From Tried's Mouth to the mysterious Tower, the waters around Scalvoris and the island itself hold a vast array of secrets, just ripe for discovery. Here are landmarks, jungles, mountains, forests and islands of note.
As Makar followed the next few clues and signs of tracks around the village, the clues he found eventually pointed out to the wilds, beyond even the meager and rustic civilization of Darbyton, so ravaged by pirate attack.
The sculpture of wood that he held in his hand, the one with a sigil of ‘Stash’ on it, began to resemble more and more, as he held it, and felt its impressions, less like a human figure. There was something distinctly inhuman about it, particuarly around its face. Almost, like the hair were not really hair but the coiling bodies of snakes, and the face had a cruel if crude tilt to it.
Regardless, he had that clue, and several markers to follow along the way, as he ventured into the woods. The disparate tracks and signs, the bits and bobs he found along the way, many of which held the sign of his mother for ‘warmer’, led him further into the wilds than perhaps he’d ever been comfortable to traverse. He was now farther away from Darbyton, than he’d have time to come back, before nightfall. And it seemed as if his curiosity had led him astray for long enough that he’d have no choice but to camp.
The howling and baying of canines could be heard in the distance. They seemed to be calling to others of their kind. The birds and insects continued to chirp their songs, so there was no great disturbance as far as he could tell. No great predator was betrayed by a sudden silence, or anything of the sort.
The moons came up from behind the treeline, as it grew colder in the night. There would be no making heads or tails of the signs in this gloom, so it might be best for Makar to bed down for the night, and make a safe camp.
Or he could continue blind through the darkness. There were any number of things he could do from here, but among them all in chief was possibly regret his curiosity had carried him this far out.
Makar was feeling regret that his curiosity had carried him out so far.
He'd done a lot of walking just following the sings and tracks left to him by his mother, or whoever knew of his mother's code and habits. It was a stupid thing to do, but the emotions boiling up within him drew to search for answers, heedless of the smarter moves he could have taken. The hand holding the carving gripped tightly as he drew breath in and out. Eyes looking to the sky and spotting the moons. he shook his head. He needed to set up camp and first things first he needed to set up a fire.
He started by clearing a spot of any debree, loose sticks and grass. To aid in this he used his hand axe to cut at any stubborn weed or grass, leaving only a patch of dirt.. Then he looked around for some stones, gathering what he could and forming them in a ring around the cleared spot. It was a simple measure to contain a fire should it go wild, and Mak would hate for his own foolishness to cause trouble to the island while it was still recovering.
He then proceeded to look around for some suitable branches to use as kindling for a fire, reckoning the dry grass he picked up setting the fire ring would work well as tinder . All in all it was a welcome distraction, his hand axe hacking into stubborn branches from trees and fallen trunks he deemed suitable for his needs.
Still he kept his eyes open and ears listening, usually on his hunts he'd have already set camp up before the light of the trial set but this wasn't his usual hunts nor was the situation at all normal. He'd heard dogs earlier, and as night rolled the nocturnal creatures would be on the move. The faster he could set up that fire, the better. for his peace of mind.
Still, as he worked the thoughts of everything that was going on plagued him. Something just felt off about this all, was it really from his mother? Why hadn't she approached them all when she came back from wherever she was? In vain he tried shaking off the thoughts from his mind as he continued to work. Using that same axe to chop off the twigs and leaves that clung to the collection of branches he would use as kindling.
Once all was gathered, he'd begin the process of lighting the fire. His bow nearby in close reach should something occur as flint and steel where struck, attempting to light a spark that would catch the dry grass and begin the fire.
All the meanwhile a knot of worry would continue to grow, the carving he'd set aside a grim reminder of danger and secrets yet unburried.
Flames properly started in a campfire in the wilderness were a mixed blessing. Most beasts would be spooked away from such a obvious sign of mortal passage. And indeed Makar was not troubled by the canines that were howling, nor the branch-breaking behemoth that also stalked the woods. Even the small woodland creatures appeared to flee before the signs of his passage.
The fire was hypnotising, as often it was. Nothing happened while Makar was awake, other than the inevitable passage of time, and the weakning of the flames if he did not keep them up. Eventually he would succumb to sleep and the exertions of the day. And when he did, he slept deeply.
He had a short brief dream where there were people, or perhaps they were fairies, scampering around him. The dreams were nothing that appeared to signal any deeper meaning, just the half-heard impressions of a sleeping soul apparently. For when he awoke, he did indeed note that theere had been a human presence around his camp, with foot tracks and signs that the fire had been tampered with. When his mind went to the strange carving that had prompted this search, he didn't feel its impression on his pocket or wherever he kept it. It'd been wrenched from him, and was no longer there.
He could search the immediate area but would see no signs of it anywhere. But the human tracks, they went in one direction. And that direction did not lead him back to Darbyton.
His choice to follow or double back, and potentially confront his father. Or take another path entirely.