The Scythe's Edge

2. Strange Magics

Lonan woke up early, finding himself curled up in an unfamiliar bed with embers still smoldering in the stone fireplace. He didn't remain long, even when his sore, aching body begged him to remain curled up in the nest of downy pillows and blankets. He gathered his items, threw on his cloak, paid at the bar downstairs, and left.

Veledor. Gods, what a name that kingdom had made for itself. Less than a week and Lonan could have sworn he heard that name mentioned by passersby at least thrice a dozen times. The City of Arcana, the biggest kingdom in Thalora and home to more magicweavers than Lonan could even comprehend; from what he'd read, at least. Of course his answers would lie there, with all the other strangeness and magic that place seemed to hold.

Lonan stepped out into the chilly air, the snow sludgy in its process of melting as he stepped onto the cobblestone, pulling Amber's map from his baggy trouser pocket. He unfolded it as he began to walk, surrounded by the calming clatter and hustle of early morning activities-- villagers carting down the main road or leading their cattle or unloading boxes of goods, all dressed in heavy winter cloaks-- and examined the sprawling sketch and accompanying notes. It was the entirety of the continent, of Thalora, with each kingdom and province lovingly labeled in Amber's clunky, scratchy handwriting. With a slight furrow of his brow, he dragged his finger down the worn paper until it settled over Chaeron, the region in which he currently resided. A few sloppy doodles of huts told of several villages in this area, but not many cities, though there did seem to be a small one nearby. Kaol wasn't even labeled, so he had to make a rough estimate of where he was before moving his finger until it settled over Veledor.

It was roughly a thousand eight hundred miles from here, and that was if he moved in a straight line, which of course was nigh impossible with Thalora's winding terrains and rivers. On foot, or on horseback, the journey would take several days. He didn't know why he bothered doing the math again, he'd lay awake so for far too long doing so before he fell asleep. Perhaps it was some hope that he'd been mistaken, but there was no such luck here. He sighed, looking around the bustling town. Surprisingly, nobody paid him much mind even in his nicer dark robes, though he did suppose that nice barmaid had made a comment about being familiar with 'adventurers.'

As Lonan walked down the snowy path beside the main road, occasionally being passed by carts and horses, he kept eyeing the shops and inns. He'd walked all the way here, and if he were to be terribly honest with himself, he very much was not looking forward to walking again. But just his luck, no one seemed to be selling modes of transportation. Not a damn one. He tucked his map away after gleaning which paths would take him northwest, and sighed forlornly to no one but himself as he steeled his wits to start moving. Again.

He idly scratched at his arms, before realizing what he was doing and quickly shoving his hands beneath his armpits to pin them down.

The rune felt like it was burning beneath his skin.

Lonan refused to look at it again.

So he walked. He walked until he broke from the small town and was once again moving through open plains only occasionally occupied by farms or huts. The snow covered much of what was clearly once green land, and frost covered the tall grasses that framed much of the snaking, trodden path. Lonan used to like the snow-- he used to like having an excuse to brew himself a hot drink and would sit by the window to watch it peacefully drift down.

He liked it considerably less when it somehow found a way to soak through his boots and turn his toes to ice. Even if it wasn't nearly as insufferably cold as it had been the day prior, it was still far from pleasant. Though the cold made it difficult, he kept up a decent pace. Because there was no way in the hells he was going to make camp in this cold.Besides, the climate would shift the further inland he headed- he knew this part of Thalora was most bitter in the winter seasons. So that was acting as his 'instant-gratification' motivator as he pushed ahead.