Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » The Dark and Endless Forest (Dark Fantasy RP)

It is an unnaturally cold day on the outskirts of the town of Dunhurst. A thick layer of gray clouds has blocked out the sun an a light drizzle falls. To make matters worse, a cold wind has been whipping through the town since dawn. However, despite the poor weather, a group of 4 horse-drawn wagons is in the street just outside the town gates, surrounded by a thin group of people, huddled together around torches, waiting to depart. Among the soldiers, mercenaries, and medics, is the party of 3 that has just recently been acquainted....

An official looking man, decorated in armor that is well above the quality of what any other man is wearing, approaches the small group as they draw near to the encampment.
"Greetings... My name is Aurel Brigham, and I am the senior officer of the garrison here in Dunhurst. I assume you are here because of my summons posted across our territories. As you may know, you, and the rest here will be guarding this caravan of ill patients northwards to the town of Rødholm, where there may be a cure. They've come down with some sort of plague that we haven't seen in many centuries. I advise staying out of the patient's wagons and staying in your own quarters. My lieutenant, Detlev -" He gestures to a man standing besides him, dressed in ragged leather and iron armor, "will be the ultimate authority in this mission. I advise you stock yourselves well before you head out. That is all."
He turns and walks back towards the town, entering the gates and disappearing from sight.

The mist collected on the lenses of his spectacles, making them useless, and he had long since given up on wiping them off. The wet seeped into his clothes and clung to his feathery hair and, paired with the cold and wind, made for a miserable climate. Perhaps that was the characteristic of this entire land, he mused. It certainly hadn't been a happy journey thus far. Still, he was loathe to add to it and had done his best to maintain a quiet cheer throughout.

Even now, he did his best to boost morale. Though it wouldn't do much for the damp, those gathered would find it at least slightly warmer near the scholarly-looking young man.

He listened intently to the instructions, glancing briefly between the identified plague wagons and those gathered. He would have to watch for any symptoms in the other travelers... These sorts of illnesses were always so difficult to contain. He couldn't help but let out a short, mournful whistle at the thought.

Before he had a chance to ask after more details, the official had turned to leave so Kekoa turned instead to the man Detlev. "What are the symptoms and progression of this disease? Do you know?"

He was already carrying everything he could need for himself - a satchel prepared with his surgical implements, stationary, and various antiseptics; a pack with rations and rope and other gear helpful for getting someone out from common traps; a lithe shortsword in the small of his back... Still, it never hurt to fetch medical supplies and portable foodstuffs.

A distant ache told him they would come in handy before too long.

With layers going unneeded among her distant homeland, the teenager is now thankful for arriving prepared. An emerald cloak drapes about the curves of either shoulder, appreciating the warm fabric among the dampened air. Floor-length black wings shake only a moment later, sending droplets flying free from dew-kissed feathers. Between these wings sits a baby gorilla, his rounded crimson hues matching her own perfectly. Having traded formal wear for something less attention-grabbing, a simpler dress of soft browns makes up today's attire, matching boots hidden beneath the fabric.

Her gaze immediately locks upon the fellow speaking without a moment's hesitation, her features entirely focused as she considers his words of caution. While unsure that such disease could infect those of different race, she decides that it is best to travel under the assumption that she too could fall ill. "Thank you, Mister Aurel." The young Devil offers the gentleman a simple enough nod of understanding, adjusting a white satchel draped over her right shoulder. The bag visibly strains in doing so, clearly having packed plenty of foods, herbs and other necessary tools of defense, no doubt. "Yes, I too wish to hear of any symptoms." Carabia agrees softly, graceful steps carrying her forth towards the sounds of further conversation. She takes care to allow a polite pause before lifting her brow some, hoping to signal her desire to speak without risk of interruption. "May I ask how long the estimated journey is?" The young Lady adds on, allowing her to track the possibility of growing lost within the depths of this darkened forest.

"I've got no idea to be quite honest with ya'", Detlev responds, leaning onto his halberd. "I've'nt been able to get a real good look at the sick. Medics're insisting that we don't get near 'em. Closest I got to seein' any of 'em was by chance through the flaps of the wagon. Looks to me like they've got boils all over and're red as all hell. Can't tell ya much else though. If you want to take a closer look, you'll have to get past the medical team we've got." He pauses and glances over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. "Good luck, though. Most stubborn lot of whore sons I've ever been around." The lieutenant spits over his shoulder.
"And as far as the journey... Should take a week and a half, maybe two provided nothing goes wrong."
"Might want to get all your things stowed soon. Ain't gonna get much drier standing out here in this drizzle. Your wagon's right here." He points to a wagon directly behind him.
"Oh, by the way, I didn't catch your names."

Adriano stands just a few feet away from the others, though why exactly is unclear. The young man isn't truly paying attention either; his focus instead, is split between the path ahead of them and the wagons where the sick would be waiting. In his oddly colored eyes, a look of pity is settled; something in his heart resonated with the ill. That was why he found himself in the rain, driven by a nature he did not often follow. Despite this pity, he hadn't once tried to approach the tents, intent on staying as far away as possible. This cutting wind hardly helped the foreboding feeling in his chest, and he can't even sum up just what he's feeling until Kekoa makes his strange whistle.

Yes, that was a nice way to put it.

The tan rogue adjusts the belt around his hips; his clothing is odd and deceiving if anything, a simple and loose black robe that, combined with the hood and thin belt, resembled the garbs of a priest. Though he commonly wore an amulet that would reveal otherwise, he felt it would be more comforting to the ill that a man who appeared holy traveled alongside them, than one who worshiped the darkness. As the others began to ask Detlev about the illness, he begins to focus back in at the task at hand, listening quietly as he describes the plague that's contaminated them. Adriano considers, for a moment, actually asking his own questions, but nothing comes to mind. He's not concerned with this illness, or curious as to just how long this will take; in fact he isn't sure at all what he should be feeling. Right now, its just sadness for these people, and a gnawing trepidation towards their departure.

Names, of course. His mind blinks clear and he adjusts his pack on his shoulder; inside, just a few religious items, flint and steel, rope and some extra blades in case he happens to lose one of his other daggers. Food wasn't much of a concern to the rogue; though he had packed some dried meats and berries just in case, Adriano found that this human vessel had grown accustomed to needing very little sustenance, besides for water. That seemed to be necessary, possessed or not. And judging on this drizzle, he could expect them to find plenty of that.

"Adriano. Adriano Dante Esposito, sir." He says, his voice slightly raspy from not having spoken. He clears his throat a bit and eyes the others, waiting for their responses. It'd probably be best to actually remember their names. He was slightly uncomfortable here, which was what kept the normally loud and aggressive young man so humbled. Given some time though, it would wear off.

"Hm.... Thank you, Detlev. I suppose I'll have to speak with the medics later." He would nod, then look to their wagon, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Angry boils could belong to any manner of plague, and often as a latter stage. Would the patients make it another week? The idea was discouraging.

He had missed the request for names - mind turning over possibilities and likelihoods, debating what supplies it would be best to retrieve - so it took a moment after Adriano spoke for Kekoa to react and respond. Hair fluffed in embarrassment, he offers a bow to those gathered. A simple, slight bend at the waist and a lowering of his head before standing once more.

"I am most recently called Kekoa. Kekoa Nash. Though you might determine to call me something else throughout the short time we travel."

He regards those gathered a moment before stowing his larger pack on the wagon, listening should the young lady have anything to say (and hoping she did, as it would have been exceptionally rude of him had he missed it during his earlier inattention). Afterwards, he says "I am going to see if I can't fetch some things to preserve our health throughout this journey. Are there any foods you cannot eat or plants you cannot touch?"

Oddly, though it was open to any member of the party, the statement seemed most directed towards Adriano.

Something about the man was... unsettling to Kekoa. Veiled auras typically belonged to the undead, but this one seemed different. Not alive, per se, but not a coiled spring of dying ready to fall apart at a moment's notice.
Perhaps Adriano was merely some not-mortal entity presenting as human. That happened from time to time... Certainly made it simpler when passing among human areas.

Still unsettling, though, and something to keep an eye on.

It is as Detlev answers that her gaze begins to wander, settling upon the appropriate wagon as she visualizes their physical symptoms. Her heart leaps out to these individuals, comparing them to the citizens back home when similar illness arrives every few years. A narrowed brow relaxes moments later, however. She will be of little use if concern causes her to lose focus from their task at hand. "Yes, thank you, Mister Detlev." The teenager agrees. "I truly do appreciate the answer." Her gaze locks upon the gentleman at the mention of names, feeling foolish for not extending her name sooner. "Ah, my apologies. I am Carabia." The young Lady casts everyone a warm smile, dropping her title and otherwise formal introduction. Instead, this is replaced by a respectful dip of her head.

Crimson hues study the rogue for mere moments, curiousity present as she takes in the detail of attire. She cannot help but wonder where he hales from, taking a mental note to ask at a later time should opportunity allow. Unlike the thoughtful Kekoa, she remains entirely oblivious to the oddities surrounding the third party. She merely glances between the gentlemen before clearing her throat. "No, no aversions that I know of. Thank you, Mister Kekoa." Confident that he does not intend on downing holy waters, Carabia is touched at his offer to consider the party's potential effects following consumption. Those large feathery wings shake gently behind her, once again freeing dark feathers of silvery dewdrops in doing so.