westwhere | unkharil

unkharil | event

UNKHARIL

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Leaving the House of Manouk through waypoints, the party arrives back to the present time of Akhuras, in the jungle swathes of Unkharil. Those undergoing a canon update fleetingly detour into their home worlds. Old or new, you wake with a start, on high alert — body ablaze with static electricity. Some characters might struggle with vertigo, misted memories and dimmed powers for up to 48 hours, while their bodies readjust to no longer being lost in time.

You are in the care of a highly disciplined, if largely nomadic caravan — the refugees of most holy Alem, the kingdom built upon hell that succumbed to the undead. Karsa informs new recruits that the party assisted Alem’s king Deimar with evacuation efforts and with sealing the gates of hell, months prior. Their kingdom lost, Deimar has now taken his people to his mother’s ancestral grounds of Unkharil — a temple-fortress in a valley bordered by four tall mountains that serve as its protective walls.

Legend says the four mountains pillared the heavens, while snake god Kharil-asuk nested in the valley below to recover after birthing the world. So long was his sleep that cloud gods sent down the first bursts of lightning and thunder — frightening awake Kharil-asuk, who slithered into the jungle, never to be seen again. Since, sacred Unkharil has served as site of worship and coronations.

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King Deimar — whimsical, breezy, but cuttingly sharp — welcomes you in Unkharil, until the Merchant finalises your travel arrangements east. His people are weary, battle-worn and starved for kindness. Where applicable, some might optionally remember you under the false identity you wore in Arc V.

Seek out accommodations in the stone huts of the temple-fortress or the humble, often single-person cells that were dug bluntly into the mountain walls for hermit monks. Unkharil was deserted over the years as Kharil-asuk’s cult lost worship — but superstitious bandits have kept their looting away from temple grounds. You may still find furniture, pieces of clothing and worship, while refugees can spare clothes and food supplies.

TASKS

■ Assist with cleaning and reconstructing the destitute grounds of Unkharil, raising new stone columns and cleansing altars. Those with a connection to nature or the animals sense this is a quiet, revered territory.

■ Many survivors of Alem’s siege suffer from burns, cuts or trauma you can allay. The orphaned, widowed and wounded appreciate a kind word, company or help settling in.

■ Find a thin golden stream in the jungle, whose tepid waters may accelerate healing, improve your spirits or give you a day of staggering good luck. Bring back waters for recovering refugees.

■ Learn to use mountain scaling gear (rope-bound pairs encouraged) — or tame a 3-meter Kalioperus flier (useful for scouting and the Wailing below). Refugees and the few remaining temple monks may assist, but it’s learning by doing on the slippery mountain sides and with the thin-tempered fliers.

■ Largely warriors, Deimar’s people lost numerous troops defending Alem and now replenish their forces by teaching their youth weapons combat and light magic. Come dawns, join them in the courtyard to learn a skill or offer your own lessons. Alem instructors are strict, disciplined and martial — but fair. Characters who lack natural magic can learn to operate gem-triggered spheres that generate shields or a burst of fire/lightning. You may keep the gems after, but your character will need a few weeks of study to achieve mastery.

■ (Learn to) fish, hunt and forage to renew supplies. Beware flesh-eating fish in some jungle rivers. Ride an okapi?

■ Yet wary of traders, Deimar (grudgingly) invites merchants to revive their routes to Unkharil, with many caravans, errant scholars, priests, necromancers and sorcerers arriving to study his proposition. Some arrive all the way from magical jewel city Taravast — including an exuberant acolyte of old master Wrath! — and may offer exotic food and drink, or unique items. You may trade or earn coin by selling services or performances. Musical, art and thespian instruments can be found on the grounds.

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QUESTS

THE HEART(H) OF IT

”Rise and shine, lads! Heat of a jungle’s sun won’t be waning, no use waiting it out. The iron here’s rung cold too long. What little’s left of it. Shows the place was run by monks. They abandoned the smithy, once the fires guttered, and the mines, soon as the mouths collapsed only a little! Ha. Spoiled devils. Even left behind the ore already dug out. You go right in and fetch some iron… some copper, some silver… whatever yo find. We’ll get the blaze going. Time to forge. Don’t worry. We’ll make it worth your while.”

— Eitam, master forger

Deimar’s ironmongers revive the smithy of Unkharil but require precious ore and materials for manufacturing. Scale the steep mountain of Masida that walls in Unkharil to the east and infiltrate its abandoned mine to recover some previously discovered, but abandoned goods. Beware crumbling paths, rotten wood stairs and moulding ropes, as parts of the mines threaten collapse. Refugees supply golden fireworks that can shoot out to alert anyone within the mine you are in danger. Blacksmith rewards await.

PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

Visiting merchants are willing to resume trade, but have ongoing safety concerns.

■ Meet a first set of incoming grain-bearing caravans in the jungle and escort them on the last six-hour leg of their voyage to Unkharil. These are hefty and slow wagons, frequently targeted by bandits who dam their paths or pretend they are wounded, while their brothers attack from tree outposts.

■ Destroy the encampments of the vicious jungle-based Red Claws bandits. These outlaws typically attack in groups, share nightly meals and drink to strengthen their ties, providing excellent ambush opportunities. They cover their faces with a cinnabar or blood print of their leader’s palm.

■ Hold talks to appease the merchants Balthazar (easily impressed by shows and the arts) and Anathula (who wants a clear business pitch). Give diplomacy your best!

THE WAILING

”… they were so happy, so holy, then why do they shame themselves with tears now? You must be wondering. The truth does not honour us: first, Unkharil’s priesthood only accepted brothers from among those who survived snake’s poison. But the chosen were few, and the lands needed tending. Then, Unkharil accepted brothers from men of great skill, literacy and wisdom. But the learned were few, and the lands needed tending. Then, Unkharil accepted orphans, survivors of the jungle, men of the snake’s vision. But wanderers were few, and the lands needed tending. And soon, what recruits Kharil-asuk did not provide, in his mercy — his priesthood took… from the breasts of widows, from pillaged homes, from bandits. They kept even the most unwilling.”

— groundsmaster Kayik

Unkharil’s new residents soon find their beauty sleep disrupted by nightly wails, projected from several of the monk cells dug into Mount Nathadi, which walls in Unkharil from the south. These are the ghosts of former monks, whom you can appease by scaling the mountain and cleaning their cell, recovering their bones for burial (where applicable) or providing a minor service for the ghost (your choice of what the monk might desire: perhaps the recitation of a poem, an update on the weather outside, a good deed, etc.) Many of the monks were especially devoted to Kharil-asuk and to theories of reincarnation — for the lives of men are to the soul like a snake shedding its skin — and may impart you their wisdom.

WATER MY CROPS

Help Deimar’s people to revitalise local soil, seed gardens and crops, build dams and redirect jungle rivers. Water or lunar tide sorcery also work. Alem refugees were primarily warriors and will need you to illustrate the basics of gardening and land care.

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TO DAYS GONE BY

To welcome the start of their new lives, the refugees hold two nights of celebrations. During the day, you prepare tall bonfires or purify the lands with incense and sage-infused water, finding you are readily welcome in every home.

■ The first banquet night (OOCly on 25 August) pays homage to the lost: the survivors of Alem remember the siege and encourage you to speak of your own dead. Letters of penance, love or remembrance are written to the dead, read by the witness of your choosing and burned in bonfires. Heavy, syrupy and thick drink abounds.

■ The second banquet night (OOCly on 5 September) honours the living: everyone must show and express gratitude to someone alive, for any reason. Grit your teeth and offer thanks.

SERVANTS OF AFIRU (warning: snakes)

”There was no strength left in the bones of Kharil-asuk, after birthing the ground and the sky and the moon, and man and his mountains. And the first son of his likeness paid the price: brave white Afiru, small and feeble, but how proud he was! And the dozen men who caught him, not knowing his right divine, thought they did him a kindness to cull his pain young: to set him on a slate of stone and cut him in small parts, and eat of him for their dinner. Fools! Each bite of Afiru took root within them! Come morning, a dozen men woke in the image of Afiru: half snake, half human, beastly and cunning, their roiling bellies only quenched when they ate of their brothers. So, Afiru seeded his curse, and that same stone plate is now his altar: and just as he washed it with his life’s blood for men, so too must men now pay the price of bleeding.”

— old village tale

Within the jungle depths sleeps the minor, ruined temple of serpent god Afiru — malicious son of Kharil-asuk — whose mind-thralled servants abduct hapless innocents as sacrifices to the deity’s naga emissaries. Infiltrate the decayed temple to ruin Afiru’s altar — releasing his servants from their thrall and ending his worship. The naga priests are half beasts, half men, but deathly silent and possessed of fiercely sharp and venomous claws and fangs. If poisoned, your wounded limb swells, then numbs, then darkens as the toxin spreads through your body. You have 12 hours to get back to Unkharil, increasingly groggy and stiff, and drink a cure — or may pre-emptively carry a few doses, going in.

A HUNDRED MOUTHS (newcomers only)

Large stone gates carved into the northern mountain that walls in Unkharil hide an ancient granary whose wares could allay starvation… and interest visiting merchants. To open the doors, you must fit missing ruby beads back into the gate’s carvings. The gems, you learn, were picked out and dragged away by feral Kalioperus fliers — larger and more vicious than the ones you ride — and taken back to their nests at the very tip of Unkharil’s walling mountains. Report your ruby finds — rewards await.

ANOINTED (warning: snake)

”I saw him! With my mind clear, and my eyes shut, and my heart open. And he was beautiful! I ran in high grass, and my feet tore, and my dress ragged, and do not listen! I was not as the others are, greedy. I wanted nothing, nothing! He asked, ‘Daughter, what do you wish of me?’ And I said to him, ‘Only to see you.’ And he said, ‘So be it.’ And after mother Moon rose, and the good rain downed, and it was silence in this world he gave us, but for this breath, that was the murmur of the skies! No vastness greater than the drums of his heartbeat, and his sundered gaze: one eye, it was blood, and the other gold. And together, they saw me. He saw me. And he loved me! So he gave me the silk of his shed skin, to remember him by. In the morning, old women say, hunters found me in the jungle, stroking a piece of old, mouldy rope. But I know, it was him, it was the Father. And he saw me, as they do not see him”

— Laila, weaver

Deimar inherited his mother’s lands, but his uncles are likely to contest the claim of a pauper king with a feeble army. To legitimise his rule, Deimar wants the blessing of snake deity Kharil-asuk. The few remaining locals of Unkharil say the great serpent may be seen on stormy nights with lightning and thunder by those who wait at night in the jungle, after purifying themselves with meditation or partaking of ‘mind-cleansing’ asuk — a strong drug that triggers hallucinations and prophecy. The enormously large serpent body of Kharil-asuk — two-kilometres long, 100 meters wide — slithers before his chosen and must be chased into the depths of the jungles, no matter the animal and bandit dangers, before it disappears.

Inquisitive and untamed, but not necessarily malicious, Kharil-asuk often seeks to shrug off his pursuers, camouflaging in the landscape. He speaks as a voice in the heads of his pursuers, assessing them with questions about true worth and what entitles men to land, wisdom and nobility. He may attempt to drive those he deems unworthy for their past sins (betrayal, murder) in the path of mortal danger (cliffs, bandits, traps). Anyone can chase Kharil-asuk and speak with him. You can still sign up for a RNG to receive his blessing.

NOTES

■ Newcomers may be introduced to the large undead dragon, now bound to the party since Arc V. Formerly a tormentor of Alem, she keeps her distance and flies outside of Unkharil for now.

■ This downtime event lasts until 15 September and is followed by Arc VII. Pace yourselves and engage in as much or as little as you want, quests-wise!

QUESTIONS

NPC INBOX

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Relief eases the tense line of Anduin's shoulders, and not simply because the dragon seems familiar with what's happening.

Without thinking, he moves to help Wrathion ease the coat off of his shoulders. Whatever task they'd been given could wait, at least for a little while. It wouldn't do for Wrathion to push himself onto to wind up in a ravine somewhere out of sheer stubbornness, now would it?

"I could try to help. If you'd allow it." Tentative, because how often does Wrathion allow himself to be helped? Maybe this Wrathion is different, maybe not. But he all too clearly remembers how Wrathion refusing his help went the last time.

Not that he's still bitter, or anything.

Wrathion frowns, hesitant, because they are sat out in public. He doesn't enjoy looking weak. Then again, he is already, isn't he? Sat on a rock, struggling out of his coat.

He takes another deep breath, inclines his head a fraction in acceptance.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and begins trying to roll up his sleeves. Something else to focus on, and not Anduin's concerned blue eyes. Not the whisps of blond hair falling into his face, not the furrow of his brow as he tries to puzzle Wrathion out. To try and read his thoughts without actually doing so, draw meaning from the tics of his facial expression.

Wonder of wonders.

He tries not to look too surprised, though a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he nods in answer.

The headache, he can see to first.

Anduin's hands lift, hovering near Wrathion's temples, as his eyes fall shut. He calls upon that warmth, the healing glow woven of the same divine magic fused into his very bones. It's a comforting wash, like sinking into a warm bath, spreading outwards from his fingertips.

Wrathion shudders as the familiar warmth runs through him, fingers flexing tighter momentarily into his sleeves then loosening as he continues rolling them up.

"Last time," he murmurs, "when I was thrown back by the beacon it was not for very long. Longer there than here, as is the whim of time travel, but a short span all the same. It seems the difference is greater this go around, and my headache is increasing to match."

His shoulders begin to lower slowly, tension easing as Anduin's magic washes over him. Even this was something he missed, the gentle caress of the light. It had warded back many a nightmare for him before.

"Is it something that happens often? These temporal incidents."

Despite their past history with such things, he cannot help but feel sympathy for the dragon. All of this strangeness must be something he's well-acquainted with by now, but that doesn't seem to change how badly it affects him.

As the light fades from his fingertips, his hands lower. Blue eyes study him intensely for a moment, as if search for any other hurt or wound he might not be speaking on. Yet again, he finds himself draw to the dragon's eyes, now almost human.

...Anduin isn't sure yet what to do think of it all.

He takes a few slow, steadying breaths as the light fades. It leaves a lingering warmth, a sense of... contentment that makes it difficult to maintain an air of tense unease.

Wrathion finishes rolling up his sleeves, eyes still dropped down to his arms but flicking to watch Anduin in his peripheral vision.

"There's a risk, every time we find a beacon to return with. The time pocket itself was a new one, bigger than we've had to deal with before. Usually, our benefactor the Merchant takes us to a city which he believes to have a beacon. We agree to offer some help in return for access, or sometimes infiltrate with false identities and try to find it if we have no idea of the location. Once we do, we activate it and some return home. Some of us are spat back out having undergone a temporal adjustment. They all appear to be older devices, from some proceeding civilisation. Low on power, and with nobody left alive who knows how to fix or repower them. So we try, rescue who we can, then after some usage they begin to wane or malfunction and then we move on."

He pauses, both sleeves rolled up to his elbows, then lifts his eyes finally.

"I made sure to get you out once before. I will do again."

Is that the important thing to take away from all of this? Perhaps not.

But it's clearly important to Wrathion, in the moment. Anduin simply nods, before moving to sit alongside the dragon on the rock. Truth be told, he could use a little rest himself, though his own stubbornness would never have allowed him to admit to it.

"...what a mess this is," is all he can manage, something like wry amusement at the corner of his mouth.

Wrathion laughs at that, dark and humourless, and his head tilts forward -- hair slipping loose over his shoulders in a black curtain.

It's been so long since he's seen him. Months, plus years. He remembers the reports, Anduin with his hair chopped short. His agony.

He should have done something.

There's no use mentioning it, even. Anduin will remember none of this once the timelines are corrected. He'd be worrying about his own future for nothing. Should Wrathion even mention the rest? The years he's abruptly passed before being dragged back here?

To what end?

"I know I am not the person you'd wish here for company."

It's hard to tell where the bitterness in those words is aimed, really. Anduin sighs, looking down at his scarred hands for a moment.

"I used to dream of this, actually." Used to puts a comfortable enough distance there for the admission of it. Or so it feels. He's not sure if Wrathion has looked up, staring instead at the crease of his palms like he intends on reading it.

"Just the two of us, off on some adventure. As far from the walls of the keep as we could go, with no one to stop us. Someplace not so different from this, maybe..."

"But not for some time."

A statement, not a question. He knows this, knows it was his actions that led to this. It doesn't make it any easier, the knowing, but understanding is important regardless. Learn from the past, look to the future.

Somehow, it's harder than he expected to sit and listen to this. He thought he'd be able to compartmentalise more, but as with all things in life everything is simply more complicated when it comes to Anduin Wrynn.

Still, positivity. No need to dwell on it. It cannot be undone, he'll just simply have to -- handle it. Somehow. Press down on all of this and deal with it... later.

He sweeps his hair back out of his face, stands up and forces a smile that isn't at all genuine.

"Well," he says, "hopefully I'm still better company than Genn would be."

Ha ha, he's so very funny of course. Isn't this fun? It could be fun.

"Other things have been in the forefront of my mind, as of late." His fingers curl into his palm, gaze lifting at last. "But I still think on it, from time to time."

What could have been. It would never again be that simple, of course, but that didn't mean there wasn't some part of him that still mourned the loss. Anduin watches as Wrathion stands, attempts to make light, and it'd be so tempting to go right along with it.

How long will that be enough?

He doesn't stand just yet, jaw working as he considers his words carefully. "...I don't intend on putting you through this all over again. That wouldn't be fair to you."

But you are, he thinks. It doesn't matter what Anduin says, Wrathion is going to repeat himself regardless. He drops his eyes to his sleeves, adjusting them and trying to look at anything other than Anduin's blue eyes.

He doesn't really want to talk about this.

"Through what? A jungle tour? I think we've no choice in the matter, as it stands. Hardly the worst thing I've experienced here."

A bit of heat, some bandits, obscure snake gods? Not so far from an average day on Azeroth, really. They've both had far worse than this.

For a few moments, Anduin says nothing. The disappointment in his eyes says enough, but Wrathion isn't looking him in the eye, is he?

Fine. They'll just carry on like this, for however long they manage to. Something will give, eventually. Hopefully not as explosively as the last time.

"I suppose not," is all he offers, his tone quiet as he finally pulls himself to his feet. May as well get on with their task, if Wrathion wasn't going to rest and wasn't going to talk about the elekk in the room.

The silence is judgement enough. Wrathion looks up, expression guarded. Without the glow, the flick of his gaze is easier to follow -- the way it skims uneasily over Anduin. His brow furrows, tension radiating from his body.

"There's nothing to be done about it," he adds.

This is not an injury Anduin can heal, not a pain that can be soothed by the gentle touch of the Light. It is simply something Wrathion will have to cope with.

He's not the only one coping, though, is he?

Still, the dismissal should have been what he expected from the start. "I'm sure," he replies flatly, before lifting his brow and nodding onward. That was the direction they'd been heading before, yes?

Might as well get this over with.

Wrathion's expression twitches at the flat tone, as if bracing against a blow.

He doesn't like this. Doesn't like that somehow, he's already opening a divide between them. Doesn't like that it feels as if he's making a mess of things when he'd had some vain hope perhaps he could do better this time.

The frustration is almost intolerable. He tries to breathe through it, to stop himself from lashing out, then snags up his coat and begins to walk.

"What would you have me do?" he prompts, and it comes out a little tense but he's hoping he gets points for trying. Straight from denial to bargaining, he thinks, and resists the urge to laugh. He's still angry inside, so that one is checked off.

"Nothing."

Anduin, by contrast, doesn't look angry at all. Tense, tired, yes, but not angry. No, the anger he felt at Wrathion for so long has been bleeding away, seeping back into him like rainwater into soil to be dispersed.

What good does it do to stay angry at someone for something they've long since resolved?

It's clear enough that whatever his feelings are, he'll need to work through them alone. That's usually the case, isn't it? He'll manage, until he can't, and hopefully there will be somewhere with alcohol the next time it feels like he's going burst under the pressure.

Reaching up, he reties his ponytail in a vain hope of keeping his hair out of his face for the continued trek. "Which direction are we needing to head, now?"

Nothing?

It hadn't felt like nothing.

Wrathion hesitates, turning halfway towards Anduin, then frowns and begins a slow hike through the jungle.

"This way. We're meeting up with refugees from Alem. Their city was sieged by a vast undead army. We offered them help long enough to evacuate those who survived, so they should offer us some shelter."

Wrathion pauses, considering. How much should he say? It's a delicate balance. Nothing leaves Anduin at a disadvantage. Everything risks being overwhelming.

"Some may recognise you as a healer."

An awkward thing, but worth saying just in case. Easier for Anduin to know and expect it than to be caught off guard.

There's a soft hum, as he moves a low-hanging vine out of his way. "That's good. It'll make it easier to offer my services, to those who may need them."

Look on the bright side. There are people to be helped, something he can do with his own two hands, and that eases some of the tension that's been growing over the hike. Light, but all he wanted some days was the opportunity to do some real, meaningful good.

The end of the war had given some chances for that, of course, but always bundled with politics and resource management and a thousand other considerations a king had to bear in mind. This is much simpler, by comparison, even if other matters here are anything but.

"Alem itself was a fortress protecting a portal to a netherworld full of demons and so on. They were trying to hold it and prevent the undead breaching and unleashing unpleasantness. The siege had lasted the better part of a year when we arrived, and had all the usual siege issues. Low mood among the troops, infighting, supply issues, sickness."

He ducks under a branch, swatting aside some insects.

"Deimar is a fairly young ruler. There was strife between him and his brother over who should rule. Deimar is in his early twenties, his brother Haiva was older but sickly and... troubled."

A mild way of putting it. Haiva had seemed sympathetic at first, a sick young man, trying to help but betrayed by his body, concerned about the conflict. How things had changed once the mask had fallen away.

"Troubled?"

There's something in the way he says it that gives Anduin pause, brows lifting as he looks back towards Wrathion.

It's so hard not to stare...

"Beyond the troubles plaguing their kingdom, I take it," he continues, warily.

Wrathion hums agreement, climbing over a fallen branch.

"He gave all the appearance of a tragic, pitiable figure. A young prince, sick since birth, supposedly no desire for the throne. He helped evacuation convoys and healing efforts, visited the wounded often. The truth, it seemed, was different. He had a darker edge to his personality that all of that was hiding."

Obsessive, violent, manipulative, smart enough certainly to know all of that -- although likely entirely out of his mind too. Perhaps that makes him pitiable to some degree, but Wrathion ran out of pity.

"Bitterness will poison a person, over time. Though perhaps it was more than that." He only knows scraps, what pieces of information Wrathion can offer, but it still comes as little surprise. When people are denied what they believe to be rightfully theirs, the effects can be...monstrous.

His attention flickers back to the path, which appeared to be sloping downwards for a time, towards a small trickle of water that could barely be counted as a stream. "Watch your step," he murmurs, before attempting to dig his heels into the softer, looser soil and easing downward.

Funny, Anduin telling him to watch his step. As if Wrathion may be the one less steady on his feet, as if Anduin isn't prone to a bad knee. He feels his mind latch onto that concern, redirect from his storytelling to study Anduin as he eases himself down the slope.

"We'll need to get you better shoes," he says in answer, and eases down the slope -- keeping himself warily in step with Anduin before beginning to pick his way over the trickle of water. "But, I'm told there are at least places we can rest at our destination. They may not be up to your usual standard, but there should be stone huts. Hopefully cool and structurally sound."

Which is good enough, he thinks, for now. He has some bedding for them. As long as they have shelter in case of stormy weather, and some food, then they can last.

"It wouldn't be my first time roughing it," he replies dryly, waiting for Wrathion to descend and making sure the other was steady on his feet before climbing the other side of the bank. Erosion had clearly been at work here, tree roots poking through the loose soil, but there did appear to be a smoother, more dense patch of dirt where animals or people may have made a trail before now.

He climbs up, using a few of the rocks embedded there for more steady footing, before once again turning to wait on the dragon.

"And these boots aren't the worst. At least they're meant for traveling, if not mountain-climbing."

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