Somewhere far beyond, above, a man spoke with urgent tones. "We should have left this. It's Verin. If someone sees it-"
He hurried around the wagon, careful to keep it concealed beneath his cloak. The second he was sure nobody could see them, he tossed the items away, discarding them into 'storage.'
The rift abruptly began to hum, then expanded with a flash of light. Something tumbled forth--no, two somethings: the first with a clack and clatter on the stone, the second with a soft thud.
A moment later the rift had quieted, dimming once again.
What lay before Sair was half useless to her, although an object of distinct interest and likely good for a trade. The other half was useful, in an ironic way. The first: a finely made recurve bow, formed of a dark, teak-like wood. A copper-hued grip, of metal, had a scene delicately engraved in it; a strong woven string was well-maintained.
Then, the quiver: ironic in that it could serve as a bag, although deeper and narrower than the one Sair had already obtained. It was rigid, though, formed of ebony, with more copper-colored trimmings and a white leather strap. (This strap would not be large enough for a horse to wear.) Arrows within half scattered out as the quiver came to a halt: dark wood, tipped in fletched chicken feathers, the arrowheads that same copper-colored metal.
Scenes etched in the quiver echoed the ones on the bow's grip: human shapes, clad in heavy armor, battling with bow, spear and axe. Some held shields, and it seemed both depicted battles that were similar or the same.
@Sair
The vision was brief, given the faltering magic, but brilliant in its bright colors and light. The light alone would be foreign to Sair, plunging her into blinding visions.
It glared down, seeming to ignite swirling dust into white flame. It gleamed off the metal helms and shoulderplates arrayed in long rows and columns, and lit the red banners flapping in the wind like bloody fire.
There were hundreds of men in formation, shields and spears at the ready; and at the rear, the archers. This bow, this quiver, was held by one of a hundred soldiers. It was impossible to tell one from another at a glance. Soft-skinned, bipedal, like very few creatures Sair would have seen within the caves. And cloaked in surcoats that draped over that gleaming steel armor...
Behind them: a mountain range, and a sky. A sky, and not cave rock: an expanse of hazy blue thick with that swirling dust, extending on forever. Just open space, as far as the eye could see.
The last thing she caught was the scent of blood on the wind, and a thick, black smoke joining the dust. A voice called out, its last words lost to the fading vision: "READY... AIM..." and a final whisper in her mind seemed to add, 'fire.'
@Sair