Traveling to Trefoille

With the storm demons smote away, the dark clouds that crowned the Devil’s Peak dispersed and revealed a glorious sunset on the horizon. The trio agreed that climbing down from the pillar of black stone would be far more foolish than their earlier ascension. So, they settled in and made camp for the evening. Even though they had camped out beneath the cloudless sky on more than one occasion, somehow the view from the peak was far more majestic than any other evening scene across Sokara. The cosmos far above revealed meteor showers, vibrant colors of swirling vortices dotted with stars that glistened more brilliantly than any jewel a rogue could covet.

Hector was completely entranced by them and wondered why he had never witnessed such grandeur on the city rooftops. Perhaps it helped that there was no other earthly light, be it a campfire or street lanterns, skewing the brilliance of the heavens above. The only explanation anyone would offer was Ysolt. “Lord Elnir’s gratitude,” she said, referencing the fact that they had rescued his son. As simple as an explanation as it was, Trystan felt it was something more than a god’s will to create something so fascinating. He had caught similar glimpses of the cosmos earlier in his youth. He didn’t share these memories with his companions, though. He knew the gods existed, considering the day’s earlier events. His gut instinct told him that there was something beyond the gods out there. Something beyond this world, out there painting light to create such ethereal marvels in the heavens beyond their reach.

To say that their descent the following morning went more smoothly would be a lie. Hector’s fear of falling came into full swing mostly because he was forced to look down to determine where he was placing his feet. Trystan still led the way, but had to backtrack around the poor rogue to help coax and ease him into stepping down much of the way. It was well into the afternoon by the time they reached the base, and the clouds that had disappeared the previous night were starting to gather around the crown of Devil’s Peak far above. By the look and smell of things, it seemed as though the previous day’s storm clouds had unleashed their pent-up rain, and the Curstmoor was washed over with brilliantly colorful flowers. They wouldn’t last more than a day or two, but Ysolt especially appreciated the sight of them. “Mistress Maka’s blessings,” she rejoiced and clapped while the rogue sobbed into the solid ground, kneeling as close as he could to the surface that promised he no longer had to climb the cliffside again.

ROLL 1 DIE.

Score: 5 – Find 10 Shards on an Old Skeleton.

The rain had not just brought vibrant color to the Curstmoor. It had unearthed at least a shallow grave that the trio came upon during their second day of travel toward Trefoille. Trystan examined the bones, determined that they were human, but had been long dead due to the lack of flesh and garments. However, the rogue pointed out a glimmer of metal that reflected the dim daylight. They uncovered ten shards from the grave, which Hector took for himself without argument from the others. The men then dug a deeper hole for the bones while the priestess recited a burial prayer, in hopes of appeasing the spirit if it had been disturbed from its original grave.

It was midday by the time the trio arrived upon the outskirts of a hollowed husk of a city. Further to the south, they could see caravans on the road, heading toward its gate with building supplies. “Where we be?” Ysolt asked as Trystan pulled out his map. “This should be Trefoille,” he murmured cautiously, finding no other city around the region. “I thought I heard on the grapevine that the general completely decimated this place during the civil war,” Hector said, crossing his arms as he looked up from his vantage point on the map to the outer walls of the city. “They sided with the king and didn’t have a chance of holding out against the general’s army,” he elaborated in a grim tone.

Looking back at the road, the wayfarer gave a slow nod as if to agree. “It looks as though they’re rebuilding. I doubt the general would let them do that if they were still supporting the former ruler,” Trystan suggested as he rolled up the map and tucked it into its weather-protected case. “You think Wizard here during battle?” Ysolt asked, yet both men shook their heads in disagreement. “If he’s as powerful as he claims, I doubt the city would have fallen so easily if he had been around to protect it,” Trystan assumed; there was a chance that he could have been wrong. “We should at least see if he’s around before assuming anything else,” he then said, opting to lead the way into the city.