Riders of Verlendia | IC

[Elle Joyner]

THEME

Marcellus;Quicksand;LB;

THE
RIDERS
of VERLENDIA

FIERCE BEGINNINGS

Fire rose in streaks. the red evening sky marred by smoke like smeared charcoal over a painting. Screams echoed off, the hollow din punctuated now and then with the mournful caterwauling of the dead and dying and those death left behind. The bleak symphony resonated in orchestral harmony in his ears as he perched upon the ledge of the Painted Mountain's Hall of Relics, overlooking the ghost of the pandemonium his men had wrought upon Maglin's epicenter of culture.

"Sire…" The voice came from his left and without turning, he waved a hand, gesturing his man forward.

"What is it, Captain Slate?" Worn was the quality of his voice, a curiously doleful tone.

"The remaining villagers have been rounded up, as you've asked. We've gathered them in High Arch to await your--"

"Burn it." Twisting, leaping down from the ledge to the roof of the building, he straightened upright, towering over the captain, "I have what I came for. I've no need for survivors."

"Yes, Lord Hexar." But upon his confirmation, Captain Slate turned to see the enigmatic Klerion man had already disappeared through the roof hatch.

__​

A wisp of white robes, like the tail of a deer, darted between trees the bark of which were dusk-grey as coal. His sightline should have been compromised by the snow, falling thick and heavy, but Callum Feld knew the Dalvi woods outside the Iron Citadel better than most. With a heart for cartography, he had studied the lay of the land for years, understood it better than most and he traversed it easily, without hesitation or pause

He was not a desperate man. He was capable and prepared. But his pursuer was capable as well, and he moved with wild disregard for the treacherous terrain beneath his nimble feet.

Thwock.

The sound resonated against the black bark of an Ash as an arrowhead burrowed in deep, a near miss that briefly set the prophet off his balance. Scrambling for purchase against the wet forest floor, he shifted his position, twisting down a new path further into the maze of trees. An hour now, the hunt had gone on, and the man at his heels showed no signs of tiring.

Cutting through the narrow gap between two ancient pines, Callum froze, finding himself flanked on either side by steep inclines.

Ahead, Callum could just see the stark ruby red among the evergreen bows. As one might a deer or boar, he had been run into a trap.

Slinging his bow over his shoulder, his adversary swung down from the branch he perched upon. Snow crunched beneath his feet as he walked, but Callum had not imagined that the rest of the forest had fallen silent, as the Bloodmarked closed in. His arrow set the course, now he pulled free a sharp, curved blade. Pricks of sunlight jutting through the trees danced off the weapon, the edge of the falchion reflecting a deep burgundy, not rust, but a metal found only deep in the mines of Maglin. The thin sliver of red harmonized with the three streaks across his face, markings with which the man was born.

Behind him, Callum felt a huff of warm air graze his neck, heard the telltale graveling rattle of the Waste Wyvern, blocking off his escape. He would not turn. He would not let the abomination be his end.

Almost as though he could sense the prophet's resolve, the hunter took a step closer.

"Tell me Prophet... Can you see your own future?" He hummed, and the corner of his mouth birthed a twitch upwards, a smirk, as he raised the falchion to Callum's heaving chest. The sunburst pattern of red on white was the only color in the ashen forest, as the sharpened blade split Callum's sternum. He sucked in a breath but the sound came out a wheeze, skin paling to a waxy sallow. Slowly, the falchion slid free again and Callum dropped to his knees.

"Why...?" The prophet gasped, his breath a wet rattle in his throat.

Tipping forward, the hunter wiped the edge of his blade on the inner lining of the Prophet's cloak, before sliding it back into its scabbard, "Because... It's what they want." He began with flat indifference. Turning, his deep ochre eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed, piercing, "And one less Prophet in the world suits me just fine."

Callum's final breath exhaled and he dropped into the snow, the hunter stalking to his mount, not sparing a glance backwards as he climbed into the Waste Wyvern's saddle. Steadily, he rose upwards with a deep sweep of the great beast's wings.

Pulling a wire from his pocket, he held the metal up and touched it to his lips, speaking quietly into it, "It's done…"

__​

"I don't understand, All Matron... Why must we leave?" Footsteps patterned along the cobbled hallway, as Melindre walked in haste beside the Mistress of the Foreseen. Thalin Yeris shushed her student, her voice anxiety, stretched thin as air.

"You mustn't speak, Melindre. Not until we've… Shh." Arm outstretched across her student's chest, she pressed them back into the wall and Melindre clapped her hands over her mouth to still a panicked squeal. A moment passed. Two. Three…

Then came the lumbering footfall, racing down the hallway. Matron's finger touched her lips, but Melindre did not require the warning. Pressing deeper into the shadows, she shut her eyes for fear the whites of them might give her away. Eventually, however, the steps receded and with a hushed exhale, Melindre opened her eyes again, Thalin's arm relenting it's grip on her.

"Come, child…" The matron whispered, her blind eyes staring into the darkened hall, "It will be safe, now. But we must be quick… And silent. The Cullers are everywhere…"

__

SIX MONTHS LATER

__​

Banners of silver and blue swayed in triumph from ramparts, garland strung across city streets as far as the eye could see. Lutes and trumpets, drums and violins played in orchestral harmony over the chattering voices filling the Iron Citadel with excitement and wonder. Smells of every kind filtered through the air, warm and pleasant and inviting, earthy and damp and pungent… leather and metal, fire and dust, and every food Verlendia had to offer.

Over a century in the making, the Hatchling Ceremony had at long last begun, and Gracin Direstrine, Lord of Iron had spared no expense. Neither had he spared the city's protection. The Keepers wandered the quad-road through the city, ever vigilant, while Direstrine's personal guard were unmoving sentries beside the city's leadership.

It was Stavinsburg's Knights of the Phoenix Ash, however, that struck the most imposing image. Around the dais set in the city square, the red and black clad soldiers stood in formation, polearms at the ready and golden shields creating a formidable wall around the steps leading to the six oval objects encased in the casket at its center. Since their transition from the mountain, the eggs had been under constant and unyielding surveillance. Now, at last, the time had come for the Eyes of Orestra to fall upon the people. Thousands had gathered, desperate for their claim at glory, but for Milo Collins, it was the thousands of pockets, rather than people, that held his interest. And dragons? Feh. Great big sky lizards didn't matter much to an Amalfi like him…

They rarely had pockets, and never ones worth picking.

Flipping the watch over that he'd nabbed from a rather distinguished Marband, Milo's eyes drifted from his perch on the chimney edge to the dark clouds creating a circle around the city. There was nothing natural about the visual, but if any of the guards had noticed, they hardly seemed perturbed. No doubt, it was some sort of magic put in place to ward off trouble, and trouble, it seemed, had received the message. Milo, for one, was glad for the lack of danger. Happy people were considerably less aware, and his pile of trinkets was growing significantly higher by the moment.

"Oi! Bat-Ears!" Over his shoulder, a hushed hiss sounded and canting his head back, Milo rolled his eyes before returning his gaze to the city. The black haired boy approached from behind, green eyes scanning for the striped tail he so loved to trample. Milo, however, had learned long ago to never let it drag when Ceta and his cronies were around.

"What do you want, Ceta?" He muttered, the slight lisp clipping the edges of his words, drawing a pink tinge to the pale fleshy centers of his large ears, "I'm busy…"

"Busy being useless. Yeah, I can see that. Boss wants to know how come you ain't dropped off your offering, yet."

"Cause I'm still collectin', stupid." Gesturing to his pile, Milo fought back a grin at the look of shock on his compatriot's face.

"How the hell'd you get so much, so fast?" Ceta asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

"It's called talent…"

"Let's get something straight, Bat Ears! Only talent you got is being an annoying little trash rat. Boss knows it, the rest of us know it. 'Bout time you figured it out. Only reason you're even in the Dodgers is cause Mercianna took pity on you. You can bring in as much loot as you want but it'll never change the fact, nobody wants you. Nobody ever will."

It happened probably faster than Milo intended and certainly faster than Cita expected. Without warning, with agile cat-like grace, Milo launched himself at the boy. Paws beat against flesh, as Milo battered Cita, whose squeals echoed off the rooftop like the howl of a mandrake.

Without warning, a sudden plume of flames shot across the sky and for a moment's time Cita was not the only one screaming. Fists paused midswing, Milo's head swung to the right and he shielded his eyes as orange lit up city square. From the center of the dais, a column of fire swiveled upwards. Scrambling to the side of the roof, Milo watched as the soldiers turned in unison. Oddly, their reactions were muted by comparison to the unexpected disorder, but after a second of panic welling in his own chest, Milo made out the two figures in silver robes, flanking the flames, their arms outstretched as waves of heat dances from their fingertips towards the towering pillar. Along the path to the square, four more soldiers appeared, surrounding a figure dressed in a gleaming white robe, the hood of which shrouded the figure within, fixed with an ornamental headdress of onyx, from which hung iron chains all coalescing in the center, affixed to an emerald gemstone. In the light of the flames, the emerald shown incandescent, the eye of Orestra like a beacon, guiding the guests of the Iron Citadel towards the square.

Across the dais, another group arrived, and at the center, Lord Direstrine, dressed in sterling grey, iron scepter in hand. Pausing before the column of flames, the Citadel's ruler addressed the crowd with a sweep of his arm, and a hush fell…

"Citizens of Verlendia! Today marks a monumental moment in history. Too long, we have lingered in the shadows of our past, reminded daily of the great sacrifices made by the men and women of our fair continent to safeguard our lands and her people! Too long, we have gone without our great defenders! No more! Though the path here has been forged in blood, and though there were many who sought to see its premature end, their failure will be their reckoning!" A cheer erupted, and Direstrine allowed it for a moment, before banging the scepter on the dais, "Today, we call upon the Eyes of Orestra! Look down upon our fair city and the people of Verlendia and from among us, may the Riders arise!

Another raucous cheer exploded from the crowd, allowed to linger as the Oracle began to ascend the stairs to the dais. With a solid thump from the scepter, silence fell. As the hush blanketed the throng, the pillar of flames swirled and spun upwards into the strange grey clouds, dissipating. Within the casket, the six eggs shimmered, the cracks along each precious shell deep and dark.

From the crowd, applause resonated, a singular source, slow and hollow. A small ring opened up in the center of the square as the people gave berth for the applauding individual. There stood a man, encloaked, and pushing back his hood, the crowd filled with gasps as his face was revealed. A shock of red hair gave way to pinched, narrow features, across which was splashed three streaks of crimson.

"Bloodmarked!" Someone shrieked, and laughter echoed thereafter, as the man smoothed back the hair from his eyes.

"Yes, yes… Scream in terror. Grab your children and hide… The bloodmarked! Harbingers of doom and death and destruction… My, but you are predictable. I bring a message, Lord of Iron. To you and your people." Reaching into his cloak, the man pulled his hand free and tossed something to the ground in a clatter. There on the cobblestones lay a handful of metal emblems, reminiscent to that of the headdress on the oracle, "Tell me… How does a blind god see, when her eyes have been plucked out? Have your great leaders not informed you, people of Verlendia? The Oracles have fallen! All but this one, here…" He gestured to the hooded figure on the stage with a grimace of contempt, "The Temples lie in ruin and waste, and your great warriors, those knights of justice and peace, upon whom you rely… well…"

The corner of his lip twitched upwards, and as he spoke, the polearms of the Phoenix Knights slammed into the ground in unison, "Few and far between are those who cannot be swayed to the will of Lord Hexar Morrid'ian, King of the High Tower!"

"Long live the king!" The knights voices echoed in eerie harmony. Twisting the men on the dais stared in shock, and the silver robed mages raised their arms, but Direstrine raised a hand to still them as the Phoenix Knights fell quiet.

"Long live the king, indeed. You see, Lord Direstrine… While you sat on your metal throne, behind your impenetrable wall made from the blood and bones of your cowardly ancestry, my king has been at work. Maglin called for aid, did it not, and you ignored her pleas! The Lord of Iron! Unbending and unyielding in his utter lack of mercy and compassion. The Painted Mountain burned, the Hall of Relics raided… and you stood by and allowed your own ruin to come from your utter disregard for the world beyond your precious Citadel! You know what was kept within those hallowed walls… You know what you've wrought upon your precious city."

A screeching sounded overhead, and across the clouds, an enormous, shadowy form streaked.

Not looking up, his eyes still boring into the Bloodmarked, Lord Direstrine shook his head, "What game is this, Puppet? What--"

"The Book of Turning… A proud design of your people, wasn't it? Imagine it… the ability to warp the minds of men to your will. And not just men, was it, Lord Direstrine? So many wondered how it was done… How your forefathers managed to bend the will of the dragons. Maglin found it, didn't they, and your onslaught was ruthless. But the book was hidden away, and your pride led you to ruin." The shadow swooped again, squeals of fear resounding through the crowd, "Now here you stand… in the legacy of murderers and thieves… and you deign to lay claim to that which is not yours, yet again! Tell me, Iron King… do the people know from whom those eggs were stolen?"

Head canting upwards, the man grinned as the shadow passed by once more, "Call your riders, Oracle. Let them come forth and claim their glory!"

Throwing back her hood, the ornamental headdress clattering to the ground, Thalin Yeris raised her hands high overhead, pale, sightless eyes glinting with fury, "People of Verlendia! I have seen our destruction! The visions assail me, even now! We will be led to our doom by these creatures! Led to fall by the coward kings of old! We must rise against the--"

"LIAR!" The voice rose from the back of the crowd, as a third hood figure appeared. Pushing the shroud back, a young woman stood, markings on her pale face marred by deep scratches and dirt, her own gaze fixed with ire on the woman, frozen in shock on the dais, "The only destruction we face is in following the same lies that you have become slave to, Matron! You let them in! The Cullers! You let them in and you promised we'd be safe and then you left while they slaughtered my sisters! Why?? What reason could you have to throw your lot in with the likes of the bloodcursed?"

"Melindre…... You said they were all dead!" Thalin shrieked at the Bloodmarked, whose own gaze had hardened to ice.

"Indeed… It seems we've missed one. Well… A small complication, but one that can be easily rectified." Hand rising over his head, he curled his fingers into a fist, voice rising, "Kill her, and bring your king those eggs!" As his fist unfurled, the bloodmarked vanished, and with him, Thalin Yeris. Their line breaking, the Phoenix Knights split, one branch forcing their way through the crowd, towards the oracle, the others starting up the dais steps, towards the casket. A ring of flames ignited as the pair of mages held their ground, but the knights advanced, unhindered.

"Oh no…" Milo's whispered words were punctuated by a louder growling, as the dark shadow plunged closer to the clouds overhead, and once again, fire flashed across the heavens, bathing the city square for a brief time in brilliant orange. The Oracle, throwing back her cloak ripped a blade free from its sheath, the sharp steel held aloft in deft, practiced grip. The first of the knights crashed forward with his polearm and the Oracle stepped to the side, slashing her blade along the back of his neck, a second knight soon meeting a similar end as the blade swung around the opposite route, cutting across his flank. Two more knights filled the gap, weapons at the ready.

Horror stretched in his belly and Milo spun around, "Ceta! We have to help that lady! The dragons!"

Turning to the boy he had been pummeling, Milo wasn't all that surprised to find Ceta had already begun clamoring his way down the roof in the opposite direction. Rolling his eyes, Milo launched over the ledge, and sliding down the curved overhang, landed on his feet behind a merchant stall a short distance from the chaos within the square.

Ducking low, Milo skittered through the rush of feet, racing off in every direction to escape the threat of the knights, and as he reached the center, his eyes twisted upwards to see the circle of flames on the dais. Clashing metal sounded, as Lord Direstrine and several Keepers drew upon the encroaching knights and Milo watched in horror as polearms skewered through iron armor and one of the Keepers shouted to get the king to safety, before his own life was thrust from his body. Swift as it was waged, the battle was won and as a Direstrine was dragged from the dais by his guards, the knights continued towards the mages. Bursts of flame ricocheted off red and black armor… They would keep coming until they had the eggs.

Stomping his feet, Milo took three steps backwards before leaping upwards. The scent of singed fur tingled in his nose as he rolled through the flame wall, and without pausing, the Amalfi slammed the lid over the casket and gripping it with both paws, raced for the opposite side of the dais. More flames before him, Milo leapt through again, landing softly on the opposite side. Behind him, a wet, gurgling cry pealed from the dais as the first of the mages fell, the second silenced a moment thereafter. The knights turned then, and spurred by terror, Milo tore off into the crowd, casket in hand.

"GET THAT BOY!" A terrible voice growled from high overhead, "And find the Beacons! Destroy them! Bring down the fog!

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GM NOTES

TAGS || @KatSea, @Owl, @Verran, @ze_kraken, @Morgan, @Pupperr, @Ichigo, @Custodiet Teh

Interactive Elements |

Roughly two dozen of The Knights of the Phoenix Ash have turned on the people of Verlendia and their goal is simple. Kill the Oracle and get the eggs. Before the eggs could be retrieved, however, they were nabbed by a young Amalfi, who has disappeared into the crowd with them. The Oracle, meanwhile, holds her own against the coming storm of treacherous knights, but greatly outnumbered, she is not likely to last long.

What you do is up to you, but be aware that overhead, a greater threat looms, held off only by the Beacons, magical rune stones that protect the city.

 

[ze_kraken]

ELWYN, DAUGHTER OF THE FAITH
​

The dawn

sunlight pierced through the parted curtains framing the window to Elwyn's humble chamber in the monastery, cutting through glass and cloth and eyelid with the same unrelenting insistence that now was the hour to awaken. She stirred, reluctant to rouse herself from slumber's tender embrace just yet even if she knew Sister Moira's harsh intolerance for late sleepers awaited her should she partake in even a few more precious moments of rest.

Elwyn urged herself to her feet, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders as she paused seated along the edge of her bed. Her chambers were small, but she recalled a time not so long ago when she would have shared a space half this size with four or five more initiates of Orestra. The room paled in comparison to the chambers of the nobility, that much was true, but then after spending over half her life fighting for every scrap of bedding the meager comfort sleeping in her own bed, with her own four walls around her, kept her more than content.

Fetching a plinth of decoratively carved wood about two inches tall and just wide enough for her knees from beneath her bed after tidying the sheets, Elwyn knelt atop it and clasped her hands together about an amulet she wore around her neck, bracing her elbows atop the bed's surface.

"Lady Orestra, on this day I pledge to you my service in all matters you deem befitting of me," she muttered reverently into the amulet, each word sincere despite having been repeated every morning thousands of times. "In return I ask for a shred of your wisdom, your courage, and your strength so that I may fulfill my duty and my purpose enacting your Will. May I share in your blessings, and in return serve ably and true."

With the words said, Elwyn rose to her feet and tucked the amulet under her plain woolen shift. She removed the shift, hanging it in the wardrobe by the door to her chamber and donning a plain blue-grey tunic and dark grey trousers. Sister Moira arrived just as Elwyn had finished pulling on her worn leather boots. Hers was a craggy face, long in the tooth and grey in the hair. Wrinkles creased her forehead like deep valleys cut through stone mountains, and her jawline was still imposingly fierce despite having descended into jowls years ago. Her eyes, though kind, looked equally stern in what had paradoxically been referred to in Elwyn's childhood as the dragon's glare, a term she was sure had delighted the old woman as much as it had struck terror into the hearts of the young initiates.

"Orestra's blessings, Sister," Elwyn said respectfully, bowing her head.

"Orestra's blessings," Moira huffed by way of greeting. "Seems you've outlived your old habits of oversleeping - dare say I miss clanging two pots by 'yer head, girl."

"Now I am a soldier, and there are more dire consequences for sleeping past the sunrise," Elwyn said politely, though a smile did tug at the edge of her lips. "But then, I believe you knew I was awake before you came by. To what do I owe the blessing of your presence, Sister?"

"'Yer lord commander's requestin' you be at the Hatchling Ceremony at the Iron Citadel in a week's time," Moira replied, handing Elywn a letter with the broken wax seal of Lord Commander Tyrus Wexel - there were no secrets among those in service of Orestra.

"Just me?" Elwyn asked, taking the letter and reading it over. "Or shall I be leading his household's troops alongside Sir Floren as well?"

"Aye, Floren's comin' as well," chirped Moira. "Rest 'o the details are in the letter, so read it and let me carry on whippin' these youngin's into shape!"

"Hopefully they will learn quicker than I to keep their tongues," jested Elwyn, grinning as she saw Moira's eyes twinkle with the faintest hint of amusement as she shut the door and wandered back down the hall, infamous twin pots clutched in aged hands.

---

The day was calm and the winds were mellow upon the day of Elwyn's departure. She strode atop a chestnut-colored mare bedecked in skirts of black and gold, marked in the iconography of the Faith of Orestra. She wore her customary mail, a mismatched menagerie of bits of steel fit to a woman of her unusual stature. Broad at the shoulders, slender at the hips, and hard, lean muscle meant many a piece of mail had needed to be fitted to her, a kind of expense reserved for lords and merchants. And she was no lord or merchant, a fact made clear by the man who rode beside her.

Sir Floren Stonewell looked resplendent atop his charcoal black charger, a horse as tall as a man and nearly a good third wider. Were it not for the comfortable leather saddle Floren straddled, or his immense posture and size, the horse would have easily dwarfed him and been impossible for the brute to ride. The horse gleamed with thick steel barding fringed with blue and golden skirts portraying the proud crest of Lord Commander Wexel's knightly household - a golden griffin clutching a pair of thunderbolts in its front talons atop a field of blue. His plate mail looked to be worth a king's ransom, fringed with golden trim and enameled a deep blue that fit its owner like a glove.

Floren lifted the visor of his helm and accepted the banner of Lord Commander Wexel, the large flag streaming and flapping in the gentle breeze. Behind them were arranged twenty knights in formation, all wearing the same blue-dyed armor as their commander, all brandishing aloft lances tipped with thin banners of gold wrapped round their steel heads. Beside Elwyn rode her own, small contingent of four Children of the Faith bedecked in plain, unadorned steel and boiled leather, holding aloft a religious icon atop a banner pole. It was made of iron, bronze, and steel and portrayed the deeds of Warrior Chaplain Agatha the Able, along with wax sealed parchment recounting her deeds and purity that crackled and bounced in the wind just as the streamers atop the knights' lances did.

They trod down the main road of Stavinburg, iron-shod horseshoes clattering noisily across cobbled streets. The gathering had attracted a handful of onlookers about the street, relishing the opportunity to see such royally clad knights up close. Floren relished in the attention, even going so far as to accept a favor from a young lady by the edge of the city's walls. Having heard tell of just how ravenous Floren's appetite for young women was, Elwyn had no doubt the lady's family would be welcoming a bastard with the same sun-gold hair and ice-blue eyes upon Floren's return to Stavinburg.

"There's nothing wrong with a woman knowing what she desires," Floren remarked, noticing Elwyn's disapproving glare as they rode through the city's gate. "Aye, I'm not the one she'll marry, but she'll remember me fondly, no doubt."

"And are all girls' fathers as pragmatic as you, Sir?" Elwyn countered dryly.

"Oh, quite the opposite," Floren laughed, urging his horse from a sauntering pace into a trot once the column had cleared the gate. "I find they are quite disapproving of their daughters surrendering their virtue so readily to men with no intentions of marriage. In a way I envy you, Elwyn - you'll never have to wed, though I can't say I'd want to surrender the rest."

When first Elwyn had met Floren upon her assignment to Lord Commander Wexel's household, his comments had always succeeded into getting a rise out of her. Now, however, they merely tested her patience. Teeth clenched, Elwyn nodded.

"We all make our sacrifices," she said flatly, as she had every time the knight had teased her on account of her faith. "Now come - the day is short, the road is long. If you spent half as much time riding as you did thinking of ways to torment me, I'm sure we would be at the Citadel by now."

---

"GET THAT BOY! And find the Beacons! Destroy them! Bring down the fog!"

"Floren, where are your knights?" Elwyn demanded, turning about to grab the knight by the arm.

Only, Floren had vanished. From her vantage point atop a rise at the periphery of the crowd, Elwyn and her fellow members of the Children of the Faith had been afforded both safety and a clear view of what had happened, and Elwyn had dispatched Brother Adriel to search for the thief while her other three fellows remained close by her side. The crowd gathered around the ritual site had begun to disperse and flee the violence unfolding down below.

There. A glimpse of blue steel flashing in the sunlight. Headed towards one of the Beacons.

"With me!" Elwyn called, her fellow warriors following behind her.

They shouldered their way through the mass of terrified, running flesh between them and their blue-clad quarry. Sister Olenna was laid low by a large man bowling her over, her muffled screams lost to the chaos as she was trampled in her armor. Brother Markus was tugged from his group by a mother screaming for him to take her babe. By the time Elwyn had cleared the crowd and begun to chase down the knight in blue, she was alone.

"Floren!" She yelled, voice cutting through the clamor. "Where in Orestra's name are you going? Answer me!"

The knight continued to sprint towards the Beacon, and Elwyn caught a glimmer of cold grey flash in the outline of blue and gold. His sword was drawn, but why? The men guarding the Beacon up ahead were beset upon Phoenix Knights and their other treacherous brethren at their front, and Floren was prepped to hit their flank. Understanding dawned, and Elwyn propelled herself into a headlong sprint.

"You traitorous cur!" She spat. "Vile demon spawn! Get back here!"

Elwyn came within sword's reach of Floren before he reached the flank of the guardsmen being cast aside by the men to their front. Both knelt over panting and gasping for air, about ten paces from the guardsmen, those of which not embroiled in the melee glanced over confused. Floren was first to rise, sword and shield held aloft. Elwyn, faced with no other choice, staggered backward as she continued to catch her breath, hoping to buy herself a few more moments to shape up before the attack began. He still looked every bit as lordly as he had when they departed Stavinburg, but Elwyn hissed all the same - killers loved to lurk behind the guise of heroism and valor, and this was no exception.

Wordlessly, Floren darted forward, steel slicing through the air, tip of the blade whistling past where Elwyn had been just a moment before. She stepped back from the blow, drawing her sword out of instinct as her burning lungs struggled to keep her in the fight. All she could hear were the screams of the dead and dying in the melee ahead, the wailing of children behind her. Floren had faded from the foreground, and her muscles took over as he set upon her, driving her back further and further from the Beacon with heavy sword strikes.

She was torn back to reality, adrenaline finally coursing through her veins and granting her lungs sweet respite as Floren began to spit curses and taunts.

"And I'm to expect this - this bitch - is the best your pathetic Order has to offer? I expected better I-"

He never finished his sentence. Elwyn lunged forward, shouting incoherently as she jabbed with her arming sword, striking Floren square in the chest. His plate mail stopped the blow, the hideous scraping of metal upon metal adding its voice to the cacophony of chaos around them as he was driven back by the force of the blow. Elbow jarred and ringing with the recoil of the stab, Elwyn stepped back to a more comfortable distance. Floren spat between them, raising his shield and approaching.

Elwyn's sword swung high in a two-handed stroke, catching Floren's blade. Floren, before Elwyn could make another swing, drove his shield into her, sending her sprawling on her back and knocking the wind from her once more. Wheezing, Elwyn barely had time to collect herself before Floren's sword came slicing down towards her. She rolled right, away from his shield and jumped up into a crouching position in time to catch the next blow on her off-handed gauntlet. The blow cracked her bone and wrenched the gauntlet sideways, and Elwyn cried out in pain at the blow.

"You'll pay for that," she hissed lowly as Floren's sword retracted and came around for another swing.

This time blade met blade, and Elwyn seized the chance to rise to her feet and stepped back, keeping her broken arm behind her and her sword in a guarded position. When next Floren came at her, she sidestepped his reckless swing and lashed out at the back of his calf with a steel-studded kick. As the boot withdraw, she noted with satisfaction broken and bloody skin from the gash the blunt trauma had caused to his exposed rear. Floren stumbled forward, dropping his shield and falling to one knee.

"Yield," she said, voice cracking in anger and pain and frustration and confusion. "Yield and you don't have to die."

"Yield? After one kick? How pathetic do you think I am?" Floren huffed, spinning about to face Elwyn. "This isn't the training grounds - first blood doesn't matter."

Floren lunged, once again striking nothing as Elwyn sidestepped the blow. His fist connected with her face, and Elwyn lurched back, spitting out a broken tooth and tasting blood as she stared down the knight.

He's stronger and better than me and he knows it, he's toying with me, she thought. Prove him wrong.

Again the knight came, only Elwyn was less quick on her feet. More blows connected, scraping harmlessly against steel where she was armored, leaving shallow cuts where she was not. Battered and bloody, she persisted blow after blow, searching for the opening she needed to end him. He chipped away at her resolve bit by bit until she saw the opportunity. As he raised his sword high above his head, clutched in both hands, she lurched to the right and, howling in pain, drew her second blade with her broken arm and lifted it to meekly stop the blow while her other drove the sword through an exposed chink in his armor.

His blade met the one clutched in her broken arm, passing through it like it was parchment, sending the short sword clattering to the ground as Elwyn's arm refused to put up a fight. Her other blade drove its point deep in the chink, driving through flesh and catching on a bone that splintered on contact, ensnaring her blade deep in the knight's chest. She felt powerful fingers wrap around the folds in her tunic beneath her breastplate and toss her aside onto the ground, hand unable to maintain a tight grip on the blade. He collapsed alongside Elwyn, the pair laying in a pool of one another's blood, staring up as smoke blossomed and bloomed in the sky above...

​

 

[KatSea]

Haloke Wildfire

Cricket chirps broke through the silence of nightfall. Flames blazed in brilliant colors in the square, a sight Haloke's eyes desperately clung to with each passing step. Each crisp breath of air was savored against her tongue, the ever growing scent of burning cinders soothing to her troubled heart. The thrumming in her chest was growing ever worse and she feared it would take hold of her completely. She knew every step, every stone, every alley left unturned in her home. Each held a fond memory clutched close. There was the little market place where she'd purchase spices for her family that night, something new and foreign each week. There was the charred remains of a long forgotten home rumored to be plagued by spirits and witches that devoured misbehaved children. Haloke recalled in vivid detail nights where she'd sit in the rafters, accompanied by children of her own age. They'd perform little magic tricks, Haloke having used her abilities to create a show of shadows on the floor below. The tale contained dragons and wayward pirate ships on the sea, something she had never seen before but knew she was named for. There had been orphans turned heroes and sons of villains turned to allies. She had shared her first act of affection in those rafters, where she had ducked the attempted mashing of mouths (or, at least that's what she referred to it as when she was a child) and nearly fell to her premature demise. Sometimes she'd still see the same boy when wandering through her tribe, logs of bonfire wood weighing his arms and exposing what little muscle he had developed over the years.

Her sisters would protest. They'd use these fleeting thoughts in her head, memories of beautiful mornings and devious nights to convince her to stay. To stay and accept a fate Haloke never wanted. It wasn't fair. To simply say no meant the destruction of her whole life. It was a foolish and cruel tradition that cost the life of too many. Was there not a simpler way of deciding who was worthy? Haloke knew she wasn't. She could never live up to the great and respectful height her sisters had acquired. She didn't want to. She was content being the local blacksmith who occasionally drew obscene figures on weapons (only for those who had been gruff and crude to her in turn). She was content with being a household figure. She was content if, all hell came to it, being married off and becoming a motherly figure for whatever unfortunate spawn she conjured.

She set her jaw. It was pointless letting her thoughts run as far as they did. She was near the stall now and she had to act quickly. Being caught now was a death sentence in its own right. Balancing her weight on her feet, she silently darted into the stall. Families tended to share horse stalls in her home tribe, although it wasn't a common thing to have. Travel outside the tribe was a rare event in itself unless it had been a means of securing supplies. Haloke knew her father required at least one if his daughters had been blessed enough to be chosen for the Suring.

"A blessing that has been shot straight from the bowels of the underworld-" Haloke hissed behind clenched teeth, keeping her voice low for fear of being overheard. No. It was much too late for any of the Nera to be awake. The fires continued to burn well past dawn until the sun rose. This gave Haloke an hour or two for an open window, the point where it was dark enough to be unseen. Admiring the spectacle of the dying embers one last time, Haloke slung the stall door closed behind her, raising her hand to ignite a white lit flame. It crackled against her skin, the heat pleasant and familiar.

"I did not think to see you so soon, sister." The silhouette, now visible in the dimly lit stall, took calculated steps to reach the young Nera. Haloke's eyes jumped to meet the sight of her eldest sister. Istas' youthful and honey-kissed expression grew wrinkled and aged as the light of the fire beat against her face. Exhaustion was clear in her eyes, their hazel colored dimmed. Her bedgown flowed past the musty floorboard, giving her bountiful figure a grotesque and gaunt appearance. "I had hoped you were not going to leave, but I had the feeling you might." Haloke considered her sister to be the most beautiful of the family, with flowing brunette hair and a smile brighter than any of the magic she could conjure. She never considered her saying goodbye to her would have caused the happiness and grace she held to drain. It was as if Haloke had struck a double bladed sword through her chest and watched the blood pool beneath her, drying on the crackled earth

Haloke thought she was going to wretch her guts right then and there, the image unwavering from her mind.

"I have to." She replied, voice weak. "My life is going to end either way, Istas. You know this. I need..time to think. I cannot stand the idea of being torn from you."

"I know." Istas countered, kind and patient as she had always been. Her hands clasped her sisters, extinguishing the flame without a wince. In the dark, Haloke could feel the tears begin to pool in her eyes, streaking down her cheeks in unforgiving pillars. Haloke squeezed back tight, reassured by her sister's love, a love so strong that it fought back the dark. "I am not going to stop you." Haloke's cheek was cupped by Istas' calloused but gentle hand. Her thumb blindly cleaned the tears from her face. "If I could, I would accompany you, my love. But you know I cannot. I have to attend to mother and father, Cali and Ajei…"

"I would never ask you to leave them. You know this." Haloke swallowed. "I need...I need to explore this world before I decide if I should risk my life in it. For it. Either way, I may never see you again and I cannot bear this thought…"

"Do not think that way," Both hands encased her face now, a chaste kiss placed to her forehead. "I will see you again. You and I? You are family, no matter where your travels may take you, little sister. Nothing can change that. Nothing can tear us apart. If they decide to banish you from our home? I will follow you. Wherever you ask me to go, I will do so."

"I could never ask you to do that. Istas...They are family too." Haloke slumped into her grasp, unable to hold her own weight. Twisting her foot against the floorboard, she found her grounding, a technique she learned when attempting earth magic for the first time. "This is a journey, for the moment, I must take alone. I will find an answer out there. This I know. Whatever answer it comes to be...I will be back home. To accept my banishment and dishonor. To accept the responsibilities of the Suring. I promise you, this is not the last time you will see me."

Istas released her. Haloke's shoulders fell at the motion, eyes closing in understanding. She knew she couldn't spend much more time here.

"Stay safe. I brought you some extra supplies for the road. Something to remember us by in case it takes you a little while longer to come home." Istas reached for a small pouch hidden behind her figure. Haloke's arms gripped the gift with such vigor and desperation that her veins flooded to the surface of her skin. There was the knitted blanket that Istas had made, as well as rations that should have lasted her more than a week. She clutched the pouch to her chest. "Haloke. Hali. If...if you change your mind and decide to come home- I am here for whatever you decide. There is no wrong decision in this matter. I want you to do what you think is best for you. Not for the sake of father. You." Istas cupped her hands together in front of her, summoning a flickering spark of light that washed over the stall. "Take my steed. She should treat you well. Do not forget to feed her, dear. I know how gluttoness you can be."

"Do not remind me." Haloke smiled. She never remembered such a joyous action hurting so damn much.

----

"Sir?" Haloke's bruised knuckles tapped the barkeep's counter. She swore the intensity of each pound against that surface slit through her capillaries and veins. The Amalfi male, resembling the hares Haloke's father used to hunt (against her wishes), peeked up at the young Nera with disdain. Haloke respected several races she met (respect in being that she caused mischief without prejudice), but this particular...individual was enough to make her temple ache. She had been requesting his presence, long enough for her back to ache as she arched forward to maintain eye contact.

She did not pay a single care to the fact it was the day of the Hatching. Those affairs were for those who did not have a care outside of their survival. Right now? All she cared for was to find a place to stay for the night. She refused to sleep next to her sister's steed as she did the previous night, her arms painted dark for such an expedition. This man was going to have to pay her mind. The sooner he spoke and snickered at her, the sooner he could join the herd beyond the tavern walls.

"Wot?" Haloke's broke perked. The hare...his voice was deceptively raw and scratchy. She had anticipated a lighter tone and a squeak. It took all of her energy not to break into a chortle, noting his annunciation was far from proper. She wondered if the poor gentleman had been subjected to glass being shoved down his throat the night before.

"I apologize, dear sir. I am in great need of a place to stay for the night. I am willing to pay as much as you require for one of your rooms-"

"No vacancy." The gentleman continued, one of his folded ears now standing straight. "All booked." The ear flopped back to its proper stance. His eyes flickered back down to his lap. Haloke peeked down, noting a book splayed in the middle, cradled in his lap. "Oi, either buy somethin' or beat it-" Haloke's cheeks would have normally darkened at the mistake she had made, but rather irritated by the man before her, she pressed herself against the counter.

"No one I can share a room with for the night?" No storage room I can cram myself into, she tagged on mentally, wincing internally at the thought.

"Buy booze or beat it, lady." The gentleman repeated, beady eyes narrowed and darkened. Haloke sighed, relenting herself to the whims of this grouchy, quite frankly disgusting and insulting to all rabbits everywhere- bastard. Bastard was the right word. "If ya don't buy somethin' in the next ten seconds I will have someone escort you-"

"Oh~ Please do tell them to be rough with me sir~" Haloke's eyes damn near rolled back into her skull. Turning on her heel, she discreetly snapped her finger as a spark of energy gathered at the tip. Hopefully he'd notice sooner rather than later that the book's pristine page was folding as embers engulfed the edges.

Haloke's form slid past the door before the hare's angry shouts reached her ears.

---

Finding a temporary stall for her sister's steed was less of a hassle than finding herself a bed for the night. She could rest assured the horse would remain safe and, for the meantime, could at least explore what the town had to offer. She didn't intend on attending the ceremony, the growing crowd enough to insight anxiety in her stomach. Being surrounded by other sweaty bodies was never something Haloke minded, but those were familiar bodies. These were...new.

Haloke's thoughts clambered to a halt. Pillars of fire. Comfort filled her as she skidded to a stop, the sight of others being able to manipulate her element reminding her that she wasn't alone. Now she just prayed these weren't people she knew or attended weekly prayer sessions with… She smoothed down her braided locks, slipping past several people, surprised by the variety of races that had come to celebrate.

Please let Istas be here-

Haloke planted herself where she thought she would be safe. Enough room for her to move her arms from side to side. Enough to conjure flames on either end in the case of emergency. If someone grabbed her by the wrist or if someone snuck their greedy fingers into her coin pouch-

She twisted her feet against the ground below, securing herself firmly. She may not have learned earth magic to the extent that she mastered fire, but there was a lot of utility to pull from the substance. Her eyes danced from side to side of the crowd. Closest exit was to her right. A gap in the herd. The people close to her? Trustworthy enough. They did not seem to pay her any mind.

Haloke bit back a yawn. Blah blah blah, ancient duties, blah blah blah, this blessed day, blah blah blah, we are trusting puny humans with intense and potentially dangerous reptiles. Did people gather to watch the dragons eat their riders? No, no, she was aware this was important to her nation and their freedom and- Goddess it would be adorable to watch a baby dragon nibble on a poor, unfortunate soul's fingers. Use their breath to crisp up their tamer. There were times that Haloke genuinely wished she could have banished her own brain from her body, although there was no amount of magic that could do such a miraculous feat and grant her inner peace.

Chaos erupted around her before that lucid dream could take hold. Goosebumps slithered down her skin. She wasn't quite sure of everything that was happening around her, only that there was a massive voice booming in the sky and that there were several knights- Not doing their job very well.

Her shoulders brushed past several fleeing civilians, her eyes wide at the mayhem. She didn't realize that dragon hatchlings would be worth killing other people for, as adorable as she figured they'd become. Then again, someone said the world "steal" and their was the voice from the sky-

No. No no no. That was NOT a good thing. Running would have been the wise option, but realizing the knights were advancing towards the helpless woman...Haloke sighed. She cracked her knuckles, popping her neck to either side.

The moment the way was clear? It was time to embrace her inner dragon. But, for the meantime… Melee was going to be no good. They out-armored her and held many more weapons than she had present. She had a curved knife on one hip that served more for manual labor. If there was one thing her time as a blacksmith taught her, it was that she should never bring a knife to a sword fight. Fire was going to be too difficult to manage. Burning an escaping victim was...less than ideal and would weigh heavily on her shoulders later on. Physically or in the afterlife. She was sure her chance of survival at the moment was at the mere flip of the coin and she did not like her chances.

With a swift movement of her wrist, orbs of life whirled to life, curling off of her fingers in whisps. She pressed her heels deeper into the ground below her. Beams of light accumulated from her fingertips, drifting towards four of the knights heads. She would have to do this quickly. They still held weapons and presented a threat no matter what precautions she took. The first knight her attention locked on came face to face with a beacon of bright energy, curling around his head and encasing it in a shifting dome. The next three knights became the same fate, Haloke's breath catching in her throat as her own eyes began to scorch. She clutched her fists close, nails digging into her palm, and her head swung in the opposite direction as the domes exploded in a wave of brilliant light.

Haloke did not take any time to see if her ploy worked. She swiftly darted to the nearest knight, hand igniting into a casing of flame.

 

[Custodiet Teh]

Oleander Dapplegrey


Apart from the odd snap of a bubble bursting, the wad of blood-tinged expectorate slid excruciatingly slowly down the face of the Marband man possibly formerly known as Vergan D'Tuante. His day had spiraled from above-average down to one of the worst in recent memory, topped off by the issue currently dribbling off the tip of his nose.

As it was, Vergan was a 'hotel' owner. Not a Tavern, he made sure to make that distinction quite clear, but a Hotel. There was a guarantee that those wishing for a restful night wouldn't be interrupted by music played at all hours or by the local toughs getting into bar fights with mysterious visitors. He even forbade the posting of bounties or job listings. Even meeting in the lobby was for guest usage only. Since the implementation of these decisions the Leauge of Tavern Owners had deemed both laughable and enough to get him kicked out of their bi-monthly meetings, his business had nearly tripled, seemingly overnight. If one simply wanted a room to sleep in then the Hotel D'Tuante was the place to go.

With the arrival of the Hatchling Ceremony came the possibly even more anticipated migration of peoples into the city proper. Tradesmen, Farmers, spectacle seekers, it seemed as if the Iron Citadel was bursting at its seams. All sorts were coming and Vergan had advertised heavily to the crowds. But as the day went and the hotel filled, problems began to mount for him and his staff. First, the crowds had swarmed his lobby, tearing up a prized rug under their shoddy boots, and then came the complaints about half the rooms being quickly filled with pipe smoke in CLEARLY designated sections where smoking of all sorts had been forbidden. And with what seemed to be the final slap of spit to the face of the day came the Esquirian.

Donned in what could have only been a custom made affair of tunic and barding rolled into a singular facsimile of Marband fashion, the Esquirian had clomped her way into his lobby, further damaging the rug and digging little grooves into the hardwood with the shining metal of her shoed hooves.

At first, he had nearly fainted in exasperation, assuming some backwater hedge knight had ridden his mount into the lobby but it turned out to be the far more exotic species that he'd heard of but never encountered. And it was definitely that, an encounter. Horses were large creatures and when seemingly attached to a Marband, that presence just seemed to be magnified, especially indoors.

She wore the garb of layered green and white, the upper part being akin to something a well off Lady of middling status might wear on a trip to the country for some sort of hunting excursion. Fancy yet practical. He couldn't help but notice the thin metal devices strapped to her back half and the blackened gloves resting near the smaller ones holstered at the base of her torso. He'd only recently seen those as well, powder burning devices capable of launching metal balls at tremendous velocity. Rare and decidedly dangerous. Much like the woman that he mustered up the courage to speak to.

"Greetings and welcome to the Hotel D'Tuante...How may I be of service?" He spoke in practiced cadence, trying to put the best face forward for the establishment.

""i wid lik' a room 'n' a meal. Th' trip haes bin lang 'n' yer steid 'ere wis recommended tae me by a sign saying that this wis th' newest 'n' best steid tae rest fur travelers."

He'd expected her voice to be booming and loud but it seemed to him that fortune had deemed it best that her voice matches her top half and not the bottom. Still though, her common was harsh and heavily accented, the forced smile on his face drooping slightly.

Almost comically, he leaned to the side, examining both the length and breadth of her body with a wayward glance at her silver-tipped hooves and white 'boots'. His eyes casually flick back to her face. It was strong and seemed to reflect a life lived outdoors. The sun-kissed freckles, the tan that didn't match her fancy garb.

"I'm terribly sorry my lady, the first floor is fully booked and I don't think someone of your, stature, would be comfortable on the stairs. However, My concierge can recommend a fine stable or perhaps a ba-"

That was when the thick glob of spit hit the middle of his face with seemingly practiced accuracy. What came next made him feel even

" barn? is that howfur ye think o' me? that a'm some beast o' burden nae fit fur a seicont rate tavern? a've stayed in sodden bogs mair welcoming than this goosed carpet huvin fankle o' a sty! ye twa shank a munter o' a jimmy, howfur dare you!"

Spinning in place quickly to cover the spike of red in her cheeks at the embarrassment of being almost instantly relegated yet again to a barn, she gave a kick of frustration at the wall. Caving in plaster and wood, the gaping hoof-shaped hole in the wall was the last one to see the door get slammed shut with another pair of words that Vergan gasped at.

The painful red still evident in her cheeks, Oleander took a deep breath and realigned herself. She was here to act civilized and court favor. Her last venture into a city had taught her all the skill and promises in the world meant nothing if she didn't have the status to back it all up. So she'd struck out again, this time for the Citadel of Iron. A rather expensive guidebook she'd been talked into purchasing made mention of a ceremony taking place today and if ceremonies were anything like they were back in the Herd...

She paused mid trot, heart lurching at the memory of her Herd. Her family, her kin, they had all promised to see her return and she held no ill will against most of them but if they were to be convinced of the way of things, she'd have to do what she out to do. Her kind would be recognized as something more than simple beings that belonged in stables while the two legs laughed on their 'upper floors'. She grimaced, deciding to suppress whatever she was feeling for now to be dealt with at a later time.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


As Oleander wandered the city, half keeping an eye out for any sort of lodging, she began to notice the shops that lined the streets shutting down and the occupants of buildings filing out all headed a certain way. The festive feel in the air was more than enough proof to her that she'd have no further luck finding a place to stay with what must have been the early stages of the ceremony her guidebook had made mention of commencing. Stuffing the pamphlet back into the pocket of her coat, she took off at a trot in the direction the crowd was headed. Pedestrians parting as they heard her coming, expecting a messenger or knight only to give a look of shock as she trotted past paying their wandering eyes no heed.

Breaking into the square, Oleander found a crowd entranced. She'd expected a festive atmosphere but was surprised to find people standing in rapt attention to a conversation she couldn't hear at this distance. Then a hooded figure emerged and shortly, it seemed like civilization had another lesson to teach Oleander. What an urban route looked like.

The average day to day citizen began to flee the ceremony, Oleander still unsure as to why but she saw it happen from her vantage point above the crowd. The nearest to the armored figures turning and fleeing, looking similar to a pebble tossed into a pond with ripples heading out from the epicenter. By the time the panic reached her, the crowd wasn't made of individuals it was a mobbing beast clambering to safety! People tore past her left and right, scrambling and abandoning their kin to the cold ground. Oleander had been backing up but was now pressed for space in the crowd. Glancing behind her, a panicked man even attempted to mount her, likely mistaking her for an escape method.

Rearing back and bucking the man, she shouted at the top of her lungs and charged not into the tide or away from it, but perpendicular to it. Her powerful legs digging in and kicking aside those who stood in her path, she was able to navigate through the mob without being washed over. Moving hard through the crowd towards what looked to be clearing.

With a mighty leap she cleared the last hurdle of the fleeing populace and landed with a skidding stop. Her hat had flown off during her figurative swim through the crowd and her carefully did bun was decidedly askew. But she was safe for now in the clearing. What was wrong with these people? Fleeing like this and for what reason? She turned in place once more, hoping to see what was going on but instead her eyes fell upon the final seconds of a fight. Some dashing youth was in the midst of combat with what for a moment looked almost like a two-leg version of her mother. The look in the woman's eyes giving Oleander pause long enough to witness the end of the skirmish, both armored figures collapsing. Combat raged in the foreground of the two but their fight had apparently been the cause of the clearing.

Without waiting any longer, Oleander charged up to the collapsed pair. At best, maybe one of them was alive and could explain what was going on, at worst, she'd have some important looking bodies to loot. Reaching behind to her rear, she withdrew one of the metal tubes and held it at the ready while trotting up. She far enough away and practically disconnected from the battle raging paces away to be at ease but was on guard for anyone that decided to approach her. She gave one of the collapsed pair a little nudge, checking for signs of life. Smoke wafting above her and the clamor of battle continuing behind her.

 

[Pupperr]

The world was still asleep and Atheno still silent, a rare occurrence that only one experienced in the early hours of the morning before the sun had crested the hill and bathed the great city in its light. But the silence was broken in the district that housed the wealthy. The sound of steel clashed together and ripped through the quiet stillness of the morning. It echoed throughout the courtyard of the Kilnwood Manor and filled the surrounding streets that touched the stone walls protecting it. The Kilnwood Manor was tucked away in the noble district and stretched several city blocks. It was a small oasis in a busy and sprawling city, filled with lush greenery and pristine buildings. Neighbors were few, but those who did live around the manor were accustomed to the sounds of the young man living there training at all times of the day. And they knew better then to complain.

Leander swung his sword, the steel of his blade meeting that of the man's opposite to him. Another blade came from around Leander, it swooped across the ground and rose as it came under the opponent and struck upward with enough momentum to knock the other man's blade from his hand. The opponent's sword flew through the air, spinning like a turbine in the wind, and landed several feet away. The man had no time to pull another sword, step back, or do anything… Leander was at his front, the cold steel tip of his sword pressed against the opponent's cheek, the blade from his other sword hugging the side of the man's torso. "You've lost."

"Leander…" a deep and husk voice came from across the courtyard. An imposing figure stood in the shadows of the balcony above him. The man didn't have to move for Leander to know who it was.

Raw green eyes moved from the opponent to the man in the shadows. Father…. Leander flicked his attention back to his challenger, who had gone pale in the face and was sweating. Leander had maintained his stance, his muscles locked in place, unflinching like the stone that built a statue, ready to take the man's life. He released his stance and with a swift kick to the midsection, sent the challenger falling on his backside coughing and wheezing. "You're too weak for me to take your life. It would be a stain on my reputation. Now leave your money and get out of here before I change my mind. GO!"

The challenger scrambled to his feet, rummaging through his pockets and producing a small burlap pouch sealed shut with gold coloured cord. The man threw the pouch on the ground and ran off in the direction of the courtyard gates. Leander plucked the pouch from the ground, throwing it in the air a couple times to test its weight before approaching his father who was silently waiting for him. "Father. What is i---"

"It is time."

…

Leander stood in his window, staring across the rooftops of Atheno. The time had finally come. It was time for the Hatchling Ceremony. His mind was blank, unease nipping at his neck. Leander looked down at his open hand; why was he not excited? This was the purpose of his life. This was all that he had worked toward. This very moment. And it was here. Why was he not excited? Leander clenched his fist, the knuckles of his hand turning white from the grip. His jaw tightened and the corners of his mouth turned down into a grimace. Leander threw his fist against the wall next to the window and dropped his head, eyes shut tight.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP

Leander's fist continued to strike the wall searching for resolve. His knuckles reddened from the strikes, marks that would purple in colour later to reveal a bruise. He lifted his head, beads of sweat rolling from his brow and a grin strewn across his face. No…. this is my time. I was born for this. And no one will take it from me. No one can take it from me. All of my life was for this moment. I will make you proud, Father.

~~~​

The square erupted into a frenzy of bodies rushing every which way in a desperate attempt to escape the chaos that fell on the Iron Citadel. Leander stood in the crowd, unmoving against the flock of people running by him. He drew both of his swords, and held them at his sides in a ready position to protect him from being trampled by the senseless people running around like chickens who had lost their heads. Leander planted his feet into the ground and watched closely to what was happening on the dais. He scoffed with irritation - of course this happens on the day he is to become a Dragon Rider.

The screeching overhead and looming shadow caught Leander's attention. His eyes fluttered upward but the fog of the citadel concealed whatever beast lay overhead. "Useless" he muttered and returned his attention to the defected Knights of the Phoenix Ash approaching the Oracle but his eyes moved past her to the Amalfi snatching the casket of eggs and disappearing. Leander's eyes widened with shock only to settle into contempt. "That fucking cat thinks he can steal the eggs!? Scum."

Leander pushed off his dominant foot and exploded into a sprint toward the Amalfi. His quickest route to the creature would include passing through a couple Knights of the Phoenix Ash, who appeared to be busy pursuing the Oracle. He couldn't go around them… Amalfi were already faster than Marbands and the cat was already leagues away. "It's through then!" he declared with a booming voice as he reached the Knights of the Phoenix Ash that were upon the Oracle.

Leander's sword shot in a straight line toward the knight with gusto, the steel aiming for the small opening between where the armor of the knight's breastplate met with the chain on his lower half. He knew it wouldn't make contact, not against a knight of the order, and he was hoping for the knight to block it, which he did. As the knight turned to block Leander's advance, a flash of light erupted in the knight's face, momentarily blinding him. A moment's all I need though… The young son of the Kilnwood family spun on his dominant foot around the knight. As his body spun around the knight, the sword that had made the initial assault flung upwards, catching the knight's helmet and tipping it upward to reveal the vulnerable skin of the knight's neck. Leander's second sword came swinging around his body in full circle. Cold steel met smooth skin as the blade ripped across the knight's exposed neck and painted his armor with crimson splatters. The knight's body went limp, falling to the ground with the clattering of armor against stone.

"Hmph… and to think these knights are supposed to be the pride and joy of Verlendia..." Leander watched as a pool of red spread around the knight. Pathetic. He wiped his face of any blood and shot a look to the Oracle. "Your eggs are getting away."

 

[Morgan]

Mae'lyrra​

The rumours had preceded her arrival. On the road she had met other travellers and peoples native to the Painted Mountains. Those she had spoken to had wondered why she was walking toward them and not away from them. Those that walked in the same direction as her were mostly builders. Carpenters, masons and many other craftsmen. All of them told a chilling tale of what had befallen the culture-rich mountains, where so much knowledge and history was kept. Where so many delicious and beautiful crops were grown and harvested. Mae'lyrra remembered the times she and her tribe had been there for the Harvest Festival. They attended every four years which, if you ask her, was far too seldomly. The people that lived in the Painted Mountains were welcoming and kind and as varied as the colors of the crops in their fields. They made music and they danced, they tended to their books and their records. They were warm. They were friendly. The fact that this tragedy had come down upon them made her sad. She might be a nomad and a wanderer, but the Painted Mountains was her birthplace.

As she pushed further along the road she had travelled many times before, she noted a certain dryness in the air. That wasn't unusual in itself for the region, but there was something else. A scent carried on the wind, though she struggled to place it. Only at the back of her mind did she dare to guess at what it was. If the tales were true - and she had no reason to believe they were not - were the extent of the damages really noticeable this far away? Mae'lyrra shuddered at the thought, stopped and leaned on her spear. Up ahead, the road made a sharp left turn where the valley narrowed. There were trees on either side, but clearly some of them had been cut down recently. After the bend, if memory served, she would have to crest a small hill and then she would have a perfect view of a deep valley that flowed in rolling fields toward a wall of mountains far off in the distance. Every time she visited, she was amazed at the sight. Now she was worried that feeling would be replaced with something entirely different. "Spirits grant me strength." She whispered, looking down at her sandal-clad feet. Then she took a deep breath and moved forward.

There hadn't been any doubt in her mind when she had set the Painted Mountains as her first destination. It made perfect sense to begin her journey where her life had begun. If this task was to be the trial of her life, it seemed only fitting to start there and be reborn. Through whatever lay ahead, Mae'lyrra was determined to return to her people stronger and wiser. Perhaps that was part of the reason it hurt so much when she finally reached the top of the hill and saw the terrible sight of the burned fields and homes. Sinking to her knees in despair, she let out a breathy "No.", but couldn't take her eyes away from the mountain. Further along the road that led down toward it, carriages were carrying timber and stone. Huge, strong horses were pulling them along, the muscles working underneath their coats. Mae'lyrra leaned forward onto her hands, digging them into the ground. She wanted to scream at someone and demand to know the reason why. At the same time, it didn't matter. For a while she knelt there, looking blindly ahead of her.

Caw, caw!

Her head snapped up to the sky. Birds might sound similar, but she could always recognize Corax. And there he was, circling above her. Slowly and gently he descended, eventually coming to land on her outstretched arm. She straightened her back and looked at the raven. "Oh, Corax." She said, shaking her head, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Why?" Mae'lyrra closed her eyes, wondering for a moment if fate had brought her here just to mock her. Why did she have to witness this cruelty? But as if he could read her thoughts - and sometimes she sincerely wondered if he could - Corax opened his beak. "Healing hands! Caw!. Healing hands!"

She laughed, stroked the bird and reached into a leather pouch filled with sunflower seeds and offered him one. Corax ate, pecked at her wrist until she offered him a few more. Then he assumed his position on her shoulder as the two of them continued along the road.

---

Five Months Later​

---

"Easy, love." Her forehead came to rest against the animal's. She smiled and stroked its strong neck. "Shh." Deftly, her fingers moved to untie the rope that was attached to the horse's bridle. Agitated, it stomped the ground with a hoof. To her right, the stablemaster and a few stableboys had gathered to watch. Mae'lyrra stood in front of a large black courser. "Shh." She repeated and felt the animal settle somewhat. "There's no danger here."

"That woman is as mad as the horse!" A stableboy called, to which the red woman only smiled. He was promptly smacked on the arm.

"Might be that's true lad, but she's got a way with him so keep your mouth shut." The stableboy was quiet. The stable master was a greying, bearded man with thick arms and keen eyes. He watched as the horse agreed to be led into its stall, shaking his head in disbelief. Stepping toward the red woman he gave her a skeptical look, though a smile crept onto his face.

"How'd you manage that, lass? We all thought the horse was mad. None of this lot here could calm him down." He jutted his thumb over his shoulder and shook his head again.

Mae'lyrra turned toward the man and held up the rope she had untied from the horse's bridle. "Call it intuition." She shrugged, not wanting to bother explaining what it really was. "He doesn't like these." The rope was hanging from her hand but then she threw it away.

"Hm... " The gruff man let out, seemingly still puzzled. "Well you'll have my thanks, but I've nothing much to offer you for your help." He scratched his chin.

"Your thanks will do just fine."

The stable master extended his hand for her to shake, and she took it. He lingered a moment. "Allow me at least to offer you advice, then. I don't know where you come from, but 'round here, kindness like this is sort of a rare thing. Don't let anyone take advantage of you, lass." And with that, he gave her a nod and turned to return to his stableboys.

For a few seconds, Mae'lyrra stood surprised at his almost fatherly advice. She knew exactly what he meant. She had learned her lessons, being a nomad for most of her life.
She had stayed in the Painted Mountains for a little over four months before she had decided to take the next step on her journey. There had been plenty of work for her to do. Plenty of help resowing crops, healing those who had been wounded. Workers falling off scaffoldings or minor cuts and bruises that craftsmen sustained in their work. It had been a good place to stay and although destruction marred the picturesque scenery of the Painted Mountains, its inhabitants would rebuild and recover. And when there was no more work for Mae'lyrra, she moved on. After a few weeks' journey, on foot and by ship, she now found herself in the city of Cobrol where the Lord of Iron ruled. Specifically, she now found herself in the street outside a large stable. But the Red Wanderer would spend little time thinking about her next destination.

A crowd roared somewhere in the distance. She looked to her right, seized her spear and headed in that direction. People were filling in from alleys and it wasn't long until they found themselves in the main square. She tried to find a good spot so she could see through the crowd, but found none. Apparently, King Direstrine was speaking. Mae'lyrra couldn't make out much, there were too many people muttering and she was too far away. If only she could just move a little bit clo-

"RUN!"

She didn't know whose voice it was. Perhaps it was several people. All she knew was that she felt an immense heat on her face and that there was a bright light and that people were storming toward her, fleeing. Darting to her left, she hugged the base of a statue at the south end of the square, hoping not to be trampled to death. In short order and for reasons she couldn't fathom, everything around her descended into panic and chaos. There were screams and shouts, steel drawn and swung. Mae'lyrra brought her spear in front of her , grabbing it with both hands. Corax had long since left her shoulder, but she worried little for the bird. He always returned.

Advancing through the clearing crowd she saw properly now, that Knights of the Phoenix Ash were attacking the Oracles. Her head snapped to the left, catching the rapid movement of an Amalfi sprinting off, clutching a box. Above, the sound of wings could be heard and a vague shadow could be seen. It sent a chill down her spine, wondering what foe flew above them.

Beacons. The fog.

What it was above them, she had no intention of fighting it. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle started making sense. Traitor knights advanced on mages who were guarding the beacons. Mae'lyrra stood in the middle of the square, about to rush headlong to the aid of the mages. Then a voice behind her called.

"She's a mage. Kill her!"

Turning, she spotted two knights - one outranking the other - coming toward her. One of them pointed at her, the other one raised his sword and charged. Confusion spread across Mae'lyrra's face as she stared down her enemy. How could they think she was a mage? How had she gotten mixed up in all of this? All of that mattered precious little, she realized, as she would have to defend herself now.

When her enemy had covered half the distance between them, she twirled the spear in her hand and with tremendous speed and strength, she sent the weapon flying toward him. Surprised and not expecting the throw, he didn't have time to move. The spear lodged itself just below the collarbone, sending the knight to the ground, gurgling on his blood. She covered the remaining distance, yanked the spear free and frowned at the knight as he lay before her. When she looked up again, the other knight was slowly advancing toward her.

 

[Owl]

Casimir

---

The physician's chambers were dimly lit. Casimir could think of several reasons why old Elenore had been stowed away in some dark corner of the citadel, the wisewoman wasn't a pretty sight, nor were the things she kept in her stores. Shrivelled heads jarred in dark fluids stood next to a pair of pliers, next to the jawbone of some great beast, next to a wilting plant that reeked of rotten eggs.

"Admiring the collection?" Elenore croaked from some dark corner of her laboratory. She sounded like an old toad, moved like a snail and apparently grew a pair of eyes on her back. "It does not hurt to look," she cooed, her back still turned toward him while she rummaged through an array of jars and flasks and bottled death. "But do not touch! No, never touch... now sit."

Rubbing his painful wrist, Casimir obeyed and carefully sat down on the very edge of a low stool in the center of the room. His eyes lingered on the dreadful plant that had taken root on the shelf. When the wisewoman came shuffling his way, armed with an ointment, a scissor and some bandages, he raised an eyebrow at her and pointed to the wilting plant. "What are you keepin' Fenmar's claw for?"

If Elenore was surprised to discover that the bloodied, foolhardy squire that had been delivered to her mercy had any knowledge of plants, it didn't show through the many wrinkles on her face. "Blessed Obriem, he's not quite the fool he looks," Elenore muttered. "Nor half as smart as he thinks he is," she added with a telling smirk. "It's not Fenmar's claw. Fenmar's claw doesn't wilt like Black Oleander does, nor does it smell as bad, but I tell you it's a far more useful plant than what those Braxin quacks would have you believe, they have no regard for the old ways... now be still and let me have a look at you."

Without warning, she seized his chin and turned it this way and that, clicking her tongue in disapproval. For someone so old and withered, her hands were still truly a healer's, strong yet gentle, firm yet warm. When she was satisfied she unscrewed the top of the bottle she'd brought, dipped an aged finger into the brownish substance and carefully dabbed the thin, angry cut under his collarbone with it. Casimir winced as the salve sizzled on his skin.

"Stay still," Elenore reprimanded. "All you boys are the same. Always posing and brawling and waving swords around, but when we that cure come to heal and stitch and set what's broken, ye piss yerselfs."

"I ain't," Casimir grumbled.

"Dearie, you should see what a jar of leeches does to the bravest knights in the land. I should advise Lord Iron to disband his armed men immediately and replace them with jars of leeches and spiders," she snorted. "They're guaranteed to route the greatest armies our enemies can marshal."

She worked a little longer on his face before bandaging the abrasion on his palm and gave him a final look over when she was done. "Anything else?"

He shrugged. "I've a crummy feeling in me but-"

Before he could finish, a door creaked open behind him.

"Now why would that be," a gruff voice sounded from the doorway. Casimir didn't need to look to know it was Ismail, but he turned anyway. Everything about Ismail was big. He had a big nose, big lips, big, dark brows forever locked into a grim furrow, and one large glass orb for an eye. The other one, his good eye, drilled into Casimir. "Get up," Ismail demanded.

"The yarrow may sting for a while," said Elenore while she collected her things.

"He'll cope," said Ismail.

Cold dread nipped at Casimir's bones as he sauntered over to Ismail. He was more worried about the sting of Ismail's tongue than the ointment gnawing at his skin.

Ismail tore his stern gaze from Casimir and dipped his head toward old Elenore. "On behalf of The Knights of the Phoenix Ash, I apologize for this… disturbance."

"Apologies accepted," Elenore croaked with a bemused smile. Casimir could've sworn he saw her stifle her laughter when he joined Ismail in the hallway and closed the door behind him.

No sooner than he'd done so, Casimir's fears came to fruition. Ismail wasted no time shoving him down the hallway, and he struggled to keep up with the man's long, powerful strides.

"You have one chance, one chance to explain yourself, or I swear I will have you tied to a horse and sent back to Stavinburg."

"It wasn't my fault," said Casimir.

"It never is."

"It weren't this time!"

Ismail's one eyed bore into Casimir. "From what I heard you were seen pummeling the chamberlain's son-"

"He was in my room."

"He's the chamberlain's son, it's his duty to be in your room! By Obriem, it isn't even your room!"

Casimir scrunched up his face. "How was I supposed to know? He was havin' a snoop around he was an-"

In a flash, Ismail turned and forced his back into the nearest wall. The flat of the Knight's hand slammed down next to his ear. "You could have asked!"

For a while they stood there, eyes battling in silence before Ismail relented and let his arm fall to his side. "I know these last months have been hard on you, but that's no excuse, no excuse at all to antagonize our hosts." The dark knight straightened his back and sighed. "Darren will take your place in the procession tomorrow."

"But-"

Ismail raised his hand to silence him. "It's decided. Consider yourself lucky that I'm allowing you to stay. You'll stand at the side and you'll behave yourself and that's final. Now see yourself to your room before I change my mind."

There was no changing Ismail's mind, Casimir knew, not for better and not for worse. Grumbling something under his breath he pushed his back off the wall and did as instructed.
-----

Casimir glowered at the approaching Knights. Though he wore the same black and red tunic with the golden sigil of the phoenix embroidered upon it, he was not a part of the procession that marched onto the square. He idly wrapped his finger around a loose bit of leather from the scabbard strapped to his back and wondered if it had all been worth it. Now he would never get to see a dragon egg up close! Not any closer than he currently was anyway, just because the piglet that had proven to be the chamberlain's son couldn't keep his dirty paws off of his things. He sighed. At least he still had a half-decent view.

It didn't take long for the crowd to swell to a thick mass of hopeful faces, the old ones among them glad to bear witness to the occasion and the new ones eager to be chosen. Only six of them would be picked, six out of thousands of hopefuls. Whoever the new riders would be, Casimir didn't envy them. For a moment perhaps, they would be able to enjoy their fame, and then they would have to bear the responsibility of defending Verlandia against many threats. He'd overheard some of the grave conversations being held in the knight's order and despite what the festive decorations suggested, there was little cause for celebration unless the new riders proved capable of pushing Verlandia's enemies back.

As he tore his gaze from the dais, his eyes fell on a small girl in a ragged shirt and patched three-quarter pants hopping on crutches, trying to look past a burly man in front of her. He guessed her to be a few years younger than himself, but no less determined. Yet despite her efforts, she couldn't get past.

Casimir squeezed a few steps back through the crowd toward the girl and once he'd made his way there, tapped the burly man on the shoulder.

"Wot?" said the man, his hairy arms crossed over his chest.

"She's tryna get through," said Casimir, gesturing toward the girl.

"I got here first," the man replied, then turned back around.

Casimir sent an apologetic smile toward the girl. She'd stopped trying to slither past and looked at him with big, wide green eyes like he was some kind of exotic animal.

"Who are you then?" Casimir ventured to ask.

"Nor- Nora…" the girl answered, struggling to keep her balance on her crutches. Her hair was a tangle of amber locks, her face small and delicate like the rest of her, yet she seemed every bit as confident and determined as the toughest knights Casimir had ever met.

"I can't see much from here sure," Casimir said, "can you?"

She shook her head, wild locks whipping about her face.

"I think at least one of us should see something." He extended his hand and lowered himself a little. "Go on," he encouraged, "you can describe what you see to me." The girl opened and closed her mouth a few times before she understood what he was offering. With some trepidation she let go of one of the crutches, clutched his hand, and clambered onto his back until she was seated on his shoulders. Casimir collected her crutches, then rose to his full height. Though he couldn't see it, the little yelp the girl let out told him that her bright little face was poking out well above the crowd.

"What do you see?"

"Lotsa knights," the girl answered, "and there's Lord Iron an' his keepers an' the eggs are in the middle…" her voice trailed off there.

"What's your name then?" she asked after a while.

"Casimir," he replied.

"Are you a knight?"

"No."

"But you'll become one, right?"

Would he? He wasn't so sure anymore. He hadn't been sure since-

A roll of drums announced the start of the ceremony and Nora thankfully didn't press the question but resorted to diligently describe what was happening, in her own peculiar little way. But when the Lord of Iron rose to speak, she didn't need to relate what was being said, the man's voice carried itself across the crowd with ease. Casimir was listening with rapt attention when a shrill, panicked voice cut through the air. "Bloodmarked!"

The crowd around him visibly recoiled, mutters of disbelief were uttered and Casimir sensed Nora tightening up on his shoulders. Casimir looked around him, folk had quieted down as the bloodmarked spoke and taunted them.

"Excuse me," he muttered as he tried to carve a way through the throngs of people, but hardly anyone paid attention to him as he squeezed past, their eyes and ears were set on the bloodmark and the ill news he brought.

"Where are you going?" said Nora. "You have to stay, I want to see!"

But Casimir ignored her. A bloodmarked in the heart of the citadel? If one of them got in, there could be more, and if there were more of them… he harbored no illusions about the chances of a cripple girl and a squire against one of the bloodmarked, should they get in the way. "We're leaving," said Casimir as he pushed through the last row of people and slipped into a narrow street.

They'd barely made it a few paces down the alley when a flash of bright light followed by a wave of heat washed over them. Casimir turned to witness the ring of fire that the mages had summoned, its light so bright that it seemed to envelop the panicking crowd.

"The Knights, they're attacking!" Nora shrieked. "Quick, put me down!"

The crowd had turned into an aimless, stampeding herd, and part of it was heading their way. "You'll be trampled-"

She didn't seem to hear. "Oh no… Milo! Milo!" An angry little fist gripped a clump of his hair and yanked at it. "Put me down!"

Crying out in sharp pain, Casimir nearly dropped the little monster to the cobbles. "You little-" he started, but his voice caught in his breath at what he saw next. The girl was on her feet and running, running away with her crutches under her arm.

Without thinking, Casimir chased after her. She was rabbit-quick and slippery as an eel and he would've surely lost her if he hadn't fled like her a hundred, hundred times before. They raced past buildings big and small, shops and homes and small factories all decorated in jubilant greens, and almost all of them deserted. A dog on a chain barked at them as they bolted past, and Casimir was just about to catch up with Nora when she made a sharp turn before a bridge and slid down the side. Casimir skidded to a halt and leaned over the edge of the bridge. Below, he caught a glimpse of Nora vanishing into the gaping darkness behind a moldy grate. Sewers.

A third flash of bright orange illuminated the gathering darkness above and sent him back into motion. With gritted teeth he jumped over the side of the low bridge, landed with a painful crack of his knees and chased Nora into the gaping, stinking darkness of the city's sewers. His footsteps and heavy breathing ricocheted down the slippery tube, rats and other critters scattered before his feet while the darkness ahead of him grew deeper and deeper. "Nora?" he cried out into the void.

A faint light revealed itself in the distance, a flickering, wavering orange hue, barely a flame but bright enough to illuminate the way forward. "Hurry up!" Nora's voice sounded. "He'll be here any moment!"

"Who is- where are we- how did you…?"

As soon as he caught up with her extinguished the flame in the palm of her hands. "Shut up and hold these," she said, shoving the crutches into his hands. He had no time to protest, and before he could even formulate his next question, Nora already answered it. A thin circle of light appeared above him and a grunt and a curse later, blinding light flooded into the depths of the sewer. Blinking against the light, Casimir could make out a small, rusty ladder leading back up to the street level and Nora's determined little face looking back down at him. "Come on!"

Dazed and confused, Casimir made his way up the ladder and emerged in a small alleyway. Shouts sounded not far off.

"Milo will come this way, I know it, I know it," said Nora, as though she were trying to convince herself.

"Who is Mi-"

"He has the eggs!" Nora exclaimed impatiently. She yanked one of the crutches out of his arms and let the other one clatter to the cobblestones, "and once he gets here we'll have to cover for him."

"With crutches?"

Nora gripped her crutch with both hands and shot a defiant glance at him. "You have a sword, idiot!"

Without warning, Nora put two fingers in her mouth and whistled hard and loud. The shouts and clammer of heavy footsteps changed direction and drew closer and closer now while Casimir fumbled to unsheathe his blade in time. Shadows danced on the wall of the house at the crook of the road, and whoever was coming their way was coming in fast.

"Milo! Over here!" Nora cried at his side.

---

 

[Verran]

Kyen'delsia

The wind whispered through the mountain village of Trefalda. Dancing atop and around the frost-bitten homes that begged the sun to melt away their icy sleeves. A tongue of blazing, yet infinitely distant, heat crack over the cooling shade of a mountain. Lashing down upon the stone and, minute by minute, freed it from its numbing shackles and lance its way through a drafty hole, an open window, in one distant house. Its blaze failed to kiss the skin of a huddled mass of fur tucked to the side upon a bed that nimbly avoided the creeping frost by simply standing above it. The breezy hole was left by one who often was forgetful of shutting it. And it was one of her two caretakers who let out the exasperated shriek that heralded the dawn of a new day in Trefalda.

The mass of fur shifted. A singular beast of mismatched coloring. Slowly, a head whose horns snagged on the mass slid tentatively free of the beast. The frost kissed Kyen'delsia's nose. Immediately, she snapped it back within her cozy cocoon. The undignified women knew she must have misheard. Clearly, it was still night out. Her room couldn't be so cold if the sun were searing across the heavens. But the sudden creaking of a distant door and the rapidly approaching pounding feet declared, in no uncertain term, otherwise.

"Kyen'delsia!" exploded into her room as with a thud thud thud, snick! The drafty hole was shut, "how many times must I or your sister tell you? Close the window before you go to bed!"

"Meldriss," Kyendelsia mewled from beneath her unfortified shelter.

"Ah ah ah, you may have charmed me as a lass, but no more, missy," the maid Meldris slashed through the pitiful, though honey-laced, speech, "you're to get up and make your own breakfast as I clean the sty your sister calls a study before tackling the rest of the house. So, up! Up!"

Despairing wholly, the petulant Klerion freed her snagged horns before popping her head, shoulders, and then the rest of her torso free.

"And make certain you didn't poke holes in your den!" Meldriss called as her steps retreated from the room, "the hunters will soon be short on game so there'll be hell to pay if everything you have is too airy!"

Huffing her annoyance, Kyen'delsia undertook the short but laborious task of smoothing her hands across at least the innermost layer of furs. Fibers tickling her rapidly chilling skin. In defiance of the weather, Kyen'delsia thought to herself, while the hunters have talked that the peaks' snows are crawling down towards us, it's not as if they've reached here yet! Still…they do have a point and it's high dune that I got about to dealing with it, despite how lovely the breeze is.

Resolution set, holes satisfactory not found, Kyen'delsia snapped her legs up to her chest and free of the covers and sprang out of bed. Then sprang again as her feet met with the frost-ridden floor. Yet another pointed reminder to shut the window in the future. With a flighty pitter-patter, she shot about the room. The itch of wool decorated her feet, the soft pads of linen encasing yet more wool shot up her legs and then fluffed upon her body as she drew a tunic over herself. Last Kyen'delsia slid her itchy feet into boots that were some fur boots of make she could never remember and barely feel.

Confidence sprung into her steps as the young woman's step as she capered out of the room. A whip around the hall and she bounded down the stairs with precision skips. A song cracked across her mind as she shot about cooking breakfast.

"Cook to the hearth, Bake for the home
And clean for the ones whose hearts that you hold
Remember their lives do grow in your sway
So sing for each other
Throughout the whole day.

Kiss all your children and think on their playing
Up upon dragons, and always they're flying
They're teaching all of us, to never stand low
The first we protect
Against Verlendia's foes.

Cook to the hearth, Bake for the home
And clean for the ones whose hearts that you hold
Remember their lives do grow in your sway
So sing for each other
Throughout the whole day.

Kiss the one, who made your life whole
Tend to their wanting to keep their heart full
Never let love, fall down and bemoan
And let them do show
That you're never alone.

Cook to the hearth, Bake for the home
And clean for the ones whose hearts that you hold
Remember their lives do grow in your sway
So sing for each other
Throughout the whole day.

Kiss your neighbor, and pray they stay strong
For they'll tend your hearth should you ever be gone
They'll plant the flowers before your headstone
For they lie in heart
Of all that you own.

Cook to the hearth, Bake for the home
And clean for the ones whose hearts that you hold
Remember their lives do grow in your sway
So sing for each other
Throughout the whole day.

Cook to the hearth, Bake for the home
And clean for the ones whose hearts that you hold
Remember their lives do grow in your sway
So sing for each other
Throughout the whole day.

Sing for each other
Throughout the whole day."

"Song at 6 o'clock in the morning. Don't you ever stop practicing?" Meldriss called from somewhere. Probably the study.

"Never!" Kyen'delsia cried back.

"And is that sausage and eggs I smell?"

"It is!"

"Wonder of wonders, marvel of marvels. No matter how many times I see it, I can still scarcely believe it!"

"Well you keep looking! As for me, I shall heartily smell and taste my marvelous creation." She called as she tipped the pan onto a plate. Depositing her still crackling sausage next to a well cracked and scrambled egg. "I've got a pot in the hearth so just pour yourself a cup of tea whenever you want a cup!"

"Thank you dear!"

Breakfast was a short and scorching affair. Not being a busy woman, Kyen'delsia naturally had plans for the entire day. Some shopping, some cleaning, the last of the flower crowns and the first of the pinecone expeditions, and, oh yes, practice practice practice. One could never have too much practice. But first and truly foremost, her hair. Snatching the comb from the mantel, she ran her fingers over the grains. Plucking out stray hair and tossing them towards the heat of the fire. Then, she attacked.

With a practiced ferocity, Kyen'delsia struck at the gnarled mess that weighed down her head. Stroke by unrelenting stroke, she brought it low. Streaming it out behind her and down her back. It was a mark of her skill that, despite how voluminous her hair was, it was mere minutes that she had it free of all devilish tangles. The young woman cocked her head. First this way, then that way. Then, pleased with the balance, she gathered it as one gathers wheat and set about to making a simple braid. After each twist, she shot the comb down the rest of the length. Ensuring that her hair remained tamed. Can't have it snarling at me.

Reaching the end, Kyen'delsia reflexively snapped her free hand to the mantle again. It hit wood. Why does it always seem to move? She thought as she slapped her hand along in search of it. Then, she hit the box. Grinning in triumph, Kyen'delsia opened it and fumbled through leather strips with shallow canyons engraved upon them until she found one most pleasing to her fingers. She freed it and slipped it around the end of the braid. Secured both in place and in style, Kyen'delsia preened for no one in particular. Flouncing around and whipping the braid to ensure it would remain.

Then she heard a knock on the door. The not-so-distant front door. Kyen'delsia froze. Not out of fright, but excitement. We hardly get visitors this early in the day, she reasoned, not unless it's high Summer! And first snow could come any day. After first snow, it's only a matter of time till the road get snowed over and we've all to Winter here. Which means it must be…

Kyen'delsia rushed from the dining room, skidded to a halt in front of the front door, and thrust it open with a cheerful chime, though still a question, "Sister?"

 

[Owl]

Casimir & Milo

---

Collab with @Elle Joyner
Oh man, oh man, oh man…

Milo's feet could not pound faster across the cobbled roads, and his breath in his chest felt like fire in a furnace. His paws were coiled so tightly around the casket handles they were quivering, but he knew with every fiber of his being he could not let go. He'd made it into the crowd and ducked into the alley, but he could hear the clang of metal behind him, the steady footfall of sabatons along stone.

He knew the roads of Cobrol like the back of his hand, each alley, nook and cranny his playground from the first time he'd set feet to earth. Mercianna had shown him the ways around - the sewers, the rooftops, the alcoves and smuggle holds - but there was no time to think. No time to plan. Ducking left, sharply, he twisted down a rather narrow, crooked street, and had to slow his pace as he shimmied through with the chest. Just a little further, and he'd…

"There!" The cry came from the end of the street and swearing, a word that probably would've lost him his supper for the night, Milo set the casket down and gave it a swift kick with his foot, praying it remained upright and closed, "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" He chirped, before he skidded after it.

Making it through the gap, he buckled and scooped up the casket again, and tore off, hearing the sounds of the soldiers changing route… He hadn't given them the slip, not yet, but he'd bought himself a second or two…

Then he heard it… The sharp whistle.

Turning on his heels at the sound, his ears twitching towards it, Milo almost sobbed in relief and sprinting now, speed renewed with the small flash of hope, he raced along the road towards that blessed sound.

Turning a corner, his ears picked up the sharp hiss, "Milo! Over here!"

Skidding, he nearly missed it, the entrance, but with an awkward hop, he backtracked and pooled himself into the opening of the alley, "Thank the stars! Nora! You have to help me hide it!" He rambled, the clipped lisp more pronounced in his panicked please, "Whose this??"

"Help," Nora answered. She looked like she was about to hug Milo but thankfully restrained herself. There was no time for pleasantries or how-do-you-do's, Casimir knew. Nora and the amalfi would just have to trust and hope for the best or end up in chains, or worse.

"Get down there and catch it," said Casimir as he reached for the casket. Shouts and the clammer of armour were fast approaching.

Nora tugged Milo's sleeve, clambered down the ladder, skipping several rungs along the way, and summoned a fire to her hand again, faintly illuminating the glistening, cavernous walls of the sewer.

For a second or two, Milo hesitated. He wasn't keen on letting anyone handle the eggs. There were too many factors. Too many variables. Never trust a situation to be anything but complicated if there's too many ways for something to go wrong. The strange feeling in his gut was usually just hunger, but not today…

"N-no… Wait! Come back up a second…" Setting the casket down, he took a deep breath, before shoving it open, "We'll move faster if we each take two. Just… just be real careful! And quick!" Pulling the eggs out, he began passing them to the others, before taking two for himself. When the eggs were out, he gingerly nudged the lid back onto the casket and nodded, "Now… go quick!"

Before he knew it, Casimir was holding a dragon egg, a real dragon egg! It was hard and still warm from the ceremonial fire in which it had been baptized. Dark scorch marks marred the off-white shells, but a faint golden glint shone through. Was it moving? A mere blink of an eye later it was snatched out of his hands by Nora. She'd moved halfway up the ladder and secured the egg under her arm, and held out her other hand to take another. Casimir quickly sheathed his blade, took on two large eggs from Milo and skipped descending the ladder altogether. He landed with a resounding thud, sending a booming echo down the sewers. His feet nearly slipped on the wet, mossy stone as he stepped aside for Milo to follow suit.

"Which way?" he asked breathlessly.

Tucking his open eggs carefully into one of the many pouches in his oversized coat, Milo gripped the ladder and carefully securing the sewer grate back into place, he eased back down.

"To the left…" He whispered, his eyes still fixed on the grate overhead, "But first… who the hell are you??"

"Casimir," he spoke into the semi-dark. He wasted no time and started on the path Milo had pointed out while Nora managed a cautious flame to guide the way. "I'm a squire, well I was, I mean I am..."

"He's going to be a knight," Nora beamed over her shoulder. She spun on her heel but kept walking, only backwards. She seemed to know the underground well. "I was doin' the cripple, got a couple of marks," she shook her leg and something that sounded like coins jingled in a hidden pocket on her dress. "Then he showed up an' put me on his shoulders so I could see the show an'-"

Casimir slowed his pace. "Hang on, you're...thieves?"

Nora chuckled. "Why? Would you like your money back?"

Casimir came to a halt and reached into his pockets. Empty.

"You took it!"

"You weren't paying attention, and it wasn't very much," said Nora in an innocent, almost sing-song voice.

This time it was Casimir who turned around to face Milo. His brow furrowed and his voice dropped to a low, threatening whisper. "If your plan is to sell these, Milo..."

"Oi! You think if that was my plan, I'd tell you? Don't be a dummy." Shaking his head, Milo looked back behind them, a twinge of nervousness causing a twitch in his left ear, "Those creeps back there… They had the same colors as you. How's it you're not all looped out like them?" Frowning lightly, he pulled his coat a little tighter to his chest, "'Sides. We ain't thieves. We're opportunistic businessmen. Only difference is we don't got a shop. And… well, sometimes people don't know we're makin' a deal."

"I don't think you have much of a plan," said Casimir. Neither did he, but Milo didn't need to know that. "And you're still a thief, and made me one too," he added with a dark glare. Still, he preferred the company of thieves over whatever had become of the knights. His thought went to Ismail, had he been bewitched too? He could hardly imagine someone as decorated and honorable as Ismail to succumb easily to magic, but then whatever the bloodmarked had done was no mere parlor trick. He shook his head and started moving again, "I don't know what happened, but I do know that we need to take these eggs to safety... maybe Stavinburg…" his brow creased again. Stavinburg was the safest place he knew, but it was a long way from here to there, and if a bloodmarked could get into the Iron Citadel, what was to stop them from entering Stavinburg? "We need to get these somewhere hidden, somewhere no one would expect to look. You opportunistic businessmen wouldn't happen to know a place like that, would you?"

"Nothin' says you gotta be here!" Milo protested, frowning deeply. Nothing said he had to be there, either, and yet… Looking back again, before shifting his gaze to Casimir, he shook his head, "You really are a dummy if you think Stavinburg's the place these'll be safe. Where you think those Phoenix creeps came from, anyway?" Making a huffing sound, he rubbed his face with his paws, "Mercianna… She'll know what to do. We should take them to her. 'Cept…"

The corners of his mouth drew into a deeper arch as he considered their options, "'Cept those guards might… Well, you're the one 'thinks my plan's no good! You come up with something, Squire..."

"Those creeps are my brethren and you better not say anything bad about them or I'll-"

"Those creeps are skewerin' half the city back in the square cause they got--"

Nora twirled around again, much less gracefully this time. She stomped her foot and for a moment, the flame she kept in her free hand flared up. "Stop it! You're both wrong."

Casimir opened his mouth to protest, but Nora shushed him with an angry stare. "Milo's right, we can't take these to Stavinburg obviously, but if we take these home," she continued, her eyes settling on Milo, "and Greaves gets his hands on these... he'll try to sell them Milo, you know he would."

A silence hovered over them as Nora bit her lips and Casimir dared not interject for fear of being set on fire if he so much as breathed.

"We need Mercianna to come to us," said Nora quietly. She looked to Milo again. "What about the old tower?" Built into the Adamantine mountains and seated well above the city, it wasn't an easy place to reach. Once a mighty tower, now all that remained was an old, haunted ruin that folk avoided like the plague. "We can get outside of the city if we keep heading that way," Nora added, pointing toward a bend in the sewers.

Milo swallowed, "...You're right. We can't take 'em to Greaves." Looking between the two, he rubbed his jaw, "The tower's good… Good thinkin'... But soon as we get there, Nora, you gotta split, okay? Go back and tell Mercianna where to find me, but you should get somewhere safe after that. Maybe the squire here can take you. S'what knights are 'spose to do, right? Protect people?"

"I don't need protection," Nora huffed.

Casimir gave her a one over. She was thin and short and couldn't be much older than ten, but there was a defiant glint in her eyes that gave him pause. Still, defiant stares weren't going to do much again castle-forged steel. "I don't like leaving these," he dipped his chin toward the eggs he held, "with a potty-mouthed thief," he grumbled in Milo's direction. "But I don't see any other way..."

They trudged on for a long time before they reached an exit. Though Casimir could no longer smell the stink of the sewers, his soaked, dirtied boots served as a reminder of where they'd come from and he wished he could dry them. They paused for a moment under the shadow of the city walls and only advanced after Casimir had checked there were no guards patrolling the battlements. A steep, narrow road slithered up the mountainside and soon they had climbed well above the city, their advance thankfully covered by a wispy mist gathering around the mountain. By the time they reached the old tower they were all breathing heavily and Casimir envied Milo for getting to stay in the ruined temple while he headed back down with Nora in tow. At least he'd managed to convince them to let him take one egg back with him as insurance. Besides, it would help show this Mercianna see the gravity of the matter immediately and he trusted Milo about as much as one could trust an Eirblin with their life savings.

"If he takes off with those eggs, I'll kill him," he promised Nora when they reached the sewers again. She didn't seem very impressed.

The way back to the Dodger's hideout was winding and complicated, and it could be assumed Nora was taking a slightly less direct route for a number of reasons - the most obvious that she didn't yet trust the young squire not to rat them out to authorities. When they arrived, blessedly, Greaves was not present and the pair were met instead by a room filled with youths and a pretty, red haired woman, currently in the process of shoving what appeared to be ragged tents into a large sack.

"Oh thank Thain! My dear angel, Nora. Come, come! You've had me in a fit all morning, looking for--"

But Nora had cut her off, speeding through an explanation that, no doubt, might've left the average person with quite a headache. She explained how Milo had grabbed the eggs when the knights attacked, and how he was hiding them safe in the tower. There was no hesitation in the woman's kind eyes. She abandoned the bag and disappeared for a moment to speak to an older child, a little ways away. She returned then, and gave the pair a nod.

An alternate route was taken back to the tower, and as they neared, Mecianna put her fingers to her lips and gave a sharp, shrill whistle. A moment passed, then two, then three… then all at once, the padding paws came tearing from the entrance of the tower and with a sob, the Amalfi threw his arms around the woman's middle.

Catching him, sinking down to his level to hug him tightly, Mercianna shushed him, her fingers brushing back the fur between his ears, "Shush, Little One. It's alright now. My brave little one…"

"I'm so so so sorry, Merci… I… I just… I didn't want them… those men… I didn't… and the eggs… I was so scared they were gonna… They're safe! Oh, Merci, they're safe now, right?"

"...Safe as they're gonna be for the time being, my darling, but I'm afraid Cobrol isn't safe in the slightest, now. Not for anyone. Come… Inside, children." Gesturing them forward, she glanced around her with concern, "...Let's stay put and see if we can't think up a plan of how to get out of here…"

Casimir sauntered after Nora, Mercianna, and Milo. The three of them huddled together like family, and he made a point of looking the other way until they let go of each other. His throat was dry and his legs were burning from the long walk all the way back to the old temple. He noticed for the first time that the old tower wasn't really a tower, but a large, domed temple that had collapsed in on itself, the tower a steeple, sticking up at a point with a large star emblem at its apex. Casimir plonked down at the feet of a headless statue looming over them and rolled the single egg in his possession over in his hands. It was still warm. "Don't worry," he whispered to it. "We'll find you a rider."

---

 

[Elle Joyner]

THEME

Marcellus;Quicksand;LB;

THE
RIDERS
of VERLENDIA

DARK VEINS OF FATES DESIGN

From the corner of Melindre's eye, black and red collided suddenly, with browns and whites, as fate was altered in a single stroke by the gracious arrival of a stranger. Wide eyed, she stared, almost transfixed for a moment, voice a quivering husk, "You just--"

"Hmph… and to think these knights are supposed to be the pride and joy of Verlendia..." The caustic words drew a look of confusion, and as Melindre opened her mouth to thank the man, it closed almost as swiftly in disappointment.

"Your eggs are getting away."

It would be that her salvation came at the hands of a prat. Shaking her head, she gripped her blade a little more tightly, "The eggs are exactly where they need to be." She returned, "Duck!" And with a sharp downward swing, Melindre's blade bit into the neck of another obtrusive knight, racing up behind her ingracious savior. A sweep left saw a second foe fall, before the gloved palm of her free hand grasped Leander's arm.

"Come!" She called, and turned away, uncertain if the man would follow. Uncertain, really, if she cared... her nimble feet carrying her back the way she had come, towards the open mouth of an alley.

"With a goddamned cat!?" he roared as though the very idea insulted him but before he could scold the Oracle she barked an order at him. Leander ducked instantly and looked from the corner of his eye at the knight she had felled. His eyes shot back in her direction and at his arm where he saw her hand wrapped around it. Another barked order came before the Oracle was off again, headed in the direction the Amalfi had gone.

Leander tsk'd before he lunged after her. He was mad that the woman had grabbed him, moreso that it had came as a surprise. Her movements were quick and quiet. He had underestimated her the moment he laid eyes on her. That was a mistake. And in the back of his head he could hear his father scolding him for having let his guard down. He surely would've paid for that one. Leander grimaced at the thought. Damned girl, it won't happen again.

"Oracle!" he shouted, grabbing her arm once they reached the mouth of the alley and pulling her to face him. "Before you go ordering me around you better explain yourself. I don't think you know who you're squawking at here."

With no hesitation, Melindre's fingers curled around the hand that grabbed her and with a sharp twitch of her wrist, bent it backwards. Without releasing him, she twisted beneath his arm and turning it at the elbow, jammed him forward, into the alley wall, "I know exactly who you are, Leander Kilnwood. Son of Andross Kilnwood. And if you touch me again, I will break your fingers off your hand."

Relinquishing her grasp, she stepped away, eyes shifting for a moment through the alleyway, before she nodded, "And you'd best stop screaming 'oracle' behind me, or you'll bring the force of his men down on us. Can you climb?"

Leander's chest hit the wall with a thud. His eyes wide with surprise. He would have never thought he would have to worry about a game of mercy again, not since his brothers used to trick him into playing games and fell him to his knees begging for it. But he wouldn't have to cry uncle before she broke his fingers and with the release he sighed with relief, rubbing his hand for a moment before he glared at Melindre.

'You're weak… Leander. You let a woman best you.' His father's voice echoed in his head. Leander gritted his teeth and pushed off the wall, walking toward Melindre and invading her personal space. He let his body loom over hers, his massive figure staring down at her. He smiled, a bloodlust behind his eyes. "If you know who I am, then you know I could easily kill you here and leave you in this disgusting alley. But you're needed, so you get to live."

He stepped back from her, his smile now twisting into a cynical grin. "Alright then, no more oracle. Cur it is. And yes, I can climb."

"I know exactly who you are, Omen Breaker, and if you haven't paid attention, I've the whole of Omesh Kar's army on my head, so I hardly imagine petty threats from a petulant child with daddy issues is the greatest cause of my concerns. You will not be my end..." Her eyes didn't quite reach his gaze, but seemed to shift about, unsettling in their lack of focus, before shaking her head, she turned to the wall again, "And it's Melindre."

Approaching the wall, she gave it a quick, cursory glance, before darting forward, towards the alleyway corner. Her first foot hit the edge of the left most wall, then bounding off of this, the balls of her toes touched the middle, before with another leap, she caught the right wall, and with another bounce, twisted midair, catching the ledge of the building overhead. Pulling herself up, she looked down at him, "...Well… Let's see it."

"Petulant child…" he mumbled under his breath. Who did this woman think she was? The cur was an oracle, she was nothing special. "Daddy… issues." Leander clenched his jaw and balled his hand into a tight fist. 'Fucking cunt'

Leander watched as she scaled the wall, leaping from side to side and using the momentum behind each of her toe strikes to guide her to the top. Her mockery from the top only made him think she was hoping he would be impressed. He sighed… it was child's play. Using the same technique, Leander propelled up the wall and landed gracefully in a knelt position at the top. He darted a look at her "It's Cur."

He straightened and adjusted the scabbards on his back before looking back at the Oracle. "What do you mean by Omen Breaker?"

With a small, quick roll of her eyes, Melindre moved along the rooftop, ignoring his jab as her gaze flickered from roof to roof, following what could only be surmised was the route of the lost Amalfi. Only when he spoke again did she glanced back, giving the man a shake of her head, "That isn't for you to know… Not now."

__​

Without warning, energy crackled across the sky, as the chaos below resounded high into the heavens. With a pike through his midsection, another mage fell and with a thunderous crack, the eastern beacon took a solid hit with the blunt end of the weapon. Overhead, a wave of white energy rippled through the fog and beyond, a guttural, unnerving shriek exploded, followed by the unmistakable sound of rattling. The square filled with screams, as the cloud was briefly dispersed by the flapping of thin, leathery wings of pale red, and through the vaporous boundary came the full form…

"WASTE WYVERNS!" The cry erupted from the crowd, drowned out at the sound of a second shriek, a second and third wyvern filling the small gap in the Iron Citadel's protection. Atop the third sat a man, dark grey hair hanging in stringy waves, framing ashen skin. A single eye, pale blue peered at the crowd, the other covered by a cloth. Scars stretched along his lower jaw and lips, and rings of gold hung from pointed ears and nose. From a long black sleeve, he withdrew a hand, and as muttered word echoed from his lips, a dark wave of purple drifted off his fingertips, spreading and spiraling down through the square, touching those that had fallen…

A chittering rattle came from the throat of a wyvern, as the figures slowly began to rise, empty corpses roiling upright, lumbering shells, collecting their weapons, renewed.

Like puppets on strings, they staggered towards the western beacon, Floren at their helm, as the east beacon took a second stunning crack with the pike and overhead, a Waste Wyvern angled itself for a dive.

__​

A sudden, sharp swear escaped Melindre and with swift movement, she moved, colliding into Leander. With her foot sweeping his legs, she brought him down and crashed into his chest. Immediately, a finger pressed to his mouth, fully anticipating a tantrum.

She needn't explain. The shrill shriek pierced the air and the thrum of wings slicing air followed as from over the edge of the rooftops, the bleached bone wyvern appeared. Breath quickening, she ducked her head, keeping low.

For a minute or two, it hovered, then finally, with another swift sweep, its wings curling in, it dove back down into the square. Shifting, Melindre pushed herself upright, "...Damn it… They've come through."

__​

Violent sparks of energy shot upwards from the beacon as the weapon bashed once more into the stone. Above, with a horrifying shriek, the Waste Wyvern plummeted towards the wall. Before the strike could land, however, a second shrill cry pierced the skies and a streak of tan flashed towards the Waste Wyvern, slamming into the boned monstrosity's side. Great talons clung to skeletal ribs, as the griffin's wings braced against its descent and from the majestic creature's back, a figure dropped down onto the wall.

"Hold him steady, Storm Strider!" The voice echoed in deep baritone, as the man, clad in the uniform of a Phoenix Knight ripped a blade free of its sheath and tore towards the assault on the western beacon. With a cursory glance off the wall, his gaze locked on the tribal woman, flanked now by two of the encroaching undead, "When you've got a moment!" He called down, "I could use a hand up here!"

__​

GM NOTES

Interactive Elements |

Those struck down have risen again and they are hell bent on taking down the eastern beacon. They are not alone. Three Waste Wyverns have broken through the boundary… One carries a necromancer, one searches the city and the third has begun its descent for the western beacon.

@KatSea, @ze_kraken, @Morgan, @Custodiet Teh

Your two groups have converged within the abandoned temple of Thain, where Milo has hidden the eggs.

@Pupperr, @Owl

After the disturbing conversation, you're welcome to continue as planned. Should Kyensi venture outside (or Meldriss for that matter) - they will be able to hear/see a disturbance over the Iron Citadel in the distance - what appears to be a massive black shadow flying over the city.

@Verran

 

[Verran]

Kyen'delsia & Hexar
(Collab with @Elle Joyner )


As the door opened, and the soft voice uttered its eager query, the cerise Klerion took a breath inward… not a gasp, but something more subtle, the exhale bringing a mellifluous baritone, a voice lightly kissed by melancholy.

"I'm sorry, no. I do not mean to disappoint. My name is Hexar." There was a brief pause, as he weighed his words, and for a moment the only sound was a light tinkling of metal against metal as the burnished coins that hung from a single braid alongside his ears twirled in the wind, "You'll think me peculiar, Miss, and for this I must ask your forgiveness. For I am a stranger, or… well, I suppose unfamiliar would be a better way to put it. As it is, I was told to come to you… I was told that… well, why doesn't quite matter, not now, at least. But I believe.." Clearing his throat, he paused again, "That is, I hope… that you can help me end our curse."

Well that didn't make a lick of sense. Kyen'delsia immediately decided, before anything else, to look politely bemused. After all, it wasn't everyday one got outsiders in Trefalda. Especially this late in the year. It was usually a call for a pleasant surprise. The welcoming of a sudden guest inside. Sharing the table and of news. Yet, his walk-about manner set the young woman the slightest bit on edge. She wasn't familiar with any curse. Not least one she shared with a stranger who was equally unfamiliar as strange. Still though, there was no sense in not giving him a chance to explain himself.

"I'm sorry I don't quite fathom, I mean, understand," she began with a pleasant curl of the lips to a gentle smile, "but, come inside. I'll serve us a pot of tea. Have you had breakfast? Meldriss! We have a guest! Or, guests?"

"Guest or guests? Well, which is it dear! Didn't they announce themselves?"

"Um…well we have Hexar!" she continued yelling as she beckoned him and whoever else he may be with inside, "it's not like I can tell the difference between man or snow 'less I poke it!"

"Alright, alright. Keep your head. I'm coming to do the counting."

"The housekeeper," Kyen'delsia explained to Hexar, "do come in."

"Ah." A moment's pause, and easing forward ever so slightly, he glanced past the door frame, "I wasn't intending to… but no, I suppose that would be rude of me. Of course." And finally stepping inside, he clasped his hands before him, a patient gesture, as he awaited the scrutiny of her housekeeper.

"It is just me. There are others, of course, but, well… they remain in Maglin. Those that haven't gone to Cobrol. I admit, I find myself surprised you've not gone. I hear it's to be quite the spectacle."

"Oh, aye, he's the only one. Well come, come in. I'll pour the tea. Would you like anything to eat?" Meldriss assessed before announcing to Kyen'delsia, "he's a Klerion like yourself. Fair in all respects and holds himself as well as you and your sister."

"Well," she said, leading the way into the dining room before taking an elegant seat and staring at where she heard her guest move, "I hope all he shares is just as fair."

Still, the young woman was guarded. That someone had traveled from Maglin and had, somehow, ended up in their small mountain village while making a point of saying that there were others there. And what business could there be in the Iron Citadel? As Meldriss poured the tea, she asked the poignant question, "well, sir, I don't really quite understand. What's this about a curse?"

Staring for a moment at the odd exchange, he followed the woman, and frowning softly, sank into the seat he was offered. Only when he'd taken his tea did he continue, an air of apology to his tone, "You're blind. I… I hadn't noticed. My apologies." Taking a thoughtful sip, he studied her briefly, "...Are you aware, Miss… how our people began? The Klerion?"

"Oh, not to worry. It's not as if I can see any big deal about it," she waved off before taking her own, calming, sip of tea. Tales of her people was always a slightly touchy subject at home. Her Sister was almost a closed book about them. Letting only one page be turned every year or so. "Oh, I've heard the occasional story. But it's all done and shut so long ago regardless. Why?"

A light chuckle escaped at her gentle tease, and shaking his head, he took another sip, "As it would turn out, it's rather an interesting tale. I would hate, of course, to take up your time with it, but if you'd like… I could enlighten?"

Kyen'delsia heard the clunk of scones on a plate be set on the table before Meldriss returned to her Sister's office. There wasn't much else planned for the day and stories were always lovely to hear. And, the more he talked, the more she could learn. "Sure, why not."

"Lovely…" Setting his cup down, Hexar leaned forward, steepling his hands beneath his chin, "A long, long time ago, many years before the dragons of Verlendia fell. The people of Verlendia discovered something… a deep, dark magic. They called it the Book of Turning. It was said that with this book, any manner of creature could be controlled. Naturally, of course, the other continents were less than enthusiastic about Verlendia possessing so dangerous an item… but Verlendia would not relent. In time, Taz'Dien and Maglin banded together… and sent operatives into Verlendia to steal the book. Few succeeded and even fewer survived the endeavor. Eventually, however, a young man from Maglin was able to infiltrate and the book was brought back to the desert lands… hidden away, where it could not be discovered. Unfortunately, enraged by the act, Verlendia's retaliation was swift and volatile. They set Maglin aflame with their dragons, and while the could not recover what was taken, Maglin suffered greatly."

Pausing, he shifted, running a finger along the edge of his cup, "In time, Verlendia's assault eased, but the damage was… severe. And most knew in time, they would invade, entirely. Around this time, a small village discovered an ancient spell… dangerous and unfamiliar, but undeniably exactly for what they were looking. The village gathered when they knew the Verlendian riders would meet, and the ceremony began. The goal was to bond the dragon souls to those performing the ceremonies… As I understand it, the spell's wording was a bit… complicated. Things did not go as planned. Soul magic comes with a price, you see. And the Sol'dien people… they paid greatly. Those that survived… well… Sol'dien, they were no more."

Something tickled the back of Kyen'delsia's mind. As if a passing breeze that carried a scent had just drifted on by. Yet, almost passively, she suppressed it. "A horrible tale to be sure. But ancient history if even true," the young woman tried to laugh, "surely, by now, the world should seek to be healed of such aged wounds. Even as it steps to heal the most recent ones. And you have yet to touch upon the curse. Unless it is of the poor Sol'dien who were harmed by the spell? If so, while it must have hurt for a generation or two, but I imagine they took well to their form in time. After all, many a complement have been rained down upon me and my Sister for how we look."

"Then you aren't aware, yet. Hmm." Scratching his jaw, he frowned for a moment, "Tell me… And then I shall depart and leave you to your peace for the morning… Do you dance?"

"Aware? Of what?" He was starting to truly concern her and, well, with dancing it was needed to simply flat out lie. "Well, I do dance on occasion when a gentleman asks. Although, I suppose ice skating could be dancing. Have you ever gone?"

The corner of his mouth tipped up into a small smile and rising, he smoothed his robes, "Aware of who you are. But you needn't worry. It will come to you, in time. And when it does, if it pleases you… come to me. You'll know the place, I think. Good day, bright Ruby…"

By passing the chair she sat in, he made for the door and with a soft click, it opened and closed behind him again.

Kyen'delsia was in mid-sip when he finished speaking. Quietly pleased that he was seemingly about to leave, she had almost relaxed. But then he said 'bright Ruby.' Gently as she could, she placed the tea cup rattling down as the door closed. There was only one person in the whole world who called her that. Meldriss had almost, at least how her Sister told it, before being headed off by said Sister. She wasn't sure why she was called that, given her complexion. But, Sister's pet-name had always been a mark of pleasure. Of eternal love and affection. Timeless as the gem itself. Yet this stranger had called her it with ease. Not just ease, but the ease of knowledge in his voice. He knew that her Sister called her such. Such in tender moments, in lullabies, and when Kyen'delsia took to the stage. Did the man somehow know her Sister? Possible, yet she also knew that if that were true, her Sister wouldn't let the man call her...well, that.

On the spot, the Klerion decided not to follow Hexar. Not yet anyway. A good walk some ten, twenty minutes, oh maybe and hour or two from now would do some good. Kyen'delsia suppressed a shiver. There was little else a blind girl could do. Not without causing unneeded alarm. Not without risking...she wished her sister was home. She'd know what to do.

 

[Pupperr]

Collaboration with @Elle Joyner as Melindre
Leander, wide-eyed like a baby deer, fell to the rooftop with Melindre on top of him. Her soft finger pressed into his lips and a hint of excitement bit at his skin. But that excitement was torn down by the noise above and the skeleton of a Wyvern it belonged to. Leander sat up, staring at Melindre, curious as to why she was protecting him, but a question he would never dare ask.

The sound of bones cracking together grew louder again, the same shrill shrieking cutting through the air. Leander reacted, curling his arm around Melindre and pulling her back into the defensive and low position she was in before. He rolled, so he was on top like a shield but held himself up with his forearm, green eyes peering to the side to catch a glimpse of any beasts. Nothing came. He looked back to Melindre and pushed away from her.

"I guess we should hurry then…" he mumbled, embarrassed by his seemingly good deed prompted by nothing.

If Melindre noted it, blessedly, she said nothing and pushing up to her feet, she gave a nod, "They'll be looking for the boy. Come on…" And edging past him, she moved to the edge of the roof, stepping on the outer rim of the ledge before leaping over to the other side, "Waste Wyverns can mean only one thing. Omesh is here, himself… and if he's here…" Swallowing, she shook her head. Taking another unexpected bound across the next roof, her foot slid and Melindre nearly toppled, righting herself with a sharp gasp.

Pressing her fingers into her temples, she crouched, and one hand gripped the amulet around her neck, the emerald eye glinting off steel, "No! No, no, no… Damn it!" A palm slammed into the rooftop with a desperate cry, "Mother Orestra. Just… just a few more minutes, please…"

Leander followed behind Melindre, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. But he didn't understand what he was doing or why he was doing it. What exactly was happening in the Iron Citadel. It was supposed to be the Hatchling Ceremony but there was a coup that involved the Knights of the Phoenix Ash. Just what was going on in Verlenedia? Who was Omesh? What were the Bloodmarked doing? And why the fuck did the Oracle trust a cat with the eggs? There was too much he didn't know.

He came to an abrupt halt when Melindre stumbled. "Cu-- Oracle! I have some que--" but the oracle's distress halted his interrogation. Leander just stared as she smacked the rooftop in desperation… it was a familiar sight. He tsk'd, feeling frustration building up and crouched next to her. "Just what in the hell is going on!? What's happening!?"

"...I can't see…" She muttered, a wisp of bitter aggravation handing over the words, "There's… there's a ritual we use. To see things. Only a few moments ahead of time, but… but it has it's benefits." Pushing herself upright, she glanced back to Leander, "...For most, it's a means of deepening their connection to the arcane elements of divination. For me.. It's how I see. At all." Releasing the amulet around her neck, she shook her head, her gaze falling, "I know the path… but I cannot see it."

"A blind… oracle? You can't be serious" exasperation nipped at Leander's voice. This was not how the day was supposed to go. It was bothersome and a pain in his ass. He scoffed, standing to his feet and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Don't break my fingers or else I will kill you. But I'll be your eyes. For now. And after… you're going to answer some questions for me."

There was an uncomfortable pause before he began again. "You need to live for me to become a Dragon Rider."

She flinched as the hand contacted her shoulder, but nodded, "Thank you, Leander. We need to head northwest… There's a building, an old temple, before the new Iron Kiln was built. You should be able to see it… a steeple with an iron star at the top. Do you see it…?"

Leander looked in the direction she described and in the distance he saw the star stapled to the sky. It was approximately ten blocks away and the sounds of chaotic civilians still screamed in the streets below. He swore he could hear the sound of clashing steel; the sound of battle. And of course there was that nasty skeleton of a Wvyern to worry about it. He looked back to Melindre, blind, and useless now. There was no way around it… he would have to carry her.

"I see it. We stay on the rooftops though. It's quicker and safer. I would never hear the end of it if I let the Oralce be trampled by rampaging townspeople." He placed his other hand on her other shoulder, and although she couldn't see him, he looked serious. "Sorry for this."

Leander wrapped an arm underneath the crook of the woman's knees, his other arm wrapped around just under her shoulders and his hand resting on the shoulder opposite of him. He cradled her like a newlywed and without waiting for her to protest, leapt to the next roof and sprinted in the direction of the steeple. "Better hang on!"

"You drop me, and blind or not, I'll kill you…" Was all she muttered, though, as she looped an arm around him. There was a sense of defeat in the tone - a woman with strength and ability, hindered by what was, in essence, a cruel joke of a disability. Flashes of color splashed by her limited vision as he moved, and with each leap, her arms tightened just slightly, her grip on his leather vest like a cat, avoiding a bath.

As they moved, the sounds of panic and chaos became muted - a hush in an otherwise oddly pleasant day. The dark cloud of protection had not thinned, but without the danger of swords and skeletal monsters, it appeared no more threatening than a dull, rainy day in Cobrol.

Eventually, the rooftops spread too far to leap, and they were forced to retreat to ground level. Here, Melindre insisted on walking, stating it would be far less conspicuous, and as they grew nearer to the star-topped tower carved into the Adamantine mountains, her fingers curled around the eye of Orestra, "...Ask your questions. Know that I cannot answer everything… but it's only fair I should try."

Leander moved through the street next to Melindre, he guided her and knocked people out of her path with his shoulder by stepping slightly in front of her before the people walked by. Occasionally he would place a leading hand on her shoulder, or tug her by the arm. All of his movements were precise, nothing less to be expected by the youngest son of Andross Kilnwood.

"You got that damned right." he scoffed. "Why did the Knights of the Phoenix Ash turn on the people? And don't give me a lame answer like 'it was a coup!' I could see that. But just what happened to the other Oracles, to Thalin Yaris? And then that Bloodmarked… this was organized. And planned. Why?"

"...They're dead. They're all dead" She started, her voice shifting slightly. In those simple words, gone was the formidable fighter, and for a moment, it was painfully apparent how fragile she appeared, a blind, broken woman, scared and dirty, "Thalin Yaris betrayed us. And I have been trying desperately to understand why. All I can think is that someone doesn't want us fulfilling our vision quest. Naming the Riders. With no Oracles, no Riders can be called forth, and without riders, the eggs will hatch, without bonds."

Hesitating, she rubbed her hand over a mark on her arm, a particularly raw, red burn, "Our temple was the last to fall… Matron Yaris told us she would protect us. She led us all into the hall of ceremonies… then she locked us inside with the Cullers. When they attacked… there was so much chaos. I knew the only way I would survive was for them to think I hadn't. So I laid down… among my dead sisters, and I… I pretended I was dead, as well. Before they left, they set fire to the temple… I barely got out." Looking to him briefly, she shook her head, "It goes so much deeper than a coup, Leander. They've found something… a book. The one he spoke of, the Bloodmarked. It… it contains some sort of ceremonial magic. Warps the mind. In a way, it's so much worse than mind control. Those beneath its influence, they genuinely believe what they're doing is right… and they won't stop."

Pausing, she breathed in, collecting herself, "...The Bloodmarked… He… he's shrouded in mystery, but I've seen him before. He was with the Cullers that attacked at the temple. Ruthless and cold. He blames them… Oracles. Prophets. For his state. I can't say it isn't fair, considering… but there's such a rage in him. They called him Augar. That's all I know. The man he mentioned in the square, this… king of the high tower. There's word that someone's been calling themselves this, in Maglin. Rumors, mostly, but wrapped around the likes of Omesh Kar. Few know of Kar, but we in the order are all too well aware of his atrocities. He's a necromancer, and a monster… If this king is in league with the likes of these Cullers and Kar, I can only imagine things are quite a great deal more dire than we know. I… I don't know what Yaris has foreseen, but she's much more powerful than I… She taught me the ritual. To see. I've learned everything from her… And if she's willing to betray her entire sisterhood for this... It won't stop with the Iron Citadel. They'll burn Verlendia to the ground."

'They'll burn Verlendia to the ground' the words fell on Leander like a building toppling down from old age. He stopped in his tracks, unsteady eyes staring at Melindre. If the woman could see, she would see a man drained of all his colour looking back at her. He had stumbled into something so much larger than himself - it was beyond his tiny life at the Kilnwood manor and if she was telling the truth, it was unlike any other challenge he had sought out before. His heart ached with excitement.

The colour slowly returned to his face as the shock of Melindre's tale sunk in and he grinned somewhat seductively. He was born for this. Raised for this. And lived for this. He was going to be a Dragon Rider, the ultimate defender of Verlendia. Leander clenched his fist as though to confirm his position as such. He wouldn't let his home burn.

"Melindre…" It was the first time Leander had called her by name and his voice carried a quiet fury behind it. "I promise you, as the last remaining Oracle, that I will become a Dragon Rider. And that I'll protect Verlendia. I won't let scum destroy my home. I swear… I'll kill anyone who tries and the people will remember me as the courageous soul who saved them"

Looking at him, while he was only a blue of shadows and color before her, her eyes somehow managed a piercing gaze, her voice unwavering again, devoid of that uneasiness it had momentarily possessed, "And what if you aren't chosen? What then? So willing to serve when it's the destiny you desire. What if fate has something else in store for you?"

"That's impossible" he began, looking at Melindre dumbfounded. "My purpose is to be a Dragon Rider. It's what fills my lungs with breath. It's the reason I wake every morning. And…." he stopped, looking down at an open palm, his brow not as sure as he was a moment ago. "....it's the reason he let me live." The last words were nothing short of a murmur.

Leander balled his hand into a fist again, his jaw clenched tight. "I'm a Kilnwood! The Dragon Rider blood runs in my veins. You should know the history of my name and with that, you should know there's just no other logical path for me. I have to satisfy the family line."

"I know a great deal about you, Leander. More, I imagine, than he's let you know. But fate does not acquiesce to the whims of man. Even one as volatile as your father. He has not cemented your destiny anymore than he has the other…"

"...what do you mean, the other?" Leander hesitantly asked. "What do you mean more than he's let me know!?" Hesitation surrendered to urgency, to anger.

Shaking her head at his insistence, Melindre started forward, "...No. You're not ready."

Leander jogged after her, and reached for her arm, but his hand fell short remembering her threat of breaking his fingers. His jog slowed into a walk next to her and he scowled at her from the side. "...what are we doing once we get to the steeple?"

"The eggs will be there." She answered, a little less apprehensively, "We will need to protect them, until we can bring them to the Iron Keep." Pausing for a moment, she glanced over at him, "Your fathers sins are great, Leander. And deeply obscured. But you are not a child, bound to his will. Fate is woven…. But there are many strands, and they are changing as we change, twisting with the fabrics of reality. No one fate is set in stone. You proved that today, when you saved my life in the square."

'Father's sins…' Leander's brow hardened and his hand reflexively reached over his shoulder and rubbed a spot on his upper back. His stern eyes fell on her as she babbled about fate and destiny. Oracles were annoying. "What do you mean I proved fate was not set in stone when I saved you? You do know I didn't do that on purpose. The knight was in my way to chase that damned Amalfi."

"Accidental or not, I don't imagine destiny is particular to intent. I've seen my death. Not something a person relishes in, I assure you, but I've seen it nonetheless. And that knight, the man you killed, was to deliver it, today." Shifting, her eyes moved upwards, towards the grim blur of grey above, "You have altered fate to a… great degree."

Leander threw his arms up in a shrug to show his disinterest in the topic. "For someone that saw her death, being where you were seems pretty stupid to me." He then folded his arms over his chest and sighed. "... Verlendia surely would've burned if I hadn't intervened and the only remaining oracle was to get killed."

"You're rather dense, aren't you?" Shaking her head, her eyes lowering, she sighed, "What do you imagine might have happened, if I had not come? If Matron Yaris had not been stopped. If she had been permitted to tell the crowd whatever horrors her addled mind has conceived? My life is not so significant that I would seek its importance over the lives of hundreds. All the same, if your interference has ensured I am able to do what I was called to do, I see no reason to be ungrateful." Looking him up again down, the corner of her mouth twitched up, "Even if you are a ridiculous prat. We should be nearly there…"

"Dense!? ME!? Watch your tongue, you infuriating cur." Leander lashed out, waving his arm in front of him in protest before folding it over his chest again. "I think you might be the dense one, miss oracle, you say your life is not more important than the lives of hundreds, but your pea brain has failed to realize that if you had died, the Dragon Riders couldn't be named and the eggs would hatch without bonds." He paused to smirk before continuing. "It wouldn't have been hundreds of lives that would have died. It would be thousands without anyone to contest the war that is coming. You said it yourself, that Oracle mom of yours will stop at nothing to see Verlendia fall… like it or not, the world needs you. Next time you shouldn't hope for a knight in shining armour to rescue your sorry ass."

"You are dense because you see your worth in such circumstantial ways. You must become a Rider, and yet if destiny sees to it that you are not chosen, what then? You limit yourself to the ideals of a man who has hidden so much from you. A man who has insulated you from your own potential. You wish to save the world, but for your own glory… not for those whose lives you would safeguard from harm. And you assume that fate has no means of carrying on when that which is not ideal comes to pass. The world doesn't need me to carry on, Leander, anymore than it needs you… Our importance is not in what we do or achieve… but in how we choose to live, and the impact that has on those around us. A thousand strands of fate can change with just… one kind word to another."

Leander shot eyes like daggers at Melindre, both of his fists tightly clenched and showing the whites of his knuckles. "..you don't know shit, oracle."

Leander scoffed and then stomped away toward the steeple, distancing himself from Melindre. There was a rage growing in the pit of his stomach and if she wasn't the oracle, he would've rained his anger down upon her. 'That stupid bitch doesn't know anything about me… where does she think she has the right to assume anything about me.'

Leander, my good for nothing son. No one needs a weakling like you.

His steps slowed, his fists unraveled, and he tried to choke back the lump forming in his throat. '....the world.. It does need me..'

"She's wrong…"

 

[Owl]

Casimir, Milo, Leander

---

Collab with @Elle Joyner @Pupperr

Mercianna's next sentence was cut off as the sudden sound of heavy footfall echoed outside of the tower. Spiraling before the children, she drew a small, arched blade from her belt and bracing herself, awaited the intruder's arrival. A man stepped into the open doorway, silhouetted by the dull light behind him, and as he paused, Mercianna brandished the blade.

"Stay behind me, Little Ones! And get ready to run when I say--"

"It's alright!" A second voice echoed off the temple walls as another figure appeared alongside the man, brushing past him to carefully ease herself inside the ruin, "It's alright! We're not here to harm you... Please, tell me they're safe. The eggs?"

"That's her, Merci!" Milo chriped, giving Mercianna's arm a tug, "That's the Oracle lady!"

Casimir thought the Oracle lady didn't look very lady-like. She was pale, dirty, bloodied and stumbled more than she walked. But the markings on her face didn't lie, she was an oracle, there was no mistake about it. Still, he remained behind the shield that was Mercianna's outstretched arm, not because of the oracle, but because of the man that accompanied her. He was tall, well-dressed, strongly built and carried himself with confidence despite the brooding look on his face.

Casimir clutched the egg he held to his chest and grasped the pommel of his blade. "Who are you then?" he demanded to know.

Leander strolled in after Melindre, his hand landing on her shoulder to steady her stumbling steps. And although he was still angry with her, it would be embarrassing for the both of them if she landed on her face. He looked at the small group across the room from them - a ragged woman, the damned cat, and a couple of children. Green eyes fell on the Marband boy and on the egg burrowed between his arm and his torso. Leander's brow turned down and he looked at the boy with the intensity of a storm. Red and black clothing. And that sigil.

In the blink of an eye, Leander had drawn a sword, he moved so quickly it was as though he had his sword drawn from the moment he entered the building. His stance shifted, all of his weight on his back foot ready to launch at the squire, an imposing force with his eyes locked on the boy. Leander was a masterful warrior, unafraid to kill, and battle transformed him from a whining child to an intimidating foe.

"You'll be dead before it matters who I am..." Leander spat. "You're a squire. Phoenix Knight. And you have something that doesn't belong to you."

His eyes refused to leave the small group in the middle but Melindre would know his next words were meant for her. "Say the word. And they're dead."

"Stay your sword, Leander. For Orestra's sake… They're just children." Shaking her head, Melindre steadied herself, taking a breath, "My name is Melindre. And you needn't be afraid."

"They're all here…" The other woman answered, her gentle voice edged slightly, as her eyes continued to watch Leander for any movement, her blade still clutched in her hand, "The eggs. The children have kept them safe."

"...Sightless Mistress be praised. Where is he? The little one who took them?" There was no accusation to her tone, but Milo swallowed anyhow, and anxiously, edged a little further behind Mercianna's leg, "It's alright. You… you have done a good thing. Tell me your name."

"M...Milo." He finally answered, after a nudge from Mercianna, "I… didn't want them to get the eggs."

"Indeed. A wise and very brave choice. They'll be safe here, for now." Looking in the direction of the young squire, she gave a nod, "Quite well protected, I think. What is your name, young sir?"

"Casimir," he answered the oracle though his gaze remained fixed on the man and his sword-hand gripped the pommel of his blade tighter. The man could not have imagined how true his statements were but that didn't matter now. All that mattered were the eggs and he seemed eager to kill for them. "I suppose you're right," he added through gritted teeth. "You don't matter. These matter," he nudged his chin toward the egg he held before fixing his eyes on the oracle. "She matters."

He dipped his head in a slight bow toward Melindre, little more than common courtesy, but a courtesy nonetheless. When he rebounded, he offered the egg to her. "I believe this is yours?"

'Just children?' he thought, the grip on his sword tightening. It was clear she didn't understand the horrors children even younger than the ones in front of them experienced. Hell, he was one of them. Leander questioned Melindre's sense before but now she only appeared ignorant to him.

Leander relaxed somewhat as Melindre approached the small group and the group didn't jump at the chance to attack the blind woman but he kept his sword drawn as he didn't completely trust them yet. He shot daggers toward the young boy called Casimir and grit his teeth at the child's insult. When Casimir stepped forward to offer Melindre the egg, Leander also stepped forward to show his presence behind her. He stared at the child, displeased with his existence.

"And she wouldn't have made it here without me, stupid boy." Leander hissed in defense at being told he didn't matter.

Casimir let out a deep sigh. He'd spent a long time trudging through sewers and had insults thrown at him like rose petals at an inauguration. Dummy,, stupid,, fool... For the most part, he'd disregarded them, but this man was getting on his nerves. "Without us, these eggs wouldn't be here," he sniped back. "Now unless we're all so threatening to you that you have to keep your sword out, you can either put that away, or you can go back into the city if you're so eager for a fight."

Melindre's lip twitched slightly at Casimir's words. Not a smile, but a hint of amusement nonetheless, as she shook her head, "They're no more my eggs than they are the infiltrators. You hold onto it… I'll need a moment or two of quiet. There's a ritual I'll need to cast, before we continue."

"I would have both of my arms beared if I thought you were 'all so threatening'" Leander's voice carried a mocking tone, as though the Marband boy had said something stupid.

Annoying little boy…

His attention shifted to Melindre, the only person he remotely cared about in the steeple, the only person worth anything. "Is it the same ritual you mentioned earlier? The one that grants you sight?"

Giving him a brief glower as he continued to banter with the boy, Melindre nodded all the same, "Yes. That one. I've… I've never attempted it twice in a day, but I'll be little use wandering around like this. See if you can't find any old candles, please?"

"Is it dangerous?" Leander inquired, and although on the surface it appeared to be genuine concern for the Oracle, it was layered with selfish reasons.

"...Dangerous?" Pausing, Melindre considered the question for a moment, before giving a small shake of her head, "No more than anything else we've endured, today. Worst case scenario? It won't work."

"Hmmm… all good then." He added, pleased with the response. It was a win-win for him - she wouldn't be harmed by it, which would risk his chances of becoming a Dragon Rider, but if it did work, he wouldn't have to be her seeing eye dog anymore. "Anyway, I'll go see what I can find."

Leander sheathed his sword and left the small group in the middle of the steeple. A building of faith would surely have candles somewhere. He checked a small room that adjoined the great room. There was an overturned desk and papers scattered about.

'Must've been an office..'

The window on the far end of the room had a small baseball sized hole and the ground below collected the glass that had shattered. Torn drapes flapped in the breeze and filtered the sun like dappled spots in the room. There were built-in bookshelves on one side of the room with old books and other trinkets, and on one of the shelves, toppled over candles.

'Ahhh, there we go'

In the pregnant silence that followed Leander's wake, Mercianna was the first to speak, clearing her throat.

"Well… He's a charming one."

"He's an ass." Milo mumbled behind her, finally slinking out from behind her leg.

"...Leander is… Well…" Pausing again, Melindre looked off in the direction the man had gone, "Fate is… in many ways impartial. But to some, fate can be quite cruel. We are all of us bound by the woven threads of destiny. In time, he will grow. I think in things to come, we all will."

"Yeah, well… he's still an ass." Milo continued, with a shrug.

"...A bit." Melindre smiled faintly, before moving to find a small, empty space to sit. From her robe she drew the amulet of Orestra, and sliding it over her neck, she held it in her lap, thumb glancing over the emerald at its center, "I must concentrate, now. When Leander returns, please have him place the candles, and stand guard." Her eyes shifted, unseeing and yet piercing, to the young squire, "...You as well, Brave One. We will be safe for a time, but even I can only see so far into the future."

If he returns, Casimir responded in the privacy of his mind, then narrowed his eyes in the direction Leander had gone. What if he'd left to get help? There was no doubt in Casimir's mind that Leander had only one interest beside himself and that the man would seize the first opportunity to get his hands on one of the eggs. Yet another thief then, he mused inwardly.

He looked to his thieving companions. Nora stuck close to Mercianna's side and seemed much more a child next to the woman who couldn't possibly be her mother. She still had his money, he remembered, but for some reason he felt no urge to reclaim it.



Milo did a better job of hiding his exhaustion, though he had to be tired after all the running he'd done. Thirsty too, he wagered, and hungry, but those were worries for a later time. As long as Leering Leander was skulking about, hunger, thirst and sleep were secondary concerns.

Leander returned with candles in hand and a small pile of papers in the other. He looked at the children huddled by the common woman and as soon as he made eye contact, the young ones looked away, almost as though they didn't want to be caught talking shamelessly behind his back. He sneered and snickered at them before Mercianna explained where Melindre wanted him to put the candles.
He moved closer to her but was careful to be quiet. The Oracle already looked to be in deep concentration and he didn't want to interrupt her - if she was successful, she could walk on her own and he didn't have to worry as much about the blasted woman dying on him. That was a responsibility he didn't want.

Leander placed the candles around her and found a few stones amongst the rubble in the corner of the steeple where a wall had partially caved in. He struck the stones together above the papers he collected from the office and when it sparked, he used the burning paper to light the candles. Leander stepped away from Melindre and leaned against a wall to face the door, as though he was guarding them from any trespassers, and waited for her to complete the ritual.

For a long while, Melindre did not move, her fingers splayed against the metal piece in her lap. The candles flickered now and then, kissed by the rogue breeze that would occasionally slink in from the shattered doors, but otherwise, all was still. In the silence, there was almost peace… a fraudulent sense of calm, belying the chaotic fray in the square only a short distance from the temple.

After several minutes, Melindre's voice escaped in what was barely an audible whisper that pooled from her and rose in soft reverence into the hollow depths of the temple.

"Mother Oresta… All seeing and knowing. Your daughter comes before with a desperate plea. Be my vision… Take these eyes and for your justice… lend me your own… Hear me now, and grant me your grace to see what I cannot. Or if not, the grace to trust in your wisdom and for these few you have entrusted to your good work, the mercy of another sun…"

For a moment, silence fell again, punctuated only by the wind's gentle howl… then with a soft thrumming sound, the emerald began to pulse, an a warm, green light poured from its source, spiraling from the center of the eye, up and around Melindre's kneeling form. As the light dissipated, her eyes opened and with a small smile, she looked to Leander.

"...She has granted my request." Shifting, carefully rising to her feet, she slipped the amulet around her neck again, turning to the others, "Now, we wait… and we hope in our allies in the city. We… may be here a while."

---

 

[Verran]

Kyen'delsia

It took a full hour for Kyen'delsia to dawn her cloak and venture outside. Fur-lined, and almost as soft as satin, it gave little comfort to her as she walked down the paved stones as morning got itself well along. Practiced steps brought her down from the slightly isolated house to the village proper. However, it was naught but five steps from the front door that Kyen'delsia realized that something was off. Simply put, for how far the morning had passed by, it was too quiet. The last of the Fall birds should be chattering as much as the villagers. Both of which were subdued.

Entering the village, she was immediately accosted by a proverbial boulder of energy rolling downhill. The small frame of Alla plowed into Kyen'delsia who, while the Klerion had expected the child, lacked the same spirit as everyone around her. Immediately, her mind went to Hexar. Worry shot into her mind as quick as frost creeping up a dead stone under an elementist's command. Could the stranger had done something? Was her home already touched by his sudden and alien arrival?

But it wasn't the stranger that Alla whispered about as she tugged Kyen'delsia's hand to bring her head down. "Kyensi, Kyensi," she murmured, "way of at the Iron Citadel, there's something above it. Something like how leaves of a tree spread big and far above you. 'Cept they say it's bigger. A whole lot bigger! Big as a cloud that covers the sun. But it's gross! I don't like how it looks an' I don't like how it moves an' I don't like how everyone whispering about it."

"Oh dear, we can't have that," Kyen'delsia soothed as the girl tucked her face into the Klerion's shoulder, "how about…how about you and me go and buy a few cakes. Then we'll caper about and show all the somber adults how to have fun no matter what! Sound good?"

Alla nodded and off they went. Well, more that Kyen'delsia carried Alla who, despite the desire to play, seemed to lack the heart to do so. Kyen'delsia couldn't blame her. She too was sunken. Lacking any idea as to what was going on over at Cobrol, Hexar's mannerisms and words only fed into her concerns. And she was powerless. The citadel was at least some hours, if not a full day, away on foot. By way of footrails that she did not know and had no hope of navigating without a guide. Stuck in a village that hardly had anyone needing, let alone willing, to travel in the first place. In short, she was bound behind her blind eyes. Unable to do anything besides join in the worry of those around her and try to keep up Alla's spirits the best her half-hearted effort would allow.

In the distance where the Iron Citadel lay, Kyen'delsia imagined she heard a roar.

 

[ze_kraken]

ELWYN, DAUGHTER OF THE FAITH & OLENDER THE ESQUARIAN
Collab with @Custodiet Teh
​

Her world burned.

As Elwyn's mind awoke, urging her eyelids to crack open she felt burning in her lungs, her limbs, her eyes. She coughed, nostrils flaring as they were exposed to the scents of battle - of blood and smoke and men soiling themselves. It was enough to drive her stomach into knots, and for a moment she thought she was about to drown in her own sick for try as she might she could not urge her body into motion.

She was dimly aware, then, of a gentle prod atop her breastplate. Elwyn started, surging up into a seated position, turning about frantically with terror etched plain upon her face. She froze - horse legs. That was it. She was dead, or captured by a Phoenix Knight or another one of Floren's traitorous ilk. Only, as her eyes trailed up and she lifted her healthy arm to shield her eyes from the rays of the sun above the horse's body sprouted into the torso of a Marbrand. The head stared down at her, cocked to one side, and for a moment Elwyn even forgot the battle raging for the beacon just a couple dozen paces ahead.

"I..." She croaked, voice cracking. "Wh.. Where am I? Who.. who are you?"

She remembered fighting with Floren. Remembered the broken arm, the gashes and cuts along her arms and torso. Her sword. Where was her sword? As she awaited a response, she clambered towards Floren's corpse where her blade still lay firmly lodged in the man's ribs and tugged it free, trailing bloody and gore across the cobbled street below, sending rivers of red pouring through the cracks in the stone.

---

Still alive then, at least the one of them. Oleander trotted a small circle around the downed woman fighting to retrieve her blade. Her face was dangerously close to her mothers, Oleander having to shake the false connection out of her mind. Battle carried on nearby, the combat creating quite the din around them.

The woman croaked some words up towards her, asking questions to which Oleander didn't really feel like she knew the answer. But as the woman drew the sword from body, Oleander had to reach down to interact.

"That's enough o' that noo. A wounded beast bites hardest." Oleander reached down to yank the sword away, hard. "A hauf deid twa shank wi' mah moms face trying tae rammy aye efter butchering a lad in pure wide daylight. Day cannae git ony stranger. Come alang ye, battles dane fur th'day 'n' ah'ament aboot tae let ye die wi' yer blood mingling wi' yer prey." Oleander now grabbing at the Marban, attempting to pull her up and place her on her back. She'd come back to loot later.

---

"Where are you taking me?" Elwyn protested meekly as the Esquirian plucked her from the ground with surprising strength and determination. "...and give me my sword back!"

The chaplain reached for the blade with her good hand from atop the Esquirian's back, but came short as it was yanked away with much the same judgmental air as it had been before. Elwyn humphed and resigned herself to wrap a gentle hand about the other woman's waist to cling on, her legs too weak to keep her anchored in place.

---

Now was when things got dangerous. Right when it felt like things were smoothing out did it all go upside down. It wasn't difficult for chaos to take root especially as the square continued to carry on with what Oleander could only consider the foolishness of the two legs.

"Taking ye tae a healer. If thay hae yin in this toon that hasn't gaen doolally. Ye kin pay me back efter" Oleander spun around, placing a silver shod hoof atop the corpse that once was the man named Floren. Dead bones cracked as the Esquirians hoof planted on his chest.

"Ye ken, if his armor is worth anythin', nows th' chance tae tak' it." Oleander contemplated stripping the man clean until the roar that pierced her to the core.

More of the two legs were shouting but it was enough of a sign that the square wasn't the place to be. "Na, nae staying, time tae gang." Looking for an opening in the square, Oleander aligned herself.

---

The Esquirian spoke, and yet the words bounced around aimlessly in Elwyn's mind. Her accent was thick, and likely would have taken effort to decipher on a good day. Weary, battered, and bruised as she was, Elwyn could do little but nod in agreement as she was whisked away to wherever her savior had in mind.

Then she heard it. Not the grating tone of the Esquirian's bizarre accent. Cracking. Only, as Elwyn managed to swing her head about to look at where Floren lay on the ground - a few paces behind them now - the noise had no context. It made no sense.

His hand, her weary mind pointed out. His hand. Look.

Floren's hand grasped and twitched for his sword, a few feet from where he had fallen. Then, as if controlled like a marionette atop a child's puppet stage, the dead knight stuttered to his feet. His eyes pulsed with a sickly green glow, his mouth hung half open and drooped, and the blood that still ran from the wound that had killed him splashed down to the cobble below.

The man who had been Floren let out a snarl, long and pained unlike any sound Elwyn had heard slip past a man's lips. Leaving its sword behind, the marionette began to give chase to the Esquirian.

"Run..." Elwyn croaked. "Go.. faster..."

---

As the woman began to stir, moaning out some rather surprisingly coherent words, for someone who had recently been punctured, Oleander turned to check on her. "Oooch? is yer lad aye alive back thare? Shuid like grab him tae git a reward. That sort o' armor looks the sort wha haes tae hain." The stream of words continued at a her own pace, her eyes still flitting back to the combat nearby, wary of it spilling over towards them. "Sorry fur troddin oan him afore, thought the lad hud awready passed n' ah'. Dinnae suppose you'd mind anither passenger back thare wi' ye, nae lik' ye hae muckch tae say in th' wey o' it" She gives a little mirth filled chuckle.

Oleander spun on her hooves once more, surprisingly nimble for her size but froze as multiple events coincided with the wheels in her brain clicking over. The crowd had begun screaming anew, something that sounded like 'West Runs'. This seemed to line up with what she realized the woman had been trying to say, run. Then of course, the most obvious, the man who she'd assumed dead, then alive was now very much confirmed dead once again.

The posture was like one of the beasts from the tales that had given her nightmares as a child. The pale glow and free-flowing blood draining from his body caused a similar reaction in Oleander, face going pale and tail twitching violently. Frozen in place between the battle of the beacon and the now advancing dead, Oleander stuttered some incomprehensible words and fumbled at her side. Panicking, she dropped her sidearm and decided that it was time to yet again flee another two-leg city.

Rearing and spinning on her hind legs, she had to grab the woman to keep her from sliding off and took off at a full gallop, once more heading perpendicular to the encroaching dead and waning beacon.

"Whit in th' hell did ye doo tae that dead lad, twa shank? A' thae cities n' whit ur thay filled wi' except waes tae ruin et! Whars a place tae gang? Ah'ament sure wgayr a'm running bit a'm aff tae git thare quick naow!"

---

"Steeple, south of the square," Elwyn replied, voice stronger now with the arrival of a fresh spike of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Elwyn reached instinctively for reins that were not there, hand fumbling meekly about the Esquirian's waist as if she were a horse. Her delirious mind realized the blunder and hoped it would go unnoticed as she attempted to play off the grab as a point towards where the Esquirian should go.

"If we cut through this alley here, we should be able to avoid the square," she said.

The pair shot along the cobbled streets, ducking past soldiers and crawling undead were they wandered about the city. The smoke was intensifying as the fires clung to more fuel, and the screams of the crowd had dissipated, replaced instead with the tapering-off clanging of steel on steel. Elwyn, more alert now, could see the horrors of the conflict as men and women were cut down by shambling undead horrors and swore she could catch silhouettes circling overhead on widespread wings.

Still they pressed on through the city, taking alleys where they could. The worst of the fighting was still focused around the square, but it was swiftly pushing outward. Elwyn wondered, panicking, if they would make it to the steeple in time or if it would even be safe.

No time for such thoughts, she told herself.

"We're almost there," she told the Esquarian. "Take this next right and keep heading down - you can't miss it!"

---

She missed it...

Skidding to a stop, Oleander had been distracted by the screeching beast overhead. In her haste to retreat, she'd already broken several of her two-leg city 'don't ever do' rules. She'd gone down alleys she wasn't sure she could turn around in, she'd vaulted over things without seeing what was on the other side and worse yet, the Marban she half rescued/half planned to exploit was no longer cargo and had managed to become a passenger. Any discomfort or anger at this had rapidly diminished as she continued to witness the remains of two-legs return to some mockery of life.

Almost just as bad was the fact that her sidearm had been lost, and with it being essentially a third of all she owned, the day was going from bad to worse. Someone would pay for it but she wasn't quite sure who yet.

Oleander wasn't quite sure of a lot of things, first and foremost where this spire was. Kicking over a few crates, she fought against the tight space to turn around and take the turn where her passenger had noted.

Maybe this was what she wasn't supposed to be able to miss. The place was a towering wreck but still, Oleander felt awe. Her people didn't build anything greater than huts that they'd abandon during migrations. Even after all the time she'd spent alongside the two-legs, it was still daunting to see such a magnificent structure even if it'd fallen to ruin. She couldn't help but whinny out a scoff of disapproval as she kept up her trot towards the half-collapsed dome.

"Whit sort o' ruin ur we heading towards 'ere." There were hints of anxiety in her words and a hesitant flow to her trot but it seemed evident to Oleander at least that the closer they got to the star-crested tower, the quieter it seemed to get.

---

"There," Elwyn said, pointing out a domed temple. "That one, with the star atop the spire."

Elwyn could recognize that sigil anywhere, so many times had she passed it as a child. Wisps of smoke coiled about it, carried adrift by the warm wind cast by the raging fires beginning to blossom about the streets. The Esquirian came to a skid, stopping before the temple, hooves striking the cobble below to slow herself.

Without waiting for an invitation, Elwyn slid down her back and buckled to her knees the moment her feet were called upon to bear her weight. The chaplain staggered to her feet, propping herself up with her healthy arm, turning back to the Esquirian.

"I have nothing I can repay you with," she said flatly. "But should we survive this ordeal, I'll see to it that you're duly compensated."

Her eyes drifted to the entrance to the temple, just now noticing that its dome had partially caved in. She swallowed back a lump in her throat that threatened to bring a cascade of tears spilling from her eyes. Now was not the time for tears, she told herself.

"Come now - your best chance at getting paid is this way," she said, urging the Esquarian to the door.

The two made it to the doors, finding one had been partially battered in. Elwyn pressed her shoulder into it, stumbling with it as it groaned open with the raking scrape of stubborn metal. Her momentum carried her into the main hall of the temple, tossing her on to the floor as the Esquarian loomed above Elywn, finding herself greeted by a smattering of survivors all staring back in equal parts confusion and caution...

 

[Morgan]

Mae'lyrra & Haloke​

The next few seconds were a blur in Haloke's head. She swung her first forward, that much she knew. Pain wracked her knuckles as her skin made contact with the metal pleated armor. She hadn't intended to have her fists collide with the material, but as the fire burned in her hands and adrenaline coursed through her veins common sense was forced head first out of her mental window. The strike seemed to be effective, however, as the knight scrambled and whimpered in pain from the sudden flare in heat. He had been blinded, turned from Haloke. The strike sent him to one side, tipping from the weight of his own armor. Taking this opportunity, Haloke conjured a pilar of flame in her hand, sending spiraling into his torso. The combining force of the attack and heavy metal was enough to send the blinded knight spiraling to the cobblestone below. The slamming of his skull into the ground was enough to make Haloke wince. She raised her foot above the fallen knight, waiting for him to twitch, waiting for the opportune time to slam her heel against his helmet, only to see him as still as a newborn.

Her attention snapped back into focus. The woman. The oracle she thought? She needed to be protected if more knights were going to be brought in as reinforcements. Peering upwards, she squinted. The oracle was...gone? No. No. She was there just a second ago. Haloke did recall seeing another man slide into action. Her focus hadn't remained on him long enough to make a first impression, but as he was gone and so was she…

It was better than her death and in a crowd of this fleeting size? It was going to be damn near impossible to locate her. Whatever god that was kind enough to listen to her better protect that woman. She didn't care which. She didn't care if it was an almighty being or a trickster riding atop a three legged horse. She just prayed that the oracle was led to safety.

Swarming thoughts crashed against her skull like wasps lost from their hive. There was still chaos, and there was still… "Oh, you've got to be fucking me-" She hissed between her teeth, the shadow hovering near the beacon-...was...was that a-

Haloke thought her feet were bringing her in the opposite direction of the danger at first.

Dear Orestra, was she wrong.

The abomination she witnessed before her eyes caused a chill to go down her spine. Mae'lyrra watched with equal parts confusion and horror. There were so many things happening all at once. It was difficult to keep focus. She looked at the two undead that closed the distance and decided not to fight them. She had been lucky that her spear had jammed itself into the knight where it had. Her aim was good and she had a good throw, but their plate was thick and heavy.

Mae'lyrra took a few steps back before turning on her heel and breaking into a run. Her red garb and her dark hair streamed behind her as she did. The spear she held in a strong grip, ready to defend herself. Throughout the square there was still fighting. Above, danger still loomed. The foul magics at play here felt like a cloying stench in the air to her. Death was part of nature and it had its ways. It was a natural thing. All things must come to an end, but this was a violation of that rule.

"When you've got a moment…"

She didn't register the rest of his words. Partly because she couldn't hear them, but also because they were drowned out in the noise. But following the source of them with her eyes as she ran, she shifted direction and understood. How they were going to fight those that had risen again along with three waste wyverns, she wasn't sure.

Swinging his blade round overhead, the stranger cleaved at the knight slamming his pike into the beacon, and as the knight went down, he turned to see the tribal woman and another heading their way. Overhead, Storm Strider screeched again, diving down then shooting up once more at the bone Wyvern, beak colliding with the skeletal structure, that rattled with the blow.

"We need to keep the beacon clear!" He shouted, "And bring down that damnable wyvern!"

Haloke skid to a stop once she got a good look at the tribal woman and the mysterious stranger. The man slew one of the knights and before Haloke could think to look away, she noted the body crumble to the floor. Haloke swore she would have fainted like a maiden, but the adrenaline coursing through her forced her to remain on her feet. The stranger had been right, the beacon needed to be protected and with the sudden spike of undead-

Oh, dear Orestra, undead creatures were real? Damn Ajei for all those foolish stories she had told at the bonfire, now Haloke had to confirm her silly tales had an ounce of truth...The words "You are right" hurt more than the possibility of being stabbed.

Her eyes flicked to the Wyvern and griffin's continuous battle, knowing that sending a wave of flame was more likely to do more harm than good. She refused to possibly hurt one of their allies. She believed the words "counter productive" could be used in this case.

"I can set up protection for the beacon." Haloke offered, sounding more breathless than she thought possible. Her voice was a mere wisp on the wind. She needed to run more often, that was going to prove beneficial if she ever had to outrun goddamn wyverns again. Again. The idea seemed ridiculous to her and the fact she was in this predicament? Someone owed her a glass of wine and a pleasant night at the tavern. Raising her hands above her shoulders, the familiar incantation left her lips, warm flooding from her palms. She inhaled through her nose, and with a strong exhale, she shot off a ring of fire. The flames curled around her wrist, threatening to lick at her skin, before she guided the dangerous element towards the beacon. Winding it around the beacon, she secured the ring of fire safely. The flames flickered, then flared its warning, burning a bright orange. "That should hold off on ground fighters…"

A cold shiver ran up her spine.

Using spells was going to be useless. That was..unless she was able to recharge in time...steel versus her bare fists, however? Magic didn't appear to be in her favor at the moment.

Stopping at what she deemed a safe distance to the beacon, she stared at the mysterious man. Then her eyes landed on another figure with brown hair and dark eyes. Keep the beacon clear. Sure. Mae'lyrra nodded - mostly to herself. Coming into a battle she hardly knew the cause of, was confusing, but the true enemies had played their hand and revealed themselves.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" She called to the warrior and then fixed her eyes on the brunette. The fire that started in her hand made Mae'lyrra smile. It was always a pleasure to watch someone with an affinity for fire magic. When the woman brought down a ring of fire around the beacon, she watched with an impressed expression on her face. She twirled the spear in her hands and approached the fire-caster.

"Ever slain a wyvern before?" She called, only glancing up at the woman briefly as her eyes were scanning their surroundings for approaching enemies. At the same time, her mind raced to think of ways her own magic might help them. Her spear was going to do precious little to aid them against their winged foe.

Spinning his blade in an arc, the man nodded to Haloke in appreciation as a shield of flames surrounded the stone beacon, "That'll do… Thanks! Keep that up as long as you can. We'll have company in a moment..."

Then turning, he nodded to the tribal woman, "Wyverns are one thing… That? That's no simple wyvern. Don't much care for the idea of roasting my mount up there, but how attached are you to that spear of yours? And more importantly, can you throw it?"

"I've never seen one before-" Haloke admitted, praying her voice was little more than a wheeze. She took a brief moment to examine the tribal woman before, admiring the markings that coated her skin. Time to oogle and aw later, her attention driven now to the Wyvern. She had always made illusions of dragons and wyverns with enough determination to move the shadows but she never thought she would lay witness to one. It was petrifying and in an odd sense...gorgeous. She wanted to admire the creature, perhaps behind a thick sheet of glass.
"There's not much more magic I can do." She admitted, voice sheepish. "I can at least focus on keeping the circle strong and...act as moral throwing support, I suppose." She gave the tribal woman a supportive thumbs up.

"Moral support works…" The man added, with a small smirk, before he twisted fully to the other woman.

Mae'lyrra nodded. The ring of fire would have to be kept strong to protect the beacon. Better she focus on that. In her mind she made a note of seeking this fire-caster out after the fighting was done, should they survive. Mae'lyrra would have plenty of questions and compliments.

Shifting her attention back to the man, she nodded. The spear was her favourite weapon. She had a throw that was surprisingly strong and surprisingly accurate. "That I can!" She called, twirling the weapon once more. Her eyes sought the wyvern and had the rush of battle not been in her veins, she would have stood in awe. Had there not been an immediate threat of being devoured whole, she would have enjoyed studying the beast.

Watching where her gaze directed, the man gave a shake of his head and stepping alongside Mae'lyrra, he gingerly guided the end of the spear away from the direction of the closest one and instead to the wyvern in the distance, nodding upwards. A finger pointed up, gesturing to the robed figure atop the creature, "...Think you can hit that?"

Pausing, she looked at the man. It was a significantly smaller target, she thought. And then she shrugged and took a deep breath. Chewing on the inside of her lip, she shifted her weight. "I need to get closer." She said, nodding once and then looking for a route out of the square, through the streets. Once more glance up at the wyvern and its rider, Mae'lyrra began to move.

As she wove through alleys, she made sure to stay as silent and hidden as she could. The sounds of battle still rang out, but she aimed to stay clear. Navigating by her inner compass, she wagered that she had gone far enough after several minutes. Her heart was beating in her chest, harder and harder. Finding herself in an abandoned alley, she looked up. She had to get up onto the roofs. A half-wall to her right served as the first point in her climb. From there, she set her foot on the small ledge above a window and kicking off, she jumped and reached with her hands. One found something to hold onto. The other was clutching her spear. Realizing that she had to use both hands, she tossed her spear up onto the roof itself and then pulled herself up. From there she was able to jump across to another building and scale its side to get onto a higher vantage points. Mae'lyrra stayed low, seeking the rider once more. From here the distance wouldn't be an issue, at least.

 

[KatSea]

Mae'Lyrra/Haloke

"Now then…" Watching Mae'lyrra disappear into the distance, the man turned to Haloke and gave a firm now, "Moral Support… gonna need your assistance a moment, if you don't mind. We're gonna buy her some time by distracting the ugly bastard guarding Old Man Undead and his wyvern… I need you to make sure nothing tries to kill me while I'm workin'... Think you can handle that? Also, duck!"

With a sudden swing of his blade, the man connected with one of the undead, who had made its way up the stairs to the wall and was lumbering towards the beacon. The blade embedded in sallow flesh with a solid thwock, but to little avail. With a second sweeping swing downward, however, the former knight's head slid clean from its neck before it clattered to the ground, the body following swiftly behind it.

"Got more incoming, you got this?"

Haloke had to give credit to the tribal woman. Fighting long distance with a spear was something to be proud of. Orestra knew that if Haloke attempted such a feat she'd end up puncturing an orphan in the lung rather than her evil and malicious target. She winced inwardly. How the orphan would get there in her mental picture? She wasn't quite entirely sure. What was she doing again?

Oh, right, the circle.

The structure of it was sound, the roaring heat from her spell still strong and radiant. If she wasn't in a life or death situation, this would call for a congratulatory pat on the back and a humble "Why yes, I did this, acknowledge my heroism."

"Hmm?" Haloke questioned, the man's voice prying her from her premature victory lap. "I can do that...I do not have an impressi-" Haloke ducked before she could finish her statement, eyes wide as the blade slung over head and made contact with the undead creature beside her. Her eyes closed before she could see its head dislodged from its body. Blindly, she reached for her dagger at her hip, jabbing the cold steel between the corpse's ribs. The crunching of bone and flaying sound of flesh was almost enough to make her gag. Heat began to trickle at her fingers again, however, which made up for the disgust piling at her throat. She retrieved her dagger promptly, holding it before her.

"Oh, I'll make sure you survive this~ You can count on me to get your sweet little behind to safety." Her eyes still hadn't opened. Peering one open as her gaze met the stranger's, she took a deep breath. Out of the corner of her eye she noted another knight approaching. Two knights. If she could get a few more hits in with her dagger she should get the remaining spark back. She didn't even need to make contact with their flesh. Just enough physical excursion to summon her flame…

She charged, small dagger clanking against the much larger sword of the creature. Metal against metal, Haloke struggled to push him back, thrusting her weight forward to prevent its blade from making contact with her stomach. The second knight advanced besides its brethren, freshly decaying face a sore sight. As it raised its own sword, Haloke slammed her heel into its armor, knowing fully well it would do nothing to stun him.

The force was more than enough to ignite the flame at her feet. The blast flew upwards against the undead creature, Haloke's skin seared and bubbling from the contact. She hissed in pain, watching the creature successfully stumble back.

The first undead caught this opportunity, however, retracting its blade from her dagger and attempting to sling it across her throat. Haloke swung back, barely able to hold herself on her own two feet, before taking the chance to use her momentum and slam her dagger into the creatures throat. Almost…

It gurgled against the now bloodied metal. Haloke was going to find a decent place to hover over and throw up after this was done. Clenching her fist, she lightly tapped into the creature's armor, over and over again, sinking her dagger further and further until she swore she hit bone. It's eyes were still eerily alert. "Oh come on come on-"

Her dagger started smoking. That wasn't-

She let go of the handle swiftly, watching the flame erupt into the creature's wounds, traveling up its neck and searing the flesh. Haloke turned on her heels, disgusted, thankful there was nothing in her stomach to throw up.

"Ha! Hang in there, Moral Support! Hell of a job… Now then…" Turning, the man, who during Haloke's interactions with the undead had pulled something from a pouch at his belt, produced now a feathered quill. Flipping the tip downward, he dragged it against the bare skin of his forearm, and as he did, black ink trailed in an odd pattern of loops and lines, leaving behind a strange image similar to those scrawled on the beacon itself.

Slowly, he raised his hand, palm to the sky and directing it towards the third Wyvern, who hovered near the necromancer and his mount. With a breath, he slayed his fingers and from the center of his palm a brilliant light shown, a beam, that shot across the square, piercing the Wyvern, who twisted, turning with a pained shriek.

Grinning, the man looked to Haloke, "...That'll do the trick. Now we just gotta hope our girl up there's as good a shot as she says, before this thing reaches us. Get behind me, and brace yourself!"

"You gotta teach me that magic trick after all this." Haloke gave him a weak smile, ducking behind him without a moment of hesitation. She utterly refused to die by wyvern or by undead today. If she was going to die? It damn well better be by pleasure or by her own stupidity. She prayed it would be a decent mix of both.

"Come on, come on." She hissed under her breath as seconds passed. Mae'lyrra wasn't sure how long she could stay hidden and her position on the rooftop, wasn't a particularly favorable one. Except for what she was to do next. But she didn't have to worry herself for long, as a beam of light shone from the direction she had come and brought the wyvern between her and her target, to turn and fix its attention on its assailant.

Moving to the edge of the roof, she eyed the rider atop the wyvern - her target. She took a deep breath, followed the figure and prepared herself. It was a relatively short distance to the far edge of the roof. Looking down at her feet, she set them and then looked up again. Her spear lay perfectly balanced in her grip. The first steps she took were quick but eventually they became longer strides that carried her quickly across the rooftop. Mae'lyrra used all of her strength to move forward. She had her target in sight and, using the momentum she had built, she stretched, set her weak foot forward and hurled the spear toward the rider atop the wyvern.

Sailing through the air, the spear flew with a searing trajectory and with a sudden howl, the figure atop the wyvern cried out as the tip pierced through his shoulder. In that moment, the wyvern that was locked in battle with the griffin and the one barreling down towards Haloke and the stranger gave a sudden lurch and without warning, clattered lifeless to the ground. So too did the rider's mount. All around the square, the living dead crumbled, their bodies unmoving again and plummeting now, the necromancer swung his robe around his form, grasped what appeared to be a crystal amulet around his neck and in a split second, vanished from sight.

Peering from behind the man, Haloke noted the stranger lurch forward, nearing dead. The undead surrounding them crumbled to the ground, giving her a chance to sigh a breath of relief. Her hands briefly flickered in heat, not enough energy to combust a spark. "He's getting away…" She hissed, nails digging into her palms. Attention turned towards the stranger, her shoulders slumped. "Okay that was all pretty badarse…"

A good power nap was in order.

That was if the oracle was somehow still alive and the eggs were...shit. What happened to those? Not her problem at the moment, although both issues pricked the back of her head. "You okay, stranger?"

"Holding up just fine, Miss. It's Tiriok, by the way." Looking past the fallen pile of bones, he frowned slightly, "Not surprised he had a backup plan. Scum like that usually do… Still, he won't be back anytime soon." Putting his fingers between his lips, he whistled, waving an arm towards the woman on the rooftop, before, as Haloke had done, offering a thumb pointed upwards.

"Now we just need to pray those eggs are alright…"

"Tiriok...a pleasure to meet you." Haloke bowed her head respectfully, head popping back up to lay witness to the dead that surrounded her. Ale. She needed loads of ale. And maybe some whisky if she was really risque…"How do you know that? Is it possible he's going to be after the eggs?" Her eyes darted towards the silhouette of the tribal woman as Tiriok raised his arm and whistled. Haloke had a load of questions to ask her, mainly how one contains that much glory in one body and how to throw a spear with such shocking accuracy. Thank the goddess these two folk were on her side. "Um...how impolite of me, I haven't introduced myself. Haloke." She decided not to add her title on the off chance he did have some connection the Nera. It seemed doubtful, but she learned it was better safe than sorry. "I must thank you for your quick action in helping stop such a horrid act. What...what do we do now?"

While she had been quite satisfied with her throwing technique, there had been little time to enjoy the result. The weapon had hit its target true enough, but he had vanished out of the air. It had left Mae'lyrra puzzled and confused. Her spear had fallen to the ground a short distance away, in an alley. She returned the gesture the man had given her and began making her way down the roof. It took a few minutes before she located her spear. It was intact aside from a small nick in the edge.

She wove again through alleys and the rhythmic sound of her spear hitting stone could be heard before she came into view. When she stood in front of the two strangers, she looked around them. The undead had fallen to the ground. No evil now seemed to have a hold over their minds and bodies. Part of Mae'lyrra wanted to give them a proper burial. She sensed, however, that time was of the essence. She fixed her eyes on first the woman and then the man. Then she touched her forehead with her middle and index finger by way of greeting. She bowed slightly and paused for a second before straightening - as was custom among her own people. "My name is Mae'lyrra." She said. "Mae." She smiled and nodded, shifting her spear to her other hand. "I have a thousand questions, but I sense that now might not be the time?" She asked, hoping the two before her might know more than she did.

"Tiriok… And Moral Support here is Haloke. Pleasure to meet you both." He gave a nod, and wiping his blade off on the edge of his red cloak, he slid it back into its sheath, "Actually, now is exactly the time for questions, but I'm not the one who's gonna be answerin' them. You ladies fancy a walk? I need to find Lord Direstrine… He and I have some things to discuss."

Haloke attempted to mimic Mae's greeting, although half way through she decided to lower her hand over her chest, pounding against it twice as her way of greeting. "A pleasure to meet such a warrior." Haloke claimed, still in awe of how she carried herself with that weapon. She was still shaken by all the impressive feats her companions managed and for the meantime that served as a ideal distraction from the death and chaos that surrounded her.

She turned her attention to Tiriok, eyes narrow once she finally got a decent look at him. Well built and a fine jawline- no, not that wasn't what was supposed to be catching her eye. As her vision traced downwards, she noted his uniform, adorned in black and red. "You...you are a knight, yes? Why have you...not attacked like your fellow brethren?" Her hand went instinctively to the helt of her blade, but she kept it sheathed on her hip, just in case. He wasn't armed at the moment and she doubted he would pick a fight with the two of them after working to protect them against the wyverns.

The grin that had been on her face when she saw Haloke's greeting faded slowly. She raised a fair point. By now, though, Tiriok was beyond her doubt and mistrust. She understood the other woman's suspicions however, and for a moment she wondered if she was being too trusting. Mae shifted, indicating that she was ready to follow his lead. Before any of them moved, though, she looked from one to the other.

"I don't think you need worry about this one." She said and tilted her head slightly as she inspected Tiriok. "Though you raise a fair point." A smirk tugged at her lips and just as she was about to continue, a sound rang out above them. Corax. Mae'lyrra looked up. Slowly the bird descended. Wisely, he had hidden himself during the fighting. She held out her arm and soon he landed on it.

Death. Caw. Death! The bird's voice was perhaps unpleasant to some, but not to her. Not anymore. She shushed the bird, fed him seeds and let him take his place on her shoulder. "We should not keep Lord Direstrine waiting."

"Fair point, indeed." Tiriok noted with a small, dry smile. Reaching up, he pulled the shoulder of his armor away from his skin and beneath it was a small, dark mark, similar to that which he'd scrawled onto his forearm, "Counter-spell… Got it off in time before they finished reading that rubbish that got my men all twisted up. Took down a few when they were leaving, but it took a lot out of me. By the time I caught up, well…" Sweeping his arm across the square, he shrugged, "Direstrine shoulda seen it… No self respecting Captain marches without his men. But he's so damn set on this ceremony…"

Shifting, Tiriok watched at the crow descended, landing on Mae'lyrra's arm and putting his fingers to his lips again, he whistled. With a rush of wind, another figure fluttered down onto the wall, the griffin landing with a soft whump beside its master.

"Storm Strider. No worries, she looks tough, but she bites like a kitten…" He remarked, giving the griffin a scratch between her ears. Shifting forward, Storm Strider nudged the side of Tiriok's head with her beak, giving an odd rumbling sound between a growl and a chirp.

"Anyway." Giving a nod, he gestured again towards the stairs, "Direstrine'll have taken the tunnels up through the mountains. They come out, outside of Trefalda. It's a security measure, they'll stash him someplace safe, until the chaos dies down. We can take the long way, or if you ladies aren't afraid of heights…" And with a cant to the side, he looked to the griffin again.

A soft sound escaped her. Mae'lyrra laughed gently and before she knew it, she was stepping toward the griffin. Already when the beast had landed beside Tiriok, her eyes had widened and excitement and fascination were both present in her eyes. Her feet carried her toward the beast and she reached out with both her hands. Storm Strider eyed her for a moment before it brought its head down. Mae'lyrra placed both hands on either side of its head, smiling brightly as she scratched behind the ears.

"Storm Strider." She said in a low voice, keeping eye contact. "How beautiful you are." Awe crept into her voice and the griffin nudged her gently. She leaned a little closer. "Don't listen to him. Such a mighty creature as you surely has a strength unrivalled." Mae'lyrra laughed again happily. Then she turned to Tiriok and nodded. "Such an offer is difficult to refuse. That is…" She paused and looked at Storm Strider. "If she'll carry me."

"Oh she is gorgeous." Haloke claimed, words leaving her mouth before they had to chance to wrangle through the broken filter. She patiently waited for Mae'lyrra to approach the beast before doing so herself, reaching out her hand to her beak to let the creature sniff and become familiar with her. Ajei, the second youngest, had taught her this trick with street animals back at home. Ajei had made friends with numerous felines and it had become a common joke that she would rather live the rest of her life with an Amalfi than an actual Nera man. She gingerly reached to scratch at the creature's ears, turning towards Tiriok. "You have kept us alive so far. I can trust you to get us there through the skies. And with this beauty? It would be my pleasure."

"Oi! Quit with all the compliments. You'll give her a bigger head than she's got…" Storm Strider bucked her head towards him again, and as he had with the last he caught her beak and gave it a kiss, "You know you're my best girl, Stormy. But everyone knows I'm the pretty one."

A soft wicker escaped her again, and shifting, the knight gripped the pommel on her saddle with one hand, and giving a small leap, swung his legs over the back of the beast. Then reaching out, he held his hand down first to Mae, then Haloke.

"We'll she's quick-witted, that's for sure." Mae'lyrra said and stroked the griffin one last time before she took Tiriok's hand and hoisted herself up onto the back of the beast. Having never ridden one, she marveled at the experience and could hardly contain herself at the thought of taking off into the sky.

"I don't think the both of you being sight for sore eyes should be exclusive~" Haloke cooed, although any sense of humor was stripped from her as she mounted the griffin. She had never had the pleasure of flying before, only having heard of Nera who mastered the element of air being able to hover for brief periods of time. She was never sure it was true, but she at least could illustrate a story for when she got home.

These thoughts didn't prevent Haloke from clinging on.

She looked good in a lot of things. A broken neck was not one of them.

"Alright… Everyone hold on." And with a nudge of his boot to her side, Storm Strider lifted off from the wall, a flap of her wings carrying her swiftly up and into the air, then with a smooth fold inward, she glided smoothly over the city streets, towards the grey-stone keep looming high over the iron city.

 

[Elle Joyner]

THEME

Marcellus;Quicksand;LB;

THE
RIDERS
of VERLENDIA

THE CALLING

As the dim light streaming into the temple was once again shadowed by a new arrival, Leander moved to stand before Melindre, drawing his blade, his voice echoed among those present with a challenging authority, "Who are you and why are you here? You have five seconds to answer, if you cherish your life."

Elwyn's hand reached for a sword that was not there and she cursed herself silently for ever letting the Esquarian disarm her. A blonde man approached, swords at the ready - he looked like Floren, she realized, which nearly made her sick again as the wound in his side flashed before her eyes. Those green eyes. The cracking sound his bones had made.

"Leander… There's no need for that. Eventually, you'll need to stop accosting every person we come across..." A sigh escaped, and pushing past him, Melindre bowed her head, "Well met, Dawn Maiden. Tell me, please… what news from the square?"

Then Elwyn saw it - the clear attire and iconography of a follower of Orestra, if a bit concealed under grime and ash and sweat. Elwyn coughed to ready her voice, feeling the motion rub like sawdust across the back of her throat. It took her three attempts to put together a coherent sentence.

"I-I don't know, everything happened so quickly," Elwyn admitted, a pang of guilt and agony washing over her as she recalled the uncertain fate of many of her fellow Children of the Faith. "There was fighting, the crowd broke. I went after someone trying to take down the beacons, and he nearly killed me. The square did not look good, and it looked worse still when my..." She cast a glance back at the Esquarian, who seemed more interested in what treasure there might be to pick from the temple than the conversation. "...companion came to my aid. The… the dead. They were rising up, again. Necromancy, from the looks of it."

The color leached from Melindre's skin and absently, abruptly, her fingers curled around Leander's arm as she steadied herself. It was brief, and she released him again, steeling herself before the others.

"Did you idiots make sure they didn't follow you!?" Came Leander's sharp reply, "You don't know what you've just done, the danger you could have put the Oracle in!"

"We mustn't linger." Melindre interjected, "If they think to come this way… If… if Omesh Kar is here. Leander, you know what I've seen. What… what I saw happen..."

"Then we should get out of here. Tell me where and I'll take you there."

"...West. Into the mountains. Trefalda. We need to go to Trefalda."

"...Milo…" Mercianna gently interrupted, bending down to take the Amalfi by the shoulders, "...You should go with them, my dear little one. You're quick and small, and wonderfully clever, and you and I both know you've no business among petty thieves and pickpockets."

"I… wh… but…"

Rubbing the end of her nose, Nora stepped to Mercianna's side, "She's right. Knew it when you took the eggs it was gonna happen. 'Sides… those big ol' ears of yours'll hear trouble comin' from miles away."

Blinking, Milo shifted from foot to foot, and even as he hesitated, Nora was handing over the two eggs she cradled and he was gingerly sliding them into his pockets, tucked safely away.

"Plus, you got the pockets." She sniffed, giving him a small, gentle nudge in the jaw with her knuckles, "Don't die, Bat Ears? You hear me?"

"You either, Big Mouth." He grinned slyly, but there was a dampness to his eyes that suggested he was closer to crying then laughing. Mercianna, true to her name, scooped him into a gentle hug and cradled him in her shoulder until he could safely muster his resolve.

It was the boy Casimir who suggested they get moving, and heading to the dais, he grabbed what appeared to be a large alms chest, bringing it down with him, "We can put the eggs in here…" His eyes cast briefly to the Amalfi, and to his credit, he didn't outright glower, "Where they'll be safe."

"Will you come with us?" Melindre asked the knight and her companion, "We could use the extra pairs of eyes."

Shortly after, the small group left the temple behind, Mercianna and Nora bidding them farewell as they departed towards the alleyways. The city had quieted, and while now and again a dark shadow still seemed to swoop overhead, the roar of battle had subsided and there was an eerie calm to the Iron Citadel that was unnerving in it's stillness. Melindre led them all to the pathway behind the temple that eventually began to weave and wind up into the Adamantine mountain range. It was a long, tiring walk - largely uphill, and by the time they arrived at the crossroad sign indicating Trefalda was several miles off, night had begun, stars speckling the skies overhead, the moon a ghost behind thick billowing clouds. Fir trees lining the road brushed back and forth, the soft and doleful call of an owl's reverie riding above the subtle sighing of crisp wind through needle-leaf. After a time, tall,verdant grasses gave way to a brittle sward, caressed by frost and the air began to dip in temperature, making fingertips ache and noses flush red. A narrow stream ran east, steadily rushing water tripping over stones, a subtle fog rolling up the bank where reeds and rushes clattered together.

A few more miles on foot led them to a clutch of rock crags on either side, angling up against the blackened sky, eventually opening out into sweeping hills, dotted here and there with copses of pines. At the top of one hill sat a small, quaint house, dark but for a solitary flickering light of fire's glow through the lowermost window.

A voice called out suddenly, from higher on the hill, "Lo! Halt! Who goes there?"

Stepping from behind where they had shrouded themselves in the greenwoods, two Iron Keepers appeared, and behind them, a cloak pulled up over his head, the Iron Lord, himself. His hand clutched his arm, where a bandage was wrapped over what appeared to be a fresh wound. Burnished skin and sterling beard were splattered still with blood, and the expression he wore was of grim discernment.

"...Lord Direstrine?" Melindre stepped forward, looking up at the man with a small frown, "I didn't see… But…"

"Peace, Oracle. A King must be cautious, even where divining minds are concerned." Hands winding together for a moment, he straightened a ring on his pinky finger, then slowly, he and his men made their way down the hill, pausing before the group, "Do you have them? The eggs? Are they--"

"Sire! Ahead!" One of the keepers shouted, gesturing up to the skies. Across the blanket of stars, a dark shape stirred, coming lower in the sweep of massive wings. For a moment, Direstrine studied the shape, before taking a step forward, "At ease, men. I know this creature."

Wind stirred, and as dust formed into a small whirlwind, a griffin bearing three riders took to the ground.

Sliding from his mount, Tiriok gingerly helped Mae and Haloke down from the griffin's back, before turning to approach Direstrine where he stood.

Without a word, with a sudden and unanticipated ferocity, the Captain swung out his fist, catching Direstrine in the jaw. As the Iron Lord toppled onto his back, the Keepers beside him bolted forward to snag Tiriok by the arms, their vice grip nearly not enough to hold him back as he unleashed a low growl of rage.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Direstrine belted, rising up to his feet again.

"The meaning?? You tell me, you lying son of a bitch! You sent them! With that damnable book! You sent your men into my barracks! You wanna explain yourself? All that talk between you and Stavinburg! All that nonsense about being better prepared! I should've known you'd be stupid enough to actually do it!"

"I needed them compliant! Stavinburg's men! I needed them not to question my commands!" Direstrine roared, hands knotting into fists, "The variables! It was too great a chance that--"

"That something would go wrong? Looks like you were right! Who did you hire to find the book?" Shaking off the guards on either side of him, Tiriok approached the king, gripping the front of his armor in both hands. Fingers curling into white knuckled fists, he nearly lifted Direstrine off his feet, "Who!?"

"A… A Klerion woman!" Direstrine replied, a flash of worry crossing his aged features, "She's known for discretion, I thought… I was sure… Sometimes sacrifices need to be made in light of--"

"Sacrifices?" Shoving Direstrine away, Tiriok's eyes narrowed, a finger pointed with blade-like accuracy at the man's face, "You don't get to talk to me about sacrifices! My regiment is ravaged! Friends… brothers gone! And that's not the half of it! Your own city… You've lost control, Direstrine, and you know it!"

"...I was lied to. It's hardly my--"

Another swing, and Direstrine took a fist to the nose, which burst in a bloom of red. The guards this time remained in place, "Don't!" Shaking out his knuckles, blood dripping down his fingertips, Tiriok gave the man a deep glare, "Don't you justify it! You betrayed your own people for an upperhand you never needed in the first place! You never could stand it that Stavinburg commanded the knights, but this?? This goes beyond your usual piddling games! People have died! Good people! My men! And for what? An advantage you no longer have! Kar and his people have the book, Direstrine! They've got Yaris! They almost had the damned eggs!"

"But they didn't! They don't!" Direstrine remarked, and brushing a knuckle beneath his nose, he swiped away the blood, "And they won't… We'll see to it. An Oracle has survived…" Shifting, Direstrine made his way to the throng of onlookers, and reaching out a hand, he grasped Melindre by the wrist. Before she could protest, he dragged her forward, "Go on, Oracle! Tell them! Tell them you can still call the Riders!"

"...I needn't tell them…" Melindre yanked her arm free, fixing Lord Direstrine with a glare, "Most are here. They have been… Orestra ensures the lines are drawn together when they need be. And it would do you good, sire, to be cautious of how you interfere in her designs. Child… The eggs, please?" Carefully, Casimir rested the alms chest he carried gingerly at Melindre's feet. Looking up, the Oracle studied the small sea of faces before her with sincerity, taking a deep, shaky breath. Steadily, her fingers curved around the amulet about her neck, and her eyes briefly closed. When they opened again, her stare was clarified, intent.

"Come forth.. Elwyn, chosen maiden of everlight, honor bound to her good cause." Her eyes twisted to the woman, bowing her head slightly as she spoke, "By the Knowing Mother's eye, you have been watched. Though shrouded is your past, your path has been made clear, and in this so shall clarity resound."

With a pause, her gaze drifted to the tribal woman, and the Nera she stood beside, "Approach, too… Mae'lyrra Varanyn, friend of soil and beast. Your compassion has done you great credit. As you watch over the earth, so too now claim the skies. And Haloke, Wildfire of the Nera… Beloved daughter and sister. So much rides upon your shoulders. Do not fear the responsibilities destiny has set before you… Come..." Here, she paused, her eyes shifting to the Amalfi, who's gaze widened to roughly the size of his massive ears at such attention, "Milo Thell. You are small in stature, but you are big in heart. Swift and clever, indeed. It is by your bravery and cunning that we are all able to stand here, and by that same, you will no doubt make a formidable rider. So too, Casimir Aldarmere… So honest and true. Honor unmatched by those twice your age, tongue of iron and as just as the blade you bear. Nobility is a fine trait, and one most worth of honoring in turn. Take your place… And finally…"

Turning her eyes towards the hill upon which the small house sat, Melindre paused as a young Klerion woman appeared, silhouetted only by the light from the house behind her. The Oracle's voice rose slightly, as she called out, "...Kyen'delsia of Trefalda. Fate's weave is rarely so prompt without just cause, and here you stand a testament to such truths. Though you lack in sight… you have seen more than we ever shall. And it is in your great mystery that we have hope. Come forth… and claim your place among these Riders."

Shifting, taking another breath, Melindre's eyes fell on the young blonde man, standing a short distance from her, shock giving way to a blank, stony silence. When she spoke, her voice was gentle, tender almost, and her eyes glistened now, damp in the pale light of the moon, "Leander Kilnwood… I cautioned you that fate bends to the will of no man. You are strong and bold, and your skills are, by many, unmatched… but what you boast, you lack all the same. For you have little capacity to regard those around you and until you can remedy that, you cannot embrace the destiny you so desire. Yet the Eyes have not forsaken you. There is another path in store… should you only learn to embrace it."

"And all who have shown such bravery…" Direstrine intervened, his booming voice rising through the darkness, "And… willingness to sacrifice, you will also be worthy of titles most becoming. You, Tiriok Vicaris. And you, Esquarian!" He gestured towards Oleander, "Should you so choose to honor Velendia and her people, you shall make fine Guardians of the Bond! Sworn knights to the Riders of Verlendia! And you, boy…" He looked to Leander, giving a firm nod, and Melindre's gaze jumped from one of deep, contemplative remorse to a sudden glimmer of misgiving as she turned her eyes from Leander to Lord Direstrine.

"Walk with me. There is something of… dire importance I require from so able a champion…" Without waiting for Leander's answer, the Iron Lord turned and with his Keepers, moved a distance away from the small crowd.

__​

GM NOTES

TAGS || @KatSea, @Owl, @Verran, @ze_kraken, @Morgan, @Pupperr, @Custodiet Teh

Synopsis and Interactive Elements |

After a long journey, you've arrived near the peak of the Adamantine Mountains, just outside of the town of Trefalda. Here, you discover Lord Direstrine, in hiding and after a shocking encounter with what appears to be a high ranking Phoenix Knight, the Oracle steps forward to name the Riders of Verlendia...

Six Riders have been called, including an unknown Klerion woman who has only just appeared on the scene… and before any could react, Direstrine stepped in to name his own champions from the remaining few, then calling Leander aside to discuss a private matter.

At current, you may write your character's reactions to the news, converse amongst each other or speak to any others present, including Melindre.

In time, you begin to notice the temperature dropping, as the night grows deeper. Shelter of some kind will need to be made.

 

[Custodiet Teh]

Oleander

The Hells did she wind up getting herself into. At the onset of the day, Oleander's biggest concern had been finding lodging for the night and figuring out the best way to enjoy the luxuries of a festival atmosphere inside a Two-leg city. Now, at nightfall, the wayward Esquarian found herself outside some darkened suburb in the company of what she considered the most unlikely group to ever assemble under one banner. An Oracle, a being she'd only heard tales of, being the rallying point of all this.

Apparently the woman with her mother's face that she had decided to rescue rather than ransom, Elwyn, was some sort of holy woman. Then there was the tribal one who Oleander had decided not to like despite the lass doing nothing to deserve it apart from being a reminder of the sad state of her Herd. A child-beast who looked suspiciously similar to those of the Amalfi tribe that her Herd had fought against years back and had a pair of ears that Oleander wanted to gently tug on. A Nera who seemed to be teetering between flippant excitement and flagrant disregard. There was also a child, quite a few of them actually, who apparently was associated with some sort of banditry? Oleander wasn't sure, she wasn't paying much attention to them, truth be told. What did catch her attention was the man with her name, at least part of it. He certainly was pretty enough to be named along similar lines but he was brash and seemed to be trying to keep everyone's attention while trying to push everyone away. He looked and acted bold but seemed upset and small inside.

Then came in the blind woman, curious to how the horned Two-leg managed without her senses. Oleander was staring hard in the dwindling light at her, those of her Herd that went blind often didn't survive long. A bad fall never went well for her kind. It all boded ill to Oleander and as a matter of fact so did their initial meeting with what apparently was a Two-leg King. The man who had dismounted from the flying beastie had all the traits of the men her age back in the Herd. Honorbound, hot headed, violent and despite the good lucks, dumb. Useful tools for men of the type that he struck. Tiriok and King Direstrine, Lord of Iron. They had their row while herself and she supposed others stood awkwardly. She felt strange at being lumped into the same category as the Griffon Rider by the Lord.

Oleander was no less confused by all this than she had been at the outset of things. Her frustration being tamped down by the amusement of it all. After the Kings interrupting pronouncement had finished, Oleander couldn't help but speak up. The implied honor and importance of all of this seemed impressive but there were questions that had to be asked before she went along with whatever was planned.

"Forgive me if ah've git some questions tae ask afore we head oot. Ah' emnt th' sort tae be gang aff oon a word, even if tis th' word oof an Oracle giein' et. Ken we he some sort o' contract written up? Ye Two-Shanks seem tae be oft forgatten anythen' nae written doon. A'm needin' tae hae some sort oof assurance, ye ken?*"

She trotted around in the direction of the King and Leander, making a little show of how little exhaustion she felt. The Two-Leg travel pace was slow and she was still fresh. Her large body emanating enough heat to fight off the chill in the air as she reached back and withdrew one of her muskets, gripping the cold metal by the barrel and giving a poor interpretation of a salute she saw the Phoenix Knights give earlier in the day.

" 'N fir th' record, A'm Oleander Greydapple, bit be cawin me Olee 'nstead. A dinnae noo whit ah' this hullahbawloo is aboot or how come ye be 'avin beastie egss or how come th' deid be risin' or how come a'm meetin Kings wi' bloody nooses bit if yi'll waant me aroond 'n ur willing tae support mae as ah' support ye, ah will dae mah best fur ye lot o' slags**"





*"Forgive me if I've got some questions to ask before we get started. I'm not the type to go along with a plan on word alone. Even if it's the word of an Oracle. Can we have some sort of contract written up or something? The Two-Legs I've dealt with before seem to often forget anything not written down in ink. I'm just would like to have some sort of assurance in all this you know?"

** "And for the record, I'm Oleander Greydapple but please call me Olee instead. Now, I don't know what all this nonsense is about or why you have dragon eggs or why the dead are rising or why I'm meeting kings with bloodied noses but if you all want me around and are willing to help me as I help you, I'll do my very best for you all"

 

[Morgan]

Mae'lyrra​

She hardly had the time to marvel at the griffin when they had touched down onto the ground. The flight itself had left her speechless though smiling brightly. The air had been chilly against her skin and in that moment, flying high above the city, she felt very much alive. But Mae'lyrra was interrupted suddenly as she stood, head resting against the griffin's, and expressed her thanks. The scene that played out before them caused her to take a step back and the griffin to make a noise - the meaning of which Mae'lyrra was too distracted to understand.

Some of the missing pieces to the great puzzle that was this whole situation were found, but she still had questions when their argument was over. One that seemed to repeat itself was 'why'. Why this and why that. It all centered around one thing. Dragons. And the eggs they hatched from. She knew the ceremony had been held, or rather interrupted. It had been the reason why so many were gathered in the square. Thinking back, it was mostly a blur. She remembered people fleeing, fighting traitor knights and throwing her spear at the wyvern-rider. Mae'lyrra's brows furrowed and she looked at her spear. Not a single speck of blood on it. Her eyes widened as she looked at the weapon, wondering how that could be.

"Approach, too… Mae'lyrra Varanyn, friend of soil and beast. Your compassion has done you great credit. As you watch over the earth, so too now claim the skies."

Piercing the haze of thought she was in, came the voice of the Oracle. She spoke her name. How did she know her name again? It took a second or two before she realized what had been said and she followed suit, stepping forth and much like she had when she had greeted Tiriok and Haloke, she bowed slightly, touching her forehead with her middle and index finger.

It was unbelievable to think that the Oracle was calling the riders. And that she had mentioned her name. That had to be a mistake. As she looked around at the other individuals present, whose names were also called, she saw several that seemed more suited to the task than herself. Mae'lyrra watched their faces and felt pressure lay its weight onto her shoulders, but then her eyes landed on Casimir Aldermere. A young man. A boy, even. But he was not the only young one among them. Milo Thell. Something tugged at her heart as she looked from one to the other. These news were daunting to her and while it was in most eyes a great honour, it was also frightening. She could hardly imagine what it must be like for the two young boys.

Mae'lyrra stood frozen as the Oracle ended and the Lord Direstrine called for the one named Leander. For a few moments she just stood and stared at a spot on the ground a few feet in front of her. The wind grew colder but she hardly noticed it, despite her less than warm attire. With great effort she pulled herself out of her haze, reached under her robes and pulled forth her necklace. One of the many pendants was a white feather - a stark contrast to the black ones in her hair. She held it in front of her face, closed her eyes and whispered a few words. Then she opened her eyes again and put the feather away. Somewhere up above, a raven could be heard.

Clearing her throat, she gathered herself and took a step toward the Oracle. She was about to speak when someone else beat her to it. At first she wasn't sure who they were talking to. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure what was being said at all. It was an accent she had never heard before. She stood and watched the esquirian, smiling to herself. Some people went their whole lives without ever encountering one of her kind. Pushing all of her own questions away for the moment, she scanned the faces of those gathered. Suddenly, her smile faded.

Leaning and clearly in pain, she saw the woman who had first been called. It didn't take more than a few seconds for her to determine that the woman was wounded. Mae'lyrra sighed contentedly as this felt more at home, before she covered the distance between them with quiet steps. Once standing in front of the woman, she repeated the same formal greeting as before, and introduced herself.

"I am Mae'lyrra Varanyn." She began. Then she gestured toward the other woman's arm. She had cuts and bruises as well, it seemed. "While you carry your wounds well, they must be mended."