He Who Walks the Ocean Floor

[Aardwalden]

TIMESTAMP: Ash 26th, 122
NOTES: -

- - -

The forge was hot, an apron over his front as he manipulated metal filigree around the pommel of a blade, quenching the design that would soon serve as a reference for a future project. Wiping the soot from his stony face with a washcloth, he strode out into the commons and paused, stone-still as a statue. His neck creaked, and then his knees, softly glimmering blue eyes affixed on something unusual there upon the wall.

A door.

A door unlike any other, for he knew the floor plan of this place quite well. It did not belong.

Stepping up to it, Aardwalden slowly pulled the latch, and his brow rose in surprise as warm sunlight pooled into the dimly lit chamber, casting a beaming ray. Spinning his finger, he asked the elements for a doorstop to help him in a great time of need, and he bent down to knock it in the gap. Disappearing into the office, he left a note to his apprentices and then moved around to the lab, fetching a pack of recently purchased Aetherite, five to be exact, of an average grade. They were to be the reagents for a project, but now they were supplies.

Aardwalden with backpack slung over his shoulder peered down at the rolling tide of the bay. He had no fear of the water, nor the height. Hopefully the earth down beneath the waves was friendly. Then, he kicked away the stopper and tilted down, down over the edge, until he tumbled into a freefall.

From afar, it must have looked like a stiff, porcelain doll had fallen out of the sky, splashing into the waves after spinning erratically. Descending through the water with a rough hello, Aardwalden sunk like the stone he was made of, and found his feet square upon the underwater silts, the vision not quite so clear. Holding a hand aloft, he fed aether to the restless earth in turmoil around him and called it to join him by his side, to calm just as it wished to, and soon he could see the crystalline bay rising towards the shoreline, countless shimmering fish swimming in bright schools as he casually navigated his way between the corals.

From the rolling tides of the beach emerged a kelp-covered man of stone, short in stature, the waves breaking against him. His clothes were absolutely soaked, but he seemed not to mind.

-500gp to ledger for 5x average Aetherite

- - -

[Avamande]

Disturbances in the aether flux were not altogether uncommon, almost any magical effect could produce them even without recourse to Kinetics - most notably Traversion. Still, they were always moments of interest and excitement, and so early upon their year long excursion Avamande was eager to investigate any that may occur in order to get their bearings on this strange land. But even by the standards of disruptions, unnatural by definition, what had occurred was bizarre in the extreme. Mass which was not now was, causing the entire web of existence to shift and shudder as it adjusted to the sudden existence. Even Traversion didn't deposit things so suddenly, so without warning.

As a matter of fact, the only thing that did as far as Avamande knew was the Duck. They had attempted to discover the truth of its magic, but had been confounded at every turn, no matter how they sought to investigate it. But that was a matter for another time - another crewman had been chosen, and judging by the splash in the waters out in the bay, they had been given the same welcome that the main crew had - just without the luxury of a cruise beforehand.

They wasted little time racing from the makeshift encampment that had been constructed in the past day, their jet black clad form racing through the air towards shore. Motion beneath the waves at least confirmed that whoever had joined them, they were continuing to move without difficulty. Perhaps an Awoken? This initial assumption was bolstered by a stone figure emerging from the waves and onto shore. Avamande fluttered down to the sand, inclining their head at the newcomer.

"Greetings. I would offer you hospitality, but there is still rather little on offer. You have arrived upon a distant shore, presumably under the same auspices as ourselves. I welcome you to the crew of the Duck."

[Imogen]

"There you are!"

Before the stoneborn has any chance to respond to the Hytori's impromptu greeting, a large white seabird landed on him.

Well, near him, though given the sudden storm of fluttering grey wings and feathers, it certainly seemed like it was on top of him. The wandering albatross fluttered into place, hopping about on the wet sands until the huge bird found sufficiently firm footing to turn and shake its enormous wings anew. The bird turned, apparently ignoring the humanoid statute it had nearly careened into, and addressed Avamande:

"I spent three hours in the air, circling. There's nary a sign of civilization anywhere. All trees and hills to the north, and the cliffs fall away to the east and west. Looked almost like it was jungle, from the air."

Albagen Ward fluttered again, then pecked testily at one of her flight pinions, preening more out of annoyance than instinct. Over the course of the last few months she had spent a lot of time getting comfortable with flight, as the trips between the cities of northern Karnor had required fairly lengthy sojourns, even through the air. What she was not used to, however, was such a vast canvas of unbroken greenery. She'd been in too much of a hurry to practice over the jungles of Ecith, and had taken for granted the profusion of roads, villages, and other landmarks throughout Karnor with which to keep her bearing. All this green and blue on all sides, however... it was giving her a pounding headache, and the tiny skull size of her current totem was doing nothing to relieve that pressure.

"If there were any settlements large enough to break the view, I didn't see 'em. Our Captain really has dumped us in the tail end of nowhere, and that's the truth of it."

Having finished this entire tirade, the bird realized that Avamande had not turned their attention to her, but was fixated on the sopping wet statue. She opened her beak to let loose more abuse, then caught the sudden sight of one of the stone figure's arms moving. It took her an additional moment to realize the obvious; if the statue was moving, it wasn't a statue.

"What's this, then?"

[Aardwalden]

- - -

Pausing just there with his ankles in the rolling waves, the short, marbly-skinned creature covered in kelp went absolutely still as the pair of beings encroached upon him with a swiftness. ”Am I in danger?” he thought to himself, eyes catching the man coming down to him on a set of wings. ”Fae’athalan?”

Aardwalden’s eyes widened, soaked clothing still dripping with salt water as he pulled the kelp from his face with slow deliberation. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words left as the talking bird perched thereupon the beach, a floating feather sticking to his forehead where it remained for the duration of their conversation. His eyes moved with a delay, and then he finished what he was about to say. “A greetings to you both as well. Were the rest of you summonsed by a strange door? I’ll say - I’m happy to join this crew of fowl, but what is our purpose here, and do you have an idea as to what part of the world are we now stand upon? I hail from Solunarium. How fortunate that the both of you speak the Common tongue.”

For the moment, he kept his tongue about who he was, and his trade. When he was sure no danger could be had from them or the rest of the camp, he would share, but for now he knew not their views, and knew well the feelings against mages from other lands having traversed them before crossing the sea himself.

Aardwalden looked to the bird. A Rathor, or an Animist. He wasn’t familiar enough with either to tell what the truth was to that fowl, but he was happy to assist in any way he could if each of them were stranded here. Asked what he was after a long speech, he replied with a question to Imogen.

“Everything appears natural then? What do you mean by captain - did you come here aboard a ship? Did all of you?” Aardwalden asked the albatross.

With a pause, Aardwalden relented with a bow, the feather still bristling in the whipping wind between his eyes. “I am Aardwalden, a gnome of the Stoneborn variety. I offer you my wisdom, and my help. Anything you need, simply ask. We will need to work together if we are to understand the nature of this place.”

- - -

[Avamande]

"Thank you, Corporal Ward. Your assistance is most appreciated," Avamande said, rather seriously, as they gave her a slight nod of the head. The news she had brought was... bad, but there was no sense in - and the Hytori frankly had little ability to - be upset about it. Yes, they were strangers in a strange land, with no ability to determine where they were or how to get back home. The closest thing that they had to a guess was that they were probably in Ecith due to the heat, but that was not precisely helpful information. "The matter of the Captain can wait, we have a new a crewmate to welcome," they gently scolded, gesturing towards Aardwalden.

"It was the door that brought us all hence, yes, though I had assumed she would cease creating them when her original crew was filled. Your arrival is a fascinating event for many reasons. As for where we are, I suspect we are rather close to your native land. The only known region at least that matches this clime is that of Ecith." A Solunarian complicated matters. While Avamande was as much a child of Sol'Valen as they were of Kalzasi, which is to say not at all, there were oddities to the desert realm. At least the man was not an elf himself, that would have only led to an immediate fight. Whether that conflict was verbal or otherwise would forever remain unknown.

"Forgive me my impoliteness. I am Avamande Val'Istar, and the Duck is the name of the ship that we sailed upon. She is captained by a man who names himself Kynne, though he has proven himself something of a roustabout. We were interviewed, if you'd like, by the magic of the doors and then embarked upon a voyage south - though south from where, I cannot say. As you overheard, we appear to be in the middle of a forlorn wilderness, without man or elf or ork about us. Your assistance and wisdom are most welcomed, for you are correct."

[Imogen]

"Ah! A gnome!"

Imogen had met some few members of the smallfolk before, though they were uncommon in Zaichaer. They had been subject to the usual official prejudices but, in her estimation, few informally; everyone knew that the gnomish folk were useful, industrious folk. Like that baker, what was her name? Mumsy? Fantastic patisserie, in any event.

"My deepest apologies, Mr. Aardwalden," Imogen said, her cool northern accent quite incongruous with the squawking motions of her albatross' beak, "I am Imogen Ward, an orkhan witch of sorts. Although just now I'm mostly a large seabird."

The ork-bird hopped awkwardly around in the sand to stand next to Avamande, then she sketched out a bow (to the extent that, mechanically, her body would permit it). Solunarium? She thought she'd heard the word somewhere while she had been rooting around in Drathera last year. Some manner of Elvish kingdom, which she understood to be desperately hostile to the Ecithians for absolutely no reason at all. Beyond that, though, nothing.

Her recent flight nearly supported the Ecithian theory. It was still the climate which made the most sense, though she truly couldn't fathom how it would have gotten hotter between Searing and Ash. There were troubling discrepancies, though.

"Aye, it's jungle to the north, as far as I could see from beneath the clouds." One of the big surprises about flight was how low birds kept, relative to the ground. Imogen had tried to go higher when she first acquired the totem and felt a little comfortable with it, but the changing pressures had thoroughly spooked her, and she chose not to fight the bird's instinct to keep lower. "But I've been to the eastern jungles, and the canopy's too low here. Plus, the other birds were... weird. If this is Ecith, it's somewhere I've never heard of."

Not really an unbelievable proposition- she'd only been here once before.

[Aardwalden]

TIMESTAMP: Ash Xth, 122
NOTES: -

- - -

Corporal Ward. Military, and of a rank Aardwalden had not heard among Solunarians. From across the sea, perhaps? The accent was unlike any other, and she had an air of honor and duty about her that he could detect in spite of her feathers. The Hytori was most unusual to Aard. Familiar with the climate - a true scholar, or a traveler? They seemed, and spoke with such adrogyny that Aard could not get a bead on what to fully make of them. How strange, how strange indeed! The pair were a marvel in and of themselves.

Regailed with such knowledge as the door and the climate, Aardwalden uttered an “ahhhh” as long and winding as any gnome who’d had something ‘click’ in their mind. “I act under no authority at present, but I will step to the requirements of your governance if there is any ‘officiality’ or such here,” replied the gnome. “I am a Runesmith by trade, and an Elementalist of merit; the earth is my Arche, and I am sure it will agree to assist us if we should have need of shelter or security. I am happy to relent if you have any such misgivings, but I suspect you are both magi?”

Aardwalden turned to leer back at the ocean, touching his chin in thought as he turned back to them both, listening now to the talking bird soldier. “Very strange, indeed. It’s a pleasure, Avamande, Corporal Ward - an Orkhan? I thought your accent seemed familiar. Know that while I work for the Solunarians as this benefits my Calling, I do not hold the same prejudices if you are familiar with such. For shame, these bloody wars, new and old, of gods and mortals, but we must all work together now to understand the mysteries of the ‘ship’ that interviewed you in time, so that I may return beneath the earth knowing that I had not squandered the study of a power higher than mine own.”

Thinking to himself of the evidence presented, and what he knew of the world - though limited - Aardwalden came to his own theories on the matter. Stepping out of the rolling tides, the gnome brushed away the seaweed and feathers from his stony exterior and stepped up the shore to the sands above, barely the height of Avamande’s belly. “If this is truly a capriciousness act of random by some entity with no goal in mind, I will at least help where I can for a time before architecting my way home. I agree with your assessment that we might be in Ecith.” He knew his landmasses well enough, so he held out his hand as the wind rippled by to call upon the salty waters of the sea. The shores rose an inch above the sands, carving small rivers through the sands to form a rough map of Ecith with a handful of its islands, misshapen from a lack of memory. As the waters receded, the dark outlines in the sand remained as a rough outline of the continent missing many of its features and misproportioned in places.

Fueled by curiosity, the gnome shared some of his chaotic thoughts by streaming them out verbally to the two. “Depending on how long you sailed, we could be anywhere on southern Ecith, but we are likely at least south of the desert. Or you sailed in from the north, and we are upon the northern edge, but I do not know my climes as well as you might,” he said. Pointing to the east of southern Ecith, he spoke again. “We could also be on a land undiscovered, if there are truly strange creatures about. Most civilization in Ecith is found along the Northern and Central regions, so it’s wise to assume if these lands are pristine that we are more likely along the Southern fringes, or else another landmass entirely.”

Turning to Corporal Ward, Aardwalden motioned to the rough image as a whole. “I would therefore fly north along the coastline for three days and approximate the curvature of the coast so we can match it to any known geography. Perhaps this jungle will give way to the Atraxian Expanse. I don’t know how easy it is to tell from above, however. I spend the majority of my time beneath the earth where such concerns are beyond me…” He truly wished he knew more, but he only knew the gnomish principles of deduction.

- - -

[Avamande]

"I am a master of many magics. Scrivening is my trade, but I bear upon my person Negation, Traversion, and Kinetics," Avamande explained, unconsciously listing their Runes in the order that they had received them. They visibly relaxed when the gnome explained that he worked in Solunarium due to practical considerations rather than any loyalty to the zealous schismatics strange beliefs. They could understand a mercenary mindset, even empathize with it, which put them far more at ease.

"While our host does abound in caprice, he does have a clear goal in mind. Strange, then, that you would be shunted towards us with no explanation of it. Perhaps it was assumed that we would do the explaining instead." All about the Duck was becoming stranger and stranger, and Avamande was not pleased with it. "The Duck is, herself, sentient, and she longs to return to her home. Kynne is her mouthpiece, not her master, but he has a strange way of going about things. In one year, he and the Duck shall return to these shores, and consider all who wait for them upon it to have proven themselves ready for whatever trial her return to her home entails. Whatever that is however, I do not know."

"The notion that we are south of south however, that is most troubling." Avamande was no expert in geography, their knowledge of the southern continent more or less ending at its northern shore and a general understanding of where Solunarium lay. "Such a supposition is easily testable however. If we go far enough north, we should find the great bulk of the Atraxian." The fact that that would be a swathe of desert so desolate that only beasts dwelt there did not particularly bother them.

[Imogen]

"An easy test. An easy test!" Albagen squawked, derisively, "Did you not hear our new friend? A three day flight north and three back, just to see if I can spot the desert!"

The Sunsinger ruffled her feathers in displeasure, cocking her head backwards as she thought. The ordinary gestures and habits of a humanoid body translated oddly to bird form, which had wholly different impulses and tics, and could not physically accommodate instinctive expressions like scowls or crossed arms. Still, Imogen was nothing if not creative in expressing annoyance.

Unfortunately, and assuming this was Southern Ecith, the three day theory could well be an undercount. The Land of Aedrin was vast, and it wasn't always safe to fly over parts of it. Keeping to the shoreline should stop her from running into any shield mountains and away from dense jungles (though the lack of cloud canopy here was still bothering her), but it would still be an arduous trip.

"Hey, I've just had a thought. Avamande, you're good at-" Frankly, everything, it seemed. She'd known fully-frocked Circle mages with much less mastery than the mysterious elf, "Traversion. If I fly north far enough and spot the desert, you can check in after a few days and bring me back, right? Sort of, get a fix on my, uh aurtheric signature, sort of job?" Imogen had heard Railrunners discussing the particulars of Traversion many times, but had no real grasp of the lingo. Certainly the Sunsingers had never needed fancy terms like "aurtheric" and "declension" and "teleport" to describe how to use swords to their novates.

"Still, I'm a little worried. If we're in Southern Ecith, isn't this where..." The seabird glanced about, as though worried someone were listening in. She eyed a fiddler crab suspiciously, and it scurried away. "The, y'know, evil dragons are meant to lair?"

[Aardwalden]

TIMESTAMP: Ash Xth, 122
NOTES: -

- - -

Aardwalden’s brow raised. A bold claim to make! Curious. “Three Marks of Control? Schwizzit’ka,” he chuckled with a word of gnomish containing an entire phrase: Always more to learn, for the curious! “A true seeker of mysteries, and a brave one at that!” The gnome felt a sense of peace, oddly enough. Sure, Avamande could render him a statue with a mere spell, but he seemed of reasonable character. I would hope that one day we will meet away from these shores to solve at least a few of them.” While Aard did not know the ins and outs of those Runes, he’d woven the shared spells of some into his artifacts enough to have a cursory understanding of most. “Traversal should be quite handy. I’m sure this dandy crew is in fine hands!”

The gnome restrained his fancy, getting back on topic as he peered up the shoreline, then at the hills while Avamande spoke. Always best be aware of one’s surroundings. “That is very strange. Dragons, gods, spirits? They are beings with unique perspectives. I have even known the Awoken to have such whimsy. I will offer the Duck a few days of my time, but I must devise a way home soon enough; if we must stay here for a year, I cannot stay for long. I’m afraid I must get back before my apprentices burn all if I have done to the ground. Perhaps an Artifact might bridge this land and my home, and we could foster a settlement here in anticipation of the Duck’s return. Your Portals will work wonders, to that end.”

The gnome nodded to the gender-negated person. “I like your way of thought, Avamande,” he said, then chuckling to Imogen. “Three days of ardor, to sate curiousity? Turn me into a bird, and I should fly myself!” he jested.

Aard’s eye raised. Imogen had a point. Why not cut a six day trip down to three? “Is that something you can do, Avamande?” he asked. “It sounds like we have a plan with very few wrinkles already.” He was beginning to like these two. They both seemed benign enough.

“If you don’t bother the dragon, I’m sure it will be content to sleep within its cave-” said Aardwalden with a decidedly animated shrug. “Ehhhh -If there are any dragons here. All the more reason to have a way out, in case the Duck has flown us to our deaths.”

- - -