Shale Flats

- Items found in the Shale Flats -

- Creatures found in the Shale Flats -

Slate Nautilus

Rasa Testa

Slow moving herds of the Slate Nautilus can be found upon the Shale Flats, where they spend most of their lives uprooting the stone earth looking for vegetation and, in some cases, small animals. With their incredible shells and powerful telekinetic powers, there is no creature that will actively hunt the Slate Nautilus unless a last resort. Upon our travels, I befriended a herd through slowly providing them with leftover food. Whilst these leftovers were inconsequential to the diet of these giants, they seemed to understand the kind gesture and allowed me to travel with them for a week or so. I wonder how that herd is doing now?

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Chapter Three : Stone and Ink

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Rolling like waves, the plains of the Shale Flats were a sight to behold. Jutting from the centre of the land, a tall mountain stood lone against the sky – Mt. Voskus, the shale spiral. Surrounding the mountain for miles on all sides, the Shale Flats lay. They rose as jagged grey hills, the occasional town or city rising from the stone, and in parts where the outer shell of rock had been cracked away beautiful farmlands flourished. The soil underneath the rock was some of the most fertile in the entire Continent, and from cracks in the ground lavish greenery grew freely.

The Mercenary smiled as they walked a narrow road through two of the hills, carved a little deeper than the surrounding land to keep wanderers from the intense winds that would flare up and to shelter - even if very slightly - from the sun. It had been a long time since she had been home. Beneath her, her boots sounded a steady rhythm on the cobble road, the sound echoing down the trench and making her grip her glaive firmly in her hand. A downside to these roads was that any noise you make would be audible to people further along than you might be, which would be fine if not for the frequent bandit attacks that plagued this area. The Cartographer had wanted to visit the capital, Foenicia, before charting any map of his own. Maps of the flats were well documented and available, the Shale Flats being the most hospitable of the Deadlands provinces, and he wanted to purchase a copy for himself to cross reference with his work to ensure accuracy. The Mercenary thought that this was an unnecessary step, able to attest to his brilliant skill with his quill, but if he wanted to get to the capital it was her job to escort him. This road just so happened to be the fastest to the city from the Ravaged Plains they had just left behind, and she was confident that they should be able to arrive with little hassle. The less time spent on the roads the better.

Whilst in Foenicia, she planned to meet with her patrons of House Whiteblood. It was customary for mercenaries under a house’s protection to make an appearance at least once a year, more as a sign of respect than anything else, and this seemed like the perfect excuse to get that out of the way. House Whiteblood had control over the district that she had grown up in, and at the behest of her father she had travelled to their foreboding manor at a young age to ask for patronage in her becoming a mercenary. The various houses that controlled the flats squabbled between themselves frequently, but never went far enough to declare war on one another, leading to various intricate ways of one upping one another. A main part of this was the reputation of a House, and by recruiting mercenaries to spread their good name to those they aid along their journeys they gained a fierce and honourable reputation. If a merchant were to be saved from a beast by a stoneskinned warrior declaring loyalty to a certain house, the merchant was likely to spread the word that mercenaries of that house were the strongest, most trustworthy around. She had also gone through vigorous etiquette training alongside her fighting, being taught the best words to use to displace all thanks to her and instead redirecting them to the house as a whole, as well as slews of pre-written lines singing the praises of her patrons. Granted, she was a little rusty on this, but all her fellow mercenaries tended to be along the same lines, understanding that if they at least let their clients know who is responsible for their services then the rest can usually be left unsaid. It was easy to spot a new mercenary in this manner, and she remembered how uptight about it she had been on her first job – her client snapping at her to keep quiet about her ‘damn blasted house’ for the majority of the job. She learned quickly that most people who sought her services were inclined to avoid conversations, which suited her. Of course, The Cartographer didn’t fall under that category.

“Are you okay, my valiant protector? I fear your hand may shatter if you hold onto that thing any tighter.” He said, nodding towards her weapon. She relaxed her hand a little, and let her shoulders drop slightly. Moving closer to The Cartographer, she spoke quietly.

“Yes, sorry. I’m worried about ambushes; these sloping stones leave a lot of small hiding places for groups to-” She stopped talking. A small pebble fell from the lip of the road, clattering against the bricks below. All semblance of calm left her body, her grip tightened again on her glaive and she unconsciously felt her arms shift to a steady titan stance. She kept walking. The last thing she would want was them to suspect anything was amiss.

“For groups to what?” Said The Cartographer, oblivious to his companions change in mood. “I say, you worry an awful lot for someone who carries a blade that large. Besides, it’s hardly as if we’re in any danger – scribes aren’t well known for being the richest of folks and I don’t think anybody would care to tangle with you, hm?” The Mercenary’s eyes darted above from left to right, trying to pinpoint what had made the pebble fall in a steady rhythm with her walk. It could have been the wind, of course, but this talk of ambush had her thinking less optimistic thoughts. The Cartographer walked on ahead just a few paces. Should she shout for him to stop? Risk letting whoever was watching know that she knew they were there? That was if there was anyone at all, she supposed. He noticed her pace slowing, and turned around.

“Oh, come now, surely you can tell that we’re fine. The worst that would happen is they might search us and find us penniless, and that’s if they get through you first.” He chuckled, “And let me tell you from experience, no-one expects a man to keep his money in his boot! That’s twenty crown-pieces they won’t find.” Her eyes widened, and it happened in an instant.

Four, leather armoured bandits swung over the edge of the road and dropped down, two at either side of the pair, and before they had even landed The Mercenary sprung into action. The two on her side seemed the weakest, only a dagger each in their hands, and in one sliding motion with her leg she tripped one of them as they dropped down, the bandit’s head falling against the stone with a harsh crack before she slashed at the hand of the second. The attacker dropped his dagger, grabbing at his bleeding hand as his face met with the back end of The Mercenary’s glaive, hard and fast. The man fell back, joining the other on the floor. They were human, and she hoped that a blow to their soft, fleshy heads might be enough to keep them down. There was no time to check. She spun around to see a sword graze The Cartographer, instead slicing a quill that stuck from his bag in half, the remains fluttering to the ground. Despite his backpack the little man was fast, and if it wasn’t for his idiotic comment she might have congratulated him.

“Behind me!” She barked, and the mapmaker followed her order. She sized up the two in front of her. One was like her, an Avoskelle, his stone skin rough with chips and cracks and barrel chest making an imposing sight, the other was lanky with tan skin and a long brown hair braided to below their shoulders – an Abeiten elf, if she had to hazard a guess. She could see that the elf had no weapon, and the implication of that was scarier than if there was. A mage. The large Avoskelle man raised his sword again, as the elf began to move their hands in slow precise circles, a faint green mist leaking from their fingertips and trailing from their mouth. In a split decision, The Mercenary raised her arm in front of her face, and with her other hand grabbed something small and silver from her belt. The man’s sword struck against her skin – hard. She sucked in a sharp breath of air as the impact rattled through her whole body, but she didn’t have time to lick her wounds. Lowering her cracked arm, she threw the silver ball from her belt towards the mage who seemed moments from finishing their spell. It split in the air, becoming two smaller balls joined by a metal wire, and wrapped itself around the elf’s hands tying them fast together. Their eyes widened in surprise, and then an emerald explosion sent them crashing into the wall as their spell came to fruition, a few rocks falling down to the ground and shattering. From where the spell struck, just a handspan from The Mercenary, wild green vines grasped at the air before shrinking in on themselves and dissipating to a dull liquid. The Avoskelle man turned to watch his friend striking into the wall, and as he turned back The Mercenary struck against his face with the flat of her blade. For those like her, rockborn people, the cutting edge of a blade was sometimes less efficient than good old-fashioned brute force. That and the fact that any strike would risk blunting or even damaging her glaive, and if they were to get into another fight that could be a death sentence. The man seemed to realise this too, throwing down his sword and swinging at her with his fists. He was heavy, and she was fast, dodging under the man’s torso and grabbing another of the silver balls, slinging it around his legs. Through his own momentum, and a firm shove from behind, the man fell to the ground hard, dust rising in a thick cloud. As she felt the thrill of battle running through her, suddenly her heart dropped. In tripping the man, she had turned herself around and saw The Cartographer, a knife held to his throat. The human woman she had tripped earlier had recovered, and The Mercenary kicked herself for such a simple mistake.

“Hey, hey, now. Drop that.” The woman gestured with her free hand towards The Mercenaries glaive. She dropped it, the metal rattling against the bricks. She had failed. From behind her, she felt a cold hand of her shoulder as the mage had also gotten back to their feet.

“Good girl.” The woman grinned, and pushed the knife a little closer to the little man’s throat. “Now kick it over here.” The Mercenary did as she was told, and watched as her precious weapon was picked up. She hated herself for it, but she had sworn to protect the mapmaker – no matter what.

“Now, let’s see what’s hiding in this fellow’s boot, huh?” The Mercenary let out an exhausted sigh, powerless to watch as the elf removed their hand from her shoulder and walked to The Cartographer. The fact that she was no longer being held hurt even more, that they knew she couldn’t do anything. It was infantilising. She glared at The Cartographer as his shoe was untied.

“Oh, erm, sorry, wrong boot.” He said, squirming at touch of the knife against his neck. The elf only laughed and continued to unlace it, finally pulling it off. From inside, a black pouch dropped to the floor, jingling with the sound of metal upon metal. The Mercenary grinded her teeth furiously, but said nothing. If they made it out of this alive, the two of them would have words, she thought.

“Wrong boot, eh?” Jeered the woman. She didn’t strike The Mercenary as the leader of this group, but her position seemed to put her in power of this situation, and she could tell that she loved it. “Show me the gold, Elyirah.” The elf, still wordless, grinned. The pouch was fastened with a black ribbon, and as the mage loosened it their grin dropped. As the bag opened, a small, shadowy wisp puffed up from inside, like a droplet of ink falling into water, and the elf finally spoke, a soft and breathy voice.

“What is-” Before they could finish, the bag exploded, and the world went dark.

“-leansed of stain, by my word.” The Mercenary only caught the last few words of The Cartographers incantation. She blinked, a dark film covering her eyes and a horrible feeling in her stomach. Her vision, still dark, slowly returned as she spat a foul blob of liquid from her mouth, and looked around. The scene from moments ago seemed frozen in time. The mage stood in the middle of the group of people, inspecting a now invisible bag, the human woman holding a knife to the throat of a now missing cartographer. All of them were covered head to toe in a layer of shifting ink, the swirling mass glinting in the sunlight. The other two bandits, both still prone on the ground, shared the same fate, and the surrounding rock and stone seemed untouched. The Mercenary looked at The Cartographer, mouth slightly ajar.

“I did tell them it was the wrong boot.” He said. She laughed, the adrenaline slipping off of her like, well, ink. She was at a loss for words. “Should hold them until moonrise, methinks.” Said The Cartographer, picking up The Mercenary’s glaive and handing it to her. “We should get a move on.” She took the glaive from his hands, and finally spoke.

“That was incredible! You… You knew they were listening, didn’t you?” The Cartographer tapped the side of his nose and chuckled.

“I’m not always a helpless old man. Sometimes, I can be quite the sneaky old man.” He responded. The Mercenary shook her head, looking to again at the scene in front of them.

“Now, come on, let’s get a move on. I’ve been wanting a taste of some genuine Avoskelle cooking all day, and I’m rather famished after all that kerfuffle.” The Cartographer collected a few of his belongings that were scattered in the fight, shoving them into his jacket and lacing up his boot. The Mercenary looked down the road, and took in a deep breath of air. From her stomach, she felt a violent growl, and the two of them began to walk again.

“Let me tell you, the street food in Foenicia will change your life.” She said. The Cartographer looked to her sceptically. “No, I’m being fully honest. You’ll never be same. Everything else… it can’t compare. What are you feeling? Nautilus Calamari? Salt roast redgourd? Oh, you have to try redgourd if you haven’t.” Her mouth watered, and The Cartographer let out a thoughtful ‘hmm’.

“Too much thinking and not enough tasting, I will have to see what my stomach fancies when we arrive!” He said, and The Mercenary nodded in agreement. Wiser words had never been spoken.

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