Chapter One: Trial of Towers

"Well then..." Satrokeis spoke up during his descent to the tavern room. His tone of voice, monotonous and dry, along with the look on his face indicated he had not gotten as much sleep as he wanted to. To him, it wasn't any big problem, just a minor inconvenience and a little annoyance. He had gathered the items he left in his room, the bone dagger and blade, along with a bag full of traveling supplies, held over his shoulder with his left arm.

"...Shall we get this danger over with?" He said half-sarcastically as he sat at the table.

After watching Kalessin leave, Malcove turns his attention back to Trance and Rowan. With a smile he says, "And so our entourage grows! Pretty soon we'll have to start turning newcomers away, we'll have to tell them to find their own adventure!"

Though he was laughing at his remark, he was glad to have so many with them. Landese was a dangerous man and one that was neigh unapproachable. It would be nice to have all the help they could get.

He watched as Satrokeis slithered down the stairs and presented himself. ”I agree that we should start on our search as soon as possible, but our party hasn’t reformed yet. I would suggest that you go purchase any supplies you can think that you might need, practice your techniques, or whatever else you can think of along those lines before we head out. If everyone doesn’t show in a while, we’ll start without them.” He gives him a reassuring smile and calls over the innkeeper, who is now temporarily the bartender, and asks him for a brandy. After ordering he turns to Trance with a slightly more concerned look on his face. ”So old friend, do you have any idea where we might start searching for the infamous Landese?”

"We could just leave the sailor and his brats..." Moira muttered under her breath, just loud enough to be heard, but soft enough for the more moral ones to ignore. She took Malcove's suggestion though, and went to find Damaris.

The horse was nearby, trotting happily around the village square with load of laughing youngsters on his back. Moira watched for a second, smiling. 'I'll be the parents are far glad to have the wee ones out from underfoot...'. But she had more need of her horse than they did. Moira whistled, a strange little trill, and Damaris immediately came to her. "Now you 'uns," She set the first giggling child down with a mock serious expression. "You're gonna wear my horse to nubbins, sure and certain." As she unloaded the lot of them, she let her accent deepen into an almost back-country drawl, the kind you only heard in this part of Scilsdal. "How're ye ganna fayl if when'I need 'em, he's all tuckered?" The laughter grew, as she knew it would, and she finally smiled. "All right. On with you."

The second they had scampered off, Damaris whooshed his breath into Moira's hair. Absently, she scratched his head under the mane. "Yes, we're going." Another puff. "No, it's not back to the Tower." Damaris tapped the ground with his forehoof in annoyance. "It can't be helped. I sort of promised to help the fighters in the tavern find this man, Landese." Damaris tilted his head in a very human gesture. One that plainly said, 'So I have to suffer for your savior complex?' "It's just through Scilsdal!" She hastened to assure him. "Don't look at me like that. The minute they set foot out of the country, we're going home."

Damaris just stared at her out of his mismatched green/brown eyes, and finally snorted his assent. Moira wasted no time in loading her packs. She travelled light, more for Damaris's sake than her own. At the outfitters', she loaded up on trail rations, fire-starters, and invested in a thick warm WATERPROOF cloak with a hood, making a mental note to tell the others to do the same. On second thought, she bought a spare. Just in case one of them didn't have the money to spend.

On the way out, she spotted the Ryaka deep into something that looked like a private ritual. She contemplated interrupting, thought better of it, and said a brief mental prayer to her Keeper Idia instead before loading the rest of her supplies.

The Idyllic world of self contemplation. a world so close but far removed from self absorbtion. A world with no boundaries, where one can explore all facets and vestiges of inner truth and beauty within the self. A world that the Ryaka adored. A world that would never be.

Kalessin's ceremony went as such: The Ryaka had knelt to his knees and bowed his head. He cupped some water into his hands and raised them up to catch the sun's splendor. He stayed in this position darned near a half hour. He neither shook nor move, except the gentle intervals of silent and soft breaths- the ones that come from a heart at peace.
After this half hour of meditation, his true prayer began.
He chanted something beneath his breath.
He raised the water above his head, and seemed to perform some self baptism. His hands sunk down to his sides, palms open. He raised his snout to the heavens.
A few people stopped their activities to watch him, rather befuddled and such a profound statement of belief.
He was a real live, honest to the nexus, serious believer.
In the mud before him, he drew a simple rune, a rune of three waves.
He cupped his hands, and sure enough, water filled them from thin air- only enough for a drink.
He raised his flesh-made chalice to his lips and supped.
He then placed his hands on his thighs and took in ever sound and vibration of the world around him, eyes closed in thoughtful reverie.
He would know when the others were ready, and when they came he would join them. Until then, his soul was in a blessed union with inner serenity.

“You say she spoke of Landese?”
“I heard her talking to her horse,” replied the street urchin. “She is Scilsdalian. I have seen her many times before. Her soft voice betrays her powerful magics.”
“You speak wise, child. The others?”
“Separate I think, for now. The Ryaka makes puddles in the street.”
Abadonn paused. “They travel together?”

“Is it true, Abadonn? Is he here, the Prince?”
“That,” Abadonn smiled, “I intend to see for myself.”

“Will you leave us?” questioned the youngest.
“Yes. What I don’t take, you may have. Share with the others.”
“Will you come back?”
“No harm will come to you here. I have taught you all well. Keep an eye out for the others. If they leave, they will head for the sea, most likely. Meet me there if you like, or I will find you. I have unfinished business...”
Wait! The others! How will you know them when you find them?!? cried out the urchin.

After quite some time Trance turned back to Malcove's question, flipping his legs up on the table and gesturing to the innkeeper for one last drink 'Whiskey, no water.'

'He's as cunning and dangerous as a desert snake, but twice as ruthless. If you're asking for my honest opinion Seeker, I do not believe we will find him in these forests. Though we will find those that still assist him in his twisted delusions of domination. Those whose puppet strings betray them, and when we find them, we find our first clue.' the innkeeper set the glass in front of Trance, who in return with a small nod picked it up, letting the liquid glimmer in the now few rays of light that made their way through the window. 'So drink up!' he smiled, and pressed his glass into Malcove's, the glasses clanging against one another with a volition that reflected those who held them.

Swallowing in one fell swoop Trance set the glass down along with a Cren, stood to his feet, and walked outside. He surveyed the town taking it all in once again. He had stepped outside earlier afterall, but everytime he saw the site of destruction it brought a self conclusion. He whispered a prayer to Veidrai, then one to Azra, then one to his mother.

He stepped back to the tavern door, 'Seeker, let's get going. The others, if they choose to join us can catch up. We're wasting precious daylight...tell the innkeeper if the others ever arise from their slumbers and still think they can handle a little danger that we'll be heading North.' he turned back around and stepped off the porch of the tavern, rubbing his hands together, and cracking his neck.

Two more words said through a smile in the fae and ryaka's direction, 'Shall we?'

"Shall we?"

We....It had been such a long time since Kalessin had heard such precious words. So many good men lost. How had he never been one of them?
He spoke softly, nigh silent, the ending of his prayers. "Sereus...be with me."
His raven eyes glimmered.
"The goddess has helped. See? The rain fall had stopped ere the last tracks were gone. There is still somewhat of a trail. This has she told me."
He outstrecthed a hand to the far road, where indeed, there were a few scattered foot prints that had not yet been tampered with.

Moira squinted up the trail, thinking to herself. There was a small range of hills to the north of the city with the obligatory series of caves cut into them. Mongi lived in burrows, but that many in one place would have been noticed by someone. Moira had asked around that morning, but none of the residents knew of any Mongi Clutch nearby. North, she supposed, was as good a direction to go as any.
She filled the others in on her musings, but there was one thing she didn't mention. Moira had been unnaturally sensitive to flora and fauna ever since she was a very small child. The uncle who had raised her, Jorah, had laughed kindly when she told him that she could understand what animals were saying, and that the trees whispered amongst themselves and to her. But laugh he had, and the children around her had not been as kind. So, she kept it inside where no one could judge....
...but she was worried. The native trees seemed to be....holding their breath, as you might do when trying not to breathe a noxious fume. Everything was unusually tense, especially in the direction they were going.
Moira hoped that it was just her imagination.
They were almost to the hills when Damaris stopped cold. "What is it?" Moira asked softly. Damaris tossed his mane and lowered his nose to the ground. Suddenly, he blew his breath out hard and stamped the ground, rearing back and bumping into the man they called Seeker. "So much for imagination..." She muttered before apologizing to Malcove. Releasing Damaris's reins, she crouched at the spot Damaris had. Slowly she reached her hand out to the spot...and wrenched back with a cry of pain. Her fingertips had been blistered as the rune etched into the ground flared into life. A trap rune.
Now that she had seen it, she didn't know how they could have missed it. Almost a mile of ground in each direction was destroyed, the trees cracked and ripped out by their roots. No wonder the forest near New Haven had been so tense; they could feel what happened here and didn't want to be next. Couple that with the REALLY convincing glamour that had been put on this place, and it was a recipe for disaster.
Cradling her hurt hand, eyes wide, Moira looked out over the damage. "Friends....I think we have trouble...."

A trap rune. Malcove was ready for adventure, but didn't expect to find danger so quickly. As soon as he saw the damage that the rune caused, Malcove had drawn his sword and began looking around for where they would come from. Though he hoped against it, it was quite likely that they were surrounded, and who knows by how many of what. It wouldn't be Mongi this time, that's for sure.

"Well Trance, it seems that we are already getting warm in our search for the infamous Landese." After a pause he added, "Sorry, I figured we could use a joke before the fight."