Wayfinders (Season 7): A Chat With The Past

As the adrenaline of escaping a stone guardian subsides, the Wayfinders slow to a stop in an unfamiliar hall of metal and magical energy. The largest of corridors here accommodate giants with panels and grooves etched into the ancient stone. Several still glow with pulses of arcane energy to give the neutral polished sandstone a warm hue of red, blue, or green.
Just breathe. And so they do. The past two hours have been nothing short of rolling the dice with the fates. Although the corridors howl with distant groans of automation and arcane energy, it is as safe as they can get.
Thirty minutes in, a figure approaches. An arch of wall borne lighting casts a side of his tall, mummified body to give it a red hue of danger. Violet eyes settle into view as he joins the party.
"What day is it?" he asks, holding onto a metallic watch that ticks on, eyes going from the party to the device. It is deep voice of Tarkin, introduced only briefly hours ago.
Gabriel, huddling behind Safina, Cass, and Elara, nervously watches Tarkin from what he feels is a safe distance. His hazel eyes analyzing his mummified body and the wrappings covering him in order to perceive how old he might be. The violet eyes of Tarkin unnerve the little gnome, the only comfort he stemming from the company of his friends.
As the party rests in this strange place, Elara sits on the ground. Her back pressed up against the wall of the corridor and her legs pulled in. She sits in silence, staring into the void of the silver pendant. Thinking… As time passes, a figure approaches. He speaks and she lifts her head up to look at him. Covered in wrappings and striking violet eyes, he puts her on edge. Is he good? Evil? She thinks to herself. Her eyes glance over to the rest of the party before looking back up to the man. “Well you…blinked out of existence and were gone for a few hours at most...” her trails off. “Where did you go?”
The cloth work of Tarkin's bandages place within this century as much as strips of linen could. Most curious is that they still remain soaking wet. A wet mummified creature of hulking stature does much to radiate a natural menacing aura in the dimly lit corridor.
"It doesn't work quite like that," Tarkin tells Elara as he puts his watch away behind a fold of wet bindings. "It is like falling asleep and picking up a dream where it left off. Only reality is the dream and waking up is the empty space." The man pauses, looking the party over for a time, "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Elara stands up, brushing her robes off and leaning slightly on her staff. “unfortunately, no not yet…” She looks over to Safina who has been in a strange daze since the parties encounter with the displacer beasts. “We were not quite prepared for the chaos and traps here.” Her eyes narrow, looking to Tarkin. “You seem to know quite a bit about this place…”
"Enough to be prepared for chaos and traps, at the last," Tarkin responds as his violet eyes narrow back to Elara's. "If you have something to say, say it. My 'situation' has made brevity and honesty a requirement." A hand draws out, all to much like a military general's from Elara's experience. "I want to know what it is you did to catch Gig's eye. He doesn't show up without a reason." The hand goes to his bandaged face, "Actually, sometimes he does. Getting inside the head of a god is like standing in a river demanding it flow backwards. Maybe he was bored."
As he speaks, her eyes widen. The grip on her staff tightens and her other hand pulls up to her chest to hold onto the pendant that dangles around her neck. “W-what?” her eyes jolt around to the rest of the party before they return back to meet the narrow gaze of Tarkin. “….A god?...” Her voice echos through the corridor as a sheer panic in her voice surfaces. “We’ve…just been looking for someone. We had no intentions to run into you or him.” Her heart thuds heavy in her chest with fear. Who are these people? She thinks to herself, playing back the meeting with Gig over again in her head. “I wish you’d tell us what’s going on here. This place, you, him…”
Tarkin remains as a statue in the open corridor. If not for the zipping lights of the Dawnforges, his lack of movement would blend right in. Thankfully his barrel of a chest takes in air as well as it expels it, reminding people that despite his bandages he is not undead. Probably.
"Pray you find them soon and leave shortly after," the bandaged behemoth says, "I don't keep an account of everything going on in this world. These forges? No one knows for sure. Its like picking up a book without a cover. You have to wonder what the author was thinking when they started writing in it. But once you start, it might be too late," Tarkin explains to Elara. "I know of the risks here, and that I share freely, but I don't know the reward other than it is in equal kind to the price paid. I'll need something of that strength to resolve... this." Tarkin cocks his head towards his watch. "My time in Arhor'ha is getting shorter each time I appear. It doesn't take a scholar to know that eventually I won't return at all."
A wet tongue clucks the side of the violet eyed creature's cheek. "As for Gig? I know Gig. And if he has taken an interest in you, your best sword and shield is to know him well. When a being of that power sets their eyes on you, its a blessing and a curse."
“That’s a fair answer…” Her hand falls from the pendant to her side, letting out a sigh of relief. Elara remains quiet for a moment, looking over the tall figure all while processing what he just said. “What happened to you?” She says softly, moving closer to him to see him better. “We saw you speaking to that man, Gig. Is he helping you with…this?” She points to the bandages covering his body. “And that watch, that’s not to simply tell the time but a countdown. Or am I wrong?” She tilts her head to the side, trying to figure out this man.
The man clears his throat in a healthy cough. "Helping me? No. Taunting me. Effectively so. The Devil on my shoulder. He wants to make a deal. Service for existance." Tarkin cracks the knuckles on one of his large, bandaged fists. "I declined, but if I understood his play its in hope I will yield when all other options are lost. Devils bathe in that sort of trite drama." A guttural rumble to his voice paints a tone of disapproval of Gig's actions.
Upon closer examination Tarkin looks extremely healthy, despite the bandaged look. Nuya would have loved to have a goliath like him in one of his 'suicide squads' of the unpure. The hilt of a large sword is carefully tucked in bandages along his back, but no other equipment makes itself known. No traveling pouches with provisions. No waterskin. No traveling pack to speak of.
A quick nod to Elara's assumption of the watch, which Tarkin shows to her, "To that end, this watch tells me how long I am here. So that I know the stakes are rising every. Single. Day. A temptation, for sure, but also a tool I can make use of. Up until now it has been very difficult to plan my movements without knowing when I am going to 'fall back asleep'." The watch itself is beautifully crafted to a level that dwarves and elves are known to do from years of practice. "I don't always return where I left off. With any luck I can use it to bypass the security of this place. And if not..." he takes a breath and exhales, "I'll figure something out."
There is a pause as the violet eyes remain on Elara for a time. He didn't answer the first question. "My circumstance and how I got this way is a long story. The short version is that I devoted myself to future generations of my bloodline. Noble as that sounds, people do horrible things in the name of noble goals and although we have no cause to be foes, you'd do well to keep a safe distance away from my agenda. I paid the price for my decisions and I am resolute to survive them."
“A hostage…” She says quietly before speaking again. “I felt uneasy in Gig’s presence. I could only begin to imagine what someone like that is up to…and I’d rather not find out myself.” She looks past the man and down the corridor as the flashing lights of arcana flicker from where the party passed through. Her attention falls back to the man as the watch he holds is presented in front of her. She looks down at it, The construction and detail in its design is stunning as it ticks with each passing second. Her hand comes up and reaches out to the watch, curious as to how it works and why. “How much time do you have left?” her voice abruptly pausing, realizing the boldness of her question.
"A hostage that is going to stab Gig in his damn throat," Tarkin grunts at the idea of being in that Devil's debt. The watch ticks like a clock, going minutes in and showing that roughly ten minutes have passed. The violet eyes of the tall stranger also looks at the watch that, on closer inspection, is of dwarvish craftsmanship. "Less than an hour," he explains, "which gets us to an ask of you. If you come across something..." He taps his head as he tries to think of the right words, "... involving resurrection or teleportation. Make a note of it for me. In return I can keep an eye out for the people you are looking for." A nod of his head, "With details of what to look for and if you want them knowing you are looking for them." Its clear his time is at a borrowed premium.
Leaning against her shield, Cass listens in, trying to gather as much information as possible. Tarkin seems to have an idea of who Gig is, but won't deal with him. It's nice to hear someone talk with resolve, even when their circumstances are bleak. "Will the resurrection help you with your elemental infection? I didn't think something like that could be forged." She says to Tarkin, trying to get information on him, as well as what's going on in these forges.
"Elemental infection?" Tarkin asks as he turns his head towards Cass. A glance is sent towards Gabe who mentioned earlier about his elements being out of alignment. He shakes his head, "If this place can forge god rending weapons, they can forge something to solve this," he explains in a tone that says he is certain, "Though I can't say for sure." Well he sounded certain.
over in the corner you hear a loan moan, like Safina had been kicked in the stomach. He falls to his knees looking exhausted despite his appearance beforehand. "damn, well that is new." Safina will look up to Tarkin and give a respectful nod, knowing how frustrating inter-plane travel can be. "if we find what you are looking for, how can we find you again?" he asks, wincing as he stands upright "just in case your time here runs out before we can get you."
A sharp turn comes from Tarkin's head, causing a loose bandage to fly like so many majestic tresses of hair. "A fair point that it wouldn't be as simple as sending a raven," the large man contemplates. Communication has, so far, proven very difficult. A low rumble accompanies the sounds of his thoughts. "At the entrance. If I see something I will leave a scrap of cloth or parchment under a rock. Likewise do the same for me." A dead drop system. "This way, before we leave this place, we can have some additional assurance that no stone was unturned." That should be a pun. The way Tarkin says it doesnt sound like he meant it to be.
Still looking tired Safina puts an arm against the wall to keep himself up, though he looks better than he did a moment ago. He nods at Tarkin understanding the instructions.
“I was told my master was seen in here, Solera, she’s the head of the Order of the Sun from Sol-Verde. She should be traveling with a handful of other monks...” he pauses recalling the traps “...assuming they made it this far. She should be wearing something similar to this” he says gesturing to his now haggard robes, “but obviously nicer and showing her rank.” Safina breaks to take a breath. “Any runes or symbols we should keep an eye out for? Or is it more of a ‘you’ll know it when you see it’ kind of situation? I’m not arcane savvy” he says with a look on his face that looks like he just woke up from a rough night at a tavern.