The World of Equinox

Knosis

Knosis

Grumpy Badger
Moderator
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The low rumble of thunder echoed softly over the otherwise silent lands outside the old hut on the edge of the tall mountains. Embers burned low in the pit, illuminating the small room within with a soft red cast. A large table table sat in the middle covered with a scattered array of books, quills, ink bottles, parchments covered in various writings and drawings, and the occasional abandoned mug. Many artifacts from ages bygone lined the walls, trinkets of old druids lay dusty upon shelves. And in the corner, this huts lone occupant laid with soft snores matching the low rumble of the late summer storm outside.

His brows furrowed and his eyes opened with a red-gold light. Something was off. “What are you up to?” He asked the air about him. No answer came to him, and he groaned as he stood up. He walked over one of the trinkets, a mirror set on the wall and stood in front of it. But what he saw was not a reflection of himself, but that of a huge eye of a wrathful dragon glaring through the space.

“I asked, what are you up to Bronark.” He demanded, forcefully this time.

The words echoed in his mind’s eye. ‘You would think a boy who’ve I’ve been trapped inside for centuries would remember I cannot be up to anything whilst imprisoned as such..’

The old man growled. “Yet there is a shift that feels very distinctly like your doing…” He grumbled, turning away from the mirror and began to pack items into a backpack.

‘You know the rules, Ruarc.’ The dragon said, almost humoredly. ’You cannot interfere directly--’

“I know the damned rules.” The man snapped at the air. “But no one said I couldn’t pass knowledge off and see how they act.”

Within a couple of hours, the man emerged from his home. The storm was closer now, and the wind had began to pick up. It was odd for a storm of this magnitude to have grown in the late fall. But as the thunder rolled in the distance, the old druid couldn’t help but feel this was just a sign of what tidings this world would see in the near future. He turned to his house, his blue eyes burning bright and opened his mouth wide to allow flames hotter than the fires deep within the mighty mountain release and take hold of his home.

’So you’re determined, then.’

The man did not answer as he set off towards the south and east.

--

Two weeks have passed since that night as Ruarc stood upon sacred grounds in the middle of Penumbral. This was known as the Druid’s Mound, a small mountain with an abbey at the very top where in ancient times, mages from all over would come to train. There he waited for those who he had messaged along the way, the names and faces he had seen who’s destiny was tied with his own for the foreseeable future. He beckoned them to come, to meet him in the ancient hallways where no kingdom dared to touch.

And thus, he waited to see what would befall this land. Nay, this world. The chosen had been called.
 
Morshore didn't like this. She didn't trust what she was doing, and with every step she questioned why exactly she was there. Lightning flashes above her as the armoured titan made her way up, her heavy greaves both allowing her purchase and causing her to slip as she made her way up Druid's Mound, her spear jabbing into the softened and muddy dirt to aid her in resisting the howling and tearing wind that was actively pushing against her as she climbed.

She didn't even have an exact reason to be on this god forsaken place. Merely a pull, a tug at her very centre that had started a few weeks ago and grown from there. It was fortunate that she was nearby geographically, aiding a local town in bandit hunting and defence, because she shuddered at what could happen to someone if they tried to ignore the call.

As she had made her way to where she was now, climbing the ancient pathways of the mountain, she had acquired knowledge of the surrounding land. After confirming that the Druid's Mound was where she was being called, she had done her best to research it. Unfortunately, nothing substantial turned up. It was simply an abandoned Mage abbey. Rare, for certain, but not the first she had come across in her travels.

Her spear and tower shield sailed over the ridge that divided her from the top of the mountain, no stairway in sight as the darkened clouds obscured all but the faintest of light. A gauntleted hand reached up over the ridge and was brought down into the earth, digging furrows into it as another appeared, angling itself to be parallel with the edge as Morshore hoisted herself up and over, muscles screaming as she took the sheer weight of her armour.

Once over, she picks up her shield and spear again, slamming the butt of the spear into the earth as lightning struck nearby, illuminating crumbling spires and buildings for a brief second, before they faded back into pitch darkness, leaving only her shadowed and hulking silhouette against the sky.

She had arrived, and she would find out exactly what had called her.
 
"Jeez. Another stormy day? And I thought today could not get any worse..." Raynar exclaimed as he caught the edge of the storm in a nearby village. He was completing jobs and bounties for the townsfolk which varied from taking out a gang of bandits to resource collection. Midway through a job, the storm got worse and worse, until he heard a ringing in his head. "What the... Ugh. This storm seems to keep getting worse around this point. And why do I have the feeling I'm supposed to journey into the heart of this storm?" He muttered to himself as he did exactly that, approaching a mountain where the storm originated. Luckily his armour was nice and lightweight so climbing up wasn't too hard of a challenge. He couldn't help but notice further up the mountain that someone else was climbing it. Paying that no mind, he continued climbing.

Eventually he arrived at the top of the mountain, panting a bit from the hike upwards. "Alright. Time to find out exactly why I have this gut feeling. Sounds pretty simple right?" He muttered to himself as he explored the top of the mountain. Whatever called him up here must of been important if they called a Mercenary. But Raynar was a different mercenary, a skilled one. Using only a Rapier as his weapon and lightweight protective armour, he's taken on many opponents and challenges to get to where he is now. While he only took simple jobs and bounties from the towns he's visited, he has a impressive track record of completion and fighting ability.

"Whatever's going on here, I'm going to find out. And hey, perhaps it might even be fun! Be a nice change of pace from the bounties."
 
Andrich's gaze and mind wandered together to the south and east, to a leaden sky the sun seemed almost taxed to finally climb free of. He knew full well he wouldn't have sensed them at such a distance, as he would a storm settling in on his camp, but the clouds irked him, pulled at his attention all the same. Other days, he might never have given them thought, but now...

"Dreams like that, and now I'm heading straight at a storm? Oh the layers that could be in that portent..." he mused to himself sardonically.

He pulled his attention back to securing saddle packs to a curious, but still sleepy pony already beginning to grow in it's winter shag. If he'd thought only his services were needed, he would have just backpacked, but he knew there would be others, and almost no one ever brought enough of everything they needed for long travel. Cured and jerked meats, dried roots and vegetables, herbs, extra bedding, oils and spirits... Andrich cut off the recitation in his mind. This was a bit inconvenient, almost downright trouble. He had no idea how soon he would be back, and it was nearing the end of harvest and the beginning of hunting season. People were going to be out, were going to need help, get lost, break wagons or legs. People were going to be cold and hungry, or angry and stupid, and he was going to be heavens-only-knew where instead of here where he could help. He could always turn back, he thought.

He surveyed the tiny shack he'd all but emptied of supplies and then closed back up tightly, hoping maybe once he arrived, this would all be a disappointing dream, or trick. He could always change his mind, or at least make good time back if it turned out he wasn't needed once he got there. A normal person probably wouldn't have given the dream a second thought once out of bed, he reasoned. A normal person wouldn't have dared put themselves in harm's way over a dream, either. But if the warning in the dream was even half so dire, if the man in the dream and whoever watched from behind him with smoldering eyes spoke even half the truth, Would even a normal person dare to do nothing?

Satisfied with the state of his preparations, Andrich shouldered his own pack with a huff and took one last deep breath of the crisp pine air, then led the pony into the forest heading south and east, into a valley to follow the streams. It was time to chase a storm.
 
Crunch!
A man fell to the ground, his teeth scattered across the mud. He grasped his mace and coughed, blood dripping from the mouth. Then a boot slammed down onto his back, driving the man into the dirt. Cheers sounded from ramshackle bleachers above.
"Bravo, bravo! Magnificent show!" A dainty voice said, after the clapping was over. Gabin Pierrot turned to a gaudily dressed man beside him. "You owe me...hmmm..." He counted on his fingers, silently mouthing numbers, "...thirty pieces! Be kind and pay up now, if you please. I must be off soon."
The man sneered and spat, but reluctantly dropped a heavy bag into Gabin's waiting palm. "Good man!" Metal clanked as Pierrot rose, leaving the makeshift arena. He stuffed the bag into his coat, snickering with delight.
Wind roared and rain splattered his helmet as Gabin left the filthy town, his bright clothes and armor almost clean, but just that little bit too grimy to be presentable.

Something had called to him, and Pierrot wasn't the kind of man that turned down an invitation.
 
And with the sound of thunder, the Mountain awoke from his slumber...

Grendel's eyes opened, and he rose from his deep sleep, spurred on from a grand party in the grandest of mead halls. Now nearly a ruin, with a flame now nearing ash and lively guests strewn across the floor like slumbering corpses. Grendel scanned his surroundings, he found only darkness, with only the lightning outside giving any source of light. This is special lightning, though, for it is that of a great storm, nay, a supernatural storm!

And Grendel knows its meaning.

Grendel feels the Druid call to him, and to that, the Conqueror answers. Pushing aside the wench that lays across him, the Mountain rises, in all his towering glory, and leaves the hall. The storm awaits him, and he will not hesitate to enter.

What Grendel sees before him is a mountain, one almost as great as himself. The Conqueror sees the challenge, and accepts. Grendel then, with grand strides, rushes towards the mountain, and with a great leap, latches himself upon its side. From there, he climbs, and finally, reaches the top.

Grendel has conquered the mountain, now the Druid awaits. And he will not be left waiting.
 
He'd hardly finished his training, a year or so of it was finished... and he'd been struck, suddenly, by a feeling of wanderlust. A tugging desire to head East. He'd packed up his belongings, said goodbye to his mother and brother and just... left.

It was completely unlike him to be so spontaneous, with such little planning, but he just has to go and there he went.

Somehow he knew when he arrived that this is where he was needed, where he was supposed to be. There were so many questions and along his journey he'd begun to wonder if, maybe, it wasn't something internally calling him, but an external force. As he climbed the small mountain, catching sight of other bodies toward the top, he was positive something else had called him here. The spot was so specific and he, in his clanky armor and heavy sword, was not the only one to be drawn to such a place.
 
Meanwhile, Zelda sipped her hot spiced milk. Not unlike an infant in manner.

She looked out of her tower window, a narrow space in the stone that framed a clear sky. But the thunder continued to tear through her mind, deafening and shaking her very core. It had been another sleepless night, one of bad dreams whose antagonists would never show their face. Though some – more lucid – times, she could’ve swore to hear the beating of a giant heart and wings amidst the breaking of the earth itself.

She closed her eyes.

The grasp on her had tightened, and still getting stronger by the hour. But she could not leave. Those dreams terrified her; the overwhelming input often rendering her senseless. And the thought of a journey as treacherous as the one that constantly suggested itself to her was unimaginable. So she continued to stand staunch. Her hands tightened around the goblet she held as another crack of thunder ripped through her thoughts. She knew it wasn’t real. Or, more that it was real; but that it couldn’t hurt her.

Not like the burning sensation that suddenly came to her as the last roll of the distant storm passed. Zelda woke and gasped, momentarily distracted as the boiling goblet that she had started grasping too tight fell to the floor with a crash so loud in the quiet room that it was almost as bad as the cacophony in her mind.

She cursed, though not without glancing around guiltily after doing so. Now on her feet, she began to pace, wringing her sore hands gently as the pain began to subside. Even such a simple task was difficult and unfinished, as she seemed to draw blank half-way through the process, trying to muster up more energy with a scrunched up face. Her expression relaxed in defeat, along with a sigh as the soft glow that had shrouded her clasped hands faded quickly. She could blame this instant on her state of mind. But what about the thousands before?

Zelda stopped in front of her window, staring apprehensively out at the road that wound south that was calling to her in a tone not quite convincing enough…
 
In.... Out....

Zachriel's chest expanded and collapsed as he tried to time his breathing to that of the elk's. The beast grazed around an empty snowy hill; looking around the dense forest, cautiously moving as to keep its muscles warm in case it needed to spring its step once again, as he had been once he was separated from its herd by the team of hunters that accompanied Zachriel in that cold stormy evening. The roaring of the thunder echoed in his ears, the fletching of his arrow rested patiently between his callused index and middle fingers, his legs holding his weight as he crouched near a tall pine that allowed for him to hide.

Just as the elk looked over at where he was at, the arrow flew through the air with a soft whistling sound, hitting the elk on the edge of where its neck met its jaw, as always the elk let out a rather eerie huff, its legs giving up on it as it pranced and ran towards the forest, quickly collapsing and twitching in fear as the end of its life approached it.
Zachriel stood up, his tired bones crackling softly disrupting the quiet ambiance of the forest, the only other thing making a noise being the dying elk.

He walked cautiously, putting his bow back in the leather quiver that hung against his back. The beast had stopped kicking, the last of its life leaving through it's semi-opened mouth.
Another thunder crashed above him, his sky coloured eyes found themselves looking above as the first droplet of water hit his forehead.

"Strange... the third storm of the week..." Zachriel said to himself as he knelt by the elk, his skinning knife resting between his fingers. Lets get to work...
With a great amount of meat in his bag, his hunters following with their own earnings in hand, they joked around like a group of teenage boys. Their voices booming as they cackles and enjoyed their time with one another.
-----
"Hey Zach, when are you going to tie yourself down?" one of the men joked, the blunt end of his spear playfully being poked into Zachriel's side.

"Eh... I doubt I ever will," he shrugged with a smile across his lips, his ax in hand as they traveled back home.

The water had began pouring a little after he began skinning the elk, the water helped clean the snow from the red of the animal's blood, it was a refreshing breath of air after a long afternoon of hunting.

The thunder did not cease, however, it seemed to keep a steady rhythm in the horizon. Each time it struck it seemed to call Zachriel, like a nagging thought in the back of his brain calling him to go.

"You get yourselves back home, I want to go back and check something," he said as he spun on the ball of his foot and began his trek back.

His men stood for a minute, looking at their leader walk from them... as an unspoken rule, if the leader were to walk away... you were to leave him be.

The south calls me...
 
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The cloaked man stood in the middle of the entrance of the ruins, where evidently there had been a great hall that stood here long ago. Columns and slabs of broken roof tiles scattered the weathered marbled floors. Some of the old ruin still stood, but only seemed to be a mockery of its former glory.

The old man’s seemingly sightless blue eyes stared at the foreboding clouds, rain splashing against his unflinching figure. Once the third of the first arrivals had finished his ascent up the mountain did the man stir. “I bid you welcome to this forgotten place. Please, follow me. There are rooms and food down below. But I’m afraid there is still a bit of a wait as the others have yet to arrive.” He said, gesturing down into what looked to be the remains of a very large spiral staircase that continued down inside the mountain.

“I promise it is warmer than it is up here.” He stated as he started for the stairs.

--

Below, as promised, was warmer than the outside, and as the man led them down the hallways the warmth grew. The smell of food wafted as they drew closer to a larger circular room towards the center of the old ruins. Beds lined the walls, and rickety chairs had been placed by the fire that looked as though they had seen better days.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.”
 
Morshore frowned at this stranger's mention of others, but nevertheless followed the old man down the staircase and into the mountain. At the back of her head she questioned why she was following some random hermit who seemed to know who she was, but he didn't look all that threatening. Still, she kept her shield tucked close to her body.

Descending deep into the heart of the mountain, she followe the old man as a warm light steadily grew ahead of her, before they emerged into an ancient hall illuminated by... something. But even then they did not stop, as the old man led her through the timelost hallways and into a large, circular room filled with the heat of a fire and the smell of food.

At the old man's comment to make herself comfortable, Morshore hesitated in the doorway for a second as she deliberated. It would be good to get out of her armour, but she didn't trust this person. Stepping inside, she leant on the wall right next to the doorway and, after placing her armaments against the wall as well, crossed her arms.

"Who are you? Why am I here?"
 
Rain beat down as a filth-caked man clambered up a muddy slope, clothes soiled and armor slippery with runoff. The climb was slow and tedious; the hill seemingly determined to keep him off its sides. Pushing for one last breath, Gabin heaved over the side and collapsed into the mud. His ungainly rise was peppered with oaths and curses. The climb completed, Gabin approached the ruins, hand on his blade. To him, it seemed a Mage's Abbey, and to his kind, magicians weren't ever good news.
 
Second to come in alongside Morshore, Raynar followed her and the old man down the spiral staircase. Then he came across a Ancient Hall, just like the other did and stood there for a moment, admiring it. "Wow... This is quite the place... It's all fancy and old, and looks a lot like those magic shrines those villagers had... Woah." He thought to himself as he continued admiring the art-work, the architecture and the overall feel of the area. Once he discovered that the two had go into a room, he followed, only to discover a cozy room with a fireplace, and freshly made food laid out on the table.

"Mmm... Food... I could do with a refreshment--- hey. Were you called here as well, Lady?" He exclaimed, now looking at the tall and armoured woman standing beside the door, arms crossed and everything. "God you are built with that armour, are you some kind of Knight or something?"
 
Andrich trudged evenly along what he guessed to be the last switchback in the tired path leading to the crest of the great mound. More scrub and mulch than paving stone or even gravel in it's venerated state, the road had given the pony solid enough footing even soaked wet that Andrich didn't mind the extra hours it added to the climb. It wasn't as though the last few days had been a hardship, but even under his dense woolen cloak, he admitted to himself somewhere warmer and drier would be a welcome change of scenery. He'd seen signs of others, some even cutting straight across the trail to ascend directly in spite of the inclement weather, and was now close enough he could feel less than half a dozen somewhere near the top. He also knew a couple more yet ascended from various directions if he cast his senses farther into the world around him, but some quiet sense of things out-of-place disquieted him when he focused too far out, and kept his attention more to the path and the pony marching stoically along behind him.

As the trail came around at last, a few worn stones began to take station for the prior mud and grass at the entry to what must once have been a far grander structure. Decrepit though it was, Andrich thought the remnants seemed to whisper of a stately age-gone-by when lightning glittered off the rain-drenched wreckage. Muddy prints across the slick stone hadn't been washed away yet, indicating others had arrived not long before him, but none were apparent now, so he took a few moments to find the most-suitable shelter offered for the soggy pony. A few more paces to one side of the main aisle rewarded him with most of three walls and enough of a former floor above that the ground remained more or less dry, where the pony was quickly unburdened, fed and given a once-over grooming, before Andrich slogged back out to follow the quickly-rinsing trail to the top of a great stair, spiraling into the depths. Alert but unworried he trod downward, thinking to himself that the smell of a cookfire and food from below outweighed any pending awkwardness in arrival unannounced.
 
Grendel saw shadows of other figures in the roaring as he climbed, and figured they were also those who heeded the Druid's call. So many heroes in one place, this means the Quest shall be even grander than the Conqueror imagined! This shall top anything Grendel has done, and his gratitude for the Call has grown to be very great, almost as great as Grendel's mountainous physique.

Having reached the top and conquered his first challenge, The Conqueror wasted no time in delving into the ruins, and following the warmth and the smell of sweet meat, Grendel made his way to the entrance of where the party has made their rest. As Grendel set his warhammer head down on the floor, he looked at each of his fellow soon-to-be legends, and nodded towards each one, with dark eyes full of the flame of a hero. Finally, Grendel took a deep breath, smelling all the delicious food that sits ready to be eaten, before making a beeline to the roasted Boar on a spit, and ripping off its leg.

Taking a gigantic bite into his favorite beast, Grendel knew that this Quest shall be grand.
 
Others? There were more? Marcus glanced around at the other two and when they hesitantly followed, so did he with more trepidation. He had even more questions now than he did answers, but curiosity had grabbed at him.

It was warmer down below, as promised, and the smell of food assaulted his nostrils. His tired, hungry stomach gurgled beneath his armor but he would not move to the food. Not yet. There were too many unanswered questions, too much uncertainty. He doubted that this man would drag them all here simply to poison them with food, but he still wasn't eager to find out. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the bed and the chairs and he considered the offer to make himself comfortable.

It did not seem like one of those chairs would hold his weight as well of the weight of his armor, so he took a neutral stance along a wall, much like the woman had. It was more comfortable than standing at attention, so that had to count, right?

His eyes flickered to the door as more started to arrive. There are, apparently, others. The last of them seems to have no fears about the food being offered, digging in rather viciously to the Boar. Well, someone had to test it out, eventually. Marcus would study this man, carefully, looking for any signs of imminent death by poison.
 
Zachriel had lost track of time, his feet ached, his back was tired.

I've been walking for what feels like forever... he thought to himself, his lungs feeling as if they were ready to give up on hi any minute now, where am I going... and why... That he did not know.

It had been a rather strange way of leaving his friends, mid-way home as they triumphantly returned with enough rations for their families. Ensuring that there would not be a need for more hunting for at least a couple weeks.

His eyes darted up, the rain now coming down harder than it had a couple hours ago... but in the distance, he was what appeared to be ruins...

What the...?

He could've sworn he had traveled this far in the past, and not once had he seen those ruins, but then again, he never claimed to be very observant, and he probably would be in mid hunt while in these parts so he wouldn't have looked up anyway.

That is where I have to go...

He began the rigorous climb, which really, wasn't as bad as it could've been. His hands were able to find the perfect rocks to climb his way to the foot of the hill where the ruins seemed to sit.
His body was now covered in mud, and blood from earlier. Zachriel's tired eyes looked over the place, reaching behind him for his ax.

I do hope my gut is not wrong this time... He proceeded, his feet steady as he made himself into the place, not entirely sure of what to expect, or who to expect...
 
The tall man brushed back his hood, his salt and pepper hair just as drenched as the rest of them. He pulled up a chair and sat close to the fire, warming his frigid hands against it. His seemingly blind eyes turned to study the woman who he figured would be the first to ask the ultimate question.

“I have gone by many names and titles that have been given to me over the centuries.” He said, a musing smirk playing at the edge of his fine lips. “But you may call me Ruarc Eidirscoil, and I am the last of the druid council that regulated the use of magic in this world in this forgotten place.” He pointed to what remained of the druid keep.

He slowly reached for a mug that sat by his chair’s foot and lifted it to his lips, taking a short swallow of what was contained inside. “As for the rest.. I’m afraid we’re going to have to wait for the rest to get here to answer.” His face formed a grimace. There seemed to be something troubling him on that regard.

As many more people wandered inside, he greeted them in turn and would repeat the same as he had mentioned to Morshore, about how they would have to wait until everyone was gathered in one place before he would delve out more information. As the last man arrived within the halls, the old druid looked nearly furious.

“Well.” He muttered under his breath bemused. Shifting his eyes to the ceiling, he continued. “If you’re going to be stubborn and not come to me, then we will go to you.”

He stood, turning to the rest of the gathered, all of them still wet from the raging storm outside. “I wish to thank you for heeding my urgent call. And rest assured, it is urgent. Your very lives.. No, the fate of this world rests upon your shoulders. However..” He gave a sigh. “There is one who is resisting my call. Despite how stubborn as she is, we will need her for the journey to come.” He said, a slight growl to his voice.

“It is but a couple hours march due south to where she resides. But the hour is late, and this storm will not let up until morning, and most of you are travel worn already. I think it is wise to spend the night here and proceed to ‘fetch’ our stubborn damsel after first light. However, I will leave the decision to you.” He said, peering around to the rest of the party for their decision.
 
Morshore soared the youth a glance when he addressed her directly, offering a remark at her armour and a question as to her profession. “Something like that.” She says, smirking a little with mirth b fore turning back towards the matter at hand.

Ignoring the pig-man commuting various acts of cannibalism, she tilts her head to the side, shrouding her scarred face in shadow as she addressed the old, old man again.

“So one refuses the call? Why should we care? It is their choice to try and hold out, and I for one wish to get whatever it is over and done with, so I can go back to something that actually pays. I doubt ‘The World’ is going to fill my stomach or pay my tabs.” She states as she crosses her arms and lightly kicks off from the wall, walking over to Eidirscoil, looking down at him in her powerful form.

“Unless you have some magical solution to that, I vote we just get a move on. What do you want.”
 
"Wait a minute... So you're gathering all us here and this final person to save the world from something we don't know about?" Raynar spoke up, crossing his arms. "Unless you come clean about what's going on here, then I'm not sure whether or not I should believe in whatever fate the world is in for. And another thing as well. Why me? I'm literally just a Mercenary with some extra skills and enhanced senses, that's literally it. I have no powers, I'm not built up like this lady is." He exclaimed, taking a seat on one of the chairs. "And this woman who is being really stubborn and not showing up here? Maybe she has the right idea. Sigh... The stuff that goes on today is beyond me." He muttered, taking a drink from a water pouch he brought with him. "And besides. If anything, even if we all joined forces and took on whatever dark thing or whatever's going on, how do you know if we're even going to win? They could be well aware of what's going on and plan ahead or something."
 
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