It was two evenings before Quinn visited Traitor’s Cemetery when Ravan finally arrived at Icebreach, the last town in Duraland before one crossed the border into Vordan. His journey had been uneventful as Quinn had promised, though despite Quinn’s vast knowledge of Duraland being mostly correct, Ravan had run into some evidence that it was three decades outdated. There were six towns along the coast rather than five now, and the towns Quinn had forewarned him about appeared to be much improved since he had left the country. It would seem that the additional port town likely increased trade in the country, thereby aiding the general economy.
However, one other change that must have happened within the last thirty years was that Icebreach appeared to be a struggling town, likely due to it being located so close to jotnar country. Quinn had mentioned to Ravan that he and his men had often used Icebrea
While Ravan watched from the ice cave in Vordan, Quinn allowed himself to be escorted to the Crystalpeak Palace and continued his cooperation all the way to the frozen throne room where Emperor Aldrich sat on his crystal throne. Nothing had changed here in thirty years. Quinn immediately recognized the frosted cathedral ceilings and ice-kissed windows. Tapestries displaying the crest of Duraland, the crest of the Imperial Family, and those of many important families of nobility lined the frosted walls, and three gaudy crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling Once Quinn had approached the throne, he bowed his head, but he didn’t kneel as the centurions did. Emperor Aldrich showed no reaction. He stood up from his throne and descended the icy steps. “Follow me, Forsythe.”
Ravan’s voyage to Morcaida was yet another long and uneventful one. He tried not to be ungrateful considering pirates often frequented these waters and he much preferred not to experience any unnecessary delays. After about two and a half months, Ravan figured that Quinn should’ve arrived back in Arderé, and he happily utilized his Silver Cloak to watch his unpleasant half-brother’s demise. Unfortunately, Ravan had forgotten that Morcaida was closer to Duraland than Arderé, and even though Quinn had departed before Ravan, the bounty hunter still had a way to go before he would arrive. So, Ravan tried to check up on Zair, but either he was still wearing his talisman, or he had already arrived in Le’ Kire. When Ravan found Farzaad’s life had changed little since he’d last saw his half-brother, he didn’t bother using the Silver Cloak for a few more weeks, and rather he endeavored to memorize the contents of his journal. He had studied his own scribbles well enough that he’d a
It took a couple days, but the captain eventually managed to round up his crew for the impromptu trip to Le’ Kire. All the while, Ravan made sure that Zair of Flor du Cyan and Adrian von Le’ Mille hadn’t left the country yet. No one offered the sailors any issues for leaving the island, so long as they weren’t headed to any of the neighboring islands or a country on Paradisius. Ravan found himself growing really sick of the sea though, and once he had officially memorized his entire journal, he verified Zair was still in the country, almost finished planning his mission with Adrian. They would be scheduling their departure soon. While this was good to know, it was less than entertaining. Upon finding himself with nothing more to occupy his mind, Ravan brought his attention back to Quinn Forsythe, who seemed to be in a bit of a rush. Ravan found him in his room at an inn frantically gathering loose pages of pa
The longboat which had been prepared for their departure was simple and inconspicuous so as not to draw any suspicion once they docked in Fyodor. Ravan tried to take comfort in the bright-side of being on another ship; that being he had no responsibilities or a need to constantly look over his shoulder. It was an opportunity to relax and complete his recovery from the plague. He took in much sun, drank plenty of mead and water, and ate heartily. Before long he felt his strength renew and he watched as the color returned to his skin. For a time, Ravan thought perhaps this voyage would be somewhat more tolerable with like-minded people on board, even with his distaste for Adrian, but one night Zair decided to get nosy. “So after infiltrating the Maja Forest and obtaining the Silver Cloak, you are now going after the Eye of Raida.” Ravan glanced up at Zair from his bowl of stew. The lanterns which swayed from the ceiling below deck cast just enough l
Ravan waited for the drunken elves to ride away from the inn before he rushed across the street and attempted to enter. The door was locked. Ravan knocked and waited, struggling to suppress his rising panic. “Curses, curses, curses…” Zair mumbled at his side. Ravan knocked again. “They’re not going to let us in,” said Zair. “Shut up!” Ravan snapped. He knocked again, harder this time. “Hello!” he called out. “Listen, we’re tenants here! Might someone let us in?” Zair shook his head and looked fearfully at Ravan. Frustrated, Ravan left the front door and peered around the corner for silver sentries before searching the second-story windows. “Which one’s ours?” Ravan asked. “How should I know?” Zair answered. Ravan made a guess based on his view of the street from their room in the inn, and he threw a rock at one of the windows. Zair gazed up, ho
Screams, howls, and various screeching continued beyond the heavy Temple doors. Ravan stood there for a long moment, pressed against the door, feeling as though only he could keep it shut against the soul-hunting creatures beyond. He breathed a deep, stabilizing breath and slid down the door beside Zair on the floor, who was hyperventilating. “Steady your breathing, Zair,” said Ravan. “Before you lose consciousness.” “He’s dead,” said Zair. “Adrian’s dead! What am I going to do?” “We can still finish this mission.” Zair jumped to his feet. “No, you don’t understand! How do I face the Northern Council after thi
Ravan and Zair didn’t speak a word to each other as they followed the monks past the wraiths and vampires into the Temple. Once they were inside, they found themselves surrounded by a soft yellow light. Many varieties of bright pink flowers lined the archways and poured from the balconies like waterfalls. Here, the monks started to chant, and the ominous chorus echoed off the tall, stone walls as everyone traipsed across the petal-speckled floor. The moaning song didn’t end even after they had arrived at the bright white sanctuary. Ravan observed the shadows behind the marble statues and the koi ponds between the pillars, and he made sure that he and Zair kept some distance between them and the crowd. When it seemed all the monks were efficiently focused on their chant, feeling safe and secure, Ravan locked eyes with Zair and gave him a subtle nod. Zair tensed and waited.Right when the chorus hit a particularly high note, all the documents in the room erupted int
It was late afternoon on Dêldia 23, 364 when Earl Rajashekar of Rivas arrived at port in Tariq, Alaric, a country that was at the time mostly inhabited by humans. The voyage from his home country of fire elementals, Arderé, was a long one, and he was relieved to obtain a decent night's sleep for once. Hours before noon the following day, the earl made haste in a coach to a lavish restaurant and scowled at the dirty Tariquans who had failed to disperse overnight. Fortunately, the restaurant wasn't located too far from his luxurious inn — he had made sure of that. The earl was one for convenience. He made eye-contact with no one when he entered the restaurant with his two footmen and was pleased to be led to his table right away. The last thing he needed that day was to be kept waiting.Earl Rajashekar knew immediately that this day would turn out well for him when he