A Prayer From a Forgotten Past

A fragment from a future chapter of "Where None Dare Venture"

[...] As the sun set completely under the horizon, the cold night kept creeping up closer to the adventurers. The hearty campfire cracked under the pitch black sky, shining like a beacon amidst the wilderness. Mikri looked at her companions from her corner of the camp as their friendly talk dimmed slowly into silence. Alh'igri stood in silence. His mask shone as flickers of fire danced on its white surface. She squinted her eyes at him, still trying to piece together the mystery that was this man - how he could see with that stone slab in front of his eyes, where did he come from, how did his face look... She shook her head, reminding herself of her situation. The party was getting closer to the Rift, guided by her knowledge of the areas and the perseverence of Alh'igri. He was very quiet about why he wanted to see the Rift, but she figured that would come to light when they'd reach the destination. She covered her face with her palms, sobbing silently. The Rift. The Rift. Of all the places on the Other Side of the World, it had to be the bloody Rift, the Architect-cursed Rift. The Scar of the Meridian. The most hellish living conditions on the entire realm, where the flow of mana could rip the flesh off your bones. Her pocket jingled as she gently moved, a reminder of the reward for all her troubles. "At least they are paying me well," she said to herself, not for the last time.

Mikri lowered her hands and glanced at the other man, catching him as he unraveled an odd-looking object, black, probably made out of obsidian. She thought she could distinguish a mouth with many teeth and some circles that might've been eyes. The man ("El'iaja was his name", she remembered) placed the idol between him and the fire and started praying. "Ulrajasahuiitarua," he murmured under his breath. "Griujaraahituaturaikajahu." He clasped his hands while bowing in front of the statue, getting mud on his large forehead. Mikri felt a shiver down her spine as she watched the strange prayer. "Do not be afraid, traveler Mikri," said Alh'igri. "Friend El'iaja always prays for our protection when we sleep under the stars. El'iaja is devoted to Fi'hadik, blessed be with easy prey and few hunters." He caught her questioning stare. "The Horn That Ushers the Wild Hunt?" he tried. Mikri looked more and more puzzled, with a small bit of concern in her eyes. "The one Mikri would know as the Huntress," he tried again. "For how much Mikri knows of the Old Tradition, one always has more to learn." The girl let go of her breath, not noticing she had held it for a couple of moments. "So... traveler El'iaja is praying for our safety," she continued. The masked man nodded silenly. Something in his posture hinted he felt a bit of relief.

"But what language is El'iaja speaking? I... It is not usual to hear such language." The man had a weird manner of speaking, resembling some dialect spoken in some corners of New Medeea, both the mannerisms and the country being vestiges of the great old empire. She had a hard time accomodating her speech patterns, even though she had done it for other dialects for years until that point (mostly because travelers would pay her better). "Would one take it that the travelers come from a faraway place?" "Yes," came the answer with a low, heavy tone. The large man had finished his prayer. Mikri jumped, startled. El'iaja let a small smile show on his face. "No need to worry. Yes, the place we call home is a place too far to be reached. Friend Alh'igri over here, he knows the language of this prayer. You could say it's the original language, the tongue that carries these words of praise the closest, may we live through the Wild Hunt in our darkest hour." He laughed to himself. "I can teach some of it, if you'd like. He can teach you too," he paused, "but I think it would be... easier to have me talk, not him." Alh'igri let out a chuckle underneath his mask. "Friend El'iaja has a mouth of honey and steel, traveler Mikri. May El'iaja coat his tongue in honey when the road stretches too long, and in steel when the time for sleep comes." The large man snickered. "If you want to say 'shut up, you fool,' think of a faster way of saying it, idiot!"

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If you want to learn more about these characters and their story, you should check out Where None Dare Venture: Chapter I, the beginning of their adventure!