Why is Chaegon significantly larger on the map then Mille-Sessau when Sessau has a landmass of 4, and Chaegon has a landmass of 3?
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Why is Chaegon significantly larger on the map then Mille-Sessau when Sessau has a landmass of 4, and Chaegon has a landmass of 3?
I'm highly intrigued, here's my nation sheet for review.
@Rockin Strings That was part of it yeah. I was also really busy leading up to it too.
A cold dread hung over the docile fishing village, infecting everything it touched, right down to the stray hounds and cats that crept past, their mangy tails tucked beneath their legs in perpetual fear. Perhaps only a cold battlefield, littered with the dead and wreathed in the stench of powder and blood could compare to the general despair that infested this place. Whether it was the poor mood, grim weather, or something far more sinister or even a combination of all three Edward B. O’Daily could not quite say. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it one bit and would prefer to find the answers he sought and leave post haste back to England. Edward wasn’t his usual self, in so far as his appearance that is. Dressed in a pair of matching black trousers and coat, with a white undershirt and an ebony cane and top hat, Edward looked for all the world a mere English gentleman. Only his saber, its red tassel and gilded sheath belted to his waist betrayed his masquerade, marking clearly him as a military man.
Releasing a waft of cigar smoke, thumping his cane, and grumbling Edward looked towards his two companions who leaned up against the porch railing alongside him, puffing on cigars and contemplating the quiet village they’d arrived in only hours before. The first was a wizened man, five or six years Edward’s senior. He was less fashionably dressed than his counterpart, his brown trousers and cream colored shirt being slightly threadbare and worn. Nevertheless he appeared capable, and Edward looked to him with great respect. He was Sergeant Thomas McKnowles, a clever and tough individual and one of the few men who believed Edward’s tales of monsters and magic, seeing as he’d lived through them as well. The second man was far younger, barely seventeen summers old, with slick black hair and dark eyes. He was a local, and one of the few that could speak some English. Edward and McKnowles had discovered him by chance several hours before on the docks, and had been quick to hire his services as a guide and interpreter. The lad, having to choose between doing backbreaking dock work, or accompany two strange and interesting foreigners for excellent pay had been quick to abandon his former employer. Edward wasn’t sure what to make of him, so far they’d discovered only his name, ‘Romblan’ and knowledge that he’d had a Scottish mother, which explained his knowledge of the English tongue, and that he’d been living here for most of his life. Whatever his story or circumstance Edward was glad they’d found him as it made life so much easier, especially when Edward was bartering the price of their little house they’d rented.
“I say, I say.” Edward gruffed, pounding his cane onto the wooden floor boards to create a hollow beat. “This place is drearier then the foggy high moors on hallows eve night. Let us abandon this hovel and locate ourselves somewhere we can find cheerful company and good drink to spend the evening. Lest I, and in turn we, perish from sheer boredom and misery.”
“I concur sir.” The good sergeant said, straightening up and adjusting his bowlers’ hat on his head. “Romblan sonny, where’s th’ nearest pub?”
“Nein. We don’ got one here.” The boy claimed, his accent an odd mix of Scottish and harsh German. “Not unless ye want pisswater an’ grog. Inn’t worth th’ walk, not fer yew gentlemanly folk; no siree.”
“We’ve faced worse, let me assure you lad.” Edward scoffed patting Romblan upon the shoulder. “Waste not the disbanded time as they say, and better to drink a horse’s piss then eat the dust of the road and all that lark.”
The boy’s face screwed up and he appeared very confused. “No disrespect meant sir, but I would much rather ‘ave dust in me mouth then a horse’s piss. That sounds nasty, an’ makes no rightful sense.”
The sergeant laughed and Edward chuckled and they moved off, following Romblan’s lead towards this supposed, seedy tavern he knew of. Along their journey as they drew close to the docks Edward raised a hand, halting the other two and bidding them remain still. Narrowing his eyes and strode purposely forward, staring down the street with rapt curiosity. Gesturing for the sergeant and interpreter to join him Edward pointed towards the Warf, where a single man seemed to have gone mad. Poking at the water and muttering something unintelligible.
“What does he say Romblan?” Edward asked, resting a steady hand upon his saber. “Should we be concerned for his health, or ours?”
“He’s drunk milords.” Romblan explained, to the best of his ability. “He’s demanding the water to leave him be.”
"He does not sound it.” Edward mused, stroking his chin. “The fool’s words are loud but not slurred, and his movements are precise. I daresay he is terrified of something, which is why I stand ready. A mad man with terror at his heels can inflict damage to opposition or themselves like no other.”
“Aye, seen it a few times after a battle.” McKnowles agreed, his brow furrowing. “Men break mentally, and they cannot be stopped by conventional means.” He patted the stowed dueling pistol at his hip and Romblan shivered at this notion, turning his gaze away from the raving man.
“Hopefully he won’t be no problem sirs, shall we move on?”
“Nay, he is in distress. Should he inflict harm upon someone less capable or injure himself due to his state the blood might very well be on our hands for doing naught. Come Romblan, you shall translate and we will find this man his home and bed. Romblan did not seem pleased with this plan but he followed Edward’s assured steps nonetheless.
Edward approached the man with confidence, one hand resting upon his saber hilt the other raised in greeting. When the man made no move to recognize their approach and he enlisted another tactic, bidding the man a pleasant evening. “Hello there mister, a dreary but satisfactory evening is it not? Stand easy we wish only to talk.”
Romblan stammered out the translation, to the best of his ability, mumbling a quick explanation to this odd formality all of which he feared flew clear over the man’s head. In the end he spoke nearly thirty words to Edward’s original seventeen.
“Are you certain that is what I said?” Edward inquired looking fairly flabbergasted. “I say, I didn’t realize this language was so complex. I suppose I should simplify my sentences for convenience sake, lest we remain in conversation for many hours.”
Romblan winced. “Eh, I suppose, just about accurate as could be sir.”
School dragged by at an all-time slow for Tonya. Her head wasn’t in the game, what with her thoughts clouded by memories of yesterday’s exploits and her interaction with Eddie. It didn’t help that the entire class’s workload was being doubled, an unwelcome side effect from the upcoming exams. She groaned aloud when the teacher returned her math homework, a low letter grade jarring her from her thoughts. How was she going to explain that to her father? She couldn’t rightly make the excuse that she’d been fighting a supervillain and had been too fatigued to focus on the equations. The teacher seemed to be about to share a few stern words with Tonya over her scores when Tonya’s phone began to buzz angrily in her pocket.
“Did you not switch your phone off?” The teacher demanded, holding out her hand. “I’ll be taking that.”
Crossly Tonya reached down to take her phone from her pocket when something slithered on the base of her neck, causing her to tense up. A tiny hushed voice tickled her ear. “Miss Tabbet, a great urgency must be attended to. Your companions need you.”
“Not now Ossar.” Tonya hissed back.
“What was that Miss Tabbet?” The teacher snapped. “Don’t get snippety with me young lady.”
“Time is of the essence sweet daughter of Tabbet.” The snake kwami insisted. “Our mission resides before all else.”
“Shush!”
“What did you just say to me!?”
“Nothing ma’am.” Tonya grumbled, producing her phone and handing it over. Now the entire class was watching and listening. Tonya’s face burned and she swept back her hair trying to sweep Ossar back into her shirt but only succeeding in appearing incredibly sassy. The teacher was looking livid now, and opened her mouth to deliver a withering scolding, meanwhile Ossar crept in close to Tonya’s ears once more.
“Miss Tonya, I must insist we are punctual.”
“SHUT UP!”
“Miss Tabbet!” The teacher roared, fire and brimstone flashing in her eyes. “I have had quite enough of this attitude, you may excuse yourself from my classroom at once and wait outside the Principal’s Office. I daresay your family will be hearing about this, in full detail!”
Sour faced Tonya shoved her school books away marching from the classroom much the same way she’d entered. Angry and embarrassed and the eyes of all her classmates following her as she strode purposely from the room, her bag slung over one shoulder. Storming down the hall Tonya took the all too familiar route down to the office, giving the door a heavy mournful knock when she finally reached it.
Nobody answered.
Tonya tried again, the end result comparable. He must be off doing something else she decided, flopping down in one of the hard, uncomfortable plastic chairs lined up outside. Crossing her arms Tonya fumed for a moment over the unfairness of it all when a movement at the base of her neck reminded her of Ossar. Reaching back Tonya snatched the serpent kwami, sweeping him around to face her. He coiled in her hand, staring up at her his dark eyes large and purposeful.
“Well done in escaping the confines of the school so high. We must act at once. Swiftly utterance the words and let us make haste and bring welcome aid to our companions and this city.”
“What? No, I can’t.” Tonya dropped her hand, letting the snake levitate under his own power. “You got me in trouble and now I have to stay here, or I’ll get into even more trouble.” Tonya closed her eyes and clenched her jaw just thinking about the repercussions to come. “My dad is going to kill me. This is the third time this year, and I’ve never even heard of someone telling the teacher to shut up. They won’t believe me if I told them it was directed towards the stupid little magic snake that wouldn’t stay quiet. I’ll be in detention for years!”
To his credit the kwami seemed deeply grieved by this proclamation and he lowered his brightly colored head in shame. “Alas, I knew not. Please accept my most humble apologies sweet daughter of Tabbet.”
The silence between them grew long and unbroken. Tonya drooped her head, miserable, brooding over what she’d say, to the principle, her father, the teacher when she would have to inevitably apologize for her rudeness, perhaps even in front of the entire class. A single tear formed under her eyes and Tonya moved to brush them away, furious with herself to so easily be driven to tears at something to selfish and pathetic. Something brushed against her forehead and Tonya looked up, surprised to see Ossar so close, his elongated muzzle pressed against her brow in a serpents kiss. With shocking strength the tiny kwami pressed hard, raising her head until it was high and proud.
“Weep not brave one.” Ossar hushed. “Thou are young, too young to be given this responsibility but banish your fear. Your father seems a kind, wise man who will find forgiveness in his heart and never resort to violence, no matter your transgressions. We must instead remain focused upon the greater good, as even the most nobles paths are wrought with treacherous choices. I see now that you must be torn asunder by good intentions, but you have been given responsibility beyond that of all others. To forsake it is comparable to forsaking a holy vow. Suffering is inadequate to selflessness.”
“Are you saying I have to risk getting into even more trouble with my life here, to go help the other heroes?” Tonya asked almost accusingly, trying to unravel the serpent’s words.
“In the end I can only advise, the choice is yours.” Ossar assured. “I shall respect that which you choose.”
Tonya dwelt on this for a long time, running her fingers through her hair as she considered all the options available. It seemed wrong to her, to betray the trust of her father and her betters so massively and still have it be the right thing to do. And yet people could be in danger, and their lives might even now be saved if she acted. “Has everyone else gone to help?” She inquired at last.
“I cannot say for sure, other than the hero Talon who wished to communicate to everyone something of great importance.”
Grimacing Tonya glanced back at the Principal’s door, her decision made. “Alright, alright. I just have to make it back before he does. Easy. Alright, here we go, ‘ STRIPES ALIGN .’” In a blinding flash Ossar became fused within the Miraculous and the snakeish armor formed across Tonya’s body changing her identity into the daring superhero Serpentine. Unlatching one of her battle fans from her utility belt and pressing a button located on its haft Serpentine waited for the screen to appear. A moment later spectral images of the other heroes’ materialized. “Sorry if I’m a bit late.” She told them, sprinting for the nearest exit. “I’ll be there in a moment. What’s happening by the way? Because it better be really, really important.”
“Did you not switch your phone off?” The teacher demanded, holding out her hand. “I’ll be taking that.”
Crossly Tonya reached down to take her phone from her pocket when something slithered on the base of her neck, causing her to tense up. A tiny hushed voice tickled her ear. “Miss Tabbet, a great urgency must be attended to. Your companions need you.”
“Not now Ossar.” Tonya hissed back.
“What was that Miss Tabbet?” The teacher snapped. “Don’t get snippety with me young lady.”
“Time is of the essence sweet daughter of Tabbet.” The snake kwami insisted. “Our mission resides before all else.”
“Shush!”
“What did you just say to me!?”
“Nothing ma’am.” Tonya grumbled, producing her phone and handing it over. Now the entire class was watching and listening. Tonya’s face burned and she swept back her hair trying to sweep Ossar back into her shirt but only succeeding in appearing incredibly sassy. The teacher was looking livid now, and opened her mouth to deliver a withering scolding, meanwhile Ossar crept in close to Tonya’s ears once more.
“Miss Tonya, I must insist we are punctual.”
“SHUT UP!”
“Miss Tabbet!” The teacher roared, fire and brimstone flashing in her eyes. “I have had quite enough of this attitude, you may excuse yourself from my classroom at once and wait outside the Principal’s Office. I daresay your family will be hearing about this, in full detail!”
Sour faced Tonya shoved her school books away marching from the classroom much the same way she’d entered. Angry and embarrassed and the eyes of all her classmates following her as she strode purposely from the room, her bag slung over one shoulder. Storming down the hall Tonya took the all too familiar route down to the office, giving the door a heavy mournful knock when she finally reached it.
Nobody answered.
Tonya tried again, the end result comparable. He must be off doing something else she decided, flopping down in one of the hard, uncomfortable plastic chairs lined up outside. Crossing her arms Tonya fumed for a moment over the unfairness of it all when a movement at the base of her neck reminded her of Ossar. Reaching back Tonya snatched the serpent kwami, sweeping him around to face her. He coiled in her hand, staring up at her his dark eyes large and purposeful.
“Well done in escaping the confines of the school so high. We must act at once. Swiftly utterance the words and let us make haste and bring welcome aid to our companions and this city.”
“What? No, I can’t.” Tonya dropped her hand, letting the snake levitate under his own power. “You got me in trouble and now I have to stay here, or I’ll get into even more trouble.” Tonya closed her eyes and clenched her jaw just thinking about the repercussions to come. “My dad is going to kill me. This is the third time this year, and I’ve never even heard of someone telling the teacher to shut up. They won’t believe me if I told them it was directed towards the stupid little magic snake that wouldn’t stay quiet. I’ll be in detention for years!”
To his credit the kwami seemed deeply grieved by this proclamation and he lowered his brightly colored head in shame. “Alas, I knew not. Please accept my most humble apologies sweet daughter of Tabbet.”
The silence between them grew long and unbroken. Tonya drooped her head, miserable, brooding over what she’d say, to the principle, her father, the teacher when she would have to inevitably apologize for her rudeness, perhaps even in front of the entire class. A single tear formed under her eyes and Tonya moved to brush them away, furious with herself to so easily be driven to tears at something to selfish and pathetic. Something brushed against her forehead and Tonya looked up, surprised to see Ossar so close, his elongated muzzle pressed against her brow in a serpents kiss. With shocking strength the tiny kwami pressed hard, raising her head until it was high and proud.
“Weep not brave one.” Ossar hushed. “Thou are young, too young to be given this responsibility but banish your fear. Your father seems a kind, wise man who will find forgiveness in his heart and never resort to violence, no matter your transgressions. We must instead remain focused upon the greater good, as even the most nobles paths are wrought with treacherous choices. I see now that you must be torn asunder by good intentions, but you have been given responsibility beyond that of all others. To forsake it is comparable to forsaking a holy vow. Suffering is inadequate to selflessness.”
“Are you saying I have to risk getting into even more trouble with my life here, to go help the other heroes?” Tonya asked almost accusingly, trying to unravel the serpent’s words.
“In the end I can only advise, the choice is yours.” Ossar assured. “I shall respect that which you choose.”
Tonya dwelt on this for a long time, running her fingers through her hair as she considered all the options available. It seemed wrong to her, to betray the trust of her father and her betters so massively and still have it be the right thing to do. And yet people could be in danger, and their lives might even now be saved if she acted. “Has everyone else gone to help?” She inquired at last.
“I cannot say for sure, other than the hero Talon who wished to communicate to everyone something of great importance.”
Grimacing Tonya glanced back at the Principal’s door, her decision made. “Alright, alright. I just have to make it back before he does. Easy. Alright, here we go, ‘ STRIPES ALIGN .’” In a blinding flash Ossar became fused within the Miraculous and the snakeish armor formed across Tonya’s body changing her identity into the daring superhero Serpentine. Unlatching one of her battle fans from her utility belt and pressing a button located on its haft Serpentine waited for the screen to appear. A moment later spectral images of the other heroes’ materialized. “Sorry if I’m a bit late.” She told them, sprinting for the nearest exit. “I’ll be there in a moment. What’s happening by the way? Because it better be really, really important.”
Seeing as you've already got three others interested, I'll express my own interest as a reservist option. I had a character idea that was a breakdown of the typical "perpetually sick - nerdy kid" from atypical horror stories. Essentially he'd be the one with asthma that strikes at terrible times, an overprotective mother whose only just letting him out of her sight or the sight of a trustworthy guardian overnight, and the aspiration to become an Eagle Scout.
He'd be fifteen, blonde haired blue eyed and determined to be "cool" like the rest of his friends, (whether they be actually cool or not) and possess a plethora semi-useless knowhow in regards to tying knots, programing computers, and identifying all manner of trees and plants and animals.
Anyway that's my very basic pitch, if you need a final slot filled I'll be subscribed and willing.
A terrible shame struck Corbric’s heart and guilt coiled in his stomach causing him no end of distress. Their sworn duty first to the Herald besought they move on towards their destination, and yet honor bade them stay and deliver aid to the mounted warriors. Such impasse was there in these options that the guardsman became rigid in his countenance and he remained unresponsive, giving in reply only the slenderest, most confounded shake of his head. Beside him the scout grew more nervous and impatient by the second until at last he could bare it no more.
“Thy decision is mute bold Suchers.” Nimson proclaimed in agitation. “Turn thy mind from unbearable decisions and make swift our departure. The enemy hath been scattered by the riders who even now withdraw, no doubt to some haven or sanctuary. Our opportunity to do likewise might yet become forfeit should we tarry a moment more.”
“Indeed, so lead on brave knight and let us depart this accursed woodland once and for all.” Corbric agreed, interminably beholden for the scout’s intervention upon his moral dilemma. Taking up his bardiche the guardsman delivered a fatal blow to the closest of the three oncoming decayed, slaying the creature before it could beset one of their number. Setting his boot against the fallen’s exposed spine, Corbric wrenched free his curved blade from its skull, his weary arms gaining no repose from the act.
The knight, meanwhile, simply settled for jabbing at the next of the Decayed in the knee with the tip of their extended javelin, felling the rotten refuse to lay prone in the mud. She then strode forward, her pace quickened by the want to depart from the woods, her starlit partisan held aloft and ahead of her like a torch, fully illuminating the surrounding environs. Deep shadows were cast behind the nearest trees, but by and large Corbric and Nimson could now see clearly through the gloom that had obscured many of the decayed previously. The knight did not seem interested in engaging any of the dregs who arose from the sodden earth around them as they weaved between the trees, only pausing to cut down their number when going around would have been too inconvenient. The darkened, corrupted blood that would otherwise have stained the blade of her spear seemed to melt away like water seeping through a cloth skein as the light of her hymn shone through it. Her squire fell in line behind her, trailing nearer to Corbric and Nimson as they proceeded. Turning his head back to Nimson, he uttered a query in some vaguely familiar foreign language that neither Nimson nor Corbric could place.
The scout appeared perplexed by Amaign’s question, Corbric however recognized the words, so similar were they to his homeland’s tongue. “Doth thou speak Latin?” Corbric requested, for Nimson’s sake above all else. “I, Corbric Elgebar hail from the Switzerland Alps, and Nimson from the far northlands.”
“Well enough.” The squire said. “I thought thy companion’s accent was familiar, must have been mine ears playing tricks. I am Amaign, I hail from Bremen, far to the North...so I am told. Just so ye know, I was born into purgatory anew. I hath not lived before, so permit any ignorance on mine part.”
“Well met Amaign,” the guardsman replied. “And might I request thy lady’s name and station? For such a woman as her is not a common sight nowadays, nor any day before.” Corbric peered ahead towards the intrepid knight that led them, unfaltering in her assuredness and purpose. Indeed for all his days, and especially those most recent Corbric could never claim to have met a more valiant nor mysterious woman. His curiosity was pricked and he looked expectantly towards the squire, awaiting answers.
Amaign’s pace faltered, a conflicted expression of hurried contemplation streaking across his face. “...I prithee to reserve any judgment if you should have heard of her before. She is Levia Gerlinde, anointed Questor and Seeker. I know not whither she hails.”
Corbric seemed uncertain at this revelation, conversely Nimson due to his station under the Vicar recalled hearing of one by the name Levia Gerlinde and expressed as much, though in clear admindence to his lack of true knowledge of her deeds or misdeeds as they stood. Only possessing a common understanding of her prowess, and unladylike manner.
At that notion Amaign nearly dropped the bolt of javelins he carried in his haste to wave a hand at Nimson in exasperation. “Speak not of unladylike conduct, you’ll…” He paused to mutter something unintelligible and roll his eyes. “...That aside, though it be not mine place to speak of her deeds, know that though I hath mine own misgivings of her, the Questor is as selfless and forthright as one could ask for in a Seeker - and know also should you hear otherwise, or of any…” He stopped speaking, frowning for a moment as if mulling over what word to use before resuming. “...of any unlikely claims, she hath never uttered a lie or mistruth in all the years I have known her, and she does not tolerate deceit. She would never stoop to common perfidy for the sake of her own vainglory.”
“To that, brave Amagin...” Corbric granted, tracing out the symbol of light upon his chest in a moment of reflection and respect. “...There resides in my mind no doubt. Tis a truth we will declare in bold voices that all the world might hear and understand. For the mere right to as of yet be drawing breath, we are indebted to her.” As he finished his eulogy their company reached the edge of the forest and emerged onto the mountain's base.
Levia paused briefly to stamp the muck from her grieves and boots before proceeding, waving a hand over the edge of her partisan and, with the faintest of murmurs, causing the tantalizing starlit glow to fade away. In the gray twilight of purgatory’s darkened skies, she led them onwards up, into the mountains along an incline that, although steep, was mostly grass and dirt rather than jagged rock. The writhing forms of the decayed in the forest seemed to groan and heave along the shadowed border of the woods, but they did not emerge to pursue the group further.
Having ascended the ridge, Levia raised a hand in indication that they should all step and rest. Settling again a nearby bolder, she removed the gauntlets about her hands, one after the other, and then began to remove the pins securing her armet in place whilst Amaign introduced Corbric and Nimson to her.
Undoing the last clasp, Levia peeled the front end of her armet away from her face, handing it to Amaign before then removing the back-end of the helmet as well. Her long, autumn-colored hair, tucked beneath the leather under her gorget, she carefully pulled out in messy strands with a look of consternation as she spoke.
“Well met, Corbric, Seeker of the Alps, and Nimson. I am Levia Gerlinde, and prior to the fall of our fair land I did remain in Normandy. I am only a Seeker as of...eightfold lifespans ago, perhaps? I spent many lives attempting to live simply, come the terror of the adversary upon our lands. Since then I journeyed many paths and places. Before I received word of this Vicar and her…” A particular, begrieved expression crossed her face, though whether due to the topic of the strain of pulling her hair out of her armor was uncertain. “...alleged visions of the Herald, I bore thought of heading South, across the great sea, to try and discern what became of the lands of bygone Carthage.”
”Our tales are most similar Lady Gerlinde.” Corbric in turn removed his sallet, gripping the battle stained helm under the crook of his arm. “Tis my hope that this will indeed be the finale of my search, and that the world shall be redeemed of its despair. I can give thee some closure in regards to the fate of all that South and East of the Alps. T’would be fair to state that the situation fares them no better, if not worse.”
Whilst they spoke Nimson turned in a full rotation, casting his sharp eyed gaze up and down the mountain sides that now dominated the landscape about them. “Suchers!” He yelled, his excitement unmistakable. “I know where we now stand, the monastery is within a short march in yon route, should we make haste we shall arrive before the morn.”
“That is good indeed to hear, for though our final destination be preordained, I shall permit I was prepared to endure only a great tedium of roaming through these foreign crevices in search.” Levia proclaimed, visibly sighing with relief. “If thee are not awaiting any others, perhaps we shall embark once more? If thou have foreknowledge of this realm, it would please me to follow your guidance.”
By Nimson’s established course the company moved out and made good time through the mountain trails facing no other hardship throughout. Their arrival, which Nimson prewarned in advanced, was observed by a number of young maidens awaiting them just outside the monastery's concealed entrance, watching with the silent nervous eyes of youthful curiosity.
Levia’s body stiffened as their group approached, her eyes narrowing as she looked the maidens up and down with an expression of barely-concealed contempt.
“...Such transparent and misbegotten intent do these sort bear. To this day, one of my greatest regrets is living such as they, in shallow and wanton womanhood. They seek to forestall our purpose with their own, baser pursuits.” Her voice was uttered in all-but a snarl. Immediately behind her, Amaign wordlessly signalled Corbric and Nimson with an expression of warning, waving a hand errantly before turning back to face the approaching maidens.
“Mayhap frivolous innocence is a blessing to those of their age and stature.” Corbric cajoled, his hardened heart softening at the sight of the young beauties.
“Hark, see not their apparent youth! Remember where you are, good Seeker!” Levia snapped. “They are all likely of many lifetimes and should know better! The flesh is frail and temporary.” Amaign was staring daggers at Corbric behind Levia’s back, silently waving his hand once more, gesturing for the Seeker to quiet.
Oblivious to Amaign’s efforts the guardsman smiled at those waiting to attend them, respectfully disagreeing with the Quester’s cautions. “And yet perhaps they are like thy Squire, and know nothing of this cruel and bleak world we live in. Content to endure and foil the adversary in their own way. Even if not, how tempting is it to remain within the confines and safety of these walls rather than face the horrors unknown.”
“Do not permit them to waylay thee from thine post, Seeker.” Levia said with a measure of exasperation.
Levia’s disagreements struck a morbid chord in Corbric’s soul and he turned his head away from her in shame. Excuses rushed forth only to perish upon his tongue, as he could not bring himself to counter her, nor justify his moment of weakness. Abashed the guardsman drew his gaze with much difficulty from the young maidens, wishing for all the world it wasn’t so. “Thou speak truth of course.” He admitted at great length. “Our sworn duty is to the Herald, and pleasuring myself to no true end would be folly. I must never abandon my post, nor willingly jeopardize it through foolish acts. Never again…”
The Questor had not seemed to catch the gravity underlying his voice, nor the significance of his last words. “Ye, and thee shall be an exemplar of our ken, Sir Corbric.” She said, her voice coming back upon civility. “Permit me to handle these sordid waifs, so that we might not be forestalled.” She strode forward ahead of the group in order to intercept the maidens, just before the entrance to the monastery.
The three men caught only the faint sound of the maidens first few words to Levia before the Questor launched into some form of tirade, forcing the maidens to recoil in shock from whatever she said. She pointed an accusatory finger at one of the girls, saying something particularly acrimonious that sent the poor lass fleeing back into the monastery in tears. By the time the three came within coherent earshot once more, the brunt of the Questor’s storm had passed.
“...can well enough see to our own ‘needs,’ and should we have cause to call for you it shall be made so - until then, go thither! Plague us not unduly!” The maidens, stammering their addled assent, parted and made way for the group as they finally made their way within.
“...What I was trying to say earlier, Sir Corbric,” Amaign said through gritted teeth. “Was not to get her started about unladylike behavior. There goes our pleasant interlude.”
“Aye,” Nimson agreed, having been in great suspense to return and find company amongst the ladies of his home. “And they shall be terrified beyond words for a fortnite no doubt.”
“Perhaps it was unnecessary to frighten them so.” Corbric confessed, having not yet fully recuperated his thoughts. “But temptations of the flesh are little different than those of gold and silver, and I do not wish to be tempted to tarry long.”
“Says thee.” Nimson muttered irritably. “I shall remain here...”
“...If the intrusion be not unwelcome, I might rejoin thee.” Amaign indicated with some hesitation. “Permit me but a moment to seek leave from the Questor further within, that I might deposit mine burdens somewhere secure.”
Corbric’s armor and clothing, having been freshly cleaned and oiled the previous evening by no lacking effort now dripped crimson, soaked through with the Vicar’s blood. Throwing off a gauntlet the guardsman wiped clean his eyes so that he might see, blinking away the stinging annoyance that clung therein. Freed of his blinding prison Crobric retrieved his bardiche, leveling the polearm so as to impale the Pallid Beast that stood over them. He hesitated for the briefest of moments and by good fortune he did, such an act would have been the death of him. At that moment the Beast’s counter towards Levia failed, and the unintended backswing tore the bardiche from Corbric’s hands and threw him from his feet, the serrated claws missing his chest by a hair’s breadth. Clattering across the stone floor Corbric rolled to a halt, regaining his feet and drawing his sword in a single fluid motion.
“Brothers and sisters in arms, we are many and this abomination is but one. Surround her from all sides and foray at indiscriminate intervals and we shall smite her down forthwith!” This stated Corbric began edging around the Pallid’s Beast’s exposed flank, darting forward to strike with his blade, only to retreat should she turn to face him.
“Thy decision is mute bold Suchers.” Nimson proclaimed in agitation. “Turn thy mind from unbearable decisions and make swift our departure. The enemy hath been scattered by the riders who even now withdraw, no doubt to some haven or sanctuary. Our opportunity to do likewise might yet become forfeit should we tarry a moment more.”
“Indeed, so lead on brave knight and let us depart this accursed woodland once and for all.” Corbric agreed, interminably beholden for the scout’s intervention upon his moral dilemma. Taking up his bardiche the guardsman delivered a fatal blow to the closest of the three oncoming decayed, slaying the creature before it could beset one of their number. Setting his boot against the fallen’s exposed spine, Corbric wrenched free his curved blade from its skull, his weary arms gaining no repose from the act.
The knight, meanwhile, simply settled for jabbing at the next of the Decayed in the knee with the tip of their extended javelin, felling the rotten refuse to lay prone in the mud. She then strode forward, her pace quickened by the want to depart from the woods, her starlit partisan held aloft and ahead of her like a torch, fully illuminating the surrounding environs. Deep shadows were cast behind the nearest trees, but by and large Corbric and Nimson could now see clearly through the gloom that had obscured many of the decayed previously. The knight did not seem interested in engaging any of the dregs who arose from the sodden earth around them as they weaved between the trees, only pausing to cut down their number when going around would have been too inconvenient. The darkened, corrupted blood that would otherwise have stained the blade of her spear seemed to melt away like water seeping through a cloth skein as the light of her hymn shone through it. Her squire fell in line behind her, trailing nearer to Corbric and Nimson as they proceeded. Turning his head back to Nimson, he uttered a query in some vaguely familiar foreign language that neither Nimson nor Corbric could place.
The scout appeared perplexed by Amaign’s question, Corbric however recognized the words, so similar were they to his homeland’s tongue. “Doth thou speak Latin?” Corbric requested, for Nimson’s sake above all else. “I, Corbric Elgebar hail from the Switzerland Alps, and Nimson from the far northlands.”
“Well enough.” The squire said. “I thought thy companion’s accent was familiar, must have been mine ears playing tricks. I am Amaign, I hail from Bremen, far to the North...so I am told. Just so ye know, I was born into purgatory anew. I hath not lived before, so permit any ignorance on mine part.”
“Well met Amaign,” the guardsman replied. “And might I request thy lady’s name and station? For such a woman as her is not a common sight nowadays, nor any day before.” Corbric peered ahead towards the intrepid knight that led them, unfaltering in her assuredness and purpose. Indeed for all his days, and especially those most recent Corbric could never claim to have met a more valiant nor mysterious woman. His curiosity was pricked and he looked expectantly towards the squire, awaiting answers.
Amaign’s pace faltered, a conflicted expression of hurried contemplation streaking across his face. “...I prithee to reserve any judgment if you should have heard of her before. She is Levia Gerlinde, anointed Questor and Seeker. I know not whither she hails.”
Corbric seemed uncertain at this revelation, conversely Nimson due to his station under the Vicar recalled hearing of one by the name Levia Gerlinde and expressed as much, though in clear admindence to his lack of true knowledge of her deeds or misdeeds as they stood. Only possessing a common understanding of her prowess, and unladylike manner.
At that notion Amaign nearly dropped the bolt of javelins he carried in his haste to wave a hand at Nimson in exasperation. “Speak not of unladylike conduct, you’ll…” He paused to mutter something unintelligible and roll his eyes. “...That aside, though it be not mine place to speak of her deeds, know that though I hath mine own misgivings of her, the Questor is as selfless and forthright as one could ask for in a Seeker - and know also should you hear otherwise, or of any…” He stopped speaking, frowning for a moment as if mulling over what word to use before resuming. “...of any unlikely claims, she hath never uttered a lie or mistruth in all the years I have known her, and she does not tolerate deceit. She would never stoop to common perfidy for the sake of her own vainglory.”
“To that, brave Amagin...” Corbric granted, tracing out the symbol of light upon his chest in a moment of reflection and respect. “...There resides in my mind no doubt. Tis a truth we will declare in bold voices that all the world might hear and understand. For the mere right to as of yet be drawing breath, we are indebted to her.” As he finished his eulogy their company reached the edge of the forest and emerged onto the mountain's base.
Levia paused briefly to stamp the muck from her grieves and boots before proceeding, waving a hand over the edge of her partisan and, with the faintest of murmurs, causing the tantalizing starlit glow to fade away. In the gray twilight of purgatory’s darkened skies, she led them onwards up, into the mountains along an incline that, although steep, was mostly grass and dirt rather than jagged rock. The writhing forms of the decayed in the forest seemed to groan and heave along the shadowed border of the woods, but they did not emerge to pursue the group further.
Having ascended the ridge, Levia raised a hand in indication that they should all step and rest. Settling again a nearby bolder, she removed the gauntlets about her hands, one after the other, and then began to remove the pins securing her armet in place whilst Amaign introduced Corbric and Nimson to her.
Undoing the last clasp, Levia peeled the front end of her armet away from her face, handing it to Amaign before then removing the back-end of the helmet as well. Her long, autumn-colored hair, tucked beneath the leather under her gorget, she carefully pulled out in messy strands with a look of consternation as she spoke.
“Well met, Corbric, Seeker of the Alps, and Nimson. I am Levia Gerlinde, and prior to the fall of our fair land I did remain in Normandy. I am only a Seeker as of...eightfold lifespans ago, perhaps? I spent many lives attempting to live simply, come the terror of the adversary upon our lands. Since then I journeyed many paths and places. Before I received word of this Vicar and her…” A particular, begrieved expression crossed her face, though whether due to the topic of the strain of pulling her hair out of her armor was uncertain. “...alleged visions of the Herald, I bore thought of heading South, across the great sea, to try and discern what became of the lands of bygone Carthage.”
”Our tales are most similar Lady Gerlinde.” Corbric in turn removed his sallet, gripping the battle stained helm under the crook of his arm. “Tis my hope that this will indeed be the finale of my search, and that the world shall be redeemed of its despair. I can give thee some closure in regards to the fate of all that South and East of the Alps. T’would be fair to state that the situation fares them no better, if not worse.”
Whilst they spoke Nimson turned in a full rotation, casting his sharp eyed gaze up and down the mountain sides that now dominated the landscape about them. “Suchers!” He yelled, his excitement unmistakable. “I know where we now stand, the monastery is within a short march in yon route, should we make haste we shall arrive before the morn.”
“That is good indeed to hear, for though our final destination be preordained, I shall permit I was prepared to endure only a great tedium of roaming through these foreign crevices in search.” Levia proclaimed, visibly sighing with relief. “If thee are not awaiting any others, perhaps we shall embark once more? If thou have foreknowledge of this realm, it would please me to follow your guidance.”
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By Nimson’s established course the company moved out and made good time through the mountain trails facing no other hardship throughout. Their arrival, which Nimson prewarned in advanced, was observed by a number of young maidens awaiting them just outside the monastery's concealed entrance, watching with the silent nervous eyes of youthful curiosity.
Levia’s body stiffened as their group approached, her eyes narrowing as she looked the maidens up and down with an expression of barely-concealed contempt.
“...Such transparent and misbegotten intent do these sort bear. To this day, one of my greatest regrets is living such as they, in shallow and wanton womanhood. They seek to forestall our purpose with their own, baser pursuits.” Her voice was uttered in all-but a snarl. Immediately behind her, Amaign wordlessly signalled Corbric and Nimson with an expression of warning, waving a hand errantly before turning back to face the approaching maidens.
“Mayhap frivolous innocence is a blessing to those of their age and stature.” Corbric cajoled, his hardened heart softening at the sight of the young beauties.
“Hark, see not their apparent youth! Remember where you are, good Seeker!” Levia snapped. “They are all likely of many lifetimes and should know better! The flesh is frail and temporary.” Amaign was staring daggers at Corbric behind Levia’s back, silently waving his hand once more, gesturing for the Seeker to quiet.
Oblivious to Amaign’s efforts the guardsman smiled at those waiting to attend them, respectfully disagreeing with the Quester’s cautions. “And yet perhaps they are like thy Squire, and know nothing of this cruel and bleak world we live in. Content to endure and foil the adversary in their own way. Even if not, how tempting is it to remain within the confines and safety of these walls rather than face the horrors unknown.”
“Do not permit them to waylay thee from thine post, Seeker.” Levia said with a measure of exasperation.
Levia’s disagreements struck a morbid chord in Corbric’s soul and he turned his head away from her in shame. Excuses rushed forth only to perish upon his tongue, as he could not bring himself to counter her, nor justify his moment of weakness. Abashed the guardsman drew his gaze with much difficulty from the young maidens, wishing for all the world it wasn’t so. “Thou speak truth of course.” He admitted at great length. “Our sworn duty is to the Herald, and pleasuring myself to no true end would be folly. I must never abandon my post, nor willingly jeopardize it through foolish acts. Never again…”
The Questor had not seemed to catch the gravity underlying his voice, nor the significance of his last words. “Ye, and thee shall be an exemplar of our ken, Sir Corbric.” She said, her voice coming back upon civility. “Permit me to handle these sordid waifs, so that we might not be forestalled.” She strode forward ahead of the group in order to intercept the maidens, just before the entrance to the monastery.
The three men caught only the faint sound of the maidens first few words to Levia before the Questor launched into some form of tirade, forcing the maidens to recoil in shock from whatever she said. She pointed an accusatory finger at one of the girls, saying something particularly acrimonious that sent the poor lass fleeing back into the monastery in tears. By the time the three came within coherent earshot once more, the brunt of the Questor’s storm had passed.
“...can well enough see to our own ‘needs,’ and should we have cause to call for you it shall be made so - until then, go thither! Plague us not unduly!” The maidens, stammering their addled assent, parted and made way for the group as they finally made their way within.
“...What I was trying to say earlier, Sir Corbric,” Amaign said through gritted teeth. “Was not to get her started about unladylike behavior. There goes our pleasant interlude.”
“Aye,” Nimson agreed, having been in great suspense to return and find company amongst the ladies of his home. “And they shall be terrified beyond words for a fortnite no doubt.”
“Perhaps it was unnecessary to frighten them so.” Corbric confessed, having not yet fully recuperated his thoughts. “But temptations of the flesh are little different than those of gold and silver, and I do not wish to be tempted to tarry long.”
“Says thee.” Nimson muttered irritably. “I shall remain here...”
“...If the intrusion be not unwelcome, I might rejoin thee.” Amaign indicated with some hesitation. “Permit me but a moment to seek leave from the Questor further within, that I might deposit mine burdens somewhere secure.”
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Corbric’s armor and clothing, having been freshly cleaned and oiled the previous evening by no lacking effort now dripped crimson, soaked through with the Vicar’s blood. Throwing off a gauntlet the guardsman wiped clean his eyes so that he might see, blinking away the stinging annoyance that clung therein. Freed of his blinding prison Crobric retrieved his bardiche, leveling the polearm so as to impale the Pallid Beast that stood over them. He hesitated for the briefest of moments and by good fortune he did, such an act would have been the death of him. At that moment the Beast’s counter towards Levia failed, and the unintended backswing tore the bardiche from Corbric’s hands and threw him from his feet, the serrated claws missing his chest by a hair’s breadth. Clattering across the stone floor Corbric rolled to a halt, regaining his feet and drawing his sword in a single fluid motion.
“Brothers and sisters in arms, we are many and this abomination is but one. Surround her from all sides and foray at indiscriminate intervals and we shall smite her down forthwith!” This stated Corbric began edging around the Pallid’s Beast’s exposed flank, darting forward to strike with his blade, only to retreat should she turn to face him.
Sure, I think we should just move along to the point where our characters become aware of the villain's appearance within the city.
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