2nd of Fall, 514 AV
A wind blew in that afternoon along the Kabrin Road. On that wind came change, and with it something new. The baking sun beat down upon the forms slowly trudging along the Road. The crunching of dirt under wheels, hooves and many feet accompanied the caravan making its way to the sheltering arms of the main gate of castle Stormhold. It was unusual, however, to have a caravan arrive so unexpectedly. The trading partners for Syliras were often predictable, merchants and city officials often meeting with the knights, the council and the wealthy merchants of Syliras to arrange a time to shoot towards. But it was not unheard of.
The caravan itself appeared to be relatively small, six wagons and about 40 people and half as many horses. It was typical in makeup, wagon drivers, passengers and accompany travelers with a ring of hardened guards, most likely mercenaries, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. With the city in sight the foot sore and travel weary caravaners seemed to brighten, the guards relaxed visibly in their saddles. The knights, who already were aware of this most unusually timed caravan, awaited their arrival at the main gates and were asked to stop. As usual, the two gatekeepers stood flanking the gates, ready to inspect the caravan. The called out to them, "Hail! Where be ye from?"
The lead wagoneer called back, approaching with a quickened, but steady pace, "Zeltiva Ser! We come bearing, Timber, Gadgetry and Zeltivian Cuisine." And indeed it appeared this was so. Two of the great wagons were longer than others, the covered tarps easily discernible to be timbers and masts. At last they came to a stop at the gates and awaited instruction. The pair of knights began with wagons. They searched all of its contents, checking expensive trinkets such as a gearwork clock, or wind-up toy knights, devices of obvious care and precision. Some of the wagons contained provisions such as casks of kelp beer and dried and salted fish, along with the fine timber important from the mountainous region that Zeltiva was indeed famous for. All of it was checked, the wagons themselves were looked at carefully, the knights experts at discerning hidden compartments such as false bottoms. But despite their scrutiny, the wagons were what they were told to be, good laden vessels who made great distances from their homes across the earthen sea known as the Wildlands.
Next came the people and the horses. One by one people were brought to the elder of the pair of guards. The man was experienced enough in medicine to know a sickness when he saw it. Their possessions were sifted through and for the most part nothing was confiscated. But when the knights came to the last traveler. At the last moment this traveler broke away from the group and ran to the gates and pulled out a package from his cloak. The knights yelped and chased after, just as the man reached the gates. Quickly he pulled open the box.
Then there was nothing.
The Great Bazaar was always busy. People constantly streamed in and out of the market place. It was a common activity for the populace of the city to wander the market and shop. Be it simply looking, haggling for prices, or finding that rare deal among the sea of stalls, there was always something to do. It was a mass of people, elbows and shins, boots upon toes, all lingering with the scent of human bodies pressed together. The noise itself was deafening upon entering the Bazaar. With so many people talking all at once, each vendor hawking their wares, it was difficult to hear one's self, let alone each other. On that fine fall afternoon there was nothing that could have prepared the people for what was to come.
Devandil Nightshade, the magecrafter Symenestra was wandering the stalls of the Bazaar. Occasionally there were rare regents to be found upon those table, sometimes something he could use. The people seemed to instinctively avoid the tall, pale man. People coming towards him often pause and duck into side alley. Those before and behind him tended to shy away upon realizing his presence. The Symenestra were known in the city... but most were not oft well liked. Let alone this particular fellow. His reputation for magery in the Bazaar was well known, and thus he was rather feared by the people.
In any case, he was perhaps the only one to notice the slight tremor in the ground. The sound of a great crashing far off before a mirror of the sound cracked off in the noisy place. Hundreds of people were momentarily blinded in the resulting blast. They would later claim to have seen a streak of light before a pillar of fire erupted on the far side of the Bazaar. Devandil was too busy looking in the opposite direction to see the exact moment when the light struck the stone. But he certainly felt the effects.
A wave of compressed air and fire expanded outwards in the confined place, flattening people and stall alike. Stone erupted itself, great chunks of it breaking free as if the massive stone slabs meant nothing. Boulders littered the market place, blocking paths, crushing stalls and people. Devandil was tossed like a spindly ragdoll, all legs and limbs. By the time he got up himself, embedded in a cloth banner that broke his fall, the Bazaar was in utter chaos. People were running in all directions, a child stood crying as people rushed around her. Some lay dead in the lanes as people walked over the bodies headless. Some less fortunate were still alive and shrieking in pain with every foot pressed to their body.
Devandil the magecrafter needed to flee. He craved his home, his safe haven. But in this mob, there was nothing that he could do. The people were no longer driven by logic, just fear and panic. If only someone could do something! The knights would restore order, eventually. But until they came, the people in the bazaar were on their own.
A wind blew in that afternoon along the Kabrin Road. On that wind came change, and with it something new. The baking sun beat down upon the forms slowly trudging along the Road. The crunching of dirt under wheels, hooves and many feet accompanied the caravan making its way to the sheltering arms of the main gate of castle Stormhold. It was unusual, however, to have a caravan arrive so unexpectedly. The trading partners for Syliras were often predictable, merchants and city officials often meeting with the knights, the council and the wealthy merchants of Syliras to arrange a time to shoot towards. But it was not unheard of.
The caravan itself appeared to be relatively small, six wagons and about 40 people and half as many horses. It was typical in makeup, wagon drivers, passengers and accompany travelers with a ring of hardened guards, most likely mercenaries, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. With the city in sight the foot sore and travel weary caravaners seemed to brighten, the guards relaxed visibly in their saddles. The knights, who already were aware of this most unusually timed caravan, awaited their arrival at the main gates and were asked to stop. As usual, the two gatekeepers stood flanking the gates, ready to inspect the caravan. The called out to them, "Hail! Where be ye from?"
The lead wagoneer called back, approaching with a quickened, but steady pace, "Zeltiva Ser! We come bearing, Timber, Gadgetry and Zeltivian Cuisine." And indeed it appeared this was so. Two of the great wagons were longer than others, the covered tarps easily discernible to be timbers and masts. At last they came to a stop at the gates and awaited instruction. The pair of knights began with wagons. They searched all of its contents, checking expensive trinkets such as a gearwork clock, or wind-up toy knights, devices of obvious care and precision. Some of the wagons contained provisions such as casks of kelp beer and dried and salted fish, along with the fine timber important from the mountainous region that Zeltiva was indeed famous for. All of it was checked, the wagons themselves were looked at carefully, the knights experts at discerning hidden compartments such as false bottoms. But despite their scrutiny, the wagons were what they were told to be, good laden vessels who made great distances from their homes across the earthen sea known as the Wildlands.
Next came the people and the horses. One by one people were brought to the elder of the pair of guards. The man was experienced enough in medicine to know a sickness when he saw it. Their possessions were sifted through and for the most part nothing was confiscated. But when the knights came to the last traveler. At the last moment this traveler broke away from the group and ran to the gates and pulled out a package from his cloak. The knights yelped and chased after, just as the man reached the gates. Quickly he pulled open the box.
Then there was nothing.
The Great Bazaar was always busy. People constantly streamed in and out of the market place. It was a common activity for the populace of the city to wander the market and shop. Be it simply looking, haggling for prices, or finding that rare deal among the sea of stalls, there was always something to do. It was a mass of people, elbows and shins, boots upon toes, all lingering with the scent of human bodies pressed together. The noise itself was deafening upon entering the Bazaar. With so many people talking all at once, each vendor hawking their wares, it was difficult to hear one's self, let alone each other. On that fine fall afternoon there was nothing that could have prepared the people for what was to come.
Devandil Nightshade, the magecrafter Symenestra was wandering the stalls of the Bazaar. Occasionally there were rare regents to be found upon those table, sometimes something he could use. The people seemed to instinctively avoid the tall, pale man. People coming towards him often pause and duck into side alley. Those before and behind him tended to shy away upon realizing his presence. The Symenestra were known in the city... but most were not oft well liked. Let alone this particular fellow. His reputation for magery in the Bazaar was well known, and thus he was rather feared by the people.
In any case, he was perhaps the only one to notice the slight tremor in the ground. The sound of a great crashing far off before a mirror of the sound cracked off in the noisy place. Hundreds of people were momentarily blinded in the resulting blast. They would later claim to have seen a streak of light before a pillar of fire erupted on the far side of the Bazaar. Devandil was too busy looking in the opposite direction to see the exact moment when the light struck the stone. But he certainly felt the effects.
A wave of compressed air and fire expanded outwards in the confined place, flattening people and stall alike. Stone erupted itself, great chunks of it breaking free as if the massive stone slabs meant nothing. Boulders littered the market place, blocking paths, crushing stalls and people. Devandil was tossed like a spindly ragdoll, all legs and limbs. By the time he got up himself, embedded in a cloth banner that broke his fall, the Bazaar was in utter chaos. People were running in all directions, a child stood crying as people rushed around her. Some lay dead in the lanes as people walked over the bodies headless. Some less fortunate were still alive and shrieking in pain with every foot pressed to their body.
Devandil the magecrafter needed to flee. He craved his home, his safe haven. But in this mob, there was nothing that he could do. The people were no longer driven by logic, just fear and panic. If only someone could do something! The knights would restore order, eventually. But until they came, the people in the bazaar were on their own.
