Mountain Rest
Tenebrae - Monday, January 26, 2015, 6:54 PM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* H05: Redridge Mountains *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The Redridge arcs high above the landscape. Towards the south, the Shining City itself is built into them. This far north, the co-forces of the Hunter and Earth Mother hold firmer sway. Along this mountainous wilderness are tucked small communities--areas the khazad had settled long ago and simply "dug in." Of late, the egalrin have also made themselves known, and their woven nests can be seen here and there.
A number of goat-paths crisscross this section of the Redridge, and though steep, the area is explorable given a little determination. Below and towards the west, the great Tornmawr glitters, its well-known ferry ready to assist travelers in their crossing. Beyond its shores, the landscape turns greener, and trees fill the spaces the mountains leave behind.
The icy northwest wind howls, blowing snow about in savage gusts. The cold is intense. The sky is clear deep blue and the stars glitter, brilliant as diamonds.
Mikilos wanders idly along the mountain paths, having little concern for the occasional dropoff, despite the gusty winds. The elf is well wrapped against the cold, but seems more curious to the occasional nooks and cranies than the vast expanses of the mountainside. A small basket is looped over one arm, filled with slim cuttings of plants dried by the winter winds.
The egalrin's wings are tight against its back. She's at the base of a cliff...and looks up at it almost balefully. The sound of approaching footsteps has her scrambling to her feet, though.
Mikilos continues closer, a little moreso than typically proper before offering a greeting, but mostly just waiting until out of the wind and able to speak without his words being blown away. "Good 'marrow, miss. How are you this Variday?"
"Hey," the egalrin says. She glances at the basket, taking the mage's outfit in--a glance at the side, face, hands. All places a weapon might lie. Intent might show. A flick of the wings. "I was climbing. Had a bit of a fall," warily.
Mikilos winces a little, and frowns. "Not a good day for climbing. Are you alright? I'm no healer, but easy enough to reach one."
"I am fine," the egalrin replies, and looks down at her clothes. Dusts off some leftover dust, irritably. "I--fell." It's the fact that she fell that seems to be the most troubled part. "What brings you out this way?" Change of subject.
Mikilos nods, and shrugs the basket. "Winter moss, mostly. Also found a nest of old rock-finch eggshell, which was unexpected, but nice. I don't typically try these paths, but way the wind has been the last few days has dried the spores out nicely." Wizards, their ways are not for mundanes to understand.
The egalrin glances cautiously at the basket, and then seems to relax. The wings ease away from the shoulders. "It has been windy. I didn't know that wind had anything to do with the harvest. ...Jahnavi, guardsworn," she says.
Mikilos nods, and smiles. "The weather has almost everything to do with a good harvest. Mikilos, Builder Arcane. A fair wind to lift your wings and spirit, guard Jahnavi. Are you a recent arrival? I don't come this way often, but I do try to keep up to date with who's around."
"I am...recently from the Aerie. My parents worked this path and these roads. I'd do honor to their memory," a shrug, a lift of shoulders from the egalrin, "And it's good, honest work. Wasn't always like that."
Mikilos nods, frowning thoughtfully a moment, and shakes his head. "Might have met them years past, but perhaps not. And yes, the last for years have brought fair tidings to the whole area. The Years of Mist... well, the less said the better. Do you roost in the city?" His terminology might be off, but he tries.
A shrug and a gesture of wings. A half-answer, a youth trying to be sly about it. "Nearby. I work with the khazad, some. They run most of the mines around here. ...do you. Work with them at all?" she asks.
Mikilos nods. "Some. Roargroth of the Khalzak mine. Tiergol of Dhalkak. And... whichever brother runs Fepthar, Eklham or Eklrin, I can never tell the twins apart. But yes, I make a point to use local materials whenever possible." The khazad names roll off the crafter's tongue with fluent familiarity.
Jahnavi tilts her head to the side at him. It's an avian's gesture and displays curiosity well. A quick look over his ears, and back. "I know Roargroth. ...stiffnecked. Smart," she adds, quickly.
Mikilos grins. "Stuborn as the rocks he mines. But aye, he sets a fair trade and makes a good metal. I tend to use his stuff for crafting armors."
The egalrin takes some brief time adjusting to this. She shifts her stance, and nods once. "He has a reputation for it, aye," she says. It sounds like a rumor she'd heard. Perhaps she'd met the fellow. Perhaps not. "You do weapons and the like?"
Mikilos nods, frowning mildly as he peers around the area, distracted by some thought. "Aye, swrods are soemthing of my forte, though I craft just about everything. Never got into wands, though. And of course divine magics are outside my jurisdiction."
A pause and then a nod, filing it away for later on, and Mikilos receives a keener look this time around. "I'm glad I ran into you, then. Is your shop nearby?"
Mikilos ponders that one a second, and shrugs. "Kinda? On the mountain road of the city, not too far from the Temple of Vardama. Under the silvered spire, if you happen to have noticed it. Keep meaning the climb up there and shine it up, make a true landmark, but, eh, distractions." Distracted at the moment, he takes a long look up, and then down the path. "Am I recalling right, the nearest rest cove is at the base there, where the three paths cross?"
The egalrin turns to look and stares for a while. "...I see another path joining this one. It may be the one you're looking for," she says, as she turns back around. She hefts the bardiche at her side, and sets it on the ground, as a walking stick.
Mikilos nods. "Far enough, then. Here, step back." The wizard falls quiet for a moment, and begins to murmur rapidly under his breath, pressing his hands flat against the cliff, and gives a slow push. The fun part being that it's the mountain that moves back. Or more accurately, that squishes and bends, more like soft clay than solid stone. The elf moves swiftly, widening and deepening the natural cleft, shapeing the stone up and out to form a simple roof, sloped to catch and funnel rain or snow while still letting in the natural light. Crude benches form around the edge, and a small recess into the back wall, where a simple heat source could warm the small rest stop now formed, a thin channel carved into the wall above it to guide smoke up and out. Moments ago, a wide spot in the path. Now, a simple shelter, where travelers can stop for a minute in relitive comfort, or even take shelter for the night in a pinch.
GAME: Mikilos casts Stone Shape. Caster Level: 9 DC: 22
Jahnavi watches the mountain move. Her wings lift and hold. Clamp. Lift. "Interesting. That is useful. It is also very useful." She blinks a few times. Apparently the egalrin has a bent towards the practical.
Mikilos nods, and sighs, stepping inside and takeing a seat upon one of the fresh crafted benches. "And tireing. I always forget just how stuborn stone can be if you don't prep it first. Ah well, a plesant little susprise for the next traveler to come along. Some get annoyed, reshaping the wilds to civilized shapes, but I figure this isn't exactly wild lands. More like farmlands, for those who prefer to farm rocks and ore."
"It can be stubborn," Jahnavi agrees. A flicker of feather could be a smile--they have beaks, after all. Harsh things. "Just like the people hewn from it. ...do you think it's true? Gnomes sprung from the rocks and pebbles, also?"
Mikilos ponders a few moments, and shrugs. "Maybe? I'd guess more the rich soil of the farmlands than the stones of the mountain, but only the gods know for certain. Difficult enough to trace my own lineage to the end of the First Age. The creations of the races are a mystery long lost."
The egalrin shifts uncomfortably, at that. Egalrin. The creation of Eluna's tears. "Your people have a very long life," she observes. "...did you ever run into...the old ones?"
Mikilos blinks, and tilts his own head, unsure. "...I've encounted a great many beings in my travels, some of them quite ancient. *cough* Grandma Mithralla *cough* ...which particular Old Ones do you mean?"
"The old egalrin," the egalrin says. The hunters, the raiders. The skyscream, the blood lightning. She looks at the sildanyari intently, after that. INTENNNNNTTTLYYY...
Mikilos ahs, and nods. "A rare few. Was one here in Alexandros for a time, some... 300 years young... not sure what became of her. But nothing in detail, no. My ancestors kept to the lands of the north, and my father didn't spend long in theses lands." A brief frown, there. "For myself, I've barely but a dozen decades to my name, though I like to think I've filled the years well."
"I would like to meet them, someday," the tone suggesting it would not be kind. Perhaps Jahnavi meant a different sort of old one? The end feathers flick. "It was good to meet you, Mithralla."
Mikilos nods, and smiles. "And a pleasure to meet you, Jahnavi of the guardsworn. I'm sure we'll meet again some time. Though in truth, I likely should be headed back. I'll have customers at my door once the sky is dark and other works have ended."