Closed The Road Not Taken (Crypt)

[Sighard]

Fall 27th, 512 AV

The day was long from over though the sun dipped low beneath the clawlike precipices of leafy conifers and sturdy oaks. It produced, in a chromatic series of crimson hues, a luminous backdrop that caught the idol figure Sighard on horseback as he trotted dutifully along a worn path, adorned plainly in cloak and armor and with a spear tucked generously against his left shoulder. There was a breeze which sifted the tufts of his now mid-length hair and tickled the budding of fuzz on his face. It drew deep rustles from the flora and tempted the boy to pause in wonderment of the peaceful sight. A couple of seasons ago the temperament of the place was radically different, and the wrath of an angered god painted an equally destructive scape across these trails. That they were so even now spoke volumes of the efforts of Knights and Syliran folk alike. It was a gesture of unity, and one that tugged at the heartstrings of an otherwise bitter squire.

Sighard contemplated this notion as he continued along, his palm at times reflexively digging into his cloak pocket. The resulting nothingness produced a pained expression that dissipated with time although it made the trek seem to drag. Frequently he’d catch sight of a Knight trotting veritably along, although words were not shared. The boy was more or less of a stigma within the order these days, a sporadic train waiting to derail. His condition was inactive, but the looks—no, the absence of them told of the disappointment and ostracism the others had condemned him to. The stories were the worst, because they often overreached the truth, and surmised that the young lad drove his father to death during the Djed Storm which then turned his mother to madness forced her hand in suicide.

These notions elicited a laugh, though it was coldly and venomous. He jerked the reins and veered off into a more densely packed trail less often traveled, guiding his steed with one palm while he pushed stray branches out with another. The sound of trotting was replaced with the scraping of hoof against wet leaves, and the scenery transformed into a verdant haven, filled with writhing branches that housed curious fauna. Birds and beast alike eyed the armed rider warily before scattering off as he drew nearer, deeper into a section of these woods.

It will be dark soon. I best be getting back to report. . .

[Crypt]

OOC Note : Er... Timestamp? “Maras, go on and do whatever you want. Give me a few minutes before we go back into the city.” The Cyphrus Strider moved off to a small patch of rather thick grass, and began having a small meal. Meanwhile, Crypt sat down at the base of an oak tree, facing it, and placed his leather backpack on the ground beside him. Taking out a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink and a quill, he dipped the quill into the bottle before penning down a few words on the top of the parchment, then placed the quill down, turning to the tree trunk. Closing his eyes, Crypt slowly felt for the Djed inside him, coaxing it to move as he wanted. After a few seconds, Crypt opened his eyes and observed the aura of the oak tree. Never mind the colours of the exterior, I just want to see the shapes. Steady, steady... Ah, there it is. Curious. The emerald aura extended only a few inches from the trunk, although it went down deep beneath the earth, as far as Crypt could tell. Placing his hands on the tree, he could feel it thrumming under his palms, and as he moved his head downwards, the Drykas could observe something moving from the soil into the tree itself, growing more and more visible as it coalesced up the trunk. Crypt cut off the flow of Djed before too much was lost - he already had a slight headache. Picking up the quill, Crypt began writing down his observations.

[Sighard]

In the distance there was a small clearing, a circular enclave by which only the trail struck into, and was otherwise guarded by the wooded sentinels that rose stiffly above in a thick perimeter. The auburn sunlight filtered down through the treetops and trickled in streams of red and yellow that exposed the individuals below. Though they were somewhat hazy at a distance, Sighard had enough sense to make out the odd behavior of a man with his palms pressed against the trees. The sight brought more than a few questions to mind and the squire snapped his reins, ushering his steed to a light trot in order that he could break the distance. He was not all that subtle about it, and trundled through the thicket as dictated by the heavy, loud presence of one cloaked such as him. The pounding of hooves and clinking of metal long preceded his actual foray into the clearing.

His horse stopped with a quick jerk of the reins, the squire spoke in commanding tones, a reflexive intonation which he’d repeated many times to travelers along these paths.

“Hail. Identify yourself!” Sighard demanded from atop his steed. The horse snorted and jerked it’s head momentarily, causing it’s frame to shudder uneasily for a bit before it finally stood dutifully by, eyeing the man and other horse warily. There were few things that did –not- generate threat in these woods, and past experiences had taught the squire well to treat any and every encounter as a potential threat for these were woods that held the lawless and morally wrong alike.

[Crypt]

As Crypt finished writing down the last of his observations, the familiar sound of hooves meeting the ground and the unfamiliar sound of metal clinking against metal reached his ears, and his head whipped around to see a stranger, cloaked, but with hints of armor peeking through. A Syliran Knight? Damn, why did he have to be here? I was going to do that again to get more information. Ahh, you bugger. Crypt turned his body slowly to face Sighard, replacing the bottle of ink, parchment and quill inside his backpack. He allowed his own cloak to hide both his hands from sight, placing the left hand on the hilt of his longsword. “M'name's Crypt, and this here's Maras. And who are you to demand that I tell you my name?”

[Sighard]

The audacity of Crypt's questions was reciprocated by a reflective chuckle, a dismissive gesture that absolved the severity of his words and robbed them of their power. Although, in their current situation the perception was rather clear how the power game played out, what with Sighard dressed for battle upon a trained steed, looking upon what he assumed to be a denizen of Syliras. Delicately he ran a few fingers through the mangled matting of his hair and he responded, with an air of entitlement that was jarringly arrogant for a Beleld. A man with the authority to protect his kingdom-- and with the privilege to carry out the duty of this order through what means are viable. . .

A hand idly slipped within his cloak, and his fingertips danced delicately along the shaft of the weapon hanging just against his shoulder while his opposite snapped the reins ever so lightly, persuading his steed in a gentle step that offered a wider canvas of the area and a mobility that the knight felt safer given the circumstances. Looks like my day's not quite finished yet. The thought prompted an acute breathing and a sort of adrenaline that lightened Sighard's head and made him feel giddy.

All about the young squire the colors danced mercifully in the setting sun which brought with it sharper contrast and more shadowy precipices that threatened to consume both of the men. "Most would take your hostility as a threat, that you may be engaged in activity counter-productive to Syliras. That is an offense we do not take lightly, Crypt."

[Crypt]

“I suppose outraging the modesty of a tree is an activity counter-productive to Syliras? You surely jest, miss. Besides, this is the Sylira region, not Syliras. Your official jurisdiction is over thine city, not the entire region, or I would be seeing the likes of you everywhere, whether it be Ravok, Zeltiva or Sunberth.” Completely unintimidated by the rather amusing figure, Crypt's grin widened to almost implausible proportions as he walked towards the armored one slowly and deliberately, playing with a small, smooth pebble. “Then again, my father was right about your... organisation,” Crypt mused, “he always said that you were close to being fanatics about safe-guarding Syliras; I can't blame you for that, it is certainly a noble goal to protect the people - or is it just one being? My father has some interesting tales about his time here, though he won't tell everything.”

[Sighard]

"Before you take another step, sir. . ." The words were emphasized by a whirring and a flurry of cloak, that, in one elegant motion produced the head of a spear pointed lethally in the general direction of Crypt's throat. A single palm, rested firmly at the base maintained the rigidity of the weapon while the other continued it's control of the steed. A jerk this time pulled it's procession to a halt and it stood dutifully by, expressing breaths that resulted in frosty wisps to furl from it's circular nostrils. It's bulbous eyes gazed upon the man across from it curiously and without fear, even as he approached. "I'd advise you stand by. There is a clear discrepancy between what you think you know and the truth. Regardless of this fact you tread on ground very clearly within the jurisdiction of Syliras, and so will be judged as such."

Sighard's response was not rash, but reflexive. It was not brutal but elegant even in the clunky armor which inhibited his flexibility. It seemed all so natural to him now that his focus rested entirely on his perception and observation of the situation, which invariably caused the hairs on the back to rise and his stomach to twist. Were moves to be made he'd known how ugly this could get. He wouldn't have time to whistle for assistance and even then the trail winding through these woods was a slow one to work through. He'd be isolated for several minutes before help could arrive.

"Needless to say your words fall on deaf ears. Your criticisms are the hollow echoes of opponents to our civilization and are regarded as traitorous slander."

[Crypt]

Crypt closed his eyes for a few moments as he stood still, concentrating on channeling the Djed from his right arm to his left arm and legs. It would not do to be unprepared in such an environment. “My, that's a rather long spear you have there. Compensating for something, I suppose. Still, the blade isn't as sharp as I would have made it, but each to his own anyway. What proof do you have that you know the truth? None, that's for sure. All reality may just be an illusion; that's the way the pendulum swings. Ergo, you do not know nothing, for that would be contradictory, but you do not know everything either. Or rather, enough to know that what you speak of is the truth, and what I utter are lies.” Crypt continued to move leisurely towards the amateur horseman (compared to the Drykas in general, Crypt specifically), moving to one side of the spear such that it would not skewer him. He stopped a feet or two from Sighard. “You, my friend, are rather confused. If my words are nought to you, why do you then respond to them? You are not deaf - otherwise you would not know what I speak of, unless you can lip-read. I say to you, you know almost nothing about this world; even I, a youngling, know more than you do. Spare me the propanganda, say not the words you have been taught. Be rational and use logic. Speak of your observations untainted by all. I speak only what I observe; all my words are supported by hard evidence. Still, your organisation's devotion to protecting Syliras and her citizens are, I must say, admirable. Unfortunately, many of the Knights, especially the younger ones or the squires, seen to have gone selectively blind - they repeat all their elders tell them to say and most of the time, do not think.”

[Sighard]

“Observation, eh?” The same chuckle was repeated, mildly and without serious regard for the fellow across from him, a man that ambled delicately along. As his spurs dug into the side of his steed it kicked forth into a small trot, an encircling movement that rotated Sighard about Crypt so position dictated that he was facing his back. He slung the spear back over his shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest as his gaze jerked upwards to the falling sunlight and deepening shadow. Time was not a luxury the squire could afford in these woods, and prolonging such an encounter, he knew, could invariably be lethal. “You’re less a threat and more a grievance. I pity your friends.” Though their content assumed some profound meaning, the dull pitch and pace erred on the side of petulance.

Sighard took the time to ponder his adversary, and the uneasy radiance he had about him. There was a feeling in the pit of the squire’s gut that made his fingers dance upon the hilt of his blade and his eyes to tear from their wandering in anticipation of a sudden movement that would engage them in deadly dance. The most efficient, and moral way to deal with this is to separate myself from this fellow. He’s given little reason to worry.

“The night’s on her way. You best be heading back to whatever hole you crawled out of. With luck I won’t be having to pull your corpse out of a ravine in the morning.”

[Crypt]

“Maybe I am, maybe I ain't. Most, if not all, of my friends tolerate me rather well.” Crypt continued to turn with Sighard, keeping him well within sight. The squire was quite an interesting figure, even though his intense belief in the Syliran Knights' creed was rather annoying at times. “Considering that the 'hole' I crawled out of is the Traveler's Row, well,” Crypt replied dryly, “I'd say it's more of a lair. Isn't a ravine a deep, narrow gorge with steep sides? Gods forbid that I should be found in one - there isn't even any ravine near Syliras.”