Mountain Roadside

Tenebrae - Saturday, September 15, 2012, 8:24 AM

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A15: Alexandrian Mountain Road *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The Redridge mountains rising above is said to, at times, block the sun. Here along this traveler's road, the size of the mountains makes such a saying almost possible. Beyond even them are the airships, who come to rest towards the north and admidst higher peaks. Below and westward, the Lord's City sprawls, wide and beautiful and shining.

The road winds through the mountain landscape, built wide to accomdate a number of travelers. Magic was surely employed in its construction, guided by khazadi hands. Ahead, the road will twist towards the east and downward, returning to the city below. Directly east, the path rises to the Castellum Alexandrae.

Travelers on the road will notice the occasional, quiet shrine to Gilead and Tarien, guardians of wilderness travelers, and travelers, alike. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A lean man makes his way from the mountain temple. He wears a set of gray robes edged in the colors of sand, and bears a khopesh at his belt. He moves with a certain jaunt or cheer as he comes to the roadside, and then looks either way, his expression expectant. The evening is cool and calm, with gray clouds gathering overhead, and the faintest of sprinkles just starting.

Mikilos leans quietly against the mountain cliff riseing up from the roadside, reading, a small canvas roof attached to the rock keeping off the weather. A small circle of glowing runes are etched into the ground beside him.

Out here, away from the city, yet conveniently close, is where Azog prefers to stay. There is a small tent, and a campfire, and a very small critter cooking on a spit. Well, hunting's not so good this close to the city. Azog's campfire is bright as light dims in the evening with the clouds closing in, and Azog watches the people on the road thoughtfully as the light rain occasionally pitterpatters on his armor.

Walking alongside the Vardaman, Jareth's cloak is drawn close as the light rain starts to bead and run down the slope of his helm. Looking less cheerful in comparison, the Daeusite inquires, "I'm just helping you take them into the temple, right? You don't need my help...preparing them, right?"

"Nothin' like that. ...the family requested an honor guard for the son, and I'd thought of you. He'd...wanted to be a knight before the sickness took him." The Mourner pauses, and then smiles sadly, that same mix of warmth and melancholy that gets attributed to so many of Vardama's workers. It makes him look young, too young, to be a priest. "Thank you for volunteerin'. I know it will mean something to Miss Cirnie." The words seem genuine enough, and he glances down the road again, apparently expecting somethi..."Well, y'all look familiar," to Azog and Mikilos.

Mikilos hrmms absently, and glances up from his book, peering a moment before breaking into a smile. "Hello hello! What brings you out into the weather?" he inquires, absently glancing towards the rune circle for a moment.

Azog offers a wave to Kerbasy and Jareth as they walk along, catching a bit of the conversation as it drifts over. "Honor guard?" he wonders. He rises from beside his campfire and approaches the two, offering a nod of greeting to Mikilos as well as he looks up from his book.

Jareth's expression doesn't improve at the explanation, "It's a sad world we live in when we're standing in the rain waiting for the body of a boy who was taken from his family by sickness. If this will give them some small measure of comfort, then by all means." and then offers a nod of greeting to Mikilos and Azog.

Kerbasy holds out a hand in greeting as Azog gets up. "It's good t'see you both. And yeah, honor guard. We get a lot of kids sometimes, uhm. ...well, this young man had wanted t'be a knight. Jareth's goin' to be accompanyin' him on his final journey. We'd be pleased t'have you along as well, Azog." The Mourner then looks to Mikilos and nods with a sort of bobbing movement. Too young. "Looks interestin'." Of the books.

Azog nods gravely to Kerbasy, kicks dirt over his fire, and leaves his camp where it is. "Many of my tribe find the challenges are greater than they were ready for, but faced them with heart, and we give them due honor," he explains as he catches up with the two.

Mikilos mmms, and shrugs, shutting the book and placing it into his pack. "Isn't. Pretty dry, really, but helps kill some time. IF you'd care for another I- ...oh, hey. Just a sec." Peering at the circle of runes for another moment, the elf looks to the rock wall. A moment later, a small face pushes out from the surface, gemstone eyes glowing faintly as the elemental rumbles something too soft to make out at a distance.

"Don't see them too often," of the gemstone-eyed elemental. "Heh. Yeah, I suppose that's true," to Azog. "The world's harsher than it needs t'be, sometimes. But there's value to livin' it. It's what we usually talk about during sermons. ...what brings you out this way?" Overhead, the rain picks up briefly, though this turns out to be a brief squall, probably just Dana's husband Reos coming home with cogs on his boots. Again. And getting it all over her nice muddy floor. <OOC> Kerbasy claims that. -.-;

Azog peers at Mikilos, looks puzzled, then shrugs. "Something new each day," is all he can say to that. To Kerbasy, he shakes his head, "Harsher than it needs to be? No, I don't think so. If the world were easy, if there were no challenges left, then there would be nothing left to do. How would we prepare for tomorrow's trials? There should always be challenges. Real challenges. That's what makes us stronger. It's unfortunate when someone judges wrong and fails, but if there wasn't the risk of that, then where would the honor lie?"

Mikilos nods, and reaches into his pouch to pull out a small shard of pure white marble, setting it into the elemental's mouth. Rock candy. "Mmm, they're tough and very diligent, and with rock work needing done, was the best to summon." As the happily chewing face sinks back into the rock, the elf steps over to the runic circle, douseing the glow with a gesture and scuffing away the marks with his foot. "I'm done here. What exactly is happening? I caught part of it, but was distracted. Whos funeral?"

"Could see that. Lady asks us t'enjoy life while we're here," the Mourner agrees. He rubs at the back of his neck then. And aside from the light drizzle, the road remains quiet. Above them is the nobility district, the grand castle of Alexandria, and other such places. But here...here at least, it's quiet for a time. "Marcus Cirnie. He was twelve, caught a version of that uh, flu that's been goin' around. Except it turned out to be a nastier strain." Pause. "He'd wanted t'be a knight."

Azog hrmphs about wanting to be a knight, but in a sort of amused way. "Everyone wants to grow up to be the chief," he observes. "I suppose that's because of the respect they command. But a chief is only as good as the warriors that serve him. Still, for a young one, that is an acceptable goal." He grimaces about the flu. "That's the other reason I'm staying out here. Why get sick with everyone else when there is so much room?"

Mikilos nods in agreement, and shrugs. "Knight isn't quite the chief, but true. Anyway, being sick out when you're alone is worse than being ill with someone to care for you. Though for most I think they're just more comfortable with others around."

Reaching under his cloak, Jareth touches the pendant around his neck, "Fate has seen to it that I've been able to avoid the dangers of the sickness that has struck the city, thanks to this. Unfortunately, not everyone can say the same."

The light pitter-patter of the rain continues, though down the road it's joined by a slow creak of wheels. The Mourner straightens, and looks down the road--a smile tugs at his features, though it's that same mix of warmth, and melancholy. "It's not been too bad, but I was surprised t'see it. Usually we don't see the flu until later on in th' season." Kerbasy heh's, and rubs the back of his neck. "...you've been helpin' with the stone work?" The last is directed to the elemental-summoner. With the work the city's been doing...there's been plenty to accomplish. And too, the catacombs always need it, whether being refined, excavated. The mountains beneath Alexandria are slowly being hollowed out.

Azog ehs to Mikilos, "A knight ... but you have different kinds of knight, I think. Some knights rule the lands around them for their king, yes? And then they have ... lesser knights in their service? I guess you use the same words for both. We have chiefs who rule a tribe, and they have warriors at their command." He nods about Jareth's charm, but says, "If there were enough for everyone, then everyone would become weak to sickness. It is as well that we stand on our own strength." He looks over to Kerbasy, then back to Mikilos about the stonework.

Mikilos shakes his head, and shrugs. "Sort of. Am looking for myself, but what information I find gets past on. Getting difficult to find someplace taht doesn't already have a cellar, vault, tomb or something already in it, unless is filled with cracks and structually unsound. At least can send soucts in, rather than having to tunnel thru the rock to find what's inside." He nods to Azog about the knights, agreeing.

Jareth turns at the sound of the approaching wagon and then looks back to Mikilos, "I've heard about the Khazad possibly opening underground trade routes all the way to Alexandria. That could prove to be a very lucrative venture of someone wanting to take part in the excavations, or even securing the roads once they are completed."

"Well, we appreciate you are doin' in the meantime." And as he talks, the cart continues up the road. This close, it's pulled by a matched set of mules, their gray coats lightly dusted with the rain. The cart, or pall, or hearse, itself is a low structure on large wheels, a sort of coach, though plainly built. Kerbasy nods to them, and then hurries over to meet the driver.

Azog grumbles about underground trade routes, but shrugs them off. "New challenges replace old, I suppose," he says philosophically. He quietly observes the cart as it approaches, bowing his head respectfully for a warrior who never got the chance to prove himself.

Mikilos hrmms, and shrugs. "Suppose an underground tunnel is secure form most things. But what it isn't secure from will be very nasty." He falls quiet as the wagon approaches, watching in respectful silence.

The Mourner speaks with the driver a while before stepping back. He's solemn as he does, and waves to Azog and Jareth. "She's going to take Marcus in. I'll be a few hours doing preparations, after that. So you're free t'wander until then. Though, if you want lunch, the Temple's glad enough to provide it." And he nods to Mikilos, indicating the mage is welcome in the invitation.

Jareth bows his head as the wagon comes to a stop, offering a whispered prayer to Daeus for the boy's soul. Reaching under his cloak, he produces a long, wrapped bundle. Stepping over to Kerbasy and the driver, he holds it out. "This was a sword I was given back in the High Plains, when I finally got to be a guardsman for the town where I was born. It's blade is no keener than any other. It will not burst into flames or cleave a dragon in twain. But, it is tried and true. He can take it with him for his next journey."

Azog looks over the shoulder to his abandoned camp, where even now, scavengers are probably having at the sparrow he'd caught and was cooking. A plume of smoke from the hastily doused campfire marks the spot. "Lunch sounds good," he allows. He blinks at Jareth's burial gift, but murmurs, "Different customs."

Mikilos ponders a moment but shakes his head. "Thank you, but I'd best decline. Are other matters to which I need to attend. Best wishes to all of you." And with that the elf heads up the mountain road, towards the noble houses above.

Kerbasy rubs at the back of his neck; surprise flickers over his features. And then he bows once, quickly before holding out his hands to accept the bundle. "May he find his honor beyond the Gates an' among the Honored Dead. Th' gods need soldiers in both worlds." He passes his hand over the sheathed blade, and then reverses it, says quietly, "Do this again at th' services. It would mean somethin' to his parents." And a kind of grin. "Funerals are about the ones we've lost, but in a way they're about the livin', too."

The driver, a woman in acolyte's robes, sits atop the pall. The pall itself is of plain make and simple wood, its colors the solemn colors of the Gray Lady. A pair of mules bear its weight, and they stand quietly in the road as things sort themselves out. Kerbasy and Jareth stand near the pall, with Azog and Mikilos close by.