Chapter One: The Taming of the Nomen Heights
The incessant rumbling and creaking of axles and wheels softens and then stops, accompanied by a chorus of "Whoooaaahhh" as the wagon-drivers pull the oxen to a stop. The caravan has come to a stop outside of Nivakta's Crossing, Brevoy's southernmost town, to gather supplies before the final sojourn into the mountains. Even with seventy mouths to feed, food is not the biggest worry on the six-day journey into Varnhold. Logging tools, hunting supplies, and seed are much more important to procure before becoming a homesteader. Little more than a day's errand, the caravan's troupe of buff farmer guys disembarks and heads into the small town's marketplace to haggle and negotiate for the final pieces to their new life.
Nivakta's Crossing has been something of a backwater for most of its life. Established on the edge of Restov as a central hub to all of the nearby farms, it mostly stood as an organizational nexus for Rostland's breadbasket. However, with the recent push towards settling the nearby wilderness, Nivakta's Crossing has nearly doubled in size. A modest train station straddles the road, heading towards New Stetven towards the west and towards Restov towards the east. Clusters of houses stand on the western half of town, and the area around the train station has turned into a central square. Around it a marketplace, a small town hall, a church of Erastil and a few warehouses crowd. On the western side of town lie a modest graveyard and a small mausoleum dedicated to Pharasma. A charming place, but ultimately a minor waystation in between you and your futures.
The exodus from Restov, while never phlegmatic, was driven into high gear when rumours began to stream into the city. Strife between the two major noble houses of Brevoy had always existed, but apparently House Surtova, the rulers of northern Brevoy (a region called Issia) had decided now was the time for a complete takeover. The rumours on the streets of Restov were that Lord-Mayor Sellimus had received an impossible ultimatum from the Surtovans and that either conflict or occupation was imminent. Getting their s!*+ together quickly, the families who had dedicated themselves to this trip quickly purchased and outfitted the wagons and left the city. Traveling alongside the Kellid Windborne clan, they rumbled along the South Rostland Road.
Now the settlers stand at the precipice. The Nomen Heights, wreathed in a seasonable fog, are clearly visible to the south. Among them rests the frontier town of Varnhold and their futures. A light spring rain begins and then quickly ends. A warm breeze ruffles the hair of youths who stand on a nearby grassy hilltop, gazing into the mountains.
What awaits them? What awaits you, traveler?
A doctor in mask and heavy coat sat on a bench at the edge of town square, just past the train station. He'd set up a sandwich board that said MERCENARIES WANTED in bold black letters. So far he didn't seem to be having any luck attracting help.
Ishana sighed in some relief as the caravan stopped at the latest destination. She didn't mind travelling, but sitting on a cramped caravan for long periods didn't feel as enjoyable as she had imagined it to be.
Glancing longingly at the nearby river, Ishana imagines the luxury of wading into the water, feeling clean and refreshed after a hard time travelling. Still, she was nothing if not practical, and pushed the image out of her mind for now.
While she lacked the magic to create water, Ishana had tried to master her Prestidigitation spell into mimicking the effects of a perfume she had used to enjoy back at home. It had proved tricky to maintain however, but it was something she was still attempting to research.
Moving onto other matters, Ishana heads towards the town square. She ideally wanted to find, and speak to someone who was an expert on the surrounding area's so she could better plan and prepare for any hazards ahead.
A small town with a lot of people was just what Lyon need. Having finally made it to The Nomen Heights she could begin her investigation for the missing craftsman but first a change of attire was in order. She would spend some time walking around the central square, examining the styles of the locals, before commanding her own clothing to match some of what she'd seen.
Once that had been taken care of Lyon would head to the market place, where she could begin questioning the locals about the missing man. She would continue to make her way around the area hoping anyone had seen the man until she spots a semi-familiar face in Ishana.
Lyon would give a friendly wave to Ishana and, if she returned a similar gesture, would make her way over to speak with her. "I've seen you on the caravan but I don't think I've ever gotten your name." She would offer a hand shake to the woman."I'm Lyon from the Pathfinder's Guild in Absalom."
When Aisha had first arrived in town, she had explored the more obvious nooks and crannies, investigating each of the temples, and window shopping in the market. Truth be told, she had spent the majority of her money just before embarking, buying additional stationary to ensure that her journey could be properly catalogued. That meant that she had only spent the first afternoon of her arrival in the darkest corner of the tavern. As a chronicler who wasn't good at speaking, simply listening was generally the best way to gather information - she couldn't lead conversations, but she could glean what others were willing to speak of without prodding. There, she had sat in the dim light, where no one else could possibly want to sit, because she was quite capable of utilizing the rays of light that did reach that point just as effectively as the humans could the ideal locations. She wouldn't have been surprised if strangers tended not to talk much around her as she sat in the corner, though.
The following morning, and indeed every other morning since, Aisha had traveled out into the nearby wilds to spend several hours gathering wild plants and possibly hunt down small or large game. Not every day had been as successful, but she hadn't gone hungry yet. Indeed, if she simply tried a new, untested path, every day and didn't wander too far, she was generally able to come back with a little more than she needed, but Aisha was an adventurer, and the tried and true methods were not enough and would not lead her to wonder.
She had rapidly discovered, however, that her favorite place was near the train. Its arrival and departure brought more color to the town, travelers coming and going, watching people see others off on journeys that Aisha could only guess at, inspiring small memories that sent her synapses aflame with recollections that were both hers and those shared by readers and watchers across the world. So, every day she had found herself at the trainyard when it would leave or return, and so too, once she found her way to this particular settlement did she repeat the pastime.
She was not used to other people simply loitering in a place for coming and going, but had initially not paid much heed to the stranger. She found his appearance to be odd. Was he distancing himself? Or was he frightening to behold? Was he an actual doctor, or a charlatan? Why did he need mercenaries? Aisha's mind went through dozens of options, possibly all wrong, or each shade being only a fragment of the person that she saw. His word choice was perhaps the most interesting thing to her, however.
After watching the comings and goings of total strangers for a bit longer, Aisha rises from her lotus position and crosses the intervening space. Her movements were surprisingly quiet for what appeared to be a suit made entirely of metal. Like Marcus, very little of her body was showing, and also like Marcus, she seemed to have eclectic idea of what the term 'fashion' meant. Her entire body was coated in a layer of silver that seemed to shift and ripple very slightly with every step she took, like curtains before an open window. Upon stopping before him, she cants her head just enough for a clearly quizzical look, despite her face being obscured by her clothing. "For what purpose do you seek those who would barter ethics in exchange for material compensation?"
Thinking back, Ishana can remember some things that she already knows about the Stolen Lands and the Nomen Heights. Being well-educated among elves, she's read a book or two and spoken to some cartographers and geography scholars already about this.
A frontier area, the Nomen Heights is the easternmost area in the Stolen Lands. It has been an outlying region in multiple ancient empires (serpentfolk, Thassilon, the cyclops empire of Ghol-Gan) and before the great plagues of Iobaria it was a part of several kingdoms of that region. It hasn't been part of any organized settlement or kingdom in several hundred years. The Stolen Lands in general are known to be the stomping ground of many fey, especially the forest known as the Narlmarches and the lake known as Lake Silver. The Nomen Heights in particular are known to be the home to an ancient tribe of centaurs known as the Nomen Centaurs. Tribes of strix are also known to live in the southern reaches of the mountains. The Nomen Heights are temperate but relatively low in humidity, since they are far from the sea. They retain fertility due to many runoff-fed waterways that fill the area.
These rivers are problematic for travelers. Because crossing them is so necessary for travel in the area, aquatic predators such as drakes thrive in the region.
While searching the town for further information, Ishana has a little bit of trouble. Despite the traffic, this is still a small town. At best, she is able to find a small library, a bespectacled old maid waiting behind the counter, to find some information. She is able to find a map of the Stolen Lands region.
She left without giving her name, but the townspeople can remember that she wore her hair in a thick braid and that she wore an unusual holy symbol. It certainly wasn't dedicated to Torag! From what people can remember, it looked like some kind of silver and golden mask.
Some are useful. One bookstand is selling handbooks which contain instructions on how to cut and place lumber for different configurations of household. In the beginning it has measurements for the beams, and later on there are diagrams on how to assemble the home.
Others, not so. Another stand is selling "exotic Tian tools" which measure the "风水" (they keep saying "fung shway") of an area of land, which apparently tell you whether a place will give you good luck or bad luck if you settle there. The rules on what constitutes a good or bad place are esoteric and strange, and Aisha does not understand them. Things like which direction your door must face in different circumstances, and how large each room is allowed to be, and what each room must be used for in order to generate the most good fortune.
Idly wandering the streets, listening out for information, Ishana spots the red haired human female she had occasionally seen out and about around the caravan. Giving the woman a curious half wave in response, Ishana steps closer to Lyon and takes her freely offered hand. "I'm Ishana, from Kyonin. What brings a Pathfinder into the Stolen Lands?" she asks curiously.
Kaussek watched impassively as people came and went. He had volunteered to remain with their caravan's goods, to guard them while the others mingled in the town. He had no desire to speak with strangers at present, and no need for further supplies. It was best if he was of use.
And truth be told, he wished the time alone to think. He had not returned to the lands of his people in... a very long time. He wondered if that was because he had good reason... or if it was because he was a coward. He could have searched out his village years ago. He might not know the exact location, but he had learned enough to guess the general area it should be--the place they called the Kamelands--and he would surely recognize the landmarks if he got close enough.
So why had he not gone back? Was it because he was afraid of what he would find there? Or of how any survivors would react to him?
He was not certain. And to not know oneself was a dangerous weakness.
And so, while his outward face gazed out on the world, inwardly he searched himself for the truth.
They are fast and wise, they are all good warriors and hunters, and they can have wide variances depending on where they are from. As mountain centaurs, the Nomen centaurs are less likely to be lean and attractive and more likely to be burly and broad.
Centaur societies typically revolve around one common spiritual leader and belief that has been held in the society for as long as anyone can remember. The leader of a centaur tribe is typically the most powerful divine spellcaster.
Centaurs are, in general, suspicious of arcane magic and wary of outsiders. Hunting and gathering is what centaurs spend most of their time doing, and they also generally honor the land and their ancestors.
Because of their religion, the Nomen Centaurs are known to be nocturnal.
Interactions between humanoid races and centaurs have been violent nearly everywhere the two have met, mostly due to stubbornness and paranoia on both sides. The Nomen Centaurs are no exception, and the news has it that the Baron Maegar Varn headed off negotiations with them over sharing the land by ambushing and attacking them. In order to protect his people, Baron Varn drove the centaurs further west and tensions have been high between Varnhold and the centaurs ever since.
Aisha had liked the eclectic fashions and trappings of the town, the two cities made one, until she had found that half did not care for the other half. That explained the dated Erastilian shrine placed so close to the train station, it had certainly been a curiosity. It was unfortunate that the tiny town had been forced into the future... it could be an interesting place to study, even still; watching a culture be steadily eroded down to its basest elements by the tides of change... if only she had several more decades of life to sacrifice to such an endeavor. Perhaps some other intrepid adventurer would seek this as their goal.
"Official Pathfinder business." She states proudly. "The Guild has sent me in search of a craftsman that was last seen in the stolen lands. Supposedly a blacksmith came through here recently matching the description."
"Kyonin was abandoned during Earthfall, has it recovered well?"
Lyon returns her question. "And what brings you to the Stolen Lands?"
The trip from Numeria had been long and fairly nerve-wracking for Lu. While he made use of both the ring Ceara had given him and Sil's freedom to keep an eye on the surrounding area, he couldn't help but feel the specter of the Tiger Lords looming over their journey. There was no reason to believe they wouldn't be able to track the Windborne tribe's movement if they were so inclined--there just wasn't any way to hide the passage of a few dozen people--so all he could do was look over his shoulder. In the end the trip took about two weeks, and despite his worries, the worst Lu had to deal with was ensuring people stayed fed. With the warriors mostly gone except for a few who were wounded, much of the hunting and gathering duties fell to the young and old. Lu and those who knew spent much time trying to educate people over their journey, and they managed to survive.
The arrival at Nivakta's Crossing was, in many ways, a relief. They had enough goods to trade for what they needed, and even managed to find a caravan heading back east into the Stolen Lands that they could travel with. The tribe mostly kept to itself, though, as many of their members did not speak common, and so Lu spent much of his time in the town making arrangements and purchasing supplies. As he meandered about, Sil flitted from building to his shoulder and back nervously, never entirely comfortable in the town where the spirits were quieter, but also unwilling to leave his friend alone within the town.
As much as Lu might have thought he would have been the oddest one in town--and certainly many of the townsfolk gave him a second glance, as kellid tribes usually didn't show up in towns around here with good intentions--he was surprised to see at least a few people who even raised his eyebrows.
Most interesting to him was the presence of a lizardman near the caravan. Clearly to survive among men it would need to be extremely capable. Settlements in these regions barely tolerated him, and didn't cared even less for what they considered "monstrous" peoples. The lizardman seemed to be deeply focused on some problem or another--a look that seemed to Lu how he felt when he communed with the spirits--so he made sure not to disturb him. If he was coming along with the caravan there'd be time to speak with him later.
Additionally there was some sort of 'robot'? Certainly he'd never seen one so colorful. No one seemed particularly worried by it though, so he just made a point to avoid it for now. All the wisest in his tribe had always warned against investigating robots or other technological constructs too closely, and nothing yet had convinced him to go against that wisdom.
That evening he returned with various food stuffs to the area his tribe had encamped in near the caravan. Spending some of his own money, he'd bought enough food for a small feast to celebrate having made it away from Numeria, and because they could use a chance to unwind. Two kegs of ale he'd procured from the local tavern along with four freshly slaughtered goats sat in the center of their camp, with Lu working to set up a spit to roast them. The others helped cook staples, mostly roots and other wild vegetables they'd harvested on the trip to accompany the meat.
"We will eat well tonight, my brothers and sisters!" he called out, clearly glad to get a chance to unwind himself. Within half an hour their camp was boisterous and happy, and Lu made it a point to try and get others from the caravan to come enjoy the food and drink in an attempt to get his tribe to mingle some. Being outsiders in the land made it easy to stay separated, and if he didn't push for it, his people would likely do so naturally.
As the odd, colorful... woman approached the doctor tilted his head much like the birds his mask roughly emulated. The voice that came was muffled, but low and rich, with an educated, unhurried accent.
"I have medical supplies that need to get to a town that is on the other side of bandit territory. Are you interested?"
Ishana nods at redhaired woman, looking impressed. "Thats definitely and interesting task they have given you. They must have a great deal of faith in you to entrust the task to you on your own. As for me, no exotic reasons for why I'm here. I'm making a fresh start, while trying to practice a new branch of magic I'm learning. Its not been particularly well received, so I'm going to try and refine it a little better"
After pausing for a bit, Ishana nods in response to Lyon's question. "Kyonin is fine, and still a very beautiful city, but I think its still a little traditionalist for my liking, which is partly why I left. About hat blacksmith though of yours, did you need help finding him, or her?"
"No." Aisha responds, matter of factly. "Though, at the same time, a firm, resounding yes!" she says, voice lilting slightly as she contradicts herself. Her hands are animate as she talks. "I am not a mercenary, but an adventurer. Simultaneously, I am in need of money, but I do not think that you need to pay me in order to perform your job. The caravan that I am traveling with is actually moving towards Varnhold. You could likely travel with them without paying in anything but services." She pauses for a moment, thoughtful, fingers moving to where the bridge of her nose should be and pushing something located there. "Why did you choose the term 'Mercenary' rather than 'Armed Escort' or 'Bodyguard' or 'Adventurer'?"
"Mercenary covers all those things." the doctor said as he folded up his sandwich board and stood up from his bench. "Can I impose upon you to show me where this caravan is gathering?"
He was big. A hand taller than an average man, and wearing armor with a heavy hooded coat over the top of it. Pouches and vials dotted his torso. The layers of canvas and leather and metal gave him quite a bit of extra bulk. Not an inch of skin showed. He was a patchwork of different tones ranging from black to white with every shade of grey between. From his left wrist hung a rosary bearing the holy symbol of Sarenrae. His entire presence seemed to loom, but his manor was relaxed and professional.
The doctor's shadow ripples and wavers like the shadows cast by a bonfire. It also has thin cuts covering it, as through the doctor had slices through his entire body that light was shining through.
The slices are small and precise, like calligraphy, but with the shadow's erratic movement it is impossible to tell what they mean.
The language is Shadowtongue, the primary language of the Plane of Shadow, the country of Nidal, and the church of Zon-Kuthon
"No, you may not, as there is no imposition. I was already intending to return to the caravan soon, now that my people-watching has come to an end." she turns and begins to walk at a pace that made it rapidly clear that Marcus would have to hustle or that she would have to slow down - she did the latter almost immediately, focusing on the sights and sounds, rapidly shifting her attention to different goings-on. She didn't turn around as she spoke, simply continuing to lead the way.
"Forgive the impropriety, but are you also an android? I suspect that the caravan will be immediately curious given your accouterments, and I must say that I am as well. I've never met another android." The scarf that is wrapped around her neck, despite looking as though it is coated in cobalt-hued metal, moves just as Marcus would expect an object of cloth to move.
"I am afraid not. You are the first Android I have met," the doctor said. He paused only to retrieve a small rickshaw cart and pull it behind him. He was unhurried, but his long legs carried him quickly. "My name is Marcus. I am... what passes for a doctor out here."
"And I am Aisha, an adventurer and writer. Are you also a carpenter? I have read that many seafarers are both carpenters and doctors simultaneously. Is that also true of those from this locale?" Aisha asks, continuing the conversation as she lead the way forward. "Regardless, I am certain that a doctor would be welcome amongst the caravan, even if you are not a capable craftsman."
"Ah so you're another settler then." When Ishana asks about the dwarf Lyon pulls out a small leather-bound book, if she catches a glance of the pages she could tell it was mostly blank with a few notes and scribbles on the first few pages. "Since you were on the caravan with me I doubt you've seen her but she is a dwarf named Melira with brown hair, brown eyes, and a strong nose." She read from her notes as she described the blacksmith. "Oh, she might also be a magic user as well. So if you see anyone matching that description it would be a big help to let me know."
Lyon bound her book back up and returned it to her backpack."My only real lead right now is that she carried a holy symbol with a silver and golden mask, but I don't know what god that is." She adds disappointed. "Wait, I thought elves had a huge history of magic. What kind of magic would they not like - are you a necromancer?"
"I'm afraid I would make a poor ship's doctor then. I know nothing of carpentry," Marcus answered. His voice was muffled and his expression hidden, but he sounded amused by the android's stream of questions.
Ishana gives a snort at Lyon's inquiry as to whether she was a necromancer. "Hardly, its transmutation spells, mostly polymorphic, so battle shaping spells. I like it for its flexibility, and I think I can refine it to a point where I could polymorph others as well. There's nothing controversial about my magic, just that its not commonly done. Most spellcasters prefer wrecking destruction with the elements, or summoning allies into battle rather than wading into the front lines themselves, so I'm trying something a little different."
Ishana quickly switches topic, frowning at the topic of the mystery holy symbol. "I have a background in religion, I might be able to know what that faith that holy symbol comes from. Could you draw it for me?"
As Kaussek stands alone, ruminating, a young girl approaches him shyly. Kaussek is familiar with this girl but he's never met her - her name is Alana, and she's the apprentice of the village priest who accompanied the caravan on this trip. She's about 15 years old, and she wears the simple vestments of the clergy of Erastil: a fur cloak clasped shut with a wooden symbol of Erastil over simple farmer's wear. Green-tinged skin, mismatched eyes, and clawed fingertips mark her as a changeling - the often-orphaned children of hags. She pokes her head around one of the wagons. "Why are you alone?" she asks, an ironic question for someone who is themselves alone. "Everyone else is off celebrating with that tribe or gathering supplies, but you're just standing there looking at nothing."
"I can try." Lyon would remove her journal again and start drawing on a blank page, trying to recreate the holy symbol from the description she'd gotten from the locals.
Lyon would try to make small talk as she worked. "So you can turn into, like, squirrels and things? That's cool."
The idea of turning into a squirrel doesn't seem to interest Lyon.
Once finished she would offer the drawing of a mask with half colored in. "I don't have any colors so that's the best I can do sorry."
"Oh, I cannot transform into anything yet, my studies are still at a very low level, but I think that given enough time and practice, I could transform into all manner of things, from Fey, to animals, to even dragons!" Ishana says excitedly, rather oblivious to Lyon's lack of interest.
She tempers her enthusiasm though, upon seeing the symbol being drawn. "Oh, that symbols easy, that's the holy symbol of Brigh, the Neutral construct goddess of invention and time. Kind of makes perfect sense for a dwarf blacksmith to focus on that sort of thing. Would also explain why the Pathfinders would be interested if she has created or built something awesome."
Lyon happily jots down the new information Ishana had given her. "Maybe she has a church in the area, thank you." She would return her journal to her bag once more. "Is there something about The Stolen Lands or this caravan that will help you transform or just needed something new?"
Walking leisurely back out to the edge of town as evening falls, Marcus and Aisha crest a hill to discover the caravan also in the midst of a strange divide. One side of the emcampment has been taken over by several dozen Kellids, mostly women and children. They are feasting on freshly-roasted goats and rabbits and drinking ale, sharing stories, competing in feats of strength and other such things. Some of the Brevic settlers have joined them, uncertainly, especially since many of these people do not share a language. Still, revelry is its own tongue.
On the other hand, many of the older, more traditional settlers can be visibly seen scowling from their tents and solitary campfires at the Kellid celebrations. Fear and disdain of outsiders is strong in everyone, it seems.
Notable among the revelers is Father Ven Gostovic, the town priest of the Brevic farmers. Aisha and Marcus can see him from afar, chatting with a huge Kellid man, one of the only warriors.
As the celebration begins to pick up pace and people start to unwind from their long journey, a tall, thin, elderly pale-skinned man approaches you. Wearing a green robe underneath a leather cloak and an antler-horned bow, he is clearly a priest of Erastil. With a long, silver beard, a bald head and deep wrinkles over his whole face, this man is clearly at least 70 but still stands tall and proud.
His voice has a rattle and a dryness as he speaks up, raising a hand for a shake. "Friend, what brings you up to these parts? You must have traveled far and had a hard road, accompanied only by your women and your children. What troubles you?"
As Kaussek stands alone, ruminating, a young girl approaches him shyly. Kaussek is familiar with this girl but he's never met her - her name is Alana, and she's the apprentice of the village priest who accompanied the caravan on this trip. She's about 15 years old, and she wears the simple vestments of the clergy of Erastil: a fur cloak clasped shut with a wooden symbol of Erastil over simple farmer's wear. Green-tinged skin, mismatched eyes, and clawed fingertips mark her as a changeling - the often-orphaned children of hags. She pokes her head around one of the wagons. "Why are you alone?" she asks, an ironic question for someone who is themselves alone. "Everyone else is off celebrating with that tribe or gathering supplies, but you're just standing there looking at nothing."
Kaussek roused himself from his reverie sluggishly, considering the young changeling. Here was another with no home to go back to, likely... another one alone even in a crowd.
He spoke nothing of these thoughts aloud. "I have all I need for the journey, and it is not yet time to celebrate," he replies, evenly, his words slow and carefully enunciated. "Someone needs to watch the supplies, and without a pressing reason to be elsewhere, it was more useful for me to do so."
Ishana frowns slightly "I don't think that there is anything specific about the caravan that might help me in my studies. Nor do I think there will be much in the Stolen Lands to advance my magic, aside from the free time. Still, you never know what you might find in new lands, perhaps inspiration might strike me in learning and meeting new cultures."
The young girl pouts. "That's it, really? Gosh. I hoped you would be thinking about the lost kingdom that you're secretly a prince of, or something. You sure you didn't lose your birthright because of demon worship?"
"This is our caravan. I do not own anything that I am not presently carrying, so it is technically not my caravan... as I believe I would have to have a wagon for that. But I sleep near it and travel with it. The people are interesting. Most of them are from Brevoy, but there are several that are not from around here. The kellids are new, they do not know that I speak their tongue. You should tell them that you are not an android." she pauses for a moment, "There are many more interesting people with the caravan than I have had time to fully observe, and not all of them are here to rebuild their homes in a distant place with fewer bad memories."
She immediately begins moving towards the large amount of food cooked in an unusual way. Now that she wasn't slowing down, he could see that her legs appeared strangely articulated - or perhaps it was just the armor - resulting in her steps being bounding and swift, carrying her much more quickly than most bipeds he'd seen.
Once she arrived at the food, she pointed at a bit of it, then at her mouth, paying careful attention to the nearest kellid. "Alla i?" she asks carefully and slowly, enunciating the language she hadn't used quite so much out loud. If allowed, she would immediately begin collecting a small meal for herself.
"I can understand wanting a change of scenery, being stuck in a place you don't like can be awful. If there is anything I can do to repay you for the information just let me know." Unless Ishana had a request Lyon could help with right now she would head back to the caravan. "Well if you think of anything I'll be with the caravan until at least Varnhold. Quel marth." She would leave Ishana with a wave as she headed back to the caravan.
"I'll let you know if I think of anything" Ishana responds in a soft voice, before nodding at the elvish greeting and taking her leave, heading in the opposite direction to the library, where she spends the next few hours finishing up her research before returning to the caravan.
While enjoying himself, Lu keeps a close watch on everyone at the party. He certainly hoped the other settlers would warm to them somewhat, but clearly some showed distaste or outright disgust at their presence. Needless to say, he quickly spotted the old man with a bow as he approached. Recognizing the green-robed priest for what he is, he stands and meets him half way.
Lu takes the priest's hand and gives it a hearty shake, "Greetings, servant of Old Deadeye," he says, nodding respectfully to the old man. Though Erastil was not his god, he was still well known among his people, and many in his tribe prayed to the Stag god before they went hunting.
At the old man's question, he looks around for a moment and the joy of the revelry fades away. "Things have... changed... back in our lands in Numeria, and there is no place for us there anymore. I have led my fath..." He stops briefly before correcting himself, "my tribe here in search of a new path for us. We hope that there will be space for us here in these 'stolen lands', and wish no more than to settle there peacefully among the others."
Sil flits down to Lu's shoulder, eyeing the priest with his head cocked to the side. A few moments later he flits off and lands on the woman next to the odd-looking robot Sil and Lu had seen earlier in the day. The woman freezes, unsure of what to make of the newest guest. Sil hops once and pecks the woman gently, shaking her out of her shock at the presence of the robot. The small thrush then turns to look directly at their visitor. "Meatailt a bhios ag ithe? Agus a 'faighneachd gu poilitigeach?" He says, then chirps excitedly for a moment to draw Lu's attention. Lu nods briefly at which point Sil continues, "Ithe! Ach bruidhinn ri Faluhann cuideachd!"
"Eat! But talk to Faluhann too!"
The woman, having heard the exchange, visibly relaxes and gestures towards the food. "Tha Sil a 'bruidhinn airson a' chinn-cinnidh, gabh còmhla rinn," she says to Aisha.
Aisha tilts her head very slowly at the pretty bird's arrival, before speaking in almost a monotone, in response to the first question set of questions, reverting to common as she allows her curiosity to simply slip forth. "A talking bird."
She collects a small plate for herself before responding to the woman with a bowed head. "Diolch."
She then watches the bird for a moment longer, looking between the chieftain and the bird, entire head turning rather than just her eyes, before making her way over to the Chieftain of the Windborne. "Sil says that I should speak to you while I eat." she says once more in common, though if he didn't seem to understand, she would gladly change to his language, though speaking ponderously in the hopes that she wouldn't choose a word that meant the wrong thing.
As she stands, holding the small bowl of food, the silver of her mask begins to pool and waver like ripples on a pond, before forming into little rivulets like mercury running from heat, the rivulets trailing away from her mouth, but leaving the rest of her face covered as she begins to eat the kellid fare with her fingertips. "How does Sil speak?" she asks, the skin beneath her mask significantly more pale than the tones of the kellid tribesmen.
Sil quickly takes back to the air after Aisha moves to grab food, clearly not understanding common.
As Aisha approaches Lu, he looks her over again, trying to make sense of what approaches. When the mask pulls aside, revealing a human mouth. Seeing it was not a robot makes Lu both less confused and concerned simultaneously. "Yes! Welcome, I am Faluhann Windborne, but everyone just refers to me as 'Lu'. Your armor's impressive, did you find it in one of the metal tombs in Numeria?"
When she questions about Sil, he laughs in response, "Rather poorly, but don't tell him that. And don't get me started on his common!" As if on cue, the bird appears, alighting upon Lu's head and giving it a swift peck. It wasn't certain what was being said, but he clearly sensed Lu was up to no good. "Ouch! Ceart! Ceart gu leòr, tha mi a 'caoidh!" he exclaims, rubbing his head.
"Where've you come from, and what brings you here?" he asks, curious about the woman in strange armor now eating before him.
"Mmm, no." Aisha says, sucking some of the rabbit fat's grease off of her finger. "I salvaged it from the refuse within the nest of what I believe was a rift drake along the outer edges of Sarkoris. I did not find a crusader cross, and thus I was unable to find the original owner. It is perhaps possible that it belonged to a Sarkorian, but this seems unlikely."
The android woman takes a moment to eat a bit more as he makes his joke. "His Hallit is better than mine. I have never met a bird that spoke Hallit... at least that spoke it to me. I am from Drezen, a Mendevian settlement within Sarkoris to the northeast. I am here because little is known about this area, and so I wish to change that." she says simply, once more cleaning her fingertips.
"Your tribe appears smaller than most, and you appear to be the only one fit for war. I am not accustomed to Kellid bands like yours, is this common within this part of the world?"
The young girl pouts. "That's it, really? Gosh. I hoped you would be thinking about the lost kingdom that you're secretly a prince of, or something. You sure you didn't lose your birthright because of demon worship?"
Kaussek makes an odd, rasping sound that might be a laugh. "Spending time alone makes me a hero from a tale, does it?" he asks, his humorous tone at odds with his (to a human) still neutral expression. "No, I am no chief's son. My tale is hardly so dramatic, though it is sad enough I have no desire to share it. It is enough to say that I hope I might find what has happened to my tribe at some point after we have arrived."
"Sarkoris? It was once a mighty kingdom of my people. Perhaps one day I will go see what remains of it," he says, wondering whether the lands and his kin in Sarkoris were like those in Numeria. "Well wherever it was from, it must be comparable to some of the great marvels found in my lands."
"Sil is no mere bird, he is my spirit guide. He speaks for the spirits of the land that surround us, and it would be a tiring conversation with the spirits indeed if his Hallit were truly poor!" Lu chuckles at the thought. Sil was actually quite good at expressing himself, even if his thoughts got ahead of his words sometimes. The bond they shared conveyed far more to Lu than just Sil's words alone might.
"So you are an explorer then? A worthy pursuit! All the best warriors and shamans spend time challenging the wilderness to prove themselves worthy of the blessings of the land. As far as our tribe goes, it was no longer possible for us to remain in Numeria. Kellid tribes are numerous there, and events have left me to ensure the safety of my people there. The only way to do so was to leave for someplace new where we might rebuild our tribe." Lu's mood flags further as he mentions this, now clearly tinged with nostalgia for the life he had given up.
After a moment of silence something occurs to him. "Since you know Hallit and seem the curious type, I would appreciate if you did not further probe this topic with my tribe. It is a fresh and ragged wound still, a wound I have only barely begun to salve. It is difficult enough for them to accept that many of the old ways will need to change now. Allow them to focus on that without further reliving the 'why' of it."