Date: Twenty second of June, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

Location: The forest near Carrion Road, twenty three days to Chedal.

Job Arseoth swallows his rising panic, and then swallows his laughter.

“They look just as startled as we do Candle.”

“All the same, we are rather close to their homes and their young.”

Job sobered, “true. With luck we won't need to sleep right here. Clanea! Are you all right?'

Haunting, lilting laughter echoed back from the trees.

“Why wouldn't I be, blood-blessed of Bahamut?”

“Because there is an entire parliament of giant owls, each one at least as large and heavy as you, directly overhead. And we have no Idea what they intend.”

“Why don't you just ask them?”

“Because I don't speak giant owl.”

“Oh? Can't everyone speak to animals and plants?”

“Not in the slightest, young dryadling.”

“I see, or at least I think I do. Are they living in my tree?”

“Yes.”

“And there are no curses on the tree?”

“None that I can detect.”

“Then do nothing to provoke either while I seek their blessing to live here.”

Job raises an eyebrow but stays silent and wary, glancing up at the owls between sweeping the treeline for signs of Clanea. Soft hoots echoed from the far side of the oak and were answered in chorus by the parliament of giant owls in its branches. A soft breeze caused leave to rattle and branches to sway and the oak creaked and groaned in response. Job heard the soft patter of flesh against bark before he saw Clanea sitting in the lower branches of the tree.

“It will be two sunsets yet before I am old enough to marry with the tree and become a true dryad. I thank you in finding the other half of my soul, blood-blessed of Bahamut, but soon you must depart. It is not given for mortals, even the blessed or the chosen of the divine, to witness such an event. You may rest here for the night, but you should leave with the rising of the sun.”

Job dips his head in silent acceptance of the order, “With respect Clanea, we'll leave you with the protection of your chosen housemates. Candle, find Blue and Daughter of Night. We'll camp back by the road tonight.”

Clanea nods in agreement, “then may the sun shine warm on your skin Job Arseoth.”

“And upon yours Clanea.”

Job leads the way back to the road with a Light cantrip on the end of his staff. It was the last he would ever see of Clanea.

- - . - - . . . - - -

Date: Twenty second of June, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

Location: Carrion Road, ten days to Chedal.

Job Arseoth pulls up short at the sight of a glossy black obelisk at the side of the road. It is two feet wide, two feet deep, and six feet tall, the top foot of which is the pyramidal point. Job approaches the monument hesitantly, wary of a trap. As he nears it, the smooth surface of the obelisk gave way to minute off-back letters. Job stops and kneels to read the text, each letter no larger then the nail on his smallest finer. The midday sun beats on his neck, but he paid it no mind.

“Rivoril Syllynn. Vian Cofaen. Gork Burling. Samantha Fiskr. Leon Krov'kamney. Names, just endless names.”

Candle sets her hand on Jobs left shoulder, then sinks to a squat in the dirt at his side. “Obsidian. Etched and inlaid with tarnished silver, enchanted for durability and permanence, spelling out a thousand names. The grave-marker of the Ironbark Company.”

Blue scuffs the dirt some distance away, “So the Branded finally caught up to them huh?”

Candle nods, “seven hundred and seventy years after the end of the Seminal War, though they were out of the conflict for almost a year before that.”

Blue scuffs the dirt again, “the Branded were hunting Ironbark Company since they deserted and took the Archive with them after Charm. I'd heard they survived the Whispering Plains and Gravelands, but not much more before Alexandria fell. Too much happened too fast.”

Candle shrugs, “The Archive didn't survive the Gravelands. Per the Logs, only six out of a thousand survived that insanity.”

Blue stares in disbelief, “the Branded should have been able to snuff out six souls like mere candles. What happened?”

Candle shighs, “By the will of the High Lord of the Shadows only the Branded in Alexandria itself survived the backlash from the Gravelands . He set the battlefield at Alexandria too. Had the remaining branded not breached the barrier...”

Blue's eye were wide with horror, “he would never have...”

Candle shakes her head, “the man's heart broke but the word of the High Lord of the Shadows, once given, can never be taken back. He made of it a Death Curse. None still living were left when he was done, as intended, but there were survivors. Time-tossed, undead, neverborn, the soul-trapped...”

Job clears his throat, “family history then?”

Blue nods, “yes, though only relevant to... my continuing education in the wider state of the world. I have lived alone for far to long.”

Job flicked his head in acceptance and stands before offering a hand to Candle, “this means that we are ten days out from Chedal, if I recall the map correctly. We should start thinking about how to get from there to Altheim.”

Candle accepts the hand up before flicking a hand in a throwing away motion, “we'll use the Teleport Circle at the Guild of course. It's twenty-five gold per person last I checked, but we have enough funds to pay for that.”

Job winces, “I know we can afford that but a trip by boat would be only a single gold each at most. Less if we offer our services , if needed, to defend the ship.”

Blue fidgets, “won't we be noticeable walking down a gangplank? Candle is a Tabaxi, after all, and you have the metal arm and leg. Word will spread fast.”

Blue tosses her hands up, “so will appearing in one of the largest Guildhouses in Althiem via the Teleport Circle.”

Job holds up his hands, “will Daughter of Night even fit in a Teleport Circle? And can she tolerate a shipboard voyage? She does weigh over a ton after all, and eats enough meat to feed five burly men.”

Candle winces, “Daughter of Night will fit in the Teleport Circle, but the Guild will probably charge fifty gold or more for the extra effort.”

Blue flicks her fingers, “doing some rough calculations, it would cost about six or seven gold for Daughter of Night to take passage on a ship, given her extra size and the extra rations she would need. Salted jerky is... not palatable on its own, but that's nothing a bit of cooking and Prestidigitation can't fix. If her stomach can take the journey that is.”

Job holds up his hands to pause the debate, “we can talk it over, and Candle can consult with Daughter of Night herself, on the way to Chedal. Once we get there we'll make our final decision.”