Whims of Kiraan

The guild held a small ceremony for Storm in the cemetery near the edge of town. Taer’inar had convinced Lady Irse to lead the proceedings after some lengthy conversation with her and her attendants. Storm’s fellow aurans were dismayed to learn of his passing. Briryn and Alicrath purchased a plot and headstone from the church, and Fenvyre and Sonys decorated both with carefully picked wildflowers. Though some other dragonkin expressed their condolences, they all seemed to want to avoid extended contact with the group. Only Sonys’s family and Apostalite came to pay their respects.

“He got what he deserved,” one dragonkin muttered as he and his wife passed by the entrance, peering out to see their kin performing their sacred duties. Ithan’s ears burned with anger at the remark, but he forced himself to stay put, gritting his teeth as he listened to Lady Irse’s eulogy.

“Orjin teaches us that courage is the greatest quality in all creatures,” she began, looking upon the small gathering as she spoke. “Storm’s courage pushed him to challenge the dangers of this land. He passes on from this world with that same courage in his heart.” Her fathomless eyes held sympathy, until she passed her gaze onto Ithan. Then they turned cold, as they had when she first looked upon him the week prior. She glanced at him for only a moment, but it was long enough to send a chill up Ithan’s spine. “May his deeds be remembered, and may his courage inspire others.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Orjin, look upon our fallen brother with pride, for he has braved the horrors that dwell beyond this city. Now he journeys on ahead of his companions, following your teachings even beyond death. His companions honor him now for his bravery, and they will continue to honor him in the days to come as they, too, go forth into the unknown.” With a deep breath, she looked up from her prayer and nodded at Taer’inar before motioning for her attendants to take their leave. She followed close behind them, giving Ithan one last glare before she passed by him and exited through the cemetery gates.

“Why does she keep looking at you like that?” Taer’inar asked as he and Ithan watched their friends offer their last words to Storm. Sonys and her family all stepped up together, offering Storm thanks for his part in saving them. “Did you do something to upset her?”

“I’ve never said a word to her,” Ithan muttered as he shook his head. Dhurik, surprisingly, had some respect for more somber occasions such as this‍—he took out a flask and poured out its contents over Storm’s grave. “I did meet her while I was tossing Ian out of my room, though.”

“Maybe she thinks you were harassing a kid,” Taer’inar mused as Apostalite wished Storm good fortune in the afterlife. “I’ll have to clear that up before we set out again. I don’t want any bad blood between any of our group.”

“She’s joining us?” Ithan’s stomach turned. Bimpnottin took off his hat as he approached Storm’s grave, exposing his short, spiky hair.

“She expressed a desire to seek out the bow in Storm’s stead,” Taer’inar replied. “She thinks it is still somewhere in Averion. With any luck, having her join us will mean we won’t have to suffer another misfortune like this.”

“I suppose,” Ithan said. He hoped that the cleric would see him in a different light once they began their next venture. She seemed kind when she was not staring him down.

“Make sure to say your goodbyes before we leave,” Taer’inar said. He stepped forward and kneeled in front of Storm’s grave. He uttered a short prayer in Elvish, one that Ithan had only heard one other time, when Ren’s grandfather passed away: “May your eternal rest be peaceful.” Ithan repeated it to himself under his breath as Taer’inar stood up and stepped past Ithan, joining the others near the entrance of the cemetery. Ithan himself did not approach Storm’s grave, still ashamed of his part in the auran’s death. Instead, he slowly followed behind Taer’inar, trying hard not to allow the flashbacks he had of his deeds to break him down again.

“So how do we wanna do this?” Dhurik asked, breaking the silence as the group headed back toward the inn. “We’ve got, what, eight of us? Are only some of us leaving now, or what?”

“I think we should set out as a full group,” Taer’inar replied. “If we’re feeling confident as we travel, perhaps we’ll decide to break off into smaller groups.”

“An excellent plan!” Apostalite announced, clapping their hands together as they walked.

“Didn’t Ian say we should stick together?” Ithan questioned.

“It can become difficult to travel in a large band in some areas,” Taer’inar continued. “The mines, for example. If we do split up, it would only be when necessary.” The mines… Storm had tried to help Ithan escape the water elemental, and Ithan repaid him with a blade through his chest.

The spring equinox was only a few days away now; Ithan would need to convince the group to travel to the City of Living Trees rather than head to Ashenmantle, as the dwarves apparently called their new territory.

“Greetings,” Unit 17 called as the group approached the tavern. The terran stood tall just to the side of the doorway, saluting them as they stopped in front of it. “I have been informed that you will be embarking on a large-scale expedition.”

“That is correct!” Bimpnottin shouted.

“As it happens, I have orders to survey and document the western lands,” the terran continued. “So, as a representative of the Seal of the Burning Scale Dynasty, I will accompany you on your journey.”

“Wonderful!” Apostalite exclaimed. Great. Another person breathing down my neck.

“That will bring us to nine, then,” Taer’inar sighed. “I suppose it can’t be helped.” He sidled past Unit 17 and into the tavern, followed by the others, with Ithan trailing the pack. The tavern was unusually quiet today; Briryn was chatting with a few dragonkin sitting near the stairs instead of endlessly cleaning mugs as he usually did. He stopped and turned his attention to the group as they entered.

“The place’ll feel pretty empty with you lot leaving,” he said. “I’ll hold down the fort until y’all come back.”

“What happened to wanting to see the world?” Ithan asked.

“There’s still plenty of time for that,” Briryn replied with a grin. “Besides, I intend to see my promise to Elyan through to the end. Just about three more months, now. I’m sure you’ll be back by then.” Ithan nodded and smiled half-heartedly. I’ll be gone by then.

He brushed past, heading up to his room to collect what few belongings he had. When he opened the door, Ian was bouncing on his bed.

“Hey, mutt!” he called as he reached the apex of a bounce. “I heard you crying from my room last night! No one let you out, huh?” Ithan scowled at the halfling, but then he took a deep breath and began putting on his armor. “Hey, you don’t need your boots, right?”

“Take them,” Ithan muttered as he tightened the straps on his chestpiece. The bouncing stopped with a thud as Ian landed on the floor. He slipped the boots on, then kicked at the air, sending the boot on that foot to go flying across the room.

“Drat, too big,” he said. “Hey, why aren’t you trying to throw me around?”

“Oh, I didn’t know you liked that,” Ithan replied. “Maybe when we get out into the wilds, I’ll throw you into a nice pit.”

“No, I mean…” Ian sighed and hopped back onto Ithan’s bed. “Listen, I know you’re upset about the blue guy‍—”

“Storm,” Ithan interrupted.

“Right. I know you’re upset about Storm, but you gotta keep moving.”

“I’ve heard this speech enough times already,” Ithan grumbled.

“Well, you obviously haven’t been listening,” Ian scolded. “It’s gonna be rough, but you’ve got lots of friends going through the same thing with you, right?” Ithan reflected on what Taer’inar had told him the other day. Until the end, huh? “I’m not saying things will ever be the same, but we have to try to keep things as ‘normal’ as possible.”

“So, what are you suggesting?” he asked. Ian stood up on the bed and grinned wide, his eyes gleaming.

“Throw me,” he demanded. Ithan looked skeptically at him, but the halfling’s eyes were filled with a strange seriousness. “Come on, you know you want to!” he shouted as he threw his arms out to his sides and swayed back and forth. After another moment, Ithan let out a laugh.

“Maybe later,” he said, smiling back at Ian. I guess he’s not so bad after all. He turned to leave the room, Ian shuffling behind him. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” he asked.

“Got everything I need right here!” Ian replied, spinning around as he walked to reveal a small knapsack.

“In that tiny thing?”

“Well, sure! I like to travel light. Gotta save some room for the good stuff, am I right?” Ithan stopped at the head of the stairs and turned to glare at Ian, who grinned devilishly up at him. “I said the good stuff!” Ithan rolled his eyes and continued down the stairs and headed to the bar. Briryn’s company had left by now, and he had returned to cleaning up the dirty mugs they left behind. Before Ithan could open his mouth to speak, the dragonkin reached under the counter and slammed the bottle of Aeviri onto the counter.

“For the road,” he grumbled. “No sense in keeping it here if the only folks who ever drink it are off doing gods know what out there.” Ithan sheepishly reached for the bottle, but as his hand wrapped around it, Briryn yanked him forward by his antler until his eyes met the dragonkin’s. They burned with a fierceness that Ithan knew all too well by now. This was the part where he said‍— “Just stay safe out there.” The words took him by surprise. He was certain that Briryn would launch into a tirade about protecting Fenvyre or he would break some appendage of his. Briryn let go of Ithan and patted him on the head. “Keep your head on straight. Keep moving, and don’t let anything get in your way.”

“Th-thanks,” Ithan replied, drawing the bottle in toward his chest. “For everything.” He and the dragonkin exchanged a smile before he awkwardly shuffled away toward the door, waving behind him and almost tripping over Ian as he walked.

“If you die out there, I’ll kill you!” Briryn shouted as Ithan stepped out of the tavern behind the halfling. His other companions had all already gathered at the fountain. Taer’inar and Apostalite were leaned over the edge of the fountain, looking over a parchment that had been spread out across the stone.

“If this map is accurate,” Taer’inar said as he moved his finger over the parchment, “it will take about the same amount of time if we move around the Black Gate.”

“Are you certain?” Apostalite asked. “There seems to be a large difference in distance.”

“We would be traveling quite a distance more, but not through mountainous terrain.” Taer’inar rolled up the parchment and tucked it into his robe. “Besides, I really would like to take a good look at the gate before we journey too far.”

“Well, I suppose that is fine,” Apostalite replied. “As long as we get there relatively quickly.” They stood upright and turned to greet Ithan and Ian. Ian zipped past the ignan, leaving Ithan to fend for himself. “How good of you to come, my dear Mor’lavan! Have you decided to join us on our pilgrimage?” Ithan, confused, looked beyond them at Taer’inar, who simply raised up his hands and shrugged.

“Yes,” Ithan said slowly, looking back to Apostalite.

“Fantastic!” they cried as they clapped their hands together. “Laht truly smiles upon us! You will make an excellent addition to our troupe!” They turned and began walking away toward to west, only to stop and look back at the group as they trudged behind them. “Well, come along, then! We mustn’t keep Laht waiting!”

“I am not fast,” Unit 17 responded. Ian had climbed up onto his shoulders, only making it more difficult for the terran to walk. “I am also not a ride.”

“It’s your job to protect people, right?” Ian asked. “Keep them safe, yeah?”

“That is correct,” the terran replied.

“Well, I feel very safe up here. Everyone else here is bigger than me. You wouldn’t want me to get stepped on, would you?”

“I see,” Unit 17 pondered. “In that case, I will allow you to ride me until more suitable accommodations can be made.” Ian smirked in satisfaction, while Bimpnottin scowled at him from below.

“You’ll get your turn,” Ian laughed. “This guy’s a total pushover‍—hey!” He thrashed as Fenvyre walked up and pulled the halfling off of the terran’s back. “No fair!”

“You’re perfectly capable of walking on your own,” Fenvyre scolded. “Stop abusing his kindness.”

“He doesn’t know any better,” Ian argued. Fenvyre scrunched her face and gave Ian a kick in the rear, prompting him to run ahead near Taer’inar and Irse. They were conversing with Dhurik, but they were too far away for Ithan to hear.

“Are you doing okay?” Fenvyre asked him as they kept in stride with the rest of the group. She always seemed so concerned for him, even though they had only known each other for a couple of months. It made him uneasy, knowing that someone so naïve was venturing with them.

“I’ll be all right,” he said, putting his hands behind his head. “I just have to keep moving.” Fenvyre smiled warmly and hugged him briefly from the side, then ran after Ian as she noticed him trying to climb onto Dhurik’s back. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be gone soon, anyway.

By midday the group had made their way past the Spider Forest. The snow had mostly melted now, and the grass beneath had begun to spring to life. Leaves had begun to sprout on the trees that made up the forest; it was far less desolate now than it had been earlier in the winter. With the arrival of springtime, though, the arachkin would become more active; Ithan hoped that the citizens of Greenreach were prepared for more frequent visits from the creatures.

“We should be at the gate in another hour or so,” Taer’inar said, unfurling the map once more. “After that, we should be far enough past the mountains that we can simply travel north.”

“I will admit, we’re making terrific time,” Bimpnottin commented. “I doubt we would have even made it to Ashenmantle by this time had we gone that route.”

“Oh, curse it,” Taer’inar groaned, “I forgot to send word to Brollynn. Would you mind?” Bimpnottin nodded, waving his hands in front of him. “Just say, ‘Thanks for the offer, but we’ve taken another path,’ or something like that.”

“Done,” Bimpnottin replied. “Say, couldn’t you have sent Nyctea?”

“I’ll call for her if we need her,” Taer’inar said. “She does not do well in large groups. Besides…” He looked warily over at Ian. “Some people like to tease her.”

As Taer’inar had predicted, within the hour, the party drew near to the Black Gate. It stood higher than Ithan had expected‍—perhaps twenty feet tall, or more‍—and it stretched to the north and the south, with an opening along the road on which the group traveled. The dense fog beyond the gate seemed endless; it reached at least as far as the mountains on its northern side. Curiously, the colossal wall did not bear any markings or textures; it was as if someone had cast strips of black over a painted landscape. What was more, the wall did not cast a shadow, even as the sun began its descent to the west.

“It’s not much to look at,” Bimpnottin said to Taer’inar. “Why did you want to come this way, again?”

“I heard some rumors from a few dragonkin,” Taer’inar replied. “They say the Black Gate was made with powerful magic near the end of the Gods’ War. I wanted to see if I could figure out where that magic originated.” He looked up and down the wall, his eyes wide with wonder. “But now that we’re here, I feel like I could spend decades here and never find an answer.”

“Briryn always said that people who cross the gate don’t return,” Fenvyre said.

“How cliché,” Taer’inar chuckled, stepping up toward the opening. He turned around and smiled at Fenvyre. “Are you going to let an old story keep you from seeking out the truth for yourself?” Fenvyre frowned, but after a moment stepped up next to Taer’inar.

“Do you still believe we will make good time walking through this fog?” Apostalite asked.

“It doesn’t seem so thick that we’ll be stumbling through it,” Taer’inar mused as he faced the mist. “I would say this will add about another day or so to our travel time.” Apostalite tilted their head.

“Well, just to be sure…” They turned to Ithan. “I have a request for you, Mor’lavan.”

“Uh, sure,” Ithan said.

“Would you care to lead us through?”

“Me?” Ithan asked, surprised.

“Him?” Taer’inar followed.

“I am certain that Laht has taken a particular interest in you,” Apostalite continued. They held out their hand to Ithan. “Will you accept Laht’s blessing and guide us through this obstacle?” Ithan was admittedly still skeptical of the ignan’s so-called god, but there was no real reason to deny their request. He nodded slowly and grasped Apostalite’s hand, and suddenly he was filled with a strange energy‍—the same energy he felt the day he had first met the ignan. When Apostalite let go of him, he felt a tug at his mind, as though some unseen force wanted to pull him northward. It was an odd sensation, yet Ithan decided to let it take him. Without another word, he stepped past his allies and into the mist beyond the Black Gate. For a moment, he worried that his friends had not followed, but the thuds of footsteps and the clattering of clattering armor behind him washed away his fear.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Taer’inar asked. “I can call for Nyctea if you would prefer.”

“Have a little faith,” Ithan mumbled, barely paying attention to the elf as he concentrated on the magic that drew him further into the mist.

“That’s the spirit!” Apostalite shouted. “Laht will show us the way!” Before long, Ithan felt the pull wavering slightly every so often. It guided him around the larger holes and rocks that seemed to litter the landscape. Such a thoughtful god. He made sure not to move so quickly as to leave his friends behind, but with this magic he could easily beat Taer’inar’s estimates on his own.

As dusk approached, Taer’inar convinced the group to settle down and make camp for the night. He was sure that they would be out of the mist after another half a day’s journey, and they had plenty of protective magic to keep them safe from whatever creatures might lurk beyond their vision. Though, from the lack of creatures the group had encountered thus far, Ithan did not think that would be a problem. With Bimpnottin’s and Taer’inar’s combined magic, the two were able to form a shelter large enough to house all nine of them. They gathered around a campfire and shared food and stories, though Unit 17 abstained and simply watched the group from his position. As much as Ithan tried to enjoy the company, he could not keep the tug on his mind from distracting him. At one point, he simply stared off into the fog in the direction he was being beckoned toward.

“You should rest,” Taer’inar said later into the night.

“I literally can’t,” he growled. “This is turning out to be less of a blessing and more a curse.”

“Well, I had hoped we would at least be out of this wretched mist by now,” Apostalite replied. “I am afraid the blessing will not wear off until we have reached our destination.”

“Great,” Ithan grumbled. He lay down facing the fire, trying his best to ignore Laht’s persistent pull. Unfortunately, even as his companions all turned in for the night, he was left awake, with Unit 17 his only other ally as he struggled to sleep. On occasion, the terran shifted, the metal on his body creaking just as Ithan thought he might finally fall asleep. Ithan watched him for a while as he moved about the camp, staring out into the haze outside of the magical barrier. When he turned toward Ithan, he looked down and tilted his head.

“You should recharge,” Unit 17 droned. “I have enough reserves to keep watch for the next two night cycles.”

“I’m doing my best,” Ithan replied, pointing at his head. “I have this… thing pulling at my mind constantly.”

“Understood,” the terran said. “I can… relate to your predicament.” He turned back to watch the mist again, leaving Ithan to continue his efforts alone.

At daybreak, Ithan forced himself off of the ground and rallied his friends to continue their journey. As with the previous day, Ithan found little issue traversing through the fields, though now of course he was exhausted from not having slept. Nonetheless, he navigated the group through the fog, and within a few hours, it started to thin out. He picked up his pace, relieved to be nearing the edge of this expanse of gray. In his haste, he tripped over a stone and fell hard onto the ground. He slowly picked himself up and held his hand to his head, rubbing the area that had impacted the ground. When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but darkness‍—an inky blackness that mirrored the Black Gate.

“I can’t see,” he said, holding his hands out in front of him. No reply. “Guys?” he called as he began wandering aimlessly, his arms still outstretched. He was not blinded‍—he could still see his own hands. All was still; the wind in the grass, the wet air… all gone. He was alone in this… abyss. But then, just as he began to panic, he saw a figure in the darkness, standing with its back turned to him. As he stumbled toward it, he could make out some of the figure’s details‍—white hair, blue skin, feathered ears… No. It couldn’t be‍—

“Why did you kill me?” the figure asked. It turned to face Ithan, and any doubt he had vanished. This was certainly the spirit of Storm, returned to make him suffer.

“I… I didn’t mean to…” Ithan struggled to speak; after all, there was nothing he could say to his fallen comrade that could absolve him of his sin. As he stood in disbelief, a second figure appeared next to Storm. It was an elven woman, with long, umber hair and piercing green eyes.

“Mother…?” Ithan barely managed to utter the word. Seeing her here made him tremble. He reached his hand out to her, but she stepped away from him.

“You left me to die,” she whispered. Ithan’s breath stifled, and his vision became blurred as tears began to well up in his eyes.

“I didn’t…” he cried. “I couldn’t…”

“You ran away,” his mother said. “You let him kill me.”

“That makes you just as guilty,” Storm added. Ithan fell to his knees, staring up at the spirits as they tormented him.

“Your mistakes do not define you,” another voice called.

“Who…?” Ithan searched briefly for the source of this third presence.

“Put the shadows of your past to rest,” the voice continued. “Do not let them consume you.”

“Murderer,” the spirits rebuked.

“Keep moving,” the voice beckoned. Suddenly, the spirits vanished, and the darkness began to fade. Ithan was once again surrounded by his comrades in the mist.

“Where…?” he thought aloud as he searched for his mother’s face in the fog. Fenvyre stepped up to him and patted him on the back.

“You doing okay?” Dhurik asked. “You just kind of… fell over.”

“I saw…” Ithan mumbled. Did I, though? He looked around at his friends; they all had genuine looks of concern as they crowded around him. The spirits seemed so real in the moment, perhaps they were just another nightmare. A waking nightmare… He needed real sleep soon.

“What now?” Taer’inar asked, breaking Ithan’s line of thought. Ithan shook his head as he pulled himself up from the ground.

“Nothing,” he said. “I must just be tired.”

“I told you to recharge,” Unit 17 scolded. “We should stop for a while longer.”

“No, no!” Apostalite cried. “We mustn’t stop now! We are so close!”

“I hate to break it to you,” Ithan said, “but I think your ‘blessing’ wore off.” The strange sensation in his mind had vanished; they had to be close to the tower Apostalite sought. Ithan chuckled to himself at the absurdity of it all‍—here he was, a slave to a powerful entity, leading a pilgrimage on behalf of another powerful entity he knew little about instead of fulfilling his own master’s will. Although, Kiraan had not outright decried his decision to take this detour… yet. Perhaps this was all according to plan.

“Even more reason to keep going!” Apostalite continued. “That surely means the tower is near!” They ran on ahead into the fog alone, prompting a panicking Taer’inar to chase after them.

“Stay together!” he cried as he, too, faded into the mist. Ithan groaned, and he joined the others in following the two until, finally, they stepped out into unabated sunlight. Ithan breathed a sigh of relief as he looked out over the fields beyond. They seemed to be just south of a valley in the mountains now. The melting snow from the mountains cascaded into rivers that flowed southward. Small animals ran through the grass and climbed through the trees that were scattered here. At the edge of the valley, perhaps a few miles more of travel, was a stone tower reaching above the trees.

“Behold!” Apostalite shouted. “The Tower of Laht!”