Savan Lucien's Story

Sure enough Savan was right on mark about their visitor as a chill cold gust of air filled the temple interior as the doors to the entrance groaned open.

The man that entered was clad in the black weather worn uniform of the Windcrest militia, and the light powdering of snow that clung to his hair and clothes spoke of the turn in the weather outdoors. At first glance it was hard to make out much about the man as he was so tightly bundled in layers of clothing and thick furs. Even his face was covered by a scarf to protect himself from breathing in the cold air.

Frigid didn't even begin to cover the weather as of late.

He turned and closed the large doors behind him with a low muted thud to preserve the warmth of the temple interior. It hadn't been a particularly long walk from the city, but out here even a short walk at these hours was enough to leave a man chilled to the bone.

He pulled his scarf down revealing himself to be a younger man of his early to mid twenties as he shook the snow from his unruly black hair. He slipped his gloves off as well, tucking them into his belt as he headed deeper into the temple.

"Sister Savan?" he called out.

Bootsteps echoed through the halls as he took note that several passageways had fallen into such disrepare as to be unpassable any further. The place was lacking in the funds and donations necessary to keep it in proper repair, but then again much of Windcrest wasn't fairing any better.

Her named echoed down the halls, seemingly wrapped in the chilled air from where both voice and man had just been. There, in the libraries, there was no fire to keep the cold at bay. Savan had forbidden them with consideration that one careless ember had the ability to destroy generations of records. Instead, she’d covered her shoulders in a fur that had seen better days and put up with the bite of the weather as she set to task.

“In here.” She called out, although her voice never raised (and rarely it did).

And there she was, kneeling in her floor-length robes of her order amongst a couple stacks of bound papers and a pile of scrolls loosely wrapped in twine. The truth of the matter was that some time had passed since she had sent her fellow Vaennord to procure warm meals, and she’d found herself distracted by reference materials. What had started as one extraction had soon become many. Now, only at sound of her name, did she tear herself from her intensions.

Pale eyes swept from dusty shelves to the crumbling archway of the hall, waiting to put a face to a voice she didn’t recognize. As Guardian it wasn’t all too uncommon for others to know her before introduction as her name often came hand in hand with the temple. It wasn’t long before heavy footfalls preceded an unfamiliar face with the look of a man who’d just braved storm and snow to happen upon her doorstep. Her gaze lingered on the uniform before flicking up to his face.

“I am Savan, how may I be of service?”

"I'm Jason," he replied. "With the Windcrest Militia."

He hesitated, as if uncertain how to address the woman now that he was here. Had she been standing he might have offered a hand in greeting, or a polite bow, but she was knelt upon the floor in tattered fur shawl while rifling through stacks of scrolls and papers.

Standing there with his boots and clothes covered in melting snow, and his sword at hip, he found he didn't dare take a step into the library. He found himself feeling like an intruder disturbing the woman at her work.

He finally shook his head as he let the thoughts from his mind to turn his attention back to the matter at hand.

"I was hoping to speak with you actually," he explained. "When you're free of course, it's not urgent."

Savan nodded her head once, understanding the corolation between is uniform and his service to the organization it represented. Her façade was contemplative as he spoke; it wasn’t often that city officials or militia men made the arduous trek beyond city limits to Aevihus. While some might worry when the hand of the law sought them out, there was no nervousness about her demeanor as she gathered her skirts and stood.

“Now is as good of time as an any. These records have remained for one hundred years, what harm would a few more hours do?”

As she rose, she grabbed a stack of records that seemed to diminish her already slender frame, which she then thrust into the stranger- Jason’s- darkly clad arms. A warm smile smoothed across her features. It did not go unnoticed that he waited at the doorway, seemingly hesitant to break the preservation.

“If you would be so kind.” She asked, although the task had already been handed off to him. He looked sturdy enough to carry the ancient tomes for her. “Let us retreat towards the heat and light. There should be a meal if you’re hungry.”

The truth was that she wanted to see him a little better if he spoke; much could be discerned from the facial expressions of a man. There, in the cold library, only the echo of light from fires in the hall faded the shadows a little in the perpetual twilight of winter. She knew, as she had for the few years she had been appointed to Aevihus, that the darkness would wear her eyesight down. Such was the price of knowledge.

Her own arms were moderately encumbered as she headed down the bare corridors.

Jason took on the burden of the tomes without complaint, or seeming difficulty. He wasn't a particularly large man - leaning more towards height than heft - but his work kept him sturdy and well toned. The stack of records paled next the hours in the training yard.

"A meal wouldn't go unwanted," he replied.

Truthfully he had eaten before he had departed Windcrest, but he didn't wish to offend the woman either. And in this weather, a spare meal wouldn't hurt anyone. He followed after her as she led the way through the temple.

Up ahead he could make out the flicker of firelight dancing along the stone floors - a welcome sight.

"When's the last time you had someone here to see to some of these repairs?" he asked with a nod towards a passing doorway that was in a state of disarray. One of the support beams had split down the center, and it was only a matter of time before that room joined the others that had become unusable.

The intact rooms remained well preserved by the order, but what they really needed was a stone mason to see to the structure itself.

“Thank you Jason, put them somewhere over there.” Lengthy fingers motioned to a table already filled with a number of opened books. For all the material it seemed moderately organized; a task that was daunting in its own right.

Sister Sav shed the animal skin, already warmed by the seconds near the fireplace. Hands set to task again, stirring the pot that rested above the flames. A hearty scent wafted through out, promising scant pieces of game amongst broth and the root vegetables that persisted through the winter months. The soup was a little thinner than she would have liked, but it would warm the body and fill the stomach. She ladled some into a worn bowl and set it on the table before an empty seat.

The man was speaking again, and she laughed. It was light, soft. It hardly interrupted the quiet of the temple. Bright eyes turned to face the soldier, obviously amused at the question. She didn’t need to look around the room to observe it’s state of disrepair that it existed in. Long days and never-ending nights had familiarized every cracked stone and broken frame of the ancient building.

“If you know someone, send them my way. I tell great stories in a language or two.” There was a smidgen of modesty in her words, but the lack of wealth or tradable skill was apparent.

"I'll put in a word with the militia, in the spring," he told her as he set the stack of records down on the indicated table. For some, the words he spoke might have been flippant or polite, but there was a touch of sincerity to them that suggested he might actually mean it.

"Thank you," he added as he seated himself.

He rubbed his hands together lightly to warm them and the smell of the soup coupled by the walk through the cold to get here had him all but forgetting that he had already eaten earlier.

"I imagine you know I'm not here looking for old books and scrolls," he continued over the bowl of soup.

“I would be indebted.” She said, bowing her head slightly in thanks at the gesture. Even as she spoke the words she hoped that she wouldn’t come to regret them. The respect he seemed to have for the archives seemed to hold an air of sincerity, but the unknown still hung between them.

The subject was breached, as if on queue. As if the man had plucked the topic from her mind and laid it on the table to be discussed, as if it were a dish as she had just done for him. Sav took a seat across from soup, staring with doe-like eyes up at him, nodding slowly.

“Men-at-arms rarely do.” It was an observation, one she hoped he didn’t take offense to. “But you don’t look injured, and your uniform leads me to believe that it isn’t sanctuary you seek, which leaves me wondering…”

Her hand extended, inviting him to take the open chair and eat the meal provided.

"What does a man of the Windcrest militia wish of a Vaennord?"

Her order named was the first association she used towards herself, yet she had a feeling it was more than her oath to preserve knowledge that had brought him there. For starters, she wasn't the only of her kind that had taken up habitat under the failing roof; Ronne was brother sworn to the same and yet it was her name Jason had first called out. Still, her pondering was kept silent as she waiting for him to illuminate what was escaping her.

"Well, the Vaennord actually," he explained. "Olafson is organizing an expedition into G'ael."

The region of G'ael was ripe with mythology, legends, cultures and history, but few had the fortitude to venture into it to study such things. For all its lore and knowledge, it was equally as dangerous.

"We figure if there's knowledge to be had about where we're headed, your order would know of it."

“So a soldier has finally come for the books, then. I’m pleased to hear you prove me wrong.”

Sav’s features brightened a little, smile widening warmly. If there was one thing she enjoyed it was sharing the wealth of knowledge she had absorbed both from the archives themselves and from her training before being ordained. Already she was on her feet, flitting around the room and flipping through the piles. Seconds later there was an array of information sprawled around the soup bowl.

One finger pushed into the tattered cover of a journal. “This all mentions something of G’ael, but this one is the best bet. Not much hard evidence has been documented in the region, but this is a journal found by an explorer. Unfortunately, they never found him…”

She took the moment to meet Jason’s gaze again. “I hope Olafson understands the dangers associated with such an expedition. There is a reason everything is hypothetical; it doesn’t seem to be often that adventurers return.”

"Yeah, and in the dead of winter no less," Jason replied with a shake of his head. "Told him he had gone mad."

He slid the journal over to open it to get a look at the faded and yellowed pages.

"He's a stubborn one though. I told him I would help them as far as crossing the mountains, but after that they're on their own. Apparently they're trying to scrape up some old native from G'ael to play guide. That werewolf hermit," he remarked.

He couldn't say he approved too much of their choice in traveling companions with that one, but there were a lot of unpleasant rumors by the locals surrounding Maria. It was hard to say what was or wasn't true, but when you have a werewolf living in your back yard, it made for a convenient scapegoat.

"He's got enough people to pull it off, and to take a few extras if the Vaennord has any interest in getting a chance to personally study the region."

“What in this world or the next could have possessed him to take this on? If he pulls it off, bards will sing of it for years to come. And the things you will learn; a lifetime ready to be written about. Still…”

A dreamy expression made it clear that her mind was elsewhere. Sav took a few moments to imagine, like a child, an epic tale to unfold of monsters and men, mischief, mayhem and magic. Reality grounded her suddenly. Superstition ran thick on the other side of the mountain where society hadn’t progressed quiet as much as Wing City and the rest of the realm. She shuddered to think of the consequences should the worlds collide.

“…he’s as likely to freeze in the peaks before G’ael as it is for that guide to turn on you. No offense meant, of course.” The words, although moderate exaggerations, were meant to define the low possibility of the aim.

“Do you think she’ll agree? There’s got to be a reason she’s away from her homelands.” Absent pondering, voicing concerns she was certain Jason had already had himself.

“As tempting as the offer is, I fear I’d slow you down.” That much was true. Her stature was short, and frame small from being undernourished; her work kept her occupied often to the point of forgetfulness even when it came to eating. “If you’re set to succeed, I’ll leave you to your vices and wish you luck. I can do what I can to prepare you before you leave, of course.”

"Well, I imagine this will be of help," he said, his hand still splayed across the pages of the journal. "Do you mind if I borrow it? I can have it back before we leave. And if you change your mind, we're leaving the day after tomorrow. I imagine you wouldn't be much worse off than those southern kids that are coming along. You're at least of the north," he told her with a low chuckle.

“I apologize, but I can’t allow any of this to leave these walls. I can have this copied for you and I can translate it from utlendr to our tongue, so you may have a record for yourselves. It should only take a day, if you can spare the time. You’re welcomed to stay… it looks like a storm is rolling in.”

The page he had flipped to had a primitive map drawn. More importantly were the series of runes scrawled across the page haphazardly in one of the many ancient dialects of the tribes that divide G’ael. Much of the languages were lost, but this one she knew. Sav’s mind was a rosetta stone when it came to nearly forgotten dialects; it was something she was in the process of writing out. That project, though, would be a lifelong accomplishment that likely wouldn’t be completed before her demise.

“It’s not much, but I can offer you a dry bed and meals while you remain here.”

"That's fine. I need to get back though. There's a lot to get done. If you can have it copied though, I'll drop by and pick it up before we leave," he said.

It was early yet but the sky had lightened with the onset of the daylight hours; though, daylight was little more than the dim glow of twilight. It would be weeks yet before the sun managed to edge itself up over the horizon, and weeks more before it managed to breach the height of the icy peaks that cast their shadow across Windcrest.

A throng of people had gathered at the base of the mountains, just outside of the city limits. Pack animals snorted restlessly and one dug at the snow with a cloven hoof in search of plant roots that remained frozen in the icy ground. Their breathing produced white puffs of clouds that spoke of the chill in the air, but their shaggy coats were well suited for the winter months - if one could overlook their smell. They appeared as a strange cross between a goat and a bull, and they could be a bit more temperamental than your more traditional pack animals, but they were of the mountains and probably the best equipped out of the gathered group to make the trip that lay ahead.

In the murky lighting one could make out enough of each other to be recognizable, and it was apparent that they were still missing a few stragglers that would be arriving shortly. Among those absent was Sigurd himself, and it was Jason who addressed the gathered group.

A large bird rested on his forearm which was bound in thick leather to pad against its talons. It was a raptor of some sort, a species of falcon known to make its home in northern Aslund. They typically migrated south in the winter, but they were popular among falconers and also made for hardy scouts among the Windcrest militia and domesticated ones weren't uncommon.

"Some of you already know each other, but for those that don't, I'll give brief introductions. I'm Jason Tommel, a scout for the city militia and your guide for the foreseeable future barring any unfortunate mishaps. The avorian there is Adriaan, and those two with him are Roan and Cinaed - all members of the Patronus order who have volunteered to journey with us to G'ael." He nodded to a large giant of a woman who stood at a looming twelve feet tall. "That's Igtrid, a weaponsmith. As a native from the mountains she will be serving alongside me as a guide." He continued on introducing each member of the group by name until he reached Fangspirit. He hesitated a moment as he looked to the gnoll. "I don't think I caught your name?"

He cast a further look around, and to his disappointment it would seem that Savan hadn't changed her mind about accompanying them. She would have made a much valued addition to the group.

A drop ship, decades old, made a rough landing with a wide smoke trail pluming upwards. The landing wasn't much of a landing, it slammed into the snow and rolled several times, extinguishing all exterior flames and melting snow on impact. The vehicle finally came to a halt. It was at a distance from the group that details of its design could be seen. Approaching it on foot would take time and for a long time there was no movement in the wreckage. Much of the rear end of the ship was a burning mark one hundred feet long between the first impact point and where the hull now rest. The automated S.O.S. shorted out.
Studying the ship would reveal combat damage, the ship had been chased and shot down. The unique feature being the airlock was destroyed from the inside out and was on the right side of the ship.

Admiral Nagala had woken up earlier than normal that morning. The twilight of the barely rising sun slowly tried to fight it's way through the window of the Superbulk transport. Soaked from a hot shower that she had just taken not a moment ago, she moved to a large mirror before brushing her teeth and spitting into the sink. "Alright, team should be prepped and ready by the time I reach the cargo deck." She said before she tossed the toothbrush into a small glass cup, and then she moved towards her locker.

She was going to dress in specialized layers for the trek with a spandex-like undergarment, which was designed with thermals in mind, covering the entire body save for the hands and the feet, this was followed by a thermal layer, and a second baggier thermal layer with specialized electric wiring that was hooked up to a hidden microfusion cell. This was a self heating thermal undergarment designed for frigid conditions, with special connection points for gloves and socks to go with it.

After the under layers came the fatigues, and then the winterized pants and jacket, along with gloves and special glasses. She zipped up the jacket and activated the heated clothes before she started down to the cargo bay, where two tracked ATVs were being fired up.

The Admiral observed her team, all of them seasoned Aschen explorers drawn from various corners of the Empire.

"Alright, this starts our expedition, It's not going to be easy, or a cakewalk. Expect it to be probably one of the hardest things we've ever done. This will push the limits of your skill, and our technology. First thing's first when we link up with the group, we distribute food and water, along with medical kits and survival gear."

The men all checked their gear, and then nodded their approval as Nagala climbed onto one of the ATV's.

"Let's roll." She said, revving the engine, and soon enough the group began departing from the ship.

---

Around the group assembly area.

Off in the distance, the sound of engines, and two sets of bright lights flickered and scintillated in the distance. It was a few more minutes and two tracked ATVs rolled up to the group being assembled for the expedition.

The two Snowcats quickly came to a stop and their engines began to idle as Nagala stepped from one of them.

"Alright, I've got enough food and supplies for everyone so don't panic." She said, while one of the Explorers began unloading duffel bags from the back of one of the Snowcats, and tossing them at the feet of each member of the expedition. Should they open the duffel bags, they would find two weeks worth of food in packaged military rations, a medical kit, water, batteries, flashlights, and a heated survival blanket, in addition to Milspec bedrolls, a collapsible shovel, ice picks, and twenty feet in tightly coiled paracord.

With one of the Snowcats unloaded, it would turn to head back to the ship, while Nagala slung her winterized camo backpack over her back, which contained the same supplies distributed to everyone else, plus microfusion cells, digital maps, a portable GPS unit, and a winterized finish Disruptor rifle.

Once she was buckled into her pack, she approached Jason. "Sorry I'm late, overslept." She said, introducing her crew.

Where most of the expedition members were well and truly dressed for the weather, be it in high-tech thermal gear or simply heavy furs, Cináed as ever maintained his apparent immunity to the cold, wearing only simple travelling clothes along with a cloak. He smiled and offered a small wave when Jason introduced him and the other two Patronus, but otherwise remained quiet for the time being, adjusting his pack slightly to better balance the weight.

The early start hadn't seemed to put a damper on his good cheer, and his face bore an excited smile as he rocked on the balls of his feet while he waited.