A thick, foreboding forest that spreads across a vast hilly swath of land. The eastern and western bodies of forest are split by the Howling Gorge, a deep chasm carved by a northbound river all the way to the island's coast.
A faction of hill giants and a clan of goblins call the western forests home, and war often for the better patches of forest. In the northern reaches, the tomb of the fabled General Annaxys Loryn is said to lie, but none venture near for fear of the curse set upon it by the descendants of his foes.
Iksar from Cabilis have a limited investment of interest in this forest which verges on their city's western walls, but apart from the occasional foray into the eastern stretches nearest them, they spend little time here.
The Warsliks Woods
Re: The Warsliks Woods
The Warsliks Woods were among the more dangerous terrains that verged on the Cabilis. Less than half a day’s journey from the city travelers encountered the Howling Gorge, at the bottom of which raced a river with no name. Beyond that, the dangers grew impractically more serious. Iksar only patrolled the side of the gorge nearest the city, having no interest in anything beyond it. Which made it the perfect place for outcasts like Sevel to hide. There were goblins out here, and giants, and far far worse the deeper one searched, but these woods didn’t belong to any of them. They were all brutes, jockeying for positions of power in the forest through shows of strength and intimidation tactics. They were all fools.
The Warsliks belonged to Sevel, and his band. They moved like the twice-blessed Scalewolves in the cover of the trees, coming and going where they needed. They had proved themselves against the raw might of nature, and the exacting fury of the warring tribes of the Warsliks time and again. That was more than the inhabitants of Cabilis could say.
And yet, even though they had washed their hands of the doctrine of strength that “New Sebilis” had been founded on, Sevel and his comrades seemed to always find their way back to the Howling Gorge. It was a curious draw that kept pulling them back, like a cherished foe, or a food one enjoyed disliking. Many were the days, and many the nights where Sevel would sit quietly on a perch, body wrapped in heavy cloth and itself in turn wrapped around his bow, and he would simply watch the far side of the gorge. He watched the birds, the creatures… and the patrols.
The very evening on which Sevel sat pondering his life, he studied a patrol as they skated the edge of the gorge, surveying his edge of the chasm for any signs of trouble. They didn’t seen him of course, but they couldn’t help being seen. Every time his eyes fell upon the Iksar of Cabilis, he wanted to rip the medallion from his chest and throw it to the river where his brothers and sister had been thrown so many years ago. Casting aside the tarnished old piece of brass would be less than effortless. And yet it was impossible. Something stayed Sevel’s hand every time he reached for it. Deep in his soul, Sevel still knew that he was a part of something more important than the trees and the forest and the bickering of primitive tribes. He remembered his brother – the one he had truly known to be his brother – and wondered as he often did what had befallen the other Iksar from his strange little brood who had survived to manhood.
The weathered young iksar shook his head wistfully, and cast Sajerh from his mind. The patrol on the far edge of the gorge was almost out of sight. Stirring from his place of hiding, Sevel crept back to the rest of his band and waved them onward. Within a few minutes, four of the slender reptilian men were sliding carefully but purposefully down the walls. They had work to be done, and not an abundance of time to do it.
Sevel was among the four, having never expected any of those under his leadership to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. As he scaled down the wall, he glanced back up at the great white moon Luclin in the sky. It was one of three, but the most prominent by far. It would be full in less than a week, and their plan had to be in place by then.
Nearly an hour later, Sevel scaled swiftly back up the wall and helped haul the others back to the ridge. He was taller and stronger than most of the others, but he moved just like each of them. Careful and quiet, with a favor for the shadows. By the time the next patrol came along, the whole band had disappeared back into the nighttime reaches of the western forest.
The Warsliks belonged to Sevel, and his band. They moved like the twice-blessed Scalewolves in the cover of the trees, coming and going where they needed. They had proved themselves against the raw might of nature, and the exacting fury of the warring tribes of the Warsliks time and again. That was more than the inhabitants of Cabilis could say.
And yet, even though they had washed their hands of the doctrine of strength that “New Sebilis” had been founded on, Sevel and his comrades seemed to always find their way back to the Howling Gorge. It was a curious draw that kept pulling them back, like a cherished foe, or a food one enjoyed disliking. Many were the days, and many the nights where Sevel would sit quietly on a perch, body wrapped in heavy cloth and itself in turn wrapped around his bow, and he would simply watch the far side of the gorge. He watched the birds, the creatures… and the patrols.
The very evening on which Sevel sat pondering his life, he studied a patrol as they skated the edge of the gorge, surveying his edge of the chasm for any signs of trouble. They didn’t seen him of course, but they couldn’t help being seen. Every time his eyes fell upon the Iksar of Cabilis, he wanted to rip the medallion from his chest and throw it to the river where his brothers and sister had been thrown so many years ago. Casting aside the tarnished old piece of brass would be less than effortless. And yet it was impossible. Something stayed Sevel’s hand every time he reached for it. Deep in his soul, Sevel still knew that he was a part of something more important than the trees and the forest and the bickering of primitive tribes. He remembered his brother – the one he had truly known to be his brother – and wondered as he often did what had befallen the other Iksar from his strange little brood who had survived to manhood.
The weathered young iksar shook his head wistfully, and cast Sajerh from his mind. The patrol on the far edge of the gorge was almost out of sight. Stirring from his place of hiding, Sevel crept back to the rest of his band and waved them onward. Within a few minutes, four of the slender reptilian men were sliding carefully but purposefully down the walls. They had work to be done, and not an abundance of time to do it.
Sevel was among the four, having never expected any of those under his leadership to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. As he scaled down the wall, he glanced back up at the great white moon Luclin in the sky. It was one of three, but the most prominent by far. It would be full in less than a week, and their plan had to be in place by then.
Nearly an hour later, Sevel scaled swiftly back up the wall and helped haul the others back to the ridge. He was taller and stronger than most of the others, but he moved just like each of them. Careful and quiet, with a favor for the shadows. By the time the next patrol came along, the whole band had disappeared back into the nighttime reaches of the western forest.
Re: The Warsliks Woods
Pine needles crackled underfoot...a warm breeze whispered through the woods like faraway muffled breathing...a plethora of pungent aromatic odors floated through the air, a new one greeting the olfactory every few seconds...dozens of species of ferns, herbs and shrubs waved under the pine branches, together creating one surreal rippling sensation. If a single leafy frond moving on its own would have drawn the attention of passing eyes to itself, the effect of them all swaying together was to render the whole forest and all in it strangely invisible, a fluctuating virid ambience indistinguishable from its own shadows. The perfect place to hide.
The Warsliks Woods was the city’s opposite in every way. While Cabilis was stark, bare, and orderly, and most of all contained, everything out here was open, variegated, unpredictable. The contrast was no accident. There was a reason the Iksar had created a well-ordered, if militant and somewhat harsh society behind walls. The same reason why after surviving a deep wound, one learns to guard himself and only venture out with caution: in order to protect what is most cherished. Ironic though, how that which is most cherished can in so many ways be sacrificed for that very security.
These and many other thoughts shifted through Sajerh’s mind as he and his companions shifted through the Woods on a spring afternoon. Though he never would have expressed it out loud, this place filled him with a certain euphoria. He wasn’t the only one who had spent his earliest youth out here as a broodling, but sometimes he wondered if it meant the same to others. Were they, like him, revisited by memories of this great mysterious door to the wider world, the place they had hatched and first opened their eyes and ears to the wonders around them, and begun to explore? Were they too haunted by someone they had left behind? Or had that all been washed away for them, down the nameless river, better left unnamed and unremembered? Maybe it really was different for him because, as far as he knew, Sevel had never been washed down a river, he had earned his medallion. Could he have survived all this time on his own? What would Sajerh say if he ever saw him again? How could he explain, when he couldn’t even explain it to himself?
In any case, he had not come out here to reminisce. He brushed the thoughts aside and trained his senses on the living sounds all around them. This was his first command position in the intelligence regiment, no easy feat to achieve, and it had required of him constant mental and physical self-discipline of a much higher than average caliber. He knew how to stay on task. Today his mission was multi-purposed, and the first of those purposes was being carried out in a gradual fashion, with a couple of scalewolves leading the way with their muzzles to the ground. Soon they came to a large bush with strangely-shaped red flowers, and a botanist, one of a group of scientists they were escorting, set to work harvesting some of the blossoms. Any Cabilisian, the botanist included, could fend for himself very well, and was expected to. But there was a way to do things efficiently, especially in this circumstance. Sajerh placed his scaled hand on the hilt of his short sword and listened...
Suddenly out of nowhere a loud humming noise whirred in from above, straight down onto one of the reptilian men, who happened to be standing next to Sajerh. The soldier just had time to cover his head with a small arm shield and crouch down, while Sajerh instinctively drew out his blade and made a clean cut. The buzzing stopped, and the giant purple hymenopterous insect finished its sudden drop with a lifeless *thunk* against the soldier’s arm shield. But no one cheered yet. More buzzing came down fast from the treetops, and one by one, the troop downed the great wasp-like creatures, until after about a dozen were lying on the forest floor in spasms, the swarm gave up and left them alone.
The botanist was just then wrapping up his floral collection, and now a couple of other specialists began to de-sting wasps. Many of the herbs and poisons used to produce medicines, potions, spells, and countless other practical applications, could be grown within city walls. But some only thrived in the wild ecosystem beyond, and were not conducive to being harvested on rooftops or in garden atria.
As the stingers were being plucked, Sajerh caught wind of a different sound, blended with and barely distinguishable from that of the breeze flowing through branches and underbrush in the distance: rushing water. They were closer to the Howling Gorge than he’d realized. Perhaps the wind had merely shifted, or maybe he had been more lost in that reverie than he thought. No matter. Now to complete the other purpose of their mission. This time following their own inner ears, they soon arrived near an outcropping, where the roar of the torrent below already drowned out all other noise. A patrol was out there on the outcropping, and when he saw them he made no sign of recognition, but casually slipped in under the forest’s cover with them.
“Sssir!” the sentinel saluted, and Sajerh saluted back.
“All ssilent, ssentinel?”
“Yess, ssir!”
This was the last patrol they needed to check with today, and the farthest from the city. These were routine activities, but this week they were taking special care not to be caught off guard by anything or anyone, with the upcoming Ingathering. Hence, Sajerh’s personal visit to all outposts in the area as an intelligence officer.
“Asss you were, ssoldier.” The patrolling Iksar slunk back to his former position out on the rocky outcropping. Still, not quite as stealthy as Sajerh would have done it himself. He nodded to his company, who nodded back and waited at attention. He stepped slowly through the trees and practically slithered his way around to the far side of the precipice, to a spot slightly below it, with great care not to disturb any brush. The river’s roar grew louder and louder, until just when he reached a final small ridge where it was deafening. He slowly raised his head, his eyes narrowed to keep even the gleam of them from being visible, and peered out over the cliff, the raging white rapids, and the woods beyond.
He couldn’t have chosen a better perch if he was looking for somewhere with a great view, but also to avoid being seen. But it wasn’t a lucky guess. He had been here before, long before he wore the now-silver medallion. The sight of the river made it all rush back to mind just as fast. Within view of those rapids he had received his first, a brass one, along with his brother... He intently scanned the cliffs on the opposite side, the cliff birds swooping in and out of their nests, the trees gently swaying. Nothing out of the ordinary. All silent, just as the sentinel had said. Yet as he watched, he became eerily aware on some level, of a presence. As if someone was watching, just as he himself was doing. Friend or foe, he could not tell, but out here, most likely foe.
After a few minutes he returned, not satisfied, but settled for the moment. He had learned to never be fully satisfied. That was how he stayed on edge. They made their way back toward the city, and when the forests began to clear, and the ancient pale walls of New Sebilis began to gleam in Luclin’s light in the distance, Sajerh felt as if he’d been gone for an age, in some other world outside of time, and was strangely relieved. For all its harsh ways, this was home, his place of pride and honor, and he was glad to see her again. Soon her familiar majesty rose up all around him, and before long he was back in his quarters, high in a tower housing abodes similar to barracks. He spied out his window which sported a killer view of the moonlit Lake, and an assassin view of the inside of the city. A view this practical made it hard not to be vigilant, even after hours. But placing him here was most likely a strategic move of his superiors, who knew very well his protective and watchful nature.
Finally, though, he was about ready to turn in, and per his custom, he cast one long last glance toward the dark outline of a distant tree line off to his right. He would be returning there very soon.
The Warsliks Woods was the city’s opposite in every way. While Cabilis was stark, bare, and orderly, and most of all contained, everything out here was open, variegated, unpredictable. The contrast was no accident. There was a reason the Iksar had created a well-ordered, if militant and somewhat harsh society behind walls. The same reason why after surviving a deep wound, one learns to guard himself and only venture out with caution: in order to protect what is most cherished. Ironic though, how that which is most cherished can in so many ways be sacrificed for that very security.
These and many other thoughts shifted through Sajerh’s mind as he and his companions shifted through the Woods on a spring afternoon. Though he never would have expressed it out loud, this place filled him with a certain euphoria. He wasn’t the only one who had spent his earliest youth out here as a broodling, but sometimes he wondered if it meant the same to others. Were they, like him, revisited by memories of this great mysterious door to the wider world, the place they had hatched and first opened their eyes and ears to the wonders around them, and begun to explore? Were they too haunted by someone they had left behind? Or had that all been washed away for them, down the nameless river, better left unnamed and unremembered? Maybe it really was different for him because, as far as he knew, Sevel had never been washed down a river, he had earned his medallion. Could he have survived all this time on his own? What would Sajerh say if he ever saw him again? How could he explain, when he couldn’t even explain it to himself?
In any case, he had not come out here to reminisce. He brushed the thoughts aside and trained his senses on the living sounds all around them. This was his first command position in the intelligence regiment, no easy feat to achieve, and it had required of him constant mental and physical self-discipline of a much higher than average caliber. He knew how to stay on task. Today his mission was multi-purposed, and the first of those purposes was being carried out in a gradual fashion, with a couple of scalewolves leading the way with their muzzles to the ground. Soon they came to a large bush with strangely-shaped red flowers, and a botanist, one of a group of scientists they were escorting, set to work harvesting some of the blossoms. Any Cabilisian, the botanist included, could fend for himself very well, and was expected to. But there was a way to do things efficiently, especially in this circumstance. Sajerh placed his scaled hand on the hilt of his short sword and listened...
Suddenly out of nowhere a loud humming noise whirred in from above, straight down onto one of the reptilian men, who happened to be standing next to Sajerh. The soldier just had time to cover his head with a small arm shield and crouch down, while Sajerh instinctively drew out his blade and made a clean cut. The buzzing stopped, and the giant purple hymenopterous insect finished its sudden drop with a lifeless *thunk* against the soldier’s arm shield. But no one cheered yet. More buzzing came down fast from the treetops, and one by one, the troop downed the great wasp-like creatures, until after about a dozen were lying on the forest floor in spasms, the swarm gave up and left them alone.
The botanist was just then wrapping up his floral collection, and now a couple of other specialists began to de-sting wasps. Many of the herbs and poisons used to produce medicines, potions, spells, and countless other practical applications, could be grown within city walls. But some only thrived in the wild ecosystem beyond, and were not conducive to being harvested on rooftops or in garden atria.
As the stingers were being plucked, Sajerh caught wind of a different sound, blended with and barely distinguishable from that of the breeze flowing through branches and underbrush in the distance: rushing water. They were closer to the Howling Gorge than he’d realized. Perhaps the wind had merely shifted, or maybe he had been more lost in that reverie than he thought. No matter. Now to complete the other purpose of their mission. This time following their own inner ears, they soon arrived near an outcropping, where the roar of the torrent below already drowned out all other noise. A patrol was out there on the outcropping, and when he saw them he made no sign of recognition, but casually slipped in under the forest’s cover with them.
“Sssir!” the sentinel saluted, and Sajerh saluted back.
“All ssilent, ssentinel?”
“Yess, ssir!”
This was the last patrol they needed to check with today, and the farthest from the city. These were routine activities, but this week they were taking special care not to be caught off guard by anything or anyone, with the upcoming Ingathering. Hence, Sajerh’s personal visit to all outposts in the area as an intelligence officer.
“Asss you were, ssoldier.” The patrolling Iksar slunk back to his former position out on the rocky outcropping. Still, not quite as stealthy as Sajerh would have done it himself. He nodded to his company, who nodded back and waited at attention. He stepped slowly through the trees and practically slithered his way around to the far side of the precipice, to a spot slightly below it, with great care not to disturb any brush. The river’s roar grew louder and louder, until just when he reached a final small ridge where it was deafening. He slowly raised his head, his eyes narrowed to keep even the gleam of them from being visible, and peered out over the cliff, the raging white rapids, and the woods beyond.
He couldn’t have chosen a better perch if he was looking for somewhere with a great view, but also to avoid being seen. But it wasn’t a lucky guess. He had been here before, long before he wore the now-silver medallion. The sight of the river made it all rush back to mind just as fast. Within view of those rapids he had received his first, a brass one, along with his brother... He intently scanned the cliffs on the opposite side, the cliff birds swooping in and out of their nests, the trees gently swaying. Nothing out of the ordinary. All silent, just as the sentinel had said. Yet as he watched, he became eerily aware on some level, of a presence. As if someone was watching, just as he himself was doing. Friend or foe, he could not tell, but out here, most likely foe.
After a few minutes he returned, not satisfied, but settled for the moment. He had learned to never be fully satisfied. That was how he stayed on edge. They made their way back toward the city, and when the forests began to clear, and the ancient pale walls of New Sebilis began to gleam in Luclin’s light in the distance, Sajerh felt as if he’d been gone for an age, in some other world outside of time, and was strangely relieved. For all its harsh ways, this was home, his place of pride and honor, and he was glad to see her again. Soon her familiar majesty rose up all around him, and before long he was back in his quarters, high in a tower housing abodes similar to barracks. He spied out his window which sported a killer view of the moonlit Lake, and an assassin view of the inside of the city. A view this practical made it hard not to be vigilant, even after hours. But placing him here was most likely a strategic move of his superiors, who knew very well his protective and watchful nature.
Finally, though, he was about ready to turn in, and per his custom, he cast one long last glance toward the dark outline of a distant tree line off to his right. He would be returning there very soon.