The Adventures of Tegru: The Oni of the West

[Lurcolm]

Food.

Food was a thing Tegru could understand at its most fundamental level. A primal urge that was the simplicity itself

Good food made him happy.

Azerith's food made him ecstatic.

Truly. Fucking. Ecstatic.

Tegru didn't get it, he honestly didn't. He did understand how absolutely delicious her food was, though. She made everything taste good. Tegru knew she had the skills written on her arms, but holy shit she made good food.

The only limitation was seasoning. There was only so much you could do if you didn't have anything.

It didn't faze her though. She just went into the wilderness and picked out herbs. Then she made another fucking masterpiece. The limited amount of spices for the past week only served a culinary challenge for her. She enjoyed making a good stew with only pine needles and a single rabbit.

How, Tegru didn't even care to try and understand. She was simply the Culinary Mystic. You point Azerith at the thing you want to eat and you get a thing that fucking tastes good. Simple. A logic Tegru knows one must ignorantly accept and not as too many question. There are things better left not known, and whether or not Azerith's godlike cooking skills was one of them, was better left not known.

Tegru took another bite of the spinach and potato stew she cooked for group. He was shamelessly devouring the thing, above caring of social norms besides the casual glance to Sparra. Sparra herself was doing the exact same thing.

Azerith wasn't, sadly enough.

Tegru looked up at her, halfheartedly holding his precious bowl of mashed food out for the golem. He didn't really want to give her the food, but she made the food and she wasn't eating any of it, again.

As always, Azerith gave him a smile and waved the man off "I'm fine, Sir. Really." Tegru looked at her dubiously, before sighing in defeat and finishing his bowl without lack of enthusiasm. He put the bowl down next to him, leaning back and rubbing his belly with a satisfied look.

Azerith smiled brightly at that.

He always enjoyed making her feel like he appreciated her food, which he did, but it was important for her to be reminded of it on a daily basis. An easy thing to do if on keeps getting such amazing food. She just wanted attention, and she wasn't dishonest in getting it. Tegru could get that. He didn't have a problem giving her attention for it.

Sparra put her plate down as well, leaning back with a sigh "That, was good." Tegru nodded in reply. Azerith gave a cute giggle before taking the plates from next to their feet and going to the wash basin "I used some herbs I found in the woods. It really added flavour to it, didn't it?" Tegru gave another furious nod "Good, that's good." She started to rinse the food out of the plates, the hot water washing the fat along as well. Tegru's heat runes glowed rather creepily if he were to be honest with himself, but they did do their job. Sadly, Tegru thought it was part of the reason why the caravan won't allow them in their circles.

At first it was easily handled for Tegru. He kept to himself and ate his meals in silence, letting Sparra's exotic and social nature frolic among the merry makers of the night. Now, though, they had Azerith. The golem was a legend in the culinary arts, which prompted Sparra to stay and enjoy a meal with her. Sadly, it also meant that the rest of the caravan isolated them. Why, Tegru could not understand. They even tried. Well, try entailing awkwardly sitting in the one corner with Azerith as Sparra tried to revive the atmosphere. It never worked.

So instead of opting for the rest of the caravan, something Tegru would fully understand, Sparra decided to share her meal with only himself and Azerith.

Tegru gave a small smile to Sparra, before turning his attention to his apparent servant. He furrowed his brows. Her back was turned to him as she washed the plates, leaving a wonderful sight of her rear and also disabling him from grabbing her attention with a wave.

The dress really suited her though. She's been in disguise since the moment Tegru and Sparra accepted her into their fold. Honestly speaking, Tegru longed to see her true form again. It was strange, exotic. He couldn't properly voice his desires out, however, and neither was it rather practical. The caravan as a whole is inhabited by simple, demon fearing folk. Azerith's strange appearance would only entice a lynch mob. He turned his attention to Sparra, who was gazing longingly at a women among the fireplace of the merry makers. Tegru knew Sparra, he knew her mannerisms when she started to fancy a girl. Sparra turned to an amused looking Tegru, who promptly shooed her away.

Sparra gave an embarrassed smile before getting up "See ya later, Crow" She stated, trotting off to frolic as the centre of attention, like any proper Godling should. He turned to Azerith just to see her observe his interaction with Sparra. She gave Tegru a small smile "Releasing her from social demands, are we?" Tegru gave a small nod, raising his hand to indicate he wanted to address a subject. He pointed to an attendant Azerith, making a common motion of hunger by tapping his lips and holding his stomach. Azerith furrowed her eyebrows "I told you, Sir. I'm not hungry."

Tegru grunted, shaking his head. How the hell was he supposed to ask this? They didn't have any paper. He did his same hunger gesture, then pointed to her, then spread his arms out to indicate a question. Azerith furrowed her brows as she tried to figure it out "Are you… asking what I eat, Sir? Or are you asking if I get hungry?" Tegru waved to his over his shoulder and to his back, trying to indicate he was referring to the former matter. Azerith thankfully understood

"Oh? Just… Things." Tegru looked at her with an insulted expression, folding his arms together. Azerith went on the defensive rather quickly "I just don't want to tell you, okay? It could scare you, Sir." Tegru raised an eyebrow, motioning for her to get on with it. Azerith sighed, shaking her head

"I drink blood."

Tegru blinked, looking at her with surprise.
"Yes! Blood! It's what I eat!" She stated defensively, panicking slightly "It isn't that big of a thing! Okay?" Tegru in turn shook his head with a confused expression. He honestly didn't expect that. Blood was a source of life force, if he remembered. It almost made sense, considering she was a flesh golem and all. He gave a sure nod, then turned to Azerith and nodded more. He was okay with this new information. He was okay.

Azerith's face softened a bit as she sat down next to him on the log he was on. She gave him a slight smile and leaned into his shoulder "Were you worried I wasn't eating enough?" Tegru gave a nod "I tend to drink the blood from the oxen and horses when people fall asleep. They don't even feel it." He gave another nod, looking closer at her smile. He remembered, at the very beginning, Azerith had extended her teeth into massive fangs. He remembered that they were thin and sharp: Perfect for biting into an artery and leaving most flesh intact.

He smiled to Azerith, putting a possessive arm around her shoulder and tightening his grip around her. He remembered that the trio would depart in the next few days. The Caravan would pass the town asking for help and they would simply disembark. They could probably find some Inn to sleep in, and he'd have Azerith in all to himself…

Fear shot inside him at the thought. He decided to think of something else, turning to see what Sparra was doing. What he saw unsettled him, though. She was walking back through the darkness with two new figures at either side. One was the size of a bear and the other about Sparra's. The Godling's bright green hair left a faint glow on the silhouettes. Whoever they were, Sparra wanted Tegru to meet them.

He got up, instinctively standing in front of Azerith in an attempt to shield her from potential harm. He didn't quite understand what was going on, but he was the most dangerous between the two: Azerith could really hurt you physically but any damage to her runes would lean to unforeseeable effects. Tegru had his Voice. Tegru had his Stories.

His paranoia was for nought, though. As Sparra had a smile on her face, freshly illuminated by their campfire. Her two companions had their amulets out. Both wore identical amulets, depicting a book with a devil's tong sticking out of its pages. The Order of the Lying Tome. The amulets made Tegru relax, patting his neck where he felt his own. Sparra told them to take the amulets out of their shirts, no doubt to ease Tegru's mind.

"Crow! Looks like we've got some company!"

He gave a stiff nod, but didn't stray from Azerith. He waited for them to come to him before he shook their hands. The first up was a women, a bit taller than Sparra upon closer inspection, but the same red eyes. Hers didn't glow though. Her grip was nice and strong, a refreshing gesture Tegru returned with a slight smile. She stood as tall as Tegru, and her stern face was something Tegru found mildly intimidating. She gave Tegru a curt nod as she introduced herself, "Harla. I take it you're Tegru?" Tegru gave a nod. "May our partnership be a good one."

Tegru nodded, sensing how she moved to Azerith. He would've turned to see what they were saying if it wasn't for the bear of a man to come stomping into his personal space. The man slapped Tegru's unprepared hand and squeezed the life out of it, smiling slightly as Tegru maintained pressure to alleviate the pain. Tegru had long since realised the best defence against a crushing handshake was to return it. Maybe the counteracting forces left less stress on the hand, or maybe the tensed muscles don't feel pain as easily. Tegru didn't know.

The man in question was big. Tegru was a tallish young man. This behemoth stood a head and a half taller than the Chanter. His body pulsed with ropey muscle and his grey eyes looked battle hungry. His short hair only helped to make his thick beard look bigger.

All in all, Tegru felt like a lesser man in his presence, what with Tegru's thin frame and lack of will to go physical. He just didn't want to admit it to himself.

"Nice to see ya! I'm Davek!" He laughed, smacking Tegru on the shoulder. "It's going to be a pleasure to work with ya!"

Work with?

He glanced at Sparra, his face stating everything he wanted about the words the man said. Sparra gave a strained smile "Apparently the Order already sent someone to deal with that Eastern problem. The pair wound up dead. So now they're sending two of a higher rank."

Ahh yes, standard procedure.

He turned to find Davek going nice and cosy with Azerith, the two holding a nice conversation. She was smiling warmly and laughing at his jokes. Tegru's lips strung tightly as he decided to leave her be with this Davek. If she enjoyed his company, he would just be rude to interrupt.

Problem was if he left now, he'd make a scene. Leaving abruptly when Tegru saw Davek getting all chummy with Azerith would send a message Tegru didn't want to send. So he simply sat down on the log he previously sat on, not really knowing what to do. He gave a sidelong glance to Sparra, who was socialising with the Harla girl. They seemed to know eachother. Davek was busy with Azerith. After an undetermined time, Tegru got up and went into the wagon. He was left to his own devices for the night as he reviewed his runes in Black Script.

Azerith had Black Script etched into her right arm and right side of the upper chest. Due to the nature of Black Script, he could deduce Azerith's rough age. Considering the archaic and almost clumsy use of words that rang similar to other older languages, Azerith was at least a hundred and fifty years old and at most over six thousand. Tegru didn't like such horribly inaccurate info.

The gender of the writer was most definitely female, and she wrote the runes in a loving, nurturing way. Whoever this being was, she decided multiple runic languages would be best. Probably to avoid a messy situation of someone completely taking over her golem because she used a single language. The mystery being's age was, well, a mystery. The type of age tense she used was named Beyond Mortality, making the women at least a thousand years old in and of herself.

Azerith was quite the enigma.

He felt his eyes droop in the shadow of his light runes. They quad of people outside were still happily chatting, something that made Tegru feel very lonely. Like they didn't even notice his absence. Why would they though? He was just a mute in the end. He held no presence with a social situation. He simply went to bed with the intent of ending his bad night.

He got up early, earlier than most people anyways, and found that his home wagon has been invaded by these two strangers. Harla was sleeping with Sparra, all cuddled into eachother but thankfully neither of them were naked, and Davek slept in the bunk above Tegru's. Where Azerith was supposed to sleep. His eyes shot out of his skull at the limp hanging arm that went into his bed bunk. He quickly crawled out of his bed to find some good news. Davek was sleeping alone. Azerith was nowhere to be seen, but she wasn't with Davek.

His thoughts were temporarily stopped by the smell of chicken. Sweet, savoury poultry.

He scurried out as quietly as he could, pulling aside the wagon's flap to see Azerith in her washed beauty. She apparently bathed in the river the caravan stopped next to. A quick glance indicated that others had similar plans. Tegru regretted not climbing out of bed earlier.

She gave him a warm smile as she already had the plates ready "Hello Sir, did you sleep well?" He gave a meek nod, remembering how she laughed and smiled with Davek as he sat down. She had a large, flat pan where she cooked the chicken on, a small plate of previously boiled vegetables on top of the pan to keep it warm. Loaves of dry bed sat idly at the side, waiting to have something done to them.

His stomach hurt from hunger. Surprisingly his stomach didn't growl like everyone always said it should. He just gained a sensation in his gut telling him to eat. It almost hurt, but not quite. It rose when he saw the meal she set out, putting on a plate a good helping of vegetables and some bread. She even put a small bowl of grease on the plate to dip the bread in. Tegru gave an ear splitting smile, sitting down on the log and putting the plate on his knees. Sparra handed him a knife and fork, with a small wash basin. He washed his hands and dove into the chicken without using the utensils given, growling in pleasure as he tore off chunks and swallowed hungrily.

He swallowed a bit too much though, the food got stuck in his throat. He stopped eating, messaging his throat to get the chunk of chicken moving.

"Oh here you go, Sir." Azerith stated, handing him a cup of water. He quickly downed a big gulp, clenching his eyes and teeth in pain as his throat got stretched out. The food jerked down into his gut, leaving a relieved Tegru to sigh as the food broke free. He ate at a slower pace, musing about how little he felt going down his throat, now that he had it stretched a bit.

"You shouldn't eat so fast, Sir. You might choke one day." Tegru nodded slowly to her, smiling slightly. Azerith was very good to him. He really enjoyed her company for that. She always worried about him. Even when it proved less than convenient. He wouldn't have it any other way though. He gave a small smile at the thought, drinking from his cup slowly.

"Do I smell food?"

Oh no.

Davek leaped off of the wagon, smiling broadly. He glanced at the chicken hungrily, before grabbing a plate and taking a knife from his belt. He jabbed into one of the chickens and peeled it off the blade into his plate. He didn't care for the vegetables, oh no, he simply took another piece of chicken. He sat down and bit into a chunk, chewing hard enough to let the muscles in his jaw clench.

Tegru felt his right eye twitch, then his neck. He looked down at his plate with a set jaw and his lips in a scowl. Davek truly pissed Tegru off. The man was just a meat eating barbarian. An idiotic clump of muscle that only goes far in life and with women because he can beat the shit out of things and has arms the size of Tegru's thighs.

Azerith gave a small giggle to Davek, which made Tegru sigh silently.

They also had a way with women. A way Tegru could never hope to achieve with the personality he had.

Tegru felt his mood souring incredibly, the only good thing he felt was Azerith's food. He wasn't even in the mood or hungry enough after he finished half of his serving. He put the plate down, a frown on his features. Azerith frowned as well "You're not going to finish your meal?" Tegru responded by shaking his head. They could feed it to the pigs of that one man six wagons in front of them.

He walked back into his cabin and went back to practicing his Black Script as Sparra and… Hadla? Halla? He couldn't remember. They gave eachother warm smiles, a good morning kiss, and only then realised there was an upset Tegru in their little corner. They looked at him with embarrassment, but he only gave them a dismissive wave. Who was he to judge if they're going lovey dovey? Honestly their cuddling made him jealous, but that was no reason to be unhappy.

"Hey Crow" Sparra started, untangling herself and climbing out of bed. She put on a more presentable shirt as she looked for a good pair of leggings to wear "Why are you in here, Crow?" Tegru gave a long sigh, pointing to the bed bunk above his own, Azerith's former bunk. Sparra blinked, trying to figure out what he meant "Azerith?" Tegru shook his head with irritation. After a small moment, she gave a small grin. She gave a sideways glance to her companion "Hey Harla. Crow here's got some manliness issues."

Oh come on!

Harla, as her named apparently was, gave a small grin "Really? I've seen how the kid looks at that servant girl of his. I think he's jealous.

He frowned, looking accusingly at the two. He didn't shake his head though. He couldn't lie to Sparra and she'd just tell Harla if he was. The two gave a small giggle, which only intensified when they looked at Tegru once more. His face felt very hot, so he must have been blushing. He shook his head in disapproval of them, climbing into his bed and focusing more intently on his runes. Sparra gave a sigh and sat down next to him "C'mon Crow. Don't be like that." He gave her an angry look.

"We're just poking fun, alright? Don't go mopey on me." Tegru sighed, nodding his head. It wasn't something to be unhappy about. He should just stop feeling so unhappy about it. Sadly that logic never helped him feel less. It was fucking frustrating. He gave a big sigh and got back to a sitting position on his bed's edge. Sparra gave his back a rub, but he quickly moved away from it. He didn't like being consoled like that. It made him feel like a child. A small, six year old child that couldn't handle his own problems. Sparra sighed, rubbing her face as she tried to fix the situation. Harla raised her voice "If I may, would I suggest a course of action?" Tegru gestured grandly for her. If she had an option, he'd be more than happy to hear it.

"Well, considering your unhappiness stems from Davek charming that servant girl of yours, why don't you charm her back?"

Tegru looked at her as if she were crazy. She had to be.

Harla in turn took a dedicated moment to be offended "Well pardon me. Why can't you?"

He just couldn't. He couldn't hold a conversation. He couldn't even communicate and she wanted him to… what? Prance about making make-believe conversation?

His thoughts apparently translated to his face. Harla gave a sigh "Fine then. Forget I mentioned it." And promptly walked outside. Sparra gave a shrug before running after her "Harla! Come back here!"

And thus there was one.

Not liking the atmosphere, Tegru stepped out to find Azerith and Davek chatting it up all chummy and happy. It made him sick. He started walking up the caravan, honestly curious when they'll start moving. He passed the stench of the pig farmer who brought his pigs along for the trip and the blacksmith with his own little forge in his iron wagon, with another wooden one to sleep in. He counted twenty three wagons before he ran into a bit of a snag.

Well, the entire caravan did. The road they were travelling had a little bit of a landslide. There was an admirable effort to clean the mess up, but they would be severely delayed regardless. They would either have to make a detour or drudge it out. Personally Tegru would prefer drudging it out. If he gained permission from Sparra to use his Stories, he'd even help out.

It's a far more reliable decision, considering the lack of knowledge of what lurks within the woods.

Red flitted across the cliff edges where the landslide began. Tegru blinked, focusing on the strange colouring. He couldn't see so far away, but it was red and big. Very big. It went out of sight quickly enough, leaving a worried Tegru to contemplate his next action.

That wasn't good.

He turned on his heel and returned to Sparra. She needed to know about the red thing. It could be bandits who have them trapped, or planning an ambush. It could be something else, but Tegru didn't want to think it could. They were still a day away from the village. He didn't need a horror from the Eastern lands to bother him right now.

He found Sparra still talking out how Tegru was "A bit hard to handle" to Harla. Tegru grabbed Sparra by the shoulder, giving her an alarming look. She blinked, lowering her head slightly "Crow? What's up?" He first tried to gesture it, but reasoned that it was simply too complicated to do that. He made a writing motion with his hand, running to their wagon. Sparra followed suit, as did a very irritated Harla.

Tegru didn't see Azerith as he ran past an exercising Davek. He climbed into his wagon and took out a blank piece of parchment with a piece of charcoal. Hurriedly, he scrawled on the piece of parchment, "Road blocked. Landslide. Big red thing on cliff. Possible ambush." He handed her the paper, looking at her with intensity. Sparra's lips grew thin as she digested his information.

"How big?"

Tegru stretched his arms out to increase his size as much as possible. Very big.

She sighed, shaking her head "Harla. The thing's here." Harla in turn went grim faced, nodding as she ran out to get Davek. Sparra produced a wooden spear in her hand, nodding to Tegru "Be ready, Crow."

Tegru gave a small nod. Thanks to his experience with the witches, he learned a hard lesson: Always prepare stories beforehand. Always. Tegru reached out to the Stories of the region, asking for aid for a possible ambush. Four came up, all tales of heroes or heroic bands of militia. He grasped at one about a band of mercenaries and another about a known monster slayer. Those would work. He just needed to keep the Stories convinced that he would use them.

He walked out, blinking as he noticed a clear lack of Azerith. He glanced around warily, before diving back into his wagon and scrawling "Azerith" on the same piece of parchment he had before. He ran up to Sparra, who was heading to the front of the caravan, and handed her the note. She kept walking, forming a thick wood and chitin plating on her form as she did, and shook her head "She left a little while after you went for a stroll. No clue where she is."

Tegru felt a burst of anxiety bubble inside himself. He was worried. He glanced around to the neighbouring woods, but he couldn't find his flesh golem. He sighed, shaking his head as he sprinted to the front. Hopefully she was safe. Just out for a stroll. Yes that's it. Out for a stroll. In the woods just outside their wagon. She's probably out there, hunting for herbs. She didn't have any reason to walk more to the front of the caravan. Besides she was strong, she'd be able to fend for herself.

Unless, of course, they harmed her runes.

Tegru shook his head clear as Sparra took control of the front of the group rather expertly. Her body language seeped with confidence and authority, a lot of people were already looking at her before she even spoke

"Everyone!"

The crew busy with digging their way out of the landslide and the observing caravanners ceased what they were doing and gazed upon Sparra. She struck an imposing sight, with her Godling heritage and fully armoured like a traditional Lifecrafter. Harla seemed almost miniscule in comparison, even as her body glowed with runes. Tegru noted her runes were made from the language Lamizar. Orignally elven, but surprisingly easy to learn. A simple language that could do a lot. Davek just looked like regular, belligerent Davek. The only difference was he was wearing some sort of gauntlets made of reptilian scales. They looked extremely sturdy. The man was apparently some sort of unarmed combatant.

"We are from the Order of the Lying Tome!" Sparra continued, causing a great big ruckus of surprised whispers and gasps. The Order didn't normally let their presence be known so blatantly. An obvious defensive measure when hunting beings wearing a human's guise.

"We have reason to believe that our quarry we were hired to hunt has caused this landslide! We suspect they plot to ambush this caravan! I request all able bodied fighters to lend their hands as we build a resistance force!"

A big man from the pig farmer's family stepped forward. As did the blacksmith. The militia assigned to the caravan hesitated only for a moment, before stepping forward as well. All in all, The Order's group along with the caravanners counted twenty two. Twenty two out of forty nine. Tegru didn't count himself into the equation, because he wouldn't be doing any physical fighting. Sparra nodded, satisfied with their numbers, and stretched her hand out into the air. She hummed with an odd aura, then blinked "All my creatures are dead."

Tegru blinked as well. That… was unconventional. Even if the creatures they were supposed to hunt killed Sparra's, there would be at least two or so from the eight that survived, since they were at the back.

Oh Gods… If the back was also compromised… Azerith could be-

"Tegru."

He blinked, jolting as he glanced up at Sparra

"I need you to write life taps on volunteers. I need my full strength for this."

Tegru gave a meek nod, wondering how Sparra would convince a bunch of folk she hardly knew to give life force to them. Sparra's eyes glowed brighter red, surveying the people as resources now "I request to those who do not wish to fight, to give a small portion of your strength to me. I am low on magical power, which I need to fight for you.."

The boy from the Pig Farmer's family stepped forward, still just hitting puberty. His smitten expression as he gazed at Sparra gave Tegru all explanation he needed about why he would help. Joke's on him, Sparra prefers women.

Two others Tegru didn't recognise stepped forward, siblings in their twenties. One was a boy, and the other a girl. Twins, considering their similar looks and age. The stuck close to eachother, but uncomfortable and daring eachother to do the right thing. It was honestly cute to behold, they were just a bit older than him, after all.

The last was a small girl, gazing adoringly at Sparra. It seems like Sparra had an admirer from another sort as well. She's probably going to tell Sparra that the girl wants to be just like her. Sufficiently cute as well.

Tegru gave a glance to Sparra, who gave a nod in turn. Permission given, he gestured to all of them to come closer to him. He patted his robe, frowning as he realised he forgot the charcoal piece he used back on the wagon. He made a writing motion with his hand, raising an eyebrow to his small group. The boy sibling raised his hand "Oh! I've got an ink and quill!" Tegru shook his head violently. He didn't want to use ink. It could make the life tap a bit too strong. He glanced to the little girl as she pulled out a piece of charcoal from her satchel. Her black stained fingers indicated that she used it regularly. He nodded in thanks, herding everyone closer to him

He made a turning motion with his hand, which thankfully made them turn around. He dabbed his tongue on the charcoal and wrote Life and Give in Dwarvish Runes. Dwarvish Runes had the merit of not needing any cohesive grammer. Just plunk the two words together in the right order and you're golden.

With the life taps ready, Tegru went to Sparra and drew the symbols Life and Receive in junction. Steady red energy flowed through the townsfolk and into Sparra, who was sighing in bliss at the rejuvenation. Normally Sparra would simply regain it naturally from ambient life energy, but this worked far more affective. After a small while, Sparra nodded to Tegru, and he quickly snuffed out the runes on her chest.

The group of people were in various states of lightheadedness. The boy who fancied Sparra was flat on his ass, shaking himself clear. The girl just kept blinking a lot, sneezing. The siblings sat down and took deep breaths. No permanent damage was left though, considering they wouldn't strain themselves in the fight.

Tegru nodded in satisfaction. He stepped towards the people who had the runes made on, intent on wiping the runes off and having the end of it. He heard some heavy thumping behind him, but was too focused on getting to the people he put runes on to notice fully.

"Crow!"

Tegru jumped at Sparra's sudden shriek, turning around to greet a hulking mass of red skin and muscled flesh. It spoke in a language Tegru had never even heard in his life and was charging at the young Chanter with fury. He had horns, and a very big iron club, hexagonal in structure.

Tegru leaped out of the way just as one of Sparra's giant scorpions engaged the beast. Tegru blinked, watching the chaos that suddenly erupted. The violence was grim.

Six militia already lay dead at the front of the battlefield. The beast they were sent to kill were, in fact, beasts. Plural. As in six. All giant, angry looking, red skinned ogre things.

Sparra was leaping and ducking out of the way of a club, stabbing the thing with her spear, but not managing any headway. The thing seemed sluggish though, more so than the others. Knowing Sparra, she probably poisoned her weapon with a paralytic. Even so, the thing managed to either go through it with its constitution, or was somehow being healed from it. The latter thought was rather troubling, but Tegru had other matters to attend to.

Harla was, surprisingly, going toe to toe with one of the things. Certain runes, coloured red specifically, glowed brighter than the rainbow coloured ones on the rest of her body. She wielded an iron rod from the blacksmith as a club to match the red ogre she was fighting.

Davek was… Taking on two. And he was winning. His gloves shone with blood already as he used various grappling moves that seemed specifically designed to take out larger targets. Davek caught one in a choke hold, snapping the ogre's neck and leaping on the other one.

It all was going well, Tegru opened his mouth to start his chant, deciding on the mercenary band to increase their numbers. He started to phrase out the words Back When, when he noticed something.

His voice didn't work.

He tried to scream, but only received a loud exhale. His eyes shot wide with panic as his hands clawed at his throat, as if to entice it to move

He couldn't speak.

He couldn't speak.

He couldn't fucking speak.

He tried to croak, but his voice was simply nonexistent. It came out as another breath. He glanced around desperately, trying to find an answer. Something that would make sense of this.

He found it.

Up in the sky, a strange thing flew. It had a roughly humanoid shape, with strange skin that reminded Tegru of a plucked chicken. Pitch black wings grow out of the thing, with a massive beak where a man's mouth should be. The thing was chanting something, in the same strange language as the red ogre. The thing was doing strange, arcane motion with it's hands, and they were all aimed at Tegru.

The thing was silencing him.

Tegru swallowed loudly as he glanced at Sparra, who in turn glared at the Chanter "Crow! Chant something dammit!" Tegru opened his mouth, exhaling more air as he tried to scream. He pointed to his mouth with a shake of his head to indicate something was wrong.

Sparra turned, her face etched with worry.

Then she crumpled like a piece of paper under the ogre's club.

Tegru gasped, eyes going wide with shock as the world seemed to slow around him. He didn't notice anything anymore. All he could see was Sparra folding into herself like a collapsible bench on a wagon. Her torso bent the wrong way.

It bent the wrong fucking way.

Tegru blinked. He couldn't move. He could only watch as the ogre that fought Sparra turn and smash Harla in the back with that same club that crumpled Sparra. The ogres cheered to eachother, before ganging up on Davek. Who, as powerful as he was, could not block behind him.

All of the Agents of the Order fell. All except Tegru, the trump card.

And trump card wasn't functioning.

He turned to the crow thing, eyes wide with grief as tears rolled down his cheeks. He shook his head in pure denial as he saw the thing looking down from under it.

There, stood Azerith.

She had a long parchment of paper glued to her forehead, but her true form was undeniable. Purple-pink skin, generous but not too big breasts, firm waist, small yet pronounced hips. All of which were exposed, of course. The only clothing she had was a new collar she had, thick leather with a belt buckle to keep it in place. That was Azerith, in all her glory. The rune filled paper blocked her strangely beautiful face.

And she was charging at him like an enemy. With her enhanced strength, Tegru could only watch in shock as she closed the gap between them, and sent her fist flying between his eyes.

All Went Black.


******


Tegru felt his mind grasping back to reality bit by bit, but he was not yet there. He dreamed of crows flocking to the dead. He saw them lean their little heads to the departed's lips, listening to their life's Stories.

It was surreal.

All the crows flew in unison, back to a great Unknown. A being Tegru could not behold. All at once Tegru understood the simple truth and yet nothing else. As if his mind expanded impossibly wide and yet couldn't understand what was happening. The black orb, blocking Tegru's sight of the being lest the Chanter go mad, spoke

"You are The Chanter. Servant of the Story Keeper. Your time has not yet come. Your Story is not yet complete. The Crows will not listen to you. Return."


******


Tegru blinked. Pain shot through his nose and tears wracked his eyes. He couldn't properly close his eyes, so he simply opened them. The people all around him looked shocked, terrified even, as they gazed up at him. Tegru noticed why quickly enough. They had him bound and next to a shallow grave.

They were going to bury him. They thought he was dead.

The sound of flesh hitting solid ground came into view, and the girl from the twins had apparently fainted. Tegru didn't understand why though. He wiggled in his restraints, glaring at the closest man wielding a knife. Silently telling the man to get him out. He hated constricting spaces. He enjoyed feeling like he could breathe. The man quickly did it, but avoided eye contact with Tegru. A few more experimental blinks indicated that something was wrong with his face. He just didn't know what yet.

After five minutes of undoing the wrappings, he got up and walked to the collapsed girl. Prodding her to lay on her back, he pulled a small mirror he noticed earlier from her dress's pockets. Nobody moved in to stop him.

That's when he saw his face.

With his nose and most of the area around it caved in due to a flesh golem's fist. Blood caked with shards of bone, somehow keeping it all stable.

Tegru could've sworn he saw bits of his own brain, here and there.

He could only stare in disgusted aw at his own visage. His vision narrowed, just like it did when he saw Sparra getting attacked.

Sparra…

"Sparra!"

The people around him got shunted back violently by both his voice and his body as Tegru looked around desperately. All Tegru could see was Sparra's form, bending in half.

Bending in half due to a club made of iron.

Bending in half because Tegru wasn't able to do anything.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

He roared through gritted teeth, not daring to make another shout like that. He searched wildly, eyes like an animal. Where was Sparra? She had to be alive. She had to be alive. She had to be alive dammit! She was a Godling! A Lifecrafter! She could get out of that! She fucking could! She was alive and wounded and she was all in all fucking okay.

He started to tear up, stumbling like a blind man as he felt his heart starting to bash his ribcage to get away from the fear Tegru felt. He gazed around violently, his whole world ceasing when he spotted a clump of glowing green hair.

He shambled towards it, breath shallow and rapid. He needed to see her. She had to be alive. She had to be alive.

Tegru rounded the corner, to see Sparra and that other girl Sparra liked bandaged up pretty badly. Both were breathing. She was fucking breathing. Alive! Sparra was alive!

Tegru started to cry. Earnestly and out of relief.

He sat down next to Sparra's bed and cried. He cried as the faint red trickle came out of his form and went into Sparra's. The same red trickle, albeit far smaller, came from all the plants and insects and trees in the region. She was siphoning excess life force. Healing her broken form slowly and surely. The other girl, Harla, had some runes on her body glowing. Glowing a bright green and pulsing. Every time it did, Tegru could hear a faint cracking as bones reset themselves. He liked Sparra's more. It was a constant, slow mending. Harla's was a brutal pulsing thing.

After he nodded to the two, more to himself rather, he sighed in relief. He wiped the tears from his face and looked grimly at them.

This was his fault.

He needed to fix this.

He turned to a man just running to Tegru, his eyes immediately averting Tegru's gaze at the sight of his ruined face. Tegru didn't care. It didn't even hurt that bad.

"Sir. You're part of the Order, correct?" Tegru gave a mute nod

"Then let me bring you up to speed." The beady blue eyes of the fat man jerked nervously into every corner "After you got defeated, the militia soon followed. Everyone ran for their lives, Sir." Tegru nodded, making rapid hand motions to make the man go faster "We're just sixteen left, Sir."

That gave Tegru pause. That wasn't even half the caravan. Just gone, gobbled up or beaten to death by those strange ogres. Maybe used for some magical bullshit by that crow thing.

Tegru gave a small pause. He remembered something about crows. Listening to whispers. Tegru didn't know how, but he gained an insight on the thing. It was an Eastern demon, or what they had instead of demons. Crow things. Tegru felt like his crows wasn't the same as its crows.

He sighed at the man, nodding solemnly. The man looked scared "Sir. What do we do? They chased us in the woods with only what we could carry! They'll eat my pigs, Sir! That's my livelihood! Gone!" Tegru blinked and looked at the man, he was sniffing, sobbing. Crying.

"They t-t-took mah son! They took m-mah wife! They took mah daughter!" He looked up to Tegru, pleading to a man with a caved in face "Please sir. Save what little ah have left!" The man pleaded, his formal dialect he used with Tegru fading fast.

Tegru nodded. What else was he supposed to do? He nodded and promised the man something Tegru truly wanted to achieve. Tegru wanted to break that crow. He wanted to rip its throat out and fill its lungs with blood. He wanted to slice off its wings and force the thing to eat them. He wanted it to suffer. For taking his voice, for hurting Sparra, for taking Azerith from Chanter. That thing was going to pay.

Slowly.

Tegru reached out. He reached out further than he could safely handle. He reached out with his rage and with his need for vengeance. He reached out with every intent of making them pay, no matter the price. Tegru could live a few decades less, who cared about that. Honestly. This was his fault. He was going to fix it.

His request bore fruit. It bore a story of a man making a deal with a demon to slaughter his enemies.

Tegru took a step towards the cliffs above the canopy of the forest, already voicing his first phrase out, when it all suddenly stopped. The story was gone. Ripped away by something. Something that was stronger.

Tegru felt that the something different. Something other than a story was fighting for Tegru's attention. Something old. Something forgotten. Tegru couldn't help himself. He wanted to see what the thing was that wasn't a story, but wanted his voice. Tegru reached out to it, giving it a chance to voice its desires

The thing only needed half a chance to take control of Tegru.

Tegru tried to scream in shock, but there wasn't enough wind in his lungs anymore. The thing grabbed Tegru's spirit, using it as an anchor. The thing was old. Powerful. Tegru could feel Its loneliness. It was also forgotten by whoever used to remember it whoever worshipped It.

Tegru realised the Thing was a Forgotten God. A Being abandoned by Its former worshippers. A Thing that slowly wasted away until it was nothing.

Most Gods hold out for a century, before wasting all of their power in some event just to end their suffering. Not this God, oh no. Not this one. It waited. It knew that someday, something was going to reach out to it.

It spent all of Its spare power into Tegru, taking his soul for a time, making Tegru something other than a Chanter.

Tegru was now a Prophet.

Tegru could feel his face reset. Heal. Nullify the existence of the wound that made his face a soup bowl. It was nothing, nothing compared to the power coursing through him.

He was the Prophet of a God.

He was going to spread Its word.

Tegru grabbed the pig farmer by the arm, dragging the man to the centre of the makeshift camp. Sixteen desolate, hopeless souls gazed upon Tegru. They could see the divine power emanating from him. They could feel it.

Tegru knew of religions that started with one mere soul.

Tegru would begin with sixteen times that.

"I've come to you and see you through
Of all creeds and colluh'!

I come to you and ask of you
As a Humble wagon brothuh!"

The people, his people, were shocked. Some feared foolishly that Tegru was being too loud. They thought the crow thing and the ogres were still a threat. His people was confused, they did not understand his message yet.

"A terror comes with intent
For us all to keel!

They lack estimate
Of the Mighty Wagon Wheel!"

There. Tegru's song started to take the hearts of his folk, his people, his followers. Two burly men, and one old lady sang in unison

"The mighty Wagon Wheel!"

More gazed up at Tegru. More felt the Wagon Wheel's presence. A God that protected caravanners since the Old times. Since before magic truly awoken. The Wagon Wheel was always there, watching. Even as It's followers abandoned It to serve other, more vocal Gods. It knew. It always knew, as a caravan merchant knows, that the longest, most trying hauls leads to the best rewards.

Tegru continued. He bashed his own chest with fury, roaring with power

"It Hardens us
By bashing our flesh numb!"

He raised his arms out, lifting them to tell his people to rise. And they rose. In the distance, he was aware of some vague annoyance being notified of Tegru's presence. Their turn will come soon

"It Bolsters us
By our simple campfire hums!"

"Our simple campfire hums!"

Tegru Stared with intensity, pointing to his right eye with sheer ferocity. He was going to fucking do this!

"It Sharpens us
With a wary eye for Brigands!

It Strengthens us
By feeding the Wheel with a Second!

It Emboldens us
By crossing a great river!

It Wizens us
With the chaos of the Road!"

"With the chaos of the Road!"

All sixteen of them, men and women, were chanting now. They felt the Wagon Wheel like Tegru did. They knew Its presence. They felt i's power. Tegru took to being a prophet well

Then came the strange, deep language of the foes. Simple creatures, all except the Crow Thing. That needed to be watched, as much as Tegru was powerful, he was still a flesh and blood vessel

Please. Make the Crow Thing suffer. Kill it with our bare hands

Tegru decided to act on his base desires. His people cowered, as all mortals did, when the enemy came. He raised his hand up, silencing their fears. He pointed to their direction, eyes alight with power as he screamed with power

"I ask of thee
Why we fear them?!

We are truly free
To sing a battle hymn!"

That inspired his people. They gazed up adoringly to their Prophet. He gave a small smile. He turned fully to the noise. He could already see glimpses of red as the false ogres came at them. He needed a weapon. A weapon that would inspire Faith. That would solidify his hold. Even as he thought it, he already found a Wagon Wheel in his grip. His hands fitted perfectly around the wheel's wooden frame. He held it up to the sky, screaming with righteous fury

"We give praise
To the Mighty Wagon Wheel!

And we have It's Aid
To churn them into meal!"

"Oh praise be
The Mighty Wagon Wheel!

For It gave
The courage that we feel!"

Tegru knew his people were set in It's faith, but no mortal could withstand five of these false ogres. He spread his hand out, sharing his divine power among them just as one of the pungent smelling creatures entered their little circle.

A single one didn't stand a chance. Tegru's people dove on the thing, making it collapse under their sheer weight. Four each took a limb, and they pulled. They pulled until the joints popped. They pulled until flesh tore apart. They tore the thing's limps apart. The two groups who took it's arms beat the thing's skull in with them. There was something poetic about it. Tegru gave a nod in approval.

He could only spare a single nod, however, as the next false ogre came. Tegru was ready for him, with his God's weapon in hand. A simple Wagon Wheel. A simple holy object showing exactly what the religion worshipped. The thing came in, holding it's metallic club in the air to strike Tegru down. With it so wide open, it was a simple matter of throwing the wheel into it's skull. There was a sudden crack as the Wheel bounced back into Tegru's hand, and the ogre simply fell. It's neck broken.

Three were left, and all of them cowered back as they saw Tegru's power. They cowered back, calling a single name out in fear. They're calling their own God. They're too weak with fear.

Their cries came answered. A massive wind tore through the small band of men and women. They stumbled and fell and covered their eyes. Not Tegru, however. Not Tegru. Tegru stood firm, resolute. Only the top of his torso moved. He needed to inspire his people once more.

"Find refuge within
The Mighty Wagon Wheel!

All storms will then
Be forever sealed!

For a Wagon never tips
Weighted down by kit!

And the Wheel takes all
Within It's humble knit!"

Tegru gave a small smile as his people stood up, their will rebuilding. Why would they have to fear? They have the Wagon Wheel on their side. An eternal, humble being who carried them from wherever they were then, to wherever they were now. The Wheel worked eternally, thanklessly. It worked on, however, for the thanks of Its followers

More shouting in that idiotic tongue of theirs. This time from the crow thing as it calmly walked towards Tegru. The thing's pace didn't betray its anger, oh no. Its voice did that all too eagerly. The thing was furious at Tegru, and its eyes showed it with excellence.

With it, a few feet behind from the thing as a servant should, stood Azerith. Tegru's Azerith. Tegru concluded that the piece of paper glued to Azerith's face, blocking view of her face, was the reason of her betrayal. Somehow the crow thing overwritten Azerith's normal behaviour patterns. Considering Tegru didn't understand the other languages that consisted of Azerith, he couldn't say for certain. He just understood that she wasn't in control of herself. She couldn't be.

Tegru turned his attention to the crow thing. That foul abomination was going to pay for what it did to Tegru. For what its minions did to Sparra, Tegru would kill it slow. For what it did to Azerith, Tegru would make it hurt.

He had the Wagon Wheel. A measly creature like that thing couldn't dare to impose a threat.

The thing in question spoke in its strange tong once more, and Azerith backed away with a lowered head. The paper on her head blew in the wind, but refused to come off. Tegru turned to the crow thing, his hatred as clear as the full moon lighting their way.

The crow thing stretched out its right hand, and the winds picked up dramatically. Leaves clumped together in a rough shape of a blade, then fell off to show an actual one previously nonexistent.

The blade itself was of a make Tegru had never seen before. It was built for speed, with a slight curve in it. Tegru would have called it a single bladed sword, strange and outlandish, but Eastern people were rather creative when it came to weapon shapes. He remembered an outlander merchant speaking of weapons that you wield like the claws of a beast.

Tegru would've enjoyed those claws, to more savagely kill the crow thing.

The crow thing pointed it's blade at Tegru, but it was too far to be a threat. It seemed to expect Tegru to draw a weapon as well. Tegru gave a small laugh, hefting the Wagon Wheel in his hand. The thing blinked, gave a small squawking laugh, then realised Tegru was serious. At first it was angry. Like the thought that Tegru could kill the thing with a wheel was an insult to the crow thing.

Then, it charged.

The crow thing was far more skilled in bladed combat than it's minions were in blunt fighting. It held it's blade in a guarded position, suddenly blurring as it went in for a thrust. The tip of the blade dove for Tegru's chest.

Tegru moved, and the blade and the arm that held it was caught in the spokes of the wagon wheel. He was in kissing distance of the beaked thing. Tegru gave a small smile before bashing his forehead into the crow thing, again and again until it tried to kick Tegru away. It forgot that Tegru had its arm in a spoke.

With one swift motion, Tegru twisted the wheel and its arm broke. It screeched in pain before Tegru kicked the ugly shit just below the chest. It was sent flying as Tegru gave the wheel he had a small twirl.

It wasn't even damaged due to it being a symbol of a God. A surprisingly versatile weapon as well.

The crow thing screamed more, climbing out of the shrubbery Tegru kicked it in. Its blade was now in its left hand. Pride forced the creature to try and kill Tegru once more. It moved in to slay him, but wasn't arrogant anymore. It didn't look for a quick way to kill Tegru.

And so, the dance began.

Tegru's Wagon Wheel held against the crow thing's blade, proving surprisingly efficient at stopping slashing weapons. The crow thing didn't dare do another thrust, and their fighting made a small ring of dust. Nobody moved, not ogre nor Wheel follower. They were transfixed in awe as Tegru couldn't strike the crow due to the thing's agility, and the crow couldn't strike due to Tegru's wheel giving the Prophet a stalwart defence.

In the end, Tegru concluded a sacrifice was needed.

The crow thing did a full turn slash, coming from upwards and arching down.

Tegru calculated its arc, and drove his forearm into and through the tip. He locked the blade between the two bones in his forearm and grabbed the crow thing's malformed hand, a grotesque mixture of scales and claws like a crow's feet. He gave a small smile as the crow thing jerked away at Tegru's hand, trying to break the Prophet's grip. It moved in to kick Tegru, and Tegru simply caught it in the spokes of the Wagon Wheel. He gave a small, predatory smile and twisted the wheel.

Another crack. Another ungodly screech. Tegru was just getting started.

Tegru twisted his Wagon wheel to catch the thing's leg and not let go, then he put his foot on the creature's chest. He was about to pull when the crow thing took flight.

Its attempt to disorient or bluff out Tegru didn't work.

Tegru pushed into the thing's chest with his leg, and pulled on the wagon wheel.

There was a pop.

A crack.

A disgusting tearing sound.

And a jerk.

Tegru unbalanced the crow completely as blood poured out of it's open wound. The leg Tegru had previously trapped now fell limply to the ground, probably going to have a better landing than the Prophet. The crow thing cawed and tried to flap to slow their descent, maybe fly back up, but the unbalanced form of the crow, now missing a leg, coupled with the pain and one pissed off Prophet bashing it's skull in caused the thing to crash.

Tegru was on top. He never gave the crow chance to stand up

"I am the Wagon Wheel! I've carried the desperate, hopeful and greedy across all lands and passes!"

Tegru stomped into the things gut, then into its left shoulder. Tegru still held on to the blade and the arm, even as blood gushed out of his wound. A trivial thing, that. Best left to care about after Tegru made the thing suffer

"I have travelled across the Silk Road, and I know you, creature! I name you Beast! I name you Tengu!"

The beast couldn't understand as the Prophet screamed more. The Tengu was far more concerned at Tegru pulling its left arm. Tegru could almost hear the pop. Just a little more…

"I have taken this boy for he has the same intent as I: To slay those who dare to harm My children! I name you Tengu! I name you Cur!"

With a great heave, Tegru ripped the arm off the creature. The thing screamed and screamed. It only had one functioning limb left. It couldn't spread its wings because Tegru had his weight on the thing. It knew it was going to die. Its fear was intoxicating. Its hand still clenched onto the blade, even after being separated. The blade slid lazily out of Tegru's forearm as the Prophet started to bash the crow demon's chest in with the Wagon Wheel

More. Tegru wanted more.

"I name you Cur! I name you Filth! I name you Brigand! I, speak, you, dead!" Spittle flung from Tegru's mouth and landed on the bloodied form that was once an enemy. That was once a threat. That became an irritation. That was now dead.

No wait. Not yet. It gave a small, fleeting sentence. Its last words before it's eyes went empty.

Tegru didn't understand it, up until a fist crushed his left shoulder.

The force sent the Prophet spinning. To enough of a degree that Tegru could see Azerith, his Azerith, preparing for a next strike. She went for a straight kick, which Tegru caught in the Wagon Wheel. He wanted to twist. He wanted to break this heathen like he destroyed the other.

Tegru couldn't muster the strength, and another fist shattered his sternum.

Tegru grunted through the pain as his form broke. He blinked profusely, hearing the cawing of a thousand crows somewhere in the distance. Azerith grabbed him by the throat, raising him off the ground. Tegru couldn't maintain his grip anymore, and the Wagon Wheel fell out of his grasp, clunking uselessly on a rock, still looped around one of her perfect legs.

Tegru looked down at Azerith, at her blank face hidden under a piece of paper. A simple piece of paper that would cost Tegru's life. He felt his vision narrowing, spittle dripping out of the corner of his mouth. He swatted weakly at the paper. Trying to pry it off, he grabbed the corner and pulled. It only tore of a small bit of the paper. The sudden lack of directives confused Azerith, and she shook her head from side to side in confusion.

She didn't let go.

His vision was almost gone, but Tegru had to try. He didn't want to die.

He swatted at the piece of paper, his strength failing him as he felt the wax seal holding the paper in place. He pulled it like a scab. It didn't want to get off. It didn't want to fucking get off.

He didn't want to die he didn't want to die didn't want to die didn't want to die didn't want didn't want no die no no no no n-


******


Tegru stirred from his slumber, feeling like he'd rather not have woken up. Everything hurt. His back hurt, his shoulder hurt. His chest, arm, leg and eyes. His mouth was dry and his muscles were stiff as boards. He couldn't breathe properly. His vision was faded. He tried to move, but found he couldn't muster the strength to pull himself out of the cot he found himself in.

He heard some vague screaming, hands pushing him back into the cot, making new places spike with pain. He tried to see what was pushing against him, but everything was blurry. Tegru couldn't see a single coherent thing, just shapes and rough colours.

He felt something scratching at the surface of his skin, then he felt it tingle with power. He suddenly became very, very tired. He just wanted to sl-


******


Tegru woke up, his body still in pain, but it changed to a numb, constant thing rather than a sharp horror he felt last. His sleep was dreamless. His mouth was dry and his throat hurt, but this time he had the strength to get up. The moment he sat upright, his vision became blurry and he felt his mind turn to air. He had to keep himself still and stable for what felt like minutes before he managed to win back his vision from the blurry expanses it delved to.

He was in a hospital cot. The cot was in, well, a hospital. Sick, wounded and dying lay strewn on various beds in a wide open building, interior architecture suggesting an old church. Tegru glanced at the figures on small chairs staring at the young Chanter. Sparra was there, thankfully alive, as was Azerith. She was present in her human form, although she didn't look him in the eye. A man in a doctor's uniform with the same green eyes as Tegru was also present, observing his patient closely. Lastly was Harla, she seemed to look at Tegru with anger, but he didn't know why.

"Glad you got out of your beauty sleep, Crow." Sparra tried with humour, her mouth quirking slightly before falling flat. Tegru blinked, then made a motion of drinking water. He was thirsty.

"I'll get you some." Azerith stated, bolting upright and walking away as fast as politely possible. He glanced around at the three remaining figures, then lifted his hands up as if to ask "What now?"

Sparra was the first to begin "Crow, you remember what happened?" Crow blinked, images flashed in his mind about a God of wagon wheels and a crow thing called a tengu. Bit by bit, the events came back to him, his eyes wide as he gave Sparra a once over. He gave a small sigh of relief when he found her unharmed, nodding at her question.

"Well, after all that, they took you in along with us and carried us here. When I came to, I contacted the Order and got an actual medical professional here to help." She gave a small nod to the doctor, who in turn spoke up "I came as soon as I could. You were badly damaged and the nurses here only know of the general ailments. They couldn't even comprehend what I told them when I explained Divine Exposure was the reason you weren't waking up. They fed you well, though. Mashed foods enticed to go down your throat, water to rinse it off. I was impressed." He stated, his green eyes had a very cold quality to them. Tegru didn't like it. The Doctor nodded to Sparra, who in turn spoke "Me and Harla came to quickly enough, what with our healing. You took a month." Tegru blinked, shaking his head at so much time elapsed

"Yeah and Davek is dead." Harla hissed with enough venom to kill a bull "You feel your voice come back, Crow? Hmm?" She stared at him with open hatred and grief. Tegru felt his insides go cold as he looked down, unable to withstand her gaze. The silence was overpowering, until Sparra finally asked the question Tegru was trying to figure out how to explain

"Tegru, what happened when we made first contact? I couldn't understand what you meant." He turned, focusing fully on Sparra, trying to ease the venom he felt from Harla. He put a finger on his lips, trying to show he was silenced. Sparra frowned "You can't say?" Tegru sighed, making a writing motion with his hand. The good Doctor promptly tore a page out of the back of his notebook, with a piece of charcoal given on charity.

"I was silenced by magic. My voice didn't work." He wrote, handing it to Sparra. Her face went grim, nodding "Figured you wouldn't just drop me." She stated, handing Harla the note. She read it, and read it again. And again. Finally, she heaved a sigh and looked him in the eye "I don't believe you."

Tegru could only sigh hopelessly, shaking his head. Davek was dead. That was his fault. He distracted Sparra, which led to her and Harla being taken out, which led to Davek apparently dying. He gazed shamefully at Harla, but she just got up and left silently. Leaving Sparra and the Doctor alone with Tegru.

"Hey. Crow. Don't worry about it, okay?" Tegru looked at her as if she were insane. He had to worry about it. It was his fault. The tengu aimed at the weakest link. That was Tegru. He felt his limbs start to tingle in only the way having no will to get up could do. Not like he could even if he wanted to. It was straining enough just to sit on his ass.

Tegru turned to the doctor, giving that same "What now?" question. Sparra chimed in "Ya that's a good question. When's he getting out of here? I don't like this place." The Doctor heaved a sigh, shaking his head "I would have given you another week at the very least, but the Order has recalled both of you for exemplary performance." Tegru blinked, shaking his head. The head shaking caused another migraine to blossom out of nowhere. He gave a groan, rubbing his head in pain. Moving his arms proved less painful than the migraine, but painful nonetheless.

Sparra nodded, looking at Azerith as she hurried to hand him a cup of water. He took it eagerly, drinking in large gulps. He sputtered the rest out as he had some water caught in his airway. He put the thing down, holding his hand over his mouth and coughing. He noticed something, then. Azerith wasn't telling him to drink slower.

Looking up at the flesh golem, he found her sitting quietly, rigidly, next to Sparra with her hands on her lap and her head bowed. She still refused to look at him. He reached out to touch her, to try and ask what's wrong, but Sparra caught his attention, shaking her head. He bit his lower lip, his jaw clenching. He retreated however. He trusted Sparra on social delicacies.

He sighed, nodding to himself to try and convince himself to get up. He took a few deep breaths as if readying for a fight, then hopped to his feet. All parties around him looked at him with shock, the Doctor, Sparra, and even Azerith lunging at the chanter.

They were smart. Standing up was a terrible idea. He fell flat on his ass on the bed before anyone could get to him. He gave a cold scoff, sighing as he took another breath, working the courage up once more

"Don't do that again you dumbass!" Tegru had to hold back his laughter as he smiled to her. He inclined his head to the Doctor, making walking motions with his fingers. He needed to be ready for travel. After all, he was to go and get a big fat praise from the Council. He imagined they were so proud of him when they heard he caused Davek's death, almost causing Sparra's and Harla's as well.

He sighed again as Sparra fell silent. He had to get up. All he had to do was place his two legs under his ass and push them upwards. Simple. Basic. He had to do no other feat than that.

Doing exactly that made him collapse once more

Dammit.

He was getting out of the hospital, though. Onto greener pastures of the Order Headquarters. A place Tegru could rest, relax, and heal.

He couldn't wait for the rest. Maybe a good feather bed. He hasn't slept in one of those in ages.

He also wanted to find out what was bothering Azerith. Since Sparra told him it was a bad idea, maybe a change of scenery would help.

He sighed, shaking his head at the thoughts of all he had to do. He gave a small smirk.

He was off to the Order Headquarters. That's certainly something.