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#29 Added by Eeri 2 years ago Multilingual 

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Journal de bord d'Eeri
fin de Nivia, 4th AC 2619. Ou déjà 2620?

Nous y voilà, nous sommes chez les maraudeurs.

Depuis que nous sommes arrivés, nous avançons de surprise en surprises. Certaines plus désagréables que d’autres.
La plus inattendue, c’est qu’Azazor a été de bien meilleure humeur ces derniers jours. Nous parlons plus calmement, et nous nous sommes mis d’accord sur notre ligne de conduite. C’était pas trop tôt. Je ne m’y attendais plus. Le bodoc, il m’a même demandé mon avis, et pas qu’une fois. J’ai cru qu’il manigançait quelque chose, mais j’ai dû me tromper.

Bref. Nous avons passé une nuit à flanc de falaise. Je n’ai jamais escaladé une falaise si haute. Nous nous sommes arrêtés à mi-chemin environ, suivant les indications des homins de la Halte, lorsque nous avons pu trouver une plateforme convenable. Puis nous avons encore marché quelques heures le matin avant de trouver cette fameuse nacelle. Là, ça n’a pas été aussi facile.
Déjà, il a fallut comprendre ce qu’ils racontaient. Plus on s’éloigne des Nouvelles Terres, plus l’accent est atroce. Toub, et il a fallu qu’on se rende compte que c’était réciproque. Que nous devions parler lentement, avec des mots simples, articuler. Ne pas parler vite en mangeant des mots comme j’avais pris l’habitude de le faire chez les trykers, par imitation.

Alors, ils ont descendu la nacelle, et gueulé des trucs d'en haut. À force de gueuler de chaque côté sans se comprendre, ils ont finit par remonter la nacelle avec nous dedans. Elle était bien plus large que celle de la Halte, ce qui nous a permis de tenir avec les deux mektoubs. En arrivant en haut, on a tout de suite senti que les homins en face de nous avaient une autre carrure que ceux de la Halte. Le système de poulies était pourtant similaire, faut croire qu'ils savaient tirer plus fort.

Ils nous ont regardés avec des yeux un peu effarés, sans doute à cause de notre accoutrement ou de ce qu'on avait gueulé d'en bas, puis l'un nous a dit qu'ils ne s'attendaient pas à voir un convoi de la Halte avant plusieurs semaines. J’ai laissé Azazor parler, comme convenu. Nous ne sommes pas un convoi de la Halte, même si nous en arrivons. Nous sommes des scientifiques fyros des Nouvelles Terres, nous nous dirigeons vers la Citadelle. Ils étaient visiblement confus, comme on s’y attendait. Ils ont demandé si on avait des marchandises, on leur a vaguement expliqué ce que l’on transportait, un mektoub chargé de sacs de viande d’Armadaï. De derrière eux est arrivé un matis le pas un peu pressant et l’air sévère.

"c’ui là, je l’aime pas" j’ai chuchoté à Azazor. Deux heures plus tard, on était fixés, j’avais entièrement raison de pas l’aimer.

Celui là, c’est Ostini. C’est une sorte de chef des gardes, ou plutôt c’est l’un des sous-fifre du chef du clan qui possède l’avant-poste, les Passeurs, comme ils se font appeler. C’est toujours comme ça avec les homins. Donne leur un peu de pouvoir, ils s’emploieront à dévaloriser les autres pour conserver le petit bout de privilège qu’ils ont en plus. Au final, Ostini a posé les mêmes questions que ses homins, employant un ton condescendant et obséquieux. Un bon matis du genre de ceux qui m’avaient manqué depuis notre départ. Après quelques minutes, nous avons compris qu’il ne s’intéressait qu’aux marchandises que l’on pouvait transporter, et comprenant que nous n’étions pas des marchands, il nous a alors demandé de payer notre séjour ici. Un sac de viande d’armadaï par personne et par nuit. On lui a donné deux sacs du mektoub de Titus, sans rechigner. Celui-là ne viendra plus les réclamer, sauf dans mes cauchemars. Ostini nous a fait un topo des règles de l’avant-poste. Ils nous laissent nos armes, mais nous devons les garder rangées lorsqu’on est à l’intérieur de l’enceinte, ainsi que deux ou trois trucs relativement logiques, l’eau est rationnée et il nous faudra la payer. Nous sommes libres d'utiliser le dortoir, la taverne, et un hall en partie ouvert qui sert de lieu d’échange, de marché. Il nous a montré le dortoir où l’on pourra rester, en précisant de nouveau : tant qu’on a de quoi payer.

Nous avons donc pu arriver au centre de l’avant-poste. Il y a en effet six bâtiments dont deux visiblement réservés aux membres du clan, disposés en cercle à l'intérieur des murs d'enceinte. Une tour de guet, le marché, l'auberge, le dortoir. Rien de bien joli, comme à la Halte. Un style plutôt fonctionnel, mais certains détails ressemblant vaguement à ce que les maraudeurs construisent dans les nouvelles terres.

"Deux sacs par nuit, on ne va pas faire long feu", j’ai chuchoté à Azazor.
À ce moment mes yeux se sont posés sur deux étranges silhouettes qui passaient plus loin, entre deux bâtiments. Deux silhouettes étrangement familières.
J’ai eu un moment d’inattention, comme si j’avais cru rêver. Azazor m’a dit des choses que je n’ai pas intégrées sur le moment. Il me les a répétées plus tard : on allait peut-être passer plus de temps que prévu ici. Par exemple qu'on devrait se faire embaucher comme bouchers ou cuisiniers à la taverne pour payer notre séjour, le temps d’organiser et surtout de récupérer notre énergie après plusieurs semaines dans la Mer de Bois.

Les silhouettes, entre-temps, avaient disparu. Sur le moment, Azazor ne m’a pas crue. Quoi, des Fraiders? Qu’est-ce qu’ils foutraient là? Tu es sûre? Que feraient-ils dans un camps maraudeur? Nous sommes entrés dans ce dortoir. C’est très rudimentaire, mais ça sera toujours mieux que de passer une nuit en bas. Je profite d’un moment de repos pour écrire ces lignes, puis nous irons à la taverne. J’ai un plan.


Plus tard, les deux fyros se dirigeaient vers la taverne :

— Bon, on va d’abord se renseigner comment on va pouvoir payer, dit Azazor.
— On leur propose nos services, tu disais… Mais ils ont sans doute déjà des cuisiniers…
— Il faudrait pas que ça nous coûte tout notre stock de viande séchée. En garder quelques sacs serait bien pour la traversée du désert.
— C’est vrai. Mais demandons déjà ce qu’ils servent. Je donnerais un bras pour une shooki… Ou plutôt un oeil, tiens, ça sert moins souvent.

Eeri ferma alors son oeil gauche, ouvrant son oeil droit au maximum, ce qui fit légèrement rire Azazor. La situation aurait pu être pire. Un peu plus loin, de la fenêtre d’un des halls du clan, Ostini regardait les fyros qui traversaient lentement la place déserte de l’Avant-Poste en discutant.

— Alors, ces Fraiders, demanda Azazor ?
— C’est notre chance, dit Eeri. J’ai passé tellement de temps chez eux, je connais suffisamment leur dialecte, L’une de mes hachettes est de leur fabrication, je l’ai ici. Enfin, ça vient des fraiders des Nouvelles Terres, mais ce n’est sans doute pas bien différent.
— Mais pourquoi allais-tu chez eux? Qu’ont-ils de spécial?
— As-tu déjà vu un agent Karavan ou un Kami chez eux?
— Hmmm…
— Même si on raconte que les Fraiders avaient été approchés par la Karavan, ils se sont sans doute désintéressés avec le temps.
— J'avais lu un truc sur eux à l'Académie, comme quoi ils collectionnaient pas mal d'artefact kara. C'était moins par foi qu'une sorte d'addiction.
— J'ai jamais vu ce genre de chose dans leur campement.
— Et donc, tu y tenais des réunions de Trytonistes?
— Même pas. Juste pour être tranquille, penser, m’entraîner. En zone neutre. Tu vas te moquer… Mais je leur trouve une sagesse que les homins n’ont pas.
— Oh, ça, c’est facile. Ils sont sans doute moins corrompus, et moins avides de pouvoir.

Eeri sourit, hocha la tête, et ajouta :

— Ils sont avides de matières premières rares, pour leur artisanat. Mais ils maintiennent un équilibre et partagent les richesses dans leur tribu.
— Bon, mais alors comment les convaincre de nous aider?
— On va déjà voir ce qui s’échange ici, ce qu’ils recherchent et ce qu’ils offrent. Si je montre ma hache et que je leur parle de la tribu des Nouvelles Terres, avec un peu de chance, on se fera des alliés.
— Et si on n'a pas de chance?
— On pourra toujours faire des affaires avec eux.
— On a quoi à leur échanger?
— À voir. Il me reste quelques matières rares sur mon Mektoub. Quelques ambres de Zun, que je préfèrerais garder au cas où nous ayons besoin de nouveaux amplificateurs… Deux lianes de Maga, un peu de Vedice. Jusque là, nous avons moins usé nos armes que je ne l’avais prévu.
— Tu as ça dans ton Mektoub?

Eeri sourit et répondit à mi-voix, en s’arrêtant.

— Dans une poche cachée sous la selle. Les ambres sont dans le rembourrage. De quoi fabriquer deux paires.

Le fyros regarda Eeri en coin, sans rien dire, alors qu'elle ajoutait :

— Eh, ça je t’en avais parlé, que j’emmène de quoi refaire des amplificateurs. Je ne t’avais juste pas dit à quel endroit c’était rangé.
— J’avais dû oublier… Tant que ce n’est pas une troisième bombe à goo, grommela Azazor.
— Mais je n’en ai qu’une, promis !

Entre temps, Eeri et Azazor étaient arrivés à la Taverne. Ce dernier poussa la porte et entra, suivi d’Eeri. Après quelques secondes, les quelques homins présent se turent, certains se tournant pour fixer les nouveaux venus. Autour des quelques tables se trouvaient des maraudeurs, reconnaissables à leurs armures rutilantes, quelques homins aux tenues plus discrètes, comme on pouvait en voir à la Halte. Des rangers, peut-être, pensa Eeri. Un certain nombre étaient vêtus de longues tuniques et de turbans couvrant quasiment tout leur visage. Un Fraider était même attablé avec l'un d’entre eux.
Les voyageurs s’avancèrent lentement vers le comptoir où se tenait, à leur grand soulagement, un fyros massif qui les regardait, un couteau à la main.

— oren pyr, qu’est-ce que vous servez ici?
— Je vais vous appeler la patronne, répondit-il. O’Teelo?

Quelques secondes plus tard, une tryker descendit l’escalier et se dirigea derrière le comptoir, une expression légèrement pincée, mais souriante, pendant que les clients reprenaient petit à petit leurs conversations d’une voix légèrement plus feutrée.

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 Added by Azazor 2 years ago Multilingual 

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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 Fyrenor (2 years ago)

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

#31 Added by Azazor 2 years ago Multilingual 

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Pelorus Mekor looks at the two newcomers with disdain. They send him again some incompetents who will have to be trained. It seems that they even come from the Halt. Weaklings, no doubt, who probably don't know how to use a knife.

P: "Okay, newbies, grab a knife, we're going to cut up about fifty bodoc steaks for tonight. I'll show you how it's done. We'll take a roast beef and…"
A: "No need for that "malos", we know how to do it. Do you want the steaks tender or not?"
P: "What do you mean?"
E: "Azazor wants to know if we cut them in the direction of the grain or not."
P: "The… a direction?"
A: "Yeah, look at your roast beef, there's a direction for the muscle fibers. If you cut following this direction, the meat is firmer."
E: "But it's less tender. Cutting perpendicularly is harder, but the meat will so melt in mouth."
A: "Wait, we'll show you how."
E: "The trick is to sharpen the knife well."

Within minutes, the steaks are all sliced. The two fyros look at the chef with a smile.

A: "Do you want them even more tender?"
P: "Gue…"
A: "In that case, marinate them."
P: "Mari what?"
E: "Marinate them, bathe them in oil for at least an hour."
A: "Not forgetting the aromatic herbs for more taste."
E: "Oh yes, we have some herbs we picked in the forest near the Halt."
P: "Put herbs with the meat?"
E: "Trust us, we used to be butchers where we come from."

Pelorus sits for a few moments while the two butchers busy themselves to marinate the bodoc steaks in an herbal marinade.

E: "This will be perfect for pan-frying."
P: "Pan-frying?"
E: "Yes. How do you cook your steaks?"
P: "We boil them with the vegetables."
E: "But you can't boil meat like that!"
P: "Sometimes we cook it on a spit, but not the bodoc, it's too tough."
A: "Not the way we cut it. And even less once it's marinated."
P: "Well, listen, you seem to know a lot about it. So I'll give you carte blanche for the meat tonight at the tavern."
A: "Consider it done. Do you got a pan?"
P: "What's a pan?"
A: "A ploderos' hip we placed on the coals. When it's hot, you put the steak on it, thirty seconds, you turn it over for another thirty seconds and that's it."
P: "Is that all?"
A: "Yes."
E: "Not forgetting to baste with the cooking juice."
P: "I don't have a 'pan'."
A: "Never mind. Eeri, pass me your breastplate."
E: "My Kostomyx? You're crazy. We have a pan in the mektoub."
A: "Yeah, but it's far away, and in the breastplate, with the sweat, it gives an inimitable taste."
E: "I understand where your smell comes from."
A: "So go get the pan. And bring the ladle too, to baste the steaks."

Once Eeri returns with the pan, Azazor places it directly on the fire in the hearth, wedged with some embers.

A: "Frying doesn't take long. The longest thing is to let it marinate. But it's not mandatory. Even a few minutes only of marinating, that's not bad."
E: "Especially if the bodoc has been beaten before."
A: "It softens the meat."
E: "You also have to be careful when you kill it."
A: "Yeah, you have to avoid it the stress of feeling like it's going to die. That releases bad things in the muscle."
E: "That's why it's important to kill it by surprise and quickly."
A: "Or better yet, get some bodoc bred by the kitins."
E: "Yeah, straight from a kitins' nest. Don't you have that nearby?"
P: "A kiti… No, not here. Are there bodocs in kitins' nests?"
A: "Of course. Our job was even to go and get them."
E: "Them and the aranas, the madakams…"
A: "Hmm… very good the madakam."
E: "Have you ever tried braised madakam?"
A: "ney! Do you also deglaze it with shookie?"
E: "Ah Ah definitely! Even once…"

Leaving the two Fyros to talk about the art of cooking meat, Pelorus left the kitchen backwards to go and see his chef. Either these two were bullshitters, or he had just come across the two greatest master butchers of Atys. Either way, he had to warn the chef.

Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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

#32 Added by Azazor 2 years ago Multilingual 

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{translate}
From the top of his watchtower, Wozung observes the two Fyros walking slowly inside the camp. They have just passed through the large gate to the east carrying on their shoulders a medium-sized arma, tied to a stake. The Fyros seems to inveigh the Fyrossa following him. The latter shouts out something while making a sign towards the south-western corner of the camp, to which the Fyros answers by spitting on the ground.

It's been four days that Wozung has been observing the same little game. In the early morning, the two Fyros get out by the east door, the only door leading to the desert. They come back an hour before noon, loaded with an arma or a ploderos, which they take to the tavern for lunch. In the afternoon, they leave again to return before the nightfall, this time loaded with a big bag full in the going and empty in the return. The Zoraï guard doesn't wonder about what they are scheming. It's none of his business and anyway, these two have made a good reputation for themselves at the tavern. It is true that he has never eaten so well since they have been at ovens. So what they might be up to, he doesn't care as much as his first barter.

As he is about to lose interest in them, one of the officers calls out to them. It is Ostini Facili, the chief of the guards. Not a softy, this one, a real paranoid and expert in poison. He points out the bag the Fyros used in the afternoon. These put their weapons on the ground and shrug their shoulders. Ostini seems to rise a tone. The Fyros starts to push the officer who makes him fall on the ground with a punch to the plexus. The Fyrossa picks the Fyros up while bellowing something in her turn. Ostini makes a sign to the guards around who immediately encircle the two Fyros, then they take them towards the northeast of the camp. Wozung knows what is in the northeast. The prison of the Outpost. Too bad, these were good cooks.


A few moments later, in Ostini's office

The officer looks at them coldly as they sit in their chairs. They each have a heavily armed guard behind them.

O: "I'll overlook your aggressive gesture towards me earlier. We'll put it down to exhaustion from a desert hunt."

The chief of the guards then shows them the bag that he has presented to them outside.

O: I'll repeat the question I asked earlier. Why do you carry this bag that smells of meat into the desert every afternoon? It's full on the way out and empty on the way back."
A: "Well, do you really want to know? Okay, then we'll tell you."
E: "Aza, shut up!"
A: "No, I never approved this deal. I knew it would come back to us."
E: "orak!"
A: "What about talen?"
O: "orak, talen? What's that?"
A: "Something you can't understand, you orskos!"
O: "Ors what?"
A: "You dirty Mat…"

Eeri manages to put her hand on of Azazor's mouth in time.

A: "It's okay, take it off!"
E: "It's just fyrk, still spoken in the New Lands."
O: "Listen to me carefully, you two comics, here this is not the New Lands. Here we are at Passers'. And goods embezzlement is harshly punished by our clan."

Azazor ruminates something unintelligible and spits on the ground.

O: "So this deal?"
A: "It's okay, you'll get your truth, orskos!"
E: "You're staining your honor Aza by revealing our pact."
A: "Not at all. As for me I didn't sign. Only gave you a helpful hand out of friendship."
E: "Friendship?"

The Fyrossa bursts out laughing.

E: "You can stick your friendship up you know where, you traitor."
A: "I'm not the one who flirting with degenerates."

Eeri gets up and throws a blow in the head of Azazor who wavers and falls from his chair. Then gets up and retorts by pouncing on her to strangle her. The guards must then intervene to separate the two furious.

O: "Are we done with this? Put me this one in the dungeon while waiting. As for you, the Fyros, you're testing my patience. You spill the beans right away or we'll play another game."
A: "Are you making a pass at me, hotty?"

Not being able to stand it any more, Ostini grabs the Fyros and tackles him on the ground violently. He makes a sign to the guards who begin to kick him until the fyros faints under the blows.

O: "Drag him to the dungeon with the other one!"

Ostini has never lost his patience like that. He's known for his unfailing calm. And yet, there, he has just had a homin beaten up. He feels he's going to have a hard time getting these two to talk. He's been through some tough ones, but these two really don't seem to care about getting beaten up. They say that where they come from, dying is rare. If that's the case, that explains why they're so resistant to blows. It must be a habit with them. Whereas here, the best survival technique is to avoid them.
First of all, he has to regain his composure. His reputation is at stake. And then, visibly, the blows have no hold on these homins. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down for a moment.


In the cell where our two Fyros are locked up.

Once Azazor is locked in the same cell as Eeri, she waits a moment for the guards to leave. Then she goes towards her severely bashed fellow traveler. This one does not get up. His breath is hoarse and panting, as if he was going to choke. Whereas she approaches her face have a better look at him, he opens an eye and watches her with a big smile.

E: "Moron!"
A: "Hahaha"

He then gets up and sits down next to her."

A: "So, our little act was nice, wasn't it?"
E: "A real masterpiece…"
A: "We saved a little time. Considering what I took, they'll think that what I'm going to tell them will be the truth. That gives us some time to figure out what to tell them."
E: "It will be hard to explain why the bag that we bring every afternoon in the desert is full and stinks of meat but is empty when we return."
A: "We can tell them that we have a deal with the Atakorum tribe."
E: "The Atakorums? The mystical nomads that the other loudmouth at the bar was talking about last time?"
A: "Yeah. Why not say that we bring them meat in exchange for information?"
E: "If you say that, it's gallows at once."
A: "It's always better than telling them the truth, that we hijack meat and bury it in the desert for the rest of our trip. Dealing is better than stealing."
E: "We don't even know how far away the Atakorums set up their camp. If we want to pretend to deal with them, we have to be credible at least."
A: "Well, they must not be very far according to what Krapoutos says."
E: "Krapoutos says a lot of things, but that doesn't make them facts."
A: "Anyway, I don't think they'll want to know the details. If we tell them we're bringing them some of the meat we hunted in exchange for information about the area, they are not going to get cross, are they? These Marauders don't seem to be as heavy dullards as those at home. Bargaining, even if it's not with Marauders, seems to be tolerated."
E: "Not with their own goods."
A: "We're the ones who cook these."
E: "But it's still their meat, not ours. And they're going to want the fruit of the bargain back. They don't care about the information that the Atakorums would have given us about the desert."
A: "What are you thinking then?"
E: "You could say that we are trading in poison."
A: "Poison? But we don't have any p…"

Eeri smiles at him with all his teeth and flutters his eyelids.

A: "Oh yes, the famous vial…"
E: "He he."
A: "And where is this vial?"
E: "In my toub, if they have not already searched it."
A: "It's worth a try. We trade meat with the tribe for poison. We've been caught and so we agree to return the poison…"

Suddenly, footsteps are heard in the corridor leading to the cell. Eeri and Azazor fall silent at once. The latter lies down and starts coughing. A key comes turning in the firewood lock and the heavy door opens with a creak, revealing a stern-looking guard in the doorway.

G: "You Fyros, enough sleep. The chief must talk to you."
E: "Azazor, don't tell him anything! We swore not to say anything!
A: "I didn't."
G: "Go ahead and shut up!"

While Azazor is escorted by two guards down the corridor to Ostini's office, Eeri can't help smiling. A real play. But with a death sentence at final act if the audience doesn't like it.

Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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

#33 Added by Azazor 2 years ago Multilingual 

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OOC: This scene was played live on RC by Eeri, Azazor and Finaen (lorist playing NPCs). Only the layout and some micro changes have been made.


Ostini opens the door to his office. He curtly addresses the two guards accompanying him.

"Make him sit down."

The two guards obey, ready to strike the Fyros if he tries to resist. Azazor sits down with a mocking look on his face. 
Ostini closes the door, walks around his desk and sits down in turn. He taps the solid wood desktop for a few moments, staring into space, then finally pulls an object out of a drawer. A finely crafted dagger. Azazor looks at the Matis and the dagger in turn, without losing his slight mocking smile.

"Well you comic, I want you to explain me precisely this story about a 'deal'."

"Or what? Are you going to play the dagger?"

Ostini plunges his hand into his desk again. When it reappears, it holds a small vial filled with a greenish liquid. Azazor's smile immediately fades at the sight of the vial. The Matis uncorks the vial and lets fall a few drops on the dagger's curved blade. A few wisps of smoke are born from the reaction between the liquid and the hardened amber.

"What is it? Poison? If you kill me, you will not know anything!"

"Indeed, it is poison. In case you have forgotten, you should know that you have left the resurrection behind when you undertook this journey. In this desert, no Power will come to help you. So I urge you to cooperate, and not to try to trick me. Am I clear?"

As Azazor remain silent, Ostini goes on:

"I am in charge of the security of the Outpost. I have to understand what you are up to. And believe me, I'll get you to talk, if you try to resist."

The Matis seems particularly calm. The two guards remain flanked in front of the door. Azazor shrugs his shoulders.

"You know, Matis, I'm not the type to lie. And I'm willing to tell you everything. But you see, I don't like those of your race. Back home, the Matis are a bunch of smelly, vile pretentious people. I want to believe that here, it is different. But talk to me offensively again, threaten me again, and all you can get from me is a good spit on your pallid face."

Azazor can't help but look at the vial, the dagger, and the Matis, alternately.

"'Those of my race'? Have you not yet managed to get rid of the racism of our common ancestors? Your civilizations are definitely way behind…"

"You don't know the Matis of the New Lands…"

Ostini lets out a small chuckle, cut off by Azazor.

"I know a few rare Matis…. well, I know two, that are acceptable, out of a whole bunch of boot scrapings."

The Fyros pretends to remember another Matis.

"Ah no, three."

"You confirm what I thought: you are generalizing. But it's not your fault, that's what they want. Don't forget: you are playing into the hands of the Powers by waging war against each other for racial, political, religious, or whatever reasons… And meanwhile, you are divided. Facing them, and facing the kitins."

Ostini makes the dagger disappear under the desktop.

"Anyway. So you are willing to talk. That's fine. I am listening."

Azazor takes a breath.

"Didn't you guess? The bag that smells like meat, the poison you just pulled out… You have all the elements."

He watches Ostini's face, waiting to see the light.

"The poison?"

Ostini looks at the vial that was left on the desktop.

"What's the connection? That vial belongs to me."

[b]Suddenly, Azazor's face breaks down.[/i]

"Ah… ramèch! Well… What was said is said, he adds while tapping his foot on the ground."

Ostini starts tapping his fingers on the desk again.

"We had a deal with the Atakorums. In exchange for some of the meat we would go out in the morning to hunt for Pelorus, they would give us a vial of poison of their own creation."

The Fyros pauses and then continues:

"Given the danger of the road, Eeri and I thought it would be prudent to carry this kind of stuff with us for the rest of the trip. I know, it is a detour of matter which belong to you, but we had figured that, well, on the one hand, we were the ones who brought back this meat. Bodocs and armas are not easy to kill here."

"You're telling me that strangers who everyone distrusts, because of where they come from, are trafficking poison in the very resting place where they have been generously welcomed?"

Azazor has difficulty hiding his embarrassment.

"Not here, no, they didn't want to. They said you would not agree. So we were doing it in the desert, further east. We had agreed on a meeting point."

"If I was paranoid, I'd think that this poison was meant for use against us."

"Are you crazy? Why would we do that?"

"To avenge all the horrors that Akilia's goons did to you on your home lands, at random? There is no reason why Akilia is the only one to send agents to operate in foreign lands.

Ostini marks a pause, then goes on:

"Fortunately, I am not paranoid. I am simply the chief of the guard. An extremely cautious chief of guard, taking his job to heart. The Atakorums, you said?"

"You can't blame them. They have nothing to do with it. We give them meat that we hunt in exchange for poison. They could not know that the meat was prepared in the tavern. What? We used your knives? Big deal!"

Ostini taps faster and faster on the desktop. Maybe he's a little paranoid after all.

"I need to analyze this poison. Where is it? Luckily, I happen to have a little expertise in poison. A knowledge that comes from my former clan."

"You'll have to ask Eeri. She's the one who stashed it."

"I see."

"And don't worry, we don't look like killers. As for the horrors of Akilia, well, we gave it back to her."

Ostini makes a sign to the guards.

"One of you take him somewhere else, and the other one get the girl back to me. Make sure they don't cross paths."

The two guards nod and signal Azazor to get up. He stands up without any resistance and turns to the chief of the guards.

"Ostini? If you want to make Eeri talk, be polite to the lady. She too, vomits the Matis."

"Racist too? Surprising."

"You really don't know the Matis of the New Lands…

One guard accompanies Azazor and the other one goes to the cell where Eeri is locked up. As requested, the two Fyros will not cross paths.

***



"Follow me," says the guard to Eeri.

Eeri grumbles something, then stands up without a word. She obediently follows the guard to Ostini's office where her gaze searches the whole room for Azazor, without success. She puts on a determined and pugnacious face.

"Good. Sit down."

He pauses and adds:

"Please."

Eeri complies, giving a sidelong look at the Matis, trying not to face him.

"I'd like you to explain to me what you and your comrade were up to with those meat-smelling bags. And what is this 'pact' that he mentioned, and that caused your fight."

Eeri remains silent for a moment, and looks at the Matis again, with a smirk on her face.

"What, he didn't say it all already?"

"I want to confront your versions."

Ostini looks closely at the Fyrossa's face.

"A Fyros does not lie. talen, the truth.

The Matis starts tapping on the desk again.

"I am listening."

Eeri fixes his eyes on the Matis' fingers for a moment.

"About what? What we were doing with that meat?"

"I'll repeat my questions: I'd like you to explain to me what you were doing with those bags that smell like meat. And what is the nature of this 'pact' you made with whoever. I expect answers, not questions.

Eeri holds back a grunt.

"I can't say anything about this pact, I don't know what you are talking about. What I can say, is that we exchanged some pieces of meat with some Atakako… dey… Atakorums."

Eeri continues, not waiting for the Matis to ask against what.

"In exchange for a very powerful poison."

"May I see this poison?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No, says the matis with a sigh."

"We will have to go to the stable."

"Just tell me where it is hidden."

"You won't find it without me."

Ostini grits his teeth… Then he calms down. He stands up.

"Right."

[b]He straps a dagger to his belt and signals to the guard."

"Direction to the stable then."

As she stands up, Eeri remembers that the poison is in a matis-made vial. She stammers:

"It is on my mektoub. I changed the vial, the one of the Ata…takorum was too fragile."

Eeri gets up and follows the guard. The three homins head towards the stable, located next to the dormitory. Then she adds, in a not too confident voice.

"I don't know where they got that poison from. It probably didn't come from their place."

"If it didn't come from their place, then it came from our. But don't worry, that's a question I can answer."

The adrenalin going to her head, Eeri doesn't answer. The three homins finally arrive in front of the mektoub. After the terrible journey he went through a few weeks earlier, he seems to be living a better life.

She grabs the mektoub's harness, unties two straps, which frees the pack a bit. She reaches behind it and delicately pulls out a small black box, the size of a dagger. She adds:

"I put it in the vial I brought with me, with a Matis paralytzing poison. Nothing too harmful. This one seems much more powerful."

***



Meanwhile, in his cell, Azazor is having scruples and is walking around in circles. Eventually he calls for a guard.

"Yes?"

"I have something else to tell your boss."

"He is busy. But I don't think he's done with you. You can ask him later."

Azazor grunts a little, perfunctory.

***



"And what did you do with the previous poison?"

Eeri opens the box, and reveals a vial, and a living dagger.

"Spilled. But the vial was intact, luckily."

Eeri looks at Ostini with his most convincing look, thinking that the bigger it is, the better it goes.

"We wanted to test in on the kitins of the Old Lands. Paralytic poison. It works pretty well our place."

Ostini gently picks up the vial and looks at it.

"I'll keep this. I'll keep this. And you go back to your cell."

He waves to the guard again.

Eeri replaces the straps of her mektoub and follows the guard. She turns and says to the Matis, in a squeaky voice:

""Be careful, though. They told us that one drop would kill a homin in two minutes. Not that I'd cry about it…"

"I know poisons well, don't worry. But this one… It doesn't look familiar," he says, looking at the vial.

***



Eeri is led back to the cell. Azazor is still in a room adjacent to the cells with the other guard. Minutes pass and the two Fyros are finally led back to the Matis' office. The two guards seat them next to each other, but these don't exchange any glance.

Ostini, sitting behind his desk, seems colder than before. He rolls Eeri's vial between his hands. A guard whispers something in his ear and his gaze falls on the Fyros.

"Did you want to tell me something? The truth, perhaps? That might be useful, indeed."

Eeri remains silent, and gives a sidelong look at Azazor, who begins to speak:

"ney… But first, tell me the Truth. You told me about Akilia, about her goons. Tell me if I'm wrong but… you don't seem to be too fond of her, do you? I know well that she is your leader, but you have nothing to fear, we won't repeat."

"Indeed, I don't hold her in my heart. And no, she is not my 'leader'… But I am not in the mood to speak about Akilia."

"Yet she declares herself the leader of the Marauders," Azazor continues.

Ostini ignores Azazor's last remark and continues:

"You see, I showed your vial to three Atakorums present at this very moment in the tavern. Do you know the rest?

Azazor loses his smile and, looking grave, looks at Ostini. The Matis lets a few seconds pass, then repeats himself, emphasizing each word.

"Do. You. Know. The rest?"

"The Atakorums had nothing to do with that, says Azazor. We just hijacked some food that we stashed in the desert for the rest of our trip. And the vial is from the New Lands. I can't say anything about it, having discovered its existence by chance in the Sea of Wood."

Eeri lets out a loud, upset sigh.

"We arrived here with a full loaded mektoub. We gave you everything…"

Ostini shows a satisfied smile. He seems proud of himself.

"Or rather, you took everything from us," she adds.

Azazor turns to Eeri.

"They're merchants here, what did you expect?"

"You paid for your stay here. And you could have kept working to get food. But you chose to steal from us instead."

"We didn't steal anything," Azazor growls.

"To get food? We work like crazy, and that's just enough to pay for your dorm!" adds Eeri.

Ostini raises his hand and beckons the two Fyros to silence.

"This food, we hunted and prepared it," Azazor adds anyway.

"Save your plea for my boss. My real boss, not Akilia. I did my part of the work."

Ostini gets up and heads for the door.

"I'll be right back."

Azazor turns to Eeri.

"You and your stupid ideas…"

"The Atakorums was your idea," she whispers to Azazor.

"You had a better idea?"

"dey! But sometimes it's better to just keep silent…"

"You think that saying nothing would have made a difference? Pfff !"

***



A few minutes later, the door opens. Ostini is accompanied by a Trykeri. A Trykeri that the Fyros have already crossed very often.. O'Teelo, the tavern keeper. The two Fyros are astonished. Eeri widens his eyes and gives O'Teelo a tense smile, in doubt. Azazor imitates Eeri like a mirror.

"Thanks Ostini, I'm borrowing your office. Can you take care of the bar while I take care of them?"

"What? Uh, yes. Sure."

Ostini sends an angry smile to the two Fyros and then leaves the room. The two guards remain present. The Trykeri slumps down on the seat and puts her boots on the desk of the Matis, who would probably not appreciate the gesture if he were present. She seems far less friendly than usual.

"I hear you've been embezzling goods that belongs to us."

"Embezzling? No… We have produced more than enough," Eeri protests.

"Technically, it's not your belongings since we're the ones hunting and cooking," adds Azazor.

O'Teelo does not pick up Azazor's remark and continues:

"I've been watching and listening to you a lot over the past three weeks. To tell you the truth, I was beginning to like you. Especially since you're an extremely good cook! But this… This is serious."

Eeri, perplexed, looks at Azazor and, doubting that this is the right strategy, tries to get her neuron to work out a better one. O'Teelo continues:

"You want to talk 'technique' with a merchant, Azazor? If I understand correctly, your thing is politics, alcohol and fighting."

"And a sense of justice," says Azazor.

"And the cooking of the bodoc," adds Eeri, half-heartedly.

"You think it's fair to exploit people? We just wanted to pay ourselves properly by taking some extra meat," says Azazor.

"Otherwise, we won't last two days in the desert," added Eeri.

"So why cover it up? Why didn't you discuss it?"

"Because you are rascals," the Fyros almost shouted. "We too have been watching you. We had to give you all our stock of dried meat just to enter the camp and sleep for two nights in your dormitory."

[Eeri winces at Azazor's words and elbows him, hoping he will shut up.

"So you both survived two more nights thanks to us. Then three weeks more," says O'Teelo.

"Ostini, whom we thought was the leader, did not seem open to discussion," Azazor points.

"Or rather, he was happy to take all the stock we had, adds Eeri. After three days, we had nothing left. And nothing left to buy anything…"

"Ostini, the boss? O'Teelo sneers. He is only the chief of the guard. A good chief, by the way, paranoid as can be. It's often very useful."

Eeri raises an eyebrow at "good chief, by the way". O'Teelo continues:

"That's why we hired you. To help you."

"We have the experience with the Marauders of the New Lands. So don't be surprised if we didn't play it straight from the start. Especially after being racketed at the entrance."

Eeri nods in support of Azazor's words, who is ruminating alone in a low voice: "Merchants, thieves, like the Trykers, all of them are…."

O'Teelo grimaces.

"Don't compare us to those barbarians. And you two don't talk to me about racketeering, you don't know anything about this country. You come from a world where everything seems easy. Haven't you wondered how hard it was to create this outpost, and to keep it going for all these decades? Yes, life is hard here. That's a fact. But better that than death.

Eeri takes a deep breath:

"Well, we screwed up. What can we do now to make up for it?"

O'Teelo looks at the Fyrossa.

"That's a good question."

"You have Eeri's vial of poison, isn't that enough for a few pieces of meat? Or do we have to give you our armor and underwear too?

O'Teelo looks at the Fyros armor.

"No thanks, I'm fine."

Eeri turns to Azazor.

"Don't add to it. They have no use for a poison like that, either."

"If you say so…"

Eeri arouses O'Teelo's curiosity.

"And what is its use?"

Eeri points to the palm of his hand, which shows a black spot.

"I never tested it. But I can tell you that I suffered to get it."

"Who do you want to poison, asks O'Teelo?"

"Yes, who do you want to poison," squeaks Azazor, turning to Eeri.

"No one in particular," answers Eeri. "If I came across your Akilia, I might not mind. It was just a matter of not to leave unequipped, and at worst it could have been a bargaining chip. I intended to try this on kitins from the Old Lands, too."

"If you're looking for Akilia, head back west. She must be somewhere between the New Lands and her headquarters."

Eeri shakes her head.

"We're not looking for her."

"In any case, it is certain that I will not let you progress to the east with an unknown poison. Ostini thinks you are assassins sent on a mission to the Citadel," O'Teelo sneers.

[b[Azazor turns to Eeri.[/b]

"And another toubshit from Eeri, one!"

"Oh, hey, it's okay… We wouldn't be here if you hadn't thought of saying that."

"Okay, then. What do you have to offer, then? For this stolen meat supply."

"That's not even worth the armadai meat we brought in," Eeri grumbled.
"Sorry, I know, it doesn't matter," she adds, lowering her eyes.

O'Teelo seems to be thinking.

"You know what? Maybe you could do us a favor…"

"That's all we can do. We don't have anything else to offer."

"A delivery mission. You'll get to keep the meat, and even get a little extra for the… long detour you'll have to make."

"Will this detour go through the place where we stashed the meat?" Azazor asks.

Eeri nudges him again.

"Aza… that's a detail."

"If you don't make it to the indicated point, I will know. Either it will mean that you died on the way, or it will mean that you preferred to rip us off a second time by continuing on YOUR way. If this is the case, try not to pass by the Outpost again on your way back… Also try to avoid Sentinel and the Citadel…."

"Where is the delivery located?"

"In the south, on the coast. The network of Zinuakeens does not yet cover the southwestern part of the desert, which makes it difficult to communicate with our relic hunters."

"It can't be worse than going back to the Oflovak Halt. We'll do it. I guess you agree, Azazor?"

"What should we deliver?" he asks in a grumble.

"A trinket."

"On one condition," Azazor replies. "We need a map of this detour."

"It might help… At least for knowing where to go.

"Of course you'll have one. I don't intend to send you to your death," says O'Teelo, a satisfied smile on his face.

The two Fyros, still sitting side by side across from the Trykeri, find it hard to hide their relief.

"While we're there, is there anything in particular you need us to bring back?" Eeri asks.

"Perhaps someone will give you another delivery mission, yes. It's up to you whether you take it or not. But as far as I'm concerned, I'm only hiring you for this delivery."

"akep. Uh… thanks."

"What I'm curious about is how you'll know that we made this delivery," asks Azazor… "What's this trinket?"

"I'll know, because if you do, there will be a new Zinuakeen."

Azazor nods, trying to hide his extreme interest in the 'trinket'.

"The object, in itself, is not particularly valuable. I would hate to lose it, of course. But the main problem is its delivery in those hostile lands."

Eeri prefers not to know what it is about, and is almost smiling in front of O'Teelo.

"So we're free to go?"

"If you want us to make this delivery, we're going to need equipment," cuts in Azazor.

Eeri chuckles slightly, well recognizing Azazor in this words.

"We can't ask for too much, can we?"

"I say that in the interest of the mission," says Azazor, taking a serious look."

"You are free to go back to the kitchen and work. I still have a couple of things to take care of on my end before you leave. Again, I'm not sending you to your death. You will have what you need to travel to the coast, both in terms of information and equipment. But it is mostly your resourcefulness that you will have to rely on." While saying so, O'Teelo puts Eeri's vial in his pocket.

"Be careful with the vial. And I must give you something else. On the one hand, an antidote. And on the other hand, a piece of advice… Never touch this dagger without first putting on a glove…" Eeri adds, shaking his head "… because I like you after all."

"What dagger?"

"The one in the box on the table there."

O'Teelo cautiously opens the box and observes the dagger. Eeri shows the palm of his hand again.

"This is a Matis weapon. And, in our regions, Matis are foolish enough to make weapons more dangerous to those who carry them than to those who are hit with them. There is no antidote for the poison of the handle."

"Um, okay. Now that our 'friendship' is sealed with a contract, can you tell me why you're traveling? Simply science and a thirst for adventure, truly?

"How much are you paying for this information?" Azazor asks.

Eeri sighs.

"Azazor… you are despairing."

"Eeri, we talk to hagglers here. So we haggle."

O'Teelo smiles.

"How much do you estimate its value?"

"A Marauder's armor. But we can negociate."

"A suit of armor? Um, I'm fine with that."

"One for of each of us, that goes without saying, since we each have a different reason for being here," adds Azazor.

"I don't mind. That's not a big deal."

"It's worth a lot to us. Home, we even have Marauders waging war to other Marauders for them to get. But I don't want to tattle…"

O'Teelo scratches her head.

"If it helps you understand why we have a bad opinion of you…" Eeri adds.

O'Teelo sits back in the chair and looks at the two Fyros with a concerned look.

"The Throat Cutters' Clan, the Black Sawdust Clan, the Ashes Clan, and more generally all the goons of Akilia, represent only themselves. Well… This is my opinion. That's not shared by all. One thing is however certain: Akilia does not represent, in her behavior at least, the whole of the Marauders. If by miracle, you find a way to reach the Citadel, you will be able to see that with your eyes. We are not savages. And I hate to think that some people think that about us, while in the east many of us are fighting day and night against the kitins."

The leader then rests her elbows on the table and lifts her chin toward Azazor.

"If I have your word, then it's okay," he says. "The reason I am here is to go to the lost city of Coriolis, in the desert of my ancestors. I want to find out the mystery of the Fire reported in our chronicles. I also want to study the kitins there, and of course make a map of the place. A little more too, even if I don't have too much hope about that: I would like to establish a first contact with the Marauders to discuss with them about a possible exchange of knowledge with the Empire."

Eeri speaks in turn, after a moment of spinning her words in his head.

"My reason will not be easy for you to understand, I imagine. Back home, I am a Trytonist. We are also called Elias seekers."

"I see," replies O'Teelo.

"I guess I have no reason to hide my beliefs here. I'm looking to verify some old theories, some evidence. Just like Azazor the fire of Coriolis, among others. Also to meet scientists, in the east. And… An old dream. I wouldn't want to die without having seen the city of Fyre with my own eyes. Or what's left of it…"

O'Teelo takes a serious look.

"You know that you have a very high likelihood of dying? The Oflovak Road is but a pleasure garden compared to what lies beyond the Citadel."

"We are Fyros," says Azazor.

"We'll see in due time," says Eeri, shrugging his shoulders.

"No, you are, above all, homins from the New Lands, used to being brought back to life by the Powers. Whether you believe it or not, thatt affects the way you act and think. I mean no disrespect, but you have grown up in an 'under-bubble' world."

"After several years on the Road, I can assure you that's changed", says Eeri.

"That's possible, yes, but the day when we'll back off has not yet come," adds Azazor.

"I speak with all the facts. I've seen the new generation, both in Sentinel and in the Citadel, start to get used to resurrection… It changes the way one looks at life."

"You have resurrection at the Citadel?" Azazor choked.

O'Teelo raises her eyebrows.

"Akilia and her goons would have brought the Marauders' resurrection system to the New Lands without it existing at the Citadel? That doesn't make any sense. Well, anyway…"

O'Teelo stands up, and walks towards the door, waving the guards to leave.

"… To the kitchens, you two!"

Eeri whispers to Azazor:

"It's Ostini who's going to make a face…"

"Yep, so much the better."

Eeri smiles with all his teeth. Azazor returns her smile.

"By the way Eeri, you are a very poor trader. The information about the dagger, you should have sold it…"

Azazor leaves the room whistling, followed by an Eeri too relieved to protest.

Edited 6 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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#34 Added by Eeri 2 years ago Multilingual 

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Eeri's logbook
2620, summer of third AC

Here we are, we leave tomorrow. So much has happened here I forgot this journal.
To summarize very quickly... in case I'll lose my memory.
Arrived at the Outpost. They grabbed our meat, we crashed there for a few nights wondering what we could do, then we got hired at the inn as cooks. We started stashing meat to prepare for the rest of our journey. They noticed. Ostini, the chief of the guards, jumped on us. Azazor had the brilliant idea to tell him that we were trading the meat with the Akatorums for poison. Then I had to show my poison to that bastard Ostini,. A Matis. Of course, he immediately saw that this poison did not come from the Akatowhatevers... Then, the Trykeri we thought was merely the tavern keeper turned out to be the leader of the local clan. She made us spill the beans, but was relatively understanding. Which goes to show the Marauders here are not like the ones back home. Here, one can talk with them.

As a result, we agreed to make a delivery for her, as payment for our mistakes. Well, our actions, not our mistakes. They were kind enough not to throw us over the cliff, or anything else. At the time, the situation was pretty exciting, I didn't realize until later we were really gambling our lives.
The good thing is that O'Teelo is ready to provide us with equipment for this job. Marauder's armors, local. Just what we need to hope to get to the Citadel a little more unnoticed than with our naked Fyros dazed faces. She gave us a map, the way to follow seems simple, at first sight. First, go along the cliff to the south, to find the delivery point. Then, there, we are supposed to meet other Marauders. They will be able to tell us more about the dangers that await us if we decide to follow the big mountain range that leads to Sentinel. It's either that or turn around, find the Outpost and go back to the Rangers's path.
And this is the less good thing: whatever we choose, we will be compelled to make a detour of several weeks, maybe several months…

What we have to deliver? I've never seen anything like it. O'Teelo brought us a small box, and opened it in front of us. She knew our curiosity would have led us to open it anyway. She carefully took out three objects, with slightly greenish edges, decorated on one side with strange, shiny inscriptions. Lines, in all directions, dots. Up close, I noticed that they were engraved patterns, not merely drawn. The dots are tiny picots, inlaid. On the other side, how to describe… a multitude of ornaments, small objects, clumped together. Like pieces of jewels of different colors, connected by small shiny threads. Rectangles, circles. At first sight something chaotic, and yet revealing an incredible organization, each element seeming to find its place. As if it were a miniature city.

O'Teelo quickly wrapped them in fiber cloths, to wedge them into the box, recommending that we not open it. Not too often, anyway. She thinks the wind and sawdust of the desert might damage them. We promised to take care of them. I then asked: this is Karavan, isn't it?
The Trykeri then looked at me with a distressed look: "No, it has been laid by a lumper". Azazor didn't waste an opportunity to make fun of me, before taking the box and waving us to follow her to the stable. I would have liked to ask her a lot more questions, but my first one having been totally stupid, I didn't dare to add any more. Really, sometimes I'd better keep my mouth shut.

She took out armors for us. Color of desert sawdust, gleaming. One for Azazor, one for me. Already worn, obviously, but incredibly well made. We had negotiated those. Well… Azazor managed to negotiate. He bluffed me on that one. Oh yes, I forgot: before that, we had to go and get the famous meat stock. We felt like two idiots anyway, even if we were relieved of the outcome of all that. In the end, we even understood that they were going to miss us in kitchen.

I must write this, too: I have to admit that I was wrong. We were all wrong. The Marauders here have nothing to do with what we had expected. Akilia is only a clan leader among others, and all do not recognize her authority, nor her fight, nor her ideals. Far from it. The war she leads is not the war of the Marauders of the Old Lands.
Barmie knew that, no doubt. I can't remember if he told us, but we were probably too sure of ourselves, of our knowledge, we wouldn't have believed him anyway. What ? Marauders who don't pull out their sledgehammers to solve any problems, who know listening, and who are more concerned with containing the kitin threat than with the tomfooleries of our New Lands empires. Almost like Rangers, in fact. You'd think they'd be the same. We've only run into a few Rangers so far.

We go from surprise to surprise. Barmie had warned us about desert frahars. They are mostly Fraiders! I keep the axe that I hold from those of the New Lands on my belt, but unfortunately I did not have time to create a bond of trust with any of them. We'll probably run into more of them in the desert. I need to know more about them.

Oh, and Azazor decided to send all his notes to Pyr. I think that's silly, he's more likely to have them stolen or the carrier to be eaten by whatever bug is on the way. I told him to make a copy. No time for that, he says. Well, that reminds me, the letters I sent when we were in Fort Beacon may have arrived. I hope they are all well, over there.

To sum up… Actually, no, there's not much to sum up. We are just to get back on the road.
Yes, there is something. I must add… and confess: I would so much like to spend more time with the homins here, to discover their richness and knowledge, to understand them better. To come back one day to the New Lands with their message. But come on, this is not the time to stop, we are so close to our goal. A new desert awaits us.

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"

#35 Added by Azazor 2 years ago Multilingual 

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Azazor's logbook

I resolved to send to the New Lands all my reports written between our departure from Fort Beacon and the time we left the Diplomatic Outpost. On O'Teelo's advice, I gave them to a trusted Ranger who was to go to the Halt. Let's hope everything goes well. The way through the Sea of Wood is much more risky. At worst, too bad if the package gets lost. All the information we collected is in my head and I swear to come back alive to share it one day.

So, as already mentioned in my previous report, we have three artifacts to deliver to the Marauders settled near the Wide Puddle in the south. They are supposed to be used to build a zinuakeen in the area. The Marauders are settled below some cliff. But a priori, we will not find there neither elevator nor staircase. So it will be climbing, sweating and elbow grease. If they have established themselves at the bottom, without any practical means of descending, this can only mean one thing: that the region is very dangerous and that this is a means of defence for them.

I will try to describe as best I can these artifacts that make me really uncomfortable. First of all, we can see right away that they are not homin creations. They look like some kind of green and orange dragon scales, on which are painted or maybe engraved lines that cross and crisscross. Inlaid on the scales are black square, round or rectangular things and some kind of shiny, solid, cold drips that connect them to the scales. Eeri talks about jewels. To me, they look like black pustules of an unspeakable creature oozing a gray, shiny liquid that would have solidified. There are also some symbols on it. Letters, numbers, but without any meaning. Symbols that breathe life like those of the Kamis' drills? But there is nothing kami about them. Just touching this thing disgusts me. At least I didn't see any traces of goo on it. I'll write down all the symbols on a separate page and try to draw the biggest artifact, to give you an idea. But you know my drawing skills…

Drawing of an artifact part.


We weren't told the name of this thing, O'Teelo just calling it 'trinket'. In any case, it's clearly Karavan produced to me. I don't imagine the Marauders creating these kinds of artifacts. I'll have to find out more about the connection between Marauders and Karas. In the New Lands, there are sometimes alliances of circumstance during outpost battles. One can imagine that it goes the same here. The Karavan provides the technology to make zinuakeens in exchange for resources harvested by the Marauders. A rumor I had once heard spoke of dissidents from the Karavan. Eeri may know more about this. In short, all this reinforces the hypothesis of a mechanical Fyrak of the Karavan whose scales would be this kind of artifact, even if in this case it is not a dragon but a zinuakeen.


To change topic, let me briefly describe the desert we are traveling through. At first sight, there is no difference with the imperial desert. Same dunes, same sawdust, same plants, maybe a little bit hotter. Olash, olansis, savaniels, botogas which help us not to draw too much in our water stock. We haven't seen any bothaya yet. I presume that the relative proximity of the Wide Puddle allows a hydration of the subsoils which prevents its appearance. But I don't know anymore, I am probably confusing with another plant. I should have listened more carefully in botany classes at the Academy. We did not find, for now, no papalexi on our way either. Nor any loojine either. It seems that they are of the same family. Maybe the one explains the other… Regarding the fauna, for the moment we have only crossed varinxes in the distance. According to the Marauders, we should not cross Fraiders, not passing on their territory. That seems to displease Eeri, but let her be reassured, it will be for the way back, in some years.
Par ailleurs, j'ai stocké dans une bourse une petite partie de sciure pour analyse ultérieure, quand je rentrerai. Si le maitre xylologue Ulyton Meros accepte de se pencher dessus, on aura peut être une surprise.
In addition, I have stored a sample of sawdust in a bag for later analysis, when I will return. If the master xylologist Ulyton Meros agrees to look at it, we might have a surprise.
Oh yes, an interesting point to note: the day star is much higher than in the New Lands. This is a fact. I could measure it with the sextant. I note all my measurements on a separate page. By estimating the number of kilometers traveled to the East, I think we can give an estimate of the curvature of Atys. But I'm not good at calculations, so I'll leave that to the Academy masters when I return. Could the fact that it is a bit warmer be due to the fact that the rays are less oblique than in the New Lands? The further we progress on the route, the more I discover, but the more I ask myself new questions too. The search for the Truth is an endless path.

We should reach the meeting point in a few days. Hoping not to be devoured by a varinx by then…

Azazor's logbook

What had to happen happened. This morning, we met a group of four homins accompanied by a varinx. ramèch! A pet varinx! A magnificent beast, as high as a homin. A little like Aen's ones at home. Except that they were obviously not Marauders. They didn't even introduce themselves. They are not Atakorums in any case, but surely an umpteenth tribe of desert nomads. They demanded that we leave them all we were carrying and the mektoub in exchange for our lives. We tried to negotiate some meat for them and their varinx, but nothing to do, it was all our stuff if we didn't want to, and I quote: "… end up in Razor's stomach". I assumed that was the name of the varinx. Still, we could not afford to give them the object of our quest. Our Honor was at stake. So for the first time since we left Silan, we had to fight against homins to save our lives.
Result: we killed two of them and the varinx, the two others ran away. Well… Eeri killed the varinx, a homin and wounded another one seriously. I only finished off the latter, getting in the process a nice gash on my right thigh when a spike managed to pierce the Marauder armor at a joint. If it had not been for Eeri, it would have been my thorax it would have pierced. She's a real fury when she fights, this one. I had seen her do it before in the New Lands. But never with such rage and determination. She looked like a goddess of war. Lopyrèch had warned me, this homina is dangerous. Fortunately, I am her friend. At least, I guess so.

Anyway, today I killed a homin. Definitely, I mean. It's not the same thing I have been used to, not at all. I hadn't noticed it until then, but when you kill someone, usually, you always know deep down that it's not, or rarely is, a real killing. When I plunged my axe into my enemy's skull, I knew he would never rise again. It was as if I had sucked out his soul. I felt dirty. It reminded me of Celiakos Lyan Cexius dying of a heart attack after he got mad at me. At the time, I felt some guilt. Except that this time I can't be comforted by telling myself that the homin was very old and that his time had come. I am responsible for the axe blow that struck him down. I thought of our ancestors who, in battle, have had to experience this many times.

Everything gets mixed up in my head, I have a lot of contradictory thoughts. It's really a different relationship to life.
How weak we have become because of the protection of the Powers! How we have lost all this, I would say, philosophical aspect! All warriors, and I first, have been wrong from the beginning. Killing is not a harmless thing. That gives a real force that can drive you crazy. This force has been taken away from us by the resurrection the Powers offer us. These now have this force. And I am not sure that this is necessarily a good thing.

Azazor's logbook

It's definitely the law of series. Today, as we were moving south, I had a fall in a crevasse. A nice fall of about ten meters. It was however not indicated that there are crevasses in the area. It's supposed to be farther, towards the east. In short, we spent one hour so that Eeri manages to pull me up with a rope and the mektoub. Supposedly I was too heavy. It must be the bag, it is loaded with leather of varinx, that weighs its weight. We are going to have to be more careful. As much we have no difficulty to look after ourselves here, contrary to the Sea of Wood, but we are not immune to mortal wounds. If there are crevasses of ten meters deep, one can imagine that there are much deeper ones. I may be tough, but I'm not unbreakable.

Edited 3 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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#36 Added by Eeri 2 years ago Multilingual 

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"Eeri stopped pulling on the rope and waved the mektoub to stop too. Then she sat down, ignoring the moans that echoed off the sides of the rift, for a moment.

"Stop gesticulating!!" she finally shouted.
"But what the hell are you doing? Pull me up!"
"The rope is stuck, don't move. I can handle it."

Eeri stood still, one eye on the axe she had laid on the ground earlier, as she hurriedly took out a rope to rescue the Fyros.

"All it would take is one sharp blow," she muttered. "Like with the frippos."

Leave him there? Azazor had nearly gotten them killed.

Hesitation. In combat, one never hesitates. You strike where you know the enemy will be hurt. But no. He, with a hatchet in his hand, simply parries the blows, without counterattacking.

Against a pike, it's double or nothing. Armed with a hatchet, one can take advantage of the length of the opponent's weapon and the time lapse of inertia after the attack to throw a blow where it hurts. In this case, at the belt or at the neck. Twice Aza had the opportunity to strike. But he settled for waiting, giving his opponents the seconds they needed to figure out his moves. Hell of a Fyrak of ramèch, I don't like hitting homins from behind. But here, it was either that or let Azazor get pierced once more.

The remaining two, presumably younger, chose to ran off when they saw the second homin collapse. This is not a good sign, as it means that if they have been able to go and alert their tribe we will end up with some other homins on our backs. If Azazor could have get rid of his opponent alone, I could have taken out the other two. A well-placed axe blow for the first, then the chase of the other before finishing him with the dagger. But no, I had to turn around to save Azazor. What a waste.

And when I told him that we should expect them to bring back their tribe… He shut up, but that must have panicked him, and now he doesn't look where he's stepping. If he does it again, where we're going, I'm going to get killed for sure. So why not leave him there? But no, I'll go crazy if I go on alone. Two of us got here, two of us have to go on. And if the rope has to break… Well, a sharp blow… No, still. But…

"What the hell are you playing at???"

The bellowing of the Fyros brought Eeri out of her thoughts. She stood up with a sigh, gave Run-dun's ass a big pat, and started pulling on the rope again.

"It's coming, it's coming. You weigh your weight, you know…"

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"

#37 Added by Eeri 2 years ago Multilingual 

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A few days later, the two homins were still walking a few meters away from the precipice, in order to keep a good view on this piece of desert, below. The landscape was changing little by little, becoming more rolling, as if roots under the ground were pushing and sculpting the sawdust. In the distance, what O'teelo had called "Umawaka" appeared in the mist: an impassable mountain range, a tangle of gigantic roots that delimited this desert to the south, and which, if one believed the map of the Clan leader, extended up to the Citadel. With each step they took, this mountain range seemed to grow more and more gigantic, as if it had emerged from the bowels of Atys. In some places, sharp, bare peaks of bark loomed up the sky. In others, they were covered with vegetation, so much so that they wondered if they were not the beginnings of a canopy in the making.

The meeting point could not be far away, as she had described it as near that mountain below. They stopped for a moment to scan the horizon and the desert, hoping to make out a village or any trace of homin life. Eeri came dangerously close to the edge, to observe the cliff face they were overlooking.

"Azazor?"
"Hmmm?"
"You think too much. If this is going to happen again, think that it's either them or us."
"I wasn't prepared to fight. Not this way."
"Next time, hit. Block, and hit. Where it hurts, where you would not like to be hit."
"All right, that's all right, I know."
"The surprise, the speed. Them, if they fight, they know that it is at the risk of their life. They won't hesitate."
"But the counter-attack implies taking risks. It was okay at home, but here... How did you stay so damn cold?"
"For years I've been working hard to learn to fight in a way so that I don't have to call on the Powers. With the idea that maybe one day Trytonists would manage to bring freedom to the hominity. Keeping a cold and analytical mind is the first thing."
"Do you still believe in it? Freedom?"

The Fyrossa straightened up and took a few steps away from the edge.

"No, I don't anymore. I have no hope anymore for the nations. Now I think it's enough to get away. Or become a Ranger... Or a Marauder. Maybe it's the same thing. But freedom, no. That doesn't exist, even here."

Azazor hesitated for a moment:

"But then, you don't believe in anything anymore...?"
"I believe in survival. I believe that if you jeopardize this journey again, I will leave you in the lurch and go on alone."
"You what???"
"But I like you nonetheless. I couldn't have made it this far on my own."
"Hrmf... Yeah. akep."
"And the trouble with being alone is that you don't have no more anyone to blame for the shit you do."

After these words, Eeri sat down with a smile.

"Come on, relax. I've got a proposition for you, about the delivery."

Azazor did not move, keeping scanning the horizon.

"I'm listening."
"Given the cliff, if there is no path, we can't risk our mektoubs."
"So you want to go down alone. I knew you'd suggest that."
"It's less risky."
"What if you don't come back?"
"Or you can go down and I'll keep the mektoubs. That's OK with me too."

Azazor grunted something unintelligible, his eyes still fixed on the distance. Eeri added a layer, grumbling:

"But I've seen your talent for climbing..."
"We'll talk about it when we find out where to climb down," answered Azazor, putting his bag back on his shoulders.
"You're right. Let's not dawdle."

The two Fyros set off again, heading south, without even glancing behind them to see if they were being followed or not. The evening wind was starting to blow, but they were still able to walk for a few hours.

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"

#38 Added by Azazor 2 years ago Multilingual 

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In front of the desert that appears before him, Azazor can't help but have a whiff of nostalgia for his own, the one he left years ago. The sawdust seems coarser here, or is it his memories that are getting muddled? The wind, coming from the east, seems to rush to the foot of the cliff, causing the agitation of the two mektoubs tied not far away. Their mooings seem to answer the whistling of the wind in a kind of mournful lament. He has never felt melancholy in his own desert. But here, everything is different. At the same time so far from his relatives, and so close to his ancestors.

It has been three days since Eeri left. Three days since he saw her abseiling down the cliff, clinging to a rope whose attachment to a root sticking out of the sawdust she took care to check before harnessing herself to it. It was as if she had been doing this her life long. Will she come back? Are the Marauders in this clan as friendly as those in the Diplomatic Outpost? Actually, "friendly" is a bit of a strong word. Let's say civilized. With a certain sense of honor. There is no reason for Eeri to be badly received. Doesn't she bring them the "trinkets" necessary for the functioning of their zinuakeen?

Their camp has been set up in the wreckage of a large Karavan ship. This one, as seen from here, is well over fifty meters long. How was it destroyed? It's hard to say. Would kitins be able of such a destruction? Or the Kamis? Besides, the wreck, as far as he can see, must date from the first Great Swarming. Part of it seems to be buried in sawdust, or rather covered by it. From afar, the carcass of the vessel seems quite dark. He is unable to recognize any of the ships that can be seen in the New Lands. Perhaps it is an old model, formerly used in the Old Lands and whose specimens are now all crushed into ruins, for some obscure reason. After the wreckage north of Fort Beacon, from which the Rangers retrieved what they needed to build the lighthouse's lighting system, this is the second Karavan ship ruin he comes across, and the first he sees with his own eyes. Here, the Karavan seems very fragile, as if in decay. Besides, he hasn't heard of the Kamis either. It seems that the Powers have deserted these places. Only the homins survive, reappropriating the ruins of the past, building new cities, not losing hope. He had decidedly misjudged the Marauders. At least those living here.

Eeri must be down there with them now, probably in one of the rooms of the ship rearranged as a living space, sipping a baba or slurping a piece of fire-roasted varinx. Maybe they're laughing, thinking how lucky they are to have run into her, that she'll teach them how to cook meat, that they need a butcher, that she could stay… He wouldn't even blame her doing so. He knows that it will happen. He has seen the look in her eyes when she talked about these homins, about the harshness of life here. She likes that. Here, though she denies it, she would at last feel free. This is the life she has always dreamt of. So why should she continue to bother with a fat, clumsy Fyros who can't take down a mere bandit? He doesn't deserve her..

Azazor observes the dunes behind him. Dunes that are already very dark, standing out like silhouettes against the purple sky. That's where they come from. If they have been followed, that's where the attack will come from. For three days he's been dreading the possibility that they'll fall on him. If that were to happen, he would not fight and would go down the rope, leaving the mektoubs. In the past, he would have stayed to fight, shouting cal i selak at the top of his lungs, banging his hatchet against his shield, convinced he was an exceptional warrior, sure he could kill Fyrak itself, because the fear of death was not yet part of his conceptions. But not anymore. Since the Titus episode, and especially since his fight with those bandits, he knows what dying means. And that haunts him. You think you're brave, but you don't know what it is until you're actually near death. What he hopes is that one day he too will be able to face death, to defy it by hitting his shield. Like Eeri… Eeri who will not return. For he has nothing left for himself. Not even the respect of the Truth. And she knows it now, since he told her his secret, his lie, which he has been carrying like a burden for decades…

Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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#39 Added by Azazor 2 years ago Multilingual 

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Five days earlier, as Eeri and Azazor stopped in the shade of a dune to eat their lunch ration and take a break…

"Eeri, I have to confess something to you."

The Fyrossa looks up from his grilled yubo paw, looking laughing.

"What? Your parents were Matis?"
"I'm serious."
"Oh… Come on, I'm listening."

The Fyros takes a deep breath, as if he was about to reveal some dark secrets.

"I lied… once.
"Hahaha, just once? Well, that's okay then, exclaims the Fyrossa, relieved."
"No, that was a big lie."
"What do you mean?"
"I made someone believe that I was his father."

Eeri remains silent, her eyes wide open.

"There was this little Trykera, found by Rangers in Silan. Galdor, a friend of my parents and who raised me after my father's death, took her in and raised her as his daughter. When I learned of her existence, when she was about ten years old, I had an idea.

The Fyrossa reels in her hand, as if to tell the Fyros to continue.

"I thought to myself that at that age, one was easily manipulated. So with Galdor, we started to tell a completely different story. He thanks to his daily contact with her and I through letters I sent her. A story claiming I was her real father, but that I couldn't raise her because I was too busy. And that her mother had been killed by Matis. That the Empire was the most beautiful, the greatest.
"A nice indoctrination…
"That's it.
"And what did this Trykera become?
"I gave her a mission when she reached sixteen. To infiltrate the Kingdom and give me information.

Eeri raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"A spy of some sort?"
"Yes. I didn't think she would do so well. Before we left, she had managed to become a subject of the kingdom and was considering becoming a servant to a noble house."
"You mean she's still spying?"
"Yep, at least when I left she was. I told her to pass on her future reports to Naveruss."
"'Big thighs' knows about this? Well…"
"The worst part is that she still thinks I'm her father. I betrayed a fundamental pillar of the Empire by lying to her."
"If the truth were really the value of the Fyros Empire, it would have collapsed by now. Sometimes the important thing is just to believe in something. The truth, I gave up long ago."

With that, Eeri looks thoughtful and says nothing more, just rolling the half-gnawed yubo thigh between her fingers. She too would have things to confess. The Fyros notices this and looks at her with insistence.

"Do you have something to tell me? I can feel you worrying."
"dey, I was just thinking about our old home," lies the Fyrossa.
"Ah…"

Azazor stirs the sawdust on the floor with his foot. He too thinks a lot about his old home.

"So, did you ever feel like telling your spy the truth?"
"Yes, several times I thought I should tell her. But each time, she gave me good information. I told myself that if I revealed the masquerade, she would take it badly and stop doing the job. A job she's good at, too."
"Oh, you think she's going to take it the wrong way if you tell her that the guy she thinks is her father for years is actually an imposter who's manipulating her? I don't know why you're saying that…"
"All right, stop with the irony. I have a guilty enough conscience as it is. The worst thing is if I tell her and she starts talking…"
"What are you afraid of? That the Matis would be angry with you? I reassure you, it is already the case. You all the same insulted the king's mother in front of her son on the day of her funeral. So, them learning that you tried to spy on them…"
"Mm, yeah…"

Azazor remains pensive for a few moments, keeping his eyes lowered towards the sawdust. Shame gnaws at him, the lie being for him like a stain. Finally, after a silent moment, he raises his head and looks Eeri straight in the eyes.

"If I die, will you tell her?"
"That you are not her father?"
"ney. Her name is Be'Lauren."
"ney, count on me. But you'll tell her yourself, because you're not gonna die."
"If you say so…"

Yes, he'll tell her everything. Whatever Eeri says, the truth is sacred. Without it, the Fyros people can only let themselves die.

Edited 3 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 years ago)

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#40 Added by Eeri 2 years ago Multilingual 

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Eeri stuck her pickaxe into a piece of bark that was sticking out of the sawdust and pulled herself up, once again. For several hours she had been climbing, losing hope of reaching the top of the cliff. It had been impossible for her to find the place where she had left hanging the rope she had used to descend part of the cliff. She had to climb up without any clue as to the path ahead. At each piece of bark or each crevice in the sawdust, she repeated the same process: plant the pickaxe, pull herself up, wedge one of her feet where she could, and try to locate the next support, higher. For hours. Until she hesitated, so different did the piece of bark seem from the others, at this place. It was a Fyros arm.

"Grab my hand!"
"Aza!! Grab my pickaxe rather!"

The Fyros hoisted Eeri, who breathed a sigh of relief before collapsing a few feet from the edge. She asked him for a moment of rest in order to catch her breath, before answering all his questions. Yes, she had things to tell about her few days down there. Starting with the place. An old Karavan ship. Relatively large, at least larger than the ones they could usually see on the New Lands. Quite different in appearance, too. Abandoned for years, maybe centuries. A relic of the first Swarming? It had crashed there at an angle, in the sawdust. This group of Marauders had settled there for an indeterminate period of time, and their plan was to head back north, leaving a few homins garrisoned on site. The delivery was a key element that they were waiting for in order to finish their work.
Their leader was Li-Yon, an imposing Zorai with a mask tattooed entirely in black, with a disturbing look, although he had been relatively friendly with Eeri. A researcher, as he introduced himself, just like most of the homins here. He explained that it was not really a clan. Rather, several homins from different clans, recruited according to their technical knowledge. In fact, many Trykers and Zorais, some Matis who seemed to be assigned to guard duties. Few fyros.

Eeri was allowed to stay for two nights, before resuming her journey. She was given a small, rundown looking room in the ship, furnished with a small bed propped up by pieces of wood. The whole structure being slanted, it was not so easy to move from one room to another, other than in the parts the Marauders had already refitted. Here and there, the walls were covered with colored protrusions, little red or green pushers, surfaces made of a strange smooth, greenish material. All this must have had a function, but seemed to have been out of order for a long time. The Zoraï gave her a tour of what was left of the ship, avoiding the central room, under the pretext that the homins who worked there needed a lot of concentration. He remained relatively vague on the nature of their works.

"So, did they give you something to eat? To drink?"
"Hmmm, nothing too fantastic. I offered to cook their meat our way, but they refused."
"It's better, they would have kept you."
"I'm thankfully dey! Friendly, but suspicious, and then almost only homins. They seemed really happy to get these trinkets, so their leader was courteous enough to leave me a room with a door that locks. Also to keep an eye on me, I think."
"It's true that you tend to get pregnant at the wrong times," Azazor said, shaking his head.
"And they're not bad... but they're not very talkative either," continued the Fyrossa without picking up on Azazor's remark.
"What did you expect?"
"Nothing special. Deliver the thing, and leave."
"But you surely asked them some questions, didn't you?"

Azazor looked at Eeri with a pout he had developed over the course of the trip, which he pouts every time he was not convinced by what the Fyrossa was telling him. He let her continue to speak, without commenting anything. Eeri answered with a smile:

"I have asked some, but you know me. I'm too direct, I never manage to get information discreetly..."
"Nothing at all?"
"I... think they have an almost working Zinuakeen. And then, what I already told you. Oh, and yes, they did give me some tips on how to continue the journey towaeds Sentinel. Nothing too difficult for the path. This way..."

Eeri pointed east, towards the mountain range.

"That we already knew."
"And another thing too: a few hours' walk away, there's a path, on a root, to the south. Marked by a beacon."
"What is it for?"
"An access to the Wide Puddle. Li-Yon thought we might be interested in seeing it. It's another day's walk. There is a root that crosses the mountain."

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"

#41 Added by Azazor 2 years ago Multilingual 

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Azazor's logbook
                                   
Eeri barely described the interior of the Marauder camp to me. Let's just say she wasn't very talkative. The important thing to remember is that the Marauders hide their Zinuakeen under construction inside. Impossible to know how it works, since Eeri has not been given access to it. However, the Marauders told her that there was a path leading to the Wide Puddle by the south. A slight detour. So, we went there.

After several days of walking through the southern cordillera, made of giant roots emerging from the ground and twisting like braids, we finally reached the Wide Puddle. It was a particularly trying vision. Imagine an expanse of water as far as the eye can see. Wherever you look, nothing but water up to the horizon. I tried to see the end of the range to the east, in vain. This one comes to die on the horizon, suggesting that it does not end before the mouth of the Munshia river and the hypothetical Reef of Baldos. Passed the amazement, we approached the water and we even bathed there. Not for long though, this soup being relatively cold in winter. There were some fish that I did not especially recognize. But well, I don't know nothing about fish. No predator on the horizon apparently. Maybe some come to drink in the Wide Puddle but not this place in any case. There are no paw prints on the shore. Oh yes, an interesting phenomenon to note: the presence of waves! Bigger than the ones you can sometimes observe in Trykoth. Even if I don't see what the root cause of this could be, I suspect that the size of the Wide Puddle has something to do with it, . Anyway, we had a lot of fun with Eeri jumping among the waves, some of them reaching us at the level of the head.

For the following of our journey, although according to the Ranger map, no access is listed there, we could perhaps avoid the passage through Sentinel by following the Wide Puddle and then climbing the plateau south of the Citadel. I'm curious to know if there are any homins living there. But given the help the Marauders have given us so far, we would be depriving ourselves of essential information for the rest of our journey in the ancestral desert. So, after some discussion, we decided to cross the cordillera again and follow the small trail described to Eeri by the Marauders, which leads to Sentinel through the northern part of the mountain range. This path is not marked except for the area called the "Scattered Desert" where beacons have been placed to indicate the safe places to walk. The area is indeed filled with crevasses and moving sawdust that can swallow a homin in a few minutes without him being able to do anything to escape. However, we will have to avoid crossing the varinx packs haunting these aeras. According to Eeri, the Marauders spend usually a good month to reach Sentinel. So we'll depart tomorrow morning, leaving the Wide Puddle and its fascinating waves behind us. As for whether they will let us pass, we'll see how we can be useful once we get there.

The next morning, Azazor and Eeri finish repacking their makeshift camp on the back of the two mektoubs. The waves have calmed down a bit this morning. During the night, they rocked them, making them live their most beautiful night for a long time. While Eeri picks up a few seashells as a souvenir on the shore, Azazor finishes harnessing the last mektoub. In a joyful mood, he gives her a smile. The Fyrossa gives it back to him without forcing herself. Behind her, the stretch of water brings a breeze coming from the sea which raises her red hair. The Fyros, in front of this vision, cannot help smiling even more. He had not felt this feeling for her since this torrid night in the Baths of Pyr.

Suddenly, behind Eeri, the water starts to swell and a titanic creature emerges. It opens wide a mouth filled with sharp teeth. This one closes on Eeri, whose superior part of body is soon completely swallowed in the mouth of the monster. Azazor rushes towards the Fyrossa and grabs her legs before the monster was able to take her to the bottom. Resisting as he can, he does not manage to retain it and is himself dragged in water, pulled by the superhuman strength of the creature. While he screams at the top of his lungs all the rage of despair, he manages in a last effort to pull Eeri's body from the beast's grip. He then falls backwards, slumping his buttocks in the water. The prakker, because such is the name of the beast, plunges back in the water in a whirlwind of wave. Completely distraught and still clinging to Eeri's legs, he pulls her hastily out of the water.
Only when he finds himself dry on the shore, he finally notices that the girl has been literally cut in two at the level of the waist, the monster having carried away the other half in its stomach. A trail of viscera is visible on the beach, where the upper half of Eeri's body has been taken. Looking with horror at the bloody legs of his friend, Azazor lets out a howl of terror. Eyes rolling back, not able to stop staring at the legs that are bleeding on the beach, he falls to his knees, while the prakker fades away on the horizon.
Death here is irrevocable, he knows it. He lets out another howl to the sky as Eeri's lower body lies there, dripping his guts and spurts of blood onto the knees of the now hopelessly alone Fyros.

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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#42 Added by Azazor 2 years ago Multilingual 

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Alone.

Alone!

Alone!!!

Thoughts fly in his head. With his mind muddled, he stands there, kneeling on the shore, his eyes bulging.

She is dead. Eeri is dead. DEAD! She will never come back. You don't rez here. You're all alone when death strikes. Still clutching Eeri's legs, he cannot bring himself to leave them there. Still warm, bloody, falling to dust...

To dust? Yes, Eeri's legs disintegrate before his eyes. Becoming dust again. Evaporating in the morning breeze...

Disappearing...

[...]

But then ?

[...]

BUT YES !

She is alive! She could rez! Probably near the Zinuakeen! SHE COULD REZ! HAHA...

???

What? She could rez? One needs to have a Marauder crystal to be rez'd at Zinuakeen. And Eeri never told him she had a...


"RAMECH! BITCH MATIS!!!" he yells all of a sudden.


This is why she wasn't afraid of death! "Yes, I fight like it's my last fight. Yes, I've been training. Yes, I'm such a badass and you fatty are a two week old yubo."

Bitch! Bloody degenerate Matissa! She's had a goddamn Maraud' crystal all this time! So yes, she can play the fearless warrior, my ass! Liar! Traitor!

He gets up with a leap, sweeping away the pile of dust that covered his legs with a wave of his hand. Then, talking to himself, he goes towards the mektoubs.

"Oh my dear Eeri, wait until I find you! You are going to know the Fyros fury. You'll see, now I'm going to strike as if it were my last fight. Don't worry about, Maraud': the fat Azazor's going to teach you to hide things like that from him!"

Pulling the two mektoubs without any care, the Fyros takes again the way crossing the cordillera, direction the Marauder campsite. A carnivorous smile to the lips, he is in a hurry, oh yes he is in a hurry to see again the dear red head of his "friend" Eeri. To discuss, exchange, knock and more if affinity.

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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#43 Added by Eeri 2 years ago Multilingual 

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She was awakened by a bucket of water on her head.

"You're back? You were missing us?

Eeri vomited, then collapsed on her back. The light was burning her eyes, and it took her a moment to make out what was surrounding her and come to her senses.

"You had to take a bad fall," Li-Yon said. "You were lucky you had that crystal."


***


Ever since that talk with Azazor a few days earlier, the Fyrossa had been thinking about the secret she would take with her if she fell off that cliff. The truth? No. Her life was now a huge web of lies, driven by her clumsy attempts to fix her past mistakes. She walked along, fiddling in her pocket with the Marauders Zin crystal she was carrying since the New Lands. What if it worked? Ever since O'Teelo, at the Cloudy Cliff Outpost, had told them about the presence of a teleporter network in the Old Lands, the Fyrossa had felt slightly reassured. Perhaps that was why she had fought those bandits and risked so much. But that was still something she could not tell Azazor about. A stupid imprudence that she disguised under a facade of arrogance. And the luck of having fallen on untrained homins. And if only this crystal worked, she would have to synchronize it with a teleporter first. This was a detail that the homins of the New Lands, accustomed to wandering these regions, no longer thought about.

No more imprudence. Especially not now.

In the end, the descent proved to be less laborious than Eeri had imagined. She threw an "oren fyraï" to Azazor, her voice slightly distorted by her apprehension, which she tried to hide as best she could, then launched herself. The idea of keeping a pickaxe in her right hand, which she stuck into the sawdust to swing from root to root, worked. Without that, she clearly wouldn't have found enough holds. Azazor would have managed too, no doubt, but someone had to guard the mektoubs, who obviously wouldn't have succed in climbing down. However, the apprehension was there, the fear of going down alone, without any help in case something happened.

A flood of memories came back to her mind, as she lay there on the ground. That moment when she had been able to approach the Zinuakeen, while the Marauders had their backs turned. Then the climb back up to Azazor. They had resumed their road, and decided to make this detour, to go and see this legendary immensity of water. After these days spent in the desert, taking a bath was worth one or two more days of walking. The moving and agitated waters of the Wide Puddle, so unlike those of the lake of Fairhaven. Then that night of calm, as if the predators had decided to give them a moment's respite. The next day... Had she not woken up? No more memories, everything was blurred, except for an image that seemed to encrust in her memories, a shell. Was it really a shell? She had never seen one like it before.


***

Eeri vomited a second time, which earned her a second bucket of water on her head.

"Where am I?"
"Back at the Zinuakeen."

Eeri sat up and rubbed her eyes, still feeling groggy. Yes, she knew where she was, there was no doubt about it, but she had asked the question for comfort. Li-Yon, in front of her, was looking at her from behind his black mask, twirling the crystal between his fingers.

"You could have told us you were one of us," the Zorai said after a moment that seemed like an eternity.
"I didn't think it would make much difference," Eeri replied.
"Really?"
"I tought that many of you here hold the Marauders of the New Lands in low regard. And especially their adoration for Akilia."
"And if even that was true, we weren't going to kill you for that."
"But you could do it now because I lied to you?"

Eeri made out a smile behind the Zorai's mask. He gave her back her crystal:

"No. We are only scientists."
"This is the first time I've been brought back since I left. It's been years..."
"Maybe our Zinuakeen aren't as comfortable as the ones where you come from."
"It's probably because we're not used to those here..."

Yes, it had to be lack of practice, thought Eeri, who had never used this crystal before. To say that was no lie.

"You can spend one more night here. I imagine you're looking forward to seeing your companion if he's still of this world. But after what you've just been through, it's best to rest. I must also thank you. Thanks to you, we know that the Zinuakeen is functional. That's lucky for you. So, with everything you've brought back, we can already start looking for where we'll set up the next one. Further north from here.

Eeri didn't answer anything but a nod of thanks, so much she tried to control her nervousness and trembling. She had to face the fact that she had not come far from never coming back. She still didn't understand how all this could have happened. Azazor... Let's hope he's safe. If he had seen her die and her body dematerialize, chances were he would understand where to find her. And she could always tell him she'd picked up a crystal at the camp here. Considering the present state of the truth between them... If not, he had probably come to terms and had go on his way. It would take her days of walking before she could catch up with him, without mektoub.

If only he were still of this world.

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"
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