Mid-Summer Y219, 7th Age, Pre-Breaking
The Wilds Around Northgate
Sav
It was not, Sav would later admit, their finest plan.
No, that wasn’t entirely fair. The plan had been fine, for what she had at hand and what she thought she’d been facing. Stalk the team of leftover Swans and their convoy of prisoners for a few days to learn their routine. Attack when they camped in a wooded ravine, the better to provide shelter for herself and sow confusion in their ranks. Strike in the middle of the dim hours that was all that remained of night these days, when the sentries were likely to be least-alert and the sleeping most deeply asleep. Kill the watchmen, release the prisoners, arm them, kill the rest of the Swans who might stop them, get away.
As usual, it was just that things had started to go wrong almost immediately. They hadn’t counted on a new squad of rebel Swans arriving right when Sav reached the prisoners. Nor had they figured that one of the prisoners might hate magic more than she hated being marched off to a mine and would raise the alarm when she saw Sav Pull a key off the belt of the dead guard to themself, twenty feet away. Fortunately, most of her fellow prisoners did not feel the same way and knocked her out, but the damage had been done; Sav had had to throw the key at the most enterprising-looking one, dump a pile of axes on the ground from their bag, shout at the prisoners to get the rest of them out, and then turn to fend off the first wave of shocked, enraged Swans.
She could only hope the prisoners had listened to her—she’d left Hildegarde behind to aid the prisoners while she made her way to the other end of the camp to distract the oncoming Swans. Certainly there seems to be a lot of shouting and clanging going on that isn’t coming from her, at least, though the smoke from the aftermath of a few fireballs makes seeing anything beyond ten to fifteen feet away impossible. At least it’s making it difficult for the soldiers to find her, as well. Cornering around a rock, she dives over a smoldering bush, the goggles shielding her eyes from the smoke, and slashes her way into the tent behind it with her bracer-dagger. She hears clanking footsteps rushing up, and holds her breath. The footsteps and accompanying shouts clank past and recede into the distance, and she releases her breath, long and slow. Sagging, she slides down onto a nearby folding stool and pulls her goggles down, wiping sweat and soot from her brow, smearing it around more than removing it.
Reaching out, they touch Aloysius’ mind, soaring above; he seems only mildly concerned, but the thickness of the trees keeps him from seeing much beyond some movement. He glimpses both prisoners and soldiers in Swan uniform here and there, in the gaps between the boughs, but he couldn’t give them a good estimate of how many are left, and they don’t dare take a moment to look through his eyes and lose awareness here.
Suddenly, the front flap of the tent is thrust aside, and a figure flies through. Her heart leaping into her throat, she lurches to her feet and brings her hand up, ice sparkling into existence between her fingers, spuming fog in the summer-hot air.
Bax
It had been only a handful of Turns since Bax had the title of Ranger Warden forcefully and begrudgingly thrust upon him by the new baron. Despite himself, he found that he appreciated the freedom and authority the brooch offered him; to those that recognized the title at least. Even then, it was just as likely that he would still have to fight his way to a resolution with a majority of the Swans. Regardless, it had allowed him to begin the difficult task of releasing prisoners from the grips of the remaining rebel Swan soldiers.
A hand ago, Bax had approached one of the few remaining prisoner caravans to speak with their commander. He had requested, with his authority as the Ranger Warden of the Northern Wilds, to release the prisoners. It took only one glimpse of his celestial eye for the commander to laugh and spit at Bax’s feet. “If you don’t release them willingly, then I’ll need to take them by force. This is your final warning,” Bax offered. The commander retorted with threats and insults in response.
“You should inform your men of their fates commander. I’ll be back and I won’t leave empty-handed then…” Bax assured the man.
He was chased off by stray arrows, some Swans ordered to follow after him but they could not keep up with his speed in this terrain. It didn’t matter as his hunt had been set in motion. He had hoped that he would persuade the Swans to avoid the pointless violence, but to no avail, and so leaned into his presence as a ‘witch’. Despite the bluster, Bax understood that the Swans, along with most people, had an almost primal fear of magic. By warning them beforehand, he would set them all on edge as they wait for the oncoming battle. And so Bax would wait, tracking the caravan from a distance, letting the soldiers wallow in their superstitions and stress.
Slowly, over the course of days, Bax is joined by warriors from various tribes he had helped previously. He had sworn to all of them that he would continue to aid in releasing any remaining captured tribesmen but would welcome the support of additional fighters. Being from different factions, none of them had excellent relationships, however, for this task at hand, they would all band together to guarantee that all those imprisoned would be freed. Past grudges would be waylaid for the cost of granting the freedom owed to all people, regardless of what tribe they were from.
As the platoon of tribesmen laid in wait, preparing for their assault, a new squadron of Swan soldiers arrived to join the caravan. Bax checked with the scouts on the perimeter of their small platoon but no one had seen any messages or soldiers leave the caravan. They must have sent out a request for more servicemen before Bax had initially approached the commander days ago. Bax determined that their group must strike now, while the older soldiers were still exhausted and the new squad was weary from travel to join the caravan, before anyone had a chance to reorient themselves and gain rest. He quickly ran to each of the leading representatives of the various tribes, instructing them to prepare for the assault.
The hunt was on.
As the platoon of tribesmen maneuvered down the snowy hillside a scream is heard from within the prisoners’ hold. Just as Bax and some tribesmen reach the perimeter of the caravan, an explosion sends smoke up from the center of the encampment. Almost on queue, the tribesmen bellow out their war cries as a second explosion sounds. Bax joins as he and the leading warriors strike down the perimeter guards swiftly.
They all dash in as soldiers clash; Bax rushes and ducks from one duel to the other, helping where needed. His momentum is interrupted as he takes a large cudgel to his ribs, knocking him to the side, as a larger Swan soldier stands over and brings the club down, narrowly missing Bax’s head as he rolls and stands. Striking out with his spear, Bax’s eye alights with starry mist, as the mountainous Swan loses his grip on the massive bludgeon. The man stomps forward as Bax fails to knock him away; he is tackled through wooden crates as he pulls a dagger and stabs into the man’s abdomen trying to take him down.
Before falling in battle, the man grasps Bax by his throat, spinning and throwing Bax as though he weighed nothing. Bax sails through a tent flap, crashing into cots; he scrambles and rolls onto his knees, sensing another presence within the tent. He whips his spear into position to strike but pauses at the familiar glow of magic.
“Sav?” Bax blurts out.
Sav
They almost blurt, “Sylas?!” but the cascade of celestial fog pouring from one eye and the particular quality of the voice stays their call. The instant of recombobulation delays their reaction, though, and moments before the ice releases, Sav jerks their aim to the side, loosing a particularly foul oath. The spike of frost lances through the air and strikes the tent pole next to Bax’s head, snapping it in twain. With a groan, that half of the command tent sags, canvas swooping in from above, the remaining support poles fighting valiantly to keep the structure up—but the battle is a futile one, and the remaining poles list over, bringing the entire tent down into a half-masted tangle draped over half-poles, overturned cots and stacked chests.
Hopefully not an omen for how their battle is going to go.
Flat on the ground—she’d dived for cover when it was clear the tent was losing its battle—Sav lifts herself up a fraction and crawls hurriedly over to Bax. “Bax?” she hisses, reaching out to touch him as though to be sure he’s real, then jerking her hand back on affirming, yep, solid. “Whit in th’ Hunt are ye daein here?” Her heart is still hammering in her chest, but at least this time it’s from relief, not alarm (or not only alarm). Turns now since all the communication and long-distance magic has failed meant she’s been working in complete isolation, with nary a clue as to how any of her companions have been carrying on in their missions—even those who could be reached by mundane means were too far away (or never stayed in one place long enough) to have received and returned a letter in that time.
It’s really, really nice to see a familiar face. Even if the circumstances are a bit fraught. But when are they not?
Bax
Bax’s head flinches to the side as an ice spike nearly misses his cheek - Sav redirecting her aim only at the very last moment. With one of the primary poles holding up the canvas toppled, the tent begins to collapse under its weight. Not wanting to remain an obvious target under the tarp, Bax rolls from his kneeling position onto his stomach as Sav dives to the side, the tent fully crumpling and draping the pair entirely.
Quickly crawling around, Bax is able to meet Sav mid-crawl near some crates providing a bit of relief from the weight of the tent. Sav touches his face with their hand but retracts it quickly, asking why he was here in that unmistakable accent of her’s. He didn’t realize how much he had missed that nearly indecipherable way of speech they had. Bax smiles gently in response as he chuckles at the absurdity of the situation.
“Heh, y’know, causing trouble, aiding rebellions. Just picking up from where we left off. What’re you doin’ here though? Oh wait, are you okay?” Bax has noticed a minor cut from where a stray arrow most likely hit nicked Sav’s shoulder. Before they have an opportunity to reply, Bax places his hand on Sav’s forearm as a soft ,dull gold color glows out from under his palm. The healing energy works its way up Sav’s arm and quickly closes the wound, though Bax forgets to withdraw his own hand after the healing.
“If you’re here, does that mean everyone else is too?” Bax asks, as the sounds of fighting, metal clashing, can be heard through the tarp. “Actually, since you are here, can you help with securing the prisoners’ escape?” he inquires, gripping a dagger to cut their way free through the tarp.
Sav
Sav frowns a little as the wash of Stuff courses up their arm—they’re fine, it was only a small cut that could have waited until later, there’s more important things to spend his energy on, what if he needed that later?—but what’s done is done, so they save their breath for matters of more immediate import.
Like the prisoners escaping. “Help?” The frown deepens. “Aye, I suppose I could do such a hing. Though I wis hopin’ breakin’ ‘em loose, gi’en ‘em weapons an’ tellin ‘em tae leg it whilst I haud aff the new Swans’d be a good lot o help already.” They take a breath, clamping down on their annoyance—literally no one was supposed to know they were here, that was the whole point of sneaking out to launch this attack single-handedly. That way no blame could come back on the Observatory staff who had told Sav of the Swan contingent extorting provisions out of the small village near the Observatory.
Besides, the credit isn’t the important part—making sure the task is finished is. Things had rather spiraled out of hand, but Bax alone might be enough to take care of the extra contingent that had wandered in to make life difficult, and the faster the Swans are gone the fewer lives will be spent. “Just me here. I’ll tell ye the rest later.” They close their eyes briefly to get in contact with Aloysius again. “Seems like some of ‘em has got away—the prisoners, that is—but they were no greatly-organized an’ left a pocket behind that’s bein’ pressed in by Swans that-a-way.” They point west, standing up as Bax releases them from the heavy canvas.
And blinks, as a tribesman in their field of view kicks the body of a Swan off her spear with a guttural shout – the last trace of fighting in the immediate area. The fur-clad, mighty-thewed dwarf launches herself in a dead run toward the sound of fighting to the west. “That…. was nae prisoner in the line. Nor a Swan.” They eye Bax. “She wi’ ye?”
Sav doesn’t wait for an answer, instead slinging her shield around onto her arm and advancing westward at a quick trot, her other hand shaking free to be ready for casting. She can feel, from the changes to the shapes her will is holding, that Hildegarde has sustained too much damage to remain; bad news for the prisoners, but it leaves her free to do this now. Holding out a hand, she sings out a high, soothing note; the air shimmers strange for a moment around the eyes and hands of Bax, herself, and the dwarf racing ahead, guiding their strikes and hastening their reflexes just a touch, perhaps enough to make a difference in the split seconds of battle.
Bax
Bax offers a proud smile to the dwarven figure running ahead of them. He had helped to secure her escape from a mining site just a handful of months ago. In that time since, Ves’ken had not only regained her strength but claimed leadership of the Skejagrr tribe, vowing to work with Bax until all tribesmen had been returned.
“Yep,” he confirms with Sav. “And a few others for good measure.”
Pride burning in his chest, his pace quickens as he runs ahead of Sav and quickly advises Ves’ken, in giant speak, of the situation. He directs her to run along the outside of the perimeter, gathering other fighters, and he would join her in a pincer maneuver at the prisoners once Sav gives the signal. She sprints away with excitement coloring her face, thrilled at the challenge.
Bax slows some, meeting Sav at their pace. “Pincer strike. You’re the linchpin. Continue straight and launch a powerful attack where the Swans are most clustered. At your order, Ves’ken, me, and whoever else we can find will sweep in from the sides to clean up.”
Sav nods once, firm, and he splinters off in the opposite direction from Ves’ken, intercepting a couple Swans struggling with other tribesmen. He quickly assists with striking them down before he gathers them and a few others to meet near the where the prisoners are held.
Meanwhile, Sav, following Bax’s lead, continues dashing forward. Guided by the occasional nudge from Aloysius, she soon reaches the dead-end pocket where the remaining escaped prisoners find themselves beset on all sides by Swans, gifted axes splintered, stolen daggers chipped. Without wasting a moment—either he’ll be there or he won’t, but the prisoners need help now—she clenches her fist, the dagger sliding forward silken and deadly from her bracer, and disappears with a soft -paff- of air where she had been. One—two—three—four—five—each time appearing behind a Swan, the blade flashing through the air and scattering blood in its wake, lines of red opening up across throats and in armpits as she punches the dagger through the gaps every armor has. She reappears fully again in between the two large crowds, boot atop the body of the first Swan she’d struck, and cries out, “Now!”
On cue, he and several tribesmen vault over tents and crates, battle cries drowned in the ensuing battle. Bax finds his way to Sav, taking position beside them to fend off Swans from stopping their magic. Back to back, they engage in their grim work, Sav launching forth a shining chain that clutches and drags a Swan forward onto Bax’s spear, Bax throwing off a grabbing soldier up into the field of the infinitely black sphere that drags those within its grasp up into its crushing center, the spark-filled night sky from his eye billowing around that lightless core.
Sav
As with most battles, it feels like candles, but it couldn’t have been more than a scattering of minutes before the last Swan gives up either their life or their freedom. Most of those who would have run had done so already, so there’s only a handful of Swans left who persist to the end of the fight before deeming it wiser to surrender. Leaving the question of what to do with the survivors up to the tribesmen—with no expansive power structure in place to support them any further, Sav isn’t overly concerned with what a handful of disarmed former Swans might do, and it seems more just to let those who suffered at their hands decide their fate—Sav backtracks quickly to rummage in the command tent to see if they can find any hint of orders or plans.
Unfortunately, said command tent had caught aflame from the burning underbrush from an earlier fireball’s wake, and is now mostly char. She beats out a couple of the remaining fires and manages to rescue a leather bag with some remnants of messages in charred pieces and a tin box with more whole messages, but they aren’t particularly illuminating, mostly describing planned raids to grab up more Jorungun folk for labor (already taken place, this very caravan bearing the recalcitrant fruits) and the rebellious Swans’ hopes to unearth powerful artifacts from the few mines they still controlled to “retake the throne from the witches and their false Baron.”
Lip curling a little as they skim the messages, Sav walks back toward where they’d left Bax and the tribesmen arguing over the Swans’ fate. They wait patiently until it seems some accord has been reached before sketching a wave. “Oi. So this wasnae a coincidence exactly, was it? Ye strikin’ this caravan, I mean. I just happened tae get in the way.” They stop to look the hunter up and down, assessing him for injury. “Awrigh’ then?” One brow quirks upward as their appraisal yields a few differences from when they last saw him. “Switched oot your eyepatch for a fancy badge, too, I see.” They tap the emblem of the Ranger Warden hanging from chains across his breastplate. “Nae hidin’ any more?”
Bax
The battle victorious, now came the part Bax found the most tiresome - arguments and in-fighting amongst the tribesmen. Despite how well they could work together as a greater unit, once the work was done, grudges could no longer be contained. The heat of battle always seemed to agitate emotions just under the surface, so that once the immediate threat of the Swans was handled, the tribesmen would turn on their former comrades in arms.
“Stop, stop! Settle yourselves friends,” Bax pleaded in giant speech to a group of dwarves who were trying to bite one another. He was yelling over his shoulder as he pumped healing magic into a severely beaten former prisoner. His own body ached with cuts and bruises but he found the quickly diminishing pool of magical energy he was using to heal to be more troublesome. The arguing dwarves all turned, seemingly pulled from their anger in recognizing Bax, before their eyes would be pulled back to their true adversaries. They hurled insults to Bax before continuing their scuffle, rolling over one another as onlookers cheered for their champions.
Bax could only sigh in agitation as he turned to Ves’ken, resting nearby on a crate emptied of its rations. “Snow-Breath Ves’ken,” Bax began, “would you assist in this matter before further harm befalls our comrades? I’m afraid I only have so much more of my own healing magic to offer and you all must still make the return trek.”
Ves’ken breathed heavily, biting into an apple looking out over all the disparate fighting - arguments and insults ranging from old grudges to how to handle the surrendered Swans. She looked back to Bax, and with a smirk rebuttals, “You would ask next that I return the sun to its correct rotation?”
He releases an annoyed sigh, tapping the shoulder of the healed prisoner to confirm he was finished with his task before moving over to Ves’ken. “I cannot continue to be the one to mediate fights amongst your people Snow-Breath. I am an outsider, no matter how much I may try. The responsibility of keeping internal struggles to a minimum must fall to you and the other tribes’ leaders. Starting now.”
Ves’ken cocks an eyebrow at and stands, “Perhaps. I’ll tend to these fools. Seems you have other matters to attend to.” She nods her head in a direction behind Bax and he turns to find Sav approaching; he smiles and moves to meet her halfway, leaving Ves’ken to handle her duties.
On the subject of the caravan, he can’t help but chuckle at the coincidence of it all. “Heh, no yeah, this particular caravan has been a target for a bit. Granted, we didn’t start staking it out till several days ago but still. It was really cool that you showed up to help like you did. Messy or not, these people are freed and the Swans are weaker - so thanks. What were you doing here though?”
When Sav asks about his well-being, he only then remembers that he didn’t look himself over for injuries either. He was bleeding from a few wounds but nothing immediately life-threatening. Which was fortunate as he found himself impressively low on magical energy. “I’m fine, few cuts and bruises but nothing to worry about.”
“Oh right,” Bax notes about his slightly altered appearance. “Yeah, decided to ditch the patch for good shortly after I first came back. I’m not gonna hide any more; I’ll deal with the trouble that brings as it comes but for now, it’s really cool to have full depth perception throughout the entire day rather than only in battles. As for this guy,” Bax looks to his chest and fidgets with the brooch.
“A ‘gift’ from the baron I suppose you could call it - I’m the Ranger Warden of the Northern Wilds, whatever that actually means. I don’t much care that I work for him but I’ve learned a lot from having it, so y’know, take the good with the bad.”
He looks Sav over for any obvious injuries asking, “How bout you? Anything you need stitched up quick? I’ve got a lil bit of healing left in me I think.” He also tags the charred tin box in Sav’s possession, “What ya got there? Anything of value?”
Sav
“This particular caravan came near the Observatory an’ harassed the villagers what support the place for supplies an’ what-ha’-ye. I heard about them an’ thought it queer enough there were some holdout Swans remainin, but much worse when they’re still takin’ prisoners an’ causin’ trouble for folk just tryin t’ live in peace.” Sav shrugs. “So I decided t’ dae somehin about it, best as I could. Wish I’d knownt ye were near, we couldae worked t’gether an made less of a dog’s dinner o it.” They look around at the scorched tents, bodies—not all enemies—and broken supplies. “An’ it would ha been good t’ know ye were alive, too.” Their eyes return to Bax and, for the first time today, they smile, the relief they’d pushed aside during the battle finally allowed to manifest. “Ye’re the first one I’ve heard from since all the talkin- an’ travelin-Stuff ceased workin’. I’ve nae idea o the rest, though I’m hopin at least those in Galoring are still well.” That still leaves Ethan and Danica, Astarael and Talith, Warbler, Athelia and Avarian, Bax himself before he popped up here, and who in the Hunt knows wherever Roux might be—
Well. Change and loss.
She shakes her head at his question of injuries. “Save it for yoursel’, I’m a wee bit winded but nae in bad shape—that healin’ ye spent on me before did a fair amount.” Despite her suggestion that he shift for himself, one hand reaches out to take his and turn it over palm-upward, the other already dipping into a pouch at her belt, pulling out a small folded paper packet. Flicking it open with a thumbnail in a practiced motion, she turns it over and dumps the white powder inside onto the hand she’s holding supine before blowing on the pile with a low hum. Magic races through the grains of the inert alchemical mixture as it swirls up Bax’s arm on her breath, transforming it into a glittering wave that dusts him in opalescence. A bubble-thin skin forms over his cuts and bruises, knitting together the edges of torn skin and soothing bruises. It’s not sufficient to completely return him to full health, but enough to stop the bleeding and leave him only mildly sore.
Giving his body a critical once-over, she nods to herself—good enough, better to conserve energy for now—and tucks the fold of paper back into her pouch for reuse later. “Well then, Sir Lord Ranger Warden o’ th’ Northern Wilds, what’s your next plan?” She looks perfectly solemn with the question, though the completely even, deadpan inflection she gives the title wraps all the way back around into ribbing again.
They glance down at the tin pinioned beneath one arm and pull it out, opening it up. “Found some messages, mostly not relevant—they talked about their plan to raid some more prisoners to work the last mine they have control of. They werenae so kind as t’ leave a map wi’ a big cross to show the location o the mine in question.” They scowl at the tin and the charred scraps pulled from the leather bag, which they’d tucked inside the tin for consolidation. “I found some pieces of messages that han’t burnt as well, but ‘twill take time t’ piece em together, if it’s doable at all.”
Bax
Bax scans over the same view Sav seemed to have taken in and shakes his head. “You couldn’t’ve known that I’d be here striking the caravan. No one could’ve known really, I’ve been out in these woods for so long now, only occasionally returning to Northgate to redouble efforts in identifying and shutting down the mines.” An appreciative grin breaks across his face with a warm chuckle; it always felt good to find camaraderie in fighting for freedom. “I think given everything, this couldn’t have turned out better. Especially with that new squadron joining - I don’t know how well the battle would’ve gone without you.”
As Sav takes his hand and a brief wind of their healing dust overtakes Bax, he follows up on their prompt, “Wait did magic stop working? I mean my own magic has seemed fine so not all magic I guess. Oh is that why you stopped checking in as—” as the dust settles, he sneezes and a glittering, spore-like cloud pops off of him. Sav’s healing magic had worked well, he grimaces slightly holding his side after his sneeze. His ribs were now much less cracked, he was realizing. That sneeze would have hurt much worse a moment ago. “Thanks again.”
His grimace deepens being called a ‘sir’, though his reaction appeared to have been Sav’s intent. He had nearly forgotten what it was liked to be teased. Such a simple thing to be taken for granted and he found a profound joy in the experience. His grimace reversed into a slight smile once more.
As Sav explained what was in the tin, Bax recalled a map that Tirald had given him when he had last returned to Northgate. It was compiled from all information he could pull on the known, and less well documented, active mines throughout Jorung. It was not fully accurate or even complete but Bax had been able to work off of it, with the help of the tribesmen, to track and shut down a majority of the mines. He reached into his bag and moved to stand beside Sav as he unfolded a large parchment in front of her. “Actually, I think I may have something that’d be perfect for what you found. This is a map of the mountain ranges nearest Northgate; these crosses here indicate mines I’ve closed, these squiggles are dead ends, and the circles are potential locations. You think you’d be able to cross reference your notes with this map to narrow down the location?”
“Oh!,” Bax continues, having forgotten he wanted to ask another question. “Does the weirdness with magic have anything to do with the uh,” he gestures, drawing a large circle to his side with his arm. “Like, big…holes? In the sky or just kinda around? That seem to lead to places and I’ve seen some creatures I don’t recognize come from them…?”
“Oh wait!” He interrupts himself again, tapping Sav on their shoulder as a brilliant idea crosses his mind. “Why don’t we travel together a bit? Let’s go find and shut down this final mine, free the captives, and you can fill me in on the weirdness that’s been happening!”
Sav
Interest piqued as Bax pulls out the map, Sav pushes closer to inspect it. Finding the Observatory on the map, they trace the trajectory the caravan had taken up to their current location with a finger, then continue the general angle of that line, fanning out their fingers to encompass the potential range. “Hmm… if they were moving this way odds are they’d ha’ been aimin for some’n in this direction, though the jut of the range here makes it a wee bit difficult to say that for certain – they could ha’ just been skirtin around the foothills to keep gaun north this-a-way…” Their mutters sink below their breath as they continue to examine the map.
They reach over to start pulling open the tin, before Bax’s tap on their shoulder recalls them to the place and moment. “Aye, that’s why I was no able to get in touch wi’ ye for a wee bit o’ Discoursin’ each grasp any more—are ye tellin me ye really didnae wonder?” They twist about to scowl up at him, the initial relief of finding him alive and hale submerging beneath a rising irritation. “And ye the on’y one close enough to come by an check in whilst I was sat there in th Observatory wonderin’ if aw my friends might be deid but not willin’ to leave just in case they came by, as one a the few who wast posted in one spot that everyone knew, because what if they did come by an’ I was gone a-seekin’ an’ we just ran merry widdershins about one another?” They punctuate the run-on sentence with a finger stabbing periodically at his chest, each poke further accentuated by the -tink- of the Ranger Warden badge hitting the breastplate.
Winding down, she folds her arms and mutters, “Aye, ‘tis most like the tears openin up have some’n to do wi’ certain forms o’ the Stuff failin, though what that relation is beyond ‘shite’s aw feckt’ I’ve nae idea as yet. I’ve yet t’ come across a hole big enough to fit a person through, leastwise not on the ground, an’ I didnae dare go through th’ ones I found in the sky lest it close up behind me an’ leave me stranded. I’ve mostly been focused on trying t’ peer beyond the Veil around the Tower, but wi’ naught to show for it as yet.”
Peering up, they consider the proposed idea. “‘Tis no a bad idea—‘twould be something concrete an’ potentially of use to do, though I’d need a bit a time to put together these messages an’ this map, I think. An’ who knows, perhaps they might have even found somethin of use. But I came to retrieve some of the supplies the Swans took from the village, among other hings, an’ I needs must return them before I hie myself anywhere else. If ye’ll be gaun back to Northgate ‘tis but a few days on the way, though, and then I can accompany ye to Northgate an’ beyond ‘til this business be done.”
Bax
Though he is wearing armor, Sav’s delicate finger feels as if it was puncturing his chest with each point they raised. “N-no, I did wonder,” he stammers. “I mean, of course I did but I was helping folks and—” he fumbled over his words before halting his attempt at coming up with an excuse.
It was true that he had been busy with trying to close the mines or free captured tribesmen but it didn’t consume all his time. In retrospect, when he recalls having time to return to Northgate, he instead chose to remain in the wilds; regardless of whether it was fear or discomfort that kept him away, he still stayed away. His friends, his family, were scattered and he was one of the first to depart, leaving all but a few to know that he was at least alive. He wasn’t ready to see everyone yet and didn’t know how to communicate this to Sav.
It didn’t matter however. Sav’s agitation with him was valid and he didn’t have a right to argue with them on that fact. He sighed slightly, sheepishly looking towards the ground before raising his head to meet her gaze, “I’m sorry I didn’t come to find you sooner. If you’ll let me, I’d like to return to the observatory with you. I can at least carry the heavy things.”
He followed after Sav, moving at her direction as she pointed out objects of interest or supplies they wanted to bring back. As he hoisted items into a wagon, he looked back over his shoulder to find the tribesmen leading the captured Swans away in chains. He knew that many of them would not survive the judgement that was to befall them, and he wanted to meet Ves’ken to quickly confer with her about fairness in whatever trials were to come but stopped short. He had done what he wanted—help and free those he could. The fate of those soldiers, their means of judgement, was with the tribesmen now.
Sav shouted, pulling Bax’s attention back to them. They continued to list off supplies they wanted to bring back; Bax rallied, deciding his next task for now would be to follow Sav whenever they went, jogging up beside them and lifting more equipment. Despite their sour demeanor at him, he still felt excitement to be traveling with friends again.
Sav
Sav’s medium dudgeon is cut short by meeting simple acceptance, rather than deflection or resistance—and to boot, he’s offering to accompany her? If she’ll let him?
It’s not often that they’ve had someone ask their permission for things like this, and they find themself at a bit of a loss as to how to respond to it. Covering their discomfort with a cough, they mumble, “Well. Aye. That would be well.”
Rather than stew in the feeling, they hustle off to start gathering up the provisions they judge were taken from the village, leaving enough for the tribesmen to supply themselves on the journey back to Jorung. In the midst of one direction and the next, they stop to look at Bax and say, apparently apropos of nothing, “I am glad ye’re alive an’ well.” Almost immediately, they divert back to business with a, “Right, that sack too, over there, the grain would be good for the coos—” and continue to load up the wagon for the journey back to the Observatory and Northgate beyond.
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