Private Tides of Woe

[Walter Thornley]

Rain pelted his cloak and cowl, dripped in silver strands off the trimmed edge and streamed down the slick-furred legs of the grey drake he was sat on for the past hour.
A reptilian, horse-like thing with paws for hooves and a narrow, triangle head - hissed and crooned, shifted weight impatiently. The tip of the long tail, ending in a brush of silver fur, flicked to and fro impatiently. Geist didn't like staying still in the cold.

"My lord?" Lyon, one of the Huntsmen, called out.
They were about to depart back to Alderlund when something caught Walter's attention in the distance.

"A rider," Walter murmured. More than usual, his eyes were lined in shadows of little rest. "Take down the road, the caravan might have stopped for the fires."
The Huntsman's voice acknowledging the command behind his back, he put heels of the boots to Geist's sides, and the drake took off in the opposite direction, trot smooth like a predator's prowl, headed to the figure.

Behind the riding baron, black smoke billowed despite the rain. Burning fields.

Geist's prowl slowed some distance from the horse moving towards, to give it a chance to stop before it spooked.
"Halt!" A grey-gloved hand rose. "The patrolmen are redirecting every good man to the Creekscross Road. It's not safe near Alderlund, stranger."

*

It has been pouring for days, as if the tides from the seas were trying to carry themselves inland on storm clouds, and drop the waves there.
The town of Alderlund was struck the worst, closest to the coast, when the Blight came with one of those tides and spread across the harvest-ready crops like wildfire.
Devastation seemed imminent.
The Thornley lord and his men arrived soon after.
Several sleepless days later, the caravan was bound to arrive with provisions - a portion of grain and other foodstuffs from the rest of the province, medicines for the fever and sleep, fire-cleansed surgeon tools in sealed coffers. Not enough - not in the quantities, but in the specialties.
They weren't ready for this.

@Micaiah Blightbane

 

[Micaiah Blightbane]

Some things become so ingrained over time, slow, insidious wriggle into the psyche, as to leave one oblivious to their own oddity, even where it strikes another strange: the way Micaiah appeared perfectly dry, whites untouched by dirt or rain while riding in the midst of a downpour, for one.

At least, to those without the eyes to see.

Beneath the shimmering exoskeleton of a passive mirage, they were no less drenched and pruning than any other poor soul caught in the shiftless storm. Water-wicking enchantments escaped them as effortlessly as any other spell beyond their purview — which was to say, interest; although they donned illusions with precious little conscious thought, they had not managed to kindle a campfire since the deluge began.

So they were bitter cold, teeth held at the raw edge of chattering by sheer force of will, when at last they spotted a figure along the middle-distant horizon — or, rather, Meridian, the fickle, yet clever beast beneath them, spotted the figure for them. The flank-shudder of his anticipation saw Micaiah urge him forward, unquestioning. After so much quietude, and so many rumors, danger was as welcome to their itching fingers as salvation. Perhaps even more so. Knight errant — more errant, these days, than knight — with little to lose, the whispers of Blight threaded through town and tavern with increasing anxiety, impossible to ignore. So Micaiah didn't.

It was with a splinter of disappointment wedged into their mien, then, that they came upon an individual of seeming import and seeming humanity. Something curious in the aura, maybe, but not enough so to distract them from either the command or the caveat. Lucky for Micaiah, then, that they were not a man, much less a good one.

Nor stranger? Something about the person before them was almost-familiar — if not enough so for Micaiah to accuse them of acquaintanceship without proper introduction. “It is not safety I seek,” Came the riposte, firm but level — and yet they did halt, ignoring the huff of frustration that sounded from their young steed. More curious than cautious, not unlike his rider, Meridian set two of its four glittering black eyes upon the drake with interest, but obeyed the same. “- but the Blight itself.” They squinted towards the shrouded horizon, where the smoke clung to it in a gauzy veil. “And it seems that I have found it. My name is Micaiah, Blightbane of Ilica.” The only title they kept among their keepsakes. “I am a healer, among other things. Are you an authority of these lands?”

 

[Walter Thornley]

The patch of soft skin under Geist's jaw inflated slightly as the beast warbled low, a tension about the agile body as he prowled - then, obeying the subtle command of the rider, turned, long tail trailing after the movement as directions aligned. Walter's focus remained on the rider, however. Pinpricks of light slowly bloomed at the outer rim of the iris. Not enough to emanate light outward, but too many soon to pass off for a trick of the light. They slid down the web of the iris into the will'o'wisp at the bottom of the pupil, and faded once his scrutiny was complete. The baron's tired eyes drifted closed for a moment longer than a blink.

The name stirred something in memory. He knew this one. The name, not the alias. It rang with past life. And yielded nothing. The first time that memories did not resurface at the name. Why?.. A cold worse than the chill of downpour coiled around his ribs.
What if... who remained of Walter Thornley was finally, slowly, slipping?
He had no time for those thoughts, however.

"Micaiah Blightbane, I am Walter Thornley, lord baron of Bremen, and I welcome you to my land. Your arrival is very fortunate - my missives to other parties seem to have gone missing, if not unanswered, alongside the messenger." One of the Huntsmen, a whisper in the back of his mind, would not have just gone missing. Something happened. And yet, their hands were too full coordinating the crisis response to go searching. "Measures have been taken to slow further spread, but this land had not been stricken with Blight for over a century, and expertise is lacking. Join my party in Alderlund. It is going to be dark soon, at least there is a lantern to spare if you don't have one."