The Hegemony of Dal'Guatha, The Ruins of Trenon

The smell of burnt flesh and wood affronted her senses, while the air felt full of ash. Neither were present, such was the nature of the spell that had ripped through the town. It was if the damage remained in another realm, just beyond the grasp of those on the current plain. It wasn't the weirdest experience Maria had undergone in her years as a student of the arcane arts and it barely phased her, it would have been far worse to deal with actual fires and corpses, she felt. Hopefully imaginary ash couldn't poison you either.

The wind was real though, and the loose robe wrapped around her form rippled with it, her face only visible through the gap of her hood, even if with the rush of air pressing her clothing to her, the form beneath was not hard to guess at. Even with the vast amount of magical displacement in the air, the draconic illusion she wrapped herself in remained without flaw, it was an easy spell, and one she was particularly apt at. A courtly fashion she personally reveled in. Now wasn't the time to contemplate such matters, instead, they were here to deal with a crisis. Legionnaires fanned out in front of her, royal guards trained by countless drills and battles moved ahead of the royal figure, sweeping through the ruined village in search of any threat. She had already guessed there would be none, baring the individual at its centre.

"What have you done?" It was as much an accusation as a genuine question, while there was no evidence of such, the entire population of the village was gone, and already the blame was circulating, that the Hegemony's most unhinged magical user had finally put the lives of its citizen so far behind his own studies as to slay them for the purpose of either his own enjoyment, or some twisted experiment. The fire of her eyes burnt into the back of the crouched figure, although he allowed a handful of dirt to drift into the wind before he turned and stood to respond.

"Myself? Nothing, I am just as interested in what events transpired as yourself, most interested." He frowned slightly as he looked around, nostrils flaring at the uneasy, and false smell created by the arcane power infusing the village.

"Interested? I am appalled, these were loyal citizens of the throne, gone, this is not some twisted game to play with me, you may be my greater in our studies, but I will bring the wrath of the Hegemon upon you, do not doubt it High-Magos." There was an element of emotional struggle in her voice, she had often looked for guidance from the strange but wise draconian and she couldn't quite ignore their growing friendship, despite the evidence surrounding them.

"They are not 'gone', they are dead." He approached her, momentarily halted by two of the legion, she dismissed them, not that they could have halted the high-magos if he'd have been willing to go through them, although, given the situation, he refrained from approaching her beyond a few meters, instead throwing a clear blue orb to her, which she caught and examined. The sight sent a chill up her spine, visible within the orb was another version of the village, in which the fires and ash were real, and corpses lay all around.

"It seems a highly powerful magic user 'has' been experimenting, a very useful enchantment, if it can be refined, to imprison individuals, perhaps that is what they were trying to do, perhaps they wished to kill, I shall have to investigate matters further."

"They will think you did this, I am not sure this is not just another trick, and I am not a distrustful citizen, that and your lack of....empathy, will not aid matters." She handed him back the orb, crossing the distance to place it in his hands, ignoring the usual decorum when facing a potential threat, she highly doubted she would still be alive if a being of his power had wanted to kill her at this stage. To their credit, her accompanying guards still trained the weapons on the robed male figure, it would not have done for them to have become complacent.

"Do not seek to tell me how I feel in regards to these lost souls, there are many reasons why I must look into this. Let the smaller minds of the world gossip, I have never concerned myself with such things, I don't believe I shall start now."

The Sailor's Song

1130, coast of the Anchor Islands, Babel Bay

Six caravels sailed outwards, over great grey waves, veiled by an overcast skying.

“The innkeeper was the one who chased me out with the broom, I guess,” said Horus to Baddy, as the two tugged on the ropes of the Brilliante, raising the sails of the mast just a tad higher with each tug.

“It good she did. Otherwise you left on shore, and I not share pay.”

“Yeah, we missed the other contract, right?”

Baddy chuckled. “Much rather be in the dens, or in the belly of a human girl. But need pay now.”

“Thought you had a decent purse?”

“Spent it in the dens. They not call him Tamul the Wily for nothing. I thinks they cheat.”

“Weird how a gambler always calls foul play when he's losing, 'innit?”

Baddy stuck his tongue out and pulled down on his eyelid, giving a raspberry, before tugging on the rope again.

Horus whistled, and drifted into thought, grunting a bit as he did his own share of tugging. “Haven't had a tumble in, what, years?” he said as he spoke up again. “A real tumble, the kind you remember and like, not the kind you pay for and groan through.”

“I never bought tumbles I not like!” Baddy chuckled again. Horus rolled his eyes, and looked outward from the ship's port side.

The Brilliante was his ship, one of the Babel Navy's nine caravels. Or rather, six. The missing three were the reason they were sailing. Three crews, lead by a pirate who called himself Boneless Bog, mutinied against their captains, and stole literal boatloads of navy rations and merchant cargo, before sailing off to the Anchor Islands, and setting up their own home away from home. To Horus, it said something about how much nicer the Port had gotten since he was a kid when pirates were afraid to stay in Port after robbing the Navy.

The caravels that mutinied were the Ave Maria, Rhonda, and Lila. Horus couldn't decide whether the ship names each being girl names was a coincidence, or weird planning, but the ships were all formidable. The Anchor Islands were surrounded by reef and barnacles, making navigation treacherous, so these three formidable ships were about to get a lot harder to deal with.

“Alright Baddy,” said Horus, “stop pulling, get the men who aren't navigating manning every weapon. Once you're done that, get the flag signals-” The flash of lighting, and the whip of a thunderbolt interrupted Horus for a moment. “- get up to the crow's nest, get the flag signals up to the other ships, battle line formation, but loose. The reefs and rain will make things difficult.”

“Aye aye, captain!” Baddy cried, giving a lax, mocking salute before pouncing off to gather the crew and give the signals.

Horus went to the top deck to handle the navigation wheel. Sailors spilled out onto the deck, just drops of rain started to fall. By the time everyone who needed to be on the top deck was there, a storm had started in earnest, and Baddy was struggling to wave wet flags.

Horus expected them to groan, as they usually did during storms, and even before combat. One time, they'd begged him to turn the ship around just before a battle, because they thought that as long as they were present at the battle, what they did during it would be lost in the fog of war, literal or otherwise.

But this time, as Baddy came climbing down the rope ladder from the crow nest, catching water droplets on his long, pierced tongue, he started humming. And his humming grew into inaudible mumbling. The mumbling grew into song; an old children's song. Baddy started singing it with a bad voice, botching and stumbling on the words as he went about preparing the ballistae, before other men joined in.

The song spread like a disease, as for every man that started singing the childish tune, two more joined in. Only two sailor's seemed to know the song in full, but from those two, everyone else was able to sing the song better.

The plague did not stop at the top deck. It made it way to second deck, the bottom deck, and even the poop deck.

Horus stared at his crew, signing loudly, like schoolchildren in a choir. They were very, very loud indeed, and it was doubtful the other ships hadn't heard. Hell, the pirates they were going after might have been able to hear them from this distance.

And suddenly, Horus' ears picked up a melody over the distance, travelling over the rain and crashing waves. It was the song his crew were singing, but it was coming from the crew of Reef.

The plague travelled to every ship in the line, until each and every sailor Navy sailor in the fleet seemed to be calling it out as part battle cry, part prayer, and part jovial, fatalistic anguish for their terrible situation.

A song of unicorns crashed against waves, and Horus couldn't help but join in as he saw the Anchor Islands, and the three treacherous ships come into view.

~ * ~

1200, Forest Coast, International Waters

Rain pelted down on the crew of Brave Lucy, which rocked against the turbulent current the storm had created. The crew had just ferried a large log from a string of lifeboats tied together. Velvetpaws was directing them.

“Gentle, gentle! Not let fall!” he cried, waving his open palms at the drenched and angry sailors. Other men stood by, nails and hammers at the ready, and several ogres stood on the top deck and ladder-nets, to assist in bringing the tree trunk on board.

The mast of the caravel had snapped off completely in the thick of the storm, leaving nothing left but a stump. They'd managed to drop anchor near shore, and had spent the last few hours finding and chopping down a tree of just the correct size, then bringing it onto the boat to replace the mast. A few smaller trees would be needed, and cloth would need to be brought from the merchandise to be used as sails.

Fara exited the captain's cabin, where he'd been taking refuge from the storm. He pulled his hood over his face, and darted toward Velvetpaws.

“My compatriot and I would like to know how quickly this misfortune might be undone,” he spoke loudly over the rain.

“It done when done!”

“Oh, come now, might you even be able to guess?”

“Done two hours, done three hours, what matter? Where you going?” Velvetpaws laughed, and continued to direct the crewmen. Fara shook his head, and turned around to leave. “I thinks I saw ship earlier,” the gnoll spoke again, which caused Fara to stop, “but maybe my eyes play tricks.”

“Pirates?”

“Pirates don't go here. Not merchant way.”

Fara didn't respond. He shielded his eyes from the rain, and stared up at mast being set into place. The men heaved, and shuffled to get it into balance for the men with the hammers and nails to do their work. Fara looked up into the dark grey sky, watching the clouds drop rain on them, and he swore he could see little rays of light, peeking out from underneath the grey blankets of clouds, from their blue-walled bedrooms in the sky.

The Kingdom of Taiire'Tal, The forest's edge,

Draanuv listened to the sounds of the deceptively silent forests, his blade ready, and the steed on which he rode treading anxiously between the trees. The woods reminded him of days long ago, when he hunted goblins and their Barghest steeds through this realm of nature and earth. The sun was setting over the forest canopy, just as it had set on the short of stature green-skins that used to plague these woods. The night had long fallen on goblins, whatever was left of their number after the massacres having fled from the woods through which Draanuv rode. Unfortunately, the goblins did not take all of their beasts with them. The Barghest, fearsome wolf-like monsters of impressive size and awe-inspiring ferocity, had been trained in small numbers by the goblins shortly before their eviction. When Draanuv chased the goblins out, tearing down their villages to the last scrap of wood, and killing off whatever goblins refused to flee to the last man, most of their Barghest had chosen flight. They released themselves from their goblin bondage, helpfully taking more than a few of the weakened goblins with them, and retreated to the forests to be feral once more.

They had rarely been an issue in the past; Draanuv had made a concentrated effort to domesticate their kind during the consolidation of Taiirean power in the forests. More than a thousand of the beasts had been collared, tamed and trained by the Elves of Taln'e, to be used as beasts of war, or to eradicate other dangerous pests in the forests. A dozen Barghest were with Draanuv on this very expedition, accompanied by their keepers, as well as a regiment of Elven infantrymen, and another of Wild Elven rangers. The modest force seemed immense when compared to the emptiness of the woods. Two more military regiments: one of Elven rangers and one of Elven infantry, had been dispatched as guards to the towns and villages on the outskirts of the forests, those further away from the centre of Taiirean power in Taln'e. A mobilization of four hundred men may have seemed drastic to deal with mere beasts of the forest, but the nobles of Taln'e that judged Draanuv knew by now how often he liked to prove them wrong. The peasants of the outlying settlements, much more loyal to their King than the nobles were, had been told to remain near their homes for the time being. Draanuv hoped the increase guard would be enough to deter any beasts from assaulting the towns. Hopefully, this would prevent any further undo deaths. Hopefully.

Still striding forward, Draanuv heard a howl from a Barghest behind him. It did not unnerve him; the beast was one of his own, accompanied by trainers that interpreted the meaning of the beasts' howl. The Barghest accompanying the hunting regiments had smelled more of their own. Draanuv turned to his left, then right, giving the soldiers on either side of him knowing looks. They were Mages, some of the highest ranked members of the Taiirean military. Illyaa, a half-Eldar from the northern tundra, accompanied Draanuv to the right. To the left was Sinaur, a Wild Elf, and native of the forests. Draanuv had hoped that Sinaur would come in handy hunting down forest monsters, and that Illyaa might have something to learn from it. So far both of his hopes had started to come to fruition.

"So do we just chase them down and gut them, then?" Illyaa asked. She spoke curiously, with an eagerness not unlike a child learning from her mother. Her appearance helped cement her air of childishness; Ilyaa was easily the shortest Elf in the entire hunting formation, and her pale skin and bright white hair seemed entirely out of place in the forests.

Sinaur nodded from Draanuv's opposite side, his darker toned skin and rough facial features helping him to look much more in place in his surroundings. His eyes never strayed from the path as he spoke, even as it adjusted when the Barghest led the formation in another direction, catching a more recent wiff of their untamed cousins. "We either gut them, fry them with magic, or make this much more of an effort than it needs to be and try to capture them. My vote's for the first... then the second. Barghest are delicious over a fire.", Sinaur said with a sly smirk.

Ilyaa nodded, her eyes rolling. Draanuv spoke up before she could vocalize her acceptance. "Stop!" he shouted, robotically, and at once the entire hunting formation stood in its tracks. They all listened carefully, and heard the distant sounds of howling. This time the beastly moans weren't from their own formation. Turning towards the direction of the sound, Draanuv allowed the tame Barghest and their keepers to take point, pin-pointing the position of the enemy Barghest as they prowled through the woods. The massive wolves were the only of their kind in this stretch of forest. The old goblin civilization here hunted wolves and most other animals of the forst to near extinction, leaving behind only the fiercest beasts. The Taiireans suspected that the Barghest had evolved out of the wolves that the goblin civilization failed to kill off during their first entry into the forests. The Barghest used to be solitarly among their own kind, usually living as the alpha males of packs of less powerful wolves. The goblins had changed them, forcing them to live in packs of their own kind. After the goblins were exterminated, and most of the Barghest were captured, the remainder existed as a single pack of several dozen beasts. Taiirean scouts discovered that the main pack broke into smaller portions when it went out hunting, then return together to feast. Judging by the scent of blood and flesh, and the mouthfuls of something being eaten by the Barghest, the hunting formation discerned that this was the main feral Barghest pack.

Once the formation was close enough for Draanuv's keen eyes to spy the Barghest in the distance, the formation stopped. They were silent by this point, motionless too, spare Draanuv's signal. With a raise of their King's hand, the best of the rangers in the hunting regiment walked carefully to the front of the formation, and readied their bows and arrows to fire upon the wolves. Adjusting their distances as necessary, it wasn't long before a volley of arrows was sent forth, and about half of the Barghest fell. A group of the survivors roared and charged at the rangers, but by the time they arrived, wounded and startled, the infantrymen in the formation easily finished them off. The few that weren't killed, perhaps as little as two dozen, fled in the opposite direction of the formation. The mightiest of beasts could take an arrow in their side without blinking, but even the Barghest suscepted either to death or fear when the quanity was increased enough. Draanuv pointed towards the carcasses of the beasts, ordering Sinaur and an accompaniment of infantrymen to check and make sure that they were dead. He returned wearing a grin, and rubbing his belly with exaggerated hunger. "Time to eat!".