Aleish of Velshamir - The Blade of Amaranth
A cobalt eagle flew across the skies of the Far Land. Below it was the sea of clouds that draped the whole of the isles in dark gray. Above, the infinite darkness of the upper regions of the universe, separated from Anur by the very air that its denizens breathed. Some, adherents of firelight and the doctrines that elevated its existence, believed that there was a bright Empyrean blazing beyond the endless gloom and shade,
somewhere in the dark. Most others held more esoteric beliefs about that which lay above the face of Anur: poisonous air, the remnants of dead gods, or other worlds just like their own. Be that as it may, the cobalt eagle did not care. As the denizens of the mortal world below looked up in wondering and in wonder, it flew far above all of them, for it was the master of the sky, free and completely alone at the top of the world. Only the wind was its guide and companion. Only the wind.
Suddenly, the majestic bird plunged, dark feathered wings pulling inward to allow it to begin falling from the sky. As it passed through the clouds, the Promised Isles below came into view, abode of warriors and scholars, of paupers and priests, of creatures that dwelt on land, sea and even the underworld. To its right, to the north of the archipelago, it could see the perpetual thunder that befell the isle of Cyrna, striking near the sprawling, towering building that was the Consortium, with its halls and towers and bridges, but never striking the domed top of the building itself. On the other side, to the south, it spotted the old lighthouse by the jagged cliffs of the Dawning Isle, the spent firelight core at its summit still occasionally sputtering, the dim light that it cast towards the nearby sea suddenly flaring up for a moment or two before dying down again, leaving the waters lost in the darkness. And off in the distance, straight ahead of it, the cobalt eagle could see the tips of the spired strongholds that belonged to the warlords of Tregal, in the west.
As it continued to dive deeper towards the ground, it veered to the left, drawing closer to the center of Valaran as the Dawning Isle rapidly seemed to grow in size from its perspective. Swiftly, the tall snow-capped peaks of the Arathen Ridge rose up to dominate the horizon, and comfortably nestled in the midst of the mountain range was the Seat of the Decad, the Jewel of Valaran. Home to over fifty thousand souls, with many more coming in every ley from the town of Azroot in the northern woods and the nearby port of Erisen in the Erisian Bay, the High City of Aratosh was a sight to behold. More refined than the rough strongholds of Tregal or the sprawling cities of Harush, hewn from stone and steel, yet not quite as esoteric as the hidden retreats of the Sylven in Veraden or the strange halls of the Consortium in Cyrna, Aratosh was a welcoming sight for men and women of all races, with its distinctive brass-capped buildings, ample plazas and numerous gardens located within the mountain's embrace.
From the foothills of the Arathen Ridge, a winding path led into the heart of the mountains, where one would at last encounter the great stairs that led up to the gates of the High City itself, where all residents and visitors enjoyed the protection of the Great Decad and the High Queen. To the sides of the stairs, small paths led up to a complex mechanism of pulleys, cables and counterweights created by Dvar engineers to send goods and animals up into the city directly, bypassing the stairs and sparing merchants the herculean task of carrying their wares up to the gates in exchange for a small fee. Just past the gates of the city lay Valdis Square, a large, ornate flat expanse containing several gardens and a central fountain, an area named after the Madir matriarch herself in which locals and foreigners often gathered to mingle, share news and gossip, make friends and settle business matters. Just off to the side, up through a long, sloping hallway, one would find the market, where goods of all sorts could be found.
The dreary-feathered bird cared not for the social or economic affairs of mortals and land-dwellers, however, and as it approached the city, it unfurled its wings and once more began to soar higher and higher, flying over the carts and tents of the merchants, over the banners and ramparts of the soldiers, over the brass tops of the finely carved buildings that laid against the stone foundation of the surrounding mountains and the canopies of the groves that were scattered throughout the city to provide respite from the urban landscape and the monotonous stone peaks beyond. The cobalt eagle flew even higher than the Arafel Palace, where Valdis the Thrice-Blessed, fair and just Madir ruler of the High City, dwelt and watched over her city and the rest of the Promised Isles dutifully, and into the snow-capped peaks beyond, where its long flight would at last lead it back to the nest that it knew as home.
But as the dark majestic bird's journey came to an end, another journey was about to begin. A journey that would perhaps become the beginning of something much grander. Or, perhaps, a journey that would result only in woe, leading travelers astray and leaving them lost
somewhere in the dark.
For Aleish, the wandering Vantyr that hailed from the town of Velshamir, it was hard to tell. Not in the least because he had only just come to, after spending most of the previous tempering attempting to secure safe lodgings within the city, eventually coming to rest inside a room on the second floor of the Silver Swan, overlooking Valdis Square. Transient, dreamless slumber followed, still like death itself. But it had now come to an end, and the Vantyr stirred as light began to leak in through the edges on the window, creating a luminous frame around it. This light came from the outside, as the bulbs and flowers of the plants that dotted the gardens of Valdis Square began to open up and glow a soft azure, bathing the area in coldlight, signifying the beginning of the waking - the beginning of a new ley. Before long, the rest of the city would follow suit, breathing life anew into the dark metropolis.
Standing up, Aleish quickly moved up next to the window, placing his back flat against the wall and moving the curtain ever so slightly to take a discreet look at the outside. Barely any movement could be seen thus far in Valdis Square, which was to be expected, though it relieved him nonetheless. It meant there was no one waiting outside, no one to jeopardize his plans, or attempt to end the journey ahead of him before it had even begun. It was perhaps foolish to expect something so bold to occur in this place - of all the locations in the city, Valdis Square was one of the most heavily guarded, as it was both a monument in honor of the Thrice-Blessed Queen and the first sight of Aratosh proper that any visitors would see. It would not do to allow unsavory things to happen there, in plain sight. Still, caution was never a bad thing. It had gotten him this far in spite of his trials and misadventures, after all.
Satisfied, the dark-haired man put on his boots before grabbing a leather belt that hung from the edge of the wooden headboard and donned it. Next to it, resting against the corner of the room, were two swords in their sheaths - one of them was reasonably long while the other was fairly short. From underneath the pillow, Aleish retrieved a broad dagger as well, along with a small pouch filled with coin. Affixing all three weapons and the pouch to his belt, the warrior took one last look at the room before moving a wooden desk from the door and making his way outside.
Passing through a hallway consisting of several other doors leading to similarly small, albeit comfortable and relatively clean rooms, Aleish thought of his mission, his mind wandering back to the preparations he had made. It had been a fortlight since he had sent out word of the Collector's latest fancy, and the hefty prize that he promised to those who would deliver it to him. Signs and parchments had made it from the High City all the way to distant cities such as Avernus and Bridgeby, to the retreats of the woodland folk in the Luminous Isle, to the deep ports of Tregal and even to the Consortium itself. Messages would appear on bulletin boards, and hearsay was carried over far and wide, that an agent of the mysterious Collector who dwelled in the High City was looking for a group of people, both skilled enough and sufficiently reckless, to embark on an arduous journey to retrieve a long lost artifact.
Fourteen leys had passed since. Aleish was brought back to the present as he made his way down the stairs and was met by the sight of the taverner, an elderly Menash male whose large silvery eyes gave off a faint sense of mirth even when he wasn't smiling. "Ah, so you're another early bird like myself! Wouldn't have pegged you for one, lad. Why I half expected you'd spent the whole slumbering outside and then come back here to crash at right about this hour." The old man joked. Unlike most other people one would come across in almost any settlement, the taverner didn't seem to regard Aleish with any overt suspicion or hostility, perfectly content to engage him in conversation and even joke around despite the grisly reputation Vantyrae had among the other peoples of the Far Land. Perhaps it was this lively disposition and lack of prejudice that ensured the Silver Swan was never lacking in customers.
"Alas, I am not the monster people think I am. I happen to prefer cattle to children." The Vantyr deadpanned, only to smile a moment afterwards. A bit of humor mixed in with the truth. The old Menash let out a hearty laugh, albeit taking care not to be so loud as to cause any of his guests an unpleasant awakening. Digging into his pouch, Aleish fished out a silver royal and flicked it at the man, who caught it with surprising dexterity for his age.
"Thank you for your patronage, lad! Feel free to come again whenever it is you return from your journey." He called out before turning back to his own business. Aleish offered him a polite nod and then continued making his way out of the establishment and into Valdis Square proper. The summons he had sent out clearly instructed to meet there on the first waking of the third blank, under the gaze of the statue of the Thrice-Blessed, and to look for the swordsman with the brand of the serpent, a clear allusion to the image inked into his right arm. The call had been made, rewards had been promised, and now the only thing left before the beginning of a difficult journey was to wait and see who would show up, motivated by the promise of a hundred gold royals, the prospect of a grand adventure, or even just the opportunity to uncover ancient mysteries that lay in wait
somewhere in the dark.