The Tales of Agganoth

[DarinValore]

[fieldbox="Norcrest Town Square, green, solid"]
Darin's eyes cracked open and a moan escaped his lips. Every part of his body ached, and from the sharp pain in his side, he knew a rib or two was probably broken. What had happened? A torrent of memories flooded his mind. There was the events of the day. Then there was the gathering in the square followed by Sarah not feeling well, then she...

"Sarah!" Darin called out as he tried to sit up. The guard's body still lay atop of him. Propping his elbows on the ground, he groaned and winced as he pushed the man off of him. The body rolled with a clank against the burnt stone. Pushing himself up, Darin surveyed the scene for the first time. Bodies, burnt, broken, and twisted littered the ground. Fires raged in the buildings that outlined the town square sending great pillars of smoke billowing skyward. Ash rained down and the cries of the injured filled the air. Worse of all, Sarah was no where to be found; nothing more than scorched marks where she had been standing. She was gone and though he felt like collapsing in a mourning mess, now was not the time. There were people hurting everywhere.

A sudden cough caught his attention. Looking to the source, Darin gasped to find Morgana half covered by a body. Half of her face, throat and chest were badly burned. It didn't look good. Moving to her side, Darin knelt beside her. Horror mixed with pain screamed in her eyes though no sound arose from her throat. Her chest rose and fell quicker than it should. First, he pushed the man from on top of her. The action sent waves of pain through his body and his hands went straight to his side as his eyes squeezed shut. He felt Morgana's hand land on his leg and his eyes opened to lock with hers.

"I'm sorry, Morgana," Darin managed to say. He watched her swallow before his other hand fell on hers. His thumb caressed the soft flesh and for the first time all day, Darin wondered how it would have felt to hold that hand while she laughed. He took in a deep breath causing more pain. At least one rib was broken. He needed to find a way to fix it or he would not survive. Broken ribs proved to be silent killers. If only he had a salve or-

A sudden wave of warmth washed over his body and gathered at his side under his hand. He could feel the bones mending, but how? When the warmth faded, Darin tested it with a deep breath. There was no pain!

"What? How?" he only thought about it for a second longer before turning back to Morgana. Her hand had grown cold in his and her chest had ceased to rise, but her eyes stared up at him. He swallowed back a lump in his throat as he washed his hand carefully over her face, closing her eyes, "Good bye, Morgana."

Standing to his feet, Darin found himself without a purpose. All of this death, this destruction was because of Sarah. Something had happened to her and she had... What was he going to do now? How could he go home and explain what had happened to her? His parents were not going to believe a word he said. He wasn't even sure he believed it, a part of him hopeful that he was just dreaming.

A sudden wail pierced through his hopelessness. There was still something he could do. His sister caused this, even if by accident, and he could do everything he could to help ease the suffering. Turning to the sound, Darin's eyes fell on a man crumpled on the ground holding a little girl. Darin moved and knelt beside them. His eyes scanned over them. The girl was dead, a shard of wood embedded in her stomach. The man seemed relatively fine, suffering an ankle injury of some sort.

"What can I do?" he asked the man, "Let me help you."

The man looked up at him for just a moment before his eyes turned back to the girl. Grief wrecked him. Darin scanned the area, his eyes falling on two shattered pieces of wood. Grabbing them, he moved to the man's foot, "I'm just going to brace your ankle. Then I could...help you with her, or at least help you out of here."[/fieldbox]

 

[RJS]

SINDRI HERMOD​

Sindri finished the bandage off with a makeshift double knot as the newcomer called to him. The Tumaran seemed relatively unscathed - mainly bruising - but the old man on his back clearly fared far worse. His eyes stared at nothing in particular and his breaths were weak wheezing gasps, punctuated by soft moans of pain. At the girl's agreement, he nodded to the stranger and motioned for him to follow. Supporting the injured girl, who clearly had some trouble standing upright, they began to make their way through the streets.

Sindri didn't know the city very well, but he knew one place that most people had run past but had kind, helpful people within. The streets were much easier to pass now, though they still found themselves against the flow as guards rushed to the scene. He nervously eyed the bandage on the back of the girl's head. Though it would do for a few minutes more, blood was already beginning to soak through. He needed to get her to safety. He couldn't fail her.

A wave of relief washed over him as the swinging Gryphon's head came into view. "Almost there now." he muttered, glancing behind to check the two were still following. Stumbling through the door, he found the bar mostly empty, though a few panicked patrons huddled beneath tables. The innkeeper stood behind the bar, crossbow raised, but he quickly lowered it as he recognised the skald. "Athos' beard lad, what happened out there?" Sindri stumbled over his response. "Don't know. There's fire and debris, injured and...dead...out there all over the place. These two are badly hurt." He motioned to the girl and the old man.

The innkeeper sighed deeply. "I hoped I'd left all this mess behind. Lemme take a look at them." He studied the two swiftly, before yelling. "Elana! I need your sewing kit and clean linens, as many as you got! Quickly, woman!". He poured a slug of whiskey into a glass with shaking hands, knocking it back in one gulp. "Clear that there table, lad." Sindri dashed to the table he indicated, hastily clearing off glasses and plates.

The innkeeper was busily sorting through a selection of needle and thread when he returned. "The lass'll need some sutures in her head for that cut," he was saying to his wife, "but the old fella just needs some rest and cleaning up I think. Lad!" He called to the Tumaran. "Lay him on that bench over there." He motioned as he soaked a clean linen in whiskey. "Use this to clean his cuts, and keep an eye on him!"He turned his attention back towards the wounded girl, pouring out two small glasses of whiskey before putting the bottle in front of her. The needle went into one, while he knocked back the second. "Lass, you're going to want quite a lot of that bottle, because this is going to hurt like all hell. When you're ready, lay yourself on the side on that table."

Catching Sindri's concerned look, he grimaced. "Calm down lad. I was an army medic before I retired and bought this place. More of them boys survived than not, and a muddy tent is much worse than an inn table, lemme tell you that. Now, steady yourself lad, cause you're gonna have to hold her head still." He slid another glass of whiskey towards Sindri. "You may need this first." Sindri swallowed deeply, before grabbing the glass and swallowing again, feeling the burn down his throat. Gripping the edge of the table to quell the shaking, he nodded to the innkeeper, setting his face into what he hoped was a mask of confidence.

Time for a hero to save a life. Time for another story to be told.

 

[Greenie]

The relative quiet of the inn caused Shireen to focus a little more now than when she had been outside in the midst of the panicked folk. It wasn't a relief. Now the stinging she felt in her hands was intensified by the throbbing on her head and various aches and bruises from being slammed against the wall. Hand shaking, she placed it on the table before her, steadying herself so that she wouldn't fall. Her eyes fell upon the bottle set before her. Needles and suturing were nothing new to her, though on the ship it had always been minor wounds. Not to mention being surrounded by friends and playful teasing or praises for daring was quite different than this.

She grabbed the neck of the bottle with her hand, holding it tightly as it began to slip due to her still wet hand. A soft but irritated sound escaped her as she let go of the table and held the bottle with both hands, ignoring the stinging as she held the bottle to her lips, guzzling down the drink. It was stronger than anything she had consumed before- Shireen had never really been much of a drinker compared to others on her crew, and even when she did drink it was mostly watered down, nothing as strong as this.

Still, if it was going to numb any sort of pain, she would put aside her reservations. It wasn't too long before she set the bottle back down; there was barely any liquid left inside. As for Shireen, she lay herself down before she could fall flat on her face and end up causing yet another pointless injury to herself. Barely hearing what the others were saying, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable. The pain was already numbing due to the alcohol she had consumed, so that was a good thing...

It did not however numb what she felt when she felt the needle pierce through her skin. Unable to stop herself, Shireen let out a cry as she tried to force herself up once more. Thankfully the hands holding her head down as well as her current alcohol induced stupor kept her quite in place.

No longer able to handle the pain, she let herself fall into the darkness of unconsciousness.

@RJS @SkittlesAndSpike
​

 

[Jays]

(Collab between @Elle Joyner and @Jays ) [RyanxRion]

Ardryan felt a frigid hand patting his face, startling him to consciousness. But the hand wasn't that cold, it was his skin that was burning up. His eyelids fluttered open, but his vision wouldn't focus. All he could see was a blurry form leaning over him, silhouetted by the the midday sun. Ardryan tried to speak, but his throat was painfully parched and his voice sounded like grinding gravel.

"Is the girl okay?" What came out surprised him.

Sinking back onto her heels, Catriona shook her head, slate eyes shifting to take in the mobocracy that surrounded them. Voices rose, screams for help or crying out for the lost, the missing... And all around, fires still raged where carts or stalls or storefronts had caught, "I'm not sure anyone is, right now."

Frowning, she rubbed the back of her head where a small knot had formed, grimacing just slightly, "I had it sorted, you know. Can you sit up?"

"Sorted, aye? I'm sure." Realizing who he was talking to, Ardryan let out a relieved sigh and pushed himself up with his elbow. His entire body shook in protest and his breath came out in laboured rasps.

"Is he alive?" His throat was starting to recover, just the slightest bit.

Her gaze shifted to the Raider, briefly, before returning to him as she shook her head, swallowing hard, "I haven't checked. You... you collapsed and it seemed the more urgent focus."

Pushing off her heels again, she rose to her knees to lean over, checking the back of his head, "That was stupid of you... Going after him like that. He could have killed you." Satisfied that there was no immediately injuries to tend to, she sank back once more, "...Thank you."

Ardryan grunted in response. He wasn't about to tell her that he didn't even have time to process the situation before his instinct kicked in at the sight of potential danger.

"And yourself? Whatever happened burned that man badly. In fact, it burned m..." His words cut off as he glanced down at himself, miraculously free of any fire damage except for his clothes. Slowly, memories started to sink in, and Ardryan's head jerked up with incredulity and fear in his eyes.

"Did I...Did I breathe...f..." He couldn't finish, the notion too absurd to give voice too.

"I'm fine..." She noted, with a sense of near indifference. Her eyes flickered to the Raider again, "I've been following him for weeks. If he's dead I... I don't know... what I'll do."

Without looking back at him, her expression shifted, softened, just briefly, "I might've questioned if you did or didn't but...That young woman... What happened to her? I'm not sure there's anything that I can't believe anymore." Breathing out, she glanced to him finally, "...How... how do you feel?"

"Dead on my feet." He said simply. And it was true. He felt feverish, his necked ached like a bitch, and the whole world had just turned upside down. Getting to a kneeling position took more effort than he would have liked, but at least his legs didn't give out immediately.

"You've been following him? Doesn't sound like the best of ideas. What happened?" He asked absentmindedly, turning the limp body of the raider over. His eyes were glazed over, the side of his head bleeding profusely into a large pool of blood underneath, soaking the stone crimson.

Rising, pushing herself to stand, she held out her arm to him, to help him up. "He murdered my family. He and the others like him. They burnt my village to cinders..." Following his gaze, she looked to the Raider, "I need him alive. He's my only lead..."

Ardryan froze in place. He looked from the raider's dead eyes to her helping arm. Slowly, his face flushed even redder, a mixture of sheepish guilt crawling up from his stomach. It was ridiculous, of course. He had saved her life. Still, he turned toward the corpse and frantically searched for something, anything.

Most of the items he found were useless, charred to near cinder. He had almost given up when he pulled a small lump from beneath the dead man's shirt. It was a half-burned letter, nearly all of it singed black but for a few patches of clear text. Taking Catriona's offered arm and shakily got to his feet, he wordlessly offered her the letter.

Reaching out, her hand shaking, she took the letter and stared at it, bit hard at the inner lining of her cheek, her eyes stinging against tears.

"...Dead, then..." She said simply, and her fist curled around the parchment. Taking a moment, and a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes again and unfolded what was left of the burned missive.

"...Meet Sel..." Squinting, she turned it, holding it to the light, "Meet Sel...van in Westholl." Looking up, her eyes damp, but determined she shook her head, "Does this mean anything to you?"

"Westholl is a town. Two days ride south of Nocrest. King's Highway. I don't know about the rest." He replied, his mouth dry. That was all she had left, then. An incomplete name and a place. Not much at all to go on.

"I'm...sorry." He offered unhelpfully. The screaming had died down, most of the fire in the square put out. Faintly he could hear soldiers' boots clicking against cobble and orders being yelled.

"Perhaps...we should get out of here. Where are you staying?"

Bending, she retrieved her cloak and slid it back around her shoulders, "I'm not staying. South, you said?" She seemed to consider this for a moment, tucking the letter into the small pocket of her skirt. She had no maps, but she knew well enough what direction south was...

"I can't delay... Without a lead, I'm already behind... I have to--" She took a step, and a wave of dizziness washed over her, her legs crumbling beneath her.

Ardryan caught her shoulders, but he was just as weak and barely managed to stay upright.

"I don't think either of us is going very far as we are right now." He said with a grimace. "Let's find somewhere to sit and rest for a minute. You are in no shape to go after anyone." Slowly, he guided her the way the crowd was moving, out of the square.

 

[Ultra Paradox]

The tears wouldn't stop. He had an internal monologue through out it all, trying to convince himself that life without Delilah may not be as bad as he thought it would be. Not having to wake up early every day to get her ready for school, or stay up late to assure her that the monsters won't go bumping in the night. But that didn't help. He loved all of those moments, no matter how infuriating he found it to be. This was his daughter for crying out loud! The love he felt for Jenerith and a part of his very own blood flowed through her veins. And now, it stained his hands. The blood of the little girl he would give his very life for stained his own hands! `

"Delilah," He was repeating her name in hushed, mournful, whispers. Over and over. He still couldn't believe it. He was swaying his body to and fro, while holding onto his daughter, not stopping once to think about those around him or the fire that torched some homes and ruined businesses. He still didn't notice his own injuries. His head was pulsing, and his ankle was swollen, throbbing in pain. Yet he didn't care. He cared about nothing and no one except for the lifeless body in his arms.

"Let me help you."

Wymond looked up at the man from earlier with the blue orbs and the worried look. He survived despite being so close. But at this point Wymond didn't care. He didn't even hear the man's words, not caring enough to pay attention to him or what he was there for. He wasn't leaving Delilah's side. So he looked away from the man, and back to his daughter's cold face. He planted another kiss on her forehead, and moved the hair away from her face. It was obvious that he was a father in distraught, and he wasn't all there at the moment. The experience was too traumatic, and Wymond would never be the same again.

"I'm just going to brace your ankle. Then I could...help you with her, or at least help you out of here."

He looked at the man again, slightly snapping out of his mournful trance. He hesitantly nodded, allowing the man to work on his ankle and then help him up. But something felt strange. There was a warm embrace on his ankle where the swell was, and his head was pounding no longer.

"I-I'm good enough to stand," He stated a sense of sternness and mild confusion in his voice. He looked down at his daughter and bent down slowly, grunting as he picked her up. Her dead weight some how felt much heavier than she did up on his shoulders. "Thank you..."

He looked around at the carnage that was left over from the explosion. There was a strong smell of blood in the air, bodies all over some twisted in grotesque ways after the sudden wave. It was a horrifying scene for those that aren't used to such a sight. "Who could've possibly done such a thing," He sneered, looking at Darin with pure hate filling his brown eyes, "They deserve nothing but the deepest depths in the fiery pits of hell."

After taking a moment longer to look at the scene he said, "I have to get back home. To my Tavern. Not far from here. I have to get away from...all of this."

 

[Spekkun]

The relative quiet of the Inn elicited a sigh of relief from Atum, whatever little it may have been. The noise of the crowd outside was still audible but not nearly as much when he was in the thick of it. The fear of being trampled was entirely gone and now he could focus on the old man's wounds instead of the fleeing stampede of people.

When the Innkeeper ordered him to lay the old man on the bench, Atum wasted no time in doing so, practically snatching the linen out of his hands and hobbling over to the bench as fast as he could without disturbing the man. Hand behind the old man's head, he gently laid him on the bench, eyes looking over his wounds. He'd gotten the diagnosis from the Innkeeper sure, but he wanted to see himself, just to make sure. It wasn't that he didn't trust the keeper's words, just that he wanted to make sure.

You'll be fine." He spoke in a hushed tone, dabbing at the cuts on his head and cleaning the blood on his face. "Just a head wound." At least, he hoped it was just a head wound. The man had been kind enough to feed him, he didn't deserve to die or worse, suffer any permanent damage. He wished he'd talked to him at least a little more before everything happened. If he did die, or worse, suffer lasting mental damage from the blow to his head, Atum would have no idea who or where to take him to. With that thought, he could feel the familiar stones of guilt in his belly, sinking to the bottom.

"He'll be fine, he was further from the explosion than I was," Atum spoke mostly for his own benefit than any of the others. Hearing the words would help ease the worry if only a little. He looked to Sindri and the Innkeeper, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you, both of you for the help. I wasn't sure where to go, I'm not sure if we would have made it out of the crowd without your assistance."

He glanced at the woman, now unconscious as her wounds were being stitched. Another person injured in the event saved by strangers, though her condition was much worse. He supposed he should be grateful that he'd only gotten away with a sprained ankle and a few bruises from being stepped on, and that the Old Man was only unconscious. Things could have been much worse had they been any further up ahead. Much worse.

@RJS @Greenie

 

[Elle Joyner]

The intention of storming off towards Westhollow was a shortly lived one. Eventually, as she was led from the square by the well-intended stranger, the dizziness subsided, but in its place, a pounding headache stole her capacity for anything beyond a straight road and a short journey. Her cart wasn't far outside of the gates, and a little ways further, down the road was an inn where her Raider had laid his head the night prior.

It was somewhere to rest, to recover and to determine her next course of action... which as far as she knew was to travel south. South, where her knowledge of the land extended only as far as the worn leather map her father had once drawn her.

The futility of her mission was not lost on her, but giving up was not an option.

As they left the city, Catriona glanced to the man beside her, frowning softly at the sight of him. Bruises were forming where the Raider had struck, and they were both singed and smelled of smoke. Whatever had possessed him to leap in to her rescue, despite her earlier reactions, she was grateful.

"What's your name?" She asked, rubbing the knot at the back of her head with a wince.

"Ardryan. Lynkt." He answered tiredly, too exhausted to remember ask hers. "Where are we going?" He could barely think. Now she was holding him up more than he her.

"Catriona..." She responded, automatically, before gesturing down the hill towards the small wooden cart on the side of the road, "It's mine. There's an inn further down the road. We can rest there..."

Looking away, her jaw tensed, "And then you can tell me how to get to Westhollow..."

"Later..." He replied noncommittally. He had no intention of guiding her to her death. Perhaps after a long rest and a lot of time to think, she would realize how ridiculous the idea was. He couldn't begin to imagine the result of a fragile girl going up against men like the one who had fought.

"Yours, aye?" He eyed the cart hesitantly. The thing looked about fallen apart. But anything was better than walking at that moment.

As they arrived at the cart, she nodded faintly, "My father's, actually. Well... it was. I suppose it is mine, now." Her eyes lowered as she reached out, putting a hand to the worn, weathered sideboard, "It doesn't look like much, but it's well built."

Pointing to the seat behind the dappled mare, she nodded, "Climb on up." And pulling herself onto the bench as well, she plucked up the reins. The horse wickered and stomped, stubbornly chomping at a clump of grass, but with a second flick of the leather thongs, she started forward, onto the path, "Taura, on the other hand, is perhaps not so well built. Stubborn as a mule and slower, yet."

The entire ride was rocky and slow. Soldiers rushed past them towards the square, and along the streets people started peeking out from the safety of their home, curiosity finally winning over. The horrible sounds of tragedy was entirely behind them now, barely a whisper on the wind.

His body jerked painfully with each bump, his sword digging uncomfortably into his side. Ardryan was not used to riding a cart, nor was he ever proficient at riding a horse. After a while, he dozed off to a shallow and uneasy sleep.

When they arrived, Catriona slowed Taura to a halt and almost immediately, the cart horse bent to resume her grazing. Lowering the reins, she took a breath, before reaching over to nudge Ardryan, "We're here..."

Ardryan rolled awake at her touch, groggily getting off the cart and glanced around. The inn didn't look like much, but then he hadn't expected it to. He just couldn't wait to throw himself on a bed and sleep like dead for the next several days. Briefly he considered returning to the barrack, but the idea sounded like more trouble than it was worth.

Exhausted as he was, Ardryan still had enough energy - and courtesy - to open the door and step aside.

"After you."

Heading past him, she stepped inside and spared a glance around. It wasn't much inside, either, but it was blessedly empty... No doubt most of the patrons having been in attendance in the square.

Pulling her coin purse from her belt, she looking to Ardryan, "You... you won't leave, before you've told me the way?"

"That can wait. We both need a rest and something to eat first." He answered, once again avoiding the topic at hand. Brushing past her, he knocked loudly on the deserted bar to announce their presence.

"A drink may even do me some good." He muttered under his breathe.

She opened her mouth to protest, when another wave of dizziness hit and putting a hand to her forehead, she nodded.

"Fair enough..."

---

TAGS || (Collab between @Elle Joyner and @Jays ) [RyanxRion x2]

 

[RJS]

SINDRI HERMOD, ATUM AYN-SHAMS, SHIREEN NAHEL​

Sindri sat back with a relieved sigh. Blooded linens lay on the table where the girl lay, breathing softly. Her yells of pain had shaken him as the stitching had started, and he'd almost lost his grip as she writhed, but the sutures were now completed. He allowed himself to be lead into the kitchen, where he scrubbed the blood from his hands, scouring hard to remove the red stains. The innkeeper poured several ales, sliding one to Sindri as he returned. Elana, the innkeeper's wife was busily wrapping strips of linen around the girls hands as the two drank quietly. "Thanks for the help, lad." The innkeeper nodded to him appreciatively. "You did a good job holding her still." Sindri merely shook his head. "No, thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you being here to help, or what would have happened to them. I'm not really very good at this." The innkeeper simply smiled. "I dunno about that. We're just two folk that did what we could because we were in the right place. Not much more anyone could ask for. You did good today. I'm sure they're grateful to you." He wandered away, putting his arm affectionately about his wife's shoulders and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Sindri sighed heavily, staying in his seat for a minute more, before walking to the Tumaran and his elderly patient. "How is he now?" "He's better, his breathing has returned to normal, but he has yet to awaken, and that concerns me." Atum could see the rise and fall of the elder's chest. It was steady and deep, only stuttering slightly. "But I imagine that one would sleep for some time after suffering a head injury." It was his way of fighting those worrisome thoughts, pushing them down with more positive and lighthearted words. "Thank you once more for helping us." He stood from his seat, ignoring the pain that flared from his ankle as a result and offered his hand to Sindri for a handshake. "My name is Atum." He introduced himself, looking the man directly in the eyes. "A pleasure to meet you."Sindri reached out uncertainly to take the hand. "My name is Sindri." He looked awkward, sheepish. "It was what anybody would have done - after all, you did most of the work to save him. Did you see what happened?"


Atum held Sindri's hand with a firm grip, shaking up and down. "I do not believe they would have. As I'm sure you noticed, they were far more concerned with getting themselves and their own away from the scene." It wasn't that he blamed them, nor did he mean to sound as if he was chastising the man for his modesty, no he appreciated that. Anyone would try to get themselves and their families away from the danger, it was natural instinct. Sindri heading out there to help someone? That was exceptional behavior in Atum's eyes. He withdrew his hand, a small but noticeable smile on his face. He shook his head in response to the Eldrassiran's question about the event. "I didn't see the finer details. I heard screaming, calling for help, which prompted me to go check but..." He paused for a moment. He still hadn't made too much sense of what happened. Only one scenario the scene in his mind but he'd rather not say it out loud, it could only add to the chaos. "It was an explosion. Threw me off my feet and sent me flying, but I was further back, away from the wall of flames that crashed down on those closer." Those unfortunate souls, unsuspectingly burned alive on what was supposed to be a peaceful day.

Themselves and their own, huh? Sindri took a look at the man lying there, very clearly Drakosian. Clearly, he wasn't the only one to have acted altruistically today. But an explosion, cries for help? Maybe a fire in a bakery...but there would have been plenty of warning and no bakery was that near the square. The timing seemed too coincidential, it couldn't possibly have been an accident. "Do you think this was an attack? Maybe from Agrenna?" Certainly Phaon Kormos hated freedom enough that he would attack a festival that celebrated freedom and the sacrifice necessary to maintain it. "That was one of my first thoughts after taking care of him." Atum motioned a hand to the old man. "It only makes sense, who else would dare to attack on a day like this?"It was unsettling really. He hadn't expected, nor hoped to find himself in the middle of an activity like this. But life was a never-ending battle, chaos would be everywhere. "Still, we can't say for certain it was...we'll have to wait for an announcement to be sure, if they give us that much." If they did, he imagined it would mean retaliation. In fact, it didn't matter if they did or not, if the King believed that to be the case, retaliation would be imminent regardless. War was afoot.

Meanwhile, it seemed Shireen was finally came to. Her first thoughts were that she wished she'd conk out once more. There was all sort of pain attacking her from any direction it could, though it was honestly hard to tell whether her head was hurting from the sewn up injuries or the hangover from drinking way too much of a strong drink. It probably didn't matter in the end either way. At least it was clouding her mind enough so that she didn't think of other difficult subjects. She opened her eyes slowly, casting a bleary glance at her surroundings, though refusing to lift her head; she was quite sure that any attempts would probably cause it to roll off her shoulders and hit the ground. An impossibility for sure, but her addled mind wasn't thinking sensibly at the moment. In the distance she could hear people talking, but it was hard to tell what they were saying, what with the continuous pounding in her head. For the time being she decided it was best to simply ignore it. Most probably they were the three people from earlier, or the innkeeper who had offered her the whiskey, meaning she was in safe hands. Speaking of hands, her own twitched slightly and then more, fingers flexing a little before loosely closing, and as they did she could feel bandages wrapped around them. That was a relief. Hands were needed for even the most menial of tasks- it was good to know they have been taken care of. The vague question of where those wounds had even come from tickled at her mind, but she pushed it aside for the time being.

From behind Sindri, Atum took notice of the woman that was saved along with himself and the old man. She was beginning to stir. "I believe that she might be waking."He told Sindri, head nodding towards the table she'd passed out upon. Sindri's head snapped round. Sure enough, there were slight movements that indicated some semblance of consciousness. Nodding his thanks to Atum, he headed over to the table, crouching down so his head was level with her face. Her eyes were open, looking around and the unfocused manner of those who'd just woken."Hey. How are you feeling?"

Well, now it seemed Shireen was forced to move her head, finding it weird to be laying down while someone was talking to her. Wincing noticeable, she pushed against her arms rather than her hands to sit up on the table, swaying a little as the pounding in her had increased substantially. Heavy lidded, she looked at the bearded man and the Tumaran. "Feel like... I've been trampled on... an' then some. 'Least I'm alive... thanks for stoppin an' helpin' me." She stopped talking after that, head drooping as she closed her eyes, trying to ease herself a little. Atum followed behind Sindri, though he did not crouch to be level with the girl. "You probably were trampled on. With so many people running in one direction it'd be a shock if you weren't." He definitely was, and from the look of her, it seemed like she was much closer to the blast than he was. It was a true blessing that she hadn't been injured any further. Shireen opened her eyes to glance in the Tumaran's direction. She wasn't sure what had happened whilst she was blacked out in the streets before the bearded one found her, so she guessed she could very well have been trampled. At least there was no internal pain caused by broken bones or worse. She would just have to bear with it for now. Introductions were probably in order, and probably easier than continuously referring to them by their features, so Shireen decided to broach the subject. "Shireen's my name... nice t'meet ya both." She let her eyes wander momentarily before continuing. "How's the old man?"

"My name's Sindri, and this is Atum. As for the old man..." Sindri was cut off by the innkeeper coming over. "He's resting. Like you should be. Like all of you should be - you've had a hell of a day, though not as bad some. Fortunately, several of my patrons have checked out of their rooms in a massive rush, meaning I have some to offer. So, I'll whip up something nourishing and easy to stomach, and then I think we could all do with a good night's sleep." As the innkeeper spoke, Sindri was overwhelmed with a wave of exhaustion, as if the words opened a door on all the fatigue he'd been keeping bottled up thanks to the rush of adrenaline. Visibly, he even seemed to slump. "I don't know about anyone else, but that sounds like a great idea to me..." Atum nodded in agreement with the Innkeeper and with Sindri. "Rest sounds good to me right now." Not only could he get off his foot, but he was exhausted from travelling and, as nice as sleeping on the ground could be, a bed sounded better than it ever had before. He never got to finish his meal either, something that would have put a frown on his face had he not just been offered a meal. Instead he chuckled and offered a smile to the Innkeeper. "Thank you for the hospitality." While he waited for the meal he went back to sitting in a chair, an audible sigh escaping his chest. Gritting her teeth, Shireen gave the littlest of nods to the others' remarks before attempting and somewhow succeeding to ease herself off the table."Rest'll pro'ly be best, aye..." The thought of eating anything made her want to throw up. For now, a bed would be nice, or any surface that was more comfortable that a wooden table. She took a step forward and then paused, feeling a wave of dizziness roll over her. Seeing her stagger, Sindri dashed forwards, gently catching her arm and supporting her over to a chair. "Thanks..." Shireen was grateful for Sindri's help yet again. Being this weak wasn't pleasant, but it was better than falling over and hitting the floor.

Soon, the landlord returned with several bowls of steaming soup,from which rose the aromas of potatoes, carrots and leeks. "Eat what you can while it's still warm." The landlord sat down next to them and began to tuck in himself. The soup was good - hot and nourishing, and Sindri let loose a sigh of contentment at the flavour. Atum, however, found himself ignoring the taste and the heat of the meal, devouring it as quickly as he could. The first mouthful was enough for him to cede control of his body to his stomach. It wasn't long before he was done with his food. He would have asked for another had he not felt so tired, nor did he wish to overstep and take advantage of the hospitality he was being shown. As for Shireen, not wanting to seem too impolite, she managed to take a couple of sips of the soup, holding the bowl gingerly with both hands. It was somewhat soothing as it settled down, so she decided to slowly down the remainder. Half a bowl later, she carefully placed it on the table, letting out a low sigh. "I think I'mma sleep now."

And so, about a quarter of an hour later, the trio retired to rooms, hunger sated and nerves somewhat restored after the day's trauma, Atum gently laying a blanket over the old man before heading upstairs.

 

[Reina]

Isha'a | Alana | Rayela​

It was no time at all before Isha's eyes shot wide open and scrambled to free herself. Despite being the first to rouse on the stage, Isha'a couldn't stop herself from shaking. There was something about being so lost in the dark that was inexplicably terrifying- The visions—the things she saw was something Isha's life never prepared her for. A familiar voice reached Isha'a through the crackling wreckage. One that grounded her in reality once more to press her into action. Stumbling at first as she made her way over to the two nearby women on the stage, Isha'a getting right to work in assisting the injured.

"You saved me-" Isha'a said as she stopped to look over to Alana who was still attempting to awaken the dancer. "Don't make a big deal out of it," Alana responded curtly still working on getting the girl beneath her to awaken. "Just help me wake her up or help move her before she burns to death or something falls on her." Alana was running on sheer adrenaline, ignoring her own wounds and the pain that was beginning to creep up on her. She wasn't entirely sure why she was doing it but she had to save the dancer. She couldn't leave another woman vulnerable and laid out, unable to defend herself. "Wake up!" Alana shouted once more into the face of the woman.

The dancer laying down in the pile of debris stayed silent. A piece of wood crumbled nearby and the dancer finally opened her eyes. She made an attempt to move and winced. Her body ached; there was no doubt she had bruising all over the sides of her abdomen. Her heart pounded in her chest as she made an attempt to remove the rags and pole that had fallen on top of her. "What's going on?" she asked in a weary tone and coughed. "Where is everyone?"

Alana was relieved when the dancer finally awoke. She let out a deep breath and found herself on edge again as her attention was drawn back to the chaos that surrounded them. "I'm not entirely sure. One minute I'm watching your show and the next some woman incinerates herself and blows everyone up in the square. We need to get out of here and now."

Although a part of Isha'a wanted to stay and seek out more survivors, she knew lingering around in the devastation would invite more trouble than it was worth. "-Right, we should get going. I'd like to help," Isha'a said as she reached over to pick up the dancer, "But I don't know if I'll be able to carry you on my own-" Rayela moved away from the girl as she reached out. "I don't need help and I doubt you could carry me at all," Rayela sighed and rubbed her face. "Where's the nearest tavern? I can't think properly."

Alana rose to her feet, allowing the two women to speak behind her as she looked around at the chaos that surrounded them. Her eyes lingered on stand that had been torn apart when she was thrown through it. All her hard work was scattered, broken and unable to be replaced. At least she kept her coin on her at all times. She turned quickly to the other two women, "I saw an inn as I was coming into the square. It shouldn't be too hard to navigate and get there. Follow me and keep up!" She didn't wait to see if they were following her or not. Every woman for themselves at this point. They were no longer vulnerable. They needed to be strong now. All of them.

Alana carefully maneuvered herself through the rubbage. There were broken pieces of wood scattered from the stage and nearby stands. Tattered instruments were tossed in various directions and even….Alana didn't allow her eyes to fall upon of the bodies that were laid out nearby. The three women had a common goal. They needed to get to the tavern. "Come, come!" Alana shouted and she made her way out of the rubbage and into the scare. She hiked up her dress as high as she could and took off running. They needed safety and despite wishing to leave everyone behind, she knew there was safety in numbers.

"The inn is just up ahead!" Alana shouted and she looked behind her, ensuring the two women she had met were still following her. She could see the sign of the inn now and it appeared many people were heading in the exact same direction. She rushed towards the door and held it wide open so the women could enter inside. "Hurry, hurry," she repeated as she ushered them in and closed the door behind them. Once they were all safely inside, Alana let out a deep breath. They could now rest and tend to their wounds properly. Alana took a seat nearby, slumping into it and feeling the immediate exhaustion. "I'm Alana," she said to the two women that had followed her to the inn. One women introduced herself as Isha'a and the dancer, the one Alana had been admiring, introduced herself as Rayela. "Nice to meet you both," Alana said as she fought the urge to pass out.

"You as well," Rayela replied. "I think we best sit down and take a deep breath. My head is bleeding and my sides hurt." She ushered herself over to the table where Alana was and laid her head down on the table. The cool wood was uncomfortable, but also somewhat satisfying. Her eyes drooped, the low noise of the inn inducing a calming effect over her. She buried her face in her arms, intent on sleeping and forgetting everything that happened. The loss of blood had done a number on her, leaving her feeling woozy and tired. "Maybe tomorrow will be a better day, Alana, Isha'a. Maybe…"

Nodding quietly back to them, Isha'a couldn't find the right words to respond with. The adrenaline in her body was already starting to wane. And on top of that, the sheer amount of chaos outside that surrounded them was unearthly. Excusing herself, Isha'a went to seek more help for her new companions and herself. The inn had quieted down considerably in the time the three had found a place to rest. There were all manner of cries coming from a nearby table just moments before. But since then, it seemed like whatever had been going on was already finished. She was able to grab the attention of the innkeeper who came to attend to the three ladies and help mend their various wounds. "We need rooms for the night," Alana said once the innkeeper had bandaged her head and arms. The other two ladies agreed as well. They each lacked the strength to go back the way they came and it was best they all rested after the day they had.

 

[DarinValore]

[fieldbox="The Wyvern Inn, green, solid"]
Darin lost track of time as the trio walked down the King's Highway. The crowds of people moved in mass exodus and every time he looked over his shoulder, he could still see the pillar of smoke rising from Norcrest. Visions of his sister erupting in flame flashed across his mind every time eventually causing him to lose interest on what was going on behind them. His travelling companion, Wymond as he would find out through the only short conversation they had, walked quietly beside him, grief plastered on his face not even faltering as people bumped into him with seared garments and the same look in their eyes. The further they got from Norcrest and the sooner evening came, the thinner the crowd got until the trio arrived in a small town.

People filled the streets with lit torches opening their doors to weary refugees. Their eyes lingered on his companion with softened, sorrow-filled gazes, as he grunted through the streets carrying his daughter's corpse. Darin had offered only once more after they left Norcrest to carry the child, but the man did not even grant him with a response. Taking that as a no, Darin never spoke again. With incredible endurance and strength, Wymond carried his daughter through the streets and into an Inn. Darin stopped momentarily to study the sign that hung above the door, a wyvern etched against the wood circling an inn above the name, "Wyvern Inn," Darin muttered. When he followed the man in, a young man circled around the bar with shock in his eyes. He recognized the corpse. It was then Darin put it all together. They were in the town that Wymond was from.

"What happened?" the boy asked as he started toward them, "Let me help," he stated as he changed directions, his hands making wide sweeps to toss the contents of a table onto the floor.

"Go home, boy," Wymond stated without evening turning his gaze. His eyes set on the door at the back.

"But," he returned, but Wymond ignored him, walking through the door instead of answering.

The boy's eyes turned to Darin asking questions his mouth was too afraid to form and all Darin could muster was a shake of the head. He watched as it seemed as though the boy had been struck against the chest with a hammer. He stumbled back and into a chair before swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry," Darin spoke with a heart heavy with guilt. He couldn't stop Sarah and because he failed to do that, all these people were suffering and Wymond had lost his daughter. How many other families would be burying loved ones tonight and tomorrow? How much more suffering had his inability to save Sarah caused.

A sob tore Darin's attention from his dark thoughts and back to the young man. Tears streaked down the boy's cheeks as he rose quickly from his seat and darted out the front door. Darin wanted to stop him, to tell him things would get better, but in truth, Darin didn't even believe that. His sister was gone. His best friend. Dead. The grief struck him all at once and Darin found himself falling into the chair closest to him. His shoulders rocked with sobs until the back door swung open and Wymond shuffled back in.

His eyes were as red as Darin assumed his were. Standing from the chair, Darin ran his thumbs against his eyes and dried the tears into his pants. Breathing in deeply, he it out slowly, "What can I do?"

Wymond's face softened as grief washed over him once again, "I could," his voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, "Help me dig?"

Swallowing hard, Darin followed Wymond out.
[/fieldbox]





[fieldbox="Chapter 1: Shades of Horror, yellow, solid"]
The field of red and yellow petals of the crimson pirate daylilies swayed gently in the evening wind. Stars like pin pricks punctured a blanket of black. Tiny balls of yellow darted through the air as fireflies played a never-ending game of tag. It was as beautiful night as ever only topped by the woman standing in a white dress caught up by the breeze. The moon sat just right in the sky to halo her. A sigh escaped his lips as the corners of his lips turned up in a smile.

"Riley," he spoke and she turned. When her eyes fell on him, a bright smile spread across his lips.

"Cahl," she replied, turning in the field with a slight giggle, "Do you like it?" she pinched the corners of her dress and fanned it out.

Closing the distance without words intentionally, he could see her begin to worry about what he truly thought. Just as he stepped up to her, he slipped his hands on her side and swept her up into the air. She let out a yelp and he chuckled before placing her gently back on her feet, "It's beautiful, Riley. Where did you find the money to buy it?"

She was prepared for the question, "I've been tucking away a few coins under a rock in the garden, so we wouldn't spend it," Cahl frowned, "I wanted to get something special for you," she continued and batted her eyes washing away all of Cahl's frustration. Her arms snaked up onto his shoulders and she leaned up on her tip-toes to place her soft lips against his, "I love you, Cahl."

He smiled down at her, "I love y-"

A scream pierced through the air causing Cahl to look over his shoulder. The village behind them was bright with fire. Riley's hands moved to his arms and gripped tightly, "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Cahl said as he pulled her down to hide amongst the flowers, "Stay here. I'll be back.

"No, don't leave!" she pleaded as he stood to his feet.

"I have to! Riley, I have to help them. I'll be back as soon as I can, just promise me you'll stay here," he waited until Riley nodded, her eyes wide with fear. Bending down, he kissed her once more before he turned.

"Cahl!" he stopped and spun to see Riley standing and starting toward him, "Don't leave-"

Her words cut short as the glint of steel pierced through her chest, her white dress turned red from blood. He cried out as he started toward her as she fell to the ground. Sliding along the ground, he caught her just before she hit the ground. Tears ran freely from his eyes as she struggled to breath. Fear clinging to her eyes as her blood-stained hands gripped at his shirt. Her lips formed words but he could not hear them so he leaned closer.

"You…left…me…"

The man shot up in his bed. His chest rising and falling as beads of sweat flowed freely down his face. His heart slammed against his ribs threatening to tear from his chest. Immediately his hand shot out beside him to feel the space beside him. A sigh of relief escaped his lips upon feeling the soft flesh of his wife beside him, "Riley," he whispered so as to not stir her as she slept. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against her forehead. Immediately his brow narrowed in concern. She was slick with sweat.

A scream tore through the house causing Cahl to dart from his bed and down the hall. His feet slid along the wooden floor as he grabbed the threshold to his daughter's room, "Lily?" He ran into the room slipping and falling with a splash onto the wet floor. Bringing his hands into the air, he saw that they were slick with blood. His hands and feet slipped in the blood as he pushed himself away until his hand landed on something soft. His eyes turned to the right where he found himself staring into the lifeless eyes of his daughter. A cry tore from his throat as a chilling smile slid across her lips and an eerie giggle filled the air.

"Cahl, Cahl! Wake up!"

Cahl's eyes opened, heavy breathes, slamming heart, drenched with sweat. Leaning over him was Riley, rag in hand, "Riley?" he called up to her.

"Shh," she said as he practically lunged forward wrapping his arms around her, "Shh, it was just a dream."

"No," he said against her chest, his eyes settling on the tiny shadow in the doorway, "It was so much more," a sly smile slipped across its lips before it whisked away.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Elle Joyner]

Their meal was brief, as Catriona had little appetite, even for venison stew, rife with potatoes and turnips and warm, fresh chunks of bread. Hearty as it was, her stomach still roiled from the smell alone, her mind transfixed on what she had seen, from all that had happened. Ultimately, she and Ardryan parted ways to their adjacent rooms, and there, in solitude, she allowed the emotional dam to break for a moment…

For just a moment… Falling back against the door, she collapsed into tears, hot and wet on the skin of her cheeks. Her lead was gone, and all she had was a scrap of parchment, burnt beyond recognition, and a few words that lead to more mystery. With a deep, sharp breath, she pulled herself back together and crossing the room, she dropped onto the mattress.

Eventually, sleep came, pulled over her like a warm quilt and as she fell headlong into the darkness, thoughts turned inward, her subconscious manifest.

She woke in a room, long and narrow, with a single door at one end and walls lined in bright, flickering sconces. Her feet, bare, touched against cold marble, sound a muffled echo. As she stepped forward, two of the sconces fluttered, hissed, before going out. With a shiver, her steps paused.

"...Hello…?" Her voice resounded, hollow, and in the silence that followed, two more torches flickered out. Moving more swiftly, she started towards the door, and darkness met her every motion as each torch she passed met its end. Heart pounding hard against her chest, she reached the threshold to find the door barred, thick steel bolts across its face. Another sconce died, leaving the room with a solitary source of light. As darkness overwhelmed the space, she reached out, rattling the door handle.

"Hello!? S...someone?? Anyone? Hello??"

Pounding on the door, Catriona's voice rose, "Let me out! Someone! Help me!"

With a sputter, the final sconce gave to utter blackness, and a scream rippled from her throat, ringing back to her in the oblivion. Her arms rose, swinging for the door, but instead of the weight of heavy wood and metal, she found a void, empty space. Falling forward, she hit the ground and the echo rose again, louder this time. Chest tightening, her breath caught, icy cold dread pricking at her flesh. Silence… beyond her own rapid inhalations… there was nothing but silence and absolute pitch darkness.

Panic coiled inside her, as she struggled up to her feet. Turning, she felt for the wall to her right, her left… And found those, too were gone. Even the sound of her footfall vanished and she was left with pure nothingness… an absolute, perfect void. Blind and deaf, she staggered back the way she had come and there, crumpled soundlessly to her knees. Her body wracked with sobs that made no noise, turning to a scream no one would ever hear…

Except that in that moment, the dream collapsed inward and as she woke, for real this time, the screaming pierced through the night, loud and desperate and broken. Beneath her hands, blood speckled the linen blankets wrapped around her form, the source her palms where her nails had dug in a quarter inch. A single candle sat on the bedside table, gossamer streams of smoke spiraling from the freshly extinguished wick. Her throat wrenched open and she screamed again.

---

TAGS || @Jays, @DarinValore, @Ultra Paradox

 

[RJS]

SINDRI HERMOD​

Firelight threw patterns of light and shadow over Sindri's face as he stood by the hearth, lyre in hand. The tavern was packed, every table filled with locals come to eat and drink. The same light that danced across Sindri's face bathed the room, making it seem to ripple and sway in time with the flame...and with the music. The last chords died away, another epic tale regaled to the height of his abilities. Sindri took a bow. The tale of Artur and the Drake always went down well, with its classical narrative tempered with plenty of humour. He held the bow, basking in the...silence? He looked up, scanning the room. Not a single face looked to him in delight nor disgust. In truth, it seemed he may as well not even be there. Hands trembling slightly, he strummed his lyre into a rousing reel, hoping to stir someone. Anyone.

Not a single muscle twitched, not a single foot tapped. The lively chords petered out as he slumped back into his chair. What good was he, a skald that could not entertain? What was the point of all those years of training, if he could not even stir a soul with song and story? He walked tentatively through the room, tapping a shoulder here and there. Nothing. He walked up to the innkeeper and stood as the man stared right through him, talking to a patron behind him. No. No no no. This couldn't be.

You are worthless. Unneeded. Disposable. Unwanted. Perhaps everything would be better if you weren't here.

Dropping his lyre, he dashed from the tavern, yanking the door open with frenzied strength. Hurtling through, he found himself standing in the rain, in front of a house that was all too familiar in a village he knew far too well. He spun back around, only to find no trace of the tavern he had just exited. He stood shivering, the rain ice cold and chilling him to the very core of his bones. He couldn't stay out here. He had to go.

Shaking from a combination of cold and fear, Sindri approached the door, each step slower than the last. He studied the door, each whorl in the wood as familiar to him as the back of his own hand. And yet, as he lifted his hand to knock, the hand that came into view was unfamiliar. Small, lacking the callouses of a skald and the hair of an adult. Indeed, the door seemed to be taller than he remembered it. Pausing one last time, he knocked, the sound seemingly pitifully quiet. Slowly, painfully, the door creaked open a crack. The face of the woman who looked down on him prompted a wave of affection and yet also pain. "We don't need you here any more. We don't want you. You're worthless. Useless. We're better off without you." As he opened his mouth to beg, Sindri found that not a single word would come out as the door slammed shut in his face.

He staggered back, rain no longer the only liquid coursing down his cheeks, lost his balance and fell. But the ground did not come. Instead, he continued to fall perpetually, screaming all the way. Yet none of the many people surrounding him even spared a glance. After all, why would they pay attention to nothing? He was akin to a chicken bone at the side of the road.

He landed on something soft, startling as he landed. The room in the inn. Everything where he had left it. His face drenched with sweat and...tears. He wiped an arm across his face. "I do matter." he muttered to himself. "I am someone. I am wanted." The words lacked conviction, as if he was trying to convince himself more than any other entity.

 

[junebug]

The warm fire in the tavern room did nothing to satisfy Rayela's constant churn of thoughts. Her eyes stared up at ceiling. If Alana hadn't gotten her out, she'd already be dead before her husband granted her no mercy. Rayela shivered and turned on her side, knees huddled to her chest. Her heart ached to break free from its entrapment and her mind, well her mind had nowhere to run now. She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to get some sleep, if not any at all.

---

A ray of sun hit her bare skin as she opened her eyes. She shifted her body upwards and winced, the sides of her abdomen tender. A sharp pain shot through her head. Rayela glanced around her, eyes wide. Warm-colored rugs with intricate designs laid across the sand, soft silken sheets and numerous pillows with fringes and jewels decorated the large bed. She stood up too quick and the world began to spin. Rayela catched herself onto the edge of the nearby chest to steady herself. She sank onto the bed, confused and in a daze.

The thud of footsteps awoke her senses. A familiar figure crossed the outside, his shadow looming over her. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and looked around the tent. There was no way out, except for the entrance. The one where he put his hands every night to visit. Rayela inhaled a sharp breath, her chest heaving up and down, vision blurred. She watched where his feet went when he stepped forward, the way his hands flexed, and how his eyes scrutinized his only wife. A wicked smile crossed his lips.

"You've disappointed me again."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, arms wrapped around her stomach. "I failed you, my king."

"After your Father's blessing, I thought you would've had the common sense to give me what I need. Instead, you treat me like I am less than you."

"I can only do so much."

"But you will never do enough," His voice rose. "You ought to be chained down a third time for running away. Flogged, beaten into submission."

It felt as though a thousand scarab beetles had crawled onto her skin. She shivered, eyes downcast as he preyed upon her. Nothing she could do would make it right, nothing she could say would make the scars of her past go away.

"Please," she begged. "I promise I can give you want. I just need time."

"Time is of the essence, dear. I can only give you so many chances before you become the most worthless pig in Tumar. Shall I prepare another lesson for you?" His voice seethed.

"No, don't. Please," she cried, rushing over to him and going down on her knees. She reached out to touch him, but he stepped back, disgust twisting into his features. "I beg of you, Khalil."

"It's time I give you the punishment you deserve, Rayela. You no longer have a place in my tribe. Look at all that blood you've shedded. Our children you've killed. It's all over your hands."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she glanced down at her hands. Dark red blood dripped down between her fingers and soaked into her long, jeweled dress. Her throat dried, panic surging through her body. She found herself unable to control the tears that spilled, the rapid breathing that caught on.

"I won't disappoint you again, Khalil!" she sobbed. "Don't let them take me away!"

"You're useless. Take her away."

"Please!"

A large hand covered her vision and she screamed.

---

Rayela's body tossed and turned, people may have thought she was demonic with how unstable she appeared and her constant cries. Her eyes shot open. Cold sweat poured down her face and her eyes darted around the room. Her breathing was heavy and everything around her was vaguely unfamiliar and dull.

She sat up and glanced down at herself and her hands, so as to check for blood, but stared in disbelief when she found nothing. Rayela shivered and curled her legs up against her body. She rocked herself back and forth as a means to try and comfort, but found that it did nothing. There was a void inside her that she couldn't fill. Rayela needed to move on, go far away from here before they found her.

She shifted out of bed and left the room, drained of life. There was no way she could account for how far her husband was now. They were excellent trackers. She'd be an easy catch if she didn't stay on her toes. Rayela gulped and carried herself downstairs. The tavern was dead, void of any joy. She felt weary.

This town wasn't safe. They weren't safe. No one was. Not anymore.

---

TAGS || @SkittlesAndSpike , @Greenie, @RJS, @La Reina, @Wishlist

 

[Greenie]

The sweet and familiar sounds of waves crashing caused Shireen to look around herself in uncertainty. The last thing she had expected to hear was the sound of the sea in the inn, but there it was. She sat up gingerly, though it took no more than a moment for her to realize she could stand without difficulty. The throbbing in her head remained, but it seemed so far away that she didn't pay it any attention. Instead, she cast a glance around at her surroundings. Immediately she realized the deck of her father's ship.

"I'm back?" Surprise was etched on her face as she took a few steps forward before pausing in front of the main mast. She reached out to touch it, but as she did she noticed that her hands were no longer bandaged. Curious, she turned it so that her palm faced upward. There was no gash or blood, nothing aside from the usual calluses of a hardworking hand.

It was all a dream then?

"Lass." She swerved where she stood, recognizing his voice immediately.

"Jarus!" Tears picked her eyes as Shireen took a sharp breath. "Jarus- I thought... I saw somethin' awful- but- but you're fine. You're here." She stumbled forward, ready to wrap her arms around him.

"If only ye'd stayed here." His words caused her to freeze, arms still spread. "Then we'd still be 'round."

"What're you sayin'?" There was a shake to her voice, and it was reflected in her shaking hands. "You're... you're fine- you're here, we're alright-"

"No." This voice came from the other side of the mast. Once again she turned, spotting the rest of the crew, men she had grown up with and loved as her family. "Y'wanted t'leave, an' now, 'cause o' you, we're all dead."

One by one she watched the life drain from their eyes before they crumbled to the floor, vanishing in thin air. "No." She shook her head vehemently, and as she did the throbbing pain returned in earnest, as did the stinging in her hands, which now sported the gashes from before. "No, please- don't..." A dry sob escaped her as she looked to Jarus, who was still standing there. There was a strange smile on his face, and she could now see the blackened and ashy state of his clothes... and the blood dripping steadily from the back of his head.

"It's all your fault, lass." He crumpled to the ground before he too disappeared, though his voice continued. "An' now yer alone."​

*****
​

Shireen opened her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks and staining the pillow on which her head rested.

It's all true.

She sat up in bed, pressing clenched fists against her face as she sobbed silently, Jarus' voice echoing in her head.
​

 

[Spekkun]

Darkness. It engulfed everything Atum, leaving him adrift in an endless void, stripped of nearly all senses. He could smell nothing, he could hear nothing, but he could feel. He could feel his knees digging into hot sand, his hands bound behind his back by a coarse rope that burned his wrists as he struggled to free his hands. An intense heat surrounded him, hotter than any part of Tumar he'd been in before. A thick and heavy sack covered his face, the reason he couldn't see anything.

Panic began to settle in and Atum struggled against his constraints even more. How did he end up in Tumar again? Who'd taken him? His struggling only resulted in him falling over, but a hand caught him, pushing him upright again. He wasn't alone.

The realization caused his panic to multiply tenfold, but he realized all his struggling served to do was hurt his wrists. He would stay calm and find a way out, or he would meet his fate with dignity. He stood still, his focus entirely on his breathing. The bag made it difficult.

"That is more like it." The person who caught him spoke, his voice instantly recognizable by Atum, despite how gravely and light it was. The sack was ripped from his head and light flooded his eyes, blinding his vision. He squinted fiercely, looking at the ground as his eyes tried to adjust, not that the sand made it much easier. "Don't be weak, boy! I raised you better than that." Smooth and scalding metal slapped against the side of Atum's face, knocking him over. "Then again, believing that got me killed in the first place, didn't it?"

A groan left Atum, blood dribbling down his chin. He didn't try to sit up, instead allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden light. Once he could see better, his gaze narrowed in on his captor. "Father…" He started to speak but shut his mouth instantly. Despite the heat, his entire body ran cold, his mouth agape with shock.

The man before him looked like his father, but a twisted and warped recreation of the man. His body was engulfed in flames, his skin charred and blistered in places he still had any. His hands hardly had skin at all, blackened flesh revealed to all. His throat was cut open enough that Atum could see fire inside as well. He carried a scimitar in one hand, the object that he'd struck Atum with previously. "How do I look? I haven't changed since the last time we saw each other."

Atum has enough. He couldn't bear to look upon his father any longer. He snapped his head in another direction. "Father, I'm sorry. Had I known they would have tracked us so diligently I would have never come back home."

"Look at me, Atum." The apparition demanded. But Atum refused to do so, he couldn't. "Look at me!" He demanded once more but Atum kept his gaze turned away still. He couldn't bring himself to do it. How could he?

To do so would be to look upon his greatest failure. He'd failed his father's hopes and dreams and then let him die. How could he look his father in the face after what happened?

But his father was not pleased with the lack of response. "Weak…coward!" The scimitar in his hand burst into flames, Atum could hear it. Then he could feel it. A gasp escaped his lips as his gaze traveled down to the blade buried deep into his side.

A scream rose from his throat as he began to burn. Fire filled his insides and wrapped around his body, leaving him a burning mess. His father cackled, watching as Atum writhed about in the sand, screaming in agony.

"You failed me when I lived, and now you fail me in my death." Despite how loud Atum's screams were, his father's voice was louder, nearly deafening. His words cut deep, deeper than his Scimitar ever would. "You should have been the one to die…"

*****​

Atum awoke screaming and writhing on the floor, his hands tied behind his back by some imaginary rope. The pain in his side was gone in the blink of an eye, and slowly he gained control of himself. His screaming died, leaving him gasping for breath. Sweat dribbled down his face as he pulled his hands apart, using them to lift his body from the floor.

He leaned back against his bed and his hands rubbed against his eyes as he tried his hardest to fight back the tears that threatened to free themselves from his ducts. He was a whirlwind of emotions, emotions he hadn't felt this strongly since the day he lost everything.

His father's words echoed in his mind even still. Everything he had said in the nightmare was right, sometimes Atum even had the thoughts himself. He'd failed his father before and he was failing him now. Maybe he was right. Maybe should have died that day too.

But he was alive, and he had to learn with the guilt.

No matter how crushing it was.

 

[Jays]

"You look like shit, Art."

That drew a snicker out of Ardryan.

"When do I not?" He always looked like shit in Lorraine's eyes. The dishevel hair, the creased clothing, the half-shaven face. His brother's appearance, however, was as perfect as it had always been, spotless uniform and effortlessly graceful.

"More than usual, I mean." Lorraine's lips turned up in one corner. "I never thought I'd see the day that you get your arse handed to you - by someone other than myself, of course."

"Hmm." The grass felt good underneath him, soft and damp with the morning dew, a carpet of green vitality. "I never thought you'd die before I do."

"And so we are both surprised." There it was again, that charming smile of his, brightening up the already magnificent summer sky, easy and relaxed, as if he had everything under control and was just waiting for Ardryan to dutifully ask him to reveal his genius of a plan.

"And I am left with the more difficult task, while you can just bugger off carefree to wherever you went." Ardryan's voice was controlled, calm, composed. He was good at that, bottling up his emotion and bury it seventeen feet under the sand.

"Please, you said it like it was easy to die before you. You practically threw yourself at danger like a desperate prostitute."

"Only for you."

"I'm flattered. Still, doesn't change the fact that you lost, Arty. Sadly I can't collect the gold myself. Put them on my grave, will you?"

"You don't have a grave."

"Oh, right." Lorraine sounded disappointed, like a kid realizing growing up isn't as fun as he had thought. "Should have thought of that when we made the bet. How thoughtless of me."

He was quiet after that, and together they sat in silence for several minutes and watched the wind danced across the hilltop, ruffling the golden blades of grass like waves of an endless heavenly sea.

"Aren't you going to ask it?" Lorraine's voice was light, relaxed, putting no weight behind his words.

"Ask what?"

"If this is real, of course. Or perhaps, how it felt when I died? Where I went afterwards? Well, go ahead and ask. I haven't got all day."

"Does any of it matter?" The bitterness was plain in Ardryan's voice. This one he had never tried to hide.

"Doesn't stop you from wondering, though, does it?" Lorraine was almost bouncing up and down, like a child eager for his favourite game. "Come on, don't be boring. Ask away. Let me enlighten you with the meaning of life itself."

"I already have my answers." He was rarely solemn or severe. He saved those for times like this.

"Oh?" Lorraine sounded amused, half unbelieving. "That'd be a first. What is it, then?"

Ardryan smiled a genuine smile, the first time he had done so in a long, long time. It almost felt alien on his face, the emotion a half forgotten instinct.

"It's good to see you, Lear."

"You say that every night." Lorraine answered with a smile of his own, this one sad and resigned. The magnificent sunlight crowned his hair almost a glowing silver. No man could be that perfect. And of course, no man was.

Ardryan stood to go, turning his back on the towering expanse of heaven stretching beneath their feet.

"An awfully confident assumption to make, Art." Lorraine's voice was nearly a whisper, but it carried itself above the howling wind like thunder in a storm. "To just assume that I am merely a spectre of myself formed by your grief, and so already know your answers." He didn't say it like an accusation, but of course it was. "What if I am more? You breathed fire. A girl ignited an entire city square. The world is going mad. What if I am truly what your heart aches to believe? What if you're wrong?"

"You are nothing, Lear." Ardryan's tone held no remorse, or pain. He was merely stating the truth. "You are crumbled dust on a battlefield slowly being devoured by the earth, and you are my regret. Nothing more."

"Let me go, then, Art." said Lorraine after a brief silence, softly, like a loving caress, and faded longing. "I will kill you one of these days."

"I know." Paradise beckoned for him to stay, just a few more moments, to bath himself in what could never be. And like every night since the day Lorraine died, he flicked two gold coins into the windy abyss, and woke up.

The sheet was dry under him this time, though he could feel sweat on his forehead. Now, now the nightmare really starts.

A mournful scream cut through the silence of the inn like a blade through flesh, startling him fully awake. Rushing to his door, Ardryan yanked it open and with two long strides reached the door of the room next to his and slammed on it.

"Hey! Are you okay? What's wrong?"

What was her name again? He couldn't recall, his mind maddeningly slowly pulling itself out of the grogginess of sleep.

@Elle Joyner

 

[Reina]

Alana Mcale​

Alana retired to her room after she bid good night to the two ladies she had met and helped save. The door creaked shut as the wood closed against the threshold. She leaned her back against it for a moment as she sighed. Her eyes shut for a brief second. What was happening out there? What was that? It took everything for Alana not to lose her composure. She was stronger than that. Perhaps the morning would bring more answers. There was nothing she could do now. Alana took in a few deep breaths then opened her eyes to scan the room. There wasn't much to it but it was what she needed for the night. She would head back home at first light and away from this city.

She set her coin purse on the nightstand and began to remove her blood stain clothing. There was a small basin of water in the corner of the room and Alana used it to help wipe away the soot, dirt and caked blood that had stuck to her skin. The scrapes she had on her hands and legs were still quite painful but she did her best to clean them. Then she washed the blood from her long brown locks as best she could. The basin of water was now crimson red and there wasn't enough to wash away what was on her dress. She looked at the stained fabric on the floor and shook her head. It wasn't salvageable anyway. She would have to throw it away.

She grabbed the dress from the floor and laid it out over a chair. The blood needed to dry if she was going to have to rewear it in the morning. Slowly, Alana moved about the room in search of something suitable to wear. She opened the few drawers within and even the closet but couldn't find anything. She stood in the center of the room, hands on her hips, as she thought. Finally, she looked underneath the bed and tucked in a corner was exactly what she was looking for. She pulled the night shirt out and dusted it off. It must have been left behind by a prior patron and Alana intended on using it. She wasn't about to sleep in blood stained clothes and a dusty old shirt seemed like a better alternative. Slipping it on, Alana tucked herself in for the night and exhaustion carried her away almost immediately.

The sun shone brightly through the shop windows casting their rays upon the various knick knacks Alana sold daily. She was just about ready to open her doors and prepare for the start of her business day. She had just finished setting up the final display when the bells to the door chimed. Alana looked up with a smile. "The shop isn't open just yet but I'd gladly make an exception for-" She stopped. Emerald eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped open just slightly. Her feet were like stones planted through the floor unable to move left or right. She was paralyzed as she stared at the man that had walked through the front doors.

"I see you remember me," he said lowly with a smug look on his face. Alana's breath caught and one lone tear descended down her cheek. "You have such beautiful items in your shop," he continued as he moved inside, his long fingertips passing over the items on display as he moved closer to her. "But none nearly as beautiful as the shopkeeper herself."

Alana swallowed hard and found the strength to wipe her tear away and begin to shift backwards. She took a step back, one at a time. "You're not welcome here," she said as she took more steps towards the counter area where she had hidden a small blade. The man chuckled, "Your sign out front says, 'All are welcome. Best deals in all of Agganoth'.

Alana's feet finally touched the counter and she began to move behind it as he inched ever closer. "Leave!" she found the courage to yell out. Her hands searched desperately for the dagger as her eyes never left him. She could not locate it. "Looking for this," the man said as he pulled her dagger from his inside coat pocket. Alana's look of shock made the man smile. "You shouldn't leave your counter unattended for too long when you have customers. You never know who could sneak on in and take what you've been hiding."

She had no other options left. She did what she knew how to do. As he made a move to come behind the counter with her, Alana made a dash for the door as fast as she could. She knocked the table of ceramic teacups and plates so it would crash down in front of him, stalling him, but it didn't. He pressed on towards her. Alana reached the door but just as she made a move to open it the man had grabbed her by her hair and pulled her away from it.

Alana yelled out and reached back to hold her hair so he wouldn't rip it from her skull. Tears began to flow freely from her eyes as he pressed her hard against the wall. She could feel his hot breath in her ear as he spoke to her. "Don't run from me. I'm going to take from you again and again. And I'll keep coming back for more when you least expect it. You will learn to give in to me immediately. You will learn not to run. Or…" He held the dagger against her throat, "You'll wish you had." He kept her pressed against the wall and began to hike up her dress.

"No, please no. Not again, please….PLEASE!!"

Alana fell from the bed and onto the floor of the inn with a loud thud, still tangled in the bed sheets. She scurried across the floor in panic until she realized...she wasn't at the shop. She looked around in fear with her back pressed against the wooden door attempting to catch her breath. Her eyes darted back and forth. He wasn't there. She passed a hand through her hair, wiping it back and away from her face as she attempted to slow her panting. She jumped as she heard another woman yell in the distance. Alana placed a hand over her pounding heart and let out a deep breath. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

 

[DarinValore]

[fieldbox="The Wyvern Inn, green, solid"]
The sun pierced through the boughs of the trees stretching skyward. A cool breeze rustled the leaves and the occasional song arose from the perched birds. It was a perfect day as Darin lay on a pillow of grass, his right hand behind his head and his left draped over his stomach. His bow rested against the tree in such a way that if he needed to rise quickly to defend himself, he would be easily obtained.

"Why are you lying down?"

Darin lifted his head to find his little sister twirling in the shade, leaves kicking out as she spun. Giggles seemed to echo in the air before she slowed to a stop and collapsed beside him, "I love coming out here with you."

"I don't," he said, his eyes staring into the branches above, "You always make too much noise. It scares away the animals. They've always been better company than you," she gasped as he smiled before the two of them shared a laugh. When they had calmed, he continued, "I love it too."

"You know, you'll need to find someone to take my place," she said as she dropped onto the grass and crossed her legs.

Propping himself up on his elbows, his countenance shifted in confusion, "What?"

"Ya, I won't always be here and neither will mamma and pappa. You shouldn't ever be alone. You're too good of a guy for that," she smiled as her fingers played with two blades of grass that fell to rest on her leg.

"Not this again," he replied as he dropped back down with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm serious, Darin, I'm not always going to be here and you can't live alone. It'd kill you," she countered.

"Look, Sarah, I'm the older brother. You'll outlive me by a lot. Talking as if you're going somewhere tomorrow is pointless. We both know that isn't going to happen," he replied bracing for her return. They often argued over this especially as his parents aged and the future of the farm grew ever more in question. They all knew Darin could manage a farm but had no heart for it. He preferred the hunt and if he could marry a young woman who had grown up in farming, she could tend to it to ensure that it stayed in the family.

But the response never came.

"What, you have nothing to say? That's unusual," Darin looked up to where Sarah was, only to find empty space, "Sarah?" He rose to his feet when she didn't answer. That was quite unlike her. In fact, the entire forest had fallen silent. The birds no longer sang nor did the leaves rustle, "Sarah? Where are you?"

The hunter in him kicked in. His eyes searched the surroundings looking for evidence as to where she might have gone, but there wasn't even evidence that she had been there to start. It was as if he had been in the forest alone all this time. Just when he was about to give in to despair, a figure stood a few yards away draped in black from head to toe. Darin moved to it, placed his hand on the shoulder and spun it around, "Sarah, don't-"

It wasn't Sarah. It was Morgana only she was burned and broken. It was a wonder she was standing, let alone standing before him.

"Where's Sarah?" Darin asked as he took a step back.

"Gone," she spoke in a guttural tone, "Like me."

"And me."

Darin spun to find Terra staring at him.

"And me."

A little girl, Wymond's daughter, tugged at his shirt.

"And me."

An elderly man lay splayed open against a tree.

"And me."

A young child burnt beyond recognition reach out.

The statement kept coming as people poured out from behind trees and among the branches. Darin's head swam as scenes of Norcrest flashed before his eyes. His sister's screams accompanied the growing choir of lost souls.

"Darin," a chill shot up his spine at his sister's voice, "Help me!"
-------------------
His eyes shot open as he shot up in bed. Heart slammed against his chest as it rose quickly to catch his breath. His eyes searched the room hoping only for the empty forest but the ghosts that met him there seemed to linger. Throwing the covers from off his legs, he tossed them over the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. When his heart calmed he looked up to find nothing but the darkness of the night accompanying him in his room.

"All those people," he whispered to himself, "Because of me."

A sudden scream tore through the tavern shaking Darin from his thoughts. Without considering why, he shot up after another scream erupted and darted out his door to find another man beating on the door from which the screams had come from, "What's going on?" Darin asked, he clinched his hands to hide the tremors that the nightmare had brought on. The man called into the occupant, "She alright?" He stood ready to help in any way he could.
[/fieldbox]
@Elle Joyner @Ultra Paradox @Jays

 

[Elle Joyner]

As the wave of sleep rolled away and reality crashed in with overwhelming force. Heart hammering, she kicked away the woolen blanket and stared at the crescent shaped marks in her palms, at the blotches of red that had soaked into the bed beneath her. She had dreamed often before, but never had one been so devastating. Never had the intensity of her fear felt so real... It was stress, undoubtedly. Between what had happened to her family, what had happened in the city square...

A knock sounded outside her door and she gave a small yelp, nearly toppling off the mattress. Only when she heard the vaguely familiar voice outside did she move, but it was with a great deal of apprehension and as she reached out for the handle her heart gave a flutter at the thought of what she might find on the other side. With a breath, hand trembling, she turned the key and gingerly cranked the handle, letting the door fall open.

The breath escaped sharply and she collapsed against the doorframe, "I'm alright. It... it was a dream." Her eyes shifted beyond Ardryan to the man behind him and her brows knit as she crossed her arms over her chest to rub her arms, pausing only when she remembered the injuries to her palms.

"Ardryan... I can't delay any longer. With the raider dead, the longer I stay, the less chance I have of finding any information that will be of use. Please... I need that map..."

---

TAGS || @Jays, @DarinValore, @Ultra Paradox

 

[Ultra Paradox]

They danced under the beautiful glow of the moonlight. The stars, and the chirping of crickets accompanied them, yet wouldn't dare interrupt. Even the wind sang a sweet melody. It was all perfect. Delilah was inside the home, fast asleep in her crib. Jenerith held him closely around the neck, foreheads pressed together, noses touching. He held her close, touching her waist and whispering sweet nothings.

"Wymond," She whispered, softly giggling as she planted a kiss on his lips, "You were always quite the charmer."

"It's what I do best," He replied, sharing a laugh with his wife, as they continued to dance to rhythm of the night.

"Oh really? I wonder how many other women you charmed before me." She teased and he scoffed playfully.

"This again huh?" He acted as if he was thinking hard, "I mean, it was at least a good dozen."

"Oh, stop it!" She giggled, before they embraced once more. Their lips came together and they held onto one another like there was no tomorrow. Passionate kissing, touching, rubbing and a sudden tear? She pulled away for a moment, looking up at him with a pair of worried and bulbous brown eyes. They were shaking and she bit down onto her bottom lip, running her hand against his roughly shaved face.

"What's wrong, why do you cry?"

"Cry?" Wymond reached up to touch his face and felt the tears. "Why do I cry?" He repeated the question, just as puzzled as she was.

"Oh, I see." There was a sadness behind her giggle and she kissed him again, holding both sides of his face. He pulled away, but she forced herself closer once more, they kissed and he resisted.

"What do you see? What's wrong?" He continued to cry, but this time the tears rushed harder and faster. Yet he didn't feel like he was in tears. He just...was.

"It's because..." She took a few step back and out from the woods that they danced adjacently to came Delilah, in the same dress she wore in Norcrest. "We're no longer here."

"What? What are you talking about?" He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a melancholic sigh. "Delilah is in her crib, that can't be her. And y-you're right here."

"I'm so sorry Wymond," She put her arm around Delilah, who was also crying.

"I love you, Papa," Delilah whispered and slowly the walls around where they danced began to drop. The woods, the house, the field, it all vanished.

Wymond watched both the women he loved in his life slowly move further away, "Wait no, where are you going! Enough of this! Enough!"

"Wake up Papa, wake up."

Wymond shot awake, and looked around for Delilah. But she was gone. And would never be coming back. Yet the dream felt so real and vivid, like they were there. He reached up to touch his lips, "Jenerith..." He whispered and felt a wetness on his cheek. He reached up to wipe it and when he looked down noticed it wasn't tears. It was blood. His nose too was bleeding, and his pillow drenched in the dark red liquid.

"What the hell?" He shot up, shaken by the amount of blood coming from his eyes and nose.

"What's wrong papa?"

He turned around and swore he saw Delilah, but when he blinked she was gone. He was so shocked he fell on his butt, hitting the floor with a hard bang. He quickly crawled up against the wall, not believing his eyes. Then the screaming came from downstairs and Wymond felt like he had to jump to action. He couldn't let anything happen to his Inn too!

He wiped the blood from his eyes and nose against his bare forearm, grabbed his sword, and opened the hatch of the attic, running down the steps like a shirtless mad man. By the time he got there he found Darin standing around with another man, and the suspected screamer a woman.

"The hell is going on down here?" He looked around while holding his sword up in the air, "Everything alright?" He looked like a mad man, with his messy black hair, unkempt beard, shirtless body full of old scars, and blood all over his arm.

Looked like he was a little late to the party.