves together out of the pained energy that fed this place and fueled its virulent energies. They were tangible enough for the eye to see, yet to focus upon them rendered them nearly transparent. Eyes, ranging in color and whether or not they glowed, popped up in pairs throughout the crowd. Not all were looking at Círdan, but the closer ones were. It sent the jolt of fear through him, from the base of his neck to the tips of his toes. He wasn't familiar entirely with the many forms of Dead, but he knew that these ones were in no possible abstract sense of the word friendly.

"This.... 'tis not a good time for this..." he muttered, his voice having broken from its 'foreign' charm to a hoarse, constricted sound.
There was no longer time for charades and facades, for clever evasiveness and playing on words. There was now a danger as real as any, especially with a shadow that seemed to feed them looming... under it all... somehow. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to know what cast that darkness, all he knew was that night time here was almost certainly going to end him.

He turned, his hair whipping out of place and re-displaying his tapered points. He didn't care right now. He jumped on the horse with the woman's help and held onto... well, for lack of anything else to hold onto, her. He took heed of her suggestion to assist in the creation of a cloak of shadow. It would surely draw unwanted attention from less corporeal things, but for the sake of not getting stabbed by a steel blade... he would help.

"I'll just need you to not do anything rash. I can do the cloak, but it requires a fair deal of concentration. Just... ride..." he spoke quickly and quietly, concisely and to the point. He choked on the word "faster" at the end and simply silenced himself, gripping his staff that lie across his lap for focus. The top gem glowed faintly with a soft inner light, and soon the very darkness around them rippled against the starry backdrop of the sky like heat waves. The waves soon settled apart from the ocassional ripple, and to the outside world they were invisible in the dark... except for certain parties that were now being drawn to Círdan's use of magic like flies to honey... or rotting flesh.