I will be away this weekend. @Mechromancer I will wait for you to post before they ‘pause’ for a break. *cough*bandit fight*cough* 😆
Noted. Struggling with the seasonal autumn flu still, but I will try my best to get a post out ASAP.
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The Ever-Sickly
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Noted. Struggling with the seasonal autumn flu still, but I will try my best to get a post out ASAP.
I apologize for taking so long to get another post out. Every autumn I tend to get bedridden for a very long time because of my weak immune system. Sorry if I held the campaign up because of that.
Dorothea's sleep had not been as peaceful as she had hoped. She hadn't slept in the same room as another person since she was a young apprentice, not yet even flowered. To do so again after all this time proved to be a great challenge, though eventually, and thankfully, exhaustion had claimed her and sent her into the realm of dreams and memories. Yet even there she would not find respite...
The dream began innocently enough, a memory of an archeological dig Master Arvis had them partake in months prior, studying fragmented stone carvings and runes in search of some lost lore or spell. She swore it was sunny that day, though the dreamscape depicted the site as bathed in rain and fog. She felt the rattling platemail of the Guardians at her side, their hands resting on the pommel of swords, ready to cut them both down at the slightest sign of insubordination. She hatedthem. She still hated them.
And then as she repeated words beneath her breath, scribbling them down in a great book, she uttered the wrong word, and the whole dreamscape found itself swallowed up by a black void. She was alone. Again. Her Master was lost in that great darkness, and with all her might she reached out to catch him.
It was not enough. It was never enough.
She was the last to crawl out from beneath the covers when the morning came. She saw the others were already in various stages of readiness. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of their breakfast, and despite herself she happily devoured more than she probably should. The Dwarven cook knew her buns, that was for sure. Of course, after every binge came the gnawing guilt. She was taking advantage of the woman, and it stung.
Though, thankfully, she did not have time to wallow in self-pity for too long, as a chest was pointed out to her. A chest upon which rested the same carved crest as the one on the medallion that had lead her to this place. Anxiously, she pressed a hand softly against that symbol, and reverently opened it. Within, resting upon a bed of rough fabric, sat a worn spellbook, and the disassembled pieces of a great magical staff. She noted the knife-like blade upon it's end, and the soft blue light emanating from the gem adorned at it's top. This could not have been easily made, and likely cost a great deal of gold. Her heart fluttered in her chest.
The book contained main pages of arcane knowledge she was familiar with, but curiously an even greater amount of blank pages, worn but never used. Were they left so she could inscribe her own findings in them, at some point in a nebulous future?
She had been entrusted with all this. It was almost too much to take in...
And yet, Master Arvis had one final gift to deliver, for the rough fabric lying at the bottom of the chest was in fact a set of more non-descript robes. Far less likely to draw attention to her compared to the bright-blue apparel marking her as a mage of the Gallows. Excusing herself to a more private corner of the room, she giddly threw off the gold-accented silk and replaced it with the brown leather. She was not free. Not quite yet, but she had taken a great step forward.
Returning to the group, she gave Faline a nod, and spoke. "Y-Yes, I am ready to depart."
The dream began innocently enough, a memory of an archeological dig Master Arvis had them partake in months prior, studying fragmented stone carvings and runes in search of some lost lore or spell. She swore it was sunny that day, though the dreamscape depicted the site as bathed in rain and fog. She felt the rattling platemail of the Guardians at her side, their hands resting on the pommel of swords, ready to cut them both down at the slightest sign of insubordination. She hatedthem. She still hated them.
And then as she repeated words beneath her breath, scribbling them down in a great book, she uttered the wrong word, and the whole dreamscape found itself swallowed up by a black void. She was alone. Again. Her Master was lost in that great darkness, and with all her might she reached out to catch him.
It was not enough. It was never enough.
She was the last to crawl out from beneath the covers when the morning came. She saw the others were already in various stages of readiness. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of their breakfast, and despite herself she happily devoured more than she probably should. The Dwarven cook knew her buns, that was for sure. Of course, after every binge came the gnawing guilt. She was taking advantage of the woman, and it stung.
Though, thankfully, she did not have time to wallow in self-pity for too long, as a chest was pointed out to her. A chest upon which rested the same carved crest as the one on the medallion that had lead her to this place. Anxiously, she pressed a hand softly against that symbol, and reverently opened it. Within, resting upon a bed of rough fabric, sat a worn spellbook, and the disassembled pieces of a great magical staff. She noted the knife-like blade upon it's end, and the soft blue light emanating from the gem adorned at it's top. This could not have been easily made, and likely cost a great deal of gold. Her heart fluttered in her chest.
The book contained main pages of arcane knowledge she was familiar with, but curiously an even greater amount of blank pages, worn but never used. Were they left so she could inscribe her own findings in them, at some point in a nebulous future?
She had been entrusted with all this. It was almost too much to take in...
And yet, Master Arvis had one final gift to deliver, for the rough fabric lying at the bottom of the chest was in fact a set of more non-descript robes. Far less likely to draw attention to her compared to the bright-blue apparel marking her as a mage of the Gallows. Excusing herself to a more private corner of the room, she giddly threw off the gold-accented silk and replaced it with the brown leather. She was not free. Not quite yet, but she had taken a great step forward.
Returning to the group, she gave Faline a nod, and spoke. "Y-Yes, I am ready to depart."
Dorothea accepted the soup-filled bowl with but a silent nod and grateful look to the Dwarven woman. The conversation had advanced so rapidly she almost lost herself in her mind a few times. It was clear however that her Master had some sort of plan. A plan that perhaps did not completely align with these shadowy conspirators...
How she wished he had confided more in her...
For now, she resolved to follow the vocal self-declared leaders of the group. Faline and Amandine both brought good qualities to the table, reassuring and friendly, focused and goal-oriented. They would need all of that and more if their destination was an ancient ruin in the Mountains. With a frown, her tongue finally registered the texture of the soup. It was...not disagreeable, though perhaps she had grown used to more exotic meals back in the Gallows. With a heavy swallow, she cleared her throat and finally spoke.
"R-Regard...regardless of it-it's supposed rel-religious v-value-" She began, eyes squeezed shit for a moment in an attempt at calming her frayed nerves. "-It could...s-still assist i-in finding a cure. Dra-Dragonian magic is an entirely sep-seperate discipline from th-the arcane teachings of m-mages. We k-know so little a-about th-their practices, that t-there is a c-chance they encountered this di-disease before, and c-cured it." A grimace graced her lips as she continued, doing her best to meet Amandine's gaze. "While...distasteful to r-rob graves, we ca-cannot leave this o-option unexplored. T-Too much is at stake."
She was under no illusions that the Rifer would approve of it, but Dorothea hoped that by reminding her about the growing death-toll around the Empire, she would put aside her reservations until they had been pointed in the right direction. Perhaps then they could return the Amulet to it's resting place again? Her attempt to voice that suggestion was quickly derailed as the talk of sleeping arrangements emerged, and that raging embarrassing blush reared it's ugly head again. With a mumbled stammer the mage simply offered to sleep on a bedroll if needed. So long as she didn't have to share a room, she should be...alright?
How she wished he had confided more in her...
For now, she resolved to follow the vocal self-declared leaders of the group. Faline and Amandine both brought good qualities to the table, reassuring and friendly, focused and goal-oriented. They would need all of that and more if their destination was an ancient ruin in the Mountains. With a frown, her tongue finally registered the texture of the soup. It was...not disagreeable, though perhaps she had grown used to more exotic meals back in the Gallows. With a heavy swallow, she cleared her throat and finally spoke.
"R-Regard...regardless of it-it's supposed rel-religious v-value-" She began, eyes squeezed shit for a moment in an attempt at calming her frayed nerves. "-It could...s-still assist i-in finding a cure. Dra-Dragonian magic is an entirely sep-seperate discipline from th-the arcane teachings of m-mages. We k-know so little a-about th-their practices, that t-there is a c-chance they encountered this di-disease before, and c-cured it." A grimace graced her lips as she continued, doing her best to meet Amandine's gaze. "While...distasteful to r-rob graves, we ca-cannot leave this o-option unexplored. T-Too much is at stake."
She was under no illusions that the Rifer would approve of it, but Dorothea hoped that by reminding her about the growing death-toll around the Empire, she would put aside her reservations until they had been pointed in the right direction. Perhaps then they could return the Amulet to it's resting place again? Her attempt to voice that suggestion was quickly derailed as the talk of sleeping arrangements emerged, and that raging embarrassing blush reared it's ugly head again. With a mumbled stammer the mage simply offered to sleep on a bedroll if needed. So long as she didn't have to share a room, she should be...alright?
Hmm. Interesting developments. @WhiteAngel25 Would any of this ring any bells with Dorothea, aside from the stuff Faline brought up? While not a Dragonian I imagine the Gallows has a very extensive library to draw knowledge from.
Despite herself, Dorothea managed to muster a small returning smile as the great bear of a man grinned. Though her heart still rapidly beat in her chest, she could not help but feel he was sincere in his reassurances. As noted by the tiny whisper in the back of her mind, he did not look like a Protector, or one overly concerned with their mandate. The pounding in her chest slowly gave way.
And then Sir Dorian returned, and for the briefest of moments she was on alert once again. As their erstwhile recruiter however began to speak, other emotions quickly rose to the surface. Shock, sadness, a flash of anger. Master Deylin was not taken as she had feared. He was safe!
...And yet he had abandoned her...
For reasons she could perhaps understand, but the betrayal of her trust still stung deeply in her core. Why did he not trust her with this? Had she not made her distain for their jailors and their allies? And yet...
Again, that small smile threatened to spill forth again. He was safe. Deylin was safe, and he believed in her, enough to set her upon this path in his stead. The resentment was pushed back to it's dark corner, and Dorothea smiled.
Patiently waiting for the others to finish speaking, the young mage squeezed herself into the empty space left behind with her own words. "I...I would request the ability to speak with my...m-my mentor at the earliest opportunity. B-But for now, I am r-ready and willing to join this endeavor. I do have a question o-of my own. Master Deylin's work; does A-Amandine speak true o-on it-it's relation to the Rot?" That vision of exotic beauty was onto something with that line of questioning. The Plague was ravaging the Empire. A cure would not only save countless lives, but if developed by an unchained mage might lead to future freedoms for the inhabitants of the Gallows. Was this an incidental thing, or was Master Deylin weaving his own plot in this...this conspiracy?
As her mind raced and whirred with the possibilities, her gaze drifted to the early arrivals. Amandine and Faline, her memory helpfully provided. Their combined presence seemed to allow Dorothea to comfortably exist in the background, all but unnoticed. It was a state of affairs that suited her fine. With an unsure smile she attempted her best to wordlessly convey her thanks, though she could not sustain that smile for long under their returning gazes. In the depths of her mind, she cursed her social anxiety!
And then Sir Dorian returned, and for the briefest of moments she was on alert once again. As their erstwhile recruiter however began to speak, other emotions quickly rose to the surface. Shock, sadness, a flash of anger. Master Deylin was not taken as she had feared. He was safe!
...And yet he had abandoned her...
For reasons she could perhaps understand, but the betrayal of her trust still stung deeply in her core. Why did he not trust her with this? Had she not made her distain for their jailors and their allies? And yet...
Again, that small smile threatened to spill forth again. He was safe. Deylin was safe, and he believed in her, enough to set her upon this path in his stead. The resentment was pushed back to it's dark corner, and Dorothea smiled.
Patiently waiting for the others to finish speaking, the young mage squeezed herself into the empty space left behind with her own words. "I...I would request the ability to speak with my...m-my mentor at the earliest opportunity. B-But for now, I am r-ready and willing to join this endeavor. I do have a question o-of my own. Master Deylin's work; does A-Amandine speak true o-on it-it's relation to the Rot?" That vision of exotic beauty was onto something with that line of questioning. The Plague was ravaging the Empire. A cure would not only save countless lives, but if developed by an unchained mage might lead to future freedoms for the inhabitants of the Gallows. Was this an incidental thing, or was Master Deylin weaving his own plot in this...this conspiracy?
As her mind raced and whirred with the possibilities, her gaze drifted to the early arrivals. Amandine and Faline, her memory helpfully provided. Their combined presence seemed to allow Dorothea to comfortably exist in the background, all but unnoticed. It was a state of affairs that suited her fine. With an unsure smile she attempted her best to wordlessly convey her thanks, though she could not sustain that smile for long under their returning gazes. In the depths of her mind, she cursed her social anxiety!
Apologies for the lack of activity from me. Heatwave rolling over the area just completely destroyed me.
Awestruck as she was, Dorothea never even registered the sound of the door opening up behind her again, so shortly after she had arrived. The rumble of the voice behind her made her all but jump out of her skin. With a short "Eeep!" she hurriedly scrambled off to the side, muttering a few stuttered apologies to the bear of a man patiently standing behind her as she went.
Her poor struggling heart, already beating away like there was no tomorrow, skipped a vital beat as the small mouse she had barely registered in the corner of the room shifted and changed. Gods above, was this place going to be the death of her?!
She clamped a clutching hand to her chest, and tried her best to steady her breathing again. She didn't even register the words of the ethereal Elvian...
Her poor struggling heart, already beating away like there was no tomorrow, skipped a vital beat as the small mouse she had barely registered in the corner of the room shifted and changed. Gods above, was this place going to be the death of her?!
She clamped a clutching hand to her chest, and tried her best to steady her breathing again. She didn't even register the words of the ethereal Elvian...
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