RP:What The Naga Spied
Part of the A Line Drawn in the Sand Arc
The Cenril-Kelay Bridge
Kelovath had been in Frostmaw during the Cenril attack. It wasn’t until his return to Larket did he even hear about the actual damage done to the city and its guard. The council needed information and who better to send than a paladin. So, here he was, talking to one of the guards from Kelay, who happened to be in Cenril during the attack. He didn’t know much, but anything was useful at this point. Marcel, Kelovath’s most trusted guard, was there as well. Marcel was a young man, maybe eighteen years old, but there was a natural talent there that the paladin wanted to further explore. They were standing on the Kelay side of the bridge, speaking to a single guard. Their mounts, Cobalt and a horse, were at the beginning of the connecting structure. Marcel was writing the information down, while Kelovath, in his armor of course, stood there nodding to the spoken words.
Mcracken looked to be just a threadbare hobo with a mandolin slung on a strap appended to his shoulder, wandering barefoot from the direction of the ocean-side city. Unkempt, his hair a madness of dreadlocked black and silver, clad in motley off-cast rags, he was visibly nobody a person of import was like to bother with. Yet he walked upright, with a measured pace and noble aspect, displaying none of the burdened and downcast mien that the truly poor tend to bear. As he approached the armored men on the bridge, his odd-colored eyes did not avert but grew more intent upon them.. and upon Kelovath in particular. He paused his strolling briefly, to level a peculiar sort of observation Kelovath’s way, studying him. Then, diverting his path toward the paladin, the ragged minstrel did not seem concerned about the guards, but would attempt to wander to Kelovath’s immediate proximity unless stopped.
Xzavior was disguised both bodily and cloth wise. To others he seemed like the average drifter leisurely camping out a short distance from the bridge within a tree for the night. Those who got too cocky learned fast how wrong they were in assuming he was nothing more. He had been following the kraken for a bit and seeing this entourage around the other man he had to make a sort of quick desicion to stay out of sight. It was a bit of luck that they would be talking here and now. Kicking out his feet silently he leaned against the tree, balancing carefully and listened in on their conversation. This should be interesting.
Kelovath did not see the apparent hobo making his way towards him. Thankfully, Marcel did, as it was his job to be observant of these things. The guard they were speaking to also took notice and would be the one to stand in the way of Mcracken. There was no animosity coming from the Kelay guard, but he was obviously ready if something were to happen. As was Marcel. Kelovath, on the other hand, simply turned and faced the direction of the hobo, canting his head to the side and giving the ragged man a once over. The paladin didn’t sense any threat, but whether he did or not, his reaction would have been the same. Friendly. A smile and a nod were offered to the hobo. Marcel saw this and backed off some, but the other guard did not. His stance was firm and prepared.
Mac gave the guard calm perusal, speaking a few words to the man so very quietly that it was doubtful any were heard at all, meanwhile returning Kelovath’s affable gestures with a lifted hand of greeting, the fingers splayed a little to show their webbing. The guard seemed somewhat befuddled as he stepped aside to allow the hobo passage. Nothing in the stranger’s stance or aspect spoke of threat, however, and he’d continue until he stood a few feet from the paladin, Marcel given a cursory glance-over and nod, the weasel and horse likewise, as though all were equal in the man’s esteem. Then his rather uncanny perusal alit once more on Kelovath, and the hobo spoke, his dialect of a kind unheard in the lands for untold centuries, “Hail, holy warrior!” His voice was a deep boom, melodic and pleasant to the ear. “If thou hast but a moment, I wouldst fain speak with thee.”
Kelovath watched the exchange in silence, his gaze glancing to Marcel for but a moment, which the young guard saw and offered a nod in return. An unspoken language between Marcel and Kelovath was made months ago and it seemed now it was of use. Kind of. The hobo didn’t seem to be a danger, but cautions must be taken around here. The city was in shambles. Hard telling who was bound to walk out of it. When Mcracken approached, Marcel returned the offered nod with one of his own. The paladin kept his smile showing, then spoke. “I’m listening, friend.” Softly spoken, much unlike the hobo’s voice, but it got the point across. He’d listen, but whether information would be exchanged or not was undecided. Marcel calmed some, when Kelovath spoke, so most of the tension was now gone. Good thing too. More relaxing this way.
"I am…” Mcracken opened his mouth as though to speak a name – what came out was a sound like whales calling their kin to war, blended with hulls being scraped, the low and intense rumble of an expectant, aquatic volcano. “But thou mayest name me ‘Mac’.” The man’s eyes, one sea green, the other a pearly white, roamed the paladin’s armor-clad frame again before he continued, “Thou art the knight whose name dost ring in songs, the Golden Warrior of Arkhen..” His wandering gaze focused on Kelovath sharply now, “Thy god dost to speak to thee clear and true… “ He gestured toward Cenril briefly, “There be little light in the city by the sea of late, sirrah, for evil stirs there, wearing many faces. It nests in an ancient hold of my people, and doth spread its poison to all loving creatures near to it, feeding upon them. I seek to bring the land to peace, so the sea may too find succour from evil.”
Kelovath said to you, "I see. Noble cause. Do you have a plan? Or need help of some kind?"
The kraken appeared to be thinking about that question for the space of several breaths, then nodded slowly, “Mayhap. For the evil that doth rise from below hath, I suspect, many miscreants in its fell service that do wander free.” The man canted his head, as though listening a moment to some distant sound, “War cometh to the land from the deeps of sea and stone alike, and many an innocent shall perish in its path. But most pertinent to thine own self.. a dark god riseth, and I would ask of thee aid for those not of the sea. For if I am not mistaken, few holy men are left in the city, and none whom bear such light as thee, nor so strong a sword.”
Kelovath had a difficult time understanding the point the hobo was trying to get across, but for the most part, he get the gist of it. And hearing ‘dark god’ was basically what sent him over the tipping point. He’s had his run-ins with those who believed they were a god and they were typically of the ‘dark’ variety. A quick glance to Marcel, who didn’t seem to be paying attention to what Mac was talking about. The young guard’s gaze was on the hobo, his hands mostly, still expecting something bad to happen. The paladin offered a slight smile to Mac, taking a moment to organize the information. And make sense of it. “What do you need, Mac?” Not an agreement to help, but getting there. More details would be required before offering any assistance to Cenril or the sea.
Mcracken said, "Allies, who walk on land. Men good and true, who wouldst hold back the dark tide should it spill its banks.” He offered no incentive, no trade deals, and no proof of any authority to make such a request on behalf of anyone at all. Really, no-one could be blamed for thinking him just a mad hobo, suffering some kind delusion. He chuffed, shook his wild-haired head, “I seek to draw out the death-witch who hath cursed me, and mine, and the ancient keep we once held dear. When I do, then I may ask of thee a boon.” The wanderer smiled faintly then, a crooked, awkward moue as though his face was not used to making such an expression, “What wouldst thou ask in return?”
Kelovath showed no emotion as the request was made. Truly, the paladin thought this man was mad. Although the signs and normal instincts of speaking with a crazy person weren’t there, something did feel off. The news of the Seaborn was something new to Kelovath, which he’d need to discuss with the council and see what information they have on the matter. As for Cenril, he had no love for the city. Or respect for that matter. Crooked politicians and even worse religious figure-heads. The only reason he was even getting more direct information about what happened with the attack is because the council requested it. Otherwise, Cenril would forever be left on its own. But now, simply to make this strange hobo happy, he nodded in agreement, then waved away any request for a favor in return. “I don’t ask for anything, Mac. You need allies. Myself…” He motioned to Marcel, who looked surprised and not genuinely interested in what was going on, “And Marcel here will help you. I’m Kelovath Khasmin, by the way.” Instincts kicked in and his armored hand was extended out for an introductory hand-shake. “Send word to Larket when you need us, yeah?”
Mcracken clasped the offered hand, his smile faded back to the hobo’s more stoic mien, “Pray to thine own god, good sirrah, for the knowledge of what exchange may be made, for I wouldst not be indebted to any creature. Any boon of sea that dost not bring harm to the Seaborn, I shall grant thee if it is in my power, for many are the riches of my home. Thou hast mine thanks, for thine ear this day and thy generous spirit.” He gave the paladin a courteous dip of head, and Marcel received another.
Kelovath returned the nod, releasing his hand from Mac’s. “Take care, my friend.” A strange conversation with an even stranger man. Probably not the last time they’ll run in to each other. Kelo had a strong feeling about that.
Mac simply wandered away, returning to that much-beleaguered city and the briny world that lay beyond its shores.
Xzavior tipped his head to the side as he listened to the retreating steps from the group until he could no longer hear them before jumping from the branches and brushing off the stray leaves and insects he carried with him. It was rather uncomfortable but to say it wasn't worth it wasn't entirely true. He made his way back to his cabin, waiting till he was far enough away to shift back into a naga.