G A R E T H
At the sight of their promised shelter, the mare had perked up a bit. Gareth had realized a bit too late that her pelt was not as lush as his own. He had been born to these mountains, had been crafted by Caligo to withstand their temperature shifts, and to shake off the cutting winds with little more than annoyance. Pangaea had not. She was a warm creature, too much precious flesh exposed to the elements. It was only in the last half hour or so that the storm had begun to show it’s teeth, and he was beginning to worry about whether he would need to tend to some unexpected frostbite as well.
These fears were quelled somewhat as the woman smiled, extending her flight digits and allowing the storm to lift her from the earth. The stallion released a bellowing laugh, mangled by the winds passing through the valley. “That’s cheating!” he called out to her as he shifted into a canter down the slope to join her. The bowl of the earth provided some shelter from the winds above, and he was grateful to see that they curved across the front of the cave rather than blowing directly into it. That would make things much easier on them.
He shook the snow from his pelt, the crystals that stuck to his body slowly melting from the heat. He stamped his hooves several times to knock loose the clumps that had accumulated to his feathers with some amount of success. The sound echoed at the mouth of the cave, and while light did not penetrate very far, as their eyesight adjusted it would be clear that the tunnel ran far back into the mountainside, providing shelter as well as the ambient warmth of the earth.
“Fire,” Gareth said, moving inside the crude structure, searching for the torch he knew would be nestled next to the wall, kept hidden from the view of passing strangers. “Is like a form of old magic. The breath of a dragon, or the death of a phoenix. Some say that Tempus himself descended from the heavens and gifted it to the first equines, others credit Oriens, the deity of Delumine.“
He retrieved the torch, a stout branch wrapped in a kind of tarry gauze. From a small pouch next to it, he pulled two small objects, one a jagged piece of stone in muted gray tones, the other a curling rod of metal, perhaps iron. He held the items up for Pangaea to see clearly in the light of the cave entrance.
“The knowledge,” he continued, “of how to create fire is what really mattered, and it is that knowledge that was passed between generations of Novians.“ He struck the metal against the rock with a swift motion, several times. Spark skittered off the edge of the stone, pittering out unsuccessfully before his final stroke sent a strong ember bouncing to the torch. It took a few moments, but soon the gauze at the head of the branch began to glow, and then flames flickered to life, providing both a radiating heat and another source of light.
“The flint rock, when struck by other objects, creates a spark, and that spark is what summons the life of fire,” Gareth said, holding the flame carefully away so that neither of them singed fur or loose hair. “Fire needs to be fed, just like any living thing. It will consume most anything, though wood, oil, and candles made from special waxes, these are the things that seem best.”
Gareth pocketed the flint and iron bar to one side of his satchel and then passed the torch across the width of the cave, motioning for the mare to follow him. “The supplies I spoke of are further back, protected from the elements and the cold.” She would be able to see now that the cavern was rather large, and one could easily fit four or five brutish stallions end to end across the width of the tunnel, the darkness extending deep into the mountain.
The cave narrowed down to about half the size, and one might look at the craggy surface and think that it was a dead end. The light of the torch flickered and cast moving shadows across the walls. The stallion nodded to a particular stone slab, one that had a different shape. It was more rounded at the edge, as if deliberately smoothed by someone rather than anything caused by the passage of time. It was about twice as tall as the chocolate brute, and perhaps twice his width. “Follow me,” he said. The howling of the wind outside had lessened the further back they had walked, the sound now a dull murmur at the cave entrance.
The stallion then moved right up to the edge of the wall, his flank brushing against the cool stone, facing the strange slab. With the torchlight in front of him, at this angle, she would be able to see that there was a gap between the wall and the stone large enough for them to slip through one after the other. Gareth moved through the space with confidence, the hallway only perhaps ten feet long before making a harsh left turn. The tunnel opened into a massive cavern, the soft orange glow of the fire barely able to penetrate it’s depths.
The air, while not entirely fresh, did not reek of damp like one would expect. The stone was freezing to the touch, but it was dry. He heaved a sigh, forcing the air through his nares and taking a moment to collect himself before striding toward what seemed to be the center of the room. She would be able to see hints of boxes, shelves, bedding, and a large pit as he moved about, taking the torch and lighting a second, larger fire. He tended to this, feeding it logs that were bundled close to the crater in the earth. As the fire grew, he snuffed the torch, setting it aside to smolder out of the way. With the larger light souce, Pangaea would be able to clearly take in their surroundings.
The cavern was roughly one hundred meters from the center in any given direction, including up. There were crude pieces of furniture, either fashioned from trees or stone, though a few well worn baskets were scattered around. Most of these held vials, bowls, jars and various bags, though none of them seemed particularly full. Many of the shelves held the remnants of preserved food stores, nuts, fruits and plant material alike. A large cauldron was off to one side, with several smaller ones collected in the same area, a mortar and pestle tipped on its side. A large stack of wooden logs and twisted branches were pushed to one side, near to the fire pit, but not so close as to risk the flames jumping to consume them. The bedding was a singular pile of what looked to be dried hay, large leaves and several worn blankets, at least one animal pelt peeking out from between the layers.
Gareth turned back to Pangaea. “It’s not much, but it should be enough to hold us over while the storm passes.”
These fears were quelled somewhat as the woman smiled, extending her flight digits and allowing the storm to lift her from the earth. The stallion released a bellowing laugh, mangled by the winds passing through the valley. “That’s cheating!” he called out to her as he shifted into a canter down the slope to join her. The bowl of the earth provided some shelter from the winds above, and he was grateful to see that they curved across the front of the cave rather than blowing directly into it. That would make things much easier on them.
He shook the snow from his pelt, the crystals that stuck to his body slowly melting from the heat. He stamped his hooves several times to knock loose the clumps that had accumulated to his feathers with some amount of success. The sound echoed at the mouth of the cave, and while light did not penetrate very far, as their eyesight adjusted it would be clear that the tunnel ran far back into the mountainside, providing shelter as well as the ambient warmth of the earth.
“Fire,” Gareth said, moving inside the crude structure, searching for the torch he knew would be nestled next to the wall, kept hidden from the view of passing strangers. “Is like a form of old magic. The breath of a dragon, or the death of a phoenix. Some say that Tempus himself descended from the heavens and gifted it to the first equines, others credit Oriens, the deity of Delumine.“
He retrieved the torch, a stout branch wrapped in a kind of tarry gauze. From a small pouch next to it, he pulled two small objects, one a jagged piece of stone in muted gray tones, the other a curling rod of metal, perhaps iron. He held the items up for Pangaea to see clearly in the light of the cave entrance.
“The knowledge,” he continued, “of how to create fire is what really mattered, and it is that knowledge that was passed between generations of Novians.“ He struck the metal against the rock with a swift motion, several times. Spark skittered off the edge of the stone, pittering out unsuccessfully before his final stroke sent a strong ember bouncing to the torch. It took a few moments, but soon the gauze at the head of the branch began to glow, and then flames flickered to life, providing both a radiating heat and another source of light.
“The flint rock, when struck by other objects, creates a spark, and that spark is what summons the life of fire,” Gareth said, holding the flame carefully away so that neither of them singed fur or loose hair. “Fire needs to be fed, just like any living thing. It will consume most anything, though wood, oil, and candles made from special waxes, these are the things that seem best.”
Gareth pocketed the flint and iron bar to one side of his satchel and then passed the torch across the width of the cave, motioning for the mare to follow him. “The supplies I spoke of are further back, protected from the elements and the cold.” She would be able to see now that the cavern was rather large, and one could easily fit four or five brutish stallions end to end across the width of the tunnel, the darkness extending deep into the mountain.
The cave narrowed down to about half the size, and one might look at the craggy surface and think that it was a dead end. The light of the torch flickered and cast moving shadows across the walls. The stallion nodded to a particular stone slab, one that had a different shape. It was more rounded at the edge, as if deliberately smoothed by someone rather than anything caused by the passage of time. It was about twice as tall as the chocolate brute, and perhaps twice his width. “Follow me,” he said. The howling of the wind outside had lessened the further back they had walked, the sound now a dull murmur at the cave entrance.
The stallion then moved right up to the edge of the wall, his flank brushing against the cool stone, facing the strange slab. With the torchlight in front of him, at this angle, she would be able to see that there was a gap between the wall and the stone large enough for them to slip through one after the other. Gareth moved through the space with confidence, the hallway only perhaps ten feet long before making a harsh left turn. The tunnel opened into a massive cavern, the soft orange glow of the fire barely able to penetrate it’s depths.
The air, while not entirely fresh, did not reek of damp like one would expect. The stone was freezing to the touch, but it was dry. He heaved a sigh, forcing the air through his nares and taking a moment to collect himself before striding toward what seemed to be the center of the room. She would be able to see hints of boxes, shelves, bedding, and a large pit as he moved about, taking the torch and lighting a second, larger fire. He tended to this, feeding it logs that were bundled close to the crater in the earth. As the fire grew, he snuffed the torch, setting it aside to smolder out of the way. With the larger light souce, Pangaea would be able to clearly take in their surroundings.
The cavern was roughly one hundred meters from the center in any given direction, including up. There were crude pieces of furniture, either fashioned from trees or stone, though a few well worn baskets were scattered around. Most of these held vials, bowls, jars and various bags, though none of them seemed particularly full. Many of the shelves held the remnants of preserved food stores, nuts, fruits and plant material alike. A large cauldron was off to one side, with several smaller ones collected in the same area, a mortar and pestle tipped on its side. A large stack of wooden logs and twisted branches were pushed to one side, near to the fire pit, but not so close as to risk the flames jumping to consume them. The bedding was a singular pile of what looked to be dried hay, large leaves and several worn blankets, at least one animal pelt peeking out from between the layers.
Gareth turned back to Pangaea. “It’s not much, but it should be enough to hold us over while the storm passes.”
"Speech" || @Pangaea | I figure that should give you enough to work with to start the next thread <3
