Chapter 1 - Forked Road to Gilded Vale
2823 Majiprima - Northwest of Cilant Lis, The Dyrwood
He woke up to a dull stinging sensation at the back of his head.
Stretching, he thought of the bottles he'd filched from Heodan when he wasn't looking, his recent indigestion, or something new altogether- before another revolt from his protesting innards made him willing to bet the second thought as the likely culprit of his most recent suffering.
Groaning, he sat up lighting a small candle beside him with the nearby flint to ward off the darkness. He reached for his waterskin and drank a draught of water.
Damn he was thirsty!
A knock on the carriage door. "Acalan, Odema wants to see you."
"I'll shall be there." He took off the furs from his small cot. The air here was warmer now- the caravan must have reached the Valewood after his last shift on the watch.
He donned his leathers, checking the knives, and sabre were in place before looking himself up at a small handheld mirror he acquired from Readceras.
Raven hair had been cut short to frame an Ixamitl face that bore sunken azure eyes. A scar ran through his right cheek to his dry lips, two other scars once split his left brow- each tell a story of near death and survival.
Another mask, for another place.
For the past five years, mercenary life and the occasional bounty hunter from the Republics have sent him drifting across the Reach. Dunryd Row had advised him to stay low- to play the long game after the last incident with the Key had gone terribly wrong.
With Leaden Key's obvious meddling in the Dyrwood, he had been ordered stay clear from them lest he interrupt the agency's current hands in play. In the mean time, he was given assignments; a rogue animancer here, the occasional blackmail there. Sometimes with an agent, most of the time by mercenaries he'd pick. Proving to Hadret House that with each victory that he can be trusted to get the job done.
Still the prized hunt eludes him- the Immortal Man, Thaos ix Arkannon
Something in him boils at the mention of that name, and then there was the ashfall in Spirento.
His fist clenched at the memory, but forced himself to relax- a recent missive by raven from Hadret House showed promising clues that their prey was on the move, this time the crone herself had asked for him.
Vengeance will come, in time.
He took a green cloak from the rack that when worn concealed most of his weaponry, and got off the cart.
Odema's caravan ran a circuit around the Reach, from Ixamitl Plains in the north to the Dyrwood Palatinate of the Pearlwood Gulf. Acalan had joined them on the road from Readceras, offering to pay extra for the privacy of a spare small wagon. Now, the caravan had stopped for the night, the carriages forming a tight semi circle around the bonfire where Odema and most of the caravan stood. A wall of adra grew behind the camp whereupon firelight casted the camp's eerie shadows.
The caravan master himself was explaining the day's progress, a delay in the form of a fallen tree on the road, and reminding the new travellers of the dangers inherent of the Dyrwood. Red moustache and jowls shaking with each gesture. The man had made a fortune through his work, the mercenary could respect him that much.
"Ho! Acalan, thought you were going to keep on sleeping til the monin'." A chuckle escapes the hearty caravan master.
"No rest for this weary one it seems. You called?" Aedyran with accented Natlan- made the mask a bit more real.
Odema eyed him critically for a moment before replying "I've got word that you have a bit of the runs.. and by the looks of it; might be Rumbling Rot from one of those stinging beetles 'round here. You'll be fine once it passes through your innards. 'Less you don't drink water"
He pats to his own waterskin "and then you'll be dead by the day."
He then proceeded on telling him of the springberries that may help cure him of his ailment, ordering Sparfel out for some water before mentioning one of the caravan guides- Calisca to help him find the berries and to see that he doesn't drop dead along the way.
Calisca was Thyrtan, a woman of fair skin and flaxen hair of around his age. She wore a suit of scales with a long bearded axe dangling from her left shoulder that from the last few matches Acalan had against her- she was quite good at. She also had an amusing habit of attaching names.
"For Snips here? No promises." she deadpans. Oh does she have the wit, even if she's too prickly to show for it. That gave him a name for her in return.
"There's no promises to be made if you're not up for it hedgehog."
Natlan words and he knows she understood them as she did guide work in the plains for a time.
And they've been chatting in it during their shifts - trading barbs for the most part.
"Oh am I up for it. And then maybe I leave you to the locals after you shit all over their rocks."
The mercenary turned to the caravan master."She doesn't seem eager for the task."
Calisca flipped him a rude gesture in response.
The caravan master could only grin at their banter before shrugging apologetically to Acalan, his voice suddenly stern;
"I know you can hold on your own with those blades of yours. But I can't have you drop dead and go look for you. I've got a schedule to keep. ' sides," he points to Calisca. "I pay you well enough for the job."
He gestures to one of the wagons at the edge of the camp. "Off with you two. See to Heodan if you want some supplies before heading out."
Odema rubs his hands as if to ward off the chill. " And I want you back here as soon as you get your berries. There's somethin' in the wind that just doesn't seem right. So if the wind so much as tickles, you drop everything and run back here. We'll take shelter within the ruins if we have to. Hut dwellers be damned!"
"As you say Chief." The guide grunts, taking a torch from her person before lighting it up on the fire. The light of the flame seemed to brighten her eyes.
"Come on shit for stains, we're going on an adventure!"
He fought the need to roll his eyes. "Lead the way."
They'd ignore Heodan as they left the camp- there was no need for supplies for a short walk in the woods.
The springberries in question were found along with a carcass of dead stag being torn apart by a small pack of wolves. Four to be exact, and they were not happy having their dinner disturbed.
Cursing, Calisca took point, dragging the attention of most of the pack. Shouting, she threw the torch at them. Yelps came as eager mouths reached in too close to the flaming brand.
The guide held her long axe, a hand on the base of the axe head, another on the middle, the pointed end of it facing the wolves. She squared her stance, teasing the animals with experimental thrusts.
Growling, the first wolf attempts to lunge only to be met by the wooden shaft, it shrieked but continued its stalking, circling her.
Calisca shifts her attention to the second wolf cutting off its flank with a good spike to the shoulder- crunching something within, that sent it scurrying off to the woods.
She moved to the side just as the third tried at leap for her throat. She grimaced as the first sunk its teeth on scaled gloves. But teeth could hardly pierce through metal scale, and a quick raking shove forced the wolf to let go.
The fourth wolf ignored her completely and went for the mercenary off to her side. Only illuminated by moonlight and guided by the glint of the wolf's irises, Acalan stepped forward- palming a knife from within his cloak and in one quick motion drew and flicked it off, tilting his body forward as he did so.
The blade struck true, the point sailing in a swift line into the wolf's left eye and then embedded itself into the skull. It died not five paces more in front of him, tumbling heavily into the leafy ground.
Acalan drew his sabre as he ran to flank the remaining wolves. The first wolf, foolishly turned and tried to get a jump on the man as he moved towards it- only to spit itself on the tip of the curved blade. He grimaced as teeth glanced at his leather gloves.
Seeing its packmates slaughtered or turn tail, the last wolf gave the up fight, fleeing off into the trees.
The night was silent again as the rogue took out his knife from the dead wolf. Then he turned to the springberries before them.
Calisca huddled over the corpse of a wolf, a skinning knife on one hand as she carved its skin off the carcass. A wistful look on her bloodied face.
"In all of our little chats, you never did tell me why'd you want to come to the Dyrwood."
Hands still picking off the berry bush, he snorted. "The hedgehog ponders answers. What brought this on?" He already knew the answer to that: her mind is of home, nostalgia and a sister- worry colouring her thoughts. He sympathizes, but that is sympathy he could not share.
"Humor me Snips. A rogue Ixamitl plainsman coming this far south? You know the people there are more of the stay home, clan first kind. If not, then it's the occasional wandering philosopher-monk shit. You don't fit those two categories."
She bites the bottom of her lip "You've got one of the best hands I've seen, getting that locked trunk in Odema's cart was no easy feat I tell you. 'Got a feeling there's a story in you."
"Everyone has a story. But mine's probably more lacklustre than you think."
"Oh?" a pregnant pause.
The cover story comes easily enough. Some changes over time but even after years, telling it never gets any easier.
" Mother was a Ixamitl fisherwoman, father was a raider from Eir Glanfath or so she tells me."
"Grew up not knowing my father and the village didn't take to outside blood kindly, even more so when mother died." A flash of her ashen face and he sighed, he willed the mind to separate him from that memory, still his hands quivered ever so slightly.
"My hands and feet were quick enough, so I left."
"Damn, makes you wonder the things the Gods put us through, just to see what we'll do." She rolls the wolf skin to sling on her back before working on the other wolf carcass. She took a deep breath and sighed.
"Haven't been this way for a long time. I always did like it here. Lord Raedric's offer... makes a girl think, I'll give him that. You here to settle like the rest of the lot?"
"I'm just passing through. I heard some big undertaking in Defiance Bay. Might be worth my while." No harm in passing some truths, might learn something in return.
She grinned, "Going to the big city huh Snips? A word of advice from one plainsman to another: Cities suck. All those people; many would want a piece of you and they'll get it. Whether from picking your pockets for copper or wasting your time running around fetching things. If you wanna' be there, you got to act like 'em. Better take a village or a town for work." She groused.
She looks at him, the torch at her feet illuminating the thoughtful expression at her face "There's a lot of opportunities in Gilded Vale you know, even if the place's a bit down from the Legacy and all."
Acalan could only laugh. "Thank you, but I'm still interested in seeing Defiance Bay." He ropes off a pouch full of springberries. "I think this should be more than enough, come on hedgehog. Let's get to the stream."
She smiles, "Yeah. Sparfel could use a kick to the rear if he ain't there with the waterskins by now."
Sparfel was not to be found when they reached the stream. The found him by the treeline, collapsing from a bloody arrow on his back.
"Ambush!" Calisca roared. And it was like that first bounty on him all over again. At least he wasn't alone now.
She brandished her axe as two Glanfathan raiders came to cross the bridge.
A hunter stepped forward in the moonlight, bow pointing at them. Murderous thoughts and righteous anger emanated from their thoughts
Again he fought against the turmoil of his emotions, channelling them into focus.
"Take the bridge, I'll deal with the bowman."
With a grunt, Calisca dashed to pin the two raiders from crossing, first throwing the torch at their feet to distrupt their strides before the long haft of her axe barred their way forward. They rushed at her, daggers gleaming in the moonlight met the spike of her axe.
She took a step back and made them extend their reach, punishing one with a spike to his shoulder. He screamed, but did not fall.
His companion tried to make use of his friend's sacrifice, blade reaching for her face. But the guide deftly swung the axe blade in counter; cutting leathered hands, before shoving the bleeding Glanfathan off her. Now they stood at the middle of the stream.
Acalan ran then rolled away from the arrow shot by the Glanfathan hunter. Knives ready on both hands, he flicked them out as he came out of the roll. One landed right at the hunter's feet, eliciting a step back in surprise. But it came late as another sunk unto his abdomen. The enemy groaned, persevering as he tried drawing another arrow. Acalan was still ten paces farther.
Yet the delay in arrow fire was all the mercenary needed. For the next knife found the hunter's throat.
Quickly he ran to the dying hunter, a hand reached for the Glanfathan's skull before taking the hunter's fading essence borrowing his instinct. Once done, he took his knives off of the dead man before taking the bow and a few arrows from the quiver. Acalan eyed the men on the bridge and with a dead man's skill, drew and fired.
The man on the bridge couldn't even fathom how an arrow speared through his cheeks as he died.
With only one raider on the bridge, the battle was a foregone conclusion as an axehead to the chest meant a swift demise for a dying man. She secured her bloody axe back on her shoulders.
"Shit! We've got to get back to camp!"
After fighting off another Glanfathan search party, they did. Only that they were too late.
The horses were slaughtered and all lay dead or dying except kneeling Heodan who was held hostage by a dark bearded Glanfathan raider. The way he held himself within his mind cued him as the leader of this little raiding party. There were lackeys behind him and they were cutting down the dying.
The wet earth beneath his feet was stained red in the light of the bonfire. The smell of shit and gore wafted heavily in the forest air. A perverse joy in hunting outsider prey emenated from the raiding party.
Again the emotion threatened to boil over him in waves. He knew these people, drank with them, defended them from monsters. He knew their hopes and dreams, these things he gleaned from their minds as a precaution. Now those very minds met his in fading silence.
Damn them all!
He shouldn't get too attached to them, but it was hard. Not when for the past few months, this little wandering city was home.
Calisca covered her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes wide at the scene.
"Lay-"
He did not need words now, this bazzo has already answered with his thoughts.
A step and his hands were a blur, three knives in hand, three drawn and flew at once! One straight for blackbeard's head, two for his lackeys behind him. The green cloak billowing at the sudden motion.
The bearded Glanfathan reflexively drew up his arms to ward off whatever was thrown, giving time for Heodan to scamper out of his reach.
"Sorry, my hands slipped. What did you say again?" This time he did not bother to hide the malice in his tone, sabre and stiletto now in hand.
The raidmaster roared.
They fought with Calisca holding the center of the field. She pinned the towering Glanfathan with her long axe. Her furious strikes left deep groves upon the enemy's small shield.
Beside her was Heodan, the daggers in his hands were patient, waiting and teasing the raidmaster to lower his guard or that Calisca could yank the shield away.
Acalan dodged another arrow as he closed the distance to flank one of the hunters. One of his knives had struck him squarely on the chest, but it did not penetrate through the thick hide armor. The second hunter however, had a dagger through his right arm leaving him unable to draw his bow.
This forced him to use his knife against the Ixamitl mercenary to help his friend.
The mercenary thrust his sabre out, using its reach to push the Glanfathan hunters a step towards the fire. Feeble feints from the handicapped hunter were easily parried by sabre.
Step back then forward, as the other's follow up lunge jarred his arm, yet the sabre's longer reach hooked under and into Glanfathan hunter's right arm, the point driven deep inside the un-armoured spot. He pressed onwards and to the side, paying no heed to his screaming victim while keeping his one-handed at bay. All the while digging the sabre point even deeper inside the man.
Roaring, his one-handed partner had decided that grappling unto him would be the best solution to end the mercenary. Acalan wrenched the hunter's hooked arm with the stiletto, punching it through and manipulating the screaming hunter as a makeshift shield before sending him back to his friend with a well placed kick.
The act mangled the first hunter's arm as both sabre and stiletto left deep bleeding holes. Now they were both one handed lefties.
Under the light of the bonfire, a small smile crept up the mercenary's features.
In the next few moves, his blades found their marks deep into Glanfathan heart and skull respectively. They won't be able to get up from this.
Calisca drove another cleaving swing unto the shield. This time she changed her pattern- hooking the cleft of her axe unto the shield's edge to get through the opponents head.
Unfortunately blackbeard's experience allowed him to escape the axe head from reaching into his skull by angling his shield forward. Before he could retaliate, Heodan's daggers sliced ribbons across his back earning a bark of pain.
Angered, the towering man shoved his shield down before sliding in with his own axe!
Calisca was struck, yet quick feet and manoeuvring made sure that the only thing striking her head was the man's mailed right forearm.
Still it was enough to daze her and in one motion blackbeard kicked her down. Heodan roared, both daggers digging deep into Glanfathan meaty forearm, preventing the raidmaster from wielding his axe!
Arms bleeding and face lively with rage, the raidmaster bludgeoned Heodan, his shield bashing the man's face to a pulp. Yet the merchant held on. He'll hold till morning if that's the last thing he'll do.
Then there was a sudden stop in the beating, replaced by an almost inaudible gurgling rattle.
The bloody mercenary cradled the man's face with his blades, it was almost intimate in the way the stiletto punctured underneath the bearded man's jaws while further down blood gushed in rivers as the sabre sliced its way through skin, muscle and blood. Words were whispered just beside the dying man's ears.
The dead man's eyes! They were bulging in terror as the end came, a haunting realization as nerveless fingers suddenly stopped moving. Then death who carried the corpse shoved him dismissively to the side, taking the man's heavy pouch as he did so.
Acalan retrieved his final knife beside the raidmaster's corpse before grasping Heodan's hand to get him standing. Calisca, stood using her axe as a makeshift crutch to gain balance.
And that was when the wind started to sting his very soul.
He doubled over as Spirento's memories threatened to overwhelm him.
Again not again; he wracked his mind, trying to maintain order. Breathing came in gasps and he could barely hear Odema's last words telling them to run, even as felt himself get dragged by Calisca to the rock face before she'd climbed. Heodan despite his hesitancy had gone up the rock face after her.
A ragged voice from above "Come on Snips! Pull yourself together and climb! Or you can stand there and die in shit!"
Wounded pride and a prick of annoyance, but just enough to snap him out of his reverie.
Leaden Key, vengeance, vindication, redemption. a never ending mantra spurred him on with each climb.
His bloody hands climbed the rocks and over the precipce, with both Calisca and Heodan helping him clear his feet off the ledge by grabbing his arms up over the top.
Heodan's voice hollered above the rising din, arms gesturing at the open portal of an intact ruin as his feet started running "There! Get inside now!"
They sprinted the last few paces, just as well; the stones above the portal collapsed under the wrath of the storm.
Inside the antechamber they all collapsed panting.
"That's a.." Heodan breathed
Acalan's voice seemed to echo within the empty hall between pants "Biwac huh.."
Calisca nods, "Then we're lucky to survive."
Heodan looks around "And we're the only ones to make it." His face was disfigured; bruised and bloody.
The mercenary looks to the path ahead. "No sense in lying around then, let's get moving. Heodan, think you can carry on?"
The merchant nods, A slight grimace "Yeah, but I'll probably need some ice and a good tankard of ale after this." he points to one eye which was almost closed shut. "Damn! there goes my entire stock too."
Calisca forged onwards, "We've been lucky so far and I don't know about you, but there's got to be a limit to how far we can push it. Being a holy site to the locals, this place might be crawling with guards."
Acalan stood beside her "I'm going a few meters ahead to scout the place. If anything goes wrong, you'll hear me with it. I'll be back in ten minutes." Cloak and knife, he blended into shadow.
Eventually it seemed that the prudent approach also pays; after a dead end from the first junction led them to an abandoned encampment with some resources, they'd found a journal that lead them to an ancient vault.
Assorted knickknacks and coppers richer, they'd snuck past the dead skaurip guard- courtesy of a certain merchant. And whatever enemies they couldn't avoid, they'd set up their deaths with careful ambushes.
Curiously, Calisca's worst fears never came to pass within the ruin- there was never a heavy Glanfathan presence to deal with.
A giant Engwithian machine greeted them as they exited the ruin. Old and crumbling, but still majestic in its design of stone, copper and adra. The entire area was one big echo to the Ashfall back in Spirento. And it was grating on Acalan's nerves.
He called on his cipher's training- breathing, feeding excess raw emotion into focus.
"You alright there Snips?" Calisca, her voice terse.
"I just need to get out of here."
"I very much agree." Heodan whispers.
They were already a hundred paces off the ruin's exit when they saw them.
Maddicho Masks and grey cloaks, spoken oaths for Woedica- the Leaden Key. He saw the masked man who led them and his soul burned with hate. But the years have tempered the mercenary- allowing him time to reflect on what went wrong in Spirento. In studying his prey, he knew enough about animancy to get a gist of what was to come.
The clouds parted then and out streamed luminous moonlight.
He could now see the ashen bodies taunting him with their answers.
The Oathbinder's part? Given lives meant given souls. - A Siphon,
Souls meant power and with enough power being moved so suddenly, it creates a vacuum.
Nature abhors a vacuum, staves it with equilibrium.
Just as lightning passes through the air, so must thunder.
What do you have then? -A Bomb
Acalan held both of Calisca and Heodan by their arms, swiftly to the closest stone wall he deemed sturdy enough for the blast, yet far enough for the siphon not to burn them to ash.
"Snips what-" He cuts whatever was on their lips with a glare.
The mask be damned!
"Whatever happens next please, you must obey me if we are to survive. And if we survive this.." He looks to Calisca and Heodan, "at least promise me you'll take me to Gilded Vale." Her face grim, she considered a moment before nodding her ascent. Heodan grunted in agreement.
There! A rubble of stone around the height of an Aumua, backed with a ruined standing pillar. The rogue ordered them down before he too sat with them. This time he held their hands with his own.
This was the nightmare he feared would come. He knows the pain of the siphon, and that to counter act its effects meant an equally large force was needed to press down upon their souls to prevent it from being torn.
There's also the shockwave from the resulting feedback. But with a stone wall between them and the machine, it may just be enough.
He hears the hum of the machine and the telltale sting of an artificial biwac. He knows without seeing that the souls nearest to the machine are being taken.
"Our mind's eye more or less gives us the desired results if we feed it our focus and intent.' Kurren steps into the canon's firing range with nothing more than a loin cloth.
'But sometimes, even that is not enough. So what can you do to shore yourself with what little you have?
Pray to the Gods? Sing a song? If so, then you only have half of the answer boy.
Ciphers like us don't use incantations like wizards do, or as common as bards with their phrases. We use it to induce a tranced state that forces the mind to its utmost for the briefest of moments. Be warned of the drawbacks. There's a price to be paid in forcing yourself beyond what is required.
You of all people should know."
The orlan mutters in Glanfathan before turning to the canons 'I am ready.'
He takes a breath and chants in Vailian, remembering the waves that crashed against the unyielding stone.
"I am the stone that breaks the sea." The hairs on the back of his head stood on end as his mind begins to assert itself directly upon his soul. The needs and pains of the body fades as he fed more focus unto himself.
Cipher's Fire flashes bright as a devouring whip lashes both of companions. A groan of pain, fidgeting but he ignores them. The great damnable soul within him grew bright as his mind went beyond, encompassing the group in a veil of fire and force. There he pushed themselves down, anchoring the outlines of their souls down to their bodies even as he drew them of essence to bolster his fight against the pull.
He could feel the drain and draw of the machine on his barrier like a wire taut with tension. The moment stretched into eternity as the screaming grew louder below them, eclipsing even the artificial storm.
A sudden silence fell as the machine locked its gyrations. Then the shock came and something from within him finally snapped.
Gods above!
The force,
the force...
And he was in a different place, in another time. Here was the very same machine, with a pillar of adra rising at its centre. Housing the entire thing was a domed circular room, decorated in intricate patterns of copper and adra.
There was a question he wanted to ask, a question of the most vital importance, a question that's directed for a man in ceremonial robes. He whose hair was tucked within a black cowl and winged headress.
He knows this man, and a question that needed an answer burns ever bright within his fragmented soul.
Calisca awoke to a ringing echo within her ears. She was stiff and sore all over, a relative surprise given her habit of sleeping on the ground. Coughing, she found her axe beside her and lifted herself up with it- and saw from the ash coated tracts, that she must have rolled a fair bit away from the group when the veil Acalan had conjured had cracked.
Peering below the ledge found that whatever was near that machine had it much, much worse; the soil was charred black, smoky from the burned grass. What trees large enough to escaped instant incineration had worn massive smoking cracks through their trunks- as though lightning had tore through their very heartwoods from within.
She did not need to go far to see where Heodan had lain. The pink tinge of blood and brains marked where his skull had split open from landing unto a stone pillar. The poor sod was one more victim to whatever strange forces at bay.
A reminder of how close she was from certain death.
She sighed, guilt worming its way within her. It was not too long ago that Heodan delayed the axe that might've ended her life. She closed the dead man's eyes and with a hardened heart, moved on.
"Acalan! Snips! You still with us?!" Stealth be damned! She still got some promises to keep.
Right?
Right. Her mind wandered to a time when Orin; one of her brothers, was shouting before he too left for Rauatai.
"I promised Erik I'd help him out of a bind in Rauatai ma! I just can't leave him hanging there! And I ain't coming back 'til I get him out. I promise."
That story played out well in the end, with Erik living in Aedyr in the years to come. Orin settled as an explosives dealer in Takowa. A story of brief respite against the terrors around her.
She'd trace her steps back to the rubble where the rogue (a cipher?) shielded them from the machine. And there he was, still sitting on the stone. His hands had lain limply on the ground by his sides. The shadow of his veil burned itself unto the stone, leaving a dark halo around where they once sat.
"Good thing for you I keep my promises Snips. Though if you're a cipher; you'd know that by now wouldn't you?"
No response. A worried frown crossed her face as she felt for his pulse- weak, thready. A close look found his lips dry. She remembers the Rumbling Rot.
Shit. Well, at least she had her healing skills honed from her time in the Plains.
After giving him miniscule draughts of water, she'd set off to the nearest fallen tree with her long axe in hand. She'll need a basic stretcher, and preferably a decent tea set.
"Can't have you dying now when you're clearly in the thick of whatever this is." she grumbles.
Despite this, there was a faint glimmer of hope that bloomed within her. Her sister, Aufra had called her away from her wandering job in the Plains. As the most laid back of the siblings, she wouldn't have called without something really serious going down.
Whatever it was, those hooded cultists must've something to do with it.
And Snips sleeping back on the rock might just have some answers.
"Hold on sis. I'm coming. Just you wait."
Planting her feet to the ground, she swung her long axe at the tree trunk.
It was going to be a long day.
Notes-
Vailian:
bazzo - dick
Maddicho - Spoken evil/Damn
So we've arrived at the main story! Calisca here will be a bit OC though I'll base most of her from the few interactions we've seen during the tutorial. She dispositions around aggressive, clever, passionate (especially when it comes to Gilded Vale). I've also changed her weapon of choice as a two-handed long axe user, reasoning that Living Land's population of oddballs and madmen meant the need of a more intimidating weapon. Plus her axe would be practical on her journey as a makeshift walking stick/woodman's axe all rolled into one. Danish axes (from which her's was based on) look cool too, aside from the tactical advantages it'll have later in the story.
Unlike the instant wake up that our Watchers have upon encountering the Machine at Cilant Lis, Acalan's tactic of using your own soul as a shield against it will not be looked upon kindly. If cipher powers might look op, wait 'till we encounter enemy mages/bards