ROLEPLAY


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#16 Multilingual 

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While they progress towards the west, in direction of what they think is Fort Beacon, the mektoub of Eeri collapses behind them. The former legionary may well pull it, shout at it, that's no use, the mektoub refuses to get back up.

"We should lighten your toub Eeri, it carries too much weight," Azazor suggests.

Without waiting for her agreement, he starts to rummage in the bags of the mektoub to chuck out what is superfluous. While doing so, he causes the izam eggs of Dorothee to fall.

"ramèch! I had forgotten about them!"
"But watch out, you bodocskull! Oh dear, two eggs have hatched..."

Unfortunately, the two young izams, born locked in the egg box, had ended up dying and rotting there. A rancid smell emanates from the box and worms are already swarming on the little corpses.

"It could still be a meal, at this point..."

Azazor gags at Eeri's suggestion. Then feeling his stomach crying out, he swallows.

"We lighten up, then we'll eat what's not too rotten."

Still poking around, he comes across a strange box.

"What is this stuff," he mumbles while starting to open the box.
"Oh nothing, give it to me, I'll take care of it," says Eeri in a dry voice, rushing to take the box from the Fyros' hands.

Azazor keeps the box firmly in his hands, challenging Eeri with his eyes.

"What is it?"
"Some... Some... Well, nothing. Something I want to try out. And also probably a bargaining chip. Give me that."
"talen," he shouts out while pulling the box to him.

Eeri resists. Azazor too. They looks like two children bickering over a toy. The box slips out of their hands and opens when it touches the ground. A dagger, some small vials, and a larger one, which escapes and rolls on the ground, a little further, under Eeri's terrified eyes.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asks coldly.
"Oy... talen... You're right, that's probably what you're thinking."

Eeri bends down, trying to keep as calm as possible, and carefully picks up the vial.

"I've gone through a lot to get this, I'd like to see this experiment through to the end."

Azazor, under the fatigue and the fear accumulated until now, explodes of rage.

"AND WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME ABOUT IT?"

He then violently grabs a bag on the mektoub which is mooing with disapproval.

"And what's in there? A goo bomb? A Karavan artifact? A Kami head?"

Without waiting for the answer, he throws the bag away and takes another one.

"What about this one? Is it the one with the books stolen from the Imperial Academy?"

He then throws it at Eeri who dodges.

"You're a piece of shit Eeri since you left the Fyros legions! A miserable slut who makes friends with the rotten people of this world, who schemes with her pals, who… who betrays, who lies!! tramèch, to me! YOU LIE TO ME!!!"

Eeri remains silent for a moment, trying to control her rapid breathing and her shaking. When the Fyros finally sits down, turning his back to her, still seething with anger, she replies in her calmest voice:

"dey. I did not lie to you. You never asked me what was in my mektoub pack. You didn't care about it."

After a while, she adds:

"And if you had take interest for what we would have to be up against down here, instead of spending your time turning pale while ogling maps in the basement of the Academy, you'd understand my choices."
"Oh, cause you think I haven't thought about it? You think I don't have a plan? I didn't wait for Eeri to come up with an idea of how to get past the Marauders fortress. Eeri who carries poison from some orskos without telling his companion. Eeri who thinks it's enough to show up at the Marauders' with poison as a bargaining chip."

Azazor turns to the Fyrossa behind him and observes her intensely.

"I never said anything about your fucking goo experiments, out of loyalty. I expect the same from you. You tell me everything about our trip or you turn around."

Then he gets up and retrieves his bag. He takes out Barmie's map and looks up at the sky, trying to spot the day star through the haze.

"And if..."

Eeri explodes.

"That's enough of that! You think I'm stupid? My fucking experiments, as you call them, you didn't even care why I did them. You think I'm an axe with legs? A bodyguard? Go on! Go on alone. You won't make it 200 meters..."
"Then stop lying, damn it! Have you already forgotten about the Fyros pillars?"
"Okay, you want to know everything? Yeah, I got a goo bomb in my bag. Goo filters, too, which I even installed on your stinky helmet. I've got a cure for poisoning. I have poison, but I also have antidotes. But you, you stupid filthy bodoc, you're so stubborn that no matter what I do..."

Without letting her finish her sentence, Azazor approaches her and sends her a slap that could peel the leather off a ploderos, sending the Fyrossa to the ground.

"The bodoc still has what's needed for..."

Slightly stunned, Eeri retaliates by sweeping Azazor's legs with a kick, giving in turn the Fyros the opportunity to study the sawdust closely. Azazor looks at her with murderous eyes but remains on the ground.

"You want us to kill each other, that's it?"

After a heavy and motionless silence, Eeri spits the sawdust she almost swallowed in her fall, grumbling something unintelligible.
The Fyros, still ranting, gets up without looking at the Fyrossa.

"If you want to go on along with me, you obey me regarding the road to take."

He points a finger towards the east.

"Fort Beacon must be somewhere that way. Take back your shits and let's go. This place is driving me crazy."
"Then never lay a hand on me again. We follow your way, but you never lay a hand on me again."
"So start not lying to me anymore."

Eeri gets up slowly, then approaches the mektoub and rummages in her bag, to take out a vial of which she makes the animal drink half, patting its head.

"Pfff, first of all I never questioned your route," she grumbles.
"Really? And who has us..."

A dull tremor suddenly sounds, which makes the mektoub raise its head in fear.

"We... We mustn't stay here, says Azazor in a slightly hoarse voice."

He then sets off without waiting for her, a quick and chaotic whisper on his lips. With all the vivacity she can muster, Eeri picks up and packs most of her packets and stuffs them into the mektoub's pack, keeping what she can't put there in by hand. Then, grabbing with one hand the tether of the animal, which this time follows without being begged, she catches up with the Fyros who walks with a quick step towards the west, throwing from time to time a terrorized glance towards the foggy horizon. Eeri in turn looks at the horizon, intrigued.
"That mektoub is paranoid. It's nothing but the cracking of the bark," she grumbles to reassure herself.

Text written with four hands by Azazor and Eeri

Edited 4 times | Last edited by Eeri (2 years ago) | Reason: NOTE : Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar ! English Translation by Nilstilar

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Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#17 Multilingual 

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Eeri's logbook
Probably Nivia, 2nd AC, 2618. Or 3rd AC, we don't know anymore.

Done with playing.
This place annihilates our discernment.
If I really have an advice to leave, if we manage at least to leave a trace of this trip, and that we don't stupidly die on the way, it's this one: Take a guide, my li'l ones. Leave your Fyros pride aside, your Matis dignity, your Tryker assurance, or your... whatever, I can't find anything for the Zorais... Leave everything aside, take a guide. Recognize that you are not up to it. No one is. Ah, yes, your Zoraï certainties. In the end, it's all the same, certainties, dignity, pride... You're going to die. We will die.

What we just went through, what happened between Azazor and me, I won't write about it here. I don't want to leave that to future generations. We are not ourselves, we are on edge. The smallest detail becomes a pretext for endless quarrels. Well, we should have brought up some things long ago, before we left. But he wouldn't have accepted my methods anyway... Rightly or wrongly.
I do my best not to show him that I am freaking out. He tells me he saw "something". And that seems to be enough for him to choke back many things and focus on the road. Or he is playing with me, it is his turn, but he does not have enough energy to invent a proper story. Something, a shape, gigantic, in the mist. Eyes. More eyes, he sees eyes everywhere. I think I'm going as crazy as he is here. All I saw was mist.

First, we have to reach Fort Beacon. We need to rest and eat something other than grasses. Then we will be able to talk, and make a decision. If we don't die first.

Last edited by Eeri (2 years ago) | Reason: NOTE : Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar / English Translation by Nilstilar

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Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#18 Multilingual 

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Azazor's logbook

2618 Dia tria quadria... whatever

I do not sleep.

The Eyes. They are there, in the night. The Beast is there too. It makes the air vibrate with its mooing.

Eeri is sleeping. But she is afraid, I know it. She shudders in her sleep.

If we don't make noise, the Beast doesn't come near. But the Eyes are watching us. They wait for us to fall asleep before coming closer. The technique is to sleep seated. That way, the Eyes don't know you're asleep and don't approach you.


Nuptina 3450 after Dexton

I do not sleep.

Eeri lets out a groan. She must be dreaming of the Eyes. Or of the Beast. During the day, she doesn't believe me. But at night… at night even the most harliner end up seeing the unspeakable.


3450 after my father's death

One more night of staying awake or to sleep seated. Tomorrow we will hopefully leave THEIR territory.

We will leave yes. I saw the tower this morning at dawn. For a moment before the mist covered it. A leaning tower, twisted, like a bad dream.
Eeri doesn't know. I did not say anything. What if it's a hallucination??? And then, I like to see Eeri shaking in her sleep. Are you afraid Eeri? You are afraid of the Eyes, aren't you? You laugh during the day, but at night… At night they watch you too. They see that you are sleeping.

I TOO see you sleeping Eeri

Fragile                 Weak                        Alone in your dreams


2799 after the death of Lykos

Some steps          the wind                   crakk, makes the bark. The bark with feet of giant. The Beast moves. It gets about. But the Beast is not alone, other monsters are stalking it. Or are these its children?

And there are the Eyes. The Eyes know that I am not sleeping. I will not sleep this night.
She                     Sleep Eeri                I stay up                 For the Eyes not to take us away
Crrrrrrrrrr bark bark crakk small bark, crack under the steps of the Beast.


3000 years after the birth of the Beast

Eeri, you see the Beast? It moves. There are its cubs too, growling next to it.

Crak Crrrrrrrrrrrr kkkkk the bark the bark the bark come to play on the bark

If you close eyes you have lost. Do not close your EYES

Eeri, are you sleeping? I am not. Never. I am watching. I am watching YOU. And I listen to the bark cracking cracking cracking under the steps of the Beast and its children.

Tomorrow we will be freeeeeeeeeeeee.


9310 after Eeri's death

This night I see the lighthouse. And the Beast it sleeps with Her. HER! We sleep all together.

Crak Crak crrrrrr makes the smashed bone.
One morning I will see the tower. Fort Beacon. All twisted, I saw it in a dream.

One morning three gardens makes the turn of the bleachers Crak Crak one shookie two shookies it is the festival for Eeri

Eeri, you sleep? Are you SLEEPING? For ever? And I? I sleep? I SLEEP ? I'M SLEEPING ???

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Fyrenor (2 years ago)

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fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
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#19 Multilingual 

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Eeri's logbook
Date? 2618 - ...

Fort Beacon

I had given up hope of writing a word in this journal again.
Where to start? Tiredness makes me lose the notion of time, and the notion of the things that surround us. I'll try to pick up where I left off. Azazor is still immersed in his thoughts.

The light. We saw this glow, in the distance, in the deep darkness. At first very vague, like a reflection on the sky or the Canopy. We followed it, forgetting to seek other marks.
Darkness. Compared to this hole, the Sorched Corridor is a walk in the park, minus the kitins. The almost permanent haze that reigns here makes orientation on stars almost impossible. After we had seen this glow, we walked for several more days, as well as part of the nights when the mist cleared, because during the day we lost this precious landmark. I can't say how many days.

Azazor didn't say anything. He looked at me with his increasingly mad eyes, and walked. I discreetly kept my axe at reach, and slept with only one eye open. He was making good progress, the bloody bodoc, but his mind seemed elsewhere. Probably the lack of food. But the light in the distance revived the hope in us, even in him. Even if he didn't say anything.

When the glow became more distinct, we suddenly reached the bottom of a cliff. We climbed up, the path was relatively well laid out, easier to follow than I had expected. Our poor mektoub even managed to follow us, I can't explain how. Later, when it realized that we had arrived, he collapsed. He must have felt our relief. I hope he'll get over it. A beast like that is irreplaceable. At this point, if it collapsed, it would do something to me to eat it. A pang of emotion. No, I wouldn't be able to.

And so, we arrived. How to describe the place? As we got closer, I realized that the village was not right on the edge of the cliff, as I had imagined. The glow, which remained high above our heads, still seemed to be coming out of the Canopy. We continued on, and arrived at what I might call the village itself. It is as though encircled in a huge stump, but without any root. Like a gigantic tree. The light glows strangely inside. It must be a powerful magic, one I had never seen before.

Then a Tryker approached us. Unarmed, he nevertheless seemed on his guard. Relatively massive, he was dressed in a kind of armor I had never seen before.
"We are from the New Lands," I said on impulse. Azazor was remaining silent, behind me.
The Tryker raised an eyebrow, surprised, "From the New Lands?"
His accent was different from what I had heard so far. He motioned to two homins I had not seen yet. These came out of the shadows and approached us, weapons in hand, though not threatening.
"Marauders?" asked one of them, a Zorai with a weathered mask.
I repeated, "New Lands. Not Marauders."
I sensed they didn't believe me, but what was left of my discernment took over.
"We had to make a detour," I said. "And we came back here."
The Zorai approached our mektoub, watched it for a moment, then turned his eyes back to us.
"It sure look like it" he said, before nodding to the Tryker.
Azazor then walked up to one of the guards and looked at him with half-rolled back eyes.
"The Eyes... the Beast... they can get in here?"

I can't imagine what a shocked face I must have displayed when I heard Azazor's voice, he who hadn't said a word for days, even for weeks... The homins had a guffaw, and got softer.

The Tryker finally approached and spoke again: "We don't see many travelers around here. Usually the ones who come from where you come from look a little more... well... You look too armed to me for mere travelers, and too harmless for Marauders." He smiled.
I nodded, not knowing what else to do. Then he went on, looking at Azazor who just stood rooted to the spot:
"He's the armed wing? All that's left of your troops? Or, are there other homins?"
I shook my head, to let him know that there were indeed only two of us. In an almost facetious tone, unless it was that strange accent, He said something like:
"What, did an armadaï eat your crystal?"
Seeing that our reaction was only a confused look, He added:
"Okay. So if you both are still alive, we'll call that luck. Are you staying the night then going home to mom?"

They watched us for a while longer, then the Zorai and his sidekick walked away. I thought I heard them laugh, one of them saying something like, "Definitely not Marauders, they'd have gotten mad by now. New Lands softies... that'll make a change for us."
They laughed at us, and whatever. A laugh. The last few days, I would have given my soul for a laugh.

The Tryker beckoned us to follow him. We passed through thick walls. It seems to me that Azazor asked again about the eyes, about the beast. The Tryker explained that the village was a safe place. I tried to devote my full attention to observing our surroundings, despite my tiredness. He led us to a small room, not far from the entrance. I cannot define what the walls are made of. One side of this room looks like a gigantic piece of bark. On the other side the wall seems to be a tangle of vines and dried mud. Some beds are installed. Beds! I almost cried when I realized that I had not slept in a real bed for almost a year already.

Then someone brought us food and water. Another brought something for our mektoub to drink, then took it away, probably to a stable. It is in as bad a way as we are, I hope he will make it through the night. I brought all our bags, including the mektoub pack, to what will serve as our dormitory. Azazor swallowed what he was served, then lay down, without saying a single word to me. He probably fell asleep quickly.
The homins did not speak to us much more. They observe us, a little strangely, but without animosity. The place is calm, silent, except for the whistling of the wind which brings us the reminiscences of distant and strange howls.
When the Tryker came back, I made him understand that I wanted to talk. He looked at Azazor and me. Then he told us to rest, with a touch of benevolence in his voice. We'll talk tomorrow. I told him our names, and he told us his: Kickan. Mac'opin Kickan.

Now I only have the strength to finish writing these lines. I will ask him for the date tomorrow. I'm falling asleep and for the first time in weeks I know I'll manage to sleep.

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Eeri (2 years ago) | Reason: NOTE : Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar ! English Translation by Nilstilar

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Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#20 Multilingual 

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Brief progress report:

Azazor and Eeri are currently in Fort Beacon, where they are resting after a long and harrowing journey on the Road to Oflovak, with a detour through the Sea of Wood where they got lost. In green, the way already covered.

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
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#21 Multilingual 

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Azazor's logbook

D1

The first thing I saw since I collapsed from exhaustion was the ceiling of the room where I am lying. A very low ceiling, where a Zorai would hardly stand. On this ceiling, but also on the four walls of the room, are engraved names, probably of passing homins, but also dates, symbols, some of which remind me of those of Arispotle Street, in Pyr. I quickly took my bag and pulled out a varinx leather to note all this, before a Fyros arrived and asks me to follow him.



He then asked me if I had slept well. I didn't say anything. Sleeping well is a tautology. Sleeping is necessarily well. The homin took me to another, larger room, where I found Eeri. She welcomed me with a smile. There was also a Zorai homina. Then everything was explained to me. The arrival at the tower in a awful state, me asking a guard if the Eyes and the Beast can enter the camp, their laughter. And… blackout. I fell asleep for a whole day.

I have never been so scared in my life. In fact, I don't think I've ever been afraid before. How can we, homins of the New Lands, used to not dying from beatings, used to our environment, know what fear is? Without the Powers, we are so weak. And yet... Yet this tower exists. There are homins who live there, in this inhospitable place, without Powers to help them. And I ask them if the eyes can come in here... But what a toub!

We chatted a bit more with the Fyros and the Zorai, then I went back to the travelers' dormitory, pretending to have things to review. In fact, I was ashamed. I, Azazor, akenak, former legionnaire, am ashamed of what I have been in this maddening desert. A wreck, a nobody. Without Eeri, I would have died.

Now that I have slept, I must pull myself together. I'll go around, write down everything I can, interview people too. I need to know what's really in the Sea of Wood. On akash, Azazor will not falter any longer.


D2

The Zorai is the stewardess of Fort Beacon. She has been appointed by the ranger council that runs Oflovak's Halt. In fact, here is a kind of outpost of the Halt. Her name is Tao Shin, 73 years old, which according to the homins here is more than venerable. With the absence of resurrection, the life span on the Oflovak Road is much shorter than in the New Lands. The Fyros is Barylus Abythan, leader of the guards. He told me that they had a good laugh when they saw us coming. They didn't believe us when Eeri told them we were from the New Lands. Passing through here is rare for homins that are not rangers nor marauders. So to come from the New Lands is unheard of in homin memory. Tao Shin told me that in the archives the names of such homins can be found. But she was not born and could not know them. Most of the travelers are rangers. A few marauders from time to time, but also emissaries or outcasts from other nearby tribes, at least those who didn't die on the way. Because yes, there are tribes established here and there along the road, especially north of Fort Beacon. Besides, some of them maintain good relations with them. Barter is regularly practiced.

As a result, they asked us about the New Lands, which they know a little about from other rangers, and about the purpose of our trip. When we told them that we wanted to go to the desert of the old Fyros Empire, beyond the Citadel, they tried to dissuade us. They say that crossing the Sea of Wood without a guide is suicide (and let's not talk about the rest of the route). The longer you stay in this area, the more you lose in vitality. You have to go fast, so you have to follow the beacons carefully. But between the tiredness, the absence of landmarks because of the fog and the predators, it is impossible for novices like us. We survived by miracle.

Precisely, the predators (the Beast and the Eyes...), it's not what you think. The kind of plaintive cracking that we hear, the same as the one we can hear on the edge of the cliff in the New Lands, is the armadai. At least, that's how they call it here. It seems that it has other names elsewhere. But it's still the same beast. To put it simply, it's a kind of giant arma, but not exactly. Longer, but with shorter legs. Herbivorous, then. Here is my Beast, the one that shakes the bark. Just a good big herbivore, bigger though than our biggest shalahs. I'll have to see one up closer to make up my mind. What we have to fear on the other hand, are the predators of these armadais (my Eyes…). Yetins, of a very tough type. They would come from the islands of the Sea of Wood or the Verdant Continent (that's what they call the place we are, or else Ancestral Forest).

Unlike the armadais, these yetins are not made to live in the Sea of Wood. It would kill them too to stay there too long. And if they spared us during our little trip in the Sea of Wood, it's just a stroke of luck. Barylus explained to me that they hunt armadais in packs. That's when they are huting we have the best chance of getting off. Compared to the armadais, we comprise not much for them to eat. The risk is if you run into a pack that's not on the hunt. There is always one or two to have a little opportunistic snack. But, ''a priori'', there is no risk to meet them in the Sea of Wood without them hunting. That said, it is better to avoid crossing their path anyway.

In short, we were entitled to a rundown about the Sea of Wood. They told us of course about Oflovak's Halt. It is a rather quiet island, on which the city of the Halt has been built a very long time ago by the descendants of the first rangers. They insisted that it would be imperative, if we nevertheless wanted to continue our journey, to stop there before continuing towards the Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost, if only to rest and not go mad in the Sea of Wood. This pull me a face. Indeed, I was on my way to become mad. But now that I can put a name to what I heard over there, I'll be less afraid. It's fear that drives you mad. Especially when you've never really experienced it.

They told us that we could stay here for a few days, the time to get back on our feet and especially to properly weigh our decision on whether or not to continue the trip towards the east. Then they went back to their occupations, leaving us there, Eeri and me, with a lot of unanswered questions. What I would like to know is which people from the New Lands have managed to come this far? And what were they looking for?


D3

Mac'opin Kickan, the Tryker who received us at our arrival here, and with whom Eeri sympathized a lot, has made us visit the place.

The tower is a piece of the Canopy which would have fallen and remained planted in the bark. Their hypothesis is that the piece remained for a long time half attached to the rest of the Canopy, which allowed it to stabilize with the growth of the adjacent vegetation. Fortunately today, the tower is fully attached. So, although it is leaning, there is no risk of it collapsing. Moreover, considering the very uneven relief around the tower, there must be lot of debris of this canopy in the surroundings, since covered by the vegetation. The fall must have taken place at least several centuries ago. It is thus inside this root that these descendants of rangers built their dwelling, by digging a whole bunch of cavities in the root. There are dormitories like the one we're staying in, living rooms and even a bar, all connected by narrow hoses, stairs carved in the wood and ladders. At the top of the tower is the office of the stewardess Tao Shin.

We could also have a look at the lighthouse itself. It consists in a huge brazier, a large set of mirrors and… what? Some stuff that distorts the view when you look inside. Didn't ask about the name of this stuff. But it's made of totally unknown materials. I heard it came from a wreck of a Karavan ship, found north of the Verdant Continent about a century ago. From the top of the tower, the Eternal Tree can be seen in the west, emerging above the Canopy. According to the Tryker, there are some very hostile and particularly large animals there. He has never been there, so he is not quite sure, but from what he has been told, there are also homins living there, and even tribes of gibbai. However, it is rather complicated to confirm, since rangers rarely go there. Yet, there would be extremely rare resources in these lands. He also explained us that other trees of this kind, that some call Ancestral Trees, exist elsewhere, far from the Oflovak Road. But he was unable to tell me where they are. Or, maybe, is he not allowed to reveal this?

All I can say is that, seen from up ther, Atys is much bigger than one can imagine. It is forests overlooking other bare lands, islets of life, reliefs, desolate plains. A world so vast, so… inconceivable? One has no idea of such immensity until one has seen this.

After this beautiful visit, Kickan proposed us to join him this evening at the bar. He will make us taste the speciality of Oflovak Road: the baba.


J4

Big headache this morning. His damn baba, but let him keep it! I have rarely drunk something so insipid. Even Lorlyn's byrh is more tasty. Baba is an alcohol made from the seeds of the balogna tree, a kind of rustic bush of the forest. The seeds are crushed, left to macerate with water and then a bit of sawdust is put in for preservation. There is to drink and to eat with that.. So yes, I understand that it is useful when there is nothing to eat, especially since it keeps for a long time. But thence to drink this stuff for pleasure… Moreover it fills very little. It's not disgusting, but it's not a pleasure to drink. And if my hair hurts this morning, I'm sure it's their baba. Eeri and I hesitated to take out the vial of ocyx essence that we've managed to preserve miraculously from breaking. But we said to ourselves that it was not yet the occasion to celebrate. We didn't even get halfway there.

That said, it was a good evening with that Kickan. He was born at the Oflovak's Halt, like most here. Then, after starting as a guard over there, he moved up in rank. Five years ago he came here as an officer. From time to time, he goes back to the Halt. He's a liaison officer, mostly. Most of the rangers here have multiple jobs. He's mostly liaison with the Halt (mail, some cargo). He also takes care of the maintenance of the beacons in this portion of the Road. He has offered to accompany us in a few days to the Halt. He has some messages to deliver, mainly personal messages from the homins to their families who stayed at the Halt. In short, he is a nice guy and Eeri gets along well with him. You have to hear her chuckle every time Kickan makes a joke. They have a particular humor these Rangers…

Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
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#22 Multilingual 

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Journal de bord d'Eeri
Winderly 14, 1st AC 2619

If only I had had any idea of what awaited us.
Fort Beacon, in my imagination, was a small camp, on the edge of a cliff, lost in a most hostile environment, a bit like the camp of the Watchers. A brazier fixed to the top of a pole, on a hillock, high up. A bunch of irritable, rough Rangers, fighting against the elements. Three tents, a campfire.
We discovered a small town, built inside a part of the Canopy, lit up with incredible magic. I didn't expect to have such a shock until I saw the ramparts of Fyre. The top floor, where the light comes from, is a clever tangle of objects, the "lenses" of a Karavan ship, apparently wrecked and looted centuries ago, as the camp steward explained to us. Objects that reflect and amplify the light of a large brazier. I was able to observe one of these objects, up close, one of the lenses that was a bit broken. One can see through it, in a way, as if it were solidified water, embedded in a large ring made of the strange material of Karavan ships. As I watched Azazor through it, I laughed, he seemed to have regained the weight he had lost over the past few weeks. Oy, we tend to float in our armor, I must say.
The steward may well have told me that there was no magic in them, I still think they're some kind of amplifier, like the ones we wear, but specifically for light. Something magical that distorts reality. I asked if I would be allowed to take one of these lens fragments with me... Then thinking for a moment, under Azazor's heavy eye, I added: "On our way back... We are loaded enough as it is". She smiled, and offered to talk about this when we come back.

The steward, Tao, is an incredibly calm homina. She asked about the New Lands, and listened without really seeming to be impressed by anything. I told her what I thought: a bedridden Fyros emperor with no descendants, the Theocracy always terrified when a yubo farts some goo, Trykers who stick their noses in everything... We didn't really talk about the Matis.Azazor gave some other news, perhaps a little less disillusioned than mine. The homina was watching us, and seemed to be amused by our diametrically opposed personalities. We talked about the Nexus too, about the bark quake, about the gibbais, about raw materials, a subject that aroused more interest in her. Azazor also told about his fall into the rift, his famous encounter with Fyrak. Like me, Tao did not hide her doubts. He then pulled out an object, which he obviously kept in a pocket of his armor, like a storyteller displaying evidence. "I brought this back," he said. "A tooth, which embedded itself in my armor when I thrust a spear into its gaping maw. A Fyrak tooth, of a material as cold as the fragments of the Karavan ship we had observed earlier. I looked at Azazor in amazement, but added nothing.

Then I explained to Tao that I had been a Ranger, for years, before joining the Drakani to serve the Federation of the Lakes.I asked why the Rangers here didn't use tunnels to get around. Her answer was so obvious, I felt like an idiot. The tunnels on the New Lands are only a few miles long at most, and it's still a dangerous mode of transportation, no matter how well controlled. Moreover, the Almati Rangers' contacts with the two Powers assure that, if something goes wrong, a homin will be brought back anyway. Here, the distances to travel are infinitely greater. "We have developed and sought out these passages," she said, "but we have had too many casualties. In our country, a homin who gets stuck in a tunnel has no chance of ever seeing the light of the surface again."

Anyway, we talked a lot with the steward, and with Kickan too, over a few drinks.
Azazor is relatively less talkative with him. For my part, I like this Tryker. It has to be said that I got the habit of being surrounded by his kind, these last years. I realize that I miss those Drakanis tricksters a little bit. I guess Kickan has the same caustic and sincere sense of humor as their. We laughed while comparing his accent to that of the New Lands. He explained that the Rangers here were speaking the Ranger dialect among themselves, and that it is possible that the tyll and other homin languages had less opportunity to distort over time. We also tasted their local liquor, baba, and I tried to get him to taste some leftover of the gingerbread Eolinius gave me, which is a bit dry now. I had to explain to him that it was a local specialty and that it was much better fresh, nothing doing! Even dipped in baba. Well… it was as dry as a legionary's snack.
When I asked him why so many homins lived here and why they didn't come to live in the New Lands, he answered:
"Why leave here? To go and crowd us into the New Lands, to have to respect the whims of your emperors and kings... And then, if we don't stay, who will do our work here? Who will take in the unwary like you? "He laughed, I laughed too. Azazor not so much.
Then he added with a smile, "The Oflovak's Halt hosts at least ten times as many homins as Fort Beacon, and yet there is enough room for all. You will see that soon. We depart for there in five days."
We opened our eyes wide and waited for his explanation, "I couldn't wait to get back over there. I just got permission from Tao to see to the next liaison instead of Pad'ocett and Laniolle. Two of us always at least travel for that normally, and my usual crewhomin is currently on other duties. But since you'll probably be along for the ride... We'll be enough of three."
We smiled. Five days was enough time for us to fully recover.

Later that evening, as Azazor was beginning to sleep on his feet, or grumbling in his corner as usual, I casually asked if there were any Trytonists on the island of Oflovak. He nodded and smiled, "Oh, those who fight the Powers of the New Lands? Not so much at the Halt, no. From what I know, they gather at Shady Shore to escape the Karavan. That is their hideout. Besides, if they came here, they would have no more reason to be Trytonists. There are no Powers here."
I replied that, from what it seemed to me, it wasn't really about fighting, that they weren't attacking the Powers head-on, but were mostly trying to maintain some balance. He laughed, stood up and took a few staggering steps (or was it a dance?) toward the bar. "Balance, we're the kings of balance here!". He returned with more doses of baba.
As he sat down, his gaze ostensibly fell on my hand, the one where that black spot remains embedded in my skin. I froze, what a ramèch toub I am forgetting to wear a glove. Then his eyes landed on me, and he stared at me for a moment. I remained silent, feeling like he was reading my mind. After a moment, he held out a vial of baba, smiled and said:
"You know what a Zorai says when he bumps into a bar table?"

"Tahi!!! This is going to get me a bruise again."(*)

(*) Untranslatable pun : EN "bruise" and EN "blue" (the color of zorais' skin) both spell "bleu" in FR.

*****

Today I was allowed to go with two Rangers, a Fyros and a Matis, on a guard tour around the Fort. This is a task they perform very regularly. Azazor stayed at the tower to try to access the archives. He wants to know which homins from the New Lands have stopped here. I guess he's obsessed with it.
We started by following the path up to the cliff, the one we had taken when we arrived. This time it seemed like a much shorter distance... We must have been in a really bad state upon arrival. They inspected the path and looked for signs on the ground, explaining that on rare occasions the Sea of Wood's predators had ventured out here, leaving numerous claw marks in the sawdust. This could have been a sign of some unusual agitation. If so, we would have to postpone our departure to the Halt. But everything seems quiet and usual right now, they told me.
Then we went northward along the cliff. They noted a couple of landslides, common in this area and not very serious. From one spot, we had a clear, unobstructed view of the mist topping the Sea of Wood. The sky was relatively clear. They pointed out an area to me, in the distance, a trail of mist that seemed to be rising a little higher, as if stirred by some turmoil on the ground. "They're on the hunt," they told me. "This area to the north is one of the most dangerous, the higher up you go, and usually the closer you are to a cliff flanked by a ramp." I squinted, trying to observe. "They're seven or eight kilometers away, you won't see anything more from here. Down there, we get our bearings mostly by their screams."

Predators do not stay in this area, they told me later. They only come to hunt and feed, in packs. It is also because it is difficult to survive as you go deeper into the center of the Sea of Wood, a difficulty the homins undergo too. Only the armadai and some other creatures as strange as discreet live there. The packs generally come from the north, sometimes from the south, and the Rangers suspect that one or two packs have found refuge on one of the high islets, a little further south. As the claws of these kind of big yetins hardly cling to the cliff of Fort Beacon, they only venture there if they are surprised by strong thunderstorms or sawdust tempests.

We left the cliff and headed for the bark below. They pointed to the horizon, straight ahead:
"The Eternal Tree is in this direction. On a very clear day, like today, we can see its top from the top of the tower."
As we moved through the bark, we went from a desert area to a kind of jungle. We arrived in what they call the Sleeping Stumps. A place that immediately reminded me of the Barkgully, between Pyr and the Oflovak's Oasis, but covered with a dense and varied vegetation. It is filled with residues of pieces of the Canopy, fallen during the natural formation of the Fort. A multitude of bark chunks, some gigantic, fallen from the sky centuries ago. Suffice to say, I was amazed by this place. The Rangers were on the lookout, as the jugulas sometimes venture here to hunt the small herbivores living here. I picked up a few specimens of leaves, small trees unknown in the New Lands, as well as some small pieces of bark.

Then we carried on, staying at a distance from the Fort, and without really losing sight of it, describing a wide circle. The two Rangers observed several herd movements, jugulas in the distance, some groups of herbivores, including yelks very similar to those of our Desert. After an hour or two of walking, we headed back to the Fort, to return.
"While we do the northern part, another team takes care of the south. Otherwise the tour is much too long to be done in a sole day, especially when unforeseen events occur. But it's a quiet day, not much to report."

On the way back, I met up with Azazor and we climbed to the top of the tower, to admire the crown of the Eternal Tree, still lit by the evening light. What we can see is only a tiny part of this gigantic tree, which stretches for thousands of miles on the ground. I wonder if it is possible for homin eyes to admire the whole of it in its immensity. Other Rangers came to rekindle the flame of the great brazier that illuminates the Beacon. We watched them, then Azazor went back down at the call of the evening meal. I stayed up there alone for a while, imagining myself staying and spending the rest of my life in this place. Then I thought about the path left to us, and about all the people waiting for us to come back.
We leave in two days.

I still have to write two letters, seal them, and give them to the steward, hoping that a not too bumbling someone will soon make the trip towards the New Lands. One is for my friends in the Lakes and the Desert. The other, coded, for Mazé'Yum, through Nikuya for greater discretion, I think she'll be able to find him. With the instruction on each envelope to pay the bearer on arrival only if the seal is intact.

Last edited by Eeri (2 years ago)

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Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#23 Multilingual 

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It's been four days since Eeri, Azazor and Kickan left Fort Beacon towards the Oflovak's Halt. Four carefree days, following the road crossing the Sea of Wood without a hitch. Travelling with a Ranger who knows the way well is of great help. And if it is not the fatigue due to the walk and especially to the environment which seems to absorb their energy, the crossing has for the moment nothing to do with what the two Fyros lived the last time. Tonight, the three homins built a fire, the first one since they left the Beacon. In front of this saving fire, this fire that warms the soul and the body, Azazor is pensive. Since their departure, he has hardly spoken, remaining mute. Also, when he begins to speak that evening, the two other homins look at him, incredulous.

"Hmm, Kickan..."
"Yes Azazor?"

The fyros pauses for a moment, as if he had trouble asking his question. This one seems to set his mind and eyes on fire, unless it is the reflection of the flames of the fire before them. Then, with a sigh, the question finally came out, like a crackling ember.

"Do you believe in the Great Dragon?"

Eeri, who until now had been stirring the embers with a stick, pauses and glances at Kickan, waiting for his answer.

"Like every homin, I have heard of this story. The Dragon who comes to Atys, Jena who pushes him away with her light and sends him into the depths. It's something everyone knows."
"And you believe that?"
"You know here, we don't have too much time to look into that kind of thing. Where you're from, I can see how we might think about the foundations of myths, but here, we mostly think about survival."

Eeri lets out a sigh as she drops her stick into the fire and turns to Azazor.

"Aza, I have a question about your Fyrak tooth..."
"It's not a tooth, it's a chip of a tooth."
"Yeah, well, whatever. Why didn't you show it when you first told us your story?"
"I'm not Husyrech. I wanted you to believe me without proof, to test your faith."

Eeri has a start of laughter which she refrains at once. If she wants to get the Fyros to talk, it's best not to rush him right away.

"And then, seeing that it was not sufficient, I considered showing it to you. But in the meantime, I had noticed something."

He let a silence pass, as if he was waiting to be asked the question. Far away in the mist, an armadai utters a plaintive bellow. In the absence of any question, the former legionnaire goes on.

"The tooth chip seems to be made of the same material as the Karavan machines."

Eeri smiles. She too had noticed it. Azazor pulls out the sliver of tooth from a pocket in his armor and makes it glow in front of the fire.

"When I saw Fyrak, he opened his mouth and..."
"And you threw a spear in his teeth, I know, you've told it before."
"ney, and that's when a shard of tooth must have embedded itself in my armor, because once the Kamis teleported me away from the Dragon, I noticed the piece of tooth, stuck into my breastplate."

Kickan, a slight smile on his lips, murmurs a suggestion:
"Couldn't it simply be a hallucination?"

Azazor then looks at him intensely, as if trying to pierce the intent in the Tryker's words. Then he turns to Eeri and asks her:
"You, what do you think?"
"If it's a hallucination?"
"ney"
"Well... I'm not questioning your good faith, but I don't think you went down deep enough to run into Fyrak. Let alone survive it."
"What about the tooth?"
"I don't know."

Azazor mumbles something unintelligible, then adds:
"Do you want to know the bottom of my thoughts?"
"Is that wise?" tries Eeri, with an amused look on her face. In front of the Fyros' one, she immediately regrets. However, his answer surprises her.
"You are right Eeri, it is illogical that I could have met Fyrak."

He lets pass a new silence then adds:
"But there is the tooth chip. I think that this one is a piece of a machine from the Karavan. Same material, so probably same source. So one of two things. Either Fyrak is a Karavan creation. A kind of... ship. Which wouldn't be stupid. I had already come to the same conclusion in my volume 4 of the symbology.
"Symbo what?" the Tryker wonders.
"Symbology, the science of symbols. Have you read it Eeri?"
"Yep, but from there to giving you an abstract, now, at the drop of a hat..."
"Never mind. In this tome, I hypothesize that the Karavan came to Atys on the back of the Dragon. cak fyr kam pyr lik, that is 'earth heat sap water plant'. Our planet, Atys, is posterior to the heat of the Dragon. Then came the sap of the Kamis, water and plant life."

The Tryker looks at Eeri dumbfounded. You can feel that he is holding back from laughing. But Eeri becomes strangely more serious.

"Anyway, first hypothesis, Fyrak is a material creation of the Karavan. His vessel in a way. The other hypothesis is more daring."

A gust of wind makes the flames of the campfire flicker, before it resumes its burning.

"Whoa, the fire will eventually go out with all this wind," Kickan worries.
"Wind is to fire what absence is to love. It extinguishes the little one and lights up the big one."
"Well, instead of playing the two-dapper poet, tell us: what's your other hypothesis?" insists Eeri.
"Poetry is to life what fire is to wood. It emanates from it and transforms it," Azazor says, with an amused gaze.
"Aza!"

This one looks at his listeners. He takes great pleasure in seeing them in the waiting, especially Eeri. So this is what the teachers at the Imperial Academy feel like, when they talk to their captivated students? Clearing his throat, he resumes:

"The other hypothesis I was saying, well, I've just never seen Fyrak. Not even a machine."

Eeri takes a deep breath, as if about to say something, but the Fyros follows up.

"My seeing Fyrak would be some kind of hallucination. Or a dream. Maybe even a dream sent by the Kamis. I have read many accounts of homins who have traveled to Primes Roots and returned alive. But how did they get down there? How did they survive the kitins that swarm below? The simplest solution to this puzzle is that they simply never made the journey they describe. That it's all a dream. As if they were paused by the Kamis for a time, living an adventure in a dream as they lay in a corner of a rift or a tunnel in the Prime Roots."
"Would the Kamis be capable of that kind of thing?" asks Kickan, intrigued.
"I don't know. But the most pious Zorais talk about a journey. They say that when they reach kami age, they become one with the Kamis. This is called Enlightenment. So it doesn't seem unlikely to me, quite the contrary. Except that there is a snag."

The two homins raise an eyebrow at the same time. Their synchronization is comical. These two have found each other. Azazor doesn't even notice it, too obsessed with explaining his vision of things.

"The snag is the tooth shard. That said, maybe I got it through other ways without realizing it. For example, by banging a Karavan artifact in the depths, the kind of artifact you sometimes see in the Lands of Umbra, all in a half-awake state. A dream where you move anyway."
"Or a facetious Kami slipped it into your pocket while you were sleeping," Kickan suggests.

The Tryker, unable to hold it any longer, bursts out laughing, too happy with his joke. Eeri also starts to laugh mechanically, but one feels that she tries to control herself, not wanting to block the discussion when it becomes interesting. The Fyros remains impassive, waiting for the giggles to pass. Since he came back from his trip underground, he is used to being laughed at. It changes him from the jokes about his belly. Kickan wipes his tears while looking at Eeri with laughing eyes. This one returns him his smile and turns again his head towards Azazor who continues to explain.

"Nothing is impossible. Still, the most probable hypothesis is indeed the dream. The question then arises as to why."

Taking the voice of an old sage, Kickan murmurs :
"And yes, why, that is the question..."

Eeri refrains from bursting into laughter again. She would like, strangely, to hear nevertheless the end of the story. She then bites her tongue to hold back.

"Why do we believe in the Great Dragon? How is it that a large part of the homins, wherever they come from, no matter what their religion, believe in its existence? This myth of the Great Dragon is almost as persistent as that of Jena. Even among Kamists, faith in Jena is still strong among many."
"Jenaist Kamism," Eeri points out.
"ney, and it took all the strength of a Hoi-Cho for this to be gradually replaced by Kamism of Revelations."
"And according to you, where does this myth of the Great Dragon come from?"

Azazor closes his eyes, as if he was concentrating. Then he whispers in a mournful voice:

"The ashes of the Dragon, in the depths, open the way to the Truth..."
Eeri and Kickan express themselves in chorus:
"What??"
"That is a sentence I've had in my head since I returned from the depths. A kind of mantra. I don't know where it comes from. But I think I understood what it meant."

Eeri thinks that the more time passes, the more Azazor grows crazy. From a grouchy but nevertheless valiant legionary, he has become some kind of old fool rambling unintelligible stuff. So this is what it means to become old? Yet she is hardly younger than he is. It doesn't make you want to get old. Or maybe it's spending too much time in the Imperial Library.

"I believe that the Kamis, in sending me this dream and introducing me to this 'Dragon's tooth' intended to send me a message. This tooth fragment is a piece of some Karavan machine. But it was all a dream, except for this artifact. Perhaps then the Dragon..."

He lets his sentence die out and glances at Eeri, who is getting annoyed.

"What the hell? What?"
"Perhaps the Dragon of Myth is also a dream. A dream sent by the Karavan."

Suddenly there is silence, only disturbed by the roar of an armadai in the distance.

"You mean Fyrak wouldn't exist? But you're crazy!" enraged Eeri.
"I don't really know. But it doesn't seem so crazy to me."
"You, Azazor, Fyros from head to your filthy toes, did you just say that you don't believe in Fyrak?"
"I didn't say that, I said it was a hypothesis."
"Because you had a dream about a dragon and found a piece of a Karavan ship as a tooth?"
"When you put it like that, it's a weak demonstration. But there are other reasons to think so."
"Like what?"
"Who forbids us to descend into the depths? The Karavan. Because of what? The Dragon. Not the kitins. That they didn't use the kitins to scare us off suggests that the Karavan didn't even know their existence. So... In this case, the myth of the Dragon may have been by them made up. It's very convenient, so the Karavan looks like a good person, who defeated him, and no one is eager to go down to the very depths.
"And fwhat's in the Karavan's interest if we don't go down?"
"Preventing us to find things like that," answers Azazor, pointing to the 'tooth'. I am sure that the depths are full of this kind of artifact. There is this strange artifact mentioned by Pylos Cetheus in the book sel ûr atalbem ûr selak, and of course those that can be found in the Prime Roots accessible from the New Lands. As I once mentioned in a book about the drills, there is also a rumor that these were bringing up artifacts from underground and that was why they had been stopped in 2494."
"A kind of Big Bad to scare people," Eeri murmured.
"ney, but what the Karavan hadn't thought of was that the Fyros would like fire. So a huge beast spitting fire could only arouse their curiosity.

He lets a silence hover again, the time for them to digest the information, then resumes :

"Given the incendiary content of this hypothesis, you understand Eeri why I didn't even dare to broach the subject in the New Lands. The Karavan has ears... You Eeri, a Trytonist, can understand..."
"What... WHAT? But I'm not a Tr..."

Seeing Azazor's smile, she stops. The bastard, he plays with her nerves. A point for him. The Fyros continues:

"'The ashes of the Dragon, in the depths, open the way to the Truth.', this is a metaphor.
"I won't give a shit about metaphors," grumbles Eeri.
"A meta what?" asks Kickan.
"A metaphor, an image. The Dragon's quest, in short, is the quest for the Truth."

Kickan massages his temples while blowing.

"I don't know if it's the Sea of Wood or what you're saying, but I'm getting a headache."
"Yeah, the claim of Fyrak not existing, that's too much for me tonight. I'm going to go sleeping," adds Eeri.

While saying so, she throws an angry glance towards Azazor. How can he know what her deepest beliefs are? Is it that obvious? The Fyros doesn't look at her and put his 'tooth' back into his breastplate, keeping his eyes fixed on the fire.

"ney, that's a lot for tonight. It is indeed time to go to sleep."

The two Fyros and the Tryker each snuggle into their animal hide. The nights are cool down here. On the desolate plain, an armadai is mooing to call for a mate.

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#24 Multilingual 

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Eeri's logbook
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.

Last edited by Eeri (2 years ago) | Reason: NOTE : Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar ! English Translation by Nilstilar

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Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#25 Multilingual 

Multilingual | [English] | Français
Eeri's logbook
Folially 24, 3rd AC 2619

Things are starting to get clearer about our departure. Once we are ready, we leave again in two days. We will be accompanied again, but this time not by Kickan. This one leaves again tomorrow towards the Fort, with another team member and some goods.

The one who will accompany us is Titus. A Fyros, who looks young, but seems to have the energy of a bedridden celiakos. I exaggerate. He is just young, in fact. It's apparently also due to the high altitude, everyone here seems a bit slower than elsewhere. I feel weak myself. I can see that Ru-Dun is chewing its food more slowly than usual, too. Azazor seems to be stooped as if after drinking three vials of ocyx essence. As if everything was going in slow-motion.
This Titus, then. Since we arrived, he followed us, looked at us with big eyes, then asked us questions. Then he asked us to come with us. He wants to leave the island, to move away, to find the Marauders. I heard that his father was one of them, but he never knew him, he grew up on the island. Azazor eventually gave in to his request with a " Well. But no foolery, right? Taking a Marauder's son along, what a big deal. I objected. Azazor probably thinks it will work out in our favor. What if the father betrayed them? Well, it must have been a long time ago, they'll have forgotten. Above all, he seems too inexperienced for such a journey. "Do you at least know how to hold a sword at the right end?" I asked. Supposedly, he trains every day, he told us. I didn't want to be too hard on him, but I don't think he's ever faced a kirosta, or anything of that size.

And he asked why we were traveling, if we too were going to join the Marauders.
I answered nothing more than "scientific trip", naturally taking out my axe to resharpen the blade. I don't like it, but it's true that arriving at our next destination with a homin from the Halt could be a good point for us. "Here is a fresh recruit, do with it what you will." Or not, who knows. We'll have to adapt very quickly to the reception they'll give us.

So it's decided, he will travel with us to Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost. Discreetly I asked Kickan if he knew him, if we could trust him. Here, he told me, no one has any reason to want us dead, as long as we don't cause a catastrophe. I understood this while drinking a baba with him and the Matis we met earlier. Incidentally, the baba is slightly better here than at the Fort, but it's still more bland and insipid than the lightest byrh.

They told us a lot of things about the Halt. The inhabitants here are descendants of the Rangers of Atys, who settled here. At the beginning, now several generations ago. In order to guide the refugees, to offer them a break on the way to the New Lands. That we already knew. Many have left, but some have chosen to settle, and the Halt has quickly turned into a small town. "They don't lack anything here," Coccio, the Matis, explains to me. Few predators, some javings in the north, at most, enough game, a rather generous forest, a lake. The homins hunt armadai, too. So that's it, the bones and hides that are used to build the houses. Azazor asked how, and if he could attend a hunt, but the next one is not scheduled for a month. There is a large hole, a trap, somewhere in the southeast of the island. Homins imitate the animal's cry, or its predator's, and lure it to the trap. When they succeed in making it collapse, it is killed with a pike by the hunters, then butchered on the spot. It will not be able to get out of the trap in one piece anyway. The hunt for the armadai requires many homins, and sometimes gives rise to a great party. Its meat is very fortifying and invigorating, the main source of energy for them. By the way, Cuccio offered us two large bags filled with this dried meat, for the continuation of our trip.

No one is really Ranger here anymore, or part of the guild, now. One of the only ones who could claim to join them is Kickan, like a few others of his temperament. But he is satisfied with his work between the Fort and the Halt. And as he told us: if he didn't do it, who would? Real Rangers regularly pass through here, and are admired and welcomed as heroes, as life outside the island is so harsh. But if many young people dream of joining them, few actually do. As Coccio says, when you are born here, life is so quiet that you don't need to go running around the world... Kickan joked something like: "Coccio, you are telling that to two Fyros who just traveled half of the Oflovak Road! What do you think? That you're going to convince them to settle here?"
So, Titus' case is quite rare. It was triggered when, as a child, he learned that his father was a former Marauder. By the way, the homin in question had died during an armadai hunt, after slipping and falling into the trap. The animal, in panic, crushed him with its paw, a rare but fatal accident.

But then, we asked, "On the island, neither Rangers nor Marauders, how can they remain so carefree? Marauders in the New Lands are at war with the Nations. What would they do if Marauders here tried to invade the island?" From what I understood from Coccio's explanation, that would be of no interest, to anyone. Marauders are as welcome here as any homin, out of loyalty to the Ranger tradition. The physical capacities are less, for those who are not born there, so they don't stay very long, they soon feel too weak. Just like us. And there is nothing to fight here: no kitins, no Powers, no Nations, and a popular organization. The job of the Island Council is to ensure that these traditions are respected, and to administer the city in consultation with everyone. Coccio is elected with five others for a few years of Jena, and will leave his place in two years. "Maybe to Kickan," he said with a smile. "He would do a good job." To which Kickan replied sarcastically that he was not old enough, like him, for such a task. "The Council? Stuff for bedridden!" he said. "Not as much as back home in the Desert," I added.
"Getting back to the marauders... We know how to quell the troublemakers," Coccio tells me. "Usually they behave well. It even happened in the past that some of them settled on the island, which is very frowned upon among them." Just like it will upon us: he warns us that we will be very unwelcome among the Marauders. But, the fact that we are traveling with a homin from here will maybe be helpful, and if we bring some goods, too.

Besides their benevolence, Azazor and I thought we saw in our hosts a kind of insouciance regarding the problems of the world, and above all, we were stunned by this lack of curiosity, this total absence of the thirst for knowledge that inhabits us. We looked at each other, and kept our mouths shut. As if for the first time in a long time, we understood each other.

Last edited by Eeri (2 years ago) | Reason: NOTE : Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar ! English Translation by Nilstilar

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Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#26 Multilingual 

Multilingual | [English] | Français
Titus' logbook

Today, two strangers arrived from the west. They accompanied our dear Kickan. I haven't seen them yet, but Tikra says they are two Fyros from beyond the green lands. Farther than Fort Beacon. Farther than Kickan's. I say that Tikra is talking nonsense again. Ever since she started working at the West Elevator, she's been telling me all kinds of crap. The last time, she claimed to have seen an armadai bigger than the others crushing a yetin under its weight. If she wasn't my big sister, I would hate her. Tomorrow I'll go see the two strangers and see if that is still some craps from Tikra.


I can't believe it, the two Fyros do come from a place far to the west of the Halt. Beyond the horizon, there are countries where homins have built huge cities. The Fyros homin spoke of an empire ruled by a guy who is over a century old. This made the Fyrossa accompanying him laugh. But the most incredible thing is that these two homins are heading east, towards the Citadel. So I told them about my father, who was a former Marauder who came here to retire. They found it interesting because they immediately asked me questions about what it was like there, and where my father was now. I could see the disappointment on their faces when I told them that he had died two years after I was born and that I didn't know anything about the Citadel. But as for me I have a lot of questions for them. Strangers from so far away must have a lot to say, certainly more interesting than the bullshit of Tikra and her giant armadais.


The Fyros' name is Azazor. He told me that he was a kind of dragon seeker. So I showed him the drawing of my father's tattoo, the one with the fire-breathing flying monster the elders of the Council name a red dragon. My father, he too was a dragon hunter. I could see that this pleased Azazor. He has a dragon tattoo on his face. But it's not the same one. Yeah I told him, my Marauder father was a real dragon slayer. I wish I could be like him. But I'd have to get out of this dump. They say that outside the Halt, it's too dangerous. But I don't care about the danger! I am a son of Marauders! Son of dragon hunter! What do I care about yetins or armadais?


I'M GOING TO LEAVE THE HALT !!!! After three days hassling their asses, they finally gave in. So I will leave with them, towards the Citadel! Azazor showed me the map of the route they've been following all this time. It goes first through the Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost. They'll leave me over there and then I'll have to figure out how to continue on my own. Azazor told me that he would like me to go on with them to the Citadel, but Eeri, the Fyrossa, doesn't want to. It seems that she doesn't trust me. Azazor reassured me that I would gain her trust along the way and that Eeri might change her mind once we got to the Outpost. 
Mom, if you ever come back from the Great Puddle, I'll leave you my diary, so you'll know that I love you. But my destiny awaits me, far to the east, among the Marauders. I want to live like Dad.


The big departure is coming. I finished loading Polly with my jerky. My two new companions tasted it and loved it. They are butchers at home, among other jobs they have. So my meat must be exceptional. I'm going to open a market at the Cliff Outpost, it's going to be crazy!
Come on, what can I write as the ultimate sentence on my diary? Something snappy. I know, the sentence Azazor told me when Eeri said it would be too hard for me to go with them.
Don't wish it was easier, wish it made you better. 
Yeah, I know I'm going to have a hard time. But when I get to the Citadel, I'll be a different homin. Strong and proud, like my father!

Nine days have passed since their departure from Oflovak's Halt. In the desolate, fog-covered plain, Azazor leads the marche, recht in hand. Titus follows, pulling his mektoub Polly loaded with dried meat, then Eeri, closing the march and pulling her own Ru-Dun, a hatchet in her free hand. 

Suddenly, a growl can be heard. Like a powerful snort. Before Titus knows what's happening, Eeri releases her mektoub and takes out her shield, standing behind the beast for protection. Azazor moves closer to them and puts himself ahead of Titus. The group, standing together, has a panoramic view of the area. Yet nothing moves on the horizon. The fog prevents to see beyond twenty meters. One hears however like a gallop coming right towards Eeri, followed by a new growl. Then a huge yetin emerges from the fog, as tall as a homin. It leaps on Eeri who parries with her shield and sends it waltzing over her. The yetin falls on Azazor's back who has not had time to turn around. The animal, hardly stunned, is going to plant its fangs in the back of the Fyros when Titus, listening only to his courage, flees while yelling. The yetin has a moment of hesitation while seeing the young homin running away, moment that Azazor seizes to turn over on his stomach and give a blow of axe in the mouth of the monster. This one moves back while growling then charges Titus. He jumps on him with both paws in front and plants his sharp claws in his back. The young homin collapses while howling of pain. His scream is of short duration, because the yetin does not waste time and, with one blow of its jaw, tears off his head that it sends waltzing away. The head rolls on a few meters before stopping, the face deformed by the fear and the glance tightened towards the two survivors. The yetin then turns his mouth towards those, who are back on their legs and are about to fight. But the yetin immediately abandons them and grabs the decapitated body of Titus in its mouth to take it away in the fog, towards the west. Not asking for more, Azazor and Eeri take the opportunity to flee, each taking the reins of a mektoub and hastening east. They take one last look at Titus' head, who continues to stare at them with frightened eyes. 

Thus lived and perished Titus, son of a former Marauder of the Dragon Hunter Clan and a homina who had gone on a quest to the Great Puddle for who knows what reason. Such is the life in these remote lands. Cruel, devouring the weak and their destiny, devouring even their own past. You who may dare to venture out there, never forget to write your story if you do not want this one to be devoured.

Edited 4 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#27 Multilingual 

Multilingual | [English] | Français
Eeri's logbook
Germinally ???, 4th AC 2619

I told him to wear a helmet.
If only he had. The beast would have ripped the helmet off, and his head would still be on his shoulders. Who knows.
But "dey, I get hot under my helmet, itchy," he said.

Azazor and I have been walking for five days without saying a word, without even swallowing anything. I feel like I can see the eyes of this Titus in front of me, in the mist. His eyes exorbitant with terror on his bodiless head, a stream of blood soaking his still open mouth.
And yet, I have seen some disgusting things. Scenes of torture, horrific deaths, flying limbs. For instance, when I was a young legionary, the day when Icus had cut the arm of a Matissa, before opening the veins of her neck one by one. The blood had splattered on my armor, and she had been told not to come back. We laughed. And of course, she came back. We did it again until she stopped coming back.

If only we could, reaching the Cloudy Cliff, find there a fresh Titus, brought back by some Power… Maybe by the Marauders? But it seems unlikely that he has a crystal, and even if he had his father's, that this one would be active.

In the moment, I didn't have time to don my amplifiers and try to heal him. The beast was already gone, bringing his body away. I know now that it would have been futile. No healing magic, no matter how powerful, can stick a head back on a body, other than by passing through the hands of the Powers. So we fled, taking the mektoubs, and leaving his head where it had fallen. Had Jena or Ma'Duk called him back to them, his terrified face would have already disappeared into fine dust, giving off that bluish glow.

I am scared. We are scared. But we have to move on. We won't see him again. Except in my own madness, his eyes in the mist, and my own voice replaying in my head: "If you fall here, you won't come back."

According to our estimates on the map, the outpost should still be five or six days away. I've never been so delighted about the prospect of meeting Marauders.

Eeri and Azazor expect to see the lights of the outpost in the distance at any moment.

"Well, should we tell the Marauders about Titus or not?" Azazor asks.
"What will they care? They don't know him. At best they'll remember the father. And not necessarily in a good way."
"That's true. Without him, they'll want to lynch us, if they remember him as a traitor."
"At the same time, given their life expectancy here, those who remember him are probably bedridden."
"I know what to tell them anyway."
"And when are you going to tell me?"
"Trust me, for a change."

The Firossa stops.

"Trust? But it's not a question of trust, my poor Fyros. We're way past that. Of course I trust you, I wouldn't have gotten into this mess with you otherwise."
"Well, then, you let me do the talking."
"dey. We don't play it that way. We have to have the same line of conduct. No more li'l secrets."
"You're the one who says that, after bringing in dangerous stuff without telling me?"
"It' okay, we won't go through that again. You holding a grudge or what?"
"Did you just find out?"
"I can understand that you've become paranoid about me, but just, now, I offer you to talk, to say things."
"Yeah…"
"It's a question of strategy. If you tell them something, then I say the opposite right after, we'll look like two gnoofs… we already stink like yelks…

Azazor pauses, thinks for a moment, then sniffs around.

"I don't get the issue."
"There is no issue. Just one thing to do: sit down and talk. You tell me what you plan to do, and I'll tell you what my plan is. Then we…"
"Maybe I don't want to hear about your plan?"
"You have to. There's too much you don't want to hear about. I am part of this journey. We go through it together, or we die. Together."
"But I know your plan. We show up, you stick a goo bomb in their face, and we pass. But we won't do it that way."

Eeri has a little laugh while Azazor finishes muttering something.

"The goo bomb is the last plan. When all the others have gone wrong."
"Excellent. Then I'll let you know when."
"Azazor… I mean it. You don't want to end up like Titus. Not right now. And neither do I."
"Hrmf…"
"So we sit down, we talk, and we define what we will do and say. If it goes wrong, we define a second plan, and so on."
"So you don't trust me."

Eeri thinks for a moment and sighs.

"But I do! Only imagine I say one too many toubshits… I might as well know what to expect… And that I'm not surprised by what you're going to tell them."

Azazor grunts for a moment:

"Well, as soon as we can, we stop and talk. If you want to."
"I do. We're a team, remember."
"ney… a team…"


A few kilometers further, the two Fyros find a place a bit sheltered and hidden, not far from a beacon and in the hollow of a small hillock. They decide to stay there for the night and chew each one a piece of armadai meat, energetic food, the only one which allows to keep a little bit of energy and a clear mind in this place.

"Shall I start, or shall you?"
"To what?"
"Plan A, plan B, plan C…"
"You got that many?"
"Until goo plan."
"Then I'll start, so if your toubshits last too long, I can fall asleep."

Eeri can't help but laugh at this last remark of Azazor, who strangely answers with a small satisfied smile.

"I listen to you," she says.
"So, here is what I am going to tell them…"

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Eeri (2 years ago) | Reason: Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar / English Translation by Nilstilar

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Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#28 Multilingual 

Multilingual | [English] | Français
After three weeks of walking, it is two exhausted homins who arrive at the foot of the slope leading to the Cloudy Cliff Outpost. Until then, this one had remained hidden from their view by a thick cloak of fog, except a few days ago, when, the mist having lifted, they were able to see it on the side of the cliff. As had been explained to them before they left the Halt, the ascent begins with a long, narrow path winding through the roots, often replaced by stairs cut into the wood when the path is too steep. It then ends with an elevator as for the Halt. From what they have been told, the desert where the outpost is built is much higher than the verdant continent where Fort Beacon is located. They can't see the top of the cliff yet because of the fog, but it must be gigantic.

After a laborious climb of several hours, pulling mektoubs as exhausted as themselves, Eeri and Azazor finally emerge from the mist. They can then see the outline of the outpost, a structure mainly made of wood on the side of cliff. Built on a large root that protrudes from the cliff, the outpost is solidly protected, to the west by the void, elsewhere by walls. It is held by the Marauders, although the presence of Rangers is allowed. As night falls, it stands out against the starry sky thanks to the torches lit here and there. From where they stand, it already looks imposing. Yet they still have more than half the height of the cliff to climb.

"It's probably at least an hour before we get to the elevator. I suggest we spend the night here and wait until tomorrow morning to go on."
"Surely we'll be fresher."

Eeri notes Azazor's change towards her. Before, he would not have proposed but imposed. But since their conversation a few days ago about their respective plans to gain acceptance from the Marauders, he finally seems to be taking her a little more seriously.

They put their stuff down against the cliff. As always since their departure, Eeri deals with tying up the mektoubs and feeding them, while Azazor takes care of lighting a fire. Before the wood catches, Eeri stops him in his tracks.

"Maybe it's not so careful to signal our presence tonight, don't you think?"
"You're right, no fire tonight."

'You're right.' Yes, definitely, Azazor has changed.

From where they are sitting, they can see to the west the cloud cover that wraps the Sea of Wood. Sagaritis emerges above the mist. The ringed star appears to float on the clouds, like a soap bubble ready to burst. A fragile bubble, like the situation of our two homins, lost in the fog, years from walking from their friends.



Azazor has a dream that night. He remembers the day he announced his departure to the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy.

It was a stormy day, as the desert sometimes experiences. The rain is pounding the facades of the Imperial Academy in a deafening roar. Taking his courage in both hands, Azazor knocks on the door of the Imperial Archivist. He just completed his initial training. With his publication of numerous works, he finally feels legitimate to ask for a place in the talumetim-an, the elitist training of the Academy, the one dispensed by the great masters.
Yet not everything goes according to plan. Euphanix Apotheps tells him that the time has not yet come. Moreover, no master supports him. All grant the akenak a certain intelligence, some intuition and a good memory. But sometimes he lacks a little rigor and discipline, sometimes a little something. Azazor insists, asks for what he is really missing, nothing to do, the archivist has no time for that, she is very busy. The Fyros finally explodes, he demands to be challenged, that he is far more deserving than most of the students he has been around during his late schooling, that it is not fair. He just wants to be told what to do.
So, calmly standing up from his desk to approach Azazor, Euphanix takes a deep tone.

"Do you want to know, Azazor, why few homins at the Academy like you? I'll tell you, since you want to know the Truth so badly."

The Fyros looks intensely at the Chancellor, ready to take the blow. She then tells him what will mark him for life, what will push him to undertake this journey to the Old Lands.

"You are not of their world, that's all. Most of them are from the highest social classes. While your father was a mediocre butcher's apprentice and a poor fighter. As for your mother, she was just a prostitute your father found at the bar one day while drinking. Here is the raw Truth!"

Azazor could hardly take the shock. He had always seen his father as a great soldier. As for his mother, whom he never knew, he only knew her from his father's glowing words. He clenched his fists, his face turning red.

"Sorry akenak, but you come from a social class barely above sawdust. Your rise in the Empire is an insult to many of the well-born."

Unable to take it anymore, the former legionary collapses to his knees, his clenched fists hitting the ground with force. A tear evaporates on his face burning with anger and shame. The last time he shed a tear was when his friend Lopyrech died, a long time ago. However, the rage soon takes over.

"My father died in the Second Great Swarming to defend the retreat of our people to the Kami Oasis! He saved all those palace pesters, all those cowards who…"
"Yes, I know. He was one of the volunteers who stayed in Pyr to cover the retreat of the other homins. And in that, he saved the honor of your family. But your origins unfortunately speak against you with a certain social elite."

She puts a friendly hand on the Fyros' shoulder.

"There was a time when the Empire was much more meritocratic. But nowadays, those at the top are suspicious of those at the bottom. That's just the way it is. So give it time. They'll recognize your value in the end."
"Time… No, I don't have time to waste here! They want credit, so I'll give it to them a hundredfold!"

While saying this, he gets up and prepares to leave. The Chancellor does not try to hold him back. She knows that it is useless to calm a burning fire. It is necessary to wait until this one finished to consume itself. While passing the doorway, Azazor turns to her one last time.

"In truth we, the lower classes, are like wood. It is the wood that bears the bite of the fire. It is the wood that cooks the meat on fire. But when the time comes to eat, we say to the wood: "You can't come to the table, you'll soil the tablecloth." The wood is then left to burn and return to the sawdust.

Before he slams the door of the archivist's office, Euphanix calls out to him.
"What are you going to do, Azazor?"
"I'm going to find the Dragon, whom it all began."
"In the Nexus?"
"dey, in the Old Lands. In Coriolis."

A few days later, he will send a letter to Euphanix, explaining his project, which he had been thinking about for years. To map the Road of Oflovak and the ancestral Desert, to study the local kitins, and if possible, to unravel the mystery of the Fire of Coriolis. He makes no mention of his intention to trade knowledge with the Marauders. He's not even sure he'll discuss it with them. It will depend on the impression they make on him. As for retrieving a possible imperial artifact from the city of Fyre, he might as well not talk about that either. Nothing says that he will reach there…

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
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#29 Multilingual 

Multilingual | [English] | Français
Eeri's logbook
End of Nivia, 4th AC 2619. Or 2620 already?

Here we are, we are at the Marauders.

Since we arrived, we go from surprise to surprise. Some more unpleasant than others.
The most unexpected one is that Azazor has been in a much better mood these last days. Our talks are quieter, and we have agreed on our course of action. It's about time. I didn't believe it anymore. The bodoc even asked my opinion, and not just once. I thought he was scheming something, but I guess I was mistaken.

So. We spent a night stuck on the side of a cliff. I've never climbed a cliff so high. We stopped about halfway up, following the directions the homins at the Halt gave us, when we could find a suitable platform. Then we walked for a few more hours in the morning before we found this famous pod. There, it hasn't been that easy.
First, we had to understand what they were saying. The further away from the New Lands, the more atrocious the accent. Toub, and we realized that it was mutual. That we had to speak slowly, with simple words, articulate. Not to speak fast and eat words as I had become accustomed to doing among the Trykers, by contagion.

So they descended the pod, and shouted things from above. By dint of shouting from each side without understanding each other, they finally put the pod back up with us in it. It was much wider than the one at the Halt, which allowed us to get into on with the two mektoubs. When we reached the top, we immediately felt that the homins in front of us had a different build than those of the Halt. The system of pulleys was however similar, so it should be believed that they were able to pull harder.

They looked at us with slightly startled eyes, probably because of our attire or what we'd yelled from downstairs, and then one said they didn't expect to see a convoy from the Halt for several weeks. I let Azazor do the talking, as agreed. We are not a convoy from the Halt, though coming from. We are Fyros scientists from the New Lands, heading for the Citadel. They were visibly confused, as expected. They asked if we had any goods, we vaguely explained what we were carrying, a mektoub loaded with bags of armadai meat. From behind them came a Matis with a somewhat hurried step and a stern look.

"This one I don't like," I whispered to Azazor. Two hours later, we were sure, I was completely right not to like him.

This one is Ostini. He's a sort of chief of guards, or rather he's one of the minions of the chief of the clan that owns the outpost, the Passers, as they call themselves. It's always like that with the homins. Give them a little power, and they'll work to devalue others to keep the little bit of privilege they have. In the end, Ostini asked the same questions as his homins, using a condescending and obsequious tone. A good Matis, the kind I had missed since we left. After a few minutes, we understood that he was only interested in the goods we were carrying, and understanding that we were not merchants, he then asked us to pay for our stay here. One bag of armadai meat per person per night. We gave him two bags of Titus' mektoub, without begrudging. This one will not come to claim them anymore, except in my nightmares. Ostini gave us a briefing on the rules of the Outpost. We will be allowed to keep our weapons, but must keep them stowed away when inside the compound, as well as a couple of relatively logical things, water is rationed and we will have to pay for it. We are free to use the dormitory, the tavern, and a partly open hall that serves as a place of exchange, as a market. He showed us the dormitory where we could stay, specifying again: as long as we have enough to pay.

So we were able to get to the center of the outpost. There are indeed six buildings, two of which are obviously reserved for the clan members, arranged in a circle inside the surrounding walls. A watchtower, the market, the inn, the dormitory. Nothing very pretty, like at the Halt. A rather functional style, whose some details vaguely resembling what the Marauders build in the New Lands.

"Two bags per night… we won't last long here," I whispered to Azazor.
At that moment my eyes fell on two strange figures passing further on, between two buildings. Two strangely familiar figures.
Disturbed, believing I was dreaming, I had a moment of inattention, and Azazor told me things I did not take in at the time. He repeated them to me afterwards: maybe we would spend more time here than planned. And that we should get hired as butchers or cooks at the tavern to pay for our stay, the time to organize and especially to recover our energy after several weeks in the Sea of Wood.

The figures, meanwhile, had disappeared. At the time, Azazor didn't believe me. "What? Fraiders? What the hell would they be doing here? Are you sure? What would they be doing in a Maraudeurs camp?"… We went into this dormitory. It's very basic, but it's still better than spending a night down there. I'm taking a moment of rest to write these lines, then we'll go to the tavern. I have a plan.

Later, the two Fyros were heading to the tavern:

"Well, first we're going to find out how to pay our stay," said Azazor.
"We offer them our services, you said… But they probably already have cooks…"
"It would not be a good idea to spend all our stock of dried meat. Keeping a few bags would be better for us to help cross the Desert."
"That's true. But let's ask first what they serve. I'd give an arm for a shookie… Or rather an eye, that's less often used.

Eeri then closed his left eye, opening his right eye to the maximum, which made Azazor laugh slightly. The situation could have been worse. A little further on, from the window of one of the Clan halls, Ostini was watching the Fyros who were slowly crossing the deserted square of the Outpost, chatting.

"So, these Fraiders?" Azazor asked.
"This is our chance," said Eeri. "I've spent so much time with them, I know enough of their dialect, one of my hatchets is from them, I have it here. I mean, it's from the Fraiders in the New Lands, not from those living here, but it's probably not much different."
"But why were you hanging out with them? What's so special about them?"
"Have you ever seen a Karavan agent or a Kami at Fraiders'?"
"Hmmm…"
“Although it is said that the Fraiders were once approached by the Karavan, they probably broke away from them over time."
"I had read something about them at the Academy, saying that they collected quite a few Kara artifacts. It wasn't so much by faith as by some sort of addiction."
"I never saw that kind of thing in their camp."
"So you had Tryton meetings there?"
"Not even. Got there just to be quiet, to think, to train. In the neutral zone. You'll laugh… But I find in them a wisdom that homins don't have."
"Oh, that's easy. They're probably less corrupt, and less power-hungry."

Eeri smiled, nodded, and added:

"They are greedy for rare raw materials to supply their crafts. But they maintain a balance and share the riches within their tribe."
"Well, but then, how to convince them to help us?"
"Let's see what is traded here, what they are looking for and what they offer. If I show them my axe and tell them about the New Land tribe, if we're lucky, we'll get some allies."
"And if we are not lucky?"
"We can always do business with them."
"What do we have to trade with them?"
"To be seen. I have some rare materials left on my mektoub. Some zun ambers, which I'd rather keep in case we need new amplifiers… Two maga creepers, some vedice. So far, we've worn our weapons out less than I expected."
"Do you have this in your Mektoub?"

Eeri smiled and answered in an undertone, stopping.

"In a pocket hidden under the saddle. The ambers are in the padding. Enough to make two pairs."

The Fyros, without saying anything, gave Eeri a sidelong look as she added:

"Hey, I told you about that, that I was bringing in stuff to make new amplifiers. I just didn't tell you where it was stored."
"I must have forgotten… As long as it's not a third goo bomb," grumbled Azazor."
"But I only brought one, I promise!"

Meanwhile, Eeri and Azazor had arrived at the Tavern. Azazor pushed open the door and entered, followed by Eeri. After a few seconds, the few homins present fell silent, some turning to stare at the newcomers. Around the few tables were Marauders, recognizable by their gleaming armor, and some homins with more discreet outfits, as one could see at the Halt. Rangers, perhaps, thought Eeri. A number of them were dressed in long tunics and turbans that covered most of their faces. A Fraider was even sitting with one of them.
The travelers slowly made their way to the counter where, to their relief, a massive Fyros was standing looking at them, knife in hand.

"oren pyr, what do you serve here?"
"I'll call you the boss," he replied. "O'Teelo?"

A few seconds later, a Tryker homina came down the stairs and walked behind the counter, her expression slightly pinched, but smiling, while the customers gradually resumed their conversations in a slightly more hushed voice.

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Eeri (2 years ago) | Reason: Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar / English Translation by Nilstilar

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Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#30 Multilingual 

Multilingual | [English] | Français
The tavern keeper had a full and fleshy body. Tribal tattoos adorned her two bare forearms. Her smile seemed to mark a certain apprehension before the two newcomers. It was not so much that they were new that worried her. The Outpost was a hub for all kinds of homins, most of them merchants, others mere adventurers or wanderers looking for a temporary home. It was also a high place for diplomatic meetings between Rangers, Marauders, people of the Halt and the surrounding tribes. The tavern was the place where people came to celebrate the signing of mutual aid pacts or trade agreements.
No, what worried her was that they emanated a sort of unpleasant aura. Was it their all-Fyros armor when the Rangers' armor was motley, or their unfamiliar tattoos when she boasted of knowing the tattoos of all the surrounding tribes. There was something in them that was completely unknown, never seen before.

The homina asked her with a thick foreign accent for a shooki liquor. O'Teelo was astonished:

"A what?"
"Forget it…"
"We only serve baba here," the tavern keeper added before the Fyrossa's pout.
"How much is the baba?" said the Fyros homin while putting his purse on the counter.

This one had an amazing dragon tattoo on his face. However, it didn't look like the one of the Red Dragon Hunters Clan. By the way, the Fyros was not a Marauder, judging by his armor.

"It depends… How do you pay?"
"Do you accept dappers?"

The tavern keeper took a disdainful look. Dappers were still used on the Road, but they were increasingly abandoned in favor of barter. There were also some local currencies, depending on the place.

"That'll be 5,000 dappers, and it comes with the dish of the day," O'teelo explained. "Arma stew with botoga seeds."

The two Fyros looked at each other with a discomfited expression.

"Is there anything else to eat and especially to drink?"
"Tomorrow there might be some ploderos stew, depending on the arrivals. To drink there is also the glorx."
"The glork?"
"Glorx, repeated the tavern keeper, insisting on the final x. It is a specialty of the Atakorum.

While saying so, she pointed with her head to the group of turbaned homins.

"But you must have a strong stomach. Only they and the Fraiders usually drink it. I don't even know what it's made from."
"Then go for the glorx," exclaimed the girl, slapping her hand on the counter.
"Are you sure?" asked the Fyros.
"It can't be worse than the baba…"

The Fyros nodded that he would take the same.

"That will be 10,000 dappers in all," said the tavern keeper.

The two Fyros spent much of their day in the tavern, trying to strike up conversations with various homins. Eeri made contact with a Fraider, Azazor talked with a fat Fyros named Krapoutos. They learned that the Diplomatic Outpost hosted meetings between important Citadel generals and Rangers. The clan that owned the Outpost, however, was not playing the role of the Citadel's spokesman. The Passers Clan was taking advantage of it only to do business,, especially since diplomacy sometimes was going through trade too.

That evening, after a long discussion between Azazor and O'Teelo, the latter was finally convinced to hire them for a week as kitchen staff. Pelorus, the cook, was lacking hands. Azazor had assured her that they were butchers and that she would not regret it. She offered them a one-week trial contract, to run from the next day, with the possibility of prolongation if they did the job. The agreement was concluded on a handshake and an "akep" of the Fyros. This one had explained her where they were coming from, where they were going and what they were. Scientists from the New Lands on their way to the Citadel and beyond. Yes, her instincts had not deceived her. These two homins were very special indeed. O'Teelo wondered if she would regret the agreement with the Fyros…

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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