The Tales of Agganoth

DarinValore

129% of people exaggerate.
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
  2. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
[fieldbox="Castle Norcrest, yellow, solid"]

“Have you heard, Rikos?” spoke one guard to the other as the two of them leaned with their backs against the walls. The one speaking rested his spear against his shoulder, “King Ikaros is about to make his speech and the Queen will be with him.”

Rikos leaned his head back against the wall and propped a foot against the stone, “It’s the same every year, Alex,” he started, “Not the speech, but the King does give one and the Queen is always with him. Then they accept the gifts the other nobles brought them and some of us are tasked with carrying all that stuff to the treasury.”

“Must be so neat to hear,” the younger guard returned, his eyes turning down the hall toward a window that emptied into the city square. The noise from the massive crowd of people that gathered in celebration of the Festival of Eternal Slumbers could be heard even as high up as they were.

Rikos seemed to notice the longing look in Alex’s eyes, “You’ve never been to the festival have you?” He leaned forward and put his weight on the butt end of his spear. After a moment, Alex shook his head and Rikos sighed, “You could go now if you’d like.”

“And abandon my post?” Alex said, shock at the suggestion obvious in his tone, “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, come on, Alex,” Rikos smirked as he pushed off the wall and stood next to the solid door marked with a single moon and star, “It’s not like she’s going to wake up. She’s asleep in the eternal slumber. The Princess isn’t going anywhere. They don’t need two of us to watch her sleep,” he paused and looked down the three halls. A young servant girl stood alone, broom in hand as she swept the stone floors in a brown dress that fell to her ankles and a white apron that hung lose at her waist, “Go. I’ve got this.”

“I don’t know,” Alex replied.

“Fine, don’t, but the festival doesn’t happen for a whole nother year. Who knows where you’ll be stationed then,” Rikos replied with a shrug of his shoulders, the leather armor creaking slightly beneath the gesture.

Looking out the window, Alex seemed to be in deep thought considering all of Rikos’ words. Finally, he pushed himself off the wall and nodded, “Okay, I’ll do it,” a wide grin spread across his lips.

“That a boy,” Rikos slapped his hand against Alex’s back, “Now get going before someone discovers you and we both get flogged.”

From down the hall, the servant girl listened to the conversation while she swept, the swoosh of the broom being the only noise that accompanied the conversation. With each word shared between the two guards, her heart rate increased until she thought it would burst from her chest. Finally, Alex slipped away leaving on Rikos to stand watch.

As she swept, she moved slowly toward the guard who had taken up his previous stance now that Alex was gone. Only when she was within a few steps of Rikos, did he lift his head from off the wall, causing her to freeze in place a moment. She could feel Rikos’ eyes take in her small frame. The man had earned himself a reputation for being particularly handsy with the female servants of the castle, though he must not have been in the mood this morning because, after pointing out a section of the flooring she had missed, he closed his eyes and rested his head back against the stone again letting out a deep sigh. She nodded and then moved to sweep the pile of dirt against the castle wall.

Her heart still slammed against her ribcage. It was now or never, but something about this didn’t sit well with her. Swallowing hard, she quietly placed the broom against the wall, guiding it with both hands to ensure it landed softly against the stone. When Rikos didn’t move, she let out a breath she did not know she was holding. She paused a moment thinking that her breath might stir the guard.

Next, she glanced down at her hands. They were shaking violently, “Come on,” she whispered to herself. She must have been louder than she thought, because when her eyes returned to Rikos, he was watching her. Her cheeks reddened, and she did the only thing she knew to do at the moment. She tucked a strand of loose, red hair behind her ear and took a step toward him. It was as if this gesture had calmed her because her hands ceased to shake immediately.

Rikos’ gaze narrowed as he adjusted himself against the wall. He was about to open his mouth, but she spoke first, “I’m just nervous, is all. I thought Alex would never leave and-“ she flashed a small smile before biting her bottom lip, “I noticed there was no one else around.”

Another step was taken as Rikos seemed to register her suggestion. He pushed off the wall to his feet, a crude grin stretching across his lips, “I noticed that too,” he returned. Men like Rikos were always easy to get a rise out of. One more step and she had closed the distance between them. Her left hand landed softly against his leather chest piece. Her middle finger traced the outline of his chest before she took up what little space was left and leaned forward against him. Her lips pressed against his as her right hand began to gather the material of her dress, slowly raising it to reveal her thigh. Rikos was too consumed by her kiss to notice the blade she pulled from her thigh.

Breaking the kiss, she looked him in the eyes, “Thank you,” she breathed against his lips.

“For what?” he asked, still trying to catch his breath.

“For sending Alex away,” she replied with seduction written on her face.

He chuckled before asking, “Why?”

She pressed kisses against his jaw line as her hand snaked to the back of his neck. She pulled back, her eyes locked on his as her free hand slid beneath her apron, “Because it would have been harder to kill both of you.”

There was a quick flash of confusion in Rikos eyes before the blade slipped through the bindings of his leather and through his ribs. She barely pushed, the sharp blade slicing easily through his soft flesh. Deeper she pushed it into a shocked Rikos until the hilt would not let it go further. With a quick jerk of her wrist, she twisted the blade inside him. She knew where she had placed it, and that he would be dead within minutes because of the added damage. Pulling the blade free, blood flowed from the wound as Rikos slid to the ground moments from embracing his own eternal slumber.

It would have been easier to slit his throat while he was unaware, but, as she knelt to lock eyes with him, she was reminded of the rush she got when watching the life drain from someone’s eyes. When that last spark of life drained from his eyes and death washed away the terror on his face, the woman let out a satisfied sigh before wiping her blade clean. Standing to her feet, she turned to the door and pushed it open, “Hello, Princess,” she began speaking to the sleeping girl as she stepped through the threshold, “my name is…” the door shut behind her, a single bloody handprint covering the moon and stars.[/fieldbox]




[fieldbox="The Streets of Norcrest, green, solid"]

The streets were abuzz with the life of the Festival. Decorations sporting the White Gryphon of Norcrest against a dark blue field watching over the Moon and Stars of the Oracles of Eternal Slumber were displayed on the sides of many of the buildings, from the gates, and draped from the ramparts of the castle. Entertainers ranging from musicians to torch jugglers pulled ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ from spectators. Merchants were out in full force calling out for people to purchase their goods on the one day where people from all over Agganoth gather in the narrow streets to celebrate the Festival of Eternal Slumber. The assortments of foods, exotic and domestic, led a pleasant assault on the nostrils of any who dared ventured into the streets. Many had already fallen victim to the taverns and tables of food, spending some if not all their coin on growing fat.

It was in these streets Darin found himself in tow behind his sister, Sarah, and two of her friends, Terra and Morgana. The trio of girls bounced through the crowd, Sarah practically dragging him by his hand, “I told you it would be fun!” she called back to him almost having to yell over the calling of the merchants, “Aren’t you having fun?”

A growl escaped his lips causing her to ask her question again, “Yes,” he finally said, “So much fun,” sarcasm thick in his tone.

“Quit being such a fuss bucket,” she called him, causing him to clench his jaw, “You really need to just relax,” she stopped the small group and grabbed her brother’s other hand, “Here, close your eyes,” Darin looked at her skeptically, “Don’t you trust me?” he nodded, “Then close your eyes!” He hesitated a moment too long and she shot him a glare. Only then did he let out a sigh and close his eyes, “Good. Now take a deep, deep breath,” she watched his chest rise and fall, “Do you smell it? Do you hear the laughter and celebration around you?”

“I do,” he replied the corner of his lip rising a little.

“Then enjoy it,” she returned and as he opened his eyes she continued, “We’re at war, Darin, and a little celebration is good for everyone who has lost someone or just might lose someone. It reminds them of why they fight or why their loved one does.”

Darin knew she was right, but it didn’t mean he liked it. She was always the more social one while he preferred the solitude of the hunt. This was more her doing, and he knew she had ulterior motives as well. For years, Sarah had been trying to wed off one of her friends to him. She never liked the fact that he was twenty-five and still a single man. He minded it far less than she did.

Suddenly, the bell tolled signaling the beginning of the actual ceremony and Sarah leaped with excitement, “Oh! Darin, come on! King Ikaros will be speaking.”

“I’ve never heard the king speak,” Morgana chimed in.

“Neither have we,” Sarah returned.

“It’s just a speech by the King,” Darin interrupted their moment with an unimpressed tone.

Shaking her head, Sarah dropped one of his hands and began to drag him through the crowd once more this time toward the square, “Quit being such a fuss bucket!”[/fieldbox]
 
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SINDRI HERMOD

As the last notes from his lyre died away, the packed tavern broke out into cheers, prompting a nervous grin from Sindri. He wasn't used to such a large audience, but word had got around of his performances over the past few days and clearly he was doing something right. He took a swig from the tankard next to him and adjusted a tuning peg, tapping the drum beneath his foot idly as he did so.

It wasn't the worst place to be performing really. The Gryphon Inn was right at the edge of the most affluent quarter of the city, and so it was well furnished and safe. Sindri's performances were paying for his board and meals, and the tips some of the locals had given him provided him with money should he go out and wander through the festival. Every time he had considered it however, the streets had been too densely packed. The sheer multitude of people, the utter volume...all of it was disorientating for Sindri, who was used to peace and solitude. Thus far, every time he'd gone out he'd returned within minutes, legs shaking. It was better here. Though the tavern was packed, nobody came too close to him, giving him just enough space to be comfortable.

Sindri's musing was interrupted by the tolling of a bell, announcing the true start of the festivities.

"And now, ladies and gentlemeeeeeeeeeen,
this year's festival is opeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen.
We celebrate the oracle who saves us from pliiiiiiiiiiiiiiight,
and allows us to sleep at niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

It is time for a speech from Drakon, mighty kiiiiiiiiiiing,
so thank you all for listeniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
I have this to say to one and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaall,
May you enjoy this festivaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!"

Finishing the brief tune off with a high note, he took a bow with a theatrical flourish. Patrons began to file out, eager to hear the speech. Relieved to see a bit more space open up, Sindri headed to the table in the back corner where he normally sat, and smiled as the innkeepers wife turned up with food and ale. Though he was accustomed to camping in the wilds, a few home comforts never went amiss. He was left alone to enjoy his meal, the owners respectful of his desire for peace.

 
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Torch light along the road blurred to an orange streak against an ink black night, sweat making tendrils of red cling, sticky in the undying summer heat, against the back of her neck. She rode hard, her knees pressed tightly into the ribs of the animal beneath her, but speed would be no ally… what was done was done and haste could not prevent an act already carried out.

Ahead, great stripes of flame danced upwards into the sky, coils of deep grey smoke winding, writhing, spiraling high into the heavens. At the end of the path, the road snaked down in the valley beneath Oeilen Woods, and at the center of Catriona”s universe, Devontry Vineyard sat… burning.

The horse turned with dangerous speed to bank down the curve, and thunder rumbled underfoot and overhead, streaks of purple forks striking with wicked incandescence through the blackness, beads of thick, fat rain smacking the hot earth with a hiss. Rain couldn't help any more than speed. In time, it would silence the flames, but the damage was long since done.

Bearing right, her steed clamored down into the valley, sweat-drenched coat shuddering where droplets pelted against it. Just ahead, the cobbled road led to the Vineyard gate.

“Woah…” Pulling against the leather reins, Catriona slowed the horse and leapt down from his back, the rain pounding down harder. With trembling fingers, Rion undid the gate latch, the wrought iron swinging open with a groan. The wind carried a scent here, burning wood and hay… and something else, something Rion refused to identify. Between the cobbles, dirt turned to mud and with squelching steps, she inched along the road, her heart a wardrum inside her chest.

At the end of the road, a fork separated the vineyard crop from the main residence. The air felt thicker and humid and even at so great a distance from the houses, thick chunks of ash and flecks of cinder fluttered like moths, borne on the thermals. At the fork, she paused and her eyes took in the sight of her family’s home at the center of the basin, a hollowed out skeleton of wood and stone, made alive by hot flames, a titian giant.

Her knees struck hard stone as her legs buckled, an agonizing howl rising above another rumble of thunder, drowning out the voice of the storm.
❖❖❖

The crowd grew thicker, near the center square of Norcrest, the amalgamation of voices and music an unpleasant cacophony. She’d had to abandon her cumbersome cart some half a mile back, and without the burden, she moved more easily, parting through the throngs of visitors with focused fluidity. Streamers lined the narrow alleyways, and poles of colored ribbons decked the streets. Children ran in and out, squealing with mirth as their mothers, haggard and worn, chased after them.

In her mind she wondered if anyone thought about the king in the midst of it all. What the man felt about his daughter, having given all to protect them. Did he miss her? Her laughter, her smile… the quiet conversations they would never have. Would he look back in his old age and wonder what her wedding would have been like? Whether or not she would have made a good mother? Did he think himself selfish for asking so much of her? Would he regret it? She thought so much more these days, about the weight of loss… Even when she tried not to, the thoughts came, unprovoked.

Maybe they would stop, once she had tracked down her quarry. Once she had avenged her family. He was only one, the raider, but he would no doubt lead her to the rest… The swarthy man, with the voice of gravel and a deep black stare. She had tracked him from Hilden’s farm, where he had stopped to rest, and from there, she had moved beyond the border of Drakos, into the heart of its city. In her grief, she had forgotten the festival, but it was no matter. He was a proud man, arrogant, and never once did he seem to think to see if he was being followed. Through the crowd she wove, staying behind him, watching as he bobbed left and right, taking in the spectacle with a sense of indifference.

His movements were guided by the intention of direction, and he did not pause or dither… He wasn’t there to celebrate, but then, neither was Rion. Soon enough, he would stop, and then she would have him exactly where she wanted him.

“Timmy, stop!” The shriek pulled her eyes from the back of the raider’s head and she turned to see a small mouse of a boy rushing through the field of faces, his head downcast. A little too late, he looked up, and Rion reached out to stop him as he barreled into her hip. Bright eyes, vine green, looked up to meet her and a mouth full of thick, square teeth widened into a grin.

“Whoops! Sorry miss!” He mumbled, rubbing a freckled nose with the back of his hand.

“No harm done…” Rion noted, with a nod. She released him, and he stumbled back a little, clicking the heels of his worn brown boots together.

“Timothy Dean! You are in so much trouble!” This came from the blonde creature whose cries had echoed through the crowd. As the girl approached, the boy looked back and rolled his eyes at her.

“Not so, Elia! You’re the one's in trouble. Mum said not to let me outta your sights! Whatcha doin’ then, makin’ moony eyes a Bill Crats? Your fault I runned straight into this poor lady, here!”

“Oh, you good for nothin’...” Reaching out, the girl gripped the boy by the ear and his protestations rose in something of a whiny whimper, “When Mum gets word… I hope she flogs your hide with the skillet! Sorry Ma’am! So sorry…”

The ghost of a smile formed and faded just as fast, as Catriona watched the pair, one half-dragged back in the direction they had come from. How many times had she chased Aubreanna or Auggie through the Eldrassir mountains, desperate to prove she was some sort of authority figure in their young, eager lives.

She would never chase them again… Auggie was only six, Aubrea nine. The fire had claimed them, too. They would never drive her half out of her mind with worry again. They would never laugh or play or sing the songs of Summer Rain or ask her to recite stories about Mimbleton the Mighty. They were gone. Stolen away from her… they all were.

With that thought and the tolling of a bell, her gaze returned to the streets, narrowing, searching until she found the deep navy cloak she had been following for the last several days and with a deep, steadying breath, Rion resumed her chase.


TAGS || @all
 
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"Papa," Delilah pulled on the sleeve of her Father's tunic, who didn't seem to notice her calls. She tugged harder, twisting her face in annoyance, "Papaaaa!"

"Huh?" Wymond looked down and smiled when noticing his daughter's irritated look. She was beautiful, and looked just like her mother. The same bulbous brown eyes, sharp nose, and round chubbiness in the cheeks. She's his angel, his purpose behind living. He laughed, and she playfully slapped his chest,"Oof, heavy handed eh? Just like yer' father."

"You are far too childish, Papa," She pointed towards one of the many merchants that was selling a sweet that was fluffy and smelled like Honeysuckle. "May I have one please? It looks so good,"

Wymond seemed to have forgotten that this was his Daughter's first time in Norcrest. She wanted to try everything that was even slightly alien to her. In fact it was her first time out of their hometown. Being a single father, and the only caretaker for her, he never truly had time to take her out to venture the world. He had to stay home taking care of the Tavern, making the money to pay for her schooling, and he'd be damned if he'd let someone else run the Tavern for too long. Henry, the Shepard's son who worked with Wymond for the last few years, was running it on his own since he left and Wymond prayed he wouldn't return to a nonexistent business ruined by an inexperienced (and temporary) manager.

"You're killing me Delilah, wasting all my savings on a festival," He teased her, walking up to the merchant who was selling the sweets like mad to a line of people. Once they reached the front Wymond pointed at the sweets, "Two please,"

"Here ye go, one for the lovely lady and her 'brother'!" The friendly Merchant gave a hearty laugh as he handed them the sticky candy on a stick.

Wymond couldn't help but snicker, appreciating the compliment despite his old age. Time was truly flying. It seemed like just yesterday he was out on adventures across all of Agganoth. They ate their sweets as they continued to trudge through the city streets,walking past many shouting merchants, people speaking to one another, dancing to music and generally having a good time. Oh how Wymond sure did love a good time. He glanced down at his daughter who was pleased with the dessert in her hands, and he felt a great sense of Euphoria rush over him. Life is good.

The bell tolled, and it would almost be time for the King's speech. Delilah began pulling on her father's sleeve again, "Papa it's almost starting! The King! The King will speak!" She was giggling, bubbling with excitement and it made Wymond chuckle.

"Okay, okay, we'll make it don't worry," He struggled to finish the sweet candy, unlike Delilah who ate it all with ease. She lead him towards the big crowd that started forming almost from thin air.

"Tch, I can't see." She mumbled, standing on her toes,"I'm too short...darn-eh? Hey?!" Wymond pulled her up onto his shoulders, causing her to become flushed and embarrassed, "I'm too old for this don't you think?"

"You'll always be my baby girl."

"People are looking!"

"No one's looking."

Life is good.
 

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"You're sighin' again." Shireen looked away from the stuffed bun she was eating to eye the older man standing next to her. With his salt and pepper hair, leathery skin and over all grizzled look, he was as familiar a sight to her as the back of her hand. After her father, Jarus had been the person she felt the closest to in the entire crew. He had helped raised her and was pretty much a second father, truth be told.

"Can't expect me not to be a li'l sad here, lass."

"Hm..." She looked back to her bun, appetite still there but a little quelled as she thought of her decision to leave him, the crew, their ship and the sea. Despite the fact that she had travelled all around the world, her comfort zone was quite small, keeping to herself and the people she knew unless there was business to be had. The fact that she had decided to leave and seek... something on land hadn't sat rightly with the rest. Thankfully Jarus had been much more understanding, but even he had trouble actually liking her decision.

"I know," she finally replied. She reached over and took his gnarly hand in her own, squeezing it slightly. "I'm not leavin' for good, y'know? Just-" She paused, trying to think of the best way to say what was going through her mind. "I just wanna see more, I guess, kinda like Papa did before he met my Ma."

"Lass, y'don' have to tell me twice." Jarus reached up with his free hand, patting down on the floppy hat she liked to wear to shield her from the sun. "I was like that too- 'course I didn' have your Pa's looks so no girlie was gonna follow me aboard. I just worry. You never been out an' travellin' alone on land. People ain't always what they say they are-" He let out another sigh, though it was accompanied by a sheepish smile. "Don' mind an old man too much, Shiri. We're gonna say things an' you're gonna do as you will an' pro'ly should." He patted her once last time before bringing his hand back down to his side.

Shireen couldn't help but smile a little as she nodded. She was glad that Jarus had decided that he and the rest of the boys would spend the festival here, though there was a lingering thought that this was prolonging the inevitable separation.

Still, if it makes him happy, who'm I to stop him?

"Y'know what?"

She looked to Jarus, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"We'll come back here," he muttered. "Next year, an' the next, an' so on. You come back here too. We'll have a reunion, an' if you ever decide you wanna return, we'll be waitin' in the right place."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

There was a calm and peaceful quiet between the two for the next little while, despite the hustle and bustle they found themselves in.

Then the bell tolled.

Time to listen to a King speak.
 
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Steeling her nerves, Isha'a approached the heavy doors of the meeting hall. Before her a great line of servants and other slaves patiently awaited their masters as the commotion from just beyond the threshold began to die down. Most were dressed in the same sort of simple attire that Isha'a found themselves in, albeit not quiet as messy and disheveled, and most were content with keeping their movements to a minimum. Isha'a stood out clearly amongst her peers as their constant fidgeting and restlessness seemed to only draw some sidelong glances and other unimpressed looks.


However, any attempt to straighten out her looks were cut short as a hush fell over the waiting group. The massive doors of the meeting hall creaked open as various businessmen left. Some stormed off angrily dragging off their slaves behind them. Others, however, strolled out with only a confident smile pressed onto their features. And even before the crowd began to thin out, Isha'a could already hear a familiar voice radiating throughout the halls with glee.


Isha'a tried dusting the remaining bits of dirt and dust from their dress as she approached her master only to be surprised by a sudden hug. The girl awkwardly smiled and tried to laugh off the unusual display of affection from her owner as she addressed them.

"Master, I beg pardon, but I've been out seeing to your errands all morning. I was unfortunately unable to tidy myself up before coming to accompany you after your meeting." Isha'a said simply.
The man's smile showed no signs of fading as he held Isha'a out at arms length and firmly patted her on the shoulder.

"Never mind all that, Isha. There are much more important things for me to be thinking about right now!" he replied as he turned back towards the long meeting table to collect some papers.

"-...Oh," Isha'a said after a long pause, "I see. I apologise for speaking out of turn, Master."

Quickly waving off her words, Isha's master sat back down at the table and began to slowly go through a few documents. Every so often, he would stop for a while to double-check his work, but they otherwise went on about their most recent success.

Isha'a nodded and smiled amiably being sure to replace the odd cold drink or fetch additional ink when needed. During the lulls in celebration, Isha'a was sure to bring her master up-to-date with the status of various things that she was tasked with completing.

"—your estate is being well looked after, a few rooms booked for you and your family at the local inn, and the groceries picked up for what you've requested for supper," Isha'a finished with after going through her list of duties for the morning.

"Excellent," her master said as they begun to pen a letter in silence.

Unease slipped into Isha'a as a bit of impatience and boredom cropped up in her demeanor. A considerable while had passed since she first arrived at the guild hall, and judging by the way the sunlight crept along the floor, there wasn't much time left for her to waste-

-Slowly approaching her master from the side, Isha'a noticeably stiffened up as she tried to form words for her desires.

"Please excuse my manners, master, but I was wondering...-"
"if I would be allowed to attend the opening ceremonies."
The young slave tripped over her words and spoke in a hushed tone that was difficult to understand even in the near silence of the room. The sporadic pen-strokes from the businessman slowed to a stop as they turned to regard their slave with a rather curious look.

"Oh? It's not everyday that have a request from one of my slaves. Come on then—out with it. I'm curious to see what's gotten your riled up."

"I didn't mean to offen-" Isha'a blurted out before they were cut short by calm wave from her master, "-Right. I was thinking that since I've seen to your affairs for the rest of the day, that if you would be so kind as to grant me a bit of leave so that I could attend the opening ceremony for the festival I would be quite thankful-"
Pondering for a moment on what they should do, Isha's master glanced down to their documents for a moment before turning their attention back onto Isha'a. With another dismissive wave, her master returned to his work.

"I see no issue with that. The way I see it, there are many reasons for celebration today! Just be sure to return to the inn well before suppertime so that you can prepare the meals for the rest of the family. And don't get into any trouble. We are in a different land, Isha'a, and I will not protect you from this country's laws."

Isha'a barely contained their excitement at the news. With a sloppy, yet whole-hearted curtsy, Isha'a thanked her master and scampered off without needing to be prompted. Tightening her short vest around herself, the young slave made a mad dash through the city desperate to get into the crowd. For once it wasn't hard for her to find her way in an unfamiliar city. Nearly all of its inhabitants and visitors seemed to all be heading in the same direction. Soon enough, Isha'a found themselves shoulder-to-shoulder with the crowd unable to muscle past any further.

Trying to get a clear view over the crowd on her toes, Isha'a eagerly awaited to see both the king and queen of a foreign land for the first time.




 
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The barrack was unusually quiet when Ardryan awoke. It was light outside despite him not sleeping in, the sun somehow rising earlier in Nocrest than Baile. As if the sun delayed itself, unwilling to witness the fields of the deads and dyings. Here the light was brighter, more vibrant and alive, an invisible heart pumping vigour through the city. Or perhaps that was just him. Anywhere was better than that place.

Still, the barrack's silence unnerved him while it should have been calming. He expected the rumble and snoring of men turning in their sleep, the clinging and smashing of early risers preparing morning routines, or at least the bellowing of sergeants kicking their companies awake. That morning however, a quiet emptiness greeted him, a hollow of sound and activity that screamed wrongness. He had been at war for far too long.

He found someone from the 5th Company in the kitchen ransacking through piles of dirty pots and leftover scraps of bread. The man didn't look up at Ardryan's approach, merely scratched his beard absentmindedly and twitched his nose as if smelling something unpleasant. Torbi, Ardryan thought he was called.

"Where is everyone?" He asked, his voice echoed strangely in the deserted space.

"Out whorin' all night, probably." Torbi gave up with the pots and turned to a row of cabinets along one wall, opening them one by one them throwing them shut immediately after. "The houses offered discount during the Festival, and the Roads brought cheap wine." The Roads was soldier slang for travelling merchants. The man spared Ardryan a glance before resuming his curious search. "I'm surprised you aren't out as well."

Ardryan grunted in respond. "And you? Wasn't feeling company last night? Or did you bring someone in?" Bringing women into the barrack was strictly forbidden, but their battalion mostly ignored it out of habit. There wasn't much rules that could be enforced during campaigns without demoralizing the army, so the officers pretended not to notice.

"Hah, I wish. Was on guard duty last night. Old bastard Delani insisted his precious cargo needed keeping an eye on. I drew the short straw. Ah-hah!" Torbi exclaimed in triumph, pulling a stopped bottle containing a dark liquid out of from behind a stack of firewood. He returned Ardryan's puzzled look with a crooked grin. "I knew the cooks hid the good stuff somewhere around here. They sometimes sneak a few off Delani's personal deliveries. Want a sip?"

Ardryan shook his head. That apparently was the right answer, because Torbi slapped him on the shoulder appreciatively on his way out. Unlike the poor guard, he had chosen to stay in last night. He feared the sight of his city would break his heart.

And it did. Even if everything had changed.

Ardryan stood in a narrow street leading to the city square, trying to remember the name of the road. Once he knew by heart every corner and alley of this place, all seven different titles people called it and sixteen out of thirty families that resided there. Now he could barely find his way from one end to the other without getting lost. The stone beneath his feet felt despairingly unfamiliar, his boots making a jarring clicking noise as if protesting their perfect singularity. It felt strange stepping on even ground that was free of mud and blood and a thousand soliders' marching footprint.

He smelled happiness in the air, radiating off the people of Nocrest like a palpable light, saturating the sky like a brewing storm. And Ardryan breathed it all in greedily, letting it infuse and wrap around him like an enveloping blanket of warmth, soaking into his dread-filled heart. He could have stayed that way for hours, marveling the scene. But duty propelled him forward like it always did, and he found himself amongst the packed crowd eagerly waiting for the King's speech in front of the Royal Palace. His eyes, however, was not on the raised dais like thousands' were, but locked ahead across the square. Just beyond the sea of bodies, two streets down on the left, was his home. Ardryan's feet dragged, and he abruptly stopped mid-stride.

What would he say to them? What could he say? What could he do?

His throat locked up at a memory, and fear of what to come. It was inevitable. He had no choice but to face it, and break their hearts. In all the years at war, there was nothing he had done that was as detestable as what he was about to do.

Maybe if the world would end, then he could delay it a moment longer.
 
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Despite its close proximity to Tumar, Atum had never visited the kingdom of Drakos, let alone Norcrest. While his father had been before, most likely to partake in trading for more valuable materials, he had spent all his time in the desert. Despite having heard stories, the many different colors he saw threw him for a loop, from the lush green of the grass to the vibrant blue of the waters, it was almost too much for his eyes. Still, the most surprising thing to him was the festival itself.

As he walked through the streets of Norcrest he couldn't help but take into notice the difference in lifestyle these people lived compared to his at home. The way everyone carried themselves, the way they walked and talked, it was more...carefree, more at peace than in Tumar. It didn't bother him though, it just meant that the Drakon lineage were great rulers indeed. That was part of why he was here.

Sure, the opportunities were a draw as well, he was currently broke and had nothing to his name but his weapons, his clothes and the horse he had used the last of his coin to leave at a stable. But when he heard that the famed King of Drakos was giving a speech, he had to make his way to Norcrest to listen. It wasn't like he had much going on for him at Tumar for the time being anyway. Not yet.

As he walked to where the crowd was most concentrated he could hear his stomach start to complain, angry that it hadn't been fed for awhile. "Silence..." He muttered to his stomach, removing his gourd from his side. He hadn't the coin to purchase a meal at the moment, in fact, he hadn't eaten in awhile, the last meal was eight hours ago. He'd been doing what he was doing now, drinking water to keep himself on his feet. As he emptied his gourd of its contents, he could feel his stomach calm down, somewhat satisfied by the liquid. But his body was still weak, not that one could see. He was too proud to show it.

Still, the smell of food and sweets that constantly invaded his nose did not ease the pain of hunger he felt. He found himself moving to the back of the crowd still, leaning against the wooden wall of a house to offer some relief. He wouldn't sit, but this was good enough. Someone, a man looking to be in his late 60's, took notice of him though. "I recognize a weary traveler when I see one, young man! From the look of your clothes, you must be from the deserts of Tumar! Come to hear our king speak?" He waited a moment, getting nothing but a small nod in response. "Ah I see, you must be weary from the ride here. Perhaps you should fetch a meal before the event begins, plenty of food around to grab."

Now Atum spoke. "I am afraid I cannot. I've expended all of my currency just to get here and give my horse a place to stay for the while. Until I can earn more coin or hunt for myself, I'm afraid water will have to do." Hunt for himself, that was more difficult considering the difference in wildlife here. Some game was rather simple to catch, others not so much.

"Well then, allow this old man to buy you something to eat. Some meat or rice perhaps, something to sit in your belly." The elder offered. The conversation fell silent for a moment, informing the man that Atum was probably going to say no. "Before you refuse, just remember, you can't possibly do any work on an empty stomach." Silence once more. The old man simply shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

Atum watched him go, debating in his mind if he should take the offer or not. Admittedly, he should not refuse an offered gift, that was bad manners. But he had no way to repay the man currently, and he no way to guarantee that ever would. Still, his chances of doing anything were much better if he took the food while he could. "... would love some food, sir." He called out, moving away from the wall and following after him. "I shall owe you, but I do need something to eat."

The Old man laughed a bit, motioning for Atum to follow. "You can pay me back one day, perhaps with your tale. Come, we can grab your meal and find a nice place to sit while you enjoy it, that way you won't miss the speech."

The random kindness wasn't entirely new to Atum, but it was new enough and entirely unwarranted enough that it was a pleasant surprise to him. He wasn't naive to believe everyone here would be this kind but it was nice that the first person he spoke to was nice enough to offer him a meal. It was one of the few pleasant things to have happened to himself since leaving and he appreciated it.

He could recall his father's old words coming to mind. 'After hardship always comes ease'. He'd always said those words and Atum always took them for granted.

But his father was right on this one, and he was beginning to see it now.
 
A myriad of silken white and blue ribbons decorated the tree trunks, stands, and ground. King Ikaros' nation banners rustled in the wind and symbolized everything Drakos stood for: pride and sacrifice. Cheers and laughter resounded from the masses, people sang song and toiled in the dirt. Others acted like drunken fools. The Festival of Eternal Slumber was not a time for the melancholy. Princess Ayalaiah, four years ago, sacrificed herself to guard the lands against the nightmare. This was a time to recognize her pure intention and will. After tripping and walking around in the dust of Norcrest for a few weeks, Rayela still failed to understand the need for an occasion such as this one. They were celebrating a death, weren't they? No one could defeat the nightmare, not even a damned oracle.

Nevertheless, Rayela saw this as a most opportune time to receive favors and extra coin. Her well-being was far more important than the celebration. As time wore on, however, the laughter and strange sounds grew on the young Tumaran woman. The Festival of Eternal Slumber, although she still didn't quite understand the customs, became one she enjoyed. The dancer was center stage, beckoning and teasing, playing the part of a complex, mysterious lady who left much to be desired. When Rayela was flicking her wrists and interchanging between the fluid motions of her abdomen and arms, she felt confident, even if only for a little while. Rayela didn't dance often as she used to, afraid that if a Tumaran ever saw her, they'd immediately recognize the cunt from the Naerian tribe.

Drakos would be her place of sanctuary. She'd go under a different alias, a different look. Rayela would do anything and everything to leave her old life behind. A job as a seamstress would pay for meals and possibly, nights at the tavern outside of Norcrest, where lively music from drum and lute often played. She'd tried to let it go and turn the fabric of her past mistakes and trauma into a new pattern, but no matter how hard she believed that everything would be okay, the deep-rooted fear of her husband finding her, punishing and humiliating her in front of thousands of people, was still etched in her mind. Every night, she would've been lucky enough if she'd managed to wash her worries away. A peaceful life did not come easily for Rayela, as she had paid a price to escape.

Her body was more important dead now to the Naerian tribe. She was sure of it.

Despite her hardships, Rayela aimed to see to it that her coin was plentiful this festival. She was dressed in a dazzling dress of blue and white, accoutrements accentuating the hips. A fairly new duo in Drakos called Moria offered to strike up a song or two for her dances for the cost of a free meal. Bentam and Shiraya, the woman and man were called. A free meal for accompanying her dances; everything was better with music. Rayela began her routine as Shiraya's hurdy gurdy began to play an upbeat tune and Bentam's violin enriched the music with a frivolity often found in festivals. The rhythmic tones went hand in hand with the intricate movements of her wrist and the fast-paced footwork. The thrill of being enraptured by the expression of emotion gave Rayela a state of ecstasy.

She couldn't sense anyone around her. It was just her in the center of the stage.

The beating of the wind against her face and the joy she felt from twirling around was nothing compared to the immediate comfort in the fact that she was free. Rayela and the music intertwined like spider silk, gradually coming to an end. The bells began to toll and cheering began to erupt near Rayela. She came to end her dance with an elegant position. Clink. A coin dropped in one of the metal tin cans, and soon after, dozens more followed. Rayela reveled in the momentary publicity, her gratitude extended heavily through words and her glowing face. The crowd dispersed and she was nothing more than another person struggling to make it through the next day.

 
[fieldbox="Norcrest Town Square, green, solid"]
The square was packed full of bodies. The whole city had emptied itself into the streets for the occasion. Darin knew he shouldn't have been surprised that he was shoulder to shoulder with people he did not know, but that didn't mean he didn't like it. He could smell the breath of the man speaking to his left, and the young man standing in front of him rank of body odor. It was worse than the meat he had forgotten in the summer sun his second year of his apprenticeship.

Sarah seemed to notice his discomfort and spoke up, "If someone hadn't made me practically drag him through the streets to get here in time to hear the King speak, we could have avoided all this and even found a better spot to stand in."

Shaking his head, Darin replied, "Sarah, we're in the middle of the square. You can see everything just fine from here. Why would you want to be closer to the platform? There's nothing to see there other than the sun's reflection off the soldier's armor."

Her brow narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest, "I should have left you at home. You just don't know how to have fun!"

"Finally! You understand me," he snapped back at her. The annoyance of the having to endure the heat of the day, the tight crowds, and his sister trying to convince him to court Morgana finally boiled over. It wasn't that Morgana was a terrible person; she just wasn't what Darin wanted. She was a beautiful woman. He understood he wasn't going to ever marry up, and Morgana would be a great wife..to someone else. They had done little more than disagree about what they were going to do, or any other topic that came up in conversation. The last thing Darin wanted was having a wife he could not agree with no matter how attractive she was.

"I don't know why I try to-" Sarah's words cut short as she seemed to sway a little on her feet. Her right hand pressed against the forehead.

Despite being frustrated about the day, Darin noticed her movement and concern washed away the frustration on his face, "Sarah, you alright?"

She swallowed, took a deep breath, and nodded, "Yes," she shook her head gently, "I don't know what that was. I just got dizzy for a moment."

"Do you need to sit somewhere?" Morgana replied and Darin's head was already swiveling as he did his best to look over the crowd for a spacious spot for her to sit and rest.

"No," she flashed a smile and ran her hands through her hair, "It has to be the heat. I'll be fine," her eyes turned to the platform, "Besides, it looks like the King is about to take the stage."

Darin's eyes followed hers to watch an soldier hurry across the wooden platform. He stopped before a man Darin assumed to be a commander and leaned into his ear. Darin's eyes narrowed as he watched the conversation. Something seemed off about the messenger's mannerisms. He almost cursed at himself for not being capable of reading lips, but the expressions on the faces of the two men did not sit well with Darin.

"Somethings wrong," Darin muttered, his eyes working doubly hard to try and make out what was being said.

"Darin," Terra said.

Shaking his head, he continued to study the situation, "I..can't..make it out," he lost himself in deep concentration, so much so that he did not acknowledge Terra.

"Darin," Terra repeated.

With irritation evident in his voice, he replied, "Terra, I'm trying to figure out what their saying. I'll let you know when-"

"Darin!" Terra and Morgana both practically yelled his name.

The urgency in their tones caused him to break away from his task. Both women were standing beside Sarah, supporting her up by her arms. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, far more than usually did even in a hot day surrounded by so many people. Tremors wrecked her body, and her skin had taken on a reddish tint as though she had been working outside all day. Concern tossed his curiosity about what was unfolding on the platform to the wind, "Sarah, what happened?" he questioned as he stepped toward her.

She shook her head, "I...don't- I'm...so...hot," her knees buckled and Terra and Morgana caught her.

"We need to get in the shade or something," Morgana chimed in and for the first time since the day started, Darin actually agreed with her. Darin scanned the square, his head bobbing to the left and right as he tried to see through the crowd until he finally discovered an opening at the far corner of the crowd, "If we can move fast, we might be able to get her in the shade over there before someone else takes it," he pointed with a nod of his head. The girls nodded and took the first step.

"Aahhhhh!" Sarah let out a pain-riddled cry and everyone stopped. The closest people took steps back opening up the space they stood in. She let out another cry and doubled over, catching herself against Darin's chest. He hissed as the heat from her body seemed to burn him.

"Sarah!" he called to her. She looked up at him and smiled weakly, "Shade...water," she managed to say.

His jaw clenched in frustration and then he nodded, "Right."

She took another step, her knee didn't lock, and she stumbled forward crashing into a man grabbing his forearm to steady herself. He called out and shoved her away, "Ow!," he glanced down at his arm as he tried to shield it, "You burned me!"

Darin caught sight of it, his skin had reddened in the shape of her hand. Sarah really had burned him. The commotion had opened up even more space and, to make matters worse, some of the guards had noticed. Three of them began to descend from the platform and were pushing their way through the crowd, "Look, sir, she's sorry. My sister's not feeling well, and-"

"Darin!" He turned to see Sarah pushing herself to her feet. Darin moved to help her, but as soon as he touched her he had to pull his hand back due to the heat, "What do we do?" Morgana asked, concern plastered on her face.

Darin shook his head. He had never encountered an illness like this. She had been fine moments ago and now had been struck with a fever that was literally causing her to radiate such heat that the people that touched her skin were getting light burns. Her skin. He just couldn't touch her skin! Darin pulled free the cloak that hung on his neck and draped it over her shoulders, "Hurry. We'll get you to the shade and get you some water. We have to get you cooled off."

"Stop!"

The word sent chills up Darin's spine. He glanced over his shoulder to see the guards only steps away, the crowd giving them a wide birth. Sarah moaned and Darin shook his head. He couldn't stop right now. He needed to get Sarah to the shade. He took another step.

"I said stop!"

Darin clenched his jaw and took another step, but they couldn't move fast enough. A firm, gauntlet-covered hand gripped his shoulder and tore him from Sarah's side. Sarah collapsed to the ground with a cry of agony, "No!" Darin yelled as he turned and swung on the man. His fist connected, causing the guard to stumble back a step before recovering. Wasting no time, he bent to pick up his sister, however, both his arms became entangled in armor as the other two guards pulled him away, "Please! Let me go! She's sick!" Darin pleaded and fought against his captors. His struggles only caused their grip to tighten, painfully so.

The third man stepped forward, his hand rubbing against his jaw, "You are under arrest for assaulting a castle guard," he stated. Sarah moaned softly before letting out a cry of agony that cause the guard to spin around, "What's wrong with you, woman?" he spat at her before he bent down to grab her.

"Get away from me!" Sarah pleaded as she weakly scooted herself away, "Don't touch me!" she let out a cry of pain, "I'm warning you!" She must have known what she was doing to people that touched her. The soldier let out a frustrated sigh as he reached down, grabbed Sarah's covered upper arm before jerking her to her feet.

"Ahhh!" her face twisted in agony as the guard yanked his hand back with a cry of his own.

"By the gods!" he cursed as he stumbled back, standing between Darin and his sister.

"Darin!" she called out, the fringes of her clothes catching fire, "It hurts! It hurts so bad!"

His eyes scanned the crowd that had turned away from the platform to look at what was unfolding before them, "Don't just stand there! Someone help her!" Darin pleaded with the frozen crowd, "Help her! Please!" His heart ached to hold his sister, to save her from this. Tears fell freely, a mixture of rage at their inaction and sorrow in her suffering boiling over. Still, no one moved.

Sarah turned to him, her eyes frantically surveying her body. Her hands clawed at her skin as her clothes slowly burned away, "Get it off! Make it stop!" she practically screamed it.

The arms that held him in place loosened just enough. Darin jerked his arms free and started toward her, "Sarah!"

She looked up at him, her brown orbs locking with his blue ones, "Darin.."

Suddenly, Sarah disappeared behind a wall of flames. Darin caught one last glimpse of the form of her body before she violently exploded.

First came a wave of an invisible force. The blast slammed the guard back and into Darin sending everyone around crashing to the ground. Darin's head bounced off of the stone floor causing the corners of his vision to flash white in agony. Next came a torrent of flames searing the man and shielding Darin. Waves of heat roared over head. Darin's head swam, but he could hear the screams piercing through the whining of the flames.

Sarah, as he lay under the heavy corpse of the soldier unable to move, his mind traveled to her. The scene unfolded once again in his mind's eye as his vision blurred and darkness began to creep in from the corners, "Sarah..."[/fieldbox]
 
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As the king was set to take to the platform to address them, the crowd came to a standstill, so compact, like broken cogs in a clock, so immovable, that even Catriona's quarry could not press on. As he came to a sudden halt, frustration raked along his narrow, pinched features, so too did she pause, and for a moment, she allowed her gaze to travel to the dais.

Suddenly, a man came across the stage, his movement erratic and hurried, as he approached another of the soldiers, and Catriona felt her stomach clench. The dread was inexplicable... Building within her with a disturbing speed. Something was wrong. It was a feeling, only a feeling, but it could not be ignored. A shadow had moved across her life of recent that seemed inescapable.

A cry rose from the crowd and spinning away from the dais, Catriona searched for it's source... There, a ways from the stage, through the cracks in the bodies before her, she could barely make out what appeared to be a young woman in great distress. The voices became louder, some more belligerent, as guards appeared to tend to the situation and the man who was with the girl swung at them, the situation escalating into violence.

There was a shriek from the girl, a gut wrenching cry of pain and for a second or two, the world seemed to catch... to pause. Then came the eruption, emanating from the girl, herself. The blast scattering through the crowd with the force of an explosion.

Rion found herself flung onto her back, the air struck from her lungs as she smacked hard into the earth beneath her. A second or two later, a second wave roared overhead, a wall of flames. Heat pricked at her skin, heat that should have burned, seared...

Her head swam, and the sounds of the chaotic reverberations of the crowd were drowned, muffled by the pounding in her ears. Vision blurred, red and black and grey bursting in sunspots overhead. Someone or something rammed hard into her side, a figure, a man toppling over her, tripping, falling. Flames danced along their spine, clinging to the thick wool of their cloak and without thinking, Catriona rolled onto her side, grabbing handfuls of dirt to smother the fire.

Falling to the ground, the injured man turned over, ink-black eyes staring up at her, reaching out to clutch the front of her dress, "Thank you!" He hissed, in a voice choked by pain.

She pushed back, scrambling away from him with a gasp, tearing out of his hold, "You!"

The raider, eyes widening, stared at her in confusion, and Rion felt heat wash over her a second time, felt her throat tightening, her chest heaving in great, desperate gasps.

"Are you alr--" His words were cut off as her foot slammed hard into the bridge of his nose, and spinning, Rion pushed herself upright, her hands reaching for the small pouch at her waist that held her knife.

With effort, the man righted himself, wincing, as he held up a hand, an angry, blistered red. Blood poured from his nose, pooled down his face, and with the back of his sleeve he wiped it away, "What the h--"

Her fingers curled, with success around the hilt of the knife, and pulling it free, she held it out, her hands shaking, "Stay back!"

"Lady! Are you out of your damn--" As he stepped forward, Rion swung, narrowly missing his outstretched arm, and the man swore, loudly, "What is wrong with you!?"

Lunging, the raider grabbed for her wrists and Rion stumbled backwards. With the benefit of momentum, he pushed and she toppled again. Stars bloomed as her head cracked against the ground, the raider looming overhead, her knife scattering to the side, "Big mistake, little girl..." He growled, reaching for the blade.


TAGS || @all
 
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Shireen wasn't one to jump to ominous conclusions, but when there was no start to the King's speech and instead there was the sounds of a screaming girl and yelling men, she knew there was something very wrong going on. She looked up at the taller Jarus, eyebrow raised. He had a frown on his face, and she could almost hear him wordlessly telling her this was a bad idea and they should skedaddle. And she would have, at least out of their current location to someplace that was less likely to be part of a commotion.

Nothing warned her of the sudden fire that she could now see, and then a blast so strong that she felt herself being thrown back, hitting against the wall of a shop before falling to the ground, head smacking against the ground.

Darkness engulfed her- for how long it was hard to tell. However, by the time she came to, she could feel the heat, searing and burning despite it not touching her. A groan left her as she pulled herself up to her knees. Seeing her hat a little away from her, she reached out to pick it up. Her hand stopped it midair however- not too far away she could see Jarus, face down on the ground, in danger of being trampled by people trying to escape the explosion.

"Keep away!" She lunged forward, ready to push the on-comers out of the way, though failed miserably as her knees hit the ground more than a couple of feet away from him. However, strangely, the folk seemed to obey, a look of trepidation in their eyes as they stumbled and tripped away from Jarus.

A yelp escaped Shireen as she felt a stinging pain in both her hands, but the distraction of the sudden pain wasn't enough to keep her from Jarus. She crawled to him as quickly as she could, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to the side of the street, ignoring the increasing pain until they were out of the panicked crowd's way.

"Jarus? Old man, you alright?" Concern was imminent in her voice, blue eyes flitting over him and finally stopping when they caught sight of the small pool of blood encircling his head. "C'mon... say somethin' already..." Hands shaking she moved closer, leaning her head down close to his mouth, hoping too feel some air to prove he was breathing, even if unconscious.

But there was nothing save for the cacophony from her surroundings.
 
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SINDRI HERMOD

Sindri tucked into his food with obvious relish. As befitting its status as the highest-class inn in Norcrest, the Gryphon Inn's fare was excellent and it was not unheard of for some of the minor nobility to occasionally slip in for a bite to eat. Today's meal consisted of chicken cooked with Cytheinian herbs and white wine, with roasted potatoes and carrots. Sindri had never had food of this quality before, and so every mouthful was a treat, a gift to be savoured. When the meal was finished, he offered silent thanks to Eses for such rich and plentiful bounty. Coupled with the expectant hush that had fallen over the city, all noise ceased in readiness of the King's Speech, he enjoyed a moment of solemn peace and prayer. The city remained somewhat noisy even at night, and such opportunities for solemnity had been few and far between recently.

A loud blast. Screams of horror. Sindri was forcible dragged from his silence by the sounds of chaos outside - howls of pain and the hammering footfalls of panicked people doing their best to get away. Something had gone very wrong this festival. His heart raced. What should he do? What could he do? He knew that he ought to go, see what aid he could give, but there were that many people out there already - what more could he do? The thought of pushing through panicking crowds to go towards uncertain danger sent a wave of fear through his body, causing his arms and legs to tremble. No. He couldn't do it. Nobody would blame him, surely?

I would.

Sindri railed against the voice in his head, but he knew it was true. How could he abandon someone when they needed him? How could he decide for them that they didn't need his help? He had no right to make that decision on their behalf, and if he turned away now he'd never forgive himself. He wouldn't have the right to.

He gritted his jaw, forcing himself to his feet in spite of his trembling legs. Each step seemed like a titanic effort, and as he neared the door the temptation to dart back to the table, or better still his room, intensified. He pushed through the doors and was immediately swamped by a wave of people. Turning and struggling against the current, gasping for air as his heart pounded, he forged his way towards the screams. He couldn't turn back now even if he wished to - the swarm of humanity had caused him to lose any sense of direction - all he could do was head in the opposite direction to the rest, muttering constantly under his breath for Eses to grant him courage and fortitude.

Like a cork popping from a bottle, he suddenly burst free of the crowds, to be met with a scene of carnage. The remnants of wooden stands and seating areas was splintered and scattered across the square, and many parts of it were burning. Most of the buildings were stone, but wooden shutters and blue and white banners blazed brightly amidst the smoke. And strewn amongst the debris of the square were those unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast. Moaning but mobile, or silent and still. Jubilation turned to tragedy in mere moments. The tremors that had hampered his progress threatened to overwhelm him, his whole body now shaking. If he ran now, nobody would notice. As every muscle in his body, every fibre in his being screamed at him, Sindri stepped into the carnage.

He came across two people laid by the side of the road, a young woman frantically checking an older man. They had the look of sailors - rugged faces and salt-stains on their well-worn clothing. It was clear to Sindri from the pool of blood and the stillness of the man that it was too late for him. Muttering a Eldrissaran prayer for the deceased he moved closer to the pair. The girl was obviously grief-stricken and panicked, unaware of the severity of her own wounds. Her hands were criss-crossed with cuts and a vicious gash on the back of her head continue to ooze blood. He stumbled over, crouching down in front of her, still trembling.

"Miss? Miss! I'm sorry, there's nothing you can do for him...he's gone. You're bleeding pretty badly - not that you've realised yet probably. It's on the back of your head. You must have hit it on something with a bit of an edge." He tugged frantically on the sleeves of his tunic, ripping them both off. He wadded one sleeve up into a pad, keeping the other one long to tie it in place. Your hands are pretty badly cut up too - I don't think you should do too much with them until they've had time to heal. I'm going to put this on your wound to try and slow down the bleeding, and then we need to get you to somewhere safe. Is that ok?" He reached around behind her head, seeking to tie the pad over the wound with the long sleeve.
 
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  • Bucket of Rainbows
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Ardryan was pushing through the crowd when the explosion came. There was no warning, one moment he was shoving packed bodies aside, and the next he was thrown violently to the ground, ears ringing and disorientated. A coppery taste filled his mouth, its texture all too familiar. He had bitten his tongue falling.

Ardryan could feel bodies beneath and on top of him, all dazed and groaning. It felt like an eternity, his movement prolonged and clumsy, but he must have recovered in an instant because he got to his feet just in time to catch the wave of flame that bloomed like a deadly flower to envelop him and several others. His clothes caught fire almost immediately, searing through the thin fabric and leather with ease. He hadn't bothered to wear chainmail within the city. That was proving to be a major mistake.

Ardryan beat at his cloak and shirt in panic, trying to put out the blaze, but his entire upper body seemed to be burning all at once, too hard. His nostril was filled with the stench of cooked flesh, but strangely there was no pain. He stumbled back, one step, two, and tripped over a still form on the ground. Ardryan felt a moment of weightlessness as he lost his balance, before colliding with something midway, throwing it back with a surprised yelp and him to the ground on his knees.

Even with the cacophony of screams and cries loud enough to overwhelm all senses, the sound of metal clattering to the cobblestone was clear and sharp in his ear. Startled, Ardryan swivelled and had only a moment to take in the scene. A young girl was on the ground, looking dazed and scared with tears in the corners of her eyes. A man was pushing himself up on the other side of her, and something about him was familiar to Ardryan. Not who he was, but what. Something in the way he sneered, or the way his dark hateful gaze locked onto him. The man's eyes darted back and forth between Ardryan and the knife sitting on the ground between them at the girl's feet. Without warning, he lunged for it on all four, and Ardryan's body lurched into motion without a conscious thought.

The man was closer, but Ardryan hadn't intended to pick the knife up. In one quick stride, his boots collided with the small blade and kicked it out from under the man's reaching grasp. Snarling like an animal, the half-burned man turned on him and went for a midsection tackle. Ardryan was still recovering from the motion of the kick and couldn't catch his balance in time to deflect the heavy shoulders slamming into his abdomen, so together they crashed to the ground grappling.

The man was strong and heavily-built, but Ardryan was taller and not as injured. Back and forth they rolled on the ground, throwing up dirt and colliding with jerking panicked bodies as people squirmed and rushed pass them trying to escape. The man was much more experienced with this situation than Ardryan was, grappling on the dirty blood-soaked street. The only advantage he had was longer reach and that his opponent was bleeding heavily from a broken nose. Ardryan's short sword was on his hip and stuck under them where he couldn't draw it. Not that it would have done him any good.

The fight had only started moments before but already he was losing. He was still able to get a few good blows in regardless, but then the snarling man snapped like a dog and bit him hard on the shoulder. Ardryan roared in pain and anger and the next moment found himself with his back on the cobbled ground with both of his opponents' hands around his throat, choking him. Ardryan's face started to flush red. He tried breaking the other man's grip, but from his position he couldn't get any leverage. His fist connected to the man's face repeatedly, but his opponent just ignored it and pressed harder, an ugly twisted grin taking over his features. Slowly, inexorably, Ardryan's effort grew weaker and weaker. He was going to die. He had survived three campaigns of the war against the most vicious army in the world, only to die on the dirty street of Nocrest by the hands of a complete stranger. The irony was almost overwhelming.

Ardryan gaped for air but of course, he couldn't get a breath. The stranger, his killer, was directly over him now, dark evil eyes staring into his, enjoying every moment of it. His vision started to get blurry, shadows creeping in from around the edges. There was nothing he could do.

Dimly, however, Ardryan could see the face of the man above him getting brighter, somehow illuminated from below. He was already having hallucination, his addled brain thought. But unthinkably, as the dark-eyed man's malevolent features turned to horror, a light glowed at the back of Ardryan's gaping mouth, brighter and brighter, and a white hot jet of flame shot from his throat, catching the man directly in the face.

His blood-chilling scream reveberated as he fell off Ardryan, allowing him to finally gasped and sucked in a lungful of air, cutting off the stream of fire. Coughing hard with smoke leaking from the corner of his mouth, Ardryan didn't spare a moment to consider what had transpired but lunged from the man writhing on the ground, delivering a rage-fueled punch that violently bounced his head off the cobblestone with a bone-jarring thud, knocking him still.

Shakily, knees half-buckling, Ardryan pushed himself to his feet. The fire that was burning his clothes had died sometime during the struggle, and the skin underneath was marvelously only slightly blistered. He did not even feel hot, in fact he felt chilled to the bone, as if his whole body was burning up with fever. Ardryan clumsily turned, finding the young girl from before still where she was.

"I...what..." was all he could get out before crumbling to the ground, unconscious.

@Elle Joyner
 
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Through the daze of hitting her head a second time, the world swam, the face of the raider blurring into streak of black and pale yellow swirling, an angry red stripe down the middle where blood oozed from the shattered nose. Then somewhere, out of the corner of her vision, a flash of dark green appeared. She heard the knife clatter across the cobblestone, and the weight of the Raider was gone as he lunged as something... someone a short distance away.

Rolling over, Rion watched the scuffle through a fog of dizziness. It wasn't long and the man who had come to her rescue seemed to lose the upper-hand with a terrifying swiftness that spoke only of the impressive skills of her family's murderers. She had never had an advantage. Not really. He hadn't known she was following, but the moment she revealed herself, she would have failed in her mission. That much was painfully clear.

Hands locked around the man's throat as the Raider tightened his fingers with strangling strength and Rion threw herself forward, but with a heavy thrust backwards, the man threw her off as easily as he might a discarded cloak. Then she saw it. The light. Brief, bright... For just a moment she allowed herself to believe it was a hallucination, then she remembered with a sense of great horror, the woman that had quite literally exploded before their eyes.

Flame burst and the raider launched backwards and as the fight resumed again, this time in the stranger's favor, all she could do was watch, transfixed... A sickening crack signaled it's end and the Raider fell eerily still as the man turned towards her and opened his mouth to speak...

Then he collapsed, crumpling to the ground. Rion moved before she could think and caught hold of him, but he was significantly larger than her and bearing the brunt of his weight didn't last long. Her knees buckled and she dropped, her hands hovering over him as her eyes danced wildly between Raider and this new charge. The only chance she had left was to hope the Raider had information on him... something that would lead her to his conspirators.

But it meant leaving the injured man to his own devices... and in this crowd, in this chaos...

Swearing softly in defeat, she unlatched her cloak and balled it up beneath the stranger's head, patting his cheek with her hands, "Come on... Wake up. Wake up!"


TAGS || @Jays, @all
 
A woman screaming, guards shouting for someone to stop, a man screaming for help. The chaos was enough to divert Atum's attention from his bowl of food and the old man who'd given him the meat and rice. "What in the world is going on?" He asked no one in particular, standing up with his food in hand. "I thought King Ikaros was to speak soon." Which explained why the guards were active there.

"It would probably be best not to get involved. You would most likely end up arrested if you attempt to help someone resisting the guard." The old man advised the Tumarian. "Sit and finish your meal, I insist! The commotion will be ended and the King will begin his speech, worry not." The advice was sound but Atum's curiosity was getting the better of him. He ignored the man, taking a few steps towards the commotion. The old man sighed, shaking his head, "Youth..."

But he would not make it very far into the crowd. Blinding red engulfed his vision and a sensation of heat washed over him. He could only make out a wall of flames before finding himself thrown back, the force of the blast sending him through the air. He hit the ground, rolling along for a few feet. He didn't move at first, disorientated by the explosion. He couldn't make heads or tails of what was what, his mind dulled by the chaos. He could hear nothing despite seeing children and women screaming, men shouting and boots thudding against the ground as people ran away from the source. His mind was completely still, taking in everything yet processing nothing.

What happened...?

As the shock passed he began to tune back into reality, he started to get up. Thankfully he wasn't burned, he was too far back for the flames to reach. He had only managed to get on his hands and knees when someone crashed into him, knocking them both over. The person, a man, didn't think twice about looking back, instead scrambling to his feet and continuing his run. Unfortunately for Atum, he wasn't the only one coming his way. As Atum tried to stand up he found himself being trampled by more people trying to escape, and in response, curled himself up, aiming to protect his head the best he could. Not everyone stepped on him, but it was enough that he was starting to feel it. He was going to end up a bruised mess or worse at this rate.

Feeling anger rising within him, he stood up suddenly, not a care in the world for whoever he knocked over or got in the way of. He took a single step and winced immediately, his ankle flaring up with pain. But he didn't let it stop him from moving. His first thought was to find a way out of the stampede of people, but he remembered the old man. He had to backtrack and check on him, if he'd been stepped over like this he dreaded what could have happened to him.

It took only a few minutes for Atum to get back to where he and the man had been sitting, but there was no sight of him. A small feeling of panic began to well up in his belly, maybe even guilt. Perhaps he had run off already? There was no need to assume the worst after all. But then he saw him, the old man was fine, or rather in better shape than he could have been. He was leaning against a merchant's stand, unmoving except for his breathing. Blood stained his temples and ran down the side of his face. He had an empty and scattered look in his eyes.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Atum grunted, taking the old man by an arm and wrapping it around his neck. He walked quickly, doing his best to avoid being knocked over by fleeing bystanders and ignoring the pain in his ankle the best he could. As he headed there, he caught notice of a man tending to a woman. He could barely make out what the man was saying, but he heard enough to know the man could help lead him somewhere safe. "Can I follow? I need to get this man somewhere safe!" He yelled, loud enough for Sindri to hear him.

The only sound that the old man could make was a pained groan, barely audible and weak.
 
The crowd that awaited the King's address was probably the largest Wymond has ever seen in his entire life. There were all type of people in the crowd, from different origins and levels of financial power. Wymond overheard that even a few slaves were allowed to make the trip to the festival. Although this event occurred every year, during a time of war it was that much more important. Almost like a way to improve moral in soldiers and the populace in general, not that Wymond paid the war any mind. In fact, he was making a profit in his tavern due to it. But with that said anyone within a hundred mile radius of Norcrest seemed to be here. Though none of them seemed to be half as excited as the girl who sat up on his shoulders, trying her best to spot the King. She kept asking Wymond if that was him, and with every answer came a no.

"Where is he?" She pouted, causing Wymond to laugh at how impatient his daughter was.

"He will come, and when he does, you'll be able to tell who he is."

"Promise?"

"Ugh, Yes Delilah," He shook his head smiling, "I promise."

Wymond was actually rather close to where the King was going to be speaking. A perfect view for his daughter. People around him spoke in hushed whispers as they awaited their leader, and many asked the same questions Delilah did. What was taking him so long? Wymond didn't seem to see a problem, being that this was his first time at the festival, he believed the King always took this long. He was royalty after all.

A sudden clamor erupted right besides him, a young girl was screaming in pain being held up by two other women. Wymond took a step back, alarmed yet confused on what was wrong with her. A man who was a bit taller than Wymond, watched with worried blue orbs. Something was wrong.

"Papa, what's happening?"

"I don't know..."

He watched as the entire scene unfolded, up until the guard came over and received a brutal punch by the tall man. Then he brought his daughter down, holding her in his arms and demanding that they stand somewhere else in the crowd because it was getting to feisty where they were. He started moving away from the strange chain of events that unfolded where they once stood, pushing past the crowd of the nosy people desperately wanting a peek at what was going on.

But just as he was about to be gone for good a sudden explosion of hot air sent him and his daughter flying. His grip on her loosened with the blast, sending her screaming towards another direction. It all happened so quickly. He slammed into a merchant stand, viciously smashing his head against the wood so hard his ears rung. He couldn't hear a thing, everything sounded as though it were underwater. His eyes were open but his vision was blurred, only being able to see the red fiery depth of the air, and the black smudge of people racing away from the scene.

'What happened....' Wymond thought to himself, not knowing why they ran, not knowing what he was doing on the ground, not knowing where his daughter was, 'Why do they run...'

His hearing came back first. People screaming as they scrambled away, sounds of others calling for loved ones, soldiers trying to maintain the peace. Then came his sense of feel. A strong tingling in his head became a sharp pain as he lifted it. Something was dripping off the side of his forehead. Water? No. Blood. He was bleeding. But then his vision was restored, and he snapped out of the daze when he saw in between the running legs of people, his daughter laying on the opposite side of the dirt road. Motionless.

"D-Delilah?" He whispered at first, then gripped the dirt as he attempted to force himself up, "Delilah!?"

He tried standing, but fell on his hands and knees. A soldier ran to him, helping him up and instead of taking him to his daughter, began to run towards the same direction as the crowd. Wymond pushed him with all the might, and dropped to the floor after the Soldier let go, "Get off of me! Delilah!" He began desperately crawling towards her, the crowd simply ran around him, some people trampled him, but that didn't stop him from getting back on his hands and knees. He crawled until he got to her. Her back faced him, he moved her over, placing his arm under her head and holding her to his chest. She was breathing, yes, she was breathing!

"Delilah, baby, are you okay?" He moved her a bit and she let out a weak shriek. He looked down, and couldn't believe his eyes. His vision blurred again, but this time it was by the tears that formed and his brows furrowed. He looked around and opened his mouth, words wouldn't come out. There was a sharp piece of wood, dislodged by the explosion that ended up pierced deeply into her abdomen. The tears began to flow. "Look at me," He mumbled, "Look at me, Delilah," his voice cracked as he said her name.

She weakly opened her eyes, they were already becoming deeply set, and losing their color. But she was crying. Wymond whimpered as he wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled softly.

"Everything will be alright," He whispered and kissed her forehead, "I'll get you out of here. We'll be able to go home alright?"

"P-Papa," She whispered, "Y-You promise?" She began sobbing and shaking slightly causing his hands to tremble.

"Of course Delilah, of course I promise. Just keep your eyes open okay?"

She nodded weakly, then tightened her grip on his tunic, "I'm tired Papa,"

"Well, just stay with me a little longer alright? You could nap when we get home," He looked around as people ran, and couldn't take it any longer. His daughter was dying! "Somebody! Please! Help me please! By the gods, help me!"

"Papa," She wasn't crying anymore, and her tears stopped flowing, her grip was loosening, "I'm scared."

"Somebody!" He couldn't stop the tears anymore, he was a broken and bloodied mess. He held her close, the blood from his forehead dripped onto hers, and the blood that stained her clothing from the wounds she suffered now blemished his hand. "Delilah, I love you so much, I love you so so much." He cried into her ear holding her up into his chest.

But no reply came. She was no longer holding onto him. Her arm was limp and to the side.

"Delilah?" He paused, stopping the tears for a moment and took a look at her face. "No, no, no, no, no," He was shaking his head and checking for the pulse. Yet there was nothing, "This can't be happening. You aren't doing this to me. This isn't happening," His world was spinning and he wailed like a mad man, pressing her to his chest once more, "Noooooooo!"
 
The coins were divided between Rayela and the two musicians. She sat on stage, copper and silver being dropped in their pouches. Rayela gave them half of what she earned in order to compensate for their free meal. She tossed the remainder of the coins into her pouch and stood up, eager to satisfy her growling stomach. Rayela couldn't miss out on the food, and later, a game of Alquerques.

"Bentam, Shiraya, we feast."

An uproar from the middle of the square caught her attention. Rayela turned her head to observe the situation from afar. A messenger from the castle seemed to express urgency. Hopefully, everything was alright and it was a minor issue that didn’t cause delay in festivities. A young woman with dark skin caught her eye. She was scurrying away from the crowd, presumably towards the stage. Concern crossed her face.

“Is everything okay?” she questioned the young lady.

They froze in place almost as if they had been caught red handed. The girl turned back and offered an almost apologetic smile as she stepped away from the stage. She meekly approached the group and partially crossed her arms over before responding, “Oh sorry, I was just looking for-” she only managed to get out before the screaming from the middle of the square cut through her words.

“What on God’s Earth is going on?” Bentam inquired, stepping forward, irritation present in his tone. Rayela shook her head, “I don’t know.”

She turned back to the young woman at the edge of the stage, intent on inviting her over. Without warning, a force the strength of an ocean knocked back everyone in the stage’s vicinity. She flew into the stage backdrop, ragged curtains toppling on her. Her head made direct impact with the ground and her vision faltered. Heat waves seared into her as she heard the muffled cries of a woman in pain. Rayela's arm reached up to touch the back of her head. Something warm and sticky covered her hands. It all happened too fast, Rayela couldn’t tell what was going on or where that girl was.

“Are you okay?!” she called out.

Had the girl answered, Rayela found herself unable to properly register their voice as she strained to stay conscious.

“-Somebody please! Help me!” a voice cried out from just beyond view. Sure enough, trapped beneath the burning remains of the stage, there was the young girl desperately straining to push away from debris that pinned her to the ground. She turned back and reached out to the only other person she could see before weakly collapsing onto the stage from exhaustion.

She was struggling. Rayela was sure she could hear her, barely, before her eyes began to close and darkness consumed her.



TAGS || @Wishlist @all
INTERACTIONS: ISHA'A AND RAYELA (COLLAB), BENTAM (NPC)
 

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For the time being Shireen was rather docile, allowing the man to tie the makeshift bandage around her head. She was still staring at Jarus, unsure if he was really.. gone. His eyes were closed, maybe he was simply asleep? She reached a hand out toward the older man; a hiss of pain escaped her and she finally took a look at her hands. There was a gash across each palm, though it was hard to tell how deep seeing how her hand was covered with slick, dark blood. She curled them into loose fists as it hurt both keeping them open or tightly shut.

"He's..." She paused in her words, darkened eyes looking at the man briefly before looking toward the crowd. It was luck that someone had found her and even stopped in her aid. Jarus would be happy to know that there were nice people around... Her mouth began to tremble and she hastily bit down on her lower lip to keep herself in check. Still, the thought was now running through her mind. Jarus and the crew wouldn't even have been here if it wasn't for her.

She let out a shaky breath before standing up to her feet. A little woozy, she had to hold onto the nearest wall so that she wouldn't topple over. "I... need to... he can't just..."

Her words were interrupted by the arrival of another man; even her grief addled mind could tell he was from the Tumar. She didn't look it, but Shireen had the blood of the desert folk in her as well, even if she didn't make a mention of it. She looked to the man he was carrying, and then back to Jarus. After another shaky breath, she gave the man a small nod. There was nothing she could do for her closest friend, but perhaps this man's old companion could be saved.

Jarus would want that.

Shireen looked to the man who had bandaged her head. "Lead the way please." Her voice was tight, as if speaking was causing her further pain. In truth, she knew if she tried to say anything more, she would simply break down and wouldn't be able to do what had to be done.

After all, for the first time in her life she was completely alone in the world... and it was all her fault.
 

Alana Mcale

“Five silver coins and that’s my final offer!” Alana eyed the man, emerald eyes traveling from the coins in his hand to the small golden bracelet in hers. The man drove a hard bargain but Alana always drove a harder one. “Five silver coins is a small price to pay for the one you love. Don’t you wish your wife to have only the best? I should hope her husband would think more highly of her.” The man was growing upset and Alana knew her window to seal the deal was beginning to close yet she also knew she had him exactly where she wanted him. Her eyes traveled to the leather band around his wrist and a small smile crept on her lips. “Five silver coins and the leather band on your wrist and you’ve got yourself a deal. Go on. Show your wife how much you care for her.”

The man grunted, practically ripped the leather band from his wrist and handed it and the coins to Alana. Alana smirked as her nimble fingers placed the golden bracelet in the man’s hands. “Have a good day, m’lord” she told him as he grumbled and walked off. She waited until he was a ways away and examined the leather band. It would do. Another man approached her stand and Alana got to work immediately. “You look like a man in search of something.” She leaned over the wood of the stand and slowly rubbed her fingers over the leather band in her hand. “How about a leather band from the mountains of Eldrassir? You will not find another like it…”

Alana always enjoyed the annual festival in Norcrest. She made sure to have her stand ready every year. It was where she made her most coin and where she acquired enough trinkets to restock her shop back home. The young woman had begun to make a name for herself and she was as determined as ever to see her dreams come alive. This year was no different. She even made sure her stand was near the dancers and musicians so the music would lighten the moods of her buyers and make them more susceptible to her persuasion.

As the man walked away with his “new” leather band, Alana turned towards the music and dancers. A small crowd had gathered around to watch and Alana took a moment to enjoy the scene. There would be no more buyers until the king gave his speech, she might as well enjoy the entertainment before diving back in. She grabbed an apple off her neighbors stand, tossed him a coin for his trouble and took a bite from it, one arm crossed over the other as she watched one of the dancers begin to spin. The woman danced beautifully and it was a pleasure to watch her.

The king would be on the stage soon, she had already noticed the guard but what happened next took her completely by surprise. A commotion developed in the crowd that drew Alana’s attention. At first it was just a man fighting with a guard but then it was a woman screaming in pain with no visible signs of injury. Alana thought it curious but continued biting on her apple as she rolled her eyes. Even if she was in the most terrible of pain, Alana thought to herself, she would never draw such attention to herself. She was stronger than that and wouldn’t dare show weakness, especially not in front of a large crowd. She was just about to throw the apple core to the ground when she noticed the woman engulfed in flames. Alana’s mouth dropped open but before she could utter a word a massive blast threw Alana into the air and through her own stand.

She crashed through the wood, every item on her stand propelled into the air around her and landing every which way. Alana was breathless as she attempted not to lose consciousness. Everything was spinning around her. For a moment everything slowed as if it were moving in slow motion. Various feet moved around her, scattering quickly as the noise grew louder. The trumpet sleeves of her gown became soaked with something as well as the back of her neck. She struggled to see her surroundings and could barely make sense of what was happening. All she wanted was to close her eyes but her instinct to survive at all costs quickly kicked in and she found herself attempting to get back on her feet.

Alana looked to and fro, chaos had ensued and what was once a joyful and peaceful event had turned into fear and destruction. Her knees buckled, forcing her down to the ground, hands spread against the dirt as she noticed what had soaked her sleeves. Blood. She drew a hand up to her head and felt the back of her hair. More blood. It took everything in Alana not to give into the panic or the pain that was beginning to creep its way into her consciousness. Her eyes darted from one side of the street to the other, wondering where she could run and hide. She needed to get out. She needed to get to safety.

As she looked for an escape route her eyes landed on the dancer she was admiring earlier. She saw her hand as it reached out before collapsing to the ground. Alana’s breath was ragged and her mind was foggy. She needed to run. She needed to hide. Yet she found herself stumbling towards the stage and to the women still upon it. Why? She did not know. Perhaps it was the dance from earlier or the music. Or perhaps it was that Alana knew it was best not to be alone in such circumstances. Or that she just couldn’t leave another woman alone on the floor unable to fend for herself. Either way, she found herself upon the stage as she turned towards the one that was crying out for help.

Alana barely had any strength left. She knew this. “You have to help me help you! Do you understand?!” she yelled to the girl pinned beneath some debris. “I’m going to pull. You push!” Alana grabbed a hold of a piece of the stage that had pinned the woman and with a loud groan began to pull as hard as she could. She could feel her strength wasting away but she had to do something. She pulled until she had moved the plank far enough that the woman was able to get free on her own.

Once she was sure the woman could get herself to safety she headed for the dancer. All Alana wished to do was collapse as well, to join the dancer in her sleep but she knew if she did such a thing she might never awaken. She grabbed the dancer’s face between her hands and began to tap against her cheeks. “Wake up. Wake up! You have to move or you will burn. Wake up!”

@Kat @Wishlist