The best part of the night was over when the guardsmen of Miha-Rad hailed them. “Great diviner, you have brought the kiwbur!” One cried in surprise.

“No,” the kayhin responded simply, “he just came.” The painted man floated off above their heads, surely to find an isolated space where he could enter into what passed for sleep amongst the sleepless kayhins. The guard looked at Minir-Huda fearfully now that the kayhin was gone. The vampire grinned, flashing teeth.

“What’s this, Aku-Mihid, you’re not afraid of little old me now are you?” He laughed.

“Sh- shut-up, beast! And don’t say my name like you are one of us — you severed all ties when you slew your kin!”

All joviality faded from Minir-Huda’s face. “The gods take what the gods give.” He spoke coldly. “It just so happens that I was the tool they used. Now I am not here to be arguing with you. I will speak with my father.” The guard opened his mouth to protest, but Rima cut across him.

“B- brother of Miha-Rad, your kinsman is here to make his peace and pay for his wrongs. Don’t make it difficult on him.” Aku-Mihid released a frustrated breath and shrugged.

“I’ll let the mugahtir know. But don’t move from here — and definitely don’t go wandering in town.” He turned around and grunted something along the lines of keep an eye on him to the others before moving off. Once he had disappeared, Minir-Huda approached them.

“Well, Aku’s still as stiff as an old woman I see. All’s well in the world.” A few of the guardsmen snickered. “Though mind you, I’ve known some pretty supple old women in my time.” He added with a laugh, and Rima was somewhat surprised to see them quickly descend into hubbub of joking and laughing as though all was truly well with the world. They paid her no heed at all and she felt almost invisible in their presence.

When Aku-Mihid returned, he barked at Minir-Huda to follow him to the town’s kurkolai. Rima hurried after them curiously until they reached the centre of town near the oasis. There, beneath a great tree, benches and stools had been set up in a semicircle and on them all the patriarchs sat assembled. The tall mugahtir, Huda-Anar, came forward and looked at his son, before exhaling wordlessly and gesturing for him to come forth and sit. The vampire walked into the semicircle and greeted the seven patriarchs before descending to his knees on the ground and crossing his legs. “I have come before you, patriarchs.” He spoke. “I tire of life on the barrens and wish to be with my people again.”

“You have done great wrongs, Minir-Huda,” one of the patriarchs said, “not merely against the people of Miha-Rad, but especially against your near of kin: your brother, your uncles, your cousins. You have slain in your few weeks more than we have ever lost to battles or raids—only the fahupki have hurt us more. Why did you do as you did, boy?”

“Look here at this old man,” another of the patriarchs said, pointing to mugahtir Huda-Anar, “you have caused his hair to whiten and you have brought on him more age in these last few weeks than have the seven decades that went afore. Your mother, who was yet the most beautiful woman west of the mountains, now walks back bent, weighed down by your deeds. Have you no shame or conscience?”

“Listen to this too, Minir-Huda: the shedding of blood is a crime against your fellow people and a crime against the gods. We do not kill even our enemies! We go into battle and we fight and give strike for strike, but we know never to kill. That is not our way. We are not some fahupki monsters to kill and slay mindlessly. And here you are, our son born and raised among us and planted in this earth as the corn; here you are killing us and shedding our blood. Neither we nor our forefathers have known a crime like this in Miha-Rad, and we know of no punishment for it.”

“I erred, patriarchs, and I am repentant. Is it not punishment enough that all people across the sands of time will know that it was Minir-Huda who first shed blood in Miha-Rad? And is it not punishment enough that the gods have cursed me never to walk in the light again? My punishment follows me and I am repentant, so do not add pain to my pain. Be forgiving, patriarchs. Here I am, a sinner — cursed with this hungering for blood and the strength by which to fall deeper and deeper into the pit. But here I am repentant before you — I would give this strength to Miha-Rad, I would be the arm that strikes for it and not against it. I only ask your forgiveness and your aid. I do not seek wealth or estates or authority, my heart knows no love for those things; I only seek to be among my people again. My heart is heavy on the barrens, the silence is death and it is a punishment I cannot stand. Be forgiving, patriarchs.”

Rima walked by quietly and leaned against one of the abode walls, watching the whole thing with the slightest of furrowed brows. A patriarch looked over at her with a frown, then whispered something while gesturing in her direction. The mugahtir looked over too when attention was drawn to her, then stood and walked over. “My girl, what are you doing here. This is no gathering for young women, go and sleep now.”

“Wh- what? But I just want to watch. I convinced him to seek peace, I just want to see.” She protested.

“My girl, this is not seemly. It is not a woman’s place — especially not one so young. Had you the years of Huna-Miwe then perhaps you could observe — but look,” he gestured around, “not even she is here. It is best that you go, daughter.”

“I- I don’t understand. Why can’t a woman watch?”

“That is the way of things — women have their duties, and men have their duties, and neither transgress the line between.” The mugahtir said calmly, “now go, go. The sun will soon rise and we must be done with this before then.” With a frown on her face and a pout lining her lips, Rima took one final look at the circle and the vampire sat within it. Sighing loudly, she turned and walked away, and the mugahtir likewise returned to his place and their proceedings continued.

Rima walked around until she found Shala’s home. Sticking her head inside, she found that Shala was lying naked on her bedding, her head on an equally naked Jur-Boh’s arm. Ignoring the sleeping couple, Rima went and sat on the sheets, her brows refusing to unknot. Why was she not allowed to watch? She was not going to say anything! It seemed unfair to her — and after all the effort she and her idda-ta had gone to too. Her roiling thoughts kept her awake until the sun began to rise. When Shala awoke, she found her sat fuming still, her wig-headdress hanging lopsided atop her head.

“Well, someone looks like they had a good night.” The older woman said as she covered up her crotch and chest with garments.

“Well, you need to see better,” Rima responded brusquely, watching how she tied the undergarments with veiled attentiveness.

“What happened? Did things not go as planned with Minir-Huda?” She asked, slipping her long skirt on.

“No no, it all went well. Really well actually — he came back with us to make peace. But then when I wanted to watch the kurkolai the grumpy mugahtir made me go away! Why can’t a woman watch? I wasn’t going to say anything, I just wanted to see!” Shala came over with her poncho in hand and looked down at the irritated girl.

“Well, that’s men’s business. Why would you want to bother with that?” She bent down and busied herself with righting Rima’s headdress.

“Alright, I get it. It’s men’s business. I wasn’t getting involved or anything — I just wanted to see how it went, that’s all. Is that so bad?” Rima huffed and scratched at her ear.

“I mean, we’ll eventually know the outcome whether we watch or not, so why waste your time on that? Come now, let’s make you something to eat, you’re probably starving.” She rose and put her poncho on, throwing a blanket over Jur-Boh on her way out of the abode. She stood at the door and stretched. “Oh, it’s a beautiful day!” Rima held back a tired yawn before getting unsteadily to her feet and rushing after her.

“Are you going to show me how to cook?” She asked excitedly, her prior frustrations forgotten.

“If you stick around long enough you’ll be an expert in no time,” Shala laughed as she gathered some firewood from their stores and got to lighting a fire. “See now, cooking is women’s business — and I for one would rather spend my day cooking than sat listening to all the problems of the town. Can’t make a person happy listening to all those problems, that’s for sure.” Rima thought on that for a few seconds and nodded slightly.

“Hmm, I guess that’s true.” She acknowledged. “Hearing Huna’s problem was enough to make me sad, I can’t imagine what hearing everyone’s issues would do. Far better to be making happy food!” Shala chortled at this.

“I see old Huna’s already getting her quirky ideas into your head. She did the same to me when I first married Jur-Boh. But I guess that’s what any good maiyara would do.” Rima nodded with a smile, then paused, frowned, and looked at Shala.

“Old woman Huna is your maiyara?” She gasped in shock. “Wait... that means Jur-Boh…” she paused and frowned. “But his name’s Jur-Boh, not Jur-Huda...”

“Yeah, the mugahtir is not his father.” Shala noted offhandedly and reared her head back slightly before shouting, “Ulimi! Did you get any cheese yesterday?” The woman in question shouted back from inside a nearby home.

“Yes! The pot’s by the door!”

“Will you be a dear and get it for me, Rima?” Shala asked, and the girl nodded and dashed off to do as told.

“But Minir-Huda looks older than Jur-Boh,” She said as she hurried back with the pot.

“Oh, it’s a long story,” Shala breathed. Rima looked at her expectantly. “Well. The short of it is that the mugahtir and old Huna got into a quarrel. Maybe a few quarrels actually — and in one such quarrel, Huda declared that he was going to find himself a new wife who is less of a harridan. Old Huna did not like that one bit and told him that she’s finding herself a new husband too! Huda laughed it off obviously, but off she went that stubborn old woman. And after months of pushing and insisting, the patriarchs grew tired of her voice and let her marry anew! Heh. When they protested saying, ‘but Huna, you’re not a man to have more than one spouse!’ she scoffed at them and said, ‘no, I’m a hundred men!’ and, well, that settled it apparently. She married the young Boh-Gar and had Jur by him — but it was not a long marriage you know? He grew sick not more than a year later and died, poor soul. Then Huda spoke with her and they made their peace, and so she returned to his bed. And that’s the story of how my big man came to be — it’s like the gods wove it! Fate and all.” Rima was smiling in wonder at the old woman’s audacity and strength. She had beaten those stupid men!

“Fate?” She asked distractedly. “What’s that?”

“Well, you know. Fate. Everything happens because the gods will it — Huna was married and had children, but the gods willed that she would have a son — a legitimate one, mind you! — and that it would be by Boh-Gar and none other. And the craziest things happened so that it would be. There’s no resisting the will of the gods, not even the mugahtir could stop it.” Rima nodded slightly and looked down at how Shala had calmed the fire to embers and was now cooking the ears of corn on it.

“Fate,” she murmured as she stared into the embers while Shala turned the corn. “The gods... my idda-ta never really spoke of them, he mentioned names from time to time. You all seem to know them better. Better than me at least.”

“Of course — the gods made us and deign to know and help us; the least we can do is know and thank them.”

“Tell me about them. Tell me about the one called Ura ʿAliaa first.”

“Ah, Ura ʿAliaa, Mistress of Light, Lady of Day, Eternal Sun; the Life-giver and Great Punisher, She Who Strikes the Shackles of Sleep and pushes the Great Orb of Morn into the Sky. The eldest of the children of Buʿr Iynas the Great Old Mount. Due to the Great Old Mount’s fury with those bears who once wandered the lands west of the mountains he commanded his daughter, who pushes the orb of the sun up by morn and down by dusk, to make it strike the harsher upon this land. The caravanners say that there is no region in all the world more pounded upon by Ura ʿAliaa’s light and heat than this. But it is not because Ura ʿAliaa is cruel mind you — quite the opposite. She does her father’s bidding; it is absolute justice.”

“Why was the Great Old Mount furious? And what are these bears?”

“Ah, bears are great mighty creatures that live off in the furthest north, beyond where anyone but the caravanners has ever wondered — great beings with hair all over their bodies, claws like knives and teeth as long as your hand. Their eyes are like night and their growl is like thunder. And in the olden days before the Great Old Mount Buʿr Iynas came down from Mount Arharo and smote them and cursed them, they walked upright like you and me.” Shala finally removed the corn from the embers and put them in a small pot, handing Rima a bowl with cheese in it and gesturing for her to take one of the steaming ears and eat. She then placed more ears on the hot coals. “He is the great father of all the gods, the earth itself, its rocks and mountains and stones. When the mountain rumbles, that’s his voice. When the fire-mountain smokes and fire fills the heavens, that’s his fury. But for all his bad temper, it is from his earth that all life grows, and it is by his tremendous will that the salt water of the sea is kept from consuming the world. That is Buʿr Iynas.”

“And why’d he smite all those bears?”

“Ah! Yes. Well, that is a long story. You see, it’s all got to do with his youngest daughter Sihri Dra, the lovely one known as Red-clay and who is the Dancing Heart of the Flame and mother of the humenaki, and who sings on the mountain-top and pines even now for her children. You see, when Red-clay was little she climbed up the holy Mount Arharo and peeked over the rim — she wanted to see the sea, you see. But as she looked over the top her glorious and long red feathery hair was whipped all about her and disappeared even beyond the four horizons! And she was dragged from the mountaintop and came here to these redlands. The bears found her, and she lived with them and gave birth to us, the humenaki. But in time the Great Old Mount came to know that his lost daughter had been with the bears all this time, and so he cursed them and took his heartbroken daughter back to the mountain, and from there he took all the gods and went up into the skies, to the Moonmother Qibbar Husnu, mother of the gods and consort of the Great Old Mount.

“Now the Moonmother Qibbar Husnu, the Lady of the Sprawling Heavens, Bringer of Night, Whose Shawl is Darkness and Whose Voice is Peace, is the mistress of the great silvery moon. Her heart is the heart of a mother and so from time to time she sneaks poor Red-clay out of the great abode of the gods up in the sky and helps her down to the mountain-peak where she sits and sings for us her children. But her brother, Tiyraah Qirz, Lord of the Snowy Peaks, sees this and releases his winter birds upon her and makes it so cold that all that can be heard is the shriek of the cold. You will see those winter birds near the mountains when Red-clay descends and winter arrives. She sings through the winter until she can sing no more, and then ascends back to the sky and winter departs. He is a cruel brother, is Tiyraah Qirz — and not even the light of Ura ʿAliaa can warm Red-clay as she shivers, cries, and sings.

“But being so high on Mount Arharo she is close to the stars and so can often hear the voice of her brother Zharuuʿ who is the master of the stars — by their light is she guided back to the abode of the gods when she is too cold to go on. By the light of the stars are we guided in the depths of the badlands too.”

“How is that?” Rima asked, glancing up at the variegated heavens.

“Oh I’m not sure. Jur-Boh knows just how — he learned it from the caravanners. He says that the stars are like a reflection of the entire world, and if you look up you can know exactly where you are and how you can get to where you’re going. It is the god Zharuuʿ who has made it like this so that his sister may never become lost while she is ascending to the skies and descending from them. And like our mother Red-clay, we can be guided by those same stars here on the earth.

“But anyhow, the gods are too many for me to tell you all about them in great detail —” she took Rima’s hand and began counting them out on the girl’s finger, “ there’s Kiʿranuʿjaza, who is the sea east of the mountain and the sea west of it, Miġra Zaʿl — or Ai’jaal — who gives inspiration for song and is the mad god who made the kayhins and caused their blood to be ink, Jinasa who is the great roiling jungle and swamplands east of the mountain, Yaruh Dal who is the lord of lightning and bringer of maize and crops, Mir Thuu who is the visage of death and who sends forth the bodytakers to steal away the dead if they are not buried properly and quickly, Hara Fegas who the caravanners say is the monstrous insect god of the fahupki, Keset Mikrah who is the lily-faced, jealous, vile one of the purple moon and the great antagonist, and Kaʿal Nuhrat of whom the iho kawnnisaj speak.” She put Rima’s hand down and returned to her bowl of corn and cheese. “Ask old woman Huna about them, she knows all the stories.”

“Iho kawnnisaj?” Rima asked curiously.

“Ah,” Shala murmured, a frown on her face, “they are strange ones. They dabble with the kawnnisaj in ways that shouldn’t be dabbled with. They make bijrus that follow them around and they bend the world to their words in terrifying ways. They are mighty and even kayhins know to fear them.”

Rima frowned as she nibbled at her ear of corn, a far-off look in her eyes. “My idda-ta never told me about them...” she murmured.

“Ah well, he can’t tell you about everything now can he? Some things you’ll just have to get to know for yourself.”

“Well, yeah. But it would have been nice to be a bit prepared you know?”

“Pshht, life prepares everybody one way or another. Everything is good in its own time.”

“Well, he told me that for sure.” Rima laughed. “I guess it’s true.” They were soon joined by Jur-Boh who ate at his ear of corn ravenously and finished up with them.

“Be a dear and take the rest of these to Ulimi,” Shala said, gesturing to the ten ears left, “the kids will be up soon. Oh, and the pot too!” Rima nodded and picked up the pot, balancing the large bowl on top of it. “No, here like this.” Shala said, picking the bowl up and placing it on Rima’s head. It sat precariously there for a few seconds, and then she brought one of her hands up to keep it in place. “You’ll be able to do it without holding, just need to practice,” Shala reassured her as she got to clearing everything away. Rima hurried off to Ulimi’s abode and placed the pot of cheese back at the entrance.

“Uh, I brought some corn,” she said hesitantly, sticking her head inside.

“Oh! Thank you!” The woman was soon at the door and accepted the bowl from Rima. “And while you’re here, would you take this and bring us some water?” She gestured to an empty clay water jar. “Just follow the others to the well, it won’t be a minute.” Rima picked the great clay jar up and glanced at Ulimi, who came over and placed a round cloth on her head and helped her put the jug on it. “There, that will make it easier to carry.” Piping a word of thanks, Rima walked off at a careful slow gait. She soon spotted a few women with jars on their heads and children at their backs or by them, and so Rima joined them. Some of the children eyed her curiously and she smiled at the cute little things.

“...and we’ll need to give him blood!” One of the women, a babe tied to her chest, was saying.

“Ura ʿAliaa protect us! Give him blood?” One asked.

“Yes, and he will live with us cursed and all.” The one speaking glanced over at Rima. “You went with the kayhin didn’t you? Why did you bring Minir-Huda back? Do you want his curse to afflict us too?”

“Uh. Well, no. He wanted to make peace that’s all.” Rima responded defensively.

“He survives on flesh and blood; how can we possibly make peace with him? Are you sure he didn’t mean he wants to make pieces of us?” She asked mockingly.

“Come now Laha-Nir, you shouldn’t speak to the companion of the kayhin, and our guest, like that.” One of the other women intervened. “Ignore her dear, she’s not been getting enough attention from a man lately that’s what.” Laha-Nir scoffed at this and sped up, dragging a snotting child behind her, who reared his head backwards and stared at them. Rima watched her go, noting how she did not hold onto the jar but still somehow kept it balanced. “You did well to bring Minir-Huda back. Poor Huna may say otherwise but losing another of her boys would have broken her.” Rima smiled and nodded.

“And he isn’t a bad man at all.” Rima added.

“Oh gods, there are many bad men in the world, no doubt,” the woman spoke, “but Minir-Huda is far from being one of them. I for one am glad he’s back and we’re slowly putting this whole thing behind us.”

“So, uh, what was that about giving blood?”

“Oh yes. Well, the patriarchs have accepted Minir-Huda’s peace and have welcomed him back into the town — but he will not inherit and will never be mugahtir, that is his punishment. As his curse means he can only survive on humenaki blood the patriarchs have accepted that every family will take it in turns to provide him with blood. In return, he will be on patrol every night and will help guard against fahupki raids.” Rima smiled.

“That’s great! I knew it would all end well.” The woman glanced at her and shrugged.

“Well. It hasn’t ended yet.” She said. “I’m Fana by the way.” They soon reached the well and Fana showed Rima how to draw water from the well. It was far heavier when she next placed it on her head, and she stumbled sideways into Laha-Nir. The other woman turned on her angrily and pushed her away, causing her to stumble even more, trip, and fall over. Looking up just as the jar came crashing towards her, she gasped and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable. There was only silence, however. She opened her eyes to find that the jar was hanging above her and the women were all staring wide-eyed.

She quickly grabbed it and rose to her feet. One glance at the others confirmed that she had done something bad, and she muttered a quick apology and hugged the jar to her chest before turning around and hurrying away. Children ran past her, others playing and laughing in the warmth of morning. Men and women were sat by the entrances to abodes and would pause in their conversation to glance at her as she dashed hurriedly by. When she entered Ulimi’s abode, her children were eating corn in the yard and looked at her curiously. With knotted brow, she placed the jar by Ulimi’s door. The older woman thanked her and invited her to come have some corn with them, but she excused herself and went straight to Shala’s abode. “Ah, there you a-” the other woman began, but Rima scurried right past her and disappeared into the abode, muttering something about needing to sleep. “Oh.” Shala frowned and looked after her. Getting up from where she was busy sifting through lentil seeds, she went over to the door and looked inside. The girl was lying down on her bedding, facing the wall. “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

“N-no. Sorry. Just need to clear my head.” She paused for a few seconds, and then turned over and propped her head up, her headdress once more askew. “There was this woman at the well and, for some reason, she just didn’t like me! I don’t understand why. I didn’t do anything to her. She pushed me and made me...” her words drifted off and she turned back to the wall with an agitated sigh. Shala walked over and sat by her, gently prying her headdress off and patting it down.

“Some people are like that, there’s no need to get upset or pay them any mind. Who was it that pushed you?”

“It was this woman called Laha-Nir. She was very good at carrying the water jar, but beyond that she was horrible!”

“Ah, Laha-Nir. She’s probably angry is all — Minir killed her husband you see? She shouldn’t be taking her anger out on you though, it’s no excuse.”

“Oh...” Rima whispered. “I see...”

“Well, you haven’t slept all night so you should get some rest. When you wake up I’m sure old woman Huna will be helping you make one of these,” she raised the headdress. Rima smiled at the idea, then nodded and thanked her. Placing the headdress on the ground beside the bedding, Shala got up and returned to the yard and sifting the lentils.

On Rima’s request, her idda-ta agreed to stay in Miha-Rad for longer than planned so she can learn more about ‘how to be a woman’ from old Huna. The young woman stuck to the older one, learning how to weave a headdress and care for her hair, the intricacies of childcare — for as a grandmother to many Huna did much of that —, as well as some of the mysteries of the delightful art of cooking. She taught her how bathe, how to dress properly and which perfumes to use — and where to find and how to make such perfumes if need be. “These kayhins!” She scoffed in disgust. “It’s a good things their kawnnisaj keeps them smelling nice, else they’d be chased off everywhere! You though, you don’t have that — and you’re a woman! You need to look after your cleanliness.” Though it was little over a month that she stayed, Huna left no aspects of a well-run home’s needs except that she showed Rima how it was done. “And when you’re done running about with this mad kayhin, you come right back here and I will find you a good man — a few of them have their eye on you already,” she smiled mischievously at the younger woman, “you’re of that age now, you need to think seriously about it!” Rima only reddened and looked away.

She did not see Minir-Huda again, although his wife often popped by to check on her mother-in-law, carrying one thing or another for the mugahtir’s household. When her idda-ta and her left Miha-Rad at last, the town came out and gave them a festive farewell, and they piled gifts on Rima — a camel loaded with fabrics, foodstuff, clothes, and jewellery. Many of them were from the men, rather than the women, for the crafty Huna had been going around suggesting toa number of them that there was perhaps a possibility that the young woman was looking to settle in Miha-Rad when her travels were done.

“And what are your thoughts on your fellow people?” He asked her once they were some ways out of the town.

“Oh, there was much good. And like you said, there was bade too. Some things were downright odd and I just didn’t understand them — I still don’t really — but I guess it is what it is. Will there be things like that wherever we go?”

“No doubt.” The kayhin responded simply. “It is what makes mortal beings beautiful, and what makes them ugly too. Perhaps you cannot have one without the other — perhaps all things are only truly known by their opposite. Day is not night; night is note day. Man is not woman; woman is not man. Sound is not silence; silence is not sound. Movement is not stillness; stillness is not movement. And if there is something without an opposite, could we know it? Who knows?” Rima smiled at her idda-ta. She had missed his voice and his presence.

“Yeah,” she murmured with a thoughtful smile, “who knows.”

---

Owl hoots.

Owl hoots in the eternal night.

Shadows too dark to see with any eyes not made for this land, casting themselves on mushroom trunks that grow for tens of metres into the air, forever hidden under caps that block out both the Sun and Moon.

A distant squeal - the owl has caught its prey. A mouse, most likely - one that so eagerly fed on one of the smaller mushrooms on the mycoforest floor. Its corpse, when gulped back up by the hungry owl, will feed those very same mushrooms in time.

A slick and a thump - an unlucky cat slug just fell from a tall sun-cap and splattered against the tiny white floor of fungus grass below. A nearby enoki bush, as large as a small tree, parts to reveal a hungry giant hedgehog. Normal black and brown slugs are common meals for this apex predator of the island, but to find a fresh cat slug - now that is a feast. It waddles over to the gooey mass of flesh and gives it a whiff - it may be blind, but its sense of smell and touch are second only to few others. Then, with sharp front teeth, it expertly tears into the slimy slug meat. This male needs to grow big and strong to impress the females in its area - competition is tough amongst the giant hedgehogs of the Black Paradise.

A wheeze and a fwoo! The hedgehog peeks up to smell the air, snout glistening with slime in the incredibly dim light of the omnipresent bioluminescent lichen and moss. It stands incredibly still, listening intently. It may be an apex predator, but it is not alone in that role. It sniffs the air more closely and begins to back away. As it suspected - something stepped on a nearby colony of puffballs. It retreats back into its bushroom; it did not get to eat its fill, but at least it can save the energy consumed rather than spend it fighting a fight it may not win.

The groans and stretchings of the mushy floor of the mycoforest made sneaking up on anything a feat requiring years upon years of practice. While catching a cat slug may not be the hardest task for the top predator on Neverday Island, it will only resort to such a goopy meal in the utmost need. If given the chance, it will hunt for sweeter meats, chase it for hours if need be. However, in an environment wherein sound, smell and touch are your only tools, even snail-like prey can become a challenge. The lichen’s glow offers little light for the eyes to use, but using what little there is, the top predator spots an invisibly faint movement in the bushroom by what its now-goopy fingers says is the corpse of a cat slug. The predator approaches the bush, its quieted steps enough to alert its inhabitant. Faintly, the bushroom stirs and the predator steps back. Its prey has flexed its back, and the predator knows that, among the thousand small buds and sprouts of the bushroom, there are now a myriad of toothed barbs that will bury themselves deep under its skin in a heartbeat and take hours to remove. Should they snap while inside, the predator may die of an infection within the month - these hedgehogs crawl and dig under all sorts of dangerous fungi.

However, this predator is no fool. It is not on the top of the food chain for nothing. It steps back to evaluate the situation, the faint light of lichen washing over its face.

This is a night elf.

She readies her weapon, a flat-headed club of mycowood. The key to fighting a giant hedgehog is to break its back, incapacitating its ability to flex its back muscles. When that is done, one can roll it onto its belly and finish the job. Easier said than done, though - the night elf will have to use all her cunning to outsmart the hedgehog.

Stepping to the right, she assesses her options. The hedgehog turns in a heartbeat, expertly retracting and flexing its spines to meet the threat without compromising the cover of the bushroom. She tries to outspeed it, dancing in circles around the bush while looking for an opportunity - however, as with most other places, it is simply too dark to aim a proper strike. She realises quickly that she will tire faster than the hedgehog and slows down. She waits, big, milky eyes staring at the bushroom; big, bat-like ears with hooked owl claws and animal bone in the lobes, listening intently for any sort of movement; broad, masterful nose probing the scentscape for anything she can use to her advantage.

There it is - the hedgehog has terrible luck today. Another male waddles into his territory, ignorant of, or perhaps just ignoring, the squatting night elf sitting by the bushroom of its rival. Long has it craved this land, so ripe and overflowing with juicy mollusks and nutritious macro-shrooms. Everyone can smell it - the intruder has unleashed a sour scent that rips at the nose-hairs: The intruder has signalled its call to duel.

The defending party has no choice - if it does not respond, it will be seen as weak, and its competitor will begin marking its territory and begin calling for mates - ITS mates. The sour smell intensifies - the defender has answered. The intruder waddles menacingly over to the bushroom, a blind snout testing the enoki between which its opponent hides. Not even nelven noses are close to the smelling capabilities of these hedgehog snouts, and nelves thus do not know that the nasty stuff that gets stuck all over their spines and barbs, actually has a smell. The defender jabs with its spines, but the intruder smelled this a long way coming - the male of this territory has a stink to it that makes it frightfully disadvantaged in his battle. The defender listens intently - the fungal grass rustles all over. The intruder is confusing it, using its back legs to kick up soil and mushrooms and make itself sound larger than it actually is. The fresh scent of exposed soil unveils the truth to the defender, though, and it keeps its calm, much to the increasingly impatient intruder’s chagrin. The defending party truly has fortified itself well, the spores and scent of its bushroom stronghold masking its scent just well enough that the intruder cannot smell exactly where its spines are - if it attacks, the intruder can dodge, but this will be a long siege if they keep going like this.

It is perhaps at this moment that the intruder chooses to notice the third party in this duel, the sweaty, sea-salted scent of the nelven huntress growing increasingly ominous by the second. The intruder was certain this would be a quick fight - the defender was already in deep trouble; it only had to sneak in and take its territory while it struggled against its foe. However, it seemed that both the defender and the huntress were most cunning, indeed. A secret deal, they had wordlessly made - the huntress would spare the defender today, and in exchange, she would get an even fatter prey. The intruder realises this all too late, for as it prepares to waddle away in panic, a crushing clack! sends the hooting owl flying, and the intruder lies dying amongst the fungal grass, its back paralyzed by a swift and expert whack of the night elf’s paddle-like club.

The hunt is over. Satisfied, the huntress pulls a length of glowberry vine off a nearby sun-cap megafungus, using it to tie the carcass to her paddle. This is a good catch - it’ll feed her and her family for a few days, a week if they portion it out. Eyeing the bushroom as she leaves, she offers the hedgehog there a few clicks of gratitude. The hedgehog answers by excreting a sour and bitter stink - a clear signal that she is not welcome in its lands ever again. The nelf takes the hint quickly before any spines catch her feet and leaves for her home.

---

She was on a roll now, the huntress - this was her third hedgehog bull in four months. With this, she would surely be given permission.

Yes, the chief would have to let her go now.

Her stride quickened with anticipation, eager steps skipping across white fungal grass and moss that seemed to blink with colour as she stepped on it. Suddenly her eyes and face filled with a tickling sensation and she got to waving, spitting and swatting. Small, aggressive wafts of all were all over and eventually disappeared. She stood still for a second, spitting and dragging her tongue against her teeth.

“Damn moths,” she whispered to herself. The wheeze of bats zoomed above as those same moths quickly became the prey of the dukes and duchesses of the sky. A distance away again, the kings and queens offered some curious hoots. She picked up her pace again - wouldn’t want the owls growing too interested in her catch. Still, though, she had to tread carefully - these weren’t her woods, after all; anything could happen here. She made certain to keep her eyes as peeled as could be and her ears as open - if she accidentally planted her foot in hedgehog dung, she would have a bad day; an anthill, a bad week.

She froze. There was a terrible buzzing on the air, like a storm. It was distant still, but if it came any closer, her fantastic luck would turn to the cruelest misfortune. She dove down into the bushrooms, covering herself in the soil, mud and goo of the forest floor. She tried her best to do the same with her catch, but the noise was getting too close now for her to make any sudden moves anymore. The buzzing was deafening, frightening all other wildlife in the area into hiding. It zoomed and whooshed here and there for a bit, stopping in certain places and then continuing on to others. The huntress knew very clearly what it was, hence why she had been so quick to hide.

It was a Vespian.

The workers didn’t come often to her parts of the island, but she wasn’t in her parts now - and she had heard rumours that the workers of the Storming Hive, located on southwestern coast, would sometimes stalk the nightblack woods in search of foraging nelves - few other meats were tastier to them, better even than fresh meat of titan crabs. The worker would not get her meal today, though. Thankfully for the nelf, her hastened disguise had worked, though - the Vespian took off shortly after arriving. That was the nelven advantage in their fight against this enemy: Four hammering wings holding up a nelf-sized insect produced a deafening amount of noise - one would have to be deaf, daft or just really unlucky to not get out of sight and smelling range in time. Fighting off Vespians, however, was a very different challenge, one few nelves ever survived. Even with the advantage of darkness, camouflage and silence, the Vespian venom and ability to fly were more often than not simply too powerful in a fight between the two species - and Vespians multipled much faster than nelves did. She waited a bit longer despite the fact that she knew even a low buzz in the distance meant she was far, far out of its auditory and olfactory range. She wriggled out from under the blanket of mud and slime and brought her catch along. She had to shake it a bit, for even in the curt minutes she had laid still, there had been more than enough time for all kinds of crawlers to probe around in its fur to look for an opening to feast from. The huntress flicked the smallest of them away, but would pick up one of the larger ones between every third or fourth flick, give it a whiff and take a crunchy or slimy bite. Beetles and grubs were good road snacks, after all, if one made sure to eat the right ones. She picked up a large one which had a bulbous lower body that excreted a vile stink - in an instant, she tossed it as far as she could in a single reactionary move. The bileback was nothing to scoff at - its acid spray had melted many a nelven nose in the past. Her pause didn’t last much longer after that - maybe she had one or two more grubs before she continued homewards. The Vespian’s presence had helped her solidify where she was, though, and she picked up her pace. Indeed, in under an hour, her nose smelled familiar plants and odours; her feet knew which stones to avoid and where the anthills were. The lichen here shone with a homewarm hue, and the bats screamed in a welcoming manner. The huntress hopped and ducked and slid, entering a cage of myconroots underneath a colossal sun-cap. She expertly danced between the roots and entered into an open cave under the mega-fungus, wherein glowing lichen and moss had been purposely cultivated in tall, ivy-like nets along the walls. Upon them, insects and slugs all grazed with lethargic glee, themselves taking on faint glows from their diets. The cave split into a multitude of tunnels along the walls, some lit by the lichen and others, blacker than night itself. The huntress looked around the cave and lowered her oar club to the ground, the wet corpse of the hedgehog sloppily spreading out on its back.

“Aren’t you a little old to play in the mud?” came a quiet whisper and the huntress caught herself smiling. The moss on the ground lit up around one pair of approaching feet, the flashes dimly hinting to a male form - clothed in a loincloth adorned with feathers, chitin and cowry shells, and with a vest of giant bat fur. The huntress reached out to him, her hand landing on his belly, and he returned the gesture.

“I’m home, Gyatso.”

“Welcome back, Ngaso. So, you’re going to tell me what happened, then?”

The huntress squatted down and started untying the hedgehog from her club. “Oh, nothing dire, that’s for sure, but it was unexpected. The tracks took me much farther west than I had anticipated, so I couldn’t make it back home before I felt my body ache from all the walking, so I ended up sleeping outside.”

“As you do, as you do. Any hole’s a home when you’re far from family, as elders say, but why did you stay out for another two nights, then?” The male clicked in slight disapproval. Ngaso clicked back with a tinge of submission.

“W-well, I got caught in the moment and continued following the tracks.”

“For two days?”

“For two days. See, chasing migwü is no small task, y’know.” The huntress patted her hip until she found a stone biface underneath one of her many hip straps.

“Ngaso,” Gyatso sighed.

She looked to be busy gutting the hedgehog. “Yeah?” she answered passively.

“You and I both know that migwü don’t migrate.”

Ngaso pointed her biface correctingly in his direction. “Don’t migrate far, you mean! They are still quite a challenge to spot and catch!”

Gyatso sighed again. “Alright, you win this discussion, but I still don’t understand how it could take you three days of rest and four nights of hunting just to come home with a single bull migwü.”

Ngaso slowed down her carving and pursed her lips to burble thoughtfully. She looked around, flexing her ears and nostrils. Gyatso frowned and squatted down next to her. “What’s going on with you-- woah!” With a swift hooked arm, Ngaso pulled Gyatso in next to her and brought him around so they both faced the exit. She once again looked over their shoulders, glaring suspiciously at the many tunnels leading deeper into the cave. Then with a lightning motion, she stuck her hand in under her salamander scale vest. Gyatso squealed.

“What’re you--!”

“Ssh!” She looked over her shoulder again whilst digging. Gyatso whimpered in embarrassment.

“This is so icky!” he complained.

“Stop fussing so much and pay attention.” She extracted her hand again and held up for them both to see, but not so visibly that any other eyes could catch them. It was difficult to see, but the two of them could just barely see a crystal with an orange hue between Ngaso’s finger and thumb - one the size of palm. Gyatso was about to squeal again, but Ngaso covered his lips before he could. The man looked to be jumping where he squatted, unleashing his overflow of excitement in any way he could. Finally, upon calming down, he hunkered together with Ngaso again, this time taking the secrecy as seriously as her.

“Where’d you find it?”

“Ssh, don’t wanna say that here!”

Gyatso looked over his shoulder yet again. “Does Zilandra know?”

“‘Course she doesn’t. Why do you think we’re keeping this so secret?”

“Got it. So… How will you get it to the Master? That’s probably the biggest chunk I’ve ever seen, you know - he’ll make you a za’a’a on the spot.”

“That’s why I was gone for so long, man - I found a route.”

“Oh sssh--...! Where?”

Ngaso’s right ear twitched - as did Gyatso’s left. A groan of moss and lichen sounded behind them - approaching footsteps. Ngaso hastened to hide her find and gave Gyatso’s cheek a kiss. “Can’t tell you now. I will when the deed is done.”

Gyatso nodded and kissed her back. “Alright.” Then they both rose and turned to behold another female, arms crossed over one another over a belly full of life. Skeptical milky eyes beheld them both, and then came a low, warning growl aimed at Ngaso, who returned the noise in challenge.

“And what’re you two conspiring about?” she asked.

“Nothing much. I just came home from my hunt and just happened to meet Gyatso right here. What, aren’t we allowed to chat?”

The woman’s growl grew quieter, but her glare didn’t subside. “Depends on what you’re chatting about. Don’t think I don’t know you two - you’re up to something, aren’t you?”

“And why do we -have- to be up to something, Zilandra, do tell.”

The woman paused and squinted. “Don’t think I won’t tell on you when I find out what you’re doing. Your zü’ik will shame you into the ground!”

Ngaso shook her head. “After we’re done, I highly doubt that. That’s why they’re zü’ik.” Gyatso gave her a reassuring nod.

“So you -are- up to something!” Zilandra accused. Ngaso sighed.

“Listen, Zilandra - we don’t have time to listen to your nagging for much longer, so I will be taking my food and head home, okay?”

“I hope you choke on it,” Zilandra replied venomously. Ngaso rolled her eyes.

“Understood… See you around, Gyatso.”

“Mm. See ya, Ngaso.” As Ngaso picked up her butchered prey and brought it past Zilandra, she could hear the woman approach Gyatso with a warning whisper.

“... I don’t like you talking to her, you know.”

“Well, that’s your opinion, isn’t it? She’s zü’ik.”

“-We- used to be zü’ik! What happ…” The whisper faded into nothingness for a short while as Ngaso turned the corner and stepped into a smaller tunnel. Then came a deafening whisper that was almost a voice: “I’M NOT POSSESSIVE!” Ngaso snickered to herself and turned another corner. She ducked under a curtain she knew was there and stepped into a dimly lit room. She felt a familiar sweaty smell and sighed warmly.

“Welcome home, Nga. You were gone for longer than you said you’d be.”

“Yeah, well, took a detour. How’re you doing, Trung?” The man in the corner, sat atop a massive mushroom cap cushion, held a small, sleeping child in his arms. Ngaso sucked in a breath and stepped over to touch his and the child’s belly. “Shoot, I didn’t wake him, did, I?”

“Don’t think so,” whispered Trung quietly and paused to listen to its breathing. “No, you didn’t. He’d be crazy if he saw you now.” Ngaso grinned giddily and caressed the boy’s black hair.

“Little Ngung… Has he met his zü’ik yet?”

“Yeah, I took him to see Hung and Ngoi yesterday. Ngung and Ngoi clicked right away, but time will tell if Hung’ll be part of his zü’ik at all, honestly. They seemed outright hostile towards one another.”

Ngaso sat down next to him. “What did he take his food or something?” Trung shrugged.

“Could be, could be. I was too busy eating with Silla to really pay attention.” He looked over at Ngaso to see her fiddling under her vest. “Hey, can you not? I’m holding a child here.”

“Wha-- no! Why does everyone keep--... Nevermind. Look at this!” She pulled out the orange stone, letting it catch the light of the lichen. Trung squinted, then widened his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Oh, Night, that’s…” He lowered his whisper. “That’s tau-tau’nüt. Is that real--... Oh, by the Stars…” Ngaso nodded smilingly, but Trung’s brow quickly knotted itself together and he eyed the opening to their cave. “Wait, if you have this, why did you come home? Why didn’t you run straight to the sea instead of taking the risk?”

Ngaso clicked over at the butchered hedgehog. “Well, I had to bring back food for my zü’ik, didn’t I?” Trung eyed the catch and sighed with a roll of his eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that. Me and the rest, we’d, we’d be fine! This is way more important than--” A finger closed his lips.

“I will not let you finish that sentence.” She then leaned back into the mushroom cushion and gave the ceiling a glance. “No matter what happens when I give this to the Master, I won’t leave my zü’ik behind, you understand? You are my friends - my organs. Without you, I will die.”

“As the elders say,” Trung concurred. They sat in silence for a few seconds. Then the man placed a hand on her belly and nodded. “Alright… Take whatever’s left of the jerky in the basket and whatever leaves are left as food for the journey.”

Ngaso nodded. “Is Ngie roosting tonight?”

Trung knotted his brow in thought. “It should be day right now, but I’m not sure. You may have to travel on foot. Be very, very careful.”

“I will check just in case,” she responded and hurried over to the baskets at the other end of the small dirt cave to pack her supplies. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Trung clicked happily. “Be safe, my friend.”

Ngaso clicked back and ran outside. Luckily, no one else were out in the public areas of the cave, so she didn’t have to sneak as stealthily. Once she had climbed back outside, she hopped atop some smaller rocks and then continued to ascend a spiral ladder of rods buried into the trunk of their home mushroom. It was a long climb - thirty metres, almost - but she eventually reached the top and climbed through one of the many holes buried through the sun-cap sponge. This was the tougher part, for there were people in here, too. Immediately as she climbed inside, she was met with some judging stares. She sniffed politely and clicked her greeting, moving over to touch the stretched out hands of the closest of them. “Good night,” she greeted.

“Going somewhere, Ngaso?”

Ngaso stopped as she was about to turn the corner. Shrugging, she clicked pensively. “No, just wanted to see the night sky, pretty much.”

The group exchanged looks. “That’s a bit late now - sunrise’ll be here any minute.”

“Oh, it’s, it’s just a quick look. The shamans said tonight would reveal my horoscope, and I came home from a hunt just some time ago.”

After a pause, there came a quick scoff. “Alright, suit yourself. We’re not sharing any eye-ointment.”

“Understood. Have a nice day!”

“Mhm…” Ngaso hurried on through the tunnels in the sponge, encountering many other faces in passing, none of which she stopped to greet, however. She would have to be swift - if only she could find Ngie and take off before sunrise! She turned a final corner and skipped up a slope, seeing the uncannily bright night sky above, reds at its horizon hinting at the approach of dawn. She paused for just a second - the sight here would never seize to amaze her: As far as the eye could see, there were green, fuzzy mushroom caps the size of plateaus, growing over and under one another like bubbles in boiling water. Many had small trees and shrubberies growing on top of them, while others were completely barren and baked after centuries of exposure to sunlight. These would crumble under the own weight in time, allowing new sun-caps to grow and momentarily exposing the myconforest below to the terror of the Sun. Ngaso hurried to snap herself out of her awe. Ngie! She had to find Ngie! She sped off in the direction of the disappearing night sky, seeing a faint, milky light at the distant end of the mushroom cap. She panted her relief - Ngie was still here.

There, at the very edge of the cap, huddling in its shadow, a fully grown owlix was getting ready to take flight. Ngaso called out, “Ngie!” and it stopped, looking in her direction with enormous, glowing eyes. Ngaso came to a stop in front of it, fishing a piece of jerky out of her pack. “Heeey, birdie! How’re you feeling?” The owlix snapped up the piece in one bite and gulped it down as though it was a lonely crumb. It looked at her expectantly afterwards, but a frown on its avian face revealed that it could guess what she was after. Ngaso ran her fingers through its feathers and dow, scratching it here and there to sway it to her side. “Sooo… I need you to take me to the ocean…” The owlix recognised that sentence very well, so that was all she needed to say. However, it kept looking at the reddening morning sky and then gazed down between the cracks in the caps below, where it would fly if it was to roost for the day. Flying down there, though, would be out of the question - it was much too dark for the owlix, and they would no doubt be spotted. Ngaso held up another piece of meat. “I don’t have too many of these, so please help me?” Ngie let out the equivalent of an owl sigh and took the bite, hooting grumpily as it turned its back to her and allowed her to climb on. “Remind me to hunt a hedgehog for you and you alone, you wonderful beast!” Ngie didn’t respond, but something told Ngaso that would be a minimum requirement. The great bird kicked off and spread its enormous wings, fashioned so that, despite its wingspan being as long as ten nelves would be tall, the owlix glided through the air without making so much as a sound. This expert hunter of the night flew like a ghost, inaudible even to the nelven sentries readying themselves for the dayshift. They thus slipped by unnoticed and soared over towards the beach, landing in the middle of a great coral and seashell plaza that stuck out from the white beach like a cliff in a grassplain. A great, bleached coral altar was erected at the tip, the salt of seawater encrusted upon it like plaque on a tooth; around it laid pots and baskets of every size, some empty and some filled everywhere from halfway up to the brim with the bounty of the fungal forest - mushrooms, stones, berries, meat, rare weeds and moss, and much, much more. They were offerings - offerings to the Master.

Ngaso looked around - the plaza was abandoned at this hour of the night, very much due to the fact that the blinding, burning rays of the sun were peaking over the horizon in the east, catching her eyes with murderous intent. Hastily, she pulled out a rolled up length of vine from under her vest and tied it around her eyes. Robbed of her sight, she descended to all fours and crawled her way over towards the altar as carefully as she could to avoid cutting her palms and feet on the coral floor. Behind her, she heard the flap of wings - Ngie sounded impatient.

“It’s okay, Ngie - I’ll be just a moment, don’t--... Wait, Ngie, don’t--!” Alas, a great buffet of wind forces her to grab onto the ground as the great owlix let out a defiant hoot and, within seconds, was nowhere to be heard. Ngaso drew a deep sigh and kept crawling forward. “... Make that another week or so of sleeping in the wild…” She came to a halt a few metres in front of the altar, listening intently to the surroundings - the deafening thunder of the sea nearly choked out all other noise, so she had to focus. She knew well that just within the border of the fungal forest, there was a great village - the largest on the island - home to the Altarkeepers and the priests of the Coven of Utzuul. They weren’t Oi’wet like herself, but Za’a’alim, and as the strongest tribe with the tightest connection to the Master, they had a say in who could and could not make use of the altar - and a measly Oi’wet huntress like herself could not.

However, she’d be damned if she would have to give her tau-tau’nüt to some acolyte who then would take all the honour for the find and be rewarded in her stead - no, this was her accomplishment, and regardless of the consequences for herself and her tribe, she would take the risk if the reward meant glory for her zü’ik. She felt a sharp wall in front of her and clapped it gently - it had to be the altar. Using it as guidance, she brought herself to her feet before it, patting the rough surface with utmost care as to not cut herself. She took a deep breath, testing hypotheses for how to use the altar in her mind. She had been to offerings a few times before, but only her tribal chief had ever been allowed near the plaza; now that she stood here herself, she was clueless.

“I summon the Master,” she whispered and waited. The sea lapped at the beach and plaza, but was otherwise silent.

“I, Ngosa of the Oi’wet, call upon the Master of the Seas!” Again, the ocean was unresponsive. The growing anxiety telling her that she could be noticed at any point grew stronger and stronger, and the pain of the rising sun on her skin added more and more reasons for her to run back into the forest.

“Please! Is anyone down there?!” She turned an ear to the forest. Nothing out of the ordinary had come yet, but it could happen at any moment. That was when Ngosa remembered something - at the beginning of every offering, just before the Master had come out of the sea, there had always been a sound - hollow dunks followed by a reverberating hum, as though someone had beaten a very large empty skull. She ducked into the shadow of the altar and lifted her blindfold ever so slightly - the leading priest had carried something to every ceremony - of course! That was what was used to summon the Master! It had been a, a horn of some kind - a tusk as long as a nelf was tall. All she had to do was find it and, and, and it wasn’t here. Her breathing picked up speed - the horn wasn’t here! She slapped herself in her face - they surely brought it with them back into the village between every offering. She cursed her incompetence - she had put herself in an incredibly dangerous position by coming here, and she hadn’t even prepared. In frustration, she punched the altar and immediately squealed - the sharp teeth of the coral had cut her knuckles and fingers bloody. She pressed the wounded hand to her mouth, tongue licking the cuts as clean as possible. However, quickly thereafter, her ears picked up the faintest of sound coming from the forest; she lifted her blindfold again and squinted over the edge of the plaza, but couldn’t get a proper look in the light of the dawn. She tried smelling the air for a hint, but the winds by the ocean blew in over the land, and all her nostrils filled with was the stench of rotting seaweed. She decided the best course of action was to lie still, pray that whatever was coming wouldn’t see her shadow against the backdrop of the morning sun. However, she miscalculated.

“HEY!” came a furious snarl, and Ngosa instinctively pressed herself up against the altar, the coral digging into her back. Ascending the hill to the top of the plaza came two women, dressed heavily in robes fashioned from fibres and fish skin, armed with clubs fanged with shark teeth all around the plank-like head. They wore special soft shoes that gave them an excellent grip on the coral plaza, while sparing their feet any injury. Their eyes were covered under a net of black lichen that cast a shade over their eyes while allowing them to see perfectly fine even at dawn; their ears were covered from the sun, but left open to every angle with the use of flaps that could both dampen and amplify noise; and their noses were perfectly exposed to the air - they had every sensory advantage over here, and she was as visible to them as white marble in a pile of coal. They approached her with murderous intent, grabbing the hilts of their clubs with both hands. “You scheming blasphemer! You have no right to be here!” As the closest one raised her club, Ngosa rolled out of the way, her back only being saved from the claws of the floor by the grace of her skin vest - her arm and knee were not as lucky, however, and Ngosa whimpered painfully as she crawled over towards the edge of the tall plaza, leaving a trail of blood as she hastened away. She followed the sound of the ocean to the edge of the cliff-like plaza, the updraft telling both her skin and ears that there were powerful forces churning at the bottom.

She heard the two pairs of feet trap her on the corner she had escaped to, and the smell of her own blood was becoming stronger than the stink of the ocean. She heard the two women snicker to each other before one of them whispered, “Did you think you could come onto the Altar of the Oceanborn and make an offering just like that? Such insolence; such arrogance.”

“A heretic like you deserves nothing more than to be cast upon the sea - to be chum for the spawn of the Tyrant-Under-The-Moon.” Then Ngosa felt two arms grab hers and pull her to her feet. She struggled, but being blind, weak and wounded made her resistance meek and sloppy. She felt them turn her around, and the offensive blast of sunbeams singed at her skin as though she stood next to a bonfire. She was pushed forward slightly, and she felt her cut feet peek over the edge.

“No please… PLEASE! I can’t swim!”

“The Reef-Lord cares not whether you float or sink. If anything, it will be mercy if you drown before you are found. Now, gaze into the depths and be reunited with your ancestors in the Abyssal Paradise.” With that, Ngosa felt another push, and her belly screamed that she was in free fall. A few seconds later, she broke the surface of the water headfirst, crashing through a wave in the process of falling. The force pulled her body further underneath, immediately dragging her far away from the plaza. Then she stopped briefly before the force of the ocean pushed her the other way, back towards the lethal coral wall. Barely having time to react, she kicked off just in time to that only her feet, which already were cut open, were once more clawed asunder by the wall. Then she was dragged back out. Desperately, she tried to swim for the surface, but the current wouldn’t let her. She tried to escape the tow of the waves, but the sea was stronger. As air became scarce and her nose and mouth filled with seawater, she began to lose strength. She was bloody, tired and choking. Her blindfold loosened after a bit and floated off, allowing her eyes to see the blurry sight of the ocean, red as it was with the light of dawn. She had failed - she had failed in a most cruel manner. All she wanted was for her and her zü’ik to be seen - to be heard. Now, she would not only lose her life, but the treasure that could have given them so much, would probably wash up on the beach for someone else to claim.

Oddly enough, her weakened state of mind made her oddly contemplative, and she reached under her vest to retrieve the amber stone for one last peek. She wasn’t sure if she did that at all, really - she could very well have imagined it, but as her fingers, real or not, caressed the jewel ever so slightly, she heard a deep, reverberating thunder surround her. This was it - the gates to the afterlife were opening for her. However, barely conscious, she still felt something, and a second rumble was followed by a slimey, forceful sensation. Wasn’t it just her luck, Ngosa thought, that she couldn’t even die before being ripped apart by one of the Abyssal Lords… She felt her body grow limp and she lost consciousness. Darkness gripped her and she felt her soul grow fluid. She floated out of her form, and a blinding light stronger than the sun offered a paradoxically inviting call for her to approach. She blinked and took a step.

Then, like a dagger to her mouth, she felt air surge down into her lungs. She coughed violently and squirmed - she was suspended in the air, held aloft only by a fat, wriggling belt around her belly. She heard that thunder again, like an earthquake that vibrated through her form, but it was no natural force, this - this was a voice, and the light of dawn kept her from seeing what produced it. The voice hammered at her ears again, instinctively causing her to cover them in agony.

“STOOOOP, PLEASE!” she wheezed, kicking and squirming for freedom. The grip around her torso remained tight, however, and no matter her efforts, she couldn’t break free. It was then that she noticed the world around her darkening, almost to the point where she could open her eyes. Upon doing so, she looked straight up into three pairs of eyes, blinding menacingly down at her from above. She realised quickly that the darkness around her was the shadow of this massive creature, and she found herself overcome with an instinctive need to escape, like a mouse in the clutches of a sadistically playful cat. However, the monster held her still, only offering a silent glare. Then, in notes so deep that even nelven ears struggled to hear them, another quake rumbled through the ocean. Not long after, a small head peeked out from under the waves. At first, Ngosa’s cloudy vision mistook it for one of her own - its long ears and dark skin immediately brought connotations of the Nelven. However, as she looked closer, the creature’s piscine features begun to stand out more and more - webbed hands and finned forearms kept it afloat; its head had an impressive crest of fins and spikes in a myriad of powerful colours; and its face was smooth and glazed like that of a fresh fish. She swallowed - it was one of the holy people, the chosen of the sea.

An apzü.

The creature made itself as small as it could and spoke to the monster in a much quieter and much more tempered version of the quaking language, but even Ngosa could still tell that there was divine and ancient power behind every word, even if it was a dialect. The monster quietly thundered an answer and the apzü looked up at Ngosa and spoke, “Landwalker - does this stone belong to you?”

Ngosa blinked over at the orange gem still held by one of the monster’s four manipulator limbs. She nodded increasingly fast. “Y-yes! I-I brought it as, as a gift! A gift for the Master!” The apzü nodded and translated. The grip around Ngosa’s waist loosened slightly, allowing her to breathe more comfortably. The titan of the sea drew its six eyes from her to the apzü and tasted the words. It thundered something back and the translator nodded.

“Her Ladyship Vydianuxurl wishes to convey her most sincere congratulations to you for coming all this way to bring this stellar gift to His Lordship Raangarmodrul, Grand Warden of the Northern Seas, Gate-Keeper to the Abyssal Paradise, Patriach of the House of Raan, Tyrant of Gexou and seventh spawn of the Immortal All-Tyrant Kaarnesxaturl. She says that, if she was to judge from your appearance, you have gone through quite the ordeal to come here.” Drops of Ngosa’s blood still pittered against the water surface below and the nelf swallowed.

“I… I came for my zü’ik... We don’t have much, but we were hoping we’d… That this gift could…”

“OUR LADY!” came a sudden call from the coral plateau on the beach. The Vrool’s thunderous dialogue had drawn a crowd, and now at least a hundred nelves dressed in the same heavy robes and shoes as the guards earlier came running over to the altar, from which they stood at eye-level with the Vrool. Once there, they collapsed to their padded knees, torso pointing to the sky and head hung forwards, hands collected neatly in a cup stretched out before them. In the lead was an old priestess, handsomely decorated with hedgehog spines gathered in a wide necklace around her throat, a mighty headdress fashioned from an owlix skull, and the bones and skeletons of fish decorating her sleeves and ending in skull “gloves” over her hands. “We apologise dearly, Our Lady!” she pleaded, backed up by the whispering whimpers of her fellow acolytes and villagers. “She was never meant to come here - our guards tried to stop her before she could insult Your Lady’s patriarch’s holy altar with her filth! Please, let us wrest the names of her zü’ik out of her so they may all be offered to Our Lord with all haste!”

Vydianuxurl silently regarded the acolytes. She thundered another few sentences or so, and the translator nodded. A tendril lifted the apzü out of the water and placed her atop the altar. Swiftly, the acolytes shifted their stances to face her instead. “O holy Oceanborn apzü, good aunt Kanani Tama’Kai o'te'Akau-Raki, we are thankful that you have come! Please, let Our Lady know that--”

“SILEEEEEEENCE!” screamed the translator so loudly that it nearly dazed the nelves. She pointed to Ngosa and continued, the acolytes barely having recovered. “Lowly, unfaithful scum such as you may not refer to me as “aunt”. You dare obstruct a loyal subject of the Tyrant from bringing her offering to Him?!”

“B-but now is not the time of offering--!”

“Now is not the time of offering?! Such foolishness; such sightlessness! Are you, a Nelf, so lost to your age that you cannot see past your own, graying eye lashes?! Her Ladyship is grievously wounded that your guards could even consider taking the life of someone so devoted to the Lord that she would defy tribe and Altarkeepers just to give Him this magnificent gift.” The Lady held up the piece of mushroom amber, its orange colour catching the red dawn and blasting rays like blood across the plaza. The acolytes swallowed as one - its beauty was incomparable. They extended their hands forward again and whispered for forgiveness.

“Forgive us, Drowned One - we could not see; her gift truly is beyond our feeble imaginations! Pray tell - what will she be given in return?”

The translator scoffed at their pleas, but translated all the same. A moment passed before the Lady offered her rumbling reply. The apzü nodded slowly and turned sideways so she could shift from the acolytes to Ngosa. “The Lady shall deliver the gift to the Lord today - His verdict will be given at sundown. Until then, you are to dress this one’s wounds, and treat her as though she was apzü.”

“As though she was--?!”

“AS THOUGH SHE WAS APZÜ, YES! You heard correctly, Grand Acolyte Kwosé. If even one word reaches the depths that you have shirked this duty, the Lord will rip the entire tribe of Za’a’alim out of the Fungal Forest and drown each and every one of you in the blackest abyss.”

The nelves couldn’t utter a single word in response. The apzü nodded slowly, the backdrop of the sun looking to finally be getting to her. She turned to face her Lady and let her place the weak, bleeding form of Ngosa in her arms. She carefully descended from the altar and spoke, “You two - get up and carry this one to the House of the Coven. Give her food, rest and healing. Be thorough, or you and your zü’ik will feed the Lord’s next clutch.” Quickly, the kneeling nelves got to their feet and hurried to carry the wounded Ngosa down towards the forest and into the village. Ngosa felt her exhaustion overtake her - sunburns all over her frail skin didn’t do much good either. As the welcoming shadows of the forest loomed overhead, she closed her eyes and faded into deep slumber.

---

Ngosa had no recollection of the day’s sleep - it had been too deep for dreams. All she remembered from the day before was pain - the pain of light in her eyes, the pain of sun on her skin, the pain of the cuts all over her body, and the pain of that thundering voice that never seemed to leave her skull. She was shaken awake, finding herself on a bed surrounded by tent walls - a new sensation, seeing as she had never slept on one before. The mattress was made of sea sponges, kept only slightly moist by the air itself, which was thick with humidity. Over sponges had been laid a sheet of the softest seal fur, and her head rested on a pillow of owl dow. The room smelled wonderful, herbal steam rising from fissures under the walls. She heard some clicks and turned to regard the face of an acolyte, so designated by the appearance of his clothing. He seemed reluctantly respectful towards her, refusing to look into her eyes and instead bowing his head to her. He then pushed himself away, stabilised himself on his knees and held his hands forward in surrender. “Honoured One - forgive my disrespect in awakening you from your slumber. The Great Tyrant summons you to the altar.”

Ngosa tried to move, but crippling aches from all over her body stopped her movement dead. The acolyte nodded slowly. “Be careful, Honoured One - you lost quite a bit of blood yesterday, and some of your cuts were quite deep. Much of your body, too, was burned by the cruel sun. With honesty, I confess I admire your conviction to your zü’ik for what you endured.”

Ngosa sighed. “Th-thank you…” There was then a pause. Her body had been covered with bandages and ointments, and even without the pain, it had been difficult to move. “C-could you help me up? I cannot seem to--”

“Please, Honoured One - let us get you a palanquin.”

“Oh, no, that won’t be--!” But before she could finish her sentence, the acolyte had already hastened out of the tent. She clicked in slight discontent - this was all going so fast: One day, she’s an enemy of the most powerful tribe in the land, and the next, she’s practically royalty. She knew the gem would be worth quite a bit, but she had never imagined this sort of treatment. Footsteps outside indicated the acolyte had returned, and he had brought friends. Three more joined him into the tent and gently carried Ngosa out into a palanquin fashioned from shroomwood and upholstered with sea sponges covered in a carpet of plant fibre. A drape of vines and fibres hung low over the seat to shield it from the sun. She was placed softly down on the cushions and the acolytes took their places by each of the palanquin’s four handles. Then, before Ngosa could properly prepare herself, they lifted her up and began carrying her towards the ocean. She didn’t know if she could get used to this lifestyle - it was eerily comfortable, and a shift in class like this one would give her frightening habits, surely. They stepped out onto the beach, where the moon was making its ascent towards its zenith. Ngosa felt the palanquin tip backwards slightly as the acolytes ascended the slope up to the altar. She smelt the ocean and heard the waves crash, and before her, she saw an even bigger Vrool than the one who was slowly making its way back into her memories by the second. This Vrool was enormous, its presence radiating terrifying authority like any apex predator, but amplified by a thousand factors. Its silvery skin glistened in the moonlight, and tendrils fat like tree trunks lapped sloppily at the coral altar with deceitful weakness. Ngosa’s palanquin was placed down before the altar, and she stepped out to see the plateau and the beach below packed with acolytes and villagers, many from other tribes than the Za’a’alim. No one from the Oi’wet had come, but they had surely not had the time to travel all the way in a single evening. Stepping up next to her was the apzü from the day before, flashing Ngosa a smirk.

“Nervous?” she asked. Ngosa blinked.

“W-what?” The apzü amiably placed a hand on her belly and a finger over her lips.

“Don’t worry, landwalker. The Lord was incredibly pleased with your gift - you have done well. You have done so well, in fact, that He Himself has come to personally grant you your reward.” Kanani gestured up to the tyrant and Ngosa followed her hand with her eyes. The giant’s eyes fixed on her, and even though the apzü had described it as such, Ngosa couldn’t find a shred of kindness in its eyes. Kanani spoke a few sentences in their language and the tyrant thundered. The waves themselves seemed to roll harder and faster, attacking the beach with terrible momentum and knocking several onlookers onto their backs. The clouds briefly flew by faster, covering the moon and inviting even black darkness over the ceremony. Then, it calmed, and the translator nodded. She climbed onto the altar and raised her palms to the air, all the onlookers kneeling and presenting their hands in surrender. Ngosa skittered to do the same, but Kanani gestured for her to stop and stay standing. “HEAR THE TYRANT’S COMMAND!” shouted Kanani, the nelves grabbing their ears in pain. Kanani smirked and continued, “This one, Ngosa of the Oi’wet, has offered the Tyrant a most beautiful gift! Even as thoughtless specimen of her own species attempted to have her killed in the act, she persevered, and the Tyrant was given His prize! Loyalty and service to the Abyssal Lord and Tyrant of Gexou is its own reward, but acts like these are too few and too far between - they should thus be commemorated, so all will remember the strength of allegiance!”

As her speech came to an end, something climbed out of the water - they were apzü, but smaller - dwarven, almost - and rough with barnacles all over. Some had piscine or requine heads, and their finned feet and hands made them out to be some form of subspecies of the higher apzü. These were, however, quite clearly a laborer caste, perhaps one that covered the whole subspecies, seeing as they were so uniform in shape and size. They climbed up onto the altar, one arm carrying sacks fashioned from fish skin. These were put down on the floor before Ngosa, one after another, until the pile reached her almost to her hips. She swallowed and looked to Kanani, who smirked knowingly. “Go ahead,” she said, “these are all yours. Open one if you wish.” Ngosa did as suggested and opened one of the sacks. The sight immediately stole her breath, and all who stood around her were equally smitten by its contents.

Every sack, which was about the size of a large pumpkin, were filled to the brim with pearls. Ngosa collapsed to her knees in shock and looked up at the grinning Kanani and the silent Lord, her tongue twisting itself as she tried to formulate words. Finally, she managed to say, “Th-this is too much! All I gave was but a small piece of--”

Kanani wagged a finger at her and clicked disapprovingly. “Now, now, do not deny a gift from His Lordship - that is most disgraceful.”

“B-b-but---... All this! This is so much more than I gave! How is this fair?!”

Kanani scoffed condescendingly and knelt down next to Ngosa. She took a pearl between two fingers and hooked Ngosa’s shoulders with her arm, bringing them both to a stand so they could regard the pearl’s sheen in the moonlight. Behind them, the crowds were over themselves with awe. “Allow me to tell you a story from the depths, my dear Ngosa: Down there is a world completely unlike the surface - the servants of the Reef-Lord never go hungry; we live in such luxury that we only swim to stay in shape - our chariots can take us anywhere, should we wish for it; we have riches from all around the world. These pearls?” She flicked the one in her hand back into the ocean. “These are just the ones that have collected in the corners of the mighty Tyrant’s abode.”

Ngosa was speechless. The Tyrant’s glare was unmoving, and she could see in his eyes that he understood everything the apzü had said, and agreed with every point. Kanani continued, “However… What you have brought the Grand Warden, what you call tau-tau’nüt, it exists nowhere but on this island, and a piece as large as the one you found has not been found for over a thousand years. Not a billion pearls could even compare to the magnificence of this find.” She patted Ngosa approvingly on the shoulder and let her slump back to her knees. “Now, I must, of course, warn you not to fall into hatchling sickness.”

Ngosa slowly collected herself and looked up at the Tyrant. “Hatchling sickness?”

“Indeed.” She followed her gaze and snickered. “Don’t worry, His Lordship and his subjects are all quite aware of it, and many even take pride in it. It is what we apzü call that mixture of greed, insolence and arrogance that the youngest of the vrool express in their first few centuries. With all the power and agility of youth, they think themselves invincible, and amass great hoards and followings, only to be taken down by older Vrool who outmatch their experience by several centuries. Now that you have been made the richest of your kind, you shall forever live in luxury, but know that you cannot let yourself fall asleep on your laurels. As a wealthy woman, you must secure yourself against those who seek to overthrow you, and surround yourself with your most loyal subjects. Your zü’ik will become legendary, perhaps so legendary that you will form your very own tribe or even collection of tribes - capable of standing against the Vespian tide from the West.” She cupped her chin in her hand. “Until then, though, take care and be on the lookout.” With that, she skipped off the edge of the altar and dove into the abyss. The Tyrant of Gexou, Raangarmodrul, glared at her for a minute longer, rumbling something under his beard of tendrils, before he, too, descended into the ocean again.

Ngosa struggled to calm her breath. Before her laid enough wealth to live for a hundred generations, and it was all hers. Footsteps approached from behind, and she looked up to see the Grand Acolyte Kwosé stare at her with wide, milky eyes. She swallowed, shifting between the pearls, Ngosa and the ocean, and then offered her hands in surrender.

“Honoured One, favoured by the Tyrant - what will you have us do?”

Ngosa looked around and saw all the other acolyte copy the gesture. She stole a minute to collect her thoughts, but realised she would need days to completely absorb everything that had happened. For now, she took a handful of pearls from the top sack and handed it to the Grand Acolyte, who whimpered with joy upon seeing them. “For now, help me carry this back to my village.”

---

With confidence, she told herself that was all that was needed. Confidence.

The mists curled and twisted below as she dove downwards, the dim glow of the portal present in sight even as she knew the guards lurked around it. Somewhere, she knew.

She walked steadily towards the portal, a chance to actually explore beyond the realm of the Great Eye. It was something her group of friends had been planning for a while to try, in secret of course. One did not ask the Great Eye for much, most who did regret such, as the stories were told, not many say those who spoke the Great Eye again among the masses of the race.

She had volunteered to try first, the others were watching in the distance she knew, but no time to look back now, she was being watched by things other than her people. And so close she was, the portal was becoming clearer with each step forward.

Her black scales shifted through the fog as her horned head lowered peering forward through the mists as she drew closer to escape.

“What be of your business, Dragon?”

She nearly froze, the voice was singular and echoing, why’d it have to be them on guard.

“Valued Echoes, I was not aware you were guarding the portal on this occasion or else I would have sent word of my mission to-”

“-search and see beyond the portal and the various realms and deities beyond it? Not much does escape the sight of the Master, Dragon.”

The echoing voice was on the other side of her now, such was the way of the Echoes, always more than one, and not pleasant at that. Iom’dryrar turned her head to the first one who spoke now. It was of course one of the Echoes, they sat on three legs, none of them looked like the other, five arms grasped spears that dimly glowed of balefire, they had no proper face on what passed for their head, a series of shifting gaping maws into the dark void that was at the center of an Echo. If there was one you could, there were thousands more at the edges of your sight.

She replied in a small voice, the fog grew ever thicker around her, “I did not realize the Great Eye was aware.”

“The Master has awareness over all in the realm of his being, Dragon.” First voice behind her, and then to the side. “The Dragon would be wise to remember such things.”

Iom’dryrar kept quiet in the next few moments, turning her head to watch and look at the Echoes that surrounded her. They did nothing besides their usual shifting in and out of sight, that was not exactly a relief. Echoes were terrifyingly unpredictable, they were small but many foolish dragons had found themselves held in terror for not obeying the Great Eye’s will at the hands of the Echoes. They usually kept harm to a minimum unlike some of the far distant servants of the Great Eye.

She gulped, and then again trying to clear her throat. “So what happens now?”

A voice to her right, “The Dragon continues, the Master has approval for this action for now.”

To her left, “The Dragon is warned that many places are dangerous, and many more so because of the Dragon being and life is so fragile and tied to the Dragon-kind makers.”

Off slightly right, barely visible in the mists, “The Dragon will proceed, the Master has decreed. The Dragon Group that has sent this Dragon may follow in time, or may not. The Master will decide upon their fate as befalls this Dragon.”

Behind her, “Does this Dragon understand?”

She replied as quick as she could, “Yes, I understand.”

It came into her head as quick and brief as one could blink, an infinitely of voices, of clamoring sounds and calls of every sort and kind imaginable.

Good.

Iom’dryrar walked as steadily as she could through to the portal, the mists had only continued to build up and it was faint. As she reached close Echoes stood by, the portal suddenly expanding to make her body fit through, she pressed her wings flat as she could and stepped out.

Soleira rose up from the river’s waters. Bathing was one of those few indulgences she loved to take. Her white clothes clung to her slender frame. They would dry in the beautiful early morning sun for sure. Today she was early to get herself cleaned though. Kal was already walking towards his rock near the village. People, those who wanted to move the earth like he did, were following him. Soleira hurried over. Right in time to take a place behind everyone, as they spread out before the old man. He shook off his cloak for a moment and then went to stand upright with both palms pressed together. His eyes were closed as he slowly moved his arms up and around in large circles. Every move of his body was slow, careful, meticulous and flowing. Soleira didn’t really get it, and several times she lost her balance or did a move too fast. People around her were better at following Kal than she was but still, she didn’t give up.

Eventually, though, it would appear the old sage had gone through all his moves as he picked up his cloak again. Then he sat down, cross-legged. Some people left then. Others remained and sat down around him as well.

“I suppose you wish to talk about magic.” He said, with a faint smile on his lips. His eyes went over everyone. Though for a moment he locked eyes with her. It seemed to surprise him that she was there, but he then carried on. “Magic is more than simply chanting some words or burning some figures. First, you must know what you are using when you move the world around you.” He took a handful of colorful dirt in his hand and let it slowly crumble in between his fingers. “Mana is what allows all of us to cast magic. It is suffused within everything. Within the dirt that falls to the ground. Within the air you breathe. Within the fires you light. Within the plants you grow. It is everywhere, and that is ultimately what you control. Mana in turn then controls the world. So before you can change the world, you must understand how to control mana.”

“The most straightforward way is through what one would call sorcery.” He said and to prove his point, he hovered his hand over a bit of ground. Without saying a word or even move his fingers in a strange way he raised his palm and the ground beneath it moved in the shape of a palm. Then he looked up and locked eyes with Soleira. “Sorcery is the manifestation of your will. You demand the world to change for you and you don’t care how. To use sorcery your resolve must be unyielding. It requires a certain kind of arrogance to demand the world around you to change yourself. You must stand firm.” Kal rose up. With his left foot he drew an arc around him. Then did the same with his right. Creating a sort of oval in the ground amid which he stood. He took a rather square and squat position.

“Form is everything.” He continued with his lecture. “With the makeshift circle around me, I declare that I will not move from this place. I plan myself here. So when I want the world to change, it must change around me.” As to show it he began to push his hands outwards. The earth around him crept away as if he was pushing it away with his hands. Then he stood upright again and motioned everyone to stand up as well. For some this wasn’t their first lesson. They immediately made the same makeshift circle around themselves and assumed the position. Then they began to push. Some managed to move a little bit of dirt already. Some nearly fell over when they tried to make the circle. Kal just kept a patient but quiet eye over them as they tried to cast their sorceries.

Soleira, as much as she wanted to be a good student, was failing miserably. The making of the circle was easy enough, but when she tried to move the dirt it felt as if it was pushing back against her. She tried to want the world to change around her. Yet she couldn’t summon that supposed arrogance and steadfastness. Her frustrations grew. “Come on.” He said as she pushed forward. Her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth a little as she tried to concentrate. It didn’t work.

“Remember, sorcery is like a muscle. You must train it.” Kal said at the end of the short lesson. His pupils took heed of his words and then walked away in peace. The sun was rising higher. Soleira’s clothes were dry now. Farmers were heading towards the fields. She would join them, but a clasp on her should by Kal stopped her. She turned around to face him.

“You’re not yet ready.” He said, with a comforting smile. “Someday you might be.”

She returned the smile but shook off his hand on her shoulder. “If I need to be… that hard against the world around me then I don’t think I’ll ever master magic.” With those words spoken, she walked away. Not towards the fields though. She took a few steps towards the hilly region before flapping her wings and letting them carry her there. For the first time, she realized how light she felt, and how effortless she glided through the wind. With barely a breeze moving through her hair. Was that part of magic? Or some other blessing like the shield she could summon.

She was some miles away from the village when she finally landed on the rather high hill with only a few trees on them. In their shadow, she sat down for a second and looked up towards the colorful sky that was dancing above her. Clouds like rainbows moved over her. Casting their large shadows across the hill. They weren’t rooted on the ground, she thought. Clouds were free to float upon the wind. Moving to wherever they wanted. Sometimes they’d moved left then, or right, or not at all.

“Kal says you have to be arrogant to use you.” She said out loud to the mana that probably couldn’t hear her. “But I don’t think that’s right. You don’t need to demand things from people. Or animals. Sometimes you can just ask them. And if they can do what you ask, they usually do. Is it the same with…you? Do you think you would listen to me if I just asked you something?” It felt stupid. But she was alone, so she could be stupid. Stupid and hopeful. She closed her eyes and let her hands move in front of her. As if she was pushing along the air around her. “Mana, if you are listening and hearing me, I would love a bit of wind.”

For a second wind blew around her. Rustling the leaves and her clothes. Before it died down again into nothing more than a very soft, barely noticeable breeze. Soleira, however, shot up with wide eyes. This time she didn’t move her lips but just thought it. She asked the mana to move the air for her. And it did. Amid the strong wind she had asked for, the little Oraeliari was laughing out loud.

That evening she flew back home. Kal sat on his rock again beside the fields. Working his puzzlebox. He had gotten through another layer today. When he saw Soleira though, he put the seemingly half-disintegrating cube down. The seemingly lose parts of it remained, somehow, attached still. “You look happy.” He noted, reflecting her happiness with a smile of his own.

Soleira didn’t speak. Instead she just stopped right in front of him, extended her wings as far as they could and clapped them once towards Kal. A fierce gust of wind, much stronger than what her wings should’ve conjured, blew him almost off the rock. Yet when he sat upright again and gathered his senses he looked at her with a combination of confusion and pure exhileration. “You… you just used magic?” He asked.

“I did!” Soleira exclaimed as she shot forward and hugged Kal. “I did it! I did it!” She repeated several times before she released him.

“So… how did you manage it?” Kal asked as he got up from his rock and grabbed his staff. Pride beamed from his already colorful eyes. For a split second Soleira thought she saw more than just the pride of a teacher for his pupil. Off in the distance though, someone not from the village looked with squinting eyes at the both of them. He had been at the lessons in the morning and now had his eyes on the Oraeliari.

“I just… I asked! I just asked the mana to do this and it did. Instead of you know, demanding it. I just asked.” Soleira answered.

“Remarkable.” There was a sudden, soft glow coming from his eyes. He seemed to be lost in thoughts for a moment before his attention returned to him. “You’ve found a way to surprise, my d- I mean my pupil. Come, come. You must teach me.” The two of them stayed up for hours afterward. People brought them bread and water. When the sun dipped low, nature itself offered illumination. She can Kal kept talking and casting their magic. Exchanging their viewpoints.

Where Kal’s ways were unyielding and demanded strength, Soleira’s way seemed to fall more on flexibility and agility. As the wind itself could blow through narrow crevices or high and unstopped in the skies. They kept talking for hours after sunset though eventually, Kal decided to go to bed. Not Soleira though. She tried to apply her ways to other parts of the world. Sadly rock did not move for her, nor did the plants. She wasn’t giving up though. That night she never got home. Instead, she fell asleep under a tree.

When she woke up she realized several wild cats laid around her. Keeping her warm. They looked so peaceful. Though the second she stirred even a little bit, most jolted up and bolted. No matter, she would thank them later for keeping her warm. She knew where most of them lived around here. However, when she walked home in the dawnlight she was met with Kal.

The sage was surrounded by small, colorful pebbles. He took one in his palm and tightened his hand for a second. When he opened his hand again colorful sand fell from it. Revealing the stone that was rendered into a square. Which he then placed upon Soleira’s wall before taking the next pebble.

“What are you doing?” She asked with playful curiosity.

“Honoring your revelation, of course!” Kal said as he crushed another pebble in his hand and pit on her wall. “You will see what it’ll become.” He said. “You’ll love it!”

Hours later she returned from a day-long working the field. Excited to see what her friend had made. When she finally rounded the corner to her house she was met with a totally transformed front of her house. The thousands of tiny, flat stones had been placed with such care that it showed Soleira. Her wings were extended behind her yet she was floating in the blue sky. One hand outreaching. Glittering pieces of blue-colored obsidian created glitters that seemingly moved around clouds which then moved in the direction of her hand.

“It’s beautiful!” She exclaimed as she once again threw her arms around Kal and hugged him tightly. This time the old man managed to return the hug.

“Anything for you.” And far away in Qael’s own realm, something on Soleira’s island shimmered and shifted. Rocks moved of their own accords until they shaped a mosaic akin to the one on Galbar. Except this one was far more intricate and far grander. Showing Soleira with a grand, sapphire halo and dressed in a dress made of gold. Not just directing the clouds but the rays of the sun and the people below her towards a squat, flat-topped pyramid.

Droka's time with the Craftsman had been rather productive.

There had been so many plans lingering in his mind, wishing to come into existence and grace the mortal realm below but... steps needed to be taken. They couldn't all come at once and even the powers and mind of a deity had its limits to what it could process at a singular time. The meat of the discussion between deity and avatar had largely been to work out the order of things, alongside where they should take place.

The presence of the Hammers of the Dragon in the Westfold region had been more then enough justification to turn his gaze elsewhere for these later projects. The Westfold highlands was in for a chaotic period of time with factions visaing for dominance among mortal kind, but it was also a field in which deities were fighting for dominance and prestige via proxies. Their attention would be focused on it and thus it was likely they would attempt to intervene if he overplayed his hand in the region... and at any rate, he was curious to see how his followers in Scawick did without him actively doing something to harm their interests.

The dragon's gaze traveled south, drawn towards the brightness of the south-eastern part of the continent. Even from his perch in Antiquity, it was a beautiful sight to behold. Somewhere to be witnessed at the ground level to be sure, but the longer he gazed at it, the more he couldn't help but notice the darkness of the lands next to it. No major civilization had had a chance to grow in the shadow of the Luminant...yet.

Focusing his attention on the unnamed, somewhat ignored regions around the Luminant, Droka raised his hands and brought them together in front of his face, index fingers held out and pressed together before touching his lips in thought. West... or North...

Both were good options really... but there was only one was to really fairly decide in order to give the story he was about to start a proper beginning. Without even a thought, a metal disc the size of a small coin of a pleasantly silvery metal manifested in his hand. On one side was an 'N', while on the other was printed a 'W'. Without pausing, the old man flipped it, watching the coin spin in the air before coming back to land in his palm.

Glancing down, he saw the proud 'N' face up. A small thing, but it was generally on small things that the universe turned.

Selecting a location, even once the area of search had been limited, took time. In the end he decided upon a somewhat vacant, sheltered valley to do his work. A hundred kilometers away from the Luminant's glow, with plenty of room to expand in all directions. The valley itself was relatively easy to miss if you were ground bound and didn't know the local area... and in truth the whole region had largely avoided settlements or much more then the wandering mortal soul desiring to see more of the world they inhabited and just found themselves passing through.

When the ground rumbled and divinity touched the world, the local birds took to the skies and the ground bound animals fled in whatever manner that they could. Pits started to shape themselves into the ground as if something was pushing the soil down, whatever plant life and animals who either couldn't fly or were too small to flee in time going down with it. When both pits had finally reached a size and depth that was deemed suitable by their creator, the pits went no deeper... but the earth continued to rumble.

At the bottom of both pits, the earth cracked... and out from the depths poured liquid fire. Metal so hot that it was completely molten, the heat and glow so great that just the sight of it on the unprepared eye was strong enough to burn itself into its vision. The flow of the molten metal was a torrent, filling up the pit within less then a minute (and granting those poor creatures caught within those pits a mercifully quick, if fiery death), before the 'ponds' of molten metal had reached their brim and the flow ceased. The bright, glowing whites with the odd flicker of orange and yellow radiated their heat into the air, setting fire to what plant life happened to have not been dragged down into the pits turned molten lakes, burning away what had once been the local fauna and flora in a blaze that didn't care what it burned.

Once all the former life had been cleansed from the valley (either by fleeing or dying), new plants started to grow from the ashes left behind from the old. These new plants looked much like the old but... there was a key difference; They were clearly made of metal. Exactly what metal seemed to vary depending on which of the two ponds they were near. The plants that grew near the southern molten pond shone brightly in the sun as the light reflected off of their almost polished looking bronze gleams, seeming to favor the forms of flowers or bushes. The plants of the eastern pond took on a variety of grays, their iron forms favoring trees and stalks of bamboo. Those plants that seemed to grow on the border between the two ponds tended to be a beautiful mixture of both bronze and iron worked into different parts of the same plant.

Taking a deep breath, Droka smiled at his work. It still needed a name of course and he was more then willing to confess that names... really weren't his strong point. In time he intended to add to his creation, so whatever name it was given needed to remain true not just in its current state, but later own after it was improved. After all, there was more room in the valley for future ponds and more of his living metal plants. Something that captured it's essence...

The Burning Valley and The Molten Valley sprang to mind of course, but they were dismissed from his mind as a different name presented itself and brought a smile to Droka's face. "Valley Forge. I like it."

---

“Father?” Carn asked, astonished.

“In a sense, yes,” the towering figure replied, “but not the one you know.”

It took Carn a moment to process those words, and once he did, the implication struck him like a hammer to the chest. “C-Cadien?”

The god nodded.

“Am I dead?”

The god shook his head.

Carn stared at ‘Cadien’ in shock, until finally he once more found it in himself to speak. “Why?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Cadien said sadly.

Carn felt a sudden surge of frustration. “Why did you save me?”

“Because you were going to die. Because it would be wrong for me to stand by and let you. Because despite all that you have done, you may still do some good,” the god answered.

“All that I have done?” Carn asked, aghast. “All I have done is what you told me to!”

“Did I?” Cadien asked, raising his eyebrows. “I did not tell you to abandon Gibbou’s avatar. I did not tell you to go cavorting with Qael’s girl. I did not tell you to kill Lothar. I did not tell you to charge Ketrefa’s walls without a plan. I gave you instructions. How you chose to carry them out, and your failure to do so, rests on your shoulders.”

“You set me against my own brother! Those gifts that he had - you gave them to him, didn’t you!?”

“I did,” Cadien nodded.

“Why!?”

“Because Ketrefa had to change. If not by your hand, then by Brundt’s. It could have even been both. You did not need to fight each other. You both chose to do that, because you saw no other way.”

“You didn’t tell me there was another way!”

“Did I need to? Did you not resent what little sway over your life I already held? Did you not chafe knowing you were being watched? I could have been with you, whispering in your ear after every step and attempting to dictate your every action, but I did not. I trusted you to use your own judgement. You were of my blood, born by my avatar, raised by good parents, and already experienced in command. You were given gifts by three different gods. You had everything you needed to succeed. And yet you sit here blaming me for not providing more help than I already had - help that you yourself already resented!”

Carn rose to his feet. “You told me to attack Ketrefa. Attack! How else was I supposed to interpret that?”

“War is not just blindly charging into battle,” Cadien reprimanded him. “You understood this. You still do. And yet, you did it anyway. Why?” Carn said nothing. “You wanted to lose. You wanted to die.”

Carn’s fist lashed out against Cadien’s cheek. He felt his knuckles crack against the god’s cheek, but Cadien did not move so much as an inch. Carn lashed out again, but this time Cadien caught his arm in an unbreakable grip.

“It’s the truth,” the god said. Carn began to tear up. “You are my creation and my champion. You are standing in my realm, directly in front of me. Your connection to me is as strong as it can possibly be - you can hide nothing. You sought no alternative, because you wished to die.”

“I wanted to be free of you!” Carn shouted.

“You had freedom. What did you do with it? You roamed the Highlands breaking skulls for greedy fops. I tried to give you a purpose. You rejected it, to run off with that red-haired witch. You became a leader - that was admirable. But you became obsessed with her, and when she left you turned your back on what you had built. If I had not contacted you, to bring you back onto your path, you would have wasted away into nothing. Then you met her again. She was no longer the woman you once knew, but you were too blind to see it.”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”

The God’s voice became soft. “I would have given you your freedom back, in the end. Had you made the right choices, you would have reunited with your brother and made yourself a hero to the people. Hearing of your victory, your other siblings would have joined you. You would not have liked what one of them had become, but in time she might have changed. From there you would have been free to do what you see fit - rule the city, or seek a life elsewhere. Perhaps even with that Aurielle girl, if she had not chosen such a dark path.”

The god released his arm, and Carn dropped to his knees. “You’re… you’re cruel…” he whispered, tears running down his face. “None of this… none of this had to happen. You knew things I didn’t. You could have done things I couldn’t. You could have dealt with Ketrefa yourself! There didn’t need to be a war. Armies didn’t need to die. Thyma didn’t need to burn, and I didn’t need to lose my FAMILY!”

“You have my condolences, for your village,” Cadien whispered. “That was not my doing. I would have stopped it, had I known, but not even a god’s attention can be everywhere, and by the time I took notice it was too late.” Carn grit his teeth as he felt the anger return. “But… yes, you did not need to suffer as much as you did. There was more that I could have, and should have, done.”

The god crouched down, so that they were almost at eye level. “For that, you have my apologies.” He rose to his feet. “Think on what I have said, my son. I will speak with you again. Until then, you have free roam of my realm.”

And with those words the god of Perfection turned away, the hall silent save for the clinking of his armour and his footsteps on the thick carpet. A door opened, and closed.

Then Carn was alone.

---

He had knelt there for what felt like hours, unable to think of anything but what had been left behind. The hundreds of men, killed under Ketrefa’s walls. Aurielle… her laugh, her hair, her smile. His brother… his visible reluctance to fight, which had turned to sheer rage after Carn killed a soldier who must have been particularly close to him. He thought of Ingrid and Yarwick - what had become of them? He thought of Titania… abandoned because she was too stubborn, or perhaps simply too good, to accompany him on his quest. He thought of Lothar, the treacherous bastard who…

No. Lothar was not a traitor. He was a monster. A monster that sought redemption, but still a monster. And yet… wasn’t Carn one as well? How many men, how many women, how many children had he killed over his life? Directly or indirectly? Countless. How many excuses had he thrown together? How many times had he thought: ‘better him than me’ or ‘they deserve it’ or ‘it’s for a higher cause?’

He thought of Cadien’s words. Some part of him had wanted to die. That much was true. But it was Cadien who put him in that situation, who could have stopped the very same decisions which supposedly led to his downfall. Knowing what he knew now he would have done things differently, but how could a god fault him for not having perfect knowledge and judgement. It was an unjust world.

He wrestled back and forth with his thoughts, an internal debate waging within his mind. Hypotheticals were raised, pondered, and dismissed. He levelled accusations against himself and others, testing the weight of such claims, and wondering what they might say in response. Were these the desperate mental gymnastics of a man who was too stubborn to admit he was wrong? Or were they the thoughts of a victim who had seen so much torment, he no longer knew who to blame for what?

Or was he simply mad?

A burning in his throat told him he was thirsty. He rose to his feet on unsteady legs. He needed to find water…

---

He emerged blinking into the courtyard, and at once was greeted by the sight of Meliorem’s dual fountains. He rushed over to one and dunked his head in, sucking greedily, as the cool water felt refreshing against his skin. He stopped only to come up for air, before drinking again.

Once he had his fill, he rose to his feet and took a few moments to examine his surroundings. Next he needed to find food.

So he walked through the portcullis, and as he began to descend the steps he saw an island in the distance, with lush trees and a colourful village. At first he hesitated. Then his stomach began to rumble, and he decided to carry on.

---

He crossed the bridge unchallenged and unacknowledged. He could hear singing off in the distance, unlike any which he had heard before. Was some sort of celebration occurring? That could wait. He veered off the main road and carried on toward a tree located off to the side, several oddly-coloured fruits scattered at its base. He picked up one and bit into it, pleasantly surprised by its taste. Then he finished it, tossing away the core, and moved onto the second.

He was about to eat his third when he was finally interrupted. A single tendril snaked from the tree and wrapped about the odd fruit, plucking it right out of his hand. “You took one without asking, and I turned a blind eye. You took two, and that was getting rude. Three is too much. You could at least have the common decency to acknowledge me. Men!” Came the petulant melody. “And who goes plucking fruits and eating them right away anyway? And you really need a bath, just so you know.” The owner of the voice emerged from the thick branches above and landed in a soft flurry of red inky hair on the ground near Carn before biting into the piece of fruit she had taken. She eyed him with eyes of roiling turquoise, a pout on her lips and a swirl in her flowing brows. “Well, you’re odd. Not a Songman, and certainly not our Lord...” her frown deepened and her eyes narrowed, “you’re not some conniving casanova who snuck in here now are you? Because if you are you’re in for it.”

Carn sighed, staring at the fruit that had been taken from him. “It’s not like I chose to be here. I was brought here by your… lord. And you’d be hungry too, if you just fought and lost a war.”

The song raised her eyebrows and her lips curled in amusement as she took another bite from the fruit. “War? My, that’s a tad melodramatic - are things so bad between you and your lady? At least you had the good sense to lose, no point drawing these kinds of things out.”

He shook his head. “No. I meant an actual war. I was storming the city of Ketrefa, and I lost. Struck down my own brother. The lady I love was supposed to be right behind me, but I didn’t see her…” He suddenly felt worried. “I have no idea what happened to her.”

The song cocked her head and glanced thoughtfully to the side, then her eyes returned to his face and seemed to take his features in anew. “Ketrefa… ah. So you lost in the end! My goodness, this is going to make for great material! I’m Shae by the way, come!” And with that, she dropped the fruit and took him by the hand before hurrying off. “So you must be Carn right? Our lord told us so much about you! Goodness, you did some pretty bad things - foremost being that woman!” She laughed at her own joke. “But don’t mind me. Now look, the first thing you need is a good long soak. By the time you’re done with that you’re going to be hungry, so we’ll have cooked something up for you.”

She came to a stop before the bathhouse, releasing a sonorous chant to let everyone know that they had a guest. “You go in, relax, enjoy yourself and get all those years of exhaustion out of your body. And while you’re at it, just let your mind roam down memory lane so you can regale us with everything.” Her turquoise eyes had shifted to a passionate orange that seemed to harbour a liquid flame, and even her hair seemed to curl up and rustle as if alight. She leaned in slightly, her eyes on his. “You know… I always wanted to go down there. I guess you’ve come up here instead.” She chortled slightly, joy sloughing from her and pervading the very air around them both. “See you in a bit!” And with that she turned and leapt gracefully away, her hair streaming behind her.

Carn was left alone, feeling a sense of profound disappointment. Even up here everybody already knew about him. And the flippant way she had talked about his life… it was not the first time a singer had wished to make a song about him, but he always found the experience to be grating. What would they sing about him now, that he was a failure? And even if he were to leave this world and go back to Galbar… would he ever escape his reputation?

A few other songs were soon by his side, one hooking her arm in his. “We’ve never had a guest before,” she whispered, eyes wide. “Oh my lord, I’m going to burst from excitement.” And with that the beauteous sirens led the weary warrior into the bathhouse, their melodious voices whispering sweet nothings about how dashing one exploit or another of his had been. “I always wanted to play the role of Aurielle, but Shae always gets it.” The one on his arm complained euphoniously. It did not really matter what they were saying exactly, Carn found that their voices - their very presence - seemed to relax him and knead the tiredness and years of travel from his form.

“She does have the hair for it,” Carn said with a trace of old wit, before trying to shake the feeling off. Is this your plan, Cadien? Throw me into your realm with some beautiful women in the hopes that will cheer me up, and make me forget her? The thought made him feel bitter. It would have been an effective tactic against most men, but Carn liked to think he had more sense than that.

The bath that followed was quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before - it seemed like that blissful state between sleep and wakefulness, sinking in beautiful faces and beautiful voices, steaming water and perfumes grinding the dirt and blood and wounds away, the vibrant walls seeming to erupting into life all around him. Perhaps this was paradise.

---

“That was…” Carn said afterward, at a loss for words. For him a ‘bath’ had always been taking a dunk in a stream or a lake. Now, he felt cleaner and more rested than he ever had in his life. He was clad in a loose but comfortable robe, of a material he couldn’t quite determine. “I don’t know how to describe it…”

“I could give you some words,” Shae laughed, clearly amused by his reaction to their guest-cleaning ritual, “but perhaps some things are best felt rather than described.” She breathed him in. “And you smell human now - maybe even slightly divine. Keep this up and you’d be a man after my own heart.” She took his hand and led him away from the bathhouse, and once they were out of earshot she shot him a purse-lipped glare. “You didn’t get up to any funny business in there now, did you?”

“Of course not,” he almost scoffed. “If you know as much about Aurielle as you seem to imply, you know why that would be a bad idea.”

“Well, to be completely honest, I only know tidbits. Like, I know she’s destroyed a few cities in her time, really going in on the slaughter. I know she’s mastered the whole magic business - and I know she’s got the hots for you. Beyond that, it’s all quite spotty. Our lord can only tell us so much. But now I have you, so I guess you’ll be able to tell me a little more.” She paused. “And I’m glad you didn’t get up to anything, even if fear of your partner isn’t exactly the most noble of reasons.”

“You could say I’m more concerned about what she’d do to you than what she’d do to me,” Carn said, an ambiguous-yet-truthful answer to the statement; although he doubted there was any real chance that Aurielle would ever be up here, given how much Cadien seemed to disdain her.

“Oh, don’t worry yourself on my behalf - we songs are under the protection of Lord Cadien himself.” She assured him.

“She once got jealous of a suit of armour I had worn, and tried to destroy it.” Carn continued, causing Shae to cock her head and give him a quizzical smile.

“And you didn’t think that was a tad weird? I mean, a suit of armour?” She shrugged and chortled melodiously. “But the context always helps explain things like this, would love to hear the details.” She paused before a great doorway and looked inside. “I’ve brought him. We’ve gotten rid of those god-awful clothes he was wearing. We’re here for the good stuff, Saluna.” Shae walked into the small clothier’s workshop, gesturing for Carn to follow. It was an open, relatively high-ceilinged room with all kinds of fabrics strewn across a number of tables, with doors leading to storage rooms where even more fabrics were piled high. Seeing him staring, Shae smiled. “Silks, mohairs, cashmeres, cottons, wools, and linens woven into damasks, brocades, satins, velvets, muslins, moleskins, taffetas, lawns, sheer fabrics, broadcloths, chintz, gauzes, himroos, and lamés. The soul’s desire and the eye’s delight, or so they say.”

Most of it was more luxurious than anything Carn had ever seen in his entire life.

The clothier, Saluna, stepped forth and surveyed Carn, then turned her eyes on Shae. “You look like you’ve been climbing trees again,” the inkwoman sighed, her melody coming oddly sharp. She reached out and inspected the hem of Shae’s flowing dress. “You’ve ruined the brocades, idiot.”

“I did ask for something more sturdy.” The impenitent Shae responded.

“You’re beyond help! I’ve no idea where you went so wrong.” Releasing the hem she brought Carn to her, inky strings marking the breadth of his shoulders, the girth of his neck, chest, and hips, the length of his arms and legs, as well as his general height. Fabrics rose up behind her on threads of ink, and Saluna plucked them from the air as they came and placed them against Carn as she whispered to herself with furrowed flowing brows. “Right, you sit tight and I’ll be right back.” She intoned, before half-floating and half-walking into one of the storage rooms. Shae wandered about, flicking through some of the fabrics and picking up some of the dresses. “Keep your dirty little hands to yourself, Shaeylila!” Came Saluna’s voice from inside, and Shae exhaled loudly and dropped the fabrics.

“Fiine,” she muttered, turning to Carn with rolling eyes and pursed lips. “This is boring as all hell, and she’s as salty as salted fish, but at least you’ll look somewhat presentable when she’s done with you.”

Soon enough Saluna was back, carrying a pile of neatly placed clothing on her arm. She handed Carn a set of loose beige trousers and some silken undergarments, ordering him to put them on. She placed the other items on a nearby table and leaned back against it, watching Carn.

Well, it was better than the robe he currently wore. He looked at the undergarments with brief confusion, but it didn’t require much intuition to realize what they were for. He put them on underneath the robe, then the trousers as well, before finally taking the robe off. He gave her an awkward nod. She eyed the trouser for a few seconds, then smiled.

“Good, perfect fit. Naturally.” She said it with unveiled pride. “And now for… this.” She handed him a fine long tunic of gilded silk and cotton, helping him get it over his head and wriggle his arms through. It was a tailor fit, and she busied herself with buttoning the cuffs before turning to the half placket and doing the same. She gently pulled the long tunic down around his broad chest and bent down slightly to ensure it hung just under the knees, before stepping back and regarding him. Seeming pleased, she turned to the next item, an extensively embroidered pair of slip-on leather shoes of a refined golden hue - Carn was pretty certain that they may have had actual gold in them, though how that was escaped him. Saluna bent low before him and tapped his right foot. “Up,” she said, and then slipped on the first, before turning to his other foot and doing the same. “Go on, have a walk-about, see how it feels.”

So, he did, doing a quick circle around the room. He wasn’t used to clothing or footwear so comfortable. “I’ve never worn anything like this before,” he said, looking down at himself.

“Of course, there’s probably no one on all of Galbar who could make you something like this.” Then, with a more hushed melody, “why, I don’t know if even the gods could clothe you as well as I. But don’t tell them I said that!” She laughed slightly, then turned to the last item, a great golden long, thick and metallic, boasting golden beads and ornate depictions of arches and golden flowers and carefully detailed geometric patterns. Saluna stepped to his side and ordered him to stick his hand out, and when he did she slipped on the first sleeve, and came up behind him so he could get his other arm through. She turned him towards her and ensured it was on right. Unlike the tunic underneath the long jacket, the placket was covered by a flap and Saluna set to carefully buttoning and straightening it until it hugged his frame completely. She passed an ink hand through his hair, the strands seeming to stick to it and yield completely to her touches. When that was done, she placed her hands on his shoulders and smiled. “And how do you feel now?” She spoke low, as though she already knew the answer. “Because I can tell you that, now, you look like a man.”

“Yes yes yes, clothes make the man and all that. Are we done already?” Shae asked, pulling her away from him with a small scowl. Saluna righted herself and glared at the other song.

“Yes, we’re done. I was thinking an earring might be quite stylish, but we’ll leave that for another time. Can’t give everything all at once after all.” Shae nodded distractedly and hooked her arm in his, dragging him out of the workshop. She glanced behind her as they walked away, and once they were once more out of earshot she glowered at him.

“Well, you seemed to enjoy that.” She spoke accusingly.

Carn furrowed his brow. “You were the one who brought me there.” Then he paused. “Is there some sort of issue between the two of you?”

“No,” Shae spoke simply, looking away from him as they walked into the theatre. A number of songs were already gathered, reclined on cushions with a great spread of fruits, sweetmeats, and drinks before them, instruments on their laps or at their sides. A gentle song was emanating from them all as Shae and Carn walked into the great space and joined them on the cushions. Shae picked up a sweetmeat and placed it into Carn’s hand. “Try this, I don’t think you have its like down on Galbar.” The gathered songs, men and women, slowly paused their conversations and looked to Carn.

“The great Carn himself!” One of the songmen declared, strumming a few strings. “Looking as regal as a god. It’s quite different to have the real thing among us.” Shae glanced at Carn with a satisfied smile, leaning in and whispering into his ear.

“See, I set you up rather nicely. Imagine if you’d come in here like I found you!”

“Ah, I see Shae’s already whispering and scheming into your ear. You better watch out from that one - there’s a reason she’s not found herself a songman yet.” The same man replied.

“Yes, and that’s because you’re all poor sods who could never handle the likes of me. True art is fated to never be understood. Oh!” Shae responded melodramatically, falling into Carn’s lap and settling there reclined with her head on his thigh. “Can’t you sing us something Haerid, you’ve been doing too much of this chattering recently. I worry you’ve forgotten how to sing.” The songman in question harrumphed at the accusation and began strumming his lute more fervently, nodding to the others to join him. Drums slowly sounded, their beat growing louder and more insistent, flutes hummed and cymbals were struck ever so gently. The voices of songs joined the flowering sound - some deep, others high - and once the prelude had built up to a small climax Haerid’s voice cut across warm and steady.



Shae glanced up at Carn as the song continued, plopping sweet fruits and bits of fruit now into her mouth and now into his. But Carn raised a hand up to stop her.

Memories of the battle he had fought and lost only a few hours ago flashed before his eyes. He suddenly found it difficult to breathe. As the music continued, it eventually became too much to bear. He soon found himself almost unconsciously rising to his feet and make his way toward the exit.

“Way to go Haerid,” Shae’s voice sounded, and she was soon by his side. “Come, let’s go get some air away from these dunderheads.” She motioned for him to follow her as she cut between the buildings and was soon outside the perimeter of the town. She headed up a steep hill and came to a stop at a humble cliff overlooking the endless ocean. She sat herself there, her legs dangling over the edge, and looked back at him. “Come, sit with me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, not meeting her gaze or moving to sit with her. Everything about this place was just… too happy. Too peaceful. “Has anyone here ever seen a battle? When was the last time you were in danger?” She leaned back until she was completely on her back staring at the heavens.

“The last time we were in danger… well; have you ever felt the world end all around you? Everything just falling apart completely - the sky hurtling down, the earth surging up, waves of world-stuff crashing all around you. The full force of a god trying to obliterate you. That was the last time I was in danger.” She paused for a few seconds. “But that was some time back. Now we’re safe here thanks to Lord Cadien - and so are you. So, go, try me. What are these deep, harrowing thoughts that I wouldn’t understand?”

“I may be here,” he said. “But the men and women who followed me… they aren’t. Where is their paradise? Their song? I’m not some hero. I went there to save my brother, and it turned out he didn’t need saving. Everyone else who followed me paid the price.” He sighed bitterly. “I should have died.” Shae turned over and placed her chin on her hands, looking at him with slightly pursed lips.

“You don’t have to be a hero - or think you’re one - for others to consider you as such. If you thought you were a hero, I’d have seconds thoughts about whether you are.” She paused for a few seconds. “Heroship is just thrust on you, you don’t get to choose - you’ll just find it creeping up on you whatever you do. You went off selling your services for money - you didn’t think you were a hero, didn’t want to be a hero. But before you knew it you had people around you and a cause that went beyond you or them. It was a cause they believed in so strongly that they were willing to die for it. They knew what was at stake when they followed you, they knew victory wasn’t guaranteed, they knew they could die. And they followed you anyway - because you were their hero, and because they were willing to die. You can’t go blaming yourself because what they knew could happen did happen. I don’t know what happens to the dead - Lord Cadien probably knows, you could ask him - but here’s the thing: you’re not dead. And there is no point wishing you were. I’m pretty sure any one of your dead companions would just about slap you or punch you for saying something like that.” She rolled on her back again and sighed. “But that’s just me, what would I know, right?”

Carn slowly lowered himself into a sitting position in the grass. She had a point, that much he had to concede, but it still felt wrong to just casually move past something so recent. “How am I supposed to just go on after everything that happened?” There were a few moments of silence, and then Shae rolled to her knees and came over to him and looked him in the eye.

“You’re going to go on one second at a time, one minute at a time, one hour and day at a time. And you’re not going to think about how much it hurts, or how long this hurting will go on for. You need to live in the moment and find yourself again. That’s what you need right now, Carn. You can’t be thinking and worrying about others when you need to worry about you for a change. Right now the only person you can help, and the only person you should help, is you.” Her eyes had faded to a dim blue, her hair likewise had settled in a roiling purple and her face had grown pale. She looked to the side, a knot in her brows and lips slightly pursed. “Gee, now I’m all upset too.” She said, shaking herself from it. “You should cheer me up,” she flicked his forehead lightly, clearly trying to lighten his mood.

Carn found himself smirking despite all that still weighed on his mind. “Oh?” he asked. “How would you suggest I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could carry me back to those sweetmeats, I hadn’t had my fill. Or we can go tree-climbing and give Saluna a heart-attack when she sees your clothes.” She smiled mischievously. “That’ll show her.” She fell on her back again and lay there, listening to the waves crashing against the cliffs far below. “W-wait.” She shot back up into a seated position. “Do you know how to swim?”

“I do,” he nodded reluctantly. “Not particularly well, though. Why?” Her eyes brightened at his response.

“Oh my oh my oh my! Alright, let’s go! You need to teach me.” And without waiting for any protests or agreement, she shot to her feet, grabbed him by the hand, and leapt off - dragging him along near-airbound. “There’s this really nice alcove I found - no one will disturb us there!” And they disappeared over the hill to the sound of her euphonious chattering and laughter.

---

Summary [+]
This post takes 1 year before all current Song storylines, including the disappearance of Shae.
Carn arrives in Melioriem and is quite surprised to find himself alive. Some bitter words are exchanged with Cadien and some truths are dropped. It’s tense and somewhat hostile. He is then left to his demons, and they plague him for sometime, until he eventually finds the will to move. He ends up in the Song town, where he gets to raiding a tree. From the tree descends an angry song who lambasts his thievery and state of uncleanliness. It is none other than our favourite song Shae. When she finds out who he is (having been told of him by Cadien) she takes him to town, has him bathed, fixes him up with some good clothes, and takes him down to the theatre where a band of songs is relaxing. It’s all good until one of them starts singing and the song doesn’t go down well with Carn who leaves. Shae goes with him and takes him over to a small cliff, and they chat for a while. The end result is that they haven’t solved his problems, but he’ll be teaching her to swim. Take yer victories where you find them.


Prestige Summary [+]
Carn
Beginning: 60
+5 for 10k+ characters
Ending: 65


MP Summary [+]
Nah.

---

Mekellos stood tapping his foot in Acadia’s central square. A host of soldiers had been assembled behind him, with King Hugon at their head, all equipped and ready for a long march. The Avatar himself wore simple bronze plate, but his height and his unnatural hair colour were more than enough to distinguish himself from the rest. As he waited, one single question lingered on his mind.

“Where is she?”

Almost as if on cue, the city stirred with surprised murmurs and calls for attention. The reason quickly became clear; above the distant treeline to the northwest came a winged figure, with broad and colorful wings beating to bring the shape closer with worryingly quick speed. It wasn't long before Mekellos got a clean look at the tall, horned woman with blue, black and gold wings. She was dressed in what looked like brass plates and black and grey fabrics, and wearing a simple brass circlet with points that made it look like a crown. A moment or two later, a massive wingspan swept through the air near him, whipping up a gust of air and sand as the woman touched down.

“Aveira, is it?” Mekellos asked as he stepped toward the winged figure, as the King of Acadia and his soldiers knelt. “You’ve joined us at last.”

A stern gaze fell on the avatar of Cadien, Aveira's frowning face a disruption of the otherwise inviting form she'd taken. "I had to see to matters beyond the waters. Can't leave a task half-finished." Her gaze fell out over the assembled soldiers as she spoke, and her expression twisted to bemused delight. "You've brought warriors. How delightful. How many of them have seen combat in the past?"

“There are four hundred,” Mekellos revealed. “Half of them have already participated in raids across the river. The other half are untested, but their training is complete, and when the time comes they will stand.”

The winged avatar scanned the assembled faces with a second moment of scrutiny, lingering briefly on King Hugon. "I look forward to seeing their prowess. I may have to extend a reward to the truly skilled." she offered with no apparent predilection for lingering much longer. "That aside, I'll ask you to take the lead. My Mistress has asked me to assist in whatever plan it is Cadien wills."

Mekellos nodded, and gestured for his men to rise. “We march for the docks!” he declared.

---

At the docks, forty boats awaited. Most of them could carry at least a dozen men, while the rest were laden with supplies and provisions. The men and women of Acadia wasted no time in boarding the small crafts.

“The Acadians launch raids rather frequently,” Mekellos explained to Aveira, as they watched the process unfold. “It’s meant to prevent the Iskrill from getting too secure a presence along the river bank, so the Iskrill cannot launch raids in return. It has been mostly successful, but the Iskrill have larger settlements deeper inland. They craft their boats there, then carry them to the river bank. It takes longer, but it allows them to make the occasional incursion on Acadian soil.”

“I’ve already scouted the river, and sighted a small iskrill encampment. Our aim is to destroy it, then advance inland and eradicate as many iskrill as we can find. Once that is done, the Acadians will lay the ground for a more permanent outpost, to threaten the abominations more directly.”

Aveira rolled her shoulders expectantly and provided a thin smile. Massive wings shimmering in blue, black and gold spread out on each side, and a single powerful beat lifted her feet up off of the ground. "That's fine by me. We'll push as far as your mortals can handle."

They embarked on the journey soon after, and it passed mostly in silence as the disciplined Acadian oarsmen rowed the vessels across. Said silence was only broken up by Mekellos’s occasional attempt at conversation with Aveira. The winged avatar turned out to be a relatively poor conversational partner, responding in short sentences that gave no clear way to continue. The only thing she responded well to was strategy, it seemed.

---

Finally, the iskrill camp came within sight. There were no more than a few dozen, and upon sight of the Acadian ships they were already beginning to panic. No doubt they would have vanished into the forest by the time the Acadians were actually in a position to disembark.

Without warning, Mekellos vaulted over the edge of his boat and began sprinting across the water as if it was solid ground. Within moments, he was at the camp, a blade materializing in his hand. Behind him, the sound of wings overpowered the sounds of the sea as Aveira lifted into the sky.

Letting out guttural battlecries, the iskrill met Mekellos’s charge; they had no true idea what they were dealing with. With reflexes and strength that only the Avatar of the God of Physical Perfection could attain, he leapt into the air and delivered a spinning kick that didn’t so much as cave in an iskrill’s head as completely disintegrate it. The moment he landed, he lashed out with his blade, cleaving another iskrill in two, and then became a whirlwind. He didn’t even need to block or evade their strikes, for nothing they had could harm him. Within seconds, most of the group had been eviscerated and the rest were fleeing… only to be trampled by a Hunter that came charging at him with a roar.

The avatar stood his ground, and met the charge with a punch that not only halted the creature in its tracks, but pierced its skull and struck deep into its brain. Mekellos grunted in disgust as he pulled his arm free.

Now the iskrill were fleeing en masse, running off in every direction. A few reached the nearby treeline, seeking safety amidst the underbrush. Safety did not last long however, as a scant few came rushing back out. Behind them expanded massive wings, snapping and bending dense woodland and tilting weak trees as they gave way to a colorful display of wings. The Avatar of Neiya emerged some metres above the ground, speaking with a reverberating voice that would not have carried far enough were it not for Mekellos' hearing. It was a simple demand for them to accept their fate. The voice niggled even in his mind, giving a sensation of divine essence. The result to mortal ears became readily apparent as the fleeing iskrill screamed in abject fear, fell to the ground in bleak search for safety, or straight up fell lifeless from shock. Before bodies had hit the ground, Aveira's massive wingspan had already carried her towards the next group of fleeing creatures. Among them as well, catatonic terror was the best they could hope for, it seemed.

The ‘fight’ - more of a massacre, really - ended soon after. Every single iskrill within the camp had been slain. “Well done,” Mekellos nodded in Aveira’s destruction. “Though, that was hardly a true test of our talents. No matter. There are greater fights ahead, I suppose.”

The winged woman turned to regard Mekellos with an appraising eye, releasing the limp being in her hand from her grip, and letting the iskrill fall several meters to the ground. "Mortals will never test our limitations, Cadienson. But they make for an adequate distraction. Is this where you wish your mortals to establish themselves?"

He nodded, before turning to the river. The warriors of Acadia had finally reached the riverbank, and were already disembarking. Some looked disappointed to have missed out on the fight, but most were in awe. “There will be more fights to come,” Mekellos declared. “Bring me the map.”

One of the soldiers complied, bringing a roll of rough parchment. He handed it to the avatar, bowed, and then stepped away. Mekellos unrolled it, and showed it to Aveira. It was a map of the lands west of the river. “There are three settlements nearby,” he told her. “Once they become aware of our presence, they will no doubt attempt to raid whatever outpost we establish, or inform the rest of their kind. I believe we can wipe them all out at once. King Hugon and his men shall advance alone on the closest one, which leaves the two remainders for us to split up and deal with. Which one do you want?”

The question was more a courtesy than anything else. The two remaining markers were roughly the same distance away, and there was nothing to indicate that one would be particularly easy or difficult compared to the other.

Aveira gestured briskly towards the northernmost of the two remaining encampments on the map. "Any particular wishes on method?"

“No survivors.”

---

King Hugon and his four hundred men marched through the woods.

Marching through woods, in his experience, was always something easier said than done, and this instance was no different. Maintaining an organized formation was almost impossible, due to the need to step around trees and over roots, and attempting to mask their approach was equally daunting. Twigs snapped all around, creating a sound reminiscent to that of a cooking fire, and armour clanged lightly as the metal shuffled or men bumped into each other.

Thankfully he had scouts ranging ahead, to both kill any iskrill who might sight them, and to warn them of any forces attempting to intercept them. He didn’t think the enemy was aware of their presence just yet, but one could never be careful.

As he marched, the aging King’s thoughts drifted back to home. His sons were all grown men now, and the eldest was ready to replace him, with all the responsibilities such a thing would entail. Not that there were much responsibilities these things. In the thirteen years since Mekellos had arrived, the Avatar had more or less had the final say on everything. The Avatar rarely forced people to adopt his judgement, but most went along with his words anyway simply due to the fact that Mekellos spoke for their city’s patron. Anyone who publicly argued against the Avatar would suffer a loss in standing, if not with Mekellos himself than with the city as a whole.

In some ways, it was refreshing to be deployed like this; away from Mekellos’s sight. The avatar himself had ordered it, but at least he had been given independent command, which meant he could decide how best to approach the camp.

From time to time they passed the body of an iskrill, indicating that his forward-ranging scouts had successfully brought down someone who would have otherwise spotted and attacked them. But then one scout came back to report that an iskrill had sighted them but got away, and Hugon knew the element of surprise would soon be lost.

Another scout came back to him less than an hour later, informing him that they had sighted the camp. The iskrill had still not had time to flee or build additional fortifications. Hugon wondered if they knew just how many Acadians had crossed the river. The iskrill who sighted them wouldn’t have been able to glimpse the entirety of their force, after all.

The village, the scout said, was surrounded by a low wooden pallisade, only slightly higher than a tall man. There were two entrances with no gates; only crude barricades. All gates were heavily guarded, however, and the iskrill had sentries in their own keeping an eye eastward. A few scouts had even been defeated by said sentries, surprisingly enough.

The scouts did not know how many iskrill lived within, but he doubted that the village’s population outnumbered the small army he had brought.

So, Hugon gathered his officers and mages, and together they devised a plan.

---

“For Cadien and Acadia! Charge!”

Three hundred Acadians thundered out of the forest, their eyes set on the main entrance. The iskrill atop a crude watchtower next to the entrance shouted cries of alarm, and began unleashing slingstones and arrows at the attackers, while iskrill warriors assembled behind the barricade.

But the Acadian mages had joined the charge. With some quick hand gestures, the barricade exploded, send wooden fragments back into the eyes, throats, and stomachs of the defending iskrill.

But the iskrill had surprises of their own. As the warriors of Acadia neared, a bloated abomination pushed his way past his wounded and fallen comrades. Recognizing this particular type of beast for what it was, Hugon hung back, allowing a few of his men to pass him before he resumed his charge. The abomination opened its mouth and spewed forth a vile green substance, striking four men in the face and dissolving their flesh down to skull.

But it was not enough to stem the tide of Acadians. They surged through the opening, cutting down the fat beast, finishing off those who had been wounded by the explosion of wood, only to find themselves face to face with more defenders, who fought them with tooth, claw, and spear.

The crack of wood was heard elsewhere, and Hugon knew his flanking force was about to join the fray. Instead of attacking an entrance, he had sent his one hundred other men to attack a section of the wall, the mages in that detachment using their power to tear it down so they could swarm into an unguarded section of the settlement.

He heard a shout of alarm at the rear of his host, but could not see what was happening. Had the iskrill performed a flanking maneuver on their own? He had no way of knowing, because the man in front of him had just died, pushed aside by another savage iskrill, and Hugon was forced to fight for his life.

The fight went on for only a few more moments before the Iskrill finally broke, fleeing deeper into the village. Hugon allowed his men to pursue, but stayed back once again, and only when all had passed him was he able to turn back and see what had happened in the rear.

What he saw was the bodies of two iskrill hunters. Eight men lay dead around them, another two were greviously wounded, and a dozen or so Acadians were on their feet, either talking amongst themselves or attempting to attend to the wounded. It didn’t take a genius to know what had happened; the hunters had lurked outside the village, somehow evaded the scouts, and struck the Acadians in the rear when they had committed themselves.

He looked back to the village, which was already beginning to burn as the iskrill inside were hunted down and exterminated. He wondered how many would escape. He had been ordered to leave no survivors, but such an order was nothing if not unrealistic. There were always going to be those who survived; those who played dead, hid, were already outside the village when the attack happened, or knew of some escape route the attackers didn’t. They were all common enough occurrences when the Iskrill raided Acadian villages, so he didn’t see why the inverse should be different.

---

But just to be sure, Hugon had the village burned anyway, and had his men surround it so they could pick off any who tried to flee. And indeed, some did, only to be shot by archers, blasted with magic, or impaled on spears.

The village was still smoking when a sharp light stirred a collection of soldiers, and drew attention to the assembled treetops. Like a beacon, a grand pillar of blue, white and purple rose into the sky, a beam from on high illuminating a distant location. Then as soon as it appeared, it faded. A few moments of confusion spread amongst the ranks, before a loud rumble rolled in with the clouds, like thunder called from on high. It came with its own quakes, the very ground shaking as the roaring sound rolled past. It too faded eventually, leaving a now unsettling silence in its place. It had been too far away to investigate - and none seemed too keen to head in its direction.

It was not long after that large wings spread out over the sky, rapidly approaching from the same direction as the beam of energy. The servant of the Lover approached like a giant hawk swooping down from the sky. Without real patience for those assembled around the smoking village, Aveira slammed down in the middle of the camp mere minutes after the trouble on the horizon, whipping up dust, dirt and blood as she landed.

The Acadian soldiers knelt upon recognizing her, their king included. “The iskrill have been dealt with, my lady,” Hugon reported.

Aveira cast a sharp look at the assembled soldiers and frowned, almost as if his words reminded her of their presence. Her gaze settled on the King, and she sauntered closer with a straight back, bringing the tall avatar closer to the kneeling soldiers. "Casualties? How far will your… hunting party… be able to press?"

“We lost two dozen men,” Hugon reported. “Some Hunters caught us off guard. We can press further. Maybe sack another village before nightfall. But at some point we’ll need to dig in for the night.”

The winged avatar raised her gaze to the sky, staring up at the sun to idly gauge the time left in the day. "I suppose Cadien's dog will have an opinion." she gave with an impassive tone, before focusing back on the King. "The Lady would like me to bestow an honor on those who excel. I trust you to make an adequate selection."

Hugon furrowed his brow at the insult toward Cadien’s avatar, but did not protest. “May I ask what sort of honour you have in mind?”

"Yes. Given your predicament with these savage creatures and the importance of valuable resources, it only makes sense to boost their effectiveness. Neiya decrees success in war as much as love." Aveira replied stiffly, gaze falling on the kneeling troops. "You may stand."

The Acadians rose to their feet. “How many do you wish for me to select?” Hugon asked.

Aveira focused back on the king, and with a single beat of her massive wings closed the distance between them - and sent a wave of force over the ranks in the process. She lifted her hand to place on his shoulder, and set her eyes on his. "Any number, King Hugon. But what makes them worthy, and is it worth risking ire in the face of divinity?"

Hugon’s eyebrows rose at the implied threat. It seemed he could name as many as he wished, provided he had a valid reason, but if he did not it would anger her. But how many was too many, and what did she consider worthy? This was a test. “Every man and woman who stands before you is worthy,” he declared, loud enough for all of them to hear. “Every one of them has come to defend their homeland to and destroy its enemies. They have all put their lives at risk, and will continue to do so in the days to come.” A few smiled, pleased to receive such a compliment from their King.

But Hugon was not finished. “Unlike the Iskrill scourge, we Acadians fight as cohesive units, not as individuals. The Flameweaver did not drive them back alone. Even the greatest warriors, mages, and heroes among us would accomplish little without the comrades who stand beside them. It is for these reasons that I must select them all.”

Aveira straightened out slowly, scrutinizing the king as he faced her down with fresh resolve. Her extended hand lifted into the sky, and around her fingertips tendrils of light touched and spun in the air. The tendrils grew to a vortex, until it exploded out over the entire remnants of the village, showering each and every soldier with a golden sheen. Under the coating of light, wounds and injuries began to heal, with only the most grievous damage left after the healing energy had run its course. Further, the energy seemed to seep into their pores, steeling their resolve and dispelling fickle doubts and fears.

"Soldiers of Acadia! Your king has trusted you with the fate of his city," she called, voice carrying far and wide about the camp. "Know that while you fight for Acadia, Neiya herself stands by your side. Honour your rulers, and honour your gods."

The Acadians let out a cheer, slamming the butts of their spears against the ground in unison. Hugon nodded gratefully.

“Ah, you’re both already here!” Mekellos suddenly spoke, stepping out of the trees. “Very good. Shall we carry on?”

---

She could remember it…

The overpowering scent of a burning forest, clay figurines writhing in pain and agony, faces contorted into silent screams. Creeks boiling, things dying.

It was how she was born, where she was born… Or sprouted, or was created. She didn’t know, as with many things, if her being alive was meant to be or merely an accident. What she did know is that over time, what had once been grass under her feet had eventually turned to a mix of dust and ash. She knew that the trees had all eventually burned away thanks to the Unseen Fire.

There was this large husk of a tree in what she assumed to be the center of the lonely land she considered her home. It was tall and wide and inside of it, if she snuck through a cramped opening, she would come out into some sort of inner chamber.

It wasn’t a grand thing. In fact, she could barely stand upright in it and she could only extend her arms to either side a little bit, but curled up into a small ball against the far wall of the chamber was the one thing she could consider beautiful in her world.

Some kind of statue, shaped like her and wearing the most beautiful, brightest thing she’d ever seen... A dress made of luminous leaves and flowers and vines.

She’d never dared touch the statue. Maybe out of respect, or maybe because she was scared of what would happen if she touched it. Would it crumble to dust as everything else had? That day was different. After wandering the wasteland for days on end she had grown bored and curious, so after having a nice cry at the edges of a dry river bank she had made her way to the Husk.

She sat down next to the statue, in the darkness within the Husk, and sighed.

There was nothing to do out there. Nothing to see…

Maybe she should just stay in that dark alcove, she thought. At least then she wouldn’t have to see the vast lands and imagine how they would have looked with forests and animals and grass and clouds…

Well, she thought, at least there was one last thing to do.

And so she placed her hand on the statue’s leafy head… Only to find out it wasn’t made of stone. The leaves, they felt like her own, only… Older, weaker. They had withered.

As she ran her hands through the statue’s head, a few of the old leaves effortlessly came off. There was a light rustling. She didn’t notice.

Suddenly, the beautiful dress the statue had been wearing practically leapt from the curled up form and onto her. She gasped, “W-Wh-!”

But her scream was cut short.

What felt like lightning coursed through her whole body.

What felt like thunder nearly ruptured her eardrums.

What felt like Fire branded her very soul.

And then… Nothing.

--

The next time she awoke, the earthy taste of her sap permeated her mouth, she couldn’t breathe through her nose, her lap felt wet and warm and she was lightheaded and awfully thirsty. It was the first time she had ever felt thirst.

She groaned, whimpered as her eyes watered and she struggled to raise her head to look at the statue.

It was naked, but her body looked much like hers, if only withered and injured and mistreated. There were strange growths under the statue’s skin in many places, and they… They shifted, and grew and shrunk, and they looked painful.

That was when she noticed the statue flinch. It moved.

“H-How…” She managed to whisper, crawling away slowly. “What is happening…”

‘Help me… Help… Help… Help me, please… Please…! It hurts… It hurts so much… Why… Why did they…’ A whisper, a voice muttering snuck into her head, along with a shadow of the pain of what she imagined those growths to be inflicting upon the statue.

“S… Stop! I didn’t do anything, why!” She cried, wiping the sap off her face as best as she could.

The very land roared. She couldn’t stand up even if she wanted to, as she would’ve been thrown off her feet immediately.

‘Why… Why… Why…! Why..! Why! Why did she… Why did Sister...’

The ground cracked between her and the statue and light spilled in from below, cutting through the air and separating them, cutting the Husk in half and letting in the gray light she had grown used to. She tried to reach for the statue but the light separating them both was strong and as soon as she got close, she winced in pain as her fingertips burned.

The land rumbled once more and she stumbled around, then she tripped on something and fell backwards. She closed her eyes tightly, bracing for impact, but… It never came.

She fell, and fell, and fell… And eventually the roar of the land ceased, and the only thing she could hear was the voice.

‘Please, please…! Don’t leave me alone, please… She left me, Oraelia, she abandoned me, she never came for me… Please, come back! It hurts so much, it burns, I-I don’t… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die!’ The voice practically screamed, then broke down into unintelligible muttering, then crying…

And then nothing.

For the longest time, there was… Nothing. Darkness, silence. Nothing but her thoughts and the feeling of the luminous dress hugging her body. It was warm, and it shifted and moved across her body incessantly, as if seeking a comfortable position.

And then suddenly, the silence was broken.

“Genny-”

In the blink of an eye, the darkness had given way to a new land. Sickly green, marshy soil and malformed trees were abundant, and she landed on top of a massive tree root, several times the thickness of the Husk back in her home. But the tree root was wet, and the strange moss that grew on top of it was extremely slippery, so she slipped and fell down, rolled down a small hill and came to a stop with a grunt.

As she looked up to the top of the hill, she saw what looked like a… A shadow, with beautiful pink leaves, disappearing into thin air. “Genesis, are you-”

---

“-ok?”

Genny twitched and quickly opened her eyes, seeing a hazy figure looming over her and talking to her.

“Come on, what’s happened to you, li’l emkura?” Asked a worried voice. There was the rustling of bones and heavy leather, and then a rough and calloused hand was placed on Genny’s forehead and two fingers were placed on the side of her neck.

Genny tried to speak, but found her tongue wasn’t responding to her attempts. “Gn… Mmn… A...”

She felt a heavy weight on her heart, and then she started sniffling. Had she just left the statue to die? Where was it? What had happened to her home? Why was everything so hazy and bright and why couldn’t she focus her eyes on anything?

She was scared. “Look at yourself... You’re all covered in sap, and-” The voice sighed and Genny started sobbing as quietly as she could. She tried to get up, but found her limbs as useful as noodles, so eventually the voice muttered something and after that, Genny found herself being hoisted over the person’s shoulder.

“This place isn’t safe, your sap’s going to attract all manner of nasties, so I’ll take you somewhere safe, okay emkura? You just rest up while we get there. You’ll be okay as long as you’re with me.”

---

Birburelli had never expected to find a sylphie so far north. In all his years of travelling he had not known them to roam beyond the jungles of Muraymuna and the far mangroves of the Mimrabans to the east. To stumble upon one here of all places, where the mighty river Juhmar flowed, was strange to say the least. “Strange, isn’t it Lukluk?” He glanced over at his donkey, over whose back he had placed the frail thing. The donkey stared at the old ascetic and brayed lightly. “Eat her! You beast! Do you think with nothing but your belly? No I won’t be letting you eat her. You’d call on us the curses of Orjarnibapti for a snack.”

For a wandering ascetic, Birburelli was somewhat overdressed. Most religious wanderers like him tended towards a lack of clothing - most wandered naked - but he had stopped doing so some time back. When people were kind enough to gift you with leathers for clothing, and when human and animal bones were readily available, it seemed to him a downright shame not to dress up a little. No one was going to be mistaking him for some royal shid, of course, but the regalia of bone and leather made for quite a striking appearance. It warded off the odd cowardly bandit, at least. “Ah, what’s this now.” He stopped by a small pile of rocks to the side of the road. “Seems like no one’s come by this way in a long while Lukluk. Wait up a little now while I sort this mess out.” He reached for the shovel at the donkey’s side and got to reinforcing the earth around the small structure - barely five spans tall. Looking around, he spotted a large, flat stone and got to heaving and pulling it until it was near the new foundation he had shovelled, and placed it there, before getting to moving the stones from the original onto the new.

Once he was done, the roadside shrine stood at a notable seven spans, and it looked more solid to boot. He clenched his fists and brought the front of each against the other before him, bowing his head low. He held the posture and whispered a prayer to the great god of journeys, Nirjurti. With that done, the relatively young ascetic - he did not seem older than thirty-five cycles - continued on the road.

It was not long before a small hamlet arose on a nearby hill, fields lining the elevated grounds around it, and so he made for it. The people were friendly enough - ascetics tended to find friends everywhere, unless there was a priest about of course. “I’ve an injured friend here,” he said, gesturing to the sylphi on the donkey’s back. The villagers looked at the odd creature with raised eyebrows. “What, never seen an emkura before?” The ascetic asked. He knew the answer; of course they had not. The villagers shook their heads in confusion.

“No master, I’ve never seen one in my life. Have you Shunda?” The one named Shunda shook his head.

“No Bullat, I’ve never seen one, never. Not even when I went with my old man down to the hills by that stream, you know the stream? Not even then.”

“Oh the stream. The one by the tree? I know that stream. You know I fell from that tree once.”

“Well,” the ascetic intervened, “the emkura are the children of Orjarnibapti! It is auspicious to see one, and even more so to have the opportunity to care for one that is injured! Go slaughter a goat in her honour, bring her water and food, let the women sing and dance, let the children play and prance!” With that declaration, he lifted her from Lukluk’s back (who attempted to take a bite as the ascetic passed, but was deftly dodged by the sharp-eyed Birburelli). “You conniving old thing!” The ascetic grumbled as Bullat led him into his home and the sylphi was laid down on some bedding. “Open the windows, let some air and sunlight in. Bring water and bring meat - it’s fine raw, maybe better even. Maybe bring a bowl of blood too while you're at it.” The overconfident ascetic told the little man, who nodded and rushed off.

The man’s children - two little daughters, twins by the looks of them, and a son - wandered near and stared curiously at the strange being on the bed. Their mother soon came into the room with a jug of water and a cup. The ascetic accepted both from her, pouring himself a small amount, before standing and slowly pouring the rest of the jar over the sylphi’s body, starting from her head and down her torso and to her extremities. “See how I just did?” The ascetic told Bullat’s wife. She nodded. “Fill the jug and do it again. Make a prayer, it is sure to be granted!” The woman took the jar excitedly and hurried off to refill it.

“Mami, mami! Pray for me!” Her son rushed off shouting after her, eliciting a chuckle from Birburelli. He looked at the damp sylphi and pursed his lips.

“There now, little emkura, all’s well.”

---

The first thing Genesis felt once she came back to herself was her breathing. Slow, deep, and tranquil… It soothed her, and with each inhalation came the scents of hay, of mud, of burning wood and of… Beast? It was unlike anything she’d smelled before. She found herself to be lying on a wet, waterlogged cloth... Which wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. For a moment they hurt as they struggled to adjust to the orange rays of light coming in through an open window. She breathed in sharply and sat up. She felt good--Perhaps even better than before. The dress covering her form now wasn’t luminous animore, and instead looked more like an intricate design of palm leaves and vines weaved in such a way as to keep her modesty while leaving her back, midriff and lower legs uncovered. She didn’t know when it had found the time to change, but there it was.

“Moo,” a low sound came from just outside the window, sending shivers down Genesis’ spine as she perked up, leaves rustling as she stared at the window, half-expecting some kind of monster to jump in through it.

Nothing came in, of course. But now that she was getting accustomed to consciousness, she could now hear several more things. In the distance, there were sounds akin to those she had heard in dreams, of many voices chanting together in different tones. Of laughter, and feet striking the ground and kicking up soil in dance.

Before she could listen more closely, she heard a yawn coming from behind one of the wooden walls, in a room whose entrance was obscured by flaps of fabric.

Genesis ran her hands over her body, noting how smooth her skin felt now compared to when she was covered in sap. Whoever was in the other room was most likely the one who saved her when she couldn’t even move, so with care so as to not fall over, Genesis stood up and walked over to the thin flaps of cloth barring her entrance and… Just kind of stood there, awkwardly shuffling her feet and repeatedly lifting her arm and lowering it just before she got a hold of the fabric. “Haah...”

There was some shuffling outside, and the beaded fabrics were moved aside, jangling as they went, and a little head peered in. It stared at Genesis with wide eyes for a few moments, and then rushed off shouting. “Ma! Ma! The emthingy woke up!” There was shuffling and soon a woman drew the door-curtains open and smiled. She bowed low, bringing the front of her fists together before her.

“I’m happy you’re okay, great daughter of Orjarnibapti. Master Birburelli just went for a walk and’ll be back before you know it. How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? D’you want to sit in the sun for a bit? The Master said that’ll do you some good.”

Genesis scrunched up her nose and frowned, trying to peek into the room behind the woman before eventually giving up and shaking her head. “Orjarni…? Daughter? There isn’t much daylight left, so that can wait until tomorrow. Who’s Birburelli? What is this place? What are you, are you actually real?” Genesis asked, sniffing the air a few times and curiously reaching out to feel the woman’s skin. “You smell different than anything I smelled back home… Livelier, spicier. I like it.” The young Sylphi said before her stomach started rumbling, making her jump a little.

“Oh, real enough I hope!” The woman exclaimed with a laugh. “Those old spices are stuck to me, can’t get the smell out. But alright, you go sit yourself back down and I’ll bring you some of that goat-meat. Master Birburelli said raw is best for you and that you’d drink the blood too, so I’ll bring you some of that. Sunju! Come sit with- oh, you do have a name right? Sunju you little devil, come here right now! I’m so sorry I’ll be right back, just give me a moment.” She wandered off, eventually finding Sunju who came scrambling to Genesis.

“I’m here emkurasister! Is it true you drink blood?” He rushed by her feet and leapt on the wet bed, giggling as he rolled about on it.

Genesis stared at the joyful child for a moment, before smiling and sitting down on the bed as well. “Believe it or not I’ve never even seen blood! I‘ve always known what it is, somehow, but… Yeah. Do you drink blood, Sunju was it?”

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “No, I only drink milk. Mister Burburli said you are from the plant god - uh, uh whatsit, Orjabpti? ! Is that true? Do all gods drink blood like you?”

Genesis looked up at the ceiling and hummed thoughtfully to herself, “I dunno. The place I was in before I came here was… Gray and dead, there was nothing there that looked like a God you know? Well, actually-” Genesis fell into silence as a frown formed on her brow, black sclera seeming to grow only darker as her irises lit up along with the frown. “Nevermind. Who knows?! I don’t think they drink blood, though. I have a feeling it’s just me…” There was a bit of a pause.

“Hey Sunju,” Genesis said, perking up as she laid back down onto the bed and rolled onto her side to look directly at the boy. “can you tell me about this place? It’s your home right? Share your stories with me, please?”

“Ah, stories!” He leapt from the bed and stood before her. “My favourite story is about the Frowner and the Laugher because they always chase and run away from each other. The Frowner is grumpy and doesn’t like laughing so he always chases the Laugher who is always laughing. I always play it with Arupta - he is good at frowning so he is the Frowner and then I just laugh and run away.” He giggled slightly. “Mam doesn’t like that game though and when she catches me playing it she smacks me.” He grinned mischievously. “Arupta is my oldest cousin and he is really strong - sometimes when he catches me he smacks me too. I remember we were throwing rocks once at the wall, and then he ran out of rocks and went to got some from near the wall - but I was still throwing them and I threw a really big one and it got him right on the head! He chased me all the way around the houses and wouldn’t stop until his mam caught him and gave him the smacking of his life!” He laughed aloud, just as his own mother walked back through the door carrying a platter of raw meat and balancing a jug on her head.

“By the Mojtha, Sunju, I could hear you from your uncle’s house. How many times have I told you to not be so loud.” She shook her head at him and exhaled, glancing at Genesis who tried to hide her snickering. “He must have driven your head in, sorry about that. Get the table Sunju, quickly now.” the boy rushed off to the far wall and carried a low table over, stumbling side to side as he did, and then dropped it by the bed where his mother placed the platter, which seemed absolutely massive to the suddenly starry-eyed, drooling Genesis. “Come now, eat up. I’m sure you’re starving.” She seated herself on a nearby stool and Sunju rushed to her and scrambled onto her knee. She wiped his running nose with a small kerchief, to his protests.

“I was telling emkurasister about some stories,” he said proudly.

“Were you now? And you didn’t bother to ask her name?” He scratched his cheek and smiled sheepishly.

“Uh, emkurasister sounds nice.” He managed, glancing at Genesis, who was preoccupied pouring blood onto the pieces of meat on the platter.

“What is your name my dear? And how did you end up all alone on the road? Master Birburelli says it’s very strange for children of Orjarnibapti to be found here.”

“I don’t really know the answer to those questions- The only thing I do know is that I came from a dying land, and that I ended up here after the land was burned to nothingness by a golden light…” Genesis said pensively as she dangled a long piece of meat above her, mouth placed just right to catch the drops of blood running off it.

“I remember being covered in my own sap after the land’s guardian gave me this dress... I felt as if my very core was burning… And the only three names I had ever heard before coming here were Genesis, Genny and Oraelia. I like Genesis the best, so you can call me that, but I feel like the name ‘Oraelia’ is very important, too…” She explained as she began to lower her meal, taking quick and effortless bites out of it until there was nothing left. She didn’t chew much at all and didn’t bother to close her mouth after the fact and when she was done with that particular piece, the few glints of light reflected off of the blood dripping from her doubtlessly sharp teeth and running down her face, neck, chest and shoulders made her seem much more like a predator than before. Sunju, for his part, seemed to be watching her with considerable awe, a small impressed gleam in his eyes as she easily devoured the meat.

“Djehnsis…” the mother spoke the foreign word. “Hurrela.” She shook her head. “I’ve never heard that name. Maybe master Birburelli will know, you should certainly ask him.” She paused and stroked Sunju’s long, straight black hair. “But you must feel so lost, just waking up somewhere completely new. You’re in our little village of Mirmehti. I’m Sudirta, I live here with my husband Bullat. We’re farmers and animal-keepers. We keep to ourselves and our village and the shid Bahulti leaves us be for the most part. He took some of our young men for the war not long ago, but beyond that we live good, peaceful lives here. Oh you get the odd roaming band of mercenaries or no-gooders, no doubt, but it’s as safe as any place can hope to be. No great golden light will be doing you any harm here.”

“Farmers and animal keepers, mercenaries, wars, Bahulti... Mirmehti. Thank you for helping me out. I don’t know what would have happened had I not been brought here. You mentioned before this was… What animal? Goat?” Genesis asked as she wolfed down several more pieces of meat in a similar manner as before, “It’s good, really good! Thank you, something tells me growing flesh takes longer than growing plants.” She mentioned with a giggle.

“Oh! One question. You said it’s rare to see my kind around here? So that means there’s more of me? More things that look like me, that is? Tell me, do they smell the same? Do they also like meat and sun and water? I want to meet them!” The young Sylphi grinned excitedly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about these things,” Sudirta laughed, “but I’m sure master Birburelli will have all the answers. I should go check up on the twins, they’re probably waking up and hungry now. You just rest up and I’m sure the master will be back soon. And if you need anything, call this little rascal.” She pinched Sunju’s cheeks roughly before getting him off her knee and leaving the small room.

Perhaps an hour or so later, the door-drapes parted once more and a wild-haired, scraggly-bearded man, dressed in an assortment of bone and leather, walked in. Parts of his black hair were dyed red, as was his beard, and lines of chalk or ink adorned his forehead and cheeks. Immediately upon seeing the man, Genesis’ leaves started rustling in recognition. He smiled when he saw that she was awake, his obsidian eyes twinkling in the torchlight. “Ah, little emkura. How are you feeling?” He came by the bedside and seated himself on Sudirta’s stool.

“Birburelli? You’re the one who saved me, right? I’m feeling much better now thanks to you! I was asking Sudirta before, but do you know what I am? Where I can meet more of my kind? Because I don’t really know what this land even is. I mean, I know now that this is Mirmehti, but I don’t know where I am, you know?” Genesis tried to explain, frowning as she confused herself further.

“There now my emkura. Your kind like to keep to themselves - a retiring species that lives wild and free in the southern jungles of Muraymuna. You will find them also in the furthest east, in the mangrove forests of the Mimrabans.” He paused and ran a hand through his beard. “As for what this land is - it is Dehrthaa. A poor and divided land, where blood is shed from the river Dahuur in the sacred mountains to the Mudhindahuur that runs into the sea. Bandits and mercenaries roam, and those who would travel the roads had best beware. Quarrelling shids are everywhere, and even now a great bloodletting rages between the powerful shid of the north and the one who rules over these rolling hills between the two great rivers. If you wish to see your own, then I am travelling south towards Muraymuna - you can join me if you wish. Or you can settle here - the people are good, they will honour you no doubt. It is peaceful for now - though that can change at any moment. It is your choice, little emkura.”

Genesis listened attentively, nodding along with each bit of new information. After Birburelli had finished speaking, she closed her golden eyes and puffed out her chest proudly before gently placing her hand over her heart. “I come from the Gray Lands, do you really think I could bear to settle in one place when there’s so much to see and experience? Jungles, forests, rivers, swamps--All these things exist here! They’re things I only ever dreamed of before, so yes! My choice is that I will travel with you into the Jungle, and we’ll see from there. I just have to see this land and as many others as I can, and that’s something I can’t do by staying in a village, no matter how nicely I may have been treated.” She huffed with a smug grin on her face and relaxed a little, opening her shining eyes to look at the wise human, who chuckled and nodded.

“It seems that you are indeed a child of Orjarnibapti, the road calls to you and a thirst for knowledge and experience. Then it is agreed. Tonight we will rest, and tomorrow we will answer the call of the road once more. Rest well, emkura.” And with that he rose, paused, and ruffled her leafy head, making her look up at him with puffed out flushed cheeks. “I’m sure you’ll get right along with Lukluk too.” He chortled, and then made for the drapes and disappeared beyond them.

It was early in the morning when Auriëlle walked around the Omniversity again. It had to be. The air felt colder on her skin now. Give it an hour or so and it would warm up though. She also knew because there was no noise. Nobody was talking or walking through the halls. Overloading the few senses she still had to navigate around the world. In here she didn’t need the stick to move here. She knew the paths like the back of her head now. Her body moved on its own. Carrying her wherever she wanted to be. However, the further she got from her own bed the further she got from her known world. There were still places in the Omniversity itself she didn’t know like the back of her head.

Right now though, she had mastered the nearest outside gardens and the few plazas there as well. She was making her way towards one of the benches where she could sit and… do nothing really. In the last months, she hadn’t done a thing. She just thought about everything that happened. Would she have done things differently? No. No, not her. Then her mind carried her to Carn. She missed him still. Somehow every day a little bit more. Was he dead? Or was he dead like her? Would she ever hear his voice again? She thought about praying but really, what god would answer her now?

Especially after the revelation. When Oraelia, goddess of light, said she was marked forever as an enemy of light she thought it was just because of all the people she killed. Now it turned out that there was more. For months she had been under the blessing of the god of death himself. She truly was the anthesis of life then. Yet looking back on those months… they were amongst the best of her life. The months before the siege and the months before her reunion were filled with the one thing she loved so much. The feeling she got from razing Teperia was unlike anything. With every raid upon a Ketrefian sided village, she smiled more. If Oraelia had already marked her as an enemy, why not embrace it then?

“Morning… little one.” Auriëlle stopped jumping from unexpected voices. That became to tiresome. But not her body still did, out of pure reaction from the large, bellowing but hollow voice. “You… are awake… early. The sun… is yet… to rise.”

The sun wasn’t up yet? Well, that would explain why everything felt colder. “That’s good to know.” She said as she turned to look up to where the sound came from. She was standing in one of the large plazas. There had been statues here of something but she never figured out what.

“You… do not see… its absence?” The - what Auriëlle guessed to be titanic - creature said.

“I’m blind.” Auriëlle returned as she waved her hand in front of her face. “I can’t even see you. The Sun Goddess took my sight.”

She heard his shape move like stone grinding against stone. It didn’t speak. Instead, let out a soft rumble. “Of course.” It said slowly. “Mortalkind… see with… the goddess’ gift. I had… forgotten. My condolences… for losing… your sight.” Despite everything about it, it sounded gentle.

“Everyone sees with eyes.” Auriëlle noted dryly as she sat down. Might as well, if she was going to talk to a massive thing she couldn’t even sense. “Or with light. But she took that from me. Light will never let me see again. My eyes are fine it’s just… I got cursed.”

“I have… not heard… of her anger.” The titanic creature said. “My master… spoke with… kindness… and compassion… about her.”

Auriëlle scoffed. “You mean she’s so weak she won’t even act until after I slaughtered her followers. And then she just blinds me.” The sorceress wanted to pretend as if everything was okay. As if blindness wasn’t much worse than being dead. You couldn’t feel being dead. It was the end. The finish. One sharp bit of pain and you were gone. She didn’t believe in an afterlife. Blindness though, she had to live with that her entire life now, and it made her weak. So weak. In truth, the goddess had cursed her perfectly.

For a second it was quiet. Auriëlle didn’t mind. But a slight shift signaled the serenity was about to be broken again: “Sight… of light. I ask you… sorceress… how does… the world look… with… light?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Look around yourself. You’re going to see more than me.”

“Perhaps.” It said. “But not… how you… saw the world. My master… did not gift me… with sight… of light. My… supposed eyes… see the world… differently. Please… indulge… this one’s… curiosity.”

Well, it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do. It would be a welcome distraction from the usual thoughts on a day. “Everything is- was colorful. The plants were green. Treebark's brown. Flowers red and purple and yellow. Things swayed in the wind. Gems glittered in the light. Glittering is like… light sort of broke with them. With the right crystal, you could turn sunlight into rainbow colors.”

The titan grumbled softly. As if he was ruminating on the words. “Tell me… does the world… look solid? Or is it.. diffused?”

“That’s… It’s solid. Everything is solid.” She grabbed her own arm as she held it in front of her. “See this? If I saw, I would know exactly where my arm is. No blurred lines with light sight.”

“Fascinating.”

“You talk as if that’s special. How do you see the world then?” Auriëlle asked.

She heard his body shift again. “I see… the world… differently. Right now… I see you… sweat wafting… off you. Your figure… blurred. I was… told that… mortals… have faces… I have… never seen… faces. Lines… shift. To me… you look… like a cloud… hiding a sun. And your sun… as hidden… as it is… is still… very bright.”

“Sounds… aetheric.” Auriëlle said. Now she was definitely curious. For the first time in months, she felt that siren song. That call to do something. A goal to achieve. Sight through something else than magic. “How did you come to see like this? And what are you actually seeing? Like I know I saw through light, so what do you use?”

“Yes… Aetheric. An accurate… word. I was.. born…like this.” The creature said. “Made… actually. I believe… I see… through… mana. That... which drives… your magic.”

For a second she was disappointed that it wasn’t a skill. But it could be. Nothing said that it couldn’t be. She started focusing and tried to think about seeing the thing before her. Not with light. She had tried and given up three weeks ago on that. Instead, she thought about something else. Like a visible wind flowing over him. Something that would touch his form and return it to her. It didn’t work. Not at the first. The creature kept still and quiet though. Seemingly content to let her try, or it had grown tired of their conversation.

She tried again. This time she heard the rustling of trees. No, too much. She didn’t want wind. She wanted something akin to wind. She wanted the mana in the air to flow, not the air itself. Again. Trees rustled. Again. She heard the wind softly whistling in her ear. Again.

“Maybe… mortals… are not… meant to see… the world… like this.” The figure interjected.

“I don’t care about ‘meant to’. I was meant to lead a crusade against monsters from birth.” Auriëlle said. She tried again. A frustrated gust nearly knocked her over. “Then I was meant to waste away in some cellar writing things down.” She tried again. Wind whistled again. “I was supposed to help people extort people.” She said and tried again. There was no wind now. Her mind focused. “Then I was meant to stay with the man I love.” Did she have to say ‘loved’ now? Wind remained quiet. “I was meant to do many things and I did all the things I wasn’t meant to do. A mortal was never meant to sunder the walls of Ketrefa. I was never meant to work for some thugs in some backwater shithole. Maybe I’m not meant to see the world the way you do. But that won’t stop me from doing it anyway.”

And yet, it didn’t come. The wind remained quiet. In the afternoon there wasn’t so much as a breeze around them. Auriëlle didn’t move though. Skipping lunch, she tried again and again and again. The titanic creature was apparently content to just sitting there and letting her do it. The two of them rare exchanged words now. Until the creature, Duxus, finally spoke up again.

“The sun… is low. You are… weakened… You should… eat… and sleep. Tomorrow is… another day.” The hollow, bellowing sound had become familiar now.

For a second she wanted to sneer, but it- no he, was right. Her stomach grumbled and her mind didn’t want to think about things anymore. She was sure she was close though. So sure that she could see again. “I’m coming back tomorrow.” She said as she got up again, supported by her stick. “You better be here tomorrow. So I can see you. And I will see you, Duxus. That’s my promise. I’m going to see you.”

“I… will be here… for four… more nights. Then… I must go… but I will... return.” Duxus said.

Four nights? Which meant four more days of time. She would find a way to see the way he did in four more days. She was sure of it. Really, how hard could it be to see through magic for someone like her?

_{24-30 AA | Years 9-15}

The people of Rehna were for the most part lowly peasants and farmers. They were, however, by a happenstance of history free from some of the higher demands for labour, produce, and military levies to which petty shid Dharqul of Zira subjected other towns and villages in his shidra. To the west and north of the village were hills, and nestled in a forested vale between the western hills was a lake of some size. Beyond the northern hills, the plains of the Khadaar stretched out for endless leagues in all directions, while the east and immediate south of the village was made up of farmlands. The river Muhaddir flowed perhaps a day’s journey south — meaning the village lay on the natural border between the two major belligerents in Dehrthaa’s civil war.

But Rehna had always had something of a martial tradition — war and conflict was the norm in Dehrthaa, not the exception, and any town or village required able young men to leap to the defence of their kin at a moment’s notice. They were rural village people, and so their conception of the ideal warrior-youth emphasised strength — and that was why any festive occasion almost always included a village-wide wrestling event. Sometimes it was a competition in which all the youths took part, other times it was a match between the renowned wrestlers from across the region.

Sugae was by no means the strongest wrestler, but herding had made him deft and nimble, his hands — like those of near everyone — calloused even at a young age. While he was more than able to bring down opponents in single matches, he never won any competitions. His agility did, however, mean that those stronger and bigger than him often struggled to get him to submit — he was stubborn and strong-willed in that sense, his nature repulsed by the idea of surrender.

His close friend and kinsman Shidhig, however, was big and tall — often even the older boys struggled against him. And as he grew he waxed strong and gained increasing renown for his vigour and might in the wrestling ring. At thirteen he was able to throw even the hulking Olkiq, three years his senior. “It’s not all about strength or size,” Bori, Olkiq's father and Sugae's maternal great-uncle, would often say after such wrestling matches, “I’ve seen little fellas take out giants twice their size.”

“How'd they do it?” Sugae once asked with a frown. Bori scoffed and brought the cup of palm wine to his lips.

“It’s in the method, pup. Now method won’t help if you’re a twig — which you're not, my niece has taken care of that — and if you’ve got some strength and know what you’re doin’ you can tire out big lumbering oafs and crush ‘em. Brutes that think with their pecs may get far with the rabble, but one man with a good head for technique can bring ‘em down a notch or two.”

Along with wrestling, there was a stick-fighting tradition — as, indeed, was the case for most towns and villages around the Khadaar. A stick was an effective weapon in skilled hands and villages had been known to drive off marauders and mercenary bands with nothing more than militias armed with sticks and staffs. Being nimble and quick aided Sugae when it came to stick-fighting — he was often able to duck and weave his way around bigger and stronger opponents, and even the brawny Shidhig could not always pin him down or best him.

As with any community, disputes often arose — indeed, when young men were prone to wrestling and stick-fighting, competitiveness could very easily turn into rivalry, and rivalry into envy and enmity. Sometimes playfighting swiftly descended into an altogether more serious affair — that was the way with these things. When these were not resolved and became something bigger, it was to the headman that the people of Rehna turned — indeed, all kinds of disputes inexorably found their way to headman Jishnu who was the last living son of Rahuna himself, from whom most Rehnites were patrilineally or matrilineally descended and after whom Rehna was named. Intermittently brought before the old headman were marriage quarrels, land disputes, inheritance disagreements, squabbles between wives and in-laws, and — perhaps the most serious — troubles emerging from historic family feuds or unresolved issues.

It came to be that a dispute arose one day between the old smith Palwijtha and his niece, Dhula. Now old Palwijtha had for a long time been a good uncle to Dhula and her son, Shidhig. Though she was a mere widow and had slaved away for her father- and mother-in-law until they died and now lived a simple life with her son, old Palwijtha had married her mother — his brother's widow — and taken the orphaned Shidhig under his wing and had taught the boy much of smithing; when he was not running off into the hills with Sugae, that was. And even when Dhula's mother died, he would often send them food or what coin he could spare, to ensure that his niece and her son were able to keep up some semblance of face and honour before the other villagers. In exchange for this, the old man asked little more than for Dhula to fix up old clothes for him from time to time.

Now as he aged and his smith’s disease worsened, the old man — whose wife was now long dead, and whose daughters, Dhula's half-sisters, had all been married off and lived in different villages — found that he was in need of greater help and petitioned his niece to assist him. But Dhula was hard-pressed enough caring for herself and her son, and so naturally refused to take up caring duties for the old man. And so Palwijtha took his matter to the ancient headman Jishnu, his great-uncle. “I have been good to her — gone beyond the bounds of duty. And now when I am old and can hardly breathe, she turns her back on me.” The veteran of the bloodletting fields rasped in complaint. “Does a niece not have a duty to care for her old and ailing uncle?”

The frail Jishnu, sat on a bench leaning on his staff, nodded slowly. “You’ve been good to her Palwijtha — but you were good to her because you are good, not because you expected anything in return.”

“Of course! But can no one speak some sense into her? She’s like my daughter! She has no husband — my brother was claimed long ago on the bloodletting fields — and she has no in-laws. Her mother I married and cared for, as was my duty — and she was good to me and did her duty also. Her sisters are all of them gone — Renu in Milna with her husband, Srupa with her husband in Ahpur. Had I sons and had they wives, I wouldn’t call on her, but I have only her.”

“Come now Palwijtha, it doesn’t befit an old man like you — a warrior at that — to complain like this. We’ll send to Renu and Srupa and they can send you some help. Their daughters are old enough now, one of them should be able to come and aid her old grandfather, surely.” The old smith grumbled but ultimately acquiesced.

“May the gods curse me if I aid her ever again,” he muttered as he rose.

“Ah, Palwijtha, would you have all the virtues you’ve amassed thrown against the wind like dust? Don’t change your goodness because of this. And you need to understand that she is a woman alone — no mother, no husband — , she only has her son and he is her greatest duty. Don’t hold it against her.” But Palwijtha was an old man, and age brought with it weakness and weakness brought with it fear; and out of fear and weakness grew selfishness and so he never sent aid to his niece again. He allowed Shidhig to work with him — though that was because he needed help and the boy was skilled, rather than anything else.

Now as with any Dehru village, there were many festivals and causes for celebration throughout the year — the harvest was a time of showing thanks and gratitude to the gods, the time of shearing goats likewise festive and subsequent spinning of raw mohair into yarn a communal event filled with laughter, gossip, and renewed camaraderie.

The celebration of the Mojtha’s birth was one Sugae and the young men generally looked forward to — it was celebrated by watering the sycamore-fig orchards near Rehna’s lake, and the women beautified themselves and chanted lovely songs while the men marched behind. Later, at the centre of the town around Rehna’s beautifully carved shrine — a great stone pillar which had representations of the gods along its length, as well as depictions of battles and feats of heroes and ancestors — music was played and dances were performed in celebration.

Priest Ahnu would then come out and stand before the pillar, and he would chant great poetic verses and regale the villagers sat about him in the dim light of dusk with tales of the Mojtha — how he came to descend into the world when the great god Misnaya saw that the world needed balance, how he was blessed with strength and wisdom even from a young age, how people flocked to him — drawn by his charisma, his strength, his justice, his beauty; and how he fought all the corrupt shids who lived at that time and brought all the Dehrus under his banner to establish the sacred Ramshidra. By then darkness would have long set-in and the villagers would have lit fires all around the shrine, giving the epic performance a magic of its own.

The next day was one of wrestling and competing in all kinds of sports for the young men, where they would prove themselves in feats of strength and skill. Those who did well often felt confident enough to propose to one girl or another who had caught their eye during the festivities. Such unions were considered blessed and auspicious — the young women beautified themselves especially so that they could be noticed, the young men often prepared themselves months before so that they could excel in the feats and land themselves a worthy wife.

Another celebration was that in honour of Hivilarti, the great god of the sun, day, goodness, light, life, justice, and of the great open expanses; the one who maintained all life. When this celebration dawned Sugae’s mother, Shammur, would clean the entire house as well as its surroundings. She would have Sugae gather old and unneeded belongings, and the people of Rehna would assemble and light bonfires to burn them by the shrine. Homes were then painted and decorated to give them a festive look. New clothes were worn by all to mark the start of the festival, and so the period leading up to it was often quite demanding for Sugae’s mother and the women of Rehna at large as they busied themselves with weaving, cutting, sewing, embroidering, and quilting new clothes.

The next day saw the women gathered to sing traditional songs and prepare special dishes of rice for the sun god. The offerings included sweet dishes and fruits too — mainly sugarcane, sweet lime, baobab fruit, and sycamore-figs offered in small wicker winnows. The food was cooked without salt, onions, or garlic, and was strictly vegetarian — only the purest food could be offered, and so great care was taken to ensure it was not contaminated by such impure ingredients. After the food was offered to Hivilarti, it was shared with all the villagers who often gathered to eat together.

Many families held reunions on this day — daughters married off to husbands in other villages often returned and distant in-laws gathered. Along with eating, social events were organised to strengthen mutual bonds. The young were expected to go out and accompany their senior relatives, paying respects and seeking blessings. These elders, in turn, were often prepared with gifts for their younger kinsfolk.

While Sugae was quite used to seeing his baabis — old man Sugaenu and grandmother Satya — due to the fact that his mother cared for them diligently and visited them on a daily basis, this gathering was an opportunity to see kinsfolk who were not so frequently present — his bamti Gipaja, who lived in a nearby village with her husband, was one such relative. She was a humorous woman and the heart of any gathering, talking ceaselessly and laughing just as much. She often brought gifts, assuring him that she had saved the very best for her favourite nephew. His mamti Kumari was likewise talkative, though her humour was more cutting and often came at the expense of her soft-spoken husband. The youngest of his babtis, Arajit, invariably took this gathering as an opportunity to petition Sugae’s maabis, old man Vasu and grandmother Sudeshna, for Shammur’s hand in marriage. “It is only fitting that I, her husband’s brother, should marry her.” He would say. But Sugae’s mother, as she had done every year since her husband’s strange disappearance, refused.

“I am happy to live simply and do my duty to my husband’s parents.” She would respond.

“A woman like you is yet young — do you not wish after more children? Soon you will be old, and you will find yourself alone. Numerous children are the delight of old age.”

“When old age comes, I will deal with that. Please, don’t spoil the celebrations with such talk, brother-in-law.” Perhaps if Shammur had no brothers to fend off Arajit’s advances, she would have eventually succumbed to his incessant proposals, but she had two brothers, Baraha and Dharem, who were veterans of the bloodletting and renowned for their wild and fiery dispositions — a flash from either often quietened the dogged suitor. Arajit’s elder brother, Prahaben, was a veteran also and considered Shammur — the widow of a great warrior of the bloodletting fields like his brother Ravuk — far above being the wife of Arajit. The man had approached Shammur himself when Ravuk had first disappeared, but had taken her rejection as final and never sought her again — the stubborn Arajit, however, did not seem to know when to take no for an answer.

On the eve of this third and last day, every household accompanied its matriarch over the hills and into the forested vale where Rehna’s great lake lay. There they made offerings to the setting sun along with prayers. Women and young girls prayed for their brothers’ wellbeing, and brothers paid special tribute to their married sisters by giving gifts as affirmation of their filial love. What followed was then almost a carnival and folk songs were sung throughout the evening, and young men danced around fires and fought with sticks and displayed their agility and quickness.

Sugae had no siblings, however, and he would watch the women as they prayed for their brothers, and the brothers as they gave their sisters gifts and honoured them. From this part of the celebrations he felt distinctly excluded. Shidhig would sit by him and watch. “Eh, you brought a gift again this year?” He laughed, “you think sisters just magically emerge from the lake or pop out of a tree?”

“I- uh,” Sugae coughed, “I’m gonna give it to my mam, that’s close enough.” The younger boy said with a huff.

“Hah, that’s not how it works. Your mam just isn’t your sister.” Shidhig grinned.

“So? If there is anyone who deserves a gift, it’s my mam.”

“Sure sure, but this isn’t an occasion for that. You just need to accept that we don’t have sisters and so we don’t get to give gifts, and no one prays for us. That’s how it is, we just watch. And we get to wrestle!” The bigger boy rose and, punching Sugae lightly on the shoulder, went to mock-fight some of the other boys in preparation for the night's bouts. Sugae sat sullenly and eyed the small wooden figure he had carved for his mother, carefully wrapped in a small bit of mohair he had put aside just for this.

“You brought a gift?” A soft voice reached him, driving him from his reverie. He looked to the side and, bathed in the cascading red light of the setting sun, there stood a little goddess. Sugae stared at her for a few seconds, lost in her endless obsidian eyes.

“Uh- t- this?” He asked, forcefully moving his paralysed mouth. “Well. Yes. I mean. Y'know that I don’t- don’t have a…” he stopped and shut his mouth, then laughed in embarrassment.

“I know it’s probably bad of me…” she said approaching slowly, “but I heard what you were saying to Shidhig.”

“Oh. Y-yes.” He swallowed. “I guess it was just some silly idea.” He looked away, tears suddenly forming in his eyes for no reason he could fathom — perhaps it was more sheer embarrassment than anything else.

“I’ll pray for you.” She said, and he glanced at her in shock. There was a certain anger in her eyes. “I’ll pray for you, Sugaera, so stand up and give me the gift. C’mon.”

“B- but Mahula, you’re not-”

“It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have listened to Shidhig. I’ll be your sister, so you need to stand up and be a good brother.”

“Ah, yes.” He stood up, blinking away the tears and looking at her. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me.” She smiled. "I'm just here for the gift." She chuckled, and her joy was immediately contagious.

“Year on year you sound more and more like uncle Bori — you'll be growing a beard soon, no doubt.” He chortled, causing her to scowl in mock-anger. She was not quite able to stop herself from bursting into a fit of giggles.

“If that happens I'll know who to blame!”

He was quiet for a few moments, content to simply behold her. She cleared her throat after a few moments. “Uh. H- here, this is for you.” He stumbled over his words, extending the mohair-wrapped figure to her.

“Thank you.” She smiled, accepting it from him and gently unwrapping it. Within was an amateurish attempt at a carving of the sun god. She looked at him with a smile, her eyes twinkling in the dying light. “I love it. You should keep practising and give me one next year too.” She wrapped it back up and hid it into the folds of her clothes, then glanced out towards the lake. “I’m going to the lake now — I will pray for you, I promise.” And she walked off at a quick but oddly graceful gait. She glanced back once, to find him staring after her with a broad grin that made her laugh.

---

“So where was this supposed to go exactly again?”

“As I was saying Jaav such things are not always necessary to know such things!”

It took a moment of thought before the reply came, “It's the soul fused guy isn’t it?”

“Perhaps it is.”

”Why them? Why not just some random mortal who can go screw up their lives with it as usual?”

It would be a lie to say that a honest and full discussion followed where both made excellent points in good faith. Guul mostly had lesser concern over such things now, Kiim and Jaav were excessively fond of bickering, excepting when they disturbingly fell into periods of agreement.

The weapon as such was already completed, a spear capable of unleashing bale fire, strong and stable in of itself and in general quite a capable and dangerous weapon in anyone’s hands. In the intended being’s hands it might be quite the terrifying weapon for many. Truly though, Guul hoped that they could explain things to the soul, although they had been put together, chosen by Thaa to enact his wishes of morality, Guul worried that they were confused and injured in ignorance of their condition, of their situation.

It worried her how quick the three had to take to Thaa’s commands of the greater good, there was no real other option of course. Still, she wished there was someone that they might be able to relate with and have a friend at least. Even as the three were never alone truly, they also never really had much separation, or anyone with conditions different from their own.

“Could we go to Mydia after this should Thaa not have further duties for us?”

The Two, Kiim and Jaav, stayed momentarily slack as they briefly reorganized themselves so rare it was for Guul to interrupt while they were in the midst of one of their ‘conversations’.

“Of course dear Guul!”

“You are feeling alright?”

“Yes, fine, I just want to have a break.”

Silence reigned, finding someone else was a rare chance at that, maybe she could practice with pigments some more.

---

Thaa had found it necessary to proceed forward in the claiming of ever new power, a greatly disappointing facet. The weaponization of death energies was an unfortunate necessity at this point. Bale fires driving to destroy the fabric of most life’s basic prisons. Truly it was only so necessary due to the greater need to combat the vile attempts of life to not only continue but make inroads against his own plans. Ever did he try to make the world better, to improve things for the countless souls and yet they still resisted.

The gods and goddesses resisted in their own foolish and petty contrivances, on their cruelty and their apparent hatred. And the poor unfortunate mortal souls, tricked and blinded to the truth of all such things. Far too many completely ignorant to the realm beyond life. And so to show them, to bring them beyond such means as they each have their own desires and needs of such. Mortals so intent on acting on one another could perhaps still do some good even in their manipulation by the great many deities of life.

---

The Night Templars had commandeered their own house, serving as a sort of de-facto headquarters for their organization.

Evette had begun searching for vampires, as she said she would, but unsurprisingly such a search went nowhere. It was already absurdly unlikely that one would be able to locate such a creature simply by looking around and asking questions, especially in one where she had already been told there were no clues to be had, but Cadien had sent her here for a reason. If not vampires, what then?

At least the locals were cooperative. Instead of the hostile gate guards she had met, now they all seemed to be far more friendly. Though this ‘friendliness’ came off as patronizing and condescending, which was infuriating in its own right. The language barrier didn’t help either.

Cadien… she prayed. Give me some sort of sign.

Eh… alright.

She blinked in surprise. What?

There are no vampires in the city. Not yet, anyway. The nearest troll and iskrill are both miles away. If you spread out into the countryside, and explore some neighbouring towns and villages, you might have more luck, but that’s not why you’re here.

Then why?

Because despite what the locals think, war is coming, he told her, rather bluntly. Their neighbours gather strength, intending to exploit their weakness, or understandably worried that Ha-Duna will try to conquer them once again. Conflict isn’t inevitable, but knowing what I know, I don’t see how Ha-Duna gets out of this unscathed without fighting somebody.

[i]I don’t involve myself in the feuds of other humans,[i] Evette protested at once.

[color=violet]There will be abominations to kill, I’m sure,[/color=violet] Cadien said, as if placating a petulant child. But your duty goes beyond that. If Ha-Duna falls, another bastion of mankind fails. Desperation will ensue, and malignant gods will take notice, if they haven’t already. That must be prevented.

He wasn’t wrong. Vampires were typically more likely to appear under desperate circumstances. That was what she had said when she first arrived here. Though she had nothing but disdain for the idea of involving herself in local politics, if it could her usual prey from appearing in the future…

Very well, she sighed. What do you want me to do?

Warn them. Tell them: war is coming. Offer your aid, in my name.

I can’t speak their language. It’ll be hard to convince them of that if I have to go through my usual interpreter.

True enough. Languages are a troublesome thing, aren’t they? Really, who insisted on creating such arbitrary divides? Anyhow, I have a solution for that. Suddenly, a golden amulet materialized around her neck, with an amulet set in the center. There. That should suffice. Languages shall no longer serve as a barrier.

---

The Night Templar headquarters, which in itself was a small guest house provided to them by one of the more affluent théins in the locality, provided through connections kept by their trusty druid guide Kaer Cwenn, was located a little outside of the city centre, on the slopes leading down to the river and the sea. Wooden fences hinted that there were patches for crops hidden underneath the snow, and Highland sheep were grazing about on what little they could find in their pastures. Outside the guest house, there were two women and one man - one of the women looked to be in the late stages of pregnancy, while the other looked to carry post-pregnancy weight, and quite a lot of it, too. The man looked small in comparison to them, being only as muscular and fit as work on a farm on a subsistence diet could make you. The fat woman was stoking a fire, over which hung three small ceramic pots, suspended from woolen thread that valiantly stood against the heat of the licking flames beneath - if only barely.

Evette stepped out of the house with two guards at her back. She looked at the trio outside their house, and approached them. “Where is the one called Boudicca?” She asked them, the amulet around her neck glowing and translating her words as she spoke.

All three of them appeared shocked and didn’t quite seem to believe their ears. The small man carefully lifted his hand, but the fat woman was quicker. “You, you’ve been able to speak Dûnan all this time?”

Evette shook her head. “I have received a blessing from Caden,” she answered, as though that explained everything. “Where is the one called Boudicca?”

The three shifted between her and each other. “Come again?” said the pregnant lady. The man looked to be rubbing his hands nervously.

She sighed. “Where can I find Boudicca?” she repeated the question.

“No, what do you mean ‘blessing from Caden’?” the pregnant woman specified.

“You got one just like that?” the skimpy man whimpered in awe.

“These foreigners…” mumbled the fat one.

Evette glared at the last one who spoke. “Where can I find her?” she asked, impatience rising in her voice. “Caden himself told me to seek her out. If you do not know, just say so.”

“By the gods, Aifric said nothing about her being helgen!” the pregnant woman said with a gasp.

“A helgen?!” shouted the small man in surprise.

With one final glare, Evette walked past her and carried on down the road.

---

Her hopeless hosts, guests of the host or whatever they had been had set her back a few minutes; luckily, however, a passing pair of trells had been quick to explain to her where Boudicca could usually be found, though they, too, had been very surprised by Evette’s sudden grasp of Dûnan. She passed by a few more farmsteads and mealhouses, then past a glassworks and pottery shop, until she finally reached the palisaded city core, wherein the open market was buzzing as always, like a busy hive. Past the market, she eventually found her way to a large hut as described by the trells, situated beside a circle of megalith stone carvings in which centre was a tall, rectangular mirror. It gave off an eerie presence, as though Evette’s mind grew foggy in its proximity.

Taking a few moments to stare at the peculiar object, Evette diverted her attention away from it and approached the hut to knock at the door frame. Steps approached the skin curtain door, which was pulled aside to reveal a recently shaven man. The ooze of pipeweed rolled out of the doorway like a flood and the man looked her up and down with somewhat groggy, yet quite curious, eyes. “Yes?”

“I’m looking for Boudicca,” Evette said at once.

He blinked. “Oh, yeah, you must be Evette, then. Figured you’d come over one of these days. Come in, come in. She’ll be back here any minute - she’s just over in the Circle offering her morning prayer.”

Somewhat surprised by his lack of her reaction to her newfound grasp of the Dûnan language, Evette followed him in. The inside of the wooden hut was much roomier than even the farmstead she had stayed at: The longhouse measured about five by twenty metres, and was illuminated entirely by a large hearth in the centre, its smoke oozing upwards into a hole in the ceiling. This did not, however, stop smoke from gathering inside like a fog, only helped by the inescapable presence of pipe smokers. The walls were draped from corner to corner with animal skins, foreign and local carpets, and tapestries with sigils and symbols. The hay floor also had its fair share of carpets, particularly surrounding the hearth, where there also were benches and stools. As soon as Evette entered, she noticed many more faces turn to regard her, bushes of beards and hairless faces alike. Brows were everything from flattened in skepticism to raised in surprise, and some of the younger ones reached out to touch her wings.

Evette stepped away from and frowned at that latter group. Then her eyes scanned the hall. Had she intruded on some sort of meeting or gathering? It was to say - the group showed the sort of silent faces one usually does when someone quite clearly has interrupted a conversation. Chewing jaws and inhales and exhales of smoke made up all the sound in the room, save for cooing children and fire crackling.

“Looks like the foreigner’s back,” said one in a mocking tone suddenly, grinning to his comrades, none of whom grinned back. A hard fist hit him in the shoulder and spun around. “Hey, what was that for?!” A stern whisper made him immediately change his attitude, his expression looking at Evette suddenly with knowing discomfort. He cleared his throat and returned to his bowl of oatmeal quietly.

“Sorry about him,” went the man who had greeted her at the door. “He’s not the sharpest axe on the rack, that one.” The man offered a sharp huff. “Anyway, have a seat. Would you like a drink or something to eat while you wait?”

Evette shook her head, pointedly ignoring the man who had mocked her, then found a seat. She was no stranger to unusual treatment, and even before Cadien had gifted her the amulet she already had to endure the patronizing or arrogant tones of men and women she couldn’t understand. So long as nobody insulted her directly, she could let the slights side for now. There were more important things at stake. The silence endured for a little longer, before the door frame sounded the knock of heavy boots and the bear skin door curtain was shoved aside to reveal the shadow of a giant. Boudicca stepped inside, snow in her hair and all over the wolfskin on her shoulders and the plaid over her hide-clothed chest. Her kilt had been pulled down low over her exposed kneecaps, and her woolen socks had been pulled as high as could get. Still, she looked frozen to the bone.

“Throw another ten logs on the fire! It’s freezing in here!” Instantly, the mood of the room shifted, jolly chuckles and giggles rumbling through the gathered folk like waves.

“Here we go again,” came the musings of a fat, bearded man, who stood up and stomped over to the firewood rack, trailed by two younger lads. The giant of a woman stomped in her own way, parting the crowds around the fire as she took a seat on a bench, pulling off her cold torso clothing to invite in the warmth of the flames.

“Ugh, that’s better…”

“How’d the gods sound today, chief?” went a black-bearded man with a pipe in his mouth.

“About the same as yesterday, I suppose, those who answered. I hope Caden appreciated the plans for our tournament as much as Selesta did. Gibbou didn’t sound too keen, but she’s been full of sorrow of late, from what I can tell.”

“Only the gods know what terror must have befallen her to bring even a goddess like her into the deepest of melancholy,” mumbled Kaer Aethel, and all around the fire, people placed hands over their hearts and looked up to the ceiling in one-minded prayer. “Oh, by the way, my love,” Aethel continued right after, “you have a guest.”

“It better not be those damned clennon fen separatists again…”

“No, this one’s different.” Aethel pointed to Evette, who was so remarkably visible that Boudicca nearly jumped in surprise.

“Wah! How did I not see you?! You’re that Southerner, aren’t you? Evette, right?”

“I am,” she nodded, before rising to her feet and addressing the entire room. “I just spoke with Caden, who gave me the gift to speak any language. He told me that war is inevitable. Your city is at risk, and he sent me here to offer my aid.”

Boudicca frowned, as did those around the fire. “War is inevitable, you say?” The warrioress shifted in her seat and looked up past her brow. “What makes him say that?”

“Wouldn’t he have warned you, sanndatr?” came a question. Boudicca shrugged.

“Your neighbours fear you or despise you,” Evette said. “Even on the journey here, I saw villages preparing for war. Enemies are all around you, and chances are slim that you will be able to make peace with all of them.”

“Oh, just what we needed - another test to our resolve,” spat one woman.

“Peace -is- the only way to repent! If we take up the axe again, we will lose the support of Macsal, maybe even Reiya! So it has been said!”

“No, she is saying what I have been saying all along - this peaceful approach is most naive and always has been! The Scawicks will not forgive and forget, and neither will the Rest!”

“Shut up, Pan, you always resort to the same arguments over and over! The Rest is only afraid of us because we went to war in the first place and--”

“We were starving! Any hunter must seek new grounds if the old goes barren!”

The arguments escalated, and Boudicca sat hunkered over on the bench, groaning gutturally. She stood up and walked over to Evette, hooking her neck in her arm and gently pulling her further into the longhouse. “Now you’ve got them yapping… C’mon, let’s talk over here…”

With a frown, Evette followed. While debates and insults raged in the background, Boudicca pulled over two small stools for them and set herself down in the dark corner of the house. She pulled her plaid over her torso again and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Ugh… I hate the cold… Alright, excuse the riot and all that. Ever since we lost Ha-Gaard to the Rest, people have been growing less and less keen on the idea of peace. I understand them to a degree - really, I do - but I was at least hoping this way was the right way… Now you are telling me that even great Caden predicts otherwise. What has he told you, exactly?”

“He didn’t tell me much. Just that the neighbouring kingdoms are preparing for war. Some are afraid you’ll return to conquest, and others just want revenge for past offenses. He also said that some of the more malevolent gods might notice, and attempt to make the situation worse… if they haven’t already.” She added, recalling Cadien’s exact words.

Boudicca bit her lip. “So, what… He’s saying to mobilise again? To strengthen control over our lands in preparation for the coming storm?”

Evette hesitated. “All he instructed was to offer my aid.”

Boudicca raised a skeptical brow at her. “Well, forgive my candor, but you’re one woman. Wings, you might have, but you cannot protect our borders alone. No…” She sighed. “... Hopefully the Songs and Sun can understand our need to protect ourselves.” She stood up and rolled her shoulders. “How many have you brought with you?”

“Only a dozen,” Evette answered. “I was brought here under the assumption that I would be hunting vampires, not waging a war.”

“Well, knowing wars, a vampire’s sure to show up somewhere. If not, there’ll be plenty of monsters on the fields to slay. The bards’ll love you, I’m sure - the Angel of Caden. Now, thank you for your warning. I have an afternoon to ruin.” With that, she skirted past Evette back to the furious debate. Many had grabbed each other by the neck of their shirts, and one pair had even started exchanging blows. Boudicca planted one boot, still soggy from the snowmelt, upon the bench and shouted, “HEY! Calm yourselves down before I knock your teeth down your throats!”

“This wildman wants nothing but war, can’t you see, my love?!” Aethel yelled back and tried to wrest himself free from the blackhaired man’s tight grasp.

“Oh, I’m a wildman, am I? Am I wild for just wanting to protect my home? My family?”

Most creatures, wild and civilized alike, do feel inclined to protect their territory or their offspring, a deep ethereal voice commented, one that Evette and Boudica would immediately recognize. The difference is how they go about it.

The people cowered and squealed briefly. There then was silence, Boudicca and Evette seeming largely unphased. The warrioress drew her sword, carefully stabbed the tip to the ground and took a knee. “Great Caden, your presence is a blessing to us all. What is your counsel in these troubling times?”

My champion spoke true. War is coming, and I have sent her here to aid you. However, that does not mean you can simply wage another war of aggression. My council is this: make peace and allies wherever you can find them. Swallow your pride and apologize for your past offenses, if you must. Then, prepare to defend yourselves against those who cannot see reason. The other gods can hardly begrudge you that.

Boudicca nodded slowly. “Who have we yet to apologise to? Every village we have destroyed that still had its share of survivors, we have reimbursed to the point where our larders may only just carry us through the winter. By the grace of the Sun, the Forests, the Seas and the Stones, we will not want for nourishment, and we have made sure those whom we called our enemies in years part, will not either - as far as it has been possible. Our peace-making has been going steadily, but there are those who test our sovereignty - the Rest to the south inches ever northwards; the border villages rise up in rebellion; the Scawicks threaten to burn our countryside. Are these not valid reasons to retaliate?”

The issue lies in how you retaliate, Cadien said. In regards to Kirin’s Rest: You cannot let them seize your territory unimpeded. You cannot let a war with them drag on for too long. Nor can you utterly destroy them, because either they will invoke divine patrons of their own, or the tribes you have already made peace with will once more became wary of you. He paused, to let that sink in. You must halt their advance, and bring them to a peace table.

As for Scawick, they are not wrong to despise you, nor are you wrong to defend yourselves against them. But they have rejected my warnings and my commands to stand down. They cannot see reason, and insist on causing more chaos, so their destruction may be necessary.

“Then, should they attack, will you sanction our right to stand up for ourselves? Even if other gods cannot see that we have no other choice?”

Within reason. I’ll not tolerate the wanton slaughter of innocents, or any refusals to honour the terms of truces and surrenders. I expect you to conduct yourselves honourably. The people of Kirin’s Rest are my children too, just as much as you all are, no matter how much both of you refuse to believe it.

The others looked on as Boudicca bowed her head. “You have my word - I swear this oath to you as I have given my word to Selesta - that we shall slaughter no innocents and honour the terms of surrender at all times. Any of us who fail to comply with these conditions will themselves be punished in accordance with their crime. This, I swear.” She looked over her shoulder and motioned for everyone else to kneel. “This, we swear.”

“This, we swear,” echoed the rest with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Then there was bright flash outside.

---

Despite the clear skies, over a dozen lightning bolts had struck the battlements, each landing upon a different spot. They did no damage; not even leaving a scorch mark. What they did leave were weapons; large ballistae, mounted in place, with bundles of ammunition placed beside them. The guards on the walls panicked, and people below looked up and praised the gods for yet another gift to their beautiful city. Boudicca and the others stormed outside, gazing at the distant defense turrets in awe. The sanndatr looked up at the heavens and cupped a hand over her heart. “How blessed are we to have such merciful masters.” She then turned to her court. “I see now that I have been wrong to assume all would just return to a state of peace after our change of mind - I genuinely believed it could be this way, but with the loss of Ha-Gaard in the south and the growing tensions in the east, we must now reassume control of our borders. Bring me the Dlíbók!” Aethel hurried back into the longhouse and, after a brief pause, came back out with the wooden tome - a collection of thin planks kept together by rings of bronze. He opened it, got two of other courtiers to bring him a small table to use for a desk, and took a small bronze knife with a long shaft and a tiny blade from his hip satchel.

“What should I add?” he asked calmly.

“Make it known to all arbitrators of the Law - to all who seek to kick Ha-Dûna while it is still recovering - that we will not simply stand back and watch as the lands we bled to take and settle, are stolen away from us by craven opportunists. Let it be known to all of the Dûnlands that to make an attempt on our lands is to go to war against us; however, let everyone also know that we will offer all who seek to join the Dûnan family, a rightful place amongst us. All peoples on our lands shall from this day be granted the right to speak at legal gatherings, henceforth to be referred to as the tingmoot. Every théin shall ensure that these voices reach this very house in Ha-Dûna, so that all may be heard in our new multicultural hegemony. Any who obstruct these peoples from expressing their voices, shall themselves be put under the service of the Truth and Stars, so that they may be guided back to the truthful way.”

“Including the Scawicks?” came a snide remark. Boudicca raised her brow at the speaker and nodded with determination.

“Yes, even the Scawicks will be given amnesty despite their recent actions. As the gospel goes: ‘Children may scream and hit their mother in rage, but the mother loves them all the same. This is to be virtuous.’ We cannot win against our foes with blood, just as we cannot win if we shun it entirely. We can only win if our virtue and moral is just and correct.”

“As the gospel goes: ‘The Truth is only true if its believers are of moral quality,’” Pan added to the sound of agreeing hums.

“What about Shaeylila’s warning? Won’t this shift in direction invoke Macsal’s fury?” Aethel questioned. The hums grew silent again. Boudicca drew a slow breath.

“We may only pray that he will understand - if he doesn’t…” Her words trailed off. “Let us pray the other gods may vouch for us should it come to that.” She then turned to regard Evette. “You said you had come to help us, correct?”

Evette nodded. “That is what I said.”

“Good to have you. In light of these changes, I have an assignment for you - I’ve heard you are a specialist in hunting monsters. It is a quest pertaining to slaying a certain monster - one that was spotted soaring through the clouds in the east not two days ago. Interested?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What sort of monster are you talking about?”

“The shepherds who spotted it said they’d never seen anything like it. It was absolutely enormous, they said, with great wings black as night and scales like a salamander,” explained Aethel. “It landed by an old Mink burial ground and remained there briefly before flying off again. The locals were terrified.”

“East, you said?” she frowned. “I don’t know if I will be able to catch it, but I can try.”

“We’ll be counting on you,” Boudicca grunted respectfully. “We cannot have a monster like that roaming the skies above us if we are to strengthen the realm. Take whatever supplies you may need from the resthouses - tell whoever is in charge there that you have my blessing, in case they get uppity.”

With a final nod, Evette turned away.

---

---

Oraelia walked through her portal and let out a triumphant squeal as she threw her arms out as if to hug the sun. Her form reverted to that of a golden haired woman with a large, large smile on her lips. It turned her face into a joyous expression. She had succeeded! She had done what she had once thought impossible! Neiya actually listened to her, she broke through and now… Now the world could heal, she and Gibbou could heal, Neiya could heal and the Aiviri could as well! They still needed to come up with a better solution to stop the fighting but for now it was a time of celebration!

Celebration and relaxation! Oraelia dove into the closest field of flowers and closed her eyes, remembering the experience and power that her judgement had brought her. She would do great things with it, in time, but for now. It was time for some cloud gazing.

Rhiona flew over to her as she lay in that field of flowers, watching the clouds go by. The avatar loomed over her, obscuring her view of the sky but Oraelia didn't mind. Instead, she smiled up at her.

"How did things go, my lady?" she asked with hesitance in her voice.

"Oh Rhiona! Things went much better than I expected! I broke through to her and she listened to me and now I think things are going to get better. It's wonderful and I can't wait to tell Gibbou! I should probably go see her right away actually! She seemed so upset when she left. I hope she's better now." Oraelia said with a quickness in her voice, sitting up as soon as her words left her mouth. Rhiona gave her a funny look.

"I am glad to hear that and to see you in such high spirits but um, my lady? Before you go to see your sister perhaps it might be best to deal with… Them?" she pointed past Oraelia, back over to where the portal was.

Oraelia opened her mouth to say something but then followed Rhiona's finger until she saw… Naked women? She took a closer look and realized who they were. Naked Furies! There were about a dozen of them, wide eyed as a wee babs, looking at the world in a new light. Or several new lights, as their eyes glowed different colors. With delicate fingers they touched flowers and grasses and every now and then looked over to Oraelia as if waiting for something.

"Oh." she said and flew over to them, Rhiona close behind. Most stopped what they were doing as they approached and turned their gaze to her, while a few seemed to be too fascinated with a tall sunflower to pay attention.

"Hello little ones!" Oraelia exclaimed. "Welcome to my realm! Uh, but might I ask why you've come?"

A few curious faces lit up and focused on her, and Oraelia felt the sensation of Neiya's blessing as these simple mortals scrutinized the Life Goddess and saw more than other mortals might, she could feel emotion coaxed to the surface to reveal subtle hints. Oraelia was of course almost entirely immune to such paltry things as mortal perception, but it provided a notable tingle that regular mortal sight did not. A few moments of awkward silence later, a pale horned woman - almost as white as snow, with shining golden eyes - decided to speak up when no one else did. "What path shines brighter than that walked by she who shackled the storm?" She produced in a strange, divine language. It sounded vaguely like the roots of human and merelli speech.

Oraelia was taken a back for a moment. Not from the tingling sensation she felt or because her voice was so relaxing, no for a different reason. They were here because… she clasped her hands together and gushed, "Awww, isn't that adorable! You came because of me? Oh, I love you already!" she flew closer to the pale one and inspected her, touching her face, feeling her horns and then pinching her left cheek playfully. "And what should we call you miss? Do you all have names?" she asked in a bubbly voice.

That seemed to catch the attention of a few more, and Oraelia now had the attention of a good dozen pairs of bright eyes. Hesitation ruled the group, and the pale one felt compelled to answer. "I have failed this demand for tribute. No names were brought. Perhaps allowances will be made for those found lacking to retrieve this quarry afore final judgement is made." A few nods shot through the crowd.

A reddish-brown shorter woman among them piped up. "Perhaps if these names are described a journey may be undertaken to locate them whence we came."

Oraelia put a warm smile on her face. She then gave a small chuckle and said, "Oh we have much to teach you, my darlings. Much indeed." she landed upon the ground and stretched her arms. "A name is what we and others, call ourselves. For example, I am known as Oraelia, Goddess of Sunlight. This," she pointed at Rhiona, "Is my avatar, Rhiona. Your names can come about in many ways. You may pick a name for yourself or allow us to do so. Whatever you want I'd be happy to help you."

"Pick a name for myself?" The pale one questioned, and appeared even more hesitant than before. This appeared to be a daunting task for her, and the others were happy to let her suffer the most attention.

Except the reddish one, who now had returned to gazing out over the landscape with hope and fascination in her eyes. "Oh. Mayhaps a suitable name to choose would be 'Endless Field of Flowers'." She commented as though she had just undergone a major epiphany. A wave of oohs and aahs rippled through the crowd of Furies.

"Cresting the Painted Fields!" Another exclaimed from the ranks of the dozen or so, eliciting the same response.

"Lovers Shared Breath!" A third exclaimed, and the crowd twittered with sly looks between themselves and Oraelia.

Oraelia giggled. "What wonderful names! They convey emotion and thought, which is pleasing to the ears. Come come there is much more to see in this realm of mine. A plethora of names await you." she said, grabbing the hands of the pale one and the reddish brown one and leading them all deeper into the realm. A grand tour of sorts, to inspire and amaze. They all followed her, some more willing than others, though all equally wide-eyed at the prospect of seeing a new world reveal itself to them.

They went through fields of golden grasses as tall they, with every manner of animal and bird. Some bigger then them. Then through glades of honeydew and mint with berry bushes to pluck from until the belly was full and the heart content. They walked by ponds of the freshest of waters teeming with fish and drank from the crystal depths to quench their thirst. Then shade covered them as they journeyed through forests old and new, seeing even more life that Rhiona had populated. All the time Oraelia watched with keen eyes, delighting in their faces as they discovered the world around them. Hours later they arrived at Oraelia's large house having seen only a portion of her eternal realm.

Having let go of the two furies from when they first began, Oraelia rested her hands on her hips and beamed a toothy smile at them "Well my dears, what do you think? Have you found your names?" she asked.

They spoke in hurried unison, eager to tell her their chosen names. All were as extravagant and emotional as the first, yet the pale furies' choice stood out; "Garden of Ordained Peace." She watched Oraelia with hesitant eyes even now, and seemed to have a different attitude to the fascinated and starry-eyed dozen around her. Perhaps she had seen something the others had not prior to coming here. Two furies had engaged each other in a now two-hour long debate on the merits of a name with more prose and description, and how to effectively pronounce long names. Oraelia had certainly started something.

"Garden of Ordained Peace." Oraelia whispered under her breath, looking to the pale one. She reminded her most of Neiya but there was a certain hesitance that was not Neiya. She loved the name, she loved all of their names.

She clapped her hands together to get their attention. "All of your names are perfect and beautiful. Cast aside the discussion on which is best and how to pronounce them, my little scholars. Now is the time for a bit of rest and dinner." she said. "Now watch and be still." she continued, raising her hand to her house. In an instant it, and the immediate surroundings vanished, replaced by a grass field. Then from the ground emerged tall pillars of white stone, they grew tall and wide with ornate designs of leons and stags and of flowers and sun. Followed by that was a large roof, adorned with wavy patterns and the visage of Oraelia cupping a seed in one hand and fiery orb in the other. This building grew as the land rose, creating a white staircase and rows and rows of hedges with flat areas for gardens and lounging. Water fountains erupted from the earth with stone work of the same stags and Leon's but eith more detail.

When the land at last settled and trees sprouted, what was before them stood a very large palace of Marble that began to run with lines of liquid gold between the rocks. There was another rumbling and upon a hill over yonder Oraelia's old house appeared, then with a chunk of the land it rose into the sky and stayed there as the land beneath it healed.

Oraelia grinned. "Welcome home, my Furies." she proclaimed.

The chattering chorus of squealing and amazed muttering was almost overpowering. Though the Furies maintained a general air of pride and restraint in their mannerisms, many were unable to contain their glee and abject fascination with each shift of the landscape. This grand estate seemed unlike anything these nascent sentients had ever seen, and it showed. "A grand gesture, a bastion matched in stature only by its builders heart," one of the bluer Furies - Valley of Freedom - intoned emphatically. "A sanctity that must be kept and honored."

Oraelia snapped her fingers and clothes began to cover the furies one by one. Long slender garments of white. Two small straps held them up at their shoulders and were low cut enough to reveal their more feminine features. Colorful flowers began to sprout from laurels that wrapped around their heads, smelling of warm pleasant aromas and sweet nectars. They stood before her, newly clothed and brimming with excitement. ”There, now you are clothed, and not so bare to the world. Within this palace, you will find many rooms for you to occupy and call your own. This is your home now within my realm, and yes, I do expect you to keep it well. But first, I am quite peckish and I am sure you are all hungry as well?” Oraelia began to pace back and forth, setting a finger on her chin. ”Now what should we do about that? Oh, I know!” She turned to them and waved, a gust of wind washing over them.

”You will find that I have taught you a few things. One being how to cook many delicious foods and how to forage for ingredients in the wild. What’s edible and what isn’t and those sorts of things. Some more gifts remain yet hidden, waiting to be unlocked… Now you will find that my realm is bountiful, but know this, that which is taken must be out of necessity and never excess. If one takes excessively, it must be used and not hoarded.” She gave a soft smile. ”Now a little test. Around here you will find what you need to cook a feast. When you have what you need, meet me in the kitchen. You will also find that the palace is known to you, so that you will never get lost. And remember, work together! Now, are there any questions?”

What ensued was a brief silence, followed by a chattering cacophony of questions. Many worried over the exact details of her challenge, but none stood out as particularly difficult to quickly answer with a shake of the head or a smile. A few Furies caught on quick and wasted no time in trying to both soothe the inquisitive nature of their kin, but also motivate the others to cooperate. Eventually a tenuous consensus was reached, and the confused worry adopted by a few taking the word 'test' too closely to heart was soon discarded in favour of following the gaggle of giggling girls.

Soon it seemed there was a pair of Furies around every corner, scouring every inch of the local area in an effort to analyze and take in all they could. Of course, being divine, Oraelia could hear their faint murmurs from quite a distance away - already they were deep into drawing conclusions about different types of flowers and berries based on their appearance and features. They treated it like a sporting challenge, taking to the task of assembling all manner of ingredients with jovial moods and cheery debates, while still holding a good pace. A few times Oraelia caught sight of one of them reminding others not to take too much - it was perhaps no surprise it was the pale Garden of Ordained Peace who worried about excesses.

Oraelia smiled to herself and before long began to walk up the steps to the Palace. Truth be told, she did create the thing but it was still exciting to see up close. She left the Furies in good hands, knowing they would come to her when they were ready (It wasn't like she couldn't hear them and their chatter anyways). So she wandered through the long empty halls, taller then even trees and she looked out long windows to see a wondrous view of golden fields and she sampled the glistening bathrooms, the empty dining halls, the comfy bedrooms and found herself at last within the main kitchen room. A large interior lit well by windows. It was a modest place full of tools that may have been a bit beyond anything on Galbar that she knew of but still retained a feeling of the times. She walked towards the entrance of the room, hearing feet walking up the corridors.

The first of the Furies barreled through the halls with a load full of fruits. Her happy expression froze when she came upon Oraelia, as her body followed suit and locked in place out of respect, reverence, or fear. The small mountain of citrus fruits burst from her precarious grip, and rolled all over the corridor.

"Ack! A great blemish I have inflicted on this domain. Pray forgive me, O' virtue incarnate." She spoke in half-song as her sky blue skin blushed darker, before rushing to pick up her rolling fugitives. Behind her came a flood of Furies, all but a few repeating the pattern of stopping dead in their tracks when they came upon her, but less clumsy with their bounty.

Oraelia gushed, "Oh no my darling, I scared you. Please forgive me! Here, let me help!" The goddess chimed, helping pick up the fruit. "The rest of you can carry on inside and start. Remember, accidents happen and one should always be willing to help make things right, even if they had nothing to do with it."

The blushing furie said nothing but smiled warmly to herself as she collected all of her lost fruits with Oraelia's help. An errant mutter reached her ears, basic envy among the others for getting to spend time with 'Our Lady', but it didn't seem all that malicious as the others quickly made their way further into the palace chatting away. When Oraelia picked up the last round escapee, the blue-horned girl dared to speak again. "Your home is much nicer than our birthplace…"

Oraelia looked upon her with a thoughtful expression. "Not all things are so nice as where we find ourselves eventually. Your… Creator… Mother?" she shook her head. "Do not think terribly of Neiya. Hers is a complicated history full of pain and sorrow. I hope to one day help her truly realize she can be something else then what she was born to be." She smiled at the fury. "I think you and your kind are proof of that. Now come, we mustn't keep the others waiting for too long."

The horned girl nodded twice and - having learned nothing from her previous behavior - rushed down the hall to join the others with the same speed that had culminated in middling catastrophe just before. Naturally, keeping up would never be a match for a deity, but they were capable of considerable bursts of speed. They were certainly spry, almost imbued with a relentless drive to engage in each activity with their full attention and passion.

Soon enough the chattering turned to a clatter and jovial talks as well as traded tips and conclusions on cooking. The talent appeared to come naturally after Oraelia's initial assistance, and now all but a few of them were avidly figuring things out on the fly, and whipping up possible dishes and techniques with mere taste testing. The few Furies that did not manage the same level quickly adopted a supportive role, unselfishly accepting their lack of skill as cooking masters. The recently raised palace soon carried a strong and inviting fragrance of fresh herbs, ripe fruit, and exotic blends of spice. In record time - and with almost no help - the furies whipped up a truly massive feast of all the bounties the realm had been willing to offer. It was immediately evident - and had been during cooking - that unless Oraelia ate for ten, there was way too much food prepared. An excess indeed.

Regardless, the Goddess made no mention of this and instead guided them to dish the food and bring it out to the dining room, where she waited at the head of the table. And so the Furies brought their succulent foods out and arranged them on that long table to the brim. When that was done, Oraelia bid them to sit. "What wonderful work my lovely little doves. I think some important lessons were learned today so before we eat, would anyone like to speak?" she asked in a reassuring voice, eyes falling on Garden of Ordained Peace.

The pale woman seemed immediately weighed down by the implicit attention leveled her way, and fidgeted in place. A few other Furies seemed to realize only now how much food there truly was, and Garden herself glanced at the long table conscientiously. "...Do not collect to excess, do not waste…" she began, lifting a hand to her cheek. Her glowing gaze lifted to behold her comrades, who had begun to shift their own eagerness into frowns as they realized their lack of thoughtfulness. Garden of Ordained Peace widened her eyes and looked towards Oraelia, though did not have the confidence to meet her gaze. "Alas, it is not so that the challenge laid upon us has not been met. In our vigor to please Our Lady much food has been made - all the better to invite more guests."

The Goddess' lips slowly turned into a smile. "An excellent idea! I feared, as I wandered this palace, I made it too large for so few. But… Let this be a lesson and not a punishment for excess. There are many solutions to the problems we face. Never be afraid to let your ideas be known. Now, shall I invite more of your kind to my realm?" she asked.

A long string of oohs and agreement ran through the crowd. The pale Garden seemed to smile to herself in a brief moment of joy, and nodded slowly. Of course, it didn't take long for her reddish-brown comrade from earlier to step in with her own thoughts, blind to the subtler side. "A grand feast for as many as wish to come! Perhaps even the Songstress, our maker, will come to participate!"

Oraelia gave a small nod in turn. "Well, I suppose I can ask her to come but I wouldn't get your hopes up my doves. Now, if you'll excuse me for one moment." she said, getting up from her seat and walking back into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight of the Furies, Oraelia became visibly panicked. Could she really ask Neiya? Was it too soon? She let out a small breath and then steadied herself. She couldn't let her Furies down. So she sent her thoughts towards the Goddess of Love.

"Neiya… I've a favor to ask…"

Despite having only spoken with Neiya a few times, there was a noticeable delay that was now becoming standard. She could tie it now to the struggling goddesses' thought process, no doubt going through the same wracking doubt no matter the situation. As expected, a brief sensation was returned, followed by the thoughts of the horned love goddess. "...Oraelia? What's the matter?

There was a lot she wanted to say. Things she probably needed to say but Oraelia's confidence faltered as she felt Neiya’s presence. So she said the first thing that came to mind. "I-I need more Furies!" she blurted then winced at herself.

"..O-Oh.” Neiya replied almost immediately, filling the void with an enigmatic breath before silence took over again. The delay was murder. When her words returned, they were steeled with the cold grace of the frowning goddess. "Of course. I’ll let them know they are welcome in your realm.”

"You are too! I mean, we're throwing a feast and they asked if I could invite you! But I want you to come! But only if you want too!" She slapped herself and took a deep breath. "They're really precious and and… Uh… Thank you for making them, Neiya."

"...Thank you, but there’s someone I have to see. Maybe next time, Oraelia.” came the response, filled with promise and sadness alike. ”I’ll send as many Furies as I can. They deserve a good life.”

"O-" Oraelia started.

No more could be said before one of the furies burst into the kitchen, taking a deep breath before trying to compose herself and appear at least a little graceful before a goddess. “Hark! Cresting the Painted Fields is trying to argue it is a matter of course to begin the feast early given our sizable number. Garden of Ordained Peace mounts a valiant defense of mind and logic, but a ruling is required, O’ Brightest.”

She turned to Treads Before the Dawn, and for a moment her face was blank. She blinked then laughed, "Oh my, well, let's go give a ruling then, yeah?" she said, following after the Fury, mind thinking of Neiya for a moment before the smells of food brought her back to task at hand.

Oh and how she loved them.

---

It was an unremarkable day in Meliorem. Cadien sat upon his throne, an unusual level of boredom having set in. He simply wasn’t in a mood to spend time with the Songs. Although he had prayers to listen to, few of them were particularly important or interesting. He sighed in disappointment as he heard another noble praying for strength and beauty despite doing nothing to earn it.

Boredom would not last however. A rumble rocked the long untouched door leading to Neiya's realm. It shook and vibrated with relentless effort, its divine construction not enough to stave off the tide of change on the other side, and it threatened to rattle off of its hinges. Finally, the pressure became too much for the poor portal between realms, and it furiously swung open as far as it could. With it came iridescent mists of different colors and a pressing heat, a drastic shift from the chill winds of yore. The tumble of hurried feet caught Cadien's ears, though he could not yet sense the presence of another deity. Out of the mists came a horned silhouette, a slender woman in rich garments; silks and jewelry. It took a moment to confirm - this was not Neiya, despite the likeness to her tailed and horned supple form that she had previously worn. Her skin was a warm red hue and her eyes shone with the color of blood. Another two women stepped out into Meliorem, pale blue and grey respectively. They too resembled Neiya in vague senses, though each had their own shape of horn and tail. They glanced at each other before staring up to Cadien and giving the red one - who had promptly started staring about the throne room in awe - a shove with an elbow. She collected herself quickly and cleared her throat.

"O', for the journey was long, bequeathed upon us now must be a lovelorn fury extinguished," she called with as theatrical a voice as she could muster. "So to whence the Queen has come, once more shall the halls rejoice with Her splendor." Content with her performance, she bowed deeply before Cadien, quickly joined by the other two.

“Where is she?” Cadien asked, quickly leaping from his throne, his expression anxious and concerned.

"Behold and be calmed, great purveyor of pride. The Queen comes, dignified and distinguished." The woman continued and stepped aside to gesture towards the mists. As promised, a fourth shape approached from the depths of Neiyas realm. This time, it quickly became clear that it was the love goddess herself, holding the same form as when they had first met. She hovered into Meliorem with purposeful grace, content to play the part of returning royalty.

Cadien stepped forward and embraced her. “Neiya,” he whispered in relief. “I could not access your realm. I had feared the worst…”

The goddess leaned into the embrace, gingerly touching her head to his shoulder. "I am sorry for worrying you, my love. I was a prisoner of my own emotions." she conceded with a sorrowful tone.

“What happened?” he asked in concern, stroking her hair.

Spoken just loud enough for the assembled women to hear, the red-skinned one took it upon herself to answer as melodramatically possible. "'tis a tale of hardship and woe. A realm torn asunder by passion and drive brought low," she professed with wistful yet captivated oration. Neiya raised a hand to silence her, but her rhetorically skilled entourage was so caught in her own words that her eyes were closed. "The Queen has suffered and endured the throes of war, blessed creation with innovation beyond imagining, and taken up the mantle of love once more. Indeed, nary a tale can match--"

She turned to swift silence with a quiet grunt as her paler comrade jabbed her in the side with yet another elbow, and she opened her glowing red eyes to sheepishly behold the crowd. After a few moments of awkward silence, Neiya took it upon herself to reply. "I… I had a fight with Gibbou. That's where it began.

Cadien had not expected that. “I’m here for you,” he said, after a few moments of silence. “Tell me what happened.”

Neiya sighed softly and broke away from his embrace, gaze cast to the side as she lifted into the air. She took the opportunity to glide further into Meliorem's center, languidly extending a hand to touch a pillar as she answered. "She… accosted me in Antiquity. I was-... upset, the Life Goddess cursed my Neiyari." she turned in the air to regard Cadien, and extended her hand towards him instead. "I lashed out, and she wished nothing but harm upon me. It was unavoidable."

He took her hand. Instead of replying, he floated upward and wrapped his arms around her once more.

The horned goddess wrapped her arms around him in turn, and slowly let her head touch against his. In doing so, she decided against words, deciding for the first time since their meeting to impart memories instead. This time there was no torrent of unruled emotions - only Neiya's own experiences. Flashes of emotion and anger turned to reflect the vicious brawl in Antiquity in short but palpable snippets, together with the seething frustration she had felt. Her sorrowful eyes closed, and the visions instead took to her realm tearing asunder in response to her wounded pride. Shame, hurt and guilt with no true context. Unbridled anger and wounded pride. Mountains broke and the sky warped to something malicious and seething.

In response to all this, Cadien gripped her tighter. Whether this was to comfort her, or himself, or simply a result of the anger she was now making him feel, was impossible for either to say. The shared experience lingered yet, as Cadien got to experience eyes in the dark, and Neiya's own realization that she has created things in her fury. Her surrender to the torrent, and submerging into the negative emotions of Galbar.

Then, a ray of light. The sun goddess appeared, and though no words were shared, Neiya shared with him an implicit guilt that also had little context for the God of Perfection. A shame that helped steer her from further violence, and a blinding light with overpowering sadness. The memory turned to giving the horned women - Furies - sentience, and after Oraelia's departure, clothing and teaching them the ways of the world. The memories subsided, and Neiya lowered her hand. Then, after a few moments, she cautiously spoke a simple question. "Do you think there is such a thing as change?"

Cadien’s eyebrows rose. “Change?” he asked. “Of course. We’ve all changed. You changed me, when we first met. The Separation changed us all. And… I’ve watched you change, over the years.”

Neiya settled deep blue eyes on him, a forlorn expression imprinted on her features. "Tell me."

“Your appearance. Your demeanour. You conducted yourself with more happiness, more charm. You were more eager to enjoy yourself. At first I was happy for you…” his voice trailed off, as he thought of his next words. “But then I realized the change was more than just appearance and demeanour. You seemed more distant. At times, you felt like a stranger… I began to miss who you had once been.”

The goddess watched him with a quiet fascination. As he explained, her lips pressed together into a thin frown. "You don't like who I am." she concluded with a quick, sighed comment. "No wonder you painted those days."

“Don’t say that,” Cadien objected. He moved back and took her hands in his. “I love you, Neiya. I just wish… I wish we would support each other more. I wish you would tell me more of your troubles, and allow me to help you. I wish you would stand by my side as we build beautiful things together, like we did with the Merelli all that time ago. I want us to protect each other’s creations against those who would destroy them. Because you can create - I know it.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, then whispered into her ear. “I want to be there for you when you need me, and for you to do the same.”

He leaned back again, and brought a hand to her cheek. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. What do you want, my love?”

Neiya exhaled sharply and averted her gaze, shooting a hurt look deeper into the throne room. "I'm-... I don't know. There's always so many things, pulling in every direction." she breathed eventually. "I'm… trying something new. To be better."

“Then let’s try together,” Cadien said.

She breathed another deep breath and lifted a hand to lay against his chest. "I'd like that." she murmured quietly, gaze sliding across the halls. "Your hall is quiet today."

“I wanted some time to myself,” Cadien admitted. “I know you don’t like them, but the Songs are still out there. I brought some of your Neiyari here too, after I found out they were cursed - I thought it would be the best way to ensure your creations were preserved, in case the curse was never broken.”

Neiya perked up briefly on mention of her Neiyari, but fought to maintain her graceful composure. "You honour them." she began, and hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Oraelia came to me, and the curse is lifted. A first step, perhaps. Old wounds closing. I'm hesitant to hope for lasting peace."

“It did seem a bit too far, to put that curse on them in the first place,” Cadien nodded. “But from what I’ve heard of Oraelia… war isn’t her way. I suspect that’s why she only made them infertile, instead of something more drastic. Anyhow, I’m sure the Neiyari here will be pleased to hear they can have children again, and their kinsmen on Galbar will not die out. Do you wish to tell them yourself?”

Neiya stood silent for a time, pondering the question. In the background one of the horned women murmured something, only to be shushed by her comrades. "Do you think they would like me? I've never spoken to a true Neiyari after their creation." the goddess eventually managed.

“There is only one way to find out,” Cadien said.

---

Leaving the trio of Furies behind, the God and the Goddess floated across the open sea, toward the island Cadien had created for the Neiyari. It was during this journey that Neiya would notice several other islands as well, all of them empty. “I intend to bring more inhabitants into my realm,” Cadien said. “Those who embody my values, or give their lives in my name. They deserve a fitting reward upon death. Your Neiyari, on the other hand, are quite alive.”

They reached the island with its white stone village, and its vast green field. The field was already beginning to fill up as the Neiyari rode out of the settlement on their impressive steed. As Cadien set foot on the ground and led Neiya toward them, the winged cavalrymen formed a line. Their expressions were stoic and disciplined, but as Neiya came closer they shifted toward a mix of surprise and reverence.

Dakari rode out in front of them, and drew a sabre of solid sunlight. “Salute the War Mother!” he ordered, and despite the unexpected sight of their goddess, the Black Hussars complied immediately, drawing their weapons and flourishing them into a salute with uniform precision.

Dakari, meanwhile, dismounted and knelt as they approached. “My lady,” he said, his eyes downcast. “You have graced us with your presence at last.”

Neiya swept forward with elegance, exhaling with a renewed tranquility. Her eyes examined each and every one of them, before settling on Dakari. She drifted over to hover before him, and extended a hand towards his face. Gentle fingers moved to touch at his chin and tilt his face upwards. "You have waited for a long time, have you not?"

Dakari, usually self-assured and confident, hesitated. And then nodded.

The horned goddess leaned forward in the air, exhaling a long and sensuous sigh that seemed to whip away on the wind to carry throughout Meliorem and beyond - all the way down to Galbar to reach the ear of each Neiyari. "You were never forgotten, my child. I have watched and warred for your fate in the realms. A destitute and childless fate awaited, but my love has seen the hex lifted. Rise now, with neither curse nor hesitation. For your War Mother." she crooned with motherly affection, before listing forwards to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Dakari rose. Many Neiyari sent envious stares at his back. Others seemed relieved, finally breaking discipline to slouch in their saddles, as if a great burden had been lifted from them… but then they remembered where they were, and who stood before them. They straightened up again.

“You have my infinite gratitude, War Mother…” Dakari said, bowing his head. “But… what of Oraeliara, and her spawn? They were the ones who did this to us. What will be their punishment?”

Neiya's lips pursed slowly and her expression returned to a taut and impassive face. "For their crimes I sang a song that crippled their very will to live. Worry not about the affairs of gods, young one, but of your duty. I see devotion in you. I see why my beloved invited you."

Dakari fought hard not to smile, but ended up beaming with pride regardless. “You honour me,” he said.

Neiya twisted a momentary smile, non-committal and barely perceptible. "Honour me in turn, my child, and nothing will ever stop you."

Cadien stepped up beside her. “You are all dismissed,” he declared. And with those words the Neiyari reluctantly peeled away, some lingering briefly to continue looking at their Goddess, only to eventually move on. Dakari himself mounted his horse and proceeded back toward the village.

“You handled them well,” Cadien said, once they had dispersed.

Neiya watched the mortals slip away with a distant smile, thin and forlorn, a quiet fascination not unlike that of a mother watching their children set out into the world. After a time, she exhaled slowly and brushed aside hair from her face. "Mortals wear their thoughts on their sleeves - but thank you. I hope they cherish this meeting."

Again the goddess sighed, closing her eyes briefly to ponder the moment in peace, before turning to Cadien with new purpose, and lifted her chin as she drifted towards him. Her arm moved to slide around his, and she clutched him close elegantly. "Do you want to watch the ocean?

Cadien smiled. “Of course. Let’s go.”

The goddess nodded in turn and tugged gently on his arm as she drifted in a direction directly back towards the ocean they had traveled over. Watching the ocean turned out to mean flying out over it, with Neiya not content to stop until the islands were mere features on the horizon, and the two lovers were alone with the slow ripple of the open water. Coming to a stop out there in the middle of nowhere, Neiya repeated an ancient tendency and leaned her head on his shoulder, putting her weight on Cadien as her blue eyes fell on the equally blue ocean. Cadien wrapped an arm around her waist, and the two remained there in silence.

---

The god in the inkstain is not dead, my friends. Look, do you not see how even now his variegated heartink pours into the walking place of the gods; and if you step forth into that antique place then be sure to bring boat and paddle, or be prepared to wade. No he is not dead who bleeds eternally that the curse of dryness and monochromy may never again plague that divine heartland. Walk then or fly, ye race of celestials bound beyond the veil of worldly sight, 'tis one wetness more, one drabness less, a sing-song richer, and a fluttering of ink faeries through every divine door.

On the dunes of Galbar and its plains, in its mountain cores and in the depths of its jungles and at the gurgling blackness of its swamps, in the inky heart of the stilly deeps; there sounded a hum, a cry, a moan. Oh brother troll, oh sister, he is not dead who stained the peripheral heights of your universe so that they roil now and breathe with the breath of the cosmos. Oh, he is not dead who lends melody and soul to the terrene and empyrean spheres. Did the spark in your dancing feet perish that he should die? Did the euphony of your crooning tongue fade that he should echo into nothingness away? Has the soul of art been struck by the swift and poisonous dart that he should up, up, and fleeing depart?

If it is so, then take this song and kiss of ink, take this sculptor's, carver's, builder's touch - but, take this art, these artitects and this artefact.

Why? Why not?

• Summary [+]

  It is all absolute nonsense, I don't even know what I'm writing anymore. A golden generation of architects is created, and a cool artefact of carving rings is now somewhere on Galbar. Ping me if you want to claim them.
• Might [+]

  | 5MP and 5DP | +2 Puppetry | +3 Acting | +3 Music | +3 Dance | +1 Architecture | +2 Sculpting |

  
  Consecrate Golden Generation: Age of Artitects
  

  The Birth of Artitecture III: This generation is made up of architectural geniuses who intuitively and creatively see how the native architecture of their people can be beautified and made better. They have an intuitive understanding for all aspects of the architectural process, from designs to the processes of bringing about what is designed. They also have a greater imagination when it comes to the materials useable and the possibilities provided for enhancing and controlling their built environment. (3DP - +3 to Architecture)

  
  Consecrat Artifact: Carving Rings
  

  Were Your Heart Stone It Would Yield To My Hand III: The one who wears these carving rings is granted an incredible ability to manipulate and carve material into the shape they desire. They tend to adapt to the nature of the wearer, but return to their natural appearance once removed. (3MP - +3 to Sculpting)

  
  

  | 2MP and 2DP | +2 Puppetry | +3 Acting | +3 Music | +3 Dance | +4 Architecture | +5 Sculpting |

---

Cragking Thunder gave his stony chin an audible scrape through centuries’ worth of mossy overgrowth thickly coalesced into one enormous, now braided beard. He had done this quite a bit over the past few days, sometimes for whole days and nights, as though fishing for a thought that never seemed to bite. He had, in fact, been sitting on his stone throne scratching his chin for so long that several tonnes of gravel, moss and sand had formed giant piles on the cave floor beneath him. He sniffed thoughtfully with such noise that the mountain walls shook.

Then with a rumble of his belly that challenged tectonic movements, the fishing line of the mind finally caught onto something.

“Gen’ral!” droned the king with reverberating bass.

Crush, the Gen’ral snapped to attention, having been dozing off nearby. He quickly, for a troll, rose and snapped his hand into a salute. “Aye Cragking!?” he bellowed, his mind still waking up.

The Cragking gave his chin another scratch. “Hang on…” He squinted, his tar-like mind digging through two thousand years of memories to acquire the one he had just made. His belly thundered again, and Thunder’s eyes lit up once more with remembrance. “I’m hungry, lad.”

Crush thought to himself for a brief moment, letting his own mind shift through things, before he too realized something. “Aye...Me too, iz it ‘unting time?” he asked, looking around the cave of the throne room of their small kingdom. Since their adventure with the blade all those years ago, the place had grown quite crowded: Ranglefants had moved in by the score, along with askeladds and even the odd draug here and there, having been chased out of their homes in the lands below as humanity expanded evermore. Such a rapid demographic growth had brought with it a need for personal space given to the many families and individuals living inside the cave, which had caused some to dig new holes in the walls, or to dig burrows in the floor and cover them over with dirt and moss. Bonfires raged through the night, frail askeladds needing to keep warm in the high mountains - here, askeladd shamans would tell stories and show off neat, flashy hexes for the entertainment of the others.

Food had become scarce, though - very scarce. Thunder hummed once more.

“Ye ken… I had a thought the other day… We’ve seen hummies down below, aye? They keep, wassit, those four-legged thengs that make all those noises and leave droppings everywhere, aye?” He scratched his chin again. “What if, right… What if we did that, too? Then we would nae have to hunt all the time.” He hummed yet again and looked around on the trolls scuttling around on the floor beneath his mammoth feet. Some stopped to wave giddily at him before continuing. “... But how do we feed this many trolls?”

“We’d need a whole lot to feed em,” Crush replied, he too looked at the various trolls going about their daily business through the winding caverns of the kingdom. “maybe...we get sum hummies to like, pay us tribute? cuz those four leg thengs don’t like us, they run when we come, remember? Wed ave to get a, smaller git to, do what dem hummies do with em.”

Thunder nodded so his neck shed another ton of sand, dirt and overgrowth. “Ye’re as wise as ye’re tall, lad.” With effort, he extended his arm, which had been bent in some way or another for weeks, straightening it out into a pointing gesture, aiming at the cave entrance. Using the power of the Cragking Crown, his voice hammered the air like the crack of a storm, Thunder’s thundering message quaking the very bones of all who heard him: “MY LAD - I TASK YE WITH BRINGIN’ BACK A HUNDRED HUMMIES WITH ALL THE MANY-LEG THENGS AND RUCKUS THEY CAN HERD! THIS IS THE ORDER OF THE MOUNTAIN, OF I, THUNDER, KING OF ALL THE TROLLDOM!” The closest smaller trolls fell to the ground, clutching their ears with squeals and cries.

Crush too had to somewhat cover his ears, before giving a curt salute “Aye aye great Cragking!” He slowly walked towards the entrance of the great cave, helping a few of the smaller trolls up after the King’s loud command. He came upon the troll shades upon their pedestal, and delicately picked them up and placed them upon his face, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. Before he left though, he turned to the nearly packed throne room, looking for any Rangles or Askeladds he could convince to help him out. He quickly stumbled upon one of the many bonfires around the cave, where an askeladd shaman was midway through a shadow puppet show for some ranglefant trollspawn, all of whom clapped their disproportinately huge hands together with thunderous applause. The shaman stopped and looked up at Crush with a raised brow, waving slowly.

“‘Ey there, man - ‘ere for the show? Or is this abou’ that ordeh?”

“de show is real gud, but, aye, i need some ‘elp for de order, i may be big an’ strong, but a hunded hummies is still a big task.”

The shaman gave her potato nose a rub and stuck a thumb under each strap of her skin suspenders. “Hundred ‘ummies, ha? That sure’s a bit, innit.” She shrugged lazily. “S’pose I got a minute.”

Crush lifted his hand in a thumbs “oight, i ‘ppreciate the ‘elp, i’ll, uh, let ya get ready.” He slowly trumbled towards the entrance once more. The askeladd followed right behind, bringing with it a moth-eaten linen shirt and a sack - a repurposed sheep’s stomach, to be precise, filled with a little something to eat, most likely. The two strolled out the entrance into the darkness of the deep night, and the askeladd looked up.

“Reckon we ‘ave, uh, ‘bout four hours afore the sun’s back out. You be aroight, gov?”

“Aye! got meself some fancy glasses,” he pointed to the shades sitting atop his face “Gift from de gods, I’ll be fine in da sun.”

“Oh, well, ain’t that nice,” commended the shaman. “By the way, I’m Scrap - came from the Smelly Swamps, born and bred.” She politely held out a tiny hand. “‘Appy to be of service to ya, gov!”

Crush carefully took the hand, being careful not to crush it, as was his namesake. “A pleasure to meet ya,” He turned his head towards the horizon “hmmm, ‘ave an idea where we should start? hummies are rare round dees parts nowadays.”

“Dunno, gov. ‘S usually the big bosses who keep the books ‘n all that. Though if I am ta guess…” She hummed, then stuck her hand into her sack and pulled out a turkey’s wishbone. It had already been snapped, so she haphazardly stuck the snapped-off piece back on, only to snap it again and toss the bone off the mountain. She carefully studied the way it rolled, following its direction with eager eyes. When it started drifting, she pointed in its direction - the east. “That way.”

Crush shrugged “good ‘nough fur me.” He trekked eastward, making sure Scrap kept close to him. There was no telling what they could find in these woods and hills that would be crazy enough to fight two trolls. Crush’s assessment was correct in that anything crazy enough to take both of them on could not be found; in fact, nothing could be found at all. The woods were as empty as they were dense, as though all signs of humanity had turned and ran off with their non-existent tails between their skimpy legs. Scrap gave it a few hours of walking before she groaned.

“‘S like they’ve all evaporateded!”

Crush looked around, raising a log to look underneath it, seeing nothing but bugs scattering around. “Huh,” he spoke “Dats strange, culd’ve sworn der were hummies here before.”

“We didn’ eat ‘em all, roight?” The pair exited the woods, being greeted by the wave-like hills of the southern Highlands. There was not a village to be seen - at least not from their current position. “Shait, we might’a ate ‘em all.”

“We might’ve eaten dem all,” Crush scratched his mossy beard that clung to the bottom of his face. “We might need to go further.”

“How much further, gov? We’re already at the edge of the woods ‘n stuff. Where can we go from ‘ere?”

“Hmmm,” Crush thought once more “I don’t know, but we gotta at least reach some of dem hummies, or else me pa would be furious.” The pair continued across the open hills, Crush’s earthquake steps sending tremors that could no doubt be felt for kilometres. Scrap gave her nose a rub and then suddenly clapped her tiny palm on Crush’s foot, as that was all she could reach.

“H-hey! Smoke! I see smoke! Over there, boss!” Following her tiny finger, one could indeed see lazy columns of smoke in the far distance, wagging to and fro in the wind behind a hill.

“Aye! Good eye Scrap!” He squinted his eyes, looking towards the smoke “That might mean some humies are nearby, we gotta be sneaky, don’t want them hearing us.” He crouched and began to slowly walk, which did, admittingly very little to make him more sneaky.

Scrap was much quieter, but Crunch's long steps had her sprinting and panting like a whipped animal. By the time they reached halfway over the brink, they could already hear the screams - however, they had started a little too early to be caused by them. Scrap wheezed her way to the top of hill and whooped. "Boss! They'z under attack!"

As Crush topped the hill, he saw the chaotic sight before him. There was a village that was for sure, but a good portion of it was currently engulfed in flames. He could see humans running in fear, screaming in absolute terror that he had only seen when he made sudden appearances. There were also various humans armed with their pointed sticks and clubs, they seemed to be fighting something, yet, Crush could not see it.

That is, until he heard a savage roar, it was horrid, even to a troll it shook him to his core. That was when he saw the wave of flesh. They were savage beasts, that Crush could immediately tell, their flesh was a pallid grey, they were adorned with limbs both working and useless, their bodies twisted and contorted into strange forms and shapes and their mouths were filled with horrid spikes of teeth. These creatures fell upon the humans, tearing at them with crude weapons, claws, and teeth, savagely eating upon the flesh of any human that had the unfortunate fate of falling to their onslaught.

“What in the blooming ‘ell is this!” Crush loudly proclaimed, gazing towards Scrap.

“Shait if I know, gov!” responded Scrap in a daze.

“Well! What do we do?!?” He directed his gaze once more towards the village, the humans were fighting fiercely against these creatures. Crush had never seen such savagery before.

“Well, king said we ‘ad ta capture humies, so we gotta snatch some while they’re still around. Well, what’re you waitin’ for, man?! You’ve got the big ‘ands, go get ‘em!” Scrap shouted and she started digging through her musty sack and pulled out a lock of hair and a cup of stiffened grease. She slathered her thumb in the stuff and stuck some hair to it and then wafted her stick around, dancing around in circles. A long tendril of hair extended from her thumb and shot forward to ensnare a squealing man running in their semi-general direction. The man kept screaming as the tendril pulled him towards them and did not shut up even after Scrap had snipped the tendril with a dagger and left him tied up and kicking on the ground. “My, these cunts’re noisy. Well, go on, then!” She started conjuring another tentacle.

Crush nodded “right.”, he rose to his full height and rushed towards the burning village, scooping up any of the running humans he could, they were willy, their fear turning them into expert runners as another terrifying, gigantic creature barreled towards their village. He scooped humans up left and right, until he had a whole bundle of screaming and kicking people slung over his shoulder. He rushed to grab another, a woman running for her life screaming her lungs out, but, one of those pale beings pounced upon her, within seconds her screaming had stopped, her throat torn out by the horrid mangled teeth. It ate for a few seconds upon her flesh, before turning its sickly head up towards Crush, its grey eyes starting straight towards his soul. It uttered a loud roar, and the troll could see other pale creatures gathering nearby, clearly unwilling to attack, but still aggressive towards the massive troll.

“Scrap!” Crush loudly proclaimed “A little ‘elp here!” He quickly grabbed a neary beam from a house, waving it in front of him, keeping the beasts back as they snapped and jabbed towards him with their crude weapons and claws.

Scrap finished tying up a third prisoner and then hurried over to help Crush, panting tiredly. Reaching into her bag again, she pulled out a lock of straw and a piece of flint and tinder. Despite her exhaustion, she expertly knocked some sparks over the straw, lighting it aflame. She then danced around in a circle, this time slapping her stick at the ground in every direction, and then blew on the smoking straws in the direction of the pale creatures. The smoke hurled forward like a steamy breath in winter, and then expanded violently around Crush’s feet, tiny sparks in the smoke becoming like flies aiming for the eyes of the vile beasts attacking him. The enemy unleashed hyena-like squeaks as they grabbed at their sore faces, and Scrap waved for Crush to retreat. “They gonna get us, gov! Le’s go!”

Crush tossed his wooden beam, clobberin one of the beasts in its head, he rushed back towards scrap and the other prisoners, effortlessly scooping both up, slinging the humans over his shoulder and carrying Scrap in his free hand. He could hear the roars of the beasts and he afforded a quick look behind him. Only to see a horde of pale flesh drawing closer. This only incentivised him to run fast, as fast as he had ever run before, desperately holding onto the humans and scrap as he did so. The sounds of the horde rapidly fell silent behind them as they ran deep into the woods, and only when the sounds had vanished for a while did Crush finally slow down, eventually coming to a stop as he catches his breath, slowly putting down Scrap and the tied up prisoners.

“Any idea what the ‘ell that wus Scrap? I've never seen those...things, before.”

The small askeladd was visibly shaken, pulling her straw hat off and wafting some air into her face. “No bloomin’ idea, gov - wuz bloomin’ scary cunts, they wuz. Looked like humies ‘n spoidahs ‘ad a baby or somefhin’.” She glanced up at the human prisoners, who were all in different stages of grief. “So… Whot now? Got humies, but ain’t got no four-legs. Whot we do, boss?”

Crush slowly sat down, causing a puff of moss and dirt to erupt around him. “We gotta find ‘nother village I guess, one with four-legs.” He turned his head towards the humans “First, any of you know where four-legs might be? Second, what wur those, things that wur attacking you?”

“Four legs, what?!” shouted one of the women.

“We know nothing about these four legs, please just let us go!” pleaded one of the men.

“MOMMYYYYY!” cried one of the children. Scrap scrunched her nose.

“Well, they’re ‘elpful, fe’ sure. Roight, four-legs’re ‘em big, uh, four-legged fhings wiff the tasty meat.” She gestured descriptively with her hands, conjuring forth quite a creative interpretation of what a cow was. The humans were very much confused.

“W-what?”

Scrap groaned. “Ugh, an’ they say we’z the stupid ones?! By Fhunder, this’ll take all week!” She dug through her sack. “‘Ang on, I fhink I got somefhin’ to make ‘em talk…”

“WAIT, WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!” shouted some of them; others screamed. “Is it an animal you’re after?! Like, like a pig?!”

Scrap blinked up at Crush. “Woss a pig, boss?”

Crush thought for a short while “If, I recall correctly, its one of dem four-legs, but small, we’re looking for one of dem bigger ones,” Crush spoke towards the human, keeping his voice low and quiet, “I think dey have uhhhh, pointy bits on head.”

“Y-y-you mean a cow?” came a quivering suggestion. Scrap scratched her chin thoughtfully. She then dragged her foot back and forth over the forest floor until it cleared of debris and only a flat of dirt was left. Then, snapping her fingers, she released the speaker from her hairy ropes and pointed to the ground.

“Draw it.”

The woman hesitated, looking elsewhere with rapidly shifting eyes. Scrap’s eye twitched. “You’re drawin’ it roight now, slag, or I’ll get worse stuff than ‘air on your body!”

“OKAY! Okay!” the woman squealed in reply, falling to the ground and drawing a very simple looking stick-cow, horns and snout and all. Scrap hummed.

“This it, boss?”

“Ya that’s it!” Crush bellowed out “that's the uh, cow.” He looked at the woman “Ya know where any are?”

She looked hesitant for a bit. “W-we had some i-i-in our village.”

“Beata, you Runnibrook bitch, those are ours!” shouted one of the men.

“Well, if it’s between your cows and our lives, Nelian, then I choose the cows!” she retorted and turned back to the trolls, holding her hands up pacifyingly. “We got a deal? We go free and you get your cows?”

“Well,” Crush began “We’re gonna need some of yous to teach us how to uhhh, keep them living, help feed kingdom and whatnot, also.” He turned his head towards the direction of their village. “Those pale things might still be in ur village right?”

The woman looked dreadfully disheartened; the others started crying and weeping again. “P-please don’t take us away, please!”

“Oi, shut up!” shouted Scrap and slapped one of the children across the face. It went quiet on the spot, looking at her with fearful eyes. She looked up at Crush and shook her head. “Man, humans ‘ave no idea ‘ow to raise their bairns, do they?”

Crush shrugged “I wuldn’t know.” He flopped back down and stroked his chin of rock and moss, sending a few piece of debris falling. “Hmmmm.” He hummed out loud. “Sad hummies won’t work well, too sad to aid Cragking, hmmmmm.” It was clear his mind was overworking to figure out a solution to the group’s conundrum. “But, we need hummies to figure out dem cows, but hummies don’t wanna help, hmmmmm.” It stayed that way for a few minutes, a small pile of dirt had gathered in his lap from his pensive thought. Until, he loudly proclaimed “Crush has idea!”

“You hummies know cows, why not hummies teach me and Scrap cows at village, den we take cows back to cragking and teach other trolls da cows!” His face was filled with joy and excitement as he looked at both Scrap and the humans for approval.

The humans shifted between each other with wide open eyes. “Y-you want us to teach you h-how to hold cows?”

“‘S whot he said, innit?” Scrap confirmed impatiently.

“U-uhm--... Okay! Y-yeah, we can do that, sure! I-if you help us get rid of those terrible Skrill, then we will teach you…”

“Humans teaching trolls… May the gods forgive us…”

Crush nodded “Sounds good to me! Now those uh, Skill, they’re those pale thingies right? shouldn’t be, too hard, right Scrap?” He looked towards his companion, notably unsure of his words.

“Uuuuh… I dunno, gov - they seemed pretty rabid.”

“Ya...your right...but maybe sum of dem have left? that’d be easier.” He replied.

“We’ve, we’ve been attacked by them before. Th-... Oh gods,” sobbed one of the men. Scrap pointed a fat, scabby finger at his nose.

“Spit it out, or I’ll stick this splinter under your thumbnail!”

“That’s not a splinter - that’s a stick!” the man complained.

“A matter of perspective, ya moot. Now say whot you woss sayin’!”

The man swallowed through the tears. “I-... I remember they just took people last time. Lots and lots of people. M-my father and, and, and my uncle, and-... And then they just left with them. W-we never saw them again and--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, cry me a river’n all that. So, we headin’ back, then, boss?”

Crush nodded, slowly getting up “Aye, we made deal with hummies, we get rid of rabid pale things, they teach us about dem cows.” He looked around for a brief moment, before picking up a lone fallen log.

“Righto. Take us back, then, boss!” the shaman offered and grabbed onto his leg.

“Waitwaitwait, you’re not gonna leave us here, are you?!”

Scrap blinked at the humans. “‘Course we are. Right, boss?”

Crush looked at the ‘umans “well, you’d be safer ‘ere, but if any of u’s can fight, we can bring ya along.”

All of them suddenly got quite busy staying bound. “No, no, we’re good! You two’ve got this!” they cheered. Even the children seemed to join in, smiling as encouragingly as they could fake it. Scrap looked up.

“Well, that’s that! Take us away, boss!”

Crush chuckled “well alright, we’ll be back once we dealt with dem pale things.” He lowered his right arm to allow Scrap to clamper onto him. Then he began to trudge back towards the village, vaguely retracting his steps when they ran from the creatures the first time. Eventually, they came once more upon the hill just beyond the village, peering over, the two trolls saw a ruined assembly of huts and wood, the pale things walking and crawling around, feasting upon what little they hadn’t already eaten.

“Aight scrap,” Crush whispered “any idea of a plan?”

“Just gotta crush ‘em, roight?” She punched her palm. “So we crush ‘em!”

“Ya you right.” Crush replied. He stood up straight and uttered a roar, with scrap in his one hand and the massive log in the other, he charged forth from the hill. The pale creatures were caught horribly off guard, scattering all about as the massive troll, with another troll in his arms, charged into the village. Crush swung about his weapon and scrap using her magic to toss around the pale things. But soon enough, the two were surrounded, a massive horde of flesh on all side, yet, they did not attack, they didn’t swarm at them like they had the humans, instead, they kept their distance.

And then, above it all, a shout was heard, the voice gravelly and harsh. “Stoneskin!”. The horde of pale skins parted, and a massive horned creature walked through. Ragged red fur clung to its form and its head looked like that of a wolves, yet the skin of the muzzle had been torn away. Various pieces of metal were put upon its body, and in one hand it held a massive hammer-like object.

“Glad to see that you’ve returned, Stoneskin.” The creature continued, the other pale things seemed to keep their distance from this figure, some even bowing in reverence. This large creature stared at the two trolls. “I wish, to speak.”

“Speak ‘bout what?” Crush replied,

“I do not wish to fight you, Stoneskin,” They began “I have no desire to see more of my kin fall, its clear we both have interests in this village, and so,” They stretched their arms out, gesturing around the area. “let us talk, shall we?”

“Dun’ like this, boss… They’re too friendly - just like draugs. Can’t trust ‘em.” Scrap hid warily behind Crush’s trunk-like leg.

Crush let his right arm pat Scrap, guarding the smaller troll in case the pale things surged forward. “Aye, we’ll talk, what u want? Hummies told us to clear ya from the village, in exchange they teach us about cow thing.”

The large being chuckled “I see, going soft on us Stoneskin? dealing with the Unmarked is something neither of us do often.”

“Sometimes, ya have to,” Crush replied “We need cow for great Cragkingdom, for food.”

“Ah yes, the great endeavor of flesh for all.” The being gestured once more to the pale things around him. “Something me and my kin relate to,” He grinned, and gazed towards scrap. “See? we and you are not so different.”

Crush took a slight step forward, bringing his form up and straightening himself. “You will leave dis village, that is our demand for talk.” He gazed around to the pale things, hoping he was giving off a sense of authority.

The creature stared at him, its grin slowly falling, it gazed too at its “kin”, before turning its attention back to Crush. “Very well, Stoneskin, but, in exchange, you will not interfere with our hunts again, this village will be safe, but if you come across us again, you will not stop us.”

Crush thought for a moment, looking down at Scrap, who eyed the beings with suspicion, before offering Crush a shrug. “Sounds like a deal ta me, boss.”

He turned his head back to the creature “Very well, wut is ur name? so we know if we meet ‘gain.”

“Helmut, Lord of the Palefire Brood, yours?”

“Crush, son of Cragking Thunder.”

“Very well Crush, I believe we are done here.”

“Yes.”

Helmut raised his arm wielding the hammer, emitting a loud screech, it reminded Crush of a dying hog squealing as it was speared. And in seconds, the pale creatures retreated from their encircling of Crush and Scrap, gathering up bones, flesh, and metal scraps, before vanishing in massive waves behind the huts and buildings, scurrying off from where they came.

“Until we meet again.” Helmut spoke, before too running off to join his kin.

Soon enough, the two trolls were left alone, in the shattered ruins of the village. “That wus...weird.” Crush finally spoke.

“You tellin’ me?! Woss is those fhings anyway?!” Scrap kicked a charred plank into the sunset, all of two feet. She stuffed both hands in the pockets of her hide overalls and sniffed passively. “So thassit? Who was they anyway? Whot was all that about ‘huntin’ and that? We don’t want no competishun ‘round ‘ere.” She stuck a pinky up a nostril.

Crush could only shrug “I dunno, we shuld ask me pap about dem pale thingies wen we get back to Crag, de seem dangerous.”

He stood there for a moment, staring at the distance to ensure the creatures had finally vanished “Well, lets get em hummies and bring dem back.”

He let scrap clamber back up upon him before heading off. Once more tracing his steps back to where they had deposited the humans. And only getting slightly lost on the way there. Finally, they arrived back to the group of humans, who had huddled underneath a few trees for shelter.

“I got good news.” Crush declared as he came into view.

“Did you shoo them away?!”

“Did you kill them?!”

“Is-is my family okay?”

Scrap shut them all up with a loud clap. “HEY! Quiet down when the gen’ral’s speakin’!” She cleared her throat and gestured up at Crush. “Go ahead, gov.”

“Dank ya Scrap.” Crush spoke, before turning his attention to the humans “We chased dem pale thingies off, they wunt bother ya no more, i think some of ya kin managed to escape, but I can’t say fur certain.” Crush did slightly hope what he said had some truth to it, he still needed the humans to help him out with those cow things. The humans seemed courageous enough now to summon forth some form of happiness in their stupour of trauma. Some even smiled. That was until Scrap clicked her fat tongue against her yellow teeth and snorted.

“Now don’ get too happy. We ‘ad a deal, remember?”

The humans swallowed as one. The woman from earlier whispered, “Yes… A deal… D-do you have any cows of your own? Anything you can practice on?”

Scrap looked up at Crush. “Shit, we don’, do we?”

“nope, we weren’t prepared for this, pa didn’t tell me what those four leg things were to begin with.” Crush replied, scratching his head. Scrap scratched her head, too.

“Humans! Show us where there be cows!”

They all looked uncomfortably at one another. “W-well, the thing is…”

“Our cows were the first to be killed and eaten by the Skrill… I doubt there’d be any left for us to show you. Unless…”

“Unless you saw their corpses lying around. That might’ve told you what to look for. Did, did you see big, four-legged corpses lying in the grass?”

“So you wuz lyin’ after all, huh?!” Scrap snarled and raised a hand threateningly Beata cowering. Then, however, she lowered it and sighed. “Remember if we saw anything like that, boss?”

Crush eyes widened as his brain tried to remember what had occurred. “Oh ya!” he finally declared “dey did look like furry juddra, more small heads though and some had horns, dat dem?”

“Sounds ‘bout roight,” Scrap nodded. The humans looked shocked, though it seemed founded less in fear and more in confusion, perhaps even pity. The woman blinked as she tried to find the proper words.

“S-so… You know what juddra are, right?”

“Know ‘em?! Pfft, lady, lady, lady… Where we’re from, juddra roam around everywhere. S’like they own the place - them ‘n those boaks… And the boraks... And the felgars… And don’t even get me started on the madriel.” Scrap kicked a small pebble to vent her frustration. The woman stuttered in disbelief.

“Th-then if you have so many juddra, why do you need cows?”

“PFFFFT! Stupid humie! That’s ‘cuz… Is ‘cuz…” Scrap’s eyes grew smaller and smaller with thought, and slowly, her fingers made their way up to her chin to nip at it ponderously. “... Oi, boss, why do we need cows, actually?”

“uhhhh.” Crush too had to stroke his chin to think “I, uh, dun know, me pa said to find hummies and four legs so…..if Juddra like cow, we don need cow….” One could most definitely hear the stones turning inside his head. “so….wut now?”

“Uh…” Scrap’s own tectonic brain inched forward a millimeter. “We ‘ead back, I guess - tell the king.”

“W-wait, you’re just leaving like that?” exclaimed one of the humans.

Crush looked at the humans “well, s’pose we culd take yas back to yur village. If yas want.”

“W-well,” the humans hesitated, “how about you just let us free, and we’ll get back on our own.” A few of them struggled against the binds of hair. Scrap rolled her eyes quietly and snapped her fingers; the binds went limp and collected on the ground around the humans’ feet.

“Righto, off ye go.”

The humans shifted between the midget and the giant, and then kicked off into a sprint in the general direction of wherever, hoping more to get away than to get home. Scrap pocketed her hands and kicked a stray pebble. “So, we goin’ home?”

“Ya, lets” Crush replied, taking the lead back towards the Cragkeep. The two of them showed up before the Cragking Thunder with this surprising knowledge, and the Cragking agreed that choosing to herd the local animals was indeed quite a wise move. He commended Crush and Scrap both for their great wisdom, and gave them each a juddra of their own as reward, picked from a flock that happened to pass by not too far away from their cave entrance. Soon, trolls rushed out of the cave in the night, picking up juddra herd by herd and bringing them back to the cave for milking. When these juddra eventually escaped again during the day, the trolls had to rush back out to capture them again. They did the same with felgar, boak and boraks, though these respectively proved too agile, too evasive or simply too fat for most trolls to easily capture and bring home. Undeterred, however, the Cragking’s subjects persevered, bringing home catch after catch and storing them in containers fashioned from large rocks for later consumption. So was founded the very first milk and meat-runners, and everyone forgot that the mission also was supposed to include the capture of a hundred humans.

Oh well.

Yamat’s realm looked exactly as Qael’Naath had expected. It was a vast wasteland of jagged rocks and black soot. A dark, pulsing sun offered a rather dreadful light. Left and right the god of magic had noticed the ruins and he wondered which one were of Teperia, and which ones history had claimed. The place reminded him of his daughter’s island back home. Behind the god dust and ash gently blew up. Giving Qael a trail. The god realized the nature of the realm instinctively. Mortals here willing to meet with the god of tragedy would have to sit still for hours before they could even hope to meet him. The god of magic had no such time. “Yamat!” He shouted out, using some degree of divinity to carry the message through whatever barriers might be. “I have come requesting a favor.”

The wind softened and the dust slowly began to settle, the god of magic was left standing there for a few moments of quiet. Before finally another voice spoke out.

”Ah come now Qael, you’re no fun,” Two black arms shot out from the dust nearby, bringing forth four black tendrils, and finally the twisted antlered head and thin and gangly body of the god of tragedy. They crawled up from the soot, dusted themselves off, and gazed upon their sibling. ”What is it you need?”

A thin smile appeared upon Qael’s face, even though it was hidden under tentacles and the shadow of a hood. So far Yamat hadn’t brought tragedy to magic… yet. It was probably an inevitability but for now, the god of magic had no quarrels with his brother. However, the smile vanished quickly nonetheless. Only two of his six eyes were flickering with chromatic colors. Kal, the mortal, was left sitting on a rock in a meditative pose but with no consciousness to speak of. All the attention he could spare was focused here and now. “I’ve come asking you for a favor.” He repeated, softer this time around. “I need a plague.” There was no reason to walk circles around it. But the god of magic gained no satisfaction or pleasure from asking such a thing. His time as a human was beginning to affect him in a way he did not anticipate. It made him understand how to think like a mortal. It made him realize to the fullest extend what he was asking. “I need a plague in the Luminant.”

Yamat couldn’t help but laugh, snapping one of their fingers, suddenly the two were shifted over, a massive twisted wooden canopy covering a table and two chairs. The god of tragedy walked towards it, their gaze still upon the god of magic. ”A plague? In the Luminant? My my Qael I think I have to retract my earlier statement, you’re a lot more fun than before.” They slowly sat within one of the chairs, gesturing towards the other with one of their tendrils, a cup and saucer forming in their hands. ”But, why would you go and ask me for that? Surely you have a good reason?”

Qael took the other chair Yamat motioned towards. His question was a good one. Why didn’t he want to do it on his own? Did he want to distance himself? Pretend like it wasn’t him who caused the illness? Then to whom? Towards Oraelia who would doubtlessly despise the plague and whoever made it? Or would he never be able to look his own daughter in the eyes again, knowing what suffering he would’ve brought? Too many questions, none with answers. “Because none would know how to craft a plague better than the god of tragedy. Am I wrong?” Qael rebutted, with a slight challenge in his tone. “It stands to reason that I would be counting on your discretion. Oraelia still loves the land and the Oraeliari that inhabit it. And while she herself might be as dangerous as a flower, her latest avatar is quite different.”

”I see,” They responded, taking a quick sip of whatever liquid was inside their cup, it seemingly vanishing upon reaching the mask that covered their face. ”I can understand that need, it would not be, the first time I’ve messed with the works of the sun and I can handle her wrath, whatever it is, now of course, I ask another question.” Yamat paused for another moment, taking another sip before continuing. ”Why do you need a plague? And in the Luminant no less?”

Well, it would’ve come up anyway. He leaned in. “I need it because it will become the foundation of my daughter’s empire. And that is why I also need you to give her a way to heal people from that plague.” With those words said he leaned back again and waited for a second. Letting the words hang in the air. “With her healing powers over the plague, people would be forced to flock to her banner. She’d garner power in no time, even for a mortal. That is what I want.” For her, for Soleira. He wanted a white-golden throne in a great palace of an empire whose roads stretched at least all over that colorful realm. She would feed the hungry, give purpose to the forlorn and uplift mortal kind as it should’ve been. And he would give her all of that.

Yamat laughed, a great cackle erupted through the wastes of their realm, sending soot and dirt flying into the great roaring winds. ”Qael my dear,” the director spoke in between breaths of laughter ”You seem to misunderstand, usually, when I create something like a plague, there is rarely if ever a treatment.” They finally composed themselves, allowing their tendrils to wipe away the black sludge that had emerged from their one eye. ”Besides, what's in it for me? I have little care for this daughter of yours or her great empire, there has to be something in it for me.”

The god of magic was just sitting back in his chair. Letting the laughter like a storm wind wash over him. Unaffected really. Getting a plague from Yamat would be easy enough and he knew that. Getting him to give a cure as well, that was the challenge. However, he did not come entirely empty handed. “Tell me, how many lives were lost atop the impenetrable walls of Ketrefa when Auriëlle blew it up? Did you feel it? The exact moment when their sense of superior safety turned into dread when the solid, mountainous stone broke under their feet? Did you feast on their tears? I reckon you did. As much as you feasted upon every defiled altar she sundered. What’s in it for you, you ask? Her. My other daughter’s faithful, eternal service. With my support.”

The god of tragedy mused for a brief moment, swirling around their cup and starting at the sickly green liquid inside. Finally they leaned forward to Qael and spoke ”Why I must admit, the service of your other daughter would be more than useful…’ They let the moment hang within the air, the edge of the great halo behind their head turning a strange red. ”If she were of any worth right now, and not blinded and useless, stuck within your university.” Their single eye gazed upon the god of magic, before they finally slunk back into their chair, taking another sip from their cup. ”You must try better than that my dear, not only will I inviting the wrath of the sun and possibly my closest ally, but creating a treatment does do away with quite a bit of the fun.”

“How insulting of you, my brother, that you think so lowly of my daughter.” Qael said teasingly, hiding the fear Yamat was causing in his gut well enough. “Tell me, do you really think a mortal as tenacious as her will just sit around and accept her fate now? Do you think it was an accident that I placed the greatest sorceress in the world in a treasure trove of magical knowledge? She reached the peak of power she could attain on Toraan some time ago. Now she has to grow beyond that point and the Omniversity is the only place on Galbar where she can achieve that. But sure as prophecy, she will return to Galbar. More powerful than any mortal that has ever existed.”

The god of magic leaned in as well, conjuring a goblet of his own in his hand which he slowly swirled around. “But I understand that to you that is all just speculation.” Qael said. “Yet the fact that you haven’t outright refused means you’ve got at least a price in mind. So, what is it going to take?”

Yamat had to chuckle at that ”Now you’re getting it dear brother, while I’m sure dear Auri will return one day, and I do look forward to it, but, it's going to take more than that.” The god snapped their fingers, causing a map to unfurl upon the table, intricate painted figures were placed at various places around Galbar. Each of their tendrils picked up and put back down many figures, a black reshut wielding a sword, a golden Iskrill wielding a spear, a pale beast with a massive scythe, a reshut and goblin carrying a sack, until finally coming upon a lone figure, many coloured, a human wearing a large floppy hat. ”I’m sure you’re familiar with a certain one of my children?” the tragic director asked, their tendril offering the figure to their sibling.

Qael’s eyes went over the many figures, noting their locations. It would always be useful to know where Yamat’s agents were. There was no doubt in his mind that sooner rather than later trouble would arise in those locations. But when the tendrilled god picked up perhaps the most boring figurine and asked Qael about him, the god of magic just shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.” He admitted rather casually, after which he took a sip of his own golden cup. Which was filled with an amber liquid. “Not all who show a talent for the Arts go noticed by me brother. But do tell me about him. Perhaps he is interesting.”

”This, my brother, is Axin, one of my more, recent, children. He is indeed a user of your magic, though he has some, added effects, courtesy of myself.” They let the tendril slowly deposit the figure back down in its place, near the northern reaches of the garden. ”He is to be, a researcher, while he is still a wanderer right now, once he settles down, I’m sure he will begin testing a great deal of magical experiments and the like, something of which I’m sure you’d be interested in?”

It was no surprise to Qael that Yamat had made some changes to how someone would cast magic. In truth he wondered what took so long. Sure, he hadn’t heard of this Axin but then again, he hadn’t noticed Auriëlle until Oraelia mentioned her. “You have my curiosity brother.” Qael said. “So what do you want me to give him?” He tried to sound as neutral as possible, but deep down was wondering what a child of Yamat could achieve when it came to magic.

”The exact nature of the gift I will leave up to you, but something to aid his more magical endeavors would be nice, I'm sure as the god of magic you will cook something up.” Yamat set their cup down, turning their gaze down upon the map, focusing on the Luminant, and the various angel figures placed around. ”So, in exchange of a plague, the loyalty of your other daughter, and, in exchange of the cure, you aid one of my own endeavors, that seem like a fair trade to you?”

For a second the god of magic just remained quiet. Pondering upon what gift would be appropriate for the mad mage. Well, something that would drive his research for sure. Something to make him obsessed. But not something that would just freely give its secrets. Something that made him work. It should offer a mere glimpse, again and again. Letting the mad one figure out how to use the knowledge gleaned. “A fair trade indeed.” Qael said as he extended his hand to shake whatever Yamat would grace him with.

Yamat extended their own hand, taking Qael’s in theirs, giving it a curt shake. ”It is a deal then.” The god of tragedy then turned back to the map upon their table. They held out one of their hands, allowing dust and soot to settle upon it, with the wave of another of their hands and the glow of the runes upon their skin, the dust took a sickly green colour, almost as if itself had become corrupted by some heinous plague. Their hand then hovered above the Luminant, the single eye of the god of decay looking at their sibling ”Have any preference where it begins? Or shall I just let it all loose?”

“Closest here.” Qael said as he outstretched his hand. Without touching the sickly looking soot a thin, pale light flickered alive near Soleras. It would be close enough so it would be easily killed in its tracks by a doubtlessly overzealous Soleira. But still close enough that she could manage to heal those as it grew. “A plague to make infirm. To sap the strength from all. Rendering them weak and exhausted.” The healing waters would doubtlessly be able to sooth the illness. For a time. Knowing Yamat’s skill though, Qael was sure it would come back. Again and again. Only Soleira’s gift would be sufficient to permanently heal the sick. A faint, melancholic smile formed under his hood. Millions would suffer. Thousands, despite the fact that the plague wouldn’t be lethal, wouldn’t survive because of it. People he learned the name of would suffer. He took no joy in that but it had to be done. For the sake of unifying the Luminant. For the sake of his daughter.

”Very well,” They tipped their hand ever so slightly, letting loose a portion of the soot over the desired spot, the green corruption seeped into the map, slowly establishing itself on the spot. The map itself seem to grow corrupted on the area, turning a horrid pale green akin to the soot that now covered it. ”There we go, give it a while to begin, though Im sure your daughter will realize it before you do.” They pulled their hand back, stopping for a brief moment to allow some more soot to fall from their hand, landing upon a city in the north of the highlands. Yamat then let the rest of the soot fall away into the dust of their realm. ”Now all there’s left is this cure for your daughter, correct?”

The city was not unknown to Qael. He recognized it as a place he visited about three decades ago. Mere minutes to a god. It was the birthplace of Auriëlle. Interesting. The god of magic had no real vested interest in Acadia yet. The Grand Designs did not yet call upon him to aid that area. He turned to face Yamat again. “Yes. Now just the blessing for Soleira. As I will bless Axin.” He said, and the two eyes controlling the Winds flashed for a second. On Galbar, high up in the sky a book was materializing in the sky. Carried by erratic colors towards the World Anchor.

”Yes indeed, have no worry my brother.” They waved their free hand over the area Qael had specified, the runes on their skin glowing for a brief moment. Far below the gods, within the great coloured realm of the luminant, the one known as Soleira felt a strange, almost sickly, feeling wash over her, it lasted mere seconds, almost as if it had been a fluke of the mind. But it held something far greater. ”There you go, your daughter will be the only one to be able to cure that sickness now, though without her help, it will pass, as all plagues do, but, she has the ability. My part of the bargain is done,” They rested their hand back down upon the table, using their other one to take another sip from their cup. ”Do you have anything more you require dear sibling?”

“No… No I think this is plenty.” Qael felt sick suddenly. Sick of having called such a horrible thing upon the people of his daughter. What he had done was necessary. His mind kept telling him that. It was the truth after all. The greater truth. Everyone in the Luminant would be better off in the long term. Yet there were people he knew the name of. Those who came from other villages to trade with Soleras. He took a quick sip of his own drink. Letting it wash down whatever guilt he felt boiling up in his chest. Then he rose up. “Thank you brother. But I must go now. There are… matters to attend to.” And he turned around, heading towards where his divine senses told him the portal back to Antiquity was.

”Of course my dear brother, I hope my services have been, fitting, for your plans.” A cackle rose suddenly from their voice, carried by the dust and wind throughout the wasteland of their realm, it bounced around and invaded every space. Meanwhile a great storm of soot and dust covered the canopy once more, rendering it gone from view. The dust and soot in front of Qael soon formed a path, leading him back towards the portal, away from the wasteland and the horrid cackling.

_{KhoZee Productions & Partners. presents:}

They had been on the road for some twelve days when they spotted the caravanners on the horizon. Her idda-ta had assured her they would be seeing them soon - for there was a known caravanserai not far from here. “Are we headed for it?” She had asked, and he had nodded in the affirmative.

When they arrived, the people Rima found there were quite different from the townspeople of Miha-Rad. For one thing, they wore no headdresses - men and women wore their hair at different lengths and decorated with all kinds of beads and adornments. The men, in particular, seemed to wear copious jewellery - neck-chains, bracelets, anklets -, even more so than some of the women back at Miha-Rad. While the men wore their hair differently, Rima immediately noted that the girls and younger women wore it cropped short or even shaved completely, often wearing headbands intensively decorated with beads. The older the women, the longer was their hair - and when long enough it was braided tightly and entwined with beads and pearls.

Unlike the people of Miha-Rad, they did not flock to the kayhin on his arrival, clearly being more used to the likes of him than the townspeople were. They were, however, approached by an old woman who gave them a sing-song greeting. “It is good to hear your song anew, Zahna.” The kayhin spoke.

“It is good to see you too, Great Diviner. You have been gone a long time - I had thought you gone forever.”

“Not so, not yet. I had duties to attend to.” And here he gestured for Rima to come. “Come, my dear. Meet old Zahna.”

“Ah, now here’s a special song indeed. And what’s your name, little desert rose?” Zahna asked. Rima blinked in surprise then smiled.

“Rima-Tinrur of the Jungle-folk, idda-ti.”

“Ah, now no one’s called me that since Serrah and Rahma went off.” The old woman said with a smile, though there was perhaps the slightest sadness in her eyes. “From the jungle are you? I haven’t seen one of you in many, many years.” Rima’s eyes broadened with interest.

“I heard your song not long ago - you seemed distressed.” The kayhin continued.

“Oh yes, we had an unpleasant encounter with a little dreambeast. Serrah and Rahma dealt with it well enough.” The old woman said. “It awoke something in them - perhaps something that was always there.” She turned and they began walking towards her tent.

“Their song did always sound different.” The kayhin noted.

“Oh, that it did. That it did.” Zahna agreed. Rima looked from the woman to her idda-ta at a loss, but smiled anyhow. “Only the gods and the song know where they are now.” She sighed.

“You have come from Birba-Ida - how did you leave it?” Her idda-ta asked.

“Not too different from how we found it. The fishes bring their loads, and we bring ours, and the world of the oceans and that of the land meet. Their songs are always a delight to hear, of course - alien, but delightful. Far off lands and such odd people and creatures. And such kawnnisaj as causes the heart to tremble. But beyond their tales and merchandise, there is not much new. The many-limbed ones have kept their peace - the ward-shrines have made sure of that, at least.” She stooped into her small tent and the kayhin and Rima stepped in after her. It was sparsely furnished - some goatskin skins, a drum here or there, but little else beyond. It was clear that the old woman lived as lightly as she travelled.

“That is good. I am the last to turn to kawnnisaj to resolve such matters, but there seemed no other way.” The kayhin intoned.

“Oh, no doubt, no doubt.” She reached for a nearby goatskin bag and unstoppered it, extending it to Rima.

“Ah, thank you.” The woman accepted it and took a swig, finding it to be soured milk not dissimilar to what the townspeople of Miha-Rad had.

“Now I don’t know if you have heard it, but these last few nights here I have heard it every night - a certain deathsong on the breeze, the chanting of more bodytakers than I care to count. It is not near by any means, but near enough. It comes from the direction of the fahupki. They fight and kill each other, this we know, but I have never heard it on such a scale.” The old woman looked to the kayhin with furrowed brows.

“Yes, I have heard it on the song also. It is no fahupki song, that is for certain. In fact…” he paused for a few seconds, “you should not be surprised to find the perpetrator arriving here soon enough.” The old woman’s knotted brows seemed to knot even further.

“Do you know what it is?” She asked.

“It is not anything I have ever heard before. Its song is not a good song at all.” There was a certain gravity to his tone that caused Rima’s hairs to stand on edge.

“Ah,” the old woman sighed regretfully. “It is what it is.”

“That it is.” The kayhin agreed. “Now, I shall leave our little desert rose here with you, I can already hear her crooning to know all your tales.”

“Oh, I think I heard that too.” The old woman gave Rima a knowing smile. “I know what you are thinking - how does old Zahna know anything about the jungle people, eh?” Rima glanced at her idda-ta as he floated out of the tent, but then turned her attention back to the old woman.

“Well, I know that you caravanners travel all over the world, so that’s probably how isn’t it?”

“All over the world? My dear, the world is a great old place - I don’t think anyone has seen half of it! No no, it’s not because of the caravenners - I’ve never travelled east of the mountains with them.” Rima raised an eyebrow at this. “You see, I was born not too far from those jungles - in the great city of Qabar-Kirkanshir…”


True to his word, Malri awoke on the fourth day, having been left undisturbed. After eating and drinking his fill, he went down to the water’s edge. There he removed his armor, piece by piece and arranged them carefully on the bank. He then removed an old shirt and some worn leggings, woven by the Litus tribe and threw them in the water to wash.

He looked down at his unnaturally pale body, the heat of the sun almost burning him where he stood. He checked his pendant and took it off to wash, then placed it back on. He did the same with his sun stone and the mace. Then each piece of his armor was next, bit by bit until everything was as good as it was going to get. Malri left the bands upon his arms, for the looks of the bustling vesps were far too inquisitive for his liking. They were busy preparing their goods for travel, like little worker bees. Even still, he did not trust them.

Then at long last, Malri himself walked into the warm water, venturing chest deep to the cool. He dipped his wings in only slightly, not wanting to get rid of the oils that kept them dry. He then washed himself from the grime and sweat that the desert had encrusted him in. After an hour or so of this, he ventured back onto land and let the sun dry him. He then donned everything once more, a grueling task for one, but he did not want these creatures to help him. They were far too wrong looking. He couldn’t even tell them apart, nevertheless what gender they were. If they even had genders.

The speaker vesp, at least he thought it was the speaker vesp, seemed to be waiting for him. She approached in haste, clacking her mandibles. Barely a few words were uttered, before Malri cut her off.

“Are you prepared?” He demanded, looking at her behind his fearsome gaze. It was difficult to read their facial expressions, he had also noted. Being so insect-like, how could the act so… So different but the same time as to what he was used to? The creature nodded it’s head and raised a finger to speak, but Malri did not wait and took to the skies with a few large gusts of his wings.

As if given a signal, the vesps ascended as well in a mighty drone that seemed to engulf the world. With them they brought their goods in great long nets, carried by dozens of them, if not hundreds. They worked in those large groups down to mere two’s and even one’s. All carrying something, or helping carry. Even Malri had to admit that it was an impressive sight, for an inferior species. Their sheer size seemed to blot out the skies, just like the swarm that had attacked him. Malri decided to fly higher up, carried by the warm currents of the air. He could vaguely see different colors and shapes upon the horizon but he was content to be a follower for now.

He knew for a fact that these vesps... they were not for him. He wanted to be away from these bugs and into the company of those that suited him better.

Far, far better…

The desert rolled away beneath them, and no matter how swiftly they seemed to move and no matter how distant the oasis grew, the desert seemed to go on forever. Yet these vesps clearly knew where they were headed, and it was a matter of hours before they started descending and below them a great encampment, made up of dozens if not hundreds of little black tents, emerged from the red wastes. What had at first seemed like a little rocky hill at the centre of the camp was not a hill at all, but some kind of stone-carved structure. The vesps made landfall just outside the camp’s perimetre, with the nets being the last to slowly be placed down.

They zipped here and there, clearing out space, erecting makeshift canopies and stalls and ordering all their wares according to type. “We stop here for trade.” The speaker told Malri. “After trade is done, I and some others will take you to the mountain - as agreed.” She paused for a few seconds. “Be nice to redmen - if you ask nicely, they might even give you information for free. They can be silly like that.”

“Very well.” He said, fixing his mace to a loop at his right side. He draped his wings and pressed them to his back then with little mind for caution, he made his way into the heart of the camp. He was not one for subtlety and laid himself bare for this new world to see, standing tall and proud. Why should he be afraid or nervous? If these beings were humans, they were inferior, after all.

To his satisfaction, the ‘redmen’ took note of him almost immediately. Some frowned in his direction, children and youths stared wide-eyed or curiously; in all cases there was a palatable layer of inexplicable terror lining their eyes. A few young men, the unnatural terror seeming to drive them into a foolish courage, shouted and raised sticks and leapt excitedly, coming near to him in groups before withdrawing. A few shouts from some nearby women, wearing their excessively long hair in beaded braids, swiftly but a stop to their antics. They glanced at him with unveiled fear and dislike, snapping at the children to stay away and not stare at him. One of these women was visibly quite old, and stood by her was a younger woman who stuck out like a sore thumb - wearing entirely different clothing and sporting strange hair. In her speckled eyes of amber-brown was fear also, but she wore a frown that seemed to know this was no natural fear. The redmen all watched Malri, now and again gesturing towards him as they spoke. Others were content to simply lean on their sticks or sit by their tents and stare at him, perhaps their fear of him preventing them from doing anything else.

Eventually, after what felt like a long time but was probably not so, a few lanky men approached, accompanied by a naked man dripping ink; on his head were great tied up dreadlocks and a seemingly endless beard cascaded from his face and was wrapped about one arm. The men stood before Malri, considering his odd attire and wings. After a few moments, one of them stepped forward, holding his visibly trembling hands behind him. “W- we greet you, stranger.” He spoke. “I am- uh. I’m Sipir-Khash of the Mirtaah. We welcome you among us.” He swallowed, licking his suddenly dry lips. “B- but in caution is some wisdom, they say, and so pardon me for asking,” he glanced at the painted naked man before returning his fearful gaze to Malri, “but what manner of creature are you, f- for I can see you are neither of the Hibbi-Fehsp nor are you humenaki, n- nor even of the seafolk.”

“Humenaki.” Malri said aloud, focusing on the men. “Not entirely human, are you? Something crossed between, as is the way of humans.” He paused, staring down the painted man. There was something odd about that one but he continued, “I am a Neiyari but you may call me Vespslayer, Sipir-Khash of the Mirtaah.”

Sipir-Khash seemed deeply discomfited by his voice, and cleared his throat before speaking again. “I am not sure what you mean, I don’t know what human is, only humenaki. And…” he paused, “so there are more like you? Nihari? Are you a people from the north?” He opened his mouth to continue, but abruptly stopped. “Ah, but I am being rude now. We can sit inside and eat and speak.” With that, Sipir turned and gestured for the Neiyari to follow. The painted man was approached by the oddly-dressed woman as they passed her and after a few words tagged along with them. Malri could almost feel her curious gaze boring into him from behind.

They approached the great stone structure - it was carved into what was once a large rock formation, and Sipir-Khas called it a caravanserai. “While we tribal traders like our tents and can even sleep on the camel, it is quite nice to have something like this. The mugahtir of Birba-Ida, being the most glorious and mighty of the mugahtirs, had it carved and pays for its upkeep and staffing. There is nothing like it anywhere else.” He seemed to be less afraid now that he was not looking directly at Malri, but one glance seemed to put that aright once more.

They walked through the impressive entrance of the caravanserai which quickly opened up into a great square hall carved into the heart of the rock. The walls of the hall were carved with smaller doorways which led into smaller chambers. “Sleeping quarters,” Sipir-Khas commented as he walked to the centre of the great chamber where cushions, furs, skins, and quilts had been placed. The man made himself comfortable and invited Malri to sit also. The painted man, for his part, crossed his legs and was suddenly hanging in the air.

“Can I sit too, idda-ta?” The girl whispered, though Malri heard. The odd naked man, whose eyes - Malri now noticed - were closed, simply nodded. She took one of the cushions and sat awkwardly on it, clearly unused to these kinds of seating arrangements.

Malri gave no comment but did stare at the floating man for a few moments. His suspicions were right, there was something about that one that was different from the rest. His eyes fell upon the girl as he sat down on several cushions, sitting back as he pleased. She was of some importance, it seemed, to the floating man. She was younger then the others, he could see that in her facial features. Bah. Though, like the man, there was something special about her as well. He had a feeling he would find out soon enough.

Malri then stretched his arms and removed his helmet, letting his blanched hair fall down. He set his helmet next to him and eyed them all again then the great chamber. His gaze fell upon Sipir. “I am impressed that your kind was able to work the stone into a livable home. It seems that there is more to you than meets the eye.” His eyes glanced to the floating man and then the girl.

“Oh, this is not our work - the people of Birba-Ida are a wondrous folk and know just how to tame the elements. Rock is as clay in their hands.” A few youths - boys and girls - came by with bowls of food. They were salted meats and the iconic lebahr khan soured milk of the Mirtaah tribe, as their tehr bread. The youths seemed to be quite glad to put the bowls and platters down, dashing out of Malri’s terrible presence. Sipir watched them go then glanced at the Neiyari. He seemed to take note of the winged man’s interest in the strange man of ink and the young woman who had joined them. “This is the Great Diviner, a kayhin. And this here is- uh, his travelling companion.” He glanced at the woman.

“I am Rima-Tinrur of the Jungle-folk,” she said, her amber-green eyes on Malri. “So… are you from the north? Are there more Nihari people where you come from?” Sipir reached for some tehr and extended it to the Neiyari, who took it and gave a bite.

“Don’t deny yourself, please eat.” And then he extended some to Rima and ripped some of the lebahr khan for her.

“Kayhin… Rima…” Malri said, rolling his tongue to accentuate her name before taking a bowl of salted meats and tasting a piece. It was of a different texture than he was used to, but the gameyness of the meat was apparent. He wanted to wash it down with the drink but as soon as he tasted it he gagged and forced himself to swallow it. His face was full of disgust but he cleared his throat and eyed the girl again. “There are many Neiyari where I was made but as for where it is, who knows? This land is unfamiliar to me, after all. And I left that place so long ago.”

“And so you travel with the Hibbi-Fehsp now? Odd for someone who travels with them to be called Vespslayer.” Sipir noted, bringing a clay bowl of milk to his mouth.

“It is indeed odd - especially when the stench a thousand slain lines the verses of your song.” The kayhin intoned at last, his voice coming deep and melodious. The world seemed to ripple ever so slightly where his voice sounded. Sipir glanced at the kayhin, and then back at Malri, swallowing uneasily.

“Though, of course, not all fahupki are quite as friendly as the Hibbi-Fehsp.” The Mirtaah tribesman said with a nervous laugh.

Malri’s eyes became slits as he stared at the ink-covered man with a frown. “A swarm attacked me as I wandered the desert. Vicious little things. They died quickly, even as the skies darkened and the ground grew covered in their corpses.” His great figure sat up and forward, putting his hands together. “Strange to think one could tell such a thing.” He intoned.

“Stranger yet for one to go up against a fahupki horde… and run them off alone.” The kayhin responded. Sipir-Khash was now staring wide-eyed, lips pursed, at Malri. He looked distinctly uncomfortable and shifted in his place. “You are clearly no normal being, stranger. Your song comes wrathful and dark, it sings of terror and licks at the songs of all around you like an all-consuming black flame. You wear metals harder than rock, their song speaking of a higher creative hand, and possess weapons that sing the same. It does not seem to me that someone like you is here purposelessly, Vespslayer. What are you seeking on these shattered wastes?”

“You are very perceptive, old man.” Malri sneered. “I do not know what you speak with all these… Songs and verses but I can tell it is no power not gifted by the same higher hands that you see me wear and wield.” His lips curled into a thin smile. “Yes… It was not by luck did I survive that horde but by sheer will and rage.” He rolled his eyes, giving a small shrug. “And to be fair, I did not drive them off, but ask yourself this- when a thousand corpses of your brethren lay at your enemies feet, perhaps you think it best if not to flee? Something unkillable is hardly prey. But you are mistaken about one thing. I am purposeless in this place. Cast out of my old home and left to wander this forsaken land.” His eyes darted to Rima and then back to the Kayhin with a cruel smile on his lips. “But perhaps I will find purpose after all.” Rima frowned slightly at his words.

“If you have no purpose, then you will be swept up in the purposes of others.” The kayhin said simply. “Perhaps it would be good for you to do just that - I see no good in your song as of yet, perhaps you should see to its disciplining under the wing of those more accomplished before you set out on your own.” Sipir-Khash cleared his throat and laughed. The air had very suddenly grown quite tense.

“R- refinement of character is- ahem- a- a noble purpose in itself, of course. Wise words, I’m sure. S- so, great Vespslayer, how have you found life with the Hibbi-Fehsp? Will we be seeing you often with them? I’m sure you’ll make quite the trader in time.” It was clearly an attempt to lighten the conversation and steer it to safer waters.

A great silence came from Malri, his face gone blank, yet his eyes were fixated with hate upon the old man. “More… Accomplished…?” He uttered, “You dare…” Quite quickly his face erupted into anger. “Such insolence! To think there are those more accomplished than I? Here amongst these lowly creatures?” He rose to his feet, pointing at the kayhin. “Tell me old man, who amongst you has served an avatar? Been a king? A conqueror? One to whom the tribute flows? Who here has faced the true Divine and lived? Do not speak to me of those more accomplished than I, for there are none!” The inked man neither moved nor flinched, which naturally acted to infuriate Malri further.

“Answer me this, Vespslayer: of what use are deeds if one does not temper one’s own self? Is he a master of any who is slave to every emotion? When I prod a redland lion, master of the desert and possessor of untold wives, it lashes out and destroys and rages - is the redland lion then accomplished? Restrain yourself and be calm, and answer me.” Though the kayhin somehow managed to float at ease before the fuming Neiyari, many others idling about the caravanserai had hurriedly made for the doorway. Sipir-Khash himself had leaned back and was now on his knees, a grimace on his face and his eyes flashing furtively towards the entranceway. Rima gripped the pillow beneath her, her eyes seeming to roil and shift. Malri could taste her fear, knew her tight grip hid her trembling hands.

Malri’s face twisted into one of rage. Who was this speck to demand of him answers? Who was this man to challenge his accomplishments? What did he know! What did any of them know? These people were weak! This floating fool! This inferior slave! He would show him who was a slave and who was the master! Malri gritted his teeth, “Only a fool prods a lion.” He then lunged forward in a burst of speed, swinging his right fist at the kayhin’s head.

His fist seemed to come up against a wall of rock for the briefest second, before whatever barrier stood against his power shattered and the blow exploded through like a thunderous wave. The brief pause, for whatever it was worth, allowed the insolent kayhin to move back, the deathblow swinging a hair’s breadth from his head. The very force of the blow seemed to char the air all around. The kayhin’s song sound, and around him a breeze swiftly gathered and he retreated far into the air of the chamber. “I- idda-ta!” Rima’s voice shout came, and she was already on her feet sparks flying all around her.

“Remember your calm, rosa.” Came his cascading song, and the sparks flying around the girl subsided, her roiling eyes returning to their previous amber-green. The kayhin’s song continued, its deluge pouring all about the Neiyari. It was a song of peace and calm, attempting to douse his fury. “The growling lion falls when the tranquil hunter leaps, Vespslayer. Is he any different from a beast who cannot take his anger by the neck and bend it to his will? What power has he who has no power over his very self? Think on it, stranger.”

He would do no such thing. For Malri’s mind was a simple one and he became singularly focused on that which drew the ire of his hate. He could feel the song begin to work it’s magic, like a soft rain over a fire, threatening to snuff it out. He did the only sensible thing that he knew, his wings unfurled, filling the room with shade and despair, then pushed them forward, sending Malri backwards. He stopped behind his mace and grabbed it in one swift motion, then held it high, towards the kayhin. Malri then brought the mace down, upon his armor. A great clang rang out as metal hit metal, and fire within him ignited into a blaze. He hit himself again, and it roared into an inferno. His vision going red as his gaze never left the kayhin.

In that moment of pause, Malri called forth a spear of light. Like the sword before, he channeled his innate abilities that were gifted to his race and in his off hand came a glowing red hot spear with what looked like molten fury. He hefted the spear up, then threw it at the kayhin before he himself took to the air towards him, beating his wings in a great gust that buffeted the pillows and those foolish enough to remain within the room. He would have that man’s head, no matter the cost.

As he sped towards the naked man, his spear came up against whatever unnatural barrier protected the man, and this time the spear was redirected up into the rock ceiling, burying itself there. Below them the people were all rushing for the exit, though the song of the kayhin seemed to lend them enough calm not to trample each other or be driven to madness by Malri’s terrible presence. The flying man spiralled higher into the chamber as Malri approached him, changing direction with flowing motions and circling around the entire breadth of the caravanserai as he rose, leaving the futile song of tranquility in his wake.

“Why are you angry, stranger?” His melody came. “Is it justified? If it is justified, then are these destructive acts? Is there no other, more amiable, way to release this fury and set things aright? Or do you perhaps view thoughtless living and action to be a sign of accomplishment?”

His only reply came in the form of the chase. Such words were wasted on him in his current state. All that existed now was the rage and the anger of a being scorned. He let the melody and the song fuel that anger and rage, compelling him forward after his quarry. He flew as the kayhin flew and changed direction as he changed direction. The kayhin was smaller than he, and did not need to beat wings to propel himself, and so like everything else, it only served to infuriate him further. In a fit, he threw his mace at the kayhin, hoping to knock him off course and into his clutches.

The kayhin’s song reverberated around the face and it slowed until it came to a halt before the naked man of ink. The mace thing began retreating, hurtling towards Malri. The kayhin’s song followed in its wake. “That nature alone is accomplished, Vespslayer, which refrains from doing to another what it would not have done to itself.” And the mace slowed in its descent towards Malri and instead hurtled downwards and struck the ground. “Have you attained some wisdom, and do roses bloom from the seedling of the weed?”

This sent Malri into a fury. His great wings beat harder, doubling his speed after the floating man, losing reason to madness. The red haze of his vision grew thick with the color of blood and Malri became something else entirely. The only thoughts he had were of death. Death. Death.

Death!

When the kayhin had ascended so that he could ascend no more and Malri knew that this was all over and that his vengeance was nigh, the inked man cocked his head towards him impassively, placed a hand on the rock above him, and it cracked and opened up for him. “Peace to you, warbringer. May it free your heart.” And with that he slipped through the crack and it closed up behind him.

Instead of coming to an abrupt halt, however, Malri slammed into the ceiling with a resounding boom. The brute recoiled, dazed, and his body fell like a great dark comet, wings whipping violently and great white hair everywhere. He landed with a thunderous crack against the stone below. Whatever gods had frowned on him today had decreed that his fate was not yet over, however, for the ceiling above moaned and shifted, and a large crack formed where he had impacted. His anger flared but it was too late; the roof began to give way and it collapsed, sending rock and stone to crush the Vespslayer.


The Mirtaah were naturally outraged by the destruction of the great caravanserai, and the hWebi-Vesp earned the brunt of their anger. “He came with you, and you must compensate us for this damage.” The hukkam insisted. There was much wrangling and debating, but eventually it was agreed that the hWebi-Vesp would aid the people of Birba-Ida in reconstructing the great thing.

Not wishing to stay much longer, the Mirtaah broke camp and soon moved out. Rima and her idda-ta said their farewells to old Zahna and, mounting her camel, the girl and the kayhin continued towards Birba-Ida without a backward glance.

“Is he dead, idda-ta?” She asked.

“His heart beats yet.” The inked man stated flatly.

The sun only just started to rise. Its murky golden rays cut over the red roofs of the surrounding buildings and spilled into the half open window of Juniper Twiceseven’s room. She laid on her back, big brown eyes wide open as they sucked in the new light. There was a dryness on her face, having been awake for at least an hour. Her breathing didn’t change much with the realization that it was now properly morning - just a small knit in her brow recognizing that this was starting to become a habit.

Reluctantly she kicked the wide bed’s covers away from her body, revealing an acorn laying ontop of her chest, a cheap silver wire tying it to a thin silver lace about her neck. Her fingers were already toying with it, as they had been since she woke up. Tucking a slant into her cheek she looked down at it and slipped it under her collar. Rising, much as one would imagine a creaky corpse might rise from a coffin, she sat up -- fluffing a hand through her messy nest of soot black hair.

Rolling the rest of the way out, she looked at the clothes folded on a chair in the corner of her room. Quickly she started to count her fingers, sure she didn’t see more than three people she knew yesterday. She raised her chin and looked to the ceiling as a thought started to form -- no it was four.

“Still in the clear,” She said without much enthusiasm and snagged them from their resting spot.

The process was quick and punctuated with an angry brush cleaving through her hair up until she gave up on it. Tying it up, she walked into the only other room her little home had -- the kitchen. There she stared at a bowl of oats and a cold hearth. She tucked another slant in her cheek.

“Later,” She promised, “I’ll eat twice what I missed.”

With her oath settled, she slipped on some beat up boots and threw her trusty grey and white checkered cloak over her trusty burgundy tunic. Snapping a smile on her face, she made another oath, “Today will be a good day. Tomorrow even better, and the day after that...” She fell into her mantra as she slammed her front door behind her.

It was a cold Macsalsday morning - as all Dûnan mornings were - and the first thlénn had not set in yet. These summer days were long, but if one wanted to be up with the sun - as Juniper did - then you just had to sleep less. People were already stirring, and the odd, “mornin’ ta yeh, Jun,” piped out. The particularly energetic Kala was already making her Macsalday pie, and she popped her head out of the window and called her to join them.

“You look like you’ve had nothing but oats again,” the motherly woman said with a smile. “Come on in now, the college can wait.”

Juniper scrunched her right eye at the sun, the left peering at Kala. A thought buzzed just for a moment -- more of a mental wince -- regarding Kala’s observation. But with a brilliant smile, Juniper managed to ward off the rest of the thought. “Sure,” She replied, mustering what morning social energy she could find.

The little woman hummed to herself as she let Juniper in, pulling up a chair for her. “And how are things going at the college? Learned any good morning ditties yet?” She asked as she placed a slice of pear and apple pie before her. A pair of feet could be heard scrambling about, and a little brown-haired boy came dashing from the only other room the little home had, making himself comfortable in one of the seats. A grumble followed, and a big bearded man came lumbering in after him.

“Gods, where do you find the energy so early,” he half-growled, walking up to the pie.

“No! No, sit down Feidlir,” Kala rushed over and just about caught the bear’s hand, pulling him away.
He sat down and looked tiredly at Juniper, muttering a low, “g’mornin’.” Calloused hands tapped at the wooden table and he stared out of the open window for a few seconds. “Can ye shut the damn thing, it’s freezin’.” Kala drew it shut and stoked returned to stoking the fire.

“Well you better start seeing to our wood stores, you’re burning through it and it’s not even winter yet.” The woman gave a frustrated glance, and he growled something incomprehensible in response. Soon enough she sat herself down and they all tucked into the pie.

“Akh, it’s bitter as dog shite.” He muttered, but Kala just sighed and smiled at Juniper.

“What was I saying? Oh, yes, the college.”

With one finger poking into her slice of pie, Juniper finally looked up. She blinked twice before slippering her arm back under her cloak, “Oh right.” Her thoughts returned to the conversation at hand, “Well you know how it is -- I go in, I recite old stories, the kids recite them back” Sucking in a breath she recalled the most recent, “Lately it’s been mostly histories regarding the local area.”

“Well, your job is even more important now. Everyone has been terrible worried about Macsal’s cursesong - if you don’t teach ‘em well and make good art who knows what’ll happen. And all this business of war, I’ve never understood it. Anyhow, are you going to come by again afterwards? I’ve been dying for you to finish off the story of how you got away from those Sigerans. And I know my little Callfir has too.” The brown-haired boy looked up from his pie. “I think he has the makings of a bard, if you ask me.”

"Maybe I will," Juniper lied with a flash of guilt, knowing all too well she'd likely be isolating herself in her room later. Turning her attention to Callfir she smiled, eyes squinting as they do, "I can see it. He has the energy." Poking a chin at Feidlir, she continued, "Don't let the hairy one take that away, even if he groans."

“Oh, you know I never,” Kala laughed, then she leaned in and put a hand on Juniper’s forearm. “Oh, and just so you know, Herla is back from the north and hasn’t stopped gabbering about what she saw out there. She’ll be here tonight, so you be sure to come by now.”

"I'll do my best," Juniper offered, following the weak tone with a strong smile. Standing from her chair she held onto the smile, "Thank you for inviting me to breakfast, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry I don't have much to say this morning but hey I'll try and stop by later." She eyed the door, "But work awaits."

The Bard College was in every way a magnificent structure. It’s smooth brown walls rose like cliff faces into the skies of Ha-Dûna, the many red roofs juxtaposing beautifully against the brown beneath. Perhaps in days past the mere sight of it would have been enough to whittle away at any doubts and fill her with energy, these days it did not quite cut it.

Moving over a great stone bridge, through a gateway, and into the main courtyard, Juniper allowed herself to pause a moment before the great statue to Eoghan that commanded the centre of the plaza.

As if talking to the frozen face, Juniper whispered under her breath, "What?" She waited long enough for a response that wouldn't come. She exhaled through her nostrils, "Figures."

“I’ve seen plenty of people talking to those old rocks up in the circle, but no one’s been talking to this one.” Came a euphonious voice, and from behind the statue came a woman, her cheeks flushing in the cold morning air. “Which is really quite a shame, because this old hunk has a lot to say.” She flashed her a small smile, more alluring than nature allowed.

At first the words entered Juniper's ears holding a familiar feeling that caused the woman's chest to tighten and face to heat with emotion. There was an itch behind her eyes that's swelling only stopped upon recognition of the speaker. "About twenty-nine years of stories, even," Juniper managed with a sputter, her surprise splashing over her face. Shaking the slouch off her shoulders, Juniper forced a smile through her sudden conflict of emotion. Her eyes cringed as they met the Song's, seeing a certain beauty she wasn't hoping to see, "I'm sorry, you reminded me of someone else for a moment." She paused, "but it's Shae, right?"

“If you like,” the song intoned, trailing a finger across the base of the statue. “I was told you like to be here early - ‘if you’re after good stories, it’s the Twiceseven’s daughter yer after’. Complain enough about the stories going round any resthouse and that’s what you’re bound to hear eventually.” She glanced at the other woman, “but you probably already know that.” She reached into the folds of her clothes and emerged with an apple hued with pinks and yellows and reds and greens. In her hands it seemed quite unlike any apple that grew from a tree. “An apple for a story, if you like? Tell me who you saw in my eyes.”

"That story doesn't have an end," Juniper shook her head, "But really, I have any other story you could like - oh!" Juniper's smile forced her to squint, "That actually reminds me of a story regarding a young druid that went out into the mountains in search of something precious." Juniper paused, "Have you heard that one?"

Shae looked across the courtyard to the great gates of the college, the smallest knot in her brows. “I know of a certain druid who seems to be looking for something, but I don’t think this is the same one.” She stepped away from the statue, drawing her tartan cloak about her, and sat back on one of the benches. “Go on, I’m all ears.”

"Likely not," Juniper pressed on, putting herself before the sitting Shae as if she were on a stage. "You see this druid's name isn't as important as his story. It's simple enough though, you see he took it upon himself to travel high into a far away mountain range in search of something precious. He toiled and traveled and walked and grew weak. For days he did this, rising with the sun and settling with the stars, until he lost count of how many days and nights passed on his journey." Juniper shook her head as if dismissing her own tale, "But you see, one day this druid came across an insurmountable obstacle, his goal just on the other side."

There was a pause.

"So what he did was he took his knapsack and threw it over to his goal." She tucked a slant into her cheek, "And now he knew he was going to reach his goal, this way or that, the obstacle would be surmounted or circumvented and he would be reunited with what was precious." Shae fiddled with the apple, her thoughtful eyes on Juniper. She rose and handed her the apple.

“Mysterious, I can just about make out a homiletic pinch to it.” She leaned in and looked Juniper in the eye with a curious smile. “Only question is, which bit did you make up?”

Juniper rolled the apple in her hands and shrugged, "None of it, it's an old story belonging to... Well everyone. It's like the story of change: how the only thing that never changes is change and that with time, even the face of a mountain can change." She put the apple on the armbar of the bench, "Could even turn an obstacle into something else if not nothing."

“Now that’s wisdom right there. But what use is a story if it needs explaining?” She let the tune hang in the air then reached into her clothes and emerged with another apple, biting into it.

"It incites thought." Juniper defended and took a seat, "Not everything needs to be understood right away." She pointed a finger as if scolding a child, "As they say to the students: there is a difference between telling a story and sharing one."

“That a story should incite thought and provide insights is a noble goal, no doubt - but if that is all it does then it’s not a story at all, just a lesson.” Shae countered with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Shouldn’t a story teach you while you are unaware of that fact? Shouldn’t those thoughts and insights emerge unconsciously as you go on living your life?” She cocked her head and took another bite from the apple.

"Speaking of the two," Juniper snapped a finger, "Didn't you ask me for a story and now you're giving me a lesson?" She drummed her fingers on her lap, "Not to sound rude, of course. Why don't you try telling me a story instead? I promise I'll steal it." Shae chortled melodiously.

“Hey, don’t blame me if all your thought inciting worked!” She glanced at the other woman, then scratched her nose with a finger. “Ah, a story. I don’t think I could do one as thoughtful as you.”

"Then don't," Juniper offered her untouched apple back to Shae, "Who says there needs to be thought, reason, or rhyme?" The song looked up to the sky for a few moments, then rose and took a small breath, loosening her tartan cloak and standing before her in the cold. She swayed from side to side, humming to herself with eyes closed. And then her crooning voice came like a gentle wave, a wave that slowly but surely rose with the tide until it became a cascading deluge of sound and harmony.



The song’s hums and notes continued for a time after her poetic lay was concluded, and then she stopped at last, opened her eyes, and looked at Juniper before taking up her cloak again. “By the Lady, I can never get used to this cold.” She shivered.

Juniper clapped, "And there you have a story -- which I'll keep my word about." Juniper's eyes opened wide with sudden panic, "I'm late!" She shot to her feet and turned to Shae, "I'm late!" The song looked around in confusion. Students were just about beginning to stream in and she knew that lessons were not due to begin for a while yet. She glanced back at Juniper.

“Late? Late for wh-” she stopped abruptly, her eyes wide and fixed on something behind Juniper, lips pursed. She cleared her throat and moved slightly so that the other girl was between her and whatever had caught her eye. “Actually, I think I should get out of here too.” She whispered.

Juniper's panicked face raised a suspicious brow, "Story?"

Shae grinned and took her by the hand. “If you like.” And with that she hurried to the side of the plaza, disappearing between the pillars and the growing tide of students. “Is there a back exit or something?” She glanced at the main gate, where a number of bald druids were staring intently in their general direction. “I’d prefer not to go that way.”

Juniper frowned, "I don't think so-" She made a sudden face, as if resigning to a dumb idea. Gripping Shae's arm, Juniper yanked her into the closest building. They flowed with the influx of students until Juniper tugged Shae once again, the pair slipping through a thick oaken door.

Inside, the office they snuck into a room reeked of mould often associated with scholars, plus the stench of pipeweed and other smokables. The entire place was otherwise immaculate, with everything neatly coordinated and labeled. "Cleanliness is unique among bards, I know," Juniper cracked as she yanked on Shae's arm once again - pulling her over to a shuttered window that stood about shoulder height on the wall. "I boost you up, then you me?" She said, nervously looking at the door to the room. Shae nodded, glancing out of the open windows to see if there was anyone waiting there. Assured that there was nothing beyond the odd student or passerby, she raised her leg gracefully and lithely lifted off Juniper’s readied hands.

Finding her balance quickly, she held onto the side of the window and extended a hand to Juniper. “How did you ever last in this smelly old place?”

"By being smelly." Juniper grabbed Shae's hand and began to yank herself up to the window. At that moment, the door began to open -- a wispy haired old man tottering in. He gasped at the sudden sight. Before he could grumble a word beyond a scoff, Juniper pushed Shae out the window, toppling after her and straight into a generous bush.

They were in the shrubs outside the college walls, nicked and stuffed with leaves. A big adrenaline smile was on Juniper's face, fading quick into worry. "Before he looks out the window!" She hissed, jolting back up to her feet.

Red-faced, grinning, and leaking ink where the small twigs had penetrated her thin skin, Shae leapt spryly from the bush and went flowing after Juniper. They were soon safe between the houses and Shae slowed to a dignified walk as people bowed and generally showed their deference for the helgen. She soaked in the attention and weaved her way through them with relative ease. “Know anywhere we can sit away from all…” she glanced around at the hustle and bustle, “this?”

"Yeah," Juniper nodded and tilted her head in the direction of the farms, "I know a lonely white pine surrounded by brush." Shae glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a thinking spot," Juniper shot a defense.

“Must make for some very happy thoughts,” Shae chortled. “Show me to it, my lady.” She half bowed and gestured for her to lead the way. Juniper shook her head but walked on regardless.

Within a short amount of time, the pair skirted a mostly empty field plus a few orchards, and found their way to -- as Juniper described it -- a very lonely white pine, the only in the surrounding area in fact. Pushing through the brush that grew in its periphery, the two were soon shaded from all.

Inside this little secret land, a good amount of old dried grass and leaves bedded up against the trunk of the tree, giving its otherwise gnarled base a sort of comfy sitting spot. Juniper motioned to the tree, a flash of sadness briefly behind her grin, "As the guest, you get sitting rights."

Shae shook of her tartan cloak, looking up into the tree’s canopy while descending to her knees. “I’d prefer to…” she lay down, her eyes fixed on the canopy, “lie down.” She paused for a few seconds. “Have you ever looked up at a branchless tree against the sky? It’s most striking at night against the moonlight and stars.”

"Is this the start of a story?" Juniper leaned a shoulder against the tree and looked down at Shae. The song glanced at her and shook her head.

“No,” she crooned, “just an odd thing I noticed. No trees where I come from, no night, no stars, moon, sun. You notice those little things.” She exhaled and was quiet for some time. “So, uh. I might know somebody who told a little lie and might be in a pinch of trouble.” She turned to her side and leaned up against her hand, looking at Juniper.

"Is it me?" Juniper asked ridiculously. The song narrowed her eyes, a smile playing around her lips.

“Now I’m suspicious.” She pursed her lips. “Let’s just say… the name isn’t important for the story.” She looked at the tree trunk, her gaze drifting upwards. “The people here are obsessed with the gods. I’m not complaining, I love the attention. ‘Macsaldatr, Macsaldatr,’ it’s great. And it’s not like I’m doing anything nefarious. But see, there’s somebody who might have told a little teeny tiny lie about one of the gods… and everyone believed it. Except a few tuneless boors who have been giving this friend of mine a hard time.” She ran her free hand through her hair.

"Uh oh, lying about the gods. I hear that makes their ears itch -- imagine the ear infection from a whole city doing it." Juniper waved a hand, grin in her face, "Go on."

The song half-grimaced at the thought, but could not contain a grin of her own. “I guess it must be a pretty bad infection - the god in question hasn’t cast his punishment down upon us all yet. But anyhow, this friend of mine - she’s getting pretty tired of these fellas following her about. I’m no expert in these things, but surely somebody who's heard it all like you knows a trick or two, right?”

"Depends," Juniper mentally catalogued a few similar stories, "Who exactly your friend is evading, which god... The goal of the protagonist." She tapped her chin, "Genre."

“I wouldn’t call my friend the protagonist as such - more like a single-purpose character. Like the old man who sits by the cross-roads and tells the protagonist which way to go. The protagonist is after the great treasure - peace - and the old man took him to the side, told him not to take either route, and pointed out the short-cut, that’s all.”

"Aw, well that isn't very fair to your friend to picture them merely as an old man at a crossroad." Juniper pointed out.

“Oh I doubt it’ll be any skin off their nose. The point of the old man is that he doesn’t get stuck in adventures - and now he’s being tracked down by angry hooligans. It’s not what he signed up for when he walked into this story, I can tell you that. Or at least, not that kind of adventure.”

"Well, what do you wa- er you're friend wants.. Does? What does your friend want." Juniper knitted her brow, "Yeah, what does your friend want?"

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shae sighed, “maybe losing the hooligans would be a good start. And if they tell everybody that the protagonist took a shortcut it would be disastrous - that hard-won peace will be shattered.” She looked at Juniper with sudden realisation. “We need to warn the protagonist.”

"You calling me an old man?" Juniper frowned, "Can't say I can't blame you... Okay sure, this is very roundabout but I'm already likely in trouble with the professor I assist under so why not pull this a little longer? Makes for a good story at least. What's the details?"

Shae sat up and tapped her fingers against one another. “Uh, I’m not sure if this is my story to tell, really. We should go to the protag- uh, Boudicca.”

"B-Boudicca?" Juniper stood up straight, "Are you sure that's even okay!?"

“I mean, unless you can think of some covert way of getting rid of this bald druid problem.”

"Other than just leaving town?" Juniper shrugged. Shae frowned at the suggestion, curiosity lining her brows. "That's what I would do- but I'm biased... Suppose you could go the pushed to the edge murderer route that favors some horror stories..." Snapping back to reality Juniper sighed, "But okay, going to the top is probably the best and most reasonable option." Stretching away from Shae, Juniper covertly gave her cloak a sniff and briefly cringed before turning back, "You know her though, right? This won't just be a surprise - 'here I am with a random college assistant'?"

“I mean, she’s been all busy recently, no time for little old me I suppose. Or maybe she’s too guilty to be in the same place as me or something. Who knows.” She forced a smile. “I guess leaving…” she pursed her lips, “ah, but I like it here. The people love me, everyone is nice - no grumpy Saluna, that’s for sure. I don’t really want to leave.” She looked at Juniper, curious once more. “Why would you want to leave?”

"If you don't want to leave, then don't - simple as that," Juniper sighed, suddenly feeling very guilty, "Sorry to project my own stress on you like that..." She paused, looking intently at Shae, "Did you ever hear the fevered stories about the land of Limbo?" Shae shook her head in response.

“Lim Bow? I’ve never heard of any such land existing on Toraan.” She paused and leaned forward. “Is that why you’d want to leave? You’re after this Lim Bow?”

"No," Juniper let out a single laugh, "it isn't real -- it's a way of feeling metamorphed into this fictional land... For example," Juniper cleared her throat, "Limbo is a strange land with no ground and no sky, no front and no back -- it's just you floating in a meaningless existence doing tasks that neither progress you or give you substance or meaning. There, your only company is the shadows of what was. It's said the dead can't learn anything new, so I guess it's a lot like being dead, but still alive enough to hate it." Juniper tapped the ground with her foot, "I hate it here, and I want to leave."

“And what lies out there, which is not here, that will give you this substance and meaning?” Shae asked with what appeared to be genuine curiosity.

"I don't know yet," Juniper answered, voice devoid of it's previous wit and silly humor. "I'm sorry, what are we discussing again?"

“A bigger adventure than mine, it seems.” Shae murmured, rising to her feet. “So, shall we go pay old Boudicca a visit?"

"Yeah," Juniper nodded slowly, "yeah, and maybe she could write me a note or otherwise I'm not sure work will believe this.”

“Or maybe it’s best she not.” Shae countered with knotted brows as they emerged from the underbush. She pinned her cloak back into place then wrapped an arm around Juniper’s shoulder as she emerged, bringing her head in close. “Maybe this is the excuse you needed to escape the land of Lim Bow. Or that smelly old place, at least.” She whispered, then released her and walked on ahead.

"Could be..." Juniper seemed skeptical, "But let's give it a go."

Shae cast a grin over her shoulder, “heh. Sure, if you like.”



[/hider]

Birburelli walked a lot. To any normal person, travelling on foot like so for such a long time would’ve been mind numbingly dull.

Genesis, thankfully, wasn’t a normal person. As minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days, the Sylphi girl kept finding new things to examine and play with. Things such as oddly shaped pebbles, a new kind of dirt or a special soil, new species of living beings or even smells or colours other than green would immediately grab her attention and she would practically beg Birburelli to tell her everything he knew about those things. His answers often varied between in-depth explanations that only drove her curiosity further, or a laugh, a pat, and the admission that he did not know.

Just in the last hour, she had asked about a handful of new tree species, as well as what she had come to know as a Sahkura - a type of big-eyed flying squirrel made of plant matter much like Genesis herself. She had also gotten to know the names of several types of insects.

Some of them were really tasty too, a little fact that she had only come to realize and experience thanks to Birburelli’s guidance. The ascetic seemed quite proficient at making food out of near enough anything - at one point he even made an odd mud mixture which he used as a dip for the assortment of bugs he cooked. She preferred them raw and while the strange dip tasted good when paired with the snacks, she soon learned that eating anything but insects and meat would make her tummy hurt.

A day ago she had learned that she didn’t really have to walk either. Birburelli had finally gotten through to her with his talk of meditation and the long periods he would spend in the evening just sat doing nothing. When he taught her the breathing techniques involved, his soothing voice almost lifting her mind from her body, Genesis had figured out that if she focused her inner energy into her limbs she could easily levitate and move at a decent pace. Birburelli had watched her rise from the ground with equally rising eyebrows. “Well,” he breathed, “that’s something.” Lukluk brayed loudly beside him, surely alarmed that such a lovely morsel was flying off.

This newfound skill only served to help her reach more difficult spots to aid in her obsessive curiosity.

She soon found her upper half completely immersed in the thick canopy of one of the lush trees on the outskirts of the jungles of Muraymuna, staring at two male Barkbeetles chasing after each other while loudly clicking their massive brown jaws. They both had green markings on their backs resembling painted leaves, but one of the beetles had darker markings and was slightly larger.

The smaller male froze in place when yet another beetle easily twice its size flew onto the branch. This one had no markings, and from the sheer size alone Genesis knew that it had to be a female.

In the split second of the smaller male’s mesmerization by the beauty before it, the larger male caught up with it and grabbed it with its jaws. A high-pitched whirr from the smaller male was cut short in a (tiny) explosion of gore as he was torn in half by the sheer mandibular strength displayed by the superior male.

Genesis watched on, leaves rustling in her excitement at having watched the epic battle unfold, and while the surviving male seemed to be recovering its stamina, Genesis placed her sweet-smelling hand, palm up, next to the female and marvelled with a nearly inaudible squeal of joy at how quickly the Barkbeetle female hopped onto it.

Not to be left behind, the male forced a burst of energy out of itself and hopped onto the girl’s hand as well, and then immediately mounted the large female in a set of awkward movements, not really helped by the uneven and shaky surface that was Genesis’ hand.

Genesis, gasping at the display unfolding in front of her eyes and literally on her palms, flew down as hard as she could to meet up with Birburelli, with stars in her eyes and a massive grin in her face.

“Look Birburelli, they’re dancing! I didn’t know insects could dance like the humans back in Mirmehti!” She said giddily as the pair of bugs jerked around on her palm, tiny ‘knuck’ sounds repeating rhythmically as uneven exoskeletons bumped into one another. He looked down at the beetles and scratched his scraggly beard.

“Well, that’s a dance fair enough,” he agreed, “most animals dance just for this. But what they’re actually doing, emkura is mating. Soon the female will fly off and at some point or another give birth to new Barkbeetles. This is how they propagate and survive. And when the Barkbeetle dies its little soul leaves its body and is born elsewhere anew - every thing with a soul is born again into this world, see? We must suffer, toil, mate, and die again and again until we can achieve release from the cycle of life and death.”

”Cycle of life and death, huh…?” Genesis scrunched up her nose at the beetles in her hand, watching them spread their massive wings and then flying off. ”That didn’t last long… Couldn’t the two males have taken turns? Instead of killing each other I mean. Insects are weird… Tasty, but weird.” Birburelli smiled.

“Each male wants his progeny to survive, so it’s quite difficult to get them to share. Perhaps a few females could share a male - but I don’t think beetles could do that. Humans though, it happens.” He paused in thought, “and if you travel far far into the mountains, you might even find a woman who shares a few brothers. The world is big and full of wonders.”

“Really? So many things to see and learn… It’s kind of overwhelming.” She sighed and rubbed her palms on the bark of a nearby tree before allowing the group to resume the journey. “So, things come back to life after dying? How do you know something’s come back to life or is still dead, and is there a way to speak to someone that died not too long ago?”

The ascetic stroked his scraggly beard in thought. “There are some people who remember their past lives, so with them it is just a matter of asking them who they were. Others - and that is the great majority of people - don’t. But one learned in these things can look into them and know who they were. Souls can speak, after all, and those who know how to listen can hear what they say. As for those recently dead, perhaps there are ways of communing with them - but these things are all in the hands of the great god Ahthaaruhs, master over death, paradise, release from the cycle of life and death, and teacher of the ways of whih.”

Genesis stared blankly at Birburelli, blinked, nodded and then flew over to Lukluk and dropped herself over the faithful companion’s back. After a moment, she groaned. ”There’s so many names... I feel like my head’s going all woozy and swirly. How do you remember all of that? Are you actually like a spirit of knowledge? How long until we get to Muraymuna?” She asked, absentmindedly nibbling on Lukluk’s fur inbetween questions. “Do you think that the emkuras there have fangs as sharp as mine, or that they’re as flexible as me? Did I tell you that I found out I can put my feet behind my head?”

“Ah, you can do that now can you?” Birburelli said with a small grin, “I hear that makes it difficult to walk.”

“I do it while sitting down, mostly.”

“I hear that makes it very difficult to walk,” he chortled, followed by a quiet giggle from Genesis.

They continued into the slowly thickening jungle. “As far as Muraymuna goes, we’re more or less here now. The large town of Randjet isn’t too far off. We’ll be there before evening.” He glanced at her with parted lips. “You don’t need to remember that name.”

When they did reach Randjet, however, it was very quiet and the days-old smell of burnt wood and ashes gave the wandering ascetic and his companion pause. “Well, things don’t seem quite right.” He muttered, pausing by a great edifice of burnt wood. Genesis came to look but he turned her away. “No no, there’s nothing to see.” He caught her by the hips and lifted her up with a laugh. “Curious little emkura.” He murmured affectionately, to which the girl responded by chuckling and ceasing her half-hearted attempt at sneaking peeks. It did smell very odd near the burnt wood.

The most striking thing about the town of Randjet was the great temple that towered like a mountain at its heart - or what was once its heart, for all the buildings had been burned to the ground.

“You mentioned nomads before. Do humans burn their homes when moving? Seems weird, what would the trees they used to make those homes think? That’s not very thoughtful. I guess at least one is still standing...” Genesis commented as she took in the scene.

“Ah, my dear.” He intoned sadly, placing a warm, calloused hand on her shoulder. “This was no breaking camp or migration - great towns like this don’t do that. This here was war - man slaying man. It was probably the One-Godders, they are the lords of Muraymuna now.”

Genesis stood still as a statue for a painfully long moment as she used her eyes to inspect the rubble and ashen ground over and over again, until she instinctively grabbed onto Birburelli’s arm and spoke. “... Oh. Okay. But why is that building still intact…?”

He looked down at her for a few moments, gently pressing her hand comfortingly. “That’s because it’s a temple - the One-Godders may be zealous warriors, they may reject the gods of the Ritualists, but they don’t desecrate sacred sites. We can go have a look if you like, I doubt there’ll be any priests to stop us.” He said, to which Genesis nodded after a little bit of hesitation.

“W-We won’t be cursed, right? By walking into an empty town’s abandoned temple? Won’t the gods be angry?” She asked somewhat shakily.

“Oh I doubt that very much - quite the opposite actually, bringing life and worship to an abandoned sacred place probably makes them happy.”

“That makes sense, I guess,” She bit her lip, then slowly let go of Birburelli’s arm and walked towards the temple, unsure of what to expect--After all, Mirmehti only really had a small set of shrines places in a room in the elder’s hut… It was nothing like this. The two descended down a long stone staircase, down into the earth. As the walls rose up around them images of terrible things with horrorsome faces reared up on the walls around them

“This is the journey into life,” the ascetic whispered behind her as she ran her hand across the carvings, “the tumult of souls, the strike of Terrible Things and Faces.” They reached the bottom, and a great stone doorway stood before them, leading into a great chamber, far longer than it was wide. Braziers were still lit all around and inks of light had been applied to various statues and carvings all along the high walls and ceiling. They highlighted voluptuous maidens copulating with muscled youths, drinking and dancing and merrymaking, others aimlessly wandering and drifting, others on beds of death or languishing in poverty; carvings of battles, cruelty, suffering. Genesis lagged behind slightly and Birburelli walked ahead of her, then glanced back. “This,” he said, gesturing to all the carvings across the stone walls, “is life.” He turned around and walked on. “And we must walk through it.”

“Life is scary,” Genesis said quietly but kept on following Birburelli. At times it felt as if the carvings moved and stared, asking her for the non-existent answers to unheard questions. Muttering, whispering, all the way from the dark shadows, of names that although unrecognizable, sparked things inside her very soul.

She didn’t like it, so she stuck closer to Birburelli, since he didn’t seem fazed at all. He glanced back at her, still walking. “Oh life is more than that - see, those two there are making merry,” he pointed out the copulating couple, to which Genesis stuck out her tongue and scrunched up her nose, “there they are dancing, there singing. There we have the pain and joy of childbirth, there we have the pain and joy of old age. And yes, there is illness there, suffering, people can be cruel - life can be cruel. And yes, it is scary.” He turned his head away, looking towards a rising set of stairs ahead of them. “But we must not fear it. Pain and joy - we must see them for what they are and,” his foot fell upon the first step and he ascended, “we must rise above it.” The stairs led to a door and from their angle they could not see through it. “Even if we can’t always see the path ahead or where our rising is leading us.”

Genesis took the first step as well, and eventually began ascending the stairs alongside Birburelli, sighing in relief as they left the turmoil of shadows and faces and shapes behind. “It’s like an adventure, right? Life, I mean. It’s an adventure. The biggest one! And, you know what my heart has told me ever since I woke up in Mirmehti? It keeps telling me to take one more step, to see what might happen. Over and over and over, just one more step. So…” The Sylphi girl bounded forward, skipping ahead up a few steps before turning to look down at the ascetic with an uncertain smirk.

“That’s what I’m meant to do? In order to see everything there is to see and experience everything there is to experience, I have to walk, drift, dance, mate… And I have to hurt myself and others, and lose my way and expose myself to the world without being scared? If that’s the case, then I will do all those things--No, I will do more!” She laughed, “I want to see, I want to touch, to smell, to taste, to hear--I am here now, and I will suck everything out of life. I am Genesis, the Lifesucker!!!!” She said proudly, but suddenly deflated and groaned, a light orange blush coming to her cheeks.

“Well, maybe not that title… Just Genesis is okay… Sorry, I got carried away...” Birburelli chortled at her outburst as they continued upward.

“Life has more to be seen than be seen in a hundred lifetims, more to be experienced too. But if you go seeing and experiencing then eventually,” they came to the top of the staircase and the doorway, and what lay beyond it, stood unveiled to them. “You will begin to truly see, and you may gain wisdom. No one is born ready to overcome life - you must live first, walk drift, dance, lose, suffer, gain and joy.” He walked through the door. “And when you’ve done it again and again, you come to see life for what it is.” They were now in a small sanctum, and beautifully carved statues - great things, male and female, with handsome features and serene expressions - lined the four walls of the chamber. They had been painted and dyed, one had green skin which caught the attention of Genesis, some were golden, the red one did not look serene at all but glared furiously, and there were other colours yet. “And when you see life for what it is,” Birburelli breathed, gesturing to the far wall of the sanctum where a small door led into a short, narrow hallway at the end of which was great light, “you can find the way out.”

“What are these people?” Genesis asked as she skipped over to the one with green painted skin and touched it everywhere she could reach, to see if any of it felt like actual skin. “Are they gods?”

“Yes, these are some of the gods known as the Thousand Terrible Things and Faces.” He approached the green one. “They were created before the world. First there was only the Serene Lord, then the One Who Laughs emerged, and then the One Who Frowns went chasing after him. And those two created all the Terrible Things and Faces while they warred in the heavens. This one,” he placed a hand on the naked chest of the green, leaf-bound statue, which Genesis imitated almost immediately, “is the creator of your people, Orjarnibapti.”

“Really?! Wow, he’s really tall. I like his fangs. His leaves are shaped differently than mine though… But I don’t mind.” She hummed, caressing the statue with her eyes closed for a moment before nodding. “How do I talk to him?”

“I doubt a temple is the right place to speak with the great lord of the forests and nature, the granter of wisdom and patron of outsiders. If you wish to speak with him then you must walk more and longer, you must gather experiences and gain wisdom; perhaps then you will know how to speak to him.”

Genesis climbed down from the statue, pouting. “I wanted to ask where I come from, and if the statue back home is okay. I’m curious, you know? She saved me, and I don’t want to think she died...”

“If you wish to ask about death, then,” he took her by the shoulder and turned her towards another one of the statues, a great being of white and black, forbidding in aspect and holding in his hands a great disc of copper, “it is to Ahthaaruhs that you should turn. I do not know if he will speak to the living, but you can certainly try.”

Genesis took a few steps towards the statue of Ahthaaruhs before turning to look at Birburelli, then continuing up until she was in front of the figure. It somehow made her feel small, and so with leaves rustling and a racing heart she placed a hand on the statue and closed her eyes. ‘Hello? Ahthaaruhs, I’m Genesis, I wanted to ask if the one who saved me is still alive... Does my home still exist, or is it gone? The light was consuming it, after all...’

At first there was no reply, silence as much could be found in her own mind. Then as a deafening rush although it came without sound, a great eye, staring boundlessly into her as came a rushing cacophony of sound within the bounds of her head. The chirping of birds, the whispers of men and the songs of things found only in the deep oceans. They came together merging into a single voice speaking to her mind. "Genesis, mortal now, or close enough I can see."

The girl recoiled almost immediately, yelping and covering her ears even as she tripped and fell on her butt with a grunt. ‘W-What? Are you- Are you Ahthaaruhs?’ Bitburelli was by her side almost immediately, helping her up and giving her a quizzical look, which she responded to with a scared look of her own.

“Careful now,” he said, patting her down before walking towards the small door and staring out of it towards the light at the end of the narrow hallway. Genesis returned her attention to the statue of Ahthaaruhs.

The voice came quieter, or more precisely less overwhelming in all manners. "You knew me by another name once, but that one shall do. I am He, master of death and deity of all dead things."

She quickly turned towards Birburelli, whispering, “H-He’s talking to me! I-” She nearly choked on her own spit and coughed. The ascetic turned around, leaning against the stone frame of the door, and watched her curiously, intently. “Right!”

’I, uh, I actually do not remember meeting you in the past, I’m so sorry! Um, what name did I use to call you? How come I forgot you? I must be the flattest flower in the clearing, sorry!’

"It matters not. For the name of such times, Ahthaaruhs will suit you much better to remember, I have many. You forgot because you were not ready, for you knew me when you were not you, and now the you-of-now is all that remains of the you-of-old. I can tell looking deep that there is much the you-of-now that knows the you-of-old, even if the essence is diminished and molded to this mortal soul."

’So this is the cycle Birburelli told me about, I must have been really important in my past life, maybe a Queen of Trees or something, to know Ahthaaruhs personally! I have a question for you, though, related to my present life. For as long as I can remember, there was this statue back home… Well, long story short, I don’t think she was a statue in the end, because she saved me by letting me escape home before it was burned. Do you know if she’s alive? I wanted to meet her and… And help her, I guess. She looked in pain...’

The voice did not come as quick as it had previously, but return it did. "It is not. This is different from what Birburelli has spoken. As I have said, the you-of-now is all that remains, at least distinctly. There was no death as dying is the provenance of mortals, and you speak of what Birburelli knows as Orjarnibapti from what I can discern. The you-of-now is mortal, the you-of-old was not. The you-of-old was a deity, but now they are not apparent in the world, disappeared, diminished or dissolved perhaps, but not dead. In a practical way, the you-of-now is all that remains, spared with the dying flash of the you-of-old, even unprepared as you had came to be."

This time, Genesis sighed and bit her lip. ’Oh, okay. She’s gone then, and I’m all that’s left… Thank you for helping me out, Ahthaaruhs. I… Is there anything I can do to repay the favor?’

"Do not suffer."

Just like that, the presence within her mind disappeared. It was like a fog made of glass was suddenly lifted from her thoughts, and so she exhaled and leaned onto Birburelli, panting and with wobbly legs. “I thought I was going to die… Having things speak into your head feels so wrong...” She said quietly, closing her eyes.

“I can imagine,” he noted thoughtfully, bending low and placing an arm around her back and the other behind her knees, and picked her up gently. “Let’s get you out of here now, I think you’ve seen and heard enough for today.” He walked the short distance down the final hallway and they found themselves in an even smaller sanctum at the centre of which was a statue greater than all the others. He circled around it and there was a small staircase leading out. He stepped out into the warm night air and eventually found Lukluk.

That night, he lit a small fire by one of the razed homes and sang little ditties until Genesis fell asleep. Sitting cross-legged, he watched over her for a while and soon closed his eyes and slept just like that.