Chapter 40: Ch. 36: To the Faerieweald’s (Elenaril’s POV)

”To the North, also a lesser known land; Boreus…land of eternal frost. Little is known about its people. They are simply reclusive, isolated from the rest of Eryth. Separating the North of Alkerd from their land is the Sea of Vergrandia, so named because it is besieged on all sides by landmasses, like a child lost in a crowd. It is the smallest sea of them all... and the moniker from which its name is derived has never been more apt.”–Oceans and Land Masses by [Geographical Sage] Keanu Silvertongue.

---

The whuffing of brunhorns and the clip-clopping of hooves on the dirt road broke the silence of daybreak. The grass by the roadside was heavily dewed from an early morning drizzle that aromatized the air with the smell of wet soil, while the farms to either side of the road gradually gave way to the Moorhill Woods.

The wind was calm, but the riders could not help tightening their cowls and hoods closer to their faces to stave away the cold nipping at their noses. Someone sneezed, while another brunhorn let out a snort.

“Want some absinthe? It’ll warm you right up.” A man’s voice called out to the afflicted individual.

“I’m not one for day drinking; the sun hasn’t even risen yet,” the woman scoffed. She applied more pressure to her mount’s belly and transitioned from a trot to a jog to keep ahead. The sharp aroma of the drink was too much for her, more so than the cold.

“Hmph!” The man snorted as he swirled the flask in his hand while his free hand steered the brunhorn. The liquid gurgled and seemed to draw his grin; he whipped his head back and drank a mouthful. Some of it dribbled on his stubble, which he wiped off with the back of his gloved hand.

“ I thought we agreed on no drinking on the job, Quinten,” another woman reproached.

“Bah, this is no job. We’re not even at Chasm’s Edge yet. Unless we meet brigands on the road, there is nothing to be worried about.”

“Sorry about that, Elenaril,” the incensed woman apologised.

“Think nothing of it, Yssinia, it won't go into your evaluation,” the blonde-haired sylvmaid replied. “I’m looking forward to breakfast at Chasm’s Edge. It shall be a while before we get back to our creature comforts,” she said, suppressing a sigh. a

“That it will,” Yssinia replied. “I know a good eatery. It won’t be fancy, but their large portions are well cooked.”

“I am looking forward to it.” Elenaril said smilingly.

---

“We’re here.” Yssinia said, dismounting from her brunhorn. The sterile offspring of an einhyrnd and wild esselope was well behaved and not as jumpy around her kin or people with predatory features. Yssinia didn’t like volucitrex because they always tried to buck her off the saddle since she was a Canis, and they perceived it as a threat to their dominance, the stubborn birds.

“Ye Olde Melonia?” Elenaril asked sceptically as she gave her reins to the stableboy. She looked at the stucco façade of what was unmistakably a repurposed mansion. The building had long lost its embellishments to inclement weather. That and the din that sounded from the interior almost reminded her of The Griffin’s Roost.

Most of the buildings closer to the small outpost were made of quarried stone and ashrock mortar, with the corners seamlessly melded by stone shapers. Many went up to three stories on account of regulation by the port master; something about clearance for landing and taking off.

The outer perimeter was nonetheless composed of wattle and daub cruck houses to make bunks for the port hands who worked in the Chasm. Breakfast meals were well underway as smoke wafted off from their chimneys.

Somewhere among them was also a smithy, with its darker, distinctive smoke and the din of noise emanating from within; it must have been the rudest wake-up call for any workman in the morning.

The builders were still of the mind to adhere to dwarven building conventions with the grid-like streets and drainage, no matter how haphazardly the outer swathe of dwellings had been thrown together.

They also made sure that they did not encroach on the road reserve of the main street that could accommodate six carriages abreast for traffic to and from the port.

Standing on the incline that led to the tavern itself, she saw riders, wagoneers, couriers, and a couple of centaurs jostling for right of way on the main thoroughfare. The stables were below, with straight access to a street that went to the main thoroughfare, while the old mansion-turned-tavern sat on an elevated knoll. There was a gabion against the slope, cobbled together with mortar, though it was in need of repairs.

As they were moving up the stairs from the detached stable houses, a large shadow passed overhead. Elenaril squinted against the sky to find the keel of a frigate clad in dwarfsteel gliding in for a landing. She saw the starboard venting slats open like the operculi on a wyvern and start bleeding off aer mana.

She could not see it, but the mirage-like effect on the surrounding air was hard to miss. Finally, the stern passed by, close enough that she could hear the whipping sounds of the screw vanes as they reversed motion to slow down several tel worth of wood and metal.

By the looks of the blue livery emblazoned on the hull, it was a merchant ship. The trademark consisted of a jute bag sprouting wings while gold crowns spilled out of it and the name The Phylandir’s Pride was curved in relief on a name plate below it. Whoever was helming the ship seemed to have a flair for the dramatic because he was clearly trying to get the ship’s rudder sails as low as they could go without scraping on the roof shingles.

The vessel trailed gusts as it passed, and the party below had to cover their eyes with scarves or cowls to keep detritus from blowing into them.

“Trollshat rapscallions!” yelled a bald-headed man, shaking his fist in the direction of the vessel. The aership had disappeared from the tops of buildings until only its crow’s nest could be seen.

“Morn greetings, [Innkeeper] Grandel,” Yssinia called out to the man with greying mutton chops and a receding hairline.

“Ah, Yssinia. Hail to you! Haven’t seen yer in a while,” he replied, mood suddenly turning upbeat as he wrung his hands against his apron.

“Come along. Yer just in time for the morn’s freshest grub,” he called out, pivoting and going back into the tavern.

“Let us be done with our morn repast ,” supplied Ahnaestra. She made for the door while unslinging the bow from her back. The other members of Wyvern’s Woe followed suit.

---

Breakfast was a cut and dried affair, but the food was good, and the ambiance did not leave Elena unsatisfied. Like Yssinia said, they had good portions, which she was only too eager to enjoy.

While the sylvmaid had a picky palate, she appreciated a good morning meal to get the day started. Even here, she’d ordered a mug of warm milk to go with her bread and pottage. It was filling and passable.

Having broken their fast, the party headed towards the direction of the port where they would get a barge to ferry them across the valley. The entrance to the barges was like a ramped tunnel that sloped towards the Chasm’s vertical scarp and reinforced with geomancy.

Traffic moved in and out en masse, mostly dusty caravans from settlements south of the Faerieweald on the other side of the Chasm.

Elenaril recognised a few adventurers coming to and from the barges on foot or on their mounts. Most of them stuck out through their various states of grunginess, like leaves in their hair or scuff marks on their greaves and vambraces or cuirasses.

Some had blood on their gear and some small injuries or some pink and faint scars that were evident signs of a healing potion. They looked tired. Tired but excited to have come back from their excursion into the Faeriewealds.

There was a waiting queue of wagons and all manner of draught beasts and they had to wait. Once or twice, they saw aerships rise out of the Chasm before they headed west, towards Ortusbough, the first and oldest frontier town. Beyond that some would fly up to the Jhordic Jarldoms.

The wind that blew inside the Chasm expedited many an aership’s flight if an experienced [Ship Master] knew to take advantage of it. The deeper the Chasm the ship travelled the faster it could move. At least 1700 metra below the lip cliff lay the Misting Rapids, which went even deeper. Normally, the bottom of the Chasm was in perpetual mist hence the river’s name.

Across the Chasm, a system of giant gears, pulleys and weights drove the barges. There were four of them serving the narrowest point of Chasm’s Edge which was half a kilium wide. The same winds that were a boon for aership travel forced the dwarves to forgo the use of a bridge because the winds could sometimes pick up during storms.

Soon their turn came to get on the barge, alongside several other people. With a scraping noise, huge teeth on the folding gate serving as the barge’s anchor married into the divots in the metal below.The barges were half as wide as a small dwarven frigate at the beam but about as long as a sloop.

“ Aye, yer get moving now― Best make sure mount blinds are shut,” the barge hand said. He was a middle-aged man with years of experience behind him, and that was his routine day in and day out.

All he had to do was check that the people were secure before pulling a lever that closed the gate and another that released counterweights that would move the barge across the Chasm on cables of dwarven steel intertwined around a flexible core of woven rope.

“Whew! That is quite the drop. I’ll never get used to that” Quinten commented as they were conveyed by a pulley-powered rift barge across the rift. “Say Triston, how deep do you reckon it goes?” he asked the ever silent [Rogue]. Triston grunted, shrugging his shoulders.

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“Mmh, I wouldn’t know either chum,” he said, swirling his drink. He leaned against the barge’s railing with a faraway look in his eyes.

Elenaril looked at the imposing escarpment above, as the barge rolled along two taut cables. The port proper was to their right, and on both sides of the Chasm were docking platforms jutting from the scarp like a colony of oyster mushrooms. Scaffolding and tunnels bored into the cliff walls connected the berthing platforms. Some had ships docked on them while dockhands went about their business.

There were also berthing caves for aership repairs and maintenance. The port master’s tower was also dug into the cliff face, with part of it rising right above the ground. It had the appearance of a lone castle turret with two levels.

The first level had a parapet with a ballistae to shoot down wyverns that strayed too close to the port, while the upper level that formed its top had a glass dome. It was topped by a cupola housing the largest chromastone, therefore making the tower double as a lighthouse. Below the tower was a warning bell.

Elenaril spotted the Plylandir’s Pride docked in the merchant berths while dockhands unloaded its cargo using pulley cranes. Her attention was, despite the wind, drawn to a sound like the buzzing of bees that seemed to emanate from deeper in the Chasm.

The fogbank obscuring the Misting Rapids and the lower part of the docks was suddenly breached aer sloop escorts leading a heavy merchant frigate with six screw vanes working furiously against its bulk.

“We’re here…” Ysinnia said.

Elenaril jolted as the barge rattled to a stop on the other end of the rift. Elenia didn’t realise how much time had passed. Unfastening the reins from her brunhorn, she followed behind the Canis, heading towards the cave connecting the barge platform on the other side.

Other adventurers stood aside as the party disembarked before they got on. After paying a toll for the use of the barge, the party saddled their brunhorns and rode into the Shallows of the Great Faerieweald proper.

---

“Yssinia, any news on monster sightings on our route?” Ahnaestra called out as they pushed their brunhorns into a gallop through a forest trail. Leaf litter and dead wood crunched underneath their hooves.

“No I don’t think so it's relatively safe, I think,” Yssinia replied, as she looked around the towering, ligneous behemoths of the Faerieweald. Her ears twitched to scan their vicinity, which was alive with the sounds of birds and small creatures.

Queen sequoia, Colossi rougewood, and other behemoths of the green towered above, their branches sussurating in a gentle wind. The late morning sun diffused through the high canopy, creating crepuscular shafts below.

“How far is our first camp?” Elenaril asked, her eyes ahead of her as she kept pace with the two women who were in the lead. The three men in the party took the left, right and centre at the rear.

“About fifteen kilia,” The Canis commented in response.

“Ah, right,” Elenaril nodded. It had been years since she’d set foot in the weald. She felt a kinship, as though the weald called to her. The fresh air was a departure from the stymying atmosphere of a busy town.

The party made good time getting to their first stop. It was a popular area frequented by adventurers on long delves into various ruins and dungeons scattered around the forest. The waypoint was a modest clearing, with a corner encircled by the buttress roots.

An [Arbourmancer], had managed to round out the small roots to provide space for tents and create an overhang. It was also a good spot to put one’s back against when fighting monsters.

Setting up camp was one of the first things Elena was meant to evaluate. Of course, she had the know-how to do it herself as it had been an essential part of her Guild training. After clearing dead leaves, they set up a lean-to for those on watch as well as tents for those sleeping, using tarps to keep out the wind.

Lunch was packed rations from the tavern; the last proper food before they switched to jerky, as well as foraged fruits and hunted animals for their next meals.

While Elena filled out her evaluation sheets and checked on the scrying crystals she’d use for the dungeon, Yssinia came over to talk.

“Do you mind?” Yssinia asked. Elenaril nodded as the Canis sat beside her where the smoke from their camp fire did not blow towards them. “Not to tamper with or influence your job or anything... but how does a mageslate work?”

“Oh?” Elena said, looking up from her work. She put away the evaluation sheets and crystals. The Guild mageslate was a thin slate of magestone inside an ornate metallic bracket. Unlike an artificer’s, this one was specially crafted to attune to a scrying crystal and therefore looked like it had been made from a tile of quartz crystal.

“How do they work?” she said, her amber eyes alight with curiosity.

“An attuning crystal and something about psionic pulses or something,”Elenaril replied, pursing her lip. “ I am sure your Mage would know more about this eh?”

Ralf looked past his spell-tome and snorted, “ Hardly―the minutiae of sygnumeric artificing is lost on me. And as they are wont to do, most material on the subject is englyphed using their complicated arithmancy.”

“ See?” Yssinia said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. Her ears suddenly telescopically twitched towards the rustling brush. She relaxed; a moment later Ahnaestra made an appearance with a weald jackalope dangling by its pair of furry ears.

Quinten had, meanwhile, laid off his drink and was off to the side, stoking the fire before proceeding to whet his knife, while Triston seemed like a good hand with the brunhorn.The Djy’veli to have gotten a brush somewhere and was tending to his mount as they chewed oats.

“ He is correct in saying so, weald sister,” Ahnaestra said, as she rapidly dismantled the weald jackalope with Quinten's knife. “ The dwarves are rather iron-fisted regarding their artifices.”

Surprisingly, the one left in charge of the cooking was Quinten, as he took the skinned game and immediately got to skinning it with a practised hand. Elenaril thought she'd give the Bronze rankers a merit for cohesion.

“ The Dwar-Sylvani accords reflect that,” Ralf said. The air wavered as he observed something only he could see. He traced something in the air with his index finger, as if he was anchoring a spell matrix.

“Well?” Yssinia prompted when nothing had happened.

“ Ah. The Dwar-Sylvani Accords set the precedent for the dissemination of aership magitech, sygnumeric artifices like the Sygnum and dealings with the Guilds,” Ralf said.

“ A J'zhua tree would have flowered by the time they dispensed with the preliminaries,” Ahnaestra said, a sarcastic edge in her voice.

“ I heard that the clincher was that the Sylvani would assist the Dwarves with Faerie magic,” Ralf said, suddenly animated.

Ahnaestra frowned. “ That did not come to pass,” Ahnaestra said as she checked her arrowheads. “Faerie magic is native to the Faerieweald and cannot be replicated elsewhere unless at great cost.”

“Perhaps,” Ralf remarked, worrying his lips in thought. “ Only because faerie magic works outside the realm of the World. Nonetheless, the dwarves had to bow to pressure because only the Sylvani arbours could grow food on a scale enough to meet their demand.”

“ What could the dwarves possibly need so much food for?” Yssinia interjected. “ Trade and liquor ?”

“ And the growth of outposts,” Elenaril supplied.

“ Growth’s all well and good, but all this talk of food and liquor is making me peckish,” Quinten interrupted. “ Shall we eat?”

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