Unforgiven IC

[Neon Knight]

The sun rose high over the dusty ridge, and the midday heat beat down unrelentingly on any who stood upon it. Men called it “The Edge of the World,” for everything past it was beyond the reach of men, nothing but untamed wilderness and ghost haunted ruins of the dead age.

It was the short of a place a cartographer might mark as “here there be dragons.” But Chief Vanek was the sort of man who would poke such a map with a dirty finger, saying (as he spit out a black hunk of chewed leaf from the corner of his mouth), “How's they know there's dragons there if there ain't no one ever been there?”

That and that alone was what made Chief Vanek, old wardog and leader of the Free Rangers of Koukawa territory, buy as many acres of this unknown, untamed land as his pension could afford. It was true that politics was the reason he did it now, and not later, when he was truly too old to be leading posses and courts, but Old Vanek would have ended up on this land one way or the other. It was just his way to be a frontiersman, and he would chase the edge of receding wilderness until there were no more lands to tame, no more wild countries to settle.

As your horse (or your own two feet for those who gotta walk) come up over the crest of the ridge, you get a good look at the lay of the land around you. The Vanek Ranch is the westernmost point of civilization in the known world. It's like a spearhead stabbed into the dark belly of the wilderness, the winding west trade road that heads back east the shaft. Thunder River lies to the east; one of the little streams of it rolls down past the pastures of the ranch and provides water for the people and animals there. Thunder River itself is a shallow, wide, slow, rolling thing like a blue snake, coming down from the snowy Sawtooth Mountains in the North. Actually, Thunder River branches off from the Sawtooth in the north, near the edge of the mountains, and flows southeastward. The western most branch, which flows almost straight south, is called Black River. It's a deep, black, fast running thing like a bolt of lightning through the darkness. No settled man has gone over Black River for more than a day and come back to tell of it. The land beyond it belongs to savagery.

The land in between the two rivers has switched hands from those of civilized men to those of savages to the empty hands of the wild often enough since the Planar age ended. The Vanek Ranch is only the latest in a long running series of attempts to press close to the Black River. Currently, all it stands on is Vanek's will (and money) and the lure of glittering riches hiding in that little creek that flows off of Thunder River close by.

Of course, Vanek has more than just savages and wilderness to worry about, as if that wasn't enough. Word is interests back east are poking their noses around, looking for any unclaimed land to snatch up and pressuring people to sell, or to move away. At least the savages try to stab you in the face, not the back.

Of course, a man like Vanek doesn't do anything halfheartedly or hesitantly, even in the face of such troubles, and that's why the ranch down past the ridge is a veritable fort, and why it buzzs with men going to and fro. Servants, ranch hands, old Ranger friends come to lend a hand... there are plenty of workers around, but the work seemed endless, and Old Vanek could always use a few more. That's what the rider he sent out had said throughout all the towns near the border, anyway. When a man like Vanek is hiring, people pay attention, especially when his messenger is waving glittering yellow rocks taken from the nearby creek.

Now, people of all sorts and stripes are coming in, and the makings of a small town are plain to see before you, just a few hour's ride away from the Ranch proper. Highlanders are rubbing shoulders with Koukawa cattlemen. Shilo farmers are talking with woodsmen from Yan. Carentan traders set up shop next to Yetland smiths. Even a couple of real foreigners are about. Any man can make a decent living around here, if he''s got a little courage, a little hard work in him, and a little bit of luck to tie the deal together. And people now Vanek is a peculiar fellow. He'll rub shoulders with types most people won't tolerate. Outlaws, strange foreigners, eccentrics... Vanek will give any man he meets a chance to do right by him or prove himself untrustworthy before he passes judgment. It's part of the reason why this ranch was built. Far from the judging and damning powers of growing republics and federations, simple folk could set up their own ways without the bureaucrats poking their noses into everybody's business.

The folks coming up over that ridge (for their isn't any other real way to the ranch; there is only one road from the civilized territories) are counting on that quite a bit, you see, for they are outcast beyond outcasts. Some folks call them remnant bearers, or just Bearers, but most say that they're the Unforgiven. They reckon that they've done something so bad, either in this life or another one, that they'll be damned for all time, cursed by strange and horrible things from their past that find them and haunt them as they're born and reborn again and again. Of course, some of the more scholarly types think this is a bunch of nonsense, and they talk about artifacts and old kingdoms and the Pax Planar, but the Church of the Redeemed Faith swears that they're a bunch of liars and sinners and charlatans, and they do the fiends work. Most people aren't particular to one thought or the other; they just want their lives to go well, for their work not to fail, and to live in peace and happiness with their families. It's a shame that such a thing is often mighty rare, rarer than it aught to be.

Well, it isn't really any of your business. You can barely keep yourself afloat, let alone help anybody else out. You're probably not really hoping for such miracles, anyway. You're just hoping to get by, even though the world holds that against you.

The world hasn't forgotten your “crime.” You remain unforgiven.

(Time to introduce your characters. In your first post, you should give your character's appearance and current thoughts, and describe your approach to the town. Once everyone has checked in, we can begin more directly, although feel free to have your character go hit up a saloon, check the stores, take a look around, or head straight for the Ranch proper. This very first bit is just a check-in and introduction section; we'll get down to business right quick.)

[AmberVael]

A solitary figure makes her way down the ridge, boots grinding into the dust. A thick brown traveling cloak hides her body from the sun, while her stained, weather beaten face is shaded by a battered, wide brimmed hat fashioned from leather. Her sandy hair is ragged, some of it reaching her shoulders, but it is not quite enough to hide her pointed ears and sylvan features, and though it is just capable of darkening her eyes, her mismatched brown and blue glare still burns plainly for all to see. Despite the fact that she looks to have traveled for days with no horse or belongings besides what little she could conceal underneath her cloak, she does not seem weary, but instead walks with long, ground eating strides into the ranch.

Other than the sound of her footsteps, Aoi makes no sound, walking in silence; even those at the entrance to the ranch will receive only a piercing stare, should they address her. Ignoring all else around her, she makes her way to the center of the ranch, to Vanek, but though she ignores everyone, she likely does not go ignored herself. A quiet, mechanical melody drifts from the blackened locket around her throat, trailing eerily behind her, plain to all who do not choose to ignore it; this, combined with her distinctive features, go a long way towards identifying her as the outlaw, Wild Eye.

Whether greeted with fear from those terrified of her deeds, or masked hostility from those whose friends and allies had been killed by her hands, Wild Eye does not seem to care, only moving forward to the next job, the next task in her wanderings, bearing the weight of her reputation the same as she bore the relentless burning sun.

[appending_doom]

A hulking figure sheathed in an aquamarine haze crests the ridge, a creature like a dragon six feet tall and on two legs. Gold scales gleam beneath a chain shirt tinted blue, and silver eyes peer out from beneath an azure helm, and a small wreath of blue ivy.

Though he trudges through the dust, his cloak and boots are untouched by the dirt, a glittering blue cloak made of feathers so pale they are almost white, and strange, leathery boots that you would think his own feet were their shade almost otherworldly.

Blue-tinted spines emerge from his back, which bleeds into an opaque mass of blue and thickens into a muscular blue tail.

The creature wears a rifle slung over his back, a warning that shouldn't be needed. He walks easily along the land, ignoring any strange or worried looks spared his way. His helm seems to pulse with a slow, regular beat, which alone would make him an unnatural creature.

This must be the Helm, a beast who seems to fight with the power of those who have fallen to him. He watches the world around him with easy curiosity, but doesn't draw anyone into conversation. He pauses to examine the buildings he passes, but moves on eventually at each one, until he reaches the Ranch.

[Dog_Days]

On the back of a huge steed, seemingly composed of rough-hewn coal and eyes of quartz, a rider comes over the ridge, a stark contrast to the land around him. His breastplate--perfectly polished and meticulously maintained--gleams in the sun with a brightness betraying its composition, that of mithral rather than simple steel. The rider is as much a reflection of his breastplate as it does him; despite his boots and cloak being covered in dust from the trail and with stubble growing up around a fully-formed goatee, something about the man just seems...proper. In place. That despite savagery of the frontier, civilization could easily have been in one of the rider's saddlebags, like a souvenir brought from whatever far-off land he came from.

Frerrick von Halter, the Steed, nudged his mount Gram softly in the side, spurring the ashen behemoth onward down the ridge to the town below. It had been about two months, he had figured, since he left the highlands to come to the old ranger chief, hearing an offer for work, even for someone like him. Tired and more than a little saddlesore--Gram often forgot that its master needed to eat and rest, unlike the beast itself--the idea of sleeping in a bed and changing into a fresh change of clothes seemed like paradise.

He should've guessed how they would react, the citizens of the town. He had heard of others like him; remnant bearers they had been called, but he doubted any of them had such an...overt relic from the Old Age. In many ways, he appreciated Gram all the more because of it. Unlike the others, Gram was an undeniable truth--something that could not be hidden, could not be stopped, a symbol of a legacy turned into a destiny.

[Ajadea]

Despite the bright sunlight, the short figure at the top of the ridge seems to be half-hidden by shadows, a thin silvery cloak blurring its features even further. It begins to walk down in silence. You cannot hear footsteps, and though the cloak brushes the ground, that too makes no noise. Every so often, you can see a hint of the person under the cloak. A chain shirt, aged and well-used, the fluidity betraying the mithral that makes it. Slippers of the same silvery material that makes the cloak. The barest hint of feminine curves.

After a moment, she takes off the hood, revealing her identity for all to see. Meeris, the masked. The ivory covers the flesh of her face completely, leaving not a sliver to be seen. It contrasts starkly with the black curls tumbling down to her shoulders, white on black. There is no way for her to breathe or speak, though she has been known to do both. The mask is intricate and perfectly cleaned, thin purple lips curved into a faint sneer. Green swirls adorn the brow of the mask, and its cheeks are lined with swirls of golden gilt.

Meeris carries only a dagger, not particularly well-made or well-maintained, but it is said she does not need weapons to kill. For she is a murderer. This is well known. Where she walks, she leaves grieving families and mutilated corpses behind.

She surveys the scene, pupilless golden eyes taking in the attitudes of the people. No one was throwing rocks or rotten vegetables. It was better than what she got anywhere else. She goes straight to the ranch, not bothering to dawdle or glance around. The more she took in, the more likely she was to set off the mask to dreaming and remembering its life. Generally speaking, that was an extremely bad idea.

[Neon Knight]

As the remnant bearers each make their way through the midst of the men and women working the ranch, each receives a similar reaction. The people take note of each's presence with eyes that either widen in surprise and emotion or narrow into steely pointed glares, looks like the point of knives or the ends of gun barrels. None of the men here are brave or foolish enough to approach or call out to them as they go past, towards the front of the house were old Vanek sits.

But even as the response to each remnant bearer is similar, it is also colored by their individual reputations. Wild Eye, part outlaw, part legend, is treated with a deference and awe that almost equals the wariness, fear, and dislike that comes from each man to see her. Only one or two dare to meet those mad, wild eyes, and those that do quickly look away. The sound of the blackened locket's music is not liked by any man she comes across, and many flinch or start when it first reaches them. None makes a move, though, and they keep their hands clear of their weapons. Whether they see her as a bounty hunter or a walking myth, each man knows that to cross Wild Eye is to invite death. It's clear the she wants to see old Vanek, and most are inclined to let her talk to him. They trust their leader, and think that if any man could face the Wild Eye, it would be old Vanek.

The Helm, Ork'arsta, is received in the same way the men would receive a mountain cat or wild bear that suddenly walked into camp. They give him a wide berth and watch him warily, fingers near hilts and pistol grips, toying with their gun belts as they measure him up. They reckon he's a fierce one, and would take a fearsome toll if he went wild, but he's so much more inhuman than the others, and known for being a savage and a primitive, that they almost dare to look down on him, at least in the safety of a crowd of their fellows, all well armed. If caught alone, each would be more likely to flee from him than any other.

The proud von Halter receives the most respect, a grudging sort of acknowledgment and admiration tempered by their distrust of his natural horse. A few animals nearby react poorly to the horse, and have to be shushed or calmed by their masters, who look at Frerrick unfavorably. Most see him as a fool, a proud, noble, magnificent fool. The skill of his shot with a pistol is recognized, the valor of his conduct well known, but no sane man would bear a remnant, and the way he is proud of the horse proves that he is a doomed man. The remnant will be his undoing in time. So thinks every man who beholds Frerrick von Halter.

It is the last remnant bearer who incites the most emotion among those present, and in this case discretion and caution barely check in hate and loathing. Meeris is a murderer; they fear that less than von Halter or Wild Eye's skill with a gun, or than the strange powers and brute strength of Ork'arsta, and if half of the things they attribute to Meeris are true, any red blooded honest man would be justified to strike her down in righteous anger. Men come very close to drawing on Meeris more than once, stopped by friends or a last bit of common sense. Besides, the whispers go around that she's here to see Vanek, and many are quite interested and eager to see how the old Ranger will deal with her. A few even seem to be taking bets on the subject. Vanek is known to be forgiving, and to give every man or woman a chance no matter their reputation, but if any were to try his generosity and forgiveness, it would be Meeris.

Old Vanek doesn't come out until all four have arrived at his ranch-house. The deliberate rudeness of leaving the first few to arrive waiting is also a calculated measure, to allow all the men to gather around the ranch house as well. As you look around, you have no doubt that every fighting man is here to see the meeting between the Unforgiven and the Ranger Chief. All will be witness to his decision... and all will be present to help if something goes sour. It is both a political move and a precaution against violence, and it shows that the Ranger Chief treats them seriously and importantly.

When he does step out from his house, he's in a long, heavy riding coat, split in the back to allow for easier riding on horseback, two heavy pistols jutting up from holsters at his side. Worn boots clomp noisily on the wood porch, and spurs jingle in the dry, still air. The man seems to have lost a lot of himself over the years; some teeth, an eye, a few fingers, a hunk out of his nose, and part of one of his ears are all gone, taken in the years of duty. He grins a whiskey yellowed smile at the four, his one eye blazing with vitality in interest as he looks at each of them. He meets the Wild Eye's stare and returns it steadily, and wanders over to Meeris's mask, his chapped lips pursing in a slight frown before examining Ork'arsta and Frerrick in the same wide look, getting the measure of each. He sucks, and spits out a black wad of tobacco into the dust, before speaking. "Well," he says, his speech a slightly drawn out drawl, "I reckon you're all here for work. Ain't no other reason for you to walk in my ranch, get my boys all riled up so they can't get a darn thing done and just stand around, gawking. I've heard about you; I've heard about each of you folks, and I'm gonna tell it to ya straight. I'm not one judge men for what they done, or what folks say they done. I can only judge a man by how he's dealt with me. So I'm willing to give all of you," he said, looking pointedly at every man around, and at Meeris, "all of you a chance. But I'm not going to treat any one of you differently than the other. That means that you'll dig when there's digging that needs to be done. You'll ride when there's riding to be done. You'll cut timber, bale hay, clear land, build, tear down, and hunt. You'll do what needs to be done around here, like anyone else. You'll do your fair share of work, and I'll give you lodging, food, and pay in measure to your work. And yes, if there's shooting and fighting and bleeding to be done, you'll do your fair share of that too. Now, I reckon that's a might fair offer. What do you think?"

[Luca]

From his hideyhole in a nearby ravine Micheal woke with a start. Outside the little cave the sun was already blazing away, somehow in the heat and the exhaustion he'd lost the morning and his chance to arrive before the whole place went live. Swearing loosely in elven he groaned his way back to his feet groping around for the waterskin. Dull scales scraped across rock as his hand slid until it found the smooth texture of his water, followed by the sound of thirsty gulping. His trip had been horrible, even with borrowed magicks shielding him from the worst of the sun, even with wings bearing him easily over the half broken frontier beneath him. Gods only knew what possessed him to think that flying would be the best way there, he found himself holding back the sneaking suspicion that thing was influencing him again.

Climbing to his feat he began strapping his travelling gear to his thin frame, loose fitting travelers clothes covered his pale form marked with strange brass scales here and there, his chest still blackened and some strange brass dome seemingly emerging from his chest. Over this he strapped a simple pair of bracers, attaching their pulls to his hands, they were old worn with the smell old leather gains to boot. They reminded him of his father, their original craftsman. The worst thing about flying, he mused as he struggled with fine metal chain, was he had to wait for the damned wings to fade; it wasn't like he could dare show up with a pair of ghostlike wings stuck on his shoulders. People round here were supposed to be friendly, he wasn't going to antagonise them and throw it away already. Brushing a hand through dull blonde hair to get the dirt out his hand neatly avoided the twin metalic spires that arose, just another thing separating him from human. Faintly tinted goggles were strapped on to hide violet eyes and he shrugged on his slightly lower than usual hanging backpack; to allow for wings when they were needed.

Only a few meters up from the dusty road was simple to fly to but a lot less simple for climbing, in the end Micheal ended up as little more than a tangled mess, sprawled on the ground. Standing up and dusting himself off as best he could he took a moment to take stock. He was a long way from home, but if rumors were true on the "edge" most folk couldn't give a damn who you are or where you came from, as long as you were good for work. He was ready for that, at least he hoped he was. Back where he came from people came in two flavors, those easily won over by his charms and insight, and those who never looked past the horns and the patches of scales. He desperately hoped these people were of the first brand.

By the time he reaches the ranch he was panting for breath, as best he could going through town he had jogged, our outright ran, afraid of people and just wanting to get there as fast as possible. Now as he crested the road to the ranch and saw a small line of others already talking to the Ranger Chief, watched over by a less than pleasant crowd. As he stumbled into the meeting, standing with the others and catching only the tail end of the speech he felt a mote of hope. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Even if the others were too far gone from human to hold down a place like this he'd fight fang and ta-, tooth and nail he corrected himself, to keep his place here. "That would be wonderful sir," Micheal responded, the first to cut the silence "I won't let you down, and that's my word as my bond."

[Ajadea]

Fighting? Bleeding? This excited the mask. If she was anyone else, Meeris might have grimaced. Being who she was, what she was, that was impossible. So she tuned out the bloodlust and focused on old Vanek. "I will dig when there is digging to be done," she echoes. Her voice seems to have a shadow, two beings speaking as one. One voice is high and lyrical, the other cold and almost masculine. The lips of the mask do not move when she speaks. "I will ride when there is riding to be done. I will kill when there is killing to be done." The mask, so incensed at her words of semi-loyal service, calmed down somewhat at the promise of bloodshed. It liked the scent of blood, loved the gore that was made when it focused its malevolent will into reality.

"And if your men strike against me, there will be lives lost." She couldn't guarantee their safety, not against the madness of the mask. If it perceived a threat to itself, it would not hesitate to remove that threat through its favorite method of murder. She had not failed to see the fear in their eyes, the weapons that had nearly been drawn. Threats tended to make people see, at least when they came backed by a hundred corpses.

[appending_doom]

Ork'arsta laughs at the ranger's words. "There will be no doubt as to whether I have agreed to your bargain. Else you would be fighting for your life this very moment." He pauses for a moment, glancing at the others around him. "Although I will admit I came unprepared for your...particular requests. Rest assured, however, that you will not find my skills wanting, in riding, in digging...or in fighting."

[Dog_Days]

Frerrick gives the old ranger a courteous if awkward bow; straightening his clothes and armor, he steps forward to formally present himself to Vanek.

"Chief Vanek, you have nothing to fear from me. I am certainly not above a day's labor, despite what my appearance my suggest. I will be certain to treat you with every bit of respect you deserve as the head of this settlement."

He looks over his new comrades; each one a bizarre specimen by anyone's guess. After all, Frerrick was a bearer as well, and not undergone...physical changes like most of them. The only one he was able to place a name to was Wild Eye--when traveling through the desert, he and Gram seemed to be only one or two days' ride from her location at any one time. In truth, he had inadvertently been following her, hearing the stories of hushed townsfolk echo legends about the half-bounty hunter, half-ghost that stalked the wastes.

[AmberVael]

While the others offer up their opinions and comments, Wild Eye remains silent. There were all kinds of things she could say- that she was more skilled at fighting than manual labor, that didn't really care if she were treated differently, so long as she got paid, or maybe that wasn't among these others, that she had come on her own-

Vanek wasn't stupid. He probably knew everything she might say, and thought about it. If he disagreed, well, he was the one with the job, and she was the one going to do it. If she didn't like something he decided on, she'd just have to grit her teeth, because there weren't a whole lot of other options out there

He was willing to give her a chance, and for now, that was enough. She'd give him a chance too. As such, rather than say anything at all, she just holds out a hand to Chief Vanek after the others have said their piece, to shake on it the deal.

[Neon Knight]

Vanek's four fingered hand closed around Wild Eye's complete one, the grip firm but not harsh, and he smiled and looked her in the eye as he shook. He then turned to all his men, who still looked upon them with bated breath. "Well, what you all strain' for? There's work to be done!" A chorus of mutterings arose as men and women turned and left, going back to their various tasks. A few lingered to look at their Chief and the Remnant Bearers before them, but even those turned in time. One got the impression that, although there were oaths and grumbling, the majority of the workers seem satisfied by what had occurred, and that Vanek had done things this way in part to defuse some tension or complaint that had arise among his people. With a wry smile, he beckoned them to follow him inside.

The sitting room was almost like a great wooden meeting hall, almost like one might find in a court or castle, or perhaps a town hall. Wooden pillars held up the roof above scattered tables and chairs, covered in maps and books and other interesting items. It looked more like the study of a scholar than something that would be useful to a man like Chief Vanek, a practical man of action. He pulled himself a chair at the nearest uncluttered table and sat, looking at them more frankly. "Despite the little speech out there, I fully intend to put you all to fightin' as soon as it comes up, and I reckon its comin' fast. But there'll be a little more work before that, but not diggin'. There's more to what we're doing here than just ranching, although that is a fine profession I enjoy. No, you people are going to be quite useful, and I aim to be right useful to you as well."

He eyed them again, and this time, his gaze seemed to fall in a particular location. Wild Eye's locket, Ork'arsta's helm, the Mask upon Meeris, and the changes upon Micheal (he might have spared a glance at Gram, but it wouldn't be practical to take the horse inside the hall, so it was probably out of sight.). "You people don't have much in common, but most people will treat you all the same, and act as if you belong with one another. In my years, I've come across many remnants. I've fought 'em, fought with 'em, killed 'em, saved 'em, worked with 'em... and in all my years, I never came across a reason for them or much in common amongst them. Except for the pattern of being changed of course, and it having something to do with what came before."

"Now, the first thing I'm gonna ask of you, and the first thing I'm gonna pay you for, is knowledge. As you might gather, I'm interested in remnants. You're not the first Bearers to come through here, actually. I've been hoping to attract them, which is why I've sent word around. Do any of you know anything about what happened to you?" The look in his eyes is calculating, and you realize that there is more to the man than the good old boy demeanor he projects to his men.

[appending_doom]

Ork'arsta stepped forward, and although his scaled face was tense in some unidentified emotion. "I will tell you what I know, and that will be the last question you ask about my past," he stated. "I know...I was not born a creature of draconic blood. I know...I was not born in the shape I bear. I...must have chosen to take the form I bore before the Helm. I do not know if I chose the Helm, or if it chose me, or if some choice of mine doomed me to it. I...believe I was alive during the Planar Age. It is why I wonder if I chose this item. It is why I suspect it might have been done to me.

"But what I do know is that the Helm bears within it the power to touch souls. The soul of a dragon dwells within it, and when it was placed on my head, that soul stole what memories I once had. If it was a punishment, it was as effective as an execution. If it was an accident, the man who made that mistake has paid the ultimate price. That was a hundred and fifty years ago."

[Luca]

Micheal listens raptly as Ork'arsta speak, before considering his own position. "Since I started wandering knowledge and information is one of the things I've been driven to hunger for; and there isn't a lot to be had from what I can find. The only thing these things have in common is that they are all very old, and that they change us." He pauses for moment to fully take in the appearances of the other bearers.

"How much they change us, as you can see, varies from bearer to bearer; but in my case at least the news is bad and I fear it may apply to all of us. Since the day this dammed thing took my life from me I've been changing slowly and surely. It's not just a one off change, its still changing me even now." He pulls down his goggles to rest at his neck, revealing a pair of less than human eyes.

"This thing has had other bearers, he last one old me that it was "my job" before it passed on. I've seen what awaits me at my death and it isn't pretty. You can attract bearers if you like, but they're all kinds. Sinners, saints, monsters. I hope you find the right kind." His speech is morose and his expression grim, then he shakes his head roughly and tried to get back to neutral. "But I dont have to tell you that right?" he added with an empty smile.

[Ajadea]

Meeris runs a finger across the gilt on her mask. "I was exploring a ruin. There, I found the Mask, or perhaps the hells-damned thing found me. Whatever it is, it wants to live." Her eyes meet Vanek's, calculating and cool. "If you haven't figured it out yet," she says in a tone most would reserve for idiots, "It wants to live through me. I saw your men, out there." With her tone, the word 'men' becomes a cutting insult. "They think I'm a murderer. Meeris the masked. They're only half-right. The Mask is a bloodthirsty bastard. Lives for death. Likes to hear their screams." Her laugh is hollow, tinged with madness. "As for what it does...I'd rather not show you here. Or anywhere. Letting the Mask loose has saved my life a thousand times. And it has caused the death of hundreds."

[Dog_Days]

Frerrick listens intently to the others speak before him, gauging the stories of each them and weighing them against his own. There were...differences. A slight feeling of distaste washes over him, as he fears in the back of his mind that he may become a monstrosity like the others.

No, they're different...I'm different. I can control it...Gram was made for me...waiting for me.

He snaps to at the end of Meeris' monologue, taking in the words of the proclaimed murderer. Briefly before speaking, he looks outside to see if he can't catch a glimpse of his own remnant.

"My remnant...Gram, it's called...I found it only a few months ago. I was traveling with a clan at the time, settling in the Oesterlitz highlands when our men were being killed by a black rider. As the clan's champion at the time, I went to find this black rider and kill him myself to protect the clan.

As fate would have it, the black rider was Gram. The beast had killed dozens by itself before it yielded to me, though not before knocking me from my own mount and having me at its mercy."

Frerrick stops for a breath after mentioning his near-defeat. His tone turns a twinge more dour as he continues on.

"Gram recognized me as a descendant of its original owner, at least that's what I pieced together. It obeys me, allows me to ride it, and easily dispatches most foes we've come across in our travels."

[Luca]

"And its never physically changed or influenced you, have you found yourself acting any differently since it came?" Micheal was the first to break the unspoken rule of silence between the bearers, and smiled awkwardly. "Sorry but, yours is the only tale that doesn't fit with what I know, and I guess I got confused."

The other bearers so far had fallen into the less than safe bracket, but it seemed like himself Frerrick had escaped with their minds intact. Though in his own case he had to admit slight influences, and couldn't help but doubt the same wasn't true for Frerrick.

[AmberVael]

"It fits with what I know." Wild Eye says, speaking for the first time. Her voice is rough and harsh, a smooth stone worn away into sand. "Ten years, I've had this," She says, dropping her blackened locket on the table with a thump, "Never done anything. Makes music, does strange things on its own- but never anything to me. No change. I'm the same as I've ever been."

"But, what he said- Gram is his. They belong together, and my locket, I think, is mine. Could be wrong, but I don't think so. It's familiar. Don't know why, or how, but I've always known there was something about it. Something kin to me." Her calloused hand reaches out and gently rests on the locket, and a few notes of its song rise from it before fading into silence again. "Maybe, were we someone else, it'd change us. Maybe we're already what they want."

Wild Eye removes her hand from the locket, leaving it there on the table for anyone to look at if they wished. It looked almost crudely made, worked of blackened, pitted steel, the poor work of a blacksmith, somehow shaped into a delicate and precise oval, with a small hinge on one side. It might have once had a chain, but now it seems to be strung on leather, probably Wild Eye's doing.

[Luca]

A look of realisation dawns on Micheals face. "That actually makes a kind of sense, the man who had this thing," he gestures loosely at his torso "wasn't changed in the same way I was. So I know my remnant has been moving from person to person. Maybe they're looking for somone?"

He shudders at the idea, they're just things... they cant be so, so aware can they? "And it seems in you two at least they found the right person. Whether that speaks ill for me or you is a worrying thought."

[Dog_Days]

Frerrick thinks of his own former comrades slain by Gram; perhaps that's why it was killing them off. It was looking for him. Did it know he was coming?

"Maybe I'm not exactly what it wants; but I'm the closest it can get. The legends tell of Gram being the mount of an ancestor of mine, granted to him by a king after he helped rout a mutual enemy. None of the stories ever mentioned it being made of stone, however, it does make sense. In the stories, Gram was never felled in battle, could run for days without tiring, and could ford the fastest river without fail, although I had always assumed them to just be exaggerations. I can tell you first hand now, though, they are not."

He moves slowly towards the table where Wild Eyes placed her locket. He reaches a hand down to inspect it, but stops part-way and looks up at Wild Eyes.

"If I may..."

[AmberVael]

"Last man who took a look inside never was the same, after. I recommend you don't try to open it." Wild Eye says quietly, meeting Frerrick's gaze with her own. She doesn't sound like she's going to stop him if he's inclined to try anyway, however.

[Neon Knight]

Vanek is clearly listening to every word you say, but for a while he doesn't speak, letting the interaction between the Remnant Bearers play out for a bit. "That's an interesting thought, about why some change and others don't." His brows furrow slightly. "Of course, that means one ought to reckon that there is some purpose behind these Remnants, if they're lookin' for certain things in folks. Either they've got one, or whoever or whatever made 'em had something in mind for 'em. Whatever that is, though, it must be a hell of a thing."

[Dog_Days]

Frerrick pulls his hand back, keeping his eyes fixed on Wild Eye.

"I'll yield to the more experienced Bearer then...perhaps someday."

He turns to Vanek after the latter is finished with his postulating. Standing in line with the others, he makes a brief query.

"So, Chief Vanek, you mentioned that this job would have some capacity for...violence. What adversaries do you intend on having us contest? Do you have much problems with bandits out on the frontier, or is it something more exotic?"

[Neon Knight]

"Bandits? Oh, there are a few around. A bunch of bad apples drift in from the west, looking for what they figure is an easy score. We can handle their lot for the most part, though. No, what I'm wondering about is whoever - or whatever - lies beyond the Black River."

Vanek reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a fat cigarillo from a small leather case, pausing to offer one to the Bearers before continuing. "No man or country has ever held the land between Thunder River and the Black River for very long. And often it's because of raids from wildmen from the lands on the other side of Black River. Sometimes they make camp or small settlements on this land; I myself drove off a band of them from this very spot where we here are sittin'. So far, we haven't see much of them, but we've spotted boats on the Black River, and some of my men think their scouts might be lurkin' in the hills. I'll expect they'll try and test our mettle soon. You folks arrived just in time." He punctuates this by striking a match and lighting his cigar.

"I've got a small camp to the west of here, on a rise, watching one of the closest crossings across the river. A few of my boys are keeping an eye on things, but I'd like you to go out there and keep watch over it tonight. It'll be a full moon, and it should be bright enough that you'll catch wind of any crossing in force. It'll also allow me to make arrangements for you here, and to make sure things have settled down."

[AmberVael]

"How're your boys going to react to us?" Wild Eye asks, crossing her arms. "Don't know about us yet, do they?"

[Neon Knight]

"No, they don't. They've been starin' at rocks all day, and they won't have gotten the news. That's why I'll send out my youngest with you. They'll listen to her." Vanek smiled. "I reckon they won't be too bothersome, though. Most of 'em would be real nervous about spending a night out near Black River, anyway, and they'll just want to get here before darkness falls."

[Ajadea]

Meeris nods. "Mmm. The wildmen will certainly receive a shock, with us to greet them on the far side of the bank. You hope to secure the lands between Thunder River and Black River, Chief Vanek?"

[Neon Knight]

"I reckon so." Vanek grins widely at Meeris. "Otherwise, I'll have just lead you and all these people to their deaths, so I reckon we better make this work."

[Dog_Days]

"That's a pretty bold move, Vanek. Any more information about the enemies we may be fighting?"

[Neon Knight]

"No man truly knows what lies beyond the Black River." Vanek puffed out a large cloud of smoke, the light from the end of the ciigarillo reflecting in his eyes, both shining through the haze like the eyes of the cat glowing in the dark through the thick brush of the forest. "There are lot of stories. Winged things whose shadows flit across the moon and blot out the stars, that take men like hawks take hares. Stunted giants, shorter than a man but broader and mightier, their gnarled knotted limbs the equal of many mortal men. Tall, thin beings that tower over the treetops, on stilt like limbs. Animals and beasts found no where else in the world, and things that wear the shapes of men and beasts but are neither. Wild men and savages of every color and description, murderers, thieves, vandals, and cannibals all. Elves and dwarves and other folk whose time has passed, and still linger on in only the most foreboding of places. Peoples and races that should have died out a long time ago. Monsters and devils of the old times." He took the cigarillo out of his mouth and used it to point at the scholarly array behind him. "I'm more learned than most folks reckon, and I read about all the other men who have come here before me and failed. Unfortunately, none of them managed to record right clearly what did 'em in."

[Ajadea]

"Monsters? Devils?" Meeris' voice holds more than a touch of incredulity, empty gold eyes flicking to Wild Eye Aoi for a moment before locking on Vanek once more. She wrenches her thick, dark, hair back, revealing pointed and slightly elongated ears, like the blade of a dagger. The motion almost surely would cause pain in any normal being, but given that she is a remnant bearer, she could hardly be classified as such to begin with. "You know nothing. Our time is far from over, even eastwards of the Black River. Do not decree we should have died with the Pax Planar. You have no right to do so and no ability to 'correct' this." She drops the curls like they burn her hands and again they cover her ears, though not so fully as they did before.

[AmberVael]

Unlike Meeris, Wild Eye doesn't seem to be interested in speaking up on the issue, despite the fact that her own elven features are obvious. Her face is a cold, hard mask as she speaks, ignoring the topic, and dismissing Vanek's conjecture and vague myths. "We'll manage. We should get moving." With that she stands and picks up her locket, fastening it around her neck.

[appending_doom]

"Agreed. Anything that would make short work of us will find their hopes...dashed."

[Neon Knight]

Vanek nods. "That would be a good idea. It'll be dark soon. I'll send my daughter out to meet you at the stables, unless you have any other questions."

If the Bearers don't do anything else or ask any questions, they'll find Vanek's daughter at the stables after a few moments of waiting. The stables themselves are easy to find, readily visible from the ranch house, and Vanek doesn't keep them waiting long. Vanek's daughter is a plain looking girl, rather drab and unlovely, but every step she takes has a confidence and authority to it that she manages to be rather imposing anyway. The pistols at her side bear visible notches in the grip, and a coffin handled knife sticks up from her belt as well.

She doesn't address them directly, nor does she look any of them in the eye. "You folks ready to get moving?" She doesn't wait for an answer, moving to a large horse and beginning to saddle it.

[Luca]

Micheal shivers at the talk of death and doom, how foolish to assume the other bearers could be the peaceful kind. "Are we to walk then, I'd ask for a horse but they're... less than comfortable around me. I have alternate means of transportation but, well." He shrugs his shoulders and smiles nervously. "If the tales are of winged devils that hunt men then I'm sure that I'd be better off walking"

He cannot help but keep glancing at the bearer of the helm, he knew so little about the remnants but this person seemed to have found one akin to his own. The beating heart and soul of a dragon, each having found their way into the bodies of men.

[AmberVael]

"Just point me in the right direction, and I'll start walking." Wild Eye replies as she draws her cloak around her, so that it covers even her arms. She seems as distant as ever, detached from the others around her, even if she seems to bear an odd kinship with them.

[Ajadea]

Meeris rolls her eyes. "Unlike these two lackwits, I would take a horse." She moves over to a smaller one and lets it sniff her a moment. "Unless, of course, you have a problem with that, Chief's Daughter." You are not sure if that is a veiled threat or simply Meeris' way of speech-her frozen mask keeps you from reading her face, if she can even move it.

[Luca]

Micheal appears genuinely insulted "Hey, would you mind not insulting those you're meant to be working with? I'm not taking a horse because I've yet to meet one that wont bolt from under me. Forgive me for not being blessed with a remnant that doesn't make animals freak from under me."

If this was calculated to hurt or not is anyone's guess.

[Ajadea]

"Then your remnant is a fool one, that it does not know the value of beasts of burden," Meeris says after a while. She straps a saddle on to the back of the horse she selected, not looking away from her work. She doesn't seem very experienced with saddling horses.