Spring 44th, 512AV Half past eighteenth bell. It was evening by the time Laszlo and his party reached the gates of Kalinor. The lot of them were exhausted from over half a season's worth of travel, and still freshly scarred from the storms and earthquakes that had nearly killed them all some month and a half ago. Not everyone had made it here; there were bodies from their caravan still lying out somewhere in the deep crevasses of the Unforgiving. Every night had been spent fearing the same thing would happen to them again, and frequently they had experienced landslides and searing rivers of volcanic rock—frozen solid from exposure to the Kalean air, but still hot enough to burn a man to cinders. No one, not even the guides and mercenaries Laszlo had hired to bring them here, could believe that they had actually arrived safely in Kalinor. The only way they knew they were still alive, and not wandering some lost realm of the dead, was the tired ache that plagued every inch of their bodies. Kazhi and Ysira, and the rest of their men, hung back at the cavern's entrance to account for all their gear and prepare it for the baskets that would take them into the city. Laszlo was eager to find a bed for Abalia, and speak to a man who should be expecting him. Fortunately, as Leth's light dominated the sky outside, the Ethaefal's Symenestra visage would make entrance into Kalinor quite easy. Especially with a pregnant woman at his side. Somewhat familiar with Kalinor's petition ritual to gain entrance, Laszlo reached into the nearby trough, then tossed a handful of dust into the pit of fire next to it. As the renewed flames hissed and danced, briefly taking on new hues of green and stark gold, Laszlo slipped an arm around Abalia and waited for a guard to descend from the ceiling. "Don't worry," he whispered to her, forcing a confident smile. "Kalinor is very different from Alvadas, but I've been here before. I'll take care of everything." When the guard arrived, Laszlo straightened and offered a respectful nod. "Good evening," he greeted them in practiced Symenos. He couldn't completely mask his accent, but it was not unreasonable that someone gone from Kalinor for an extended amount of time would speak with a different cadence. "We require passage into the city. I would carry her myself, but I'm weary from travel. Besides…" Laszlo gave Abalia a serpentine look, as if inspecting a prize cattle. When he turned back to the Symenestra guard, his eyes stung with hypnotic djed. I'm a fellow Symenestra. Why wouldn't I be trustworthy? they seemed to imply. "She's already withchild. If I dropped my surrogate into the chasm, I'm certain the members of my Web would gut me." OOC: Languages :
|