Kaustir & The Chersonese, Chapter 8

[Melon]

(@fatalrendezvous)
[fieldbox="Chasing The Sun, aqua , solid"]
"It's been a long time, Captain."

Kalhart stood firm; Arvok perched on her shoulder. "It has been a while hasn't it?" Arvok spoke, something he rarely did.

Kalhart silenced Arvok with a flick of her wrist," Pardon him, Captain, but what are you doing here?"


Kalhart was pretty much oblivious as to what happened to Kerrick, and why he was here. She noticed him shift uncomfortably as she asked him the question. She instantly regretted asking.

"Questions can be answered later, right now we need a plan." Kalhart said, changing the subject to the matter at hand.

"Well, do you have one?" Kerrick asked rather abruptly.

Kalhart let out a sigh, " I'm pretty sure I'm one of the few Pegulians, if not the only one, that managed to not be captured." Kalhart looked in the direction she had just came from, and frowned. " I followed after Ilsa, and I saw everything. I saw the bastards beat her!"

"And you did nothing to help?!"

Kalhart shook her head, "What could I have done?.... If they saw me, they might've just killed her. I thought maybe I could sneak back out and find a way to rescue her."

Silence.

"I killed a man today." Kalhart said in a numb tone. " Yes, I've been trained to fight, but it almost didn't feel right."

Kerrick stood there in silence, waiting for Kalhart to continue.

"My point is, I don't understand how they can just torture and kill us, without showing the slightest hint of remorse. The bastards..." Kalhart clenched her fists, and took in a deep breath. " I thought maybe I could help Ilsa on my own, but now that they have everyone else. It's impossible. I need your help." Kalhart's lip was quivering, she never asked for help. She was absolutely desperate. " I also see no way that you and I can do it on our own. We need help, but from who, is the question.."

Kalhart felt her doubt growing heavier and heavier. Who were they going to find that could help them? Even if they did, what would they do? The chances of rescuing Ilsa and the rest of the Pegulians seemed slim, but she couldn't give up hope. She couldn't..




[/fieldbox]

 

[unanun]

The road to Avarath from the Chersonese camp was sweet. They were bathed in fresh sea mist and the weather was welcoming. Nu and Chelena followed the shore, passing by the large merchant ships off in the distance. They were laden with fat fish and other seafoods, barrels full of seaweed and other strange plants. The merchant shipments would be the key to the Czar's mobility until the fields on the Chersonese bore their first harvest.

Avarath loomed in the distance.

Nu moved barefooted, the sand and grass sticking up between her toes. They made camp at night and ate well; though Chelena remained listless much of the time, Nu would leave quietly and return with wild game to drain the blood for her. She boiled water for the Nocturne's herbs, and stayed up late in the night keeping her company.

"You Chelena is ill?" Nu squatted in front of the pot, sticking the bubbling green concoction.

Drained

Lut groaned as his wraiths dragged him into yurt. He remembered a similar situation, so many months ago in Avarath, when Shae had stolen Nu away from him. Although Lukesh's body was strong, and his mind used to pain, the Czar had the luxury of sleep and recuperation, while Lut-Lukesh played two lives.

He survived by infusing his body with devilish blue concoctions to resharpen his mind. The bodyguards were a problem, so he killed them and used their ashes to fertilize the first round of wheat. Alone and bare, he repositioned his closest, most trusted wraiths as his bodyguards, removed their masks and clothing them as his honour guard. In public he was the Czar, but he was a mess behind closed doors, jittery and paranoid.

"Out of the way." Shae elbowed the wraiths aside and crouched next to Lut, who lay panting on a cot. She peeled his uniform off and wiped down the cold sweat, stitched his bite wounds and salved his bruises. She wedged her fingers under his mask, and was stopped by an abnormally strong grip. Swearing, she pried at Lut's fingernails until he released his grip, and tore off the mask.

The wraiths turned on instinct, falling flat to the ground and burying their masks into the soil, sensing a terrible revelation. Silence flooded the room.

Shae found that she did not have much room to be mad anymore. Instead, she merely wiped away the twin red trails from his eyes, and rubbed more salve into his bruised cheeks. Lut closed his eyes - and passed out.

 

[Doom Spiral]

Olle: A Predicament

| The fear of others. The plague upon us. The death that waits.

| The Black City was a home to criminals. Olle, a middle-aged and stern-looking man, did not fancy himself a criminal; yet his line of work brought him to this den of thieves frequently. Now, however, he wished with great conviction that it hadn't. A fearsome plague had fallen upon the city in the days after his arrival, sending a large portion of the populace packing and those that remained in a miserable state. Olle was bound by loyalties; as per his last contract, he was to wait until his client arrived to receive the goods Olle had brought here.

| But each day Olle waited, pacing in the gloom of the warehouse and feeding off of stale provisions somebody had stored here, was a day closer to catching the accursed plague. Each day wasted was a day closer to a fiery death, as the armies of Kaustir were rumoured to have their eyes upon these lands. Each day wasted drew Olle a little closer to losing his mind, all alone in the dark with a dreadful city beyond these musty walls.

| "Fetthund," he spoke, rousing his aux. "It's time for us to go."

| The two stood and moved towards the wide doors of the warehouse; Olle carefully unbolted them and cautiously opened it a crack to look into the street. Empty, save for the snow. Somebody in the distance wailed. Olle gripped his cudgel and darted out into the pale light. He drew a deep breath of the air, expecting the clear scent of winter, but instead was sent reeling and coughing by a foul putrescence. The air was heavy with a smell of death and mould- Olle drew his scarf up over his face and wiped his watering eyes, and took off as fast as he could walk down the street.

| He intended to head south and inform his employer of what had happened, but as he walked realised he in his haste had wandered into a part of town he did not recognise. The streets grew narrower, the buildings shabbier, the shadows darker. He stopped, in the middle of an intersection. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Fetthund growled. He felt a strange fear, but the dying had no qualms with him- did they? He stood in silence, his breath rapid with unease, and there was a sound. A distant cacophony, melted together into a roar. Leather, stone, steel, and voice.

| Olle was running out of time.

 

[Peregrine]

[fieldbox=Desert Life, #A2A9AF]"Yes, Nu. This Chelena is dying."

Once, Chelena might have been indignant at Nu's question and subtle ministrations. She had been prideful, and would have railed against any hint that she was weak. She had never accepted generosity, and had always fought to earn her place. Now... now it made no difference.

Nu understood little, but her knowing gaze knew all too much. "So you become dog. Sit, stay. Lie down."

"There's no cure for this Nu. All it does is put off the unavoidable."

"Then why this?" Nu gestured to the herbs, which were done steeping. She grabbed a small cup, carefully straining out the liquid from between the soggy leaves.

"Because they are there," Chelena replied dryly.

Nu, who had been making to hand the cup to Chelena, hesitated. Her hand tipped sideways, and some of the precious liquid slopped onto the sand, which was instantly soaked up by the sand. She was prevented from tipping any more by Chelena, who lunged forward, cupping her medicine in both hands. Nu looked at her.

"No one wants to die. Not when salvation, however temporary, is sitting right in front of them."

"Then why choose sick?"

Chelena let out a short, barking laugh. It was the most emotion she had shown since the Czar had cast her aside. Her leer was biting.

"He was my Lut."[/fieldbox]

 

[Doom Spiral]

Olle: A Choice

[spacer]"Up," said Fetthund.
[spacer]"What?" asked Olle, not having understood.
[spacer]"Bad smells. Go up, less smell. See noise," Fetthund elaborated. Olle nodded.
[spacer]He climbed with some difficulty up the rickety side of the most suitable shack, swearing under his breath the whole way. Fetthund followed with far less effort. This was not what Olle was accustomed to- he was going to have a chat about compensation pay with his employer. He rose to his feet at the top of the shack and squinted at the icy wind.
[spacer]"Fire?" asked Fetthund.
[spacer]"Not now, we've got other things to-"
[spacer]"Fire? Fire?" Fetthund looked intently at the southern horizon. Plumes of dust. Olle scowled.
[spacer]"Not fire," he replied. "The Sun."
[spacer]It was here that they faced a dilemma. To go north would mean braving the ice and wind without supplies. Going east or west would be days of travel, still without supplies. And south? Towards the army? Death. Olle rubbed his brow, perplexed. A noise from below startled him.
[spacer]A group of the sick stood below, watching him. They cough. Their faces are taut, eyes an unhealthy green. Black putrescence oozes from their lips, nose. Olle steels himself, and looks towards the plumes. Death would be better than what stalked him here.
[spacer]"Come," he spoke. "We're leaving this accursed place."
[spacer]"The Sun?"
[spacer]"The Sun."

...​

[spacer]Olle stands before the army, the gates to the accursed city a comfortable distance behind him. The cudgel hangs at his waist, to remove suspicion of hostility. Fetthund sits at his side. The rumbling army stands before them, the soldiers of Kaustir menacing and strange.
[spacer]Olle sinks to his knees. His heart leaps at his throat. He places his hands on his head.
[spacer]Fate awaits him beyond those ranks of soldiers.[/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer]

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[lynzy]

They (meaning her and Caoimhe) were like squirrels, Shardis thought to herself as she buried another stone with the others. Not exactly in the same place, just close enough that she could dig them up fast if and when they managed to be free again to leave.

Standing up she dusted off her hands against themselves and sighed. Baby dragons are a pain in the ass, they bite for no reason except to be playful. They have a very short attention span and often get into trouble because of it. She had seen the same thing in house cats and wondered now if they were related in some way. She chuckled and returned to her musing over the dracling. The dracling kept spitting up these dam stones that were going to be trouble, she just new it, and now the dam thing was trying to fly, Gods help us!

Shar shook her head and stood up with a sigh and then an "Omph!," as the demon himself landed (poorly) on her back and wrestled around trying to get his balance on her shoulder. She reached up and grabbed him around the waist with both hands to help steady him while emitting a tirade of swear words that would have made her mother blush, "For the love of all that's holy stop digging in with those fucking claws! There, now sit still ya mutt!"

She turned around to see his mother, Caoimhe, standing behind her with her hands on her hips and an angry look on her face. "Must you swear around him?"

"Until you teach him how to behave, yes." Her tone showed her growing anger and frustration. "It's bad enough with my Aux being jealous of him, then there's the matter of those talons. They're wicked sharp and fucking long. I am not a walking perch for the beast!" Finally fed up with the fidgeting dracling she picked him up and set him on a shelf of rocks in the cave.

"I do my best, it's not easy you know." Caoimhe threw her hands up in frustration.

Another sigh and Shar said, "I know, I'm just frustrated I guess, how long do you think we can keep these stones a secret?" The last was a whisper.

Caoimhe shook her head,"Lut suspects, I'm sure, but so far he has no proof, I just don't know" She also whispered so as not to attract attention.

"Well, it's time to eat, come on." They all headed back to the fire and the spitted rabbits that awaited them.

 

[unanun]

[fieldbox=In front of the Black City, grey, solid, 15]Did Olle expect a forest of spears?

What did Olle expect, protocol and interrogation? No, the vanguard only had one purpose, to steal the march and deal death. They moved past him as a tight column, and he dipped his head, fearful that the moment he met the gaze of a soldier he would be looking at his body from high up in the air.

He instead followed the dull cadence of their boots and winced if he caught flecks of mud on his face. The last stomp soaked his pants as the vanguard shuddered to a halt, and he finally felt the bored tapping of a spear blade on his shoulder.

"You there." A Nocturne captain jabbed the point into Olle's shoulder. He had the Commisariat's coat bolted across his shoulders, and the epaulets glowed white in the moon.

"You are either an enemy-" and the point lowered itself over the Kaustrian's heart, "a neutral, or a citizen. Which is it?"[/fieldbox][fieldbox=Zirako, brown, solid, 15]The desert was the most efficient of places on Sunne. When a whale sinks to the bottom of the Prosperos, it is stripped by scavengers of various sizes to a skeleton, which provides homes for others, and the bones finally dissolve into nothing.

Unlike the ocean, the desert consumes more than bodies. First, the abandoned settlement is dismantled by nomad scavengers. Then, squatters take up domains in the rocks that could not be moved. Sometimes, there is a brief, violent scuffle - but they never last too long, as everyone is afraid of bleeding out under the sun. If there is at least one tuber, one cup of water to be found, it will be fought over until the sand storms scour any trace of the living from the dunes.

So why ... why was Zirako untouched? The red, green, blue, grey, and black concentric rings rose up the side of the iron mountain, and not even vultures circled above the city. The giant golden gates were shut and well oiled, merged so tightly that a knife blade could not stick in between.

And inside, a sharp crack echoed through the empty streets and a looter fell to the ground, blood and brain pouring out through a hole in his head.[/fieldbox]

 

[E.T.]

Caoimhe had sat a long time by Glyph's grave, eyes red but dry, staring off into the distance as her mind sat in the low that always persisted after her advent. In her right hand the rough thread of a necklace drooped from out of her balled fist. Seemed she still had some trouble registering pain. With Shardis's help she had managed to retrieve all of Glyph's belongings, the ones that had been tossed out when they had forced him into the mockery of a costume. Among the folds of cloth heavy with the smell of smoke she had found an old wolf canine, tied clumsily to hand spun thread, decorated with four small beads. She remembered cutting her hands whittling shards of bone down, she remembered the den brother whose tooth decorated the center, she remembered the man she had gifted the necklace to. In the deep back of her throat she could feel a howl boiling. Sure she had snarled and snapped like an animal when she had attacked Lut, but that was not the cry of mourning that she wanted to voice. It hurt not to scream, and yet, she swallowed her pain. Holding it tight until it condensed down, so that it could sit heavy in her heart like the weighted shaft of an arrow.

Tired, so very tired. Collapsing back into the grass she lay next to the grave listing to the sullen pound of feet marching off. From here if she closed her eyes and pretended hard enough she was able to create the sound of a crashing shoreline from the dull thuds. The longer she lay the more she heard, her own heart beat, the shift of grass, the whir and click of bugs, Shardis shifting firewood, and far off she heard the sigh of the mountains. Perhaps it was just her mind, maybe a trick of the wind, but as someone who had been raised in the folds of the mountains Caoimhe swore that it was the mountains shifting with a groan under the weight of a million feet.

Perhaps the mountain also saw the danger approaching, knew the pain that was to come. Then again, perhaps it was like some slumbering creature eager to shake the fleas that had for so long deep them deep into the mountain's flesh.

"Ow." Her thoughts were broken into by the sharp prick of teeth at her ankle. Sitting up she was greeted by the dracling who bounded into her lap and then started to nip and nudge at her chin. Familiar with the gesture Caoimhe's immediate thought was to get up and get him something to eat, but as she tried to move she found her limbs were still heavy and unyielding. Impatient with his mother the child grab and her sleeve and tugged. She tried again as still found she had no will to move. The dracling was almost in a panic now, tugging, pushing, and nipping to try and get Caoimhe moving.

With a great effort she swayed to her feet, legs shaking from the strain. With slow steps she made her way back to camp, her mind more restless than other, but more determined now. One step in front of the other she would keep moving and there was not a force that would stop her. Glyph was now buried in this cradle between the nations and for once in her life she was so sick of running. However, there was still something that weighed heavy on her mind, and voicing it to Shardis was going to prove one of the hardest things she would have to do.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Caoimhe picked restlessy at the food Shardis had handed her. The dracling wound himself around her legs, none to patiently awaiting his share of the meal. Absentmindedly she tore off a leg and tossed it a little ways off so that he would leave her, and Shardis, alone for a little while.

"Shardis." She said softly, her fidgeting growing more intense.

"Hmm?" The reply was muffled through a mouthful of rabbit as the Anima looked up from her meal.

"I...I think you should go back." She finally managed to stammer out. The look on Shardis's face was more of shock than anything else and for a few moments things were silent as Shardis finished her mouthful of rabbit.

"Well if we are quick we can-" She began only to be cut off by the steady shake of Caoimhe's head.

"I stay, you go."

"Now hold on, why on earth should I leave!?" Now there was a hint of annoyance in Shardis's voice, her shoulders puffing out as though she was about tell her friend off.

"Because the north will die." Caoimhe snapped back fiercely. She seemed to sense the harshness of her own tone and when she spoke again her words were much softer. "That army will march until they run out of land to take, Medwick needs your help more than I."

"And what about you and the little terror?" Shardis asked jabbing a thumb in the dracling's direction. " If what you suspect it true than how do you expect to hide from Lut?"

Caoimhe gave an almost humorous chuckle at that question. "I was raised as a wolf. Wolves are good at disappearing when they want to."

The fact that she was trying to send her only friend away hurt, and yet she had this deep unease gripping her stomach telling her that Medwick would very soon need every helping hand that he could muster. That and the path that she was laying for herself was not one that she was willing to drag Shardis down with her. The dracling would be safe by default but his mother and aunt would not be so lucky.

 

[lynzy]

Confused Shardis sighed as her ears swiveled about with her thoughts. If she left, sure, she could help Medwick IF she found him in time, IF he would even take it. She chuffed in derision at the thought of how he would treat her on her return ESPECIALLY if she lost the dracling and Caoimhe. He was probably glad she was gone, he had always told her how much of a

bother she was...

..."Brilliant. Truly brilliant!" He was yelling at someone a short distance away. "No really. I shall recommend you immediately for an officer's commission. Such tactics! Such stratagem! Never since the days of Elysia have we been graced with such genius. A dragon the size of a village and you decide to grab its wing. Not even its tail, like a normal idiot-hero. But its wing! The part that flaps up and down! The least stable point of physical motion on the entire anatomy of a lethal cattle-swallowing monstrosity! And that's before we mention that a band of mages, led by YOURS TRULY, were in the process of shooting searing-hot mana at the damn thing during the precise moment you decided to do this!" He scowled and kicked off one of his boots, sending it flying towards Shardis, the current target of his sarcasm. "You know, I take it all back. Your parents never cared for me. I see now that they despised me, covertly, for all the years I served with them, and in secret devised a most terrible revenge. TO LUMBER ME WITH YOU! An assistant who can't take three steps without provoking the murderous concoctions of nature! A non-felicitous feline intent on the bumbling destruction of all Pegulis!"..."Next time..." he shouted upon finishing the vessel, "You stay at the dig site. I'd rather fight with a blind wombat who has sworn a vow of pacifism!" He hurled the waterskin at Shardis then collapsed once more against his backrest...

Never mind she was better at math than him or for that matter a better cook. She had spent all of her life in his shadow and never receiving a thank you or even a speck of praise. Shar growled at that thought.

"I don't want to go back!" She said with such force that it startled the dracling into jumping and hissing in their direction and Caoimhe herself almost fell off the log she had been sitting on. "No, I'm staying with you two. At lest I am appreciated and...and wanted...and perhaps even loved." She smiled at the dracling then and watched him settle back in to eating. "You do need me and I am no stranger to wilderness living ether you know." She shook her rabbit leg at Caoimhe with that last statement. Caoimhe started to open her mouth and thought better of it. The anime was angered and had made up her mind and if the past was any indication, there was no changing it now. The wolf girl stabbed at the fire with a stick and tossed her remaining bones at the dracling who happily snapped them up.

 

[fatalrendezvous]

[fieldbox="The Pieces Begin to Move, goldenrod, solid, 5, Palatino Linotype"]

Kaustir had been set in motion, a sea of sandrats gradually spilling into the icy plains of the Frozen North. The vanguard had begun to set up a supply chain while those remaining in the Chersonese made the preparations necessary to move millions of soldiers, equipment, and supplies.

Each night, the cot that would have been Kerrick's was habitually empty; Rakar and Amalia contemplated simply removing it for more space in the yurt. It had been days since the last time he had fled from their sight and never resurfaced. Rakar hoped that he'd been caught; Amalia simply wanted to find him.

Kerrick, on the other hand, had been trying not to be found. As Kaustir began to move troops northward, the populations of the primary camps in the Chersonese had been thinning. Guard details were less heavily staffed. Kerrick and Kalhart had some - though not much - more freedom to move around. They had developed a plan to contact Ilsa, to let her know they were working on freeing her.

He had no idea what to expect of the conversation, but he wasn't about to keep it a secret any longer.

As the dark of night enveloped the Chersonese in moonlight once again, the lone guard whose duty it was to watch Ilsa's makeshift prison let out a yawn. Far outside the grasp of the dim light provided by the torches in the camp, the guard was distracted from his sleepy shift by the rustle of brush and the snap of twigs. He turned to investigate the noise, and Kalhart would ensure that he was distracted at least for several minutes.

It might have been an opportune time to help break Ilsa free, if only they had the key, or an escape plan, or a safe place to move to that wasn't days away from civilization. In the absence of those things, just making their presence known would have to be enough. Kerrick crept towards Ilsa's holding cell as the guard vanished from sight.

Ilsa was asleep, hands bound with rope, with naught but meager cloths and rags to keep her decent. Even in the cold of the night in the Chersonese, it was warmer than most noons in Pegulis - Ilsa at least seemed somewhat comfortable. Kerrick took a moment, one hand wrapped around one of the iron bars of her cell, to admire her. The way the moonlight reflected off even her matted blonde hair; her silky vanilla skin beneath encrusted layers of grime, dirt, and tears; even her lips, cracked from insufficient hydration.

"Ilsa." Kerrick whispered as loudly as he could. Ilsa seemed to stir, but did not wake. "Ilsa!" Now, she awoke with a start, wide-eyed in a way that indicated that being startled awake had become her norm. Her hazel eyes searched around in brief panic before settling on the man in front of her on the other side of the cage. Hazel eyes searching his features for something she could recognize, she suddenly paled and froze, mouth slightly ajar in shock and eyes wide. "It's me, Ilsa. It's Callen."

Ilsa shook her head. She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. But if she insisted on the fact that it was a dream, she might wake, and he might be gone. Her eyes wandered his features, his chin, his nose, his jaw, his hair his eyes hislips -- Ilsa's vision was obscured by tears even before she could finish getting a good look. She sobbed, overwhelmed with the conflicting memories of happiness and guilt, love and failure.

She threw herself to the floor of the cell, crying into her roped wrists because they were tied too tightly for her to cry into her hands. "I'm so sorry," she confessed.

It was certainly not the reaction Kerrick was expecting. "Ilsa-- It's fine. I'm going to try to get you out of here, I--"

"Karissa's dead!" Ilsa sobbed, confessing her sins to this apparition of her long-lost husband. If she were to have but a dream's time to speak with him, she needed to release the burden weighing on her chest. Fortunately for her, the statement shocked Kerrick into silence.

"Aldus is fucked," she continued, dropping her formality around the man she used to love - dream or not. "I led all our best to their deaths. Then, the... the storm-- the Avians--" Ilsa shook her head violently, slamming her bound wrists against the floor of the cell with each following word. "I. Killed. The. Council."

"And Vrein--" the former Guard Captain shook with the tremors of her emotions. "I-- we-- I was pregnant," she sobbed. "But, Kaustir... they interrogated me." Ilsa's voice dropped into a painful, ashamed whisper. "It's gone. I lost the child."

Kerrick stood silently, dumbfounded by the torrent of revelations and pained by the full understanding of Ilsa's suffering. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, to hold her, to comfort her. But it had been so long, and so much had changed. Ilsa and Vrein... the blacksmith. Kerrick steeled his resolve to say something, but a whine from Terra caught his attention. They needed to leave.

He wanted to say something, anything, to the crumpled mess of a woman and wife, but he had no time and he had no words. Slinking back into the night to avoid being discovered, Kerrick's heavy heart was forced to bear with the sounds of his wife's weeping and the guilt of his failures as a husband and father.

Retreating back behind the same storage crates he'd hidden behind several nights before, Kerrick slumped to the ground, resting his back and head on the wood of the crates.

"Well? How did it g-- Oh." Kalhart asked as she returned from her work at distracting the guard. "Not good?"

Kerrick groaned, remorse clear in the faltering of his voice. "Nothing like I imagined."

[/fieldbox]

 

[E.T.]

The Prosperous embassy offered a paradise within a paradise for the soldier with significant rank to gain entrance to the wonders behind the silver framed door. Of the five that had arrived originally their ranks had swelled to almost triple that number. With all the success they were enjoying their mistress had the foresight to send some reinforcements to help with the flood of customers. The rest of the recruits were one pulled from Kaustir's own ranks, even the conquerors had those that needed to sell and those of Silvir wings were not against the extra help. Stripped of the servants and helpers that they had enjoyed within Belphebe's reign even more were accepted into their ranks simply to fill the hole of luxury that they had been denied. So that was how Eydis was spared the rigors that the soldier had intended for her by dragging her to the whore house.

"Pleease?" The simpering voice of the draken drew a sigh from her older human counterpart.

"Tahcor, you already have enough toys, besides she is an assassin." There was a disproving tsk from the woman as she deftly worked on a large tapestry that was spread across her lap. Two servants sat at her feet working in time with her. "Hardly even worth what we paid for her."

"Don't be so negative, she won't have the spirit to leave for a long time." Said the draken stretching before collapsing down onto the sofa. The afternoon sun chased the hounds away and gave the tired ambassadors a break and a chase to take care of other issues.

"And I have never had a kitten." Had the woman been less familiar with the draken's mannerisms she might have looked a bit more at the wording.

"Hm, fine but she will be your problem." Came the final agreement. With a squeal of happiness the draken leapt from the couch sending the servants ducking to avoid the sweep of her hand and disappeared through the folds of the tent entrance to collect her prize from the healer.

When Eydis awoke the pain had subsided to a dull ache, or perhaps that was knowledge that burned at her. The healer had done her job and a fine powder mixed into a mild broth kept the ache's away. Hesitant eyes opened to find themselves staring up into a pair of gold ones framed with black and gold scales. With a start and a flurry of activity that caused a spike of pain to shoot through her she managed to practically throw herself to the other end of the sofa that she had been laid upon.

"Yay! Your awake." The sudden jovial tone and excited clapping startled the anima and her ears twitched defensively at the sound. Sharp eyes searched for an exit and a pair of even sharper eyes noticed the shift in attention. Smoothly the tall draken slid from her seat and paced over to her extravagantly draped bed.

"We weren't sure that you would pull through so well, but they decided to let me keep you!" she said rustling through a large woven chest in search of a spare uniform she could dress Eydis up in. Finding slightly more modest version of the ambassadors own formal where she turned to face Eydis once again. When Tahcor spoke again Eydis felt a chill run up her spine despite the sugared tone of voice that was maintained.

"Good thing you are here now, in here those mean old soldiers can't get you." Every word that the draken spoke in a high tender voice that ran contrary to her appearance of a scaled viper that stalked her way about the room. When she once again stood before the smaller girl Tahcor offered the light dress with a sudden movement that made the other flinch. After a long pause one trembling hand accepted the outfit and in turn received a sharp toothed smile.

"Now come my little kitten there is some work to be done!"

 

[unanun]

[fieldbox=Tortured dreams, grey, solid, 15]

In his dream, they were killing a savage.​

The Lut there was younger, and the Czar milder. Lukesh watched from his carriage as Lut dragged the long haired tribeswoman from the mass grave. She was a common example of the cunning of the desert savages. The pregnant women pretended to be dead, and days later they would crawl out, having drank the blood and eaten the flesh of their kin, to raise their children as cannibal-tempered tools of vengeance.

The Burning Sun (he had not earned the laurels of the Czar yet, and speaking the name Lukesh by itself was not yet a crime) encountered a few such jyhadeens. They were raised for blood feuds, so they did not fall upon his army with their full fervour. Yet each jyhadeen that died took down five of his sand and sun hardened warriors. They consumed a runny herbal paste before battle that made them unable to feel pain, and his army found that the best way to stop them was to chop their legs out so they could not keep barreling into them.

"Watch."

Lut was surrounded by his executioners, a group of the most vicious Nocturnes who enjoyed the way the Magician worked ("blink, and you'll disappear!"). They cleaned up the stragglers in Lukesh's wake of conquest, and left behind a lingering terror that paralyzed any rebellious thoughts.

Il Mago raised a spear and licked his rows of sharp Nocturne teeth. The woman's belly split open and so did her eyes. She tried to lunge at him, to rake his eyes and rip his teeth out, but Lut had driven the spear clean through the other side into the sand, and she only succeeded in kicking up a small cloud of it.

The savage's legs cut circles into the sand and she tried to pull herself up along the spear. Her curses were strong and spit flew from between her teeth. He held the shaft fast until the savage began to lose strength. She realized where he had stabbed her and gave him a first shocked, then beseeching look before expiring. "You must make sure they are dead. Stab the women in the belly, and the men in the throat. Look!" He fished around her entrails, spinning the shaft and digging around with the metal point until he found what he was looking for.

"She was pregnant. The most dangerous."

Lut Sar observed his younger self, and when he looked down at his fists he realized that he was Lukesh. He understood now why the Czar did not always seem to trust him, why he kept him folded underneath layers of duty, spending decades tempering his fervor into absolute loyalty. Lukesh was a brilliant leader who subtlety and carefully manipulated him.

Did ... Did Lukesh give him Mu? Mu had carefully cultivated his first love, then committed suicide to deny it. Lut was suddenly reminded of a peculiar ritual he read in an old book: devotees of some Old Gods would take to self-flagellation to the point where their skin flayed and the whips ran red. Similarly, after Mu he could not stop taking more like her: desperately wanting her love but unable to stand being close, because when they were close he remembered what Mu said as she bled out on his lap:

"I hated every moment of my life under your shadow."

He blinked and now he was suffocating. The stench of rotting blood and feces filled his nose. He could not breath, but someone was dragging him out by his hair. It was younger Lut.

He watched Lut drive the spear into his guts and felt it pierce his unborn child and...
[/fieldbox] Lut-Lukesh vaulted upright in the cot and tore the Wraith's mask from his face. He grabbed his stomach immediately after, and looked down at the stitches.

"You were coughing up blood." Shae's voice came from the table next to him. "The healers had to patch your stomach."

Lut Sar buried his face in his hands.

"You can't play double forever."

My Sun ... even in death I am held to your designs.
[fieldbox=No, grey, solid, 15]Nu did not reply. She did not reply for so long that Chelena grew frustrated and was about to speak before she caught the fire of memory in her eye.

....

...

..

.

"No. He was not your Lut." Nu remembered and so did her eyes, and they were filled with calm resolve when she looked up.

"Lut will die."
[/fieldbox]

 

[Doom Spiral]

Olle: Head Under Heel

[spacer]The earth trembles as the army marches around Olle. He was quite taken aback, able to sit like a boulder in a stream between lines of soldiers. He keeps his head lowered, holds his breath, as the constant hammering of marching deafens him. But then, silence comes. A spear prods at his shoulder. A voice speaks.
[spacer]"N- Neutral," Olle breathes. He can feel his pulse in his fingers, his heart leaping as if trying to escape from his ribcage. "I'm just a courier. Just here delivering a shipment to a merchant."
[spacer]"What brings a lowly merchant to stand before the great army of Kaustir, hmm? I see no others out to greet us."
[spacer]Olle swallows, his mouth painfully dry. "Many have fled, having seen the pillars of smoke marking your approach. Others hide in there homes with the hope you will pass them by. I thought, you can flee from death and it will pursue to the ends of the earth. Perhaps if I surrender myself to it then I will have a chance at living."
[spacer]"We aren't interested in your death," retorted the man, watching him coldly. "Tell us what you know about the Black City, and you are free to continue. We, however, make no guarantees beyond that."
[spacer]"A miserable place," Olle says darkly; he was not about to let Kaustir know about the plague but at the same time was not enough of a fool to lie to their faces. "It is wracked by crime and disease. I would not smash it to the ground for fear of those things. But supplies lay within its warehouses from such men as myself. Provisions, gold, as well as stores of goods meant to be kept from prying eyes. They don't call it the Black City for nothing- black market, black plague, black ravens circling overhead."
[spacer]Snake that he was, Olle kept his eyes on the ground and awaited a response. You don't look rabid dogs in the eye, nor speak against their bark.[/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer]

[spacer][spacer][spacer][spacer][spacer][spacer][spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer][/spacer]

 

[Tone 6th]

Marching Forward
​

"Come on men keep up the pace!" Takeda called to the second army. The second army lagged just behind the first, laying down cart tracks for a make shift supply line. The soft muddy ground was tamped down and covered with loose gravel, then thick steel tracks were hammered into place. Takeda was at the front of the line helping where he could, he wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty.

"Master Shingen!" a scout ran up to him.

"Yes, what is it?"

"The first army has nearly reached the gates of the Black C-." Takeda knocked the scout to the ground. An arrow whistled past the solider's head as Takeda drew his blade and deflected it. A few paces behind where the scout stood was a man dressed in pure white holding a blow, Takeda's eyes were locked on him.

"YIP YIP!" the man sounded. In an instant the front section of the army was surround my similarly dressed men in white, this was an ambush.

"Men to arms show these petty thieves the power the are up against!" Takeda ordered. A few of the soldiers broke off from the group and drew on their enemies. Takeda dashed for the man in front of him with his blade drawn.

"Hyah!" the swordsman came down with a heavy horizontal slash. *Clang* The bandit brought his sword up just in time to block the two were locked in a stalemate. Takeda dug in, chocked up on his sword and pressed his enemy backward. *Thump* The bandit lost his balance and fell to the ground where the tip of a sword greeted his neck. "Tell you men to stand down or they will be slain." Takeda commanded. The thief looked beyond the swordsman to see his men being beaten into submission.

"Enough!" the man called out reluctantly. The others in his group sheathed their weapons and backed off.

"Why did you attack us?" Takeda snarled.

"Why not attack you?" the bandit sheared.

"Well most people don't try stealing from an army when there is a city so close."

"Ha! The Black City? There is nothing but death there ever sense the plague broke out."

Takeda raised an eye brow "Plague you say?"

The thief nodded "Yes the whole place is rampant with boils and rotting flesh."

"I see, thank you for your help." the blade was moved away from the bandits neck. *Shing* *Thud* In one swift movement the swordsman took the bandits right arm. "Perhaps next time you will think twice about attacking an army." he flicked the blood off his blade and sheathed it. The man let out a blood curdling scream as he writhed in the snow.

"Courier!" Takeda shouted. A man wielding a spear ran up from the army.

"Name?" the swordsman asked.

"Khayal Issa." the messenger replied.

"Khayal run to the first army and warn them of the plague that the city carries." he ordered. "Tell them we have testimony from one of the locals." Takeda looked back at the bandit.

@AetherDream

​

 

[AetherDream]

How could he put it? The snow felt heavier when it was soaking into his boots at the behest of a blade of the Czar. The cloak which had served through sand, wood and glacier without fail, didn't keep seem to cooperate; the ties loosening of their own accord. It wasn't his intention to think ill of a man trying to do his job, there was no profit in such things. Particularly when frowns were seen as insubordinate as being was. So instead of making a fuss then, Khayal turned his boots to the road ahead and made haste; a soft resigned chuckle barely muffled by his coverings.

I see why you want it, bursting with coin that one. But watch, soon you'll be working for free. Old Yem's warning sat stubbornly in his memory, lounging with that look of, "Told you so." For all that puffing at the end of his favorite pipe had done him, when the old man was right, he was right. Two weeks had passed since Khayal accepted to carry a parcel to the advancing front; less than half of that time was spent in route, the rest was in new found service to the men at arms. The Czar's legion had never been known to negotiate and the longer they walked, the chances of a clean break seemed less easily afforded than the day before.

It didn't take long after departing for the sound of boots, swords and shields to be swallowed by the bitter winds that came from nowhere and left much the same. The lack of snowfall made things easier at the very least. The trenches of rank and file laid out a clear path through an otherwise nondescript expanse. How the Vanguard ever knew where they were going was a mystery; perhaps knowing that the Czar was at their back was enough to inspire their march. Onwards, always onwards. One foot in front of the next.

There wasn't much distance between the first army and the second, just enough to prevent confusion in starting and stopping. If there was any truth born from the lips of a dead man, there was little time for a message about the Black City to matter. The Vanguard always pressed forward, relentlessly and untiring. If anything, a warning was better suited for the denizens who still called the city home. The Czar wasn't shy about cleaning house, even if he'd only be there for short while. If the rumors about his legendary wrath were true, the city would be baptized in blood and flame.

But if at the gates, the plague was there to welcome the armies, what more could be done? Disease like this was nasty business, spreading like an insatiable flame; coursing through the throngs and the squalor, raging in every cough. The army would be a feast, their cramped ranks and tired bodies a pathogen's paradise. Khayal had to hurry, he hoisted his spear over his shoulder and into the bindings of the holster, dropped in stride for a moment and pressed off of the frozen ground with new vigor. The wind now raced around him and threatened to carry his hood from his head. The First Army wasn't too far, he could smell them.

It took less than half an hour for the rear of the First Army to come into view. It was fortunate that the sheer ambition of the campaign made for a slow and methodical advance, there was still enough time to deliver the message before the arrival at the city gates. The only trouble was relaying the message to the right man. As certain as he was to bark orders, the Commander of the Second Army hadn't told Khayal to whom the message was intended. So instead of asking by name and rank, Khayal had to follow what his gut told him. It lead him through the the columns and towards the center of the march. Certainly the officer in question would have to be there, it was the only place suitable to stay the hand of order: easy to see far to the front and enough of the flank.

Finally, after passing between seemingly countless regiments and the gaps between tired yet determined shoulders, Khayal had finally arrived at his destination. But as soon as he approached the commanding officer and his guard, he was met with a firm hand and fearsome countenance.

"What are you doing out of formation?" the guard barked.

"I've a message from the Second Army's Commander."

"Commander Takeda? Well, what is it? Out with it."

"The Black City, a plague has taken the Black City." Khayal spoke firmly, watching the reaction of both guard and Commander. Surely this would be more than enough to halt the march, at least until the Czar was made aware of the situation. Surely it would make for enough time for Khayal to see his way home.

"A plague? And what proof is there of this plague? By the Czar's orders, we are to march on that city."

The commotion had garnered the attention of the First Army's head. His battle-worn gaze shifted between his trusted guard and the courier which walked along with them.

"Yes," he said, his words calm and measured, "what proof of the plague did Commander Takeda find?"
"Sir, a local man who had little left but the truth on his side."

The Commander furrowed his brow as if to contemplate the news. He looked towards the head of his forces, gauging the distance left between himself, the vanguard and the city. There wasn't much time to relay a message of such potential importance. He could not afford to halt the march of false information, but he also couldn't afford to march the Czar's men into a pit of disease and death. With a grimace, he spoke clearly and resolutely.

"The Vanguard must be at the gates already, we must slow the march and not enter that city until we know what's what. Carry forth the order and carry forth notice to the Czar. If there is plague within those walls, I will not be instrument of its spread."

 

[Melon]

Collab with @fatalrendezvous
[fieldbox="Memories, Aqua, solid"]

Kalhart looked at Callen, an empathetic frown clear on her face.

" I know some of your pain." She said softly.

Callen looked up from his hands, anger and frustration in his eyes, "How the hell would you even slightly know?" He said, his voice straining to remain quiet.

Kalhart let out a soft sigh, "Well, do you remember Taye at all, it's okay if you do not."

Callen frowned, trying to recall him," Vaguely."

Kalhart felt herself beginning to shake, trying to not cry in front of Callen. That would make her look weak. Which deep down...she was still broken.

"Well...Taye, we were together, he was my fiance.." Kalhart croaked as she said the last word. " He...I..I lost him. When I found out about his death..I lost it for a while."

Callen sat in silence, taken back by Kalhart's words.

Kalhart sighed, recalling everything that had happened.


[/fieldbox][fieldbox="Broken, purple, solid"]

Kalhart sat in her house, clutching her necklace that Taye had given to her. She sighed, thinking about how in the world she was ever going to move on.

Not long ago had she found out about Taye's death by a messenger from Barvelle. She was a broken girl, hopelessly lost in thought throughout most of the day.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Kalhart looked at the door and sighed, what could it be now. Someone else here to pity her? She got up and went to the door, she rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted from lack of sleep. Also, who would be knocking on her door this late at night? As she opened the door, she was surprised to see Ilsa at her door. She looked around outside; no one was around. "Is something wrong?" She asked in a hushed tone.


Ilsa averted her hazel eyes down to the object in her hands. "I....It's my duty to return this to its owner's family and loved ones." The Aldus Watch mirror slid from her gloved hands, dangling by its chain. "I'm sorry, Kalhart.."

Kalhart looked at the pendant, and her heart sank. The memories and pain were returning all at once again. "T-thank you for returning this to me, Ilsa. It is...appreciated." Kalhart gritted her teeth, fighting back tears. She would not show weakness, especially in front of Ilsa.

The Captain released a heavy sigh. " He was an excellent guardsman," she commented, not sure if that would make Kalhart feel better or worse. "We...encountered a golem. A construct, on our way to Barvelle." Ilsa shook her head sadly at the pain of the memory. "It scattered us, then buried us beneath an avalanche." She outstretched her hand, allowing Kalhart to take the pendant. " I don't even have Warren's. It's buried, somewhere beneath Fissura Pass."

Kalhart took the pendant, and clutched it against her chest. She nodded sadly, " He was a good guardsman, and I'm sure you did everything you could." Kalhart found it hard to contain her emotions; she was being overwhelmed. "Thank you again, Ilsa.."

Ilsa's own eyes welled, reminded of her own losses- first Callen, and now Karissa. Releasing a heavy breath, she closed her eyes as the tears streamed down her own cheeks. Also not one to willingly show weakness, Ilsa turned to leave. "You're welcome, Kalhart. It was an honor to serve with Taye." With that, Ilsa was gone.

After Ilsa was gone, Kalhart broke down. Her heavy sobbing eventually turning into a whimper. At this moment, she refused to ever love again. She was beginning to shut down. She would never be the same again.


[/fieldbox]

 

[unanun]

[fieldbox=Officer school, grey, solid, 15]

Excerpts from:
Military Theory
Lut Sar
Zirako Printing Guild
Date first published xxxx​

[drop]W[/drop]elcome. If you are reading this text, it means that you have been accepted into officer school at the Zirako academy. You will be among Nocturne, human, draken, and other common races of the desert. Some you only see in your sleep, and others you see during your waking hours. You will learn the reason for this.

Some of you began your careers as soldiers before accepting this commission. In the academy, you will learn that soldiers, just like material, food, and artillery, are resources that must be utilized effectively to achieve a desired outcome. Attempting to maximize any other metric will lead to certain failure. The only thing that matters is the objective - and holding the objective. An objective is not won until it is secure; an objective tenuously held is considered not held at all.

[...]

Chapter 2: Diurne Nocturne Logistics

[drop]A[/drop]s you may know from our history, the Burning Czar united the Shifting Sands under his nocturnal (hence: Nocturne) force. I myself am descended from one of the founding bloodlines. He struck the savage tribes when they were sleeping, when the moon was high and the desert at its coldest. No one expected it. In desert warfare, all combat is done at dawn or dusk - the weather otherwise makes it impossible.

The Nocturnes live during the night: our opponents the opposite. Although the Czar was able to seize the victory, the element of surprise only works once, and we are simultaneously vulnerable to each other's day-night cycles. This is where humans, drakens, kin and avian are essential for Kaustir. The diurnes keep the nocturnes safe. In turn, the nocturnes grant a decisive resource to any standing army: a strong, disciplined force bound by bloodlines of loyalty. If the two could be made to cooperate, consider all the advantages:

An army that:
- never sleeps
- is always alert
- has increased morale
- trust in their other half

An army twice as active halves the opponent's effectiveness, by dividing their will through psycho-somatic strategy (see chapter 4).

Furthermore [...]

Chapter 3: Overview of army organization

[drop]T[/drop]he creed of the Kaustrian Army is "one to two". For every soldier, there is one engineer, and one intelligence officer. The concept of oversupplying a soldier guarantees that the soldier is able to focus on one thing: the strategic objective. For that to happen, the engineer must supply the food, the bridges, and make sure the axles are greased, while the spymaster must make sure the soldier does not walk into pincer movements or traps. [...]
[/fieldbox]

 

[unanun]

[fieldbox=At the gates to the Black City, grey, solid, 20] The moon set. The sun rose in response, peaking over the horizon.

The Black City stood silently before the mud-soaked vanguard. It was definitely empty. There were too many birds, crows and vultures, on the roofs. The lit windows the advance scouts reported remained lit. Animals milled about unrestrained. It had the look and feel of a city - just that it had been abandoned hours prior. No doubt there would still be meat sizzling in a pan, pots of water boiling, and inventory in warehouses, paused in middle of counting and cataloging.

The sounds of a city breathing: the creak of wood, the wind whistling through the alley, the animal grunts, and pop of firewood, all too loud when the roar of life should have drowned it out.

General Kirtin was an anima of few words. His most senior commanders had learned to read the drumming of fingers on his arm, the subtle shifts in his gaze, and the way his whiskers moved. When he spoke, the front of his lips stayed shut and his voice growled from the sides of his mouth. Yet he was always remarkably direct.

"News."

"Yes, General." The Nocturne commander saluted, a smart slap of his right palm over his heart. "A courier has been dispatched from the 2nd Group behind us. They have captured refugees." He paused. "They have confessed that someone has deliberately spread a plague through the city."

Kirtin's throat rumbled with a contemplative growl. He shifted his arms and set his grimace and the commander knew nothing would change.

... resources that must be utilized effectively to achieve a desired outcome.

"Have Leonid lead a small team into the city to establish the veracity of their claims."

The Nocturne turned to leave.

"Detain any further refugees from the Black City. Compile a record of their claims. Once that is done, send it to the spymaster."
[/fieldbox]

 

[Mglo]

[fieldbox= Inigo Criracan - 1st Army, orange, solid]
A large scorpion the color of a dying ember scurried over the chest of a stirring soldier.
"Is it time?" mumbled the man from somewhere in the dark entrails of the moving barrack.
"You tell me. I'm just a thing, an animal, and yet neither. What are you today?" struck Ral in his usual bitting fashion.
Inigo only huffed and rose out of his bed plank. Ral still missed his old life, but Inigo was adapting to his new one and the critter wasn't going to deter it. The man quickly readied himself as the others near him began to shift and turn in the blackness. He made his way through the long and narrow isle as the wagon wood creaked with its movement and a couple oil lamps were lit. There was no announcement of dawn ending and there didn't need to be. The diurne sandrats knew it in their bones. It was routine. It was Kaustir order.

By the time Inigo climbed out, all big wagon barracks transporting the sleeping soldiers were stopped. Stopping wasn't necessary to shift the giant scarabs that had been towing all night with those resting in their rolling cages. In all likelihood, Inigo surmised, they had reached the Black City. A nocturne leading a couple of fresh scarabs yawned as he passed him by.

"Allow me," Inigo's gruff voice politely interjected. "News from General Kirtin?" he inquired as he freed the tired scarabs with the help of another diurne.

"Scouting's in progress. We proceed as usual," replied the nocturne leaning on the wheel as he watched the day-timers deal with the scarab change. He yawned one more time before he bid them a good day and walked off to his designated barrack for the day's sleep.

Like ants, diurnes marched out attending to the first menial tasks of the day slowly working themselves up, while nocturnes helped as they wound down for the day. The sky slowly lightened as all wagon barracks were given fresh scarabs, a quick clean, and day-time soldiers prepared the morning meals. The number of nocturnes slowly dwindled and the temporary encampment bustled with fragrant smells and the transitory noise of change. In the midst of it, Inigo ate amongst his peers, preparing for whatever might come ahead, while Ral stood upon his shoulder clicking pincers in objection. Only Inigo could hear the aux as it said, "this morning is remarkably similar to the last don't you think? And the one before that, and the one before THAT. Only change we may look forward to is an incoming sword with intent to kill. Oh joy!" the glass scorpion pinched at the stern man's beard as he, in turn, ignored it. "Man-up soldier Criracan. Don't ignore me because it hurts."

Inigo cleared his throat as he laid down his wooden bowl, "It doesn't" he declared, his manner severe, "I simply have duties to focus on and complaining is not in my natur-"

"Of course not. I take care of that for you, you tight-assed rat-hole." With that, Ral crawled away from Inigo's shoulder and into the belt pouch at Inigo's side. Ral was done.

The dark man glared, but denied nothing. He ran the palm of his hand down his facial hair and his eyes filled yet again with determination. He walked forward with the confidence and power akin to that of a rich merchant of Avarath, but with a still violence in his step.

"Get to work," he calmly told those around him, "we've had plenty of time to wake up." The sky was clear and the wind was cool as the sandrats around him naturally followed his lead. It was more a sign of respect than that of reverence given to a leader. Inigo was no leader and he had no desire to be.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Silvir]

Eyecandy

Only having the choice between the dress, and going in nothing but undergarments. The young girl went through the mild pain of putting it on, only to discover it wasn't made for a person with a tail and left little to the imagination.

Not that she had a chance to ponder this issue when this weird character eyed her down with experienced eyes.
"Perfect" the woman chirped and ushered the confused vixen along to her own quarters.

Eydis went pale when the sounds and smells of the brothel hit her outside the room she had been in. The word work suddenly had a new meaning when she saw the bustling of men and women moving through the large tent. If it hadn't been for the energetic draken hovering around her. She would have escaped this very moment.

Instead she soon found herself in what clearly was the quarters of this lizard. Definitively a place of comfort, two young females stepped forward the moment they entered. A human girl with green eyes and a slim avian girl both quite distinctive in their looks. With that Eydis started to get an idea on what she might be doing for work. She just hoped wasn't completely right.