The south of Ancalia, the Anderaccha Lowlands and beyond, had become something of a wasteland since he invasions ... some might say that the regions there had been abandoned by the Orders.  But the truth was, by far, that the vast majority of the Ancallian population now lived along the more fertile and defendable coastline north of the Bay of Gojeb.

And, like the general population, the various Orders had suffered greatly.  Those who still lived to serve retreated with the people, to the refugee enclaves along those coastlands, and into the defensible locations in the Kaffan Mountains.

The small outcrops of humanity in the Lowlands, and the Sere Plains, had fortified themselves into what remnant cities they could.
And these outcrop enclaves held very few people, and even less Knights.  They were small scavenger communities that suffered greatly for the Night Roads that still existed down here ... possibly the most dangerous being the one out of Mont Castlereigh, in the western Sere, on the Gojeb River.   (Which Zenna had given a wide berth upon her travels south)


And so it was that Zenna was surprised to see Verano: a city that she’d not seen since before the invasion.
The city itself looked like every other abandoned, damaged husk city on the plains.
Yet, beside the derelict ruins, now spanned a huge monolith of a city that seemed to have grown from the very earth itself.

It was, without doubt, possibly one of the most defensible positions that Zenna had ever seen in her life, with its sheer, smooth, unmarried walls which surrounded a huge compound of truncated pyramids (maybe a dozen; all of which might house many, many families).
And in the centre, a statue to a woman, holding an open tome.

It was, by definition, an incredible anomaly in this land, at this time.

In Verano,
City of cloaks,
I gave away
my lover's trust,
For a kiss.

She let the song die, as she crested a hill and saw, before her, the world changed.  She stared long at the marvel of that sheer pyramid and statue. She remembered old Verano, remembered the children and their bright cloaks.  She had not looked forward to seeing it desolate.

The squire had struggled to reach this point at all.  She had barely made it.  Her desperate pilgrimage to the Tongue of Ages had not gone unnoticed.  Dark beings had sought her, had cut off the safer path to the coat, trying to stop her at all costs.  For many nights, she had sensed them, heard them, dreamed them.  She had not tarried to meet them, fleeing as fast as she could.  Even so, they had almost caught her, and to escape, she had been forced south, driven through treacherous lands, hunted, until finally, one day, her hunters stopped.

For a long time, she wondered whether she had stumbled on something even her pursuers feared, assuming they felt fear.  But all had been quiet for the last week.  Nothing alive had stirred, and she had sang to break the monotony.

She would have avoided Verano, but she was out of supplies and could not go on much longer. She hardly filled her once-rich plate mail, and her pack was so light, she almost had no use for it.

She brushed back her ragged, dirty, pale hair and watched for signs of life.  Her face was tanned and beautiful, with the rich tones of the people of this land, and her eyebrows were sharp and severe.  She had a long, faded blue cloak that had come from Verano, but it was hard to tell. Slung over her back was the round, sunburst shield of her order.

At last satisfied that there was no immediate danger, she began to descend the hill.  She would try her luck with this new pyramid, be what may.

In Verano,
City of Cloaks,
Now I am lonely,
As lonely as the One.

(checking in :-) )

Sorry, friend.   You'll find that your ST is sometimes a slow and intermittent poster.   When I get the chance, which varies on time, I try to get posts in.  But don't always make it to each player's story at each sitting.
I'm afraid that you'll have to be patient.  Which you find me apologising for at times, cos I know it must be a pain in the ass for you all.

The trek south through Ancalia had been, in a word, brutal.   Harried and hunted as she was, without companion or council upon her path, Zenna had been driven to exhaustion on many occasions ... and the fatigue now sat in her bones like a sickness.

Dark beings had sought her, had cut off the safer path to the coast, trying to stop her at all costs ... forcing her to travel south, and inland, sometimes even skirting so close to Lom that she swore she could make out lights in that far distance.
For many nights, she had sensed them, heard them, dreamed them; and she'd fled as fast as she could.

Even so, they had almost caught her, until finally, one day, her hunters stopped.  It had happened as she'd crossed south through the canyons of the Gojeb river, a week ago.
Centuries of the rivers flow had worn away the land, until the river now ran though a grand canyon with walls a hundreds of feet.

But Zenna had sense ... evil ... flowing through that place.   It was sickly, dark, oily feeling on her skin, an washing against her soul.
As though the whole mighty gully was filled with unnatural energies ... and within that sick, spiritual river of energy that flowed about her, things moved.  Things out of sight, and unseen:  hungry, spiritual fish in a river of unholy energy.

Zenna had moved through it, though and emerged from the other side.
And the Dark beings that had sought her had not, she sensed, followed her into that place, or beyond.


And so it was, that as she stood upon this hillock, looking down at the the marvel of that sheer pyramid and statue, her body felt that it could barely carry her those few, proverbial, last steps.
Yet, Zenna was of the Glorificant order: with spirit to match.  And her spirit and determination carried her on.

It was night time.
The 'new' Verano that Zenna had come upon was a huge structure, as though risen from the very earth itself, rather than built by the hands of man.

And it was surrounded by a seamless wall much higher than Zenna would are to attempt climbing: though no sign of watch seemed present at he top of that wall.
There was a gate: a huge, solid wooden gate.

It was closed. Unmanned, it seemed, and also seemingly inpassable.
And if there was community within, at this time of the night, it was sleeping.

Zenna came to the heavy gate and ran her hand along its rough, wooden surface.  There should be watchers.  In this land, there must always be a watch.  No wall was enough.  Wood was not enough.  But she saw no watch, no one to hail or to open the gate.

She could force it.  The Fire inside her urged her past this barrier, to smash it with a thought, but a wisdom urged patience. She did not know if New Verano was safe or what waited inside.  The lack of sentries stayed her.  She had not survived this long by being hasty.

She drew away and found a place to start a meager campfire, determined to hold for daybreak. Bitterness clung to her throat.  She had thought at last she might find another living being after the weeks of solitude.

In the morning, whatever came, she would find a way inside.