Khy'eras

It was a lovely day with the sun streaming down onto her pale skin and warming every inch with it's rays. Deryn lived for days like this, where things were quiet and carefree. Children laughed in the distance while their parents watched them play. The tall fields of grass and hay were turning to straw, and before long, it would be harvested to trap in the warmth of this very day to be savored throughout the winter. People were preparing for the cold, long winter ahead, but not Deryn. Instead, her horse galloped across the fields, and the auburn strands of Deryn's hair were flung back in the breeze. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she was going somewhere. There was an anxiousness in her stomach that told her the time to leave Fellsgard was near, and in order to get that feeling under control, she took off into the countryside to have some time to herself.

The world was a vast and mysterious place. Her sheltered life had been comfortable and easy, but what goal did she have? What purpose? Because surely life didn't exist if there wasn't a purpose, and for Deryn, she was convinced that purpose was a story. But what kind of story awaited her? That, honestly, was the real question.

The sun would dip behind the trees before too long, and with her goal in mind, she traveled ahead. The last bit of the warm sun rays were on her back, but a thick patch of trees lingered just in front of her. Once she reached the edge, she'd turn back and go home, but no sooner. Traveling after sundown was not exactly her favorite, but she felt safe here. She knew the land and the people near Fellsgard better than anyone. Her gear was light - a fitted tunic and a pair of breeches covered her limbs and torso, and it was a clear indication that she was not expecting any type of conflict. She still wasn't expecting conflict even as she reached the edge of the trees and tugged her horse to a quick stop.

It felt...off....out here, away from the hustle of the city, and an eerie feeling crawled up the back of her neck. Her skin pebbled and the small hairs of her arms stood at attention. Deryn hadn't felt anything like it, but as she looked around the low hedges around her and the young saplings of the forest, she couldn't help but wonder what the cause was. There was no one around - not a soul that could validate her body's response. Her horse pawed at the ground anxiously, and it whinnied with it's own request to turn around. Deryn patted the beast's neck, shushing it with a soothing tone to keep it quiet. She looked around the area more, and eventually spotted a man some meters away.

"Hey, you there!" She shouted. Her eyes were squinted as she tried to take in his features, noting his glow. Perhaps that was what spooked her horse. He didn't look like he belonged out here very well. "Are you ill? I'm afraid your coloring looks a bit....well, to be frank, green. You sure you don't need a healer? I know a good one back in Fellsgard that could take care of....that." The redhead gestured at his ethereal form. "Although, I cannot make any promises. Seems you've found yourself in a rather interesting predicament, wouldn't you say?"

Malcolm had been riding for several days, wandering somewhat aimlessly eastward on the off chance he’d encounter someone who could point him towards a local knightly order, travelling band, or even collection of regular riders. Typhoon had become restless in their journey. The need for competition, having been bred deeply into the charger, remained strong even in the afterlife. What they needed was to race someone, or perhaps simply show off, it seemed to vary with the horse. Malcolm chuckled as a deluge of memories surfaced from what he was beginning to call the ‘olden days’. He still refused to truly accept his death, but it didn’t particularly matter as his goal was the same.

He looked up at the sky and noticed it was closing in on evening. He knew he was close to Fellsgard, or at least close enough to worry. He wasn’t sure how he would be taken there these days. He didn’t imagine much had changed regarding magic, but he’d not heard a good deal of talk about ghosts in the olden days. Deciding it was better to be safe and unlifed than sorry and trapped in some prison or banished for all time, Malcolm nugged Typhoon off the road and towards a copse of trees. He’d wait here until morning, see if he could catch the attention of some farmer or travelling trader, and ask them how the place treated his… kind.

As he came to a halt, the knight turned his horse to check his surroundings. Decades of training would not be denied the chance to ensure there were no obvious threats. For a while, he spotted nothing of note but idyllic fields of grass and rolling hills. Then his eyes moved towards the east and he caught the tell-tale dust plume of a rider moving quickly. Malcolm frowned, uncertain of his course of action for several long seconds. Typhoon, also having seen the dust, huffed in eager excitement. Malcolm laughed and gave the charger a heavy pat before settling himself calmly in the saddle. “We’ll wait then, and greet our errant friend,” he said softly to the horse.

The rider eventually came in to view and Malcolm spent long moments examining them as they approached. They were a woman, not terribly young, but still marked by the signs of a life emboldened by the vigor of youth. They had long thick hair, a reddish brown like sun-baked apple skins, that flowed wildly behind them. Malcolm felt a wavering in his form as he was assailed by memories of a woman. Her hair had shone like copper and moved with similar joyous abandon at a gallop. She had spent several summers at the house, learning the bow and spear, before she’d gone off to serve in a place far away. He’d never gathered the courage to ask her name.

He shook himself, restoring his form to it’s full solidity, and looked around. He’d lost track of time in his memories again, something that seemed to happen when he spent too long alone with only his thoughts. There was a shout, and his head snapped to the sound as his hand tightened on his reigns. He relaxed after a moment, realizing the rider had finished approaching, and must have spotted him while he reminisced. “I am afflicted with a certain mild but common illness,” he replied, barking a laugh at his own poor joke. “I doubt any healer you know can change the past quite enough to heal it though. May I approach? I can see you are not armored, and promise to keep my own arms tied.” He held his arms out slightly, showing he currently held no weapon. Typhoon snorted and pawed the ground in annoyance.