((Feel free to DM me if you want to participate.))
The wars ended, but the land didn’t heal. The old empire cracks at the edges while its cities whisper promises they no longer keep. Trade rolls in with the tide, but so do refugees, sell-swords, pilgrims, and worse. The gods are still worshiped in the streets, but with less certainty than before. Faith clings like sea-salt—always present, never pure.
It’s in this half-rotten peace the Black Wyvern Company lands in Koldamar, chasing a name most haven’t heard. Eresa Mylen. A mother who walked the path of the Grey Embrace. A woman whose trail fades into the fog along the Reach. And if she can be found, it begins here.
The ship groaned as it eased into port, wood creaking beneath the weight of iron and men. The harbor of Koldamar looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks—rope-pulleys hung limp from rusted cranes, gulls squawked from atop forgotten cargo, and the flag of the old empire flew high above the Portwarden’s Hall, faded and water-bitten.
There was a scent to it: salt, fish oil, sweat, and coal smoke. A city clinging to its own myth.
Dockhands eyed the mercenaries from under hoods, half-curious, half-wary. The Black Wyverns weren’t a known name here—not yet. But enough of them stepped onto the planks to draw notice. A few local guards made a show of standing upright, though none stepped forward to question the group.
Past the harbor gates, the streets of Koldamar sprawled in damp stone and shuttered windows. Priests and priestesses from a dozen orders wove between carts and prayer stalls, calling down blessings from Tanora, Eldan, Ushara. A child passed holding a tiny wooden mask of Cherga, blackened from smoke—whether votive or toy was hard to say.
On every wall, you could still see the bones of what the city once was. The marble had been white once. The statues had eyes once. Our band of Wyverns might find answers here or more than they bargained for if they weren’t careful.
After all, decay tends to spread anywhere it can reach and hold and fresh faces turn eyes—even the unseen ones.
How then will our capable captain proceed?
Searching for Eresa Mylen ((Closed RP))
Moderator: Gamemasters
-
Nala Thorhild
- Posts: 40
- Joined: Sun Dec 15, 2024 1:09 am
Re: Searching for Eresa Mylen ((Closed RP))
A tall, burly man disembarked from the ship, offering the curious dockhands an equally intimidating and pitiable sight. Were it not for his imposing stature and the steel clattering under his black cloak, one could mistake the unkempt, one-eyed mercenary captain Malchus for a beggar, unwashed and unshaven since the day he had boarded the vessel which had brought him to this port, and visibly nauseated from the voyage.
Feeling the solid, cobbled pavement under his iron-shod boots, he sighed and took a deep breath. The air was salty, damp, and impregnated with the foul odour of sweat as the one he had breathed for days aboard, but the ground was firm, which was relief enough to the seasick Serinjah, who soon was joined by a few other figures which had come with him from faraway Illarion.
They were in a strange land among strangers. Aloof and alert, Malchus took his time to regain his bearing, letting his eye wander over the harbour and people inhabiting it: the hooded dockhands moving cargo to and fro, the lizard fishermen peddling their catch, the shabby dockside taverns keeping bored mariners entertained between voyages, the crowds flowing through the gates leading to the town proper, and the guardsmen overseeing it all. The latter seemed not to care to engage the party of Illarionites, which suited their leader fine — less time wasted on pointless questions and paperwork.
"So this is it, Koldamar," he assessed curtly and unimpressed, and turned to his companions.
"I suggest we hit one o' the taverns t' sit down an' go over the details o' our mission 'ere. Might as well get ourselves sumthin' proper t' eat 'n' drink. A welcome change from the hardtack an' stale ale we got on that ship."
Feeling the solid, cobbled pavement under his iron-shod boots, he sighed and took a deep breath. The air was salty, damp, and impregnated with the foul odour of sweat as the one he had breathed for days aboard, but the ground was firm, which was relief enough to the seasick Serinjah, who soon was joined by a few other figures which had come with him from faraway Illarion.
They were in a strange land among strangers. Aloof and alert, Malchus took his time to regain his bearing, letting his eye wander over the harbour and people inhabiting it: the hooded dockhands moving cargo to and fro, the lizard fishermen peddling their catch, the shabby dockside taverns keeping bored mariners entertained between voyages, the crowds flowing through the gates leading to the town proper, and the guardsmen overseeing it all. The latter seemed not to care to engage the party of Illarionites, which suited their leader fine — less time wasted on pointless questions and paperwork.
"So this is it, Koldamar," he assessed curtly and unimpressed, and turned to his companions.
"I suggest we hit one o' the taverns t' sit down an' go over the details o' our mission 'ere. Might as well get ourselves sumthin' proper t' eat 'n' drink. A welcome change from the hardtack an' stale ale we got on that ship."
Re: Searching for Eresa Mylen ((Closed RP))
Soren stepped off the gangplank, boots thudding against the wood as it groaned beneath the weight. They finally made landfall. He moved to join his captain, Malchus, a giant of a man whose shadow stretched over Soren’s leaner frame.
Around them, the usual buzz of disembarking played out. Sailors bartering insults with the dockhands, the back and forth of crates being dropped off and stowed, but Soren's eyes were already sweeping the streets ahead. Koldamar – He’d seen its kind before, places that were more memory than something of the present.
He didn't trust them, places like this. There were too many blind corners, and too many lingering stares.
Out of habit, his gaze swept across rooftops, scanned doorways and counted exits. His hand drifted to his belt, fingers brushing the hilt of the dagger slung at his hip. He didn’t really believe he’d need it so soon, but it pays to be cautious when stepping blindly into unknown territory.
His eyes paused on a crumbling statue half-hidden behind stacked crates. Some long-dead hero - once celebrated, now forgotten, whose monument must have welcomed countless ships into the city. The way the stone blade in its hand had snapped clean at the hilt bothered him more than he cared to admit.
He felt melancholic, seeing the signs of a once-prideful city now in its twilight years.
Then Malchus spoke, voice cutting through the noise of the harbour. The captain suggested the group find a tavern for some much-welcomed refreshment after their long journey, which Soren could hardly disagree with.
“Fine by me.” He replied.
He slung his pack over his shoulder, the contents clattering against his armour. He gave the path ahead one last look with a furrowed brow.
“The quicker we get off the street, the better.”
Around them, the usual buzz of disembarking played out. Sailors bartering insults with the dockhands, the back and forth of crates being dropped off and stowed, but Soren's eyes were already sweeping the streets ahead. Koldamar – He’d seen its kind before, places that were more memory than something of the present.
He didn't trust them, places like this. There were too many blind corners, and too many lingering stares.
Out of habit, his gaze swept across rooftops, scanned doorways and counted exits. His hand drifted to his belt, fingers brushing the hilt of the dagger slung at his hip. He didn’t really believe he’d need it so soon, but it pays to be cautious when stepping blindly into unknown territory.
His eyes paused on a crumbling statue half-hidden behind stacked crates. Some long-dead hero - once celebrated, now forgotten, whose monument must have welcomed countless ships into the city. The way the stone blade in its hand had snapped clean at the hilt bothered him more than he cared to admit.
He felt melancholic, seeing the signs of a once-prideful city now in its twilight years.
Then Malchus spoke, voice cutting through the noise of the harbour. The captain suggested the group find a tavern for some much-welcomed refreshment after their long journey, which Soren could hardly disagree with.
“Fine by me.” He replied.
He slung his pack over his shoulder, the contents clattering against his armour. He gave the path ahead one last look with a furrowed brow.
“The quicker we get off the street, the better.”
-
Nala Thorhild
- Posts: 40
- Joined: Sun Dec 15, 2024 1:09 am
Like Mother, Like Daughter
((Just prose, nothing keen to the quest))
How could anyone ever leave?
As a child, you’re told the legends—lessons laced with warning. The priests and priestesses speak of miracles, of faith, of resolve. And if you’re lucky enough to have devoted parents—loving ones—they do all they can to raise you in the light, to keep their shadows from creeping in.
But life isn’t perfect. It doesn’t stand still. Wear seeps in. The burden shows—on the tongue, in silences, behind the eyes. And no matter how it’s dressed, life teaches its own lessons.
Hardship threatens to erode our foundations. Injustice gives rise to vile ambition. Common lives feel the heel. It chokes us. It takes from us—or worse.
Beyond the legends, we hear the whispers—tales too wild to believe, yet too persistent to ignore. We are marked to endure, to rise, or to fall. And some of us dare to dream. Dare to hold fast to what we don’t yet understand. To hope. To will. To manifest.
We endure, too. We risk everything like the rest of them. But once the spell takes root, we are forever changed.
Illarion.
It had been her mother’s only wish, after her husband passed: to send her daughter far away, clinging to the hope that somewhere in the world, a safe place still remained. A selfless act—born of desperation, of a life unraveled, and fueled by love for what was lost and what remained. She wept every day after the contract was signed.
Despite her mother’s strength—her steady resolve—Liora Mylen had always seen through the veneer. She saw the heart of a woman who had lived only for her family and lost nearly all of it: friends and kin by the dozens, their land, their liberty, their freedom…
Then her husband.
Now her child.
It would’ve been enough to drive anyone to the edge—or over it. But she hadn’t gone.
Because faith runs deeper than logic.
Deeper than knowledge. Deeper than power. Deeper than greed.
Faith is the hand of the divine pulling you up when no one else will—and believing it’s there, even if you die.
No matter the sorrow.
How broken.
How lost.
The gods wait. And life is meant to go on. No power can hold us in the depths unless we let it.
The Mother and her blessed take root in any crevice given. They rise. They bloom in the aftermath. They shine where no one can harm or belittle them—because the gods have always known them, always loved them, always wanted good things for them.
Curse this world of blood and bone that stole Liora’s childhood. This world that can take from us at any moment.
But blessed is the story that preserves.
Blessed are the pieces that remain.
And blessed are the ones who still take root. Who can smile again. Who can find love in the madness.
For the gods are high above.
And the one who holds you down is far below.
He has nothing but chains for you. Nothing but whispers to poison your ear.
Don’t let him tempt you. Don’t let him bind you.
Liora hadn’t.
Had her mother?
Seeking solace on a pilgrimage for the Grey Lady worried her to no end. She should have sent word sooner. She should have worked herself to the bone to find her. But guilt gnawed at her more than anything.
Her mother.
Never cruel—stern at times—but never cruel. A woman who gave everything. Who only ever wanted to smile and raise more children. Who liked to sing when it rained. Who could always find a way to make things feel lighter. The healer. The peacekeeper. The life-giver. The woman Liora hoped to be one day—chose the Grey Embrace.
To follow the shadows. To descend into mist, thick with doubt and unknowing. Was it too much now? Was she searching for escape?
Was she trying to move on? To put the past behind and walk a new path?
No. Not yet, Mum, she thought.
She had no reason to believe her mother had gone to end things. Lost? Aye. Hopeless? Maybe. But willing to surrender entirely? No. She had to believe her mother would never risk their final separation. Even the thought felt like a weight pressing into her chest—the kind of feeling Eresa had warned her about long ago.
“When you know, you know, my little glim,”
she used to say.
“I promise—give it time and prayer, and you’ll feel which way is leading you up or down.”
Teagan was up.
So far up it felt like the gods had invited her to their table. It felt like every story her parents used to drone on about, only now the stars were real, and they spoke in his voice.
Gods, when you know, you know.
Had all the sacrifices paid for this—this pounding, breathless hope in her chest? If so, her mother and father were saints.
Teagan had saved her—not from thieves or hunger—but from doubt and unworthiness. From toiling through gray days into a life of vivid color. Every breath felt better than the last. Every glance deeper. Every touch more unnerving—and more comforting.
She drank from it. Dined on every moment of spontaneity he offered. The way he looked at her—aye, the only, but somehow more. A connection she’d carried her entire life, some secret never told until it slipped from his lips one fateful night in the desert. So kind it hurt. So still it trembled.
She’d never expected him—the one poets wrote about, the one sung of in coastal shanties.
She’d imagined a suitable match. A good man. But never a great one. Not a do-anything-for-you, center-his-life-around-yours man. No. Fate held that for ladies and princesses—not for a peasant turned refugee.
Did she run from it? Did she hide?
No… not until the day Malchus left to find her mother. That day, it was all too much. Everything Teagan had done, everything at stake—she folded beneath the weight. Malchus left for the docks, and she disappeared, not from him, but from herself.
To pray.
To seek peace.
She hated what that must’ve looked like to Teagan. He would’ve held her. Carried her. Let her lose herself in his arms, drunk on starlight—not from liquor, but from him. Always him.
From now on—once this strange sadness passed—she would run back to him.
She would crush him in her arms.
She would cry. She would laugh.
She would live again.
Forever—for him.
With him.
Mum, come see him, come make a new home with us!
How could anyone ever leave?
As a child, you’re told the legends—lessons laced with warning. The priests and priestesses speak of miracles, of faith, of resolve. And if you’re lucky enough to have devoted parents—loving ones—they do all they can to raise you in the light, to keep their shadows from creeping in.
But life isn’t perfect. It doesn’t stand still. Wear seeps in. The burden shows—on the tongue, in silences, behind the eyes. And no matter how it’s dressed, life teaches its own lessons.
Hardship threatens to erode our foundations. Injustice gives rise to vile ambition. Common lives feel the heel. It chokes us. It takes from us—or worse.
Beyond the legends, we hear the whispers—tales too wild to believe, yet too persistent to ignore. We are marked to endure, to rise, or to fall. And some of us dare to dream. Dare to hold fast to what we don’t yet understand. To hope. To will. To manifest.
We endure, too. We risk everything like the rest of them. But once the spell takes root, we are forever changed.
Illarion.
It had been her mother’s only wish, after her husband passed: to send her daughter far away, clinging to the hope that somewhere in the world, a safe place still remained. A selfless act—born of desperation, of a life unraveled, and fueled by love for what was lost and what remained. She wept every day after the contract was signed.
Despite her mother’s strength—her steady resolve—Liora Mylen had always seen through the veneer. She saw the heart of a woman who had lived only for her family and lost nearly all of it: friends and kin by the dozens, their land, their liberty, their freedom…
Then her husband.
Now her child.
It would’ve been enough to drive anyone to the edge—or over it. But she hadn’t gone.
Because faith runs deeper than logic.
Deeper than knowledge. Deeper than power. Deeper than greed.
Faith is the hand of the divine pulling you up when no one else will—and believing it’s there, even if you die.
No matter the sorrow.
How broken.
How lost.
The gods wait. And life is meant to go on. No power can hold us in the depths unless we let it.
The Mother and her blessed take root in any crevice given. They rise. They bloom in the aftermath. They shine where no one can harm or belittle them—because the gods have always known them, always loved them, always wanted good things for them.
Curse this world of blood and bone that stole Liora’s childhood. This world that can take from us at any moment.
But blessed is the story that preserves.
Blessed are the pieces that remain.
And blessed are the ones who still take root. Who can smile again. Who can find love in the madness.
For the gods are high above.
And the one who holds you down is far below.
He has nothing but chains for you. Nothing but whispers to poison your ear.
Don’t let him tempt you. Don’t let him bind you.
Liora hadn’t.
Had her mother?
Seeking solace on a pilgrimage for the Grey Lady worried her to no end. She should have sent word sooner. She should have worked herself to the bone to find her. But guilt gnawed at her more than anything.
Her mother.
Never cruel—stern at times—but never cruel. A woman who gave everything. Who only ever wanted to smile and raise more children. Who liked to sing when it rained. Who could always find a way to make things feel lighter. The healer. The peacekeeper. The life-giver. The woman Liora hoped to be one day—chose the Grey Embrace.
To follow the shadows. To descend into mist, thick with doubt and unknowing. Was it too much now? Was she searching for escape?
Was she trying to move on? To put the past behind and walk a new path?
No. Not yet, Mum, she thought.
She had no reason to believe her mother had gone to end things. Lost? Aye. Hopeless? Maybe. But willing to surrender entirely? No. She had to believe her mother would never risk their final separation. Even the thought felt like a weight pressing into her chest—the kind of feeling Eresa had warned her about long ago.
“When you know, you know, my little glim,”
she used to say.
“I promise—give it time and prayer, and you’ll feel which way is leading you up or down.”
Teagan was up.
So far up it felt like the gods had invited her to their table. It felt like every story her parents used to drone on about, only now the stars were real, and they spoke in his voice.
Gods, when you know, you know.
Had all the sacrifices paid for this—this pounding, breathless hope in her chest? If so, her mother and father were saints.
Teagan had saved her—not from thieves or hunger—but from doubt and unworthiness. From toiling through gray days into a life of vivid color. Every breath felt better than the last. Every glance deeper. Every touch more unnerving—and more comforting.
She drank from it. Dined on every moment of spontaneity he offered. The way he looked at her—aye, the only, but somehow more. A connection she’d carried her entire life, some secret never told until it slipped from his lips one fateful night in the desert. So kind it hurt. So still it trembled.
She’d never expected him—the one poets wrote about, the one sung of in coastal shanties.
She’d imagined a suitable match. A good man. But never a great one. Not a do-anything-for-you, center-his-life-around-yours man. No. Fate held that for ladies and princesses—not for a peasant turned refugee.
Did she run from it? Did she hide?
No… not until the day Malchus left to find her mother. That day, it was all too much. Everything Teagan had done, everything at stake—she folded beneath the weight. Malchus left for the docks, and she disappeared, not from him, but from herself.
To pray.
To seek peace.
She hated what that must’ve looked like to Teagan. He would’ve held her. Carried her. Let her lose herself in his arms, drunk on starlight—not from liquor, but from him. Always him.
From now on—once this strange sadness passed—she would run back to him.
She would crush him in her arms.
She would cry. She would laugh.
She would live again.
Forever—for him.
With him.
Mum, come see him, come make a new home with us!
Re: Searching for Eresa Mylen ((Closed RP))
Right behind the two men, a slender young woman with raven-black hair left the ship. Although she kept her head slightly lowered, she observed her surroundings both attentively and unobtrusively from the corner of her eye. Flannery was more than grateful to finally have solid ground under her feet again. It wasn't that she was getting seasick, but there was little freedom of movement on board a ship and certainly no way of escaping a situation on the high seas. She was glad to escape this floating coffin.
When Malchus had told her about this mission and asked her if she would be willing to accompany him in this case, she had agreed without hesitation. After all, it involved an Order of Cherga with an ominous ritual. That alone was enough to spark her curiosity. Perhaps there was nothing more to it, but if the faint hunch in the back of her mind was proved correct, this was not only a mission for the Black Wyvern, but also something that could be of great interest to The Veils.
The voices of the two men snapped her out of her thoughts. A tavern was a wonderful idea! She might have responded with a cheeky remark but immediately reconsidered. This was no pleasure trip. She had left her beloved lute behind in Illarion with a heavy heart. This was a mission she had accepted from the Black Wyvern Company and now she had a role to play: As long as she was here, she would be Jessica Barrows, the daughter of a wealthy but reclusive businessman, whose beloved fiancé had tragically lost his life. Broken with grief, she had turned to Cherga and now hoped for relief from her pain through a ritual she had heard about...
And she hated it already.
She had even dyed her copper-red hair and hid her slightly pointed ears under the now raven-black strands, which only made her look even paler. She had swapped her colorful clothes for plain gray and black and carried her daggers and a few other small surprises well hidden. As difficult as it might be for her, she had to maintain a modest, humble reserve for the time being.
Thus, she just nodded faintly and brushed the hood of her cloak over her head as she caught up with the two of them. However, she whispered quietly to the sturdier of the two: “You really owe me a drink for this...”
When Malchus had told her about this mission and asked her if she would be willing to accompany him in this case, she had agreed without hesitation. After all, it involved an Order of Cherga with an ominous ritual. That alone was enough to spark her curiosity. Perhaps there was nothing more to it, but if the faint hunch in the back of her mind was proved correct, this was not only a mission for the Black Wyvern, but also something that could be of great interest to The Veils.
The voices of the two men snapped her out of her thoughts. A tavern was a wonderful idea! She might have responded with a cheeky remark but immediately reconsidered. This was no pleasure trip. She had left her beloved lute behind in Illarion with a heavy heart. This was a mission she had accepted from the Black Wyvern Company and now she had a role to play: As long as she was here, she would be Jessica Barrows, the daughter of a wealthy but reclusive businessman, whose beloved fiancé had tragically lost his life. Broken with grief, she had turned to Cherga and now hoped for relief from her pain through a ritual she had heard about...
And she hated it already.
She had even dyed her copper-red hair and hid her slightly pointed ears under the now raven-black strands, which only made her look even paler. She had swapped her colorful clothes for plain gray and black and carried her daggers and a few other small surprises well hidden. As difficult as it might be for her, she had to maintain a modest, humble reserve for the time being.
Thus, she just nodded faintly and brushed the hood of her cloak over her head as she caught up with the two of them. However, she whispered quietly to the sturdier of the two: “You really owe me a drink for this...”
Re: Searching for Eresa Mylen ((Closed RP))
"I thought yer devotion t' Cherga forbids worldly pleasures like drink, Lady Barrows," Malchus whispered in response with a cheeky smirk, giving Flannery a wink.
He led them to one of the larger, busier taverns, which wasn't exclusively visited by seamen. They wouldn't stand out too much in a crowded tavern, he reasoned, and whatever they serve must be palatable enough to attract that many patrons.
The scent of fried fish, strong liquor, and smoke hit them as soon as they entered. The tavern was filled with patrons; some huddling around tables and the bar counter, others warming themselves by the fire crackling in a large chimney. A cacophony of chatter and coarse laughter filled the room.
After the publican had received his coins, "Lady Barrows and her two bodyguards" were seated at one of the few free tables and served plates of fish and cups of wine.
Malchus reached into his satchel and produced a parchment showing a remarkably detailed drawing of a woman: slender and light-skinned, her dark hair, streaked with silver, tied back in a loose braid, regarding the portrait's beholder with a gentle and serene look. A strange pendant hung from a simple leather cord around her neck.
"This is her," Malchus explained with a hushed voice, leaning closer over the table to the others, "Eresa Mylen, the woman we're looking for, a nun o' Cherga an' mother o' our client, Liora Mylen. We've been tasked t' find her, deliver her daughter's letter, an' bring her safely t' Illarion. She recently left her convent o' the Grey Sisters bound fo' Halvyr's Rest, where she seeks the Grey Embrace, a rite fo' those in mourning. Her husband, Liora's father, died inna war, y'see, before she joined that nunnery o' Cherga."
Malchus gently tapped his index finger on the drawn pendant.
"She wears modest clothes, as you'd expect o' a nun, an' this pendant o' Halvyr, whoever or whatever that is. It must be related t' the Order o' the Grey Sisters o' Thurness an' that rite o' the Grey Embrace sumhow, as the ritual site is called Halvyr's Rest. The good news is that she's not seeking death at the end o' her pilgrimage, but a new life 'n' purpose. But that's also the only thing we know 'bout it."
He paused for a moment, looking across the table, and reached for another parchment, a large scroll, which, once unfurled, revealed a map of the land.
"We're 'ere," Malchus explained further and pointed at the settlement labelled Koldamar, before trailing the roads with his finger.
"We've been instructed t' begin our search in Lowmere, then follow the Ol' Eastern Trail passin' through Brinewatch Hollow 'til we reach the Thread o' Returning leadin' t' Halvyr's Rest. Eresa travels light but on foot. Still, we gotta make haste if we wanna catch up with her. If there are stables in Koldamar, we may wanna buy horses t' travel faster. Either way, we shouldn't linger in Koldamar longer than we need to."
Malchus looked up from the map to his two companions. "So, any questions or suggestions?"
He led them to one of the larger, busier taverns, which wasn't exclusively visited by seamen. They wouldn't stand out too much in a crowded tavern, he reasoned, and whatever they serve must be palatable enough to attract that many patrons.
The scent of fried fish, strong liquor, and smoke hit them as soon as they entered. The tavern was filled with patrons; some huddling around tables and the bar counter, others warming themselves by the fire crackling in a large chimney. A cacophony of chatter and coarse laughter filled the room.
After the publican had received his coins, "Lady Barrows and her two bodyguards" were seated at one of the few free tables and served plates of fish and cups of wine.
Malchus reached into his satchel and produced a parchment showing a remarkably detailed drawing of a woman: slender and light-skinned, her dark hair, streaked with silver, tied back in a loose braid, regarding the portrait's beholder with a gentle and serene look. A strange pendant hung from a simple leather cord around her neck.
"This is her," Malchus explained with a hushed voice, leaning closer over the table to the others, "Eresa Mylen, the woman we're looking for, a nun o' Cherga an' mother o' our client, Liora Mylen. We've been tasked t' find her, deliver her daughter's letter, an' bring her safely t' Illarion. She recently left her convent o' the Grey Sisters bound fo' Halvyr's Rest, where she seeks the Grey Embrace, a rite fo' those in mourning. Her husband, Liora's father, died inna war, y'see, before she joined that nunnery o' Cherga."
Malchus gently tapped his index finger on the drawn pendant.
"She wears modest clothes, as you'd expect o' a nun, an' this pendant o' Halvyr, whoever or whatever that is. It must be related t' the Order o' the Grey Sisters o' Thurness an' that rite o' the Grey Embrace sumhow, as the ritual site is called Halvyr's Rest. The good news is that she's not seeking death at the end o' her pilgrimage, but a new life 'n' purpose. But that's also the only thing we know 'bout it."
He paused for a moment, looking across the table, and reached for another parchment, a large scroll, which, once unfurled, revealed a map of the land.
"We're 'ere," Malchus explained further and pointed at the settlement labelled Koldamar, before trailing the roads with his finger.
"We've been instructed t' begin our search in Lowmere, then follow the Ol' Eastern Trail passin' through Brinewatch Hollow 'til we reach the Thread o' Returning leadin' t' Halvyr's Rest. Eresa travels light but on foot. Still, we gotta make haste if we wanna catch up with her. If there are stables in Koldamar, we may wanna buy horses t' travel faster. Either way, we shouldn't linger in Koldamar longer than we need to."
Malchus looked up from the map to his two companions. "So, any questions or suggestions?"
Re: Searching for Eresa Mylen ((Closed RP))
His remark on the way to the tavern had earned Malchus a scowl from beneath her hood, but wine and a warm meal were more than welcome compensation after the long journey. Now, the gaze of “Lady Barrows” quietly focused on the drawing, as she was trying to memorize the detailed features, while listening intently to Malchus’ explanations. So, Eresa was not seeking death in the end of her journey… This at least dispelled Flannery’s worst initial concerns. Nevertheless, there were still a few other possibilities, and depending on one's point of view, some of them might be worse than death.
Her eyes lingered on the pendant for a moment longer. Of course, as a member of the Veils, she was familiar with a lot of symbols, cults and rites evolving around Cherga, yet she was not familiar with this pendant, nor with the Grey Sisters of Thurness or this rite and that unsettled her. On the other hand, she was just a Nightangel and was only given the information she would need to fulfil her duties. This Order did not seem to make any secret of its existence and seemed rather limited in its sphere of influence. Surely, it was probably under surveillance and maybe they never really caught their attention or were considered of minor importance. Yet, this area was not within Flannery's responsibility, nor was this a mission of the Veils, so she could not request any information. After all, she was not even allowed to work for another organization, let alone reveal anything about the existence of the Veils. If she were caught here, she would literally be in hot water. Another reason for her disguise, as she took the risk nonetheless, not for a reward, but for him.
When Malchus took out the map, she shook off her thoughts and followed his description. Finally, she looked up and replied in a hushed voice:
“Do we know when she left? That would help us estimate her lead.”
Thoughtfully, she traced the route with her index finger.
“It seems to be a long way, as you would expect from a pilgrimage route. Some pilgrimage routes require you to travel on foot as part of the ritual. But since this is a rite that is aimed at someone who is already suffering and seeking salvation, that may not necessarily be the case here. Acquiring horses would probably be advantageous...“, with an arched brow she shifted her gaze between Soren and Malchus, before resting it questioningly on the later as she continued, “...as long as it’s not a problem that I’ve never learned how to ride a horse?”
Her eyes lingered on the pendant for a moment longer. Of course, as a member of the Veils, she was familiar with a lot of symbols, cults and rites evolving around Cherga, yet she was not familiar with this pendant, nor with the Grey Sisters of Thurness or this rite and that unsettled her. On the other hand, she was just a Nightangel and was only given the information she would need to fulfil her duties. This Order did not seem to make any secret of its existence and seemed rather limited in its sphere of influence. Surely, it was probably under surveillance and maybe they never really caught their attention or were considered of minor importance. Yet, this area was not within Flannery's responsibility, nor was this a mission of the Veils, so she could not request any information. After all, she was not even allowed to work for another organization, let alone reveal anything about the existence of the Veils. If she were caught here, she would literally be in hot water. Another reason for her disguise, as she took the risk nonetheless, not for a reward, but for him.
When Malchus took out the map, she shook off her thoughts and followed his description. Finally, she looked up and replied in a hushed voice:
“Do we know when she left? That would help us estimate her lead.”
Thoughtfully, she traced the route with her index finger.
“It seems to be a long way, as you would expect from a pilgrimage route. Some pilgrimage routes require you to travel on foot as part of the ritual. But since this is a rite that is aimed at someone who is already suffering and seeking salvation, that may not necessarily be the case here. Acquiring horses would probably be advantageous...“, with an arched brow she shifted her gaze between Soren and Malchus, before resting it questioningly on the later as she continued, “...as long as it’s not a problem that I’ve never learned how to ride a horse?”
Re: Searching for Eresa Mylen ((Closed RP))
Soren leaned forward in his chair, shifting his mug aside as Malchus spread the map across the tavern table. Candelight illuminated the winding route of Eresa's pilgrimage, and Soren studied the marked path with a furrowed brow. Lowmere was their first destination, a small settlement West of the port city, then a long march up to the Northeast. Soren raised his head up form the map, speaking in a hushed tone. "If she's got a lead on us.. Aye, horses would be best."
Soren tapped a finger on the spot where Lowmere was marked.
"If we ride hard, we can close some distance between us, and use that time to see if anyone around has seen her pass through."
He took a sip from his cup as he scanned the map. Eresa's route did leave them alot of ground to cover. “It’s a long trail,” he said flatly. “Too long to walk blind.”
"We're lookin' for a grieving woman, right? She probably won't move fast, and eventually she'll stop and rest. That's why we keep an eye out for firepits, or the smoke from one."
He paused for a moment, looking to his companions."And if she spoke to anyone on the way, we can figure out how far she really is."
He still wasn't sure what to make of their task. it definitely wasn't one without unease; Soren's knowledge of the mysterious Grey Sisters was nonexistent before he sailed to Koldamar, and sending a group of armed mercenaries to track down a single woman only added to his concern. Soren leaned back in his chair, glancing to his disguised companion. Flannery was not someone Soren knew well, and depsite being brought on by Malchus, he wondered if he could trust her on their quest. It was not that he thought ill of her; only that he had yet to see who she was.
They atleast shared a lack of experience with riding horseback.
Soren tapped a finger on the spot where Lowmere was marked.
"If we ride hard, we can close some distance between us, and use that time to see if anyone around has seen her pass through."
He took a sip from his cup as he scanned the map. Eresa's route did leave them alot of ground to cover. “It’s a long trail,” he said flatly. “Too long to walk blind.”
"We're lookin' for a grieving woman, right? She probably won't move fast, and eventually she'll stop and rest. That's why we keep an eye out for firepits, or the smoke from one."
He paused for a moment, looking to his companions."And if she spoke to anyone on the way, we can figure out how far she really is."
He still wasn't sure what to make of their task. it definitely wasn't one without unease; Soren's knowledge of the mysterious Grey Sisters was nonexistent before he sailed to Koldamar, and sending a group of armed mercenaries to track down a single woman only added to his concern. Soren leaned back in his chair, glancing to his disguised companion. Flannery was not someone Soren knew well, and depsite being brought on by Malchus, he wondered if he could trust her on their quest. It was not that he thought ill of her; only that he had yet to see who she was.
They atleast shared a lack of experience with riding horseback.
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Nala Thorhild
- Posts: 40
- Joined: Sun Dec 15, 2024 1:09 am
Off to the Races
The common room hums with quiet conversation, the scent of woodsmoke and old ale heavy in the air. You’ve been speaking of your need for horses—perhaps louder than intended—when a voice from nearby cuts through the background noise.
A lanky stablehand, no more than twenty summers, leans an elbow on the back of his chair. His clothes are patched, his boots muddy from honest work.
“If it’s horses you’re after, you’ll want old Brennar’s place, up by the north wall. Man’s got a pair of racers that’ll eat up the road to Lowmere in a day. He don’t sell to strangers without good coin—or something worth his trouble—but his mounts’ll outlast you on the trail.”
Before you can reply, another voice—rough, worn by years on the road—cuts across the room. A scarred mercenary, arms crossed, smirks from his seat by the hearth.
“Brennar’s nags look fine ‘til you’re halfway inna' thick an’ one snaps a leg. If you wanna beast that won’t spook at bog gas or ghost lights, you talk to Mistress Veyla. East past the river mill. She’s got stock from the southern front—fast, fierce, and not for parades. Price is better, too. Just…” He comes near to whisper, “don’t ask a lotta questions.”
The two strangers fade back into their business, leaving you with a few choice:
- Brennar’s stable — reputable, reliable, but costly
- Mistress Veyla — fast and fierce, but shrouded in trouble
- Or one of your own making — costing you time and effort
The taproom quiets again, save for the distant toll of the watchtower bell.
Re: Searching for Eresa Mylen ((Closed RP))
Malchus lent his ear to the stable boy and mercenary alike, and once both had said their piece, carefully weighed their options, running his hand over his stubble as he was wont to do when absorbed in thought.
The scarred sellsword's words piqued Malchus's curiosity. To ride a fast and fierce horse tempted the Serinjah greatly, for it was something which he had not the opportunity to do ever since his imprisonment and eventual escape to Illarion, and the idea stirred fond memories of his wild, carefree past life. And if the horses could be purchased at a bargain, all the better! Malchus did not mind the questionable provenance of Veyla's horses — he was no stranger to crimes worse than horse theft, which he kept in large part secret, and if the horses were indeed taken from the southern border, what were the chances that one of their former owners would cross their path? And if they did, would they dare to quarrel with two sellswords over horses which may or may not have been once theirs?
Malchus looked over his two companions and reconsidered. Flannery never sat in a saddle before, that much Malchus knew, and he could not be sure of Soren's horse riding skill either; to entrust them the reins of horses too fast and fierce could end in disaster. Not to mention that they should return with a nun, whose safety Malchus warranted. Riding accidents and trouble with the law were things they could ill-afford on this mission.
Malchus was loathe to spend more than necessary, and if Brennar’s horses commanded such a stiff price as the stablehand made it sound, the pay which they were to receive for their quest could be wholly exhausted, and the Black Wyverns would incur a loss. But they should at least be reliable and docile enough for less experienced riders to handle. Consulting the map, Malchus observed that they would mostly travel on the rural roads of Koldamar's wooded countryside. It was wilderness, but not excessively so. A few hamlets and watchtowers dotted the landscape, which meant that the roads should be more or less well-travelled by peasants bringing their harvests to Koldamar's markets and Salkamaerian patrols changing guard. If Brennar's horses were bred for wealthy locals, they were surely fit to traverse the local countryside without much trouble, and were all in all the safer option.
At last Malchus shared his thoughts and concerns with Flannery and Soren, and concluded with a wide smile:
"... Thus I think Brennar's stable may be our safest bet. As fo' the cost, worry not: A lovin' daughter won't skimp for her dear mother's sake! Teagan, Liora's fiancé, did not hesitate to hire 'n' pay us mercenaries t' warrant her mother's safety. His potion business thrives, and once we return his beloved's mother to them their gladness 'n' gratitude will be great. Teagan will be sure t' cover the cost o' the horses which aided us in savin' Liora's mother."
Having thus spoken, Malchus awaited his companions' opinions whilst emptying his plate and cup.
The scarred sellsword's words piqued Malchus's curiosity. To ride a fast and fierce horse tempted the Serinjah greatly, for it was something which he had not the opportunity to do ever since his imprisonment and eventual escape to Illarion, and the idea stirred fond memories of his wild, carefree past life. And if the horses could be purchased at a bargain, all the better! Malchus did not mind the questionable provenance of Veyla's horses — he was no stranger to crimes worse than horse theft, which he kept in large part secret, and if the horses were indeed taken from the southern border, what were the chances that one of their former owners would cross their path? And if they did, would they dare to quarrel with two sellswords over horses which may or may not have been once theirs?
Malchus looked over his two companions and reconsidered. Flannery never sat in a saddle before, that much Malchus knew, and he could not be sure of Soren's horse riding skill either; to entrust them the reins of horses too fast and fierce could end in disaster. Not to mention that they should return with a nun, whose safety Malchus warranted. Riding accidents and trouble with the law were things they could ill-afford on this mission.
Malchus was loathe to spend more than necessary, and if Brennar’s horses commanded such a stiff price as the stablehand made it sound, the pay which they were to receive for their quest could be wholly exhausted, and the Black Wyverns would incur a loss. But they should at least be reliable and docile enough for less experienced riders to handle. Consulting the map, Malchus observed that they would mostly travel on the rural roads of Koldamar's wooded countryside. It was wilderness, but not excessively so. A few hamlets and watchtowers dotted the landscape, which meant that the roads should be more or less well-travelled by peasants bringing their harvests to Koldamar's markets and Salkamaerian patrols changing guard. If Brennar's horses were bred for wealthy locals, they were surely fit to traverse the local countryside without much trouble, and were all in all the safer option.
At last Malchus shared his thoughts and concerns with Flannery and Soren, and concluded with a wide smile:
"... Thus I think Brennar's stable may be our safest bet. As fo' the cost, worry not: A lovin' daughter won't skimp for her dear mother's sake! Teagan, Liora's fiancé, did not hesitate to hire 'n' pay us mercenaries t' warrant her mother's safety. His potion business thrives, and once we return his beloved's mother to them their gladness 'n' gratitude will be great. Teagan will be sure t' cover the cost o' the horses which aided us in savin' Liora's mother."
Having thus spoken, Malchus awaited his companions' opinions whilst emptying his plate and cup.