Stormcrow

Verdant Plains - Forest District


 * The Verdant Plains is the collective name given to the regions of wide, open, and generally unremarkable grasslands and prairies that cover a large majority of Fastheld's central and southern geography, such as the rolling vista of green that reaches out across this particular area.
 * They are regions of relatively low relief where the vegetation is dominated by verdant grasses and other herbaceous plants, with the occasional shrub or tree adding a touch of variety to an otherwise endless ocean of short grasses, gentle slopes, and low rises.
 * The Verdant Plains are generally indistinguishable from each other, and though overland travel across them is usually easy going, it is often difficult to get an accurate bearing on your current location, given the utter lack of any real landmarks to use as a reference point.
 * Both flora and fauna alike are bountiful in these regions of land, making them excellent prowling grounds for hunters and rangers alike. They also make for excellent horse country, or as a place to seek retreat from the rest of the world when one needs to lose themselves in nature, though offer little shelter from the elements.
 * For the most part, it seems like the plains roll away in every direction, and whatever rests beyond the horizon is fit to be discovered by exploration if one does not have a map on hand.

Thayndor Zahir walks alone along the plains, the sun at his back as he wanders the border between the lands of House Zahir and House Valoria. He looks to have recently shaved, and wears a simple, new-looking doublet. His head is down as he goes.

Under the dusk sky, a circle appears near Thayndor, glowing with a gentle blue light. The spokes rotate, opening a gate, and through it steps Sandrim. He is apparently gutsy tonight, bringing no armor or weapons, and his left arm in a cast - but perhaps he doesn't need them. "It's been a while," is his greeting.

Startled, Thayndor takes two quick steps back, his hand moving for his sword on instinct. As his visitor speaks, however, the outlaw lowers his hand. "Indeed it has," he says, voice grim as the lines in his face. "You look like your fortune's been almost as bad as mine, Sandrim. If you don't mind my saying so." He nods towards the Wildlander's cast.

Sandrim grins faintly. "Nowhere near," he says. "Don't ask me to give you the story of this. It's too embarassing for words." He steps forward, holding out a hand. "You've heard all the news, what she has decided, I take it?"

Thayndor Zahir reaches forward to meet Sandrim's hand with his own. "Voreyn? No. But I can guess."

Sandrim clasps Thayndor's hand firmly in his own. "Then I am the stormcrow," he says with a wry grin. "You've been kicked out, and your properties taken. You're an outlaw, on Zahir lands."

"Stormcrow." Thayndor chuckles darkly. "How appropriate. I had figured as much, Sandrim, but thank you." He turns to look northward. "It's something of a journey, don't you think, all the way from Crown's Refuge just to be the bearer of bad news," he observes.

Sandrim quirks a grin. "I was in Tradesmeet, actually," he points out. "I went out to a spot on the plains before I sought you out." He rubs at his shoulder, considering Thayndor thoughtfully. "Can you fly, Thayndor?"

Thayndor Zahir snorts. "No," he replies. "I'd imagine my departure from Eventide would have been far less dramatic if I could."

Sandrim nods. "Mm. We couldn't have it so easy, could we?" he asks. "There was a chance, if your answer was yes. Though, I suppose our chances here aren't the worst. Perhaps not as bad as they could be, though I don't know." He raises an eyebrow at Thayndor. "Are you going to try and plead your case? Or remain on the run?"

"I will not run," Thayndor replies, lifting his chin. "I've done quite enough of that. But I doubt there's much use in pleading my case to Voreyn Zahir, not now."

"That last bit is smart," Sandrim says with a small frown. "I don't really see that begging her will help. Or whether you'll actually get any help anywhere else." He shrugs. "You were outlawed for breaking the Shadow Amendment, so I don't think Valoria will help you. Dunno enough about Driscol or Lomasa, though."

"I have no allies there," Thayndor replies. "And no use for them, either." He shakes his head, looking south. "However, Valoria does hold the most likely key to my return to humanity. And, if nothing else, my chance to either die or be vindicated by Imperial justice."

Sandrim frowns and shakes his head. "If you're hoping that they'll adopt you... I doubt it," he says. "Really, really doubt it."

Thayndor Zahir laughs, without humor. "That's not what I meant. They hold the keys," the outlaw repeats, patiently. "The keys to Light's Reach. Where I may go to speak my peace in a way that cannot be misinterpreted as a threat."

"And what then?" Sandrim asks, head tilted to the side. "Though, I suppose this does make it easier for me. I don't have to decide whether or not to go fetch you clothes that are a bit less showy, or advise you to grow your beard out."

Thayndor Zahir arches an eyebrow. "Sandrim Oakleaf," he begins, amused, "You would so readily aid an outlaw whom you so recently found to be at such great fault?"

Sandrim grins. "Oh, I think you're a complete pain in the ass and overdramatic," he says. "But I like you in an odd sort of way. And you did help. And I didn't actually hear of you hurting anyone." He shrugs. "Doesn't matter though, I suppose."

"That's better, I believe, than having come here to kill me," Thayndor decides with a shrug. "But no. While I hold little faith in my ability -- or desire -- to rejoin House Zahir, I cannot become a fugitive of Imperial law. I have far too many times told others that they should confront difficult questions rather than avoid them. Faced with the question of whether or not I will, or deserve to, die by the hands of the Imperial Cult, I would set a poor example did I not take my own advice." He folds his arms. "And were I ready to flee to the Wildlands and live as a hermit?" He asks. "What would you say then?"

Sandrim grins a bit. "Good luck getting there," he says. "Your only hope in that was flying. And a slim chance, even then." He closes his eyes, stepping away. "Wasn't sure I would have, anyways... I'd have nowhere to put you out there I know would always be safe, and I couldn't be your babysitter. You could have learned, but it would have been rough." He turns back to look at Thayndor. "So, what are you going to do in your new, de-stationed life, if it continues on?"

"I don't know," Thayndor replies. "De-stationed or no, should I continue to breathe, like as not this will not be the last you've seen of me. I suppose I will find something to occupy my time, and will focus my efforts against becoming an instrument of the Shadow again." His face abruptly looks haunted. "I did not know the extent of the power that toys with us until it caught me in its grip, Sandrim. It's a lesson I shan't soon forget."

"That's how it is with all who fall," Sandrim says with a bit of a wry grin. "I should be on my way, and you on yours. Take care, Thayndor. I hope the Ordinators show you mercy."

"Me too." The Zahir returns an empty version of Sandrim's grin. "Is that what I am now, Sandrim? Forever fallen?"

Sandrim shakes his head. "I don't know," he says. "I'd like to think not, but it's what they say that will matter, isn't it?"

Thayndor Zahir nods. "To them, I suppose," he says. "And everyone else." Face turning grim again, he nods to Sandrim. "Light guide you, Wildlander. Perhaps we'll see each other again."

Sandrim just nods, and turns away. The sound of hornets picks up around him as he goes.