[Flashback] carry on or carrion (Thomas)

[Velx]

27th of Searing, 4618

Valanox had told her to map out the area more extensively. Once again, the request was made without the accompanying explanation. The implication was clear enough, it pertained to his work with the Chronologers – but for once it would have been appreciated if she was trusted with additional information. Keeping to her own promise, she’d set out just before first light, facing away from the sunlight. She dressed in lighter linen, with additional coats and blankets for if night caught up to her. She pondered about summoning some company to help her wade the terrain, but decided against it. Still being too close to civilization would draw unneeded eyes to her. If the worst came, an Intercession would have to do.

As she blinked through the light over her shoulder, she could see the city shrinking in the distance. The heat rose with the morning sun, and was soon reaching unbearable extremes. Her arms were a constant struggle between wrapping herself away from the Sun, and then shedding all of her layers in a desire for the warmth to leave her. Horse seemed on edge, his footing becoming more angular and dustier. Her best was not enough for the animal to ease up, but the guiding hand kept its mind on track. Horse never had a name. There was only the work, and it was being done well.

She knew the heat didn’t have a smell, but out here she abandoned those beliefs. The whistling of the wind carried a strange tune and the smells of baking, of effort, of death. Perhaps Searing wasn’t the best season to have made this journey. Velx kept herself tight-lipped save for the water she ingested. Each opening led to being fed more dirt which danced across the sky, and she soon decided that between dirt and sweat the former was more of a nuisance. The wrapping loosely hugging her face, she quickly realized that if the mere act of moving brought on so much discomfort, she would need a shelter of some kind for any mapwork to get done.

With the city now a memory, she did her best to remember the route. Her map wouldn’t do them much good if it couldn’t be followed from a location already familiar to them. In her mind, the steps were traced from the gates, over the initial few hills, and down into the barrens. Grass gave way to earth, gave way to dirt, to stone, to cracks and fissures. Each hoof stepped uneasy, juggling between the sinking of the sands and the harsh pushback. Every rock Horse found, she too felt in reverberation. The only water was that which glistened her skin. It attempted to flow down her limbs, but quickly crossed over into moisture. The air ate the memory of water, and once again it was like nothing had been there at all.

Just when she thought no living being could subsist, she saw a vulture of some kind. The only life which was less encouraging than no life at all. The strange animal appeared to have some errors in its anatomy, but that was common with the mutating sands of the Badlands. She tried following where it went, but the Sun ate her gaze.

Shelter. And soon.

[Thomas]

Thomas' wagon had endured many hardships in the course of its life. Unbeknownst to him, this was his wagon's third time in the Daravinic Badlands. Its prior owner used to trade with some of the smaller towns in the area, as they were good sources of botanicals that made nice bright colored tinctures or heady smelling aromas -- just the things for popular nostrums. Thomas mostly knew the Daravinic Badlands by reputation, and had heretofore steered clear.

The map made him change his mind, however. He'd gotten it one night while fortune telling with his caravan. An Entente had wandered in, drunk and driven to distraction. The man didn't seem to obey the compact that Thomas' fortune telling abilities were really just excuses for him to wear a skimpy outfit and flutter his eyelashes at widows or young men in love, to whisper sweet nothings into the ears of valran and tailors and fellow travelers. He had instead taken it deadly serious, monopolizing Thomas' time for the better part of an hour until he'd bounced him out to give other customers a chance. The questions were always about the map: was it real? Could he go to the Badlands and retrieve it? Would it be worth it? Would it help him advance in the Entente? Not being an expert in Daravinic politics, Thomas wasn't sure of the right terms for some of the concepts he wished to address, but he was well-schooled enough in analyzing people to know that the answer to this man's ambitions was that he had climbed to the level that his competence would allow.

So when the man had come back, more inebriated but no less insistent, Thomas swiped the map. It was enough enough to do, hanging out of the inebriated lordling's breast pocket, and this would solve the issue neatly for the man. He didn't have to agonize over it because he wouldn't be able to retrieve his supposed treasure without it. Then he'd led the man to the entrance of the fairgrounds and bid him goodnight.

This presented Thomas with a new quandary: how to become an adventurer overnight. His skills did not lie so much in things like survival in harsh climates or fighting or finding hidden troves of treasure in forgotten temples -- he was more of a "talk to people and charm them into giving them what he wanted" sort of guy. A businessman, after a fashion. Also, he was very good at pouring liquid into bottles and then selling the contents of those bottles for a healthy profit to unhealthy people. None of these skills, he suspected, would be of much use to him in the Badlands.

When he peeled off from the caravan, he dug through the various compartments of his wagon until he found the box he dreaded opening, and retrieved his gun: he used it rarely, and almost always more as a prop than a weapon, but it was good to have one even if looking at it too long reminded him of Ned. He also bought an outfit that made him look more natively Daravinic from a rag vendor at the edge of the badlands. The hope was to blend in, because a stranger who looked out of place would present a softer target than an unknown quantity who was familiar with the area. Reality diverged from his intentions pretty quickly, however.

He knew the cycle of the desert: travel from low light to mid-morning, rest during the day in the shade, travel from the afternoon into the evening, rest during the night. It was the only thing that was keeping his animals even slightly healthy. His mule was faring better than his horse, but it was clear neither were happy with the ground shifting under their feet, and the wagon itself was not easy to haul if they diverted even from a second from the hard-packed foot path that sufficed as roads in these parts. Still, they were finding the occasional vegetation to munch on, and with the supplemental mash feedings at night were none the worse for wear. He could not say the same about himself: he was constantly thirsty, and sweating. He knew he had to ration his water, but it was all he could do to keep himself from gulping down his day's worth in one gulp in the morning. This intensified when the supposed oasis marked on his map turned out to be nothing more than some vaguely wet sand. He didn't know if he should dig to find a source of water -- would it even be worth it? Was he supposed to get the water out of the sand somehow? -- so he just moved on and divided his water rations out to accommodate two more days.

It would be worth it, he thought. The treasure will make all this hardship seem like a thing of the past, and then there would be months of nothing but wine and fine clothes and soft beds. Until then, though, his tongue felt like a thickened belt of leather in his mouth and standing up too suddenly made him dizzy.

"it will be worth it," he croaked, causing the mule to cock a dubious ear at him.

It had to be worth it.

[Velx]

The first day’s trip was cut shorter than she’d have liked and requested that she call upon her echo to find a somewhat useable shelter. It was far from ideal, but enough for Horse and she. The vibrato of her voice brought back a desolate image, no structures or life of significant size. She felt somewhat ashamed that she couldn’t use her eyes to find proper shelter in the daylight. As she got off Horse and trekked slowly down the side of a plateau, it felt like each foot landed on a step of a different staircase. Awkward and off balance, she pondered simply blinking down. It would’ve been a worthy effort, but she wasn’t confident Horse could follow. Had it run away, recapture would prove difficult. Instead, they led each other in a downward cascade, clinging together like sucklings. Once firmly at the bottom, she blended into the shade of the overbearing rock. Her face finally unwrapped, and her eyes blinking slowly in readjustment. Horse muzzled her for food, and she made sure to lay some feed on a rock of knee height.

Using the meal as a good opportunity, she stopped paying the animal much attention. Her gaze away from the light, she was able to make out some irregularities across the beaten path. The line of packed dirt seemed to be edged by hooves and what appeared to be wheel lines. Someone of her proficiency was utterly unable to determine whether these were old or new tracks, especially in a desert environment. Everything disappeared quickly here, but the fact she found those was troubling. Conflicted about whether to give up on her shelter or inspect this anomaly further, she allowed herself one more resonance, using the surrounding elevation for natural acoustics. A high-pitched tone pierced the sands, bounced off the rocks and struggled to provide her with a better image of the entire area. If she was indeed alone, she could always feel silly later – but if she wasn’t, she would be ready. As the sounds flooded back in, she could perceive shapes too uneven and apart to be of rocks. Moving her hand to her bow, she felt inadequate relying on such primitive tools. An arrow pulled from the quiver and resting in the other hand was for keeping up appearances.

She edged back to Horse, without turning to it. Leaving the gap to the front unmonitored seemed like a poor proposition. Arrow still in hand, she clasped the reins with the remaining fingers and pulled the angsty companion along. There was some minor struggle, but as the distance from the leftovers grew, Horse dulled to its more stoic demeanor. Without mounting, she slowly slid across the sand, dragging her feet instead of raising them for fear of making too much noise. Unsure if she’d given her position away already, she was on high alert to let go of the reins and blink if need be. It would be best if she could avoid summoning additional assistance, as the proper preparations hadn’t been made yet.

It was a poor bargain if struck in haste. She would do better than the first time she realized she could speed up binding. She needed to get more for less, else the leeches would leave her drained as the land around her. Her mind finally adjusted to the contours she saw; two-legged, four-legged, four-legged, box, circles. Inching ever closer, she hoped that her perception was correct; 1 humanoid, 2 animals, perhaps a vehicle of some kind. Gliding closer, she’d keep Horse squarely behind her, hoping not to have anyone in her blind spot. With one final rise over the rocky outcrop, she slowly bent into a half crouch and saw…

[Thomas]

Thomas wasn't known for being good in a fight, but he was a good listener. Being a fortune teller, you had to be, or you'd miss cues that led to more lucrative opportunities. So he was used to keeping his ears attuned to any noises of interest, and years on the road helped him avoid an ambush or two because of this. It was clear that one such was being planned now. Someone was skulking. As a fellow thief, Thomas was familiar with the sounds of scuffling about in the night and stalking would-be targets. He also was a bit tired of this nonsense.

"I can, uh, hear you, you know," he said to the darkness in the general direction of The Sounds. "And if you're thinking about robbing me, I'd like you to know that I'm armed and this might not go well for you. I'd advise picking off an easier target. If you're not thinking about robbing me and just want to share some stew, then come into the light with your hands where I can see them."

That was about as friendly as he felt comfortable being, given the circumstances. In more well trodden places, it was normal for travelers to find shelter together, and he relied on his keen people reading skills to keep him out of trouble. The Badlands had made him worried, though. He'd never been through here, and everything he'd heard was negative: tales of roving gangs, of ghost towns wiped out by untamed magical forces that withered people to husks in the span of seconds, or turned people into grains of sand indistinguishable from the desert. He wasn't certain any of them were true, but he had no intention of finding out.

[Velx]

Before should even get a glimpse of what was in front of her, a male voice called out. She had been noticed. Due to her resonating capabilities, she was fairly certain the man was alone. This gave her a significant air of confidence as she allowed herself to straighten up to her full height instead of the slouch she held. The bow was slowly moved to her shoulder as a sign of non-aggression, but she kept the arrow in her other fist in case things got uncomfortable. The person in front of her was seemingly ill prepared for this travel, as she had been. Perhaps he too was a stranger to these lands. Judging by his dirty appearance and the hint of stubble across the cheeks, she assumed he was roaming for a few days at this point.

She completely left her cover, arrow shifting to her free hand, it was ready to be projected if the need arose. Horse was pulled along, and as she neared his camp, she allowed the animal to be somewhat loose and get a sense of the other two beasts present. Judging by the clothes, the man looked to be a local. And yet, if this place’s reputation was correct, she expected to find him as a part of a bigger band and better prepared for the trail.

“That was as quiet as I could be” she shrugged awkwardly, jittering the shoulder to keep the bow from falling into the dirt. Additional practice was necessary. “I’ve not come to take from you. I’ve come for shelter and discovered your tracks” she motioned the empty hand to the very trail she was now stepping on. She struggled with the desire of echoing an additional time, to check the surroundings once again, but decided against it. There didn’t seem to be any additional footsteps leading away from the man’s camp.

“I’ve been a fool to venture out alone, I thought” she nodded towards him, linen trails swinging in the wind as her head moved. She didn’t want to provoke him into a violent motion he’d regret, so she motioned the empty hand towards his camp “May I?”
She did her best to keep Horse in the corner of her eye, but dared not turn her back fully to the man.

[Thomas]

His initial impression was neutral to positive. She didn't seem weak, but she did seem a bit lost. He could relate to that last point -- the Badlands had made a fool of him, and judging from how bedraggled she looked, it had not been kind to her, either. He was disused to the desert as much as anyone. Maybe she had extra water, or knew where a water source was. His treasure map was mostly focused on the destination, not so much on how to survive getting there.

"Well, as a fellow traveler, you know -- hail and well met, as they say in Radenor." He still wasn't sure who he was to this woman, so he withheld a name for now. "I just separated from my caravan for a bit of a side venture, so I'm well used to having company on the road. You're welcome to join me, if you wish. There's stew. It's not great, but it's, you know, passable."

The stew was mostly the sort of meat that was so dry you couldn't chew it without risking a tooth, but dissolved in some hot water with some root vegetables, it was passable if a bit bland.

While saying all this, the gun lay across his lap. When he saw that her bow was not nocked, though, he set it aside. Still within reach, but harder to grab -- a deliberate show of non-aggression. It was of course possible that this could go sideways -- it would not be the first time a bandit had tried to sweet talk him before moving in for the kill -- but his instincts said that this woman was not his enemy, and what he'd said was true: he was used to the company of others. The traveling circus he'd been with had been a cacophany of people, and he'd grown accustomed to having people around to chat with. Maybe a travel companion that he could share a stretch of road with wouldn't be so bad.

[Velx]

As his gun moved away, she felt uneasy at how she hadn’t noticed it sooner. They were moving in the right direction, so she pocketed the arrow back to the quiver. At this distance, there were dozens of things she could hit him with which would be less conspicuous. He claimed it was a greeting of Radenor, but something felt strange about it.

“I too have separated myself from the city” she raised her gaze, surveying the area behind him. The very bottom of her sight, resting on his fingers, waiting for the fatal move. “I’m trying to map out the area more extensively for a client” they were still alone, good. Once she was satisfied with the surveying of the surroundings, she took a blanket off horse and plopped herself on top across from him. As there were still no signs of aggression on his part, she finally let go of the tension in her shoulders, both visibly dropping an inch.

“It’s quite a side” she lazily spread both her hands in a gesture. The man appeared very young, like most humans pre graying. She wondered his age; would it have been even a fifth of her own?
“What is the adventure?”

As she studied him, she allowed herself a moment of distraction to confirm Horse was still at peace. Her hands fished out her own bowl and went for the stew. He was correct in his assumption – it neither smelled nor looked appetizing. That was the case with most things in this desert apparently, everything was dead or in states of disrepair and decay.

[Thomas]

He couldn't help but smile at the stranger's quip. She wasn't human, but years on the road had made that less remarkable to him. Travel around enough and you end up all kinds of places, including whole settlements where humans were the rarities. She was witty and someone to talk to and not a direct threat to him at the moment, and even kind of pretty in a certain light. That was enough for him. The alternative was being alone in a strange and apparently dangerous place with his thoughts.

He took his portion of the stew and joined her in grimacing through it. "I'm not the worst cook in the world under better circumstances, but these... are not those. Best I could do tonight was this," he said by way of explanation.

He'd become accustomed to the communal stew pot and had rarely had to cook for himself for the last few months. Good meals on the road had almost swayed him not to take this little jaunt. That and the threat of imminent death.

He knew he had to say something as to why he was doing this or it would raise all kinds of suspicions, and she was clearly too sharp for a vague prevarication. He knew, then, who he would be.

"Well, Doña," he said, hitting the Daravinic pronunciation of that word and then letting his accent slide back to a more neutral one, as though he were disused to it, "I'm a purveyor of old Daravinic artifacts and the like. Mostly, it's just junk unless you like old curios, but the Entente do tend to like them. I've never been brave enough to hunt in the Badlands, but I got a tip that there's an undisturbed site deeper in, and my inventory is quite depleted at the moment, so I thought I'd chance it. Oh, and Isidro Orguillo, at your service," he bowed to her slightly, hand clasped to his chest.

"I must admit, I didn't expect the Badlands to be -- like this," he added. "Quite harsh out here, isn't it? So different from the other parts of this fine nation."

[Velx]

Instead of sharing tension, they were doing so to his food. The change helped acclimate Velx to the stranger. Genuinely confused as to his remarks towards the food, she’d cock her head visibly to the side. Was he breaking some rule of hospitality she wasn’t familiar with? The food was perfectly edible, if little else. Was it faux pas to present less than stellar food in his culture? This idea seemed very foreign to her, but she said no more of the food. It appeared the man was already too self-conscious. She ate quietly, if somewhat savagely. Hunger betraying her general lack of decorum, she remembered the fires of Sil-Elaine.

She was no longer constantly itching to check the perimeter, but her guard was yet to fully thaw. She held her bowl very loosely. If she resonated it towards someone, who would be more hurt – the individual or the bowl? Her thoughts were cut short when the man started unwrapping his own thread.

The words coming out of him made sense, even if the accents kept disagreeing with each other. Was he of Radenor, or Daravin, of another place entirely? World had a way of birthing strays, much like she was, and believed was witnessing. His search for artifacts here would need to have some kind of orienteering point which could help her mapping efforts, so she focused on that part.

“I understand your search, Isidro” and she did. Seeing value in lost and forgotten things seemed to be her family motto at this point. Unsure as to the decorum as she was to his background, she opted for what seemed the simplest solution. “Velx” she voiced, as she slowly waved the bowlless hand toward her chest. “I too expected the Badlands to be more bad and less” here her nose scrunched a bit and she gestured towards the surroundings. Less dirt. “Feels like we get more than we bargained for” she submitted to his observation. They were underequipped for this.

“Everything looks so similar this far out. How do you keep yourself from getting lost?”

[Thomas]

"Nice to be acquainted, Velx," He replied, before letting her go on to her broader point. Half of the point of meeting people on the road was to listen.

"I expect they have plenty of Bad in them, as it were," he said darkly. He hadn't seen much on the road, but he had come across the sunbleached remnants of a trading caravan, and that had planted the seed of a grim possibility in his mind. People in this harsh of an environment couldn't afford to be wasteful. What if there wasn't much of anything around because the natives simply didn't leave corpses or wreckage behind after an attack. Everything made of wood could be burnt, everything made of metal could be melted, everything of cloth could be used to make shade structures. These were only suspicions, though, and he didn't want to sound paranoid, so he didn't bring them up. To be certain, one's imagination could be one's own worst enemy, and if she were not marinating in the same fear, there was no sense in spreading it.

"I, ah, have a bit of a map, with landmarks. Such as they are, anyway. Otherwise, I'd be quite lost. I'm no orienteering expert, and I'm no cartographer, either."

He reached into his pocket and retrieved his scrap of vellum with the map on it. It was a bit wine-stained and rumpled, but still legible by the light of the fire.

"So I entered here, from the right side of the map. Finding that rocky outcropping was quite easy -- it looms a bit and there's piss all out here to look at, so I spotted it no problem. The cairns were a bit trickier. Someone had knocked them over, but I found a big pile of stones that looked like they'd been stacked at some point. After that, I was supposed to find a bit of an oasis for refilling the water skins, and, well. I struck out. There were all manner of plants in the area, but the pool was full of wet sand and completely dry. I didn't know if it would be worth it to dig, so I just kept going, and am on short rations for water, now."

"But you can see I'm heading toward an old structure of some kind. It's definitely from the Old Empire, but I don't know much more about it than that it's old, crumbling, and partially submerged in sand. My supposition is that since the interior has been partially mapped, there may be a way into a subterranean part of it that could hold some items of note. The desert can preserve things exceptionally well as long as the sun and sand doesn't get all over them."

He handed her the map to take a look. It wasn't inherently obvious that it was a treasure map. There was no scrawled note on it that said "a fortune awaits you here!!!!" or any such nonsense. So hopefully his cover would hold.

While she studied it, the next question came easily. "What about you? I don't believe you said why you were out here in all of this. Strange place to come without a good reason, I think."