The caravan rolled into the decrepit Kendles without fanfare. It had passed through this town dozens of times, and would pass through hundreds more. Gerick appeared almost lethargic as he walked alongside, seeming to pay little mind to the ramshackle houses and half-ruined buildings.
The convoy of wagons came to a sudden stop, and Gerick snapped to attention. They weren't supposed to stop here. What was the matter?
It didn't take him long to find out. A man lie naked in the street, face down. Edgar sent a pair of guards forward to inspect him, and they confirmed that the stranger was still alive. With a frustrated sigh, Edgar ordered them to drag the man out of the way, which they did rather unceremoniously.
"Poor bastard," Ivan commented. "If the cold doesn't get 'im, the body snatchers will."
Ah yes, the body snatchers. Gerick had heard the stories. People went missing all the time in Kendles. Some people were murdered, with their body hidden so well it would be months before it was found. Others simply got up and left without telling anyone, abandoning the town for reason or another. Yet these stories were different: people being dragged off in the middle of the night, and taken to who knows where. Slavery? Sacrifices? Cannibalism? Impossible to say. The occasional kidnapping had never been unusual either, but for it to be so frequent that people outside of Kendles were hearing about it? Then it was an issue.
An issue Gerick would have normally been quite happy to overlook. He had learned long ago not to stick his nose into other people's business. Normally, he would have stayed in town for a while, performed a few odd jobs in exchange for food or goods, and then signed on to a trustworthy caravan heading out of the town. Normally.
He thought of the crown in his pack.
Again, he asked himself the question. Was it just a coincidence, or did he have a higher purpose?
Still, he did not known.
The caravan came to a stop before a tall ruined building. Once, it had been an tavern. Now, the roof of the second floor was missing and there was a giant hole in the side. Some say the damage was done by a Giant; others say it was done by time. Either way, the building no longer served as an inn, and had instead been converted into a stable.
The last of their 'pay' was passed around - a meager ration of stale bread. Gerick plucked the green bits off and began to eat. Some of the guards who were on a more permanent arrangement with Edgar would stay to act as his bodyguards and continue to keep his goods safe. The rest of the guards and passengers would scatter to the wind, going on with their lives, and perhaps rejoining the caravan when it turned back around.
Gerick finished the piece of bread, and set off toward the center of town. He would in all likelihood regret it, but for some strange reason he felt compelled to look into these... 'disappearances.'
It was a strange feeling, but Karamir wasn’t sure when he closed the door behind him -- or worse -- where it exactly went. He looked around, his feet standing on a square tile of stone, Keibrik right next to him, but that was all that was normal. The stone tile seemed to hang in a void of what was almost nothingness, save for giant mountain grotesques plastered and hanging as if in purgatory with him. They were all giant faces and heads, each with a different expression and all as still and lifeless as garden decorations.
“Well,” Keibrik’s voice echoed off of something, somehow, against all logic. As far as the eye could see there was only oppressive nothingness save for the heads, the sight threatening to absorb the mortal’s vision as his eyes attempted to dig deeper and deeper, looking for anything sensical.
“Well,” Karamir echoed. He peered down into the void for a moment, before taking a step back, and glancing up at one of the heads. “Should we go back?”
“Certified genius, that’s what your gravestone will read,” Keibrik waved his hand over the empty spot where a door used to be, “No, I think it’s best to just keep going.” He looked over the edge of the tiny stone tile and with a deep breath, he took a step off. His body fell -- up.
With bent knees he landed on the outstretched tongue of one of the giant heads (upside down), its stone tastebuds shaped like stairs. “Well, what do you know?” He called back to Karamir.
Karamir’s surprise lasted only for a moment. Nothing here made sense, he had to remind himself, and things like control and logic were arbitrary at best. So without any further delay, he followed in Keibrik’s footsteps and walked off the edge.
The void seemed to take him as he fell sideways, quickly approaching the open maw of a particularly fat face with large sundial eyes.
Karamir braced himself for landing, his knees buckling beneath him, but it never came. His body zipped into the mouth of the giant head, darkness taking him over briefly, only for it to suddenly relight. Keibrik’s voice seemed to fade away, and Karamir’s eyes fell on a new sight. He laid on a pile of bodies, each featureless and made of what seemed to be clay. They all seemed frozen in time, various gestures on their arms and legs. There were no walls, no ceiling, just the pile.
“Well it’s about time!” Keibrik scolded. The thief sat on a fine oaken chair atop the pile, a table raised in front of him as he sipped a half full teacup off a porcelain plate (pinky out). He wore a monocle on his face and a fine dark blue suit -- or was he always wearing that?
Karamir pushed himself up and rose to his feet. He took a step forward and nearly tripped as a limb caught his foot. “What… where are we?” he asked, looking down at the bodies with a vaguely disturbed expression.
His voice bounced around in an echo once, twice, three times while Keibrik finished his cup, only stopping as the noise skidded across the table, just for Keibrik to suddenly slam his cup face down over it. He smirked, “That’s enough of that.” The thief looked up from his capture and towards Karamir, “I suspect we aren’t much of anywhere.”
“So how did you get here? And how do we get out?” Karamir asked him.
“I didn’t and I don’t suppose you can,” Keibrik responded easily, “Or maybe...” The thief slowly stood up, snatching a gilded cane that leaned against the table. He squinted, “Ah yes, right over there.” He took a step, then another, and then he was suddenly gone. Karamir was forced to blink, his mind taking a moment to come to terms with the sudden nonexistence of Keibrik.
Once the initial shock had passed, he swivelled in place, scanning the room to see if the thief was still there, but all that was there was the empty void and the pile of clay men. He sighed. An explanation would have been nice. With nothing else to do, he stepped forward over to the spot where Keibrik had vanished, moving carefully to avoid tripping.
“No no, behind you,” Keibrik’s voice corrected him.
“Already tried that,” Karamir said, turning around. As he turned, he now found himself staring at a field of plush grass pocked with buttercups. In the distance, blue mountains ringed the meadow, with copses scattered here and there. The sky above was a deep cloudless blue and the smell of spring and autumn entwined on a fresh breeze. It almost reminded him of Kalgrun. In front of Karamir stood Keibrik, a wide smile on the thief's face.
“Oh you did, eh?” He smile grew even wider, only to snap to a sudden seriousness, “Karamir, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine--” He waved his hand towards a large brute of a man encased in boiled leather and a confident smile. The man smiled, a deep voice following.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” Karamir answered back with a nod. “Who would you be?”
“Names Ruby,” He grinned and held out a hand, “Don’t worry, I don’t really exist.”
“Same as me, I’m afraid,” Keibrik shook his head.
“You said that before, I think,” Karamir told Keibrik as he shook Ruby’s hand, wondering just where the big man had come from, but deciding he might as well go along with it. “Does anything from the Palace really exist?”
Keibrik looked at Ruby, “All of it?”
“All of it,” The brute nodded. The two looked at Karamir and Keibrik cleared his throat, “All of it exists, but it’s just easier to say it doesn’t -- er.”
Ruby pinched his chin, “Come to think of it, I don’t think I really understand it m’self.”
“Well it’s simple really,” Keibrik opened his palms as if physically giving the answer away, “Er... well. Yes, it all exists just as everything exists simultaneously?”
“Sounds smart to me,” Ruby shrugged.
Karamir furrowed his brows. “And do you know that for a fact, or is it just what you believe?”
“Well think of it this way,” Keibrik sat in a chair no one noticed before, “If none of it exists, then what exactly are you doing?”
“I’d say he is existing,” Ruby rubbed his chin and joined Keibrik in a chair of his own.
“Well of course, because we are experiencing him the same as he is experiencing us,” Keibrik offered, “But does experience calculate existence?”
Ruby shrugged, “Balls.”
“Balls,” Keibrik nodded solemnly.
Karamir frowned. What did calculate existence? At one point he thought the most difficult question was why anything existed, yet here they were talking about what constituted existence in the first place.
“Karamir, do you mind?” Keibrik all but whispered, as if warning Karamir of a gaffe sociale. He pointed a slender finger behind Karamir, the man’s thoughts jumbling around behind him in full view. Karamir turned, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Even the alarm at having his thoughts fully on display soon joined the swirling words and images.
“It’s always a hassle when that happens,” K’nell’s grainy voice sounded from off to the side, the gentleman sitting in a rustic chair. He leaned back and crossed an ankle onto his knee, “Never fear, I know just the thing for it.” He snapped his fingers and a blonde woman with a sharp look about her suddenly appeared next to Karamir, a basket in her hands. She handed it to Karamir.
His ‘thoughts’ seemed to have vanished in the air, and as Karamir accepted the basket it wasn’t hard to guess what was inside of it. Carefully, he opened it and peeked inside to find his thoughts bouncing off the wicker walls of the basket, one nearly escaping before he slammed the hinged lid back down.
He looked up from the basket and turned to face K’nell. “So… is there a way to get these back into my mind?”
“I would hope so,” K’nell smiled, “But enough of that, how are you enjoying the palace?”
“Well…” Karamir began, thinking back on what he had seen thus far. “Some rooms were enjoyable. Others weren’t. But-”
“Well that about sums that up dunnit?” Ruby looked over from his seat, a fat cigar stuck between his teeth, a pipe of smoke coming off of it. Keibrik took a wooden pipe out from between his own with a soft click.
“Quite.”
K’nell gave the two a bemused looked before looking back at Karamir, raising a single brow, “Please, continue.”
“Well it’s hard to explain. My entire life has been aimless wandering. First I was on Kalgrun - there were moments of joy and there moments of suffering. Then I ended up with Diana, which was mostly suffering, and that was most of my life - I almost forgot what anything else was like. Like Kalgrun… this place seems to have good things and bad things, but it works differently. I’d like to see more, to figure out how it works… but I don’t think I can stay here forever.”
“If I may suggest,” K’nell started, “That you shouldn’t think too much, lest you overflow your basket.” He smiled and slid his hand into his coat, slowly retrieving his silver tin. He popped the lid and plucked a cigarillo out and between his lips. He slowly put the tin back and raised a brow at Karamir, “Do you mind?”
“Do I mind what?” Karamir asked, confused. He began to look around, as if there was some detail he was missing.
“I’m terribly sorry: do you mind if I have a smoke?” He tilted his head at the other two, who were smoking along, happily chatting among themselves now.
Karamir shrugged. “I don’t know what that is, but if it’s what they’re doing then I don’t see any problem.”
“Very good,” K’nell sucked in a breath, an ember appearing at the end of his cigarillo. He held his breath for a savoring moment before let out a stream of purple smoke. The tendrils wicked around the scene, dissipating into the spring-autumn air. He plucked the cigarillo from his lips and nodded, “Please, speak your mind, then?”
Karamir took a breath. “Well, as I said… there’s a lot I think I can learn here - experiences I never encountered during my time on Galbar - but at some point I’m going to want to go back. So if the offer is still open… I’d like to stay for a time, but not permanently,” he explained.
“As it stands,” K’nell blew out another stream of smoke, “You may leave whenever you wish, but if I may ask -- why stay? What do you intend to learn here?”
“Whatever I can,” Karamir answered. “The library had a lot of information, and much of it was interesting. You mentioned something called music, which I still haven’t formed an opinion on yet. And every room of this place seems to be different, so I’d like to know what else there is to see.”
“I see,” The words were followed with a snake of smoke, “And if I may extend a hypothetical: what if you were to expend your natural life span before accumulating all there is to accumulate, what then?”
“Well… I don’t actually know if I’ll be able to learn everything, or remember it all,” Karamir answered. “And there might be things on Galbar that I can’t learn here. So I suppose I’d have to find a balance. Stay here for a time, and then at some point I’ll have to leave, regardless of whether my learning is completed or not.”
“An interesting proposal to say the least,” K’nell puffed on his cigarillo, “By chance do you know what you’re looking for?”
“I’ll accept whatever knowledge I can find,” Karamir said. “I’d like to know more about the gods and their spheres. More about the Architect. How the world was made and why. I’d like to know what else there is in the world beyond what I have experienced. And I’d like to know what might happen next. Maybe I’ll find some of those answers here, or maybe I’ll find something else, but finding anything is good.”
“To each of these quests, I’d like to apply the same question: why?” K’nell looked intently at Karamir for a moment before turning to watch a ring of smoke exit his lips.
“Why not?” Karamir countered with a small shrug.
“Would you like me to answer that, or are you simply being rhetorical?” K’nell mused idly, finally flicking his cigarillo into the air, the leaves disappearing into nothingness.
Karamir shook his head. “It is an honest question. Is there a reason why I shouldn’t want to know these things?”
“We are now exiting the realm of objectives in favor of subjectives, dear Karamir -- a dangerous territory where opinions become entangled with truths and lies, waxing choices and changing opinions.” K’nell answered, “There is a single answer and that is -- If I may reiterate: Why do you want to know these things and to what end?” He turned to give his full attention to the mortal, leaning forward in his chair.
Karamir took another deep breath. “When I was first created, I had questions for my creator. I wanted to know if there was anything beyond the struggle to stay alive. He told me I would have to figure that out for myself. But as time went on, I found no answers, and only more questions. If I can find those answers, it will put those questions to rest, and I can share that knowledge with others, or find some other way to use it. I need a goal to work toward, and simply staying alive doesn’t feel like enough.”
“A distraction?” K’nell raised his brows.
“A purpose,” Karamir corrected.
“Do you know the difference?” K’nell smiled.
“Another question I need to find the answer to, then.” Karamir answered.
“Hm,” K’nell folded his hands on his lap, “You see, we are in a delicate position here.” He started, “You are currently on graces while you figure out if you would prefer to return to Galbar or stay with Diana -- a detail that I cannot stress enough is the limit of such an interaction. There are fundamental truths and primordial questions that you in your current state should not be anywhere near. By your own admission you cannot pin the purpose behind your learning, a dangerous way to start your discovery. It would be simply irresponsible for me to house such activities in my own place of work, especially since I have already gifted all of Galbar the lens to which they need to find the very same answers you seek.”
“Then I won’t pursue those questions during my time here,” Karamir decided. “But surely there are simpler, safer things that I can learn here? Questions like: what is music, what are books, why haven’t I encountered those things on Galbar? Are those dangerous?”
“Personally,” K’nell held up a finger for a brief second, “I would be rather insulted to be the cause of any sort of pause in the advancement of higher thinking. I am not saying you should stop, I am saying that you should find your own basket before and while you do.” He paused, “Do you understand?”
“I shouldn’t learn things just for the sake of learning them?” Karamir ventured, glancing down at the basket in his hands. “You’re saying I should find a purpose first; get my own feelings and thoughts in order?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t say anything of the sort,” K’nell answered and slowly stood up, stretching his arms upwards. Slowly he brought them back down to rest along his sides, “Do you like flowers?”
“Yes? Some of them smell nice, and some are edible. A few might be dangerous, but overall I don’t see why I wouldn’t like them.”
K’nell smiled, “Do you have a favorite?”
Karamir shook his head. “I do not. But I could find one.”
K’nell shook his head along with Karamir, “A shame -- ah but you know, I personally have a favorite, myself.” A happy grin buzzed on his face, “Would you like to see it?”
Karamir nodded.
“Splendid,” K’nell smiled and turned to the right, his black boots pressing over the grass without a scuff, “Right this way then.”
Karamir followed, glancing back at Keibrik and Ruby as he walked, but the two were too engrossed in their own conversation over the meaning of Ruby’s name. He continued on, catching up to K’nell.
The god kept a brisk pace, folding his elbows square behind his back as he walked, whistling idly, “So you really have no favorite flower, then?” He asked casually.
“There are flowers that I prefer over others, but I never saw the need to value one above all else,” Karamir answered.
“Oh I see,” K’nell nodded slowly as they walked across the meadows, “Do you harbor any favorites at all?”
Karamir had to think for a moment, as he recalled memories from the furthest reaches of his mind. “There was a flower in Kalgrun,” he said, after a while. “It was plain, and yellow, and it grew everywhere. The smell wasn’t anything special, but I liked the way a full field of them looked, and since Kalgrun might as well be the closest thing I have to a home it’s one of the first things that comes to my mind when I think of it.”
“Very good,” K’nell continued his walk, “My favorite color is silver -- or is it grey? Well, same idea I suppose. I once even had a friend who reminded me of that color.”
“I wouldn’t say yellow is my favourite colour,” Karamir said as they walked. “My preferred colour would probably be blue, like the water. But who is this friend you speak of?”
“Oh, I have many,” K’nell mused, “Ah, here it is.” He suddenly stopped. The meadow was gone, as for when it was gone, Karamir hadn’t a clue. Instead they stood amid a park. Trees followed a carefully cobbled path, and spring fountains rippled tiny ponds. The two stood on the path, facing a line of bushes alongside it. Planted right before them was a single flower, its stem shooting out of a dark loam. It had wide broad leaves and was topped with a curly blue flower speckled with silver and long pistils.
Karamir knelt to inspect it closer, reaching out a hand but not quite touching it. “I see,” he said. “What about this flower makes it your favourite?”
“I suppose it just is,” K’nell answered, “It pleases me, that does make sense, does it not?”
Karamir nodded. “It does, I think.” After all, why would someone choose a favourite that didn’t please them? Then again, he considered Diana his friend when she had done little but hurt him. Did someone even need a reason to like something? He rose to his feet.
“It’s a very picky flower you know,” K’nell idly mentioned.
“How so?”
“Well you see, it absolutely refuses to simply grow wherever you put its seed, quite the conundrum,” K’nell explained, “Or at least it may be, if the solution wasn’t so clear -- it requires the right soil, the correct vessel. Sometimes I have to treat the soil, other times I don’t, but either way -- the seed only takes root when the soil ready for it. Such is flowers, I suppose,” K’nell let out a silky chuckle.
“I don’t know anything about making flowers grow,” Karamir said. “So you like it enough to go to all that trouble?”
K’nell tilted his head, “I have a feeling you may be attempting to read into this little... parable let us call it... a little too deeply.”
That gave Karamir pause. He had been wondering if there was a deeper meaning behind this conversation, but his question hadn’t necessarily been intended to reveal that. Still, if there was to be any meaning at all… what was it?
Flowers had always been minor things he hadn’t given much thought to unless asked. They could be easily stepped on or missed by something that wasn’t actively looking for them. Was K’nell saying he should put more attention toward the smaller, pleasant features of life? Was that deeper or shallower than whatever K’nell thought he was implying with his question? It was impossible to say, so maybe he should abandon the line of thought entirely. “Maybe I am reading too deeply…” he said at last.
“Mind your basket,” K’nell reminded Karamir, a chin nudging at the wriggling wicker contraption.
Karamir nodded. Just stop thinking too hard, he told himself.
“Now if there isn’t anything else,” K’nell began to slowly turn towards the headway of the path, the palace in the distance. His eyes waited on Karamir patiently, “I’ll be heading off while you continue to decide?”
“There is… one more thing.” Karamir said, recalling another thing that had been on his mind for some time.
“Indeed?” K’nell turned back to Kalmar, “What would that be?”
“Kalmar told me that there were other mortals on Galbar. The two he mentioned specifically were Arya and Hermes. He said that Hermes was created by you, while Arya was created by a god named Orvus. If this is where all creatures go when they dream… is there any way I could meet either of them, to learn how their experiences differed from my own?” Karamir asked with a twinge of uncertainty. Aside from Atalantia, Keibrik, or Ruby, virtually every creature he met had been an animal, a beast, or some sort of divine being.
K’nell’s expression dove into his usual cheshire grin, “I hope you don’t find me rude in reminding you, but the Palace is no mere toy of learning and manipulation. While it is certainly not out of its bounds, I have already given you quite the rope while you make a gracious decision, do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
Karamir nodded. “This isn’t a place where I can see, do, or meet whatever I want, and I’ve already been given enough freedom as is?”
“Oh no, it absolutely is a place for such things for the right reasons,” K’nell quickly added, “I am simply reminding you that it is not your playground and that you are asking me to contort reality -- of which I can easily do, but can you just as easily appreciate?”
“I think I understand, then.” Karamir said. He couldn’t keep asking for help or guidance. He would have to journey through the Palace on his own initiative, make his own choices, and take what comes.
“Indeed?” K’nell raised his brows, “Well then I remind you to mind your basket, and inspect the fact that I never said ‘no’.” The god smiled again and began to turn away once more, “I take it that was all?”
Karamir nodded. “It was. Thank you.”
“But of course,” K’nell answered before fully turning away, arms still folded as he began to stroll down the path and leaving Karamir to himself.
Karamir and Keibrik end up on a platform in the middle of a void with a bunch of floating heads. He and Keibrik jump into different heads, with Karamir ending up in one that is piled with humanoid bodies made of clay.
Keibrik was there, and somehow they ended up going into a meadow. Another guy was there, and he introduced himself as Ruby - a friend of Keibrik’s. They have a quick debate about the meaning of existence, only to find out that Karamir’s thoughts have somehow escaped his head and started to float in the air behind him.
K’nell shows up and contains the thoughts within a basket. The more Karamir thinks, the more full the basket becomes. They talk about Karamir’s time in the Palace, and also his intentions. Karamir has found his time in the palace to be a mixed bag, and claims his intention is to learn all that he can. K’nell gives him some words of caution, and Karamir is willing to restrict his search somewhat if it means staying in the Palace for a little longer, but K’nell also warns him not to do this.
The conversation then shifts to Karamir’s favourite flower. Karamir doesn’t have one, but after some thought decides it is a dandelion, which isn’t technically a flower but Karamir doesn’t know that. They look at K’nell’s favourite flower, and Karamir wonders if there is some greater lesson or moral behind the discussion.
Before K’nell leaves, Karamir asks if it would be possible to meet either Arya or Hermes within the Palace. K’nell gives a somewhat vague answer which Karamir perceives as a refusal. Before leaving, K’nell points out that he never actually said the word ‘no’, and cautions Karamir to ‘mind your basket.’
The clop of hooves, the rattle of wagons on a beaten overgrown road, the plop of animal defecation, and the occasional chatter.
These were the sounds that accompanied a caravan on the move.
There were three wagons in total; two loaded with crates and barrels of supply, and one with a dozen or so passengers - primarily the young and the old. Each wagon had a driver and a guard sitting upfront, steering the mules or oxen that pulled the old, rickety things along the road. More than a dozen people traveled alongside on foot, most of them armed, while others only had the clothes on their back. None were happy to be here; Gerick included.
It was a journey he had taken more times than he could count. The caravan passed through roughly the same area on a semi-regular schedule, only occasionally changing its in ordinary route to throw off aspiring brigands. But the Filth was an even greater danger, and against such a threat there was safety in numbers. So, anyone was welcome so long as they could pull their weight one way or another, along with the weight of any 'baggage' they might bring with them.
Gerick glanced at one of the children, and the child stared back. There was no joy on that malnourished face. Gerick shifted his gaze to the child's father, who limped alongside the caravan with an axe at his belt. With a sigh, he shifted his gaze forward. Most of the people here were lost; they left their home behind, or were driven out, and now sought a better - or a the very least different - life elsewhere. The caravan would pass through village after village, and some of the passengers or guards would depart while others would sign on.
The caravan's final destination was Kendles. What salvation they were hoping to find there, Gerick did not know. A short, bittersweet life followed by an even bitterer end was all that awaited anyone there.
Which is why Gerick had no intention of staying. He never did. He followed the caravan because in exchange for his protection, they offered him a meal and possibly even a bonus at the end. Although the owner - a toothless baldheaded merchant by the name of Edgar - and many of the other regular guards did not like him, they could respect Gerick's skill with a blade and trust him not to cut their throats at night. Out here, away from civilization, that was more important than anything else. Quite a few had signed on only to attempt to betray them or make away with some of their goods, and that rarely ended well for them.
He wondered if any such people were with them now. To say that it happened every time would be hyperbole. But there were plenty of stupid or desperate people out there.
Then Gerick began to consider the item in his pack. The crown...
He had heard stories of the crowns. How they had been used to mark leaders. How they granted power and authority. Had it been an accident that he found one? Or something... more. He recalled his vision. Had that simply been the result of a mind driven mad by mushrooms? Or was there a deeper meaning to it?
In the months since that discovery, he had given in and partaken of the strange fungus on a few occasions, hoping for further revelation, to see them again... but nothing. Just the usual mix - a random amount of ecstasy or suffering; sometimes both. He shuddered in recollection at some of the more... jarring experiences, and considered once more that maybe he should stop. But maybe... just one more...
He shook the thought off. Whether he would ultimately quit the habit or not, he would not do it here. Too much could go wrong for him. He clenched a fist. Stop thinking about it... But telling himself to stop thinking about it only made him think about it more. The child was still staring at him, he realized.
With a sigh, he fell out of place, quickened his speed, and soon came upon the lead wagon, where Edgar sat. Though the man was a merchant, he had the build of a warrior - his steely gaze was set forward, and a formidable mace rested at his belt. "We shouldn't be too far from the next village. I'm going to scout ahead," Gerick offered.
Edgar grunted. "Volunteering? What's gotten into you?"
"Might be I'm possessed by a malevolent spirit. A terrifying thought. Maybe I should rest instead..." Gerick offered thoughtfully.
"Or benevolent," Edgar muttered. "Ivan! Go with Gerick here and scout forward. Make sure he doesn't cut loose."
Ivan, a plain looking brown-haired man with a battered longbow and a steel shortsword, nodded and stepped up next to Gerick, looking just as displeased as Gerick himself. "Let's get this over with..." the young man muttered.
"I wish I had your enthusiasm..." Gerick spoke in a wistful tone, before distant growls were heard from the woods on the right hand side of the road.
"Filth! To the right!" someone shouted out.
The caravan scrambled into action immediately. Those with weapons fell into a rough formation between the cart and the attackers. Half of them wielded spears, while the rest had a varied assortment of swords, axes, maces, bows, and hammers. Those who could not fight - the children and the camp followers - took cover behind the wagons. Gerick and Ivan took positions on the leftmost flank, while Edgar pushed his way to the center. "Hold your ground!" he yelled.
"And just when I was looking for something to do with my day..." Gerick muttered, before eight Grunts came thundering out of the woods. The four or so bowmen accompanying the caravan loosed their arrows, causing one grunt to fall dead as his puss-filled 'head' was popped, while a second stumbled and tripped from an arrow that lodged in its knee, smashing and popping its own head on the firm ground, before a final arrow finished him off. But the remainder carried on their charge, intent on smashing through the center, where the bulk of the spearmen still stood firm.
And smash they did. Although the spears provided a reach advantage, allowing two of the creatures to be impaled, the other Grunts simply grabbed the spears below the point and turned them away or snapped them in one hand, while the other hand lunged forward for a punch. One spearmen was flung several feet back into the wagon by an exceptionally hard punch that caught him square in the chest, ruining his ribcage while his spine broke against the hardwood. He fell to the ground, blood fountaining from his mouth, the ruined shaft of his spear still clutched in his hand. One man on the right flank saw this and fled, with the others soon following his example.
While the center backpedaled, dodged, and lunged to keep the creatures at bay, and the right flank abandoned the skirmish, the left flank did not stand idle. With battered sword in hand, Gerick charged forward, the others at his heels, and they wheeled about to catch the beasts in the side and rear. They raked their weapons across the monsters' backs, Gerick himself scoring a cut so vicious that the beast wheeled around to face him, swinging a wild fist. Gerick ducked underneath the strike, avoiding it by a hair's width, and then capitalized by plunging his blade deep into the monster's vulnerable chest.
Another grunt fell nearby, having sustained too much damage. Now only two remained; they all bled heavily, and they were surrounded on all sides. One lunged a fist at Gerick in an attempt to rectify that, but the greycloaked warrior sidestepped the attack, and suddenly there was a flash of steel in his hand and he stabbed a dagger down into the monster's wrist. In the end, the two remaining Filth creatures were brought down by sheer numbers, hacked and stabbed to pieces.
Gerick flicked the remaining traces of Filth off his sword with an expression of distaste, and then began to take in their losses. Five fighters had died in the clash. Four more fighters had fled, but already two had returned to beg forgiveness and ask to be taken back in. One was beaten senseless, stripped naked, and left to rot on the dirt. The other had a family to care for, and so he got off lightly - a swift punch to the gut, followed by being quite literally tied to the cart by a tight length of rope.
The punishments had always seemed a bit excessive to Gerick. Then again, they had left the caravan to die, and abandoning your comrades without warning in the middle of a fight was almost as good as stabbing them in the back.
For once Gerick didn't have a quip. The civilians who had taken shelter now wept over the bodies of lost friends and family members. He remembered his own losses, and realized the luxury of having a body to weep over was something not even he had received, but he did not allow himself to appear any more melancholic than usual.
Edgar allowed everyone a few minutes to rest or grieve, before putting them all to work. Weapons and supplies were recovered, while shallow graves were dug for the deceased. A priest of Parrel who was accompanying them glanced at the graves with disapproval, but gave them their last rites anyway. They could not linger any longer, for fear that there might be more Filth in the area. The sun was low, and the village was close, so it was time to get moving. One woman refused to go, staying by her husband's grave with tears in her eyes, and only after Edgar told her he would leave her behind did she get back on the wagon.
As for Gerick, he wearily fell back into the same routine, made somewhat more tense by their significantly diminished numbers. A few attempted to approach him, and congratulate him for his role in the battle, but he brushed them off. That child went back to staring at him.
Gerick sighed. If only he could be alone with his thoughts...
God of the Hunt and Lord of Winter & Goddess of Family and Goddess of the Hearth
It had been fifty-seven years since his encounter with Shengshi and the Angels on Dragon's Foot.
Kalmar stood on the beach of his island in the Hunting Grounds, a wooden pole in his hands, his finger resting on a strange mechanism. From that mechanism came a string, running along the length of the pole before dangling with a hook at the end. A worm had been tied to that hook, still alive. Kalmar looked upon it was an expression of mild sympathy, before swinging the pole back and casting it forward. The mechanism spun as the hook flew, landing far out into the lake with a distant plop!
Now, he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
There was a sudden tug, and Kalmar quickly began reeling the line in. The fish fought and struggled the best it could, but there was no escape, and it was dragged closer and closer to shore, until finally it was out of the water and dangling before Kalmar's eyes. The God pulled the fish from the hook and inspected. It was rather large, with blue scales, and it wiggled desperately in his hands. "Interesting..." he said aloud.
He threw the creature back into the water.
It was an... unusual method, to say the least. There was no strength required, no cunning, no intellect. Just patience and vigilance. It was an idea that had occurred to him in the time since he returned to his sphere, fifty-seven years ago. There were only so many ways to hunt creatures before one got bored and had to experiment. Satisfied that this was a success, he returned and began the walk home.
All in all, the time had been uneventful. He had returned to his sphere to rest and think, leaving Vendral behind to guard Kalgrun's northwestern corner. Only occasionally would he venture out, for one reason or another. He had trusted that his avatar, his allies, and his guardians would keep him up to date on anything he needed to know, and nothing of note had occurred. Some new creatures had begun to arrive on his land, coming through the gateway. Trolls, griffins, direwolves, as well as some strange winged creatures made of ice and snow. They had all immediately dispersed into lands that they preferred. Meanwhile, some of the animals from Kalmar's sphere had already found their way out, and it would be interesting to see what effect they had on Kalgrun itself.
After much walking, he finally arrived back at his house, and opened the door. He rested the fishing pole against the wall, and looked to the left, at three shelves he had carved by hand. On that shelf were wooden figures, of the various gods, individuals, and beasts he had met. They had all been carved by his own hand - a skill he had ample time to naturally perfect.
The top shelves had the gods. Phystene, Parvus, Ashalla, Asceal, Melantha, Chopstick Eyes, even Narzhak and Shengshi. His gaze hovered over Melantha's carving, and he felt a certain sense of longing. She had not contacted him in all those years, and he couldn't help but worry as to why. But he did not seek her out. He had told her to take as long as he needed, and attempting to force a decision would only serve to kill his chances.
The lower shelf consisted of exceptional beasts. Fenris, Vendral, Gorm, Shynir, the Slippery Soul Serpent, and even the creature that had attacked Fenris.
The middle shelf was of the exceptional individuals he had met. Arryn, Arya, Hermes, Xiaoli, Makab, Eline, Akam, Liana, Karamir. Arryn had kept him up to date with information - some of the news was good, while some was bad - but he had not seen any of them in decades. He wondered what became of them - Karamir in particular. Years had passed and not once had Karamir reached out to him. It was clear now that Kalmar would need to be the one to take initiative, and he would need to do so soon.
There was also the news Arryn gave him. Of Azura and Asceal's shortsighted scheme to 'rescue' souls that were already dead, in the hope of finding a solution that might not exist. Could he even trust Azura's intentions? That was not something he was willing to gamble on. Still, he would need to find more information before acting rashly - he had already seen the damage wrought by Sartravius's armies, and knew the senseless cost of war. He already had a rough idea of the souls were being held, if the Alma's flight patterns were anything to go by, so it would not be hard to investigate the source.
Yet the troubles didn't stop there. Arryn had reported another incident. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of Selka woke up screaming, reeling from various horrors they had seen in their dreams. Kalmar had dreamt once before, and it had been a pleasant experience, so he had to wonder what caused the change.
He sighed as he set himself down on a wooden chair, padded with furs. He had been gone from Galbar long enough, he knew. The isolation had given him time to contemplate, to readjust his stance and his priorities, but he knew it could not have lasted. There was so much to do, and he needed to get started.
Suddenly, he tensed. Someone was trying to enter his sphere...
Arae had never been within another god’s sphere before, not counting the times she slept and entered the Palace of Dreams. Before, she hadn’t been sure what to expect from Kalmar’s, but its first impression was a lot more mundane than she had anticipated. Other than the fact that the land she found herself in was a ring atop mountains, the ring itself housed a rather mundane, but also comfortable, forest.
Still, this was not the time for aimless sightseeing. She had come to meet Kalmar, God of the Hunt, and her journey led her here. She knew this meeting had been long overdue, and hoped to gain some more information about their siblings’ wellbeings and activities. Arae soon found Kalmar’s trail leading to a small wooden house, and Arae was quick to descend towards it, transforming into her human shape as she landed. Raising her hand, she proceeded to knock on the door three times with her middle and index knuckles.
”There you are,” Kalmar’s voice spoke up behind her.
Arae quickly spun around to face Kalmar, her back against the door, her expression one of shock before sighing as she soon calmed down. “Hello, Kalmar. I am Arae, the Goddess of Family. Honestly, I had been hoping to meet you sooner, but many things had come up, and… well…” Arae began to trail off. Kalmar studied her with a subtle impatience, but said nothing.
Clearing her throat, Arae quickly gathered her thoughts and continued, “I wish to talk about our siblings, what they have done and such. In particular, Azura, Vakk, and Orvus. I hope you can spare me some time.”
Kalmar nodded grimly. ”Of course. Let’s go inside,” he said, gesturing for her to move away from the door.
Arae complied, and followed Kalmar inside the house. She soon found a chair and sat down on it, then proceeded to ask, “I assume you already know about Azura’s plan involving ‘soul crystals’ as an alternative to Katharsos’ cycle of rebirth?”
Kalmar sat down on a chair across from her. He waved a hand, and the fireplace was set alight. ”I do,” he said, ”and they aren’t an alternative,” he added quickly. ”They don’t replace the cycle, they only stop it.”
Arae locked her fingers together nervously, already unsettled by what the soul crystals seemed to be doing. “I fear for the souls inside of them. They don’t grow while they’re inside those crystals. They don’t die, either. If they have any sort of awareness left within them, then I fear for their minds as well. No being should have to go through the feeling of losing their mind, losing their sense of self,” Arae said apprehensively. “Many of our siblings don’t seem to take very kindly to the idea, either, though Asceal might be supportive of it.”
Kalmar nodded. ”I know she is. She tried to turn me against Katharsos once, and it was she who went with Azura to help steal and crystalize all the souls,” he sighed. ”I never met Azura, so I don’t know if she can be trusted. There is power in souls, and having that many lie dormant in one area under the protection of only one or two gods seems a bad idea. She may have a purpose in mind other than what she says, but even if her intentions are good, some other less noble god might be able to seize the souls for themselves. And even if her word is true and nobody stops her… what if she can’t develop her alternative? There is only a finite amount of soul ash. Once we run out, no new souls can be created, and all life will end,” he shook his head grimly.
Arae shivered at the thought of using souls for power. The idea was terrifyingly repulsive to her, and she couldn’t imagine that kind of freedom being robbed away. The other problem they faced, all life ending, was just as bad. All the work everyone had put into creating Galbar, being wasted.
Arae shook her head, trying to purge her mind of such depressing thoughts. It would do no good to ponder the worst case scenarios; solutions had to be created. “Something must be done,” Arae finally said. “These soul crystals should not- no, cannot continue to exist.”
Kalmar read her expression, and seemed relieved that she shared his concerns. ”I agree. And I think I know where Azura might be keeping them. If you want, we can go there together and try to find more information. Maybe even take action, if we can.”
“You do?” Arae asked incredulously. “Hmm… action should be taken, but I’d rather it not involve violence. Perhaps if we convince more of our siblings to join our cause and confront Azura and Asceal, we could get them to see our point of view and convince them to give up their endeavors.”
Kalmar shrugged. ”It wasn’t hard to find out the location. I had my avatar and my guardians watch the Alma closely. Every time they take a soul, they always head in roughly the same direction, no matter where in Galbar they are.” the Hunter shook his head. “And no, I wasn’t thinking of violence. I don’t want another war. We could go there right now and try to find more information. If Azura isn’t there, we can try to return the souls to the Pyres. If she is there, we try to reason with her. If either course fails, then we can bring in the other gods.”
Arae nodded. The sooner this issue was resolved, the better. Arae just hoped that Azura and Asceal were willing to hear them out. “Before we act, however,” Arae began. “I still need to ask a couple more things. One: what happened to Vakk? It was simple enough to tell that he was making quite a few enemies among our siblings, but to be reduced to a state of near-death by Shengshi, K’nell, and Eurysthenes? What in Galbar did he do?”
The question gave Kalmar pause. ”Wait… near death?” he asked, with raised eyebrows. ”Shengshi told me he was dead. Permanently.”
“He was certainly close to death, but definitely not dead,” Arae reported. “From what I can tell, he seems to be recovering, too, but that’s about all I can tell. So what exactly happened that led to this?”
Kalmar frowned. ”Most of what I know is only what I heard. Vakk attacked Li’Kalla, and somehow turned her into some sort of monster. K’nell found out, somehow, and sent messengers throughout Galbar to let everyone know. My Avatar heard from one of them, and passed the information on to me,” the Hunter explained.
”Meanwhile, Vakk believed that one of K’nell’s creations, Hermes, stole something from him. He sent a beast to capture her, but while it was following her trail one of my own beasts drove it off. Later, Shengshi told me that Vakk tried to personally kill Hermes, so the three gods killed him instead. Either Shengshi lied to me, or they didn’t do a good enough job.”
Arae racked her memory, trying to remember what had happened after she found Vakk’s Familial Tree in that sorry state. Slowly, she began to recall. After a period of time, while it had been recovering, it had started becoming… not Vakk’s tree, yet it was at the same time, as if it were trying to become two different beings. Arae remembered not being able to make heads or tails out of it. At the same time, there was a slight change in Eurysthenes’ bond with Vakk’s. It seemed inconsequential at the time, but it was the only one that was different from all the others. “Maybe… Eurysthenes might know something,” Arae mumbled her thoughts out loud.
”Or K’nell,” Kalmar said, not knowing the true significance behind her words. ”But if Vakk is still alive, and everything I heard about him was true… he will need to be dealt with.”
Arae nodded, unsure of whether or not she should’ve clarified, but ultimately decided against it. She wanted to see for herself what Vakk was like, and having too many sides take action might lead to someone finishing the job on Vakk. Arae decided to change the subject, saying, “What about Orvus? He seems to be in a much happier state now than he was before, and if I recall, you seemed to have had a part in that. What did you do that caused this?”
Kalmar furrowed his brow. ”Did I cause it?” he asked, sounding confused. ”Orvus tried to kill Phystene, and then threatened to kill the rest of the gods and fray the world’s souls. I told him that if he didn’t change his course, I would kill him. That was long ago; I heard nothing of him since. Are you saying he listened?”
“Perhaps he did,” Arae said, smiling. At least there was some good news to share. “I think he’s grown quite a bit. His relationships with many of our siblings are quite healthy, or at least not as bad as they were before, and he even has two daughters. I couldn’t be more proud of him.”
”And how do you know all of this?” Kalmar questioned with a raised eyebrow.
Arae tensed up, stunned by Kalmar’s sudden question. “Umm… that’s a… a bit of a personal question, there…” Arae said hesitantly, before sighing and continuing, “...I suppose I have to tell someone eventually, and you seem trustworthy enough to share it with.”
Arae stood up from her chair and began to pace back and forth, explaining, “This is the power of my Sphere. It watches and maintains all familial relationships in Galbar… no, maybe even in other spheres too. The moment a strong familial relationship is formed, or if a child is born, things like that, my Sphere records them as trees and lakes. I use them to read everyone’s emotional and physical states, and their relationships with everyone else.”
Kalmar frowned, and took a few moments to digest this information. ”My sphere tells creatures when they need to eat,” he said, rather flatly, before leaning forward. ”How much do you know about me, then?”
“Mostly that you are well respected by many of our siblings,” Arae said. “It’s why I chose to meet up with you first before anyone else. Well respected, but not exactly well liked. I thought this to be that you were the most rational of our siblings, and wouldn’t be afraid to give out even unpopular opinions if it provided the most benefit.”
”That is how I view myself,” Kalmar mused. ”It’s almost as if you knew exactly what I wanted to hear.” His frown deepened, and then he sighed. ”You don’t seem to have abused this power, at least. Just be careful about what you reveal to others.”
“I would never abuse power,” Arae promised. “Power is something to be managed, not misused.”
”Good,” Kalmar nodded. ”So Vakk, Orvus, and Azura. Was there anything else you needed to discuss?”
“No, I think that was it. Thank you for your time, Kalmar,” Arae answered, bowing.
Kalmar rose to his feet. ”We’re leaving now, then?” he asked.
“Unless you have something you wish to add,” Arae answered.
He shook his head. ”I don’t. Let’s go.”
Kalmar has spent most of the timeskip relaxing in his sphere, reflecting on current events, and contemplating his next move. He invents a fishing rod, and has become a skilled woodcarver after decades of practice.
He decides it is time to leave and actually start doing something, and it is in that moment that Arae appears. Arae has come to discuss some of the other gods, most notably: Azura, Vakk, and Orvus.
They discuss what they know of Azura’s plot, and agree that it needs to be stopped. They talk of Vakk - Kalmar tells Arae what he knows about what happened, only for Arae to reveal that Vakk is still alive. They then discuss Orvus, who Arae claims is much happier now. Kalmar is somewhat skeptical, and the conversation then turns to the subject of Arae’s sphere and how it allows her to know the gods’ relationships and feelings. Kalmar is wary of this power, but shrugs it off because it is A) in the nature of Arae’s portfolio, and B) she has yet to use it in a harmful way.
After that, they agree to go to Azura’s soul vault together, because Kalmar believes he has deduced the location.
Appearance: Gerick stands at a respectable six feet, with unkempt jet black hair streaked with grey. His eyes themselves are also a dull grey, with dark circles looming underneath. His face is angular and gaunt; his skin an almost sickly pale. There are some who say he never smiles (perhaps to hide his rotted, decaying teeth), but he has been known to smirk on some occasions. His nose is somewhat crooked, having been broken once or twice in the past. Lastly, he is of an average build, perhaps somewhat frailer than most, but makes up for this with a surprising speed and agility.
For attire, he wears faded green homespun shirt and breaches, frayed with age and stained with travel. Furthermore, he also wears a pair of brown leather boots that are actually surprisingly well-fitting and sturdy, stained with a small speck of blood that just refuses to come off. Over all this he wears a thick, warm, grey cloak, stained with mud from his travels.
He also carries a steel longsword - the blade has a couple notches and a few flecks of rust, but is otherwise serviceable enough - which is kept sheathed at his hip on a worn leather belt, alongside a dagger in similar condition. His final accessory is one that serves absolutely no combat value; an old, battered, rotted flute that he may occasionally blow. He possesses absolutely no aptitude for this instrument, but it is dear to him nonetheless.
Personality: Where to begin? At first glance, one would view him as grim, cynical, and depressed. He has a tendency to incline his head at an angle while speaking. As a result he may come across as rather creepy and unhinged - a fair assessment. He has a tendency to mutter or whisper to himself (but usually won't do this in front of others, unless he is deep in thought.) He is also generally pessimistic; quick to throw cold water onto other people's ideas, with a tendency to become paranoid, or to assume the worst when something has gone wrong.
Some may also note that he carries a dark sense of humour, with a tendency to take grisly or disturbing sights with nothing more than a grim remark - although he is in truth putting on a front, for both himself and others. He is not without altruism. He still has concern for others, but he does his best to suppress it, both as a coping mechanism and as a a means to avoid showing weakness. And for those who are just as jaded as he, his remarks may be genuinely amusing.
Also, don't mess with his flute.
Background: Gerick was born in a small village called Hagoth. His family was rather... unique, truth be told.
His mother had been a scribe from Illistair. With such a stable, vital, well-paying job, there was no doubt that she didn't leave voluntarily. Once, at a young age, Gerick asked her why she no longer lived there, and her response was to simply shake her head and say, "I learned something I wasn't supposed to know," but reveal nothing more. She tried to teach Gerick how to read, and recounted various myths, histories, and legends to him at night.
His father and his uncle were both hunters who had hailed from Jornorston, yet they too were equally evasive about their past, utterly refusing to speak of it. All Gerick knew is that at some point they left, embarking on a life of travel. They were always eager to share tales of their adventures; the places they saw, the creatures they fought, the deeds they did. In hindsight, many of those stories were probably embellished, but they had been enjoyable and informative nonetheless. At some point they met Gerick's mother and eventually settled down.
Gerick also had an older sister, a few years older, with a talent for singing and playing the flute.
Then, one day, when Gerick was nine years old, the village fell to the Filth.
It had not been the first time they were attacked, but this time the beasts were more numerous than ever before. They came almost in a swarm, and the village militia failed to fight them off. Gerick's father died defending his family, with Gerick's mother ripped apart soon after. Gerick himself would have been next, but his uncle came to the rescue. While the village burned, they ran.
If anyone else survived, Gerick did not know. From that point on, they wandered. At first, they shied away from settlements, instead preferring solitary life in the wilderness. Gerick's uncle taught him many things; how to fight with a sword, how to shoot a bow, how to track, how to forage. However, a life in the wilderness was hardly ideal, so Gerick's uncle began to attach himself to caravans, taking meager pay to act as a guard or perform odd jobs.
One such caravan was led by a merchant from Kendles, who dealt with... unusual substances. He paid well, and he had need of reliable hired muscle, so he eventually convinced Gerick's uncle to work for him full-time. And so, at the age of thirteen, Gerick and his uncle wound up living in Kendles. While Gerick's uncle served as a bodyguard, Gerick himself was employed as a messenger, where he learned to move swiftly and stay hidden.
They stayed there for two years, until the merchant was found brutally stabbed to death in an alleyway. At that point, Gerick's uncle decided it was time to leave. They signed on with another caravan, and at this point Gerick was old enough to fight, which meant that they could receive the payment of two men instead of one.
They resumed their old wandering lifestyle, with Gerick growing increasingly mature and skilled. He was a quiet yet not necessarily timid man, having come to terms with his lost family but being numb to tragedy as a result. Yet after two more years, one of their caravans was attacked by some particularly bold brigands. Although they successfully fought them off, Gerick's uncle, the only family he had left, died in the struggle.
Gerick was never quite the same after the moment. In fact, one could say that was what broke him. Without companionship, he wandered alone, unwilling to form attachments with anyone else. He continued to guard caravans and perform odd jobs to get by, as he and his uncle had done before, hunting or foraging when no work was to be found. His uncle had once been a good-hearted and good-humoured man, but became grim and stoic after Massacre at Hagoth, and perhaps in memory of him Gerick wound up becoming a bit of both. After all these years he had kept his sister's old flute, and began to practice with it and even try his voice at singing, though he made no real attempt to be good at either.
Gerick never did settle down or seek any permanent employment, believing that it would all eventually be ripped away in the end. He fell into a cynical depression, that only seemed to worsen as time went on.
Perhaps in an attempt to poison himself, he recently consumed a wild mushroom that his uncle had once told him to always avoid. The mushroom was not truly poisonous, but instead hallucinogenic and mood-altering. The hallucinations ranged from pleasant to nightmarish; he would be surrounded by fearsome monsters, only for those monsters to suddenly become peaceful woodland creatures. He would feel calm and serene one moment, but terrified and anxious the next. His clothes seemed to itch and his collar seemed to choke him, and after he took them off the sun and the grass suddenly felt warm and soothing.
He experienced other things, too, but they have since faded into a blur. There is one he remembers distinctly, though. At some point he saw a hallucination of his deceased family. His sister pleaded for him to not give in to despair, his uncle told him to get ahold of himself, his mother assured him he was destined for higher things, and his father demanded to know what they all died for.
Gerick threw himself into the river to escape them. He stayed under for as long as he could, and before he turned back to the surface, he noticed the glint of silver in the riverbank.
The next thing he knew, he awoke with a headache, clutching a peculiar item to his bare chest. A small silver crown, studded with small blood red rubies, and featuring a slight dent that prevented it from sitting straight across his forehead.
He knew much of the legends surrounding these things, and had to wonder: was this finding mere chance, or was he indeed destined for something greater? Time would tell, but for now, it was an excuse to keep living.
Meanwhile, every now and then he continues to consume the mushrooms. Some might even think it's his favourite food. Sometimes the hallucinations are pleasant, and sometimes they are nightmarish, but what he really searches for are more 'visions.' Whether they are real or not, he cannot say, but he needs to see his family again.
Stats: Strength: A Man among Men (2) Reflexes: Reflexes of a Mantis (4) Fortitude: Skin of Paper (1) Intellect: Quick (3) Wisdom: Insightful (3) Willpower: Will of Will (2)
Skills and Training: -Swordsman. Gerick possesses remarkable skill with bladed weapons. -Archer. He is an adequate shot with a bow. -Survivalist. He knows how to track, forage, and navigate. -Basic literacy, from his mother. Emphasis on basic. -Knowledgeable. He has an impressive level of knowledge regarding various myths and stories. -Well-travelled. He knows quite a bit about the various settlements, either from visiting them himself or hearing second-hand accounts from his uncle.
His most memorable moment is, of course, his village being butchered.
Appearance: Gerick stands at a respectable six feet, with unkempt jet black hair streaked with grey. His eyes themselves are also a dull grey, with dark circles looming underneath. His face is angular and gaunt; his skin an almost sickly pale. There are some who say he never smiles (perhaps to hide his rotted, decaying teeth), but he has been known to smirk on some occasions. His nose is somewhat crooked, having been broken once or twice in the past. Lastly, he is of an average build, perhaps somewhat frailer than most, but makes up for this with a surprising speed and agility.
For attire, he wears a rather plain homespun shirt and breaches, frayed with age. They were once green, but have mostly faded to a dull grey. Or perhaps the green is simply the result of grass stains. Who can say? Anyhow, he wears a pair of brown leather boots that are actually surprisingly well-fitting and sturdy, stained with a small speck of blood that just refuses to come off. Over all this he wears a thick, warm, grey cloak, stained with mud from his travels.
He also carries a steel longsword - the blade has a couple notches and a few flecks of rust, but is otherwise serviceable enough - which is kept sheathed at his hip on a worn leather belt, alongside a dagger in similar condition. His final accessory is one that serves absolutely no combat value; an old, battered, rotted flute that he may occasionally blow. He possesses absolutely no aptitude for this instrument, but it is dear to him nonetheless.
Personality: Where to begin? At first glance, one would view him as grim, cynical, and depressed. He has a tendency to incline his head at an angle while speaking. As a result he may come across as rather creepy and unhinged - a fair assessment. He has a tendency to mutter or whisper to himself (but usually won't do this in front of others, unless he is deep in thought.) He is also generally pessimistic; quick to throw cold water onto other people's ideas, with a tendency to become paranoid, or to assume the worst when something has gone wrong.
Some may also note that he carries a dark sense of humour, with a tendency to take grisly or disturbing sights with nothing more than a grim remark - although he is in truth putting on a front, for both himself and others. He is not without altruism. He still has concern for others, but he does his best to suppress it, both as a coping mechanism and as a a means to avoid showing weakness. And for those who are just as jaded as he, his remarks may be genuinely amusing.
Also, don't mess with his flute.
Background: Fifteen years ago, an attempt was made to start a new settlement. It started out small; various families and individuals from all over, who either voluntarily left their previous life or were driven out. Somehow they found each other, and for some reason or another, opted to stick together. Gerick was from one of these families. His mother was a scribe, driven from Illistair for reasons he never learned, while his father and uncle were hunters - the latter also being a renowned swordsman. They found a promising site - a flat-topped riverside hill - and set about the task of building a new civilization.
Why they tried this when so many previous attempts had failed, Gerick does not remember. Perhaps they were optimistic to think that their fledgling village would be one of the rare exceptions. Or perhaps they simply thought they would have more time before the Filth took notice. Either way, they made quick progress. They cleared away trees, stockpiled resources, erected crude shelters, and even some rudimentary defenses.
Within days, it fell.
The monsters came. The villagers didn't stand a chance. Gerick saw his father, mother, and sister ripped apart before his very eyes. Gerick would have died too, but his uncle - the village's best fighter and hunter - saved him. While the villagers died, he and his uncle grabbed what they could. While the village burned, they ran. Somehow, against all odds, they made it.
From that moment onward, Gerick had to be raised by his uncle.
He remembered his uncle once being an optimistic, good-natured, and good-humoured man. That changed after the death of their family. His uncle became cold, stoic, and grim. Gone were the jokes and smiles. The only thing that mattered was survival. And survive they did, sustaining themselves on berries, mushrooms, and what animals they were able to hunt. They spent two years in Kendles, with his uncle serving as hired muscle for a peddler of narcotic substances, until said peddler was brutally stabbed and his uncle decided they had to leave. After that, it was back to the woods.
Overall, it was a rather unconventional childhood.
Eventually, when Gerick was sixteen, things had grown exceptionally desperate. It was in the middle of winter; no forage was available, and they had been having terrible luck in their hunts. And one day, his uncle simply didn't wake up.
He was on his own after that, with nothing to do but wander aimlessly. All he had to remember his family was the aged flute once played by his sister, and the bow once wielded by his uncle, yet even when he held those objects close they still felt like distant memories. The bow was eventually broken and lost during a fight with brigands on the road, but he kept the flute. Although he would occasionally visit other settlements or temporarily join other groups, he lacked regular companionship, and quickly fell into the habit of talking to himself. Remembering the man his uncle used to be, he even took to making jokes about his circumstances, as a way of coping with the pain of it all, and he became increasingly numb to the hardship of life.
Because of his tragic past and his eerie demeanor, one might think Gerick is a broken man. But this isn't quite true. He has, despite everything that has happened, kept himself alive. While he has done some unsavoury things, he has never turned to banditry or unjustified murder like many others have. He may complain and appear unmotivated, yet his complaints are somewhat insightful, and his lack of motivation has rarely stopped him from doing what needed to be done.
Also: his favourite food is a hallucinogenic mushroom. He doesn't have a problem. Shut up. Now, why is this relevant? Well you see, in a moment of weakness he happened to over-indulge in said mushroom. After that, he received a vision of his deceased family urging him to never lose hope, that he still needed to 'go forth' and 'fulfill his destiny' - the exact wording is somewhat fuzzy. Anyway, for some reason he ended up walking naked into a river. While under the water, he glimpsed something shiny at the bottom, and the next thing he knew he woke up clutching a golden crown to his chest, bejeweled with small emeralds and rubies.
It sits slightly crooked on his head, but hey - a crown is a crown, right?
Skills: Strength: A Man among Men (2) Reflexes: Reflexes of a Mantis (4) Fortitude: Skin of Paper (1) Intellect: Quick (3) Wisdom: Straightforward (2) Willpower: Plenty of Will (3)
Skills and Training: Gerick is an exceptional swordsman and an adequate shot with a bow, having been trained by his uncle in both. He also knows a number of other survival skills, such as how to track, how to forage, and how to navigate. Finally, he has a very basic understanding of literacy, taught to him by his mother, and has an impressive knowledge of various myths and stories - passed on by his parents and his uncle.
His most memorable moment is, of course, his village being butchered.
The Palace was an… unusual change of scenery, to say the least.
On one hand, the confined space offered Karamir a sense of security. If he was in a hallway, he only had to worry about what was directly in front of him or directly behind him. If he was in a room, he could put himself in a corner and nothing could sneak up on him. On the other hand, the confined space was… well, confining. Despite their security, the walls felt restrictive, and with the endless rooms and hallways, it would be easy for him to get ambushed, or lost.
In fact, he was already lost.
This did not bother him, however. No, what bothered him was the possible dangers or tricks that might be lurking around every corner. K’nell had assured him there were no dangers beyond his own mind, yet if K’nell was anything like Diana, deception was a very real possibility. He could not afford to lower his guard. He frequently looked behind him, he investigated the source of every shadow, and every noise made him do a double-take of his surroundings.
All the while, he contemplated K’nell’s question, and Diana’s plea. “What do you want to happen?” K’nell had asked. But to answer that question, Karamir would first need to know what he actually wanted. “Stay with me,” Diana had urged, rather suddenly and unexpectedly. He wondered why. Did she truly care for him, or did she only wish to continue his suffering? It was probably both, in truth, but still. He cared for her too, in a way.
It was strange, not having Diana with him. No soft humming. No vicious remarks. No unnatural feeling of discomfort. Yet somehow that only served to make him feel even more uncomfortable. He had lost track of the exact amount of time he spent with her, but he knew it was most of his existence.
Secretly, Karamir realized that might be another reason for his caution and vigilance. Relaxation felt almost wrong somehow, and he was keeping himself on edge because he was used to being on edge.
In one exceptionally small room, there had been a strange object on a wall which reflected Karamir’s appearance back at him. He had changed. He was thinner, dark circles hung under his eyes, and a single thin crease ran across his forehead. Kalmar had told him that in time his body would age and eventually die, but this… to look like this so soon somehow felt wrong. Had her actions taken a greater toll on him than he realized?
The theory was certainly a sobering one, to say the least.
He turned away from the mirror, and continued onward. He stepped out of the room, and followed another hallway, before stopping at yet another door. There was nothing unique about this door; nothing to set it apart from any of the others, but he decided to open it nonetheless.
Stepping through, however, nearly convinced him that his confinement was all but over. The room was large and had a ceiling so high, he wasn’t sure how he knew it was even there. In the distance his vision was absorbed between infinite rows of wooden bookshelves. The dark wood stretching deep into the sky and trailing into the distance in rows. The crushing smell of old paper tickled Karamir’s nose, as did a tinge of damp mold. The only noise was a hollow breeze, and the tiny toots of a distant panpipe.
He furrowed his brow at the sight. What purpose did this room serve? There were so many shelves, and the things on the shelves… what were they for? Why were there so many? At random, he plucked a leather-bound tome from one of the shelves and opened it, to examine its contents.
A flittering of strange symbols floated over the page, arranging themselves suddenly. His eyes widened and then shrunk, as if focusing on them when suddenly he heard the words in his head, just as his eyes floated over the symbols.
’Why does your existence matter?’
Karamir blinked at the message. He glanced up at the ceiling, and then back down at the book. I don’t know, he thought to himself. Why does your existence matter, strange leathery… thing? And with that thought, he read on, flipping the page. His brow furrowed, the exact same runes were on the next page as well, as if pressing the question.
’Why does your existence matter?
Karamir pursed his lips, and began to flip through the pages, yet each page said the same thing, save for the last four pages -- which were blank. His expression shifted to irritation as he shut the book, and he concluded that, while he did not know why his existence mattered, he at least knew that it mattered more than some worthless object on a dusty shelf.
He returned the book to its place, and hesitated. Would the one next to it be any different? Then he shrugged. What did he have to lose by checking? So he grabbed the next book. This one was much heavier, with thick yellow pages sticking out of a leather clad cover with metal hinges. Letters he couldn’t understand were gilded to the cover, yet he opened it anyways.
This one was very different than the first, with tiny letters scratched endlessly over every inch of the pages. He squinted, the letters actually looked very similar to the runes from before. Here and there his mind seemed to decipher them, the very first few reading: ”In the beginning… there was only the smoke...“
Karamir wasn’t entirely sure what that was supposed to mean, but at least it wasn’t as frustrating as the previous book. He kept reading. His eyes were forced to skip over the words he couldn't understand, until he found similar runes once again: ”...was a paradise, but its perfection would not last. One day Stenmur was out looking for…”
And who was Stenmur? He knew he was missing parts of the story. Why was it that he could understand some runes but not others? How did he even understand any of the runes in the first place, when he had never seen them before? He skimmed ahead, searching for the next readable section.
His quick search yielded a few more segments: ”...the valley, and Stenmur was drowned in the onslaught of chaotic smoke, his body… ...Wherever this great army marched, so too marched the taint as… ...The Sondoper and Precursors aided second, followed by the rest of the newest and…”
Smoke? Army? Taint? Precursors? What did it all mean? Had this already happened? Was it a warning of what to come? Or was it complete nonsense? Karamir didn’t have the faintest idea, but perhaps if he kept reading he would find out.
His eyes darted quickly, eager to find more segments: ”...way to the anvil of creation they had gifted to Stenmur, and together they bled upon its surface… ...The Champion was a being of pure harmony, radiant like the sun, and traveled on angelic wings while plated in an armour colored like the stars… ...While saved… ... would never be the same…”
Karamir decided he would fill in the blanks. These ‘Sondoper’ and ‘Precursors’ had clearly found some sort of anvil they had previously gifted to that ‘Stenmur’ person, who was presumably dead, and for some reason they all decided to bleed on it. Then a champion appeared, for some reason - perhaps because they bled on an anvil? Whatever an anvil was. Anyway, something was saved - presumably either Stenmur or the previously mentioned paradise - yet it would not remain the same. Understandable, he supposed, considering one of the previous lines quite literally said “its perfection would not last.”
Satisfied that he had solved the mystery of the segments thus far, he turned the page and searched for more. The pages grew thicker with words and finding segments became a little more difficult but he managed to find a footing eventually after passing a particularly decorated page: ”...Naturally the prominent leaders of the mortal army that had fought alongside their now hidden creators… ... also political power houses of the time, it is the policies of the Silver…”
Now Karamir was lost. Leaders? A mortal army? Politics? Silver? None of these concepts had been introduced previously, at least not in the parts that he was capable of reading. Any attempts to connect them would be sheer guesswork, but perhaps future passages might contain the answers. He read on.
Unfortunately the writing fell into the unintelligible language that seemed to restrict him so, save for a few lines mentioning a place called "Garthil" and a group of adventurers known as the "Praxian Storm Guard" but whatever context they were in was lost in the runes. He flipped the pages, but he was only met with more unknown words and bizarre pictures of half-bull half-men creatures.
Karamir frowned in disappointment. He shut the boot, and returned it to its place on the shelf. Ultimately, if he had to sum it his thoughts on the book with an arbitrary number and a quote, he would give it a “three out of five; it was okay.” Still, it was clearly an improvement from the previous one. So without wasting time, he grabbed the next book.
This one was a forest green and a lot thinner than the last, which was promising. The cover was blank and as he slipped it open, he was met with an intricate diagram filled with patterns and unknown symbols. The pipe music from before grew louder as he opened it and suddenly a near juvenile or very high pitched adult voice called out in his own language.
"Oi!"
Karamir shut the book and looked up, instinctively raising the thin tome as if it had been a weapon.
The voice was now muffled, "You dope! Open the book back up!"
What?
Realization slowly came to Karamir’s face, and then, reluctantly, he opened the book.
The voice was clear again as the book opened back up to the large diagram, "That's better! Much better, yes."
“Who are you?” Karamir demanded, uncertain what to make of this. Afterall, the other books had not spoken.
"My name is… er… well you know it's been quite some time-- how about you just call me Keibrik. That sounds fancy enough." There was a pause, "Say, you don't happen to know how to perform sorcery do you?"
“Perform what?” Karamir blinked.
"Oh I see, not quite there yet are we. That's fine…" There was a gentle hum as if a thought was forming, "So get this, just by chanting a few silly words and doing a few gestures (also quite silly) you can make me poof! Right out of this book. You look like the kind of guy who needs a friend, or at least I'd assume such, all alone in a library at this hour."
Karamir narrowed his eyes. Mere words and gestures could allow a mind to escape from a book? That sounded strange, to say the least, and it also begged another question. “Wait… how did you end up in this ‘book’ anyway?”
"Listen, I'll be honest with you, I'm sure I had a damned good reason to put myself into a book at some point but void be damned if I could remember why. I suppose that may also be a side effect of other unpleasant factors of my existence but hey, you can alleviate all that." There was a pause, "Trust me, I'm smiling. The friendly kind."
“So you put yourself in the book but you can’t get yourself out?” Karamir asked. “How does that work?”
"That seems to be the case and trust me, I'd love to tell you all about it but again, my memory is a bit foggy at the moment. So what do you say, do me this favor?"
Karamir glanced up at the ceiling. K’nell… he prayed. Why does your ‘library’ have someone trapped in a ‘book’? he asked, the words still somewhat strange and unfamiliar to him.
"Ah, Keibrik," K'nell snapped the book shut, somehow standing next to Karamir, the book in his hands rather than the mortal's, "That's an interesting conundrum where neither the book nor Keibrik currently exist." The book suddenly disappeared, "However, I have a feeling you two would have gotten into some interesting scenarios."
“Can he be freed, as he said?”
K'nell flashed a smile, "But of course, however…" He pointed his finger and where Karamir's vision fell, there stood a tall man with long black hair streaked with white, tight black robes covering his body.
"...He can also have never been trapped to begin with," K'nell nodded at the man and Keibrik rolled his eyes. K'nell flicked his wrist and with a blink, the man was gone again.
“Where did he go?” Karamir asked, taken aback.
"You'll have to excuse this answer, perhaps one day, if not right now, you'll know exactly what I mean when I say: everywhere," K'nell folded his elbows square behind his back, "Shall I leave you to your studies, or do you have further need of my hospitality?"
“Can you bring Keibrik back? In book form, or in… normal form?” Karamir requested.
"Very well," K'nell answered and with a mind numbing blink, Keibrik once again stood next to Karamir.
Karamir briefly glanced at Keibrik, and looked as if he was about to say something, but then looked back to the shelf. “One more question… why can I only understand some parts of that book, but not others?”
"The simple answer: because there is just enough of it for you to read and capture your imagination that way, without accidentally telling you far too much," K'nell kept his arms folded, "Dreams are strange beasts and sometimes the simplest answers are needed for the most cryptic moments."
“I see…” Karamir said. So there was knowledge in that book he was not meant to know? Secrets? Perhaps it was even more important than he thought. He would need to reread it at some point, but there were so many other books to see to as well. “That’s all I needed to know for now. Thank you.”
"But of course," K'nell smiled, "Then you'll have to excuse me as I tend to some other things." With that the god swiveled on his heels and began to walk away, far down the rows of shelves.
Karamir turned back to Keibrik. “What else can you tell me about yourself?”
"Oh you know," Keibrik mused as he snapped into the conversation from a daydream, "I don't really exist and mirrors can't see me. Also I used to get into spots of thievery back in the day."
Karamir narrowed his eyes. “Thievery? What do you mean?”
"Oh it just means I collect things people leave lying around," He grinned, "Sometimes they put them behind doors, but with a name like Keibrik, does that really matter?"
“I see… and I take it they don’t want you to collect these things?”
"You know," Keibrik snapped and pointed a finger at Karamir, "I never really took the time to ask them, but that may explain a few things." His eyes scanned the shelves, "So what's this: we are standing in an infinite library and instead of reading, we are discussing me and the mood of poor saps who leave things lying around."
Karamir crossed his arms. “You asked if I knew sorcery. What does that mean?”
"Oh no no, the Keibrik in the book asked if you knew sorcery -- I don't care either way… but since you asked it's pretty much exactly what I said, waving hands around while chanting funny stuff and bam silly things happen." He pinched his chin, "But I wager that sort of thing is still beyond the denizens of your existence. Odd too, considering it all."
“Any creature with hands can wave their hands around, and any creature that speaks can chant,” Karamir told him. “I don’t see how that can do anything beyond draw attention to yourself.”
"Well paint me corrected," Keibrik nodded, "I bet there are plenty of sorcerers out there." He moved away from Karamir and began to thumb through some of the books, making a face at each title.
“Have you read any of these?” Karamir asked, picking a new book from the shelf.
"Considering my contact with your existence is less than five minutes old, maybe," He pulled out a book of diagrams and began to flip through it. Karamir looked down at his own book -- it was a picture book of strange humanoid beings made of wood or water.
Karamir flipped through the pages, pausing momentarily to examine each one. “What’s the difference between you and ‘the Keibrik in the book’? Aside from one of you being in a book, I mean.”
"Don't stretch your head too hard on this one, but the Keibrik in the book doesn't presently exist in your existence, but I do -- to a degree at least. I mean, no," He slapped his book shut, "I don't exist, but presently I'm here." He shook his head, "The moral of the story is that I'm here and me in the book is not -- no thanks to your tattling. You know, that was a rather minor reason to pray to a god for help over, I'm surprised K'nell showed up at all. I suppose better safe than sorry." Keibrik shrugged and shoved his book back on the shelf.
“I didn’t ask him to take the book away,” Karamir said, rather defensively. “I just wanted more information before I began tampering with his things.”
"To anyone other than a thief, that's a very noble statement. Unfortunately I think you just learned a valuable lesson in that sometimes there are unseen consequences to each even minor action. Maybe Mr. Careful should have thought about that before tampering with it," Keibrik slipped out a thin book and flipped to the middle, a wide grin growing on his face.
“Do you know why the ‘other you’ was in that book?” Karamir asked, not quite liking that grin.
"Nope," Keibrik answered simply, "best not to question every fabric of nonexistence, that's what my mother used to tell me. Well she would have." He flipped the page in his book, eyes flickering over the page.
Karamir turned another page, to another picture. He looked back to the book that Keibrik held. “So what’s that one about?”
"It's the family portraits of the members of the Heinrich dynasty during the last separate Jerrovian age," Keibrik turned the book to show him, on one side there was a tall black haired man wrapped in soldierly regalia, the other page held a particularly fetching woman dressed in silk.
"I'd say history is easy on the eyes," Keibrik commented.
“I see,” Karamir said. “What is this ‘Heinrich’ dynasty?” he asked as he closed his own book and returned it to the shelf, before grabbing another that seemed to cover the existence of an ecosystem in the Galbarian skies.
"To you and this existence? Utter nonsense," Keibrik shook his head, "Doesn't mean a guy can't take a peak though." He shut the book and slipped it back on the shelf and opting for another.
"But-- oh hey!" Keibrik thumbed his book open and showed Karamir, a portrait of Karamir on the title page, "This one is about you!"
“What!?” Karamir dropped the book he held and seized the new one from Keibrik’s hand, quickly turning a page.
Sure enough, the book chronicled his time since he left Kalmar up until the very moment he found the book. Keibrik leaned over his shoulder and scanned the text, "You need to learn to be more assertive -- ironic considering that you ripped that book right out of my hands."
“I am assertive,” Karamir countered.
"Oh yeah?" Keibrik made a face and pointed at a small portrait of Diana in the corner, "Then explain her."
“What about her?” He asked. “I was washed out to sea, I woke up on a floating umbrella and she was there. I couldn’t swim back to land, and I wanted to leave Kalgrun anyway, so I had to stay with her. We then arrived at a new land that was somehow even more dangerous than the one I left.”
"Okay but check this little fact out," Keibrik nodded, "You had fifty years to leave her side, already blessed with not only the ability to defend yourself but the knowledge to survive the Galbarian wilds. You stayed with her. Trust me, I met women like that aplenty, all trouble."
“I…” Karamir began, but his voice trailed off. Could he have survived on that continent? He had seen the types of beasts that resided there, and even with his abilities and his knowledge he hadn’t been certain they would be enough. Had he underestimated himself? He closed the book.
"Exactly," Keibrik took a step back, "Maybe it was a lack of confidence, maybe assertion, but either way I'm hardly ever wrong about these things."
“You frequently encounter stories about people who find themselves stuck with literal living nightmares?” Karamir asked in a rather sarcastic tone.
"Yes I've met married men," Keibrik gave a wheeze.
“Married? What does that mean?” Karamir asked. He went to grab another book from the shelf, but kept his biography under his shoulder.
"Ah so not quite there yet either. Enjoy it while it lasts but unfortunately it's when a man or woman pledges their life to another man or woman -- in a reproductive sort of way." Keibrik raised his brows as if checking out his own definition before nodding. He quickly scooped up the book Karamir had dropped, opening it up to a thick chapter about sky whales.
“I can’t reproduce, so there’s no reason for me to do something like that,” Karamir muttered as he opened the latest book, finding an amazingly sketched landscape of deep forest, a blinded sealman holding a small child's hand. Underneath chronicled their story.
"That's the spirit," Keibrik chuckled as he flipped a page, "Galbar has some pretty fascinating skies."
Karamir did not reply, instead reading the story about the blinded seal, with a range of emotions. Was this something that actually happened, or was it another tale from a different existence? “How do I know which of these books are about Galbar, and which aren’t?”
Keibrik looked over his book briefly, "That one is Galbarian, call it instinct."
“Why would something like this happen?” He asked, his expression shifting to one of confusion and a touch of pity. He had known pain, but he had never been cast into the wilderness without eyesight. Nor had any guide ever tried to rescue him from one of his predicaments… well, there was Diana, but she had been the cause for the majority of his pain, in truth.
"Isn't that a question worth asking," Keibrik mused, "If I had the answer to why there is suffering-- well wait a minute." Keibrik pinched his chin, "So here is the thing -- you are in an interesting situation where you can ask the creators of your world why there is suffering… although now that I say it out loud I think I know what they would say."
“‘Suffering makes you stronger’” Karamir said. “That’s what I was told. But I don’t see how this," he gestured to the book, “makes anyone stronger. He came out alive, but without his sight - what did he gain from that?”
"Hey I think you may be asking the wrong man," Keibrik held his hands up, "I'm a decadent loving son of a bitch."
Karamir returned the book to its shelf, and grabbed another, his expression still unsettled. Once again, he opened up to the first page, finding a tasteful and delicate story of a lovesick sailor and wistful noblewoman from some desert.
Keibrik shrugged and deposited his book in favor of another labeled, "The Hermian Calendar".
Karamir looked up. “Hermian… Hermi… Hermes… I heard that name before, I think…”
"Probably," Keibrik thumbed through the pages, "She is one of the big and famouses of Galbar." He looked up, "Beat Kalmar in a footrace according to a short bio in the preface."
Now he remembered. “She didn’t beat him. Her sandals did.” He wasn’t enjoying the book about the sailor and the noblewoman, so he returned it to the shelf in favour of a different one titled "The Angry River," which covered the creation of the 'Nuhe'.
"Semantics," Keibrik turned the book on its side as he looked over some of the charts presented in his own book.
Karamir already knew how the Nuhe was created, so after briefly skimming it to confirm what Kalmar had told him, he returned it to the shelf for yet another. Interestingly enough, this one was written in rather messy shengshese characters and depicted the various wildlife of Tendlepog.
Keibrik looked bored and slapped his book shut, sliding it back into the shelf while he decided on what to look at next.
Karamir briefly glanced at some of the sketches, but he couldn’t read the writing and so it wasn’t of much help. “Each book seems less interesting than the last,” he commented as he put it back to grab another.
"You know," Keibrik looked over, "It would help if we decided on what we wanted to read first so we could grab books we are specifically interested in."
“Something about the gods, or the people they created, maybe.” Karamir said. “I think that’s what I’d prefer.”
Keibrik smirked and suddenly the spines of the books changed colors. The thief put a finger on one, then slowly rolled it to the next and then the next, reciting as he went, "Let's see… history of the Selka… Creation of the Ihokhurs… The Dreamers… Pygmies --- wait Pygmies." Keibrik laughed, "Well okay, I guess we are just going to ignore that questionable naming convention."
"Enjoying yourself, dear?" The all too familiar voice echoed behind the pair. Keibrik was the first to spin around. His elbow nudged Karamir.
"Oh look, now's your chance to be assertive."
Karamir raised his eyebrows as he turned to Diana, a sight that somehow managed to be both comforting and distressing. “I am,” he said calmly. “Why?”
"I thought you were supposed to be contemplating a big decision," She turned to the books and ran a finger over them.
"Escapism is the best medicine," Keibrik winked in Karamir's defense. Diana narrowed her eyes and Keibrik's smile disappeared.
“I contemplated,” Karamir answered in a vaguely guarded tone. “But I still haven’t decided yet. Why are you so interested?”
"I'm bored and curious, and the longer you take the longer I have to wait," She answered, "I thought the decision would be simple, after all we are friends... Of course friends want to stay with friends."
“How many years did I spend with you?” Karamir asked in a neutral tone.
Keibrik nodded his head, but began to go through the books by himself, putting an open book between him and the conversation. Diana raised a brow and smiled, "Why only fifty years, dear Karamir. A drop in the pond."
"And do you know how long I’m supposed to live?”
Diana cackled, "How silly. Karamir you can live as long as you and I want. What you were supposed to do has nothing to do with it."
“I found something, you know. Something that reflected my own appearance back at me - like water, but it was solid. I haven’t spent enough time with anyone that I could compare myself to, but somehow I feel like I’m aging faster than I should.”
"Oh foo," Diana's face turned to a smiling pity, "I fear you may be growing paranoid."
“You have given me reason to be paranoid,” Karamir pointed out.
"Well of course, I'm your best friend aren't I? But really Karamir, I feel you are reading far to into a mirror. Certainly not the basis for a decision," She waved a hand dismissively, "Why don't you leave the books and come to have a chat with me over something to drink? We can settle your nerves and get you in the right mind to make your decision."
Karamir considered those words for a moment. Several tense seconds of silence passed, and he sucked in a breath. He briefly looked at Keibrik, but before Keibrik could respond or do anything, he looked back to Diana. “Even if I did stay with you, what would that mean? Would I remain here forever?” He gestured to one of the books. “There’s an entire world out there. Some part of me does want to stay, and I do consider you a friend, but... “ he took a breath. “Fifty years. We crossed continents and oceans, but I feel like I travelled no further from where I started.”
"Karamir you're being silly," Diana sneered, "Of course we won't stay all cooped up. There is plenty to do here and out there. I like to think our time we spent together wasn't so easily thrown to the side as…" She wiggled her nose in thought, "Well quite so worthless as you seem to put it."
“When you call me a friend, what does that mean to you?”
"Oh I see what this is about," Diana's brow fell, "You don't think I mean it when I call you my friend, do you? As if I decided to spend fifty years with someone who wasn't a friend of mine. Now Karamir, don't you think you already know exactly what I mean when I call you friend? Now come." She began to turn away, "Let's talk this over elsewhere."
Karamir did not move. “I think I know what you mean, but I’d like to have it confirmed.”
"Oh Karamir, do you really need to stoop for validation?" Diana folded her arms, "You're being quite ridiculous, and I mean more so than usual."
Still, he did not budge. “Why can’t you answer my question? That’s what a friend would do, isn’t it?”
Diana closed her eyes, her lips spreading into a wide toothy grin, "So that's what a friend would do, hm? Or would the friend be particularly hurt that you would ask such a question after all you've been through together." She gritted her teeth together and finished her turn so her back was to Karamir.
Somehow, that actually managed to make him feel guilty. “Most of what we’ve been through… was you hurting me.”
"If you didn't like me, you didn't have to stay," Diana didn't turn to look at Karamir.
Karamir took a breath, and when he spoke next, his resolve had returned. “What made you think of me as a friend? Why did you save me. Why didn’t you leave me when we first arrived on that continent? Why didn’t you leave me when you had to come here? You say it’s because we’re friends. I see you as a friend because despite everything else, you saved my life and you helped me when I needed it. What I don’t know, is what you see in me.”
"Don't be so self absorbed, Karamir," Diana hissed over her shoulder, "I said you were my friend; the least you could do is at least attempt to sound like you might want to stay with me." She folded her arms behind her back, her boots clicking as she started to walk away.
And then the guilt threatened to return, but Karamir pushed it aside. “For someone who can read minds, you don’t seem to have a grasp of what I want. I do want to stay with you. But I also want knowledge. I want power. I want a purpose. If these four desires conflict, then I have to choose one over the others. Why do you think I didn’t decide right away?”
"Oh dear," Diana sucked in a breath and turned, her smile strained, "I'm just trying to help, Karamir-- that's all I've ever done for you if you would just take a second to think about it."
At this point Keibrik had put an even thicker book between him and the conversation.
“I will make my decision when I am ready,” Karamir concluded. “I am thankful for your help, but I will decide this on my own.”
"Of course you will," Diana smiled, "The choice is yours… Isn't that right Keibrik?" The man peeked over the book, catching Diana's sickly stare. The avatar flickered her eyes back to Karamir.
"Well, I suppose I should make my leave then, leave you to it." Diana mentioned idly as she checked her jagged nails. Karamir nodded.
Diana raised a brow and spun on her heel. She didn't say anything as she began to walk away, that strange hum echoing from her. In a few seconds, she was gone, leaving nothing but an air of discomfort in the room.
For a long time, Karamir was silent. Did he handle that situation correctly? Had he been right to argue with her in that way? He looked to Keibrik. “Well?” he asked.
"Well you stood up to her," Keibrik lowered his book and slapped it shut, "How do you feel?"
Karamir shrugged. “I don’t feel any different,” he lied.
"Well damn," Keibrik looked shocked, "It's not my problem and even I felt a little something-something from that encounter. Either you have a steel trap for a head or a hunk of stone for a heart. No judgement, probably better off that way -- as I said, women like that are nothing but trouble."
Karamir sighed. “It’s not your business, anyway.” He needed to get his mind off of it, so he looked to the shelf, and began to think. The last time he decided what type of book he wanted to read, the books on the shelf had changed. An idea suddenly occurred to him… and he decided he wanted to read the book that the other Keibrik was trapped in.
A book beside him suddenly shifted, turning into a thin leather bound spine. Keibrik plucked a different book (a thin green one) from the shelf, "You know it never really is - my business that is." He looked over as Karamir went for the new book, "But then again you're the one who asked me to be here."
“I wonder… could two of you be in the same place at one time?” Karamir suddenly asked as he opened the book. Runes skittered across the page spelling out: "Why does your existence matter?"
Keibrik held open his green book, showing the runic diagram from before, "Yes, I suppose I can." He mused, his voice echoing from the book. He slapped it shut and it disappeared once again. Keibrik leaned against the shelf, "I don't know if you had gotten the spiel yet but this place is quite endless with possibility." He paused, "Unfortunately, that doesn't mean it is endless on our whim -- trust me I've tried many times and I've only been in this existence for maybe a half hour."
“How much do we have control over?” Karamir asked.
"Void be damned if I knew, but what I do know is that our control likely isn't as quantifiable as you'd like," Keibrik stood straight, "In other words, we don't really have control as much as we have arbitrary allowances… we are completely at the whim of… well… You know who."
“I see…” Karamir said, suddenly that much more uncomfortable with where he was. He looked around. “If I were to leave this room, and go to some other area of the Palace, would I be able to find my way back?”
"Hey, maybe," Keibrik shrugged, "But if it's a little jaunt around the palace you propose, then count me in. This room is starting to make me feel a little down, that Diana sure knows how to leave an air of presence."
Karamir nodded. “Then let’s go.” With his own biography still in hand, he turned and made his way to the door.
Keibrik twirled a cane that Karamir hadn't noticed before; the thief looking about ready to start whistling a tune. He stopped by the door and tipped his head, "And after you."
Karamir opened the door.
Karamir wanders through the palace for a time. He finds a mirror, and notes that the stress of being with Diana has caused him to age quicker. Eventually he ends up in a library, and starts reading books, which are written in runes that he is somehow able to understand.
The first book does nothing but repeat one question over and over again. The second book is a full, proper story, but most of it is unreadable. The third book has someone trapped inside of it, named Keibrik. Keibrik asks Karamir to let him out. Uncertain of what to do, Karamir asks K’nell why a person is trapped in a book.
K’nell appears and sends the book away. Karamir asks if Keibrik can be freed from the book. K’nell says yes, but also explains that he could just as easily make it so that Keibrik was never in the book in the first place - and to demonstrate, a human form of Keibrik briefly appears. Karamir requests that K’nell bring Keibrik back, either in human form or book form, and K’nell complies - bringing back the human version.
K’nell then leaves. Karamir talks to Keibrik, and Keibrik tries to explain a bit about the nature of the Palace. They begin looking through books, one of which is a biography on Karamir. Keibrik skims it over his shoulder and comments that he should be more assertive. Karamir chooses not to return the biography to the shelf, and instead hangs onto it.
They read some more books, and converse a bit, until Diana appears. Diana is impatient, wondering why Karamir is taking so long to make a decision. Some back-and-forth arguing ensues over the nature of their supposed friendship and why Karamir should or shouldn’t stay, with a fair bit of guilt-tripping involved.
Eventually Diana leaves. Karamir feels a bit bad, but to get his mind off it he tries to summon Keibrik’s book to see if both Keibriks can be in the same place at once. Unfortunately, Keibrik picks up the book first and promptly sends it away, before lecturing Karamir on how little control they actually hold over their surroundings.
Karamir then decides to leave the library and continue his exploration of the Palace. Keibrik goes with him.
Diana’s boots tapped against black stone as she landed. A wind-ridden Karamir was unceremoniously shed from her arm, the mortal’s eyes opening once they no longer needed to be shielded from the violent wind. He took in the surrounding crooked trees and imposing black platform he now stood on. There were little floating orbs of different faint colors, and a red dawn sky above. He sucked in a breath, and his chest twisted with a new feeling: pure melancholic nostalgia. It was cold against his heart, having gotten used to the emotional barrage of Diana, this new feeling was alien yet familiar.
“What is this place?” he asked, his eyes fixating on one of the orbs, as he attempted to ignore the feeling.
“The entrance to Limbo, my dear,” Diana pinched her sharp chin and closed her eyes, as if taking in the scent, “The sacred entrance.”
“But what is Limbo? And what’s so sacred about an entrance?” After all, Karamir thought, an entrance was an entrance. What was so special about one, beyond where it led?
There was a tickle in his mind, and Diana suddenly laughed, “I think you answered your own question for once, how useful!” A toothy grin stretched across her face, “You should make a habit of that.”
“So it’s just an entrance, then.” Karamir concluded. “How does it work, and what’s on the other side? You still haven’t told me what this ‘limbo’ is.”
Diana’s smile faded and was replaced by one of boredom, “Well it was nice while it lasted, yes?” She pushed a hand forward, the ungodly force pushing Karamir over and directly into the platform -- but before what would have been a body shattering impact occurred, everything turned white.
He couldn’t see. He couldn’t smell, He couldn’t feel, nor taste. All he could do was hear, and all he heard was a terrible high pitched ringing. Minutes turned to years, until finally the familiar touch of Diana’s hand wrapped around his wrist. There was a gurgling cackle, as if he was underwater, and then suddenly a yank on his arm.
His body was flung out of a puddle, landing hard on a cobblestone path below. Facedown, his hands groped at the stone, the experience of touching something solid feeling alien to him. The experience of feeling anything felt alien to him. His mind was in disarray, unravelled by the transition, and all he could do was lie there and continue stroking the cobbles, an expression of what appeared to be awe on his face.
“Oh foo,” Diana’s voice rang above him, her boots in his peripherals, “I had forgotten that you have the mind of a mortal, silly me.” She fell silent for a while, “Well don’t be too long, we have an appointment to keep.” She muttered to herself, boots clicking away from Karamir, “Mortals and their squishy little heads.”
Karamir looked up at the woman who spoke, and memories came rushing back. He was filled with rage, and suddenly there was a feral look in his eye. He leapt to his feet and charged at Diana, screaming an unintelligible cry of rage -- but the street caught him. Stone engulfed his legs as Diana turned to look at him. She made a face and walked back over to him, the air around him building with such pressure, he could barely twitch. So instead he took to glaring at her with grit teeth and hateful eyes. Suddenly a grin stretched across her face and she brought a finger up to his head, giving it a sharp flick.
Karamir blinked in surprise. He felt a sensation inside his skull, like fragments pulling themselves back together, while the blinding rage seemed to vanish in favour of clearer thoughts. It was almost like waking up. He opened his mouth to speak, but she had not yet released her hold. “What…” was all he managed to get out.
“Oh good!” Diana’s smile grew and the air peeled away from him, releasing his chest and allowing his lungs to fill up once more. The street crumbled from his legs, leaving him completely free once more, save for the smiling avatar before him and the strange swirling landscape around him -- where when his eyes left an object, be it bench or statue, he wasn’t sure it was still there, his peripherals nearly empty.
He dropped to his knees and took a breath, placing one hand on the cobbles below. “That was…” he looked at Diana, but couldn’t find the words. Then a memory seemed to strike him, and suddenly he smirked. “Are we there yet?”
“Oh you,” Diana flicked a wrist, “Just about -- look.” Her hand pointed in the distance. The street seemed to wind and twist, with vast nothingness on either side of it, until it reached what could possibly be a lush garden, fit with fountains and trees. Towering over the treetops was a palace, fitted with dominating spires and sharp steeples.
The Palace of Dreams, Karamir assumed. In all his life he had never seen anything like it. On one hand, the sight was relieving - the journey was nearly over. On the other hand, it brought a certain sense of trepidation. What if the destination was worse than the journey? That had been his assumption when he first agreed to come with her, and he only agreed to come because he believed staying would have brought certain death. Nonetheless, the idea that all these trials and tribulations might only bring him somewhere worse brought a certain sense of dejection.
“Out of the river and into the ocean,” he muttered under his breath. This had all started when he stepped into that river. That one mistake and everything after it had brought him here. There was no turning back. All he could do was press on. And hope it meant something.
Diana gave Karamir an appraising look and then waved her hand, his clothes suddenly stitching together and drying out, albeit remaining just the right amount of damp in the worst areas, until Karamir was once again dressed in a dazzling suit. She nodded as she finished her work and smiled, “And there we are.” She gave him a push on the shoulder, “Shall we?”
Solemnly, Karamir nodded back, and took a step forward. There was a rush and suddenly the two were standing atop a few stone steps, a massive door in front of their faces. The double doors had a massive knocker on each side. On either side of them were beds of strange flowers, metal fences, and mossy statues. Diana seemed to pay none of it any mind as she pushed the mighty door open with ease, a humming smile on her lips.
A waft of cold air escaped the now gaping door, and the avatar took a near skipping step in, clearly excited. Karamir glanced behind him, to see if anything - or anyone - was watching him, and then followed her in.
He quickly found himself in a long hallway, doors on either side, and plenty of paintings of obscure figures. On the far end was a large golden door, light flickering under it and a leak of gentle music oozing out. It was a sweet sound, happy; it was a certain sound Karamir had never experienced, and it carried a happy emotion, one he had not known he had been without for so long.
For a moment Karamir nearly allowed himself to be taken in by the music, but then he raised his guard. He arily, he advanced through the hallway, half-expecting the music to suddenly stop, the light underneath the door to go out, or for one of the figures in the paintings to move. He glanced about the hallway with suspicion, but no fear.
Diana hummed behind him as they approached the door, only stopping as they could go no further. She cleared her throat and gestured for Karamir to open the door.
Karamir raised an eyebrow. He was already on edge, but somehow she had made him even more suspicious. “Why don’t you do it?” he asked.
Diana tapped her foot and crossed her arms, “Gentleman.”
With a sigh, he stepped forward to push the door open, but it did not budge. With a frown he tried pulling the handle instead, but to no avail. He pushed again, and nothing. He looked back to Diana, and his expression hardened into a glare.
She cackled, and shrugged her shoulders, “Oh foo, I had to get at least one more in.” She grinned and pushed the door aside. Immediately, Karamir and Diana both were assaulted by the grandeur of the ballroom. Light scattered across the room, mingling with the music of brass and string, it all bouncing off twirling orbs of emotion and dancing spectres. An organ fluted alongside the silk of the violin, the great instrument atop a grand dias. Seated before it on a throne was a gentlemanly figure, fingers expertly making short work of the ivory keys. Karamir couldn’t be sure, but a tiny gasp rasped behind him in the direction of Diana.
It was all so overwhelming. Everything in this room was completely alien to one who had only ever known forests, rivers, and seas, and thus none of it moved him. All he saw were possible threats. Those orbs - what did they do? Those spectres - could they harm him? The man at the organ - was that K’nell? Even the music - what if it suddenly became so loud that it might drown out his thoughts or deafen him? He looked to Diana, the only familiar thing, and seemed to silently request guidance.
Diana may have noticed, he wasn’t sure, but she did suddenly hook her arm with his, practically dragging him forward the first few steps across the marble floor. They seemed to weave through the dancers with ease, until they stood at the bottom of the dias. The figure on the throne took his hands from the keys, ethereal fingers taking his place as the music continued, albeit softer. Two silver eyes peered out from the gentleman, slight creases on the edge of experienced eyes, and a gripping smile underneath.
“Ah, you’ve finally arrived,” The Gentleman charmed, “I’m sure you must be brimming with questions.”
Diana scoffed, “A truer thing has never been said.”
“You are K’nell?” was the first thing that sprang to Karamir’s lips.
“That I am, and you are Karamir?” K’nell returned in kind.
Karamir nodded, before taking another look around. He did indeed have many questions, but where to start? “Why was I invited here?” he asked at last.
“An interesting question,” K’nell leaned forward in his throne, “If I have this right, Diana invited you here because she considers you her friend. Now did I invite you here? Perhaps indirectly, but we can save that for later. Could I appease any other aspect of your curiosity?” Diana silently rolled her eyes, taking a step back from the conversation.
“What is…” he waved a hand to indicate his surroundings, “...all of this?”
“You my good man are standing in a ball room, as for what a room is, consider it a compartment in a grand shelter, and then as for what a ball is -- in this case it is a dance, movements of entertainment to the sound of music. It is medicine for the mind, you see.” K’nell leaned back and folded his fingers, “Do you enjoy it?”
The direct, detailed explanation was almost comforting, in a way, but the question took him by surprise. “I… don’t know,” he answered, looking away.
“Simply shocking,” Diana’s words dripped with sarcasm, but K’nell met it with a straight face, eyes keen on Karamir.
“That is to be expected, I suppose. You are not required to know just yet, anyhow,” His eyes glanced over him as if reading something, “And you have plenty of time to come to terms with everything it seems.”
Despite his uncertainty, Karamir once again managed to meet K’nell’s gaze. He still needed to ask the most important question of all. “Now that I’m here, what happens next?”
K’nell steepled his fingers and crossed a leg, “What do you want to happen?”
“What can happen?” Karamir countered.
A cheshire grin stretched over K’nell’s face, “Anything.”
“Stay with me,” Diana suddenly spoke up, but was silenced by a glare from K’nell. She met it with her own, then all eyes fell on Karamir.
Karamir turned to Diana with an expression of surprise, before looking back to K’nell. “If anything can happen… that is something I need to think on.”
“Indeed it is,” K’nell agreed, “A good choice.” He sucked in a breath, as if dismissing the growing tension in the room. Diana fell to a casual stance, her fists unraveling and K’nell leaned back in his throne, “You have free roam of my palace until such a time you decide you are ready. You will that your body, while not of here, will find sustenance in our food and hydration in our drinks -- so feel free to eat and drink as much as you need, and to make use of any furniture or clothing you may come across.”
“Are there any dangers that I should be on guard against?” He asked.
“Just yourself,” K’nell folded his hands, “And perhaps the company you keep.”
“Oh you,” A wide smile plastered across Diana’s face and she waved a hand, “With all that settled, perhaps you can show me my new… working station?” Her eyes flickered with devious hunger.
“But of course,” K’nell slowly rose to his feet, and as he did, a throne similar to his own rose from the step right below the top of his dias, “Fitted to your liking, you’ll find.” Diana’s eyes played with glee as she skipped up the steps, nearly leaping into the seat. As soon as she sat down between the mighty arms of the throne, her face furrowed into a frown.
“Hey-” She started, but was cut off by a strong look from K’nell. The commandeering look causing her to cough on her next word. The gentleman gave a satisfied smile and sat back into his own throne.
“Not every dream must be a nightmare, my dear,” Was all he said on the subject, followed by a quick, “But please, do your best.”
“If I could be so bold,” Diana stuck her chin out, “I never do anything less.” Her sickly eyes turned to where Karamir had been, “Isn’t that right, dear Karamir?”
But Karamir had moved. He had listened to the two talk, but now wished to do more than just stand idly by and listen to others. He had been given free roam of the palace. If K’nell was truthful, then he saw no reason not to make use of that. And if K’nell was deceiving him, if this was all part of some greater trick by Diana, then it would be better to discover that deception now. Either way, his heart burned with a newfound independence.
Standing by a door which he had chosen at random, he looked back to Diana. “In truth… it became somewhat repetitive. But still… thank you.”
Karamir and Diana arrive at the entrance to Limbo. She pushes him through, where he promptly (or slowly, I guess) goes insane. They reach the other end, and Karamir tries to attack Diana in a state of madness. She fixes his mind and they continue to the palace. Karamir internally wonders if things will get worse or better from here, before inventing a new saying - “out of the river and into the ocean.” I’m sure it will catch on.
Anyway, they enter the palace, and Karamir is increasingly on edge as they walk through a hallway. They then enter a ballroom filled with light, music, and dancers, and Karamir is simply overwhelmed by it all.
Diana brings him forward to meet K’nell. Karamir asks K’nell some questions, still heavily guarded. K’nell’s answers set him at ease somewhat, but doubts still remain. Karamir asks what will happen to him, to which K’nell counters: “what do you want to happen?”
Naturally, Karamir is uncertain, and says he needs time to answer that. K’nell gives him free roam of the palace until then.
K’nell makes a throne for Diana, and Karamir begins his exploration of the Palace.
The Dwarmar species began on the planet of Darmoor, a resource-rich planet with one single large continent and some scattered islands. As civilization developed, the continent eventually became divided into five major kingdom, who fought each other in the occasional stalemated war.
But technology became more advanced, and soon these wars saw higher body counts. One particularly intense war left four of the five major nations exhausted, and their economies would take years to recover. This allowed the fifth nation, the Kingdom of Romar, to pull ahead in technology and become the dominant power. They researched space travel, and began to establish colonies on Darmoor's moons. With the natural resources of Darmoor already becoming scarce, this benefited them greatly.
The other powers did not turn a blind eye to this, however. Eventually, through their combined efforts as well as a bit of espionage against their rival, they managed to catch up in technology, and start their own colonies on the moons. But Romar had too much of a headstart, and had already settled the best locations.
War broke out again: the four lesser powers against Romar. Skirmishes raged on the moons and in space, but even combined the four powers could not match Romar in spacial dominance, and so their colonies and their ships were lost.
The war would have to be settled on land... but alas, the Romarians had recently finished and installed orbital missile platforms on their stations. It proved a simple enough matter to bombard various armies and military bases from above, weakening their armies and destroying their ability to coordinate. The King of Romar, Joric Stonefist, then made his demands known: yield to his authority, allow the planet to become unified under one power, and he would share with them the bounty of the stars.
Initially the other four Kings refused. But their people were hungry, lacking the necessities and luxuries they had come to rely on, and bitter about the fact that it was their own rulers which started this pointless war in the first place. So they rose up, and although these rebellions were dealt with, the Kings saw the sense in surrender.
The Kingdoms and the Kings could continue to exist, but they now swore fealty to Joric Stonefist, first of his name, Emperor of Darmoor and King of Romar, and answered to his laws.
With Darmoor finally unified, planetary expansion and technological development continued to accelerate. They found a planet capable of supporting life, which they named New Darmoor, and promptly settled it. Dozens of other planets, moons, and outposts soon followed. They encountered two other species, which they convinced to join the Empire peacefully. The Dwarmar Empire became one of the foremost powers in the universe. Rival powers which tried to halt their advance or seize their colonies quickly regretted it.
Unfortunately, it did not go off without a hitch. Their home planet, Darmoor, became overpopulated and overpolluted. It soon began apparent that within a decade, the planet would become unsuitable to life.
And so began the worst crisis in Dwarmar history.
Mass panicking ensued throughout Darmoor. Riots began to break out. The dwarven government, meanwhile, was stuck the burden of transferring their administration and their people to other colonies and planets. Those planets, in turn, would need to prepare themselves to receive a sudden influx of refugees and immigrants - which they were none too happy about.
Some particularly ambitious colonies even went so far as to declare independence. They refused to pay taxes, contribute resources, or accept refugees. The Emperor, with much of his forces already tied up keeping order in Darmoor and transporting its people elsewhere, could not afford to fight a war of independence on multiple fronts. More colonies throughout the empire began to follow suit, and many already began to believe that the Emperor's authority had collapsed.
Then the Ashtar arrived.
They 'pushed' the rebellious colonies into rejoining the fold. They used their own ships to transport or escort the Darmoor refugees to other worlds. It was their intervention which kept the Empire together, and allowed a smooth transition of power from Old Darmoor to New Darmoor. Without the Ashtar, billions of Dwarmar would be dead, and the Empire would not exist.
Of course, if you say this to any Dwarmar, they will simply scoff and assure you that no help was needed. They would have worked it out eventually.
Nonetheless, the dwarven leaders who came after the crisis tended to be the Ashtar's most staunch supporters. The Fall of Old Darmoor had highlighted a number of flaws in their government, military, and general resource management, and the peace that the Ashtar enforced gave them the perfect opportunity to correct it. The military and government became more centralized, while their colonies began to turn to less destructive forms of fuel and energy in order to avoid repeating the same mistakes. With the guidance of the Ashtar, the Dwarmar Empire entered a new age of peace and prosperity.
Then the Ashtar disappeared.
The threats the dwarves faced were not internal. One hundred years had been enough to iron out most of the kinks in their system, and keep their colonies mostly content, while maintaining enough force to suppress those who weren't.
No, the threats that the Dwarmar faced were external: rival nations. These aggressors had come to believe that the Dwarmar were dependent on Ashtar authority. That with the Ashtar gone, the Dwarmar Emperor's authority would surely collapse in the face of the first major crisis.
They were wrong.
The Emperor endured. The Dwarves fought back, and drove the invaders from their territory. After that they went on the offensive, intent on seeking retribution, but instead the wars ground into a stalemate. With some reluctance they bit their tongue and agreed to the treaty.
But as the years passed, the dwarves continue to expand their navy and army in whatever way they could, without breaking the agreement. Then the Ashtar sent a message, urging the people of the galaxy to come to Argdemmer and take up the mantle of the Ashtar. Emperor Joric III made the rather naive decision to attend personally. Though he brought a well-equipped fleet with him, led by the competent High Admiral Gorm Goldbeard, he did not truly believe violence would break out.
But when the Emperor Joric's fleet arrived, they found that they had stumbled across a warzone... and they were in the crossfire. Although most of the Dwarmar managed to take evasive maneuvers and escape, the flagship took a series of heavy hits, resulting in the deaths of Emperor Joric and High Admiral Gorm.
Vice Admiral Ivar Ironhand took command of the fleet, reorganized his ships, and led them back into the fray to avenge the Emperor's death. The two exhausted forces were driven off, and Ivar sent a message home to inform them of the Emperor's death, along with a request reinforcements.
Prince Duran Stonefist ascended to the throne, and throughout the empire there was a cry for vengeance. Ivar was given his reinforcements, as well as a promotion to High Admiral to boot. Duran personally ripped the Treaty of Detente in two before a cheering crowd, and in his mind he knew what needed to be done. The secrets of the Ashtar were not fit to be shared. Most of the other nations were unworthy, and even the ones who were worthy would never agree on its use. No, only one nation could claim it.
And it would be the Dwarmar.
Major Holdings
New Darmoor. The second planet to be colonized by the dwarves, and now the capital. The bulk of the population of Old Darmoor was moved here before most of the planet became uninhabitable. The Dwarves have learned their lesson, and although much of the planet bears the scars of pollution, for the most part things are sustainable.
Old Darmoor. The Dwarven homeworld. Resources are scarce, the air quality is poor, and much of the land is barren. Despite this, a stubborn few remain, mainly in small fortified cities and towns that have somehow managed to scratch out a living. Beyond those cities, post-apocalyptic tribes roam the wastelands. Dozens of space stations hang in orbit, but most have been scrapped, salvaged, and abandoned; only a few remain occupied to monitor the situation.
Lunmoor. One of the moons of Old Darmoor. Its climate and terrain was remarkably similar to Old Darmoor before it was polluted, and thus it was fully capable of supporting life, but it possessed few mineral resources. The soil, however, is incredibly fertile, and the moon is an agricultural powerhouse.
Darmoon. The second moon of Darmoor. Darmoon is everything that Lunmoor is not. It is barren and possesses no oxygen, but it is incredibly rich in minerals and oils. Even after more than a thousand years, the planet still has an abundance of metals.
Arctus. Home of the Jotnar, it possesses a cold climate, yet strangely enough it has a number of edible plants and animals that actually grow best in the cold. Officially, they are the Dwarmar Empire's ally, but due to the sheer imbalance of power, 'vassal' might be more accurate. The Dwarmar don't interfere too much in their laws or politics, however, so most Jotnar overlook this.
Demographics
Population
The Dwarmar, also known as Dwarves, are a humanoid species. Stout and clever, they average between four and five feet in height. They are a proud and stubborn people, unyielding in both battle and diplomacy. While they can be standoffish toward outsiders and strangers, once a Dwarmar's trust is earned, their distrustful looks will quickly fade into warm eyes and welcoming grins. Dwarves are exceptional engineers, inventors, craftsmen, and pilots.
The Jotnar, also known as Frost Giants, are also humanoid. They are tall, ranging between eight and ten feet in height, with skin as white as snow and cold blue blood. They are friendly, laid back people, but don't let that fool you: they are aggressive and fearless fighters when provoked. Perhaps unsurprisingly the Frost Giants prefer cold climates, and warships need to be kept cool to accommodate them.
The Avianese. Another humanoid species, the Avians closely resemble humans, but they have beaks for mouths, talons for feet, and wings on their back. They average around seven feet in height. While they have excellent speed and reflexes, their bones are light and weak; they cannot take much in the way of direct punishment. They are a shrewd and pragmatic people.
Society
The Dwarmar are a proud, traditionalist people. They respect their elders, and are fiercely loyal to their families. They carry a firm belief in the wisdom and leadership of the Noble Clans. They do not respond well to insults, and they can be quick to hold grudges against species other than their own. But despite these conservative tendencies, they are still an upbeat and free-spirited people, always open to acts of revelry or celebration. Additionally, dwarves are an extremely technologically savby people. A dwarf who is incapable of performing basic household repairs is a disgrace to his family. Engineers, Inventors, and Builders are all held in high regard.
The Dwarven Religion is centered around a God known as the Allfather, who is credited for the creation of their planet and their species. Originally he was believed to have created the entire universe, but with the encounter of new species and cultures with their own distinct religion, this was gradually reformed. All gods exist, but any claims that those gods created any planets beyond where their worship originates is seen by the Dwarmar as nothing more than zealous arrogance.
The Jotnar worship a small pantheon of four gods, tied to the various elements. These gods are known simply as the Fire-Father, the Air-Father, the Earth-Mother, the Water-Mother, and the Cold-Father.
The Avianese had several different opposing religions, but with the introduction of space travel they quickly grew disillusioned with these faiths. A few converted to the Dwarmar faith, but most became agnostic or atheist.
Economy
The Dwarmar are primarily an industrial powerhouse, with enough agriculturally rich planets to remain mostly self-sufficient, but they still depend on trade during lean times.
Government
The Dwarmar Empire is a hereditary dictatorship, united under the Emperor (or Empress.) Serving directly under the Emperor is a Council of Elders; various ministers responsible for different departments who give the Emperor advice. Once upon a time these positions were hereditary, but that has been rectified.
On the planetary scale, each planet is divided into a series of provinces, led by a Governor, who are tasked with administering the regions. These Governors are overseen by the planet's Chancellor, who serves as the Emperor's representative and is responsible for appointing and revoking the Governors, as well as sending reports back to the Emperor, but little else. The Emperor appoints the Chancellor, and has the right to overrule the Chancellor's appointments. This is not a usual occurrence, however; the Emperor simply cannot pay close attention to dozens of planets, and so it may take years for a corrupt or incompetent Chancellor to be revealed, and months for the damage to be undone.
To help rectify this, the Empire maintains a vast intelligence network - the Imperial Watcher Agency. The "Watchers" essentially keep tabs on the current Governors and Chancellors, as well as military officers and other high ranking officials. They do have connections in foreign nations, but most of their attention is focused on the Empire's home territory. Their chief concern is to unveil plots against the Emperor, cases of corruption, or foreign attempts at Espionage.
Technological Information
Major Techs
Production Facilities: The dwarves have highly efficient resource extraction and production facilities, capable of mining ore or building ships and weapons at impressive speeds.
Mecha: The dwarves are fond of mecha, perhaps to compensate for their short stature, and make ample use of them in both ground and space operations.
Ships: Dwarmar ships are generally built to be resilient and heavy-hitting rather than fast. That isn't to say all their ships are slow; they do have some fast ships for scouting or skirmishing purposes, but their naval doctrine does not revolve around it. Their ships tend to be armed with heavy railguns, plasma cannons, and guided missles.
FTL: Their FTL drives are not the swiftest in the galaxy, but they rarely encounter issues.
Weapons: Dwarmar infantry weapons tend to fire plasma or high caliber bullets (usually incendiary or explosive.) The Jotnar have also invented weapons capable of freezing targets solid.
Space Stations: The Dwarmar have built space stations throughout their territory to serve as military outposts, shipyards, refueling centers, resource extraction facilities, and orbital defense platforms.
Military Information
Military Overview
Fleet/Navy
Dreadnoughts: The Dwarmar have a few new dreadnoughts. Against the treaty, you say? No, they are only recently constructed. How did this come about? Essentially, a previous Emperor built facilities throughout the Empire which constructed pieces of Dreadnoughts. A cockpit here, an engine there. Now that the Treaty of Detente has been rendered null and void, these Dreadnoughts have been brought together and assembled. While they are essentially brand new, the downside is that most of their crews have no experience operating a ship of that size. The Jotnar also built a single Dreadnought of their own in secret, at great cost, with the aid of the Imperial Watcher Agency.
"You know..." Hoshu ventured. "What happened the other day reminds me of that story I heard. About those Grottu and the 'K'nights.' What a name."
They stood on the beach, near the recently constructed shrine of Ashalla - the rock Arryn had perched on during the meeting, which was now piled with sea shells and colourful stones. Pallamino blew a few practice notes into his conch. He turned to Hoshu and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Hoshu began twirling his whiskers with a finger. "They say a Selka just like you was lounging by the beach, when a god appeared from the water to grant him gifts."
Pallamino frowned. "That's not too different from what happened to Anhaf. Only he wasn't by the beach. What's your point?"
Hoshu shrugged. "There is no point. Just something I noticed. You know me: I'm an old Selka who likes stories, nothing more."
A voice cut in behind them, causing the two Selka to freeze. "Does this mean he's going to bash my head in with that shell?" The two of them turned around to see Milos. "We'll have a hard time waging war with sticks and shells, you know. But the bows Arryn gave us? Those would have been useful. Even better than those strange spears we've heard stories about." The Chieftan looked down at his own bow. "But that's not our way."
Hoshu nodded. "It isn't. I was just-"
"The Grottu are scum, Hoshu." Milos interjected. "How many Selka did they slaughter? Why? For what? Do not compare one of us to them, even as a joke."
Hoshu furrowed his brow. "They did right in the end, didn't they?"
"How many tribes were wiped out? How many ran to the Ubbo for safety?" asked Milos, his voice unusually heated. "You know that better than I. We took in as many as we could and directed the rest to neighboring tribes. My own mother came here because she was driven out by one of their attacks, and her father was cut down ensuring she had time to escape." He shook his head. "The Hyummin forgave the Grottu in the end, but did they have the right to do so? They weren't the ones who lost everything."
Hoshu's frown deepened. "The Grottu today are not the Grottu of so long ago."
Milos shook his head. "I don't believe it. Their ancestors showed their nature, and it was those same ancestors who raised them. Do you think such creatures have atoned? Or are they just waiting until a voice from the sea gives them their next chance to strike?"
At that, Hoshu could only shrug. "I don't know. I've never met them."
"Panganeem and the Hyummin were fools to trust them. Now, the Grottu are part of the Hyummin, and the Hyummin have left themselves open to betrayal."
"Listen," Pallamino interjected, his voice unusually serious. "My grandfather was murdered by one of the Soul Stealers. My father, a child at the time, watched it. He swore vengeance. He became a hunter, one of the best. Almost as good as you. He could have fed so many."
Milos nodded. "I remember."
"But he didn't care about feeding anyone," Pallamino went on, even as his eyes began to glisten. "He brought back enough to pull his weight, true, but all he cared about was hunting the Alma. His arrows could never strike them, so he had to find other ways to kill them. He searched for and tested new methods. It was all he cared about. And then... you were the one who found him, remember?"
Milos nodded. "In the woods not too far from the village, a black hole in his chest."
Pallamino nodded back. He wiped a tear from his cheek. "Only an Alma could have done that. He dedicated his life to vengeance. It blinded him, consumed him, it killed him. Who gained from that? Nobody. If you pursue vengeance against the Grottu, you will meet that fate."
The Chieftan raised his eyebrows. "What? No! I don't intend to attack the Grottu, if that's what you're thinking," Milos insisted. "I became Chieftan to protect the lives of our people; I'm not going to throw them away. All I'm saying is that we shouldn't forget what the Grottu have done, and we should not sit idly by when they - or even some other tribe - might attack again."
"What do you intend to do, then?" Pallamino asked.
Milos stroked his chin. "When Anhaf first heard of the Grottu's aggression, he reached out to the nearby tribes. They made a pact - to defend each other should the Grottu come this way. More tribes appeared - some fled to escape the Grottu, while others were formed by the survivors of the Grottu's attacks. They joined as well. But when the Grottu were defeated, most seemed to forget the pact. But I will restore it, and use it to bring us and our neighbors closer together."
There was a silence. Hoshu and Pallamino exchanged a glance. "It's not at a bad idea," Hoshu said at last. "The Hyummin banded together, and they've done well, but if you're unwilling to join them, then I guess the next best thing is to start an alliance of your own."
Milos nodded. "It is good that we agree. I will announce my decision to the tribe tomorrow, and send word to our neighbors. Will you deliver one of these messages?"
Hoshu nodded back. "I will. Hopefully I won't bore anyone to sleep this time."
"Good." Milos turned to Pallamino. "We don't always agree, and we haven't always gotten along, but I know you care about this tribe. And you have a way with words. Would you-"
Pallamino shook his head. "No. I'd prefer to stay out of this. Actually... I think I might leave."
Milos blinked. "What?"
Pallamino turned the conch over in his hand. "I was given a gift. Something that I am not only good at, but enjoy as well. I think I should share that gift, and I've always wanted to travel. I will visit Selka all across the land, I will play my music, and that is how I will be remembered."
"When are you leaving?" Hoshu asked.
Pallamino shrugged. "Right away seems as good a time as any. I don't want to go through a week of tears and goodbyes."
Milos sighed. "If you want to leave, that is your right. You were given a divine purpose, after all." He extended a hand. "I wish you luck, Pallamino."
Pallamino took the hand, and shook. "You as well, Chieftan."
The post begins with Hoshu talking to Pallamino while he practices his conch shell. Hoshu points out that Palllamino's encounter with Ashalla in some way parallels the stories of Hoshaf's encounter with the 'bloodkin.' Milos overhears this and finds it offensive.
It is then revealed that long ago, after the Grottu's conquests, a number of survivors and refugees found their way east. Anhaf created a loose defensive pact against the Grottu, but in the end nothing actually came of it because the Grottu never attacked them. Nonetheless, bad blood with the Grottu Tribe still persists, and many are wary that they might rise again.
It is Pallamino of all people who cautions Milos against pursuing vengeance, only for Milos to clarify that vengeance isn't his priority. Milos then makes the decision to renew the pact, with Hoshu agreeing to act as a messenger.
Pallamino then reveals his intention to leave the tribe and becoming a traveling musician.
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