ROLEPLAY

Tria, Harvestor 21, 2nd AC 2619

As I write this, we have reached the village of Oflovak's Halt. We are still exhausted, but already less than when we arrived at Fort Beacon. And we have a few good nights of sleep ahead of us. I haven't written for a long time, and I will try to resume where I left off.

We left with Kickan from the Fort, on a beautiful day. I must confess here that I was very apprehensive about going back down into that hellish Sea of Wood, and had the greatest difficulty in hiding it. Kickan's presence was reassuring, especially after the praising words of Tao, the steward of the Fort, towards him. I could see that Azazor was also somehow hiding his anxiety behind a ponderous and a bit dramatic silence. Our good mektoub, back on its feet, followed us without reluctance, probably happy to have a little exercise.

It must be said that with a guide, the progress is much faster. We went from beacon to beacon, without missing a single one. From time to time, the beacons were crushed to the ground, probably knocked down by an armadai. No wonder we got lost on the way to the Fort... Miss a beacon, and the mist will prevent you from finding the next one. It is therefore the main task of liaison officers like Kickan, to ensure that a maximum of beacons are visible. Some of them, completely broken, do not go higher than our calves... We raised back a certain number of them on the way. It is essential for this part of the route, which must be done in a minimum of time at the risk of losing the head. We have seen where that leads, already
Kickan explained us laughing that with time, he could probably do the path without beacon. At a rough guess, I'd say he made the way about fifty times, at least. As for us, without a beacon, we panic.

Eventually, Azazor understood what my beliefs were. I don't know how to describe that moment, around a fire, when he almost denied the existence of Fyrak, explaining that his story with the Dragon was perhaps only a dream... Finally, he may not be totally crazy. Then even more unexpected theories, asking the Trytonist I am if I understood what he was talking about. Unbelievable. I feigned surprise, very badly. Or no, I was really startled, I didn't expect him to come out with that in front of any other person. Since his return from the depths, he had made a perfect candidate for recruitment by one of our circles, yet the Fyros bugger still seemed to cling to the Kamis like gingos cling to homins' buttocks. Also, as for discretion... Well, I'm not in the best position to reproach him on that point, either, but still. But what the hell did I come doing in this mess, with a Fyros doubting his own convictions so much? He already seemed less mentally fragile when we left. I was probably wrong on that point. Or not, I don't know what to think anymore. It doesn't really matter now.

Well, he knows. I suspected that, now I know that he knows. Fortunately, he doesn't know everything yet. On the one hand, this is not the place where the Kuilde will come to make trouble for us. And in the end, Kickan doesn't care about all that. And anyway, am I going to spend the rest of my life on Bark hiding what I am? Let it come, this Kuilde, let it take care of my seed of life, that will reinforce the opinion that the Karavan has too much to hide from us. Maybe our cause needs this, a new sacrifice. I digress. Let's get back to the point.

The trip went on without too many clashes. We were able to see some armadais from a little closer, about fifty meters. And we heard their predators on the hunt, fortunately they were too far away for us to see them. In principle, as long as there is game not too far from the carnivores in pack, these are not too interested about us. In theory. If they don't scent our presence. Azazor was very interested in seeing the armadai up close. "The Eyes... the Beast...", we scoffed. Mostly we got to see some gigantic carcasses, bones as big as a legionary's thigh. Speaking of thighs, walking up here is exhausting, I can't write it enough. Each gesture requires a lot more energy, and a lot more concentration. Fortunately, we didn't have to take out our axe, I might not have had the strength to lift it.

And at last, the Halt.

We arrived at the foot of a cliff, strangely less high than the one of Fort Beacon. We walked along it for a while, Kickan seemed to be looking for a specific place, nonchalantly, apparently happy to have reached our destination. Then he said: "Here it is! Here!"and he grabbed a kind of bine that was bangling there, a small piece of wood attached to the end. He gave it a few sharp tugs, and told us we will have to wait a little while. After a few minutes, we heard some noises overhead, and saw a huge thing take off a few feet away from us. A few clusters of sawdust were falling here and there. "The counterweight," said Kickan, in the most natural way. We stepped aside, and saw some sort of platform coming down towards us, held up by several ropes. Our two puzzled Fyros faces must certainly have taken on the expression of a disoriented bolobi. Then we laughed nervously:

"We have to go up in there, asked Azazor?"

Kickan pondered for a moment and answered:
"First Eeri and her mektoub. She's a little lighter. Then the two of us."
"Lighter, lighter… You don't know her," Azazor grumbled.
"We can't leave your mektoub alone in the basket, anyway," he said, very seriously.
"ney, you're right. The beasts first, the homins later."

Damn Azazor, I couldn't think of anything to answer... I won't transcribe here all of his mockery, when I put my scarf over Ru-Dun's eyes and we got into the gondola, not too secure. Ha, yes, it is Kickan who named the toub like that on the way, in the local tyll spoken with that strange accent. Then he explains us that there is another path, an access ramp, but in the very south of the island, so use it would require several more days of walking.

The pod began to rise upwards. An ingenious system they have. The counterweight goes down when the pod goes up, and the same in the other direction, with a pulley system. Probably an invention of Trykers, by the way, the structure at the top looks a bit like those of our water tanks, in the Lakes.
I got up there, and a few homins greeted me with a look, busy braking the pulleys to stop the pod smoothly. I couldn't tell if they were friendly. One of them simply smiled and nodded when, not knowing what to tell them after my "oren pyr", I told them that we were accompanying Kickan, who was still waiting below.

Kickan and Azazor arrived upstairs after a few minutes. I took the opportunity to throw a few barbs at the latter while he was feverishly hanging on to a rope, trying to look relaxed. Then we headed for the Halt, a little further inland. There are two camps like these, on the west and east sides of the island, to receive and ascend, or descend travelers, each about a day's walk from the village itself. Was it the presence of Kickan, who seemed to know every homin in the camp? Still, no one asked us any questions.

After a night's sleep halfway through, and another short day of walking, we finally entered the village itself. If one can call it a village. From a few scattered buildings in the forest without apparent organization, we arrived at the top of a little valley covered with houses, overlooking a big lake. Well, nothing to compare with the beauty of the lake of Fairhaven, but even on this cloudy day, the place does not lack charm. Each cabin seems relatively clean and well kept, but has its own style. On closer inspection, some of the walls seem to be made of large bones, sometimes of wood, or of wide leather chunks. We continued on our way down to what seems to be the center, or the main square.

Then someone shouted Kickan's name, some homins came to welcome him, others were sticking their heads out of their windows. We would have preferred to be a little more unnoticed. Kickan wore a big smile, greeting each of them, throwing his inimitable "Lordoy!" on each side of the path.
A Matis arrived, without hurrying, and Kickan pointed him out from a distance:

"A member of the Council," Kickan told us with a smile, before motioning for us to stay a little ways away and go meet him. They talked for a while, then came to join us.

The Matis gave us a "oren pyr" to greet us, with an accent even stranger than the one of the inhabitants of the Fort, but in a controlled and perhaps too polite voice... A Matis, that is.
He welcomed us, starting to ask us questions about our trip. Assuming that Azazor was not going to give him the pleasure of chatting, I answered by some few banalities, nothing more than what Kickan could have told him. And then that we would like to rest for a while first. He smiled and took his leave, inviting us to share a baba later. Kickan led us to a kind of small hut, inviting us to settle down, before leaving us in his turn. He has many people to greet, starting with his family. Family, here, a word I had almost forgotten. I got lost in my thoughts for a moment, hoping that Uzykos and Wixarika were doing well. Quelle misérable je suis de les avoir abandonnés... Puis Azazor m'a secouée. Nous allons devoir nous concerter, rafraichir notre stratégie sur ce que l’on peut dire et ce dont il vaudrait mieux ne pas parler. Il y a peut-être déjà quelques maraudeurs par ici. Pas le temps de laisser mes émotions prendre le dessus.

Before leaving, Kickan warned us about the Council. It is a group of six, elected by the population. Life here is very quiet and they usually don't like anything that might disturb the calm of the place. Marauders, refugees, travelers are accepted, but they are not used to see travelers going eastwards, other than liaison officers like him. Luckily, this Matis had been there and Kickan knows him a little. He told us that he had prepared the ground for us to meet him and that we could convince him of the good intentions of our trip. That will be useful for the continuation, not that they can prevent us from leaving, but we know well that the homins of the New Lands are rare and not necessarily in favor here. "Strange behavior, for Rangers," I said. Then Kickan laughed, "Hahaha! Rangers?" On that, he left without adding anything.

I'll still have time to understand what's going on here, and to describe the place more precisely in the next few days. The road ahead to Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost is similar, and Kickan advised us against leaving before a week or more, while our metabolism gets sufficiently recovered. He also explained that unlike Fort Beacon, since we are here on a relatively low elevation island, the harmful effects of the Sea of Wood are felt to a lesser extent. We won't fully recover our physical energy, but at least we need to recover all our clarity of mind.

Azazor is already snoring, toub. And all I have left is shu fiber to put in my ears. It won't be enough, but I don't have anything else on hand.