Stranger than Fiction (Eridanus)

[Sighard]

Winter 7th, 511 A.V.

Outside the Ayalasa Caverns; Early Morning

The Ayalasa Caverns appeared ever more haunting and forbidding when veiled by a thin film of snow and covered by the hanging, claw-like limbs of surrounding conifers. It once held an enigmatic appeal that was beautified by the lush green mystique of the surrounding forestry. Now, it seemed only death surrounded the petrified structures. Their great circular openings absorbed the cold breezes and spewed them out in haunting melodies which dissolved the nerves of those who passed. Even great men clad in metal skin did not like to dwell on the area for they knew all too well the tales of things that roamed the wilderness. It was another thing entirely to consider the entities that lurked miles within the stretches of the ancient structure.

A young man who was perceivably bulky trotted carefully through the shallow rocky chasm that fed into the mouth of the cave. He was draped in furs which wrapped tightly about his plate armor and he seemed almost the size of the several knights which surrounded him. A scarf was draped along the lower half of his face and nicely masked the scowl which acknowledged both the haunting bellow of the caves and the stinging pinch of cold air. His cheeks were flushed a brilliant red and his eyes were lifeless and tired. The glories of being a knight were few and far between, and he’d found the majority of his time placed into mundane tasks such as patrol or cleanup. It almost made him miss the excruciating pain of physical training.

Sighards lack of awareness caused the mount he sat upon to fumble upon a rather large piece of loose rock and whinny in dismay. He jerked his reins tightly to force the steed from rearing him off and it stubbornly neighed, snapping its head back and continuing onwards. The little display earned him a reprimand from his Patrol Leader who continued to drone on about the value of horses and how he the knights could not afford irresponsible squires. Embarrassment caused his features to flush a deeper red and he quickened his pace to gain momentum along a ridge that pushed upwards along the chasm. All around him loose chunks of dirt and rock tumbled into the precipice below and created an echo which caught along the walls of the cave and forced them to carry.

“It’s high time the Knights scouted those tunnels. Could be they are useful to our cause.” A Sergeant Knight at the rear of the patrol line offered in a scratch baritone. He looked thoughtfully towards the caves with his one good eye before continuing on along with the group. Nobody was right willing to take him up on the suggestion.

About a quarter of an hour of encircling the caverns gave the young squire greater insight as to the propensity of the caves. While there was one dominating entrance that the group had passed just a while ago, he could make out several prominent holes carved roughly into the bed of rock that lead winding passages into utter darkness. Trails, long since overgrown crossed elegantly against each other in networks that were shrouded in brown foliage and were marked by the impressive prints of hundreds of horses that had worn them well over the years. He traveled along it with the group, wondering how many times his father and ancestors had walked these paths. He wondered how many were courageous enough to step into the Ayalasa Caverns to uncover its mysteries and what sort of monstrous things had lied dormant within its recesses.

These thoughts lead into darker images of apparitions and ghostly, haunting men guarding the trails. Such fantastic images were not the taste for the young squire who felt queasy and bent slightly to accommodate the sudden pain in his stomach. Cold mixed with fear did not rest easy on the boy’s soul. Even the fine blade which rested at his hip did little to provide comfort. The seven blades which guarded each other were none the better for the cause either.

A day later the group had returned, shivering slightly, to the main road which wound it's way to the gates of Stormhold. Although they were still surrounded by the rising beams of dead wood that appeared to be untamed wilderness, the large stretch of dirt gave the illusion of safety and protection. Sighard's pace had increased considerably with the rest of the group in a last effort to reach the warmth and safety of his home. In the back of his mind he did remember the peculiarity of the cavern, and it's contemplative mystery.

[Eridanus]

Day 8, Winter of 511 AV
Early Morning
Road to Syliras

The group had travelled a long way since Sunberth, but they were very close to Syliras, and the increased presence of patrolling knights and the encroaching signs of civilization as they progressed served as great morale boosters to them that they were indeed close to their goal. Once they reached the city, they would probably rest for a day or two before taking the ship across the treacherous Suvan to their destination.

It took them several more bells before they actually reached the city, and when they were finally in the city, having settled their administrative matters such as meeting times and resting their horses in the stables and whatnot, Eridanus finally heaved a sigh of relief at getting to rest properly in civilization. Though authoritative in their dealings, the Syliran Knights that policed the the peace of their city zealously more or less helped to deter random crime greatly, and for once he could fully let go and relax unlike in the anarchy that was Sunberth where he had to keep his guard up even while asleep.

He had not been here in quite a while, and so he thought he might visit his old master, the local spiritist Whisper Addison, and pay his respects. However, his tired demeanour meant that he was not really in a mood for meeting people and so he decided to head towards the serene place he always sought for peace of mind when he was in Syliras: the Stone Gardens.

Upon his arrival there, he found the place more crowded than it was at night, but it was normal, for most of the people here were tourists or travellers, here to see the sights and go on to more interesting places. He headed towards a more empty spot in the stone gardens, where there was a slight elevation in the ground that allowed one to sit on the cliff while hanging one's legs over the ground. Noting wryly that it was here where he met the philosophical Mazirion, an Isurian blacksmith a few years back, he lifted himself and sat on that same cliff, overlooking the crowd of people milling about dispassionately.

The mortals were like random insects, moving about their own business, and he doubted most of them were here for the same reason as he - meditation and relaxation. His tumultuous past did not afford him peace of mind and so he often resorted to meditation to prevent himself from dwelling on negative and destructive thoughts. Over the years, the technique became an integral part of him and in everything he did, and he found that it calmed his thoughts and allowed him a clarity that he did not possess before he chanced upon this art.

Eridanus easily cleared his mind of thoughts, though the ease might have came from his fatigue, for his usually hyperactive mind was now exhausted from the wear-and-tear of constant, rushed travelling which was caused in no part by the agents of Ionu who constantly hurried them in order to reach their city as soon as possible. It would do well for some rest and recreation, though the former would come first if he was to enjoy any of the latter. Looking over the cliff, he casually observed the crowds of people and silently wondered which of them were locals and which of them were non-residents like himself.

[Sighard]

The cacophony of grating metal greeted the oncoming group, a wary, but slow procession of bumbling knights that trundled from earthen ground to cobble streets which purported the continuous, aggravated sound of hoof to stone, a symphony of discordant trots which marked the progression and eventual end to their patrol. The patrol leader reeled about on his steed, splaying the eloquent fur cloak outwards in rippling fashion and exposing gilded armor etched with elaborate, runic curvings. His gaze, a castigating firestorm which consumed and dominated those under his command, was thrown outwards simply before he jerked a plated gauntlet into the air, dismissing those fine gentlemen from his company, squires included. Their long, arduous, journey had come to a conclusion, and naught was left but the organizational factors to which Sighard was thankfully not privy to.

His steed was returned and he’d resigned to the comfort of his home for a meal and quiet conversation with his mother, who mused over the reddening flush of her son’s cheeks and the veracity with which he ate his food. Their quarters were cozy, enough to comfortably accommodate a family of five and give privacy to those who sought it. Though no natural light did stream in, the fireplace burned eternally as it was cared for by the painstaking efforts of the squire’s mother and brothers and sisters. Small children ambled in, echoing humorous, simple musings that forced the squire to laugh.

Heavy were his eyelids though, and the sentiment of screaming, boisterous children only lasted as long as his humor. Fatigue demanded peace, rest, otherwise the boy found his mood soured and his efforts lessened. He decided, with a quick move from his chair, to amble about the streets and mingle in a more controlled setting. Sivir only knew the consequences of him not taking the opportunity to rest when given, and to head to his next training session under duress. Several bruises and scars paid homage to the fact that a man utilized his time to rest well, and that they did not exert unnecessary energy in the meanwhile.

Several minutes accorded to the travel of Sighard, in which he integrated himself into the currents of Syliras and passed amiably through the crowds to his destination, branching off at a less occupied area that offered, in its breadth, a view of a splendid, revered terrace. His eyes were drawn immediately to the ground for his mind had already registered the importance of the Stone Gardens and the history which held in each one of its cemented rocks. Those Belelds long passed rested here, immortalized within a place of tranquility to forever rest with their brothers in arms. I will rest here one day as well. . .

The thought was as eerie as it was glory-bound, causing gooseflesh to rise along the nape of his neck as he carefully navigated the winding gardens. He became absorbed in the etchings, felt them become alive under his foot and manifest as the knights themselves, reaching out to him and echoing their tales. Gingerly, he accorded a softer step, fearful that he might disturb some apparition in one of the stones. Though it was a far-fetched myth, there was certainly an otherworldly gravity to the place which offset some just slightly.

The dead were a sacred, powerful matter indeed.
And finally he stopped, drawn to the peculiar frame which seemed stranger than most. The boy immediately had known he was foreign, for his general knowledge of the people of Syliras had granted him this advantage. Travelers were not so alien a cause to him, however, and he accorded them all the formalities of a guest.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” Sighard offered, having caught the lingering gaze of Eridanus and nodding softly in his direction, splaying dusty blonde locks to sweep messily over his features.

[Emblem]

Congratulations! You Get Glorious Experience! Eridanus Skills Meditation- 1 XP Lores Watching The Masses Comments : Shame this couldn't get very far, but I gave you what I could muster. Hopefully it makes sense, and if not, PM me.