Pegulis, Chapter 9

[Silvir]

Set fire to the rain

The effects of the strikes against the nocturnes had the desired effect and a slight shift was noticed in the battle lines as Pegulian soldiers pushed from the flank along the wall. On the verge of panic the men and women of the north went into an almost primal state. Turning to bite what was scaring them. In groups barley caring about the risk of death they threw themselves towards the nocturnes like wild beasts with their spears and swords, desperate at this new chance.

This shook the enemy lines of kaustirians that now fought an enemy that feared death to the point of madness. The chaos spread and for once it looked like the men of pegulis would win this battle. Aided by their mages and mobile forces beyond the walls.

It even looked like it from Torvals side as the battle raged on. Slowly but surely the Nocturnes where pushed back hacked and slashed to pieces as the Pegulis men formed up once more getting back the advantage of their wall and shield formations. Now the men had gotten the taste of battle alongside their brethren feeling the possible taste of victory as the relentless assault turned in their favour.
As if feeling this change, the horns of the waiting forces of the vanguard sounded loudly ordering the advancement of its waiting troops. With killed commanders and dead messengers disrupting the communication. The only thing that held the nocturnes on the advance was their mere amount.

This is what Torval wanted and hoped this gamble was correct. Now it was up to those lights if they could burn more than just nocturnes. Pulling back his men Torval stared towards one of the posts with those lights in the fortress. It was surrounded by men and mages guarding it tightly with the battle raging on around them. This was his purpose out here and seeing the new army come marching he waited a long painful wait as they moved steadily over the fields. And then he gave his signal.

In the fortress the post lit with a pulse of heat vibrating the air around it. A bright lance of fire reached for the sky cutting deep into the clouds above the battle. The resulting events shook the walls as the post with the lights exploded dispersing the men around like feathers and cracking the stone beneath. Leaving a silent aftermath.
The wall was weakened but the sacrifice was not for nothing. Torval looked up at the clouds and saw movements of light that spread behind the veil. And moments later that very veil broke as a large burning husk fell towards the battlefield casting is ghastly light and shadows of tormenting flames over the plains.

But it did not fall straight down where they had hoped.

"We are leaving, call the retreat" Torval said in a stiff tone.
"And the men in the fortress?......" Their leader did not reply.

 

[unanun]

Being inverted was a strange feeling, especially when there was no pain involved. Medwick's last vision was of the Ghoul Sage swirling, spiraling into a black hole in his center until the white and black stretched infinitely thin and blended into grey. He could feel his skin peeling off, and his muscles dissolving - was this what the elk experienced when Am .. Amar .. the Tavarkian huntress skinned them? Soon only his skeleton was left, wrapped around his pulsating innards. He rolled his eyes upwards. A bright light shone from above through the pink, convoluted mass in his skull, highlighting the thin bone around his eyes a dull red. Looking at himself, at his soul, gave him a peculiar sense of paradox in his stomach. It gurgled with sympathy.

He could feel himself slowly being stretched. His outstretched hands, the closest to the white light, were pulled in first. The fingers at the end of his palm were pulled in, and soon his arms stretched a very long way into the white. He could still see the end of them, but when he willed them to move they only responded after a great deal of time. Medwick lost consciousness.

The Sage awoke some time later to find that his shoulders were beginning to enter the jaunting portal. Time was moving at different speeds for different parts of his body. On the other side, his fingers finally wiggled. He squinted: the window through which he saw his hands was tiny, no more than a few inches across. One of his fingers was slowly being pushed into a rock. Hours passed while he watched it slowly disintegrate against the unyielding stone, and yet he still felt nothing. A while later, a dull sensation tickled his senses. His finger was being slowly pushed into stone, it reported. A trickle of sweat ran down Medwick's nose.

Blinking, the scene changed. Looming on the other side were three figures he recognized, his companions on this long journey into the Barvelle mountains. One of them was thumping his chest, the other massaging his fingers. He was closer to them now, the window must have been a few feet across, wide enough for him to crawl through. The sight was a relief, but by now, he could feel his nails being pushed into his fingers by the stone.

Then he was through with one more ponderous blink. The pain, the sensations and feeling, stuck trying to go backwards through the quagmire of the jaunting portal, crashed into him all at once, and he coiled cradling his right hand where the top section of all his four fingers had been neatly sheered off. He thrashed against the anima's ministrations.

Thunder rolled in his ears, and his was voice thick and babbling. Black crept in around his eyes.

"C.."

"Car.."

"C-carva .. ?"

He looked down at his right hand. Suddenly, it was filled with clotted blood.

Carval?

Where are yo-

 

[Mglo]

[fieldbox= It Rains Again, orange, solid]
The burning husk hit the ground momentarily shaking it. In that instant the end was marked. It was only a matter of time until the Pegulis border joined the likes of what once had been The Black City. Inigo's hands shook as he marched. The bloodthirst surrounding him was palpable but instead of igniting in him a fighting spirit, it only overwhelmed him. He was not like the men around him. They lived for this. He was doing this to live. They marched on as the windfishes floated above, eerily advancing black clouds of inevitability.
Ral had clipped himself onto Inigo's thermal gem necklace, dead silent for once, dangling like nothing more than a glass accessory. Even he had nothing to say as the Pegulian fort came into view. They both watched the windfishes overtake them, slowly position themselves for the final attack. Deja vu.

"Looks like we won't be getting much action," K'jol clicked his reptilian tongue as he marched next to them, "to think I traveled all this way to be part of the clean up crew."

Inigo dared hope it would be as simple as that. However, the seasoned merchant in him, the one who had once thought himself a strong survivor, felt guilt. Soldiers next to him were much younger than he and yet, he felt a child among men.

"Here we go Inigo! Don't drop your sword," K'jol called out as he rushed forward along with the rest of the fight-loving diurnes.
Lieutenants called out, and soldiers repeated, the same words: Don't let any of them get away. The Pegulians were on their last breath and while some of them chose to flee, others chose to fight to their death, and still some had no other choice but to fight though they wished to run.

The black rain came, and with it the fire. This time Inigo and Ral did not stare upon the terrifying visage of hollow destruction. This time, they were caught in the last battle. Desperate Pegulian soldiers could be more dangerous than the Kaustrian mad-men invading them.
A mace struck Inigo's shoulder armor, knocking it clean off and making Inigo stumble back in the process. The soldier swung once more and the hate in his eyes momentarily paralyzed the ex-merchant. From the sidelines an axe parried the blow and its carrier kicked hard at an angle, breaking the Pegulian soldier's knee, then, swinging down, he split the Pegulian's head in two.

"C'mon old man! You can't die until you've taken at least one out." The Kaustrian soldier looked no more than 19 years old and yet, he was frightening.

"Fall back if you can't handle it. Stab the fallen to be sure they're good and dead!" The young man shoved another incoming soldier.

The burning fort was now a pillar of light in the background. Inigo stumbled to his feet, shakily drawing his sword. He saw the incoming attack with ample time but Inigo's movements were sluggish, heavy with fear and hesitation. Unlike a trained swordsman, Inigo had no basic training to rely on instinctively. He required a limberness he currently didn't posses, and the flexibility of movement and thought his emotions currently detained. His sword came up awkwardly and the enemy brushed it away, quickly setting up the next attack. Inigo barely managed to block it as he was pushed back. A Kaustrian soldier laughed at him, pulling the enemy off Inigo and onto the ground, stabbing him in the process, then moving on.
Inigo stood there once again at a loss. The only thing that made him finally move forward was the knowledge that he didn't want to be the one stabbing already fallen soldiers. His muscles were still tense, but he was better able to parry.

Inigo's eyes hardened with resolve, the dancing flames in the distance lighting his way. He swung at an uncommon angle, catching the opponent off guard, but as the man took one step back Inigo took a stride bending low to the ground then turning his body around. He hit armor but his body was now to the side, making it difficult for the enemy to counterattack. Inigo kicked and the soldier lost his balance, but Inigo followed him to the ground, ramming his sword down and up. He lay there, unmoving, next to the corpse. His first true kill... so unlike the first life he'd ever taken. [/fieldbox]

 

[Nemopedia]

[fieldbox=Finally Back, #CCA300, solid] Ophanim Hayyoth

It had happened in the blink of an eye. Without even noticing it Ophanim had somehow lost track of the rest of the group. Too amazed he was, too dazed, too tired, too much of everything, really.

The marketplace of the city, the voices of people talking. Some conversing about intelligent topics, while others gossiped about the latest rumours. It was odd to be back into the brewery of life again, to breathe in fresh air, to see the sky, everything had him awestruck at the moment. Licking his lips the Avian walked over to one of the stands, his eyes set on a lump of bread. How long had it been since he had any real food? If his mouth hadn't been so dry the drool would surely have pooled over his lips.

Somehow the group had made it out of the mountains. After that the Ghoul Sage put them through a traumatising experience and gruelling pain they had slowly made their way back to civilisation. Back to Barvelle again, back to where it all began for the clockmaker. They were dirty, they looked like refugees from a faraway country in war. A truth that ironically wouldn't stay untrue for long. However, they were alive, they had survived and they returned with answers to the questions they had set off with, but they also returned with even more questions to the answers they had received. The price of knowledge, it seemed.

At first the people had tried to avoid the group. They did smell rather badly after all, with a trip through the sewers and very few opportunities to clean themselves up. The malnourishment had also shrunk their proud sizes into pitiful figments of their former selves, making it so that most of the citizens didn't even recognise the sage Medwick, who was in dire need of medical attention.

It was when Amara, being the empathetic soul she was, had clamped herself to a passer-by, and bid them for the way to the hospital, that action were finally taken. People started to point, whisper and pinch their noses before finally stepping in to help the group out. Now that the focus was on them everyone tried to fulfil that one promised good deed of the day and be the hero of another. Most of the attention went to the sage though. Medwick was carried away, for the much needed medical attention and the rest of the group was expected to follow. They could, after all, still stand on their own. However, it was in the same chaos, people cutting him off in the pass in the hopes to get a better view, or to help out, that the group was split from each other. Or at least, Ophanim was. He had been staring without taking in any of his surroundings. Thinking without any thoughts and standing without truly being present. They were back. The surprise, the realisation of it all was still trying to sink in.

So what was he going to do now? He didn't wish to go back to the workshop he had abandoned after his first encounter with the Ghoul Sage. Neither did he wish to continue this adventure if possible. However, the pieces of golem he possessed, the knowledge he had acquired throughout his journey… He knew he was too deep into it all to pull out now. He had his share of responsibility towards the rest of the small group he travelled with, just as much as they owed it to him.

However, all these thoughts were pushed away for a later moment. First the man wanted that bread he had been staring at for way too long.[/fieldbox]

 

[lynzy]

"He's here now." A familiar voice sounded in her head.
__
__

"Who's here?" She responded sourly.

"Medwick." Was the response, followed by a chuckle at the look on Shardis' face and the spark that came to her eyes.

It was quickly replaced with doubt and disbelief, "You're lying..."

"No. He is in the hospital area. I have friends, you know, unlike you I did not throw them away in a temper tantrum. I have kept them close and asked every day, and now is the time for you to listen to me you stubborn fool. Get up, get clean and go see him!" Tandra landed next to her Crux and made a face, "You must stink! No wonder no one will come near you." The little dragon shook her head in disgust at the sight in front of her.

Shar almost ignored her Aux, but there was the nagging thought that the little beast never lied to her, as much as she would have liked it on occasion...

"MOVE!!" Tandra spread her wings and screamed at Shar like she had never done before, and it jarred the Snow leopard anima into moving finally. After getting cleaned up, and that did take a considerable amount of time and soap, Shar practically ran to the hospital.

"Look at all the people!" The little blue dragon said excitedly. There was a crowd milling about the building waiting expectantly. After pushing her way threw the mass, Shar stopped at the doors which had two nervous guards standing in front of them. "Do you know who I am? Let me pass before I throw you across the yard."

"Tactless as ever." Tandra sighed and looked to the heavens.

"Y-y-yes mam, I know w-w-who you are," and the guard looked at his partner, nodded and they let her pass unhindered.

Once inside there was the astringent smell of medicine and cleansers. Walls were painted white and bare of decoration. Very few chairs sat in rows like soldiers along the walls. A desk with a stern looking woman sat in the middle of the big room. "Who let you in? Oh, it's you Shardis. My... you are not looking to well, are you here to be ...seen(she looked Shar up and down over her nose) ...or to see Medwick?" Her left eyebrow lifted with the query and she waited for an answer.

"To see Medwick, of course. How have you been Kary? Haven't seen you in years." Shardis shifted uneasily from one foot to another. No one had said what was wrong with her brother and the cat woman was starting to think the worst.

"Hm, better than you it seams. He is in room 324 (she said, looking up from her clipboard) ...it's the intensive ward, you know, so be on your best behavior, you hear?" Kary again raised the eyebrow but with a no-messing-around look that sent a shiver down the spine.

"Sure, yeah, thanks." Moving off to the staircase she quietly but quickly ascended to the proper floor and then to the intensive ward. Shar had a concerned look that became almost panic the closer she came to the room. There were many people, most of which she new, standing around discussing...something. As she grew closer they stopped, nodded and stared at her while she walked past then continued their mumbling. This did nothing for Shardis' humor and she was about to jump out of her skin by the time she entered the room.

Medwick was laying in the only bed in the room, a nurse was checking his vitals and looked up without a smile and then gathering her things said, "excuse me please," and ducked past the feline anima then slipped out of the room.

"You look like shit, what the hell have you been doing to yourself?" A familiar but week and raspy voice said.

"Yeah, well, you don't look so wonderful yourself." She managed to choke out. "I've missed you." With that Shar realized she really had missed Galain. She knelt beside him and carefully took his hand then began to cry like the little girl that had lost her parents that Medwick remembered from long ago.​

 

[Ai]

Collaboration with @Mglo​

[fieldbox= Nuria - Aldus, gold, solid]

​

Confined within the dark corners of her of her office Nuria's eye's flew across printed parchment, underlining important letters word for word as she reviewed her policies and options. The elections were to be held and her influence in the past few weeks and been rising with the trust as her people bought more supplies. War was on the horizon for Pegulis and a lot of work was to be done. Word had reached her that Kaustir marched upon the fort. If they were to attack Barvelle it would not be long now, assuming they could find it. Releasing a long drawn out sigh, Nuria laid rest to her parchment in the hope for a few minutes to gather her thoughts. Disruption was quick to weasel its way into her spare time with the loud banging of knuckles against her door.

Viule was lead once again through the comfort of the Lisbon home and toward Nuria's chambers.The blood of his old, grateful victim warm in his body, nourishing him. Accompanied with the spoils of a small leather pouch that held little next to no material value, something about paid bloodshed felt right to him.

"I'm here to offer my services," he called softly, stepping in with an air of eerie stillness that deterred from his usual demeanor.

"I am a runaway Kaustrian assassin. I can't claim to say I care much for the state of affairs, but I do know I want to be of use. In Pegulis, at least, I wish to be used for something more than a simple killing tool."

Surprised by the appearance of her sudden interruption Nuria eyed Viule with piqued interest, "Close the door, Viule. Someone will hear you," she uttered just loud enough for the assassin to hear.

Without a wasted movement Viule obeyed Nuria's request and approached the avian, "tell me what to do and I'll get it done," he stated.

"Some things are not so simple Viule, if I told you to fall in love. Would you be able to get that done?" the avian countered, testing the assassin's morality.

He thought for a moment, not wanting to give away his ignorance for such matters. "No," he finally admitted, "but I could make someone else love me if it served a purpose." He wasn't entirely sure that was true, but he knew it was possible.

"Don't fool yourself, manipulating someone to do a task for you is one thing. Love is not something people choose, you can try but you will never garuntee the outcome. Are you like the act of trying to manipulate someone fall in love with you?" It became clear to Nuria that Viule had little in the way of emotive tendencies. His answer was weak and those who told half a lie were to be less trusted than a man who tried to make a full one.

Lifting herself from the comfort of her seat, the avian ambassador stayed her emerald eyes upon his pale face as she slowly made her way toward him "You wouldn't want to lie to me Viule," her velvet voice uttered in a soft tone, using the power of her suggestion as her fingertips loftily traced along his collarbone.

He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time as more than just a potential employer. As he felt her touch he realized he was getting, in a way, what he'd asked for. "No... I don't," he felt himself say before thinking, "I know too little about love to be sure I can make use of it. I think it possible only because I'm skilled in mimicking others."

Toying with the idea Nuria granted Viule the gift of a tender smile and shook her head "That will only get you so far," she replied, turning to take a scroll from her desk "This contains all of my instructions on what I need you to do, it's for the greater good of Sunne. You may take this from me when you've made love to me and I'm convinced."

He believed her. Eagerly eyeing the scroll, Viule clung to her every word, until he was suddenly caught off guard by her request. Concern flickered on his face as he spoke, "I see... It's an unconventional assignment, I will have to practice." It was only now he eyed her figure openly observing every curve of her body.

Returning to her chair Nuria looked over at Viule with an expectant expression "That's where you have it wrong Viule, this isn't an assignment," she replied returning to her papers. Nuria had far too much work to do to care about the meak attempt of a servant trying to seduce her. He would have to change a few things about his outlook if he wanted that scroll.[/fieldbox]

 

[Ai]

[fieldbox=Vrein Baelithar - Barvelle - Hard Work, #3D59AB, solid]

​

Brimstone loomed forebodingly through the halls of Barvelle as the sound of beating hammers echoed across the ice in a symphony threatened for war. It had been over a month since Vrein's return to Barvelle and ever since, Pegulis had been quick to put him back to work.

In the first few days of his return, the army asked him to join them and at first Vrein refused until Helena approached Vrein and bought Ilsa into it. Vrein knew the woman he loved would fight for her country and by the gods that were left he would rather die than leave her alone… not again. Left under the impression that his lover was safe Vrein had reluctantly agreed to help the military in their endeavour to make better weapons and armour.

Quick to utilise his talents, the council asked the smith what he could produce and after hours of discussion the General Coul stepped in with a proposition that had never been done before; create an armoury with the designs of a single smith in a mass of production. The War leader offered his influence in gathering the smiths of Aldus to come together, assigning Vrein as their leader and guide to creating the tools and moulds so the weapons would be forged to the Aldus smith's specifications.

Vrein originally questioned the method that the General wished to use to achieve this, which Coul explained for his idea to work Vrein would have to create the moulds for the other smiths and smelt the ore.

It was going to be a lot of work.

"Not without reward…" the words echoed in Vrein's head.

From that day onward Vrein was bound by the iron confine of his forge. He had spent little time doing anything other than his work, answering other smith's questions, melding, smelting and even trying to prepare heroic fuckin' speeches for the assholes that were too afraid to take on a simple project.

And then the news came…

Kaustir were on their way and marching for war.

Panic struck among the citizens and Vrein's job became infinitely more stressful with the increased demand for weaponry and armour.

"I don't have time to quack and neither do you, I'll keep this short. This is going to be hard work on all of us, whatever the fuck you do don't let fear let you turn tail. We've got a nation to fortify and loved ones to keep safe. By Ilium if we can keep this fortress safe we will. Work hard, live harder, don't let them kill you."

Were the words he had said to rally the smiths' morale, even if he was shit at making speeches.

​

Worn, overworked and close to malnourishment the smith was almost finished on a project he had been working on when Helena suddenly came rushing over.

"Vrein! Ilsa has returned," the council member yelled to him.

For weeks Oberyk and Helena had been trying to convince him to lay down his hammer, only now did he respond.

"Where is she?" he asked with a bright eyed smile.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. She's with Kyra," Helena responded.

Something in Helena's expression told Vrein everything was not well with Ilsa. Immediately dropping his work, the smith took little notice for his appearance as he forced his way through the bustling crowds toward the church.

"Ilsa!" Vrein yelled, bursting through the church doors.

"Vrein… she's over there," said the priestess, starring at him bluntly with a pointed finger toward the hide covered bed at the end of the hall.

Rushing to her side, Vrein gazed down at the face of his sleeping lover with distress "Ilsa," his pained voice softened into a whisper, "thank god you're alive."

"She has bone freeze... something you are familiar with," Kyra interjected, walking toward them.

"Can I stay with her?" he pleaded as he gently touched his laboured fingertips against the soft, familiar texture of his face.

He had remembered her, yearned for her. With every passing day in the cold winters of the Pegulis' storms there was not a moment where Vrein hadn't wished for the blonde goddess to be by his side and there she was; beautiful, strong and beaten by Sunne's brutality.

"Yes," Kyra uttered, eyeing the couple with a faint smile.

Vrein nodded, words became meaningless. Carefully slipping beneath the leather hides that covered her, a hopeful young man praying for the life of the woman he loved held her in his embrace. He was thankful to be next to her, for at least one more time.

​

[/fieldbox]