[center][h2]Elutil[/h2]
&
[h2]Reaper[/h2]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/6Ma3kJC.png[/img][/center]

After nearly a week had passed and there was no sign of the rest of the clan, Reaper ordered the group of seven to move out alongside Elutil the Strider. Heavy silence was upon the band as they trekked. It seemed to them that the world, the gods, and the very wastes, were set upon tearing them from all whom they loved and all that they loved. First they were forced from Renev, then the very world seemed to change around them so that everything they ever thought they knew was a barren wasteland. Then a god - or demon, who could really tell? - had descended upon them and stolen two of their lads in the flower of their youth! And now the wastes seemed to have simply swallowed the great majority of those who had managed to survive all that. There was cause for misery and frustration. Paying heed to little other than the strider that led the way, the Renevits of the waste wallowed in hopelessness.

Though Elutil, out of respect, had silenced their questions, they nonetheless continued to take in everything they saw and heard. Day after day of walking, merely surviving, and day after day of healing; each sunrise, there were less cracks in Elutil’s crystalline matrix, even as the hole in their head remained. They could not see through the leathers that covered their head, and in its place they focused on other pursuits. They pieced together sounds, copying mournful wails and incorporating them into a greater whole that they sang from their body.

In some ways it was pleasing, though it evoked grief and loss. A shard of beauty extracted from the horrors of the wastes and the memories of what they no longer had. Day after day, and the song grew more and more complex, wordless yet dripping with emotion copied from the Renevits. It did not appear that the Renevits appreciated the sounds, however, which seemed to drive them only into a higher state of grief. After a day or two had passed with nothing other than Elutil’s keening, Reaper gruffly requested that it ease up on the sound. “The men are at their wits end with grief, Elutil, and that’s not helping.” The man explained.

Elutil’s covered head dipped in acknowledgement, and for a while the strider silenced. As they glittered in the sunlight, they considered the effect of their song on the group, and the grief it inspired. Questions whirled once more in their mind, and they elected to test it, but in a more positive manner. This time, as the party picked up speed in the direction Elutil had informed them harboured safety from the constant storms, the strider twisted their songs into ones meant to inspire determination and happiness. It did not fully dispel the group’s grief, naturally, but it brought their natural fortitude and strength of mind and will to the fore. Reaper’s commands came sharply and his remaining Renevit companions obeyed swiftly and wordlessly. They hunted together and were never to stray out of sight, not even when relieving themselves. When they had to rest, three of them were to be up keeping watch at any one time. In this manner they continued watchfully until one day the desert finally broke and they saw, in the distance, the sand and rock give way to trees and rolling vales of green. “It’s the worldriver!” Galloper breathed, eyes wide. The others murmured in agreement and joy. “By the wheat of spring! I can smell the clay of Renev on the wind!” Claymender cried, tears in his eyes. At mention of Renev the others were hushed and sadness took them. Then Donkeywhacker spoke up. “Maybe… maybe they’re back home. Maybe if… if we go back then…” he glanced at Reaper, desperate for any nod of agreement to give a spark to his flailing hope. Reaper’s visage was as stone, however, and Donkeywhacker’s face fell.

In considerably lower spirits, the Renevits and the strider continued their journey. Elutil, for their part, did not fully understand; though they felt the sandstorm lift, they did not know of Renev, nor of anything but the endless wastes. They lapsed into silence as they followed along, blind to the world and the river with the tents wrapped around their head. Reaper, who even in the midst of grief had remained the band’s dark-haired guidestar, led the way. He scanned the green horizon as they trekked on and the earth transformed beneath them from rock and sand to grass. After some quarter of an hour of searching, he finally saw something - a shape in the distance. “There,” he breathed, “that’s surely a town or settlement.” He gestured to the distant shape, and the others squinted and muttered their agreement. “Let us head towards it,” Reaper said, “and if the gods are kind we will find shelter there and safety, and we will be able to sit and think how best to find our people - who knows, maybe someone there will know something.” He glanced at the others and saw that there were nods of agreement all around. With a destination fixed, the band set out once more.

It was a half-day’s march, with very short rests, before they came to the edge of the town’s farmlands. They were greeted there by initially cautious but soon friendly peasants who were happy to share food with them, refill their long-emptied waterskins, and give them shelter for the night, even as they complained about the painful glares of light that emerged from Elutil. “How far is Renev from here?” Claymender asked their host, Rakbor, who was the ancient headman of the town. He was built like a horse and seemed like he would go on living ten thousand lifetimes more. “Renev?” Rakbor asked, “I’ve no’ hear’ ov i’, no I ain’. Bu’ maybe ask a wand’rin Daff’tale - them’s always wafflin’ one way or avah.” Reaper thought it a reasonable enough thing. “We will be heading out for the river tomorrow,” he told Rakbor, “forgive us for troubling you for the night.” The ancient giant made as if to swat his words aside. “Pssht man, Rakbor’s ‘earth’s a’wayz li’ fo’ gests.”

The fellowship of the Renevits were awake just as dawn broke, and by the time the sun had begun to rise they had broken their fast, readied up, and were ready to set out. Rakbor swore a thousand oaths that they would lunch with him, but they offered him a thousand thanks and blessed him a thousand more, insisting that they could not wait or dally even a moment. “O I’ll no’ ‘ave i’!” the headman declared, “iv i’s to va rivah yer goin’ weyl I’m goin’ wiv ya til yer on a boa’ an’ off wherevah!” Reaper and his band had long ago given up on attempting to understand what the - they now surmised - half-crazy old giant was saying, and so they did not complain when he joined them with some five of his sons and continued chattering away to them. With his help they made fast progress and, by sunset, were camped out on a hillside. One of Rakbor’s sons sang long into the dark hours of the night, accompanied by Elutil, and eventually they set up a night watch and settled down to sleep.

Their journey proved relaxed, unmarred by any terrible beasts or unpleasant encounters, and Rakbor’s company made it all the better. Over the course of the few days they travelled together, his words seemed to become clearer and clearer to their ears so that, by the time they reached the banks of the worldriver, they could only wonder at the fact that they had struggled to understand him just over a week before. “Ah, well here you are.” The enormous man breathed, gazing out at the river as he slapped Reaper on the back. “The worldriver!” It stretched out before them like a sea and they could not make out the other bank even though they strained their eyes. “Aye,” Reaper whispered, “the Great Snakesea.” Boats sailed close by and in the distance, some were  large merchant cargo carriers, others small fishing vessels, and others yet transports for people. “‘Fye’re lookin for yer people now,” Rakbor mused, “as I’ve tald ye, it’s Eastriver you should sail. No one what comes from Eastriver talks ‘bout anythin’ but great gods and heroes, cities for miles and,” and he gestured towards the great light shining upon the enormous tree that towered on the horizon, “and the holiest of holies there, the World Tree, the Divine Temple-Palace, and the Throne of Stone. If there’s anywhere you’ll find someone who knows aught about ‘em, it’s in those climes right there.”

Reaper scratched at his moustaches and stroked his beard in deep thought. “I think you’re right. Isn’t the homes of our lady of the earth that way too?” He glanced at Rakbor, who nodded and responded swiftly. “Aye, the sacred city of Sylia is in those climes too. If its her yer after then the destination is Eastriver, ever Eastriver.” And with that, the Renevits got to bidding Rakbor and his sons fond farewell, blessing them and praying eternal joy for them. He did not leave them till they had negotiated with a boatmaster and haggled him down to the skin of his teeth too, and they stood waving as the boat sailed away Eastriver- ever Eastriver! Once the docks were out of sight and the fellowship returned to passing the time, Elutil approached Reaper, their head still covered by the tent’s material, and asked, “Reaper, you and yours have been kind to me, tolerated my presence and the many questions I have offered,” the strider dipped their head, one manipulator arm motioning to the blindfold they wore to cover their wound, “but, would you do one more thing for me? I desperately wish to see what you see, and one side of my head can still see. I wish for a refined version of this blindfold, one that only covers one half of my head.” 

Following that, Elutil remained below deck for some time while Netter - who, by virtue of his past life as a fishing-net maker, had most experience of the men with matters of fabric - worked on the strider’s blindfold. He folded it upon itself, so that it was thinner and padded it most thickly in the areas around the strider’s open wound. It was rather shoddy overall due to the lack of means, but when at last Netter descended below deck and wound it about Elutil’s head, everyone was in agreement that it looked fine. “How’s that now?” Reaper asked the strider. As Elutil stepped atop the deck, they did not immediately respond; instead they carefully examined the ship they sailed upon, curiosity and wonder evident; by their body language, they might as well have been staring at the most beautiful gem.

There, at the edge of the ship, the water. Elutil stared down at their own glittering reflection in the clear blue water. As the vessel sliced through the current, it foamed at the edges and left a wake that the strider studied with yet more wonder. Once, they had only known sand, blood, and the storm. Above, the clear blue sky and below the babbling flow of the river. They were silent for a while, looking out at the banks beyond and the plants growing upon them. When they finally did speak, it was choked, some form of awe in Elutil’s tone, “I never knew all of this existed. I couldn’t have imagined this when I heard you speak of your homeland.” Standing nearby and looking into the flowing water, Reaper managed a sad smile. “It doesn’t look like we have much homeland to speak of anymore.” He murmured, but was quite quick to move on. Elutil was silent once more, taking in the sights they had never before known, before they eventually responded, “Where will you make one,” the strider paused, and then clarified, “a homeland, I mean. A new one.” With furrowed brows, the man leaned over the side of the ship slightly and looked at the passing bank. “That’s not something I’ve had the luxury to think about. It’s like not something those of us who knew Renev will ever be able to do. But before we can attempt it - for the sake of those who come after us, anyway - we first have to find those we lost. Longsight and Badboy… Lifedancer, Rockpetter, Treesbane… and those from before too, who we lost during the assault on Renev and the failed flight to Fort Skybreak. I can’t even comprehend settling in any new home without everyone.” He released a long sigh and glanced over at Elutil. “So I guess it’s Eastriver, like Rakbor said. When we reach Sylann I am sure the goddess will have answers for us… or at least, that’s what I hope.”

“Goddess?” Elutil asked, suddenly, as they looked over at Reaper. Their manipulator arms held onto the railing; their head stretched over the edge, even as the bulk of their body remained firmly behind the railing. Hurriedly, once more a clarification was added, “What’s a Goddess?” 
Reaper raised an eyebrow at the strider. “You know…” the man’s voice trailed off, “the one that took Longsight and Badboy- we’ve mentioned her plenty.” He approached Elutil and examined its head. “Has your wound addled your mind? Maybe taking in all these sights has confused you- go rest. And I should too, actually.”

And withholding a yawn, the man walked off to the quarters below deck to get some rest.



[hider=Summary]Reaper, Elutil, and the Renevits left behind on the wastes begin an adventure. They get to the Worldriver, where they meet ancient and mad Rakbor. He helps them on a boat and they begin their journey eastriver towards Sylann! They’re on a quest to find the other Renevits, and who better to ask than Sylia?[/hider]