In Dire Straits - dreaming of somewhere, but not here

ooc: please let Corvo post first with Gaven!

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It had been days.

Harriette and her travel partner had walked for what seemed like ages, stopping only to eat and sleep. Despite the fact that Gaven needed time to set up a small camp each time they stopped, they managed to keep their halts brief and efficient. Harriette tried to handle most of the hunting, but her elven friend would lend a hand now and then. Even if he annoyed her now and then with his incessant chattering, he was helpful, and Harriette couldn’t deny that fact.

The pale wolf’s body was growing tired as the trekked onward – she was carrying a lot of supplies for Gaven and a good amount of her own (herbs and various other medicinal materials). It was easier for her to carry them, but they were beginning to weigh her down as they reached the last leg of their journey. She’d rather be tired than short on necessities though, and she was always thankful to have things to help them sleep or ease their aches and pains.

The weather didn’t always cooperate for the pair, and they had traveled through a couple of wind storms and a nasty cold spell as well. But when the trails they walked remained brown with dirt rather than white from snow, Gaven was quick to voice his concerns. From what Sveyn had told them of his home, Bacchus, it was a wintry location – arctic and cold year round. This didn’t seem to be what they were approaching, and there was more than a few times where Gaven questioned their path, telling Harriette that it didn’t seem right.

Harriette didn’t know what to tell him, aside from the fact that she had been following any scent markers that Sveyn had left on his travels back to his home. This is where he went, this is the path he took, and this was where they’d find him. Maybe the weather was changing, maybe he was exaggerating the cold. It didn’t matter – this was where they had to go to find him.

Gaven never seemed too convinced, but trusted in his four-legged companion nonetheless.

As they walked, the air around them began to grow warmer and denser. Harriette wasn’t used to such a sticky atmosphere and it was making her tire quickly, feeling as though she couldn’t fill her lungs with enough oxygen to keep herself going. What a terrible feeling, like suffocating, or drowning above water.

“Ugh, Gaven, this is unbearable. The air is so … Thick.” She complained lightly, panting as she spoke.

Stopping for a moment to catch her breath, she rubbed her face down the inside of her foreleg, as though trying to wipe the moist air from her fur. When she brought her head up and looked ahead of where they stood, she thought she saw something.

Squinting lightly, she tried to determine what it was she was seeing up ahead; It seemed there was a forest, but between them and the forest there appeared to be a sort of structure. Harriette had just caught Sveyn’s scent not too long beforehand, leading her this way. This was where he had gone, she knew she was following his footsteps. She’d never forget his sweet, yet strong and musty scent.

She knew this was where he’d gone. But why here? This didn’t seem like the Bacchus he spoke of when he told her about home. This felt wrong, and yet she knew this was the right way to go.

A sinking feeling began to twist in her stomach, the lurking shadow of dread falling over her. This seemed … Odd.

Glancing at her elven friend, she pushed onward again, curious to find out what they were walking toward.

As they closed the gap between themselves and the mysterious structure, it became apparent that it was a wooden bridge arching over a deep crevice filled with water The scent of a pack grew thicker and stronger as they neared. At least there was the scent of a pack, but this smelled different from the way Sveyn smelled. Harriette grew more anxious with every step they took.

The bridge was right in front of them now and there was remnants of old, dried up blood on the wood. Clenching her teeth together, Harriette glanced at Gaven with a look of worry on her face. “This is where he came, this is where his scent leads.” She said quietly, her hackles prickling slightly. “There’s a pack here, I don’t know if we should go any farther. This doesn’t seem like Bacchus…”

Turning her head to look into the forest before them, she couldn’t help but wonder if the blood on the bridge belonged to Sveyn.

Or if he was still alive.

A E S T H E T I C

Gaven was silent as the first copse of black-barked trees came into their view. The thick moisture had stripped some of the trees of their leaves and the darkened skeletal remains stood stark against a caesious sky. He bit his lip instead of laughing at the story cliché of a dark foreboding forest that lay before the heroes, grinding down until there was a pain, for it was easy to tell a story and harder to stand in a place flooded with malevolent spirits and keep one's cool. The tension radiated from him, side-splashing the wolf with fearful energies. He thought she wouldn’t understand so he never hesitated. Wolves didn’t know to fear cancerous shadow growths that sprung up from the earth in a silent threat. They didn’t fear old bones or fresh blood. Nothing hunted a wolf, but Gaven knew better. This land was touched by cosmic horrors and such things would infect them as well if they stayed too long.

Harriette slowed in her step, complaining about the quality of the air. He didn’t mind the change in pace; he had yet to weave together the perfect tapestry of an argument from whence he would convince her to turn tail and head back to Gemini. Every misery she experienced for herself was a point in his favor. He could only be silent for so long.

They were still far from the bridge when Gaven grabbed her, snatching her violently by the pack he had strapped to her, and tried to drag her back. He was not known for his stoicism, but if the nervous silence had seemed odd before, shattering it filled the air with a sense of panic.

“Harriette, let’s not go on,” his voice was quiet and urgent as he tried to hold her in place. His large eyes were too wide, and he never met her gaze. His eyes darted at the crooked silhouettes of the trees with evident paranoia. “This place isn’t right; I know you feel it too. This air is thick with wild spirits and the land is filled with sickness. Nothing good can go from pressing onward. If Sveyn walked this way he has perished and if we press on we will meet the same fate. There is nothing to be gained from being stubborn and foolish here. We have learned enough, I think. Let us leave and live.”

She could not hide the raising of her pelt or the worry in her face. Surely some part of her felt the same. Neither of them cowards, for they would not have come this far if that were true, but death was an ugly fate to meet and Gaven did not treat their safety lightly. It seemed unlikely this pocket plane of raw chaos could possibly be Bacchus and the dark smears of old blood did nothing to calm the racing of Gaven’s heart.

Not here. Not here.

Preternatural forces drew Falco to the border, where he sat and watched an act unfold before him through a veil of fog. He was a busy beast, dealing with scoundrels that stumbled brutishly through the borders of the dark kingdom left him on edge, and so he guarded his lands with burning greed. The Pages did their duty well, but he would not throw them to the literal and metaphorical wolves; he did not trust the things the prisoner told him. He would not let forward scouts’ peek into his home so they could bring an army at his door. He would not let Alteron burn to the ground. So, he perched at the border and waited for them, stretched out on a hill that jut between two slender trees shrouded in the mists and watching them speak in his pocket of silence and subterfuge.

The creatures at the end of his domain were peculiar. A small, pale she-wolf accompanied by some sort of anomalous ape, and they were each strapped down with odd-smelling thick flesh in a way he could not fathom or easily describe. He had heard tales of such things as the Yellow Rose had encountered creatures like these before but had never seen them for himself. Neither of the group were threatening. In contrast to the white-furred freak that preceded them they were weak and small, easy prey. The long-eared ape had misgivings about entering Falco’s domain, which was expressed in a way Falco found himself understanding completely.

Odd.

Falco rose to his feet and leapt down from his lofty seat, placing himself in the path of the interlopers, and let himself be known to them.

“Now, now, we’re not all that bad,” Falco’s voice was deep and calm as he welcomed them as graciously as any noble would. “The dreary forest won’t harm you any, unless it’s the ugliness that offends your delicate senses.” The edges of his lips twitched. “Where are you from, strangers?”

Smoke always trails the fire it seemed, though today while their intent was the same it was unintentional. Aves never pinpointed being a border guard her style but between stagnating in ranklessness and the excitement last time she was near the Fringe found herself near the bridges yet again. Anything to break up the days. Along her lackluster patrol she did pick up a scent, but it was as familiar as her own. What was Falco doing out this way? Surely not a leisurely stroll. Aves intended to find out.

All it took was a quick trot to track him down, perched above observing...a shift in the wind let her know they weren't alone. Head snapped in the direction Falco was looking. What was that thing? The small wolf, outside of the strange growths, was unassuming, but the tall creature with a grasp on her was new. Aves couldn't help but cock her head as she observed. It wasn't until peripheral movement caught her attention that she snapped out of it. Falco was approaching them, whatever they were. Now the last few canines she had assisted into Alteron were not met with decorum and a mint on the pillow. Aves immediately tensed, ready to launch herself into the fray but her brother approached with a dignified grace. Ah, diplomacy this time. She could handle that.

For a moment the crested wolf wondered if she should be poking her nose into her brother's business, but this seemed more the business of Alteron than his alone. Besides, if things turned sour for the strange visitors she could lend a fang. Her bouncing trot morphed to a more appropriate, even step. Always trying to emulate the aura the Magus commanded, always falling a little short.

"There's no need to be rude," her smile and light tone conveyed a lighthearted chastising while she looked over the visitors, but sharp eyes were assessing the threat level here. She wasn't overly concerned, "This is our home, after all."