Kaustir, Chapter 3

Status
Not open for further replies.
He didn't know what to make of Takeda's outburst. True though that these past few days had been exhausting. Rakar gave Takeda a nod in response to his comment on working together and getting to know one another. He had never taught anyone to fight before, and wasn't sure what he would do. Perhaps he would just do what came naturally, though the idea of instructing someone who greatly outranked him made him feel weird.

And what was this? There was a blacksmith in Pegulis who was to forge the General's weapon? That was unheard of... But before he could comment, Amalia stepped outside and addressed them both. Her attempts at sounding strong and intimidating were truly pathetic, but regardless, he silently agreed.

"Afraid not. We've had our rest, and the next shift is about to begin." Coros replied to Takeda as the human went back inside to sleep. He was alone outside of the barracks, with the exception of those passing by on their way to one thing or another. Rakar and Coros took a few moments for themselves, a short reprieve from having to deal with all of this. Then they turned their heads to look at one another, a reflection of themselves in each others eyes. This was something that they did on rare occasion, a kind of ritual between Crux and Aux that they had been doing since birth. A reminder not to forget who they were. They held each others gaze for a short time, then turned their attention to the barracks.

The hulking draken's heavy footsteps were heard again on the other side of the door before it opened, followed by Rakar's own deep booming voice.

"K'Jol, our shift is starting. Chamber nine needs support."


Rakar scanned the room for a moment, glancing at everyone before turning and walking off, leaving the door open. He didn't wait for K'Jol, knowing he could catch up. Dorgrad was in need of help with the hive, and Avarath needed help with the rebellion. What's next, Viridos, invading Zirako?
 
  • Like
Reactions: Torsty
ARANIA VELKA
[dash=magenta] "I believe that you were very fair, General. But I'll have to ease your pain if you are to practice..." Arania moved over to her bed, lifting a small pouch from under her bed. After a few moments of rummaging the small bag, she took out a small vial and handed it over to Amalia.

"If you take a spoon's worth of that every morning and evening, you should have strength to last out the day as if you were not injured. You'll get the best out of your practice." Arania smiled slightly. "After all, I am only going to nedd strength for the trip back from here, so I won't be needing the extra energy." She assured as she sat back down on her bed, easing her aching limbs. After the explosion she had been sore all over, with no exceptions, apparently. She had been in pain constantly and it was starting to get to her. She hoped that three days were enough. With the rebellion going on, she wasn't sure if she was safe in her own shop, if the place hadn't been blown to pieces already.

She was a nocturne healer, and even if she had a lot of other races come visit her shop, she also treated a large amount of her own race. It would surprise her if the place wasn't going to be blown up, but she suspected that she was not known well enough among the people for it to be important. The only people who knew of her name was the patients in the area where she lived.

Arania wrapped up her pouch and put it back under the bed, her bracelet gleaming in the dull light. It was usually headwear, but she sometimes wore it as a bracelet. The red stone in the middle of the chain seemed to pulse, as if it was fighting off magic. But that was ridiculous. They had just been almost killed by a million bugs. Would there be a reason for them to also get attacked by magic?

No... it must be the tiredness and her headache getting to her. She lied down on the bed on her back, covering her eyes as she let out a long sigh.

She wasn't able to relax at the moment, but she was in no shape to be moving around and traveling here and there, so she deemed that the only thing she could do was grumble about boredom while she lied in her bed.
[/dash]
 
"And it is known that the Lord of Flame will rise up from pit of magma and smite his enemies! This day is upon us!" The fireling then proceeded to babble some more to the small crowd gathering. Mostly those on break, or workers who were close by. They were draken or anima, with some humans and nocturne.

"The only Lord of Fire is the Desert Sun, fool," said an elderly anima, wiping coal off his brow. "Now get some clothes on and get to work!"

"I think the heat's gone to your head. We're getting close to the magma lake." A draken miner with a broad build chimed in, taking in the natural warmth.

"Shut your tongue, blasphemer!" It was not the voice of the fireling. Instead it was a human. Some workers had already converted to the mad beliefs of the Fire Lord. The Turbatus insects and the Avarath rebellion didn't help. "I'm betting you lizards would like the rest of us to burn away while you sunbask!"

Some others in the crowd shouted agreements. The draken miner walked up to the human, eyes meeting. "Shut your tongue, whelp." The human was hoisted up by the collar, raised above the ground and flung through the air. The mob started fighting. Another riot.

H'kal slithered in with his whip. He lashed them all into silence and pressed on. His rounds were far from over. More and more fanatics were popping up, small compared to the vast population of Dorgrad, but they were heavily concentrated here. The hours flew by. He saw the General and her entourage nearby in the barracks, about to train. He moved down to the lower levels. The heat was rising as they were getting closer to the magma lakes. In a small chamber was another small mob, arguing about the Lord of Fire. Just as soon as H'kal went to silence them the room burst. Magma poured through, searing the unfortunate ones closest to the walls. The rest tried to flee, but the chamber was small and narrow. H'kal slithered away, hands over his mouth. He needed to warn the foremen of the magma.

As he made his exit, he saw once more the fireling and his flock, blocking his exit. "It is as I warned! See here, children, for this draken scum ran away while his comrades died! Instead of helping he ran like a craven! These dragonlings are like their ancestors: cruel and greedy! They are only hastening our End!"

The cult shouted in agreement and hurled rocks at H'kal. He whipped them back, but they would not stand down. Looking around he saw the other draken being terrorized by the cultists. Why had they been targeted? Riots were evrywhere now, started no only by the fanatics but also by angry draken who were fed up with the insults. The spark and burst aflame.
 
  • Like
Reactions: unanun and Torsty


Ssylrath_zps781516eb.jpg


The famed warrior looked up from the stone bench he sat upon, glaring at the back of the other Draken as he walked off. He let out a sigh before wrapping the leftover bandages on his hands. Even though he had dodged the fireball from the insect he had previously fought, the shards of rock from the explosion had cut various parts of his body. K'Jol's damaged hand reached back to grasp the bottom of his halberd, squeezing until he felt pain. It a method of testing his grip and also to see how much pain he could tolerate. He winced slightly in pain, realizing that he could not grasp his weapon as tightly as he could before.

"Fuck. Everything has gone to shit after those bugs came down 'ere..."

The hefty Draken stood up before turning back to Arania, remembering that she had asked him a question about the rebellion previously. He gave a slight snort at her comment before giving her a condescending look.

"Me and Rakar have been down here with the rest of you for quite some time. Do you think we would have any idea as to why our brethren would suddenly start a rebellion? Maybe tending to so many injured weaklings has made your mind weak as well. Pay attention to the surroundings around you, Arania."

K'Jol turned back to the entrance before heading out, seeing Rakar directly in front of him. He quickly walked over to his side before pushing him against the wall. The famed soldier opened his mouth wide, letting out a snarl before reeling his fist back and thrusting it into the wall behind him.

"You stupid dog, how dare you look at me that way! You think I would not notice your reaction to my statement? I am not a fool Rakar, I have already seen you suckle at the breasts of Amalia! ...One who does not show pride in his own race. You're nothing more than a human pet, and you would be better off bearing the flesh of those who do not have scales!"

 
Finally, Aqueduct 5 resumed operations. The roar of water through its channel was the sound of life being delivered anew to all the dependent sectors in Zirako.

The affected sector had been purged with fire, nothing remaining but black scorched brick. The whole area would be condemned for months while caretakers scrubbed it clean and rehabilitated the quarters for living. Even the house where the Forest-kin was using his wife as spore material would be rehabilitated. To acknowledge its presence would be to acknowledge that a blow had been dealt to Kaustir. But it would be smoothed over, like how ants would redig their entrance tunnels when children smoothed their little mounds over.

Whether the perpetrator was acting on his own or through plausible deniability, it didn't matter. Viridos would likely burn in revenge.

Zirako, brown


Shem.jpg

From his vantage point in the Grey tower, Zirako burned. Tens, hundreds, maybe a thousand columns of smoke rose from concentric Towers. Lut gripped the railing and gazed down into the city. Even from this height, the muted sounds of chaos, steel, and conflict reached him.

He spun from the balcony and reentered his quarters. The imperial seal, lion with paw on snake coiled around dung beetle, left its mark on a series of edicts. Rolled in canisters, they were thrown down various tubes in his office, his orders tumbling down into the city to set off a flurry of activity in preparation for his departure.

Lut departed the Grey tower with nothing but himself.

Down the carriage went. The Blue tower. Rebels and infidels had tried to reach here. It was the most obvious place. The only sign of their attempts were black outlines dotting the cleansing area. Fire foxes stood at the gates, their Ever-Lanterns crackling with sparks and the aftermath of their Advents. A platoon of them joined him.

The Green tower. Blood oozed from the traps of carnivorous plants, limbs jutting from their serrated jaws. Some screamed in silence, drowned in sticky and venomous ooze. A contingent of growers joined his caravan, tasked once again with tending the water-storing cacti for their journey.

The Red tower, where almost all the fighting was concentrated. At least, it would have seemed that way to anyone else. There is a reason why no one bothers to stir sentiments in Zirako. The only sentiment that can be stirred is loyalty. The Draken and religious rebels were being mobbed in the streets, dumped into magma chutes or carried off by golden helmeted inquisitors.

Zirako was the Czar's body. At the top he sat, in the Black tower, a homonculus brain inside the life that coiled around his body. Zirako was an extension of the Czar, a homogeneous body of ideology, purpose, and drive. And, like how a body purges foreign bodies from itself, and how ants remorselessly deconstruct invading desert wasps, Zirako expelled the foreign bodies from within, quick and ruthless, spewing them out from its veins onto the bloody streets.

Lut Sar, High Inquisitor, reached the gates, a hundred Wraiths behind him. Inside a golden carriage a mass of Inquisitors sat. Behind them, the plant caretakers and Fire foxes rode. Their first stop would be Dorgrad, to cleanse the Czar's heart of rot. His face was impenetrable, smoothed by decades of experience, but buried deep underneath shame, fear, anger, and delight roiled.

The golden circle peeled open, and they sallied forth.

inqui.png
 
Last edited:

Nils trotted back towards the barracks from his daily patrol, the surface had been unusually quiet. As if the monsters of the wastes were waiting for something. He frowned and continued down into Dorgrad, the past few days had been stressful to say the least. While the bugs had been exterminated the Ipari had paid a high price, the famed sentinels of Dorgrad had lost around a third of their members to the bugs which meant that they were stretched thin. While they had managed to capture the traitor commissar's conspirators, it was a hollow victory compared to how much damage had been done. The three traitor wardens had been impaled and left to slowly die in the sands above, it would have been a mercy if they had died before the beasts came for them.

Walking down into the mines Nils was suddenly accosted by a group of cultists ranting and raving at him about some kind of fire lord. His patience was already gone, the cultists had made a terrible error when they tried to convert him. Without so much as a warning Nils' chain lashed out, flaying and dismembering the ragtag mob in a storm of gore and blood. Nils reveled in the bloodshed and soon only one cultist was left, the tendons in his legs shredded and a puddle of urine slowly pooling around him. Roughly grabbing him by his hair Nils dragged the cultist behind him as he continued his trek.

Suddenly a gout of heat and the yelling of an angry mob caught his attention. Nils looked over and saw H'kal feverishly whipping a crowd of screaming cultists as they closed in on him. Snarling in anger Nils dropped his captive and stalked over to H'kal, standing next to him Nils summoned his advent. A cloud of black and toxic smoke poured out of his mouth and engulfed the raving mob. Their shouts and threats soon turned to coughing and gasping for air. One by one they slowly fell, a few managed to escape with their leader and retreated into the darkness. "It seems that Dorgrad is rotting from the inside, we must assert control before the riots infect the all of Dorgrad. It would take days for the army to get here and only the workers and Ipari know how to navigate the tunnels. The army would be hard pressed to take care of this mess in a timely manner..." Nodding to H'kal, Nils walked back over to his captive who was attempting to crawl away. Stomping on the miner's injured leg the cultist screamed in pain before going limp. Once more grabbing him by the hair Nils walked back to the barracks where the General's group was.

Walking up through the training area Nils was oblivious to the stares. Blood was splattered all over him, his face gaunt and emotionless. The cultist left a small trail of blood behind him as he was dragged over the rocky ground, whimpering in pain as his legs dragged lamely over the rocks. Passing through the barracks Nils didnt care to how people reacted, he was on a mission and nobody was going to stop him. Tossing his prisoner against the stone wall outside the barracks Nils retrieved a spike and hammer. Returning to the cultist Nils picked up his hand and pressed it against the stone with the tip of the spike against his palm. With one smooth swing Nils pounded the spike through the hand and into the wall behind it. Screaming in fresh pain the miner passed out limply, his arm raised awkwardly above him as blood trickled from the impaled hand.
 
  • Like
Reactions: unanun
Rakar was never one to lose his temper. He dealt with all kinds of things all the time that would send others into a rage, but K'Jol was testing his limits. Shoving him against the wall, feinting a punch, and lecturing him on how he was less of a draken for having different beliefs. Then Rakar noticed out of the corner of his eye that the door to the barracks was still open, so not only did everyone inside very likely hear K'Jol's rant, but some of them may very well have seen it. This small detail was just enough to push him over the edge.

He shoved K'Jol away from him and bared his teeth, furious.

"Do not lecture me on draken pride! I don't give a damn if you saw my reaction, you're still a damned fool! You exemplify everything wrong with 'our people.' Arrogant, selfish, always thinking you're better than others because we're 'descended from dragons.' Shove it! My Aux Coros is probably the closest thing to a dragon you've seen in your whole life, yet somehow you and so many others like you feel it gives you some kind of authority over everyone else. Sorry to break it to you K'Jol, but last I checked, you were taking orders from Amalia and the Czar too."


Rakar shoved K'Jol up against the opposite wall, much in the same manner K'Jol had done to him.

"Those draken in the rebellion are killing innocent people. Children! And you have the gal to tell me that I should be more prideful? That I should want to save the draken after what they've done? FUCK YOU! I'll kill every last one of those draken if it means saving my country!"

He pointed to barracks.

"They are my people. Those humans and nocturns, and any others who fight for people other than themselves. You want to support those fools in the rebellion? Go join them! And I'll show you just how 'proud' I am when it's me who cuts you down. We'll see just have famous you are when all of Kaustir sees you for what you are."

He stepped away from the other draken, being sure not to turn his back on him. There was a short pause, both of them staring each other down.

"Now if you're done having a fit over this. Chamber 9 needs support. Dorgrad is still in danger."
 
Dorgrad Chamber Nine
Nils' hand was twisted away, the hammer falling as his wrist was pinned. The space between himself and the miner was entered by a third. He saw only the masked face of his leader, then the fist that eclipsed it.

Warden Bracht cracked Nils' nose with the punch, laying him out on the ground. Now he bled his own blood, darker red amongst the gore he soaked in.

"He's gone mad. Secure him at the checkpoint."

Another two Ipari snagged Nils' arms and dragged him off as he choked on the blood. And as he was removed Warden Bracht took the claw end of the hammer and began prizing the nail from the miner's hand. "Hold on, Comrade."

Soldiers were being recalled from the insect tunnels. Orders from the Commissariat were to seal the chambers where riots had broken out, and separate the Draken populations. Nils' atrocity would no doubt hinder the Ipari efforts. She would have to rally her men at the checkpoint before they were torn apart by rioters.

Working quickly, Warden Bracht slung the freed man's arm across her shoulder and moved with him around the corner of the barracks. On the courtyard side, she came upon Rakar and K'Jol in stare-down. From the silence and the squared postures she could not tell if profundity or violence was hanging over them. And she had no time to find out. Blood was flecked across her shoulders.

Shifting the tortured miner to keep him upright, she called to the Draken duo. "Forget your shifts, friends. We need the tunnels to 12 and 13 sealed. No one goes down, no one comes up. The lower levels are rioting."

She moved past them, into the barracks, and lowered the miner to a bunk. "Arania, I need you." She set the man down then looked to the others of Amalia's group. "Keep your weapons close and your senses sharp. The Draken of Dorgrad are being targeted."

For now things were quiet, but for the sobs of the miner and the murmurs of chaos in the deep.
 
Trembling fingers wrapped themselves around the vial Arania offered. A tender smile was on the general's face, heart warmed that she was accompanied by another healer. The soldiers in her party might be comforted by other soldiers, but Amalia took solace in other healers.

"Thank you." Amalia gazed deeply into Arania's eyes, soul searching. "Your Advent, the one you used on Theo... When did it manifest itself?"

Her attention was immediately severed by K'jol. His hurtful words made Amalia scowl deeply, and she had half a mind to reprimand him. Arania helped ease all of their injuries, even his, and yet here he was, insulting like a mad man. She opened her mouth to speak up, but the draken whirled on Rakar, spittle flying from his mouth.

Suckle at my breasts? Rakar did his duty, he protected us! she thought furiously, fists clenched. Matil even had her hackles raised.

But her fists slowly unfurled as she listened to Rakar's words. Amalia knew that he was a soldier of few words, much like Arania was. So to hear him speak so vehemently about his ideals, acknowledging that all people in Kaustir were under his protection, that meant a lot to her. The hackles on Matil lowered, and the Aux nestled herself under Amalia's chin, nuzzling.

When Warden Bracht entered the room with the tortured miner, she would see Amalia hugging her knees, a line of tears falling serenely down her cheeks.

I have to be strong. I have to be strong for everyone if we are to survive.

tumblr_n5ymexMsiu1qglsk9o1_500.gif
 
  • Like
Reactions: Torsty
The Northern Furnace
Dead, dead and gone, my child so dear
Not come again, till Raptures near
Curl in my womb, now weep in my heart
Mother will tear all her babes apart

Lie in the hearth, my virgin child
Eat of the earth and drown awhile
Blow in the wind till bones turn to dust
Mother must kill you, Mother must.


The Queen of Scythes spun slowly on the thread, clutching to her breast the soaking larva. One child, carried from the hive as she fled. Her only salvage. She would need to cocoon again, and lay fresh batches. But never again would they be like this one, this special child flavoured with Dorgradi blood.

"Please..." Across the chamber, where rock ledges gave way to the molten river, Knox waited as the woman sung. His outline shimmered in the heat haze. "You are too close, Almighty Mother."

"The Furnace." She drifted on her thread, and as her feet aligned with the chemical fires burning in the distance they arched and shuddered. A jolt ran through her. Her moan was singular and exquisite. "He's still here..." She closed her eyes in the afterglow.

Knox swallowed. Behind him, perched on rock spires, his gargoyle cardre waited. They were growing impatient, the heat and acid showers tormenting them.

"Here sleeps the Fire God." The Queen lifted the larva from her flushed flesh, held it up like a child in swaddling. She spoke to it with smiles and kisses. "I found him here... an age ago... and he welcomed me. He remade me... of the heavenly host."

Her fur abdomen was wet with elation. Her six wings flexed. And her insect undercarriage made curling motions, a ghost rehearsal for the egg sacs it would bear.

"He put the Weapon... in me... and I drank... and drank... till I loved him."

The world shook. A plume of purple fire blossomed on the chemical sea. A daily eruption. Within moments an acid shower sent the gargoyles scattering. Knox pulled up the hood of his commissar's coat and implored his goddess a second time. "You cannot nest here, Holy Mother. Your children will be mad."

"My children will be fire!" She hugged the larva again and with her other hand made beckoning fingers to the Avian. "Closer, child."

He burned below, a throbbing hunger. Crossing to the Queen of Scythes, the Commissar raised his hands to touch her abdomen, but instead found sweeter blessing. The woman lowered herself, unfurling slender silk till she was face to face with her servant. And then she pulled him in and nestled his face beside the larva. "You must leave me, my beautiful. Far away now. For the heathens will hunt."

Tears stung her breast. Knox shuddered. "How can I...?"

"Be strong. This gift to me, my darling. To shadow and chaos, flee quickly. Waste the efforts of my enemies." She brought her wings and claws around him, a parting embrace. "Never found. Never come again. Goodbye... goodbye..."

Shadows fell across the ledges. The Gargoyles had run out of patience, and with stalking screeches they signalled it was time to go. Knox unfurled himself, slowly, from his queen's embrace and limped away. Wetness down below, wetness on his face. The tears were streaming. He did not look back.

With a whisper, the Commissar spread his wings.

"I love you."
 
DAY 1



The small flicker of a campfire brushed against the windows of a family's home. The desert wind could be heard off in the distance, whispering against the sand dunes. The fresh sent of blood laced the air. Body parts littered the gaps between houses. Screams of the last remaining few echoed in the distance, and at the edge of it all stood one man just back from a hunt. "NO STOP PLEASE!" a voice rang out. "FATHER!" a smaller voice cried out. The man dropped his food and took off through the village for those voice were dear to him. "STAY BACK!" the first voice pleaded. The man picked up his speed, but no matter how hard he ran everything just kept repeating. "DO NOT TOUCH H-" *Splatter* *Thud* *Drip Drip Drip* The first voice was silenced. "AHHHHH! FATHER HELP ME!" the smaller voice screamed. The man was just down the road from his home "FATHE-!" *Splatter* *Thud* *Drip Drip Drip* The sound was amplified in the man's ears, pushing out all other noise. The frantic man tore into his home... Then his heart sank. He stumbled towards the corpses of his wife and daughter weeping. He knelt down and hugged his daughter. He took a moment to gaze upon her face... something wasn't right. The girls eyes shot open, they were thick and black, "WHY FATHER!" she screeched. The man gasped and fell back.

Takeda flung upward in his bed gasping for air. He looked around confused and breathing heavily. He dug around in his bag, pulled out a small bead bracelet, and began rubbing the beads. This brought him comfort and he laid back in his bed both hands placed over his face. He rubbed his sweat drenched face and rest his hands back on either side of the bed. He laid staring at the ceiling, twisting the beads in his hand, contemplating the nightmare. His head turned to Amalia's bed and back to the ceiling. A few more moments went by before he carried himself out of bed. Clothes on, armor attached, swords equipped he was ready. He moved silently past anyone who was still asleep. The swordsman made his way to the mess hall, no one was around, he went back to the kitchen and cooked a lean breakfast for two: lycans and pan seared lizard. He sat down and ate, the nightmare replayed in his head over and over. Half way through his meal Takeda put down his fork, placed a hand over his eyes, and started sobbing. The other hand clung to the bracelet, he brought it to his forehead. Clearing his throat and wiping his eyes Takeda quickly finished his meal, grabbed the other plate he made, and went back to the sleeping quarters. He placed the plate next to Amalia's bed

"Amalia get up it's time to begin. I made you breakfast, so eat and get ready for the day." his voice somber. Takeda tucked the bracelet away and left the barracks for the training ground.

***​

He waited for her in an open courtyard, where neither workers or her party could bother the three of them. Rakar had woken up shortly after Amalia and like always, donned his armor and carried his shield. The general made sure to take a spoonful of the medicine Arania gave her; it left Amalia feeling refreshed and numbed the pain from her injuries.

In his hand Takeda held three bokens which he distributed to the two. Amalia tested its weight and remarked, "Why aren't we using real swords?"

"Because your arm isn't strong enough to wield one. And there's less of a chance of you killing yourself or us with these." He strode to the center, legs apart, and sword held in two hands. "Step forward Amalia."

Her stance was awkward, grip too loose. In one well placed swing Takeda sent her weapon flying to one corner. Amalia grinned sheepishly and Rakar shook his head in disappointment. For losing her weapon and smiling about it, Takeda rapped the general hard on her head.

"OW!"

"If that had happened in battle you'd be dead!" Somberly, Amalia retrieved her weapon and stood in the center, eyes alert. "Your weight needs to be balanced on both feet. It will give you strength when you strike with your weapon, but will allow you to move quickly."

He slashed, and Amalia parried. "It will also give you leverage when you block."

Grunting, Amalia pushed Takeda away with both arms, and attempted to slash. Her attack missed, and he swung back, hitting her right side. Amalia gasped at the burst of pain, but managed to remain standing - pain she was used to. Seizing the opportunity, Takeda charged - shoulder first - into Amalia's chest. She had the chance to react, tried to side step from the attack, but tripped upon her own feet and flopped onto the floor.

Rakar raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you shouldn't be wearing a dress when you're training."

Amalia groaned at the bruise developing on her tailbone. "Perhaps we should be starting with something simpler."

Coros tilted his head. "Push ups aren't going to save you against enemies."

She threw a fistful of dirt at Rakar and Coros. Takeda helped the general up, regarding her with a fierce stare. "I wanted a week, but we have three days. Three days to prepare you for the rebellion in Avarath. Surely you can imagine my desperation?"

She looked away. "You have a point." Pursing her lips Amalia looked between the two. "Both of you fight me then."

The general expected some hesitation from either of them, but Takeda and Rakar stepped forward with a nod towards each other. That was when she realized that both of them intended to have a fight like this.

The training only stopped when they needed to eat, and even then it wasn't a reprieve. Takeda instructed her on the different stances and swords soldiers used, ranging from the scimitar to the katana. Rakar too spoke of shields and formations used by various soldiers. Amalia listened intently, but found the information to be overwhelming. She absorbed as much as she could, trained as hard as her body could take, and by the end of the night - Amalia judged it to be two or so in the morning - Amalia collapsed onto her cot.

"You did well," said Takeda. Amalia said something incoherent before she downed another spoonful of the liquid Arania gave her. "Get some rest."

She didn't need telling twice. As soon as her head hit the pillow, Amalia was out. Takeda smiled wearily and headed to the forges before turning in for the night.​

DAY 2
cd3798cf-b4fc-4a92-a5da-971f32d1f1a4.jpg

Rakar took the lead with training on this day. As usual, he was wearing his heavy armor, though decided to use a different shield. One that didn't have lethal spikes all over it. Amalia would undergo endurance training today, it was Rakar's specialty. She was nervous, more than before. The first day had been difficult enough, and it was sure to get more intense.

Takeda stood off to the side as Rakar had done before, observing. Rakar instructed her on common weak spots in armor such as his, teaching her how to land a clean blow despite the metal protection. He also showed her how to get past a shield, which Amalia found difficult to understand, but Rakar reassured her that she was capable.

Then the sparring started, her against the draken. He let her land a few hits on him in the spots he had shown her previously, just so she knew she was doing it right. Afterwards, he raised his shield and began blocking. Eventually, he knocked her onto her ass with his shield.

"Ow! Take it easy, will you? I'm still learning."

Amalia protested as she stood up, wiping the dirt from her legs. Rakar and Coros, still perched on Rakar's shoulder, scowled at her. He took his defensive stance again, and waited for Amalia to come for him again. The moment she did, he used his shield to block her wooden sword, knocking it upwards and exposing her abdomen. Without hesitation, Rakar balled his armored right hand into a fist, and launched it into her stomach. Shocked by the strike, Amalia keeled over. Before she had a chance to recover, he slammed his fist down onto her back, using his other hand to catch her and keep her from hitting the ground.

Tears streamed down her face from the pain, lungs fighting to take in air. The punch to the back and her broken ribs accumulated to ungodly amounts of agony. Rakar forced her to her feet. He met her gaze, and spoke softly.

"Forgive me General."

A hard punch met the side of her face, eliciting another gasp. The tears came swifter now. He held her up, not allowing her to fall, and made Amalia meet his gaze once again. There was terror in her eyes, afraid that he would continue with the abuse.

"But I am going easy on you. Your enemies will not hesitate to destroy you at the first opportunity. You must take this seriously. You must become the General you are meant to be."

Her tears slowed as he lowered her down to sit and take a rest. She was beginning to realize that he was right. This was serious, and there would be others - Kaustiran or not - who wouldn't pounce on the chance to take her life. For the rest of the day Amalia fought back her tears as her training continue.​


DAY 3
c9e93b5f-c589-429a-bc2c-8665b3307a64_zpsaf307634.jpg


Lack of sleep, and allowing her body to be smacked, punched, and otherwise hurt, turned Amalia into a grumpy wreck. Today Takeda and Rakar would both be training her, and the prospect terrified her. The flesh on Amalia's face where Rakar landed his punch swelled magnificently, as did the flesh on her stomach and back. Miraculously her concussion did not worsen, but her pride suffered tremendously. She did not feel like she was getting better, if anything she felt like she was getting worse. Matil wasn't liking it either, as she was perpetually yeowling or had her hackles up.

The training was what she expected it to be. Brutal, painful, and repetitive. However, she fought not to utter a sound, lest the others thought she was vulnerable. Somewhere in the storm of kicks and blows of their spar, Amalia accepted the pain and the responsibility that came with her occupation. She thought of the many innocents suffering in Avarath, the soldiers that would be fighting back, and the injured lying in infirmaries, waiting to be treated. The thought of so many suffering sparked her anger, and out of nowhere Amalia parried both Takeda's and Rakar's attacks, kicked Rakar in his unprotected groin, and punched Takeda's face.

They fell back, staggered and surprised.

"I'm - I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... Are you both alright?"

Rakar was kneeling, but Coros looked amused. "You hit us. Finally."

Takeda was scrunching his face, eyes watering. "That was good Amalia. Very good."

"You don't need to see a healer do you?"

Coros chuckled. "You didn't punch them that hard."

Amalia frowned. "My hand stings a little though."

Rakar recovered quickly and pointed to a rock. "Punch that. You need to build tolerance. You'll need multiple punches to take out an enemy and you can't be stinging after one."

Takeda handed Amalia two strips of linen cloths to bind her hands with, and for the next hour she imagined the rock wall to be the Kaustiran rebels. Once again, her knuckles were bloody and torn up, but she admired the cracks she made.

"Who would have ever though a healer like me would become a soldier?"

***​

Rakar had taken the last session of training, once again teaching Amalia formations used in battle, and how to survive in the harsh desert. He spoke all of this while Amalia sat crossed legged in a sweltering chamber, eyes closed. It was close to dinnertime and Amalia was starving, a state of mind that Rakar was using to his advantage. He had a bag laid out in front of him and in between questions he bit into a lizard stew and grilled fungi. Amalia didn't appreciate this training technique.

"What desert flower is toxic for you to eat?"

"The Desert Rose."

"And what about food?"

"Eat little of it to conserve rations and water."

"If you're lost?"

"Look to the sun or the stars."

"What if you're injured?"

She paused. "I'm a healer, I already know this one."

Rakar didn't bat an eye and chewed his stew. "And what should you be as a General?"

Amalia opened her eyes, beads of sweat rolling down her cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"What should you be as a General?"

She looked down at her hands. Each word was punctuated with a pause. "Strong. Capable. Motivated."

Takeda strode in, hands behind his back, Shibu on his shoulder. "Is that all?"

"There's always more." Amalia sighed. She was struggling with something. "My ideals... My methods are not like the Czar or the other generals. They are cruel, where I am kind. They are warriors, where I am a healer. Can I be strong, while still being compassionate? Can I still command respect while showing pity and kindness?"

It was a hard question to swallow, and an even harder one to answer. Their silence wasn't reassuring, but Takeda sensed Amalia's doubt.

"I believe you have potential. Rakar and I both do." He presented her with a weapon, hidden behind his back. "Do you know what this is?"

Amalia laughed nervously. "It's a katana. But Takeda, I'm not ready for a sword."

"You'll need it for the rebellion. Besides as a general you need a real weapon. Not a wooden one."

She stood, sliding it out from its sheath. The sound it made was one Amalia was not familiar hearing, but one she would grow accustomed to. "Were you lying?"

"About what?"

"About believing in me."

Takeda smiled. "I wasn't."

"And neither was Rakar?"

The draken shook his head, uncomfortable at such a personal question.

Smiling wistfully, Amalia wrapped her arms around Takeda's neck in a thankful hug. She moved to do the same with Rakar, but he stopped her with a raised hand. Bewildered, Amalia watched him pull a chain mail shirt and leather armor from his bag. She paused as he presented it to her.

"This is for me?"

He nodded, and the woman choked back her tears.

"Thank you both, from the bottom of my heart."

 
Dorgrad

In three days, the Lord of Fire rose and fell.

Word spread of Ipari atrocities, and birthed the fiercest fighting on that first day. In the upper forges, near the great entrance where the watchmen roamed, there came scuffles and altercations. Warden Bracht ordered lenience; but tensions were not so easily cowed. One ore shipment had been delayed by a fist fight - a thousand iron bars spilled. It was a deed that would send ripples through the marketplace. The blacksmiths of Avarath would fall short, and customers would switch their contracts to the houses of Hosia.

Fully eight tenths of the Ipari were recalled to deal with the incident. And as it ended there was second tragedy below. A man had been thrown from the steps, plunging for miles through the gantry shafts, his shadow seen by forge and mine level alike. A drunken Commissar was responsible, newly saddled with duties abandoned by the traitor Knox. But his story was not told. That falling man was an angel cast down by the Lord of Fire, and he stirred as symbol to the miners. Chambers Four and Six were, for a moment, open battlefields, as fights broke out in the service tunnels beneath the East Forge. Freshly polished blades were snatched from their anvils. Drakens went berserk. The forge families were proud ones, and accusations of 'Fire God worship' were met with outrage.

The Commissariat intervened, and when troops could not disperse the rioters, an enterprising junior minister found the answer. He shut down the great bellows, sealing the air shaft that fed the forge and ventilated the chambers. It brought the fighting to a standstill. Not because the workers feared suffocation. But for the shame of seeing this day. The forge families were proud ones, and for generations they had never let the forge go cold. For their forefathers and for their pride, the artisans put aside their differences and returned to work.

Forty-six Class 3 workers had been slain.

On the second day, the Ipari led a rescue mission into the fourth ring of Dorgrad. Chambers 5, 6 and 7 had plunged into darkness. Magic users - powerful ones - had smothered the lamps for tens of miles. In the chaos the rail tracks were unnavigable, and whole convoys of ore carts were stranded. Most took shelter in the construction hangars. But one man - a doom prophet named Ular Vale, took a great-wagon and a horde of men and fled to a network of abandoned depot chambers, there proclaiming the territory his own. He preached for all flames in Dorgrad to be extinguished, so the Cruel God would have no power.

The Ipari found them in the darkness, thanks to some shrewd tracking from a minotaur named Theo. Then they stormed the tunnels and killed Ular and two dozen of his followers.

On the third day, the Commissariat's army marched through Chamber 9, giving passing glances to Amalia and her people. They stayed a few hours before descending the shafts that Rakar and K'Jol had sealed on Bracht's orders. Down into an inferno the army went, finding whole chambers flooded by the magma river. Lone Draken, mad from the slaughter of their families, lurched like nightmares from the shadows to confront the troops. Only the hardiest of Dragonkin had survived, while all else had succumbed to the heat. Chamber 12 was declared a Zero Production site - all two hundred miners dead or missing. And in the cooling and ventilation of the chambers, more than fifty Draken met their end in berserker rushes.

The Commissariat feared the same for Chambers 13 and 14. But as they diverted the magma flow and crossed the checkpoints to the final area, they beheld two strokes of good fortune. For one, Foreman H'Kal. The Draken enforcer, who had replaced Henvit, had managed an impressive evacuation. He was found at the intersection of two tunnels, one filled with Draken survivors, and one filled with non-Draken survivors. By his very presence he had cleaved the racial violence.

And as for the second good fortune - that was found in Chamber 15. For as the magma river breached the walls, the miners had taken refuge in the forbidden tunnels, finding high ground and bolt holes in the former hive of the Turbatus Queen. Almost every man was found clutching a tool or an ore cart. They had saved whatever they could. It was in their nature. It was the creed of the Worker's Paradise.

For their valour they were given a break from labour... and taken to the upper levels for questioning. In this troubled time the Commissariat took no chances. They feared the worst - that the uprising was a symptom of the insect infestation. Did the Queen of Scythes still whisper to the weaker minds? Was the Turbatus Cult still in hiding amongst their citizenry? Was the Fire God a creature at work in the shadows?

These were questions for an Inquisitor to answer.

The Draken were segregated in the high risk areas. The shipments resumed. And the Commissariat waited... for the Czar's right hand to arrive.
 
Last edited:
Tread lightly. Or tread no more.
If you must tread, do so on the back of a fire scarab.

Vesuv, scarab driver.

Although the pits in Dorgrad were relatively close to Zirako, a full day was spent on skirting the southern tip of a large, evil wasteland that lay between the two cities. Only the oldest Nocturnes and Drakens may have remembered what caused the spot to eternally burn. To others, it was simply a place of ill omen, and to those sentenced to hard labour in Dorgrad, it was the sight which broke their will. To those brave, or desperate, or foolish, or pressed enough, time could be saved by cutting straight through.

Lut's caravan shuddered on top of gigantic fire scarabs, skittering along thin rock bridges that spanned hellish pits, glowing mud-stained version of every colour in the rainbow. Their ride forward was merciless, the scarabs driven to exhaustion and cast off to feed the flames below, fresh ones latched to the tail of their long and twisting procession.

On the second day of General Amalia's stay in Dorgrad, his caravan arrived at the maw. Not a single man was lost, though plenty of other lives were sacrified to make it so. Manpower was the most crucial resource for Purges. A skeleton crew of Ipari greeted him, as well as the four remaining Wraiths who were under the General's command. Whispered words conveyed the situation.

There would be no warning or ceremony. Only work.

They set up a judge's table, a slab of stone on wooden pallets. Nils was first. Lut regarded him coolly.


Shem.jpg

There was no point in punishment by labour - the Ipari were not meant for that. "You are a zealous worker, and your brother holds a seat in the Wraiths. But that does not excuse your transgression." He steepled his fingers. "By allowing you to return to your original post, I am making an investment in your future work." There was no room given for appeal. Nils was escorted back to the General's detachment.

When dealing with living commodities, the same rules of benefit and risk applied.

The Inquisition methodically worked its way through each chamber. For most, the mere arrival of the golden-helmeted inquisitors reaffirmed their various beliefs in: the Czar, death, the worker's creed, or fear. Dorgrad's specialty was stamping these various beliefs deeper than any other influence. The Draken were easily restored, or quelled, to their original positions.

For the others, Lut sat at the table, flanked by Inquisitors, and idly sipped at a bowl of warm, if not slightly stagnant blood, while the offender sat in a simple wooden chair with a glass of water. They stared at each other. Before five lines in the water clock passed, most stood up and walked back to work. It is true that beliefs can be shaken, from time to time. But the true strength of belief is how quickly it is revitalized. The closer one reached the fifth line, the more likely that their worker's number was scribbled down into a small ledger.

The rest were hauled into blood spattered tents.

The Inquisition caravan unwinded its large mass down Dorgrad's main spiral. Lut did not tire, as the night grew longer and longer with each chamber that went down. Each chamber they left flared with renewed life and efficiency, the sounds of industry sending an ever growing example to the ones remaining.

On the third day, they set up their table on General Amalia's floor.
 
Last edited:



Will you live to kill me?


Borders of the Northern Furnace
The nocturne parried her attack with the saber in his right hand, then took advantage of the offset to her momentum with the dull point of a metal spike concealed in his left. He struck the hollow place below her sternum, stealing the air from her lungs. The force of the blow made the girl crumple over, retching.

The nocturne brought the pommel of his saber down to the back of her head. She had pitched forward, landing in a roll. The girl ended in a crouch, turned, and severed the tendons in his ankle with the curved blade of her dha. The nocturne collapsed, his blood like liquid shadow in the moonlight. The girl wasted no time in gripping him by the hair and slitting his throat.

The human girl stood panting over the slain nocturne, the adrenaline washing over her. Behind her, an avian sprawled across the rocks, two arrows sprouted from the gore and black feathers. Once she had regained her composure, the girl moved to inspect the broken body of Knox.

Her brow furrowed as she knelt, brushing a strand of dark hair from his bloody face. Knox’s eyes opened, burning red coals in his skull. He grinned, revealing a mouth of razor teeth.

She gasped, stumbling back as Knox’s body convulsed, losing its avian form...



The girl intercepted the High Inquisitor’s caravan twenty miles west of Dorgrad.

The sun was beginning to rise, banishing the night’s chill. The hardened resin painted on her body began to peel away. The light, protective material could only take so much strenuous use. She covered herself in an enormous embroidered shawl before joining the legions of inquisitors, boiling alive under their gold masks.

She parted the heavy curtains of Lut Sar’s carriage only slightly. Then she slipped in, careful of the dawning sun’s light. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness within the carriage. A skill learned in ten years of service to a nocturne. It was cramped within, she knelt so near to him that the blood-stained leather pouch nearly touched his lips when she held it up in offering.

“High Inquisitor Lut Sar, I have failed you.”

Through the pouch’s opening, Lut caught glimpses of nocturne fang, then stone, reptilian features. The head of Knox was not among them.

“Knox is using gargoyles as body doubles. He’s trying to disperse our resources.” With the bag held aloft, he could not see her kneeling before him. “He’s buying time for something.”

The girl stared down at the floor of the carriage, at the High Inquisitor’s boots. She licked her lips, then blurted:

“High Inquisitor, I implore you, let me hunt this man.”

He had spread the talismans amongst her people, set them up to fall for him. Just a wall of bodies to place between him and the Czar’s justice. He had used her innocence. Her ignorance. She never told the High Inquisitor about him, never exposed him as the condemner of her people.
“I will cut off his wings so that he may not fly away from the execution block.”

“Soon enough, Nu. I have another use for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Outside, above Lut Sar's carriage, a vulture circled.
 
Last edited:
Amalia was called into the judges' chamber after dinner, much to her dismay. She thought after fighting against the insects and defending Dorgrad, she would be excused against such trials, but that was not the way of her country. She understood the reasoning though - not everyone could be exempt from the Inquisition, even her. It would lead to more suspicions and the organization had to be thorough.

If Amalia wasn't wearing her shawl and saree, she would have been a sight to see for Lut Sar and the other Inquisitors. The injuries the woman sustained from the fighting and training were thus: three broken ribs, a minor concussion aggravated by a rather large draken punching her in the face, various small bruises courtesy of wooden swords, a swollen cheek, a fat bruise on her stomach and back, and sleep deprivation. Not that sleep deprivation was an actual injury, but Amalia was in such a cursed mood that to her it might as well have been.

She stood before them with hands clasped in front of her, knowing that her clothes couldn't hide everything. They would have seen her swollen face, but she stood strong. The general had her own questions - and animosity - to share but she would wait until her trial was done with before opening her mouth.

"Let us begin," said Lut Sar.
 
  • Like
Reactions: Tegan and Asmodeus
H'KAL
H'kal sat bored at the Foremen meeting. He had been recently promoted after the traitor Henvit. In addition to enforcing, he would also lead the other enforcers in his sector, as well as managing all the daily necessities for all the Equals. It was basically more work slapped on to his old job, but he wasn't complaining. Rising up in the ranks was an aspiration sought after by those who still had aspiration, and H'kal had only one right now: the riots. He heard the news of the doomsayer and his small cult slain by the Ipari.

Unfortunately, the Draken were still under attack. Those who had been left behind during the magma leak had survived, but had gone mad and were put down anyways. The Draken had been segregated from the others, which did not bode well. They started starting fights on their own. They had grown more agitated and their tempers had shortened. The extinguishing of lights was also another attack on the Draken; without them, miners could not see, but for Draken, they could not live. The heat kept them alive and going.

"Restart the flames! We cannot work farther than the forge lights now!" a Draken pleaded to H'kal.

A cultist simply laughed. "See, brothers and sisters? These demons live off the life of the Fire God himself! His evil is in them! We only need to deprive them of it, and they will di-" He was cut off by a smack to the face by an enforcer. He stood up, blood dripping off his smirk. "See? A Draken as our foreman, and he abuses and tortures us!"

H'kal could stand no more. He was supposed to have equal judgement for both parties, but this man was trying his patience. He wanted to restart the fires so production would resume, but they would simply be put out again. He needed to ward off these cultists. H'kal got off his chair and slithered over to the man on the floor. Grabbing him by the face, he pulled him close and hissed.

"Listen, scum. The fires will be started, and if they are ever put out, I will use you as kindling!" He threw him down to the floor. Enforcers dragged him out and gave out the order to restart the fires. H'kal then faced the angry Draken. "As for you. You're all as provokable as children! You are to put an end to these fights in the canteen and barracks, or I will personally make sure to end it myself!"

Of course the fighting would not stop by a mere command. He needed a show of power. He knew the Ipari were stretched thin already, so instead he went to the First General of Kaustir. However, she had been called to meet with High Inqusitor Lut Sar. What was he doing here? Obviously for the fighting or the insects. He would see him afterwards. He waited patiently out of the chamber, waiting until the General was done.
 
  • Like
Reactions: unanun
Story of Nu
"Sorry." Lut uttered the words from a strange position, standing over her after her second failed assassination attempt. The first and second had ended the same way: an arrow into an advent into a gashing injury. He swiped a thumb along the wound, tracing it from front of chest to nape, and splashed the blood down on the ground next to her.

Hate. Kill. Revenge. No. Fuck. He made sure she learned all the words appropriate to express her hate. And by the fifth attempt on his life, he saw something change in her. The raw emotions cooled, crystallized, took on a definitive shape. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt remorse.


Lut deferred to Nu's fervor. As of late, he had been more and more aloof, dismissing her when possible, or accepting her whim when it became too loud. Perhaps she could sense it too, becoming bolder, making selfish demands from time to time.

... Knox ...

"You will have a chance to play when we have finished cleaning Dorgrad." He rested his cheek on fist inside the cramped carriage, the heads long since kicked outside into the bubbling pits below. The distance between them simmered, uncomfortable and smothering. "The true leader of the insect cult is simple minded. She moves like a child. Like most people who believe in Gods." If he had the sense to stop himself from saying it, he didn't apply it.
Dorgrad Chamber 9
A worker stood up from the chair and went back to work. The exchanges between Lut Sar and the offender went two ways. One, the worker should return to his position. Two, they would rant, gesture, or spit curses on him. At first, Lut ignored them. As the lines in the water clock flowed out, he placed the bowl of blood down. Turned to face them. Pupils sharpened. Still he did not say a word. The worker would quiet, their own mind beginning to work against them. Dorgrad's mental shackles rebuilt themselves, squeezing out the mind-rot. The ones left were irredeemable, and squeezed of their information - about the Fire God, or the insect cult - and their bodily fluids, before being discretely tossed away.

"General." He showed his respect for her by spitting blood on the floor - wasting both water and vitality for Nocturnes.

"You may have guessed why I am here, astute strategian you are. Perhaps it is coincidence that the workers are restive, and that we have an .. infestation on our hands. Perhaps it is all linked to the tablet." The mention of that brought back memories, to when they had shared an arena, exchanged loyalties, and Lut was light-hearted in the festivities afterward.

Somehow, the tables were slightly turned now. "Tell me what you know, and we can both move on to more important matters."
 
Last edited:
The tablet. Of course.

Amalia's voice was as hard as the stone around her, face impassive and the warmth gone from her eyes. She remembered the light hearted Lut from the tournament, wondered where it had gone, but then recalled that she too was a different person since that event.

"Three days ago my party arrived in Dorgrad in search of the Divine Weapon detailed by the tablet. When we arrived we were escorted by Warden Bracht, who told us that Theo the minotaur would be able to assist us. Foreman Henvit was instructed to show us to him, but since the beginning of our meeting he was reluctant to do so. Later that same night, Takeda and I left the barracks to train together, as he was assigned to do so by the Czar himself.

"About an hour or so into the training session, Rakar announced to all of Dorgrad that I was killed. Takeda and I rushed back to the barracks to find my party slaying a giant insect. Takeda and I joined the fight and soon the tunnels were filled with these creatures."

The general stopped, her harden face softening with embarrassment.

"As for what happened after that... I'm afraid I can't say. I, um... I was crushed by rocks and a giant mantid. I was able to restore Rakar's advent before I lost consciousness. But Takeda stated that Henvit was deranged. He wrote his ravings into a journal. I'd show you myself but I think he has it.

"The rebellion started not long after. Whether that has to do with the rebellion in Avarath or this Firelord, I cannot say."
 
Last edited:

He felt it as well, her change. This woman, chosen by the Czar for reasons still somewhat unknown. But he could see that her polishing had begun ... whether or not her inner gem would shine was left to the cutters she surrounded herself with.

"You've done all right, General." He slapped his chest, more at ease. "Despite being sent on a wild chase - by me," the failure and its subsequent punishment did not even show in the slightest .. perhaps a skill she would learn later, "you made do with what you have, and surrounded yourself with loyal people. You'll learn to cull or grow those closest to you next."

"I will take care of Dorgrad -- and Henvit."
The clue did not go unnoticed. "The Czar's heart cannot afford to stop beating."

"You must continue to whet your mind and blade in Avarath." He stood up from the table, signaling the end to their interview.

"We must sit down once again, once things have quieted down."

He gestured to an attending Wraith, signalling for the next.
 

Officer’s Barracks Chamber 3
Day 2 of the High Inquisitor's Trials

The High Inquisitor had dispatched Nu to investigate the upper chambers as he held trial deeper below. The former Commissar’s barrack had been left untouched as per Warden Bracht’s order. Nu peered through the threshold at a sparsely furnished room, free of any personal effects. Possessions were not allowed even to the officers of Dorgrad. Her Aux, from its perch on her shoulder, cawed low, urging her on.

Nu peered at the masked Ipari holding the door for her, then stepped within. Wordlessly, the Ipari shut the door behind her.

A bunk carved into the tunnel wall, a small table and stool, cup, plate. Nu traced a hand over the flimsy table. It wobbled on ill-fitting legs, sloshing the stale water still left in the tin cup. Nu picked it up. Her mouth had gone suddenly dry.

She placed the empty cup back onto the table, then traced the tin plate with her finger. How could an Avian spend ten years beneath the ground? The vulture hobbled from Nu’s shoulder to perch on the table. It held her gaze in its black eyes before it turned them towards Knox’s bed.

Nu fell onto his thin mattress, turned her face into the pillow and inhaled the memory of Knox. Every detail of his face, voice, and manner had been woven into her mind. Her secret stories. Nu lay in his bunk, drenched in his scent, and stared at the stone wall.

In a blink, Nu sat up on the thin mattress, gripping the pillow. There was the sound of cloth ripping, then dark downy feathers flying.

The vulture watched (patient) Nu as she stared at the sealed envelope in her hands.

NuOrder_zps6d35fb75.jpg
 
Last edited:
Status
Not open for further replies.