Quest Salvaging Souls (Azmere)

[Gossamer]

Image Here Early Spring, 516 AV (Date TBD by PC) The smell of fresh green growth was everywhere. The warm spring glow of Syna's happiness had encouraged new shoots of sedges and grasses to climb up tall into the sky, waving waist high on humans and chest high on horses. Tall grass was a good thing, especially in the spring when water clung to it and it hadn't had a chance to dry out or prove to be a fire hazard. Later, as it aged, it would grow dangerous and ominous. But for now it just lured herds to graze glutton-like on it. It also concealed. In its depths were hidden predators, sparkling springs and streams, and sometimes even wallows or pitfalls. Even more rare it hid ruins and the evidence of past doings that were not old enough to fall prey to the rot of elements. It was in this tall grass that Azmere's roaming took him across the path of the carcass half decayed in the grass. He didn't know he was upon it until his horse pulled up suddenly, locking heels and sliding to a stop in the slick grass. Snorting, the animal almost touched noses with the remains of what most likely was tragedy. A wagon lay broken in the grass, half gone to the ground that might have been mud in the winter. However, the charred wood on the remaining side indicated it was victim to something more. It was in a small self-made clearing where the grass grew just a bit greener than that surrounding it most likely due to the ash from the fire a season or two ago. It was on its side, collapsed as if it had reared up on its own accord and half dived into the ground as if the Sea of Grass had truly been a real ocean and the wagon a whale breaching for air. Tilted on its side, half vanished, with only one arch of an old bow used to hold canvas aloft remaining, the carcass was a sad thing. If any animals perished with it, there was no evidence other than some half rotted leather traces left stretching out into the overgrown grass. A yoke and the single and double tree hitches were still visible as well. Two wheels remained, half charred and only slightly reminiscent of the duty they used to preform. Oddly though, there was cargo half charred still in the wagon and spilled to the ground beyond. It was ensnared in green - grass, weeds, and wildflowers - though some of the crates were still intact. The sideboard for the part that was still visible was still intact though heavily charred. Some of the visible crates were sealed with wax and propolis as if they protected precious cargo, though the wax and glue itself looked partially melted perhaps from the heat of the fire. There was even remnants of the canvas that once sheltered the load, though it had long since collapsed across the upturned wagon and half rotted across the load. The entire wreck of the wagon looked to be untouched since it had met its fate. Such a thing was rare, but the crates it held might prove useful. So too would the wood be, even charred like it was. Intact wood was rare on the Sea of Grass and valuable. In a pinch the trees and yoke could be cobbled into a travois if something was to be found that was salvageable and more than a single horse could carry. It was up to him. He could investigate further or pass it by letting someone know where it was in case they wanted to salvage.

[Azmere]

28th of Spring, 516 AV

Burning.

It all burned. The contrasting eyes watched in a pool of blood as his reflection burned from the neck to his knees. Azmere felt sorry for the poor soul that stood trapped in immolation. Like a mirage, the shimmering visual swayed and flickered with each drop of life’s element. Yet there he stood in failure and agony tainted red. A sudden realization caused the Drykas to lift his hand but his gaze never left the mirror image as if afraid to confirm what the thousand tiny explosions of pain attempted to convey. Ticks turned to chimes which collected bells until the archer felt his arm begin to go numb from being held in blind suspension for so long. Cobalt and maize orbs waded from the crimson waters to the right at a space between light and darkness.

There, the calloused hand dripped bright red blood from beneath tongues of fire in all shades of orange. It was familiar but there was an uncertainty which made him rotate his forearm. As the hand in his line of sight mimicked the muscles’ command, a very unique ring made of leather worn on the thumb shattered the illusion; the tortured spirit was his own.

The pain became real. Tangible. Despite his will, Azmere threw his head back and cried out in agony. His eyes squeezed shut to try and block out the horrible feeling but it was of no use. Clutching his fists, the Drykas ran towards the ruby liquid but collapsed in a heap just short of the relief it promised. The fire surrounded him and stole the air from his lungs. Without a sound, the archer felt his spirit leave.

Azmere woke up with sweat pouring down his face. His blankets were soaked clean through to his bedroll. He moved in what could only be described as a spasm to check his body for wounds; a costly miscalculation. The dried bandage on his abdomen popped up from one side taking the freshly made scab with it and causing no small amount of discomfort in the process. A simple “Petch!” burst from the watchman’s mouth. Grey moved closer to his master. The canine had left the bed when the screaming started and moved towards the door both confused and concerned. The archer’s face curled into a grimace when the wafting bitterness of his herb dressings filled his nostrils. His whole body rebelled against the idea of movement and activity. He snapped his fingers twice to summon his companion who moved with more caution than usual in response. Azmere reached out and scratched the dog behind his ears then twisted slowly to begin the process of changing his bandages.

Waisana had done her best to patch up the fortunate Drykas. “Too stubborn to die”, an ankal had once claimed. The past few weeks had been slow and frustrating for a man used to lots of activity. Now it was a chore to get dressed. Azmere took hold of his ruck and fished out the bandages that had been prepared for him. Each was a different size so it made application rather easy. First, he carefully laid out the large square meant for his chest. The skin was healing well but needed more time to create a thick enough layer to fight off infection on its own as the tissue was still soft enough to be susceptible to tears. The second piece was a long rectangular wrap that was used to tie off the wound in his thigh. Finally, he unfolded the rectangle meant to treat both abdominal wounds. Azmere’s eyes studied the array and he took a deep breath before he yanked off the old bandages.

Azmere had everything he needed before him now and set his jaw. He laid the wrap under his leg and pulled the poultice through until he had enough slack to lay it flat against his thigh. The sticky herbs instantly made the wound tingle which caused the Drykas to suck air through his teeth. He held a steady pressure on the patch for several ticks before taking a free hand and pulling the cloth tight then over the wound. He went round and around his leg making it as tight as he could then fastening it with a simple tuck and a metal pin. The one on his abdomen was much the same except he required a great deal more coordination to maintain the tension on the cloth wrap. Even after dozens of attempts since the incident, Azmere still had to unwrap it and start over twice before getting a good, solid compress. Finally, he laid the square bandage over the wounds on his chest and wrapped them as well. The watchman pinned his gauze under his arm then pulled it over and around his neck before tossing it back down. This, too, took several attempts to get it tight but after a solid bell’s worth of work the archer was wrapped up and ready to get started with his normal wake-up routine.

Azmere took almost forty chimes to get dressed. He wore his leather pants and boots, a white linen shirt and his bracers. He had no need of his armor today but the bracers gave him a sense of security amidst his wounded state. He shouldered his backpack on his right side. The bag had been unpacked and repacked to save weight and space because the Drykas had found that it was not possible to carry the loads that he was used to; not yet, anyways. He slipped through the flap of his personal tent and clicked his teeth for Grey to follow. The dog obliged and stayed a few feet behind until the duo had reached the openness that lay past their small campsite.

Horse was lingering about eating clover and wild oats several pavilions down. Azmere just shook his head. The pain from his wounds served a singular purpose and that was to remind him that he was alive. The numbness in his core from losing Hephiestian was a constant call to surrender and die. The man shook his head and walked down to fetch his wayward mount. Stubborn as a Zibri, this was not easy given Azmere’s condition so with soft words, light taps and a great deal of patience the rider was able to coax his mount back to camp. Azmere set down his pack and grabbed the yvas. He tossed it up onto Horse with motions that were both jerky and a bit random. The archer didn’t fully bend at the waist or knees, nor did he fully extend his arm so the seat landed a bit rough and crooked which spooked Horse into jogging a few yards away. More coaxing and more patience led to Azmere being able to load the yvas bags. This was difficult since they were heavier than the yvas itself. He squatted down and slowly rose with his arms extended down and grasped the leather satchels. Keeping his back straight, Azmere straightened his legs until he was standing fully. With careful breathing, he rocked his arms out and flexed his biceps, the strain showing through as a red behind his cheeks, until the bags came up and he was able to rest his thumbs against his shoulders. He took a slow step forwards and gently dropped the bags onto the yvas.

[Azmere]

Azmere had no inclination to ride Horse. He did have to go check on his traps, however, and gathered his pack once more. Ready to leave he stopped and sighed. He languidly went back into his tent and gathered his quiver, bow and club. Now armed, Azmere set off into the Sea of Grass with Grey at his side and an almost reluctant mixed breed at his heels. The Drykas had long ago attached a rope to the yvas handle to help guide Horse around since he was old and not accustomed to the Drykas’ methods.

After some time, Azmere began to feel better. Syna was warming his bones and she seemed to be chasing some of his aches and pains. The Drykas smiled a weak half-smile; the left side always flat due to his scars. He pondered if he would ever fully heal or if the pesky limp of his left leg would linger for the rest of his days. So far, his traps had been empty but the watchman didn’t seem to be bothered by it. His mind was elsewhere. Lost to himself, the blue and gold stare almost didn’t comprehend his furry friend bristling and posturing towards a small hill to their east. Azmere might have walked right on by had Grey not blown his gums out in a very faint woof. This got the man’s attention. His skin crawled and he dropped both pack and rope in exchange for Vihar and an arrow from his hip quiver.

Azmere studied the dog and his stance as well as the direction of focus. The drykas’ contrasting gaze, which was broken by bursts of color, went to the hill. The other side didn’t appear to be very deep but this was the Sea of Grass, anything could be on the other side. The archer did not experience fear very often but he felt extremely vulnerable and debated the risks of his present scenario. Ultimately, it boiled down to a simple teaching of his grandfather.

I would rather know than guess. The words of Asmodeus rang in his ears. Azmere nodded and moved forward slowly trying to maintain an even stance of balance. He notched the arrow and drew a partial tension but kept the arrow pointed at the ground a few feet in front of him. Grey had frozen in his place so after Azmere had moved ahead several yards, he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth twice. The dog responded by moving up to Azmere who then nudged the canine forward with his leg. Grey was far better at stealth than any human. The dog slipped along the stalks of grass almost disappearing in the all patches around the hill and then froze once more. The archer moved slowly trying his best to lay his boots down softly against Semele’s skin but also tried to avoid making his pant legs rub. This resulted in a crouched position that sent a shot of pain up from his thigh with ever transfer of weight but it gave him a great deal more cover.

Azmere made it to Grey’s position and nudged the dog to the left. The unspoken command for release, the hunting canine crept to the edge. The watchman knew he had to match the dog’s pace and so he limped to the right only to pause before exposing himself to what lay beyond what he could see. His body trembled with anticipation and anxiety but his hands remained firm. Azmere raised his bow, the tension in his left shoulder caused his chest wounds to itch and burn but he pushed through it. The Drykas peered around the hill with his arrow leading his vision. There was wagon, upset and partially overgrown. Without moving, he scanned the area and even checked points within the distance that might hold a cautious observer but he saw nothing. Azmere clicked his tongue twice once more and moved around closer to examine the area.

Grey came around with his nose instantly finding the crates and sniffing at them as well as the charred pieces of the cart. Azmere was a bit baffled at the amount of crates and cargo still intact. He had witnessed caravans before but never really took the time to inspect goods. He limped up to the overturned transport and shoulders his bow. He shifted his weight to his right leg but used the wooden frame as a means to displace some of his burden by leaning against it. Grey continued to sniff the area but the archer’s eyes became fixed on the wax seals. He began to think about what would be the best way to open one without damaging it. He couldn’t carry much by himself but perhaps there was enough material still in decent condition to make some kind of sled. Horse wouldn’t like it but the damned creature might prove useful if these crates held anything that might be of value to the Drykas people.

Azmere took hold of his dagger and slowly inserted the tip an inch or so into the wax seal. He used his left hand to steady the wooden box while he sawed and tugged the blade through the coagulated substance. He moved slowly and methodically with his knife like he would when skinning an animal. Jerking and yanking motions not only wasted energy but caused accidents. Once he had finished that, he replaced the dagger in favor of his club. The horn was too large to get down in the small gap but there was just enough lip for the talons. The watchman took the handle of his club and turned upside down. He extended his arm forward so the talons could sink in under the lid with the handle going along the top of the crate. His left hand steadied the container and with his right arm, he pulled back on the handle. The talons dug in further and became the fulcrum in this equation. Azmere heard the wood creak so he put more force behind his arm drawing it closer to his chest. He used steady pressure to control his strength for two reasons. He did not want to break what was inside and he didn’t want the talons to slip out and send him flying backwards.

[Azmere]

Animal Husbandry: +2
Stealth: +1
Organization: +1
Medicine: +1
Endurance: +2
Horsemanship: +1
Bodybuilding: +1
Investigation: +1
Weapon-Dagger: +1
Weapon-Club: +1

Animal Husbandry: Summoning a companion
Animal Husbandry: Hunting with an animal
Azmodeus: “I would rather know than guess.”
Bodybuilding: Lifting with a straight back
Endurance: Functioning through the pain of multiple injuries
Horsemanship: Working with a stubborn horse
Investigation: Following the instincts of one’s companion
Medicine: Changing bandages on a healing wound
Organization: Laying out items for a better view of inventory
Stealth: Crouching to make steps quieter
Weapon-Dagger: Opening a sealed crate
Weapon-Club: Finding ways to use one’s gear