Revisiting Below 1/3 - Varrick/Zanril PTs

The yawning caverns of the depths were a fantastic view for any tourist looking for some shock and awe, but it was an everyday road to the Haedians. Varrick had gone through the caverns dozens of times, from his youth to the present, although this time he had company. His daughter. Dressed in her own shawl and supply bags, the red-green Haedian glided after her father through the open path. The below was relatively unknown to her, with her life being spent topside for the most part, but now it was time to connect with some old roots- at least according to Varrick. His supplies for his merchandise came from the Beneath, and Zanril could now see exactly where, while completing her trials into adulthood in the same fell swoop. Big as her father, she made an imposing character to the odd person stumbling into her. Some questions of the true destination of their trip were exchanged amongst the travel, though Varrick would mostly vague his answers to something broad like “Further than before” and the like.

Effortlessly clinging to stalagmites and closing large gaps in the path, Varrick led the young Haedian deeper in the Beneath. His jewelry jingled as he landed on some rocks, his long talons clinging to the jagged surface. Looking back, his eyes squinted in a smile.
“We’re not here for supplies this time. You know the hills and roads well enough up there. Time you see something new, hm?” Facing the way forward, he leapt off into air again. The air smelled so different here. So fresh, a bit humid near the falls, and heavy with earthy tones. Not as aromatic as the merchant streets or musky as the undercity bazaar, but it’ll do for a change.

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Zanril had only known the above, and some of the Beneath. She, unlike her father, hadn’t grown up in the realm of her birth. The main path was the extent of her knowledge and experience in this area, so as they continued further and further below she grew increasingly confused. Mildly frustrated, too. Varrick could be infuriatingly vague when he wanted to be, often times speaking in riddles if he chose to speak at all. Despite the sheer lack of any true explanation, Zanril was growing more curious by the second.

Keeping up with her father was a new challenge, the younger haedian being no push over but having never glided to this extent before. Had never clung to stone and stalagmites between bouts of gliding over ravines. As such, she was a bit winded and feeling a decent bit of burn in her muscles. Even her shawls and merchant bags felt like unnecessary, extra weight.

“Must you always be so vague?” Zanril huffed as she landed against the stone, claws dragging before catching and holding her weight successfully. “If you will not tell me where we are going, can you at least tell me why? You’ve never wanted to visit down this far before, not unless it was to get some form of goods to sell.”

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The crape of Zanril's claw on stone curled Varrick's lip into an amused smirk. She was out of her element here, even if she'd spent much time underground on the surface. It was starkly different to wander in tunnels, as opposed to the caverns here. Looking back at his daughter, he watched as she took another leap to glide to his level. There was a wobble in her wings and her arms outstretched to make her landing, but she took better to the skill each time. 

He huffed a chuckle at her frustration, though something visibly seemed to linger in his mind each time she pried. A beat of silence passed, as the two walked along the rocky path that hugged the ravine wall. "When I took you in all those years ago, I brushed off the thought of delving to your roots in the Beneath. I hold no sentimental attachment to this place, and so I never put that longing for connection upon you." He explained, while taking another leap to glide to the end of the open cavern. His landings were soft and calculated compared to his daughter. 

"Your lack of curiosity, I feel, is on me," His elevated tone lowered again as he watched Zanril land nearby. "Now that you're grown, it's time I show you where we're from- properly. The life down here and what it has to offer differs greatly from the surface. The least I can do is educate you on it. And whether the Beneath is something you wish to go and explore further is up to you." 

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The wide caverns and bottomless crevices gave way to more closed pathways, with glowing crystals dotting the ceilings, and waterfalls pouring into illuminated pools. A small bit of plantlife seeped from the rocky crevices, but it was no garden by any means. This part was more or less familiar to Zanril from prior visits. 

Zanril landed heavily near her father, another huff of sorts escaping her from the effort. So far in her life, her wings had mainly been used as a sort of intimidation. To make herself look bigger, or to even conceal things from view. Maybe as a whelp she used them more, but the moment she could no longer effectively use her father as a personal launch pad was likely the moment she stopped gliding frequently.

“My life hasn’t been lacking at all,” Zanril mused in response, shaking herself out and filling the air with the sound of all of her belongings jostling around momentarily. “I doubt I will want to abandon what I’ve known just to dive down and live here instead. Especially if this is the main way to get around.”

She quite enjoyed walking around on solid ground, thank you. As pretty as it was down here, there was nothing… sticking out to her. What could possibly be better than the sound of a bustling bazaar and the heavy, spiced scents of various incense over the general smell of different people from all walks of life? It was its own lullaby, really. Down here seemed too… pretty. Too quiet and nice.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have more knowledge under my belt for future trades. That could certainly gain us some more coin, if it’s spun right.”

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Zanril’s attitude of the Beneath and trader mentality made Varrick laugh out. She was his daughter alright. 

After a while, the two began crossing paths with some kin, as they neared the edge of clan territory with the Forgotten.The hoodlums and miscreants didn’t get much attention from the two as they continued ahead. This was Varrick’s usual haunt for getting niche goods after all. Dark tunnels became jagged rock and tattered banners as the Brutes’ game arenas passed them by and the scuffle hardened Haedians eyed them for a challenge. Paints decorated the rocks, marking game areas, signs, finish lines, or just adding color to the grey terrain. Each Haedian was competitive and confrontational, with pride swelling their chests with each won battle. A closer community to that of the Forgotten, and busier. 

“Perhaps you might have found company here when you were young. Scrapping with other younglings, feeding them dirt in their games.” Varrick smirked as they scaled the raised pathways above an ongoing scrabble. Two Haedians remained in the game, both looking fairly young, or small, Varrick didn’t care to differentiate to make his point. Gold pebbles were scattered around the small area, with some piles left behind from past contestants. They were toppling over each other over whatever the game they were playing demanded, and the Haedians around the open arena were cheering and watching with their eyes round with excitement.

“A fun-loving bunch,” Varrick added, eyes scanning the many rugged Haedians. “Is one way to describe them, certainly.” 

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Zanril barely took note of the first clan they passed through, if she were honest. The pranks and whatnot were okay, but it wasn’t anything captivating. However, the Brutes? The energy in the air, the sheer excitement and anticipation from contestants and the crowd alike all but making her buzz in place. They were much more distinct than the prior clan. Louder, more vibrant and intense. The intense stares from the other haedians watching them, sizing them up as potential opponents had her itching to tussle. For no other reason than to just scrap for the sake of scrapping.

“What purpose does the gold serve?” Zanril asked once she scrambled up next to her father, eyes shining with curiosity. Her claws were itching to swipe up the nuggets just laying around, to pocket them and add to their hoard of sorts. “It is laying around all over the ground. Surely, they would not notice some going missing.”

Zanril kept her hands to herself, though. Didn’t move to try to swipe the gold at all, despite the itch to do so. She simply watched the contestants with rapt attention, enjoying the way the crowd’s cheers would crescendo at times. The audience barely containing their own energy, it seemed.

“They are quite different from the other clan we passed through… do they all possess such variance?”

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Varrick caught the almost compulsive urge to snag away some of the gold nuggets thrown outside the arena and smiled to himself. Years ago, he'd done the same, more or less successfully, depending on the time. Zanril often reminds him of himself, more than he'd expected her to. 

"Careful Zarod doesn't catch you eyeing her loot," he leaned to her and nudged her attention up on a jagged peak of rocks, where a black and crimson Haedian laid with a fixed gaze on the ongoing game. She was like a lioness on her throne, with some Haedians surrounding her seat. 

"The Brutes are a warrior clan, prideful of their strength and ability to work harder than other clans. Loyal to one another, though not so much to other clans at times. Their games, their prizes, their community, are very precious to them." The arenas gave way to more standard living space, with bulky structures, sound and sturdy. "Perhaps you should come around when they hold their Feast of Fierce Valor. You might enjoy the event and learn more about the clan’s ideals and customs."

"Many disputes are resolved through challenges, just as they elect new leaders through competitions and shows of strength. Where other clans may find such customs vulgar and ugly, the Brutes take being hardy and stubborn a fair quality." Varrick held some respect to the clan, with their unbotheredness with some overly complicated matters. They were... simpler. He liked that quality. 

The deeper the two went in the clan territory, the more Zanril could see the sheer wonder of the clan’s industrialism. The tall caverns were built to access the hub from every which direction by the looks of it, and Varrick went on about the clan’s unparalleled hard workers. Etchings and carvings covered all stone walls and columns, depicting warriors and their battles in elaborate stone tapestries. Hard working builders, strong figures, and proud victors. The blood of warriors runs deep in the Brutes clan and they aren’t ashamed to plaster it on every surface and custom in their lives.
Their homes were built strong and sturdy, their sense of community even more so. With great bonfires lighting the evening mood, and the sharing of daily encounters, won scuffles, and laughter filled the air.
Their commerce was heavy with fire and iron, with many blacksmiths calling the domain home for their forging of weapons and armor. It was almost reminiscent of some towns in Roenden for Varrick. Hardy folk with hot forges and equally hardy personalities. A place he felt Zanril might return to visit.

"Each clan varies greatly from one another. From their customs, to their living conditions, as well as what they deem a kindness or an insult. You'll soon see, when we reach the Tranquils." Varrick's light tongue seemed heavier for a moment, with humor falling short in his tone. "No pocketing belongings or roughhousing with the locals, they'll escort you out as gentle as a nun with looks enough to guilt a grown man into tears." He chuckled.

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“Feast of Fierce Valor?” Zanril asked, eyes on Zarod when her attention was nudged to the leader. “It sounds like quite the riot. I think I’d like to come back to see it, if not participate in it as well.”

As they continued on, Zanril was certainly soaking up every little bit of the tour. All of the information Varrick told her, as well as everything she was seeing in terms of architecture and culture. There were several things that reminded her of places above, similarities in infrastructure of the valuing of hard workers. No matter what role someone had in this clan, it seemed to be done with pride. Something she related to and appreciated seeing in others, let alone being able to see in an entire clan.

“I assume you’re speaking from experience?” Zanril asked, voice filled with mirth while she continued to look around. The younger haedian was almost reluctant to leave and move on. Both because she wished to keep learning, and because she enjoyed the break from gliding around everywhere. “They sound like the opposite of the Brutes, too. I’m not too sure how well we, of all people, will fit there.”

It, too, was said mostly in jest. Mostly. They weren’t exactly soft and squishy in any way or stretch of the meaning.

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Varrick guffawed at Zanril's jab. "Very much so. I've poked my nose in many clan territories as a youth, and I've been escorted out on the few occasions. Zarod may have given me a look, were she not so engrossed in her games." He swept his claw through the gold nuggets hanging off his neck with a cheeky grin. 

"Tranquils and Druids are... Calm folk. Doing their own 'helping the earth and the people' thing amidst themselves." Varrick reminisced his time growing up among those peace lovers. He hated it. So much sharing and lack of trinkets and possessions. No real market for odd and ends, no jewelry, valuables, anything like the surface's treasures. He was bored out of his mind growing up, starkly contrasting his brother's mellow and likeminded attitude with their kin. "They aren't like us, they won't think like us," he agreed. "They won't really favor our presence either." He sighed, mostly to himself, though Zanril could hear him well enough.