Legend of Ransera

Into the Deeps

News of the expedition reached Ivar’s ears quickly. Having a finger on the pulse of local happenings was an advantage of being an information broker. For Ivar, this was more than mere gossip, it represented an opportunity.

He’d heard stories of the perilous Otherwilds that lay beneath were both terrifying and exhilarating. Just a season ago he would have been completely uninterested in such a dangerous trip, but Glade 123 had been a turning point in his life. He’d actually gone on to do dangerous things such as explore the Midden, travel to Terra Nimbus for dragonshards, even help fight zombies. One thing he’d learned was that high risk meant high reward.

So, Ivar found himself increasingly drawn to the expedition. Increasingly so because he had a recent obsession with a woman named Flora. She was tough nut to crack and had not opened up to him much. He hoped that she could see how hard he was working to support her and that might impress her.



Ivar found himself situated on one of the five wagons, second from the front to be specific. He watched in silent awe as the enchantments took effect. The layers of magical protection were woven so intricately that he struggled to keep track. It was one of the rare times in his life that he wished he was a sembler so he could truly appreciate the effort that was going into protecting them.

It was hard to focus on anything except Talon as he stepped up to Ivar’s wagon. Ivar had never seen him up close before. It was hard to imagine anything going wrong with someone this strong on their side. Ivar wasn’t one to fear being attacked since he assumed that he could always flee back home with his tail between his legs. He was too naïve to realize that some threats came out of nowhere.

The young scrivener found himself drawn in by Talon's speech. He enjoyed the sense of camaraderie and shared purpose echoed in the salutes that rang out. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he cheered in unison. He hadn’t been so excited for a trip in his whole life!

The young mage from the college had been thrust into the conflict, perhaps to appease her dear sister or to further the Briathos family name. Blythe found herself elected and far from the college she viewed as a home to follow an absolute magic prodigy. There was a thrill to be counted amongst one of those within his fold, a sense of pride and honor as even just the privilege to be there elevated herself amongst her peers. Peers that if she remembered flocked like vultures to feed upon Talons carcass before he'd even been declared dead.

House Briathos remained loyal

On her middle finger she wore her Signet Ring the signature of an heir the magnum opus to those of nobility which established her rank and title. This ring made a very bold statement as it radiated wealth, privilege and status of its possessor. There was a circle surrounding an inverted triangle at the center of which rests an unblinking eye inlaid in all silver that makes the design pop and beam with shimmer. This was carved and inlaid into a piece of lapis lazuli and encircled in gleaming draw dropping sapphires that danced and dazzled like sunlight cascading down over an open ocean.

Blythe had long wild and free hair that erupted into carefree curls and locks. The strands were almost platinum that shimmered with a dazzling sheen as free fingers whisped pesky strands behind a long elven ear. Her eyes had an ethereal glow like infernal gemstones of a dimly hued milky blue that cast themselves like pale moonlight. She wore a dark navy blue cloak of luxurious velvet draped over her shoulders and beneath that two revolvers she had acquired within the Imperium were slung in a leather set up befitting a gunslinger she liked the heft of iron on her hip and that flash of chrome concealed beneath the fabric of her garb.

She was ready today to prove her worth and establish herself further within the family hierarchy constantly in Fioras shadow and Ryom was little help in the matter either. In the Warren's she'd carve a name for herself and garner Talons recognition that was the prize for the up and coming sorceress.

Talon's defenses of the caravan were well-crafted, and their path was well-worn. The dark of the caverns was thick and heavy, crushing against the wards and light. It threatened to snuff them out, and it was nearly impossible to see beyond a few feet of the boundaries of the wards and magic that Talon wove. The shadows clung to them, seeking out the brightness of Talon like a moth to the flame. The occasional tendril of shadow slipped through the cracks, only to be immediately eradicated — but they were otherwise unbothered. No creature of the shadow or monster of the Warrens sought them out, deterred enough by them, though the angry sound of bats and the shuffling and skittering of the unknwon was audible beyond the darkness.

Anyone who stepped outside of the barriers would be immediately swallowed by darkness and pressing cold — but a few meters beyond, it was merely the normal darkness, with cracks of light breaking through the shadows that flocked to Talon. If they returned, they would find themselves on a much different section of the caravan than they had left, beyond the normal distance that would result from their slow pace.

After a many hours, somewhere between four and six of slow walking, the impenetrable darkness that surrounded must of the caravan was beginning to thin. The ground turned away from stone and dust and wet, growing into lush grass that grew taller and taller until it had become a barrier to the wagons. Knights and guards were forced to cut a path through — and were rewarded after half an hour with the brightness of a sun that did not now exist on the surface. With the light, too, came the realization that it was not simply grass they were cutting, but wheat.

Those at the very front of the caravan stumbled nearly off of a cliff, but the tallest and the Avialae could see that a winding path to the right of them wound down into the edge of a forest that stretched its boughs into the horizon. Fruiting trees hung invitingly near the boundaries of the woods, as did a fog that seemed to grow thicker through it.

At the bottom of the path was a sign, written in beautiful Synskrit script and a Common translation beneath, though it was old, damp, and splintering wood. Just beyond it lay fruiting trees and bushes — and further, a herd of healthy-looking deer, rather plump from the fair weather in this corner of the Otherwilds. A stag looked directly at the visitors, and with haste the whole herd ran deeper into the forest.