Prologue: Ordinance.
Location: Southeast of Tyrovion, nearing the southern Umbric forest; a relatively flat expanse of semi-wooded grassland (woodland?), of temperate climate, with some hills and streams dispersed in the area.
Time: 15th of Zanatria, 1019 AF. Mid to late afternoon.
A jagged bolt of lightning flashes across the grey sky, a brief moment of a brilliance and a forecast of the impending weather.
A brilliant figure is seen in the distance, shining with a vaguely unnatural radiance. A yellowish-brown cape, barely visible under the dim conditions, billows in the fierce wind. Even more elusive is a smaller, darker silhouette, horizontally outlined against the brighter shape.
Rain slams into the ground below, poignant droplets colliding with the thirsty earth.
A typical summer storm, the figure thinks, and concentrates on wrapping a thin sheet of condensed air about both his own body and that of his companion's; a moment later, the rivulets of water slide off his skin and his clothes neatly, though his garments remain, regrettably, slightly drenched. Conjuring a faint violet glow in front of him, he continues his slow and deliberate survey of the surrounding areas, hoping that the rain does not worsen – he hadn't brought an umbrella, after all, and he would rather not strain his mental resources for something as trivial as keeping himself dry, though it was likely required for the person that he was currently taking care of. (That particular person was asleep at the moment, and it took a moderate amount of physical exertion simply to carry her; thankfully, the task is made somewhat easier when a degree of mental effort is exercised alongside.)
He squints into the distance, but fails to detect anything other than indistinguishable shadows.
I'm not going to get anywhere any time soon under these conditions. Carrying her in this rain isn't a viable course of action, anyway.
He forces a surge of energy through his body and into the magelight, gasping at the sudden loss of strength, and the scent of mint leaves hangs briefly in the air. In response, the orb floods itself with brilliance, becoming many times more radiant, and after a simple command of 'rise' – causing it to hover far above his head – it begins to illuminate his surroundings to a distance of a half-mile. The immediate area is relatively flat and elevated, and there is no threat of flooding; he nods, and the strands of copper on his cape flare a shimmering gold, shielding everything in a five-foot radius from the elements as he begins to set up a tent manually.
He isn't pleased at all with the results of Helvenand's conquest. It isn't that he doubts the decisions of the Emperor – he has just as much a reason to dislike the Perinthian extremists, if it comes to that, as anyone – but was the chaos to the surrounding countryside really necessary? Helvan forces were quick in their dispatch to locales now left defenseless by the exodus of Perinthian garrisons, and extra legions had already been sent for; but many things could happen to those municipalities in the interim … especially with the bands of unpaid mercenaries that were now roaming the countryside.
How many would fall victim to the ravages of war, even now that the main conflict has already concluded?
He bites down into his lower lip slightly, and, having finished the construction of the canvas shelter, heads inside.
An hour or so later, the rain begins to subside, and the sun shows itself imperceptibly; a few rays of light cut through the greyish haze. The girl blinks, and reflexively stretches out her arms behind her, yawning as she does so. She has no memory of falling asleep atop the surface that she currently rests on; the soft verdure beneath her is cool, slightly wet to the touch, and water droplets hang off individual blades of grass.
"Good afternoon." The white-haired young man – her traveling companion – looks at her with an expression of mild curiosity. "Did you sleep well?"
Abruptly she remembers the conditions under which she had fallen asleep, and her hands push against the ground, struggling to get up. "I – sorry about earlier…" She blinks, and is silent for a moment, lost in thought. The subject of her apology smiles faintly, and raises his shoulders briefly, allowing them to fall a moment later in an indifferent manner.
"You were tired. I made as much progress as we could; we're nearby the encampment now, but rain happened, and…" He points at the fabric of the enclosure around them. "Well."
A few seconds of tranquility pass. This time, it is her turn to shrug, though he feels it is more out of disorientation rather than apathy.
"We can continue when you're a bit more awake, if you'd like." He stretches out his arms. The tent isn't particularly spacious, but there is room for that, at least. She looks askance at him, then nods in agreement, and closes her eyes again.
Another hour passes, then two, and then four, and she is still asleep. He hears the faint crunch of boots on grass, and raises an eyebrow, readying himself to investigate. He isn't about to tell her that he has heard footprints outside, of course. There is no cause for concern; he would investigate and deal with any problems that happen to arise himself.
He is greeted, outside, by the sight of a golden-haired man – probably older than him by a bit, though not by much – clad in an ultramarine jacket, rapier in gauntleted hand, a cold glare on his visage. There are a few others behind him: a girl with a crossbow, sharing similar hair colors and features to the man; a tall, broad-shouldered, axe-bearing man; another orange-haired girl, whose stature and appearance seems almost too young for the battlefield; a darker-skinned man, dressed in crimson robes whose hems are so long that they brush the ground; and a dark-haired man whose skin – the exposed portions, anyway – is covered with colorful tattoos (runes, perhaps?). Not all of them are particularly imposing, but certainly quite a few can be classified as such.
"Hand over that girl, and we won't hurt you." He frowns at this, drawing his own crysteel blade with a smooth motion; the sword slides free from its scabbard with a sibilant ring.
"Mercenaries these days… To stoop so low as to engage in highway robbery and kidnapping is far too much, I think." He smiles austerely to himself; it was a really bad idea to challenge so many, especially because they didn't seem to be normal bandits, judging from their appearances, but he wouldn't exactly be able to do much else.
The sun glows a brilliant orange on the horizon, and it is late afternoon.
At these words, the rapier-wielding man scowls, and thrusts the tip of his weapon forward in a threatening manner. "Don't complain I didn't warn you, then."
[Information - Read Please]
Time: 15th of Zanatria, 1019 AF. Mid to late afternoon.
A jagged bolt of lightning flashes across the grey sky, a brief moment of a brilliance and a forecast of the impending weather.
A brilliant figure is seen in the distance, shining with a vaguely unnatural radiance. A yellowish-brown cape, barely visible under the dim conditions, billows in the fierce wind. Even more elusive is a smaller, darker silhouette, horizontally outlined against the brighter shape.
Rain slams into the ground below, poignant droplets colliding with the thirsty earth.
A typical summer storm, the figure thinks, and concentrates on wrapping a thin sheet of condensed air about both his own body and that of his companion's; a moment later, the rivulets of water slide off his skin and his clothes neatly, though his garments remain, regrettably, slightly drenched. Conjuring a faint violet glow in front of him, he continues his slow and deliberate survey of the surrounding areas, hoping that the rain does not worsen – he hadn't brought an umbrella, after all, and he would rather not strain his mental resources for something as trivial as keeping himself dry, though it was likely required for the person that he was currently taking care of. (That particular person was asleep at the moment, and it took a moderate amount of physical exertion simply to carry her; thankfully, the task is made somewhat easier when a degree of mental effort is exercised alongside.)
He squints into the distance, but fails to detect anything other than indistinguishable shadows.
I'm not going to get anywhere any time soon under these conditions. Carrying her in this rain isn't a viable course of action, anyway.
He forces a surge of energy through his body and into the magelight, gasping at the sudden loss of strength, and the scent of mint leaves hangs briefly in the air. In response, the orb floods itself with brilliance, becoming many times more radiant, and after a simple command of 'rise' – causing it to hover far above his head – it begins to illuminate his surroundings to a distance of a half-mile. The immediate area is relatively flat and elevated, and there is no threat of flooding; he nods, and the strands of copper on his cape flare a shimmering gold, shielding everything in a five-foot radius from the elements as he begins to set up a tent manually.
He isn't pleased at all with the results of Helvenand's conquest. It isn't that he doubts the decisions of the Emperor – he has just as much a reason to dislike the Perinthian extremists, if it comes to that, as anyone – but was the chaos to the surrounding countryside really necessary? Helvan forces were quick in their dispatch to locales now left defenseless by the exodus of Perinthian garrisons, and extra legions had already been sent for; but many things could happen to those municipalities in the interim … especially with the bands of unpaid mercenaries that were now roaming the countryside.
How many would fall victim to the ravages of war, even now that the main conflict has already concluded?
He bites down into his lower lip slightly, and, having finished the construction of the canvas shelter, heads inside.
=-=-=
An hour or so later, the rain begins to subside, and the sun shows itself imperceptibly; a few rays of light cut through the greyish haze. The girl blinks, and reflexively stretches out her arms behind her, yawning as she does so. She has no memory of falling asleep atop the surface that she currently rests on; the soft verdure beneath her is cool, slightly wet to the touch, and water droplets hang off individual blades of grass.
"Good afternoon." The white-haired young man – her traveling companion – looks at her with an expression of mild curiosity. "Did you sleep well?"
Abruptly she remembers the conditions under which she had fallen asleep, and her hands push against the ground, struggling to get up. "I – sorry about earlier…" She blinks, and is silent for a moment, lost in thought. The subject of her apology smiles faintly, and raises his shoulders briefly, allowing them to fall a moment later in an indifferent manner.
"You were tired. I made as much progress as we could; we're nearby the encampment now, but rain happened, and…" He points at the fabric of the enclosure around them. "Well."
A few seconds of tranquility pass. This time, it is her turn to shrug, though he feels it is more out of disorientation rather than apathy.
"We can continue when you're a bit more awake, if you'd like." He stretches out his arms. The tent isn't particularly spacious, but there is room for that, at least. She looks askance at him, then nods in agreement, and closes her eyes again.
Another hour passes, then two, and then four, and she is still asleep. He hears the faint crunch of boots on grass, and raises an eyebrow, readying himself to investigate. He isn't about to tell her that he has heard footprints outside, of course. There is no cause for concern; he would investigate and deal with any problems that happen to arise himself.
He is greeted, outside, by the sight of a golden-haired man – probably older than him by a bit, though not by much – clad in an ultramarine jacket, rapier in gauntleted hand, a cold glare on his visage. There are a few others behind him: a girl with a crossbow, sharing similar hair colors and features to the man; a tall, broad-shouldered, axe-bearing man; another orange-haired girl, whose stature and appearance seems almost too young for the battlefield; a darker-skinned man, dressed in crimson robes whose hems are so long that they brush the ground; and a dark-haired man whose skin – the exposed portions, anyway – is covered with colorful tattoos (runes, perhaps?). Not all of them are particularly imposing, but certainly quite a few can be classified as such.
"Hand over that girl, and we won't hurt you." He frowns at this, drawing his own crysteel blade with a smooth motion; the sword slides free from its scabbard with a sibilant ring.
"Mercenaries these days… To stoop so low as to engage in highway robbery and kidnapping is far too much, I think." He smiles austerely to himself; it was a really bad idea to challenge so many, especially because they didn't seem to be normal bandits, judging from their appearances, but he wouldn't exactly be able to do much else.
The sun glows a brilliant orange on the horizon, and it is late afternoon.
At these words, the rapier-wielding man scowls, and thrusts the tip of his weapon forward in a threatening manner. "Don't complain I didn't warn you, then."
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