The Precipice: Part...

[Taelian Edevane]

18th of Frost, Year 4621

He had spent the last few days preparing for the journey. Contrary to what he believed, actually determining a location suitable to leap from had been difficult. All of his trial runs had resulted in significant devastation, and a noise so loud that it seemed to echo for miles. It was a booming sound, one that curled inward only to release outward attached to a stream of kinetic force. Taelian practiced Interplanar Resonance multiple times as he awaited their departure, with the first trials yielding results that almost culminated in his death. The last time -- the trial that actually saw success -- an Orkhai emerged through his portal, forcing him to take up arms and slaughter the crimson-skinned thrall as it brandished its blade and roared.

Bel was horrifying. He had only been allowed a brief glimpse inside, and already he began to question the purpose of his journey. Getting in would be far easier than returning. Taelian had three more Resonators stored in his satchel, but if they lost those, the only way through would either be to create more (and thus risk Mageblight) or to find a Barrengate. He was absolutely unwilling to try the latter.

With a telescope-like object standing upright at the edge of a hill, Taelian settled the last Resonator into its slot, turning on one of the dials before connecting the three ethereally. He wore a black, velvet-textured fabric over much of his body, sleek and clinging to his form with silver armor running along much of the length. The majority of his chest, nearly all of his arms and his upper and lower legs were covered in this silver plate, with a claymore attached to his back -- Ard Fuil.

His backpack filled with water and rations, and a satchel attached to each side, he appeared as ready as he could get. The only thing he lacked was a bedroll; Taelian refused to sleep out in the open. Not in Bel. If they could not find the chasm on the first day of their travels, they would either need to deprive themselves of rest or return to Atharen.

With the Resonators fully prepared, the man nodded, his features reshaping into a stale grimace. He knew he would need to shake off those last vestiges of hesitation, but he couldn't yet. Maybe, he thought, it would be easier when Arkash came.

He had left the other man a letter, which he would receive upon meeting with Harald. Specific directions to the hill he had been utilizing were within, as well as how quickly he expected him to arrive. Until then, Taelian meditated beneath the sun's surveying eye, taking in the warm glow as he tried to clear himself of worry. The one Orkhai he'd met had been a fearsome warrior. Dregs were even moreso -- and almost all of them were violent. It was the way of that plane; demented, spiteful and raw. There was clearly nothing worse than a Living God scorned. He only hoped his father was not the same, and equally that he would give him the time of day. Taelian had turned his back on him once, by choosing to let his gift slide.

"It'll be alright," he muttered to himself. "Just... breathe."

[Arkash]

A note of all things. Arkash would have waited for Taelian to return if it weren't for the fact that they were meant to be leaving for Bel soon. Upon discovering the written scrap, Arkash had resolved to try and find the man in case it was important for their departure. Maybe some instructions on what to bring, like a bedroll or something?

He couldn't read. Perhaps he hadn't mentioned so to the Elf, or perhaps he'd simply forgotten? Arkash shrugged absently while he walked through the plains, wearing the set of noble attire he'd worn for the Soiree. At his hip was a black sword of jagged serrations that jutted from the hardened spine.

In one hand was the note Taelian had given him, in the other? A used sock; Taelian's used sock. He would use that to find the man, he resolved.

The smell of elf clung to the fabric well; Arkash had no problem collecting enough of a sample to staple his focus; an anchor to gauge his sense of smell upon when trailing the man.

In his true form, Arkash held the sock ahead of him and flicked his forked tongue in its direction to catch the scents it held. After withdrawing the pointed sensory organ, he lowered the sock and flicked his tongue repeatedly to try and catch something similar, a hint of where the man might have gone. When the breeze blew by him, carrying that smell, he turned his head sharply in the Couronne street and began to make his way through the roads and avenues in search of the smell's source.

When the scent took him out of town, Arkash worried. Was he holding a ransom note? Maybe a message that Taelian was leaving for Lorien or something? He didn't know.

Through the rolling fields that circled the city, Arkash paused at the occasional tree to regather the scent, then adjust his course when he discovered he was off center. The grass did well to cling to the smell of the elf, and Arkash occasionally lowered to a crouch to flick his tongue at the floor and gather the scents that laid snared.

If it weren't for the quality of the pants that covered his knees, he would have taken a knee in the tall grass to inspect the earth, but instead settled for squatting and feeling about the ground. He found the odd impression of some oversized feet, the depth of the print indicated someone significantly heavy had come through. That, combined with the path of the scent, confirmed that Arkash was going the right way.

His brow furrowed while his thoughts deepened, and he rose to stand upright and glanced about the tall grass before he continued his pursuit.

Eventually, the sound of resonance became apparent to him, and Arkash's eyes widened with worry. Was Taelian in a fight? Was another mage dueling him? His nose curled a little, and he began to run with the Elf's sock clutched tight in his fistful of claws. The paper flexed and wrinkled against the force of the air that came with his speed, but he didn't slow down until he made it high enough on the hill that he could see some blurred shape in the distance. A flick of his tongue drew Taelian's scent again, and Arkash squinted.

There was only one silhouette, where was Taelian's opponent?

He began his approach and drew near the elf while he blasted his apparatus with those distinguishable soundwaves. "Taelian!" He called over the roar of magic. "Are you alright? You left this note!" He said as the full detail of Taelian's figure came into focus against his shortsighted gaze. "What are you doing?!" He called in confusion and some degree of impatience.

The tension in his stance relayed that he was worked up, and the sound didn't seem to help. He stood with his claws curled and his head down, misty eyes focused intently on the man. "I can't read, by the way! I used your sock to find you!" He explained with a wave of the garment that was caught in his claws.

Image source.