Link: https://www.sylestia.com/forums/?thread=99346&page=9#88 Author: Aphelion Time Posted: 9/4/2021 at 6:06 AM More arrows fly, slamming the cavewalker back, and even under the curtains of water, its body goes up in an inferno, flames exploding outward and licking up to the sky, rapidly hissing and turning into smoke as it meets the rain. The creature topples backward into a pile on the ground, still burning, its skin bubbling and popping as if its melting. When you speak, a startled cry goes up. Footsteps near you, and soon you find someone peeking over a bush between the trunk of the trees at you. It's a boy with cropped black hair woven through with feathers at the ends, a golden hoop dangling from one ear. His eyes are amber, though the light in them has been swallowed by the darkness brought about by the rain. He stares at you for a few seconds, as if he can't believe you're here, then shakes himself and runs away. You can't see anyone else, but you hear, "there's a person here!" Soon, more people come into view, led by the boy. They wear woven cloaks of bright colours, tassels dangling off each edge, their hair similarly woven through with feathers. You are pinned down by the stares of around six or seven people, most of them bearing fully drawn bows with flaming arrows nocked. The others hold curved knives that glint with unnatural light. The weapons are pointed at you.

Crystal knows she can't outrun the fully drawn back fire arrows, "Please I don't mean any harm. That creature you took down sensed me but thankfully you all stopped it before something happened. Please I don't any trouble."

She hopes they'll listen to reason otheriwse she knew this would very possibly be her last day. Crystal cursed herself for not using the monster as a distraction to get away. Sure it might have alerted them to her presence but it would have at least given her a chance to get away.

Link: https://www.sylestia.com/forums/?thread=99346&page=9#90 Author: Aphelion Time Posted: 9/4/2021 at 6:31 AM The plane wing is high above you so you have trouble getting up. It's slippery to your grip and your muscles are still aching from the whole fiasco in the canyon. After a few frustrated tries, you have to give up and sulkily stand under the wing, hoping Baje would notice a distinct lack of Oris in the plane. After a few beats, she does. Her head pops out the side of the cockpit and she stares down at you. "Oops!" She says. "Couldn't get up? Sorry!" She disappears, then something unrolls down to you, and you see it is a ladder. It's made of rough wood rungs worn smooth with use, strung together with coarse rope looking like splinters waiting to happen. You manage to make your way up with little problem, and find yourself in a cockpit that is carrying way more than it looks able to. There is a seat in front with a panel of buttons, levers, and sticks before it. Baje sits in this seat. Behind it is another seat, a cracked leather seat that could have been some dark colour though it has long since been bleached white by the sun. You can barely sit down with all the stuff crammed into the back, beams of metal, loose screws, and mismatched nuts and bolts. A lot of it looks dusty or dirty, out of commission and lacking oil. Aside from that, there are rolls of paper, some blank, others with intricate notes or designs drawn on to them.

Being unable to get up on his own was a bit frustrating to say the least but it wasn't important enough for him to bother saying a thing about it. Once inside tho, he was kind of facinated with everything that was cluttering the space. Sure, it didn't look too safe but at the same time he was definitively intrigued by the various notes around.

He wondered if it was too mutch for him to ask about those as he carefully sat in the mostly empty second seat as carefully as possible. It didnt took too mutch of brain power to figure out that the various items and notes were related in some ways tho he was still wondering what it was about exactly.

Link: https://www.sylestia.com/forums/?thread=99346&page=9#89 Author: Aphelion Time Posted: 9/4/2021 at 6:22 AM You drive your stick into the ground, try to aim it, and brace for the worst. The worst doesn't come. No claws tear through your flesh, no mass slams into your body, and no teeth sink to your bones. There is a resounding, muffled thud, and the creature halts mid-air as if slamming into an invisible wall. Then, it falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Its tail twitches once and its claws spasm. An agonised roar later, it goes still. There is a sleek, silver arrow struck into its head through one of its eyes, buried so deep you can only see the fletching, although the fletching doesn't look like it's made of feathers. Behind you, something rustles, and Chantille gasps, making a light squee-ing noise. You turn to see someone has swung out from the trees, landing lightly in a crouch before standing up. This newcomer looks... normal, for lack of a better word. Definitely not something like Chantille - he is tall and slim with a messy head of dark brown hair tied back into a short ponytail that bounces when he moves. Strands of it fall over his face, contrasting sharply against his eyes the colour of opals, silver grey save for the flecks of iridescent colour. He wears a grey-green cloak that ripples around him, hood down, and in his hand he has a contraption that looks like a bow yet isn't. The contraption is smaller, made of metal, and folds in half when he taps the centre, the bowstring winding around the object in perfectly-made notches. "Advette," he says in greeting, and bows deeply. His voice is smooth with a husky quality to it. "Lord Chaser!" Chantille clasps her hands together, face brimming with admiration. She turns to you, gently jostling you in the side with her elbows. "That's one of them," she whispers. "A Chaser!" The Chaser straightens, tossing his hair back with a flick of his head. He has an expression that can be described only as exasperated, yet held back due to respect. "Mein Advette," he says. "With all due respect, it is not safe to travel in areas where a Hunt is in session." "It is a Paired Hunt today, so I know I am in no real danger," Chantille replies with a flutter of her hand. "You are here, after all." The Chaser looks like he wants to roll his eyes, or sigh, but instead his gaze turns to you. "And this is?"

(I knew you'd do that)

Falcon picks himself from the ground, brushing himself down and failing to repress a shiver as the other two talk. His gaze passes over the monster lying motionless on the ground. He prods it with the stick to make sure it really is dead - he wasn't certain of what to be sure of anymore. Then he turns to the newcomer while trying to work out if he has wings too, hidden beneath his cloak.

Listening in, he gets the impression he isn't the only person who shouldn't be in these woods.

Either way, it seems these 'Chasers' really are held in high esteem what with how he responds to Chantille's unabashed praise. He'd better watch his step with them.

And try to pick up all of these formalities. The courtly demeanors are beginning to unnerve him.

"I'm Falcon," he answers in a clipped tone, "who is alright, despite Chantille's best attempts." And, realising he has now gone and scored a life-debt, adds: "...you cut that pretty fine, but I owe you one."

You are awoken by cold wind searing into your skin, sucking out all the moisture, and a flurry of grainy ice crystals flying into your face. Under you is something soft, something that doesn't feel too bad, until more consciousness comes to your pounding, delirious head, and you realise that whatever you're lying on hurts, sending needle bits of pain into your body.

By the time you push your eyes open, your lashes are already crusted under a thick layer of frost, currently growing as the wind dusts more onto them. Around you, you see white, and just about nothing else. A few streaks of jagged black and grey cut through the landscape; when you squint, you think you can make out that they are rocks and mountainous slopes, laden with drifts of snow. Speaking of snow, you are lying in snow. Your body heat has already melted a small impression around you. At the moment you don't feel too cold, but with your knowledge, it's clear that it won't take long for you to not feel as alright as you are now barring the pain in your head and your muscles. You are dressed for cold weather, but not this type of cold weather.

Taking in your surroundings more, you notice you are on something that may have been a trial, a rather flat but narrow expanse of rock twisting around the otherwise sheer cliffs. Ahead of you, between the blur of white fuzz clattering down from a grey sky, you think you can see the path widen into an overhang. At the edge of that platform is what seems to be a boulder, though it looks more textured and spiky.

In the pouring rain, they close in, and you notice that their clothes are somehow dry, unaffected by the deluge of water just as the flames at the tips of their arrows. The boy makes his way to the side of a tall, stern-faced woman. This woman stands out from the others - while the other people hold their weapons ready, her knives are loosely hanging from her fingers. Her posture is casual, though at the same time she radiates some kind of authority.

She holds up a hand. The warriors stop advancing.

For a long while, there is only the sound of rain splattering into the ground, a sound that should have been swallowed by earth and grass, but the land had collected so much water it was practically raining into the surface of a lake. The woman watches you, taking in your disheveled, exhausted appearance, and clicks her tongue.

"So you say," she speaks, and somehow her voice carries perfectly through the rainy hiss. "State your identity and business here, stranger. We are not expecting visitors or travellers at the moment; you are under suspicion."

Link: https://www.sylestia.com/forums/?thread=99346&page=10#96 Author: Aphelion Time Posted: 9/9/2021 at 11:20 AM In the pouring rain, they close in, and you notice that their clothes are somehow dry, unaffected by the deluge of water just as the flames at the tips of their arrows. The boy makes his way to the side of a tall, stern-faced woman. This woman stands out from the others - while the other people hold their weapons ready, her knives are loosely hanging from her fingers. Her posture is casual, though at the same time she radiates some kind of authority. She holds up a hand. The warriors stop advancing. For a long while, there is only the sound of rain splattering into the ground, a sound that should have been swallowed by earth and grass, but the land had collected so much water it was practically raining into the surface of a lake. The woman watches you, taking in your disheveled, exhausted appearance, and clicks her tongue. "So you say," she speaks, and somehow her voice carries perfectly through the rainy hiss. "State your identity and business here, stranger. We are not expecting visitors or travellers at the moment; you are under suspicion."

"My name is Crystal and I was just passing by here when I got caught in the rain. I tried to find shelter under this tree and then that creature came. Please I don't mean any harm. Please I'll just leave if you let me go," Crystal couldn't help but shiver not just from the cold.

She was honestly scared after the creature had been attacked Crystal saw how skilled these people were with their weapons. Crystal also began to suspect that they or at least the woman had powers.

Once you settle yourself into the seat (as comfortably as you can with all sorts of metal bits poking into you and scrolls threatening to be crushed if you so breath incorrectly), you take a look at what surrounds you with more attention. You can't make out what the mechanical structures are for - they just look like lumps and random arrangements of metal welded or screwed together. Some look intricate and with purpose, but given how weird they look you don't know what they could possibly be used for.

The papers, on the other hand, you have better luck with. Frankly, the handwriting is barely readable and the text devolves into shorthand and symbols you can't decipher at some points, but you can make out some notes regarding terrain, location information, and instructions. A word here, a sentence fragment there, most of them not having any connection between each other. Maps are also among the scrolls. Some are simple, pretty much minimalistic, a collection of chicken scratch and dots. Others are incredibly detailed, close attention paid to each river, tree, and rock formation that springs up life-like on the paper.

Without giving you a warning, Baje tugs on a knob and then on a stick, and the plane rumbles to life, the vibrating metal going warm and basically purring beneath you. She presses a few buttons and flips a few switches, reaching up and tugging down the cabin cover with a strip of cloth tied to it for her short arms to reach. The next moment, the machine lurches forward, nearly throwing you out of the seat. It's moving now, slowly picking up speed as it rolls along the bumpy ground, each rock bumped into robbing you of any sense of balance.

((Of course. Gotta give the Chaser the cool entrance he deserves))

The monster doesn't react to your prod. It is solid and heavy, so when you poke at it, it barely gives under your stick.

"Falcon," the Chaser muses, as if testing out the name. "You do not owe me anything; it is my duty to keep people such as yourself safe from danger. Especially in places like this forest, where you should not be." He slinks forward until he is a few paces from you, and walks a slow circle around you. You get the feeling that you are being inspected, scrutinised. Beside you, Chantille clasps her hands nervously, never letting you or the Chaser out of her sight.

"You do not have permission to be here," the Chaser says after completing a full circle around you, coming to stand before you. He is slightly shorter than you, and with him this close you can see he has no wings under his cloak. "Who are you? Why are you with the Advesse?" His manner of speaking is not hostile, and his body language seems relaxed, but his heavy gaze betrays his true intent. He keeps on trying to put himself between you and Chantille, but the woman keeps on slipping out to stand beside you.

"Enough, Lord Chaser," Chantille says eventually, and bats the young man away. "Falcon is a perfectly kind boy who means no harm, and he is travelling with me. You must understand. Do not forget from whence you came."

The Chaser's eyes widen just a little, and he rapidly steps back until he is a respectful distance away. "I see. I will inform my supervisor."

"You will not," Chantille says. "You will trust me to handle this the correct way."

"Yes, Mein Advette," the Chaser sinks into a bow. "Then we will be seeing you soon."

Chantille smiles, all seriousness gone from her face, and she claps her hands together. "I look forward to it!" She nudges you. "You will come along, won't you?"

"As I have other business to attend to, I will take my leave," the Chaser says. To you, he gives an approving look. "Good quick thinking there, though next time try to aim for the eyes or somewhere unprotected by the fur. The beast may look soft, but its hide is about as impenetrable as stone." Then, without another word, he disappears into the forest without a sound, his cloak blending into the colours as if he'd never been there in the first place.

After the whole exchange, you still can't figure out too much about the formalities. You know as much as you have observed: the Chaser had been addressed as 'Lord Chaser', while Chantille had been addressed by "Advette" and "Mein Advette", though there was the errant "Advesse". It seems that "Advette" or "Advesse" could be a title of some sort.

When you try to stand up, you fall on your first few attempts. Your fingers are going red and stiff, while your legs have already gone numb, barely responding to the signals sent by your brain for your muscles to move. The wind batters at you, pushing you back, catching on your loose clothing like the wind catches on ship sails. It blows against you, so your progress is slow, further impeded by the thick layer of snow that your feet sink into. You have to yank each step out, dislodging and spraying snow everywhere.

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach the overhand. Here, there is a little protection against the wind and snow. Just barely, but anything away from that snowstorm is something to be cherished. You can at least see the colour of the rock beneath the layer of white dust, which is a slick black colour, dotted by grey speckles.

You do not expect the giant boulder at the side of the overhang to shift. With a jolt, snow knocks off of it, filling the air with the powder. It turns toward you, drawing a terrible scraping sound from the rocks beneath. Then, on the side, the surface seems to ripple, until a part of it peels back to reveal-

It is an eye - it finally clicks to your cold-addled mind. Eyelids of rough, speckled grey hide that looked like rocks had split open to reveal a deep purple iris that flickered red under the hazy light of the snowstorm. In the centre of it was a jagged, slitted pupil. A pupil that was looking right at you.