Narrative: Trick of the Woods Who: Karashok Where: Woods surrounding Crossroads Camp When: 9:45 Dragon | Eluviesta (Third Week) Summary: Traveling through the woods to the place of the Wardens this Karashok is haunted by a familiar smell. Is it an illusion or something more? Rating: T Status: Complete
Slogging through the deep mud the Karashok scanned his surroundings. There was a smell in the air, barely there but calling to him. He had been traveling non-stop for many days, what felt like weeks and he at first thought it was only a cruel illusion. Ignoring it in favor of his goal he continued to struggle beneath the weight of the mud. Each step was a painful task. Lunging he made his way through the woods.
The rain had tapered off but he was still being pelted by drops of water. Blinking his eyes to remove the droplets clinging to his lashes he urged his body to keep moving. He would stop when he reached the Wardens. The mission must be completed. He could not fail again. Sten and Ashaad were gone; the task fell to him alone.
The Sten had spoken of a second band that would reinforce them… him, but he was not aware of the details. There was so much that he did not know. He worried that without the Sten to guide him he would continue to fail. He was Karashok, he was meant to follow Sten. How could he lead himself?
Narrowing his eyes the Karashok threw himself forward. Who was he to doubt himself? His place was here in Ferelden, his purpose to aid in the defeat of the Blight. He knew who he was. He was a Karashok. He may not have been a leader but that did not mean he was a follower. He was capable of doing this. He could complete his mission, he must. The Arishok’s will had to be fulfilled.
The smell drifted through the air once more. Tempted to stop and bask in the familiarity of it the Karashok pushed it from his mind and continued his slow pace through the woods. Pushing branches down he struggled to move forward as branches grabbed onto him. With a roar of frustration he reached a hand up and tore the offending limb away. Staring at it in anger he tossed it to the ground.
The Karashok stopped where he was, sinking down further into the earth. Taking in huge gulps of air he clenched his fists and struggled to control his anger. Usually he was much calmer than this. Closing his eyes he focused on his heart beat. Clearing his mind of all thought he stood still. This behavior was unlike him. This was how Ashaad acted, brash and crude. No control over himself.
Sighing the Karashok unclenched his fists. Raising his head he stared up through the trees to the moon high in the sky. Gazing at it he looked at the surrounding stars. Even the stars here were different; the very sky had betrayed him. All his life he had known the path the stars left on the night sky, had memorized every story. Now another story lay open above him written in a foreign tongue. In this place nothing of home remained. Everything around him was foreign: the climate, the people, the plants and animals, the sounds, even the smells.
Breathing deeply he was reminded once more of the smell that had been haunting him. An illusion of his brothers, of home, that was merely taunting him. It was comforting though. There was nothing wrong in taking comfort where one could. Inhaling deeply he breathed in the scent of smoke and flame. Closing his eyes he could hear the crackle of burning wood and the sound of Ashaad’s gusty laugh. If he opened his eyes would his brothers stand before him?
Opening his eyes he stared straight ahead into the dark forest. He had taken enough time and now he must move on. Lifting one foot he stepped forward. Pulling his other foot from the grasping mud he took his next step. Quickly regaining his earlier pace he set off once more for Amaranthine, home of the Grey Wardens.
Trekking through the woods the smell of a campfire followed him. Every time he closed his eyes to blink he was sitting by that fire once more. His brothers shadowed his every step. This mission, his mission was theirs as well. His success would be their success and so to would his failure. A new determination lit up his eyes. For his brothers!
Energy renewed the Karashok lunged through the ground. Moving faster and faster he barely had time to sink down before he was two more steps ahead. Running through the woods he had only the mission on his mind. Racing past trees he crashed through their branches before they could catch him. Adrenaline racing through his veins he bounded across the earth thinking nothing could distract him.
Then a sound caught his hear. The crackle of burning wood. Slowing his pace he turned in the direction it had come from. Creeping towards the noise he brushed past the undergrowth. Moving closer her started to pick up new noises. The murmured sound of voices, the quiet neighing of horses, and the rustling of tents in the breeze. Approaching a steep slope the Karashok looked down upon a camp. Humans and a lot of them. Strange that there would be so many in such a place. They had left the main road behind so what were so many of them doing out here?
Edging closer he took in the camp. A number of tents were scattered across the clearing. Off to the side he could see four horses tethered up. A sharp glint caught his eyes. Sparkling in the firelight was the silver armor of the guards on watch. Metal gleaming in the firelight they stood vigil over the tents. The armor was different than any the Karashok had seen before but he had heard of it described. Templars. The watchguards of the mages of these lands. Snapping his head around to the tents he observed them closely as if waiting for them to burst into flame. A party of mages and their dogs then, nothing that concerned him.
Backing away from the slope the Karashok turned back to the northeast. There was no time for idle curiosities. The mission took priority, what the humans did with their mages was no concern of him. With one last glance at the camp below the Karashok took off once more. Loping through the woods he swerved by trees and hurtled through the underbrush. Amaranthine awaited him.