Disappearances were not uncommon in Darkveil, however the news of a researcher looking into Mount Drakolt had made its round around the city. Considering the danger the active volcano presents to the denizens of Darkveil, Zarius’ father tasked him with seeing if he could track down the missing researcher in case they had any insights on the chances of an imminent eruption.

Zarius decided to set out on his own this time around. Eirynor was busy helping his sister with some other business; Snow wasn’t too great in the heat due to their thick pelt; and Talon was left in charge of guarding the Rookery in the tiefling’s absence.

He trudges up the side of the volcano as a soft snow of ash falls down from the plumes of smoke clouds hanging in the sky. He has a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face to try and keep from breathing in all the particulates saturating the air. It doesn’t take long for his clothes to be dusted with a layer of ash.

As he’s walking, something odd catches his eye: a pair of long pointed ears sticking up from behind a rock. He narrows his golden eyes. It was probably an Ashland Jackal. They were tricky little critters native to the Ash Lands. Alone they were not an issue, but if there was one lingering around they could call in more and become a nuisance to deal with. He quietly picks up a loose rock from the ground and pitches it at the pair of ears in hopes of spooking it off before it gets too bold.

There’s usually some level of comfort to be found in a heat like this.

The blistering, nigh-unbreathable torridity blossoming in the air, an intangible, smokey flower of ghostly flame, almost feels like an intensified version of the familiar daylit warmth of Zeinav– at least if he clings closely enough to nostalgia and delusion, to memories of sifting through grains of sand that stung hot even through his gloves as he searched for indications of components, for signs of where to look. Truly, this isn’t so different– where sand once dusted gold across his clothes, hair, and the sleek fur of his ears and tail, now pale ash gathers like phantasmal snow, and the bite of volcanic rock matches the burn of the afternoon sun over the desert. Really, the only difference is that materials are somehow not quite as sparse on the side of the volcano as they could be in the heart of the desert– a fact he cannot help but find surprising.

Kvasir hums quietly to himself as he kneels beside a rock, observing the wine-red, dry petals of a flower nestled away at its base, inky, shriveled leaves curling around it like a feeble shield. Pollen glistens around the pistil like tiny, natural embers– all the key characteristics of…

He pauses, for a moment, eye squeezing shut as he tries to form the name in his mind. Volcanic flower– not rare, but not especially common, resistant to flame and highly useful in the treatment of frostbite, but if you mix it with other components right then it can be used to combat certain degrees of burns– what was the name? What was it? His ears twitch with frustration as the words refuse to manifest, their simplicity buried somewhere in the sand in his mind–

Any anguish he feels over his musing, as well as his focus, is interrupted by a brief shock of pain and the sound of something whizzing past his ears.

Medical supplies can wait– Kvasir immediately adopts a defensive stance, peering over the edge of the rock he’d knelt beside to get a glance at his attacker, pausing at the sight of a golden-eyed tiefling standing a short distance away. He hardly seems poised for a fight– the stance he takes is casual, almost, as if he didn’t anticipate a fight of any kind, and he’s clearly dressed for this environment, his presence here purposeful. Kvasir blinks before training the irritation out of his expression, standing still to keep the rock between himself and the stranger– better safe than sorry, after all.

“I beg your pardon,” he says lowly, sure to keep any anger out of his tone, not wishing for things to get overly hostile right away. “Is there a particular reason you saw fit to throw a rock at me, friend?”

Zarius blinks in surprise as the jackal turns out to be a person.

“Oh, my apologies. I thought you were…someone else.”^[1]

He felt that answer would be the least insulting of an explanation for why he was throwing a rock at him. The be-furred individual probably would not appreciate being mistaken for an actual animal.

Getting a better look at the individual, he recognizes some of his attire as being from both Moonglade and Zeinav. A curious mix to be certain, and certainly a curious individual. He had met various kinds of folk in his years, but a fox-person was a first. The most noticeable feature aside from his ears and tail is the odd eyepiece that he wears over his eye.

The man hid behind the rock. He was cautious of the tiefling, which to be fair was reasonable since Zarius had just thrown a rock at him. Still, it was hard to tell if the fox-man was armed or not. 

Zarius holds his own hands up to show that he is unarmed. Not that anyone who knew him would be comforted by that. He didn't need weapons to pummel someone into the ground or break their bones after all. 

"Are you perhaps the researching the volcano?" He asks.

It would be quite fortuitous if he did just happen to be the missing individual. He doubted it as anyone could have found him easily given his appearance. The rumors surely would have mentioned if he was a fox-man as they are not particularly common as far as he knew. 

---

[1] Smooth Talking

Ah, so it’s a misunderstanding.

Kvasir pauses as the tiefling holds his hands up in a show of peace, indicating that he has no weaponry on hand– at least, none in sight. If this was somewhere closer to civilization, somewhere he could afford to adhere a bit more steadfastly to caution or paranoia, perhaps he’d let himself wonder more over all the additional places this stranger could be concealing additional weaponry, but… This was the side of a volcano, a long shot away from any potential allies, and while a bit of caution was healthy, it was best not to let himself fall too deep within a spiral of doubt.

“Ah, I… I see,” he says, unable to help but wonder who exactly this man mistook him for, and what exactly they’d done to warrant such hostility, but such questions could wait for another time. Some of the tension slowly melts out of his shoulders, his ear twitching as he brushes his fingertips against the side of it to test for any soreness– mercifully, the sting of the stone seems to have left little behind in the ways of a mark.

He hesitates for a moment, eyeing the distance between himself and this stranger before taking a few steps out from behind the shield of the stone.

“Researching the volcano itself? Not quite,” Kvasir hums, shaking his head. “See, I’m actually up here on other business– there’s some flora with valuable medicinal properties that grows up here, and I’ve just been gathering what I can while I’m up here. I’m a medic, and I was running a little low on supplies, so…”

Zarius resists clicking his tongue in mild annoyance. So this individual wasn’t the researcher he was looking for. That wasn’t a surprise but that meant he still had to scour the volcano for any clue of their whereabouts.

He lowers his hands and listens to the fox-man’s explanation of why he was in such a dangerous location. A thought crosses the tiefling’s mind. If the missing researcher was injured, it would be easier to have someone with some medical expertise around to help treat them. Zarius was capable of doing some basic first aid, but healing was beyond his skill set.

“I am looking for a researcher who has gone missing. They were looking into the volcano to see if it would erupt soon.” He explains to the man.

“There is a chance they got stuck somewhere or are injured and that is why they have not returned. Would you be willing to help me locate them?”

He didn’t see any problem with requesting this of the strange individual. It would also be a way to gain some more insights as to just who they were and if they were truthful in their claims. Also, it was just safer to travel in numbers to dissuade any wildlife from bothering them. The more watchful eyes around the volatile landscape, the better.

“Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Zarius. And you are?”

Ah, so that's why this man was up here on this volcano-- some sort of commission, it seemed. It made sense; as dangerous and volatile as this environment was, it was no wonder that even more experienced individuals could easily go missing up here-- this researcher just happened to be very, very fortunate that they had someone aware that they were gone. Someone who would know if they disappeared to begin with.

That aside, the offer is... intriguing, to say the least; although it might be a bit of a detour from Kvasir's plan to merely obtain his medical supplies and depart, what sort of doctor would he be to walk away from a situation where his expertise may come in handy? Besides, he's quite certain he could pick up plenty more resources along the way-- scraps of volcanic ferns, samples of enchanted ash, if he's lucky, and more of these... flowers. Luminescent pollen, soot-black leaves, petals licked by the edges of flame and still thrumming with life--

Lux Lilies. That's what they are. He'd owned a book as a child about botany in the Ash Lands-- a gift from his father, he thinks--, and he'd been so especially fascinated by the emberlike glow of the Lux Lilies, of their properties. That's it.

"Well, friend, if you think I'd be of service, I'd be happy to help," Kvasir says warmly, offering a smile-- it's a genuine one, the kind that comes with the joy of remembering something correctly, remembering one of his own memories correctly. "I'm never one to turn down a chance to lend my aid. I'd be a terrible doctor otherwise."

As the man introduces himself, Kvasir nods along-- Zarius. Za-ri-us. It's a nice name, easy to remember-- he just has to introduce himself in turn. He takes a deep breath, a silent mantra echoing in his head.

I am Kvasir Sigurros. I am a medic from the Moonglade. Mehr Mirzadeh was the love of my life. My father's name is Austri, and I am not a god.

"...My name is Kvasir. It's a pleasure to meet you, Zarius."

“Likewise.” Zarius nods and looks around at their bleak surroundings.

As far as he could tell, there was no sign of the researcher nearby, so they would have to keep looking further up the volcano. Things never could just be straightforward and simple could they? He hoped that at the very least his new traveling companion would be helpful rather than a hindrance in this venture.

“Keep a keen eye and ear out for any indication of where this fool wandered off to. With any luck he will be fine and just got lost.”

The tiefling adjusts the scarf around his face and leads the fox-man up the soot covered slope. It is a fairly steep climb as they make their way up to the rim of the volcano and both the heat and stench of sulfur and brimstone grow more intense the closer they get to the top.

“Do you often search for medicinal materials yourself? Surely you could buy some of your ingredients in town or pay someone else to collect them on your behalf. Seems quite risky for a doctor to be out in the wilderness without any assistants.” He doesn’t glance back at Kvasir as they travel, trusting the man to keep up as they scale the fiery mountain.

The volcano was hardly a kind place to work around, and it was certainly dangerous to wander around alone when at any moment a tremor could send rocks careening down the side or the earth could split and gush toxic fumes in one’s face.

As they get to the main vent of the volcano, its wide gaping opening exposes pools of bubbling lava to the air. The surfaces of the pools roil with rapidly cooling molten rock that breaks apart only to be reabsorbed into more red hot lava. Plumes of ash and gouts of fire spurt up from the pools as all the thermal energy of the world itself threatens to violently burst forth and consume everything in its vicinity.

A quick glance across the boiling expanse yields no obvious clues as to just where this missing researcher had disappeared to.

A keen ear– ha, well, that won’t be hard. Kvasir has to stifle a grin at that, one of those fluffy, perky ears atop his head twitching almost as if in equal amusement. One of the joys of those vulpine traits of his is just how sharp his hearing can be; of course, it’s… a blessing and a curse, as it makes traversing through populated cities at their busiest hours a bit of an overwhelming ordeal, but it certainly makes maintaining awareness of his surroundings a bit easier. Every gift has its downsides, he supposes.

He follows behind Zarius, quick to pull one of the loose scarves draped over his shoulders up and wrap it around the lower half of his face, parroting the tiefling’s gesture, knowing that the volcanic fumes wouldn’t be kind to his already too-honed senses. Keen ears came with a keen nose– and a keen everything else, wretchedly–, and when one sense winds up overloaded, it doesn’t take long for the rest of his body to practically crash in response.

The thought makes him grimace beneath the fabric of the gold thread-embroidered scarf. Ugh.

“Well, yes, I do,” Kvasir starts, nodding along as if Zarius can see him. “And… yes, I could. I… tend to prefer fresh foraging, though. Materials tend to be more potent that way, and I can examine them myself if I’m surveying them personally, rather than glancing through a limited set of pre-set samples. It’s just how I was raised, I suppose.”

He pauses as they approach the main vent, his tail flicking around just a bit nervously as embers and steam burst to life around them. The last thing he wants is singed fur, after all– that seldom ever goes well… Regardless, that’s at the back of his mind as he glances around the vent, searching for any little sign of life, any sign of a trace, humming contemplatively as he carefully maneuvers around.

“Zarius, what can you tell me about this individual? A nationality, a race…? Any trace to go off of would be ideal– even something small could be a clue if I have an indicator to work off of.”

The tiefling listens to the fox-man as they traverse. Kvasir seemed like a self-starter, if perhaps not very trusting in the competence of others. Not that he could criticize much, he too sometimes prefers to do things himself rather than relying on others.

As they stand along the rim, the tiefling turns to Kvasir as he asks for clarification.

“Human, I believe. Mid forties of average height. Wears glasses and likely in protective clothing given the environment.”

It wasn’t much to go off of, but really, how many people would willingly be out here amongst the flames and toxic gasses. Only the craziest folk would be out here by choice. Present company included.

Zarius spots a pathway they could take down deeper into the mouth of the volcano. He starts heading down that way while remaining alert to any changes in the environment as well as any cries for help. 

“It is important we find this researcher and get out of here quickly. The longer we stay the more chance something bad will happen. With any luck, they will not require any assistance in leaving.”

It went without saying, but somehow voicing it made it seem more real. The volcano was active. At any moment it could burst or trigger an earthquake. They could easily find themselves in a landslide or boiled alive by the rising lava. Even if they avoided being crushed or melted, the air quality was saturated with ash. Prolonged exposure to these conditions would result in long term physical damage to the lungs.

Kvasir was probably acutely knowledgeable on all that. So his presence offers some comfort in the fact he likely had a few things up his sleeves to help combat any afflictions. 

"Are you originally from Zeinav? I could not help but notice your dress has elements of both Zeinavian influence and that of Moonglade."

Another light, contemplative hum slips from Kvasir’s lips at the answer Zarius gives, his ears twitching as he ponders the given description. Goodness, how absolutely generic– your typical approaching-middle-aged researcher, likely chasing after the last few more thrilling ventures he could while his body still allowed it. At least, he assumed as much– were the mid-forties considered the prime of one’s life, still? He remembers it being as such, back then, the best guardians in the valleys of the sands always falling into that age range, seldom further beyond–

Nope. No, wrong, no.

Wrong memories.

“Good to know,” Kvasir says simply, cutting off his own train of thought, crushing fragments of the memories that are Not His like glass beneath phantasmal heels. “Well, then, I suppose some key clues to search for are scraps of fabric– shattered glass, if the poor soul’s unlucky enough. Glasses aren’t cheap, but I suppose broken glasses are better than a broken body.”

He merely nods along as Zarius speaks, explaining the dangers of the area– well, naturally, they’d want to get out sooner rather than later. He says a silent prayer to no one in particular that this stranger they’re seeking out is alright, that they can get him off this mountain without any delay or medical treatment being needed, that the most difficulty the man undergoes is an earful about exploring somewhere this dangerous alone, and that everything will be alright.

And then Zarius asks him about where he’s from, and for a moment, Kvasir doesn’t think.

“Yes–” he starts before pausing, blinking, gold flickering in the depths of green as he stops to weigh the word. “...No. I mean. I… lived in Zeinav for nearly six years. I was born in the Moonglade, but I… considered Zeinav to be my home. It’s all in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.”

He delivers a hollow laugh before speeding ahead, just a bit, kneeling down on the mottled earth to examine the ash-dappled ground– and then he pauses again. There’s something half-veiled by the fine powder– a thick scrap of fabric, torn around the edges, seams unfurled rather aggressively as if ravaged apart. How… strange.

“...Zarius, lo and behold, friend, there seems to be a stray bit of fabric here. Looks like it’s been torn off, too.”

"Agreed." Zarius replies simply.

Kvasir had a logical mind it seemed, quickly determining what clues they should keep an eye out for. It was refreshing to travel with someone who was logical as well as quick thinking. There was something reliable about the foxfolk that reminded him of the mild mannered tabaxi under the tiefling's employ. He muses at the thought that they would likely get along well.  

The tiefling glances back over his shoulder at the strange fox-man. He had spoken so confidently up until this point yet here he stumbled and hesitated. 

"Strange, most I know would pick the temperate climate of Moonglade over the unrelenting heat of Zeinav. What brought you to Zeinav all those years ago?"

It was clear that Kvasir was uncomfortable with the topic as he passes the tiefling and distracts himself with the layer of ash coating the ground. That kind of behavior would be enough of a clue to make most folk drop the topic, but Zarius only saw an indicator of something hidden which could be uncovered with enough...encouragement.

That may have to wait though as it seems that he had actually found something of note. The man was a doctor. If he was any good at his job then of course he would be observant and able to pick out the tiniest of details.

The tiefling crouches down next to Kvasir and picks up the piece of fabric off the ground. He feels the edges of the material between his fingers, taking note of the fraying as well as some distinct puncture marks. 

"Teeth marks, this was bitten off by something." He compares the size of the holes to his own pointed canines. "Nothing huge thankfully."

Zarius stands up and looks back out over the lava pools. That's when there's a cry over the rumble of the roiling molten rock, though the thick plumes of smoke obscure the exact location of the noise's origin.  

"Help! Someone! Anyone!"

"Ah. He is alive then." The tiefling states simply. 

It feels strange-- mayhaps even a bit cruel, Kvasir thinks bitterly-- to feel thankful for a sign like this to show up at the time it did, but warped feelings are feelings, even if they deserve to stay well-buried.

It's a distraction, a deterrent: the perfect excuse to not have to answer Zarius's well-meaning question. It isn't even as if he's done anything wrong. Curiosity is natural, talking about things like where you're from and the places you've been is natural, it's all a part of learning things about someone new; an exchange of pleasantries, of tiny fragments of information to piece together mental mosaics of one another. And really, Kvasir isn't even sure why the question makes his pulse stutter, his heart leaping into his throat and nesting there-- if it's the shame of an old god bleeding out into his synapses, or his own gentle guilt for all he's left behind, or some cruel, coalescent puddle of both. Heartache for faded parchment and sun-sipped ink and amber eyes, for the warmth of midnight fireside, the cold of an archivist's tomb.

Whatever it is, whoever's feelings they are, they don't matter-- the sand can take them, cling to them, bury them, so the ash can keep Kvasir now, in this moment, with this half-stranger and this mission that they're on.

"Teeth marks... so a smaller creature, but almost definitely a mammal of some kind," he muses beneath his breath, glancing over the indentations Zarius points out. At least, he assumes so-- there's the off chance it could be a dragon, but the jaw formation doesn't quite seem the same... They seem like the teeth marks of a dog, almost, but not a dog-dog, some kind of wild dog, for certain--

His mumbled, unintelligible theorizing is immediately cut off by a desperate, half-distant cry, and Kvasir's ears immediately perk up in response.

"...ah. Yes, that... certainly sounds like it," he says, nodding to himself as he rises to his feet. Without thinking twice about it, he reaches back and draws his bow, nocking an arrow in preparation as he starts to follow the source of the voice, already mentally readying himself for potential combat. "I suppose we should go to our scholar's rescue, then?"

The tiefling nods, but does not draw any weapons himself. He remains unarmed just as he had shown the foxfolk earlier. Taking note of Kvasir’s choice of weapon, he starts to prepare a strategy in his mind. The healer was ranged, which was ideal. It would be detrimental to the mission to have him in melee where he could get injured as well. Keeping Kvasir back and providing support from a safe distance suited Zarius just fine.

“Cover me and stay well back.”

Racing down the pathway along the edge of the volcano’s rim, the two manage to pinpoint where the yelps for help are coming from. Pushed back into a corner, the human researcher is trapped up on a small ridge with a small number of coyote-like canines yipping and nipping at his shoes and pant legs which are just barely out of their reach. The researcher is clutching at his one leg which is torn and soaked in blood from some sort of injury.

The terrified man looks past the snapping fangs of the jackals as the two appear out of a cloud of smoke.

“H-help! Please!” He calls out. "My leg! I can't walk!"

Two of the jackals’ hear the approaching footsteps along the ground and turn to face the new adversaries. They draw their lips back across their sharp needle-like fangs and their hair bristles along their haunches.

Zarius glances to the side and sees another ridge Kvasir could get up on and he points it out to the foxfolk. “They should not be able to follow you up there. See if you can find a way over to the researcher while I distract the pack.”

"Right. Be careful-- stay safe."

As soon as Zarius throws down the order, Kvasir nods in acquiescence-- that's fine by him. It isn't as if he's incapable of succeeding in combat, but strategy in the heat of the moment is not his strong suit; he thrives better from a distance, behind the safety of a bow, delivering a flurry of arrows and offering support to an ally rather than bothering with close-quarters combat. He's hardly delicate, but he has the reflexes of an archer and little more. A sword feels strange in his hand, as does a lance, a pole or hilt unwieldy against a forager's slender fingers.

(It's a rare joy, that-- the archivist god whose memories bleed into his had favored a spear, from what he's read, but the one thing Kasra cannot overwrite is his muscle memory.)

So he's quick to start toward the ridge, ears flattened back against his skull as he moves, hoping to scramble into place before the jackals can make their move. The last thing he wants to do is disappoint Zarius, to allow him to get hurt on his watch-- the faster he gets into a good position, one where he has solid vision of the area and can fire off arrows with ease as needed, the better. It doesn't take long, thankfully, and he takes but a second to scan the area-- there's a decent path over to the researcher from here, one marred by patches of red-hot earth, but he can doubtlessly manage.

It's just a matter of getting over there without the jackals directing their interest toward him, as well as laying a hand on the researcher-- hopefully his wounds don't run too deep.

Kvasir keeps his bow prepared as he starts slowly moving along his mentally-planned path, gaze slowly drifting back and forth between Zarius, the jackals, and the researcher, knowing to keep all three within his sight: to lose track of one is to unravel all pieces of the equation completely, and then all he'd be left with is fragments.

The tiefling watches Kvasir make his way up the slope of the volcano's rim out of the corner of his eye. The healer was staying low and keeping from attracting too much attention, which was ideal. So long as the tiefling could keep the pack's focus on him, he could potentially chase them off and give the healer and the researcher some breathing room. 

The pack has about half a dozen members currently snarling and leaping at the researcher's precarious perch. The appearance of more, easier to reach prey however quickly caught their attention. Usually these creatures were a cowardly lot, however their boldness only increase with their numbers. Six against one was odds that favored the small canines especially when the one did not tower over the landscape. 

Zarius is not deterred and approaches the pack of Ashland Jackals with intent. The pack turns on him and exchange yips of excitement and hungry snarls before racing at him as a unit. The larger of the pack lead the charge while some of the smaller ones fan out to flank and surround their new target.

Once they get within a few paces of the tiefling, however, he slams his foot down on the ground.^[1] The jackals suddenly skid to a stop and cower with their tails tucked between their legs as an unnerving energy radiates from the tiefling, shaking the confidence of the pack and warning them that this prey would not go down so easily.

He continues to walk forward as the pack backs away from him in fear. They snarl and whine, refusing to turn their backs on him. Circling around, he manages to subtly herd the pack away from Kvasir and the researcher. When one jackal tries to dodge to the side he is quick to step that way and force it to retreat back to the safety of its numbers. With any luck, he could drive them away before their instincts change back from flight to fight. 

---

[1] Looming Fear (1/2)