“Friends…? Oh thoooose... Beg pardon, missy, but we all fresh out o’ friends. Maybe Family…? Nay and again nay one thousand fold. Out o’ that too, love. Lovers…? Wellll... Undoubtedly one will come with—to me. Undoubtedly, one will come, love…”

Regardless of the rising anger she could see in the recently resucitated Gale, steely blues still smoldered coyly into such tumultuous waters that was Gale’s gaze.

“Aye, that I am. From not-- what names be of these towns...? Biter or Toucho? Nay this here lass tis not from such places, as had this lass said before, love,” said Izzy in response to being accused of being 'not from here.'

The reflections of the stars above warbled and shattered as she too slipped into the dark waters. A simple nod she gave then aided Gale with pushing their floatation device as they swam towards shore, “And as for me nearly being killed… be there nary even a single apologetic note from that sweet voice, Ms. Gale O’Storms. In me life, in me heart, I know I should have already been in the dead books times one thousand. So instead, Ms. Isabellia does thankee from the bottom of her black heart.

"Ne'er before been I wind borne. Never, ever could this lass even conceive of such an awe inspiring and heart-pounding pleasure before. So thankee again, Ms. Gale. Show off more if it pleases ya, love.

"Expertise at wha’cha does and impressive to the end… Keep such tendencies, for this lass do be very intrigued should you show off more to mine eyes…”

And with another coy look and sly wink, Izzy shut her mouth and just let the heat of her ladyparts thrum away as they neared shore and were nearly out of these dark, starlit waters. A simple reflection she gave. Two parts in fact.

She wondered if she should tell Gale about her visions of death and rebirth, but more importantly, if she should tell the short, stout, and sexy wet thing about her new found ‘breathing technique.’ And on the tail of that musing, Izzy also wondered why it was when she mentioned things that were close to her like friends, family and lovers…

Oh, but why did the former captain of The Enchanting ever not bother to mention having, or not having, something just as close as family; why did Izzy make no mention of a crew…?

Perhaps the liquor that still coursed through her veins still dulled the sharpness of mind?

_{“Perhaps not…”}



“The… Wind God…?” repeated Izzy in nearly a scoffing tone after Gale had her near melt down. Her rear was planted on the sand as she poured out the excess sea water from her boots.

Of course, in such a world with griffins, and Hollows, and flying skiffs piloted by sexy women in tight leather all wiggly-jiggly, and with powerful shape-changing murderous children, well, why should izzy be surprised that such a Wind God could not exist?

The redhead just shook her head and looked on as Gale ushered her to rush back to the town. The right thing to do, yet once more. Izzy sighed heavily, shoulders exagerratedly heaving up and down. “But of course we will warn them, love… but…! Wait for it… wait for it…!”

The tall redhead stood and wrung out her hair and chemise as she spoke then sighed as soon as she spotted it. Long almost prancing strides brought her back to the water’s edge.

“’Bout high time ye showed up…” reaching out gingerly at first, she snapped up the offending thing out from the water, wrung it out, shook it a few times then snugged it tight upon her head. “Now we may rush off, love…”

A smile, wink, and nod she cast over to Gale, tugging once at that ol’ tricorn hat she had flung away at the shores when she first made her way through the mushroom field. “Three questions then, Ms. Gale. One: why so worried about a 'wind god?' Two: why would you want to skewer the Kith children? And three: Cannae we just not wave down one of yer bouncy sisters on those flying skiffs to get us on back to the town…? Please.”

There was a fourth question, but Izzy would ask about that later. She did not want Gale to suspect that Izzy wanted to pilfer it for her own desires and deeds.

_{in collaboration with @Virgil}






Oliver raised questioning brows, and for a moment he sat processing what this stranger was trying to say. "There's still a long night ahead before the moonrise," he informed Ifor gently, once he'd figured it out. "You have an unusual dialect -- I'm very familiar with the particular language differences among the four cardinals, but I've never heard anyone speak quite like you do. May I ask where you grew up?"

"Hmmm...Ih'm ohn wahlkahbouht..." Ifor grunted, breaking his neck out of its lengthy stagnation with a muffled crack - quite easily contented with the brevity of his reply; Still, noting the faintest traces of confusion bubbling to fruition upon his new 'friend's' face, he tacked on: "...Cohst ah'drihft - malihgnahnt seeh droove muh dohwn this'wuhy; Noh' vehrry pleahsahn' cohmp'ny, yoohr lahdy ohf teh wohtters..."

"Moonrise" - the concept stuck Ifor as odd, unnatural...though certainly not inconceivable. Nature was an odd beast, comforting and confounding, revolting and redeeming - ever patient, ever absolute; whatever new secrets she'd tucked away on this enigmatic stretch of wind-swept sand, the least anyone should be about them was mildly intrigued...and so Ifor would be too.


Meanwhile, in the spotless upper room of the ruined windmill, Golde knelt quietly beside the open chest; the contents of the glass jar cast a soft blue glow on her curious face as her fingers pried at the wide cork stopper --

With a soft pop the stopper released, cool night air rushed into the jar, and Golde was blinded by the bright flare of intense light like a small blue sun. The sprig of leaves and stems was no longer visible, so brilliant was the light it now emitted; the room around her had become luminous; Golde's figure cast a long shadow on the floor. The delicate smell of lilacs, laced with sharp cinnamon, drifted out of the jar.

Though the light was intense, the jar remained cool to the touch. Even replacing the stopper would not diminish its glow.


A flare of bright blue light high above them drew Oliver's attention back to the windmill. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes locked on the steady, bright blue light that illuminated the windmill from within, bursting from the hole in the roof, flooding the broken windows, like a beacon in the darkness.

"I'm sorry," he said to Ifor, distracted; he was already moving toward the sloping rocks, "but there's something I have to check."

Startlingly, the end of one conversation trumpeted the beginning of another...though more subtly understood than most; a shimmer of blue flashed into being within eye of the windmill, as if some ancient sentinel had arisen from an eternity's respite. It glowed curiously, yet unaware of the attention it'd garnered within the enlarged pupils of its night-cloaked stalkers. With silent siren's songs, it called out to them - begging to be unraveled, for the mystery of its presentation to be brought to light. Inspired by the sudden shift in atmosphere, and with surprisingly gentle footing, the camouflaged stranger tagged along after his soft-spoken 'companion'; the promise of new discovery awaited patiently as they approached...

With sure footing, Oliver traced a narrow and well-worn path up the rocky slope, with only a backward glance toward the stranger who now followed him. He adjusted the folded scythe on his back, grasped a weedy outcropping, and hopped over the last shelf to stand at the base of the windmill. The field of gently glowing mushrooms stretched in open contrast to the dark seclusion of the beach below -- the spires of Woondaly glimmered in the distance.

He cast another look back at Ifor, ready to offer assistance up the rocks -- but upon seeing that the stranger was just as nimble, Oliver only beckoned with a gesture and approached the illuminated doorway of the windmill.

He crept up the stairs with soft steps, a hand tracing the rotted wall, until he stopped and peeked over the edge of the floor above. Upon sight of Golde, his posture relaxed; she wasn't the Kith he'd been expecting. "Hello." Oliver climbed the last of the stairs, but he didn't approach, so not to alarm her. He noted the salt-ragged state of her hair, the sea-washed state of her clothes. He opened his palms peacefully. "It's okay --" He slowly took the scythe from his back and leaned it against the wall. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He glanced down the stairs at Ifor ... uncertain he could say the same for the brute he'd brought with him.

While Izzy wrung the saltwater from her hair and clothes, Gale hurriedly smacked the waterlogged scythe against the sand, until it relented to be collapsed and folded into a compact form. She slung the weighty broken thing over a strong shoulder, and with a running leap she caught herself upon the protruding rocks that bordered the beach. "Come on, hurry!" She stretched out a hand to help Izzy along behind her; it would be a short climb to the top, where the mushrooms glowed among the moss, and Woondaly shimmered in the distance.

Once she'd clambered over the edge of the rocks she scanned the wide field, spotting only a few goats and a curious blue burst of light off in the darkness of the distant shore. Wasn't there an old windmill in that direction?

"The Wind God is notorious for his ruthless disregard for life," Gale explained while she helped Izzy up over the last rocks and onto the field. She led the way, striding quickly over the moss and mushrooms. "During the Dragon War he decimated entire settlements in the name of defeating his enemy. Necessary sacrifices, he called them. He's been sleeping since then, vowed never to wake until the Light returned -- but somehow he's awake too soon. I can only think what anger remains in him, and what innocents lay in his path."

She rushed forward, still dripping saltwater; the folded scythe on her back poured trails of it behind her. "The Kith worship him, and they're just as heartless. We've tried peaceful negotiation, but they still set fire to our settlements, slaughter for our food and fresh water, and take our children to brainwash them for their own ranks." She stopped, and she cast an angry, horrified look to Izzy. "Do you have children, Izzy? Can you understand the despair of a mother knowing her child is alive but gone forever -- an enemy of her own people?" She set her jaw, and she continued toward the lights of Woondaly.

"How is it that you don't know the terrors of the Kith? Are there even now hidden settlements where they're not a blight on every honest existence?"

A big shadow moved across their path in the dark, and Gale reached out an arm to stop Izzy from moving farther. She dropped to one knee and pushed Izzy down to do the same -- to make themselves less conspicuous, there on the open plain.

A quarter-mile ahead of where Gale and Izzy had stopped, one of the griffins had clambered over the rocks and now padded silently across the field, its powerful wings folded against its back. It moved in a direction across their path, walking slowly westward, away from Woondaly. The Kith girl walked alongside it with a hand buried in the feathers of its neck. Neither seemed to have spotted them ... at least not yet.

Gale withdrew a curved knife from her belt, and she held it in stiff preparation to strike.

Fang, with surprising strength for his small stature, hauled Elliot up onto the griffin behind him. "Just hang on!" he shouted with a grin over the crash of waves.

The griffin spread its enormous wings, gave a powerful flap ... then took a running leap across the slick rocks and launched into the cool night air.

The wind whipped all around them, threatening to blow Elliot clean off the griffin's back and into the churning black water, if he didn't hang on as instructed. They soared northward, keeping over the water and far away from the spires and lights of Woondaly that gleamed and shimmered in the distance. So shrouded in darkness, the griffin caught the wind-currents over the ocean and glided high over the secluded beach.

"The lightborn are just a legend," Fang hollered over the wind, through a sharp grin. "People who were born in sunlight, who've seen a sky without darkness." He laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. A sky all lit up like a fire? How absurd! "Is that you? Are you from some mystical land where the sun still shines? Are you so full of that sunshine that you made even the Wind God think the Light returned?" He looked back at Elliot with narrowed eyes. "You're sure weird enough to actually be a lightborn. If so -- well, there are three other gods you could wake up for us. Turn the tide of war, y'know."

Up ahead, along the shoreline to their left, a brilliant blue light glowed out of the broken roof of a dilapidated windmill, shining like a beacon in the dark; the outline of its rotted sails shone in haunting silhouette.

"Hey, looks like the freak is home," Fang spat with a malicious grin. "Let's mess with 'im a little."

The griffin veered its course, flapped once, and glided like a missile toward the windmill -- with a hideous screech that echoed over the field.

SCREEEEE!

With another flap it slowed down, claws outstretched. The griffin ripped into the broken roof of the windmill with a crash and a clamoring destruction of shingles and wood before it flapped away again, content to have added to the demolition of Oliver's station.

Inside the windmill, splinters and dust rained down on Golde's head; a part of a rotted beam dropped beside her -- she'd narrowly avoided being seriously injured by the griffin's haphazard attack.

Oliver leaped to attention, dashed past Golde, and craned his neck to see the griffin gliding safely away through the dark.

"HA ha!" Fang shouted back with a snide sneer. "Crawl back to Pyre, freak!"

Even though the flying skiff was quite damaged, it still never ceased to amaze Izzy. A pale hand reached out to touch the magical machinery, now strapped to Gale’s back and no more cumbersome than a fifty foot of thick rope. Perhaps as bulky but nay, not as heavy it would seem. But before she could touch it, she recoiled as Gale half-turned to face her, yet Izzy's hand was caught by the strong, stout WindRider.

The tall redhead allowed herself to be yanked and pulled up and away from the shores and onto the rocky overhang. The dark bodies scattered below seemed incapacitated and inert, but they were still there; the Hollows did make Izzy fearful regardless of the former Flame’s bravado. A sigh of relief she let out as soon as she made her way over the rocks and made her way once more through the mushroom fields.



There was much to interject whilst listening to Gale spout off and explain about the devastating Wind God and the dangerous Kith, however, she kept her pink lips shut. The description of the Kith hit too much too close to home in her heart. No, Isabellia did not have children, much to her Mama’s chagrin, but yes, Isabellia could understand the despair of a mother who has lost child to the enemy. A shiver ran down her spine.

Of course, she knew the ways of raids, terror, and stealing of babes.

_{“Yo ho…”}

As the Unequalled Flame, Captain of The Enchanting and commanding an armada of pirates, such ways were spearheaded by Isabellia Courtana Fauranios. It was her damned job and she did it very, very well. Pale fingers pinched tight at her tricorn hat. She made as if to snug the ol’ thing down over her brow, but it was a hidden gesture. It was a gesture of affirmation in respects to the resolute yet damned pirate at present.

“Oh they are not called Kith from whence this lass came, Ms. Gale. Not gigantic, they be, but quite monstrous, be they. Yet hidden in plain sight, be they, love. Aye, they take, and aye again one thousandfold, aye, they do take babbies grow 'em into one and the same as they. A blight upon every honest existence they are.

"And when due time comes, they will be tortured with eternity’s says so, swimmin', lost in the haunted dark of boilin' hell deeps. All in due time, Ms. Gale, but… But do know they keep their own and keep 'em very well they do, I say. They will never stray from the fire.

"Where I come from, love, of the known terrors, the ones this lass do know of are called Daemon Squalls...”

She had sobered up some, but by all holiest of holes, did Ms. Izzy ever need a drink at the moment.

_{“Yo ho, an’ a bottle o’ rum…”}



Izzy took to a knee and watched as the ‘girl’ and the griffin traipsed on by. Steely blues narrowed as she gauged the direction of the pair and wondered why they would take to foot if the beast had wings and why take to foot when the Kith lass had magical monstrous powers. Perhaps injury? Perhaps out of magicks? Or perhaps like Gale and Izzy herself, trying to keep a low profile?

Whatever the case, Izzy did not do the same as Gale and cursed internally. A metal weapon is metal and even in the dark neath the stars, any light source, say like a blue one in the distance, could glint off of it and make keen onlookers aware of your position. Amateurish move was amateurish, but the move was done regardless and so Izzy would have to roll with it. Besides, perhaps Gale’s blade was probably just as magical as her magical skiff and the blade needed to be drawn so that it could somehow unfold into a gigantic cannon or three? Maybe…? Izzy smirked, half scoffing yet half hopeful that such a foolish idea was not so foolish afterall.

She reached down to her thigh to at least palm her daggers— correction, dammit. Dagger. Singular. The other one must have been lost during the skiff crash at sea. So instead, she reached down and slipped her trousers and skivvies down to mid-thigh. Slowly and methodically, she very, very carefully extracted her special item. Izzy called it her ‘baby unicorn’s horn,' Mama called it ‘that disgusting dentata.’

But whatever the case, it truly was magnificent and did look like a lovingly and expertly carved baby unicorn’s horn. But its magic was not in its art and craftsmanship’s appeal. No, for it was more than just merely an art piece; the tip was sharp and pressure sensitive.

You see, the baby unicorn’s horn was hollow inside and carried in it what many from her circles would know as ‘Daemon Squall Spice.’ But this was not the trafficked version of ‘The Spice.’ Nay, this was not cut with other such agents to reduce it’s potency. This was the most potent of potent psychotropic Daemon narcotics; it was one-hundred percent pure and would wreck a man for thirteen days straight before lucid moments returned.

And she hoped that it would do the same to the monster lass and her monster cat-chicken.

Izzy slid her trouser back up to decent levels then made sure Gale was nowhere near the business end of the baby unicorn’s horn. With a sideways glance she nodded at Gale with a sly smirk and waited for the WindRider’s lead. It was hard not to welcome the heat of anticipation well up inside her. Not everyday one could say they were ready and set to do battle with a Kith and a griffin armed with nothing but sharp metal and illegal narcotic substances.

Despite the apparent distance between them, the newly acquainted strangers made surprisingly good time towards the otherwise lonesome ruin; the crunch of sand and the light clattering of loose gravel betrayed their haste, yet whatever had caused the lighthouse to awaken in such a radiant blue splendor remained seemingly unaware of their arrival. It was a bit of a relief to Not be the one snuck upon, for once, and especially given Ifor's own condition...

The hunchback stopped; that was odd - after focusing solely upon the irritation in his arms, he had to note the severe Lack of pain and abominable throbbing that'd occupied them only...some time, prior. Eyes sunken like the depths glanced curiously up into the twinkling night sky...'day' sky? Time seemed to hold very little sway in this desolate place - yet another oddity he'd have to get used to for however long he'd be staying here; a myriad of visages flickered on by his restless train of thought, brief but billowing in the scope of questions engulfing his mind. Who, what, when, where and why fluttered about without restraint, yet not one of them seemed fit to provide their host with any meaningful conclusion to the conundrum:

...Where WERE they? Was the population of this local aged, or recent? If recent, what was all of that witchcraft back on The Beach...erhm...the one before This Beach? If a beach stretched out long enough, did it count as one beach, or two? Who was in charge of the boundaries of these geographical decisions? Did they have people like them on This Beach? How far do you have to travel to escape the sun? This far, he supposed - but what exactly was the measurement of "This far"? Again, who was in charge of making those decisions? Could he get in contact with them? There had to be some sort of settlement nearby, as evidenced by the events that'd transpired over the course of their arrival, and most recently by his new 'friend'. That scythe wasn't made to cut wheat...was it?

Time held no sway; over the course of his mental ramblings, the cloaked pair had passed by several dozen meters of beach, about a couple dozen more of rocky incline, and now..."that". A sea of fluorescent lights drifting under the influence of the breeze as far as the eye could see - and beyond this, the absolute confirmation of his suspicions over the possibility of local inhabitants. Now they passed gently between the soft glow, now up cracked and weathered steps worn by eons innumerable...

...And now, the face of the moon was revealed to them once more...although, smaller and more lively than she'd previously seemed; So this was where the golden-haired one had gotten off to...

...And then the roof introduced itself to him - along with a handful of stairs, a couple stray timbers, several meters of dust-choked air, and only the finest hospitality provided by cobblestone flooring after landing shoulder-first into its welcoming embrace.

---------
...
.....
.......
.....
...
...
...
...
...Hm.

...Hmm.

He could see the stars from here.

...That was nice.

It wasn't actually that bad, laying on your back like this - especially when compared to being knocked off a couple flights of stairs like before.

...This was nice.

Things felt...'Nice', from down here.

...

......Pity that feeling was quickly being drowned out by all of this u n y i E L D I N G R A G E.

---------

As if fleeing from the scene, a rather hefty timber found itself soaring outwards from the cracked, cobblestone arch that marked the lighthouse's singular entry and exit. Dust trailed its lengthy passage, clouding the night air with a murky haze as the beam descended sharply, plowing a deep, viscous, claw-like mark into the dirt adjacent those desecrated stones. Up flew a small confetti of once-radiant fungi, now fading rapidly as they scattered haphazardly across the violated field. Out into the darkness stumbled a bestial figure, his breath coarse and heavy, eyes murderously hunting through the dim - the whole of his body arched e v e n l o w e r from the strain of trying to limp around his static, anchor-like right arm. Using the cold bricks of the wall as his crutch, he circled around the aged tower, eyes now turned from the ground towards the sky...searching...

...

...THERE - yet...no...no, it was so f a r away now. Panic shackled his heart, and with a desperate, howling cry, the infuriated and bloody mess of a man roared after the fading shadow: "...C O U H W U U A A A R R R R D D D A H H!!!!"

...But it was of little use; as quickly as it had come, it had gone - and he remained stuck, here, wounded and wronged, with his anguish tormentingly unavenged.

...He didn't even know what'd hit them.

Elliot clenched his teeth as they took off. He was unsure of how he felt about the initial experience of take-off. However, he could say for certain that outside of the comfort of Fang's mount the experience was quite unpleasant. The sudden lurching sensation reminded him heavily of the recent storm he experienced upon the Legend’s Forgery.

He had a hard time hearing Fang over the wind, however he barely managed.

"The lightborn are just a legend," Fang hollered over the wind, through a sharp grin. "People who were born in sunlight, who've seen a sky without darkness." He laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. A sky all lit up like a fire? How absurd! "Is that you? Are you from some mystical land where the sun still shines? Are you so full of that sunshine that you made even the Wind God think the Light returned?" He looked back at Elliot with narrowed eyes. "You're sure weird enough to actually be a lightborn. If so -- well, there are three other gods you could wake up for us. Turn the tide of war, y'know."

Elliot wracked his memory of the various legends and stories he had read. The ancient times believed the sun itself to be the mother of all gods and the source of all power and life. Modern science and knowledge dismissed the belief of most of those gods as nothing but fantasy and legend. Even so, belief was not something meant to be proven. Perhaps this was such a place where belief had manifested into reality, or maybe the world as he knew it simply forgot how the world truly was. The dilemma he found himself in confused him far more than anything else as it put everything he understood to be true into question.

He knew one thing for certain: there was no way he would risk summoning three more beings that would act just like the “Wind God” would. He would not make another careless mistake like that again.

Fang then said something in a hateful tone and suddenly they dove straight toward a windmill at breakneck speed. Elliot yelled out in fear and surprise as the sound of crashing wood and shingles exploded beneath him. What kind of madman was this kid to risk more than one person’s life for such an insane act? What values were being taught to them?

As they flew away he could hear Fang yell out.

"HA ha!" Fang shouted back with a snide sneer. "Crawl back to Pyre, freak!"

“Freak?” Elliot echoed darkly. He felt a cold anger rise within him. “You did something so stupid with a passenger over a ‘freak’?” He knew nothing of the common sense of this part of the world, but this was one thing he could not maintain even a semblance of patience and tolerance for. “Especially when said passenger is a ‘freak’ himself?” He jerked his finger toward the birthmark on his face. The ugly disfigurement that plagued him in almost all social interaction especially first impressions.

Although as he called himself a freak, he was the only one to understand what he meant: murderer. He was a freak because he took a life. Self-defense or not, his disgrace and shame of that act spurred him to hold himself and others to a higher standard. Even so, the act of manslaughter stained his life thoroughly.

The temptation to demand he be dropped off right now presented itself as something Elliot considered greatly. He had little idea just what kind of culture he was flying into with this child, but it was one that held no great value for life that was certain. He grit his teeth and held his tongue. He felt he had to burn into his memory the culture of these Kith and learn as much as he could about this world, and he wished to listen to the reaction of Fang before going too far.