Touching the Sky [Aelius]

28th of Ymiden 716

The seven Duchies of Central Rynmere and their respective baronies, cities, towns, villages, and landmarks each overseen by a Duke of one of the seven noble families and ultimately controlled by the King of Rynmere.
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Touching the Sky [Aelius]

28th of Ymiden, Arc 716

"Only the Lord knows as to why you're so dull and broody, Alistair," the Lich said. "Excuse me?" Alistair replied, squinting his eyes in a way that implied obvious offense, if feigned. "Don't you perhaps believe you're of exceptional broodiness, is all I'm asking? You contemplate all these grim realities all the time, intersecting one another relentlessly. How depressing. Get a new hobby." The Lich waved him off and snapped his fingers, as if that would somehow motivate Alistair to re-align his life. The nobleman merely scoffed. "Please. Your insults will make me faint to my embroidered sofa," he grinned. The Lich stared at him in silence at first, though his expression shifted to a jovial smirk.

The Lich handed him a sheet of parchment, one that displayed a smaller and less particularly detailed map of Venora from within Rynmere. "I've been studying this map for quite some time. You might remember that I mentioned a race of peculiar beasts that roam within Northern Venora? I narrowed their location, and uncovered that they dwell primarily in the cold northern mountains of Tourla Viste." The man pinpointed its location on the map - a large set of mountains that dwelled to the far north. "I've been there before, with my family. No monsters to be found," he said. The Lich shook his head. "There are monsters, but they are merely of a different breed. They lurk almost entirely in the night, gathering food and other forms of sustenance for the day. Some say they like to drink mortal blood, especially human's, and especially the blood of those who eat well - like you, for example." Now he knew the Lich was just trying to spook him out, though in such an obvious and silly way that he must have known it wasn't going to work.

"Mhm," Alistair replied. Damien merely nodded. "So, you will go to the Northern Mountains of Tourla Viste and slay one of these beasts - and bring me the head of the creature. I wish to investigate its brain, to uncover information I haven't quite managed to conclude." The Lich began to ponder, fading from the conversation as Alistair attempted to reason as to why this task had to be delegated to him.

"Why do I have to do this, again?" He asked. "I'm the one with the short lifespan, here. This sort of seems like a waste of time. Also - how does this even involve my Necromancy training?" The man clicked his tongue dramatically as if to get Alistair to be quiet, playfully slapping him on the shoulder with the stick he'd been dawdling with since they'd come to the northern part of the Duchy. "Field experience is the greatest teacher. You'll learn how to properly organize your minions in the face of a greater foe. If you die, you are clearly unworthy of my patronage. Do you understand?" Alistair sighed, and nodded his head.

"Good. Go to the north, claim the beast's head, and bring it to me - I'll be in the nearby town, Sans du sac Lajour. Such is my command." The man offered Alistair the usage of one of his undead horses so that he could transport Alaric and Grayson, Alistair's minions, safely towards the north. His own undead horse was prepared to transport him and his necessities. Thus, the man accepted and went on his way, clearly somewhat irritated at having to go even further north at Damien's whim but he accepted that the man did not often waste his time, and when he did, it was usually Alistair's fault for not realizing the significance of his actions.

The horses rode for a few hours north - they were already significantly northwards from Sabaissant, so the journey was not as long as if from one of the crypts they'd traveled to near the coast. He arrived an hour or so before sunset, his eyes examining the cliffs that were only slightly beyond his current reach. The mountains were large, and host to antiquated ruins that had not been lived in for quite some time - men that lived upon the sides of cliffs and claimed to be closer to the dragons. He never knew of how they managed to lose their footing and vanish so instantly, but like with all of old Rynmere history the causation wasn't quite as obvious as the outcome.

He and his two undead servants dismounted. They were wearing the studded leather armor and the hoods he'd recently bought for them. Both of them wore white clothing beneath the leather armor that clung to their skin, as if only a hose covered them. Grayson was slightly taller and Alaric was slightly more muscular, though both of them had a similar appearance in essence, just with Alaric's skintone a more pronounced caramel color even despite the paling, with long brown hair that exerted his rugged appearance. Grayson was an olive-toned man with straight, short-cut black hair. Both of them had somewhat pale eyes, though without very close inspection you'd merely say they were blue or a very light and faint green.

Alistair began to make his way up the trail - but he wondered which trail? There were many, as each mountain seemed to be entered from either side of it and there were diminished paths leading through many corridors of the mountain. He decided that the southernmost of the large rocky figures was appropriate, and he began his journey through the dank innards of the giant rock he'd been ordered to scour. By the time sunset had begun to recede and evening was beginning to follow, he was halfway through the trail though his body was in a state of fatigue. He was panting, exhaling and almost shaking at the severity of this climb. Out from the corridor in which he'd come from there were old, broken and abandoned homes scattered along the cliffside. There was even a large bridge connecting this mountain to the next, though it looked far too dangerous to use.

He made his way to sit on the aged patio of one of the homes. The wood was rotted as of what must have been a long time ago, and or scarce growth along the mountain had covered everything. This place was not normal, and very clearly lost to time.
Last edited by Alistair on Fri Aug 12, 2016 4:08 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 1083
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Aelius Callistus
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Touching the Sky [Aelius]

Aelius couldn’t say what spurred him to come to Venora at such an awkward time of the year. Or, perhaps, it wasn’t an awkward time at all. He was still new to these lands, to Rynmere, and thusly knew very little about the inner workings of the kingdom and its surrounding regions. He’d never been to Venora, admittedly, and so he was even more sense-deaf to what he was supposed to be doing in the region. Aelius blamed his inquisition and curiosity for him taking such an odd detour into lands unknown. He took up official residence in Andaris City, the supposed capital and center for the kingdom. He couldn’t say he had faced a great deal of action since he split off from the Seekers into his own pursuits, such was the life of a solo Acolyte.

Solo was one word to describe the halfblood, lonely was another, or rather, he was a loner – he was hardly lonely. He liked to be with himself, by himself, alone. He once had a friend named Ciaran, someone who went through similar trials and tribulations like him, but now their friendship was little and of slight consequence. He hadn’t seen the young woman in quite some time, the Aukari seemingly disappearing soon after they returned from their assigned mission to rein one of their old peers back into line. Perhaps the mental burden of essentially turning one of their own friends in proved too much for the Aukari to handle, perhaps she turned in her conduit and called off her own training. Aelius didn’t know nor had he possessed enough leisure time to follow through with an investigation. He wondered though, was it going to be a waste of time if he did investigate? Something told him it would be.

He was in north Venora on this day, his mind seeking unhindered thought. In order to grant that to his mind, he secluded himself in the north of the province, away from most civilized contact. He was unafraid yet afraid at the same time; he was confident in his ability to manipulate the air around him in order to defend himself, yet he was also afraid of being overwhelmed. What if he faced something he could not handle alone, what if he needed someone? With Ciaran no longer at his friendly disposal – though she was far from disposable – he wondered if he could handle half the things he once faced with her, together. Again, something told him he could, if not with time then with patience and skill.

The sun was beginning to set now; he had been there for hours, sticking to the southern end of the cliffs near the seemingly abandoned village. The collection of houses were years old, curious and writhe with antiquity. They were traits Aelius admired, possibly because of his father’s prolonged lifespan, and his own because of their sharing of blood. Old things also had stories to tell, their voices silent to those who were unaware of what to perceive, to look for. A lover of knowledge, Aelius taught himself the language of the long dead and gone, all in order to observe what others were blind to, what many thought he was blind to as well. Few understood how his mind worked; unless one was from Viden, an Eidisi, or a possessor of an open mind, Aelius was often a mysterious entity.

Aelius took up residence in one of the homes, deciding it would soon be time for him to make his way back to civilization. He’d been here all day and didn’t want to be there all night; who knew what manner of things roamed when the twilight was prime? He didn’t want to find out, and so as the sun set over the horizon and darkness began to take hold of the sky, the stars twinkling in their unknown way, he rose from his seat on the outward porch of one of the homes and tread across the rotted and dried wooden deck. He came down the stairs carefully, his leather boots causing a gentle creak to escape the aged material he trod.

An oddity in the setting caught his attention though, his ethereal eyes shifting in the growing moonlight while his frame came to a stop just as he stepped off the last step of the stairs. With his boots on the ground, Aelius pivoted and turned his ears to the growing sound of what was approaching footsteps, a collection of them. One may have mistaken the sounds for a traveling velox, a mountain dwelling fox, but Aelius knew better. He’d heard velox before, but these steps were surer, if not labored, in the way they approached. He waited until the steps were quiet, his sights not spying but his ears straining to hear. No more could be heard, and so he threw his cloak over his arms and tucked his hands at his sides. Underneath the cloak was his Seeker’s conduit, the bejeweled piece stuck on his hip and accessible, easily.

Rounding the lifted porch, he spied another figure on the porch of another one of the abandoned houses. There was a slight problem, however, this figure was not alone and had two others. Aelius was wary at the sight of the others but he approached anyway, for they had come from an upwards trail and way unknown to Aelius. As he approached, his steps careful, so too came the pitter-patter of a feline’s paws. Coming up to his side was Flavia, his caracal companion, whose bright yellow eyes penetrated the night in much the same way Aelius’ own vividly white ones did.

A low pitched call came from the cat as they approached the three figures. The growl gave Aelius pause, he knew better than to go against the intuition of his feline friend. A distance was kept, but he could nearly plainly see the other living man from the distance past the broken up railing that once trailed the perimeter of the porch.

Aelius rose his hand and waved, his disposition nonthreatening; inside he was wriggling with curiosity and wonder. “What brings you here, fellow traveler?” he asked, unsure if the title was appropriate for the man he was addressing. He addressed the sitting man because the other two were utterly docile, and this man seemed to be set in a way that spoke of status and stature, someone to be addressed directly.

“This mountain is not an easy hike,” he pointed out, attempting to strike some common ground, because obviously the both of them made a similar trek, the reason unknown.
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