Pegulis, Chapter 1

Status
Not open for further replies.
The hapless Nocturne shivered on the ground. No one was around, nothing to bear witness. A hand was placed on the Nocturne's head. He wailed, a thin cry, knowing, feeling, beyond a doubt what was about to happen. There was nothing left to delay it.

Execution.

The fingers went white against his head. The skin rippled, and the hand plunged into the head of the Nocturne, flesh and bone parting like a pool of water. Tendons on the forearm writhed as the hand momentarily fished around before pulling out from the Nocturne. Grasped between forefinger and thumb was a glowing white mote, strands of blood and mucous still clinging to it.

The Nocturne collapsed glassy eyed to the ground. The glowing aux floated above the palm of the hand. Six spell circles emerged from the palm to cage the pearl in a cube, the old hieroglyphs glowing, ancient mantra flowing. Almost at once the ground below it shifted. Ice liquefied, snow condensed from the air, and both flowed in a vortex around the cube until it resembled a humanoid shape.

The hand placed a piece of wood inside the cube.

"Retrieve the Dragon's eggs from the Northern Archon."

b.png




"You are right to trust him," Arktus still smiled, "but you must consider all the possibilities. There is no reason to believe that Medwick is able to resist the corruption of a Divine Weapon, considering how little we know of its maddening influence."

"Furthermore .. "


The wall behind them ruptured. "Medwick?" Arktus turned around, the piece of wood in his hands glowing. "Why have you retur -- "

A mass of water flowed from the cracks, reassembling itself around a fragment of wood which glowed brightly at its center. The piece of wood creaked, as if under great stress; shimmering spell circles phased in and out around it, forcing it to obey some higher will.

Arktus was the first to act. He backed to the opposite wall, placing his hands on a set of symbols inscribed into the cave wall. The trap-spell immediately triggered, and razor stalagmites burst from the cave floor, impaling the golem. But the vicious flow of magic was all for naught, as the golem liquefied itself and moved beyond the spikes. Arktus moved to activate a second set of circles, but the ice elemental surged forward, casually throwing him into pile of crates far beyond from which he did not move.

It refocused its attention. Only the anima stood between it and the eggs. Anchored to the ground as a trunk, it reformed its roots into a pair of legs and stalked forward, both arms elongating into blades.









 
Last edited:
Aerie, firebrick
It wasn't as though things had been particularly cheery before. Perhaps Aerie had just allowed the dank pressures of a new home -- and the positively delightful haze rolling off the oldster's pipe -- to trick her into thinking they had reached the end of their journey...or even that there was a 'they' at all. She had learned in the icy spine of Pegulis very keenly that this party was fleeting at best. And yet here she was, sat bored amidst the weighty humidity of human sweat and piss, waiting calmly for orders that might well end her life much more efficiently, and much less prettily than had the Ghoul Sage, or whatever they were calling him now.

Also, there had been some talk of marriage. She was not sure from whom it had come, but she was certain that person or persons was going to be disappointed in a bad way.

In any case, the old man had shown himself just as worth of the distrust she had always heaped upon him as she's originally thought, though it was nonetheless a spectacular show. Meanwhile, it seemed their original plan, which she had never quite grasped, anyway, had fallen apart. Leaving passage aboard a pirate ship...just slightly more desirable than returning to the mountains.

She'd been about to give her response to that idea -- the oldster was not half so wise as the WolfGirl thought, or he'd have known not all Avian hailed from the snowlands, and in fact some found their way quite well among the 'philosophers' of the south.

"You'd be surprised the sort of philosophy exists when you know where to look for it, old man," she drawled slowly, even as she inched near to him. Or Caoihme. Or just the pipe and its smoke.

But his mention of Viridos -- of Hosia in particular -- had still put her off somewhat. It had been a long time since she'd left, over a year now. But Hosians had wonderfully long memories. And longer blades.

A shudder went down her spine, and she disguised it easily as simply ruffling her feathers. The warmth in the place was suddenly oppressive, and the sweet-scented smoke made it even more so. She was quite certain she had never been more grateful to Medwick than she was when he finally dissembled the bard's suggestion with an almost bored (or so it may seem, but she could still remember his face as the snake thief had loomed above him) riposte. She turned half-liddled tawny eyes on the mage, studying him intently as if about to say something. The situation would call for thanks, but Aerie would sooner lose her feathers to a red hot brand, one by one.

"The Avian," she slurred, "has a name." She squinted at the yet-unscathed newcomer before wrinkling her nose in distaste. "And a price higher than this one is worth." There was a pause during which she appeared to give deep thought to something she would never be able to name. Then she turned back to Medwick, apparently bored by the interaction between the bard and the intruder.

"Define 'diamonds'," she said slowly. "And boots."
 
ETHELWEN - BARVELLE, royalblue
The simple approval from both Arktus and Eirene did a lot to cool Ethelwen's nerves and calm his pounding heart. He lifted his head slightly, sheepishly, his ears tipped forward to give him the perfect innocent expression. And so he met Eirene's eyes as she began to speak to him again. He nodded happily, his ears tipping forward in excitement and agreement. Of course he would be returning, if she would have him back. Feneri would be just as ecstatic as Ethelwen himself to hear the news, and would lend out his apprentice whenever he was needed.

Ethelwen was about to inquire further about this Siris, and where exactly he was supposed to find him, when something began to form behind the walls. It took him a moment to notice it, all of his attention turned to the Archon, and his back therefore turned to the room, but he could not fail to notice the sudden sound of Arktus' trap being sprung.

He spun around wildly, dropping down to a crouch and every trace of a thought vanishing from his mind. He was suddenly reacting entirely on instinct, and he dove away from the magic construct that was sending the Sage flying violently across the room. And suddenly he found himself confronted by the golem, every ounce of its attention now focused on him.

His brain went immediately into overdrive, desperately trying to process what had just happened. His childhood had taught him a lot about reacting quickly and accurately to situations, before his actions dug him into an even deeper pit. Why was the thing going for him? He was a nobody, unimportant. It should be targeting the Archon. He was just as glad that it wasn't, but it made no sense. What did it want?

It took him a precious second to make the connection, even as the golem raced towards him. He had, in fact, said it himself just a few minutes ago. Whoever had doctored the letter wanted to separate the citizens of Barvelle from the dragon. And he had been staring at them moments before, admiring the beauty of the most valuable pieces of the dragon corpse. The eggs. The construct, or whatever was controlling the construct, wanted the dragon eggs.

In a second his Aux was riling about his legs, reacting instinctively to the trigger of his Advent. There was nothing he could do to slow down the golem. Even if the thing was made of water it was water bound together by magic. That made it, at least to the efforts of his Advent, untouchable. But he had to do something to protect the eggs. Whatever this thing was, it was not an ally. And the Archon would not want those eggs taken from her.

He could not harm the eggs. But he could protect them. Behind him the crate began to warp, briefly turning fluid to get the lid in place and seal up the cracks in the wood. A sudden puff of air, changed from a loose pebble sitting near the crate, inflated the semi-viscous fluid away from the fragile shells, before it crystallized into something clear and solid. In many ways the substance looked like ice, but it was not soft. It was the hardest substance that had come to Ethelwen's mind in the half-second he had in his possession. Diamond. One smooth, solid, relatively thick piece of diamond that fused into a complete shell through the floor around the eggs. Hopefully that would keep them safe.

Ethelwen lunged wildly to the side, barely managing to avoid the slashing blades of the magicked ice. Now that he was out of the way of it and its target the thing was willing to dismiss Ethelwen, at least temporarily. It barreled towards the eggs, before pressing its fist against the diamond shell. But there were no fissures in the diamond coating. It was one smooth piece, the envy of every jeweler.

He had been praying that the thing was stupid, that, unable to figure out how to obtain its target, it would shut down or enter into a loop. But, instead, the thing swung around slowly, its gaze locking onto Ethelwen, who was desperately trying to scrabble his way to his feet. It was Ethelwen's advent that had caused the crate to change into a diamond shell to protect the eggs, and it was determined to remove the thing that was blocking it the only way it knew how; take out the caster.

There was nothing he could do. Even if he were to transform the stone floor underneath him into a blade or two, Ethelwen would not be able to match the fury of the golem. Hopefully it wouldn't make an attack that would be instantly deadly. He had enough energy in reserve to shift out of even severe physical damage. So long as he did it subtly, he should be safe from the attention of the Archon. And the eggs were safe, so long as the diamond shell remained intact. Luckily, the transformations that he completed with his advent would not return to their original state at the end of the minute. He would be safe.

And then the golem was on top of him, and there was nothing left to do. The blade was swinging down at him, and Ethelwen desperately tried to roll sideways. He avoided the sharp edge, but as the golem swung backwards for a second attack the blade slammed into the side of his head. He let out a quiet oof of surprise, before the world went black around him.
 
The golem swung, and although it did not kill Ethelwen it removed the distraction. It returned to the task at hand, but whatever method it used against the the shell, it did not break. All the time the Archon's spells fell upon it, useless, until it finally turned towards her in frustration and punched her in the gut, sending her flying as well. It moved towards the Sage and the Archon, arms extending once again into blades ...

Ethelwen blacked in and out ...

The blades raised ...

Ugh ...

And came down ... the Anima stretched out his hand in powerless desperation.

...

...

...! Something startled him into consciousness for a moment.

A robed figure stood over the Archon, the golem unmoving by its side. The figure's hand came to rest upon the Archon's head. The hand caressed her hair.

...

It stood over the diamond encrusted eggs. With a wave of its hand the diamond transmuted to black dust, crumbling around the eggs. The golem bent and removed them, moving towards the wall and vanishing into the crevices with the beige orbs inside its body.

...

The figure stood over Ethelwen.

"It would do the Archon well to heed written warning. I do it for her own good."

It tossed the fragment of ancient wood to the ground next to the anima.

"Tell the Calm Sage to stop tracing me."

And the dark finally overtook him.

b.png



"... Anima!"

"Anima!"

Arktus shook him awake. The Archon still lay passed out among the crates.
 
Last edited:
ETHELWEN - BARVELLE, royalblue
For a moment Ethelwen drifted on the verge of conscious, half remembered visions flitting behind closed lids. His hand closed unconsciously over the piece of wood that lay next to him, before he suddenly began to twist wildly to the side. In an instant his eyes flew open, and he nearly lashed out at the shadowy figure which loomed over him. Something somewhere between a growl and a shriek built up in his throat, and he tensed, preparing to hurl himself at this shadowy figure. It took a moment more before his vision was able to coalesce, and the unnamed figure before him resolved into the form of the Calm Sage.

Ethelwen relaxed, the half-formed nightmare figure that had been staring at him from a shrouded cloak returning to the land of dreams from whence it came. He let out a shaky breath before sitting up and gently lifting up a hand to inspect the damage on the side of his head. With lightly probing fingers he inspected the throbbing point on his head, and when he withdrew them he saw his fingers clean of blood. He had escaped remarkably unharmed, considering what had attacked him, and the worst he would probably have would be a headache and an egg-sized lump.

Now he turned his eyes to Arktus, brows wrinkled in concern but eyes still wild from the last traces of fear that had not yet left him. "What..." he questioned, eyes darting around the room, "What happened?"

It was then that he remembered the eggs, and his desperate attempt to save them. He tried to scrabble to his feet, but only made it to his knees before a wave of dizziness kept him from moving any farther. Still, he cast his gaze huuriedly in the direction of the eggs and their diamond shell. But there was nothing there. Nothing but a pile of black dust.

Now the memories came flooding back to him, and the unreasonable fear that had consumed him at the sight of the cloaked figure reasserted itself as more than just a dream. He took a gasping, stuttered breath before turning desperately to the Sage. "There was someone in the room." He said, voice tight with something verging very close to panic. "Someone else. He said... He said that the Archon should.. 'heed written warning." Something about her own good."

Now he finally seemed to notice the piece of wood that was clasped in his fist, and he uncurled his fingers from around it, before offering it to the Sage. "And that you should stop looking for him..."
 
  • Like
Reactions: lynzy and unanun
UEX4vq8.png

Whooosh!

Castigarian's axe shot past the Ice Golem, inches from its face, and slammed into the cliff-face. It buried there in ice and rock. Cracks rippled out from the impact, like snakes across the surface.

The Golem turned from Ilsa to glare at Castigarian. Then, hunching, it roared in fury and sent all Fissura Pass into tremulous echoes.

The hunter's eyes widened. "Shit!"

The cliff behind it crumpled, and a noise like thunder came from above. Ilsa had hauled herself out of the trench in seconds, scrambling to her feet and leaving her horse behind. "Ruuuuun!" She shoved Castigarian into a sprint as the crowns of snow atop the cliffs gave way. The avalanche was rapid and merciless, churning with an engine-like din.

The convoy panicked. Some turned their horses; some struggled with the wagons; others abandoned both and fled. Shouts and screams were smothered by the thunder. Castigarian and Ilsa ran as blocks of ice crashed down behind them.

It was too late. The avalanche had escalated. The rearmost parts of the convoy were lost in white. The people turned the other way, and Ilsa collided with her own people. The walls of the pass blanked out. She spun.

Castigarian threw himself on top of her. And as they fell they were pummeled by layer after layer of snow.

Silence followed.



* * * * *​



That night the storm hit Tavark. For long years the hunters and oracles of the eastlands had learned to predict nature's moods. Its coming was seen in the habit of animals. It was written in migrations and the currents of the ocean. It was glimpsed by Avians and scented by Anima.

Yet no one - no man, woman nor child of Tavark - saw this storm coming. And came it did, in blanket after blanket. The landscape was rewritten, its edges and outlines erased. The pine trees sunk and the houses shuddered. A state of crisis was declared. The rangers were recalled and every tavern and guild-house became a fortress fed with log fires. The people of Tavark drew close and fought to survive as winter laid the siege.

The storm would last for three nights.


Barvelle_zps2ebaeabc.jpg

And as it raged, all contact was lost with Barvelle... just as it had, itself, lost contact with Aldus. The secret capital stood alone. In the high watch tower, the Northern Archon was taken to recover from her injuries, tended to by baffled sages. And for as long as the storms shook Tavark, she too slept in coma, and left her people sorrowed.

Yet she would wake, by the third morning. And on her lips would be the word: that the Ghoul Sage had come amongst them and stolen away the dragon eggs. To what end, none knew. Yet every mage and soldier, every inventor and informant, now understood how pale they were - how unprepared they had been for this threat.

The Ghoul Whisper had sounded. And Pegulis was torn.
 
  • Like
Reactions: lynzy
Well, at least he didn't ask if they were adventurers.

He didn't cause an avalanche either.

By the standards of Medwick's group, Jaladin's introduction was a tame one.

Medwick felt a tremor near his leg, where his robe pocket hung. He mistook it. It must have been his knee playing up again. Clutching it, the mage winced as Glyph's three knife-wielding associates melted back into the traffic of drunkards. It was clear now the old bard had not selected this tavern idly. Medwick's group had been protected all along. Watched, even as the bard went about his business. What they said about Glyph was true: he had friends in every town.

"His value..." Medwick said to Glyph, answering the question on Jalidin's behalf, "... is that while he was being an eavesdropping pisher he was also drawing the most accurate map of the Chersonese I have ever laid eyes on."

Medwick's crow swooped down from the rafters and landed on the table, it's own spying concluded.

Jalidin smiled, scratched at his throat, and pulled out his map once more. "Glad you noticed." He then downed his shot of Kresnik and prepared to make his case.



* * * * *


"A waste of firewood."

"He'll get us over the border. He knows the Chersonese."

"And what am I? Chopped Kreplach?"

"You told me you haven't been there for years. Jalidin was there last week. The reason is sound. And besides, I'm just happy to have some muscle in the group. He has a sword and he can use it."

"The best men have no need of swords."

Medwick adjusted his hold on the horse reins and scowled at Glyph. The old man was chewing kratom leaves and whispering things to his mule as they waited outside the gates of the Black City. Aerie, Shardis and Caoimhe were gathering rations for the trip, while Jalidin was acquiring a horse of his own. They would meet here, on the bridge, before they set out. The rain had thinned to absent-minded mist, and bells were ringing in the city. The black-tiled thieves' den almost seemed pleasant now that they were leaving. But Glyph's comment served only to reminded Medwick of the mystery that had transpired there.

"So just what did happen to Dokar?"

The bard's bearded face was unreadable. "He refused the terms."

"I suppose that's a bad thing to do?"

"I've always thought so." Glyph fixed the mule saddle then, with a little gasp, sat back on the wall of the bridge. Once settled he peered at Medwick from behind his thick spectacles. "You are a man hungry for truths, I see. Even the irrelevant ones."

"All truths are relevant." The Pegulian mantra fired from his tongue on instinct.

"And thinking so brings anger. You say you are on a quest? Good. You are on a quest to find a weapon? Also good. You want to keep that weapon from other, less charitable men? Splendid! And yet you conduct yourself with the very intolerance you would seek to stamp out."

Medwick yanked the horse after him and moved close to Glyph, scowling down at the old man. "We have lost good people. Kana, Ethel, Tegol, Resmic, Arcantos."

"Bah!" The old man waved one hand between them. "Good people are there to be lost. That's how they stay good. Eat some kratom."

Medwick slapped the proffered leaves from the old man's hands and swung up onto his horse. The others were appearing at the gates now and moving out to meet them. There was another twitch in Medwick's leg. The wooden shard of the Ghoul Sage's staff was shifting. But again he did not notice. With a savage slap of the reins the wizard spurred his horse away and gave little time for the others to catch up.

And in his dusty wake, there was only the image of an old bard and his hedgehog carefully picking up leaves.
 
Status
Not open for further replies.