Kaustir & The Chersonese, Chapter 8

[E.T.]

What news could there be from a dying city that the crows and vultures did not already speak of with their harsh laughter and chattering. It had been a long time since they had had such a feast, but the crows were much more reserved then their carrion cousins. They were more sensitive to the disease than the vultures and they preferred their meat a little fresher. Even so the eating wasn't all that bad for them and with all of the inhabitants either dying or fleeing for their lives the city was left to its new winged masters. The vultures were the first to see the approaching intruders, their lofty circles giving them a perfect view of the valley that tumbled down from the mountain's broad face. However, solitary as they were, it was the crows that had been patrolling just beyond the city's walls that gave the alarm the intruders. The great nest mothers grumbled and shrieked in protest of the news. The city had been abandoned and the younger feathers were eager to explore this new territory.

The scouts entered the city under the watchful eye of the crows, the vultures less caring ignored the intruders as long as they retained a good distance, the city silent expect for the occasional harsh croak of a disgruntled crow. They walked tenderly so as to not to disturb even the ground, as far as they knew the very dirt could be filled with whatever plagued this city. On the outer fringes the streets held few clues that could be distinguished by the soldiers. They were still familiarizing themselves with the local fauna that had overwhelmed their vision every time they ventured beyond the sea of tents. They could smell that something was amiss but the rats here had neatly hidden themselves away under floorboards and in the rafters of nearby houses so they went unseen for the time being.

"Sergeant." Only of the men said. Even his soft words almost caused the rest to jump as Leonid turned to look along where the speaker was pointing. About a hundred feet in front of the group mounds of what looked like rags lay scattered along the street, appearing to have been thrown from the nearby houses and abandoned in the scramble to escape this haunted city. As they got closer it became very obvious that these were not just loose piles of cloth.

"All dead." One of them grumbled as he covered his mouth with the back of his hand in an attempt to discourage the smell of decomposing flesh. Cautiously they approached the closest body. As much as the task repulsed them they had to confirm the reports for the rest of the army, and so as carefully and gently as possible they used the butt ends of their spears to turn the body onto its back. As soon as they say the corpses face they took a few steps in retreat. Dark zigzagging veins were in sharp relief to the bodies pale, so bloated were they that it looked like even in death the man was struggling against some great force. Eyes had clouded over but the edges were still an unnatural tint of green-blue, and there were long congealed streaks along the man's bare neck and chest where he had clawed desperately at his throat.

There were no commands needed to call the scouts into a retreat spooked as they were. Perhaps they would have made it out of the city fine, no disease, no pain, not a hint of trouble for the great army, but the mountain breeze looked cruelly upon the invaders. A plotting gust descended on the city sweeping up the bits of death that had fallen upon this poor city. The smell of death and rot filled the air and the small party felt a strong gust of wind hit them from behind. The chill and the smell of the wind drew small gasps from the soldiers as they continued to retreat. Their lungs opened wide and the bacteria that had been colonizing the bodies they had claimed gleefully burrowed through the mucus that coated the insides of the lungs anchoring themselves to the papery flesh.

"The refugees are telling the truth. That city is nothing but rot." The report was received stoically by Kirtin. All was recorded and swiftly bound together to be delivered to the spymaster himself. There was no longer a city for them to invade, new orders would have to be given, and until then the army would hold its position. Far enough away from the city but close enough to Pegulis's border to be ready to move in an instant. The scouts in the mean time were guided to a quarantine tent away from many of the other soldiers. However, few even acknowledged one of the member's cough as he was escorted through the tents. With so much pollen in the air and the cold coming off of the mountains many had developed a little bit of a cough. It should have been nothing to worry about, should have been.

 

[UltimaCircuit]

The Ykloid

The greenscaled one awoke in a daze before looking around the infirmary he was placed within. The walls of his room were dark stone, and the only light that emanated within was a flickering candle upon a cracked, wooden desk. His eyes went from his toes and then up his body. Many bandages were spun around his limbs. His head squeezed, then released, then squeezed once more. K'Jol could not remember the series of events that transpired before his arrival in this room, except for the moments that he had with allies, or whom he at least thought to be his allies. There was another Draken like him, one of great strength who always carried around a large shield. There was fair colored man who wielded a katana, and seemed to be one to not mess with. And then there was a fair woman, one who seem fragile yet for some reason he knew that there was a fire that burned deep within her bosom. It hit him.

"Amalia... where have you gone? Rakar and Takeda..."

Silence overtook his spirit, before he stood up from his bed. He looked to the wooden door within the stone, and trudged over to it, wincing with every step. He had to leave this place and find answers for everything that had been happening recently. He had to go, and find his friends. He grasped the handle of the door before pulling it back, and entering the main area of the infirmary. He had to complete his mission, and make sure those who were now dear to him were safe.

​

 

[unanun]

K'Jol was greeted by an empty nightmare.

There was nothing new. Dried bat shit, dried insect shit, dried Ipari shit, only little brown logs leftover, with the faint smell of brimstone and the stink of burnt gunpowder. Even the ground crunched below his feet. The moisture and life was all sucked out of the place, as if its former inhabitants hoped it would be forgotten.

The room he woke up in was empty and so was the rest of the barracks. He followed the only manmade source of light, a flickering candle that always seemed to be around the corner. Eventually he found himself in a holding pen of sorts, thick steel bars hammered into the surrounding stone. Evidence of a violent struggle was inside, and various masks and leather straps lay discarded around the floor.

The long Ipari glanced up at the unsteady Draken. The loud exhale of relief was evident, even muffled by the mask.

"Thank the rain that you are awake. Governor Orvak has instructed me to take you to Dorgrad, if you should awake. Come along."

 

[AetherDream]

"General?"

A long, worn claw dug into the hilt of his imposing blade, catching briefly upon the bindings before cutting through them. His gaze remained stern as they had been when he first gave the order, his whiskers bristled, "Execute them. Two hundred yards from camp. No closer."

"Yes, General! Will that be all?"

Kirtin's attention had shifted to the Black City looming in the distance, he wondered how they suffered, if they fought for their lives in the end, if even such a life had been worth fighting for. It was a fitting end for such a wretched place; from the shadows of deceit and weakness it was born, and to that same darkness it would fall. But now it sat in their way; towering in a pestilent shade, like a specter that sought to curse the Czar's ambition. To torment his vision with death. There was only one solution.

"The courier, give him order to return to the Czar with news and a request," Kirtin delved into one of his packs and retrieved parchment, ink, quill and his seal. His writing was clear and firm, the only way to press forwards was with the aid of the Windfish. As soon as the last lines were written, Kirtin sealed the parchment and handed it to the officer, "Have the courier deliver this. His word alone will not be trusted with such a heavy request."

"Yes, General!"

…...................................

Like the plague had through the streets of the Black City, a murmur began to spread through the ranks. Words like, "sickness", "death" and "plague" were on the tongues of every man who was brave enough to speak them. Few things were truly as frightful as a death that came quietly and struck without care of name or accomplishments. The only thing that kept the soldiers in line was an even greater fear and reverence of the man who had sent them all to the land of snow and ice.

As the officer approached Khayal, it was clear that the words of a dead man had been seen and regretfully verified as truth. Even what remained from the spared details was gruesome. The dead were laying in shambled piles; like the dying were stacking the dead and soon fell upon the fruits of their labor: adding to the putrid stack. His focus wandered from the orders as he wondered how many were already sick and yet knew it; he wondered if he was sick now, the officer's breath bluster sent wisps tumbling through the air towards Khayal. He sang a silent prayer in hopes that the delivering word to the Czar would be the only thing he had to worry about.

"Is that clear?"

Khayal took the sealed parchment and stored it safely in the innermost compartment of his satchel, "Yes, understood." He watched as the officer returned to the ranks of the first army, to what could quite possibly be his shallow grave. Then a strange thought flitted through his mind, had the officer been his friend, could he have wished the man well? Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered, men of the Czar stopped living for themselves as soon as they dawned armor and picked up a sword. "Be safe..." he voice was barely above a whisper and the remainder was caught in the cloth covering his mouth.

The return to the Second Army was a shorter trip than the departure to the first. The soldiers had advanced more than half way before the march came to a stop. Their gaze and shields held strong and faced forwards, blissfully unaware of the condition of the first army and just as ignorant to how blessed they were to have kept their distance. Yet there was only one true hope that they shared: the slim chance that the man who Takeda had killed, was not infected.

Khayal's stay with the Second Army had to be a short one, the trip to Avarath would at the very least, would see travel under the Moon and into the blazing Sun. Longer still if the entire way was to be made on foot. Even the most experienced in the trade could only manage minor miracles. Still, the orders were as urgent as the news carried within, the gates of Avarath couldn't wait for a miracle, nor could Khayal hope that one would spare him if he was late. He had to procure a horse, that's where Takeda's influence came into play. The horses were wild things that the patchwork cavalry and beast masters had barely managed to reign in. Giving one away to a courier was unthinkable.

Khayal arrived at Takeda's mobile command station and called to him, "Sir, the plague has taken city. The First Army will not advance further towards the city walls. I'm to take word to the Czar in Avarath and I need a horse."

"Alright," Takeda motioned to one of his guards, "Bring this man a horse, find the fastest one and take off it's armor and pack. And you, you ride hard and you ride fast."

"Understood."

The officer soon returned with a horse which, by the looks of it, was the wildest if not the fastest. Its great head shook in protest of the handling it had been given, its mane whipped about and clapped loudly against its muscular neck. The officer shoved the reigns into Khayal's hands with a frustrated grunt before returning to his post.

Khayal pulled down steadily upon the reigns, hoping to calm the horse and allow him to ride. The horse was as stubborn as it was wild, it stomped and huffed at him, pulling at the reigns as if to free itself and take to the long road back to Avarath alone. The longer he had to contest the horses' will, the less time he had to deliver the parchment, patience was no virtue now. Khayal's gaze narrowed and steeled as his grip tightened as he forced the horse's head to lower and finally remain still. There was an uneasy silence as the horse pawed at the ground with it's front hoof.

"There is one chance that we don't end up buried after we get to Avarath. I need you to take me as far as you can," Khayal's voice was firm and strong.

It wasn't clear if the horse understood the words that Khayal spoke. But as the courier took to the saddle, it was clear that the fighting was over for now. The horse took to the snow as if there was a fire at it's back. Within a few minutes, the Second Army had disappeared behind them. The next stop, Chersonese.

 

[Tone 6th]

Takeda watched Khayal ride off then turned his attention back to the Black city. "Company halt!" he bellowed to his men. Every soldier, engineer, and intelligence agent stopped what they were doing and looked to the front of the line.

"Captain is something wrong?" one of soldiers asked.

Takeda stared at the Black City "If the disease is air born then it could have already infected the entire first army. If that is true and they all get sick, then the second army would be all that's left to fight this war. However, I can't disobey order either..." a perplexed look came over his face. "Scribe!" he called back.

A young man came running for up the ranks in the army "Yes captain?"

"I need you to send a message to Commander Kirtin just up ahead." he told the scribe.

The scribe readied his quill as Takeda started to speak "This is Takeda Shingen Captain of the second army requesting new orders. The ground for this request being that I had received confirmation that the city has indeed been taken by the plague. I wish to not risk the lives of the remainder of our men, as we have not yet come into full contact with the illness. I request permission to temporarily halt the construction of the supply line until we receive new orders from the Czar."

The scribe had finished the letter and gave it to a runner. "Before you go tightly wrap cloth over your mouth and nose, better safe the sorry." Takeda ordered. The runner did just that and set off with the message.

 

[Mglo]

[fieldbox=Inigo Criracan - Sectioned off 1st Army, orange, solid]
The last of the wagon barracks creaked as its scarabs led the way far from the front-lines and into the segregated part of the 1st Army. Inigo Criracan had been going back and forth moving the sleeping nocturnes to safety. Word had spread fast among the camp as soon as the vanguard had suffered its first casualties. The first quarantined, the scouts, were long dead and putrefying in their tent. Although Inigo suspected they'd already been burned.

"I take it back," said the glass scorpion, "an incoming sword aiming to kill would have been a nicer change to the atmosphere. Mmm, you smell that? It's Death passing us by." Ral clicked its pincers for effect as he scurried once around Inigo's neck in mock-celebration.

Inigo had been stationed near enough to the vanguard to hear the first reports of death, but far enough to survive the growing epidemic as most of the 1st Army sectioned off. The wagon swayed to a stop and Inigo stepped down.
"Soldier Criracan," called out Inigo's superior, the Officer that had set him into motion for the nocturnes. "You are to head back up to the front. I need an update on the vanguard's status."
Inigo stood reverently alert though his dark glare grew severe, suspecting his superior as he waited to speak, "Sir, we already know their status. I believe General Kirtin's orders were clear on limiting contact with the vanguard…."
"Part of the 1st Army is with them. A lot of them my men. I want to know. Do as you are told rat!"
The Officer walked away but not before reaching for his sword's handle threateningly. Ral crawled back out from under Inigo's cape as the higher ranked Officer disappeared. "Gasp," it said, "did he just order us to cross the safety border out of personal sentiment? Inconceivable!"

"We're not crossing anything Ral," Inigo turned and climbed on the scarab he'd been untying from the wagon. He holstered himself securely before setting the large scarab in motion, the lighter load allowing the insect to move faster across the temporary encampment. It didn't take long before they reached the front, where every soldier had their mouths covered and their eyes facing forward on guard. Without a doubt, no soldier on this side of things would dare walk ahead without a direct order form a superior. However, when facing death not every man, even a man of the Kaustir army, can resist the urge to run to safety in a desperate attempt to deny the inevitable end. The guards were there to speed up the inevitable. General Kirtin had been menacingly clear on that.

"Soldier. Where do you think you're going?"

Inigo climbed down and sharply made his salute, "I was given orders by my superior to collect news on the vanguard and the sectioned off 1st Army. However, I have concerns to report about it."
The soldier pointed to a tent some ways away and Inigo respectfully bowed in self dismissal. The flap of the tent swung open before Inigo's outstretched arm reached it. Colonel Waverly of the Desert regarded him with narrow eyes as Inigo stepped aside allowing the tent to empty. Although Inigo wasn't invited in, he followed the Colonel inside.

"What's a dustrat doing in my tent? I haven't the time to deal with low-ranking problems, in case you haven't noticed our current predicament." The Colonel stood by a wooden table covered in unreliable looking maps. Inigo was just a dustrat indeed, but one that quickly gained respect. It was a skill more than a reputation, but he'd never let on to that.
"My superior, Officer York, I'm afraid sentimentality has gotten the better of him. I believe if not kept in check, he might compromise the army's safety." Colonel Waverly looked unconcerned, but Inigo could see the man's character in his movements. This was not a man that would take anything lightly, no matter how small.
"He ordered me, in nonspecific terms, to -"

"COLONEL WAVERLY!" a soldier burst into the tent in a panic, "a soldier! A soldier on this side of the barrier just dropped… she had trouble breathing! Said it was just the Pegulis cold lung, but she started choking and her lips were turning blue sir. She was burned on the spot- she's burning as we speak! Somebody's alerting General Kertin but… but, I thought we'd contained it sir."
[/fieldbox]

 

[unanun]

"Nu, a magic trick!"

Lut Sar moved with brutal swiftness. Ten and one years after he took on Nu, they were trawling the sands again, sifting for the cults and rebellion cells that always grew in the Czar's shadow.

Their latest catch milled inside a stone granary. In his hand he filled and stoppered a black metal sphere with powder, and lit the cork on fire. "Blink and you'll miss it!" He threw the ball in, and Nu turned away on instinct.

He was shouting at her, clearly delighted. She read his lips through her ringing ears.

"Blink .. and they disappear!"

Blood and other parts ran out of the grain chute.

It was a night when Khayal arrived, and the day rats were going to sleep. Even if there was no war, Kaustir followed the cycle. Things were a little quieter, and the nocturnals were more at ease. He was hailed lazily, but the guards stiffened when they saw the seal on his letter.

The Czar's yurt was tall and mighty. Ceiling flaps radiated from the center pole, and they were rolled up at night to expose the moon and her stars. In the center the Czar sat. Khayal was placed inside an isolation tent, and a transcribed copy of the letter was in his hands, the original already fed to a fire.

Did you know that this was going to happen, Lukesh? Lut-Lukesh ran his eyes along the message once more. Is that why you stole the Alate? How did you know ... What went through your mind when you hatched all these plans? If Lut was expecting a blaze of epiphany, or secret folders opening, when he took on Lukesh's body, nothing of that sort happened.

Even the Ipari ... he buried his face in his palms, but only for the most brief of moments. Such expressions of doubt and weakness were unacceptable. Why did everything fit so perfectly?

Massive ore carts sat on the rails that Takeda and the 2nd Group laid. Inside there were rows upon rows of Ipari masks. The same ones that gave the Ipari Guards a few extra years of life from the blight. The skill required to fabricate the canisters was immense. A huge bellow emptied into a block of hot Dorgrad iron, stretching it into a microscopic foam that was then infiltrated with plant extract and powdered herb.

If they could give the Ipari a few extra years, they would give the vanguard enough time to burn the city down.

 

[E.T.]

There was so much to remember. Caoimhe herself hadn't noticed the change until she once again immersed herself with the subtle goings on of the surrounding animals. Perhaps it was an echo of Aerie fighting for a hold among the chaos of the wilding's mind, maybe it had to do with her last month of traveling closely with a group of people far more civilized than she, maybe more simply she had just started to forget. Strangely enough it was a simple crow that split through her mind, yanking out memories and manners that had long become stale, harsh croaks reordering themselves into a language she was able to speak. Her heart yearned to chase after the howls that she constantly heard in the distance but equal parts instinct and common sense told her it would be a poor choice to go chasing after a strange pack so quickly, especially with her communication skills so rusty.

Crows provided a good middle ground for her. The deer and horses were easy to talk to but they had the sense of their ancestors and did not usually stick around to chat for very long. The crows were naturally curious and with scraps of food they could be tempted to come close and sit for awhile, and it also helped that there seemed to be a great many gathering.

"Currrrah currah!" Caoimhe croaked questioning at the black bird perch in a tree several feet above her heard. The bird looked up from the chunk of tendon it was tearing apart to give a low chortle as some of the feathers on the back of it's neck stood up for a moment before smoothing back down. Spreading her wings out Caoimhe gave them a couple of halfhearted flaps before giving a single, low grumbling sound in the very back of her throat. This was the fifth time she had fed this particular bird, or so she suspected it was becoming easier to tell him apart from the many other crows that she had seen frequenting the area. Even among his fellows this bird was particularly bold, on occasion even going so far as pecking at the dracling's tail.

Questioningly she cocked her head first one way and than the other. It was a gesture of confusion and the crow replied with their equivalent of a sigh before repeating the same gestures and sounds he had used before only this time he added a quick little hope in at the end.

The nest is sick. That was basic principal that she was getting, a strange answer to her question as to why so many birds flew west, and yet there were subtleties to the birds movements that told her she was not getting to whole picture. Growing bored with Caoimhe's silence the crow snapped up the rest of his meal, clattering his beat together to try and get this new generous friend's attention. Caoimhe tossed another strip of meat and with a satisfied croak the bird flew off leaving her to think over what she had said.

With her wings she could very well gain a birds eye view of the army for herself, but she had yet to trust her wings enough that she would venture high enough to get such a view, and a single well placed arrow could very easily bring her crashing back to the ground. So for now she would barter information from the birds for scraps of meat pulled from fresh kills. Her thoughts were interrupted by the crunch of leaves and twigs and she turned to see a grey lithe shape making a beeline straight for her.

"Talking with birds again?" Shardis said. Watching as mother greeted child.

"Hmm." Caoimhe replied with a small shrug, taking a moment to pick up the rabbit she had been butchering before the dracling nibbled at it to much. Caoimhe had grown a bit more distant recently, and Shardis was just beginning to pick up on it. For now she could blame a strange, and sudden, fascination with birds but Shardis wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it. Caoimhe's words from weeks previous entered Shardis's mind but she pushed them out of her head, Caoimhe had accepted her decision and there had been no more talk of leaving since. Still, since Glyph's death there was something of that wild fierceness that had crept back into the wildling's eyes. As with most wild animals unless you read the sings carefully there were bound to do something that would seem entirely unpredictable.

 

[Peregrine]

[fieldbox=Desert Sisters, goldenrod]

​

They traveled on in silence.

At dawn and dusk the desert hills rolled away under their feet, and the land got drier and warmer. The short, dry grass was replaced with an ever growing quantity of sand, cacti, and hardy little shrubs that could survive the intense heat. During the day they found whatever shelter they could to protect Chelena from the sun, taking refuge in the slowly moving shade cast by the great dunes, or burrowing under large rocks that had come together as if dropped by a giant hand. At night they made camp, brewed Chelena's herbs, and watched as the desert, freed from the heat of the day, came to life. By the middle of the night it would get so cold that everything would go still, but while the sand was still warm from the vanished sun the little creatures would scamper about, fighting valiantly for live against a world that cared not whether they lived or died.

Only a few days ago they had filled these idle hours with conversation. Nu had done her best to engage the listless Chelena, teaching her bits and pieces about life in the desert. Chelena knew she should have missed it, but she had fallen back into a state of apathy. Nu did not appear to miss it either. The girl had vanished into some recessed corner of her mind, and she dwelled on the haunted memories that repeated over and over on loop.

But, one night, the conversation returned as suddenly as it left.

"We near Avarath."

"The Merchant City of Kaustir?"

"Yes. Empty now, though."

"Are we... going there?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Chelena had no answer.
[/fieldbox]

 

[unanun]

[THANKS @fatalrendezvous!]

The Owl Calls​

Ilsa remained in her cage. It was prominently placed at the top of a small, rolling hill. From her vantage point, she could see the railroad stretch from New Zirako into the tundra. Over the past day or so, the tracks echoed loudly as cart upon cart of something rolled up into the North. She followed the torches deep into the boreal forest.

Her space had slowly been decorated over the passing week. They came like magpies, depositing blankets, wind-charms tied to the ceiling bars, and offerings of food. Others came by to spit on her, or rattled sabers through the bars. Before, she would have shrunk to the opposite side. But Kerrick's visit emboldened her. She now knelt in the center of her prison, oblivious to their heckling, her filthy knotted hair covering her face. Sometimes, a hint of eye showed. Predatory. Vicious.

Murderous. They were spooked away.

The bruising was almost gone. Her stomach went from yellow to purple, slowly healing as she drank the herbal infusions passed into her cage. She ate vigorously and gripped the wooden bars, willing strength back into her limbs. Slowly, she reassembled herself. For what, she didn't know. But Ilsa knew change would come soon.

Today, another bowl of the herbal slop slid through the bars. It came from a giant iron pot into which meat and vegetables were continuously thrown. For Ilsa, there were also crushed egg shells, a piece of gold, and various hearts. To help with the constitution.

She fell upon the bowl, and ate until a familiar voice paused her hunger, and she took the time to part her hair with greasy fingers just so she could get a good look at his face.

"Hello."​

"..." The Watch Captain did not answer, and lowered her hands to wipe them clean on the dirt and grass.

"The stew is not poisoned."

"I have already told you everything."

"May I come in?" Lut Sar slid through the bars. A trick of the moon and the voluminous flood of his cloak made him seem immaterial, a black, masked specter come to visit Ilsa.

Ilsa fought the urge to narrow her eyes. His trick did not impress her. "Have I not already answered all of your questions?"

"I want to enjoy the moon with you."

Indeed, the moon was beautiful. To the Nocturnes, the moon was their sun. They drew their culture and nourishment from its pale, waning rays. The sun bleached everything an incandescent white. Only under the moon were they able to see things properly.

"What do you want?"

The mask did not say anything, and glowed white from the moon for a while longer. The time for apologies and chit-chat came and went.

"The campaign is progressing smoothly, Ser Ilsa. In less than a week we will be at the gates to your secret city."

Barvelle. Ilsa's stomach knotted. Just one of the many things she had blurted out, torn in half by wild grief and pain as she bled her child out on the floor of his yurt.

"Yes, Barvelle." Lut Sar rubbed his mask with a gloved appendage. "Once the governors there see Kaustir's overwhelming force, they should accept our generous terms of surrender. Full amnesty for practice of magic and digging for divine weapons (yes, these are capital crimes under our law, and Pegulis will be judged as such)."

Had this conversation occurred even a day earlier, before Ilsa sobbed her confessions to Kerrick, Lut's veiled threat might have worked. "Don't patronize me," she warned. "I have answered your questions. Unless you have something to offer me in return, I will not answer any further."

"Why did Coul condemn our actions? Why did you simply give us everything? Pegulis has a capital, in the mountains? Ha!" The mask pushed against her face, eclipsing the moon behind. "A captain of the Aldus watch gives up her secrets because of a miscarriage?" If only she knew that Lut-Lukesh was before her, the two-faced ruler of Kaustir.

"You hide something from me."

"Do not pretend to know my struggles." Ilsa turned her head away feigning disgust and offense. Matted blond hair helped to conceal the pain that threatened at the corners of her eyes. "I do not pretend to know yours. You know my title as Captain. That is the extent of what you know about me." Memories of her toils, her unnamed child, ran through her head, and Ilsa remained silent, too afraid that doing so might reveal the quiver in her voice.

"Ah, you understand a statesman's struggles?" Behind the mask Lut's eyes glittered. "Know this then, and I speak frankly. Kaustir is a wild animal. The Czar has bred them as such. We must remain occupied with conquest. But I am a man of the state, of our people, and I have no desire to see another nation's men butchered."

"Encourage Barvelle's surrender. Give me an audience with Eirene. For that price, I will set you free when we reach her gates."

"That's awfully diplomatic talk coming from coming from a man of the state - the same state that marched their million-man war machine upon neutral land." Ilsa scoffed in disbelief, kicking up the strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face. "Release me, and my men, a day's walk outside Aldus. I refuse to appear before the Northern Archon in the meager rags you have left me with. I will ride ahead to Barvelle and reason with the Archon."

"Dont think you have that much power." Lut Sar stood and backed through the bars, his mask catching before turning sideways and slipping through. "I will make an example of the Black City. So you will know the potential loss. I hope we can avoid more tragedies ...

Like yours."

 

[lynzy]

She grew more distant with each passing day and the more Shardis tried to reason with the wolf girl and help...with anything, even cooking food when it was Caoimhe's turn, the more distant the woman became. It frustrated Shar to no end. Her fist came down hard on the log beside her and it shattered into splinters that flew everywhere. A growl escaped her lips as she stood up shaking off the shards of wood and sneezed twice but her mood did not improve after doing so.

The dracling paused in his cleaning regimen to see what the matter was, shrugged and went back to preening. Shar was being pushed away, she was not stupid, she knew what was going on but she had no idea how to stop it from happening. If this kept up the way it was going, soon they would be like complete strangers to each other. The snow leopard anima began pacing again. Abruptly she stopped, grabbed her things and left camp to hunt. Hunting, these days, helped her clear her mind like snow bathing always had in the past. Since there was no snow to roll around in, hunting was going to have to do. The dracling would be fine with his mother, of course, Shar just needed 'air'.

"They will be leaving soon, you know it." Her Aux said in a calm smug way as it landed on a tree limb ahead of her. The unchanging form of Shardis' Aux, a small iridescent blue dragon named Tandra, began to feign interest in her talons and nibbled bits of imagined dirt from around their edges. She looked up as Shardis turned in a new direction to avoid looking at Tandra and the dragon's eyes narrowed as she chuckled, taking off to land on a rock in front of the cat woman. "What will you do then? Will you cry and throw a fit?"


Shardis stopped dead still and spat her words,"Shut up you insufferable beast!" At times like these Shar wished she could physically hurt her Aux, "You must think me stupid. I know why you wish them gone. You're jealous of the dracling and the fact I get along with him better than I ever did with you." Months of pent up anger now came flooding out and aimed directly at her Aux. The creature only smiled with slit eyes and waited the tirade out like all the other times before. "I think you're evil or at the very least cruel. All you ever do is pick on the little fellow, who is larger than you now, by the way. You have no heart, no no... no kindness in you! You do your best to discredit him and his mother with me. You are vain and greedy and you have always been so! Go-the-fuck-away and never come back!" Shar ended her tirade with a well thrown rock that went right through her Aux's body and bounce off the trunk of the tree to land in a near by bush.


Now, everyone knows you can't be rid of your Aux but at that moment Shardis wanted hers to disappear never to reaffirm. In an hour or two she would calm down and apologize to Tandra, she had always done so before, but something was different about this tirade and the little dragon wasn't quite sure what it was. Once again, the little blue dragon sighed and flew off to watch the horizon as she soared high above it.

Shardis knew what was different, she was fed up with her 'Evil Half' for good this time. The damned creature was always up to no good and determined to make a fool out of her. That was how Shardis saw things.

In truth, her Aux wasn't really evil, cruel? Occasionally... but one does what one must. The dragon wasn't all that jealous ether, just lonely and board as it went about trying to unveil her Crux's eyes to the truth of things as the Aux saw them.

Anyone could see that the wolf girl was lonely for her kind and wanted to run free of the yolk of civility that Shar and others had tied around Caoimhe's neck, unknowingly of course but still... well, anyone could see, except Shardis, HER Crux. Why did Shar have to be so dense? Soooo close minded... It was exasperating to the little dragon to always have to be the one to point things out to the giant cat girl and of course Shardis never took it well. ​

 

[Tone 6th]

The second army hadn't moved an inch sense Takeda received orders to wait for the shipment of Ipair masks. It had been two days and there was still no word of anything moving down the tracks. Harsh winds tore at the men who lined rails, moral was beginning to drop due to both the cold and a lack of action. Takeda was making the round on his men making sure everyone was okay and ready to leave at a moments notice.

"Captain, carts are coming down the tracks!" one of the soldiers shouted pointing just the track.

Takeda narrowed his eyes and sure enough two metal carts were just making their way over the horizon. "Engineers in position! We need to slow this shipment down bring up the braces!" he commanded.

The engineers scrambled to their feet and, with the help of the soldiers, hauled a large burlap sack to the front of the rail. *Thud* the bag was placed and unpacked. A large metal stopper was slid and fastened to the rail end "Alright everyone put on your gloves, grab a rope, and pull!" Takeda ordered. A net of rope went up a few feet in front of the stopper with everyone ready to pull at a moments notice.

The carts came over the hill and Takeda gave the order to tighten the net. *Screeet!* The shipment hit the net jerking some of the men to the ground. *Thunk!* The carts hit the brace, but luckily they didn't topple over. One of the soldiers went to carts and opened the camel skin covering the top "It's all intact sir!" he called to Takeda.

"Then lets get to work!" he pointed to the city, "We've got a city to take."

 

[Silvir]

Bittersweet taste

The human girl gestured her to follow while the avian one turned to tend to Tachor's needs.
At first Eydis was hesitant with the situation and realization that she was pretty much owned by this brothel. But considering her wound and that she was alive soon made her more compliant. The living quarters of the lizard woman was comfortable and kept most sounds at bay, however they left little space for her to keep to herself.

Used to girls arriving in a situation like hers the others kept the fox girl busy with whatever simple tasks needed daily care. Still Eydis found herself gently nudged back to reality now and then, it was embarrassing and at times infuriating. She tried so hard to not falter yet there it was again in the back of her mind the memories fuelled by this place. Learning to keep up with the mistress was the only thing keeping her from succumbing completely now.

She missed home, her family even dads annoying lectures.

 

[Doom Spiral]

(Thanks @unanun & the others on Skype!)

Olle: Conflicting Afflictions

Olle did not know the nature of the plague, at first. His lungs began to itch and burn that night, but he attributed it to spores from the mouldy food he'd eaten while hiding in the city. It'd been a problem he'd had before while travelling with cheap provisions. The following day, however, the guards outside of his cell began to cough and hack, foul excretions dripping from their mouths. Before long, Olle had joined them in their suffering.

Fetthund watched in pity as Olle groaned an coughed up foul fluids, the sickly green coupled with the yellowish-brown of a fungal infection. His lungs burned and his throat ached. He prayed for liberation, for an end to the suffering, even for death. But none of these things came, and death swept over the army but took no interest in him. After a day or two of neglect from the soldiers, more occupied with their own problems, he succumbed to the cold, hunger, and thirst; he used an advent when tired eyes were averted to depart from the cage. Preying on the nearly-dead, he stole what little he had the strength to carry to stave off further illness; blankets, stale food, waterskins. They did little to make him feel better, though their attempts were appreciated. Every fibre of his being still shook with misery.

At night, he was plagued by fever-dreams; disturbing flashes of imagery or fast-paced races of activity, like tumbling down a hillside. One theme in particular recurred: running through the Black City, the dead always at his heel, grasping, clawing, wailing his name. Olle often awoke in a cold sweat, shivering, watching in terror through a tear in the collapsed tent he slept under as wraithlike soldiers moved about the camp, bodies burning in the distance.

How long had it been? Two days? Two weeks? Two months? It was hard to keep track. Every possible condition was poor. What had become of the rest of the army? Had this group been abandoned, left to die in the cold? Had the others marched past into Pelugis while Olle had slept? The whole situation he found confusing and immeasurably bothersome. He would have more than just a word with his employer, if by some miracle he survived all of this.

 

[unanun]

The desert was never ours. We wrestled it from the desert savages and the desert rats, and their blood glues the sands together for a few more years. But that dried up, thickened blood will eventually bleed away with the rain. And when it does, the sand will be blown loose by the storms. Every time the winds pick up, if the shutters are not sealed and the doorways unwaxed, the sand will fill the rooms and you will drown in an ocean of yellow. The desert is something you must fight against every day.

Never take it for granted.

- Czar Lukesh.​

[fieldbox=Ykloid-Dorgrad, brown, solid, 15]"You have been in and out sleep for almost a month .. and perhaps even more." The Ipari and K'Jol hiked out of the abandoned nest. Although nothing lived in the guano-crusted halls anymore, the lava in the 'scar of sunne' bubbled just as fiercely. In time, embers would be sucked into the caverns below, and the guano would smolder for months, covering the nearby area with a putrid, insufferable stench. Some of it would waft its way into Dorgrad, and it was most definitely a part of the famous Ipari Blight.

Outside the entrance to the caverns, the Ipari hitched a few scarabs. There weren't that many left; they were all running between Avarath and the Chersonese.[/fieldbox][fieldbox=Avarath, brown, solid, 15]When the sands return to the dwellings, when the libraries and the order and the knowledge sink beneath the yellow tides, it is said that the Drakens will inherit the desert in its true form.

It was therefore not surprising that the only living creatures left in Avarath were the Draken. The forest-kin had long succumbed to the lack of maintenance. Half of them fled to the waters, fled to K'Larr or tried to go back to Hosia, while the rest of them, the succulents and cacti, tried to live at the coast where they could still catch ocean foam.

The sand took everything that the skeleton crew in Avarath could not mantain. The golden towers and expansive warehouses filled with the stuff, and the secret underground tunnels were no more. Of the dwellings that the Draken kept, their secretive nature let the structures be swallowed by the dunes, so only those equally as furtive could find them.

But no matter the whims of some despot, the deep, natural harbour was too valuable a resource to abandon. The port remained busy, and it was as if the merchants never left. Shipments of iron, spices, and incense were still loaded onto ships, and Hosian drugs and timber were exchanged for whispers and thermic gems from Pegulian merchants.

"Just don't walk beyond the shore."

"Why?"

"There lays the sand line."
[/fieldbox]

 

[AetherDream]

It didn't quite make up for the copy in his bag, but the sea road was a welcome change to what had become the regular since he agreed to what seemed like a much lighter bag of coin than he'd remembered. He doubted that the General would take issue with which version of the letter was delivered to the Czar as long as the Windfish arrived in a timely manner, all he same it felt to Khayal that he'd somehow let the fearsome anima down in some way. The urgency of his penmanship, the impression his seal had left in melted wax, it burned in the night and turned to ash as if it had never been in the first place. Khayal hadn't expected the Czar to have been in the middle of the road, but at least that part of things had passed.

Still, time was against him and the mandatory stay in the isolation tent had robbed him of more than he had initially meant to part with. The situation was only made more difficult by the fact that the horse he'd rode in on was nowhere to be seen when he left and none of the guards or soldiers stationed there showed much more than a fleeting notion when he asked about it. He mused to himself at the brief time he'd spent with the creature. As many times he'd nearly been tossed into the snow or down a hill, part of him wanted to see the journey through as was intended. But that matter was both out of his hands and well enough in the past to turn a fond memory into excess baggage. He was more confident on his feet anyhow.

Chersonese's fertile ground made the going all that much easier. The less effort made to pace himself, regulate his breathing and keeping sharp eye for landmarks allowed for his legs to move as freely as wings did in the air. Even the weight of his spear and his buckler became an afterthought as the sea breeze rushed by him and cooled his sweat. As he ran, Khayal looked out towards the water and for a moment wondered what would become of him if he took to the wood so very far away. What it would be like to truly get lost for once in his life and take some time away from everything that was and is. Business had only ever taken him as far as Hosia, few clients ever asked a courier from the Red Empire to take to the wood city of Riven. He hoped to go one day, even if it meant more than a night stay in accommodations less appealing than an isolation tent.

But times being what they were, Khayal's hope was a fanciful a dream as one day retiring to riches, fine wine and even finer company. The machine of war was all that ran now and Kaustir had no allies. It needed no allies as far as the Czar was concerned. No fighting force could measure up to the relentless march of conquest and no nation could satisfy the insatiable thirst for blood. So for now, there was only the ground beneath his feet and even that had come to compromise. But in the end it mattered not, Avarath laid before him and so long as it did, there was no room for Riven. Taking a measured breath, Khayal gripped his spear tightly and willed his muscles to carry him even faster towards his destination.

 

[Mglo]

[fieldbox= The Vanguard and More, orange, solid]Through the tightly wrapped cloth round his mouth, Inigo could smell the stench of the camp. It wasn't entirely unusual when traveling in large numbers, but this was something else. This was smoke, flesh, and mold he smelled in the putrid air. There was no wind to further carry the already echoing coughs in the area, and Inigo couldn't help but remember Colonel Waverly's quiet approval as he'd looked up to the horizon and its few unwavering trees. Earlier reports had indicated a rise in coughs amidst the vanguard just before the sickness took a turn for the worse. Somehow, Inigo worried, the sickness must be in the wind. It wasn't an odd thing, that. People had been getting sick from cold winds before this, they just didn't usually die so horribly and so... efficiently?
Suddenly he remembered the first body he'd seen, its face uncovered by the tarp as a scarab carried it and its dead companions away on a cart. It had seemed to stare back at Inigo with its greenish dark eyes, a mask of pain and unspoken desperation coming from its twisted blue lips. The effort of it permanently frozen by the prominent veins as if the person was still living through the suffering in an endless struggle for the breath it no longer had.

Ral stayed in his pouch, reminding Inigo they really didn't want to be here so much so that he almost regretted reporting his superior, Officer York. Actually, it should be soldier York by now, Inigo thought in attempts to distract himself from the task at hand. A task the Colonel himself had appointed as a direct result of the sudden interruption back at the tent. Containment of the disease was clearly beginning to fail if it had reached even one soldier on the safe zone and Inigo had been sent into the pit of the malady to compile an assessment of the situation according to all officers in charge. Inigo had wanted to protest on the spot, surely his chances of becoming sick would be near to assured if he was expected to take a tour of the area? Was it even necessary?
As it was turning out, it was. Kaustir order had been broken whilst its diligence remained. They'd lost quite a few officers and suddenly replaced by mostly unprepared soldiers. Camp was running relatively smooth and disposal of bodies was prompt, generally speaking. However, Inigo was realizing that not all corners of the area had maintained communication. He found some sections to be unnecessarily brutal against the smallest cough, and some just maintaining order for the sake of order rather than thinking of the purpose of having an army marching north.

Instead of compiling an assessment, he found himself organizing and setting up links much like he used to do in the merchant trade. It was something he knew; it was a small comfort in the sea of threat he found himself constantly in. He showed respect and it was reciprocated, making the process smoother than he anticipated considering the circumstances. Perhaps it was the touch of civility in such dire times. Inigo knew that at least he would appreciate it if he should fall sick or be placed in a position where escaping death was a small possibility.

"If you could hear my thought Ral, it would be right about now when you would tell me to stop dreaming because I'm already in the deep."
[/fieldbox]

 

[unanun]

NEW KAUSTIR
THUNDER FALLS​

"The front core of our vanguard has fallen to some sort of plague."

"Not plague. Spores."​

The Czar spat from his throne, simple hide stretched over a stool. As of late, the Czar had removed anything in his royal yurt with a back, to allegedly prevent assassins from stabbing from behind. They were almost always replaced with wraiths, facing outwards with their white lacquered masks and black cloaks. The increasing infiltration of the 3rd Army into matters of governance worried many hard-line soldiers.

Tattersal. Behind Lukesh's face, Lut Sar remembered. Back when Lut Sar was his own, he crossed wits with the old forest-kin. When the Czar's warband first arrived at the shores of the Prosperos Sea, they drove the fishing tribes out west. Marooned on the sea, they eventually became the foundation of the merchants of to-day, trading and transporting for a living. During that time, as Lut Sar wiled away the months on the shore, he observed the merchants return, their skin bloated with pustules, washed with many colours, afflicted with ailments that brought fresh horror to the desert, where the only danger was thirsting to death.

Their suffering painted an unforgettable, vivid picture in Lut Sar's mind. A land all green, filled with invisible death, where man and plants were indistinguishable and killing flowers grew among immortal fungus - and all subservient to this mastermind, Tattersal. He gained a strong desire to defeat this foe. He armed the fishing tribes with the Czar's cannons and steel and drove them back out to the sea.

The tribesmen returned, this time with goods to trade and healthy skin. That was the last Lut Sar ever had trouble from the 'land of Viridos'. And it seemed a little too easy.

Many months ago, a rotting forest-kin was found poisoning one of the main springs in Zirako. And now, some virulent spore delayed their advance in Pegulis. Tattersal seemed to play by a thousand schemes and tricks, all maturing at different times.

He slapped the armrests of his stool with finality, and pushed himself upright.

"We will burn the city down. Turn the spores into ash. I have already sent order to the second Group in old-Avarath."

~​

"Speak your mind, lieutenant."

His lieutenant shuffled his feet. "General ..." he licked his lips. "We know worship, or excavation of the old gods is punishable by death. That is why there have been some unease .. that the windfishes are powered by someting divi- a trinket of the old gods."

General Kirtin turned to watch the growing blips on the horizon. "Worry not, lieutenant. The windfishes fly avian knowledge."

His words calmed the officer, who left to rejoin the vanguard. A hundred empty cars piled up at the end of the track, as far as Takeda had managed to build out. The crates inside were strewn across the tents. Line after line of desertrats passed by, dipping their hands inside and retrieving an Ipari Mask.

~​

Tattersal, how arrogant. The Czar stood with hands behind his back as the dirigibles soared over him. Buoyed by fragments of the Alate that once kept the Avian homestead afloat, they waved their fins lazily in the air, silently passing by the Chersonese.

We have also dealt with our own killing clouds. The fumes that belched from the Dorgrad mines were a different, yet similar sort to the purple-green clouds that sometimes hovered over Viridos. The comrades that breathed too much of it in their daily toils became short of breath and soon died, while their skin blotched and dried out in the heat of the mines. The Ipari masks were crafted in response, made by forcing air at great pressure through a very fine grill through molten glass. The resulting glass, light as air, was infused with herbs and allowed the Ipari to serve for life in the mines - a necessary period of time to grow acquainted to Dorgrad's myriad of killing quirks, which made rotations impossible.

"We will turn the glaciers into lakes and the jungle into charcoal."

~​

Inigo pulled air with great difficulty through his mask.

A drop of rain fell on the glass eye-shields. He reached up with a finger to wipe it away and smeared a black streak across. "What ...?" Pairs of hands yanked him back into the forest, to the safety of the oiled tents even as he looked upwards, where a heavy black rain fell from the floating windfish.

Inigo recognized this stuff. The Kaustrians called it 'mother liquor of the earth', a thick black liquid that burst from the ground, especially in Dorgrad. It was not potable, but boiled down it was sometimes used to pave mine roads. Sometimes, an evil air would flow from the top of such liquor deposits - the explosions were strong enough to cave in many tunnels. When burned, it gave off a choking smoke, clinging to everything.

The mercenary-soldier squinted at the bellies of the windfishes. They were packed side-by-side, end-on-end, forming a gigantic cloud over the Black City. Along their keels a row of nozzles was positioned, like nipples on some bloated metal lionseal. Out of them sprayed a fine mist of the black oil.

On some hidden cue, the rain was sparked. A plane of fire roared down, and the entire area burst into flame. As Inigo stared amidst the deafening pops of wet wood fire, he was greatly disquieted. He felt that the days of war were over, days when war was used as a tool to settle debts of honour, to push boundaries and establish cultures, to defend one's livelihood.

Killing was more than a tool now. Under the Czar, it evolved into an efficient, well-studied tool of misery. And it would visit on Pegulis first.

 

[Peregrine]

[fieldbox=Ghosts of Avarice, goldenrod]

Avarath seemed the antithesis of everything the nocturne had come to expect from the desert. It was hot and crowded and noisy, and filled with useless activity. For a time Chelena did not wish to enter, but Nu walked resolutely forward and Chelena was given a choice: follow or be left behind.

The two reached a compromise with the city of Draknes by approaching at dusk, when the cruel gaze of the sun had ducked behind the horizon but the sands still retained the heat to warm the bottom of the drakens' feet. Chelena shifted uncomfortably from the press of the crowds, clinging close to Nu. She remembered when once she had loved the crowds, when she had cast herself before them clothed in nothing but gossamer silk, making promises she knew she would not have to keep. Those memories of her former life, her life before Tattersal's insidious words when she had still believed that her life still held some implicit value, felt like as much of a disease as the blight within her body. At least they she could do something to banish.

"Why are we here, Nu?" Chelena had grown used to never getting a straight answer out of the quiet, wraithlike girl. Perhaps that was what made her answer such a shock. That had to be it.

"We find more Chelena herbs."

Chelena nearly balked. "What?"

"Few leaves left now. Need more."

"There won't be any of those herbs here." Chelena said with a scowl. "And even if there were, what's the point? It's just postponing the inevitable."

Nu's face remained still, but her eyes hardened. With a withering look she lifted a finger, pointing towards a shadowed shop towards the edge of the market. "Temporary salvation." Nu moved away once more.

Follow or be left behind.

Chelena followed, trying to flow between the busy people without touching any of them. Her eyes were lowered.

What did she hope to gain from this? She had spoken the truth to Nu. It was only prolonging her suffering. There was nothing left for her, except to find a quiet place to die. In some ways it felt like this city, which was dying just as slowly, and just as inevitably.

But she followed.

What was she doing?
[/fieldbox]

 

[E.T.]

When night came the two friends settled down uneasily, one at each side of the fire. Out of habit the dracling settled down at his mother's stomach, the rise and fall of her chest lulling him to sleep as Caoimhe's steady walking and the sway of the ship he was born on had done so many times. Yet this night was different the dracling fell into an uneasy sleep, bothered by the energy and emotions that ran strong in the air. His understanding of the chattering his mother and his Aunt used to communicate was very limited but even as a baby he could read the sway and dip in moods that had been plaguing his every shrinking family. Every since the Old One was still breath there was a dance between Shardis and Caoimhe that neither seemed thrilled to be apart of. Tethered as he was by instinct, necessity, and perhaps something deeper than that, to his grey eyed mother there were ties that connected him to Shardis. To break the family apart even further would sadden the child, and it took well after sundown for him to finally fall asleep.

The wildling was equally uneasy as night closed in around her. Caoimhe had taken to staying up well past when the fire dipped down to glowing embers. Almost forgotten memories of midnight hunts were stirred up and though she did her best to force herself into sleep she spent many hours staring into the night. This night she managed to fade quicker than she had been recently but when she was she was sucked into a shattered mind only half hers.

[fieldbox=Inside The Split Mind, grey, solid]
She woke to his lullaby, though not in his voice.

She was not sure if that made it better or worse.

She opened her eyes to fire, smoke, and glass -- chaos...though not, perhaps, as it had been. Inches over her head, a pair of wide eyes peered through the dark.

The troll glared at her from across the bridge as it limped closer. It had tossed Medwick like a rag doll and now it bore down upon her with blood in its eyes. Taking a step back she heard a voice behind her. Kal stood twenty feet from her and his face twisted and morphed into that of the Ghoul Sage.

A second step step and the world dropped away and she found herself tumbling backwards off the ice bridge. Her wings opened but a cruel spell froze them and she flailed and twisted in air without anyway to check her fall.

Smoke filled her lungs as she fell as shattered and burning buildings rushed up to meet her. Buckling flag stones rushed up to meet her and when she hit her frozen and brittle wings shattered. Brilliant shards of ice and flesh were scattered wide. So cold and so eternal that not even the consuming heat touched them.

Another voice called her name that was half a truth and half a lie. An old man stood close by and he handed her what looked to be a thermic gem the size of both her fists.

"Dad." The word was half a question and half a bitter statement, half a truth and half a lie. He did not respond but instead pushed her towards a great black tower that loomed overhead and she felt her feet start to run.

With no more wings she was forced to stay on the ground, and as she did so great vines started to force their way out of the flagstones at her feet. The thermic gem grew heavier and hotter in her grasp until she was sure her arms were turned to charcoal but try as she might she could not drop it and no matter how hard she ran the vines steadily filled her vision until she could no longer see the tower.

The suffocating smoke was steadily replaced with a thick humidity that made her clothes and hair stick to her skin. Vines twisted together and became trees and she clawed desperately through the thick until her hand came away scarlet. The ground began to buck and she emptied her stomach from the rolling and tossing.

Her lungs were going to burst. Her vision swam processing little, and her hands were just smoking stubs.

The world pressed in on her with a terrifying volume crushing in on her with all of its life and power.

Then the trees split and she found herself once again falling forward. This time into a pool of water so deep that the water was an inky, yet crystal clear, black.

From the shock her lungs were almost filled with water but before she could recover the thermic gem slipped from her grasp and plunged into the endless dark. Some indiscernible fear drove her to ignore the strain of her lungs as she swam desperately after the stone. Down below, far in the darkness she could see and feel a pair of massive eyes staring up at her, waiting.

As the stone sank its surface rippled and it turned into a perfect sphere the color of the clear night sky, and from the water it filtered flakes of iron that spun off in every direction. She could almost touch it. But her head was splitting open. She needed to touch it. But if she sank much deeper she would fall into those eyes.

She touched the sphere. And with that she could feel her being torn apart, blackness filled her vision until she shut her eyes and waited for the water to claim her.

And then it was quiet.

"You look stupid like that." Caoimhe opened her eyes to find herself staring back into a pair of very familiar ones.

"Aerie?" The question was received with an annoyed snort and an exaggerated roll of the avian's eyes.

"No shit." And for a while they just stood there, once again separate, feelings of poorly expressed friendliness and a strange repulsion.

"I'm scared." Caoimhe finally said sitting on an invisible floor, knees pulled up to her chest and her stare blank.

"Never saw a big bad wolf cry like you do." Can the snarky reply as Aerie stared down at Caoimhe. "Can't believe that I got stuck sharing space with your sniveling mind. You think you have it bad? Why don't you get off you lazy moping ass and do something. You took control of the body so you damn well lead. Oh, you want a break, oh that is so sweat of you, your majesty, queen of the most pathetic looking dragon in all of Ilium. You might have been strong but I can see that that was just you hiding that fact that you are a weak-minded, crow-eating, sod-OOF."

The stinging torrent of words were stopped when Caoimhe bolted to her feet and pushed Aerie back a few feet with a low dangerous growl, but looking up the wolf child only saw a wide smirk spreading across Aerie's face.

"Oh she does have some fight left? Good, I hope you actually remember it, it is such a pain to drag you down here."
here
here
here
hear
hear
fear

-̴̆̆͛̅̓͏̨̟̩͙̦͓͓-ͫ̌ͭͭ̚͏̣̪̪̪͉͎̻̝̠F̵̫̠̭̫̪̂̎͛E͔̺̲̭ͧ̒̆ͩ͑ͅA̵ͪ̃͋ͧ̄ͪ́ͬ́͏̻R̝̰̩̲̹͈̗͍̽ͪͯ̚-̵̷͉̤͙̩̦̪̎̈͆̿̌ͯͅ-̸͈̗̦ͬ͗̓̃̈̿͂̃͢​

[/fieldbox]

The shriek ripped Caoimhe into wakefulness as a swarm of birds darted over head, a passing crow the culprit for the sound. With a single breath she knew what was wrong as her lungs filled with a putrid smoke that burned at her eyes. Disturbed by her movements and by the sudden barrage of sounds the dragon awoke, sneezing violently as he huddled close to Caoimhe, scared by the flurry of activity. Shardis awoke as well sitting bolt up right and exchanging a worried look with Caoimhe. Then on the horizon a second sun could be seen and a huge plume of smoke erupted into the air. Without any words needed their respective bags were grabbed, the dracling stored neatly in the top of Caoimhe's bag, and the two began to run.

Smoke with be quick to fill the lower valley so they moved upland. Towards the mountains, towards Pegulis, towards their home. The air grew colder and they only stopped briefly to don a thicker coats they continued to move. On a small outcropping they stopped and looked down at the hell that had consumed the valley. Far in the distance a massive fire blazed and even from their higher perch the smell of smoke and a steady rain of ash reached them.

Was this the danger that the crow had talked of? Not in all her life had Caoimhe seen such a fire rage. Her wings shuddered at the thought of what could have caused this. Then they shuddered again as an icy blast nipped at the back of her neck. They would have to make do with a new shelter for the time being. It would not be quite as warm down in the valley but at least up here they could breath and there was face less danger from wildfire up here.