Lyren brooded. She'd been to Fairhaven, then Avendale, but Eolinius was nowhere to be found. Perhaps deciphering the document was more of a hassle than he'd imagined, and he'd been looking for help. Or was it possible that this document was getting him into trouble? No, most likely, he'd found a quiet place to work, away from prying eyes. Come to think of it, irrespective of all that, it was rather amusing to see the reaction of the trykers. They, who found themselves in some of the strangest and most dangerous situations, between goo, marauders and other notorious raving lunatics, were terrified to utter a word in public. What was so risky? It was a fact, Trytonists exist, and will exist as long as the world has two opposing powers, as long as they have the conviction that their fight is justified. The very idea can survive without needing to be carried by anyone, and it will be all the more powerful and difficult to silence, because it will persist beyond any corporeal envelope. It's hard to kill an enemy that doesn't exist, much harder even than to stifle the smell of a fyros warrior's boots.
So why this brutal reaction from some of the Drakani? If Lyren had understood correctly, as she was missing a few elements, Eeri had spoken openly with them, something the Trytonists never did under any circumstances. That was how much she trusted them, in addition to all the possible reasons why she had opened up to them.
One of the Drakani said he threw away his badge and left the guild when he learned that Eeri was part of this mysterious faction. Was it fear? Hatred? What could he be afraid of? Those who tracked down Trytonists had no interest in openly striking Tryker citizens. By using violence, you run the risk of losing the war of ideas, of opinions. On the other hand, as far as I can remember, the Trytonists had never attacked any human beings; the actions for which they were known were limited to wearing a helmet, making a disturbing speech, distributing a few leaflets and disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. Much less dangerous than an overhydrated yubo.
Lyren scratched the half of his head that still had hair on it. Had she really thought all that? Ideas and opinions were complicated. Still, a well-placed axe can settle a lot of things.
Pending analysis of the parchment, there was still the sword and its strange message. Lyren unfolded a map on the apartment table, and decided to proceed in the same way. There was indeed this valley of hopes, which could be the starting point. Death, a Kitiniere? No, too simple, but Desertstock isn't far away. Resurrection, a vortex? There's plenty to do in the area. She drew lines on the map of Zoraï country, ticking off all the points halfway between two possible places of death or life, and the place of hope. The hinterland, the spotted moor, the fortress on the horizon, then the descent to the Root Primes. Perhaps it was down there that she had to look? Then, if she couldn't find anything, Desertstock. Halfway to other jungle vortexes, the mystical falls, the haven of purity. It was already a lot, and nothing really localized like that little beach they'd found. Nothing as convincing as last time. Perhaps she was missing the point? Action was what she needed, and she nevertheless decided to equip herself, grab a few supplies, before taking the path to Dyron and the vortex of jungle country as her destination. This would be her starting point, and she was well aware that exploring each of these points would take her a few days, if not weeks.
So why this brutal reaction from some of the Drakani? If Lyren had understood correctly, as she was missing a few elements, Eeri had spoken openly with them, something the Trytonists never did under any circumstances. That was how much she trusted them, in addition to all the possible reasons why she had opened up to them.
One of the Drakani said he threw away his badge and left the guild when he learned that Eeri was part of this mysterious faction. Was it fear? Hatred? What could he be afraid of? Those who tracked down Trytonists had no interest in openly striking Tryker citizens. By using violence, you run the risk of losing the war of ideas, of opinions. On the other hand, as far as I can remember, the Trytonists had never attacked any human beings; the actions for which they were known were limited to wearing a helmet, making a disturbing speech, distributing a few leaflets and disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. Much less dangerous than an overhydrated yubo.
Lyren scratched the half of his head that still had hair on it. Had she really thought all that? Ideas and opinions were complicated. Still, a well-placed axe can settle a lot of things.
Pending analysis of the parchment, there was still the sword and its strange message. Lyren unfolded a map on the apartment table, and decided to proceed in the same way. There was indeed this valley of hopes, which could be the starting point. Death, a Kitiniere? No, too simple, but Desertstock isn't far away. Resurrection, a vortex? There's plenty to do in the area. She drew lines on the map of Zoraï country, ticking off all the points halfway between two possible places of death or life, and the place of hope. The hinterland, the spotted moor, the fortress on the horizon, then the descent to the Root Primes. Perhaps it was down there that she had to look? Then, if she couldn't find anything, Desertstock. Halfway to other jungle vortexes, the mystical falls, the haven of purity. It was already a lot, and nothing really localized like that little beach they'd found. Nothing as convincing as last time. Perhaps she was missing the point? Action was what she needed, and she nevertheless decided to equip herself, grab a few supplies, before taking the path to Dyron and the vortex of jungle country as her destination. This would be her starting point, and she was well aware that exploring each of these points would take her a few days, if not weeks.