I. Prelude: The Landing

This series follows directly on from Fallen Down of Nectar Glen. As such it contains events and names explained within that narrative. Please do have a read of it first, if you have the time. Thank you.

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The Cleansing of Zykyrn Pilkarrz

"Back Cover"
Following the faint trail of the Aevyormii, Y'kàndrà sets his face to the fortress in the very South-East of the Known Lands, called Zykyrn Pilkarrz. His mission was to create a base to fulfil the need for moral mages and as watch-folk over the newly-established Realm of Qal'ath.
Zykyrn Pilkarrz, poisoned by an acidic river and shrouded in permanent cloud, is home to forces of darkness bent on an eventual conquest of Savàni. Y'kàndrà steels himself to begin the long and torturous cleansing of the fortress.
But he is alone, with his magecraft and a momento from the leader of the Aevyormii as his only possessions. And the evils within the fortress are numerous and foreboding, and the lands he now finds himself in have more than their fair share of trials.
In dire need of contacts and knowledge, he sets out, one unsure step after another, not knowing if the next one will be his last.

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Prelude: The Landing

Somewhere Above the Bruhàn Bernaii Woods

28 Fyrva, 4 Ur, 350BFD

As he was swept along the faint trail high above the ground, Y'kàndrà felt like he was going to vomit.
This is why only beings with wings should fly, he thought, as even the stars above appeared blurry, but there was no choice if I wanted to reach my destination quickly.
Although 'flying' was really the wrong term, it was the closest description of him carried by Element Air, tethered to a path created by another being with Aevyen attunement. In one hand he held his brand, and in the other, he still clutched the blue-tinged feather bestowed on him by that other being - She of the Few, the Aevyormi Queen.
Or 'Naun' as she wanted to be called, he remembered, has it really been less than a day since She nearly died?
Apart from the clothes he wore, his brand and Her feather were the only possessions he carried, a result of necessity rather than forward planning. Naun's trail was becoming fainter, he noticed as he passed over the Shànver Woods towards the Bruhaii Aunàn, home of the Ravens. Once he floated beyond the mountains near the Oasis of Tarran, it began to rain, and each drop felt like an icicle blast to his face.
You can never plan for the weather, he despaired, grateful that the Wind at least was preventing him from being drenched, though the cold tore through his thin robes with ease.
With Naun's trail rapidly vanishing, Y'kàndrà knew he would have to take action soon. At least its disappearance held something positive for both him and the Aevyormii.
We are both nearly at our relative destinations, he thought with relief.
He brought to mind the landing incantation he required, while his head pounded from an Ur or two of the Wind whistling around his ears. The spell wasn't complicated, but remaining focused would be essential to not injuring himself in the process.
"There's Béjaiber'ghas," he mumbled, referring to the sprawling multicultural city that stood against Zykyrn Pilkarrz, "they only stand against it in terms of geography," he complained, "they refuse to see the reality behind those walls."
Shaking his head to attempt to forget that unwelcome distraction, he readied himself for the descent. As Her trail had almost dissipated, his altitude had already dropped considerably, which altered the distances he had to correctly judge. Espying a pocket of land between Béjaiber'ghas and Rockfall Cliffs, he stretched out his brand.
"Y-Erdàjai!"¹
As he began to plummet, keeping his eyes open proved a strain.
Just a few moments more to find a focus, he willed himself.
Spotting a lone tree, of which kind he could not make out, he closed his eyes and concentrated on its location.
"Y-Bernàn-erd, Aeyv-ajai!"²
Okay, that was harder to pronounce, but who in their right mind commands the Wind to work against them? he thought with a chuckle.
"I guess I'm not in my right mind. I shouldn't be surprised after the last few days."
At that command, it did so, slowing him and drawing him to the tree in question. Once he felt he could open his eyes once more, he quickly stowed his brand inside his robe and reached out to an oncoming branch, hoping that this Winter-flowering tree had sheltered itself from the rain. Y'kàndrà grasped it with what strength he had left, and promptly hit his head on a much larger branch above, wrenching his shoulder as his descent abruptly ended. Crying out in pain, he cursed the necessity of focus at the expense of everything else, and allowed himself to fall into a sitting position within the tree's foliage.
"Ugh, never again!" he vowed, massaging his now grazed forehead, grateful that he had never worn focus jewellery, "if I hadn't distracted myself at the last minute that would have been smoother."
It was then he realised how much his right hand was hurting, a consequence of grasping Naun's feather as though his life depended on it. Slowly allowing it to relax, he was relieved to see the plume had taken no damage through his flight or landing. He reached into his robe, retrieved his brand and secured the precious memento between its stone and stem.
"Well, here I am," he sighed, "and all I need is sleep."
The pattering of rain on the leaves above him was calming, but reminded him of how thirsty he was. Reaching up to one of the inward-curling leaves, he opened his mouth and allowed the wind-chilled rainwater to refresh and rejuvenate him, though it did nothing to relieve his fatigue.
"All I've been doing for the last two days is casting spells and shedding tears," he murmured, "if I were still teaching in the Academy I would be telling my Acolytes about the need to rest after spell-casting."
He cast a glance towards the imposing, black stone walls of Zykyrn Pilkarrz to the North and the welcoming gates of Béjaiber'ghas to the West. Bringing to mind the rough map of the Known Lands they had at the Academy, he remembered that Shevezz City was also not too many Urs walk away either.
"But I am not ready to use mental energy to interact with other people yet," he mused as he fixed his brand to his rope belt, as opposed to hiding it away, "I must, at least, be ready should anything happen."
Gingerly standing on his branch, he reached up to the one that had moments earlier been the source of his woes and dragged his heavy body onto it. It was about as thick as he was wide.
"Let's hope I don't roll around in my sleep," he thought wearily, realising he no longer cared.
Laying his head on a smoother piece of bark, he closed his eyes and soon drifted off. He had much work to do, but that could only start once he was ready.
And that would not be for some time yet.

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Footnotes

1. Y-Erdàjai!: "ground (over) there, to me" - commanding a particular part of the ground to draw him to itself.
2. Y-Bernàn-erd, Aeyv-ajai: "good ground to here, wind - to me": essentially commanding himself to hit the ground "well" and the wind to blow at him (to slow his descent).

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Y'kàndrà Nùor | Grànath Rensédaii | Fallen Down of Nectar Glen | Queendom of Shevezz