Their descent from Dravania had been quiet for the most part. With the remarkable ease of the whistles, both Karadwyr and Goldwind found them rather promptly after the Hyur and the Au Ra had left the cave, and they scaled down the mountain with little fanfare and no harassment from the Dravanians. Kasrjin expected that the experience had left both of them with much introspection to do; there was very little conversation, even as they passed again through Tailfeather. There was no sign of the Ishgardian war party that had preceded them, much to his relief.
Kasrjin constantly patted the bag where the keystone. While his face would not openly express his anxiety, it was clear that some part of him was wrestling with the fact that this was the object he was apparently seeking combined with the uncertainty that it was truly the solution to Kaarad-El's...problem. He was about to recall what was revealed to him in Ehs Daih, but his mind almost reflexively banished the imagery before it could reform from his memories.
Pain without purpose, indeed.
Their journey was marred by little incident until they reached the snows of Coerthas.
He had seen it in the distance but was unsure of what it was at first. It was only as they approached that Kasrjin's frown deepened. Abruptly, he pulled Karadwyr into a stop, swinging his leg off of the bird and breaking into a measured, loping run. The large, wooden stake had bent slightly in the wind and yet was sufficiently buried into the frozen soil to keep from completely toppling over. A corpse was perched atop it, another grisly trophy like the others they had seem resembling this. Yet what caught Kasrjin's eye wasn't the display itself, but the body that comprised it.
The dead Xaela atop the stake had been impaled through the back, his arms and legs frozen from the ice and rigor mortis. The steppe tiger furs and leathers that comprised of the corpse's clothing had been left on the cadaver, indicating that it was not a random act of looting but a measured, deliberate murder. Kasrjin's boot impacted against something buried against the base of the stake; a spear, snapped in two. The Xaela's eyes were milky and glazed over with the veil of death. White, unkempt hair that shocked itself from the body's head gave way to a face that seemed as if it had been used to smiling.
Kasrjin wordlessly pulled the stake and the body closer to the ground, inspecting every detail; personal effects, the marks on the haft of the spear, the paint around the eyes.
"Kaizhan," he breathed under his breath.
It was undoubtedly Kasrjin's younger protege. Scratches on the shattered spear haft to indicate successful battles, the tiger tooth around his neck, the white hair, and the markings on his face. Within a hidden pouch in the sleeve, there as a piece of nondescript obsidian with Alaqu's name on it, inscribed in Kasrjin's language.
Grief was not something that the Khadai experienced, and was a sentiment that had been rapidly bred out of them. Yet grief and sorrow were not the same thing, and it was the latter that fuelled Kasrjin's gesture of closing the dead Xaela's eyelids. "You did well to make it this far," Kasrjin murmured to the body, moving his hands to take whatever personal or practical effects that Kaizhan--and his killers--had left on the body. The question, however, was when this had taken place. The frozen climate of Coerthas made gauging the state of the body nearly impossible. Was Kaizhan here before they had arrived with his killing having just happened now, or had he just made it here only to be caught by unfortunate circumstances?
The Ishgardian war band. Had they passed through here? They had done well in covering their tracks if they had, aided by the snow and weather. Kasrjin knelt down, inspecting the stake for any clues as Karadwyr shuffled up to him with unease. Kasrjin inspected the body again, noticing that there was a severed belt laying across Kaizhan's chest. His killers had taken something from him that was not his currency, his weapon, or any other trinkets he had on his body. There was...a bag? Something had been attached to a belt across his back or chest that had been taken.
But what? And why?
Kasrjin constantly patted the bag where the keystone. While his face would not openly express his anxiety, it was clear that some part of him was wrestling with the fact that this was the object he was apparently seeking combined with the uncertainty that it was truly the solution to Kaarad-El's...problem. He was about to recall what was revealed to him in Ehs Daih, but his mind almost reflexively banished the imagery before it could reform from his memories.
Pain without purpose, indeed.
Their journey was marred by little incident until they reached the snows of Coerthas.
He had seen it in the distance but was unsure of what it was at first. It was only as they approached that Kasrjin's frown deepened. Abruptly, he pulled Karadwyr into a stop, swinging his leg off of the bird and breaking into a measured, loping run. The large, wooden stake had bent slightly in the wind and yet was sufficiently buried into the frozen soil to keep from completely toppling over. A corpse was perched atop it, another grisly trophy like the others they had seem resembling this. Yet what caught Kasrjin's eye wasn't the display itself, but the body that comprised it.
The dead Xaela atop the stake had been impaled through the back, his arms and legs frozen from the ice and rigor mortis. The steppe tiger furs and leathers that comprised of the corpse's clothing had been left on the cadaver, indicating that it was not a random act of looting but a measured, deliberate murder. Kasrjin's boot impacted against something buried against the base of the stake; a spear, snapped in two. The Xaela's eyes were milky and glazed over with the veil of death. White, unkempt hair that shocked itself from the body's head gave way to a face that seemed as if it had been used to smiling.
Kasrjin wordlessly pulled the stake and the body closer to the ground, inspecting every detail; personal effects, the marks on the haft of the spear, the paint around the eyes.
"Kaizhan," he breathed under his breath.
It was undoubtedly Kasrjin's younger protege. Scratches on the shattered spear haft to indicate successful battles, the tiger tooth around his neck, the white hair, and the markings on his face. Within a hidden pouch in the sleeve, there as a piece of nondescript obsidian with Alaqu's name on it, inscribed in Kasrjin's language.
Grief was not something that the Khadai experienced, and was a sentiment that had been rapidly bred out of them. Yet grief and sorrow were not the same thing, and it was the latter that fuelled Kasrjin's gesture of closing the dead Xaela's eyelids. "You did well to make it this far," Kasrjin murmured to the body, moving his hands to take whatever personal or practical effects that Kaizhan--and his killers--had left on the body. The question, however, was when this had taken place. The frozen climate of Coerthas made gauging the state of the body nearly impossible. Was Kaizhan here before they had arrived with his killing having just happened now, or had he just made it here only to be caught by unfortunate circumstances?
The Ishgardian war band. Had they passed through here? They had done well in covering their tracks if they had, aided by the snow and weather. Kasrjin knelt down, inspecting the stake for any clues as Karadwyr shuffled up to him with unease. Kasrjin inspected the body again, noticing that there was a severed belt laying across Kaizhan's chest. His killers had taken something from him that was not his currency, his weapon, or any other trinkets he had on his body. There was...a bag? Something had been attached to a belt across his back or chest that had been taken.
But what? And why?
