starter for @sublimitatis
The mountains that split Zofia down its center were hardly as tall, imposing, or dangerous as those that cut through Rigel, but the range was still sister to Fear Mountain. The spires twisted high enough toward the heavens, and the earth - dustier and drier than in the north - was perhaps even more unstable. Berkut had heard amongst the gossip in Zofia Harbor’s taverns that somewhere deep within it ran a vein of magic water, supplied by the netherworld itself, that could return a soul to the realm of the living. He didn’t believe it, of course - after all, he would have heard of others bringing loved ones back to life by now if it were true - but his curiosity (and his boredom) drove him to explore the range anyway. Just in case. He definitely didn’t care to find its magic river.
No, it didn’t matter. It was just a story told by drunken sailors.
But he had set off into the mountain wilds anyway, confident that, at the very least, he could learn more about Zofia’s landscapes, and why its mountains didn’t carry a fearsome epithet like Rigel’s.
The weather was good, and his horse more than capable, so he had made good time toward the center precipices. The pathways grew narrower the higher he climbed, however, and at one such path, he dismounted to check ahead on foot. His horse let out a cautionary snort as Berkut approached the ledge, which was barely wide enough for a full grown man to walk comfortably without pressing to the cliffside. The palfrey, though among the smaller breeds, was still too large to fit with a rider, but as Berkut walked farther out, he assessed that he could maybe lead her safely to the other side.
The wind remained mercifully tame and Berkut leaned against the rocky wall to appreciate for a moment the vista that stretched out before him. The mountains were grassy and green, not snowy and sharp, and sloped gradually up from the plains on the west side. If he went a little higher, he guessed that he would even see Zofia Castle, and he had not been attacked by Terrors or other beasts yet either. Whether or not he even found hint of the magic river, the hike had been worth his time so far.
He started to double back for his horse, but the sun-baked, crumbling earth revealed a pitfall and he found himself sliding downward, then more quickly as every hold he reached for gave out with the weak rock. Panic overcame all forms of rational thought and instinct spurred his actions alone. Not even the rocks tearing at his clothing, and eventually his skin, registered immediately, nor did he realize that the world had turned upside down once or twice. He simply grabbed for whatever came within reach until at last a young, stunted tree had roots deep enough to hold him. Everything came to an immediate, jarring stop.
The realization, too, that he was no longer on a path, but clinging to a branch against a steep incline several meters down, sharpened his focus, but an unusual calm washed over him. What an anticlimactic way to die, he thought.
