It is the 1st of Valafyr, 4E 14. The Spring Equinox has come and gone, bringing with it the rejuvenating rains of spring.
Yet, upon the Heart of Vale, there is nothing to rejuvenate.
It is early in the morning and the sky is a dark gray. Rain falls from above in steady sheets, blanketing the ground of Tarn’s Rest with a steady veneer of moisture. The ground, dead as it is, refuses to accept the nourishing bounty from the heavens, acting as if it is already gluttoned by weeks of precipitation.
As the town is built on an angle, the water rolls down hill and street, heading for the sea. The Moonbow River is already engorged, filled to the brim with runoff: Any normal river in any normal part of Vale would be fast-flowing rapids, but even as full as it is, the Moonbow is placid, like a glass that would run over if even a few more drops were added to it.
It is in this weather that the members of the expedition find themselves amassed at the edge of town, once more prepared to leave through the front gate that likely sees less use than any other gate found upon Vale. Everyone is in thick cloaks, enchanted by Dahlia and Wren to repel as much of the falling rain as possible: The same minor magical effect helped keep the snow from clinging to and drenching the group on the way to Tarn’s Manor, which ended up being a fantastic proof of concept against the constant rainstorms of spring.
Each person has their belongings on their back, as trying to pull a wagon through uncharted territory is a losing proposition in the best of circumstances; as it is, here in the Heart, the cart would even have to be pulled along by the expedition members, as horses and other animals brought upon the shore have a tendency to fight wildly and flee–directly into the ocean, only to drown in their attempt to get away.
Without horses, no cart. Without a cart, packing only what is necessary is paramount. Dahlia’s natural magics should be able to help provide some food apart from the rations everyone has packed, but there is no wild game to hunt nor native plants to forage. If the rain keeps up, at least, water should be no real issue.
At least, once Kaz finishes cleansing it, as a precaution.
The rainwater should be clean, but on this strange land, nothing is safe to be taken at face value. Not when simple assumptions could end up with someone dead. Or worse.
“So it’s just us, then?” Kaz asks, taking a break from inventorying everyone’s belongings as she looks over at Felix. Despite her genuine question and even tone, the noble seems to flinch in frustration.
“It would seem so,” Felix grumbles, mood already dark from the weather. The fact that nobody else has shown up is bothersome on numerous levels, not the least of which is that Felix had offered a stipend up front to the few that had agreed to accompany the group, in order for them to adequately gear up.
“How many were we expecting?” Dahlia asks, curious.
“More than zero,” Felix says curtly.
“Can’t say I blame them for deciding not to go, though,” Demy mutters, staring up at the stormy sky.
“It’s not like they added anything besides some extra muscle, though, right?” Wren asks, unable to keep from thinking about the cost of hiring random laborers to come along. “They couldn’t have brought much more gear and I doubt that most of the workers here would be much help against those Failures.”
“Probably would’ve made good bait. Or distractions,” Cashew says, earning a sour look from Wren and Kaz both.
Felix does not remark on this, as the Halfling is correct. Being fodder and pack mules were the main functions of having random peasants tag along, so logistically, it’s a minor loss. The audacity of them to just ghost Felix’s generous agreement is the thing that really bothers him.
As the seven members of the Expedition of the Heart watch, the gates of Tarn’s Rest begin to slowly creak open. The soaked wood groans from swelling and disuse, resisting being opened as if the structure itself is trying to keep the group from embarking on their adventure. If there is any point in which to decide to just walk away, it is now. But each of the seven have their own reasons for stepping through the gates.
It’s far too late to turn back, even if they’ve yet to even take the first step.
Shit or bust, Cashew thinks, snorting to himself.
“Shouldn’t someone say something? This is kind of a big deal,” Wren says, sounding more than a little anxious. Demy offers a comforting arm around their shoulders and they lean into him, thankful for the effort.
Addy takes a deep breath, knowing that this is her time to shine. She has plenty of things to say.
Kaz, as if sensing the impending disturbance to the day’s travel distance that an hour-long Addy ramble will cause, interjects first by placing her hands together in prayer.
She begins to speak to the heavens above, voice even and powerful, “We beseech you, Anboshel, to watch over our journey. Kelathorne, we ask you to protect us in this strange land. And–”
“–And Phye, we ask that you let us find some really neat thingers!” Addy finishes.
Kaz glances up at Addy, surprised. “I didn’t know you were religious at all,” she says.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Addy asks.
Kaz shrugs a little and admits, “I’ve met a lot of academic-types that aren’t, is all.”
Addy wrinkles her nose. “The smartest people I know will admit that they know just enough to know that they’ll never know everything. It’s important to be open-minded to all possibilities, and the deities are a possibility!” She explains.
“Treat all outcomes as valid to minimize bias,” Felix elaborates.
“Exactly, Professor!” Addy exclaims, bouncing excitedly. “We’re going to make history, regardless of what we find! We might as well have fun while we do it!”
The others can’t help but find Addy’s enthusiasm infectious, but the dim weather and uncertainty of what is to come weighs on everyone all the same. It lingers along as they walk through the gates, like an eighth party member: Familiar, but not entirely welcome. It only worsens with the sound of the gates closing behind them, but they continue on.
There is only forward, now.
~~~~~~~~~~
The first day of travel has been rough, set back by the pouring rain. Discomfort and low visibility haven’t helped, but the real difficulty has been the miserable slop that the rain has turned the ground into. Without any active root systems to soak up the water and to provide structural support to the soil, it immediately floods and turns to mud.
It’s a wonder the continent hasn’t just sloughed off into the ocean.
The mud has been a menace for most of the group, but for Cashew and Dahlia, it has been exponentially more troublesome. To the point that, almost wholly incapable of walking, the two are now piggybacking rides: Cashew holds onto Demy’s back, practically steering him through a variety of gestures and rude comments; Dahlia on the other hand sits on Kaz’s shoulders quietly, posture straight and eyes alert, akin to a cat who has found the tallest perch possible.
Wren fares some better due to sheer belligerence and leg musculature, but they still wish that someone were strong enough to carry them. Unlike their fairly light Halfling and Goblin companions, Wren’s Dwarven frame is broad and stout, muscled and dense. Carrying them would be akin to carrying a small boulder; the odds of either Felix or Addy being able to do so are slim to none, even if they worked together.
Felix, sensing the discomfort and dwindling morale, offers words of encouragement in the form of, “We are almost to the manor. Lord Andrew gave us permission to use his accommodations in his absence.”
“Thank the Nine. My legs are killing me, walking through this muck,” Wren grumbles.
“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” Demy says with a smirk.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Says the long-legged bog-strider,” Wren responds, casting him a cool glance in return.
Dahlia, atop Kaz’s shoulders, points ahead and confirms, “Manor in sight.”
Kaz reaches up and fist bumps Dahlia in appreciation, smiling a little as she does so. “If I remember correctly, the land beyond the manor is more mountainous, so it might be more solid than this lowland soil we’re on,” she says, sounding hopeful.
“It’s kind of funny,” Addy muses, bopping to a tune that only she seems able to hear.
“What is?” Wren asks, frowning.
“We waited over a month for the snow to go away and this isn’t any better!” She answers cheerfully.
“Oh, yeah. I’m laughing, really,” Wren says, expression flat and annoyed.
“You aren’t, though…” Addy wonders aloud.
The group reach the front door of the manor as the grayscale illumination of the day is at last fading. Felix pushes it open, carefully–still mindful of the story that the others brought back of their time here. The main foyer is free of Failures–At least, the monstrous sort, Felix thinks as he glances at the other six. The interior is dark, but as it is dry, it couldn’t be any more inviting. The group does their best to kick the muck from their boots before they enter and begin lighting the wall sconces; Wren goes for the larger target that is the enormous fireplace near the back of the room, thankfully stacked high with fresh wood brought from the mainland.
As blue-white flames leap from Wren’s hands and catch the kindling, they decide that whenever they get back to town, they’re going to give Andrew a kiss right on the mouth for this gift.
Within moments, there is a roaring fire that the group have spread their cloaks and wet boots out in front of. While it gives off heat as normal, the oddly-colored flames shed a much softer light than what would be typical.
Demy watches the fire dance, mesmerized as he asks Wren, “So, your magic. It has something to do with the moons, right?”
Wren blinks, surprised at the question. “It is, yeah. You asked about it when we were here at the manor last time, too,” they say, holding their hands out to the fire and enjoying the gentle heat that brings feeling back to their numb extremities.
“Well, last time I mentioned it, I couldn’t really explain why I thought your magic was so pretty,” Demy says with a coy smile.
Wren blushes faintly and is presented with two immediate options on how to respond. As is customary, they decide to go the route of the shitter.
“You think my magic is pretty, huh?” They say teasingly, grinning up at Demy.
“I–no! I mean, I do, but not–” Demy flounders, growing far redder than Wren, far faster.
Demy’s embarrassment is salvaged as Felix speaks up, his voice easily filling the space thanks to his time spent speaking over murmuring students back at the university, “Professor Rhys, would you care to check the–device that you claim will lead us to, hm, something?”
“The what?” Addy asks, currently occupied in full by cleaning the rain droplet marks off her glasses.
“The, uh, thing. The discovery you–” Felix begins, but Addy cuts him off with a sudden burst of excitement.
“Oh! The universal coordinate device!” She practically shouts in realization as she begins digging in her pack excitedly.
“Is this the thing you claim is directing us toward a point somewhere inland?” Kaz asks, finding a seat in one of the nice, cushioned chairs that line the foyer.
“Yep! It mentioned something called a “GIX” and gave a set distance to it. Now where did–ah!” She says triumphantly, holding up the small, rectangular “coin.” She also retrieves her visor and puts it on, staring at the strange object in her hand.
“Uhh, Addy?” Cashew asks, seated atop one of the end tables. He has a half-eaten ration bar in one hand, which is being stared at hungrily by Dahlia a few feet away, as she has already eaten hers.
“Hold on, the coordinates are updating,” Addy explains nonchalantly, as if those words are normal parts of the average person’s lexicon.
“Oh, well, fuck me. Sure,” Cashew says sarcastically before noticing Dahlia, who is a few feet closer than a moment before. “Whoa sister, this is my nutrition cookie. You best step off,” he tells her warningly.
“Cookie,” Dahlia repeats, a little sadly.
Cashew sighs and tears a chunk off the end, tossing it over to her. She catches it with her mouth, chomping happily.
“Oh, here we go! Ah!” Addy squeals in delight. “It works! 460 kilometers due north, so we’ve traveled–that seems right!”
“Who is Keelow Meader and why are there so many of him?” Dahlia asks as she continues to chew on Cashew’s donated chunk of ration.
“‘Kilometer’ is a unit of measurement that the Monteith used. They called it the ‘Metric System,’ and it was a decimal-based system that took a standard unit of measurement, like meter for distance or gram for weight, and had prefixes for each increase or decrease by a tenth. ‘Kilo’ for example is the suffix for three decimal point deviations to the positive, or an increment of a thousand, so a thousand ‘meters’ is a ‘kilometer.’ And we traveled forty ‘kilometers’ worth of distance today!” Addy elaborates.
Silence.
“That is all very interesting, Professor,” Felix drones, obviously used to these kinds of conversations. “All I am asking is if the device is accurate, however.”
“Oh! Yeah, it seems right. Tarn’s Manor is about 24 or 25 miles out of town, so the math and direction of travel checks out,” Addy explains.
Dahlia frowns. “I don’t like that it knows where we are, too,” she mutters.
“If the Monteith were so smart, why did they use stupid math?” Cashew asks.
“The metric system is more efficient because it’s very standardized and consistent!” Addy explains.
“Maybe, but familiarity seems more important than raw efficiency,” Kaz argues, finishing the last bit of her rations.
“That’s true,” Addy admits, thinking. “So we have to find a way to make everyone forget how to measure things, first!”
Felix interjects, having had plenty enough of this conversation for one night, “Alright! Let’s all get some rest, we have another long day ahead of us. Assuming we will be following the trajectory that Professor Rhys has found for us, we have another dozen or so days of walking to look forward to.”
“Assuming we don’t run into any issues,” Kaz murmurs.
“Or find something interesting,” Wren adds, their green eyes glimmering eagerly in the soft firelight.
I should be so lucky, Felix thinks. He says, instead, “I’m confident we can deal with whatever we come across. For now, let us rest.”
While the allure of the various beds throughout the manor is tempting, the group instead sets out their sleeping cots on the floor in front of the fireplace, where it is warmer and, hopefully, safer. After gathering a few more logs to occasionally feed to the fire throughout the night, everyone drifts off to the sound of rain pattering against the windows and the crackle of moonfire.
~~~~~~~~~~
Addy is not sure what time it is, but the darkness outside the windows, the snoring of the others, and the remaining few logs on the fire indicate that it is late into the night. Any other time, she would be awake and tinkering with her things, but when out in the field, daylight is paramount to work around.
It takes her a few moments to figure out what it is that woke her up. The snoring from the others–specifically Demy–isn’t loud enough or infrequent enough to disrupt her sleep. It is only when the sound repeats that she realizes what it was that woke her up:
A small notification sound, a mechanical beep, coming from her visor.
Addy picks it up and slides it over her head. A message flashes in the corner of her field of vision, reading: Incoming message from [username: Engel].
Brow furrowed, Addy digs around in her nearby bag and grabs one of her gloves, sliding it on her hand. She reaches out and pushes the blinking message bubble, accepting it.
After a few seconds, a strange symbol pops up, like a small horn with several lines radiating from the end of the bell, indicating that she has connected to something–or someone.
“Uh, hello?” Addy asks quietly, still groggy but her intrigue has helped wake her. She feels a strange rush of adrenaline when a voice suddenly responds.
“Ah, sorry to message you so late,” the person says. They have a soft, feminine voice, but there is a sharpness to the words, a certain playful tone that Addy isn’t sure if she finds fun or unsettling. They speak in the common tongue but with a heavy accent that Addy does not recognize: Heavy and glottal with some sounds, but lilting and smooth in others.
“It’s, um, okay! Who are you?” Addy asks, now fully awake.
“Engel is fine for now, my dear. And who might you be?” Engel asks.
“Aderyn. My friends call me Addy,” she responds.
“May I call you Addy, then?” Engel asks, the hint of an intangible smile evident in her voice.
“Sure!” Addy says, having never met someone who isn’t immediately considered a friend before.
For better or worse.
“Wonderful,” Engel says, beginning the word with more of a ‘v’ sound than the usual ‘w,’ which Addy can’t help but find charmingly unique. “Now, sorry for waking you, but I have something important to tell you about your little trip.”
Addy pauses, considering the situation. Being contacted over ancient Monteith technology is strange enough, but this ‘Engel’ seems to know about the expedition as well. She considers waking up some of the others, but isn’t sure if they’ll be upset–most people get mad when she wakes them up this early to tell them something, after all.
I’ll just tell them in the morning, Addy decides, a little sadly. Instead of waking the others, she instead tells Engel:
“I’m listening.”