Isocrates and the others rose in the earliest hours of the dawn, wreathed in layers of thick woolen sheets whilst the cold of the early day still dimmed by the will of dusk swept into their tent which lacked in enchantments halting the march of chill. Like his fellows, he slipped into his issued garments, fitted the light gilded plates upon his slender, well-honed form and at the clasp of metal welting itself together, he fully stirred.
As he stepped out, his attention focused onto the forest stretching seemingly endless wreathed still in shadows and the early dim light of day. Though as he strained his eyes led by a chilling belief twinging his whole being, he noticed a tall, pallid figure of strange proportions for a short moment, enough for him to chalk it up to his still awakening mind.
After the warm breakfast created by the patricios Skopas, they all headed to the center square of the camp surrounded by the tents of Albron and Hektrahd whom finally laid out what the coming days, week challenge shall entail. A task which seemed simple upon receiving the words, yet the anxiety of contest bore its fruits in their hearts. Each monster, each inhabitant of the Wilds varied in marks they earned upon bringing back and presenting a distinguishable part of their cadaver – or if possible, the whole.
Though what bore the anxiety at least within Isocrates’s heart was the fact that the number of marks varied by monster or by their quantity. For goblins, one mark was earned for at least five of their crudely sharp ears or five of their severed heads. For the satyrs, one mark was earned for pairs as they were higher in the hierarchy of the Wilds, often employing the latter as sacrificial shields against greater beasts. And one gryphon’s or one bear’s or one spriggan’s part earned one mark.
“What about the Sphinx?” One of his fellows, a tall draevhe and distant sibling of Albron brought up the question that lingered even in his mind. “A feather from its wing shall earn two marks.” Albron answered firmly, his arms folded. “Though I wouldn’t recommend it as his riddles will probably be beyond all yours faculties.” He added jokingly at which they all laughed in hope it brings them some favor.
“One more thing before you all disperse.” Then Hektrahd spoke up once more. “Though we mostly mentioned the living, the undead earn marks in the same quantities as the spriggans and greater beasts. But be aware, reaching that segment may take more than hunting the others.” A cacophony of ringing thuds echoed through the camp, seeping into the forest as the auxiliariir dispersed and headed towards Malacirul.
**
Malacirul a small, quaint fishing town situated on both banks of the Flaurdrenn river flowing into the lake of Tiaali, a long curvy bridge connecting the two sides. Geometrically molded structures on both sides; rectangular households with two floors and steep angular roofs emanating a hoary blur as the peculiar arcane stones generate a chilling climate within their recesses; pentagonal marble headquarters for the adventurers seeking glory and fame or magnanimous for culling the dangers lurking at the foliage infested threshold.
Isocrates and his group entered from the road rounding the lake on the sandy shores, filled with gravel crackling in their earthen laughter as their bodies weighted onto them in their walking before the village guard draped in matching golden plates halted them per the procedure – to the annoyance of Skopas who was brimming with the spirit of contest.
Entering through the arched gate with wooden, hexagonal trunks ending in sharp tips pointed at the sky, the Isocrates and Themmtryd looked with mild wonder at the busy winding street framed by the kiosks of the fisherman leaden with dead, tantalizingly glistening fish. “Come on, we can buy reserves later.” Skopas said as he noticed fellow contestants already carrying sacks blackened by blood whilst the two instinctively meandered towards the kiosks, leashed by the scent of roasted and frugally spiced salmon, minnow and carp.
“Well, shouldn’t we at least taste them and see if they are supplementing enough for the journey ahead?” Isocrates asked as he faltered with the dwarf. Whilst Ephaias smiled faintly, Skopas heaved a sigh. “We can still check that after we decided on the destination.”
“Fine, but then we buy extra.” Isocrates murmured to himself as he followed after the two who already began heading towards the pentagonal structure which shadow stretched far beyond the small square. High above the ornated entrance, the symbol of Mineirvia hung, welted to the alabaster marble and sculpted, molded from processed Hogstol metal fashioned into the avian companion of the Deos of Challenges – a fusion of an owl and an eagle. As Isocrates met his gaze, for a moment he sensed the carven eyes following onto him, knitted the aquatic threads of fate into his soul which both bewildered and broached an unanswerable question into him – at least not yet.
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Inside the loftily furnished entrance chamber, Isocrates surged with a bit of excitement at the hurried steps echoing in the wide space of marble walls, floor and ceiling, polished to the point he could see their own reflection standing beneath them in an inverted dimension. Whilst he was a bit occupied by witnessing such lavishness, Skopas scowled under his breath noticing more of their comrades standing in line at the counters or lifting the bloodied sacks to the clerks who gave them small claw marks carved from a stone of either limestone or marble.
Though his confrontational attitude shifted upon witnessing the mighty. gloomy stalwart form of Albron standing in contrast to the alabaster board hovering in the air, multiple slabs inscribed with runic letters glowing with an aethereal light seemingly pondering. Noticing his excitement and anxiety, and feeling bitter from yesterday he moved confidently towards Albron and before Skopas could utter any word to halt him in his firm tracks, Isocrates draw the elderly draevhe’s attention onto himself with a light cough. “My lord, could we be of some guidance?”
Albron turned at him, enveloping Isocrates in more of his shadow, holding his disgust perfectly as he pretended to ponder his next words, his eyes falsely surveying the youth. The others followed up to him, well aware of his intentions with Skopas and Ephaias both formulating ways to apologize for the insolence of their comrade. “Possibly.” He uttered with care as he stroked his silken, dark beard curving sharply above his sturdy bosom hidden behind the dark plate with a dragon carved masterfully onto its smooth, gleaming surface.
“Though I am aware of young Aeson’s proficiency in maghia, the three of you are still an enigma to me Could you vouch as firmly as my uncle for their greatness?” Regret surfaced within Isocrates as he fully expected the draevhe to turn them away with some bit of advice, so it took him a bit of force to nod to the question as he felt their inquisitive gazes upon himself.
Though as he tried to enforce his anxious nodding with words, Skopas pressed forward and opened his mouth once more with a smug expression. “Excuse my bluntness my lord, but isn’t our presence here in the last trial proof enough in itself that we may prove worthy for your aid?” The corners’ of his lips curled softly as he tensed his muscles as his draconic eyes narrowed at the unctuous patricios.
“Well that is true.” Albron muttered as he looked down once more pondering. “And the task that bothers me do involve a threat the four of you may face in the near future.” He added as he once more stroked his dark beard with his clawed fingers covered in glinting gloomy scales. “All the better I say. While it may speak out against us, as most of us faced reckless cultists as expert in the arts of killing as the citizens, the whole point of this trial to have us face true challenges.” Themmtryd said in one breath, and as lowly as possible as she noticed the eyes of their fellows heading out to the forest sweeping through the peculiar group reflected by the floor. “So what I want to say, there is no better time to prove our worth to the Empire then now.”
This time, Albron could not hold back his smile, filled with respect towards the dwarven maiden – masking his darker joy – who reminisced him of Moirstyria who set out into the wider world with a similar conviction at the tender age of a hundred and twenty-five. Or at least that was what she used to convince Terrianis to let her go before attending the academy.
Noticing this smile, each of them felt different upon witnessing this widened smile that complimented his overall respectful, threatening appearance. Themmtryd was reciprocating with her own haughty smile cracking her earthen face; Skopas too felt thrilled at possibly not just elevating to be a hastariar but also possibly entering the wide view of Albron; Ephaias himself felt wholly indifferent as he was assured that even if this proves beyond their limits, he can aid the group enough for all of them to escape the grasp of death. And lastly Isocrates whose regret turned to relief in the prospect of getting back to the capital sooner, possibly.
Now Albron felt a tingent of regret, uncertainty born out of nowhere as he felt a cold touch on his back, though he remained stoically still. For the short interim, he intended to go back on his plan, but upon witnessing three of their resolves, he reached into his pocket. “Just in case take this and pour your mana into this if it proves beyond limits?”
Skopas took it, which led to the cold needles pushing deeper, though he smothered the cry born from the mild pain while in his thoughts he assured Him it shall work out in their favor. “Is it about the undead?” Skopas asked with his voice tensed as his resolve shook a bit. Albron simply nodded his head as the pain lessened, then when it finally vanished, he said. “Specifically, a nekros that settled in the old druidic ruins.”