18+ Exodus

[Rextoret]

-In commemoration of IoK's 1 year anniversary, and of the man whose actions and departure led to it's creation, Envii.-​

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~Exodus~​

The first chapter of our newest story, brought to you by the Illusion of Knowledge RP group.​

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Winds blew over the plains that surrounded the Kingdom of Valora. The tall grass waved furiously, as if telling the gods of the danger that lurked around them. The landscape was blank, bleak, and almost depressing in nature. The occasional tree or rock formation broke the uniformity of the plains, but neither was common. An overbearing silence hung over the area, telling of the lack of life here. This was the Outlands, a land warped by magic and filled with deadly monsters of myth. This close to the city walls, the landscape seemed normal, similar to something that would be common in the outskirts of the kingdom. Farther out, the terrain became just as twisted and deformed as the creatures that roamed it. During the day, this area seemed safe enough. But come night, and all manner of monstrosities roamed free. ​

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Just a few thousand feet from the immense and sophisticated gates that led to the kingdom, was a large rock outcropping. The inside was mostly hollow, creating a small cave. And in the darkness of this cold shelter, was a boy and a makeshift campfire. Embers from the blaze floated about, looking like hundreds of busy fireflies. The young man, barely 18, blew onto the flames. When the fire had reached a steady pace, he stood and walked over to entrance of the cave. In the light of the sun, one could make out his features. He was short, with misty gray eyes and a full head of bleach blonde hair. His heavy coat flapped in the harsh wind as he surveyed the surroundings. ​

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There'd be a few more hours before the sun fell below the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Perhaps 3 or 4, he reckoned. Today was his third day surviving outside of the kingdom. His knives were already stained in the blood of monsters and his hands were already burned from mistakes while using magic. His eyes drifted to the massive gates of the kingdom. This was the south gate. There was also west and east gates, but there were rarely used for any purpose. Any exiled prisoners left the kingdom from the south gate. It was symbolic mostly, for the capital of the kingdom lay in the north. Perhaps the king wished to be as far away as he could from those who were exiled.​

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With a tinge of anger in his eyes, the boy longingly gazed at the gates as they began to slowly rise. He watched from the backside of a boulder as they climbed higher and higher into the sky. In the distance, he could make out the uniform of the Regulators. They seemed to be escorting a prisoner out of the kingdom. Or was it two? It was hard to distinguish figures at this length. It mattered little, for the boy now knew he might be having guests soon. He cringed.​

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[Mr.Self Destruct]

Valora's green fields shimmered in the midday sun, the tall grasses swaying gently with the breeze which carried with it the pleasant scent of spring. It was warm now, with the cold of winter now past. In the distance, the city of Valora seemed to shine, its towers and spires towering above the ground and raising up to the blue sky above. This was where humanity had made itself at home for the past millennia, a kingdom under the Father, an oasis in an unforgiving world rife with death and decay.

Maric reached out, running his hand along the tall grass as he walked along a seldom traveled path. This was home, this is where he belonged. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh spring air. With his eyes closed, he could still hear the chirping of songbirds and the rustle of leaves as the wind carried through the land.

Suddenly, the chirping came to an abrupt halt, and the rustle of leaves became an eerie and distant howl. He opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by gnarled trees, their skeletal branches looming above and covering the forest floor with shadows. Warmth left him, replaced by the frigid cold which at once made him shiver. All around, the trees moaned, their ancient trunks letting out an ominous tune of their own as the howling wind ripped through the woods.

The sound of twigs splitting underfoot made Maric reel around.

Standing but a few feet away was a husk, the hollowed undead remains of what was once a man. The creature's red eyes glowed menacingly in it's darkened sockets, gazing at Maric hungrily. It let out a raspy, bestial snarl through a set of blackened teeth which frothed with saliva. Wispy strands of grey hair fell from it's head, falling along the creature's shoulders which were covered in rusted chain mail. The husk let out another growl as it began to shamble forward, hissing as it raised it's worn battle axe, prepared to strike.

Maric awoke with a start, sitting up and panting heavily. For a moment he didn't recognize where he was, as everything was shrouded in darkness. He held still for a moment, his eyes searching the darkness as his vision slowly adjusted to the dim light coming in from the cave's entrance. All was quiet save for his heavy breathing, which gradually became a faint exhale as he calmed down. With a sigh, Maric stood from his makeshift bed of animal furs. He had been suffering from nightmares every night since his exodus, causing him to dread sleep. With a grunt, he cracked his neck and stretched his arms. Sleeping in armor certainly wasn't comfortable, but Maric did not dare ease up his guard. His caution had been the reason he had lived thus far, and the knight wasn't planning on getting comfortable with the Outlands any time soon.

He picked up his sword and shield, which were placed beside his bed. He sheathed his blade first, before taking a look at his shield. The wood had become splintered and chipped, with a large portion of the shield missing. Maric cursed under his breath, running his finger along where the wood had broken off. He could still remember the encounter which caused this, days prior he had unintentionally awoken a husk while searching for shelter. He was able to dispatch the creature without being harmed, but not before the undead managed to smash a portion of Maric's shield with it's mace.

Maric put on his steel helmet, and began to clamber out of the cave where he had made a temporary home. He took a moment to survey his surroundings, looking all around him and making sure the coast was clear. In the distance, he could still see the Wall's peak, and for a moment he thought back to those first few nights he had spent on the outside. That first day he didn't leave the Wall, he couldn't bring himself to put any more distance between himself and his home. He prayed and prayed, and when that didn't help, he began to yell. He banged on the gates, screaming at the top of his lungs until he lost his voice. And when that didn't help, he collapsed and wept, pleading that he was innocent. A brave knight, meant to be a paragon of chivalry and courage, weeping like a child.

He felt ashamed looking back, but he couldn't feel sorry for himself now. He learned quickly, it didn't matter how much you prayed or screamed or cried. He was in the Outlands now, and no one would come to save him.

With a deep breath, he set out.

 

[Ponder]

They told him he stood accused of crimes most heinous. Cselíd found this rather amusing. Chained upside-down to a dungeon wall as he was, he couldn't even stand on his own two legs to pee, let alone to be accused of anything. Still, at least he knew there was a single monolithic entity behind the daily procession of plaintiffs, and they hadn't figured what he'd actually done yet. Although certainly not for lack of trying.

Cselíd grinned. It was nice, the way some things never changed. The sun rose every morning, the cosmos rolled on, and the Clergy's machinations were as subtle as moldy bread. And about as clever, too.

A creak echoed from beyond his cell door, followed by a muted conversation. Then, footsteps. They were nice footsteps, smart and even, and muffled. Leather boots, maybe? Cselíd listened hopefully. Yes, they were the kind of footsteps you might have if you were a keen young inquisitor who hadn't quite figured out the myriad possibilities for creative artistry offered by steel-toed boots. The footsteps slowed, then stopped. Something rattled, and light spilled onto his face.

"Cselíd of the Plain Folk," screamed a voice from somewhere around groin-level. "You stand accused of crimes most heinous!"

Cselíd looked up--or down, as it were--and his heart soared with joy. The face peeking out from beneath the red cowl was young, and positively radiated keenness. The boy practically glowed with the stuff. He had probably just graduated from novicehood, if he'd even gotten that far yet. Which was fine with Cselíd. It took a certain sort to be an inquisitor, but novices generally hadn't tuned their sadism to the same degree as their older counterparts. And they were much worse at improvising.

"Cselíd of the Plain Folk," the voice repeated, with slightly less conviction. "You stand accu-"

"Hang."

"Huh?"

Cselíd sighed. "I hang accused of crimes most heinous."

Silence. Then, "Er... Okay." The inquisitor took a deep breath and began anew. "Cselíd of the Plain Folk, you hang-"

"More like dangle, rea-"

"CSELÍD OF THE PLAIN FOLK! YOU DANGLE ACCUSED OF CRIMES MOST HEINOUS!"

After some thought, Cselíd said, "Alright. I can live with that."

"Will you confess?"

"Sounds like you already confessed for me."

"You must confess!" The inquisitor repeated insistently.

"I think I won't."

"You must!"

"And if I don't?"

The inquisitor threw his arms up in indignation. "Then we'll hang you! What'dya think of that? Huh?"

Cselíd considered this. After turning it over in his head several times, he said, "Well, I'll tell you one thing."

"What?"

"I certainly won't stand for that."

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

Pale sunlight streamed through the high, narrow windows in the Priest's quarters of a small chapel in one of the lower districts of the city of Valora, shining on strewn-about bits of steel armor and a clergyman's robes, seemingly slowing time as dust particles wafted to and fro. That cool afternoon, Rosthor Iszis was in the throes of passion, a small, simple wooden bed creaking underneath him and a beautiful half-Tíre knight named Caryel. The dark-skinned man didn't quite know what he was doing, only that it was forbidden to him, and it filled him with the pleasure of rapture. A worrisome man he was when his safe routine was threatened, but after a few weeks of this, his fear of disturbing the powers that be were beginning to subside.

That's why he cringed when the door opened with a loud crack. "Heathen!" cried one of the Regulators.

"Blasphemer!"

"Harlot! Temptress!" Ross, brow furrowed, head shaking, pulled himself up and began to dress, too embarrassed to care that he was exposing himself to the elite guardians of the Church. Caryel sat, covering herself in the bed's thin fur blanket, as Ross turned to her once more and said sadly, "I'm sorry."

They took him to the dungeon, leading him past a witty Tíre, and chained him upside-down, a treatment he had seen once before. He had felt bad for the poor man, in spite of whatever crimes he must have committed, and now he felt the blood rushing to his head as the inquisitor before him said evenly, "Rosthor Iszis, Priest of Selone, you stand accused of crimes most heinous. Confess."

With a sigh, Ross began, "Yes, I broke my vow of celibacy."

"You are-"

"And, I have dabbled in the chaotic arts." The interrupted inquisitor knew enough from this point to hold his tongue. He took hold of the green ribbon tied on Ross's collar, signifying his place in the Priesthood of Selone, and yanked it off.

Ross and Caryel were reunited in the back of a cart rolling away from the great monolith of stone that was Valora, silently moving south over hills, past farms populated by onlooking Tíre, until the Wall materialized in the south end of the kingdom, sprouted a wooden gate, and the gate parted to reveal open plains and lurid blue-gold sky creeping up on evening. The duo's bindings were undone, and they were thrown just outside the gates' reach to watch them close with finality. After a moment more in silence, Ross slowly stood, dusted himself off, and helped up Caryel. His hand remained on her arm as he looked to her, waiting for her to speak first.

 

[Farthlion]

They had told her that she had corrupted the priest. Rosthor was a man of the church, and therefore had a vow of celibacy... a vow that she assisted him in breaking. While this was bad, the Tíre in her was more concerned about how much this dishonored her. Her mother had believed that honor was the most outstanding trait one could have, as it led to other positives in a person. Not only that, but as a knight the half-Tíre had a duty to portray the living definition of the word. It felt terrible to do something so irresponsible. Actually, if Caryel were to admit it, it felt terrible to be caught.

Exile was the worst punishment in Valora. It meant death - but by means so that your family could not honor your memory. You received no grave an your memory was forgotten. Just a mark in the permanent records of those who had committed serious cries. Even if it was a cumulative number of minor offenses, your name would be synonymous with murderers and traitors.

After she had confessed her crime to the inquisitor, they brought her - hands bound - to a cart carrying Ross. They journeyed down the familiar roads the half-Tíre once traveled when visiting her mother, where the Tíre lived and labored. Caryel took a deep breath as she observed the Tíre who were hard at work, several taking enough notice of the cart to inspect the latest batch of lawbreakers. Then the wall appeared, and with that the gates. One last time, as if saying goodbye, she took in the place she called home before several men heaved the wooden exit open.

Little was known about the Outlands. As a child, she was told stories about the horrors of what was beyond the wall. Mainly for amusement and for the older children to scare her, but who knew if they were or were not true though? Those who were exiled never returned to tell stories. Even her mother, who had lived closer to the wall than any of the Valorans, didn't have much to say about the Outlands. Only one thing was the same: you weren't expected to live long if you had the misfortune of being exiled.

The priest and knight's bindings were undone in a routine manner by a pair of guards, and the two were roughly thrown outside of the gates. Just as quickly as they had opened, the wooden structures closed with a thud. It was truly an exit, for nobody ever entered.

Ross was the first to stand up. He brushed the dirt off his robes and reached down to assist Caryel. With his help, she lifted herself up, adjusting her armor slightly before realizing that he was still touching her arm. The dark skinned man looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.

"This honestly isn't too bad," the half-Tíre spoke, optimism laced in her wavering voice, "The stories always made it seem like it was a cursed wasteland..." She looked around at the radiant green grass and clear blue sky. Snowy mountains stood in one direction, while the other consisted of a thick forest with trees as tall as the wall itself. It was quite beautiful. So much open space was unheard of within Valora.

"I suppose our first course of action should be figuring out where to go. There are bound to be others out here. A lot of people break the law everyday," Caryel stated, remembering several occasions where several of her fellow knights would complain about the levels of crime. They couldn't be the only ones out here.

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

"This honestly isn't too bad," Caryel said in spite of a quavering voice, in an attempt to salvage the situation. "The stories always made it seem like it was a cursed wasteland..."

"We might not... be to the cursed parts yet," Rosthor quietly said. The plains were wide open for the most part, with a few outcroppings in the distance. It certainly looked better to Ross' companion than himself - he found it to be eerily desolate. And there was the circumstances of their exile. "I suppose our first course of action should be figuring out where to go. There are bound to be others out here. A lot of people break the law everyday,"

The ex-Priest steeled himself, surveying the landscape, and picking out in the distance a particularly large rock formation that looked like it might serve as shelter. "There's that," he said.

When the duo decided on their destination, a silence persisted against the aural backdrop of wind that seemed to echo across the hollow land. Finding it unnerving, Ross had to break it. "I-I'm sorry. I got us into this, and... I'm sorry."

Oh, by Selone, Ross thought to himself, I also got myself excommunicated, and destroyed my career, and- I must sound so selfish to you, my Lady, it's just that I loved how things were.

But did he really? Ross rubbed his temple. Did he love the draconian authorities that constantly meddled in his work, or the monotony, or the occasional sin by a Bishop or Archdiocese he watched swept under the rug? No, but just being able to study was nice. But... maybe I need to really learn what love is, just Caryel and I. I guess I'll make the most of it.

Cheered slightly, Ross turned to look at Caryel, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly, and took her hand. "At least we're together, right?" he suggested tenuously. They were beginning to distance themselves from the Wall. "Let me see what I can see," Ross said before summoning an aura of warm green light into his open palm. He held it over his eyes for a second, then removed it; the plains that stretched before him were washed with green in his eyes, except for one small figure far in the distance that glowed red under the shelter of the outcropping Ross had noticed. Life.

 

[Farthlion]

"There's that," Ross pointed in the distance to a formation of rocks. Caryel nodded in reply, pushing some hair behind her ear and began walking in the designated direction with the priest. A silence fell upon the pair, and the half-Tíre busied herself by checking her belongings. Her sword, a small dagger, and small pouch of coins were all still on her. At least they had the decency to not take anything, she thought.

She hadn't realized how upset Ross could be until he spoke, "I-I'm sorry. I got us into this, and... I'm sorry." This whole situation had pretty much ruined his life. He seemed to think that he was the one at fault here. Caryel mustered up her best reassuring smile, "It wasn't all your fault. I mean, I started it."

A moment passed and Ross took her hand, surprising the half-Tíre, "At least we're together, right?"

"No kidding. I'd go crazy if it were just me out here," Caryel stated, knowing that it was entirely true. She disliked being alone. While the woman wasn't sure where it stemmed from, she simply felt uncomfortable without another person nearby. She let go of his hand and continued to their destination.

"Let me see what I can see," he extended his hand in front of him, a green light emitting from it. Caryel was confused. She knew this was magic, but she didn't know what Ross could be doing. Knights didn't use magic, and Tire didn't have the ability. She watched as he lifted it up to his eye and then quickly extinguished the light.

"What are you doing?" Caryel inquired, "Does it help you see things?"

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Maric moved quietly through the dense forest, stepping over the roots and vegetation which covered the ground. The woods were safe enough during the day, although Maric was still wary of coming across a husk or other monster. It was when the sun had set and darkness risen that the forest became fraught with danger. The night was truly something to fear, as it came with the onset of horrific, nightmarish creatures. Many of the legends told of the beasts living in the Outlands happened to be true. Maric never expected to actually encounter husks, the creatures which plagued his childhood with nightmares. He could only hope that the stories of ancient demons didn't turn out to be true as well.

He continued moving, unsure of exactly where he was going but keeping a note on the way he came and how to backtrack to his shelter. He reckoned that he ought to scope the surrounding forest and get a general sense of how to navigate the area. For the next few hours he trekked, exploring the forest with no real goal in mind. The woods were oddly quiet, save for the occasional cry of a crow or the distant howl of wind. In silence, the armored knight made his way through the fog which enshrouded the forest.

Maric froze in in place as a thunderous boom resounded throughout the woods, a sound he recognized as the closing of the gates. A flock of startled birds frantically began to caw as they flapped away from a nearby tree, leaving behind them a flurry of feathers which fluttered down towards Maric. One landed in the palm of his open hand, and for a moment he gazed longingly at the single feather which was a dull shade of grey. However he was quick to come back to his senses as he clenched his hand and pocketed the feather. The closing of the gates could mean only one thing, more exiles.

Not too far away was a tall outcropping of moss-covered stone, as good a vantage point as any. Curious as to who was being exiled, Maric set about climbing the outcropping to get a better view of the wall's base. Carefully, he began to scale the rock wall, a difficult task even without the armor he was wearing. After a few minutes of climbing, Maric heaved himself to the top of the outcropping. He narrowed his eyes, looking out towards the southern gate. He could vaguely see two figures, although the exiles were too far away to make out any details.

Unbeknownst to Maric, there was another standing right below him.

 

[Delusional]

"Dreyfus Avandchel, you stand acc-"

"Yeah yeah, you got me. Get on with it," the tired Valoran sighed. It was remarkably difficult to sleep in the entirely uncomfortable and awkward position the inquisitors preferred to chain their prisoners up in, and Dreyfus had been confined to these chains for what seemed like days--though, he couldn't be sure, because there wasn't a single indication of time down in the holding cells where the soon-to-be exiles were thrown in.

The inquisitor glared at the hanging Dreyfus with pure and unadulterated malice. He was no novice; Dreyfus could tell that now. Usually the novices didn't quite know how to react to backtalk from the prisoners, which was surprisingly common among the holding cells. The first inquisitor, the one who showed the scientist down to his cell initially, was very much a novice. However, this man was one of those inquisitors--the veteran, experienced, humanity-hating, neck-snapping, knife-stabbing kind of inquisitor.

"I said, Dreyfus Avandchel, you stand accused of crimes most heinous," he finished deliberately, spit from his words showering Dreyfus in a barrage of tobacco and wine flavored saliva.

"Very well, very well." Dreyfus decided he would go quietly, much to the satisfaction of this inquisitor.

"Confess now."

"I, Dreyfus Avandchel, stand accused of conducting my own private studies and research for the good the the kingdom without the explicit permission and condoned agreement of the Institute's science and research wing." Dreyfus sighed again and looked up at the inquisitor. "Enough?"

"Yes. That's enough."

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The turn-around was remarkably quick. After he had confessed in the cells, it look less than a day before he was sitting alone in a carriage, headed through the colossal southern gate of Valora. Hands bound, Dreyfus watched as he passed rolling farmland belonging to the native Plains Folk, townships and villages, then finally the Wall and its imposing gate. This was the end of the line.​

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Squinting, Dreyfus observed as the massive gates creaked open slowly, fascinated. The sheer amount of machinery and workings that had to be nestled within the Wall in order for the gate to open intrigued the Valoran scholar to no end. He wondered what kind of system the gate-opening mechanism operated on, or what powered the system--even what types of gears or pulleys they had used or where they obtained them from. Dreyfus became so caught up in the possible inner workings of the gate that he didn't realize the carriage had pulled through the opening and he was being shoved off by two burly guards.​

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He hit the ground hard. A cloud of dust swirled around him, sneaking its way into his nose, mouth, ears and eyes almost immediately. Coughing, Dreyfus looked back to the Wall just to see the wooden gate closing with a tremendous thud.​

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As Dreyfus tried to rub the dust out of his eyes, he stood and looked out to the world before him. A desolate plain lay before him, mounds and outcroppings of rock peeking up from the dirt every so often. Then, past the dust and dirt the scholar saw trees. Not normal, green trees with abundant leaves--no, these were hardly trees. Gnarled trunks with tangled limbs, they rose from the ground in the distance, creating a seemingly impenetrable wall of branches.

"My gods... might as well call it quits now," Dreyfus muttered, rubbing his eyes a final time before setting out and finding some sort of shelter in an attempt to prolong his now inevitably short life.

However, when Dreyfus scanned his surroundings further, he noticed two figures in the distance, moving away from the Wall. Others! Perhaps I can catch up with them... And with that, Dreyfus started after the two distant figures, even as doubts began to flash in his mind.

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

"What are you doing? Does it help you see things?" Caryel asked.

"Yes. It allows me to see, well, life. And I do see some -" Ross pointed at the rock formation in the distance. "There's someone out there." The pair picked up their pace wary but eager to find another in the same predicament as themselves. Selone, I just pray that they're willing to work with us. But as they drew closer still, Ross and Caryel were stopped by the distant sound of the gates closing on another poor soul. Ross stopped, looking back and seeing yet another exile advancing their way.

"Shall we call to him?" he turned to Caryel and asked.

 

[Gentleman Adventurer]

The dungeon was practically pitch black, and it smelled like a distinct mix of rotting flesh and piss. Certainly a far cry from the order and cleanliness of the Clergy's chapels. Though Gideon's cell block was mostly silent, every once in a while he'd catch the muffled footsteps of an Inquisitor, the metallic creek of a cell door being opened, and the screams of whatever unlucky bastard was being dragged to his execution. Or worse, but Gideon preferred not to think about that. It was all he could do to remain sane in this hellhole.

He’d been stuck here for two weeks now, from what he could gather. Every day it was the same routine. He’d sit around, wasting away while he looked for some way out. At some point, an Inquisitor would walk down to his cell, deliver his food, and ask him for a confession. Gideon always refused. Today, however, he was giving up.

When he heard the sound of boots on the stone path that led to his cell, he prepared himself. He stood up, brushed the dirt off his clothes, and shooed a rat away. As he watched, the Inquisitor (Gideon had never bothered to learn his name, and he doubted he ever would) came into view. He was an older man, perhaps in his 60's, and he carried himself with an unmistakable air of superiority. A standard member of the Clergy, Gideon supposed. The Inquisitor followed the usual routine; he stopped in front of Gideon's cell, fumbled with his keys for a moment, unlocked the door, placed Gideon's food inside, shut it again, then spoke.

"Gideon Agrane, you stand accused of crimes most heinous. Will you confess?" The Inquisitor sounded tired today. Perhaps he, too, had grown weary of this game.

Gideon sighed deeply, looked up to meet the other man's gaze, then spoke. "Yes."

The Inquisitor's jaw dropped. "I...you're confessing? Honestly?"

"What part of 'yes' did you not understand?" Gideon gave a sneer as he said it, though he doubted it could be seen in the darkness of his cell. "I'm a criminal, a blasphemer, whatever. Just arrange my execution and be done with it."

The Inquisitor gave a look that, if Gideon didn't know any better, he could almost describe as pity. "Oh, no, my boy. I'm afraid you're not going to be executed. You're going to be exiled." With that, he turned and began to walk away. "Your sentence will be carried out tomorrow," he called back, his voice gradually fading along with the sound of his footsteps.

Gideon simply sighed. At least he'd be getting a change of scenery.

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Maric looked on for a while, staring at the figures a few hundred meters off by the wall. They appeared to be conversing, but he was much too far off to make out anything they were saying. For a moment, Maric wished he could have been here sooner, just to catch a glimpse of Valora as the gates were raised. He missed the place terribly. He began to imagine the green fields and forests of his kingdom, and he became lost with thought as he daydreamed of his childhood and growing up in the country.

Suddenly, the gates began to rumble, and Maric watched as they were raised to reveal just a glimpse of his home. They were exiling another already. Maric watched as a single man was dropped off outside the wall, before the gates were shut once more.

He snapped out of his trance as the sound of gravel crunching caught his ears. He stood absolutely still, his eyes narrowed as his hand quietly reached for his sheathed blade. That's when he heard it, breathing. It was nearly impossible to catch, but Maric was able to make out the faint sound of someone, or something, drawing breath. Looking around, he realized the sound could only be coming from below.

His eyes looked down, peering over the edge of the rock formation he was standing upon. Just beneath him was another, what seemed like a boy with blonde hair and a small frame. His back was turned, so Maric couldn't make out any further details. However he realized that this stranger must be another exile, there was simply no other explanation.

This was the first person Maric had seen in weeks. For a moment, he had no idea of how to approach the situation. He figured that the person he was dealing with must be a criminal of some sort, responsible for something that warranted an exodus. But what of Maric? How could he know with certainty that this boy was truly guilty when Maric had been exiled for a crime he did not commit?

Reasoning that this person may be worth working with, Maric decided to confront him. As a precaution, he unsheathed his sword, just in case things took a turn for the worst. Taking a step forward, Maric spoke.

"Look up."

 

[Farthlion]

"There's someone out there. Shall we call to him?"

Caryel looked toward the gates. A lone figure stood there, most likely taking in the seemingly endless view of the Outlands. The half-Tíre stood and observed the figure for a moment before nodding. She turned swiftly and began to walk at an even pace toward the gates.

"You! Over here!" she yelled, waving an arm with enthusiasm. Hopefully this would give him a signal that they were indeed friendly and there was no need to attack. Just to be safe, Caryel placed her free hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to draw it in case things went south. This person had obviously done something to become exiled - whether it was a danger to her, she wasn't certain. The half-Tíre would not be taking any chances.

 

[Rextoret]

"Look up."

The boy jumped, startled. His head shot up. In his eyes, a knight-looking figure. He had his sword unsheathed, and was looking down at him.

"What the- Why are sneaking up on me! If you think you can kill me and steal my stuff, you're wrong! I'm far from defenseless!"

He pulled a dagger out from his coat's pocket, holding it in his left hand. In his right, a small flickering flame had appeared. He stood in a defensive stance and had a bit of a scowl on his face.

"It may just be my third night, but I'm not gonna be killed by some... Bandit! So, back off! I'm not afraid to fight you if I have to! Is that what you want? Tell me what you're trying to do, now!"

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Maric's grip tightened around his sword as the boy suddenly tensed and reeled around to face him.

"What the- Why are sneaking up on me! If you think you can kill me and steal my stuff, you're wrong! I'm far from defenseless!"
The boy reached for a dagger before summoning a small flame in his free hand. Immediately Maric took hold of his sword with both hands, getting into a defensive stance. As of right now, if things were to take a turn for the worst, the odds were in his favor. Maric had the high ground, the bigger blade, and a suit of armor. Still, he knew not to underestimate the capabilities of rogue mages.
"It may just be my third night, but I'm not gonna be killed by some... Bandit! So, back off! I'm not afraid to fight you if I have to! Is that what you want? Tell me what you're trying to do, now!"

Maric narrowed his eyes, relaxing his grip around his sword and warily lowering his blade. He wasn't here to fight.

"I'm not going to fight you, boy." Maric said, realizing he hadn't spoken so many words in a long time. "I've no intention of killing you and taking your belongings. You and I are both exiles, we ought to work together."

Slowly, Maric sheathed his blade, knowing he was taking a risk and letting his guard down.

"What do you say?"

 

[Rextoret]

"I'm not going to fight you, boy. I've no intention of killing you and taking your belongings. You and I are both exiles, we ought to work together."

The man in armor sheathed his sword, obviously not trying to seem intimidating.

"What do you say?"

The boy extinguished the flame and slipped the dagger back into the folds of his coat.

"I guess we could... cooperate." He was still distrustful of the man, but decided that having him around could help. At the least, he could use him as a human shield. "I'm Jaryk. Who are you, and why are you out here?" Obviously, he needed to know who this man was.

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

"I guess we could... cooperate." Maric nodded, feeling somewhat relieved that this confrontation didn't have to end in violence. As gracefully as possible in a suit of plate armor, Maric made his way down to Jaryk's level. "I'm Jaryk. Who are you, and why are you out here?"

Maric paused and looked at the boy, a stern expression behind his steel helmet. "My name is Maric," and with that he turned his gaze towards the wall, where the three new exiles seemed to be working out a course of action. He intentionally didn't answer the second part of Jaryk's question, despite realizing there was little use in keeping secrets in the Outlands, he didn't feel comfortable discussing the events which led to his exile. However he knew that his name alone might be enough of an answer, the Prince's death at the hands of a knight named Maric wasn't something that was kept hidden from the people. By the time he was exiled, Maric had become notorious as a traitor and murderer.

Maric knew none of it was true, but that wasn't enough for those who exiled him.

"Those three down there, we could try and approach them. Though we would need to be careful, they outnumber us and there's no way of knowing how they'll react."

 

[Delusional]

It was not long before the distant exiles took notice of Dreyfus approaching and called for him to come to them. Dreyfus quickened his pace upon hearing the shout, tripping and stumbling through the scattered rocks and dead, gnarled shrubbery that the desolate plain immediately surrounding the Wall had to offer as scenery. It was then, after almost falling flat on his face after a particularly nasty stumble at the hands of a long-deceased shrub whose roots had long emerged from the cracked earth below it, begging for water, that Dreyfus realized how hot it felt. Surely the temperature throughout the entirety of these Outlands can't be this hot, and it's only a result of the open desert, but Dreyfus couldn't be sure.

Soon Dreyfus caught up with the other exiles, who had stopped and waited as the scholar tripped his way to them from the Wall, which seemed a world away now. Coughing, he stopped before them, pausing for several moments to catch his breath.

"Um, well... hello, I suppose..." Dreyfus stuttered after several long seconds of silence, adjusting his clothes and wiping away a few stray beads of sweat that had already collected on his forehead. "It, uh... looks like you two just got thrown out here too, huh?"

 

[Rextoret]

"My name is Maric," The man turned to face the wall. Jaryk's eyes followed his. "Those three down there, we could try and approach them. Though we would need to be careful, they outnumber us and there's no way of knowing how they'll react."

Jaryk spotted them as well. He slightly nodded nodded his head before replying. "Alright, I guess we should go see of they're friendly or not. I'll keep my hand near my daggers though. There's no point in trusting exiles."

With that, Jaryk started to walk down toward the group of three. He expected Maric to follow, though he really didn't care if he did or not.

 

[Farthlion]

Caryel observed the man carefully before relaxing, dropping her hand from the hilt of her sword. He didn't seem to be a threat. Smiling apprehensively, the half-Tíre extended her hand in greeting.

"Hello, I'm Caryel. This is Rosthor," she motioned with her free hand to the priest beside her, "And yes. We were thrown out not long before you. We were heading to that rock formation for some shelter." Caryel pointed in the direction to the rocks - which were a ways away.

"I figure that if we stick together, we'll have a better chance of surviving out here. Doesn't seem too bad now, but the stories had to come from somewhere. You're welcome to join us," she offered the man. The half-Tíre knew she probably should have asked Ross if he was OK with the situation, but the words just poured out of her mouth. She was excited to have found another friendly source of life in the Outlands. While it was a newly exiled Valoran, it was still quite a development.