Selm
The Southern Route to Groville
An awkward kind of quiet had filled the last few hours of walking. While many of the carts both in front of theirs and behind theirs were filled with complaints of muddy terrain or the hum of varied conversations, their cart was just grossly quiet in comparison.
Jonesy seemed content with the quiet, only ever barking out for Inathia to push the cart if the horses started struggling, The others were deep in their thoughts(or in the case of Inathia, too nervous to speak at all). At least, as far as Selm could tell, the other guards of this suspicious cart were fine with letting the tense mood work itself out over the miles of terrain that passed under their feet.
At some point, miles ago, the caravan had come to a stop briefly. Mike had ridden down the line, informing the carts each that the caravan would be taking a shortcut away from the main road to buy back some time lost in the storm. He did not seem pleased by this, but in his words "It's shit, but it'll have to do."
To Mike's credit, he was right. This path was atrocious. Filled with more hills slick with mud and thicker patches of forest, it made for a strenuous stretch. The storm had made this "shortcut" into something out of a nightmare. She could not see how this would save them any time, no matter what the experienced leader had said about it.
Perhaps he stood to gain from making the caravan late? She thought, toying with the idea. It was not unheard of for a business to plant a spy or saboteur into a rival business to disrupt its profits. A practice used by scum-adjacent businessmen, one she knew all too well. She hoped this was not the case, as her safety was vastly reduced should Mike prove to be a traitor to his employer.
Mister Dressant, the owner of this caravan, was a merchant that she was not terribly familiar with outside of the rumor mill that was a hot topic decades ago. From what she knew, he was the sole survivor of a rebellious noble family that refused to pay the increased taxes during a time of famine in the country. The name "Laveed" had become infamous for a bit, the family's actions tainting the name. The entire family had rebelled, taking up arms against the crown, and were promptly wiped out days later.
Only Dressant managed to survive, a young man at the time. He was allowed the mercy of living on as a fallen noble. While it was not exclusively stated why he was spared, many assumed it was because he had sold out his family's secrets and showed absolute fealty to the crown when the rest of them rebelled. Now, many years later, he is a middle-class merchant. He owns a decently sized company of not much note or acclaim.
Perhaps it was fate, then, as to why Selm had stumbled upon his company as a way to temporarily get away from the holy capital. Iarm was strange like that, pulling stories alike together. The True God of Fate was a mystery to mortals and gods alike, but it seems even he likes to weave poetic notes into nature.
Selm dispersed the thoughts of Mike being a traitor to Mister Dressant. She found it unlikely that someone who has worked under him for as many years as Mike has(at least half of a decade, based upon the word of the merchants in the caravan) would betray his employer by simply making a single caravan a day or three late. Besides, Mike seemed just as miserable as the rest of the caravan.
They were passing through yet another large swath of rocky forest, the kind filled with trees that have been left alone to grow for decades, unlogged aside from the road they traveled down. More than once the caravan had to stop to move a fallen tree out of the way. An effort that often was handled by a team of the stronger guards, Savaad and Inathia contributing more than most. Frequent stops like this cost the caravan more time than it could afford.
"Another tree?" Jonesy whined, forcing the cart to come to a halt. The carts ahead were stopped with people groaning at the inconvenience. "Girl, go on ahead."
Inathia was already stepping forward by this point, expecting the order. Baz held onto her arm, stopping her from moving further than a few feet.
"Wait." He said, causing a few confused, and slightly annoyed looks from the group. "I smell smoke."
Inathia gave a few hesitant sniffs into the air. Her eyes widened in surprise as apparently, the half-orc was right. The rest of them also took a moment to try and analyze the scent lingering in the air. Selm gave up after a moment, she couldn't smell anything besides the mud and herself. A warm bath was added to her list of things to accomplish in the future.
A few other folks also seemed to notice, some beginning to clutch their weapons in preparation for what could be an ambush. A few moments of tense waiting revealed the curious reason for the stop.
A pair of riders came down the line of the caravan. Armored knights, wearing shiny metal armor(albeit flecked with mud) with gold inlaid into the pauldrons and the chest plate, which had the insignia of a hollow circle made of gold, in which the center holds a spear pointing at the sun. Selm recognized the symbol on their chest, but that only just added to her confusion.
The knights were looking over the carts in a quick manner, just glancing at them and their groups as they rode along. Selm simply watched them ride past, only briefly feeling their gaze from their helmet-covered faces. Jonesy seemed to be sweating even harder than usual, staying as still as he possibly could as they rode past. The rest of their group were much more relaxed in comparison. Most of them just seemed confused.
"Who are they?" Runner asked out loud.
"The Order of the Golden Warriors," Selm responded. She would recognize that insignia anywhere, it is one any Keldanian worth their salt would know.
Inathia spoke up, her voice simultaneously scratchy and soft. "I thought they were supposed to be the size of giants?"
Selm shook her head. "No, you are thinking of the Golden Warriors."
"There is a difference?" Runner questioned.
"Yes! There is a huge difference!" She looked around at the group, exasperated. All she was met with were a few confused looks and a few of mild understanding. "Am I… am I the only Keldanian here?" She excluded Jonesy, the halfling was ignoring them in his statuesque pose. Her question was met with a chorus of nodding heads.
She sighed. "They are two separate entities, the Order of the Golden Warriors, and the Golden Warriors themselves. The Order serves as Keldanis' western army as well as serves as the supporting force behind the Golden Warriors. The Golden Warriors are the mighty few chosen by the gods to protect the Dusk Wall against the horrors of the Night Lands." She could tell she likely just lost Inathia, the girl just looked more confused.
"So… they are, like, the servants of these god-chosen warriors?" Runner summarized. Incorrectly.
"No, they are a military organization that supports the Golden Warriors in their sacred duties. They do not serve them necessarily. They just… ensure the Golden Warriors only need to direct their focus towards the Night Lands."
"The Golden Warriors… they are the holy force of Keldanis that ensures its place as a powerful nation on this side of Rumeris. According to some scholars, they are quite zealous, by nature, and wield power far beyond the capabilities of any normal soldier." Yule mused. At least he seemed to understand what Selm explained. "But I wonder… why would some of their soldiers be this far to the south-east? We are hundreds of miles from Fort Solis, where the Dusk Wall sits."
That was what had confused Selm earlier. Why in the world was the Order here? Shouldn't they be closer to the Dusk Wall? Did something happen at Fort Solis in the few weeks she has been traveling? Or…
"...Did something happen here?" Runner finished the silent thought that Selm was having out loud, startling Selm herself. "What do you think, Keldani? Any reason why?" She addressed Selm, probably still miffed about their confrontation from earlier.
"Well… no. The Silver Guard is the eastern army, they should be taking care of any threats caused by people out this way. They patrol the roads and ensure bandits are captured and put away. So-"
"Forgive me for interrupting Miss Selm, but why did you specify threats by people?" Yule asked.
"Because the Silver Guard often delegates any monstrous threats to adventurers and mercenaries. They deal with guarding towns and cities, not dealing with monsters."
"And there lies our answer." He stated, looking both satisfied and ever more curious. "Something is threatening out here that the Silver Guard cannot handle and thus has asked the Order of the Golden Warriors to deal with. That is my prediction."
That… was a sound idea. There were a few points that Selm could contest against, but the idea itself still held in the fact that it was not only possible, it was probable.
"Huh. Weird." That was all Runner cared to comment on the situation. She seemed more relieved that the knights had passed them over than interested in their purpose in these backwoods.
Regardless of the group's varied levels of interest, the knights came trotting back up the caravan line. No word was spoken from them to anyone as they passed. They disappeared around the bend in the road as quickly as they had come. The caravan started moving moments later.
Moving forward, it was easy to see why the knights had stopped the caravan where it had. They were inspecting them before they got any closer to their encampment, of which slowly appeared on the right side of the road. The encampment itself was decently sized, larger than many of the small villages that dotted the Keldanian hills. Looking large enough to hold two hundred, perhaps more, people within its spiked wooden walls, the encampment was a temporary fortress. Selm could even see a small rink of a moat with sharpened sticks poking out of it. It flew a few banners upon its watchposts, all of them bearing the same white and gold symbol as was on the knight's breastplates.
The encampment itself was a good four hundred feet from the road, across a massive clearing in the wooded terrain. The clearing had likely not always been that large. Those walls and other fortifications had to come from somewhere.
In the clearing center were more mounted knights, ten of them(not including the two returning from their inspection). A total of twelve knights on horseback, all just watching the caravan go by. Their armor looked scratched here and there, but overall was still a splendid display of Keldanian pride. Selm could not help but feel a bit more invigorated at the sight.
As quickly as it appeared, the clearing disappeared behind them. Further steps took them away from the odd sight. They were back to making their way down a muddy road.
It was only then Jonesy seemed to return to his normal self. He heaved a large sigh, one that Selm could only suppose was of relief. For the next half hour, all that could be heard from the sweaty halfing were mutters of worry over the timetable and general disgruntlement with the progress of the caravan.
"Suppose you would know… what are they guarding against?" Selm looked at Runner, who asked the initial question. "Like… you said horrors… but what are they? You know?"
Selm just shook her head. "No. I-" She hesitated, cutting herself off. "...I did not ever visit the Dusk Wall. I find it unlikely that the Golden Warriors, in all of their might and glory, would simply allow just any person to view the monstrosities that roam that accursed ground."
"Right. But… you're not 'just any person'. C'mon, you must know something else?" Runner pressed, giving her a piercing stare.
Selm felt the flush of frustration fill her face. So she was that obvious. "No. Unlike some people, I am at the very least honest in what I say. I have no clue as to what lurks in the cursed lands, and I have no intention to find out."
"Sure…" The woman relented, either believing Selm's honest statement or believing Selm would not offer further explanation. None of the others offered further insight into the conversation. Of all people, Selm would have estimated that Yule would have known the most about the Night Lands, but the half-elven mage gave no hint as to possessing more knowledge on the matter.
Selm was being honest with them, for the most part. She did not like lying, but at the same time, she also did not count omitting parts of the truth to be lying. A hypocritical fault in her character, yes, but not one that she considered fatal. In fact, she found it to be one of the few skills retained from her upbringing that could be used in the outside world. Tell the truth, but not the whole truth. It garnered trust but left room for maneuvering. When she was established back into society… she would fix that habit. But for now, she was content to continue being mostly translucent.
~~~
"Do ye smell that?" Baz grunted, taking a glance around. Selm wrinkled her nose at the scent. The smell of old eggs wafted through the air. She nodded in confirmation but thought little of it.
"Probably Ina," Runner commented, snickering to herself. She had shortened the dragonborn girl's name, something that simply felt improper to Selm. It was mildly cute, in its own manner, but remained improper.
Inathia was too busy lifting the backend of the cart, with aid from Baz, off of the ground to protest against the blaming of the smell. Her muscles bulged with effort, great thick ropes of strong flesh underneath the red scales. Based on how much she was focusing on keeping the cart up, the weight must have been non-negligible. Baz was helping keep the cart steady more than keeping it in the air.
The reason why the back of the cart was in the air was due to Jonesy managing to get one of the back wheels stuck in a small crag of rock. It was bad enough the hill they were on was slick with mud, but the wheel getting stuck and then subsequently breaking upon the effort to remove it was worse.
Jonesy was busy trying to repair the damage to the wheel with hasty patches that would need to be addressed once they stopped for the night. The patches looked, at least to Selm, to be nailing plates of iron to the cracked points of the wooden wheel, framing them to at least keep the wheel rolling. A more experienced craftsman would have complained, but there were none of those to be had at the moment.
Amid the repairs, the other carts had already passed by them. Words of sympathy and looks of annoyance were shared by the passing travelers. The caravan would wait at the top of the hill for a bit, giving them time to repair their cart and catch up. If they took too long, the caravan would depart without them, leaving it up to them to hurry along until they caught up.
"...No. Wasn't her." Baz remarked after a moment. His eyes darted about once again, his brow furrowing. The green-skinned man gave another sniff into the air, grimacing. "Mage."
Yule, who had been remarkably absent from use during this repair work, closed his small book and tucked it away into his robes. "It does smell… odd."
"Unnatural." Baz agreed. He set his portion of the cart down, much to the complaints of Jonesy. The half-orc stepped back to take a better look around the area. Selm and Runner similarly took a look around. Selm could only see the rocky hill they were stuck upon, the low bushes and outcroppings of stone the only sort of cover that could be points of concern.
"Nothing! Eshah… it's probably nothing, right?" Runner said, a nervous grin lighting across her face. The woman did not seem convinced by her own words, her hand going to her blades.
"Why in Keldar's name would you say-" Selm's voice was robbed from her. All around the cart, great walls of fire erupted into the sky. Heat enveloped them as the air began to burn. The flames burned a bright white at their base, eroding into yellow and oranges before finally giving away to reds at their tips, nearly thirty feet above the ground. They were trapped in a box of flames, the smoke blocking out the cloudy sky and the fire only twenty feet from them on all sides.
The horses reared, tearing themselves away from the fire and ultimately getting themselves tangled in their harnesses. The cart lurched with the beasts, Jonesy barely managing to jump up into the driver's seat to even attempt to control them. He likely deemed it a lost cause or was too damned scared to do anything other than dive underneath his tarp, into the shaking cart. Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Yule shouted something out to the others, his staff waved towards one of the walls of flame. Arcane energy shot out of the end of it… why? There were strange shuddering creatures that were walking through the flames. Bones seared black by heat bearing symbols of magic upon them stumbled forward in a ceaseless march. Skeletons of men long since dead, wielding weapons melting and burning away. The macabre army burned infernally, carrying the fire of unknown origins along with them. Yule's spell only was able to hurt a few of them in time. Selm's voice was robbed from her.
At the same moment, baleful howls of desperate hunger rang out from behind the cart. From the flames came three creatures made of fire and hatred, massive beasts that resembled dogs. Yet they were not dogs, for they stood taller than horses and had twice as many mouths. Each body contained two necks and two heads. Their slobbering jaws dripped with molten fire, the hungering beasts tearing into everything they could. Inathia's right arm was caught in one of the beast's maw, the other snapping towards her face. Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Baz held his holy symbol out, shouting at… at someone? Selm was having trouble making her out. A woman, elven. Maybe? Elven seemed close. She was pale, yes. Pale as fresh snow upon a distant rooftop, unmarred by the mud of the masses. Her hair was pale as well. Even her eyes… pale. Her clothes were beautiful and dark. Shifting fabrics curled and ruffled in a gothic fashion. Black on black. She must be in mourning, Selm rationalized. Around her spread a cloak of solid inky black, darker even than the mourning dress the woman donned. It too was gorgeous, that cloak. Its edges looked as if they were dipped in solid gold with how they shimmered in the firelight. How exquisite. Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm watched as skeletal soldiers simply walked past her. That army of infernal bones ignored her, clambering over the cart. A scream echoed from within it, quickly silenced. Runner was being dragged from underneath the cart, kicking at the skulls of her attackers. Pulled through the very mud that got them stuck here. Her eyes were wild and searching. Searching for what? Selm was curious. What had that woman been looking for? Selm's voice was robbed from her.
She saw one of those beasts grab the cargo they had argued about not so long ago in its maw. An explosion of flame radiated out, the shockwave knocking back a few of the skeletons closest to the creature. The beast was unhurt. Flame blended into flame. It was presented to that woman, who set it down on a table made of flaming bones. It opened. Selm's voice was robbed from her.
The woman's voice, clear and cutting, rang through the air. "Come, mother of my master. Your child awaits." The woman lifted something out of that chest. Selm could barely see it from here, but she thought it looked like… a skull? A skull. A skull made of a pure ebony substance. It was eating the light provided by the flames. Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Selm's voice was robbed from her.
Why? Why could she not scream? Why could she not weave magic into her voice and do something? She could have done something! She could have saved someone! Her glassy eyes saw the monsters all bow to that skull. They saw the woman hold it reverently. They saw…
Ah. That was why. A spearhead, glowing from the heat of the flames that surrounded them, had jammed its way through the back of her neck. It was poking out of her throat. Selm's voice was robbed from her. As was her life. It seems that she was the first to fall. Only darkness followed this revelation.