Viridos, Chapter 9

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[BCOLOR=transparent]The fresh stench of death clung to the air and palpably hung like funeral pall. It was a scent you could never become accustomed to. Death was thick and biting; it would force itself into your system, and you could taste carrion and blackened blood the longer it lingered. It made Kestrel’s stomach do a backflip, her rationed nooning meal threatening to spill onto the floor, and she dug a handkerchief out of one of her many pouches. The healer tied the square fabric around her face, her hands shaking as she pulled her cropped hair away from it’s tethered place at her neck.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Airmid lumbered on, slowly beside her; her companion, her aux, her protector. The mighty brown bears shoulders rocked with each cautious step. Even as comfortable and familiar as it was to be beside Airmid, with the fresh scent of blood hanging so thickly in the air the bear was not helping her nausea. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"The air tastes of copper..." Kestrel mumbled as she fitfully raked her fingers through her burnt ember tresses. "Some poor soul has lost a lot of blood."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Kestrel stumbled over a loose tiles, bugs skittering all around her feet, and retched as a fresh wave of nausea made her stomach roll. She could hear fighting, far away, but much closer than that she could hear the sounds of agony. With one hand ghosting across Airmid’s phantom shoulder Kestrel pushed onward. Those souls could be saved; she had been called, and so she would go.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]It didn’t take long to find the source of the sounds of death. A wet, rattling breath rasped out of chapped and bloodied lips. Kestrel rushed to the victim without a thought. The brunet haphazardly recovered a pair of deerskin gloves from her hind pocket and shoved her hands into them without ceremony. The healer knelt next to the dying man. His labored breathing came in short bursts, quickly using what little energy he surely had left on misguided hopes of survival. There was blood everywhere and his gut was torn open. It was too gruesome to fathom, and it was becoming far too common as of late.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]He weakly lifted his hand. It shook violently as it slowly rose, and Kestrel gently took hold of it without hesitation. She pulled down her kerchief, her smile soft and sad, and the scent that plagued her before hit her like a ton of bricks. She closed her eyes tight for a second, a few steadying breaths passing with a pounding heart, and she forced the illness from her mind. This one life that was about to flicker out needed her now; she had no time for anything else. The dying soldier tried to speak, but no words could be choked from his tightening throat.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]“Hush now,” Kestrel said gently, her free hand reaching to caress his brow. This soldier must have been a dandy, with hair the color of Autumn wheat that was now caked with dried blood. “You’ll be just fine. I’ve got you now. You’re safe with me.”[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Her voice did not waver once through the lie.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]The soldier tried to smile, but all that came out was one last harsh gasp. His eyes darkened, lids falling not quite closed. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]He stirred no more.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]“Sleep now.” Kestrel whispered, the somber healers hand drawing his lids closed. She gently placed his hands across his chest, sent a prayer for his soul, and rose again. Airmid was there, ready to accept her back, as she always was. Kestrel pulled her handkerchief over her mouth and nose again, thankful for the linen buffer between her and the stench, before returning to her aux side. She was sure there would be more in need of her services. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Hopefully, next time, she’d make it in time to save them.[/BCOLOR]

 
[fieldbox="Modakra's apothecary shop, green, solid"]The two became ravenous as the syllables were spoken; screams of agony and rage resounded in the room. Cracks of bones, shredding of flesh… It all horrified the medicinal man. He immediately let go of Asina as the cloth moved with odd waves of her skin. It only took a few steps back of time for the parasite to manifest itself, ripping through the back of its host. The distance between it and Modakra closed by a single leap. It wouldn’t reached its target; He swoop his hand in from of him, catching the ooze dripping bug and crushing it beneath his fingers… Black ichor just ran down his exposed skin on his hand. It felt like greasy excrement.

Modakra had no time to become disgusted by his actions; the second one that had come out of his friend Kagar squittered frantically towards him. With a simple stomp down, the black ichor spread across the wooden floor. Dead. His eyes lifted off the freshly squashed bodies to his caretakers. The realization of what he saw was delayed, as if his already fragile mind was trying to process the happenings within his establishment.

” His stare was devoid of any expression, locked onto the bleeding bodies of his two lifeless friends. Their spines were exposed to the air, having little left from their back muscles and flesh. “… No…” So it was so. They had been infected. “Kagar… Asina…” His words were barely uttered, the bile threatening to make an appearance. Dizziness hit him hard, letting him fall to his knees before the remains. “… No…” Tears began streaking down his cheeks and his teeth clench as to suffer through this pain beginning to surface. “No… Not here… Why… Why?!” His hands balled into fist, his knuckles turning white. His own home, his safe haven, wasn’t safe from the parasitic infection. They had reached his domain. No one was safe , not until this plague was dealt with. Which meant there was very little he could do… But for what he could do, he had to go. Now.

They’ll pay for what they did to you…” He said through his teeth. There was no time to waste. He had been keeping a peaceful doctrine as of late, but he couldn’t leave this go on before intervening. Modakra got back to his feet, giving his two friends a sorrow filled look. They would be buried when he came back; right now, he had to head to the Shartans… Or join Tattersal. He needed to do something! It was hence he began collecting his things, even if he had just arrived. He should have accepted to stay and help out, but he had dully refused for the hopes of some well-deserved rest.[/fieldbox]
 
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Manifolds
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They came down thick, like a black rain. As long as they continued to chant, the words coming out of their mouths so thick that they could almost see the form of their language, a bubble of dark mist surrounded them, corporeal centipedes that bounced off them, wriggling on the ground with their bellies up before a boot ground them into ectoplasm.

Some were not so lucky. If an aux-eater landed on them, it crawled slowly towards their aux. Some of the aux, various small animals, ran over the bodies of their crux, desperately trying to dodge the centipede. Others were consumed with blind panic, dashing away from their crux. They both fell screaming to the ground in pain as their ethereal tethers were stretched, and were consumed by the moirgut.

Naya gazed morosely at one such face, contorted and swimming with incorporeal centipedes. She jumped when its visage caved in, stabbed in the middle by Tattersal's spear.

"Come now, Acolyte. We only need to hold on for a few more hours. A few more .. " The Lost General's eyes had taken on a faraway look, all of his actions having lost meaning from the sheer repetition. There was no more grace to the arcs of his spear, no more practiced virtuosity as he delicately used the blade to sever the blood vessels in the necks of the infected crux that bore down upon them; just all rote motions devoid of beauty. He was covered equally with sap and black ichor.

"We need a rest." Tattersal slumped, one of his legs buckling as he sank to the ground. Around him soothsayers of the highest caliber gathered, whispering the one word that would keep them safe.

Naya crouched next to him. She knew that he was the one that needed the rest.

"Can we win?"

Tattersal shook his head. "There are some things on Sunne that simply cannot be challenged." He held his right hand over his left. They were two parallel plans, with no hope of ever meeting over all of space.

"Wogov, an old god who sparred with ilium, created them. No ... he designed them. The aux-eaters are synthesized life, creatures specifically made to kill us."

"So why are we still alive?"

"We are using a trick." Tattersal placed his left hand over the right. "Borrowing some knowledge from the creators."

Naya clutched her head. She had not expected a lecture on things she could not understand, while surrounded by death. Tattersal spoke matter-of-fact, the flat, confident tone of a teacher. He did not let on whether he understood it himself, or if countless repetition of the story made it truth to him.

"Most around us, I cannot hope to understand." Tattersal pushed himself to his feet and pulled his spear from the ground. "Only what they want us to."

Naya felt the invisible strings pull her upright, and wrapped her fingers around the handle of her golden saber, slick with blood from her blisters.
 
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[fieldbox="Big Fish, green, solid"]
It is the law of nature. There is always a bigger fish.

Over the song of war and death came the distant thrum of wingbeats.

As a centipede crawled into the mouth of a cat aux, its crux looked to the skies. In the face of imminent darkness what else is there to focus on but the white dot of hope? The soldier raised his hand to the aether to grasp his deliverance. It alighted softly on his fingertips and held his hand as the soul of the soldier blackened and withered away.

As others perished the thrum grew louder and became form. A storm cloud approached, ready to burst lightning.

There were minutes before the cloud reached Edelon from across the sky. Several died in this time. The hourglass was stirring up a sandstorm today which only the winds could quell.

And so, as the elements do, it swept through. The cloud came low and enveloped Tattersal's band, the remnant blot of Ilium in corrupted Edelon. It blew over the corrupted and choked them. Bodies fell and centipedes scattered, fleeing the toxic fog.

The band looked on with bemused silence. It was like a hallucination, the consequence of their fatigue. Such fortune did not exist in this hell.

Chanters of the divine word slipped out of concentration and fell victim to lurking moirgut. It kicked them back to reality and a nervous scurry soon restabilised the wavering black bubble of protection.

The cloud began to dissipate to cover more area and increased the band's visibility. What seemed like a cloud was in fact a great swarm of moths. They dived down onto the moirgut and carried them into the air in a mortal dance where only one would survive. Mandibles came down on mandibles, wings shredded, legs tore. When one moth died another took its place. The proximate moirgut were outnumbered and outclassed by the winged predators and the warpath opened.

Somehow these creatures could interact with the moirgut as aux could, seemingly cut from the same primordial cloth. They appeared ordinary but on close inspection the moths seemed to trail a fine powder like glistening dust motes.

The dissipated cloud however exposed a weakness in the band's flank. A lone centipede slithered in and up the leg of a soldier and honed in on their aux. Its jaws clamped in anticipation of its helpless prey.

One slash and the myriapod's head separated from its thorax. Its writhing body fell to the earth and burst under the weight of a plated boot. The figure stepped forward into the bubble's epicentre. A gauntleted hand came down towards Tattersal.

"General," Lieutenant Vydus said.

Tattersal grabbed his arm and stood once more. He turned to Naya briefly. "Like I said, Acolyte. Moths will come to aid us."

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Aviary's Dillema

The two wodden doors opened before her and she stepped into the counselor's office. Her step, carefully controlled to make it as graceful as she learned it to be for an official meeting.
Her eyes centered on the man that was seated behind the kingly desk that was his.

She recognized the man as the high counselor and a rather serious, yet gentle expression formed on her face as she approached Aviary's representative.


"Good day to you counselor Longfeather. It has been a very long time since our last, indirect encounter. I apologize if my manners are not up to the avian standard, I have to admitt that I do not remember them at all." Her red eyes locked onto his.

"I did not call you here to discuss formalities, Amelia. Have a seat."

"Thank you," she replied and obliged. "Of how much did my dear servant tell you, if this question is not too bold, counselor."

"Little enough, despite my questions. By your own instruction, I would imagine." Longeather let out a short breath. "She told me of your intended return to the Aviary, Amelia. That you bring gold to help the city rebuild, and that you ultimately aspire to reclaim the Alate."

The red eyed Lady nodded. "Yes, let me explain to you every single bit of what I have going on, counselor. First I want to rebuild Aviary, but not as it was before, larger, bigger. The poisenous nature of Viridos is eating away the populated areas very slowly and not only will my own staff require a new home, the people that will lose their homes, specifically the Hosian people, will also need a new place to thrive but this is only the civil part of what I wish to achieve." Amelia's eyes turned away from the counselor's and moved on to the shelves that once held a great number of books before they returned to the counselor. A rather angry tone mixed to her usually gentle and patient voice.

"My ambition is to reclaim the Alate, our birthright, not through diplomacy, for we both know Kaustir too well. They dare to abuse our birthright for their machinery of war, ships flying in the sky. I have sent a spy to investigate the Alate's condition and will soon expect results. I have ordered for an army to be trained in Hosia and have deployed a fleet, bearing Kaustir's arms of war, their crest and banner to attack the coast of Viridos. This will initiate a war, and with Kaustir's invasion of Pegulis, the oppurtunity to strike and take away what is ours from right under their nose." Her body shook, she did not realize how much Kaustir's deed had angered her before. "I will need a group of avian to infiltrate the ships when the time is right."

Tallius remained silent and stonefaced throughout Amelia's speech. Only when it was clear she was done speaking did he reply. "So you have taken it upon yourself to decide the future of the Aviary. No matter for the tradition of the Avian people, the Lady Amelia Ironheart has returned, and she has proclaimed how it shall be." His tone sounded calm, but there was no mistaking the silent fury within it.

The ladies eyes widened at the words replied to her and she remained silent for a moment, then she shook her head. "Is there a future to come out of wasted time? People will die. The peace we have known is leaving. I have not heard from the capital for a while, only rumors of aux eaters. The fae folk are no longer there to cleanse the forests of the nation we call our home. People will die, but in the end, a sad truth indeed, it lies in the hands of the ones that bear any sort of power to decide how they will die and how they will survive. When hope is lost, they will look up to you for guidance, to be their light. But in the end, it does not matter. My ambition persists for you and for all the avians. If I fail, execute me, feigning ignorance of what I was doing. If I suceed and the people should demand this for the ones that have died but they have loved, execute me as well so that they may rest in peace. My life is worth little compared to the lives that can be saved when Aviary flies again."

The flattery and subservience in Amelia's speech seemed to do little to settle the ruffled feathers of the High Councillor. "You have spent too long away from the Aviary. Living in the lower levels has corrupted your sense of where your obligations lie. You say you do this for the Aviary, for the Avians, yet you speak of Viridos as your nation. You speak of bringing the people, all the people, of Hosia into the Aviary."

"You wish to spend your gold to rebuild the Aviary. So be it. None will stand in your way. You wish to wage war against Kaustir? You have my permission to waste the lives of the people of Viridos and your own staff in such an endeavor. But neither myself nor anyone on the council will allow you to corrup the purity of the Aviary. We will not allow you to waste the lives of Avians in a war that does not concern us. Should your little war somehow succeed then the Aviary shall fly again. But if it should not, the Aviary existed before the Alate, and it shall exist after."

Amelia listened to his response and a genuine smile formed on her lips... until he finished and she begun laughing out loudly. "But my dear counselor. That is exacly what I was looking for! Thank you!" she spoke as thankful and genuine as she could and stood up. "If you will excuse me now. I have a city to rebuild." She turned her back to him and stepped, as elegantly as she stepped in, out of the building.

Just as she left the eyesight of the building, her smiled turned upside down and a great anger sowed onto her face.

What a fool, she thought to herself.
It may be Viridos now, but what will it be, should the other cities fall to their own dilemmas?

"There will be a time where you will have to stand up for those that are among you," she recited.
Her expression grew serious and her eyes stared at a far distance, but in her mind, a grander scheme formed until she finally shook her head

"What a fool," she thought and confusion dwelled onto her face a moment later as her eyes turned to the source of the voice to look at a young man.

The young man returned a smile to her and answered the question that lingered on her mind. "I am Viranus and I greet the Lady that looks at the east."

"What is the usual treatment of humans in Aviary, Viranus? I promise you, if it is bas, it will improve." And a gentleness showed on her face.

"Oh, I am no human," replied Viranus with a grin and turned around to show a pair of... tiny wings. "I am just less regarded."

"Please accept my apologies, but even for you life will improve, this I promise you. Now, may I ask how you could recite my very thought?"

"Of course," he replied smiling and turning to face her properly again. "But I believe we should go somewhere where less ears may be, my'lady."

Amelia nodded and begun striding away from this place, him following from a distance to not grab too much attention, should they pass people.

(featuring @Peregrine as Counselor Longfeather)
 
The Shartan

They were in the third ring now. The Undertaker knew this, because they had crossed in a direction perpendicular to their annular path three times. Yet beside the thickness of the walls in between - easily twenty paces, and completely dark and featureless - the horizon appeared no closer, and the paths did not appear any shorter. The ring was so straight that if they did not pay close attention to the yellow mirage around them their sense of left and right could flip.

The Kindly One had taken to walking by dragging her right foot along the ground, to mark the sense of direction. She had done this carefully for the past sixteen thousand steps. Every thousand steps she forced the pair of them to sit and drink. Overhead, far overhead, a few black specks winged their way across the thin strip of ochre light that the impossibly tall walls of the Shartan allowed.

"We will find what Tattersal wants in the center of the Labyrinth." The Undertaker shook his head. Instinct came to him slowly. He struggled to call back the hidden memories of this place, when he presided as the Warden for a short period of time. If he thought too hard about the lock procedures, he could feel them slipping through his hands back to the murky depths of his memories, so he let his hands guide themselves when they came upon the ten-fingered locks between rings.

"..." The Kindly One did not question him. She was not sure why she had followed him into the Shartan at all. When they stood up again, she forgot to drag her right foot along.

A small clicking noise beckoned to them. They ignored it, and continued walking in a circle, past the line that the Kindly One had drug through the dirt sixteen thousand steps ago. Dark tendrils of fog blew from their temples.


Edelon

One by one the free Viridosians fell, swarmed and eaten by the moirgut centipedes. They did not seem to care much for the distinction between aux and crux, or aux and flesh. Their serrated mouths nipped flesh from the thrashing forest kin, and Tattersal watched one of his Lieutenants dissolve in a storm of a roiling black mass. When it sloughed off like a big black amoeba, nothing was left.

The moths were no kinder to the moirgut other. Carnivorous proboscii slithered in between chitin, and the aux-eaters froze and flipped to the side, their innards empty. In the eye of the storm Tattersal stood, eyes drilling into the Edelon gates. None of the lives lost here was without purpose, each bought one drop of the water clock to give Ash the time he needed to find Ilium's mouth.

The chants from the soothsayers took on a foggy quality. Although the ancient rites were long forgotten, performed only as rote, hollow imitations, their collective chants were transcending the meditative effects. In crude, modern vernacular, what was a tool to focus the mind became crux, a physical barrier that shone irresistibly to the moirgut, not only a sound that drove them mad.

From the angled iron gates to Edelon strode a humanoid. As it approached Tattersal, the aux-eaters were drawn to its body by some geomantic pressure. By the time it arrived, face-to-face with the Green General, it was fully twice its original height, and a shape of round and sharp angles that continuously folded in on itself.

The Ambassador formed a mouth.

TSSSSSSSSSSSSS. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT. ZZZZZZZZZZZZT.

"He's speaking too fast." Tattersal sounded as if he had experience in such matters.

"Adjusting to base reality."

"Ilium's hand." ("That's me.") The apparition raised a hand in a 'stop' gesture. "You are ordered hereby to cease-and-desist with all due haste. Compliance will result in mutual standdown."

"Ilium's hand. You are ordered hereby to cease-and-desist with all due haste. Compliance will result in mutual standdown."

"Ilium's hand. You are ordered hereby to cease-and-desist with all due haste. Compliance will result in mutual standdown."
 
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Assimilation
Tattersal regarded the being with a steely gaze. The message reaked of Om the Invader's hand; imperative and steeped in hypocrisy. As if the Corrupted had not struck the first blow, perhaps decades ago; as if they could still order the General around.

There were merits to the proposal though, assuming the enemy kept their end of the deal. Tattersal looked back at his ragged band. Most could barely stand let alone fight. Extreme fatigue coupled with overwhelming purpose had driven them to the borders of madness and some past it. One soldier continuously stabbed an infected corpse with his spear whilst laughing hysterically. They couldn't hold out much longer at this rate, despite the aid of the moths.

Tattersal grunted and looked out to the horizon. The Shartan was out of sight yet near enough. If the Band gave up the assault the moirgut would bolster their defences and Ash and Amaltas would be trapped and their plan ruined.

"Ilium's Hand?" the General spoke to the emissary. "We are Ilium's Fist, and WE DO NOT SURRENDER!"

A unified roar of the divine word blasted away the form of the assimilation into a thousand millipedes. Moth and blade doused the black rain and cut forward through the mire.

 
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The stars may as well have crashed down all around with her damnable bad luck. The sounds in the distance were alien to her, languages long dead that her young human ears couldn’t possibly identify. The sounds of battle, however, transcended all languages of man or beast. The healers stomach did backflips at the prospect of combat. Simply put, Kestrel was not equipped for confrontation that didn’t involve her battle a wound or infection.


Battle would mean wounded; her calling was to tend to those in need.


Damn,” the brunette muttered, her teeth hooking her bottom lip. She couldn’t delay if there were people in need. The healer repeated a litany of actions in her mind, the steps needed to suture a wound or set a break so it heals clean, all the while following the distant sounds of battle.


Kestrel was getting closer now, a strange cacophony of clicks and buzzes bouncing off the ruined walls of the city. Battle, she realized, was not perhaps the correct word for what she had been hearing. Confrontation? Perhaps just a argument? A threatening one, no doubt, but still nothing as serious as she first suspected. She crept along a littered side street, carefully dodging loose gravelle and crumbled bricks, each step purposeful and silent, until the sounds were too close for comfort.


There was a party just ahead of her. They met their offender's head on, chins raised, their stance's radiating defiance. If there was blood to be shed, Kestrel was sure it would be theirs.


The healer stood, shaking from head to toe, and took a tentative step forward. Being weaponless, clearly defenseless even in her state of dress, she was hoping against hope she would be largely ignored. If any of the v fighters in the party before we're to fall, hers weeps be the first face they see.
 
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