Unti Family/Nerta/A1S4

Report from Nerta the Weaver

Message sent to Everyone in the Past

Flashback Branches claw and drag at rough wool, tearing fabric and leaving gashes. A dark cackle seems to stalk from the shadows driving me forward, away from the old woman and her ink. My head no longer spun, my stomach settled but something much worse than was following me. Rounding on the snarling shape amidst a break in the trees I brace, hands fumbling for a club, a rock, anything. But it is not enough. Weight slams me against a trunk, my stomach lurching as I lash at the beast. One fist connects with soft tissue, spongy, wet, even as another scrapes along chitin plates. Panic dances and my vision swims as some hideous searing gel oozes along my arm. My hiss accompanies a shoulder roll that sees the beast slammed through the thin scrub even as the familiar pain of a Graft blossoms across my jaw. The beast becomes aware that something is wrong, but even as it tries to pull away I strike, biting into the unprotected eye stalk. A burbling wail pierces the air as ichor drips from my grotesque expression. Staggering away from the writhing thing I inhale sharply and shudder as the Graft fades. I needed a real weapon, shelter.. time. The old woman had stolen everything. Pushing through the small corps of trees I tumble in the gloom to trip on a root and catch myself before I sprawl into a… a camp? The stranger wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve as his wineskin slips to the stump seat. The curling stench of stale drink rolls toward me along with the swaying silhouette, even as my breath steams with still cooling ichor. My hand twitches, fingers clenching as the figure stops only a short distance away leaving me nowhere to hide. So we stand in cold silence until he slurs, “Whersh your clothesh?”

Nerta the Weaver (Foederati)

Roleplay from Jacinda the Driven

Message sent to Everyone by the Odeon Cruor

For her part Nerta seemed lost in thought during the exchange, only occasionally glancing up as Wren smoothed the ruffled feathers. Eventually the matter is settled leaving Nerta to sigh and cast her gaze around for Vedens. It came as no surprise that he was nowhere to be found. “Yes, let’s… get out of here,” nodding to Kevan the woman moved back toward the door and out onto the streets. It was so much warmer now than when she’d first arrived… Leading the motley crew down the winding streets the great towering edifice of the Odeon Cruor begins to loom above them. Built of Qual stone during the height of the Republic and shaped by the finest artisans, even now the towering statues peer down at the thronging crowds of the merchant square. The Old Man had been amused to see the arena still standing back when they’d first made it to the city. Apparently the Plebeian District had been cleared away to construct the massive structure all to give the newly minted adventurers a place to meet. Of course that meant homes and shops which had stood for generations had been demolished, all so the Patricians could enjoy a spot of leisure and blood sport. Even today, with the might of the Republic long since faded, the arena floor was rarely dry. As the group pushed through the crowd Jacinda was pacing back and forth before the great arena pausing only to buy a flatbread wrap from a street vendor. She knew this was where she was supposed to be, or close to it, but she still didn't know why, and her aching feet told her this whole thing was a fool's errand. "Blasted misbegotten feelings are no reason to run across a continent..." The woman muttered between bites of the warm food looking fierce in her heavy armour. So like a guard captain, with blades, mail, rope and more hanging from her heavy pack or travel cloak. "But I can feel ​​​​​​​this is the right place...!" Then she turned at one edge of the street, spun around, and saw them. An odd assortment, surely at least some of them on the same path as she, and that feeling that guided her here tightened. Opening her mouth she raised an arm to hail them. Wren’s sharp gaze spied the quick movement, leaving her to straighten abruptly and point out the heavily armed woman to the hunched figure in front of the small group. As they all began to pivot the new voice called, "I...Are you..." Jacinda chews on her lip. How did you tell someone that you had a feeling you needed to meet them? "I...I need to be...Here, I think, but I don't know why, and can you...Do any of you...?" The new woman’s hand tightened around her sword hilt, "Why am I here?​​​​​​​"

Jacinda the Driven (Adventurer)

Report from Nerta the Weaver

Message sent to Everyone in the Past

Flashback After that he gave me a cloak. It smells. But it’s better than half torn sackcloth. He also… didn’t panic, stare, or try to ward me away. He just swayed over to his bag, pulled out the cloak and tossed it before nearly collapsing on his stump. His indifferent kindness was almost endearing after so many weeks away from home. The chilly specter shares a few choice words, but I ignore the Old Man and move over to join the drunk even as I use the edge of the cloak to clean my chin. We sit in silence for a time, save the crackling of the fire, but eventually I mutter, “Thanks. I'm Nerta.” “Vhedensh,” he nods and smiles over the next pull at the wine before pointing toward me and twisting up his face, “F-F-F-Foederati, right?” For some reason the old word doesn’t make me wince. “Ya,” I glance away in the dark, “From the mountains.” “Knew it! Ha. Thsss cool. ‘m from Agyr,” one pause later he adds, “You should gets clothesh ‘nd stuff. Dangerous out here.” My lips pursed I snort, “Had stuff, was robbed.” “Wash he cute at leasht?” taking a pull at the wine he seems to catch my puzzled look, “No? ssss not fair. It’sh only fun when they shteal your clothesh and they’re cute.” “It was a robbery, not some…” I snort and wave a hand, “game.” Hmm though the crone certainly had something in mind, the ink marks... “Pssssssh you need better friendsh.” “I don’t have friends,” the words bite. He didn’t deserve that… but he hardly seems to notice. “Okay fine! You twisted my arm. Heh, arms. I’ll be your friend,’ he points, “But the wine ish mine. Friendsh don’t shteal friendsh wine.” My brows arched, I can’t help a short bark of a laugh, “You… you’re a drunken fool.” In response he just spreads his hands, and gives me a lopsided stare of incredulity while I rub my temple and wonder when was the last time I’d laughed...

Nerta the Weaver (Foederati)

Roleplay from Jacinda the Driven

Message sent to Everyone by the Odeon Cruor

Wren blink-blinked at the woman, who seemed nervous despite being equipped and armored to handle anything. Curiosity drew her to question in that peculiar soprano, “What told you come? Always travel has a reason.” She took two small bouncing steps away from the group and cocked her head to one side. “You come from far away, yes?” Jacinda blinked. Had she just… Chirped? “Aye, quite a ways, the south-western coast. I just felt I had to. Normally I just chase the next full bounty pot, but this…” Jacinda shook her head. “I don’t know what this was. I’m from the north, though. On the Bay of Calm, of all the blasted ironic names.” As Wren chirps Nerta lets out a long shuddering breath at the stranger’s question. Everything about her, the tone, the posture, the haunted look, it was all too familiar. Nerta didn’t know this woman, armed and armoured to the nines, but it didn’t matter. She was a plaything of the Gods. Just like her. Gritting her teeth Nerta can just feel everything swirl around her, a storm of lost emotions that threatened to spill out. But she, she wasn’t going to, Abyss, cry. “I don’t know why, but I do know who. The Gods sent you…” Jacinda froze. “You...You know…” She leaned against a nearby tying post, before wincing and withdrawing as she ended up with a splinter in her hand. “Which gods?” Nerta’s chest felt hollow, her heart thunder. This woman, she didn’t even know… How cruel are the Gods to ruin lives even in ignorance… Taking a few calming breaths Nerta swallows, “The only ones that matter. They are the Old Gods of Beluaterra. The masters of the land and everything upon it.” Pausing Nerta sighs and nods, “Not everyone can hear them all the time, and they rarely bother to speak with humans but…” Nerta adopts a rictus of a grin, “I guess you’re just lucky.” Jacinda laughed, hollowly. “Lucky. That is one thing that has been missing in my life. My village was turned into a necromancer’s playground, everyone I’d ever known killed, and no matter how much I learn, how much I fight, I still can’t deal with the champions that guard them. And you say this is…” She breathed, deeply, tugging in agitation on her black braid, before focusing again. “Can they help me kill necromancers? Because if so, then where do I sign up?” “Help you?” Nerta suddenly barks with a laugh, a sound none of her companions had heard in all their travels. It was bitter and full of vitriol, “The Gods do not help you. Why, most of them want us dead and gone for we are seen as weak!” Gesturing to the empty air at the chill specter that none could see, Nerta pressed, “The Old Man tried for years to earn the love of the Gods and what has it given him? He is but a haunting specter shackled to me and his people languish alone!” Furry continues to bubble and storm, Nerta’s eyes shimmering as though lightning arched as she continues to straighten and hiss, “A weak man learned the secrets of the Abyss and used them for twisted ends, and the Gods just shook their head in disgust because you couldn’t save everyone. For the Gods will only help those who can help themselves!”

Jacinda the Driven (Adventurer)

Report from Nerta the Weaver

Message sent to Everyone in the Past

Flashback And so I left. Slipping into the cold dawn while the drunk still dozed, the edges of his cloak snap in the fierce wind while the start of a new spear rests across my shoulder. He had been generous enough but I couldn’t even guess what he’d do after sobering up. The sun continues to climb as I crunch out of the woods to find the edge of a field sweeping up to a walled village. Perched atop a hill this place was no doubt ringed by ordered farms allowing the plebeians to flee back to the safety of the palisade should the creatures of the wild attack. Exhaling slowly, my breath steams as I shiver in the scant fragments of gear. No doubt there will be work a plenty, but can I survive?

Nerta the Weaver (Foederati)

Roleplay from Jacinda the Driven

Message sent to Everyone by the Odeon Cruor

Jacinda stared, momentarily defeated. She had no idea who this “old man” was, but the rest seemed clear. No help, no aid, nothing that would avenge her people or prevent it from happening again. Her eyes closed as she slumped. “Then this was a fool’s errand. Just like the dream of that six eyed wolf, damn and blast it…” There was too much weariness in her voice for much vehemence. “My apologies, then, I will take my leave.” She turned, stretching a little, and moved to go. Nerta mirrored the other woman's slump, her breath heavy, "Then I wish you the best of luck. If you're getting visions from the Wolf Lord you're worse off than I, and they… won't leave me alone." Nerta's voice grows softer with each word, her eyes closing by the end as she pinches the bridge of her nose and fights back weary tears. Jacinda’s head whipped around. “Wolf Lord? Is that...One of these gods? Was that from them too?” Her face, golden under the weatherbeaten tan, went pale. “How long have I been walking down this road?” Nerta can’t respond right away, even as the poor woman feels the creeping dread close around her heart. Why Gods… why must you do this? Is it all just to see if we can survive? “Y-Yes. Yes,” swallowing hard Nerta clears her throat and eventually looks up, “Yes the Wolf Lord is one name for one of the Gods. It’s a common name in the north, Wren might know what they call him in the south…” Vaguely waving at the one in the dappled cloak Nerta sighs, “I’ve no idea how Abyss long you’ve been cursed, but I’m sorry either way.” You didn’t survive long in the wilds without being able to feel tension. And Jacinda could cut the tension here with her blade. “And...What is this Wolf Lord known for? The dream was...A challenge, it felt like. And after my village…” She looked at both of them, eyes darting back and forth, searching their faces while her own was strained. “What is this curse you keep referring to?” Nerta glances around the square, seemingly disinterested in answering. Yet as she spies a shop across from the small group she grabs Jacinda to drag her along. The place sells an assortment of knick knacks around the games. How such a shop can exist is a mystery in itself but they had a glass display window, which meant standing amidst the banners and horns for the arena crowd is the trimmed and ethereal presence of the Old Man. “Hello my dear. Do not be alarmed by my appearance,” comes the echoing apparition shimmering in the window, “ and please forgive my companion as she is somewhat, high strung, these days. You would like to know some things about the Gods? I can certainly help with that.” Jacinda recoiled from the glass, hand dropping to the hilt of her blade.

Jacinda the Driven (Adventurer)

Report from Nerta the Weaver

Message sent to Everyone in the Past

Flashback The village elder met me in the small inn with offers of good coin for simple work: Save some sheep stolen by a beast and bring back a little boy that had wandered too far from home. They knew as well as I that he was no doubt dead, but they wished to burn him least he return with the rising of the full moon. So here I am trugging back through the woods my feet crunching in snow armed with only a staff and all on the promise of a few silvers. The father with sunken eyes had given me some pants; they’d been his wife’s. A woman lost some years ago to some nameless horror that had slipped over the walls and stole her away. Even the Old Man had been brooding quietly then, questioning what had happened to the Legions. We’d not known then, but the Legion had been gone for a long time. No one was protecting these people. Save me.

Nerta the Weaver (Foederati)

Roleplay from Jacinda the Driven

Message sent to Everyone by the Odeon Cruor

“Who...What are you? And…” Jacinda’s curiosity got the better of her, “What is this ‘Wolf Lord’ and curse business?” The man in the window pursed his lips, the neatly trimmed beard contrasting, “Ah. I rather thought you were a bit more seasoned than the rest of these companions... I’m a ghost my dear, an Ancestor made manifest and all that. Really you should at least try to listen to the old folktales, they have some wisdom to them…” “Seeing as someone must continue your education, the Wolf Lord is the god of nature, broadly speaking. He’s a vicious fellow though because well…” the ghost chuckles, “As you’ve probably noticed nature is vicious. But you say he gave you a challenge? Sounds like him. He likes to test people, see if they’re worthy of his gifts. Harsh but fair sort of chap,” the specter pauses, “usually.” “As for the curse business,” Walking along in the pane the ghost takes a moment to consider Nerta with those luminescent violet eyes before shrugging, “The girl is rather keen to part with my company, the Gods have other plans but she does like to wriggle.” Jacinda traced a finger along the glass in wonder, should it feel different? “Ancestor spirits came to my people in unusual sea creatures, visions like this are beyond my ken. This Wolf Lord, though, seems like something I can understand. If he is the God of nature, he can’t support the undead, can he?” Jacinda leaned forward to inspect the ghost as she spoke. Truly the Old Man had retained his commanding presence, sharp eye and melodic voice, yet death had robbed him of much. Grave dust clung to his once fine clothes leaving him indistinct and his dark beard was streaked with grey while wrinkles lined his ghostly corpus. If the inspection bothered the shade he gave no sign, “Be mindful of things from the deep my dear. The Abyss spawns many of the undead creatures you despise so… But yes, the Wolf Lord would be an ally to any who would strike down the dead things.” Jacinda starts, her expression pensive, “And what plans are these? What do these Gods want?” The question saw the specter of the old Consul pause, his expression enigmatic, “No one knows the will of the Gods my dear but… I would say they want it done. They are tired of humanity’s slow, agonizing failure. They want us done and gone or triumphant and champions of all.”

Jacinda the Driven (Adventurer)

Report from Nerta the Weaver

Message sent to Everyone in the Past

Flashback Blood on my hands. I’d found the sheep soon enough. Torn to pieces. But what I hadn’t known was that they’d been bait. Bait for me. The Hunter nearly struck me down on the first blow, great claws slicing through the air as it pounced from the trees. Only the Old Man’s warning and a lucky roll saw the cloak torn and not me. Squaring off, staff in hand, the beast hissed and gibbered, moving like smoke across the deep snow drift even as I plunged within on each step. Grip tightening I curse quietly as the beast circles in. A Hunter was bad news, very bad: A Child of the Gods who could think and plan. Maybe the ambush yesterday had been one of the thing’s hounds… The broad feet crunch as the beast leaps again, talons extended and maw distending like a lamprey. Letting out a sharp breath I lunge, trying to keep the staff aimed at the thing's chest, but only sink into the drift with a curse. The weight presses down, talon sinking into a hand and splashing hot blood across the entombing snow. Struggling to fend off the beast I hiss through the pain of a Graft but the thing seems quite aware of what I was attempting and with a wicked grin slams my chin back even as I try to lunge for a bite. Oh yes, this thing saw me yesterday….This… might be it… Suddenly the beast roars and slithers about like a serpent to glare toward the treeline, leaving me to lash out with a fist. The creature is more surprised than hurt, but bounds back letting me sit up with a groan of my grotesque grimace. Before I can do anything else the Hunter scampers off, no doubt to warn its band that the ambush had been foiled. Holding my hand as blood oozes into the snow I can see two figures by the edge of the trees, a horrified little boy in the arms of Vedens. The man's haggard expression is far less jovial than last night, but not disgusted. “Friend, don’t wander off next time. It’s dangerous out here, even for you,” wincing he adjusts the lad in his arms who in turn buried his face to wail, “And maybe clean your mouth, it’s scaring the boy and I have a wicked headache.” The Graft is already fading in the usual swell of pain but I refused to turn away from the man. Maybe, maybe he is a friend, but if so: This is what I am.

Nerta the Weaver (Foederati)