[Valtoria] The Highway to Hell

[Caladrin]

☾25th Ash, 4621, A.O.I☽

The slave boy had a course planned for Caladrin; he assumed that he knew the land and what he was doing. He simply let him navigate and instruct the boatman as he looked back at his book. He more concentrated on the study material that he was given A Guide to Dangerous Flora: The Wonderous and the Harmful. The title pointed out that he was versed in a much rarer form of magic; one that is associated with the wildlands. It had it's routes in Vendigrad, however it appeared unusual for a Sil'Norai to be in possession of it. Perhaps it was no doubt that his Hyr'Norai stepfather was so inclined to give it to him. Yet, he was so much kinder unlike his biological father. The memories of his father were very little, only to remember a man weathered by war, expecting his boys to be trained in military conduct from a young age.

It was all too much. He stared at the slave boy curiously before he tilts his head "Are you sure you know where you're going?" He asked. Knowing him, he would've improvised a course and ended up in the wrong direction. He may have grew up in Daravin, but the only place that wasn't foreign to him was the province of Couronne. Everywhere else, was completely uncharted territory. He sighed for a moment as he looked at the sun. It was indicating that it was noon-time. However, it appeared that he didnt recognise this place. Did Arkash go to far? Eventually, he began to look around frantically "Oh no, don't tell me... You've gotten us on the wrong boat? Hmm?" He blinked as he took a deep sigh.

The place didn't look right, as they were suppose to only cross the river, instead they took a turn into a more defined area. The desert air hit them as he noticed that the terrain had changed "Great... The Imperial Badlands..." He sighed in frustration knowing that this would not be an easy journey. Caladrin simply placed his book away and into his handbag. He didn't have any weapons on him, but he assumed that his trusty slave boy knew how to handle and take care of his comrade. After all, they were gonna need it for the diabolical journey they were facing. Who knows what might happen. The badlands were called the badlands for a reason. It was a place were hell reigned; a place were the insane built their hideouts. A place of death, destruction and anarchy.

Created by Moop!

[Arkash]

A boat trip across the river? How exciting! Akash had never been on a boat before, he'd always been landlocked in frozen Nivenhain. He knew very little about the land, but he was responsible for taking Caladrin to a place called Amoren, wherever that was. The noble hadn't complained or suggested otherwise when he offered a trip to the docks, so he imagined it was the right direction. So, with the jar of eyes strapped to his back and his own set of eyes wide with wonder, Arkash set foot on a real dock for the first time.
It took some asking around and interpretation for some thicker Gentaverse accents, but he eventually found a boat that would take them to the badlands. Arkash recognized the name only because the Veir in his company had said something about 'Going through the badlands' while Arkash was pinned to the tree. He didn't know what the noble had said because his heartbeat threatened to rupture his eardrums at the time, but he knew they could get to Amoren 'through the badlands'.
After flashing his Master's writ, he was allowed passage. All expenses were covered by the Veir he served, and so was Caladrin's. It took some waiting for some other passengers, who happened to be a rowdy band of leather-dressed, spiked rough-types, but Arkash wasn't one to judge others by looks... unless they were nobility. Even if he didn't judge them by looks, he could judge them by their whooping, howling and screaming. They spoke a lot like he once had, lowborn and poor. If anything, their presence reminded him of Lower Nivenhain, which had always been home to him.
Caladrin seemed too occupied with whatever book he'd gotten his nose stuck in, so Arkash guided him onboard, and they were off. Down the river, upstream. A crew of eight manned the sides to row against the slow current of the river, navigating a little further inland. Arkash watched with keen interest how they all worked to row the oars in time, and how they steered by rowing only on one side. It was fairly impressive, the level of coordination they displayed, though it probably helped that they were all yelling the direction they wished to go, as directed by the captain.
Arkash leaned on the edge of the ship, overlooking the water as the wind blew against them. The crystal blue ripples of tame rapids reflected the light of the sun. The breeze provided by the wind blew his dreadlocks behind him and cooled the sun-born sweat of his brow. The holes in his burlap clothes were a blessing in the whistling winds, as they allowed him to cool quicker, and maintain a more comfortable heat in his skin. He sighed, delighted.
The only complaint he had about the journey was that the rocking motion made him dizzy, tightened his chest, and upset his stomach. He felt as though he'd vomit after a while of it, and his head spun.
Caladrin asked if he knew where he was going, and Arkash furrowed a brow. "Yes, of course, my Veir," he spoke as he softened his gaze, still clinging to the edge of the boat. "You needn't repeat yourself." Just moments after he'd made himself talk, he felt his stomach contract. it was uncomfortable, but without any food to run up his esophagus, he didn't feel the need to hurl. Everything he ate was broken down in seconds; he could never feel full or satisfied. In cases like those, however, such a curse almost looked like a blessing.
Caladrin began to whine and complain when the desert air came upon them. Arkash didn't recognize the smells, he'd never experienced anything like it. Caladrin let out a sound of frustration when he realized where they were headed. Arkash turned his head away to roll his eyes, and his stomach contracted again. A shivering ache ran through his body, and he let out some trapped air quietly to save face. "I don't understand... My Veir," Arkash started, then lifted a balled fist to his own mouth. "...Didn't you want to go through Badlands?" He quizzed, apparently uncertain.
At the smell of desert, those rowdy lot became even rowdier. They yelled, pumped their fists, and brought out the general worst in one another. Arkash frowned, then diverted his eye contact. "Isn't this how we get to Amoren?" He asked the Veir. "Apologies if I misunderstood, your grace," Arkash spoke with a humble bow of his head. But how bad could the Badlands be? "I can ask the captain to turn the boat around if you prefer, my Veir," he offered with a nod, then stood up properly, braced his stomach, then took a step toward the captain when he let his troubled guts go.

Image source.

[Caladrin]

☾25th Ash, 4621, A.O.I☽

The chimings and chirping of birds were a divine sound, but the accompaniment of the babbling baboons of gang members from the Badlands really annoyed Caladrin. He couldn't even hear himself think, nevermind speak. Hang on... I thought we weren't going through the badlands He thought as he side-eyed with worry towards Arkash, wondering if he could actually trust him. What if he was truely working for Raphael, surely he would have his corpse delivered to him for experimentation once he had been done with the scraps. Eventually, he shuffled over as he watched him. The great discomfort on his face could tell that the situation back at the fortress unnerved him. If he was capable of throwing a bulky Sil'Norai male around, imagine what else he could be capable off. Anarchy, murder and even other disgusting territories. Perhaps he had a reason for his behaviour, a recent trauma that had been acquired from his past, a bad childhood. Caladrin was always one to try and see good in people. A naive sense.

But this one proved difficult.

He did not show a simple ounce of fear towards him. After all, he didn't know the man and humans were very much in disguise as other races. For all he knew he could be a Rathor with venomous bite, or a murderous predatory being. Either way, he watched. The boat stopped for a moment as the rowdy badlanders got off, running to their chariots with a bloodlust in their eyes. What scared him the most was he had no chariot. No way to get across the desert other than barefoot. Perhaps this was Arkash's secret plan, to leave the noble Entente on his own, only to fend for himself. His chances of survival would be slim, perhaps the merciful thing that could happen to him was being sold on the lover market. He was Sil'Norai after all, a prized possession and a deeply desired lover. To be Sil'Norai was to be the extender of mortal life. A treasure to the world.

When Caladrin realised that Arkash had taken the turn to the badlands, his annoyance grew as well as his fear. Could he trust him now? The young Entente knew how the Badlands were, hearing the children stories that there were anarchistic men who ate children. Most of that was true, but some of it were fabrications of myth and propaganda. It was to chastise the poorer classes once again and vilify them as their enemies. It appeared that Caladrin had gone the wrong way as he stepped onto the sandy terrain, before gulping with a slight discomfort "Well, we're here now, I don't have a weapon... I'm unprepared so you better watch my back..." He said, knowing that he had to push forward.

What could absolutely go wrong on the way to their adventure? Their goal was to get to Amoren safely and distribute the eyes to Alevea Sil'Othis, Caladrin's mother. However, that didn't seem possible, especially when entering the territories of the once great kingdom of Silor, now nothing but a barren wasteland of their remains.

Corruption and madness.

The fear grew in Caladrin, but he did not let him stop him. As his stepfather taught him "Fear is the catalyst of courage, take that into your battles."

Created by Moop!

[Arkash]

How unfortunate. Arkash had thought he was following his company's words to the letter, but actually did the opposite of what they meant to do. He looked to the gathered rowdy ruffians, speaking some language he didn't understand. Neither he nor Caladrin would be able to tell they were talking about the glory of killing off some rival gang, something to do with pit vipers. They were energized, hyped up either from victory in battle or to go to battle. Either way, morale was high among them.
Arkash couldn't help but notice the fast-beating heart in the depths of the Entente's chest, the draw of breath in his lungs, and the tension of his muscles. He was feeling intensely behind those eyes, even if he tried not to show it. All of his noticings, of course, were while he tried to suppress his motion sickness. "...Is everything well, your grace?" he asked, expecting no immediate response, and left it at that for the rest of the journey across the water.
As the creak of the wooden ship neared the bank of pale sand, Arkash looked upon Caladrin, then looked back out to the landscape ahead of him. Two tall walls of stone almost seemed to gate the sprawling sea of sand on the horizon, and before that was a half-sunk cobble path, littered with debris and dry bones of various lengths and shapes. Dark clouds flashed stark violet lightning in the distance, in contrast to the bright blue skies that seemed to stretch endlessly over the river. Those that knew it would recognize the storm of corruption raging ahead.
Arkash stared wide-eyed into the distance and breathed deeply through his nose. He'd never seen land like that, so smooth and coarse at the same time, rolling outward so far away. Was this the badlands? More commands were yelled by the captain, and the front four rowers got up to jump overboard into the shallow blue waters and tied the ship to some pegs that lay hammered into the ground. When it was stable, the other two lifted and laid out a ramp for the passengers to descend.
As the gang descended the ramp, Arkash turned his gaze to the Captain, then tried to negotiate some return voyage, but between the thick accent and the howling of the badlanders, Arkash could only make out something about stopping for fishing, hours and no passage back. Meanwhile, Caladrin would be in line of sight with those badlanders as they pulled some dried foliage canvas off some hidden alcove that hid their chariots. It might have struck him that it was a regular trip for them, as they came so prepared.
"We can't go back," Arkash declared before they got off the ship. "They're staying docked for some fishing, something about the captain's birthday?" he scratched his chin, then shrugged. "If you think this is the best way to Amoren though, I won't question you, your grace." With that, he clambered down the ramp and adjusted the straps of his backpack just in time to see and hear the deafening, mechanical growl of those engines. The ferocity at which the chariots ripped through the wasteland in the brief stretch out of their hiding cave, and the waves of dust and sand they kicked up on the hard left that drove them between the two bordering pillars, into the desert, and into the storm, all left him rigid with fear.
Arkash shook a little in wake of that display. Who would create something so monstrous? So loud. So heavy and fast. How easily could they obliterate someone? He eventually got over his trembling and lifted his led-legs to move all the way down the ramp. "...I've never seen so much sand," he spoke quietly, then set his bare feet on the hot ground with a slight curl of his nose. it hurt at first, but he'd get used to it.
When they were both on the sand, he looked to the noble, then cleared his throat. He looked up and used his hand to shield his eyes while he got a position for the sun. It was almost in range of setting, which was to the east? He didn't know. Arkash furrowed his brow. "So, where is Amoren from here, your grace?" he asked with a turn of his head. "I admit I'm not the best navigator, but I'll protect you." With that, he walked forward onto the hot cobbled path, and wandered into the same direction that the badlanders had ridden. He wondered how many days walking it would be, how often he'd get the chance to eat and drink.
In a way, he was glad that they wouldn't get back on any boats. Walking was certainly his preferred method of travel. He stared with wonder as he entered the short canyon that safeguarded the desert from the river, and looked up at the contrast of the sky on the dark stone. A clatter beneath his foot broke his focus, and he looked down to find he'd stepped through the yellowed femur of... Some creature; snapped through the middle. Keeping his back straight, he dipped to collect the longer end of the bone and inspected the inside. Hollow. No doubt it was old. A glance put his eye back on the storm in the distance, the darkness of the sky above the shaded dunes.
Arkash knew nothing of the corrupted storms, he knew nothing of corruption at all. Even so, he knew he didn't want to venture through there. It came down to the hope that the storm would dissipate before they ventured through, or that they would somehow go around it. But given how hot the ground was, and how little they'd brought to drink, Arkash didn't know if that was an option. A glance over his shoulder set his eyes on the noble, and he gave a brief nod. "Let's hope for a safe journey," he declared, then pushed forward into the open, burning desert, abandoning the comfort of the shade that the canyon provided.
The sun on his skin was intense. it all but boiled the sweat of his brow and roasted his features all but noticeably. He shut his eyes tight and lifted a hand to shield his eyes. Onward he pressed, fighting the shift of sands beneath his feet. His hands clasped the broken bone tight, it was all he could produce as a means of offense without exposing his mark.

Image source.

[Caladrin]

☾25th Ash, 4621☽

The patronising tongue from the slave boy, made Caladrin feel even worse. It was almost as if Raphael was staring into his soul, lecturing him on organs and what not. As soon as he thought of it, the disturbing image of Raphael snapping at him, or even throwing a sarcastic and sardonic remark for the way he held his sinew gun. How Nostalgic. Those words rung his mind yet again as the sudden eyeroll before he said something out loud, like he was thinking "I swear if that egotistical little brat says anything like that to me again, I'll shove the sinew gun straight up his jacksy!" He said out loud as the badlanders looked at him funny whilst upon the boat. He blinked for a moment "Sorry, poetry..." He said as an excuse as the fear levels increased inside of him as well as the anger of him being patronised.

He calmed himself as the Badlanders moved their stares and hopped on their bikes; another moment of sadness for Caladrin as he shook his head "I guess we'll have no choice but to walk through this forsaken pitted land" He said looking at his feet. As much to his annoyance, he pushed on further. The conversation between the two men was lacking as if they were opposed to each other; it appeared that in some cases the Candor might do some bidding here. He brushed his elegant finery as he sighed as he treaded along the desert "Oh, praise Ulen for a chariot..." He added as he looked at the slave boy for a moment "I should make a chariot out of you for going the wrong way, but... I'm not gonna be as petty as Raphael is... Bastard." The pure disdain upon his face as he stopped for a moment.

He noticed five smaller figures up ahead as they appeared to be armed with rifles, axes and swords, brandished from the mere ores in the area. Caladrin squinted until a sudden realisation occurred. They were badlanders. His eyes widened as he looked back at Arkash "Oh dear... RUN!" He screamed as he took the road in the opposite direction, grabbing Arkash by the arm as he ran as fast as he could. The raiders came and circled them one by one like sharks, laughing like hyenas. They stopped throwing bolas at Caladrin and Arkash as they were both taken down and slumped at the back of a chariot "Great one, this is what you get FOR GETTING US KILLED! YOU THINK I AM GOING! ANYWHERE!"

"QUIET AND DOWN!"

"NO! I REFUSE TO REMAIN SILENT! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" Caladrin was immediately gagged, muffling his screaming and shouting as he looked at Arkash, further cussing at him through gag. He had already remained unimpressed. It was gonna be a everlasting ride for both the two travelers who had very little in common.

"That's one Sil'Norai and a slave boy... Ha, could better... This one is noble though, hefty price..." He said with laughter as they drove the chariot, laughing like drunk madmen across the desert.

Created by Moop!

[Arkash]

Despite all the curses Arkash had learned in his time on Nivenhain's streets, he'd never heard of a jack's eye, whatever that was. The Sinew Gun, he imagined was that gun that Raphael was using to spray that milky substance over an open wound. Was that Sinew, then? Arkash could but guess. "Very poetic, my Veir," he returned at the apology, taking every opportunity to address Caladrin in a way that he did not wish to be addressed.
Ulen, he thought while they walked through the sun, hard light beating on his rags and skin. Ulen was the God in the land that they walked, openly worshipped and accepted as the one true God above all the Living Gods that taelian had told him about. If anything, he had reason to believe that the Living Gods were seen as inferior or even as charlatans in comparison. Taelian was big on those guys, he would hate it in Daravin... if he still lived.
Directionless, his thoughts bounced from one topic to the other. The cause? The fluid he was bleeding at all hotspots on his human body. It was only then that Arkash began to realize just how impossible of a task they faced. He couldn't survive without access to water, not in that environment. He'd known something had happened to his body when he found himself dehydrated after just a few hours in Lorien of all climates, and he resolved not to go without water for more than two hours at a time. he didn't fully understand what caused him to heat up more than other humans, but thought his luck rotten. he froze in Lorien and fried in Daravin. Of all the cruel fates whatever Gods could bestow upon him, it would be that he could never find comfort.
Make a chariot out of Arkash? Like with necromancy or...? He shook his head, sweat running down his cheek from his temple as his body desperately tried to cool itself. "I'm afraid I won't do, Ser... My bones cannot possibly support you." He spoke with a grin while he faced forward, away from the noble. "If I were made of steel, I might make a suitable chariot for you... But even then, I fear I might buckle under the weight of... The task." Was he mean? He felt mean- and incredibly witty. But by the living did it feel GOOD to insult the nobility.
"You're not fond... of my Master, are you?" He asked, at last, looking over his shoulder with a brow that glistened under the light of the sun. It felt as though he was melting, almost purple in the face as his maroon blood tinted his skin in strange ways. "I'd be lying if I said I reject your sentiment..." he admit as he turned to face forward. What was that? The whisp of an ounce of empathy from the Rathor? His brain must have really been fried.
Such was even more obvious when he failed to notice the approaching chariots and his reaction to being circled by the whooping and howling maniacs. If anything, he was more glad that his time in the sun would be over. Even if it meant death, it was better than taking another step. He willingly submit himself to their binds, even when the noble in his company was ranting and raving with some form of rage, Arkash simply complied and allowed himself to be taken. On the back of the chariot, under the sun, Arkash began to drift, and the loud thrum of the motor engine whisked him off to sleep, deafened by his dehydrated stupor.

Image source.

[Nyx]

Thread Review

Arkash

Regular Experience: 8 EXP

Magical Experience: N/A

Injury/Ailments: Dehydration, Heatstroke

Awarded Lore:
[*] Rhetoric: Call people fat without calling them fat
[*] Rhetoric: Politely diss your keeper
[*] Survival: Too much sun is a bad thing
[*] Survival: Pack lightly on long journeys
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[*] [PC] Caladrin: Wanted to go to the badlands, then got upset when you took him to the badlands
[*] [PC] Caladrin: 0 survival instinct
[*] [PC] Caladrin: Would rather read his book than keep an eye on where he's going
[*] [PC] Caladrin: Wants to make a chariot out of you, but is much too heavy

Loot: N/A

Caladrin

Regular Experience: 8 EXP

Magical Experience: N/A

Injury/Ailments: N/A

Awarded Lore:
Ettiquette: Trying to pass off an outburst
Ettiquette: Ignoring insults
Survival: First time in the badlands.
Survival: The heat is something
Survival: Getting through dehydration.

[PC] Arkash: Survivalist
[PC] Arkash: Proceeds to call me Veir, like a subservient pet.
[PC] Arkash: A little brat.
[PC] Arkash: Rien accent, unusual in Daravin.
[PC] Arkash: He's more than just a slave boy if he can throw me off like that, what else is he capable of?

Loot: N/A


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