[Act 1 - The Departure] The Blue Horizon & Beyond (Invite)

[Gossamer]

Timestamp: 10th of Summer, 510 AV Meeting Place: Temple of All Gods Reason: Expedition to Wind Reach Status: Contact me to join - open enrollment over. He'd posted the notice throughout town and spread the word among caravan leaders to see if any of their mercenaries were interested. Then, on the tenth of Summer, Glav had his things all packed and down at the port waiting on board the Blue Horizon. The Temple was all packed up, and it was with a sad feeling in his heart he had at last held a lengthy meeting with Loren Dyres. The truth was with all the operatives of his enemies in the city, he wasn't safe here any longer. One larger faction had been eliminated recently, but the very fact that they were here gave him pause. Time was of great importance now. It would be up to the Syliran Knights to protect the Wind Oak. He had, in fact, just one more visit to make from it as he left the city. He'd take his companions with him - to be judged - and present them to the Oak. Sometimes it was helpful. More often than naught, however, the Wind Oak was silent. Loren had agreed. It was necessary. So, as he waited, hopeful that someone would respond to his add, he said his prayers and had several visits of his own. New things were tucked into his cloak or adoring his person - things that old friends and indeed new ones had presented. He had a copper bracelet on now. It gleamed with a white gem that seemed milky and mysterious because its internal form tended to waiver and transmute. A belt encircled his waist with a wooden buckle that was nondescript. It replaced the hemp rope belt he'd worn just bells before. Sturdy traveling boots adorned his feet, and he looked determined in his ability to trod overland unencumbered. A deep black oilskin cloak drapped across the back of the last pew along with his small pack - a pack filled with personal stuff he didn't trust on the boat by itself. And he had a ledger out at a small table, set up by the doorway of the Temple just inside its foyer. Anyone entering to sign up for the adventure would see it immediately and understand that there was to be an interview - probably an intense one - as well as a reckoning of how that said individual could help and why indeed they wanted too. There had already been, earlier that morning, several folks that had stopped by. Some he'd spoken too and they'd readily agreed to go. Other's he'd gently turned away with a soft smile of understanding and a small little lecture of how ineffective it was to run away from one's problems. Still others had turned their noses up at the salary and demanded more money. He'd simply smiled a patient smile and shook his head softly no... that there was no more coin. The adventure, he'd claimed, would be far and above what the base salary he paid would be. If they did not accept the fact, he had no place for them on the ship. Glav made no issue of race, sex, or age. He didn't care. He simply wanted to know what the people who applied had to offer. And when they entered, he would smile and simply say... "Greetings. And who might you be? Come to inquire on the expidition, have you? Well, tell me a little bit about yourself and why you want to come. What skills do you have to offer? Or are you just simply along for the trip?" He'd say. When they gave him more information, he'd gladly ask them more questions.

[Torc Ironwood]

For Torc the journey from Zeltiva to Syliras was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Torc realized that Zeltiva was rich in knowledge, culture, and beautiful women. However it lacked the one thing he craved a sense of belonging. For an entire season Torc worked and lived in Zeltiva, he had a decent position at the university, could ask a number of good looking women to a drink, but it wasn’t were he belonged. The university had thousands of books, a great expanse of knowledge that held secrets. Yet that knowledge stood stale, no one worked for each other, they worked for fame and the fortune it brought. Strangely, Torc had reflected on his life in the Temple of Kelwyn as the Spring drew to a close. The Temple needed his knowledge and work to help orphans. They needed his work and knowledge to better themselves; he belonged because their needs helped mold him. Torc had decided upon moving as soon as he read the flyer and did research on Wind Reach. Wind Reach wasn’t a land of plenty; it was a land that struggled every day for existence. A city built from the ashes of Valterrian, people shaped by a God to make their way in a harsh land. They had been abandoned by the world, and had struggled to find their place in a world gone mad. Perhaps it was the dream of struggle; Kelwyn had been such a large presence for him that the need of the city moved him more than anything else. It was a need inside of him that echoed the idea of their need. So he spent a afternoons packing up his belongings and talking to a horse merchant in renting a ride to Syliras. For a boy that had never seen a large city in his life, Torc was about to see three in less than a year. It was an idea that was so foreign to him that it stilled fear to his core. He didn’t have a dream of grand views and thousands of people around him. His dream was small, a wife and children, a simple forge and people who depended on him in a small community. It was a simple dream, that was like a blanket to him in dark nights spent alone in bed. The horse’s stamina held up as Torc rode it on the road, he eat dry pack rations and kept a simple blanket for bedding. The season was approaching summer and he had little need of blankets, while he slept under the stars. The world seemed smaller and better as he looked up at the nights sky. Torc’s dreams of a simple family seemed rich with soft touches and sounds of children in a stone room. It wasn’t till the fourteenth day, that upon seeing Syliras on the horizon that fear of losing his dreams came to him. Torc arrived in Syliras and headed to the Temple of the Gods, asking for directions from numerous people. As he moved through the city, he was surprised not just by its color, but the different tone that it had. Zeltiva was like starving fat man, his attention on consuming whatever food to keep him alive. Yes, Zeltiva with its greasily feel and look of dying greed in its eyes. This city had a feel of constant movement, a taste of veiled contempt with airs of danger. Torc felt the clean trade streets with bright colors and shops that boasted every trade under the sun. He also saw the dark alleyways and broken buildings of business that died from their brethren. There were building that had grand sculpture, and shacks that housed several families. In its diversity, it screamed attention to the grand while trying to cover its deformities. Torc arrived at the Temple of the Gods to see a table in the foyer. Torc shook his head at the grandiose airs the temple had. The Gods were made for all, and this edifice was impressive, but not for the men who toiled around them. It spoke of greed and power, as if the priests relied on that instead of simple help of an offered hand, they needed to rely on the power of the building to impress obience. He felt so small and the Gods and Goddesses were there to make a man feel hope not fear. The gods asked for genuine worship, not the flaunting of money to appease them. Torc walked up the stairs with his heavy burdened pack and looked at table and opened journal. The man behind the table was understated, and for some reason that alone felt right to Torc. The man in a cloaked robe spoke. "Greetings. And who might you be? Come to inquire on the expidition, have you? Well, tell me a little bit about yourself and why you want to come. What skills do you have to offer? Or are you just simply along for the trip?" He'd say. “Greetings,” Torc spoke, he gave his voice an air of confidence, which was not felt in his stomach. “I am Torc Ironwood, a blacksmith and magecrafter. However, I have extensive knowledge in Glyphing and carry with me several dictionaries for complex technical glyphs. As far as why I am going… I want to help them, Wind Reach I mean. I don’t want to bring them culture or some grand ideas, I want to use my two hands and help them. I want to build something to ease the pains of many, not just play smith to the rich. I am willing to work hard lifting whatever, or cataloging any minerals or magecrafting catalysts we come across. I want to be part of a community that needs me.” Torc had an intense look as if this wasn’t just a chance, but part of his destiny. He could feel his large muscles flex and his thin wispy eyebrows squeeze together. Why was this so important to him? Need, it was the most simple of answers and the one that felt right.

[Sharn]

Syliras was short-lived. No, it wasn't to say that the great fortress city was reduced to rubble or was raided and all soldiers and civilians alike were slaughtered. It merely meant that it was but a very small stepping stone in Sharn's life. He came one day, and leaves it behind only days later as he caught sight of a flyer. "Wind Reach", that's what it spoke of, and though the purpose of the trip was vague, if mentioned at all in the flyer, Sharn was interested. He craved to be around and near other humanoids, to learn of them, about them, and hopefully from them. The large Jamoura, who was two inches shy of eight full feet, was a large creature, not one easily stood up against even for a skilled fighter. The Jamoura was peaceful though. Provocation of anger was not an easy task when it came to this being. He favored things like knowledge, arts, and he spent several hours daily in writing, honing the skills to a point where he surpassed most natives at their own written language, and he did this with significantly larger hands. Sharn, long before he left Syliras to travel to the temple, decided he would offer his services as a defender and writer, as well as physical labor (which would be likely since his kind easily held the strength of ten humans). Really, he would accept any job, he would accept the offered price. And even though the primary purpose of the trip was unknown by him (although assumptions were made) he was certain as to what his own purpose would be. Writing. He would write about the journey, beginning to end (either his own or the journey's) and he would soak up any possible knowledge as often as it was offered. Sharn had first stepped into the temple only sixty seconds (give or take) after the man, Torc, had arrived. Thankfully so as well because Sharn was able to follow the man straight to Priest, Glav. The Jamoura waited patiently as Torc was questioned and gave his answers, and though he intentionally kept his brown eyes leaping from object to object, place to place, around the temple, his attention was undivided, listening to their conversation. He was curious after all. Sharn's curiosity was rewarded as well. The man told about himself. A Blacksmith, a mage crafter, and glyphing, three things that genuinely intrigued the Jamoura. If they both managed to be selected for this trip, Sharn would make sure to converse with this man, Torc Ironwood, often. It would be rude to impose, that he had to remember. Politeness cannot be overshadowed by haste, it caused for dislike fairly often. Sharn's mind wandered as he half listened to Torc's remaining words, and the reason he gave was noble, selfless entirely. Such an honorable man. Assuming he spoke the truth, Sharn felt a great amount of respect this the human, a man that offered up his own life for that of hard physical labor to help those that he could not be certain would accept him. Sharn found himself no longer wandering the temple with his gazes, but staring at the back of Torc's head, as if that would allow the communication of the two telepathically. He wanted to pat him on the shoulder, to tell him how impressed he was even though he didn't know him, and how he hoped they could learn from each other, but he held his tongue. More important matters were to be taken care of, such as getting on the team to reach Wind Reach. After questions were answered and reasons were sorted, Sharn was next, and was asked the very same phrase, almost identically, pitch for pitch, word for word, as the Priest asked Torc. "And who might you be? Come to inquire on the expidition, have you? Well, tell me a little bit about yourself and why you want to come. What skills do you have to offer? Or are you just simply along for the trip?" The Jamoura man reached behind his head and scratched a moment, the rising itch that often attacked him in moments of brief anxiety. "I am Sharn, a Jamoura Male, and I am most interested in this expedition. I am, as you have probably already notice, almost eight feet tall, and five-hundred plus three-quarters of another hundred pounds in weight. My reasons for being here today, I admit, are not as selfless as this man's, but I feel are important none-the-less, and to me is priceless. I wish to learn, about the people of Wind Reach, their society, their language, their favored Gods. I wish to know their lifestyle, and to write it down, to record everything I can fit into the empty pages of a few books I have collected. I wish to learn about their skills, their trades, and perhaps learn how to perform them as they do." Sharn paused as he took a moment to allow his works to settle, then began again. "My skills, I admit, may lack in comparison as to what you may require. I can write, and I strive to do so neatly. I can, though prefer not to, fight with my hands, and I have significant strength with very few possess. I could do any sort of laborious jobs you may have." Sharn wanted to say more, but he felt he was already eating up too much time, and his piece was already spoken, so he simply bowed his head and took a step back. Surely the priest would like to speak to Torc first.

[Carthin]

Uncertainty- that was the best way to explain the thoughts, feelings, and general buzzing that seemed to be settling down within the young hero's head. He was standing in front of the Temple of All Gods, a flyer rolled and held tightly in his right hand. It was perfect- a priest in need of some protection. Like his father had always said- start off small and build your way up. What better way to start than a bodyguard? Anyway, it was a chance for him to get out of here- to start exploring the world and seeing all that it had to offer... In all honesty, Carthin hadn't been trying as hard as he should have to find heroic deeds to accomplish... He'd been avoiding people that seemed in need of assistance, and instead elected to prance about the city for some time, taking in the atmosphere, and generally wasting his own time. When the flyer came to him- quite literally as it had been blown onto him by a breeze -Carthin took it as a sign. Perhaps from the gods, perhaps from fate, and perhaps from nothing at all. Regardless, he felt it was his duty to at least meet with the priest... He'd awoke that morning with a sigh, dressed himself in his leather armor, and equipped himself with his various weapons. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to dress this way- he doubted there would be any sort of test. Carth simply felt that if he was going to try selling himself as a warrior, he might as well try to look the part. Standing in front of the temple, though, he found himself missing something... the will to actually start the journey. His father would have no doubt had a hundred anecdotes to tell. For whatever reason, the youth felt uneasy... though why, he could not imagine. It was a simple add, a simple request for defenders from a man about to make a dangerous journey. It was absolutely normal- completely pedestrian. Eventually, Carth was passed by another man. Well, perhaps not man. He had the look about him of someone Carth's age, perhaps a bit younger. He was about the same height, if not slightly shorter. The large, glaring difference between them, though, was the fact that the new, black-haired person seemed to be built like an ox- they were a heaping mass of muscle that walked along with lumbering strength. The young hero clenched his teeth, remembering the months of exercise he'd gone through, trying to gain half that muscle... It was just no use- he wasn't made to be a behemoth. When he saw the burly lad enter the temple, Carth made up his mind and followed suite, catching the priest's words as he crossed the threshold into the building. "...inquire on the expidition, have you? Well, tell me a little bit about yourself and why you want to come. What skills do you have to offer? Or are you just simply along for the trip?" “Greetings,” responded the hulking applicant, continuing on to explain his reason for being here, why he wished to join the expedition, and what skills he had to offer. It was a formidable speech which was followed with a short pause. A large ape-like creature entered next. Despite having heard tales, Carthin had never actually met a Jamoura- he stared as it spoke to the seated man. After the two others had had their chances, the priest turned to the boy himself- it was his turn it seemed. The greeting was repeated, and an expectant pause followed. "Hello," he said, stepping forward, giving the boulder of a person beside him a look out of the corner of his eyes. "I am Carthin Debaer, son of the great hero Parfeith Debaer. I have been trained by my father, and wish to accompany you." Though it was true that Carthin believed his father to be one of the greatest heroes that had ever lived, most of Mizahar had never heard of him- some simply humored the boy, giving him the benefit of the doubt, while others approached him with skepticism. Who knew, perhaps he was crazy? "I am capable with my sword, and have trained quite a bit in combat." Carth nodded to the man behind the counter. "I offer my protection on this journey." Awaiting any range of responses, Carth gave the Jamoura to his side a glance. His dark fur gleamed... Despite their... physical differences, it appeared that Carthin and Sharn had something in common- a fascination with culture. Though he would never tell a soul, the pair of them seemed to have identical reasons for responding to the advertisement.

[Leo Varniak]

It was an expected courtesy to tread lightly on religious ground, to speak in whispers and generally respect the hallowed halls of a sanctuary to the gods. Sometimes, though, there were urgent matters that made etiquette slip into the background; and as far as Leo Varniak was concerned, everything was a urgent matter. The doors of the Temple opened like a gaping mouth and the Azenth stormed in, his breath short and ragged. He had been running all the way here. His hand was still clutching one of the posters Glav had put up throughout Syliras. "This… this is a prank, right?" he puffed, in between heavy breathes. Then he straightened and realized all of the Temple's props had been neatly packed up, and the truth stood naked and obvious in plain sight. "You… you're leaving for real," There was an incredulous edge to Leo's voice, as if he was suspecting a diversion, a ploy. Maybe he was simply pretending to leave, a more believable version of the age old fake-your-own-death trick (which was difficult to pull off when you were a demigod)? Either way Leo had a burning need to understand. The idea that Glav might have withdrawn his support to the Triad touched him briefly, but he wanted to hear the man's version first. "Why, Glav? And why Wind Reach of all places?" He asked simply, taking in his surroundings with greater care. Glav was dressed up for sure, with a plethora of strange accessories that no doubt originated from his many deals with the pantheon. "I can't see the meaning of this. I thought your priority was to guard the Windoak. Yet you are literally sailing to the other end of the known world." Leo and Glav did not see eye to eye on many things, but they definitely shared many goals and a desire to keep evil from conquering the world. The Zaital scion could easily see how the good guys' standing in the largest city on the planet would weaken considerably with Glav leaving. There were so many things he wanted to ask him, he couldn't even decide what to ask first. Leo paced nervourly through a Temple that looked so big and empty now. "Isn't the greatest battle to be fought in the place with the most people? What will be of… well, us?" He seemed frustrated, mostly due to his need to always be in control. Leo's approach to change was drastic: it was either understood or opposed. He knew Glav could not have picked Wind Reach by tapping a finger on the map and wondering how cool it would be to move there. Glav was the most resourceful individual in Syliras, and one to ponder his moves carefully. Most of the participants in the expedition would likely not bother asking a lot of questions of the priest, but Leo knew there were layers to every little thing that happened on Mizahar. And he wanted to unravel them all. He spoke no more, just standing there with the poster out in front of him, vaguely accusing. It was obvious Leo Zaital wasn't leaving without answers.

[Ulric]

Ulric was restless. He had hoped, upon entering Syliras, that he’d be able to settle down, but the call of the wilds was deafening. It demanded that Ulric test his mettle against man and beast, to feel the thrill of fear coursing down his spine once more. His only problem was the slackness of his purse. So when Ulric spied Glav Navik’s notice, he perceived an opportunity to escape the city’s crushing, noisy embrace and seek his fortune in distant lands. It would be a perilous journey, no doubt, but he had come to terms with the risks. Ulric was certain that Glav was no fool and the caravan would eventually reach its destination, but he doubted it would be unscathed. First lesson of survival: never expect a waltz through the daisies. After closing his account at the Traveler’s Rest, Ulric made his way to the Temple of All Gods. He was strangely nervous about the encounter – not so much about Glav’s inquiries as setting foot in the temple, even for a short while. Ulric was not a pious man; nay, he was more of a heretical type. After witnessing the activities of Rhysol’s adherents in Ravok, he’d rejected all forms of worship except for occasional, expletive-ridden rant to Ovek that preceded his reluctant thanks. Who was he to debate good and evil, or claim some understanding on the cosmos? Ulric much preferred remain in a state of blissful ignorance than become a pawn of the gods. Sweat prickled Ulric’s back as he strode into the temple, a grimace upon his face. Damned pebble, he scowled at his right boot, feeling the tiny stone lance into his tender foot with every step. Ulric wished nothing so much than to sink to his haunches and remove the offending item, but he doubted it would make for a proper entrance. Since this was his initial foray into mercenary work, he felt obligated to make a good impression, or at least prove he wasn’t going to fill his trousers at the first signs of trouble. I wonder how much this job is likely to pay, Ulric wondered as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His raiment was stained and travel-worn, which combined with his unkempt beard and shifty eyes to lend him a disreputable look – but at least his hidemail armor was in good condition. Sweltering, yes, but Ulric imagined the discomfort was nothing to having a sword thrust into his gut. His weapons were all to hand; heavy crossbow slung over his shoulder, axe thrust into his belt, and a bag of bolts hung at his hip – readied, but unnecessary for the moment. Nobody with an ounce of sense ever looked for a fight, and Ulric prided himself on having at least two ounces in his battered skull. It would be better if he made it to Wind Reach with both intact rather than carried upon his shield. Or rather, buried in a shallow grave and left for the crows. Although I suppose this Navik fellow is likely to mutter a few words to the divines, for all the good that’ll do. Ulric doubted the priest was seeking a bunch of hotheads, or worse, velvet-clad, rapier-toting dandies who were more at ease nibbling sweetmeats and composing poems for their disinterested lovers than on the road. “Glav Navik, I presume?” Ulric inclined his head. The priest was clad in traveler’s garb and seated at a small table. He regarded Ulric for a moment before clearing his throat. “Greetings, and who might you be?” “My name’s Ulric,” he forced a smile. “I’m new in Syliras, and not of a mind to remain. It seems we have that much in common.” Glav’s eyes seemed to bore into his skull. “Why do you wish to come upon the expedition?” Ulric wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. He wasn’t used to this type of heat. In Ravok, he’d worn a cloak through the entire cycle of seasons, but here the heat was unbearable. “Cooler weather?” It was a poor jape, and Glav didn’t seem amused. “Honestly,” Ulric said, “I’ve planned to travel into Kalea for the past season, and Wind Reach seems as good a destination as any. Also, I could use the money. I was parted from my purse in the wildlands, and what remains isn’t enough to sustain me through the season.” “And what skills do you have to offer?” “I’m a fisherman by trade and skilled with all manner of nets, tackle, and small boats – been on the water since I was seven. But I don’t suppose it’ll come in handy in the mountains,” Ulric said ruefully. “Apart from that, I’ve skill with the axe, and I can drop a man with a crossbow at twenty paces. I’ve traversed the wildlands of the north, slain outlaws, and tangled with bears – yet here I stand. I don’t expect riches or glory. I’m not the strongest, or wisest, or the most honorable of men. But I tell you this, Glav Navik: I will survive. It’s what I do best.” Ulric finished his speech, hoping Glav didn’t mistake his resolve for bravado, and waited for a response.

[Gossamer]

~Torc~ Glav smiled slightly. He extended his hand and shook Torc's as the man made his introduction. "Scholars are always welcome. You will need to brush up on a weapons skill as we go because words and books won't truthfully get you very far where we are going. However, I do know books are as good as gold when we get there. I'll pay 500 gold mizas for a scholar, with a bonus at the end if you can do an excellent job cataloging. But tell me... how do you know so much about Wind Reach and the Inarta? I have been having trouble finding information myself." Glav asked, curious. ~Sharn~ It didn't phase Glav at all that Sharn was a Jamouran. In fact, he rather liked the fact that a pacifist race was along. There'd be no worries with the huge man navigating the mountains, and he might be invaluable for packing some of the more delicate documents. "It's a pleasure to meet you Sharn. I'm glad you decided to apply. I've been wanting to spend more time with one of your kind and get to know your own people as well. Since you have a great grasp of written word and are volunteering to come along, I'll offer you the same deal I have Torc. 500 gold rimmed mizas for the trip with a bonus at the end for a job well done. You might like to get to meet him, as well, since if you both are scribing and cataloging, you'll be spending a lot of time together in the near future." He added as he shook the Jamoura's hand. ~Carthin~ "Ahh... Parfeith Debaer's son. I once had the honor of meeting him. I was out on the road to Zeltiva and came across a wagon full of dead mules pulled by a giant of a man with a hammer. There'd been a rock slide, you see, out on the road near the pass - Cutter's Gap - and the team had been caught in it. Parfeith had salvaged the wagon, but the team had gone over the edge. Well, rather than leave the mules to rot, he hauled them back up onto the road for the driver who thankfully made it out alive, then quartered up the mule meat and packed it all the way back to Zeltiva pulling the wagon himself. They were in a famine year there, so the meat was welcome. And although the driver lost his mules, he still made a tidy profit off his sale... thanks to your father. Never did see a man pull a wagon though... not harnessed up to it and replacing two mules himself." Glav said, smiling. "I'll never forget that day. So, since your Parfeith Debaer's son, I'll expect your well trained in weapons and defense. I'm paying warriors 800 gold mizas for the trip with a bonus at the end for a job well done. Interested?" He asked, pleased. ~Leo~ Glav sighed when Leo marched through the doorway. Of all the people he hadn't expected to see, it was the Triad's unofficial leader. Leo was as fierce as a polecat, but the war he was in the middle of hadn't left him untouched. As far as Glav could see he was changed, drastically so, since he'd first met the angry boy. That boy would light up the temple and then as an afterthought decide to ask some questions. He reminded him a lot of Ivak, a fact that brought a smile to his face - the silly soft kind of a friend missing another friend and looking for him in all the shadows around them. Glav glanced around. They were alone, the other interviews having been dismissed in order to return at the 15th bell. "Leo, I wouldn't leave unless I have a good reason too. I've never ran from a fight in my life. But the truth is the fight is running from us. The Wind Oak has spoken, and what it has to say is monumental. It's not going to happen ten years from now. It's not going to happen a generation from now. Another confrontation is coming. Since the Valterrian, new Gods have been born, and not all of them of light and joy. Some came from the misery in the world. They are growing strong enough to act and He is drawing them into his fold. The world is reorganizing too fast, recovering too quickly, and its drawn the displeasure of many. If humanity thrives once more, there is less suffering and less power for those that feed off such things." Glav took a breath, glanced into Leo's eyes, and made another revelation. "I met an Inarta two weeks ago who came to my Temple here. We spoke at lengths about the gods, and what happened in the world. Do you know he had no knowledge of the Valterrian as we know it? He'd never heard of Ivak. It was like he was hearing it all from me for the first time. It grew late, and so we decided to meet up again the next day for lunch at midday. When I met him again at midday, he had no knowledge of what we'd spoken of the day before. Now, this could be accounted for by a trauma to the brain easily enough. But in the whole of my life, I've met two of these Inarta and they both had the same issue. The first was years ago and I thought nothing of it, but meeting this one and seeing how hauntingly familiar it was... I cannot ignore it. Wind Reach needs to be investigated, if for nothing else to see why their people suffer from such issues. Plus, Rhaus lives there. I have never met him personally and with the other side gaining allies, I need as many as I can get. So yes, you heard right. I will be leaving. The Wind Oak won't be unguarded. Loren has someone in mind that is perfect for my job. Someone you'll like..." He added. "Unless of course, you'd like to come with me, Leo." Glav offered softly. ~Ulric~ Glav nodded, shook his hand, and smiled. "A fisherman and someone experienced in the wilderness would come in handy. The first part of our journey is by sea. We're sailing from Syliras to Karjin at sunset. It sounds like, as well, that your going to fit into the warrior guard category... so I'll pay you 800 gold for the trip and a bonus at the end." Glav said, nodding thoughtfully. "It's good too you've had experienced being robbed and can use a crossbow. That will come in handy. And I appreciate the humility." Was all he said, waiting for Ulric's response. ~Everyone~ "Alright. If you've made up your mind and wish to come, meet me back here at the 15th Bell. We need to pay a visit to someone in Stormhold and then proceed to the port because The Blue Horizon sails at sunset. You'll want to bring all your things with you or else have them already dropped off at the docks if you have books and other bulky items. Cargo will be restricted to one sailors chest apiece, though we can take on mounts in the hold since we will need them once we get to Karjin. Any questions?" He asked the group, looking thoughtfully around at each and every one.

[Torc Ironwood]

Torc smiled and nodded, “Weapons… well besides brawling as a child, I did learn the use of a club. Never felt the need for a killing weapon, a club can brake bones and tear sinew from muscle, but unless you crack someone skull they will live through the thrashing.” Torc briefly remembered the black anger he felt towards Greise Miller. He remember the feel of harden leather under his hands. The squeak of leather as his hands opened and closed around the leather hand. The force he had used to wring the handle had left his hand sore for a day. When he saw Greise Miller with Mola, the rage that swell inside of him force his muscle to stretch his shirt to almost ripping. Shaking his head he looked at Glav and continued. Slowly the rip cords of muscle about him loosened and that remembered anger went away. Torc hated the darkness that it had come from, and many times it only seemed that his work would all him to be rid of it. “As for the little knowledge I have, I found in the Zeltiva’s University Library. The book described several merchants’ accounts of the city, speaking about flying eagle riders and the little resources besides glassworks, stone, and minerals. Now I am ready to discount the eagle riders, unless they were tiny folk, but merchants tend not to lie about money, and anyplace struggling to get food and other supplies is a place needing help.” The three dusty merchant traveling journals had been poorly written, it contained almost no landmarks of their journey, and the men who had traveled there only wanted to talk about the money and goods the traded for. It was depressing the little bit of knowledge that Torc found, more than depressing, he wondered if the town no longer really needed his help. Torc looked at Glav wondering why he hadn’t gone to the local library and catalogue merchant accounts. Torc knew that the wilderness was a place for danger and if they would teach him how to wield a weapon, Torc would use his considerable strength to break bones and smash tissue. However, he began to worry if he would like bloodshed. He knew of his dark anger was something inside of him, but what if he killing made it grow, made it thrist for more? Could Torc live with himself, if that was true? As Torc stepped out of the way, he saw a large creature overshadow him, his jaw went lax and he forgot all manners. When the creature began to talk he remembered the legends of Jamoura from his childhood. He remembered Priestess Lara talking to the children about the noble creatures. How they had given up on violence and lived in the wildness. The look of wonder that was within Priestess Lara’s eyes made Torc feel wonder that he was even seeing one. As Sharn began to talk, Torc caught his eyes for a moment. In Sharn’s eyes were past the echo’s of many pasts, woven with love of knowledge and a sense of purpose. Within that second Torc felt their energies echo one another. Torc felt the parts of him echo within Sharn’s being, they were like two gear connecting, in an awakening of spirit. A calm sense of knowing came to Torc, it wasn’t like he could have spoke about Sharn’s history, or even his character, but there was something that recognized him. Friend, Torc felt it echo through his being. It washed over him, a feeling of long conversations and jokes shared with one another, and yet all he could do was nod at the Jamoura and wait out in the courtyard of the Temple. As Torc walked out of the foyer, he saw a young man in leather armor and loaded with weapons. The harden leather creaked as the man waited. His steel had a sharp presence in Torc’s mind. It was like feeling the forge of sharpness. However, he felt safer knowing they would have a true guardsman on there journey. Torc nodded to the man, he figured that he was likely to be the one that taught Torc how to fight, but Torc also nodded to the man’s frame. It was hard and finely built, Torc was a mountain, this was a man made from the steel he carried. Torc strokes with a club came like and avalche, his would come like a whisper of death. Only inexperience people, thought Torc. Bulk was scary, Torc could hammer iron into a shape, but a fast man could cut someone to ribbons. The world was a funny place, people based so many of their reactions on what they saw. Thinking such thoughts Torc realized he needed to apologize to Sharn. He had acted like a small town bumkin, and Sharn had deserved more. He had deserved a friend, and Torc had gawked. Torc pondered the feeling that made him think of friendship when he had looked at Sharn. He would have to ask the Jamoura about it, wondering if he had experienced the same thing. Torc waited in the stone courtyard feeling the sun beat down upon his skin. For a moment, Torc closed his eyes and looked up at the sun. Heat fell down upon his face warming it. He saw white, and felt as if he was in a bath in light. Torc rolled up his sleeves, exposing his mixed blood arm. His left arm showed copper brown Dravite with veins of Rose Quartz. The colors clashed making it look almost if he had burned the arm in a forge fire. However, the one thing he knew was that the colors were darkening. At the age of four, he only had the faintest of coloring. Now it was darkening, and the skin was hardening slowly. Torc wondered if it would gain the strength of a true Isur arm one day, then again he had never met one so he couldn’t tell if it had the proper strength or not. Torc kept his eyes closed as he sunbathed for a few minutes. He thought if he didn’t open his eyes, he wouldn’t feel the stares of men who knew him as a bastard of Isur blood. He wouldn’t feel the desire of woman and then the hate of men with them. He waited instead belonging to the sun’s warmth and light. <Social thread for those that want to talk.> ~~~ "Alright. If you've made up your mind and wish to come, meet me back here at the 15th Bell. We need to pay a visit to someone in Stormhold and then proceed to the port because The Blue Horizon sails at sunset. You'll want to bring all your things with you or else have them already dropped off at the docks if you have books and other bulky items. Cargo will be restricted to one sailors chest apiece, though we can take on mounts in the hold since we will need them once we get to Karjin. Any questions?" He asked the group, looking thoughtfully around at each and every one. As Torc heard Glav give them directions, he looked at the others and nodded to them. He wanted to store his gear on the boat first and maybe pick up a weapon, if he was to be trained in one, before going on the ship.

[Leo Varniak]

Leo froze mid-sted in the middle of Glav's explanations. The first part, about divine politics, he could, if not understand, at least imagine. It did not appease his thirst for answers, though the second part did. Two Inarta men knowing nothing of the most infamous god on Mizahar, and promptly forgetting all about him overnight, could be no coincidence. The world had a way of letting the simplest explanation be the correct one, and this seemed to imply an innate racial trait. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Glav's foremost objective was to locate and free Ivak; it made sense for him to delve deeper into such an oddity. Frankly, the occurrence was unsettling enough for Leo to investigate, as well. He had come to share the goal of Ivak's freedom whole-heartedly after the encounter with the god in his vision, having been reassured that Ivak had regained, if not his peace of mind, a more detached perspective on things. "Interesting," was all he said, his mind spinning at the implications of Glav's discovery. "I have never heard of such a condition, either." Then again, the world was a much bigger place than Leo had ever been able to explore. The more he considered the phenomenon, the stronger the feeling that this was going to be important. His head turned sharply at the suggestion that he might want to tag along with the expedition. His first thought went to Terminus and Sondra, his companions in the Triad. He couldn't ask them to leave Syliras with barely a day's forewarning; that and someone would have to stay behind and guard the fort in his absence. He couldn't ask them to take even more risks than those he'd already put them through, either. It might turn out to be a wild goose chase, to boot. He gave his response after a sizeable pause. "Yes," he said, "I get a strange feeling from this. It's pretty much the only lead we've got, too. I think there are Azenth in Kalea who are close to my father, actually. Maybe they can be of help. I'd better come along. You can use someone who's not in this for the money - a mercenary is just an enemy on vacation." They couldn't afford to lose Glav, either. Even though he may be too political for Leo's tastes, his connections to the pantheon were simply irreplaceable. Besides, no corner of the world was devoid of challenges for Leo Zaital. No matter what lands you roamed, there were always wrongs to be righted and evil men waiting to be ignited. Leo listened to Glav's instructions and nodded. "I don't have much in the way of possessions. I'll be back later." He excused himself and sprinted out just as quickly as he'd come. There was much to be done.

[Sharn]

Sharn did lock eyes with Torc for a moment, though the experience was significantly different than what Torc had seen. Sharn actually felt a presence, not Torc's, not his own, but in the Human's eyes he felt her eyes. The woman that raised him, not his own Jamoura family, he was too young to remember their fate, but it was a Human Woman, Dr. Liya Tannine. She was, without a doubt, the most wonderful creature Sharn had ever met. She was the one that raised him, traveled the known world, and only in the past decade, passed away. There was a particular look in her eyes though, the look when she realized something, but couldn't comprehend it, like when Sharn would have snippets of fragments of memories that obviously couldn't have been his own, or at least not Sharn's, but perhaps another's. Being so young though, Sharn had a tendency to forget them or disregard them as figments of his imagination. That was not the point though, it was the stare that he saw, Liya's eyes were in Torc's. Sharn felt a powerful urge to take up the man in his arms and to just embrace him, holding him against his own large body. Sharn missed Liya, but she had died happy, so he had to be happy for her, even if there was still so much for him to learn. Instead of grabbing and hugging Torc, Sharn made due with smiling politely and nodding, as if to answer a question that was not asked. Sharn smiled and shook the Priest's comparatively small hand, almost forgetting to control his excitement, which could have probably wounded the old man's wrist. This was just what he wanted, to learn, to see more of the world, just as Liya had dedicated her life to doing. In a way, Sharn envisioned himself as Liya's dreams reincarnated. Everything she wanted to accomplish, which was far too much for any one being, was transferred to him as she shared her life and love with Sharn. "The pleasure it mine. I admit I have not consumed much of religion, but I am curious about it. I may come to you often with questions about the Gods and Goddesses, though I am uncertain of how much of my kind I will be able to share with you. I was adopted at a young age by a Human Woman. My time with the Jamoura was limited. Anyway, as for the price, it is more than sufficient, and that man, Torc, I will be glad to know him better. He seems to be a man of honorable intention, the kind of person I wish I was more like." Sharn released the elder's hand as he continued to speak. "I have few possessions, and what I own I carry on me at all times, this backpack." Sharn turned sideways a moment to reveal a backpack that only barely had large enough straps to fit around his arm, sliding it across two arms of his was out of the question. "And I have no mount, nor do I think one would be able to support me. I will walk though, my kind has done so for hundreds of years, and I am confident I am not so separated that I cannot do that. If the lack of a horse is holding me from the journey or even threatening to slow down your mission, I ask that you would say so that I may return to Syliras and search for work there instead." This mission was something Sharn really desired to do, but even more than participating in it, he wanted the journey to be a success, even if that meant leaving him behind. With the last of the words spoken, Sharn stepped from the table and smiled before turning away, avoiding a collision with a man running wildly into the temple, and moved out towards the courtyard, intentionally following the direction that he saw Torc retreat to. He had time to waste until he was needed again by the Priest Glav, and nothing to do, except perhaps to befriend those that would be side-by-side with him.