Eikaeus - 62nd Searing, 120th of Steel
To refer to the pathway ahead as solid would be to insult every other highway upon which Althalos had thus traveled. The roadway several days past had been carefully paved over, every stone meticulously laid into its place by laborers who must've toiled many weeks in their pursuit of equilibrium. One side of the cobblestone had not outstretched further than any other side, and the balance of the horse and its rider had not been so precariously hung upon their slightest movements. Of course, that was to be expected when one was leaving the capital of a civilization, whether it was prosperous or focused primarily upon impropriety and decadence -- it was simply easier to dedicate resources to the construction of roads than it was to force armies and traders to travel through wilderness paths.
The painter had rented a steed for his journey several nights ago and had managed to travel alongside others for a majority of the trip. Of course, they had managed to slowly and steadily drift ahead of him, eventually managing to slip out of view entirely. It hadn't mattered that he hadn't stayed immediately next to them at their campground when darkness had fallen. The general proximity to other mortals and the fires they lit had seemingly been enough to ward off danger, and while he had introduced himself to them to assure them of his non-threatening position, the two groups had remained primarily independent of one another.
Now, on the last leg of his trek, he found himself entirely alone. Independence as he had desired it had made a mockery of him, abandoning him to whatever fate might befall him in the woodwork. Althalos had watched carefully as distant sounds would play out in the wilds. There had been bellows somewhere far off and howls in the dusk, and with every mile, there would be something or another that would scatter into the undergrowth at the approach of the horse.
That had been entirely uncomfortable as well. The corpse had probably ridden a horse in his past existence, but if he had, none of the muscle memory had been retained in the husk of his body. The constant bumping and shifting of the meat beneath him were enough to irritate, and to oppress any attempts at creative thought in the absence of company. He desperately wished to alleviate the consistent shaking of the beast, but to do so would require walking it along the path, and if danger presented itself, he would need time to re-mount and flee quickly enough for it to matter.
His adamant refusal to travel directly with the caravan would quickly make clear his ineptitude. Precocious desires at independence very quickly demonstrated the consequences of his actions. While he had been peering off into the foliage, the horse trotted forward, directly past a thin strand that lay suspended above its head and therefore out of its care. Forward went the steed, but the strand caught upon the noble coat of the corpse, holding tight, not breaking even when his weight attempted to snap it in twain and keep up with the burdened beast's own movements. There was a frantic movement as the realization that something was touching him was made, and he snatched at the strand to dispel it only for it to promptly force him off the back of the thing.
Were it not for his groping at it, there was a serious possibility that he would've broken something with such a forceful dismount. He pursed his lips, trying to force a whistle through, but to no avail. Another skill that would need to be rectified in the future, he grumbled as he shouted a particular lurid curse at the beast, causing it to pause in its trot and turn to stare at the moronic weight it had been forced to bear.
"No sudden movements." The voice came from -- somewhere, and spoke fluent Common. There was none of the uneducated imbecility that he had noticed when he had been robbed at his shop in this voice, but where there he had heard savagery, now he heard determination. Not merely a squalid thug, but someone whose predilection towards brutishness had been matched with unforeseen cunning, blending into abhorrent schemes of ravenous gluttony and lustful materialism.
Althalos slowly, carefully raised his hands into the air. His eyes frantic as he attempted to locate the source of the danger.
