Shienvien

The Prophecy

Domhnall MacRaith

The fellow at the gate looked like he wanted to shrink underground when he admitted that, indeed, it had gone down roughly as the forestfolk had suspected - but the fate of the self-appointed quest-goers was unknown, and they probably wouldn't be all too useful as researchers. The squire was frowning, and ambiguously suggested they would "look into it" - which sounded suspiciously like the kind of thing people promised when they had no actual intention of doing something. Perhaps he did not dare make any definite statements in the absence of his leader (as opposed to the forestfolk himself, who did not quite have the same boundaries).
The expression on Domhnall's own face had long lost the intensity it had displayed when he first inquired about anyone who was not willing to wait (or could not afford to wait) for an official expedition, and now that he was done trying to fit all the details of the timeline together, he was once more looking the lad in the face, absently scratching his neck with his free hand. The fellow looked almost as youthful as the young black-eyes, and was obviously not exactly fully in charge of the affairs here ... nor did he have the experience needed for dealing with these things. He tried, he thought up what he figured was the best way to deal with things, but ultimately the world had other plans. ...Not that Domhnall could claim having been in charge of missions of sorts as a part of his regular schedule, but he still had a couple of decades of dealing with people of all sorts over the lad.
"Ah, it coul' nae have been more than a day or twa, no?" Not enough time for the disease to kill those who were good to go, and he suspected a ... was that the Firm Angora had mentioned? ... company would aim for more high-profile targets. And even common thieves who did want food and clothes and the occasional small valuable were more likely to target the refugees or the common abandoned buildings. As the past few years had shown, tragedies such as these tended to do a number on economy, and even the sort of bartering he and Iridiel (well, mostly he) did.
"Aside, peeple be peeple. Ye cannae control wha' 'ey do." He shrugged. "Jus' learn tae expect wha' 'ey do." No all that different from beasts, after all.

He was really not certain how to react to the news of this ... harvester who was once a human named Immanuel. They really had not been kidding when they said they attracted all kinds of trouble. It sounded much more reasonable to take your odds with Djubei in person, and that didn't seem particularly reasonable, either. In his known world, beings died when you put a crossbow bolt through an eye of theirs ... unless they were deities, and deities were better left alone and un-pissed-off. Start with problems which at least seemed fixable; that way, odds were something got done, too.

Oh, Claw? Well, seeing Jaelnec was already explaining the lad and guards that the newcomer was with them, he might as well let the refugees know, too, and extend a greeting to the ... man? himself, too.
"He's wi' us," he declared loudly, holding up a hand. "Ey, an' welcome back!"

The Prophecy

Life happens, as they say. As you might've guessed, I'm not going to be chasing off anyone unless they come and bite someone.

Not too much has even happened, except Aemoten/Thaler/Etakar/Beatrice are now somewhere in Zerul City (they got through the gates 4-5 IC hours ago - I decided not to elaborate on what they're been doing after that point until I know what the rest of the folks are up to during the evening), and Olan/Jaelnec/Angora/Iridiel/Domhnall/Claw are actually at the gates to Zerul City, learning about the mess the monster that was once Immanuel created and about some folks who went to seek being cured from the Withering by trekking to the huge squid-monster under the mountain because one guy had insisted it was what cured him. I also introduced another set of two characters (Yanin Glade and Jordan Forthey), but they only exist in tomorrowland for the time being, having already had an encounter of sorts then.
I kind of proposed Aemoten/Thaler/Olan/Etakar/Beatrice might be splitting from the rest of the group and going south to pay a visit to some of Aemoten's old friends, given that it didn't seem like Angora and Thaler would be getting along and it might be too much for Thaler to try to convince her otherwise. Seemed like the most logical way to resolve the situation, anyway; up to you now to determine what Thaler feels like doing now that you're back.

And that is all of us and what has happened in the meantime, methinks.

From Downfall ReRisen

Day ??? of year 384 Post-Downfall
Sunstorm onset

The Lone Survivor

“Enn Que? Really? That sounds suspiciously like an Eighfour name, Kay-Gee.” Yes, it was ... probably. Had Kay not said something about her people not being particularly inventive with naming? But if he was to change name, he might as well stick with it. It was not these people for whom he was foregoing his old identity. Notrau was supposed to be dead. The version of him who was being questioned was Eighfour...ian. Might as well get used to thinking of himself as such, whether the fellow with the assault rifle was willing to take it at face value or not. For now, he was silent. Too much talking was unhealthy.
“Uh, maybe? He’s a friend, Ell-Oh. We need him as much as he needs us.” At the worst, he was as useful as any other young healthy guy who could shoot well. He was still not entirely certain what Eighfour should do, aside of perhaps replace their tactic of worshipping their inert warhead to a protocol of, "If you see an unknown not-civilian, announce that everyone should pick as much useful stuff as they can carry and run, run for your lives."
The hello-guy seemed to be the most officer-like individual present for the time being, unfortunately. Ordered Kay around and the driver scrambling for some readings, at least. Let them look and scan if they wanted. As long as they did not touch his physical person, he could just pretend it was all the usual protocol and not care. There was nothing to find. He had no desire to light up and declare himself free-for-all.
“Eighfour is in danger, and Enn Que has information and advice on how to deal with it.” Great. She was doing her hardest to paint him a saviour. It felt like a heavy burden to bestowed. He did not have a clue!
Perhaps it was part of why so few even attempted to turn renegade. If you had been trained to take orders from the ground up, to never doubt, to never stray or even think too much, you didn't really have a bloody clue what to do once left to your own devices. Even in a faction like his old, you belonged somewhere, and had something to fall back to. Now, everything was strange. Wrong, almost. Even aside of the everyone trying to survive thing. Which you really couldn't for too long, alone out here in the wild. He might not have even made it to running out of bullets.
The rifleman in charge didn't look pleased. “I really fucking hope you’re right, Kay-Gee, ‘cause we’re pretty much screwed otherwise. A drone came by earlier, hours ago; a really hi-tech drone. Came through the trees and then just blasted straight through the sound barrier out of here. Someone’s already found us.”

Cold.

Too late.

"Hide" had failed. The wait had begun. He was not sure he wanted to see what would happen if they actually opted to just wait it out.
And yet the Eighfourians were concerned about a single anti-personnel infantry unit, not the faction that presumably had had their drone return by now? Or a "drone". He did not know any supersonic drones, nor a lunatic that'd fly a fighter through a forest, but it could be from the west. Or the Trenians had even more new toys than just the hell-lasers. The south was an unknown. The east was water. Easy enough to cross by a flighted unit, but also largely surveilled by Anderekians. It had been all quiet on that front.
Should he break protocol, and thus his silence? He, technically, had no rank here. Not yet. Soldiers took orders. He had not been given one. You only asked questions when orders were unclear. Kay had not reacted yet, so he did not know whether asking questions would conflict with any unwritten rule here, either. He was on his own.
If he asked... If he genuinely wanted to know what it was like, it would prove he was not allied with whoever sent the drone -- which would probably imply he was at the very least on another side. If he was bluffing, it would mean that he was testing them for lies, and that a really hi-tech faction would indeed know where exactly he was -- and take any harm to him as an open declaration of war. Not that killing him wouldn't mean a declaration of war anyway, were he a part of a faction other than Eighfour. One would think that a faction as small as this would treat anyone larger kindly, just to avoid starting any unfavorable wars. And not flaunt any "remove area from map" buttons. To think of it, if multiple factions congregated here, then they might as well use it specifically against one another, and remain entirely indifferent towards Eighfour itself.
He decided he might as well risk it. It had not been confirmed he would be taken to "Gramps", so supposedly he was still subject to a pre-hearing of sorts. You were not supposed to interject to a hearing. But those people were not going to follow Anderekian protocol, either. Seemed safer than asking whether they can join the guys on the pickup, at least.
"The craft sighted hours ago," he specified, still using the voice mostly reserved for reporting in. What manner of unit of time was 'hours ago'? "What was it like? Form, any visible armaments, any markers, pattern of movement? Do you have any recordings of it? I am trying to figure out its identity."
Still motionless.

73:05:00 LNT
(early evening)

From Downfall ReRisen

Day ??? of year 384 Post-Downfall
Sunstorm onset

The Lone Survivor

“I... well, we don’t have...” the woman sputtered. "I..."
As Kay slowed down her gait and eventually stopped, Enn adjusted his speed accordingly, making sure to stick to her side as instructed. Arms neutrally hanging by his sides, hands half a dozen centimeters from his thighs, plainly visible, gun on his back, standing straight.
“Something is wrong. Something has happened.” She did not need to say it; it was apparent from her behaviour.
"I'm going to guess there would be no kettles in that truck, huh?" he inquired in a low, flat voice. Unseen, his eyes were fixed on the approaching pickup. "I suppose I'm going to have to improvise, and hope I don't fuck up."
The assault rifles were not overly concerning. Guns like that were typically smaller calibers, and probably would not do too much harm before he managed to dive behind cover. The machine gun was more concerning. Being mounted, it could afford to pack perhaps even more of a punch than your standard-issue Anderekian infantry firearms. If they knew how to use it, it would be hard to dodge, and unlike the smaller guns, it would most likely not run out of ammo before you could count to five. He did not need to be hit more than once before being effectively dead, chances were. “This is...” The pickup came to a stop at what was closer to talking, than gunning distance.
“Don’t move!” Well, that part was easy, seeing how he was already doing it. And, at the very least, matched the Anderekian protocol. If you were asked to identify or report, you stood absolutely still and answered. Briefly. Accurately. Nothing more. Completely ordinary, thus far. Well, perhaps aside of the fact that he was evidently a lot more interesting than his companion.
“Wait -” Kay shouted, but was waved off. They clearly knew who she was, but did not appear to consider it worth even listening to her. The guys were obviously no real soldiers. It was less the waving around while gripping their guns one handed (though, depending on how exactly they went about it, it could amount to a gun safety violation and cost someone a foot or two) as the overall eagerness in confronting him. The driver especially. If you're driving, then drive. Also, your gun is useless.
“No, identify yourself! What are you doing here? Who are you with?” Not too different from the way he had greeted Kay earlier today, to think of it.
"Enn Que," he replied. "Infantry."
That part was easy. The other parts ... not so much, and he had the gnawing suspicion that he would not have much time to ponder over the various implications of his potential replies. Notrau had no intention of finding out whether these amateurs were more or less trigger-happy than himself. In any case, it was probably best to give them an answer right away. An honest one. And a short one. If they wanted explanations, they could ask more questions. Odds were it would be safer than derailing too far or hesitating too long. Marginally, but still.
Civilians were supposedly more likely to be twitchy than outright executioners. More likely to kill out of reflex or on a whim than as calm, pre-meditated action. As long as he does not move and sticks to replying to things mostly in accordance to the protocol he was used to, it should be fine and he might get to glean what the heck was going on here and why it did not match what Kay expected. Should be.
"I was hoping to gain an audience with your faction." With less muzzles pointed his way, granted. Unseen, Enn kept staring at the machine gunner from behind his visor. He did not know whether he was the most important one of the lot, but he had the biggest gun, and as far as the renegade was concerned, it amounted to the same.
"She said her name is Kay-Gee. Scourer." Not what they were probably expecting, and nothing they did not know, but technically completely accurate. Sometimes it was better to play dumb rather than overshare. He no longer had a faction. It would have taken too long to explain how and why right away. If they wanted to know, they would need to ask specifically that, separately.
There was no telling whether it was healthier to inform them outright that he was alone - truly alone, Kay notwithstanding -, or let them think that there could be a faction backing him up - one that knew exactly where he was, and come looking in force, pissed, if he went missing.

73:02:12 LNT
(afternoon/early evening)

The Prophecy

Domhnall MacRaith

“Recent?” the young fellow repeated. “The person being cured, you mean? That was a while ago, it turns out, but we only learned about it just several days ago, and it took another day to actually track him down. We’ve only known about all of this for a few days, really...”
Just a few days ago? The forestfolk's head notched upwards and his gaze drifted to somewhere above and his right. Just a few days... Jael...the younger black-eyes had said they'd been on the move for at least a week, and that they knew there was a person here who had been cured of the soul plague, though he had not been overly specific, and evidently had not know how he accomplished such a feat. And that there was some guy William waiting for them in the City. Huh. He glanced at Jaelnec, but opted not to comment for the time being, with the audience and the black-eyes already urging the greeter-fellow to continue.
“And the other thing? About people able to walk, and family and friends being willing to help them?”
So, for the time being he focused back on their appointed information dispenser. For the urgency in the boy's voice, the fellow at the gate sure took a long time to get to his point.
“...‘Whether I let them or not’ is right. It’s probably no surprise that those afflicted who could still walk, and who still had friends and family... they left on their own. I have no idea where by Mount Zerul they might be, or if they even made it there, and I’m left almost exclusively with afflicted who can barely move.”
"So, someone has gone forth on a mission. 'Ey folks jus' sent themselves," asserted the forestfolk in the way of summary. "Migh've wan'ed tae leed wi' that. Recon our work's all se' out fer us af'er we've done chattin' wi' the Djubei-praiser. Le's hope peeple ain't harder tae fin' than game. Oughtn't be. Prob'ly stomped all over the place."
He turned stern again as the lad continued on with answering his final question, however. As it turned out, an entire city had been razed by not an army, but a singular ... well, the word used was "monster". Seemed an awfully impotent way of putting it, somehow. Monsters ate stragglers in forests, and were usually bears or treacherous holes. This one was something else entirely.
The young black-eyes was visibly, and understandably perturbed. One thing gave the forestfolk a pause, though. A name. Just as the already pale boy turned an even more ghastly shade, he had uttered a name. One that Domhnall figured was a perfectly normal human name. He sucked at remembering all the thousands of foreign names he'd been exposed to since leaving his original home, but he was fairly certain he had heard this one before, and that fellow had shown no intention of eating him or his various internal organs thereof.
He also called him a harvester, which... No clue, aside of the feeling that it had nothing to do with agriculture in the strictest sense. Unless you equated humans to crops, anyway.
"Ya know this one? Met 'im?" he inquired perhaps a bit too urgently, this time eying the black-eyes with dumbfounded surprise. It certainly sounded as if in addition to being appropriately terrified of it, they knew what and who exactly their malevolent entity was. If so, how were those folks alive, and how in the Planes had they gotten him to introduce himself? "Wha' manner of being that is tae teer down a whole city?"

From Downfall ReRisen

Day ??? of year 384 Post-Downfall
Sunstorm onset

The Lone Survivor

“They won’t shoot you if they can tell you’re with me and that I’m bringing you of my own volition. Pretty much everyone knows who I am in Eighfour; being ‘the girl with the gate’ makes everyone at the settlement pretty interested in me, though not always in a good way. They’ll probably spot my cart and put their guns away immediately! No need to worry. None at all.”
"And would it be because they're confident in you, or because they are afraid they'll damage your associated gadgetry?" he inquired. Too dark? Perhaps he should not have said that, but for whatever reason her manner of speech had lead him straight to something that was equal measures gallows humor and genuine question, and he had responded before his brain caught up on the fact that he was not with his usual company. To be fair, it could have been risky even with his usual company, depending on the vicinity of more suspicious officers.
“Unrelatedly, my cart is pretty resistant to bullets. Just so you know.”
"Huh." Was that by design or just a coincidence? Engines stopped bullets fairly decently. Fuel or batteries could rather mean an opposite effect. There was probably stuff inside that might stop a bullet. Frames aside, there was usually little functional reason to reinforce a light vehicle to the point of having any stopping power against bullets of his calibre. An AP bullet slowed down to seven hundred meters per second would be just as lethal.
His first in-person look at Eighfour followed a brief climb disrupting the otherwise fairly monotonous landscape distinguished mainly by the types of trees you could see around you (it was better to stick to where the conifers were if you wanted to get through with anything larger than yourself; the deciduous trees made thickets). Disturbingly, a part of him thought it could also be a big-ass crater the faction had decided to inhabit, by the way it seemed to curve around the buildings toward the center, as became evident once he had climbed it. And if it was a crater, it was probably not a natural one.
For a few seconds - Kay permitting - he stopped, attempting to glean what he could from the elevated position. He could just about discern a couple of turrets and low, varied buildings of some description. There was a truck departing. This one was distinct regardless of its comparatively small size mostly because it moved. And was warm. The sunstorm prohibited further analysis. Wind was dead quiet. There were electromagnetic disturbances aplenty and radiation was up, but thankfully, the weather was not throwing worse at them than dry (in terms of rain, if not humidity) lightning. Probably better to move on regardless.
“Seems you’ve got yourself a welcoming committee,” the woman remarked. “That’s a first, I think. But then again, there aren’t a lot of strangers in Eighfour.” He had not paid too much mind to the vehicle, figuring it was just a part of some routine (or, at the very least, typical) pickup run, but Kay's reaction seemed to indicate otherwise. Nevertheless, it seemed she wasn't overly concerned. Compared to how she had been before the settlement - could it even really be called a base? - came to sight. Still. Odd.
His fingers twitched, muscle-memory compelling him to ready up for a potential confrontation, but consciousness interfering. Do not ready arms. Do not halt. Did nothing against adrenaline beginning to flow, but it's not like they could tell either way, or so he told himself.
"You didn't mention anything about a surveillance system beyond the perimeter - past what can be seen from the walls. Nor a vehicle at the ready at all times," Enn pointed out. "Don't you think your greeting party reacted just a tad too quickly to be reacting just to us?"

72:79:32 LNT
(afternoon/early evening)

The Prophecy

Domhnall MacRaith

People said this, people said that, hearsay was not overly reliable either way, or there would be three thirty-foot tall man-eating bears lurking in every second village (it was usually people getting drunk).
“It’s probably a coincidence. I have a hard time believing that some monster just happens to fill the air with something that cures the Withering. But if this guy got better, there must be something there.”
"Unless we're dealin' wi' a coincidence of a differen' kin'," remarked the hunter mumbled with deadpan pragmatism, mostly to the younger black-eyes. "Coul' be the feller af'er all. Or real chance. One in million million kind. Why'd ye think I aske' if there'd been o'ers?"
The rest was all the lad explaining why no one had really tried to replicate the "miracle", no matter how small the odds of it being true. Either the will to survive of those people here was much smaller than those back home or things did not quie add up.
"I's very recent, then?" he guessed, finally dropping his hand from his face, gripping the saddle and even leaning a bit forward (but not too much, given his rather precarious situation) as he stared at the lad, eyebrows raised. "Less than a week?* It starts as wee gray bruises, aye? These ones can walk, an' there shoul' be plen'y o' those wi' friends an' families. Those jus' afflic'ed, they won' care if they die, since they'll die anyway. An' mithers an' lovers, they'd be jus' as desperate even when unblemish'. They'd go, whe'er ye le' 'em or nae."
"An' this," he motioned his head vaguely towards the refugees, "it jus' started today, nae? Wha' happen'd tae these people, anyway?"

*Not applicable if we're dealing with Meila's father or anyone before that point, among others.

The Prophecy

Domhnall MacRaith

If anything, their greeter-fellow looked even more perplexed than before. Luckily, the young black-eyes seemed to catch on and offered his somewhat awkward explanation, at which point the robed lad realized what was going on, too. Well, he had given nicknames for a few of the carnivores sharing are with him during his active hunter days himself, but he did not really go around insisting they offered favours of any kind besides, perhaps, not trying to eat him. They were animals of the sentient, but not truly sapient kind, after all.
"Ye're all sayin' there a mons'er of some kin' under the moun'ain?" he affirmed, trying to sort through his knowledge of similar things. They said it was tentacled, and most tentacled things he knew lived in the sea. The sea was not far, granted, but nevertheless the alleged presence of a specimen of the implied dimensions in the specified location seemed odd, unless it was indeed part-deity and did not submit to laws such as those that governed mortal beings. Absently scratching a bearded cheek, he continued. "An' it never shows? Cannae think how there'd be enough food for a regular ol' beastie that size down there, 'less there's a tunnel to the sea or somethin'... It'd have all shriveled up long ago."
There was no confirming whether or not the legends were true. The people who disappeared might as well have gotten utterly lost in the derelict and probably highly unsafe passages, and the mists might have just as easily been the doing of the mountain itself. Mountains did weird things like that, sometimes, like always having their tips shrouded in clouds or making weather turn on a pebble.
"Eh, bu' wi' what ye said, it's nae likely we'll learn much from ol' Djubei, aye? Dinnae soun' like yer lad met 'em, ei'her. Anyone else wi'ered set camp 'ere yet? If no'in' else works, migh' as well try somethin' which shouldn't, aye?"
So, it shouldn't be all that hard to find volunteers. If several others got well, too, then that would at least be one answer ... though it would remain unclear whether it'd be the doing of the mountain, a giant cave octopus, a deity or something else entirely.

The Prophecy

Domhnall

It seemed he had confused their poor greeter-fellow. The younger black-eyes seemed quite pleasantly surprised, though, if equally perplexed by his sudden knowledge of said tidbit. Never mind, though; Claw was coming to the city and everyone appeared to have a different opinion on what exactly he looked like.
"I'd say both of these'd be much more human," Domhnall absently mused, trying to picture all of the beings the boy listed as comparison points with their large companion in turn. "Claw's more like a cross between a mighty large standin' maned bear and ol' Murchad 'ere, if ya ask me." he noted, referring to Iridiel's lupine companion. They'd seen a couple of those "Melenian" folks. Looked more like furry humans with cat ears and claws than anything. With ample bosoms, no less.
The robed lad looked even more confused.
"Won' be long till he's all here," asserted Domhnall yet again - would not want some of those folks try to put an arrow through their new friend for looking inhuman, after all - "Reckon we'll stay here for him."
The young black-eyes excitement for finding the answer to their quest remained strong as ever. Something about some noble or another supposedly curing a guy. A mage, perhaps, given the location and a "fog" which supposedly wasn't just a cloud stuck to the ground. The mountain ... well, he supposed there was really only one of those 'round these parts, and it wasn't too far.
"Who's this Djubei-fellow, an' can't we jus' go talk with him ins'ead?"

The Prophecy

Domhnall

The young fellow seemed confused at his remark, which did not bode well. Unless whatever planning they'd had had been hopelessly overturned by whatever mess the lot had gotten into and their greeter here had arrived after the rest of the party, there was no change someone would miss a freaking half-lion, half-dragon four times the bulk of a horse...
...And what if he'd pulled his cloak a bit closer to himself? the foresfolk mused to himself. He was wearing a shirt, a vest, no cold metal, and a coat, and an Iridiel, and he was still bloody freezing his fingers off, quite unlike the young black-eyes who seemed to mistake the bleary damp autumn misery for a lovely summer afternoon. Wait, the leader!?
He glanced at the boy.
"The man riding the beast Domhnall described is the leader now,” Jaeldric or what was he corrected the greeter grimly. “The woman – a daywalker – and him went ahead of us earlier; they should have come through already.”
So there had been some infighting in the group? It took the robed fellow, seemingly not much older than the younger black-eyes, a disturbingly long time to reply. But he did seem to make things click in the end, and explanations ensued. The forestfolk could not divert his full attention to the conversation, though, as a distinct voice cut over the bustle.
Domhnall's body jerked slightly, his expression slacking and brow furrowing as he turned his head, eyes scanning the surroundings. Claw? He had thought their new acquaintance did not quite sound fond of their imminent destination, yet he was announcing his intention of ... joining them? In any case, he was coming and a rather distinct, and perhaps alarming to the uninitated, fellow oneself.
The robed lad had moved on to explaining something about a man who had been cured of the withering, which, although no doubt important, could tolerate being asked questions over a few moments later after they had sorted out any potential confusion over yet another new arrival.
"Pardon?" he cut in after the lad's declaration of miracles, loud enough to jolt the weary refugees and make a couple of heads turn. "There's ano'er of us arrivin' soon. Twice as tall as I am, and three times as broad, black fur, wears braids? Figured I ough' tae warn the guards aheed o' time, at leas'."