Two horsemen ride up to a tavern...

Phadeout said: "You are right, I am not Na'arik. My name is Kaed, and I was given the necklace by Na'arik to fight the fight that is needed at this time. My people fight from the saddle often and I have ridden many a horse, but you... well you are something else. A true wonder." His long fingered hand, tanned and strong reaches out and gently strokes the side of the horse's face, feeling the strength palpably radiating from the beautiful animal. "There is such energy in you, may we run now?" The tribesman waits for permission before mounting the horse. Muscles twitch in the horse's flank. The intelligent eyes seem to size up the barbarian before the horse bows its head in an approximation of a humanoid nod. "Kaed. Yes. Let's run."

"I'm not clever," Ascian says by way of noncommittal explanation, a frown flickering across his face as he follows Marianne's gaze to the wolf. "Can you not heal him. Are there books or scrolls here that would help." Standing here he can't imagine there's anything this study doesn't hold, but while languages stick with him books never quite have – the talent to be able to pull one open and find what you're looking for that Thrandimir seems to be so good at is a magic that had passed him by. "I...don't know." The question has him clearly wrong-footed, something that hadn't occurred to him over the course of all their time lying in the dark together.   He thinks briefly of when he'd been small, and his sister had found a stray cat; how she'd held it against her until her arms had been scratched to ribbons and yet inexplicably loved it still.  He hadn't understood then, why she'd clung to it so fiercely; why she'd insisted on giving a name to a wild animal she'd surely never see again, and could do nothing for her in return. Then, when he'd watched their mother treat her cuts, he'd found the idea of animals to be as inconsequential as they were insignificant; now, a decade and a half later, he thinks he might finally understand. Brow creasing, he looks down at the wolf again, his hand stilling on the creature's head. What does one name a beast like this? Did the orcs already have one for him? Did his own kind? There was a weight and responsibility to the decision he doesn't quite know what to do with, until cloudy eyes lift to him and he thinks of blood and arrows and the lingering reflection of dwindling flames and dying light. "Ember," he says at last, running his hand over the wolf's ears. "That's what he makes me think of." He looks back up at Marianne with a pale imitation of urgency that still somehow feels like more than he can hold. "Can you help?"

Marianne scratches the wolf's head. "Ember. A good name." She stands and moves back to her chair. "I'm afraid I don't have that kind of magic. He'll heal with time, though the vision will take longer than the stomach wound. I do know a cleric in The Crossroads that could help. Her name is Anastasia. She lives at the Temple of Pelor. You could seek her out, but her help wouldn't be free."

"A cleric." He considers that carefully, looking over his shoulder at the map she'd pointed him to before. The Crossroads is further north than he's ever been; but then, so too once was Fireblade. "Could she fix both of us."

"I don't know," Marianne says. "As I've said, I don't understand what has happened to you. She may be able to provide more insight, but I can't say that she'll be able to help."

The heat of the forge washes over him as he intently watches the armor scraps between to warp and eventually melt. Lost in the process, he almost missed Katrin's question. Though once it registers he can almost feel it rattling around his head, he rarely let his mind wanderer to his memories of home. Keeping his attention on the forge, a slight strain in his tone  "A small village  by the Dragonvale harbor,  named Kovin."   His right hand briefly resting on his chest as he speaks, he laughs and his usual bravado returns as he  says "It's a small village with small stories, I've found that life on the road is much more entertaining! And I would guess you do as well, I have not found many other Dwarves in these lands."

"I don't wander out of my own desire for adventure. I'm looking for something. I don't know what that is yet, but I know I'll find it. In some ways, I think I already have." A few moments of empty space filled with crackling fire, popping coals, and the shink of sharpening iron pass, and Katrin leans back, inspecting her blade again. "Have you been a smith long?"

With a chuckle he adds "Feels like all of my life, soon after I learned to walk my father taught me how to swing a sword. And it wasn't long afterwards that he taught me how to work a forge." In a tone equal parts wistful and bitter he adds "It is expected of my people, we most all be fearless warriors capable of forging our own weapons and armor." Pausing "I've left much of my former life behind but those lessons have carried me through my journeys." Scratching his scales he attempts to imitate a human smile  "Though my people prefer function to form,  a failing I'm sure the worlds is grateful that I've freed myself of. They treat it as an choice, but don't realize it's possible to have both." Laughing at his own joke, he adds "Though I'm sure it is the same for you? I've heard your people are masters of the forge."

"Right. Sorry. Scroll."  His eyes close briefly as he forces a hollow exhale his body doesn't care about.  "It's hard to keep track of days. When you don't sleep. It all runs together."  He shakes his head slightly before looking back at her, moving to lead the newly-christened Ember back to where they'd entered.  "Thanks. I'll stop asking."

A gentle hand lays on Ascian's shoulder as he turns away. Turning back again, he sees Marianne's face. No pity, no cloying sadness. Just a soft kindness in her violet eyes. "We will figure out what is happening. Until then, know this. You are not a burden on me or anyone else. These last several days have been trying for you especially. But you have friends here." In the background, Thrandimir's smile is as mysterious and magnanimous as ever. But his grey eyes hold a soft gentleness. He simply nods, seemingly in agreement.

Ascian's shoulders tighten reflexively beneath the touch, but he turns toward it regardless, seeing Thrandimir move out of the corner of his eye. He considers her for a long, unwavering moment before he nods shortly. "Thanks."  He ultimately pulls away, drifting just out of reach. "The scroll's priority. I know that. I just lost track." He forces his attention to the shelves and walls, poised on the balls of his feet like he might take off at any moment. "Do you have a map of The Crossroads here." 

"I do," Marianne says, pulling a rolled up sheath of parchment from a shelf. She unrolls it across the table and weighs down the edges. It's immediately apparent where the city derives its name from. Two branches of the Heartlands Trivard meet at the city center, from Karnopolis and from Timbervale. Those roads branch off toward the east and the southeast, with text indicating that the eastern branch heads to Heartlands Harbor, and the southeastern branch heads into the Dragoncrest Cape. Another, smaller road leads out of town to the southwest, ending at Dragonvale Lake. There are several notable landmarks on the map. The capitol building and palace in the north east, the campus of the Heartlands Institute in the south west, the Amber Market at the intersection of the main roads. Right on the edge of the Amber Market, a mark indicates the location of the Temple of Pelor.

Ascian looks at it unblinkingly from behind Marianne, raking over the different landmarks. His eyes trace the roads that lead back toward the Cape he'd come from, before drifting back up to the Temple of Pelor.  "Can I copy this."

Marianne waves at the map dismissively. "Take it with you," she says. "Bring it back or bring me a new one. I haven't much use for it, honestly."

Tegan J. said: Scratching his scales he attempts to imitate a human smile  "Though my people prefer function to form,  a failing I'm sure the worlds is grateful that I've freed myself of. They treat it as an choice, but don't realize it's possible to have both." Laughing at his own joke, he adds "Though I'm sure it is the same for you? I've heard your people are masters of the forge." Katrin stills, staring at the point of the sword. She straightens from her slightly bent position looking over at Akiran. "Form and function need to work together. Every tradition stems from that basic fact. It's why Dwarven steel is so highly prized. It's what my family's legacy is built on. Was built on." Her eyes grow hard, and an image of her uncle flashes across her vision. "Some of my people have forgotten that."     Another moment goes by, and she goes back to sharpening. "Those rifles the Heartlanders were carrying? I know where they come from. And why they exist. And I wish to Tempus above that they didn't."

Akiran stops his work and listens intently as Katrin begins discussing the rifles. Before he left the Legion he had fought in a few skirmishes where the Heartland troops had brought their new toy to bear. He respected their power but truth be told he didn't like them. They were effective but bad for business. If you can put a rifle into any peasants hand and with just a few weeks training they can effectively wage war why waste your gold on a sell sword.  Shaking his head he says "I should have figured that the Dwarves were responsible for the rifles, too well made for most anyone else. Though I feel there is a larger story behind them and I would be honored to hear it told."

Katrin keeps her eyes on her sword as she sharpens. It wasn't something she talked about. She'd never told anyone about it, not even Rose. It was never the right time. But to share it with a complete stranger....and one who scoffed at her god...... If she was to tell him her story, he owed her his. "If I tell you," she speaks slowly. "I'd like to know what it is about Tempus you so despise." She finally looks over at him. "I've seen the way you look at me. At this." She gestures to the amulet around her neck. "If we're to work together, I think our differences should be in the open, don't you?

"Thanks."  Ascian pulls the map toward him, rolling it against the table. It's a neat, tight scroll by the time he says abruptly,  "What is Toril like."

Setting his tools down he slowly turns to face the Cleric of Tempus, his grey eyes swirling with a mix of weariness and old anger. He had hoped to avoid a confrontation with the acolyte. He just wanted peace, needed the dreams to stop, to be left alone. His speech is slow at first but as he continues its accelerates and his passion amplifies. "Your god is a tyrant.... No even worst, he is an absent tyrant. Setting his decrees and codes that we mortals must follow, and then vanishing. Allowing his followers to strut around the world with unearned power, forcing his so called divine will and code on the rest of us. " His hand rests on his chest as he speaks before Akiran looks down and with effort moves it away. Calming himself his scales slowly relaxing  "I find him distasteful, but I do not know you. I am willing to work with you despite of your god, I knew when I joined that you served him." Pausing he turns back to the forge  "if you want to keep your story so be it. But at this time I will not share mine."

She listens to Akiran's increasingly emotional statement, her eyes impossible to read. "The Tempus you speak of is not the one that I know." She speaks slowly and deliberately. "But I do agree with you on one thing: He has been growing distant, for many hundreds of years now. Clan Ironstone has kept the faith in hopes that he will show himself again." She rests her sword on her lap. "But those who remain in Hol have corrupted everything we were. The rifles? My father's brother, Ragnerk. He had....some new ideas. With the war brewing in the Heartlands, he created the rifle. The perfect killing machine. Unbeatable, and deadly to everyone who finds themselves at the wrong end." She glances down at her left shoulder, then pulls back her tunic slightly. A small, scarred lump protrudes from the flesh. "I will not force anything upon you. But I will not be ashamed of my faith either." Katrin stands up, stretching slightly, setting the sword on the bench she had just vacated. "But working a forge does not require religion. Just good steel and strong arms." Her offer hangs in the air between them. 

sansasnark said: "Thanks."  Ascian pulls the map toward him, rolling it against the table. It's a neat, tight scroll by the time he says abruptly,  "What is Toril like." Marianne returns to her scroll-work, but looks up at Ascian, puzzled. "Toril is an older world. More complicated, more tangled up in the weave and multiverse than here. It's full of old stories and powerful adventurers. Not like here." The elder arcanist smiles softly -- a genuine expression, just for a brief moment. "It's quiet here."  Callahan, who had entered the library to continue his study of general arcana, knocks a stack of books to the stone ground with a powerful thud. "With some obvious exceptions," Marianne says wryly.

Turning back as Katrin speaks, he winces slightly as he sees her wound from the rifle. It takes him a moment to respond as he contemplates her offer, but eventually he nods and says "That is true." Pausing for a second his usual carefree tone returns and he adds  "I've never shared a forge with a Dwarven smith. It will be interesting to see if the legend lives up to reality."

A smile lights Katrin's face, and the tightness in her chest loosens. "I'm nowhere near as skilled as my father, but he taught me a thing or two. Let's see what we can do here." 

Ascian takes that information, considering it carefully. He looks like he's about to ask something else before Cal's unceremonious entry breaks the thought and he turns back toward the arcane doorway instead, the map held in one hand and Ember a silent mirror.  "Thanks. I'll come back after Kerak."

Days pass with Akiran toiling in the heat of the forge, between purifying the orcish metals, developing the molds, and endless hours hammering the armor into form. He had needed this. A moment to pause and to use his own hands so often used in to cause death to instead bring something beautiful into the world. Akiran looks at the armor with pride nearly shining from his eyes. The armor's elegant design, with intricate swirling patterns etched into it's surface and a silver gleam that seems to hold catch and hold any light that passes it. The grace serves to almost hide the strength of the kit. Katrin's help was instrumental providing the unique wisdom of the dwarves to bear to aid his build.  After he finishes he excitedly dons the armor, strapping it into place and securing his blade to his hip.  Akiran twists and turns, slowly getting used to the armor's weight and how it moves. After a moment he looks to Katrin he gives a short nod and says simply  "Thank you."

A slow smile spreads across Katrin's face as Akiran models the new armor they had constructed together. "You don't need to thank me. It was my pleasure. And, it suits you." The smile falters. "Keep what I said between us. I don't like to talk about it. And I haven't even told Rose, if that tells you anything." Her eyes grow dark. "And I'll kill him if I have to," she says softly, more to herself than anyone else, though Akiran is standing close enough to hear her whispered promise of vengeance.  

The week passes uneventfully, and it's almost surprising when Marianne announces that she's finished making the copy of the scroll. The following day, a contingent of orcs arrives at the edge of the village. They're led by a truly massive orc -- almost seven and a half feet tall with a greataxe and a greatsword slung over his back. He eyes the soldiers guarding their arrival point suspiciously, but remains stoic in his silence.  Eventually, Marianne convenes a large group out in Wendell Westbrook's field to test the scroll's magic. She looks at the massive orc -- who must be Kerak. "I know you're skeptical, and you have every reason to be. But just watch." She hands the scroll to Callahan. 

Cal's eyes go wide as Marianne places the scroll in his hands. Had this really been the plan all along? She should've told me! Oh wait she did, didn't she? She should've reminded me!  Stealing a glance at the orc leader - a man who stood nearly as tall as Cal himself - he gulps and gives an uneasy smile. Stepping forward, Cal finds himself a wide open berth of land a small distance from the rest of the gathered party and begins the process of centering himself. "This may take a few minutes to get going..."  As he takes a seat among the wilted wheat stalks and graying grasses, he closes his eyes, slowly pushing out all connection to the world around him. The hushed murmuring and periodic coughs and movements of the many members of the meeting melt away, replaced by a deafening silence. At once he feels his own consciousness once more draw in upon itself, fading into the distance in superposition as a wisdom greater than his own takes its place. At once he feels the familiarity of the unknowable entrench itself within his mind, expanding ever greater as he himself shrinks away. At once he feels the cosmos come calling, his own voice cast across the stars. To those outside, the winds pick up in a swirl around the firbolg, whipping ever-faster as a series of iridescent bright lights start to emit from all over him. The chaotic motes of light quickly coalesce into the raging form of a long, flowing serpent - a dragon born from the fires of supermassive supergiants and the plasma of the darkest nebulae.  Taking the scroll firmly in hand, Cal holds it up and aloft, his other hand unfurling it before himself as his eyes snap open with only a heavenly glow where his pupils would be. In an echoing, multitudinous Celestial tone, he starts to read. Almost instantly, the stars themselves seem to seep out from his person, spreading out slowly at first across the field. Motes of light adhere themselves to every sallow blade of grass and dust-choked patch of dirt, coating an ever-growing swath of land in radiant, sparkling energy. Minutes pass as each word is emphasized, every intonation held. The lights continue to spread outwards, reaching all the way to the gathered group and further. The starry being before the party slowly rises off the ground, hovering up into the air in his still-seated position a few feet off the ground at the same time his pitch rises. With a final triumphant shout, Cal casts his arms to the side, a burst of energy blasting out from himself in every direction, a crashing tidal wave of a billion brilliant bright lights that extend across the entirety of the Westbrook field. Finally coming to a rest back on the ground, Cal's starry form dims. Maintaining his position, he draws in a deep breath and exhales, "I have done what I can, but it will take time now." As he speaks, the myriad starfield around them starts to gently pulse, the energy seeping down into the ground it coats. "I will remain here to support it, but now we must wait."

Over the next several hours, the fields begin to flourish under the magical touch of the ancient Tollanian spell. Little by little, color returns to the shafts of wheat. An vibrant amber color stretches across the field, and the stalks grow tall, nearly reaching the shoulders of some. Wendell Westbrook stands by, his mouth gaping open in surprise. "Holy shit," he murmurs over and over and over again under his breath. Rose squeezes Katrin's arm and smiles. "You did it," she says.  Kerak nods in silent approval, then looks at Marianne. "Now what?" She returns his gaze. "One of your scribes is welcome to sit with me in the tavern and copy the scroll to take back to your city." "And what do you get out of this?" "Freedom from any more raids on our farms." Kerak continues his stare for a few more moments before his mouth cracks into a small grin. "Agreed." He turns back to his men. In Orcish, Thezra hears him say, "Today, the famine ends!" The group begins to disperse, with an orc scribe accompanying Marianne back to the tavern. The Heartlands soldiers stand at the ready, but no weapons are raised. The mood is tense, but not violently so. Kerak approaches Thezra.  "Am I right that you are the one that tried to tell me of Duar'ken before?" The orc chief's manner is serious, but there seems to be a hint of something in his voice. Regret, perhaps. Nearer to the tavern, Ascian's quiet contemplations are interrupted by a somewhat familiar voice. "So, did you find out what they're hiding?" The golden dragonborn, Audar, stands quietly near the supports of the tavern's balcony.

Thezra stands in genuine awe of the firbolg's display, watching the pretty lights and glimmering stars with a restrained bit of childlike glee. The arcane had never come particularly easy to her, much as she'd long found herself fascinated by it. As a child she'd sat with her aunt for hours, simply entranced by the minute bits of magic she could muster to put into his own spiritual communications. Alas, no amount of trying had ever brought such magics her own way as she grew, though her interest never waned. So seeing the druid's connection to not only the earth but the stars too caused something to well up within Thezra she hadn't felt in some time - genuine wonder. As the congregation started to break away, though, she found herself staring up into the eyes of her chief, and almost instinctively lowered her head at first, but looked back up. "Chief... aye, I did. I take it his men explained the truth then?"  She winces slightly, and despite long-respecting and trusting the man, still expects a small manner of anger or retaliation perhaps. 

Kerak's yellow eyes remain hard. "Yes, they did. It's...hard to believe. He was my closest advisor for a long time." He looks like he is about to say more on the matter, then shakes his head. "You've proven yourself. Can I ask you what your plans are now?"

Her eyes widen for a brief moment at his words. She'd expected she'd have to fight - verbally or physically - to earn back some good graces, yet here he was praising her. "Do not blame yourself at all, the snak- uh, the man had consorted with fiends. Their ability to sway hearts and cloud minds is strong." His question lingers longer in her mind though, and she struggles to answer. "I- I'll be honest, I had not considered it much. All I've had my heart set on these past months was exposing Duar'ken's lies; undoing the damage he'd done. I'd accepted ostracization from our people. Now that it's over I..." she pauses, searching for the right words. Clicking her tongue to the roof of her mouth, she looks back up into his fierce, unfaltering eyes, "What would you have me do, Chief?"

Ascian turns toward the shade of the balcony overhang, the same area Na'arik had approached him from when he'd sought the same information he's being asked for. At his feet Ember lays quietly in the grass, stomach wound looking better though still not quite healed. Expression blank, he looks back toward where Marianne and the others had dispersed to and, seeing them out of earshot, angles toward Audar. "Yes,"  he says tonelessly. "They don't mean harm."

Katrin grasps Rose's hand, squeezing it back. "Mhm." After a brief pause, she says, "Anything you'd like to do today? I think we finally have a day off from defending the village."

Kerak studies Thezra intently. "Duar'ken had been making extended trips to the east under the cover of night. Spiritual retreats, he called them. I don't know what he was doing. They were long trips, a few weeks at a time. This is all I have to go on. A note, written in the common tongue, in his quarters." The tattered piece of paper Kerak hands Thezra has a few simple lines on it. We meet beneath the X. Do not be followed. If you forget the way, perhaps quench your thirst and try again. "We never figured out what it means," Kerak says. Audar looks quizzically at Ascian. "Yes, but what is  it?" The impatience in the man's voice seems to stretch his tones thin. Rose shifts, her hip coming to rest against Katrin's. Standing close, she looks over at the dwarf with a grin. "I can think of a few things," she says quietly. 

Ascian blinks at the dragonborn. "Ask them."

Katrin grasps Rose's hand. "I should take this armor off. It's getting really hard to move around in. Come on." Hand in hand, the two head for the quiet of the farmhouse, far from the eyes and ears of strangers. As they turn, Katrin spies Audar in the shadows, speaking with Ascian. She grits her teeth, but ultimately continues to walk away. He was far too nosy. And if he had been talking to anyone other than Ascian, she might be worried that the dragonborn would learn of the truth beneath the tavern. But she knew she could trust Ascian, and so allowed herself to turn from the tavern, giving Rose her full attention.

Audar rolls his eyes, clearly irritated. "If I thought they would fucking tell me, I would. But they don't trust me, for whatever reason." He clears his throat, attempting to cut the frustration from his voice. "But you," he continues, "They've let you into their circle of trust. What they're hiding is too dangerous to only be guarded by two elderly people, no matter their abilities. It's for the greater good."

"You called the Heartlands military here," Ascian states affectlessly. "Why do you assume it's dangerous."

"Because why else would they be hiding it?" Audar says. The irritation creeps back into his voice.

“People do things all the time I don’t understand,” Ascian replies with a shrug, peering at Audar as he asks curiously, “You believe you’re more powerful than them, but you didn’t fight. Why.” 

Audar looks at Ascian. A blank stare that tells Ascian all he needs to know about how Audar feels about him. "I didn't fucking say that. I'm just saying that whatever they're guarding there is likely too dangerous to be guarded by just them . What happens if they die? When they die? They're both old. Who will guard this thing then?"

"You didn't say that. But you asking implies you think you're either powerful or clever enough to make decisions on it." Ascian tilts his head, the utter lack of judgment in his tone at odds with what might otherwise have seemed charged words. "If you are, I just wanted to know why you didn't fight." Ultimately, he shrugs. "What was it like before they were here. I assume it will go back to what it was."  He crouches down to absently pass a hand over Ember's fur. "I'll go with you to ask. If you want. This isn't our village. We won't be here for what comes next."

Ember raises his head and growls in Audar's direction. The sound is deep, rolling, and ethereal. Audar takes an involuntary step back, and Ember looks up at Ascian, something keen in his eyes. The wolf looks back at Audar, his fur ruffling in an ancient, instinctive defensive measure to look bigger.  Audar shuffles away. "Whatever, you just don't see it." He heads down the road and out of sight.

Ascian doesn't blink as Ember growls, his hand unceasing in its path down the wolf's bristled back. For a long moment he watches the dragonborn disappear from view before looking down at his companion. "That might be true," he mutters, smoothing the fur before standing. "We'll tell Marianne later. Then we can go."

That evening, the party gathers in the tavern to celebrate their victory over this particular horseman. The other obvious one remains on the horizon, waiting at any moment to charge down the rocky hill and wreak havoc over the country. But this one has been stopped -- at least for now. Marianne steps up to the party's table, nodding in greeting and handing Callahan a small wooden box, about scroll sized. "I hear that you're heading for the Verdant Citadel. Would you take this there for me? And the rest of you, what's your plan?"

Callahan’s eyes flitter with surprise,  “How did you hear that?”  He stares for a moment, one eyebrow cocked, and then chuckles,  “It’s true. I just hadn’t told no one out-loud. Yea, I reckon it’s about time I got back to what brought me here in the first place - the citadel. But sure as rain I can do that for ya Miss Marianne!”

Katrin sits quietly at the table, staring into the ale in front of her. She and Rose had had a long discussion about the past few days, and their future. She pulls out the Wayfarers coin from her pocket, flipping the coin over in her fingers. As much as she wished it, Tempus wasn't done with her yet. Maybe this Guild had something to do with....whatever her next task would be. "I was thinking of heading north. To the Crossroads." She looks around, eyes darting cautiously to Akiran and then moving away. "It's the next step in my journey. Not that I fully know what that is."

Ascian looks up from where he's seated on the ground with Ember, his back against the wall near the others' table. His surprise at Katrin's direction registers as a long, uncertain look between she and Callahan and back. "Me too. To the Crossroads. There's a cleric there." His attention darts briefly to Marianne and then back. "When are you leaving. Either of you."

At the mention of a cleric, Katrin looks curiously at Ascian. For a moment, she considers asking him why it's so important he find this cleric, but ultimately decides that is a conversation best left for later. "I don't know yet. But it will be soon." Her eyes settle on the wolf for a long moment, then back to Ascian. "I would be honored to have your company. Far better to travel in numbers. And even better to do so among friends."