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The mare’s breathing grew heavy as they neared the area where Dravite had detected a disturbance in the web, a lone djed pool that seemed out of place on the plain and had not moved in the last two days he had ventured out to check after first discovering it. The horse lord urged his mount on, cutting through the tall grass with relative ease, one hand held up for balance as he rode, while the other gripped the yvas tightly. “Slow,” he called, commanding the mare to come to a steady stop some metres from the campsite ahead of him.
Vicious lowered her head as if to seek out water and Dravite slipped from the mare’s back to fetch a water-skin from the yvas bags to pour into a bucket that had rolled to the edge of the clearing where the grass wasn’t as thick. He ruffled the mare’s mane as she drank before edging towards the campsite which looked to have been abandoned at first glance.
The tents sat open, makeshift doors flapping in the wind. When Dravite picked up on the smell of ash, he slowed and crept up to one of the tents and peer inside, just in case there had been trouble here and whoever had gone through the camp was still close by. Outside the entrance into the hot tent the man was forced to fall back, senses assaulted by the tang of death that permeated the air, thick and heavy; it seemed he need not creep about here for all were lost.
The watchman slipped out of his shirt and rolled it up to fix over his mouth and nose, tying it off at the back of his head to block out most of the stink from the decaying body inside the tent. It was then he felt the crawling beneath his feet and looked down to find that the ground was covered with maggots, all fat and bloated, most of them half dead in the mid-day sun. He stepped back and shook a few strays from his riding boots before venturing deeper into the camp where he found the fire pit still smoking, surprised it hadn’t gone out; perhaps, he thought, the breeze had kept it burning, turning the ashes over so that it could not suffocate itself.
The second tent was much the same as the first only this one contained a woman and child, a sight not father wanted see. Dravite couldn’t see any signs of a struggle or attack, be it by man or beast. He scanned the earth underfoot looking for tracks that might offer some kind of information, but there were none to be found. It then occurred to him that it seemed a little odd that the bodies had not been torn apart by grassland scavengers looking for an easy meal, and he wondered as to the cause of the pavilion’s death; illness, starvation, drought?
Upon further investigation of the fire pit, the watchman discovered a burnt meal that looked as if it had been picked at with the wooden spoon that sat a few feet away. When he lifted the spoon it smelt sweet like a bitter jam, “poison?” he said to the wind as if it would answer him; had the pavilion members all eaten something they shouldn’t have?
Slipping into the web didn’t feel right and it took Dravite a long time to work into a meditative state strong enough to block the world out and reach for the glowing strands of tightly spun djed that were there waiting at his disposal, ready to feed him more information. There had been a faint form of life somewhere in the camp and Dravite was determined to find it without risking his own neck for too long.
He circled the camp and roamed through the lines of the web that looked to have been recently manipulated, perhaps by one of the dead pavilion members. The horse lord studied the signature knot that had been laid down but couldn’t quite place who it belonged to. All of the sudden the faint pool of djed came up again and Dravite surmised that he would have to head half a mile northwest of his current position to find out exactly what or who it belonged to.
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.
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20 Fall, 515 AV
11th Bell, Mid-day
Sea of Grass
11th Bell, Mid-day
Sea of Grass
The mare’s breathing grew heavy as they neared the area where Dravite had detected a disturbance in the web, a lone djed pool that seemed out of place on the plain and had not moved in the last two days he had ventured out to check after first discovering it. The horse lord urged his mount on, cutting through the tall grass with relative ease, one hand held up for balance as he rode, while the other gripped the yvas tightly. “Slow,” he called, commanding the mare to come to a steady stop some metres from the campsite ahead of him.
Vicious lowered her head as if to seek out water and Dravite slipped from the mare’s back to fetch a water-skin from the yvas bags to pour into a bucket that had rolled to the edge of the clearing where the grass wasn’t as thick. He ruffled the mare’s mane as she drank before edging towards the campsite which looked to have been abandoned at first glance.
The tents sat open, makeshift doors flapping in the wind. When Dravite picked up on the smell of ash, he slowed and crept up to one of the tents and peer inside, just in case there had been trouble here and whoever had gone through the camp was still close by. Outside the entrance into the hot tent the man was forced to fall back, senses assaulted by the tang of death that permeated the air, thick and heavy; it seemed he need not creep about here for all were lost.
The watchman slipped out of his shirt and rolled it up to fix over his mouth and nose, tying it off at the back of his head to block out most of the stink from the decaying body inside the tent. It was then he felt the crawling beneath his feet and looked down to find that the ground was covered with maggots, all fat and bloated, most of them half dead in the mid-day sun. He stepped back and shook a few strays from his riding boots before venturing deeper into the camp where he found the fire pit still smoking, surprised it hadn’t gone out; perhaps, he thought, the breeze had kept it burning, turning the ashes over so that it could not suffocate itself.
The second tent was much the same as the first only this one contained a woman and child, a sight not father wanted see. Dravite couldn’t see any signs of a struggle or attack, be it by man or beast. He scanned the earth underfoot looking for tracks that might offer some kind of information, but there were none to be found. It then occurred to him that it seemed a little odd that the bodies had not been torn apart by grassland scavengers looking for an easy meal, and he wondered as to the cause of the pavilion’s death; illness, starvation, drought?
Upon further investigation of the fire pit, the watchman discovered a burnt meal that looked as if it had been picked at with the wooden spoon that sat a few feet away. When he lifted the spoon it smelt sweet like a bitter jam, “poison?” he said to the wind as if it would answer him; had the pavilion members all eaten something they shouldn’t have?
Slipping into the web didn’t feel right and it took Dravite a long time to work into a meditative state strong enough to block the world out and reach for the glowing strands of tightly spun djed that were there waiting at his disposal, ready to feed him more information. There had been a faint form of life somewhere in the camp and Dravite was determined to find it without risking his own neck for too long.
He circled the camp and roamed through the lines of the web that looked to have been recently manipulated, perhaps by one of the dead pavilion members. The horse lord studied the signature knot that had been laid down but couldn’t quite place who it belonged to. All of the sudden the faint pool of djed came up again and Dravite surmised that he would have to head half a mile northwest of his current position to find out exactly what or who it belonged to.
.
.
.