[Sea of Grass Quest] Can You Catch The Wind? (Rhylen)

[Gossamer]

Timestamp: TBA by Rhylen Location: Sea of Grass Purpose: Introduction to the Stormwardens Status: Closed He rode up on the scene in the late afternoon light. By just a quick glance, Rhylen knew it was bad. He'd been following trampled grass - the sure sign of a rider - for miles, running swiftly because out on the Sea of Grass his horse could. There were two sets of prints, a mares and foals. The mares were deep enough to indicate she was bearing a rider, while the foals were light and barely visible. Any decent Drykas could have spotted the tracks a mile away, but to a stranger they'd be all but invisible. The grass told a story - a frantic flight - though Rhylen had no clues nor signs of what drove the pair onward. The mare was dead. Her rider was almost ready to cross the gates of the living as well, passing beyond and well into Dira's realm. At least she'd have a mount to carry her further. The woman lay sprawled several feet away from the dead horse, the charred earth around her evidence that the mare and her rider were struck by lightening. It happened sometimes, during storms, though normally only the mount would go down. The fall, however, was not kind to the rider, and at least one of her legs was broken. Her arm and shoulder were twisted up under her, and her one good arm was clutched her her chest, a leather courier's bag held like a child against her. Her breath came in rasps, and blood bubbled out of her lips. There was nothing truly striking about her otherwise. Her hair was mousy and her features plain. The mare, on the other hand was something astonishing... a beautiful creature, even dead, that looked like she could run on Zulrav's winds. She was a lovely claybank dun, muddy but with chiseled features that told the casual observer that she was a top notch strider. As Rhylen rode up to the scene, his own horse slowing its incredible speed, his hunting dog jumped off the back of the blanket he used for a saddle, and went over to sniff at the foal that was laying some distance away. It looked unharmed. When the dog sniffed at it, the foal stretched out its nose and whickered slightly. The foal was equally nicely put together indicating great bloodlines, and was a pale snowflake palomino, making the filly look nearly white since she was born so young. Her face was fully white - called a baldy - and considered to be lucky among the Drykas, though who could truthfully call her lucky with her dam dead of a lightening strike and her dam's mother lying soon to be dead nearby. Wolves would get her soon, maybe even glassbeaks or a cloud of snarlfangs - whichever discovered her first. Even as the woman moaned rasped another breath, the foal struggled to its feet, and began to wander closer. The dog followed. Without opening her eyes, the woman groaned and said "They are close... too close. They must not...." But she didn't finish her sentence. The filly had reached her by then, stretched its nose out, and touched the woman as she shuddered and died. Her good arm went limp, releasing the courier bag and spilling its contents out onto the grass... a book and a gem that glittered with a swirl of blue color - reminding Rhylen of the sky. The Foal :

[Rhylen]

Timestamp: 51st of Winter, 509 Av

Rhylen came upon the devastation quickly, taking in the horror that lay before him with an uneasy turn of his stomach. Death was not a thing he liked to witness, least of all the smell of it. Another presence, all too familiar with the stench, seemed to roil within him with every whiff. He’d detected a tear in the thread of the surrounding grasslands. The void in the pattern of the Cyphrus had initially urged Rhylen to turn the other way, but his deceased master’s stern words were enough to illicit an investigation on the rider’s part. He dismounted easily, knowing Thalla was no stranger to death, and moved hurriedly towards the body, his recently acquired Akinva circling the scene, nose to the ground.

He was just able to hear the woman’s dying words, her eyes were closed and he had no means of gaining more from her before he felt the life slip from her body. Not a ghost, he thought to himself. No unfinished business then. He breathed a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about. Rhylen whispered a prayer for her and after a moment of quiet took in the foal, who still looked a little awkward on its feet. ”I’m sorry for your loss, young one,” he said sincerely, his eyes a storm of cautious anxiety. ”You cannot stay here though,” he reached out to let the foal test his scent. ”Whatever was chasing you and your mistress cannot be far behind.” Rhylen sensed a metaphysical nod of approval somewhere in back of his mind, and gathered the contents of the bag. Quickly he looked over the book, a rarity in itself, for there were almost no trees on the grasslands save a few weather beaten shrubs here and there. Next he examined the gem, taking a little longer to gaze into its uncertain depth, pondering its value only briefly.

Swiftly he gained his feet, whistling for the deerstalker’s attention as he shoved the book and gem into the courier’s bag. ”Thalla,” he cooed, and the strider was at his side, her snout keenly seeking his hand in affirmation. ”Be a friend to this youngling. I need to be sure that we will come to no harm should we try to flee.” She whinnied her compliance and moved gingerly towards the foal, their noses saying more than Rhylen ever could. How he wished to share what lay in his heart and in his mind with the cunning strider, no barriers between them. One day, perhaps, he would know her mind too.

Rhylen whistled again, cementing the attention of the energetic beast he’d come to call Feyn. The Akinva was well trained, but still young, and often gave into compulsion, much like his new master. Rhylen pointed to the horizon they’d approached from and then made a circular motion vertically with his fingers, grassland sign for scout. The canine darted off, his gangly canter somewhat similar to Rhylen’s own. The two would never be as close as Thalla and he, but the trio had developed a comfortable familiarity out on the plains. Their silent bond was a wonderful thing. He wished that some companions were as hushed. His senses received a knock of acknowledgment, quickly returning to normal.

Now that he was fairly sure that he had the time, he gave the bodies of the courier and mare a once-over, keeping half an eye on Thalla and the unusual foal. The clarity he felt was something new; an ability to make rational decisions in the face of adversity without much prodding. Perhaps Raghnall was right. Maybe Rhylen was destined to serve the Drykas as more than a piddling apprentice, more even then a wizened shaman perhaps?

[Gossamer]

The filly soft blue eyes widened as the woman died, and it danced away squealing in displeasure. It would not touch Rhylen's hand, as if she saw him as a danger or just another thing to panic about. Off she went bucking away, circling the corpse of her dam and her rider with a utterly confused even distraught look upon her face. She seemed to have trouble moving, for she staggered, and more than once she reared upwards as if trying to stand up, before she settled back to the grass on all four feet. More than once her twisting upset little body turned to face Rhylen and he could see a growing horror and panic within the filly's eyes.

His dog followed it curiously, though the filly didn't seem afraid of it. And Feyn seemed to sense something amiss even though he was quick to follow Rhylen's hand sign and start the large scouting circle his master demanded.

The body yielded a scattering of gold mizas, five to be exact, which was a fortune for a Grasslander. He recognized the patterning on the Yvas - Opal Clan, Ranikavi Pavilion. She was local, though far from where her current people were camped. The book looked normal enough, but when he went to open it, the binding would not relax enough to splay the pages for him to read. The gemstone was small, compact, and seemed to swirl with a storm contained inside of it. Worth a small fortune, while Rhylen probably had not seen one before, there were stories enough to know it was a stormgem, though a small one. He could hear the winds swirling around inside of it, and feel its enormous contained energy. The girl had fine clothing, new boots, and a rather wicked looking set of twin daggers strapped to her hips. They had wooden hilts (rare on the grass) and opals set in the pommel - which truthfully was a horrible choice of decoration for opals tended to be too soft to use as decoration. There was a short bow and a quiver of arrows strapped to her dead mare's Yvas, luckily on the off side from where the mare had went down. Otherwise, both would have been crushed by the mare's fall. Nothing else looked valuable or of use.

Just about the time he was done rifling through the girls things, Feyn came in silently and in a straight line that indicated trouble. He came to a halt in front of Rhylen and growled deeply, his eyes on the distance to the left of where Rhylen had ridden in. Rhylen could hear a slight vibration to the grass by then, and a darkness on the horizon. The filly, off in the distance, screamed in terror, her own little nose turned to look at whatever was coming in fast.

[Rhylen]

”A child of the Sky Father then,” Rhylen said gravely, his eyes flitting over the woman’s corpse to the smoldering grass that circled her like a dark omen. ”Or an enemy.” He ignored the uneasy colt, leaving her to Thalla’s persistent fostering while he secured the courier’s bag and finished his investigation of the bodies. A Sister of the Opal Clan, her appearance suggested affluence among the Ranikavi. So Rhylen had been told, he was of the Amethyst Clan, but was familiar enough with the others to know that she was far from home; a courier, or maybe a thief. Regardless, he would return the daggers – obviously a prestigious family heirloom – to the Clan, as was his duty. The Mizas he would add to the small pouch containing his life savings, and the bow he would sell in Endrykas, along with the quiver of arrows. The fate of the book and gem he would need to ponder further, as their mystery lay unsolved.

Needless waste was not a characteristic of the Drykas, whose lands were harsh and often unforgiving. Those born in her midst learned from an early age that survival was paramount and that those who passed should be honored, but that they had no use for earthly possessions in the afterlife. The Opal Clan would respect him for returning the daggers, and might extend their generosity to him in some form, but it was at their discretion, and Rhylen would accept whatever decision they made, as was customary. Though rivalries did exist among the Clans, all children of the Cyphrus were kin, and their duty was to one another above all else. It was the Drykas way.

Feyn’s intrusion of his thoughts startled him. Truthfully he hadn’t been expecting the woman’s pursuers to be so near. Thalla still circled the filly some distance away, and though he could likely escape with the strider, his heart wouldn’t allow him to leave the young creature to an ambiguous fate. He whistled softly to Thalla to be on guard, and made a fist in the direction of the Akinva, lowering it to demand a defensive stance. Feyn’s presence was for more than just companionship. Even in his youth the beast was a fierce fighter, and a much needed guardian for the offensively inept apprentice. Too many times since Raghnall’s death Rhylen had found himself vulnerable to the various looming threats of the grass. Feyn served as a security against curious foreigners and hungry glassbeaks alike.

Hurriedly the Drykas looped the courier’s bag over his shoulder next to his own pack and raised a sign of peace with his left hand. He then closed his eyes, and with his right hand, began slowly secreting a gel residue, as if sweating it out. Taking stern hold of his Djed, Rhylen’s senses were suddenly sharper, and he could more easily feel the presence that loitered within him, as well as the res was even now attracted a swirling torrent of air to his side. It was a precaution, and likely wouldn’t do much in the face of a threat any greater than one rider, but Rhylen couldn’t afford to be lax. If this was indeed the dead woman’s pursuer, then he certainly had something to fear. He now bore her responsibility, and for good or ill, he would get to the bottom of this. It was the Drykas way.

[Gossamer]

The wind bore down like sandstorm in the desert, for all this was the grasslands. Great gusts caught Rhylen as he turned to face whatever it was that was coming. He felt the vibration long before he could see it, but that was the nature of the grasses. The land curved away, much like it was at sea, when a ship came into view first the flags flying were seen, then the mast, then finally the ship. Thalia was tossing her head and the dog was growling while the foal circled nervously. In the distance, it looked like a furred mountain crested the visible sightline and kept coming - growing larger and larger.

It looked like a cross between a bull and a lion. They were rare, but highly intelligent. The Drykas legends said they were born of the wild djed as it crossed over the graves of the dead, gathering the souls of fallen people - angry confused people. They weren't normal creatures. They appeared and disappeared without reason, and some legends swore they had intelligence or even spoke. Some claimed they were god-touched or godlings themselves. Regardless, they were dangerous, horribly so. And as if to prove this fact correct, it charged towards him, snorting on its cloven hooves, and snorting as it bared its enormous hooves. It was larger than Seme draft horse, probably twice the size of one, and as mean as they come.

A Karvinar, as they were called. It was a name invoked fear and caused legends to spring instantly to Rhylen's mind. Great heroes had fought them, sometimes they won, but more often than naught they failed. And this one... this one looked incredibly angry. Normally if a pavilion ran across one, all the warriors of the clan, plus a great deal of those of the neighboring clan would gather to confront it. Alone - Rhylen had little chance. With his burdens, he had less of a chance - for the dog, horse, and foal would be no help either.

[Rhylen]

What broke the horizon was as unexpected an occurrence as any Rhylen could have ever dreamed. Like a sunrise, the vast expanse of a nameless nature continued to swell until its dominance took hold of the sky. A beast. One whose very existence was legend and whose thunderous hoof beats ignited a profound dread within him. His legs grew weak, as did the command of his djed, which even now was combining with the increasingly violent storm to kick up eddies of snow and grass all around him. The animals grew frenzied, their baser instincts conflicting with years of training in a wild crescendo. Thalla’s screams and Feyn’s incessant barking, all but lost in the din of the storm, urged him to take action, to bolt from the fledgling deity’s path as a means of self preservation. Even the voice of Raghnall grew to an indecipherable wail, demanding movement, but the Drykas was immobile. He was frozen with fear; his mind unwilling to reciprocate.

Karvinar. It was a name that kept young children awake at night and sent shivers down the spines of courageous men. Even as he took in its peculiar majesty, he was wrought with a sense of deviant malevolence, an echo of dark intent; this evil had a purpose. The gale force about him became a brutal assault on the landscape. His temples ached at the exertion necessary to contain even a few gusts in the tumultuous onslaught. His focus, the handle on the power that eagerly molded to his will, grew steadier with each even breath he took. His rigid state gave way to a defensive stance, and both hands came level to contain a sphere of air, whirling faster even than the squall about him.

One chance. One shot. These words he repeated over and over as though they were a mantra, his effort exceeding any that he’d ever invested in the craft, compressing the wind. Smaller and smaller. Faster and faster. All else was pushed from his mind. Breathe. In. Out. One chance. One shot. He could smell blood, and feel its warmth trickling over his lips. The flow between his palms had grown to about the size of his head, and it screamed like a dying animal, caged by the force of his djed. Just a little closer. Wait until you can see the eyes clearly. Then release. Rhylen could not be sure that his thoughts were his own, all he knew was that he had one chance to catch this oncoming giant off guard. One shot at survival. ”Gods save me,” he whispered this to the wind; a prayer before the end.

Now. A thought followed by release, the sphere of compressed air hurtling towards the eyes of his foul adversary, gathering more power from the surrounding winds as the res extended beyond his influence. Rhylen held his breath.

[Gossamer]

The Karvinar was bearing down on him. He could see the whites of its eyes as the creature continued charging. It had a massive stride that carried it yards with each powerful motion of its hindquarters. And as it grew closer, Rhylen could see that it was indeed two perhaps three times as large as his horse. It had no horns, though it needed none, and had paws much like a cat rather than the splayed hooves of a bull. It was interesting what one noticed when death was charging one down. Rhylen could see clearly, quickly, that it was very male and even as it bellowed into the djed charged air, his eyes met the Karvinar's even as his spell released.

They were like Semele's gems, faceted and whirling with color - mesmerizing and enthralling all at once. The swirling jeweled orbs had extreme intelligence that seemed to speak to Rhylen even as it bellowed again. Rhlyen's power lashed out, a weak attempt against something so fierce, and splashed off the big skull that was larger than reimancer's entire body. The young Drykas could see the fur whoosh first one way then another when the ball of compressed air struck the creature dead center of its broad skull. It had, however, no effect. The beast kept coming. And coming... breaking eye contact only when the air smacked its forehead.

Until it pulled up last minute, right before Rhylen, and kept its eyes locked on his once more. The Drykas could not be certain if it was the beasts own intelligence or whether a god had indeed answered his prayer. It snorted and Rhylen could feel the wind from its feline-like snout. It growled, which sounded more like a bellow, and then tore at the ground in a pawing motion just like a bull would do. Rather than advance though, it took a step to the right, then to the left, and snorted again. The earth tore under its paws as it dug in frustration, as if Rhylen was between it and what it wanted.

"Give her to me. You cannot cheat death by hiding in the form of another." Its booming voice echoed. Then it halted. It's flanks heaved heavily and the earth abruptly stopped vibrating as the creature's advance halted as well. It stared at the budding shaman and waited. As for Rhylen, it was as if he was poised on a brink, a precipice that he could leap off of if he so choose too. Who was the creature speaking of? The legends filled his mind - the seeker the dead - the gatherer of souls. But the stories never told of anything good coming of the Karvinar encounters, especially for the dead. They instead seemed to feed the creature which in turn kept them in some sort of torment until they were spent and nothing was left of what they once were.

"Give her to me, and I will reward you generously." It said again, patiently. It had a confidence in its voice, a firmness of purpose. It wanted 'her', whomever 'her' was. And it seemed, whether he was correct in his thinking or not, that Rhylen almost had no choice at all in whether the creature got what it wanted or not. Almost.

[Rhylen]

The acrid stench of death washed over him with every vigorous breath the creature took. Rhylen could sense great disharmony within the being, souls of the dead, fragmented and in agony. He could feel a disconcerting level of cunning in its eyes as well; eyes which even now seemed to gaze upon his very essence, weighing him. Large plumes of dirt and snow erupted from behind the Karvinar, making it seem an even vaster threat. Rhylen’s knees were weak, his mind as fixed as his body, there was no getting out of this. Not alive. His soul would churn within the monster among the others; the spirits of dead Drykas, their minds as demented as their form, their thoughts melding with his own.

And then the beast spoke. Its voice, like thunder, crashed against him so that he thought he might be deaf, only to come crashing again, its significance more profound than its resonance. For a moment Rhylen was unable to comprehend, more afraid of an impending swat from its colossal claws than anything. But after a time, and when he was sure that the beast would come no closer, he took the opportunity to focus, and truly decipher the riddle. Offer of a reward confused him further, but in this instance he had no other choice but to concede his thoughts. Nothing but the strength of his resolve would waylay this monster any further. He took a deep breath and sealed his fate.

”Great Seeker,” his own voice came a little shakily at first, a bare whisper compared to the overwhelming rasp of the Karvinar. ”Please excuse my insolence for I am not well versed in the ways of your kind. I beg your mercy and consideration, but I know not of who you speak.” Sturdier now, though still founded in a trembling body, his voice held sincerity, taking on a tone similar to one his mentor might use when striking a bargain. Raghnall had completely abandoned his mind, instead cowering somewhere in the depths of his subconscious. The fear was suffocating. ”This woman,” he motioned to the crumpled rider, ”has passed beyond the veil. She is a Sister of my people, and therefore her burden is mine.” Too late he considered that these words might be a damning curse.

”All that remain are a few meager belongings, not fit for one such as yourself, though you are welcome to them.” The words came slowly. Rhylen did not want to upset the creature anymore than he likely already had, but the massive feline only stared at him. ”What you do not deem yours I will return to her Clan. None shall know of this encounter if you wish it,” he added the last part hesitantly. What would a Karvinar care for the musings of mortals? Rhylen held his tongue, sensing that to speak any further might cause more harm than good. As a final thought he fell to his knees, a gesture of reverence. He prayed that his death would come swiftly.

[Gossamer]

The Karvinar snorted in laughter that was both dark and menacing. "The foal. The foal holds her spirit. And her spirit has something I want." It bellowed out, front feet pawing at the ground restlessly, its massive head swiveling to stare at the young foal that was quivering by Thalla's side. "Her secrets are not your secrets so you are wrong in thinking that her burdens are yours. But how did you, in all that you are, miss the spirit transfer? You must look with other eyes, think with other thoughts... she has not left at all. But she hide, lingering behind like a coward and the thief that she is. Give her to me!" It snorted, moving first right then left but not crossing the invisible line past Rhylen to beyond where his animals lingered. Even the dog, Feyn would come no closer, staying firmly behind the spritist but growling low in his throat, as if willing to defend his master.

It was an odd sensation, having the Karvinar standing there and yet not moving, not reacting, not killing him... but asking him for a voluntary release of the creature. It was demanding, intimidating, but not the least bit inclined to seem to take on its own. It was almost as if it needed Rhylen's permission to acquire the foal and thus the spirit the creature said the foal housed. While kneeling there, head bowed, Rhylen had time to think, time to let his breath slow and his thoughts come strong and true. He could feel the detail in the world - time standing still seemingly, the wind caressing his neck, the whole world listening to the interchange.

It was then, softly, almost in a voice he just about missed, a breeze carried him a message. "You have a choice. Do what you think is right, do what is safe, or take a chance and learn the world is not always what you think it is. Some battles need to be fought, yet some appear lost and too burdensome. You can be safe, or you can be right." The wind whispered... teasing his hair, even as the foal whickered fearfully and Thalla stamped her foot - probably in reaction to the dogs incessant barking.

[Rhylen]

Rhylen cursed himself inwardly. How could he have missed such an exchange? Apparently he was unaware of a great many things concerning death and passing on. This hit to his already fragile ego did little to bolster his courage. With djed still pulsing wildly beyond the veil of his conscious mind he could sense only the power of the beast which loomed before him, a torrent of malformed spiritual energy thrashing wildly, as if it were only barely restrained. Feyn seemed more willing to face the Karvinar than himself, but the dog was little more than a pup, and loyalty would mean nothing should this creature’s maw prove to be as terrifyingly armed as the rest of it.

Still kneeling, Rhylen considered the heated words with a bowed head. Cowardice and thievery were not qualities tolerated by the Drykas, though Rhylen surely felt the weight of the former more now than at any other moment in his brief existence on the Grass. The woman’s possessions; the blades, the jewel, and the book, they were the key to this. He ruled out the first as being an heirloom of her clan, but neither the God’s Stone nor magical literature were common among the Drykas. Had one of the opal clan become a thief? It seemed unlikely. And who was laying blame here? Some colossal fiend of myth; a nightmare come to life.

Truly Rhylen saw no way out of this encounter. His instincts told him to flee, but his resolve and firm belief in the Drykas law kept him steady. He could feel the stretching of time as his mind raced, and then it happened. A whisper. From nowhere. It licked his ear only briefly before fluttering away on the winds. At first he’d assumed that Raghnall was finally offering the sage advice the apprentice had come to revere over the years, but the rasp was absent, and this had most certainly come from outside his mind. Without thought Rhylen came to his feet, the voice had offered an option, one which the young shaman had already surmised, but had been afraid to put into words.

“I have decided, Great Karvinar. And my decision is this,” he began channeling djed again, preparing for a final strike at the creature. From here he could easily reach the monster’s eyes, tough he refused to think of what would happen should he actually connect and blind it with his fists. Perhaps Thalla and the foal would escape, he guessed that Feyn would die trying to protect his master. The poor creature, Rhylen hadn’t meant for harm to befall it so soon, if at all.

His gaze, stern and thunderous, the light of a magical storm roiling within, took in that of the beast. Raghnall’s screams could be heard somewhere far off, but Rhylen remained steadfast. “My people protect one another, against any foe, for good or ill. If what you say is true and the spirit of a Drykas lingers in the youngling, then she is as much my charge as any who call the Grass their home.” He moved very little, though whether it was audacity or terror that froze his body he could not comprehend. “Strike me down if you will, but know this. I have knowledge of the veil, and I will make a greater mark on you in death than ever I could in life!” Bold words. He hoped the bluff would work.