Izurich
Drifting Pollen
Rezod92
Lexisheeps
xxjessicaxx
Timemaster
Eviledd1984
pkken
VitaVitaARKeira/Jarren
After a few hours of walking through the forest that smothered most of Pertovia Keira begin to see glimpses of gold in the distance and knew she was close to her new home. The last time she’d made the trip from her old home to Illistair it had been a grueling 3 day expedition with her old man to reach a place where he’d be safe from the filth. Yet as she reached the treeline she saw that the safety she thought she had found him had lasted less than a month.
The fields of various cereals and legumes that surrounded the town had great wounds carved through them filled with the wretched puss of the filth, a trail of destruction that led to the most harrowing sigh: the breach in Illistair’s walls. She’d seen the aftermath of an assault of Kendles before and even if those were often far more destructive this was far more impactful. The wretched town was made of buildings that always seems like it was going to fall apart at any moment, which made seeing them raised to the ground was a confirmation of expectation, something anticipated that had finally come to pass.
The damage done to Illistair, though minor in comparison, was nonetheless far more impactful. An ancient monument of defiance brought low by the filth and yet she saw it had not been truly defeated. When she tore her eyes away from the overall scene she could see that humanity had not fled into the wilds in response, but where instead hard at work trying to prepare for the next blow that would surely come all to soon.
The fields were empty, with every capable citizen of Illistair hauling stone debris over to makeshift stations where giant wooden tubs of mortar were being stirred. Wooden levers and ingenious contraptions of rope and lumber aided the many working people in their laborious task, knowing damn well how little time they had. As if betting on their failure to close the gap by dusk, a good plenty others were set to work on creating a wooden palisade in front of the workshop, a good bunch of siege engines waiting behind the whole ordeal.
Keira sight in relief at the sight of the tenacious Illistairans working to rebuild their home. They might not be the friendliest bunch, but she relied upon them to keep her grandfather, Greum, safe while she was away, and in that they had done well so far. She bit her lip as she tried to work out if they could ever manage to make it to Jornorston in one piece if the wall was not enough to hold of the filth. She was unsure if Greum would be able to make the trip. If he was even still alive, added a niggling doubt at the back of her mind.
Keira shook her head to dislodge the thought and then set off at a jog through the empty fields towards the town.
Jarren had found a cloak of sorts -- one that was clearly once several shirts and maybe even pants, but a cloak nonetheless. Mindful of the bindings, he sandwiched the book he had found between his chest and the cloak, one arm wrapped across underneath the fabric, and the hood pulled up and over his head. Anywhere else, this would likely have caused more suspicion than it deflected, but in Illistair -- it was not exactly uncommon to try and sneak around the cramped town without bumping into the very same people you were retreating from in the first place. Where safety was a currency in Kendles, privacy was the scarce resource of Illistair.
He quickened his pace as he attempted to gain enough momentum to slip through the bumbling crowd all around him. Squished between two rows of close pueblo style huts and houses that seemed to stack haphazardly on one another, the foot traffic of Illistair was thick and possibly deadly to a foriegn child.
The rank musk of the crowd caused Jarren’s nose to scrunch, reminding him to see to a bath himself -- or at the very least a rub of the mint plants and a scrape with a stick: a treatment jokingly called the rich Kend. He tightened his grip on the book, several Illistairian children weaving by him and dipping under a tall man’s legs.
With the crowd in his way, the rest of the walk was slow and uneventful. This added to his prayers of thanks when he finally managed to squeeze out of the slow shamble and nearly bump right into a sturdy wooden door. He held a fist up to the door, his mind abuzz with what he was going to say. Of course he had met Greum once or twice in passing, who hasn’t in this quarter, he was old and strange -- Illistarians love old and strange. He rolled an eye in counter-thought, at least until they become too old and strange, then they are deemed a burden or even a threat to the peace. Jarren shook his head, but at least he knew Greum would keep this quiet.
He pulled back a hand, cocked and ready to knock when he froze again; if he does this, there is a very little chance he can turn back and just go back to his old life. He scrunched his nose again and dropped his brow, why was he even doing this -- he was a survivor, not one to just throw--
Without warning the door swung open before him, revealing the old man he had come to see. He was in the midst of conversation with someone else inside the room, his head turned to speak with them instead of him “...Like I said, Illistair has seen darker hours.” before noticing Jarren standing outside. “Oh! You startled me dear boy. Give me a moment and I will be right with you.” he said.
A middle aged woman, the one he had been opening the door to allow them to leave, hurried between the two men, quietly bidding Jarren hello and Greum goodbye as she passed them by and then disappeared into the crowded streets beyond.
Jarren watched her leave before looking back at Greum, his large brown eyes flickering over the man as if still deciding on his decision. He exhaled slowly, his chest already tightening with regret, “I have something to show you.”
“You do do you? Well then by all means do come in.” Greum said, stepping aside to let Jarren inside. “I think we’ve met” the old man add as Jarren stepped inside “But I don’t think I’ve caught your name?”
"Jarren," He said as he stepped into the plaster pueblo hovel and scanned the one room abode. The old man’s home was at the cheap end of the scale of Illistan housing, a single room apartment that had everything he owned crammed inside it. Two beds sat at either end of the room, one having seen far more use than the other. At its center was a small crude wooden dining table, which had an inkwell and two books, one a half finished copy of the other, stat upon it currently. Two chairs were set by it, one of which the old man took after closing the door while he offered the other. A pail of water, running noticeably low, and a small crate with a half eaten loaf and some salted meat sat atop it was the only sign of food in the room. The centerpiece of the home was a set of shelves with a number of books and several ancient artifacts tastefully arrayed across it. The collection must have been worth a small fortune, putting it at odds with the rest of the home, but the noticeable gaps on the shelf explained the discrepancy.
"But people have the idea that I'm someone else -- which is actually why I'm here." Jarren said after scanning the room. Greum raised an eyebrow in response before scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Have you accrued another man’s troubles or his prestige?” he asked.
"I think we are about to find out," Jarren said, not taking his eyes off the shelves. He clutched his prize close for a moment, still hesitant, "Where -- where did you get all those books?"
“Hmm. Copies, most of them, or books I have been commissioned to make copies off, but i did also write a few of them myself.” he explained, sliding the half finished replica on the table over for him to see.
Jarren craned his neck to look it over, no less illiterate than before. He nodded with a fake understanding as he slowly sat into his seat, "It looks... Pretty?"
“Thank you.” the old man responded, smiling softly “I might be getting on in years but fortunately my hands are still steady enough for this kind of work.” he slid the book back over to its original. “Now then, what was the inherited item you wished to show me?”
"Oh- a book," Jarren finally pulled the book he had hidden from his cloak, shaking his hood down at the same time. With a ginger touch, he carefully placed it on the table. He pulled away from the object as if it would erupt into flames and stared back at Greum, waiting.
“I see” the man responded non commitaly, before reaching over and picking up the book. First he simply examined the outside, before cracking it open. “I’ll see if I can get the gist of what this is about as quickly as I can before we work out if you want me to read the whole thing or not” he said as peered at the book.
It has opened to the slip of cloth, same as it did for Jarren. Jarren flicked his eyes from the cloth and back up to Greum expectantly, his fingers curling into the palm of his other hand anxiously. He cleared his throat, “That was in there when I found it.”
“Interesting” the old man responded, old fingers peeling away the cloth. His eyes widened at the treasure inside, the old browned parchment staring up at him. Across its surface was an old out of date script that caused Greum to pause.
“What is it?” Jarren asked hopefully, leaning forward over the table -- as if his eyes would be any better.
“This parchment is truly ancient. No one has used Aethelian scripture in over three hundred years!” he explained as his eyes continued running over the page.
“Wait,” Jarren hunched on the table, “Aethelian? Like the time of Aethel?”
“Exactly that. This appears to be a piece of a ledger, or roster, of some sort.”
“You can read that?” At this point Jarren had scooched his chair next to Greum, turning his head every which way in an attempt to unlock the secrets of the strange letters.
“Not perfectly, or even quickly. But I think I am getting the picture.” Greum said before humming and ha-ing his way through the text. “It seems to list Aethel’s holdings,” he finally explained excitedly “these include both Illistair and, fascinatingly, the Castle of Hope.” there was an expectant pause.
Jarren looked at the old man, his tanned face gone pale and his brown eyes all the wider, “Castle Hope!? It exists?” He looked down at the paper, his gut telling him it’s clearly a fake, a silly hoax -- but who would go through the trouble in a time like this; who could?
“If this parchment is legitimate then… well....” the old man seemed at a loss for words for a few moments before coming to his senses. ”Let’s take a look at the book before we get ahead of ourselves.” The old man continued to scan the ledger for several more moments before delicately storing the parchment back in its cloth protector, Jarren’s eyes following it the whole way.
After carefully, reverently, placing the parchment to one side Greum cracked open the book it had been in. “It’s a journal.” he explained quickly before reading more, adding “Ratcher’s journal to be exact.”
“It seems he and his sister where heroes.” Greum said
"He has a sister?" Jarren echoed, guilt worming into is stomach.
“So it seems.” the old man looked over the top of the book at Jarren for several pointed moments “She’s called Lauriel.” he said, before returning to his reading.
After several quiet moments he suddenly exclaimed, “They found this in an old ruined library! Then… my goodness, then the parchment might well be real and not some phony replica.”
Jarren shifted in his seat, split between guilt over the sudden humanization of his alter ego, and the tentative excitement of legends becoming real, "So does..." He spoke carefully, "I mean if it is real... Then the armory of Aethel...?"
“Quite possibly. Here,” the old man usually presented the book to Jarren and pointed to some illegible squiggles “there is even mention of them finding a sword, shield and helmet in those very ruins that the parchment was found in. Perhaps those came from that very armory.”
Jarren clenched and unclenched his sword hand, "Ratcher's blade..." He furrowed his brow, jumping his chair closer, the excitement drowning his guilt, "What else does it say?"
“Hmm well lets see here” Greum continued to scan through the pages, then scanned what he had read for a second time before saying “Lauriel has arranged a meeting with someone in Kendles who is in possession of an ancient map. They think they can use that map and the ledger to locate the ancient castle Hope!”
"This is all too..." Jarren fell back into his seat as reality dawned on him, a mix of emotions on his face, "Oh Teid..." He put a hand on his face, "This all can't be real."
“Those who call themselves heroes as Ratchet does in this book tend to exaggerate quite a bit.... But it’s also a private journal, and we have one piece of the solution right here with us…” Greum drummed his fingers on the table while thoughtfully staring at the final page of the journal with anything on it. On it was the drawing of the crowned woman. The old man blinked a few times in surprise upon reading the notes below it. “This is supposedly a sketch of a statue of Aethel that Ratcher made… which must be wrong.”
"Aethel is a king, a man," Jarren said idly, almost feeling wrong sitting next to the confused scholar, "Right?"
“That is strange isn't it. I’d love to ask him why he thought that the statue was one of Aethel… but I suppose that brings us to the Giant in the room. Tell me, what happened to Ratcher? Or is that something I am best of not knowing?” he asked carefully.
“He’s dead,” Jarren said with a puff of breath, “He rushed into the siege and got himself killed.”
Greum sighed. “Such is the fate of heroes.” he said solemnly. “Eventually they bite off more than they can chew.” There where a few moments of silence before the old man spoke again “and considering you have this now, and what you said earlier, I assume people think you are him?”
"I tried to tell them," Jarren defended himself, "But they insisted... The people want heroes."
“People want hope, because it makes life about more than simply surviving. Without it, places like Illistair wouldn’t exist. Some people raise others or themselves up as champions. Me? I look for it in the past and considering what you’ve brought me today. Well...” Greum too a long look at the piece of cloth containing the ledger “the question remains. What are you going to do with it?”
"Not much to do with it," Jarren said after a pregnant pause, "I'm not a hero like Ratcher was, and I'm already far too coiled into his mess..." Jarren stopped as his stomach twisted with guilt, "It's unfort- sad... It's sad he died, it is -- but that doesn't mean I have to change my life -- or complete his ambitions. I mean sure, it would be extraordinary to find the armory or even do all these fancy fables of hope and heroism but really," Jarren forced a laugh then frowned at Greum's serious face and the two shared an awkward silence.
Jarren sighed, "There is one thing I can do..." He surrendered, his guilt finally conquering him, "I can at least bring the news and book to his sister... It's the least I could do-- Ratcher did save me... And I did take his identity." Jarren put a hand on the back of his neck and looked about in thought, "Yeah it's the least. She'll have far more use for it than me, anyways."
The old man smiled kindly “I can understand your reluctance, I’ve met enough of them in my time to know Heroes often have these responsibilities hoisted upon them by the gods. Luckily you have a place to hand them off too. Have you ever been to Kendles?”
“Twice,” Jarren admitted, “I never thought I’d ever go back, but I’d rather toss this from my conscious and be done with it.”
“Then you’ll know it’s not a place to tread lightly. I’ve never been personally, but I’ve heard stories from guests and my grand-daughter.” Greum scratched his chin thoughtfully “Would you mind delaying for just a bit. I’d like to make a copy of the ledger for safety's sake. Be a shame if some low life stole it before you could find Lauriel.”
“Yeah, I suppose that would be smart,” Jarren nodded, “Feel free to copy whatever you want, it’s not mine anyways.”
“Excellent” Greum responded, before acquiring fresh parchment and carefully unwrapping the document once more. “Please help yourself to some lunch while you wait.” he added as he set to work.
Jarren turned to the hard bread on the crate and frowned, “You don’t mean that lunch, do you?”
“That or something in it if you like, thought is more of the same. I’m afraid we’re running a little low until Keira gets back from her latest expedition.” he said over the scratching sound of slow careful writing.
“Kiera?”
The girl in question wove her way through the streets of Illistair, her hat firmly held down on her head as she traversed the crowd. She finally broke into the street her and Greum were staying. It felt like the journey from the forest to her home had taken far longer than the travel in the forest itself. The journey had been made worse by the nagging worry in the back of her mind, but as she approached the hut she could faintly hear her grandfather chatting away. Letting out a breath she didn't remember holding in she rapped a knuckle against the door and then let herself inside a few heartbeats later.
Inside she found her grandpa, who had stood up from where he had been working on writing something to come get the door. Relife and joy lit up his face when he saw her.
“Keira! Welcome home.” her grandfather said as he came up and embraced her tightly. She did the same, happy to confirm that he was entirely unharmed, until she noticed the guest in the room, at which point she lightened the embrace to an awkward pat on the back, Jarren giving the two a weak smile.
She was released a few moments later and the man introduced her and their guest to one another.
“Jarren, this is Keira who I was just telling you about. Keira, this is Jarren who has just come across the most remarkable discovery. A three hundred year old record proving that lost castle of hope is more than a legend!”
“The one with the ledgenery armory?” She glanced over at the parchment and recognised the Aethelian lettering even if she was more or less incapable of reading it. “Its real?” she said, both amazed and intrigued.
“Quite possibly.”
“Not that we will ever know,” Jarren added defensively, “This doesn’t belong to any of us.”
“What do you mean?” She asked, not entirely sure what to make of the stranger’s comment.
“It belongs to a woman in Kendles -- I’ll be returning it,” Jarren gave a nod, “And that’s about it.”
“Oh. right.” the armory of hope. It wasn’t an opportunity she could pass up. Glancing at her grandfather she knew he felt the same way. Mainly because he was minutely jerking his head towards the man to encourage her to ask “Can I come with you to meet her?”
Jarren’s eyes widened, “What for?”
Keira leened as nonchalauntly on the table as she could “Well looking through old ruins for artifacts is basically my job at this point. So maybe this woman’s looking for scavengers to help dig up this castle. Could be a good pay day” she said cooly, before totally losing said cool and adding “Also it’s The Castle of Hope! Calling it merely legendary would be a colossal understatement. There's no way you can dangle something like that under our noses and not expect a bite.”
“Hey,” Jarren held up two palms, “It’s none of my business, I just want to give the stuff to the lady and be done with it. Whatever you do, is your decision and I’m just saying it right now, I had no part in it... none!”
She gave him a slightly bemused look before assuring that “Yeah that’s fine. Your onboard with this right gramps?”
“If I were 30 years younger…” The old man mused before adding more sternly “Just be careful not to get in over your head.”
“I can handle myself out there, don’t you worry,” she assured him while still looking like she’d fought a tree that very same morning.
“So when are you leaving for Kendles?” she asked Jarren.
Jarren sucked in a long breath, “I’d say as soon as possible.”
