Kaustir & The Chersonese, Chapter 8

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When Ilsa was cinched high on the cross and the yurt fell around to reveal her, the soldiers were perplexed. Most heretics or god-worshippers were quietly led away away and never returned, so they were not used to the idea of a fallen becoming a spectacle. The wooden beam rose high into the air, supported by four great Drakens, and her wrists painfully bobbed in the rope as they slowly paraded to the northern end of the camp.

By the time they reached the edge, a carnival had risen around her. The Kaustrians, wild and lawless bunch they were (much to Lut's chagrin), used this unusual event as an excuse to drink, rut, and use the woman as target practice - only the good ones. The ones who came too close to nicking the women were quietly restrained.

"COMRADES!"

The clear voice excised all errant thoughts.

"You have all seen the simpering delegations from the North .. and the West."

The Czar climbed up the backs of the beam-bearing Drakens.

"My diplomats have finished meeting with them. What did they want? Peace! BUT BEHOLD - "

The Czar wagged his finger upwards at Ilsa, whose exposed belly was bruised from purple to yellow,

"they leave behind snakes in our midst. A Pegulian spy!"

Murderous silence followed his accusation. Hands curled around hilts, tongues nervously moistened lips, and shields beat a hoarse chorus.

"If the Pegulians want peace so much ... why did they bring a magical construct of war? Why did they leave behind a band of saboteurs?" and here the rest of Ilsa's party peaked out from an encirclement of Wraiths.

"The Chersonese were the neutral lands, free for anyone's taking. But it is KAUSTRIAN land now .. and Pegulis has declared WAAAAR!" Aukhmos leapt into the Czar, and his roar sounded deep into the North. Coul heard it, and so did the Black City. It would not have mattered for either of them if they had remained oblivious.

The army was prepared. Takeda had done his winterizing well. Weighed deep under furs and barrels of fat and coal, their heavy boots churned the Chersonese into mud as they marched North. The cross from which Ilsa hung was driven deep into the ground, and from up top she witnessed the flowing white river as it pushed its way into Pegulis.
 
"You think you can just come into our army and give us orders just because of a piece of cloth? HA!"

Takeda was front and center in the Second Army command tent, several of the captains were present.

"A piece of cloth given to me by the High Inquisitor, sir." Takeda retorted.

"I don't care if the Czar himself gave it to you, you are not a qualified leader here Mr. Shingen." the officer snarled.

Another officer raised his hand to quell the arguing "Mr. Shingen even if you move ahead with your plan our men, to be frank, would be reluctant to listen to you." he gave a smirk. "You are an outsider to this arm of the military, you've been living the privileged life of a First Army soldier. What hardships have you gone through?" he chuckled.

Takeda's fist tightened "You have no idea what hardship is..." he whispered.

"What was that?" the captain held his hand to his ear.

"Nothing Sir." he collected himself. "Over the past few days it would seem I've been doing more good for your men then the entire lot of you. I have groups of soldiers coming up to me asking for my help with supply requisitions. I've earned some respect from them and-"

"Some is not all Takeda." one of the older captains interrupted. "I understand that we are obligated to aid you due to your new stature, but as we stated before our troops will not be eager to help you, you have little standing here." he narrowed his eyes. "So it would seem we have reached an impasse, you want to be one of us but it would take years before that happened." the man quiet for a moment. "I'll tell you what Takeda if you beat one of us in combat, in front of the Second Army, I guarantee that you will have their respect." he explained.

"I don't have time for that! The march will begin in a few short days, I need to start now!" anger laced the swordsman's words.

"Well then we better start immediately, return to the center of the camp in one hour one of us will be waiting for you. In the mean time we will begin the slow process of preparing for the clod march as you have instructed." the captain nodded.

"Are you all a bunch of children? We are marching to war and you want to fight over my rank!" the smug grins from the council only fulled Takeda's fire. "Fine I will go along with your ridiculous plan, but should the Inquisitor find out about this I will be the innocent party while you all hang for treason." he said in a quiet rage.

"Yes yes Mr. Shingen now if you please we have an event to set up." he waved Takeda on.
 
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With Shardis keeping their bellies full and the pair of them splitting den watching duty Caoimhe was free to use some of her time and energy introducing the dracling to the hunt. On the occasions when they managed to bring down something larger the surprisingly eager aunt would play tug of war with scraps of hide and gently bat at the child in a gentle wrestling match. Even with the heavy air of death presiding over them and the equally heavy presence of the great mass rallying not to far off they managed to keep themselves occupied and relatively happy. True the army was draining the surrounding area of the native animals, but their knowledge of the edible plants was still limited enough that even if the hunt yielded little they could scrounge up things from the earth. And so far the only occurrence that had thrown them had been the appearance of the thermic gems, curtsey of the dracling.

It seemed the presence of the gems would now be a semi regular occurrence, and both Caoimhe and Shardis had to be vigilante so as to make sure that they didn't miss the unfinished gems among the grass that had grown thick with the heavy rain. Few soldiers passed close to the den, but it each time they did stray near it was a tense wait until they wandered off again. Even if one of them was always watching the camp worry still attacked Caoimhe's nerves leaving her jumpy and nervous until she was back at the den.

Her feet beat a rapid tempo against the earth as she circled back towards the den. The sun had dipped a couple paces in the sky and she hoped Shardis was not getting to anxious playing nest sitter. She would have returned a long while ago but she had paused when she saw how the army was twisting and jostling. The excitement gave her enough incentive to stay and watch, her eyes narrowed in thought as she watched tents collapse and wagons start to move. The subtle strain of guilt had finally brought her away, it was long past her time to watch Glyph and the fire.

"Shardis! Shardis I got some roots, my hunt is empty but you might have bet-" Caoimhe froze mid step as she cleared the trees and her eyes locked with the man standing across the clearing from her. There was no aggression in their stares, only mutual shock at each others' presence. They held the silence between them like some strange greeting. Even their breathing was stilled, one party waiting for the other to move first. In the end it was Caoimhe who broke the frozen contemplation, her eyes flicking to the man's raised hand, the glitter of a gem's sheen catching her eye. In harmony they moved a single step, the man moving one foot back and Caoimhe mirroring that movement by sliding one foot forward. Again they paused as cogs started to clink and grind into action, every move being debated, and every outcome being considered.

"grurr?" The questioning sound caught both unawares as the dracling pulled itself from the den, shaking the sleep from his wings tempted from the shelter by the familiar sound of his mother. However, instead of receiving the usual purr of greeting that he was so used to there was only a deep warning growl as his mother kept her eyes locked on the stranger. She saw the widening of his eyes as he stared at the dragon, his eyes leaving only for a moment to look back at the gem in his hand. The sounds of leaves crunching brought his attention back to the mother. The wilding got only two more strides before the soldier's training and instincts took hold and he took off. As he ran his hand slipped the gem into his shirt, before reaching down to draw his sword. But to late.

There was the sound of air being forced free of lungs as Caoimhe collide into the soldier's back with a violent snarl. Tumbling into the dirt the man felt the click of teeth on his neck followed by a sharp pain. With a cry he swung his sword back and around forcing the she-wolf to retreat. Red stained the white of his canvas shirt and he flipped over, sword point held between him and the woman. There was blood on her face, his blood, and as she snarled again he could see the blood flowing from between her teeth. He slowly got up, the wavering tip of his sword keeping his enemy at bay. There was too much blood, he could feel it dripping down his chest, but to stop the bleeding he would have to free a strip of cloth and then wrap it around the wound. Yet Caoimhe dogged him with that same unending tenacity that wolves were known for. She could not get close, but there was no need when all she had to do was wait for him to bleed out. Step over step she stalked round and around forcing the soldier to move and turn to keep her in sight. His blood would be long dried on her face before he finally bled out, hours could pass, but she would be patient. She had played this game before.
 
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Shardis walked slowly back to the cave searching for and finding along the way some things. Roots which she shoved in her back-pack, a rabbit hung on a lace tied to her belt, some berries were stashed in a pouch also tied to her belt and her arms filled firewood.

It was made obvious to her, upon her return to the den that they had become complacent about their new home in that they weren't as vigilant as they had been in the past. Upon entering the clearing the smell of blood hit her like a stone wall. She immediately dropped the firewood and drew her sword. The dragonet came running at the clatter of falling wood and chirped happily at Shardis, then sat down and began cleaning its leathery wings in a somewhat prideful manner that puzzled the Snow Leopard Anime.

"What have you been up to now...." her scolding words stopped mid stream as Caoimhe came out of the trees to the left of the cave put her hands on her hips and began her scolding Shardis with, "Where have you been?! You left our baby and the old man alone to Gods know what and I come home to find a stranger lurking about the place and had to kill him! Well? Speak up, I'm listening..."

The puzzled look became one of anger as Shar began defending her actions, "I was out gathering firewood and wasn't that far from camp. The baby and the old man were asleep together by the fire so I thought it would be alright to go out for a few moments." Her ears flattened as she heard herself give the lame excuse and she sighed then followed Caoimhe to the spot where she had dispatched the invader.

"We're going to have to bury him, come on."Caoimhe said. With Shar's large claws and muscles it was done quickly enough and they went back to the clearing and began cleaning up there. Caoimhe found the small gem that had started all the fuss in the first place. She held it up for Shardis to see, "What are we going to do? It's getting harder to keep this place safe and we can't keep it up forever."
 
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Poor choices
Something was riling up the men in the camp. Their voices where loud and thirsty for violence. Taking a look through the branches, Eydis spotted Ilsa again now closer to the northern edge of the camp.
There a man held a speech with a loud voice. He definitely looked like a leader, surrounded by his cheering men parading with their captive. The ranger woman measured the distance and counted in her head before moving on. It would be better if she circled a bit more north.

Sneaking trough bushes and branches careful not to leave any obvious tracks, the girl moved until she noticed an incline before closing in on the tree line once more. She needed all the elevation possible for the task at hand.
Pulling back the large string all the way back on the crossbow with great effort. Its framework complained under the great pressure. Kneeling down she took out the larger bolts for the thicker string. And then raised the crossbow.

Her aux Theydén jumped into her at the call for the advent, a split second later the world in her vision bent, blurred and then focused on her target. Everything crystal clear, the signs of wind directions, distance and movements of the target. Her thoughts where calm and focused while she adjusted her crossbow with the aid of the advent. Eydis felt her heart beat, heard it and counted. It was everything for a moment and just in between as it was silent she squeezed the trigger. The weapon kicked in her grip with a loud twang and the bolt was sent soaring through the air, towards the man's head.
 
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Casus Belli, brown
In a way, the Czar was hoping for this. The metal over his gauntlet buckled as the bolt crunched into it, and his fingers clenched around the smooth wooden shaft, stopping it before it entered his cheek.

"An assassin!" Lukesh's voice boomed over the crowd. None of his soldiers gave any sign of moving to help - the wraiths stayed sheathed in the shadow, and others leaned casually on their shields driven into the ground. They were used to attempts on the Czar's life. Their belief in the Sun's invulnerability had grown to the point that it was the foundation of Kaustir.

"But not just any sell-sword. Not just any fool, angry for the deaths of his mother and father and children." The bolt snapped in his fist.

"A coward."

The healers tended to the hole in his hand. "Kaustrians aren't cowards!" The soldiers rumbled. "More importantly, though ..."

"Kaustrians know, that those will survive become part of my personal guard. So that they try as many times as they like, to take my life. So who ... who then, who would try to kill your Czar from far?" Ilsa could feel all the eyes of the nation gaze upon her once again. A rock bounced off her skull and sent her into ringing convulsions.

"Pegulis has made the first move! War then, it is war! We shall have war! Their mountains will bleed fire and lava will pour from their secret city!"

"Find the whelp. We will string their fly infested corpse high for the Sages of Pegulis!"
"Someone tried to pin the Czar today."

"I know." Shae and Lut were together in one of their black yurts. She was helping him shuffle through some papers, filled with square, runic script describing the various prisoners, their confessions, inquisition targets, etc. Lut leaned deep into his chair, hands folded in his lap. He was always with his mask on these days, Shae observed, and seemed more exhausted than normal. Before, he took a certain satisfaction from doing the work himself, but now he left more and more of it to his cadre of wraiths.

She too was a wraith, though she did not know how to fight, and the cloak and mask still fit very awkwardly on her. Lut called upon her advent with increasing regularity. With practice, she seemed to be getting better at divining shapes in the glass. It was Shae who told Lut that there would be an attempt on the Czar's life.

"Why is the Czar moving North?"

"Only he knows." Lut popped his neck, groaning from the fatigue.

"We are running low on food stores."

"That is what the merchants are for. Without Tattersal and Viridos, we are their only trade partners now. They will continue to sell us food and materials as long as they get thermic gems."

"Speaking of gems." Shae tested Lut, mixing lies into her portents. "There have been some rumours that rocks resembling gems have been spotted around the camp."

"That is impossible. I would have heard of it by now if it were the case." He reached forward to take the reports from Shae, and she saw the blood stain on the glove, in the same place where the Czar had been pierced early today.

"Is that so." She grabbed his hand, squeezed it until red dripped onto the floor.

Lut regarded her silently from behind his mask.

"Did you manage to put a price on love too? How much is it worth?"

"At least as much as everyone's god forsaken lives in this camp." He pulled his hand free from her grip, massaging the blood-soaked bandages. "Go seek her, then. Keep her alive for the next two years, then bring her back to me. Or maybe .. you are having too much fun lying to me?"

"No? Then get me a healer, at least."
 
Her face was a mask, bare of all emotions, but inside, abject horror and rage boiled and bubbled. Amalia was standing outside her tent, fingers twitching on the hilt of her sword as she watched the bruised Pegulian women hoisted onto a cross. The healer was twenty feet away from the victim, but the blossoming purple and yellow color of severe bruising were unmistakable. To her trained eye, Amalia knew that it would take weeks for the bruising and other injuries to fully heal.

Rakar and Amalia listened silently to the Czar's declaration; their expressions were impassive as rocks and insults were thrown at the woman. Even when an arrow was loosed at Lukesh' head, neither of them flinched. Amalia turned her head away from the spectacle, wide brown eyes staring up at Rakar.

How often had he seen this? Seen a spy or fellow comrade treated this way? Such treatment was common, or so she thought... The woman looked away. The healer had no way of knowing what was going through the draken's head, but she had an inkling. After all, Rakar didn't even care for Kerrick because --

She stiffened, back was straight as a sword. "Where's Kerrick?"

Draken and human met each other's eyes.

"He's a Pegulian. For all we know he may be one of the spies."

"And what if he's not?" demanded Amalia.

Rakar surveyed her with glinting eyes, "It would not be wise to look for him. If he's captured there is nothing we can do."

"You said you would follow me. You said if I had potential you would --"

"Why do you wish to look for him, Amalia?"

Her mouth was a thin line. "He saved me once. I should return the favor."

His reluctance was obvious from the way he shifted his weight and avoided her eyes.

Frustration sparked. "If you aren't going to help, I will do it myself."

"No. I'll come. I won't let you out of my sights, not after what happened before."
 
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lutesh.jpg

"Hello."

Glyph had a visitor, inside his cage. The weather had been kind to him, but not the recent rains. The Wraith turned the old bard over, changing his soaked clothes, drying the rotting flesh and patting the sores down with herbal powders.

"I never thought we would meet like this."

He pulled a fresh set of dry linens over Glyph. Lut sharpened a pair of sheers and trimmed the bard's overgrown and filthy beard.

"I'm sure you must have known." Lut grunted as he rested Glyph against some cushions. "They said that 'you cannot know both the name of Glyph and Lut Sar at the same time.'" He sat down across from him, hands folded in his lap. "Every cutthroat I bribed had his neck slit. When you sent your dogs sniffing around, I sent them back into the black city without their noses."

"Ever since I ran from the Black City with my first scar and the name 'Glyph', we have been dancing, haven't we? For fifty years I played with an invisible foe, and the only times I learned about you was when one of my wraiths disappeared. We set our borders with corpses."

"My old haimisher mensch ... I learned more about you from killing your acquaintances than a lifetime of friendship. We never exchanged a word, but we have talked for a thousand hours."

"Glyph, I know you inside out. You are dying ... " Lut rested his masked face on his hand, "so you must have revealed yourself for a reason."

"And I do not know why. But as they say, don't look a gift horse in the mouth." From within his desert uniform, Lut withdrew a small glass vial. He held the round bottom over a flame, and covered Glyph's mouth, watching the blue-black smoke snake up his nose.

~​

"Nu ... " Glyph's glassy eyes refocused. "Fettered tern of Lut Sar, what are you doing here?"

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"Hello, Glyph."

"Ah .. feygela ... " The bard haltingly reached out for her hands. They were warm.

"I have come to have my fortune told."

"Of course, of course." Quill softly crept into Glyph's chest.

A knowing smile, grudgingly respectful, spread over the bard's face. "Lut Sar ... " The illusion faded; Nu's face unswirled and the patterns of the Wraith mask faced him once more.

lutesh.jpg

"Lut, you bubbula klutz ... Nu will survive. You, on the other hand ... "

Even if Glyph had not died at that moment, his aux dissolving into a thousand golden motes, and managed to tell Lut-Lukesh's fortune, he was already satisfied. The Czar-High Inquisitor sat in front of the dead man for a long time, with the whistles of the wind (which blew away the smell of voided bowels) that buoyed his suddenly light heart. So Nu would live, she would escape. Maybe, just maybe ... he reached forward to close the bard's eyes.

Clutched in his hands was the dull husk of a thermic stone. Lut's mind snapped to what Shae had said earlier, and he turned to see Caoimhe stepping into the cage.
 
Capture
He fucking caught the bolt with his hand!
Eydis turned to the right while rushing through the forest. Moving away from the sounds of scout horns and loud voices. But not all where making noises and so the group right next to her was caught by surprise as much as she was. However one of them was fast to react past the initial surprise and notched an arrow, it caught into her backpack with enough force to get her of balance.
Trying to compensate from the sudden push sideways she missed the log on the ground before her and felt a sharp pain in her left ankle, yet still the girl managed to keep going. The loud sound of the scout horn from the group behind a good motivator to keep going.

Still as she kept moving the ring of scouts closed in cutting of escape after escape.
“There she is”
Trying to outrun them again the sound of the arrow barley gave her time to react and it tore into her leg. Turning around pulling her knives Eydis tried to confront instead quickly running out of options. Barley avoiding the first ones strike she cut him in the side his armour taking most of it. She had no experience in fighting several foes and the man’s fist took the girl completely of guard as it sent her sprawling to the ground. Still the fear of what would happen if they brought her back was driving her and she tried to kick. Instead she was hit in the side by a boot and the man went on to put his foot on her wound.

“Okay tie her up”
It didn’t take long till the camp was visible again. However Eydis was too tired and in too much pain to struggle. Glancing at the cross that held Ilsa she then stared into the ground holding back the tears.
 
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[fieldbox="Fear and Loathing, turquoise, solid"]

Kalhart had seen everything. She saw the horrific sight of her captain being interrogated and beaten. She felt tears forming in her eyes. Not tears of just sadness, but tears from the overwhelming anger building up inside her. "You b-bastards..."

She slipped through the shadows, making sure she was not seen, and quickly followed after the ones taking Ilsa. What exactly was going on? She couldn't hear everything, but she had heard enough to slowly put pieces together. She made sure to keep her hood on, keeping her bright red hair covered up, helping her blend in with the shadows

"OOF!"

Kalhart bumped into someone, and she held her breath..

"What the hell?..."

There was a man standing in front of her, and she was starting to go into panic mode. Something she was trained never to do. She had to think quickly. Could she run? No, he would hear her. There was only one option. Kalhart backed up slightly. Then she did something she never wished she would have to do. She grabbed the man's jaw with one hand, and his forehead with her other hand. She quickly twisted his head in a jerked movement.

SNAP

Kalhart gagged at the sound, she had been trained to kill in a swift movement such as this, but she never thought she would actually have to do it. She stood there for a moment, trying to get a hold of herself. She snapped back into reality when she saw the crooked corpse staring up at her with blank eyes. She took in a deep breath, and picked up the dead man. She would have to quickly dispose of the body, or they would know she was here. She heard footsteps behind her, and she began to panic. She began to pick up her pace, hoping to outrun them.

However, she was too late. "Hey, you, come back here!!" A voice shouted from not far behind. Kalhart's eyes were widening. She had only one choice now. She would have to use her Aux.

Kalhart took in a deep breath, dropped the man, and stood in front of her pursuers.

"You! Stop right where yo-"

There was a blinding light, and her pursuers stood, dazed. Kalhart began to run quickly, she ran until she was out of view. Luckily no one was around. She collapsed onto the ground, her body exhausted. She sat up slowly, and looked around. She took her hood off. She was going to have to blend in with the crowd if she was going to help the others.

Was she the only one left?

How was she, a huntress, going to rescue Ilsa and the others?



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A high whine was forced out of Caoimhe's clenched teeth, a sound one made when the throat was so constricted that just breathing suddenly became a huge task. With a stumbling step entered the cage, her hind foot catching for a moment. For a few moments it seemed she was oblivious to Lut sar's presence her eyes glued to Glyph's still body. She had killed so many and had seen enough death that the crushing truth grabbed at her heart and refused to be shaken. At that point Lut might have left quietly, the door was open, the way clear, and Caoimh's mind was in a free fall that she was having a lot of trouble pulling herself out of. He could have walked away and that would have been it, but instead he opened his mouth.

"He-" He started. To much time had been spent as the inquisitor, the politician, the smooth talker. To many times he had seen his words make is targets buckle and cave, he was word weaver of his own class and making. For once he should have kept his mouth closed. In the span of a single blink, at the sound of his voice, the wildling moved from where she had fallen to her knees at Glyph's side to foot in front of where Lut stood. His eyes widened as he saw the utter destruction that was brewing in the woman's glare. There was only a moment to spare before she barreled into him, throwing him off his feet, and sending them both crashing back against the cage wall in a fury of feathers. Scritch, scratch, her nails dug into his mask, searching for flesh to claw and destroy. Gripping her by the shoulders Lut pushed back against his attacker; watching as her ghost tattoo of an aux slithered it's way up her neck. Like some kind of infection the ink like shape crawled up her face until it reached her eyes, and drained into her sockets. The soft whine that had been her only vocalization deepened into a rumbling that sounded less human than her whining had.

As Caoimhe's nails passed dangerously close to the eye holes that Lut gave a desperate push tossing the mad woman off. Scrabbling to regain her feet as the inquisitor leapt to his feet and reached for the shears he had used earlier to trim Glyph's beard. As Caoimhe dodged forward Lut swung his makeshift weapon with the intention of driving her back, so when she accepted the blow without a flinch he was taken aback as she once again closed the distance between them. Shielding himself he felt teeth clamp shut around his forearm as she grabbed hold of his shirt. Stopping him from throwing her off again so easily. With her wings pumping frantically Lut found himself staggering about at great drafts of air pulled him first one way than the other. Desperately he swung at her again, the shears embedding themselves into her collar bone. But as he once again locked eyes with her he saw no pain and even no recognition that she had been wounded. Her eyes were red, yet empty of any of the powerful emotions that should have been there. With a twisting motion Caoimhe tried to tear a chunk out of his arm. Releasing his grip on the shears he struck at her face until her lip split and her teeth were finally shaken loose. The grip she had on the front of his shirt, nails scrapping against his flesh, was much harder to shake off.

There was a grunt of pain as one of Caoimhe's feet lashed out, striking at Lut's knee. Buckling to the ground he braced his shoulders as her teeth clicked and snapped only a few inches from his neck, held at bay by his crossed forearms. The pair of sheers was still embedded in her shoulder and drops of blood dripped down off the handle and onto his mask. A grimace contorted his hidden face as claws dug into his skin as Caoimhe sought to pull herself in close to her prey's throat. Her mind burned and yet her heart felt so cold and so still. She wanted to spill his blood, to bathe in it, until the hunger left her mind and her heart was warmed back into life. Perhaps it was the anger that kept her heart pumping but it was the fear that drove her forward, the influence of her advent filled her with the belief that if did not kill her own life would be ripped away. So when she felt several pairs of hands pull her forcibly off of Lut Sar she could do nothing but let out a crushing shriek.

Some of the wraiths swarmed her as others took a defensive stance in front of Lut. Even with four larger figures pinning her limbs and body she bucked and struggled against their grip, giving them more trouble that they might have expected. That is until her aux began to from her eyes. Like a black flood of tears the tattoo migrated back down her face and neck, disappearing into her shirt to reform it usual shape over her heart. As the advent faded the pain caught hold of her, and her struggling came to a halt. But is was not just the puncture in her collar or the bruises that made her wince, no once again her emotions had been scrubbed raw and she had to face the reality that she had been dealt. For the first time in a long time Caoimhe started to cry.

"What should we do with her?" One of the wraiths voiced as Lut was brought to his feet and guided towards the cage exit. Pausing the nocturne noticed two more thermic crystals that had appeared on the ground during the fight. Under the scratched and bloodstained mask his brow furrowed as he picked up the gems before turning to glance back at Caoimhe.

"Let her go and bury her friend." He said stiffly.

"He was my Grandfather!" She snapped in reply her head twisting to fix Lut with a much sadder stare than the one she had been using before.

"grandfather..." He echoed as he slowly turned and left the cage, the majority of the wraiths leaving with him. A select few staying behind to give the rest a head start before they themselves got up and quickly left, Caoimhe's feeble swipes snagging at their heels.

A long while later, concerned with her friends tardiness, Shardis arrived her eyes widening in shock at what she saw. Poles they had used to wind proof the drafty cage were taken down and Shardis made a makeshift stretcher for Glyph's body. Only once that task was complete did Caoimhe allow her to help her with her wounds. It would be a long walk back to their camp, made even longer by the dead weight they carried.
 
(@Hermaeus Melon)
[fieldbox="The War Cry, goldenrod, solid, 5, Palatino Linotype"]
Kerrick stared in horror at the prisoner of war that Kaustir had put up on the cross, in plain view for all to see. The Czar had delivered a rousing, impassioned speech that would be the catalyst for the military to began pushing north into the frozen lands of Pegulis.

The soldiers that had gathered around Kerrick to listen to the Czar speak erupted in battle cries as Aukhmos leapt into Lukesh, and it seemed as though every single Kaustrian roared in unison.

Except Kerrick, whose brown eyes stared sadly at the captive's limp, barely-conscious body atop the cross.

"Ilsa..."

Terra whimpered quietly by Kerrick's side, tail tucked between her legs.

-----

Night had fallen in the Chersonese, and the moon cast a soft, pale glow across the encampments. Much of the camp was asleep, to prepare for what would ultimately be a long march into the frozen north, on a straight shot towards the Black City, and onward to Barvelle. Kerrick and Terra, on the other hand, remained tucked behind several storage crates along the perimeter of the tents, hidden from view.

Ilsa had been taken down from the cross in preparation to move, and was being held in a brig - a makeshift prison, caged like some kind of animal. The brig sat atop a cart for transport, but he had no idea where the other Pegulians were being held.

Then again, none of the other Pegulians mattered.

Kerrick sat with his back against the wood of a supply crate, elbows resting against his knees and face in his palms. Terra laid wearily in the grass beside him with her head down.

"We can't just leave her there," Terra complained, accompanying with a quiet whine.

"No shit." Kerrick's hushed voice was further muffled by his palms. "But there's nothing we can do. At least she's being fed."

"The brig isn't that heavily guarded, we could--"

"What, bust her out of there? Sure. Assume we can manage that," he said as he let his hands fall away, leaning his head back and thudding it against the wooden crate. "But what then? Where would we keep her? How would we prevent her from being found? What would I tell Amalia and Rakar?"

Terra said nothing, but let out another low, throaty whine, knowing to keep quiet.

A sigh escaped Kerrick's lips as he stared off in thought. "It's an unwinnable situation. We just have to wait for more of the pieces to move."

"Or for more pieces to be put in play."

The voice caused Kerrick to leap to his feet, moonlight glinting off steel as he partially unsheathed the sword at his side. Terra forcibly withheld a growl.

Kalhart stepped into view, hands held up with palms facing out to indicate she meant no harm. The moonlight bathed her in a pale white as those same exposed hands slowly lowered her hunter's hood to expose her face. As she did so, Kerrick relaxed, and Terra's tail began to wag.

"It's been a long time, Captain."
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Salvation
For all of the Czar's bluster, Lut-Lukesh had forgotten to do one thing: execute Chelena. It was equal parts forgetfulness and shrewdness. Forgetful, because Lut-Lukesh was absorbed in the duties of two prominent persons, who now had to appear only when the other was missing. The 3rd division, the intelligence and wraiths, were suffering from lack of leadership, while Shae and the senior masters took on more responsibility. Shrewd, because to execute Chelena publically would have acknowledged her attempt on the Czar's life. The Czar did not wish to fight two wars, and so left Tattersal alone, brooding in his poisoned jungle, while he headed into the frozen north.

So Chelena, the beautiful dark Nocturne, was locked in a simple wooden cage and forgotten. No one treated her cruelly, for they did not know her crime. She was fed daily and kept in the shade. But other than that, she was forgotten. Not a word was spoken to her, and her interaction was limited to seconds every day.

The sun rose and set, on and on, blurring time together. Gradually, her colours faded. Where every action was a blossom of sense, there was shades of grey. In time that too faded to black, then nothing. She went blind although she could see, and stopped responding to the bowls of blood. They piled up on top of one another, set everyday by uncaring hands, and the rotting liquid attracted hordes of flies and the smell, the smell ...

Something tickled at Chelena's foot. It was warm. The sounds of the cage unlocking reached her ears but she did not care.

Someone tilted her head back and dribbled the red life down her throat. She followed the colour. Although indistinct, she could make out a face.

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"Come. This Nu takes Chelena away."


[ @Peregrine ]
 
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[fieldbox=Salvation, goldenrod]Chelena followed after Nu blindly, as unresisting to the young woman’s attempt to save her as she had been to the Czar throwing her in the cell to waste away. It didn’t make any difference.

Chelena was dying.

She could feel the poison in her body, boiling her blood. It felt like she was out in the sun, except instead of a bright, clear burn that egged her to fight it was a dull smolder, barely noticeable but always there, killing her.

She had been given herbs that would slow the poison in her blood, but once they were gone her own body would kill her within a couple days. Every day she was closer to dying. It didn’t matter.

Chelena was already dead.

She had been a butterfly once, bright and colorful and happy. She and her scarves had danced through Edelon, tasting all the colors it had to offer. She had been happy.

And then the alate had been stolen from the aviary, and a golden haired bird had spirited her away on an adventure. Kuastir had killed him, ripping the life and the color from his body. Chelena had broken, but it hadn’t been irreparable. She had began to put herself back together.

And then Tattersal found her, and he offered her revenge. He had offered her the chance to destroy the nation that wanted to steal the color from everything. All it would cost her was her life. But he had convinced her it was worth it, because her death, her life, would have meaning.

He had poisoned her body, and flattened her mind to have only a single goal. She would kill the Czar, bring him down as she rode him high, and everything would be alright.

Except her poison had not hurt him. It had not even affected him. He had her once and he was done with her. He had locked her away, and the only purpose left in Chelena’s life had been taken from her. There was no reason for her to be alive anymore.

Yet still, just before she left the cell, Chelena’s hand reached out blindly, latching around the small leather bag that contained the medicine that was keeping her alive. She wouldn’t notice it, crushed in the palm of her hand, until that night, when Nu brought the two to a halt and uncovered the vacant nocturne from the dark Wraith’s cloak that had protected her from the sun’s unrelenting eye, and the eyes of the Kaustirian army. Why?

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[warning, some mild rape triggers]

Perdition
"Wait."

"What?" The human dragged Eydis by the ropes on her wrists. She could not resist, focusing all her effort on avoiding mouthfuls of dirt.

"She's a pretty one."

"For an anthro." The human spat. How quickly Kaustrians forgot, that moisture was a sign of deep respect. The plenty and the good weather had worn away centuries of tradition. Not only worn away, but everyone acted as if their past did not exist. Spit was now a gesture of excess, of something disposable, a gesture of pity for those without water.

"What the fuck do you think I am, then?" The lion-leopard thumped his chest. "You piece of shit!" He lowered his spear against the human.

Most Kaustrians cannot be intimidated. The desert is the harshest mistress. The human shrugged and dropped the ropes. "We need to take her back to the Czar."

"Not if she's dead." The lion grabbed her ropes and pulled her into a nearby barracks-yurt.

"Ilium's grace!" The lion-leopard stumbled back, popping slickly from Eydis. He clutched his bleeding ear. The girl from Pegulis had snapped, bands around her arm glowed, throwing out frantic darts of energy. One of them had caught him in the ear just as she had bitten his hand.

"Cunt!" He slapped her, a great winding blow that only a lion's paw could muster, and thrust himself on her a few more times before slashing her stomach.

Finished and nursing his wounds, he dragged her to the front of a peculiar tent, adorned with elegant green lace. Soldiers and others came in and out, and there was a curious air of peace, of truce. There, he dropped her and disappeared back into the folds, having disposed of the evidence.

Above fluttered the silver wings.
 
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Sunrise
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Amalia woke to the strange, yet familiar scent of dirt and cut grass, mixed with petrichor. Her nose had not grown accustomed to such smells, but a few seconds of blinking in the dimness of her tent and Amalia remembered where she was. The grunts and yells of activity soothed her erratic heart, melted away her nightmares. She stared at the sleeping form that was her bodyguard Rakar, and wondered not for the first time since arriving here when K'jol would return.

Face washed, hair braided, and teeth brushed, the healer opened the tent flap and stepped into a changed world. Her makeshift home was on the edge of the encampment, offering her the best view of New Zirako. She saw the Prosperos in all of her glittering glory, gentle waves rising to kiss the shore. Transfixed, Amalia watched as ships from Avarath docked at the new harbor; the workers and slaves were hard at work, hauling crates and wood onto barges and pier.

Mud brown eyes slid to the wood and metal aqueducts that pumped the water from the sea and onto the new farms. Here was where Amalia smelled the dirt and grass. Amongst the blackened earth that was plowed by oxen and salamander she made out faint streaks of green -- seedlings had finally arise from the ground. The first of the lands' crops would be harvested next fall. It would be an event loudly celebrated by all, for Kaustir would have shown the nations that not only did they dominant the sands and wastelands, but the seas and grasslands as well.

She looked wistfully at the farms -- both plant and animal based -- that scoured the area, and frowned at the open mines that torn up the landscape. Once a sprawling grasslands, the Chersonese looked choked, strangled.

Rakar emerged from the tent, dressed in a loose fitting tunic and breeches. Coros sat on his shoulder, eyes narrowed against the glare of the morning sun.

"I take it you weren't able to find him last night?" asked the healer without tearing her eyes away.

"No. None of the other soldiers saw him either. It's possible he fled after seeing the woman."

Amalia nodded numbly. She had hoped he would be another recruit for her cause, but it seemed that the fates were against her.

"Have you... Received any word about K'jol?" she asked, fingers at the crook of her throat.

"Amalia." His words were soft, a whisper in the breeze. He strode up to her and laid a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. "He may not come back. You need to accept this."

Again, another numb nod. "You're right. You always are. Come, let's find breakfast."

The Wall grunted in response. It would not fare well for the healer to think of the past when he needed her for the future. With New Zirako bustling and growing, it would not be long before the Czar amassed his forces.

"Does it help, me still pining for him?" she asked, strands of charcoal hair framing her pretty face.

The question caught him off guard. "What do you mean?"

"You were concerned that I was not myself. Does it help that I still miss him?"

"I... Yes. Of course, Amalia." She nodded, whirled around, and trotted away. The draken's eyes narrowed into slits as he followed her to the mess hall. There was more to this transformation than he liked.
 
She stood up and dusted herself off and examined the newly dug grave. It was set under a weeping tree, near a pond in the shadows and covered with bits of dried moss and bushes that would bear fruit in the late summer. It seemed an appropriate place for the old man to take his final rest in. Secret, useful, quiet most of the year and yet full of bird song in the spring. A place full of life and secret knowledge, timeless and replete with beauty so the old man would never be bored or lonely, yes, they had chosen the place well.

"Good-bye Old Man" It was all she could think of to say at the moment. Shardis turned and walked away while Caoimhe stayed to say her final words in private.

The dracling, having grown to the size of a medium sized dog now, chased dragon flies in a patch of wild flowers and Shar laughed as he tumbled over himself in the effort.

"Come on silly," she called him to her and he leaped up onto her shoulder in one fluid movement and they set off to the cave, Caoimhe called it a 'den'. Shar didn't care what it was called so long as it was safe enough, which it seamed to be for the moment. It made a good base to work from and was warm enough for Caoimhe with a tiny fire at night. The smoke, what there was of it, seemed to be sucked into the back of the small cavern, there probably was some sort of natural vent. That also let Caoimhe and Shar have cooked food if they wished, which was nice to have in such a big lonely world.

They had gone through the old man's bags and had not found much of use in them since most of the items were unknown to ether Shardis or Caoimhe and they dared not experiment for fear of poison, which the old man was known to be a master of. They had no need of a watch now since the dracling was excellent as a night watchman. It did most of its sleeping during the day on warm rocks in the sun by the pond while Caoimhe went off in search of her 'friends' and Shardis hunted the days meat and whatever else that might need to be done.

They both knew that it wouldn't last forever, but it was a good home for the time being. Plenty of small game, clean water, berries and roots to eat. Yes, it would do while Caoimhe searched and the dracling grew bigger... stronger.
 
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Crushing reality
“She is going to need stitching” Eydis mind rocked at the distant voice. She felt her body being moved and tilted.
“I know but for now clean it up, we can’t have an infection” Another voice…

Who?

“Apply some pressure here while I wrap the bandages.”

Something wet and warm slowly moved down along the side of her cheek.
No she didn’t want to wake up. Eydis mind repelled at the events resurfacing in her memories.

Warm water was rubbed at her skin. Moving along her sides, slowly around the wound and then continued down. Even if gentle it was like a rugged stone scrapping the skin.
“She is crying” The first voice stated.
“No wonder with that state and look down there”

Eydis could feel her eyelids burn.

Don’t mention it,

Don’t look,

Don’t …

Just disappear

…please.

A painful pressure started at the back of her throat

“The healer should be here soon” The older voice said after a moment of whispers, followed by the rustling sound of them leaving.

Alone the girl began to shiver. As if left bare and unprotected under a blizzard.
“Fuck” she whimpered and moved an arm over her face. “Fuck”
The words where repeated like a chant. She had messed up bad really bad.
And that soldier.
“fuck”
Saying it a final time with a weak voice, she couldn’t hold it back.
What had she been thinking firing that bolt?
 
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[By @Tone 6th, edited by this poster]

The Center of the Second Army camp
Every worker, solider, and engineer crowded around a makeshift fighting ring in the center of the camp. The camp captions were on a small high rise just in front of it.

The elder captain rose his hand. "Today we have a special treat for you all. First Army soldier Takeda Shingen versus Captain Alim!" Parts of the crowd called loudly while some stayed quiet with concerned looks. "This will be an unarmed one on one match, first to submit loses." The captains began to disperse. "Play nice now boys."

"I've heard much about you Captain, they say your skills are unparalleled when it comes to hand to hand combat. I'm honored to have this fight with you." Takeda gave a slight bow.

"You're not anything to spit at either Takeda, I wish you the best of luck." a gravely voice called from under his hood.
Both fighters eyed one another for a moment, then another. Without knowing it, they began to pace around each other, tracing out a circle in the dirt.

As one they met in the center, fists engaged and arms straining, still in deadlock. Just the faintest weakness, or the slightest give in the joint, and it would be over. Takeda traded an arm blow to sweep Alim's feet from under him, and they both fell to the ground, tumbling over each over, trying to take the high ground. It was over, just like that. It could have went either way, and the crowd knew that. But they saw that Takeda was as tough as any of their officers.

"I have beaten one of your captains in combat, but I take no joy in this win!" he called. "In the time that it took for me to do this we could have been more then half done with preparations for the march north!" Takeda paused. "Some of you have gotten to know me these past few days, and some of you could care less about who I am, but let's put that aside. The Czar has given us a job to to do. Together, we can take the north!" Takeda bellowed.
 
Marching North

Blackguards and Kaustrians are married to death. Whether it is a grudging marriage, or a committed one, or a lustful union, they all bathe in war and drink the spoils. One thing they are not in agreement on, however, is honour. Kaustrians are professionals. They have objectives and are subordinate to their leaders. The three groups that form the basis of the Czar's horde are based on ascending absolute loyalty and obedience.

Scoundrels, though, actually live for themselves. For a fish, they will murder a man. For a bucket of salt, they will murder a bucket of men. They will pour molten Dorgrad iron over their comrades if it will make the resulting steel more valuable to the Hosians.

And for a pinch of White Claudia? Well ...

The Black City was the best unkept secret. It lay somewhere in the area between Pegulis and the Prosperos. Some of the roads led to it, and sometimes the travellers on the road would point out the right direction. Other times, the road led to the welcoming embrace of knifes in the gut and hands in the pocket.

Despite that, it was at least a path of roads, much preferable to stomping through the wetlands. General Kirtin spread the wraiths at his disposal wide and far, mapping out a sizable portion of the land just south of the borders to Pegulis.

It was no surprise that the road to the Black City was quiet. The smoke rising in the distance long gave clue to the activities of its inhabitants. By Kirtin's keen eye, fully half of them had fled, given some sort of advance warning of their arrival.

The ones who lingered made the poor choice that they still had time. The ones who lingered had not been alive when the Czar conquered the Eastern Wastes and sparked the forges in the Dorgrad pits, which still burn to this day. They did not know the horrors of Nocturne war. Lukesh was a fiend who split his army into two separate, independent bodies. Although his manpower was fully cut in half, he marched twice as fast - and when he arrived at his enemy's gates, he could lay siege day and night. The spoils of the land and larder went to the dustrats, those who slept at night, and the captured foe fed the Nocturnes.

So the scoundrels, the blackguards, the despicable and the turncoat, were all rooted by shock and fear to see the Czar's vanguard undulating from the sparse forest to the south. It had been quite some time since Sunne felt the footsteps of men who were trained to efficiently deal out death.

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