[Quest] The Glyph (Adarra)

by **Cantrip** on January 13th, 2012, 12:33 am

56th of Winter, 511 AV

Ever roving, the sultry sea of sand stretched forever. The sun blazed, scorching the ruddy folds of dunes, searing the harshly gritty gusts so they were nearly agony to suck into dry, dusty lungs. There was a skitter of a black, horny scorpion, quickly vanishing behind a cleft of rock. There wasn’t even a buzzard in the crimson sky. Nearly every gust hurled a plume of dust over the slanting, gently undulating ridges, to hiss as though they were in a frying pan.

Trenchantly, the grit stung bare skin, caught in the folds of light fabric, crusting over scarves and probing at the tender eyes of a knot of parched, weary pilgrims who’d crept to a stunned halt. They were few, but hardy. Ehrim, squat and fleshy, with a bare shiny pate covered by a shabby turban and dirty robes. He had huge, craggy hands that could crack the hardest of nuts, yet his face was clenched by a perpetually confused frown, subjugated by the inner weakness of rheumy eyes. Ifiza, rangy yet flinty of eye, with her somber spear, the spiked bronze cap veiled by a winding coif. Ifiza, who’d once been a chattel, bowing and crawling over a haughty glint of marble, the myriad whorls of glazed mosaics. Enslaved no longer, though her wrists were clad in scars.

Nearby knelt Hazan, offering up a fevered prayer to any god that would listen to his raving, let alone answer. He was a gaunt, elder mendicant, rustling noisomely in shreds of tawdry rags, crazy eyes under a hedge of gray hair, a whisper ever in his ears. Jeren, brought up the rear. He was, perhaps, the wisest of their paltry band. He was also a mule. His hide was blotchy, eroded by fleas, ears drooping lankly, but his bray was as sharp as ever.

They gaped at a rarity, a dome of alien design, jutting from the ochre slope of dude. There were no rocks, no bricks of stray and mud. The surface was sheer, as though shaped from wet yellow clay. There were chunks of pink and purple quartz, and a knuckle of jade at the crest, tinged by magenta. The base, perhaps a dozen chimes away, was badly uneven, obscured by sand, but near the joint of two segments of wall there was a tapering, yet blocky gap betraying entry.

The sun beat down.

They barely moved, just sucked in air. Ehrim was the first to draw open his cracked lips. “Heresy,” he rasped, though he’d never begun to comprehend the word’s meaning. And yet, they all began to shuffle forward. The dome drew them in with ropes of elated longing, vaguely fused with dread. The glamour was no ruse. The dome exuded a brooding, yet intensely seductive power, drawing in any that ventured by like insects to honey.

by **Adarra** on January 15th, 2012, 11:46 pm

The air hung low, shimmering in distinct waves across the surface of the sand. It clung to the spindly trees, weighing down their wilted leaves and falling on the surface of the pool beneath them. An oasis, though barely visible among the rising dunes, seemed uninhabited. However, a passerby from a distance could see the horse, blending with the colors of the sand, lazily gulping water. His back was bare, though his rider approached, saddle and blanket seated atop folded arms. Lifting it easily, she slung it over his back, adjusting its position before kneeling to tie the straps. As the woman paced to and fro between her mount and the well-organized packs scattered about the clearing, the gelding lifted his head, ears pricked in eager expectation of their departure into the surrounding wasteland.

After fixing the last pack into place, the Benshira woman took up her water skin, kneeling beside the pool. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a tight braid, dripping at the ends and uncovered. Though normally she would be adorned in layers of colors silks and skirts, this day had marked an unknown length of time since she’d encountered other life, and therefore justified the lack of such pretenses that she would otherwise uphold. Instead, she wore a thin skirt that cut off abruptly above her ankles, the color of sandstone, and a sleeveless green tunic, fraying at the edges.

She hesitated at the water’s edge, delicately cupping her hands and scooping water onto her face. With closed eyes, she leaned down, resting her head in her open palms, lips moving automatically to a prayer of thanksgiving. Stilled and reverent, she sat for a long while, whispering to a beloved and distant god, listening to the water lapping at her fingertips.

At a snort from her gelding, her eyes flew open, and she stood, making her way to the only remaining item carefully placed in the sand. Slinging the quiver over her shoulder, she bent, lifting the bow. She held it loosely, running her fingers along its smooth surface in adoration. After placing it in her quiver, she mounted her gelding, beckoning him forward, green gaze fixed on the sky.

Not an hour later, she was surrounded by an endless sea of sand that engulfed the occasional stone structure. Leaning back in the trust of her mount, her instincts told her to scan the dunes for signs of movement. Though she’d not nearly sensed even a wandering creature for days, she felt compelled to keep up her guard. It was then that her eyes caught something.

A sudden blast of light erupted ahead. She threw up her arms to cover her eyes, floundering for the reins. The gelding came to a sudden halt when she yanked at his mane, pawing nervously. Keeping her eyes glued to the ground, she slid out of the saddle, pulling the bow free and crouching low. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she blinked away the spots that clouded her vision. As she climbed the dune, she held her bow in her left hand, shielding her eyes with her right. At its zenith, she looked down, squinting through the glint of metal in the sun. Below her were four figures and a glinting metal monster, half buried in the sand.

Instinctively, she drew an arrow, positioned it, and pulled back the bowstring. Crouching low, she held the bow at her hip, waiting and watching, unable to peel her gaze away from the massive object for more than a few seconds at a time.

OOC :

by **Cantrip** on January 22nd, 2012, 12:25 pm

Far away, the tiny ants of the pilgrims slowly scuttled over the crusty ridges of dunes, through boulders, until they were by the strange dome. They bided for a while, their jaws jerkily gazing up to the sky, to the peak of jade, and began to gesticulate wildly, as though arguing, before they at last entered. The short one first, then the others. The swaybacked mule stayed under the harsh sun, plucking at a few, spiny weeds.

There was nothing left, just the girl, her mount, and the mule, to bear witness. There was a swirl of dust, whispering hotly against her eyes. Not far away, a knob of bone peeked out from among an untidy clutter of scrub, perhaps from a leg joint. The desert was slowly giving up its secrets, though it took them back just as swiftly. And yet it wasn’t the bone that stood out so sorely, only at first glance. The brush of a closer scrutiny would inevitably divulge the glimpse of a warped, greenish sheen of copper. The object was rectangular, no larger than a closed fist. The edges slightly rounded, the sides a faded tracery of strange symbols, abstract whorls. To a scholar, it might’ve been the key to some ancient mystery, or perhaps a trove of treasures. To a trader, it might’ve been just a trinket to fob off on the jadedly wealthy.

To the desert, it was just there.

Hardly incidental, but then again, these wastes were a jumble of mirages, a sprawl of boulders and dry, bleached bones. They desiccated vigor, even crushed the dreamer in shivering repose.

Languidly, the pincers of a scorpion poked from its lair, preceding a sandy carapace and stinger. And surely enough, it clambered onto the piece of copper.

by **Adarra** on January 30th, 2012, 12:18 am

It was the green that caught Adarra's attention first. Such a deep color that shielded the faded copper, like the very essence of the forests that she so longed to see with her own eyes. It was that color that she'd always admired; the raw silks in the marked, the jewels from far cities that she could only piece together with the limitless imagination of a dreaming child. It sparkled in the sun; a treasure calling out to be found; a piece of the story that she would later tell. It was so beautiful and so out of place half hidden by sand just below her, it stole her gaze and commanded her attention. Curiosity bid her forward, and she lowered her bow, shooting a quick, cautious glance toward where the others had been only a moment before. Sighting their departure, she scurried down the dune, pausing only a few feet away in order to pull back her bowstring and sip in a deep breath through pursed lips.

Lining up the point of the arrow with the scorpion, Adarra hesitated. The scaled creature was nothing new to her, but its position just atop the jeweled fragment was surprising. She did not want to damage the piece, concerned that it held some divine importance. Never before had she seen something so out of place, and so alluring. It must have been something significant to her pilgrimage, and thus, she could not bring harm to it.

As she lowered her bow, she stood to her full height, frowning down at the scorpion. After a moment's thought, she replaced the bow into the quiver on her back, holding the arrow in her left hand and stepping forward. She knelt slightly, taking careful aim, and lashed out at the scorpion with the tip of the arrow, careful not to touch its perch. She hissed at it in Shiber, demanding that it move away.

by **Cantrip** on January 30th, 2012, 11:38 pm

The scorpion yielded reluctantly, shying away from the piece of metal, then slowly scuttling back into its hole. The stinger lashed. That only brought more to the surface, a string of nasty crawlers that clicked and chattered, advancing toward her. They would only multiply. There was a pop, and a scorpion was suddenly a pair, breaking from the intensity of a lovers’ embrace to get at the danger.

The desert jealously guarded its secrets.

The fragment of copper, though in their midst, was bare, plainly neglected by their rage. Thing was, she’d have to dance around, hope their claws didn’t get her if she wanted to recover what could be a valuable artifact, or merely junk. There was no way of knowing.

The dome, biding in hushed monstrosity, was uneasily seductive, and she’s suddenly be struck by a sense of wrong. There was a beating of large, ragged wings. The angry screech and clack of beaks. There were condors in the sky, two lower over the dunes, and another soaring darkly upward on a heated current. They dove lower, the first passing nearby, and the other right at her. There was a sharp catch of claws, rending at cloths, the flesh of her shoulder. Then they were swiftly away, sharply swooping to instigate a second pass.

The carrion eaters were hunting… her.

by **Adarra** on February 5th, 2012, 9:21 pm

For a long moment, Adarra froze, legs locking, incredulous at the unearthly multitude of scorpions. She faded, overwhelmed with a heavy energy, something prompting her to flee. Sharp caws came from behind, and fear suddenly shattered her daze. Closing her eyes, Adarra surrendered to an inner voice, allowing it to explode into a commanding force that overwhelmed her.

In an instant, she dropped low, just barely avoiding the claws that caught the fabric on her shoulder and slid across her skin. Jumping back up to her feet, she reached back, withdrawing an arrow, knocking it, and firing toward the winged beast. After taking a step back, she drew another arrow, firing in the general direction of the scorpions in hopes of deterring their progress.

As she produced another arrow, she shot a glance over her shoulder. Quickly, she decided the only plausible escape; to delve into the unknown of the strange monster that lay just feet away. Though the idea seemed to flood her with a sickening sense of dread and repulsion, she decided that it was the best course of action. Her eyes drifted back to the scorpions, the glint of the copper piece catching her eyes. This strange, phenomenal behavior revolved around it, and therefore, it must have been important.

After a slight hesitation, she shot another arrow, dashing toward the piece and scooping it up within and fist-full of sand. As she slid to a stop, she pivoted, racing through the sand toward the strange gleaming wall of stone. Slowing as she neared its edge, she pressed herself against its surface, ducking low and making her way to where she spotted the others.

by **Cantrip** on February 8th, 2012, 10:17 pm

The shaft rose through a hazy swelter. The fletchings hissed, yet for all its alacrity, it seared through the air sluggishly, as through liquid. Nearly a trick of the unwary mind, harsh reality merging to a mirage. That’s what the blast furnace of these wastes did.

And yet, it nearly took out the rising condor as it began to wheel. There was an outraged squawk, a dusty feather snatched away. The splay of wings angled. The shaft was descending now, and the scavenger, brashly unmindful of the peril, again brought its beak to bear.

Adarra’s quick stride back had also, perhaps, saved her. These weren’t just any scorpions. They scuttled rapidly, with angry, jerking gyrations of stinger, pincer, and sandy carapace, forcing their tiny forms into bizarre sorts of skips and hops, as if they were toads. They swarmed over the sands, trying to get at her toes, scarcely thwarted by the discharge of yet another shaft.

The ragged beat of wings grew louder. The offending condor was back, or maybe it was the other. There was no way of knowing. The claws were further away this time, though she could feel the hushing displacement of scorching air of the ridge of her cheek, the nape of her neck. Through the peril, her gambit paid off. The further ranks of scorpions lunged, yet their stingers went wide, fell short. The others weren’t nearly as quick, were so bunched up and crawling over each other that the span covered by that desperate bound carried the woman far beyond, to scrape among the stragglers. Deftly, her fingers curled around the piece of copper, its edges rough and burning against the skin of her palms. Then she was dashing under the gaping, shadowy maw of the dome, away from yet another pass of the condors, the cacophony of their shrieks lingering in her wake.

Inside, the passage was inky dark. The glare was just a memory, limning the gray, crumbling walls, the rocky debris that lay over the floor. That lasted but a few paces, swiftly vanishing in abyss of jet. The unmoving air was yet stagnant with the pressing weight of years, far cooler than the swelter of the wastes. There was a curve of torch brackets, heavy and black, laden by rust. They were mostly empty, perhaps taken by the pilgrims. The acrid stench of smoke was clinging to the air, after all. There were a few left, heavy bundles of ancient, desiccated reeds, lashed by cords, smeared with pitch so they’d burn brighter, longer.

The way beckoned, heavily and mysterious. There’d surely be a leaden presence, constricting nerves, settling over shoulders. The passage would carry on, tapering slightly, the roof lowering, before it grew broader, the huge, unmortared blocks of a wall rising up before her. There was a glyph cut in the rocks, surrounded by several others and mostly covered by shreds of a decaying tapestry. There was a strange, metallic glint to some, while others protruded like segments in a vast jigsaw. There was much that it might’ve displayed. The planes were mostly covered by dust, though it’d been wiped away in places. There was also a pair of arches, one leading vaguely lower, to a slight rush of air and a nearly impenetrable layer of cobwebs, and the other around, leading to a door banded crossways with flaking strips of copper. The crunch of bones under sandals would surely be heard if she ventured down that path, mostly of rats.

by **Adarra** on March 29th, 2012, 5:11 am

The impenetrable darkness caused Adarra a moment's hesitation at the very edge of straining light. The enraged squawking of the voracious carrion echoed through the corridor, the force of which propelled her forward another step. When her foot met uneven ground, she leaped back with a gasp. A clamorous crack resounded, and she peered downward, catching the slightest outline of white, piled all around. As she realized the gravity of her surroundings, she retreated another step. The unearthly perils of the desert trapped her in this enigmatic crypt. Decision weighed heavily on her already flooded mind. What mysteries lay ahead? The imminence of death hung in the thick, rancid air around her. If only she'd stayed away...

Closing her eyes, she released the breath that she'd unconsciously been holding, steadying her distressed mind with a silent prayer. Focus flooded her thoughts, and she opened her eyes, stepping forward to be engulfed by obscurity.

It took what seemed an eternity to find a grip on one of the torches. Her fingers groped the walls where she thought she could see the glint of metal, though it was only another shade of black. Sheathing her bow, she grasped the torch, retching it from the cold wall. She knelt, searching through the uneven surface of the floor for a stone. Her fingers found the smooth surface of metal, and she reached to grasp it, pulling back as the sharp edge sliced her skin. Her palm pulsed, and she could feel cool blood spilling over it. Sucking in a breath, she reached down again, carefully freeing the weapon from underneath what she imagined to be dry bones, rocks, and wood.

A single strike against the stone wall, and a flash of sparks illuminated the room. They faded quickly, leaving the ghostly projection of the setting imprinted in her vision. Two more strikes, and the torch caught fire. It sprung to life, sudden light dancing off the walls and down the hall, taunting her. Just below her lay a skull, jaw slightly ajar, gaping wide with black hole eyes staring into nothingness. The body lay shattered underfoot, sprawled among comrades, stripped to bone against the ragged stone. Adarra dropped the bloodied axe head that she held, pushing herself to her full height and examining her wounded hand. The cut ran across her palm, sending tendrils of pain up her arm and giving her fingertips a tingling numb sensation. She raised her hand to examine the cut more closely, only to be distracted by what lay beyond.

As she allowed her hand to drop to her side, she stumbled forward, entranced by the markings on the wall. She shuffled to them, leaning down and tracing a blood-spattered finger along the elaborate carvings. In the faint light, they seemed to glow deep within the stone, a faint trick of her eyes perhaps. Here, she stayed, soaking in the markings, studying them, awed by their complexity.

“Yahal… What is this place?” The whisper barely passed her lips and soon died away at the sound of rushing air. She turned her attention to the archway, penetrating the wall of cobwebs with a wave of the torch. They lit up in flames, quickly retreating to the wall and dissipating. A quiet voice called her forward, deep and dark, beckoning her into the unknown. Though she sensed something very evil about this place, an unnatural presence, she drew forward.

It felt like a dream. The scorpions. The copper piece that she consciously felt tucked safely in the folds of her fabric belt. The birds. This dome. What mystery had she stumbled upon? What great discover was she about to make?

What ancient evil lay before her in these unfathomable depths?

by **Cantrip** on April 5th, 2012, 11:02 pm

High, rusty brackets flanked the walls beyond the arches, rock yielding to dry, crumbly plaster. The flags unfurling over so many empty yards, fixing to plunge into the bowels of ruin, and then as if changing their minds, curving sullenly upwards. There were chinks in mortar, from which emanated tiny, scurrying jet beetles, irregular puffs of grist draping thickly over lungs. The passage narrowed, then widened, skidding sharply downward into a trench, then back up. There were fragments of leaf, a strewing of dust as if it’d been a channel for water, once, but was no more. The sides thwarted by a stony crumple, great blocks leaning and groaning. There was a faint, opalescent light in their vicinity, limning everything with surreal blurs. Miraged gurgles melded with the quiet, but it was the medley of drips, lonely in their muffled reverberation, yet grievously lacking from the baked corners of labyrinth.

Then the archway forced lower, crushed under so many tons of gravel, so that the only conduit was the jut of a side passage. The walls were of ruddy rock, yet bearing the vague, grinding pocks of metal spikes. And lower, ever lower, the floor was grooved by sledges, though most overflowed with scatterings of bird bones, mummified skeletons of rodents, and thick, harsh dust. There was a curtain of ivy, so brittle that the lightest brush of a finger might disperse it all to cinders. The linger of tarry smoke wafting delicately through slothful tides. There were crazy, regular skids on the floor, where the sands had freshly shifted.

Eventually, it widened upon a brass portal, badly tarnished by the weight of years and ripped from its hinges. It twisted to the side, enormous and circular, revealing a dented, sooty lattice of metal. The bars were warped, spaced near each other in some regions and further in others, permitting entry after but an easy climb. There was more beyond, slabs of pillar fronting a chamber that even a pair of torches, held aloft and blazing, couldn’t penetrate murky corners. Palatial, yet barren. There were heaps of ashes, rising nearly to a knee’s summit. They were like squat towers dotting a dirty floor that might’ve once been glazed by tiles, their dispersal arbitrary. Pale flecks of fabric poked up at intervals, as did a scimitar with its leather grip rusted away. Humps of dingy, cracked leather resembled corpulent white worms, though on closer look, many contained bones. A lost skull mingled with some broken, alabaster statuary, nudging against the low rim of what might’ve been a fountain in times bereft.

Here, the dust swarmed over the floor, coruscating with dusty butterfly wings. The low-hanging confusion was everywhere, coating every surface, then tugging away to reveal the bizarre remnants of passage. Here, the trail of steps ended. There were no features, for the chamber was barren in its rocky enormity, many pillars canting, trembling as if they verged on crumbling. This was the manifesting of chimera, speaking to larger perils.

From somewhere, nearly seeming as if it was transcribed at the rear of her skull, she’d notice a vague, fuzzy flame of purple. Half incantation, part illusion, it danced seemingly beyond the revelation of her eyes, as if tracing a myriad pattern. If there such present, it’d been obscured by those billows of dust.