|
|
Post by Admin on Apr 17, 2024 2:09:24 GMT
tbc
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 17, 2024 17:45:57 GMT
Jacob turned his new-found horse in the direction of a mountain other than the one that had the sacrificial temple in it. He settled Martin-or-not in front of him, held him close, and kicked his heels into the horse's flanks. Focusing his attention on the mountain ahead of him, he brought to mind Mount Kolvir, leaned forward, and engaged a Hellride. Sweat immediately beaded on his forehead and he could feel his various injuries telling him they would be discussing this later, but he had miles to go and hoped the pass he'd gotten before wasn't completely illegible at this point.
|
|
|
|
Post by Admin on Apr 23, 2024 4:08:19 GMT
#s://i~ibb~co/PWWTSzK/lala-mary~png The hellride is frustrating for Jacob. He can get his horse to speed and travel great distances until the rigours of the travel on the passenger require a stop and reapplying of bandages. The need to stop becomes more frequent the closer they get to Amber, and at each stop, he sees greater and greater signs of troop movement through the area—not the actual armies, but the footprints cast-off damaged equipment and clothing. Sometimes, a couple hastily dug shallow graves for those who couldn't keep the pace. The weather worsens, and a steady drizzle and flashes of lighting accompany his riding. The hellride ends not far from the border of Arden. It is in a flat, desolate place with one rutted, paved road leading past a small convenience store. He recognizes it, and the woman behind the screen door is holding her child like last time. There is no sign of Vincent or his bike. |
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 23, 2024 11:07:25 GMT
Jacob pulled up the horse beneath the cover of the gas station's refueling island, giving creature and passengers a brief respite from the unending downpour. He came down from the horse and lifted his passenger gently from the saddle, settling him against one of the pumps to let him rest without being jostled for at least a few minutes. The Martin-like figure was still wrapped in Jacob's now quite-ruined coat, and Jacob reached in, unzipped an inner pocket, and withdrew a small journal, one of the only things he'd bothered to protect from the elements at all. With a pencil, he sketched out diagrams of the troop movements he had seen, their dropped symbols, and the locations of the graves - knowing where the mortal men gave out gave him a radius in terms of their starting points. How many forces were on the march? And like old Cotton-Eyed Joe, where did they come from and where did they go?
He peeks up once or twice to see if the woman is watching them, ignoring them, or sending up smoke signals to the ambushers - she wasn't keen on talking last time, so he uses the excuse of catching up his notes to try and get a sense of her current disposition.
|
|
