Force and Fury

Harold's Academy for the Magically Inclined

Not sure if I'll be able to dedicate the sort of time to this that it deserves, but I'd like to play a Somatic if I could, either invisibility/intangibility or duplication. I'd just like to play a slinky, slippery lil' shit who seems almost cartoonish but maybe has some hidden heart and depth.

The Hourglass Order

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Present: Yalen Castel @pantothenic, Valerian Remi Leclere @yoshua171, Maura Mercador @Ti, Trypano Somia @A Lowly Wretch, Ingrid Penderson @dragonpiece, Niallus Saberhagen @McKennaJ71, and Abdel Varga @YummyYummy

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They trickled back towards the capital, exhausted and heavy with new worries, new information, and new angles to consider. For those who had gone to Chuanwei, the divide between the guardians and the students was clear even if it wasn't a hostile one. Both spoke amongst themselves in low tones. Both tried to unpack what had taken place, from the ambush and the still-missing Mr. Xiang, to the fight against Lady Matsuhara, the appearance of the Progenitor, the tense standoff between the two groups, and the arrival of the Black Guard.

Those who had scaled Bailong Shan were a good hour and a half ahead of them and, as they approached the city’s walls, they noticed that there were more guards by the gate than there had been earlier in the day, and all of the watchtowers and fires were lit.

Ingrid, anxious over the absence of Niallus, scanned the defensive measures, leaning in to Rikard to comment on them. “It’s like they know. Like they’re prepared…” He trailed off and wrapped his arms around himself. It was the end of Rezain or the start of Somnes and it was cold. The breath of those around them came out in small whitish puffs that quickly dissipated in the breeze. Nervously, the boy’s eyes snapped to a nearby hillside overlooking the road and he thought that he saw a lone figure standing there, with eyes of glowing white, but he sensed no energy and shook his head slightly to clear it. Sure enough, it was nothing: just an overtired mind and an overactive imagination. He had nearly died today, after all, and made enough of a fool of himself.

It was at that very moment that Niallus appeared, elsewhere. There was a flash of what they by now recognized as temporal magic and he stumbled out of a copse of brambles, rubbing at his neck, eyes darting about wildly, looking like an utter mess. He seemed to call out to someone, but Rikard couldn’t quite make out who.

Captain Zhu’s credentials were enough to get them into the city, but it was a changed place. Guardsmen Peng, Wang, Chen, Hunag, Xie, Zhou, Zheng, and Zheng joined Dai and Captain Zhu, forming up around them. Indeed, as the Easterners were escorted through the city to the very foot of their accommodations, it was hard not to be overwhelmed by the increased security within Wanggang. Twelve-man squads patrolled the major roads in formation and occupied public squares. There were quartets at all intersections, and the barracks outside of the Forbidden Quarter were fully staffed. Lamps were lit, posts were manned, and sleek midsized junks quietly circled the harbour. This was a capital preparing for a revolution and the sense that they had stepped into a situation far too great for them pervaded.

Then, they stood outside of the inn’s doors and the strange earlier cold was all-but gone. Captain Zhu began barking out orders in Retanese and the members of his squad snapped to attention. More than one of the students was left with the impression of inward groaning and Ingrid, able to pick up some of what was being said, leaned in and told them why. “He’s telling them they each need to file a report of the day’s activities.” She shook her head, “I can’t say why for sure, but…” She trailed off. The captain was last of all, exchanging a meaningful glance with Yin and then the others. “I go back.” he said. “You no gaud. Be good.” With that, he spun on his heel and departed. Mr. Wei had come up and Yin was there. They exchanged rapid words and he took her aside. Before she was pulled away, she managed to mime eating to the group. She pointed up at where their rooms were and mimed bathing. It appeared that there was warm water in their tubs and that there would be food soon. Until then, they appeared to have free run of the place.

Some time later, but perhaps not that much, the second cohort of students made their way through Wanggang, escorted much more heavily than the first. The city’s security measures were all-encompassing and, with the last bit of daylight having long since faded from the sky, there was nobody about except for guards and those authorized to be. “Why doo they heve e coorfeew?” asked Kaureerah quietly and there was plenty of uneasy whispered conversation and eyes darting about. “Whaut een te deepest daurkest oocean heve wee gautten eento?”

Then they were at the inn and exchanging goodbyes: formal and strained, but not entirely without warmth from Yawen, Ming, and Zihan. Captain Zhao inclined his head out of respect. With that, the guardians turned and marched away. They were gone and the great double doors opened. Yin and her father peered out. "Come!" the former whispered loudly, beckoning them inside. "Come in." Apparently, she had learned a few words of Avincian, just for them.

The inn was warm and safe and, despite the late hour, there was a large dinner sitting prepared in the courtyard. The group who had gone to the mountain was present, freshly bathed and clothed. They broke off what had seemed an absorbing conversation to rush over and greet the new arrivals. Yong was out and about as well, wearing one of his many Black Guard masks, and it was a bit unnerving to see that it almost matched the appearance of the large silent man who had stood before them mere hours earlier. Captain Zhu and his men, however, were not present. Ingrid explained that they had been called to the station to fill reports and that the full extent of it would have to be discussed over their very late dinner.

Abdel, Kaureerah, Maura, Yalen, and Xiulan were ushered to the table for some desperately-needed food, warmth, and rest, but Maura claimed - against the rumbling of her stomach - that she’d rather just rest. She headed off down the hall where the privies were before making for her room. After sitting and eating some duck, Abdel made the same claim a few minutes later. Xiulan shared that they had been invited to a dinner tomorrow, in the Forbidden Quarter, with the Twin Emperors. It was a great honour that many powerful lords waited an entire lifetime for and never received. There was even a specific set of ceremonial clothing that they were to wear. It would be tailored to fit each of them and delivered tomorrow morning to the inn. With that, she departed for bed as well, yawning grandly.

Only Kaureerah and Yalen remained of the group that had gone to Chuanwei. The eeaiko ate heartily, big silver eyes flicking about, grip tight on her chopsticks, fumbling about. “Eye em nervoos,” she admitted. “Eye traust nauteng.” She shook her head and took a moment to chew. Swallowing, she continued. “Wee met te Blauck Gaurd et te veellege: too auf them. Eet seemed maur laike e treat then en eenvetaitoon.” Her eyes darted Yalen’s way. “Eye doon’t tenk wee cen refoose, taugh, end eet es naut laike wee cen hide. Yoo aull look deeferent fraum tese peepaul. Eye…” she snorted. “Naut even te seme speecies. Too soomaune skeeled, even my energee stents aut.” She looked significantly at the Somnian before she, too, now finished with her plate, stifled a yawn. She rose and excused herself.

Maura had been waiting outside with an increasing dearth of patience, joined first by Abdel, and then by Xiulan and finally Kaureerah. “Eye doo naut laike tet wee aur keepeng tees e seecret.” She was already walking out ahead, clearly bothered. “Wee shoold bee woorkeng toogeteer.” That said, she did not raise the issue further, and the quartet began making their way over. Gradually, she fell towards the back with Xiulan. “I agree wiss you,” said the interpreter, leaning in, “But you know Maura doesn’t.” She shook her head. “She is ze good person. So is Ingrid, but zey can not to get along.” Her gaze drifted in the direction of the group’s self-appointed leader, up ahead. “And if we tell ze Yalen and Rikar and Trypano, zen Ingrid will start become suspicious.”

Kaureerah rolled her eyes. “Shee aulreedy weell. Enyaune weet a brain woold. Aul foor auf aus joost get oop end leeve e foow meenootes epeaurt.” She snorted. “Eye knoow shee ees e good persoon. Shee ees my frend, baut wee cennaut stend egainst te tweens end whautever else tey heve een stoor foor aus eef we aur sepaureted end cennaut woork toogeter.” She shook her head tightly, eyes scanning the night for more patrols and then finding Xiulan. “Tey weell eet aus elaive.”

“I… do not feel good about zis,” Xiulan admitted, “I should be ze translator for the whole group, whezer zey are need me or not. She was risk her life to save me, zough. I can’t to let her go wiss just you. Maybe she would get hurt.”

Then, Abdel held up a hand and the other three skidded to a stop. An energy sweep revealed a patrol of Blues mere moments before they appeared around a corner, a dozen of them in rigidly-drilled formation, weapons at the ready, marching down a midsized road.

Under Kaureerah’s veil of shadows, they slunk into a pair of alcoves and waited it out. In fact, it became a regular occurrence as they neared their destination: the city was a veritable fortress, swarming with armed men loyal to the Twins, and it was… cold. Maura pulled her shawl tight. Kaureerah risked generating some more heat and Xiulan sheltered beside her. Then, finally, they were there. It was an older area of the port district, mostly low-value warehousing and a bit dilapidated: right out of some tale of criminals and clandestine meetings. The guardians that had seemed ever-present elsewhere were nowhere to be found here.

Instead, there was a single man, half sitting, half leaning against a bollard, rubbing his hands together for warmth and hugging himself. The surface of the water was beginning to crystallize but, at their approach, he uncrossed both his arms and his legs and strode forward. He wore a mask, but he was not Mr. Bao. Long white hair spilled from the opening of his hood, framing a familiar porcelain visage. He was tall and, for some reason, gave them the impression of being an Easterner. He came to a stop and there were four of him. Each held out a hand to one of the students. “A fine evening to you,” he said with a cultured Kerreman accent. “My name is Ash, and we need to speak.”

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To say that suspicion abounded back at the inn was an understatement. Kaureerah’s departing words had seemed a cue of sorts and Yalen and Niallus had both sensed energies outside. If four were their companions, engaged in something covert, then there were two others as well. They had been sensed, in brief, as if they were trying to remain hidden: monstrous energies. “So…” said Rikard, popping a sugary little doughball into his mouth, “I guess we just uhh… go to bed, start thinking about how we’ll introduce ourselves tomorrow?” He all-but rolled his eyes.

Then, Yong sneezed, lifting his mask up part way to wipe at his mouth. Yin tossed a shawl over her shoulders and Mr. Wei stoked the fire. The youngest of the remaining students swirled his cup about and then leaned over to peer into Yalen’s. The surface of the water was starting to crystallize. Their breath was coming out in frosty little clouds. The priest perked up and cast about. “Yong,” Yin was saying, “过来。过来。去你的房间。” (Come here, come here. Go to your room.) The boy, who’d eagerly been showing Ingrid what one of his action figures did, started to protest, but there was no mistaking the very real note of worry in her voice. The innkeeper nodded at the students and scampered back towards the kitchen with Yong. Yin started behind with the others close to her own age and they could feel a subtle draw of magic from her direction.

For a moment, Rikard was certain he’d sensed something more: a third presence, distinct from the fleeting ones Yalen and Niallus had warned about. Ingrid was on her feet too, radiating warmth for those around her. Trypano had synthesized something like antifreeze within her bloodstream. “This cold…” decided the youngest of their group, trailing off for a moment, “It’s not natural.”

Two more tense minutes passed. Further sweeps were done. Their four other members had clearly left the building. Then, the unholy cold followed them and was gone. Glances were exchanged. Ingrid was the first to speak. “Did it just…” She left the rest unsaid: obvious. Yalen was tracking the dip on thermal energy and he nodded. “It did. It’s following them.” Then, it was Rikard’s turn. “So should we um…”

“Follow them,” Trypano cut in, heaving a much put upon sigh.

“I uh… I think there might’ve been someone following the follower,” Rikard warned, scratching at the back of his head. “Guys, we are well out of our depth. Anyone else sense it?”

“Sense what? That we’re out of our depth?” It was Niallus, and the younger boy rolled his eyes. The older one cracked a grim smirk. “No, you’re not wrong. I sensed it too.” The question was now a simple one: to follow, or not to follow?

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Some miles away, Valerian Remi Leclere faced no such dilemma. He had trekked back the remaining mile or so to the ogauraq camp once his unwelcome shadows were gone, fists clenched in helpless… he wasn’t sure what, but it was a negative emotion, to say the least. Following that, he drank with the ogauraq, spoke - after a fashion - with them, laughed, and supped. There was a grim sort of camaraderie about the group. They had all volunteered for this with no guarantee of safe return, leaving loved ones far north, for such were their convictions. They joked openly of death and how they would meet it. Perhaps it was their encounter with members of the Black Guard that had affected them so. It had made matters real and serious in a way that they had perhaps not been before, but the giants were brave people. It seemed that they were open as well, and ready to listen to anyone who might give them the best deal, but the majority - at least tentatively - backed Wu Long, who Vel had met at the onset of this crazy day.

The fire burned low, down to coals and embers and, one by one, they trudged off to sleep. Last up was Dragon Smirk, who yawned, rose, and paused beside Vel, raking some of the coals. He managed a tired smile and lay a massive hand on the younger boy’s shoulder for a long moment. Then, with images of ‘bed’ and ‘sleep’ and ‘luck’ dancing in the thought-space between them, he made his way to his tent for the night.

Left alone beneath the vast, vibrant canopy of stars, Vel kept company with his thoughts. Smoke curled into the air: a wispy grey ribbon, gradually ebbing as he tinkered carefully with his twin mana colonies, balancing them after a day of strenuous activity. Finally, he, too, picked himself up and made his way to a tent. Curling up in a comically oversized bedroll, he soon found sleep.

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He was awake. The Perrenchman did not know why, but he was awake. Twisting back and forth, he blinked tiredly and reached out with his senses. Something rippled and it reminded him of… Jocasta? He shook his head and sat bolt upright, amid a series of massive mounds made up of sleeping ogauraq. It was not Jocasta, though. The energy signature that appeared was something very different, and then there were more!

It was barely a second before the first shouts began to ring out. Those around him bolted from their covers. Outside there was fire and noise and… a truly gargantuan surge of power. Vel could feel his manas recoil at the sheer strength of it. He stumbled outside and something streaked by, blinding and golden. Smoke rose everywhere and, from the middle of it, a woman with eyes that glowed like embers - like that other monster’s who had ambushed them earlier. She hummed a little tune and floated above the nascent carnage as White Knights poured through her portal. The golden streak absolutely hammered into Early Bird and he died on impact, his thoughts and stories evaporating with him, ripped from Vel’s head with the final image of a scream and darkness and the feeling of existential fear. A tall, rangy Retanese yasoi stood there, decked out in gold, with a great golden beard, moustache, and mane of wild, violent hair. An aura surrounded him and flames burned in the background, where more ogauraq were now emerging to fight. Dragon Smirk was sent sprawling by a kinetic shove. Lumbering Ox ripped a man in two and let out an earthshaking roar. The yasoi’s grin was toothy, though: twitchy and deranged. “Me, eyes on!” he commanded. “Oohoohoo, aha! Fight me, you’ll do.” One of the ogauraq who Vel did not know tried to attack from the side with an arcane lance. It was effortlessly deflected with but a fist and punched through the would-be attacker’s shoulder. The monkey-man tilted his head to one side and his canines: they were wicked and sharp! “You’ll do,” He insisted, kicking a tent pole in the air, end over end, “or die, you will.” He leapt, caught it in midair, and bolted at Vel.

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The Hourglass Order

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The Fall of the Jiang

As Told by the Ogauraq of Salty Wind Village

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It was just after sunset when Finehair and Early Bird, storytellers of Salty WInd Village, took center stage. The sky immediately around them went dark. Then, upon that canvas played... a memory. Dragon Smirk, their younger peer, flashed images of 'old' at the human visitors. 'Two', added his younger sister, 'hundred'.

It showed an emperor, and they had the sense that he was the second last Jiang Emperor, known as the 'Wailing King'. The images shifted to show a young man, traveling north, across the tundra that dominated northern Retan. He was with a woman and a number of others, and they seemed to be hunting mammoth. The humans chased them, slinging magics as they went, and the animals ran.

The humans fell off the pace, but the animals continued to rampage until they came upon an ogauraq village. The residents brought them under control, eventually, but two houses had been destroyed. Three people had been killed. Those around the clearing bowed their heads in silence.

The story carried on after a moment. It was.. immersive, as if they were there, inside of it.

The Ogauraq were angry at the humans and they argued, but the humans seemed to understand little of what they said. They offered some money, but that was an insult. One did not offer money for lives. There was no true apology. The young man was important. He was told not to apologize by an older woman who whispered in his ear.

He left, continuing north in search of the mammoths, hunting to prove something to himself or others. His clothes were grand and elaborate, as were those of the young woman who traveled with him. Finally, they came upon the herd again. They prepared their fine weapons and their powerful magics, but the mammoths fled into a valley and then a closed-off area, walled with great stones.

The Ogauraq refused to let the men pass, however, for these mammoths were theirs to keep and raise, to milk and to slaughter when they grew elderly or infirm.

The man was a prince, and he was desperate. He offered to pay, but payment for a life is an insult, as all ogauraq know. Lives are thoughts, feelings, memories, and knowledge. Payment is for goods. They argued. Then, the humans left.

In the night, there was a disturbance. The mammoths ran loose. They trampled the home where the farmer lived with his family. The human came to the rescue and slaughtered five of the beasts with his entourage.

Yet, he had been the one to release them.

He denied it, but the ogauraq could see it in his thoughts. He claimed that they were lying. He claimed that they had no right to look into his mind. They claimed that he had no right to hunt these beasts that did not belong to him. He had not, he insisted, but he had offered to pay before. He offered again. The ogauraq were enraged. Payment for lives is an insult, and the actions of the humans had taken lives, now: multiple lives.

They demanded a life in return.

The humans balked, and then they ran. They ran with their ill-begotten meat and furs and tusks. They ran with blood on their hands. The ogauraq chased them down and bade them surrender. They would ask for only one life. The human prince called them savages and cannibals. He struck at them with fearsome magics and killed two more.

The ogauraq retreated, for they were not a warlike people. Now, however, their fury was aroused, and it spread quickly. The prince and his entourage were ambushed, chased, and harried until they were brought to a corner. There, they were captured. There, he told them that they could not possibly kill him or his father's armies would come and wipe them out.

That night, unwilling to face a justice that was not his father's, he tried to escape. In desperation, the ogauraq used their magic - their chemical magic - to cut him off from his sight. They warned him to stop but he scoffed that they would not harm him for fear of his father and that now he would have his revenge.

He slipped on a patch of ice, while walking through a mountain pass. He fell and broke his head open. A life had been given. The other humans were released. The ogauraq explained to them what had happened. They explained that they debt was paid - though not in the way they had intended.

The next summer, as the snow melted and muskox and mammoth began to graze on the green grass, vast human armies marched north. They butchered ogauraq where they stood: man, woman, and child. They razed villages. Many humans died as well: levies from peasant families. The ogauraq were not a warlike people, but they were strong.

The Wailing King, in his grief, threw more lives into the fire. The great dragons, who had been his allies, tried to calm him, and he turned on them too. One of his generals, the elder of a pair of twins from a prominent old family, helped him to hunt down and butcher the dragons, for he was a greatly powerful mage. He had strong allies as well, and he offered these in service of his king, who grew ever madder.

Yet, the general's brother was a wise man, as wise as his elder twin was strong. Magic tore the land asunder, people using it carelessly. Some rebelled against the king, supported by the dragons. Others wished the dragons dead. Still more - insidious forces from Nikan - sought to step in and take over. Religious authorities from the East tried to exploit the weakness. He preached moderation: in temperament, as the great Angic philosophers had taught, and in magic. He wished to save the last few dragons. He wished to spare the emperor's family. He spoke with his brother, and the general repented.

Together, they traveled north to the tundra and met with the ogauraq in secret. Both peoples were wary, but the twins promised that they could avenge their losses to the Wailing King and reclaim their stolen lands. Thereafter, they would be left in peace. The twins shared that they would act as custodians of the land instead. They they would rule harshly, perhaps, but fairly. They would return matters to balance.
Not all of the ogauraq were convinced. The humans who they had once held some trust in, they now wished to avoid. Nonetheless, enough of them listened. The people of the north marched south.

There they found the humans at war with each other. The armies of the Twin Generals had surrounded the capital and some other large cities but now, at the precipice, the Wailing King had repented before his people and his ministers. This had been the generals' plan all along, he claimed. They had orchestrated it all!

The resolve of the people to depose him wavered. Many declared themselves neutral. Yet, that of the ogauraq did not. The Twins had treated with them in good faith. They had made an attempt to understand both their culture and their anger. They stormed the capital and there fought a terrible battle. How the humans fell before them: wave after wave, each one a life: thoughts, dreams, and knowledge. Each lost. But they remembered how they had been treated by this man and his armies. Much as it pained them, they hardened their hearts and fought on.

The conflagration grew, and the Twins dithered. They were engaged further south, in Kuobao, they claimed. Fires raged, destroying most of the old capital. Then, finally, the armies of the Twin Generals appeared. They swept down upon the burning city and extinguished its flames.
They saved human lives. They made peace with their human enemies. Then, they turned on the ogauraq.

Monsters.
Subhumans.
Traitors.

Because of their vendetta against the former emperor, the giants had come to the capital of their own volition and destroyed it. They had fought against both the Wailing King and the Twins. They had butchered humans by the tens of thousands. It was all a lie. The ogauraq protested, but nobody would listen to them, and the Twin Generals ensured it.

They made peace with the last few dragons and the great beings who the ogauraq had once respected said nothing to absolve them. They were... afraid. The ten great warriors who had fought alongside the Twins became the Black Guard. The Twin General became the Twin Emperors.
They hunted down and killed more ogauraq and the people of the tundra retreated further north to lick their wounds, recover, and hide.

The pair of storytellers paused. They shared the idea of 'two', and of 'hundred'.

A great spider's web was shown, with many spiders in it. In the middle were trapped the Twins. They had angered people unknown but powerful. An envoy of one of the five remaining dragons had come to the ogauraq. As an avatar for this great being, he had prostrated himself before them. He had asked that they once again come south. That they lend their strength.

That was why they were here now, in a small camp so far south as the capital bubbled with intrigue. It was only this group and a few others who had answered the call. They were a strong force, but few in number. They had little faith in dragons or humans, but the two among them - Niallus and Vel - had acted in an ogauraq's defense. Hence, they had been brought here. Hence, they had watched this story unfold.

The darkening faded though, now. The sky itself was dark and dotted with many thousands of stars. A faint greenish light wavered across its canvas, vast and phantasmal. The fire crackled. The ogauraq looked to the human pair. Who, they impressed upon the youths with thought-pictures, should they support? Which of the various spiders, or none?

The Hourglass Order

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It was shortly after she'd speared the boats with jagged ice that he came for Edyta: a man with a feather in his cap. He was quick. He'd gotten the jump on her, which was not something that happened. For a moment, she'd wondered, but time was not in great supply and she escaped into greyborn space, brimming with energy. There, it was confirmed. A knife came for her neck and only a sense of presence and combat drilled into her from a young age allowed her to sense it before it struck.

The rezaindian rolled out of the way and came to her feet in a single motion, facing him. She raised zamrażanie and palenie. "So you are like me." She did not want to fight.

But the man did. He did not answer. Instead, he sunk into a three-dimensional fighting stance, knife in a reverse grip. He might fall upon her. He might fall upwards. They would establish the rules of the place where they would fight. It was oddly... intimate, but he was looking for weaknesses and Edyta could not allow her mind to wander. She would give him one, then: an opening.

The very moment she made her 'mistake' - her bait - this... ghost shot forward with the kind of speed that would be impressive even had magic been in play. She barely got her weapons up to cover the purposeful opening, and then he was dodging and ducking and slashing and it was everything that the rezaindian could do to block his attacks. His knife met her soft skin and left a clean little slice near her shoulder, and then another on her thigh. That was when she realized that he was using magic: the energy he had taken in with him.

He was going to overpower her.

Edyta let herself fall back into reality, and she dropped onto the deck of a burning ship. She sprinted and drew and pulled herself back into the realm between realities. Now there was space between them. She sunk into a long-high-back stance, one sickle out in front, to give her range, and the other raised for a power strike. This would be fought to the death.

Up does not exist. Down is an illusion. Greyspace was whatever you made of it, aside from echoes, silence, and patience: shadows of the realities outside. Some were beautiful, most were mundane, others were horrific, but they did not concern her now. She ran up a slope, over him, and leapt - somersaulting - backwards when he made to follow. Perhaps Mother Oraff had given him a man's body: stronger than hers and built for war, but she was younger, nimbler, and surefooted.

The Ghost made to strike again, but he was slower this time. He fell upwards, but he had not let himself fall into reality when he'd been given the chance. She had. She gambled it all on a single strike. Catching his blade with hers, the rezaindian released the false feel of gravity - an artifact of her attachment to the world beyond - and dropped.

His knife was pulled down and aside and her other blade came to sink into his lower abdomen. The blood went where they imagined it would. They had created this pocket reality together. It was theirs to live in and one of theirs to die in, most likely, though she did not wish it were so.

Gutted, The Ghost staggered backwards, but he did not try to fall away. "Please," she spoke into the grey nothing. It was changing, though. The sounds of birds twittering and a rushing stream could be heard. She had a vague sense of greenness. "Please don't make me kill you." She shook her head. "There are so few of us."

He stared at her, and she could not read his deep, dark eyes.

"There are so few and all we do is kill each other for them."

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"Now there will be one less." He was implacable. He raised his knife once again, as if to fight, but the wound was mortal and they both knew it. The world was becoming greener. She could feel the wind on her face. They were by the water and there was a dock.

"So be it," replied Sister Laska, "But answer me one thing before you go: Why this? Why any of it?"

"Because I was paid to. Because that is how your wicked world works." His muscles had been sliced apart. He could not properly shrug. Now he could not hold himself up anymore. He crumpled slowly to the ground and then he was lying on a grassy green bank by the riverside rushes. There were bullfrogs and the sun was setting. A boat waited by the dock. This was his contribution and it was... beautiful. "We bring things to this town from Hyparii. We do it for..." He sighed and he was weakening. "I don't know. I don't know anymore and I don't care. I'm going to a happier place: the place where all of us go, and I don't mean heaven."

A cold feeling pulsed through Edyta's midsection. "Go in peace, then," she replied weakly.

"Oh, I will," he rasped. The blood had spread all around him, but it was clovers and wildflowers now, on the green, green grass. "One... last... thing," he grated.

"What is it?" She hung onto his dying words: he who had tried to kill her; she who had killed him.

"Juulet," he choked out. "Beware. Juulet." Then, he was gone and she sat alone in the world that he had built - the world that would disappear once she left it.

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Harold's Academy for the Magically Inclined

Beautiful worldbuilding, I have to say! That art has a unity of design that's just... *chef's kiss*.

The Hourglass Order

Merciless Sun: Pt. 1

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It was one of those late Dorrad days in Tantiac, where it had not rained for nearly a month. The rasping hum of cicadas cut through the devilish heat and the sun floated high and imperious in the sky, nary a cloud in sight. Two small girls made their way through a sea of golden grass, their dark-haired heads bobbing up and down, occasionally pausing to enjoy a gentle breeze that sent ripples through it.

This far from Yandreluul proper, the fields were always overgrown, the ever-encroaching forest looming in the distance, dark and green and threatening. The second, smaller girl spared wary looks at it and made an effort to catch up with the first. "Is it very much farther?" she needled, but her older peer ignored her. Rising from the artificial grassland came the great mushroom-shaped Carpex Trees, molded over centuries to suit the needs of the yasoi who occupied them. Their branches groaned softly and leaves swayed in their upper reaches. Great pools of shadow - oases from the heat - spread outwards from each and tiny figures moved among houses, shops, and rope bridges. The girls were currently in the no-man's land between two of the trees - Loireth and Wendreth - pushing their way through chest-height reeds and detouring around the occasional patch of brambles.

Miret was the name of the younger, and she began to fall precipitously off the pace now. "Tyrel," she gasped, "slow down, please." The first of the two had been enjoying her time in the lead, for she was almost always the one lagging behind. She came to a stop, leaning languidly for a moment on a pair of forearm crutches, and turned. She arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong, Miret? We're almost there. Come on."

"I dunno," she replied in a whiny voice. "I'm tired and you're going too fast." She still hadn't caught up.

"Oh for the love of Oirase, you have two legs, suunei. You should be twice as fast as me." She rested the stump of her right on a crutch handle and waited impatiently.

"You have magic," Miret responded resentfully, panting as she reached her suunei. In truth, they were cousins, but their mothers had been twins, as had their fathers. Tyrel was wilting in the heat as well, to be honest, and it had made her a bit snappy. She forced some calm upon herself. "So do you now, remember? You have to get used to using it."

The younger girl met her eyes, ashamed. "I... know, but I'm not good with it like you are." Unspoken between them were the changes since last year, since Tyrel had been named the living avatar of the goddess Vyshta. There'd been a self-assuredness to her, an assertiveness, and Miret had increasingly felt like her grander cousin's shadow.

"You will be, I promise." She grabbed hold of her crutches again and took a step toward her counterpart. "It's only been like a few weeks." She tried a reassuring smile. "But for now, it's Exi's butt hot. Let's just make a run for Wendreth, huh?" She started moving, boosting her body with magic. "Think you got it in you?"

Miret nodded bravely "I'll try, she mewed, trying to convince herself she could do it. This was weird, though. Tyrel was right. She had never been a fast walker, not since she'd lost her leg years ago. It was always Miret out in front having to wait up for her, maybe less so since the older cousin had gotten her magic and the younger hadn't yet, but still...Come on, Miret. You can do it. Just get there. She felt dizzy, though, and heavy, like her arms and legs weighed twice as much as they should. Her skin burned like it was being slowly cooked and her eyes constantly watered. She blinked away the sensory-numbing glare and squinted. Tyrel was already dashing out ahead gamely, head bobbing in the grassy near distance. Sick, the girl thought, I have to be sick, unless this is just a normal part of getting magic.

Wendreth

♬

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---

She barely made it, and the shade was the most blessed thing. All but collapsing, she lay there in the cool dark pool around Wendreth, the grass shorter and well-traveled and tickling the back of her neck. She looked up at the great green branches and the people traveling about the enormous home-tree. The scents of smoke and animals and pollen reached her nose and she breathed. Then, there was the distinctive click-thump of Tyrel's footsteps interrupting the songs of the dowsingjays and the faint sound of voices up above. She turned her head lazily to watch.

Her cousin sat down beside her and pulled a pair of water bottles from her satchel. "Here. Drink. You look like death." She thrust one into Miret's face and the girl pulled herself into a sitting position, taking it and offering a quick "qitoip." They sat there for the next half-minute, drinking in silence, the water rolling greedily down the younger one's throat. "How you feeling now?" Tyrel prodded, concern evident on her face and appreciated by Miret. She paused to think and do an inventory. "Actually," she admitted, "I'm fine." It was weird. "I feel a hundred percent back to normal." She blinked a couple of times. Her eyes were better too. There was a perfunctory smile of support from her cousin. "Good," Tyrel chirped. She grinned conspiratorially. "Thennn... maybe we can still try to make it to Mixto's? We almost never get out to Wendreth and I really want one of those Juuvet-style paint kits. You do too, right?"

That was classic Tyrel: always asking leading questions, getting you to agree with her so you didn't have to say no or look rude. Miret supposed that she did kind of want one of those paint kits, though. They had colours you couldn't get in Tarlon and only Velanii had one so far. Everyone would be jealous. She nodded. "Yeah, 'course I want one." She sniffed and blinked again, rising to her feet. "Let's go, I guess."

Tyrel rose beside her, awkwardly grasping her near-empty bottle and a crutch handle at once. Without asking, Miret relieved her of the former and she made a little noise of thanks. The younger girl didn't really think about it much, but it must've been annoying to never have your hands free when you walked. Walk, they did: halfway around the home-tree to where the pulleys were. There was a short lineup and they could always have just climbed one of the ladders or staircases, but Tyrel was slow on those and the pulleys were fun, so they waited. "Hey, suunei..."

Tyrel twisted to regard her as they moved up a spot. "Mhm?"

"This might be a dumb question, but... She trailed off for some reason, waiting for reassurance, maybe?

"Well, just ask it and we'll know." The older girl rolled her eyes.

Nobody had ever mentioned feeling sick or weird when you first got magic, but Miret's parents were back in Saliac for most of Dorrad and maybe it was something like when you got your first monthly blood that only your mom was supposed to talk to you about. The pause lengthened and they moved up again. Tyrel regarded her expectantly. "Doyougetsickwhenyougetyourfirstmagic?" It came out all at once, and Miret could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. There was no hiding it either. She'd always been pale as a ghost.

Her older cousin seemed taken by surprise. She blinked, fingernails tinkling against the glass of her water bottle as they drummed on it. Then, she shook her head. "Didn't happen to me," she admitted, "though maybe it's different for everyone?" She paused and turned the bottle upside down, draining the last bit of water. "Are you like... feeling sick?"

Miret shrugged awkwardly. "I dunno," she responded, as Tyrel took her empty bottle and shoved it into the satchel with her own. "Like maybe not sick, exactly. I'm just always hungry, but not like 'food hungry', and I feel heavy."

They were next, and the older girl furrowed her brow. "I'll be honest, that's kinda weird." She looked concerned, almost like an adult though, really they were only a tiny bit less than a year apart in age: Tyrel born at the start of the year in bleak, snowy Hundrii, her name meaning 'snow', and Miret at the very end in cool, rainy Somnes, with its dead brown leaves and cloudy skies. "Maybe, when we're done, we can go to the library in Qaloreth and see if there's anything about it?" She smiled reassuringly. "Maybe you have some weird rare mana type that just grows differently."

Then, one pulley was open and, moments later, the one beside it. A weird rare mana type, thought Miret, mind racing as to what it could be. Nobody was as special as Tyrel, of course, but maybe she could be a little bit special too. She smiled and her cousin smiled back as they stepped onto the little wooden rings at the bases of the twin ropes. "Niico," counted the elder, "lan... yr...PEN!" Both released the catch at the same time and the laughed and hollered as they picked up speed, the wind rushing past their faces, hair a pair of long dark streamers behind them. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the pulley ride slowed. The landing platform drew near and they came to a stop, giggling. Miret, perhaps a shade heavier, got there first, and jumped off, Tyrel joining her a moment later. "'Least you beat me at something today," she teased, and the younger girl rolled her eyes.

The two of them made their way to the shoppe and spent the solid next hour trying out all of the various body paint colours, tetsoi stencils, oils, sashes, and hats. There were tiims'archa in dozens of bright colours and little Imiis sloths in cages. Various rare finds from across the world filled the locked display cases and lined the walls behind the counter. Mr. Mixto sat there reading his weekly newsletter, smoke curling softly from the pipe clenched between his lips as dozens of mostly preteen and teenaged girls as well a good smattering of similarly-aged boys fluttered about.

Then, they were done, glow-in-the-dark paint kits secured in Tyrel's now-bulging satchel for the price of ten colacs each. They rode the pulleys down again, running into Chad'amis on the way, who definitely wasn't headed to Mixto's. For some reason, Tyrel talked extra loudly about how cool her new paint kit was when he was close, and she stopped to say hi to him, smiling and rocking back and forth from the ball to the heel of her foot.

Finally, they were back on the ground and edging towards the line where shadow gave way to sunlight. It was into the afternoon now and even hotter, were that possible. The distant trees of the Writhing Wood creaked and moaned as they batted each other's branches away and, presently, a small troop of monkeys peered out from the gloom at their strange bipedal relatives beyond. "Ready, suunei?"

Miret looked out at the vast dry expanse with apprehension. Wendreth was so far from everything else. The only reason anyone came out there was for Mixto's. They'd have to go through Loireth, Exuureth, and either Gaireth or home - Angreth - to get to Qaloreth. Whatever her hesitations, she did not want to be the one slowing them down, so the younger girl nodded. "Ready."

Merciless Sun: Pt. 2

♬

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---

The two of them took off, Miret in the lead as usual, wordlessly deciding to just make a run for it and sprint from one oasis of shade to the next. She made it about halfway there before Tyrel passed her. It was all a blur, faint and indistinct. Her head grew heavy, her breath sluggish, and her world swayed. The sun felt like it was peeling her skin back. It hurt and, involuntarily, Miret let out a little whimper. Up ahead, panting slightly, her cousin slowed and turned about, concern in her eyes this time instead of annoyance. She waited for her younger partner to catch up and smiled supportively. "Don't worry," she offered, "We don't have to run. We're almost there anyways." It was a bit of a lie, but not a bad one, and they slogged through the remaining distance until they'd once again reached the shade and blessedly - finally - Miret could feel like her skin hadn't been set on fire.

Tyrel, even with her missing leg and the extra weight of the satchel, seemed tired in only a normal way. The younger girl's stomach began to curl in on itself, though. This wasn't a problem that was going away, and now she felt the hunger again. "Hey," she tried, by way of distraction, "You wanna get something to eat? I'm super hungry." if they pooled funds, they'd have enough for a buudvuud and maybe one of those yanii-style ones with crushed tomatoes.

Tyrel pursed her lips and glanced up at the sun, which was low enough in the sky to be seen from beneath Loireth's canopy now. She shook her head. "I could eat too, but if we stop, we won't make it to Qaroleth on time." She paused. "Is it like... real hunger or that weird not-food hunger you mentioned?"

Miret glanced up at her guiltily and shrugged. "More like the second, I guess, but I'm actually hungry too."

"Suunei, I think we should get to the library. I wanna find out what mana type you have. I'm so sure that's it."

Glumly, Miret nodded and went along with her cousin like she always did. They made for Exuureth and it was at least a bit easier because there were actual trails leading there and other people. Miret burned, though, and her head pounded. Tyrel offered her satchel as something to hold up and protect her from the sun, but the younger girl could barely put one foot in front of the other. As soon as she reached the shade, she collapsed, the burning gradually fading. "I think I'm sick. It's some kind of fever. I have to be sick."

They took a long break before continuing and the shadows lengthened further. Miret could hear her cousin's stomach rumble, but she said nothing. The distance to Gaireth was shorter, but Angreth was... "I don't think I can do it," Miret finally admitted, expecting an exasperated look or some skin-deep encouragement that tried to cover up frustration. There was a long pause where she saw only Tyrel's back. Then, with a sigh, the one-legged girl turned. "It's okay, suunei. You've been really brave." She patted the paints in her satchel. "Think you can make it home with these? You can take your time."

Miret was already feeling somewhat better, having been in the shade, and she nodded tentatively. "I think, the longer a break I take, the better it is." Tyrel nodded back. "Good. Then we'll walk together to Angreth and you go up. I'll continue to Qaroleth and see if I can make it just on time. If they try to tell me no, I'll just be like, 'The Avatar of Vyshta demands it!' or something." She grinned mischievously and Miret so wished that she was going with her. For a moment, anxiety seized the smaller girl. What if this was a regular thing? What if it got worse and she couldn't do stuff with Tyrel anymore, or Velanii, Amiret, Chesuun, or Chad? Her heart began to beat faster with anxiety, but then Tyrel was moving and she had to follow.

She wilted two thirds of the way there and slumped to the ground. Her cousin hovered about, worried and encouraging. She pulled Miret to her feet, but the nine-year-old was in a full-blown panic now. "Okay, hop on my back. I'll piggyback you," offered the ten-year-old. Miret was on fire. Tears were trickling down her cheeks now. Still, she regarded her cousin dubiously. "You have one leg."

"I have magic. Now get on!"

Miret did as she was told and they even made it to the edge of the shade before a single incautious step caused it to all come crashing down. The younger of the two hit the dirt, just barely breaking her fall with her hands. The older one scraped her knee and rolled into a sitting position, letting out a hiss of pain and annoyance. "Suunei, are you okay!?" Miret exclaimed, crawling under the edge of the shade. "I told you it was a bad idea."

"I got you here, didn't I?" Tyrel reached down and wiped some blood away with a fingertip. There was a long, deep red stream, trickling down her leg and Miret found herself fixated by it. It looked so much like wine, or like tomato soup, or the colour of an apple's skin. It was warm, she knew. She knew the taste, too. The feeling in her stomach grew. The faintness from the sun receded. "I'm fine." Tyrel was watching her, a strange look on her face. Miret blinked and collected herself, stealing one last glance at the wound as her cousin grabbed a handful of grass and dabbed it away. "Okay," she replied belatedly, "If you say so."

"I've had way worse." Tyrel was fishing around in her bag, and out came the paint kits and bottles. The smaller girl stared at them dumbly for a moment. "Rest a little if you need. Then get home." She heaved herself to her foot, sparing a glance down at her knee, where another little trickle was already starting. "I have to run if I wanna make it there." She was already moving. "Stay safe, suunei!"

Hearth and Home

♬

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The sun was nearly set and crickets chirped in the clearing below Angreth when there was a bustle at the door and the long shadow of Tyrel appeared in its frame. "Tyrel'yrash!" came the admonishment from Aunt Tyrel as the girl set her satchel - heavy with books - down. "What's gotten into you?" Her eyes went to the fresh scab on her daughter's knee.

"I love you too, mom."

Miret tried not to snort in laughter. It was not good to incur her aunt's wrath.

"Tyrel, don't get passive-aggressive with me, okay? I was just worried. It's very late and you said nothing about being gone this long, and Miret said she wasn't feeling well on top of it."

"'M sorry," the younger Tyrel sighed. "I'm fine, mum. Really. I was just at the library."

Aunt Tyrel sighed, walking forward to pick up the satchel. "Your cousin told me, sweetie. You're looking for books on why she's sick?"

Tyrel nodded, flashing Miret a small supportive look. She cast about for Calidan, Derii, and Sendrii, but Miret explained that her older brother was still at the academy and the twins had recently been put to bed. "You feeling any better?" the recent arrival prodded, and it was Miret's turn to nod. "Way better. I just needed to get out of the sun and lie down."

"She's improved a lot," Aunt Tyrel confirmed. "It might've just been heat exhaustion." The cousins glanced at each other, sharing their doubts about that silently, but neither said anything. "Would you like to sit down and have some buudvuud?"

"With tomato?"

"With tomato."

It wasn't warm and gooey anymore, so Miret set it on a pan near the hearth for just long enough for it to regain its texture. Then, she and Tyrel sat there by the fire, as the light faded, and read. After an hour, they were ushered to bed in the turret where they always slept when Miret came over during Dorrads. Lying there in their twin hammocks under the moonlight, rocking silently back and forth, neither girl was able to find much sleep. Before long, a leg dangled from Tyrel's hammock, and then she shimmied across the floor, not risking the inevitable noise of hopping, until she was beside her cousin. "Miret," she whispered, generating a small tongue of flame above her fingertip for light. "You up?"

The younger girl rolled out of the hammock and landed silently in a crouch. "I guess that's one way to answer," remarked Tyrel, and Miret grinned. "Very up," she confirmed.

Tyrel shimmied across the floor to grab a pair of candles. "Wanna read some more?"

Revelation

♬

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---

Miret was already retrieving the books. It wasn't long before they were sitting cross-legged beside each other, reading by candlelight and moonlight in front of the large window. Then, Tyrel froze. There was a momentary silence that dragged. "Tyrel?"

"So, this book is about Sanguinaires," she said quielty, and a shiver ran through Miret at the word. "I was in a big hurry. I didn't have time to look, so I just took everything they had on weird mana types. I spent my buudvuud money on it."

Miret regarded her steadily.

"Look here." She pointed anxiously to a particular passage and slid it over. It was an old book, handwritten instead of printed by a press, and difficult to read. "Look what it says."

For those born sanguinaires, the onset of their Gift can be a traumatic experience. Most likely, they do not know or even have an inkling of what is coming. It is, therefore, a rude awakening in both literal and figurative terms when they first begin to notice the symptoms of their affliction: firstly, a burning hunger that cannot be satisfied by food; second, an extreme weakness toward the sun, characterized by a prominent burning sensation, heaviness, and notion of glare; Finally, and most tellingly, a fascination with blood, feelings of sudden clarity, focus and power, and a sense of being able to taste it upon sight.

There was more. The book continued, but now Miret's heart was hammering faster. She could feel her pulse in her ears. "No, I'm not a sanguinaire!" she hissed. "They're disgusting. They're monsters and, besides, my mom and dad aren't sanguinaires."

Tyrel regarded her sadly and, with a form of determination both dark and curious, began picking at her scab. Instinctively, Miret's eyes snapped to it. All five of her senses did, in fact, enraptured as a bead of blood built and swelled upon her cousin's knee, held there for a moment, fattening, and then broke, spilling down in a tiny rivulet. The savoury, iron-rich taste: she remembered it well from the dozen or so times she had bit her lip or had a nosebleed. The warmth: she knew it was warm, but already cooling. The - No! She started and forced herself to think of other things.

Tyrel reached down and swabbed the blood up on her fingertip. She held it out to Miret and now there was the taste of tears: salty and warm. "But I don't want it," the younger girl mewed. The older one smiled sadly, shaking her head. "We don't always want what comes our way," she replied, eyes sliding pointedly to the stump that was all that remained of her right leg. "But we have to accept it and, sometimes, it isn't all bad." She regarded her cousin nonjudgmentally.

Every rational, holy thought that Miret had screamed at her: You don't drink blood! That's for monsters and demons and crazy people! You'll go to hell if you do it! Her hand moved of its own accord, bypassing Tyrel's. There was a new bead of blood on the older girl's knee now: fresher and warmer. Miret's finger slid across it and, averting her gaze for the shame as she did so, she lifted that finger to her lips and past them.

It was like someone had lit a bonfire inside the cold, dark room of her being. For a flicker of time, it filled her: new energy, focus, and fullness rushed through the girl's veins. Clawing at their heels, however, came a dark, ravenous hunger. She needed more. Her eyes darted up to Tyrel's and she wiped a second bead of blood from her knee, sucking this, too, off of her finger. Her pulse quickened. Her eyes dilated. Her breathing became heavy. "See?" said her saviour, "You like it, don't you?" Her smile was somewhat unsettled, but a smile nonetheless. "It actually says in the book that you need to -"

Miret bolted forward. It was everything. She needed it. She'd been her whole life without it. She grabbed the older girl's knee roughly and squeezed. "Miret!" Her fingernails dug in and she leaned forward. She needed it! "Miret, oww!!" That was when she felt Tyrel's power. Augmented by magic, her cousin shoved her back with extreme force. Miret lost her balance and fell back, hitting her head on the floor. The pain shook her out of whatever state she'd been in and the world spun for a moment. She could feel a colossal surge of energy as the Avatar of Vyshta rose and hopped back a step. "Are you yourself again?" she called out warningly, and the younger girl could only pull herself up to a sitting position. She took a few breaths and tried not to look at the bleeding knee. "I am, suunei. I am. I'm sorry!" She began crying. "Don't let me see it. I might go crazy again." She continued to avert her eyes. Even the scent of it was too much. "If you can heal it, please!"

Then, there were footsteps on ladder-stairs. Tyrel was healing herself, clumsily but with power to spare. "Come close," she whisper-hissed, and Miret stumbled over, still not looking, trying to shut her senses off. "Grab a book and sit!" The door opened and Aunt Tyrel's head popped in and the girls were caught redhanded in their nightgowns... reading.

Resolution

♬ ♬

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It was early morning, two weeks later, and the rains had come. Miret's parents would soon follow and, after what was usually a final fun-filled week as a family, she would return home with them to Saliac. She sat there, under the overhang on the balcony, chin resting on her knees. The sky was a soft grey and a lazy thunderstorm mumbled vague threats of violence from within the predawn clouds. Birds chirped and tittered and water trickled from the support beams to splash against the wooden platform in front of her. For the past ten days, in the throes of her strange illness, she had hidden herself inside, sleeping in a room separate from Tyrel and any of the others so that she did not infect her cousins. Mostly, she had read - though nothing about the 's-word' - painted, and prayed to Damy that she would soon recover from whatever this was. Her stomach had only grown more upset, though, to the point where it was difficult to sleep, and the heaviness had worsened as well.

Into this situation, after nine days of awkward and avoidant coexistence, came the distinctive click-thump of Tyrel and her footsteps. What do you want? She almost mumbled it, but then her cousin was there and she had to avoid looking at her. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around Miret from the side and, after flinching at the initial touch, she allowed herself to be hugged. She sat there like that for a good minute or two, just looking out at the rain and feeling Tyrel's arms around her and chest pressed against her side.

"I love you."

Miret turned her head to regard her cousin. That had sounded... apologetic and, for a moment, fear spiked inside of her. "You... you didn't tell them, right!?"

Tyrel pulled back a bit, arms still loosely on her, still kneeling, and shook her head. "You keep my secrets, I keep yours," she promised, "As long as you need me to."

The younger of the two sighed. "Thank you," she rasped. "It's just..." She trailed off and it all came crashing down, really: a flimsy translucent wall of rationalizations and excuses to protect her from an unwanted truth, but Tyrel knew. She'd been there and seen it: Miret had attacked her for her blood and that, she reflected, was the true reason she'd been avoiding her cousin. It meant acknowledging the truth. It meant she couldn't pretend. "I'm sorry for avoiding you."

"I'm sorry for avoiding you. You seemed mad at me and..." Letting her arms fall away, she shrugged. "I didn't wanna make it worse." She sighed off into the humid air. "I know what it's like to have some big change you don't want, you know. Do you remember?" That was a reference to the secret. One dorrad, five years ago, they had wandered into the writhing wood against their parents' wishes and, when Tyrel had been bitten behind the right knee by anklechewers, Miret had kept the secret to avoid tipping them off about the misadventure. The bugs had laid eggs though, and after a week of keeping quiet and Tyrel determinedly suffering in silence, they'd been found out. By then, the infection had spread through most of the leg and it had proved impossible to save. Really, she'd been lucky not to die. "It's different, though." She drew in again. "Having one leg doesn't make you go attacking people you love."

Tyrel shook her head, though. "That's not the point, suunei. I know it's different and you feel like you're bad 'cause of it, but you're still you and there's ways to get what you need without just attacking people. I've been reading more of that book, you know." She pulled it out of her ever-present satchel. "What I'm talking about is that you could die from this, just like I could've until my mom found out. If you keep hiding and pretending it's not real, you'll literally wither away." She hugged her knee to her chest. "But you're my favourite person in the world and I can't just let that happen; you can't." The rims of her eyes were red and she blinked a couple of times. A tear left a track down one of her cheeks and Miret felt sorry, determined, and overwhelmed in rapid succession.

"But how?" she asked, and Tyrel gave her a funny look. "I've been reading up a lot, I told you, and working on my blood magic," she answered cryptically. Miret blinked and tilted her head questioningly, but then her cousin whipped a knife out. The younger girl's eyes widened in alarm, but she was not yet instinctual enough in her magic use to react on time. The blade drew a quick slide across Tyrel's forearm and she grimaced.

Then, there was the blood.

It poured forth from the wound - from her radial and ulnar arteries - it didn't bead or trickle. Something animal took hold of Miret and she dived forward, sucking it up without thinking. "I trust you, suunei," said her cousin through gritted teeth. She winced as Miret bit down, and let out a small squeak of pain. "I trust you to stop and, if you won't, I'll stop you. You can trust me."

The words were hazy, barely heard. There was only the blood: sweet, sweet sustenance that her body craved more than anything. She fed and she fed. She fed on... Tyrel. For a brief, lucid moment, she looked up and into her cousin's pained eyes. How she burned with power and vigor now, though! It chased the guilt away and she felt her true self for... perhaps the first time ever. Her arteries bulged with manas, her senses sharpened. She could feel everything. She could feel the older girl's other hand tapping her. "Miret!" she was calling, "Miret, stop!"

She could listen, but she could also feed. She could drain... anyone like this. They were so weak, she knew then, and so slow compared to her. She could dominate them and have whatever she... Tyrel's grimace reached her. She wanted her cousin - her best friend - with her. Abruptly, Miret's mouth fell away from the wound and Tyrel slumped to the side, catching herself awkwardly with her stump. She blinked and swayed, woozy. "Suunei!?" the smaller girl entreated urgently, but her cousin's eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell evenly. "It's okay," she breathed. "I'm okay. You stopped by yourself."

"Did... did it hurt?" Miret asked hesitantly, avoiding looking at the wound.

"No shit."

The younger girl blushed, but then there was the hum of magic and the elder was busy sealing up the wound. Miret couldn't help but look out of sheer curiosity. "You really did study blood magic."

Tyrel opened one eye, just a crack, and managed a faint, smug smile. The punctures in her flesh filled up and the damaged skin sewed itself shut like a scarf being knitted at impossible speed. It was fresh and pinkish, but it was healed. the older girl rolled her wrist experimentally a few times, then, testing it out, and managed a tired smile. "You did it, Miret." She nodded encouragingly and began to reach for her crutches, but stopped and caught herself on her hands.

Miret watched. "You're not okay," she observed, and Tyrel wobbled a hand. "Kinda. The cut's healed, but it takes a while for the blood to come back. Manas too, though I've got those to spare."

She tried again to get up, but she didn't have the strength. "Shit, suunei, don't drink so much next time, haha. Save a bit for me, huh?" It had been a close-run thing, but Miret had done it. Even with that much built-up hunger, she had stopped of her own accord. Next time, she would stop earlier. There would be a next time, because there needed to be and because Tyrel was offering. She threw her arms around her cousin then. "Thank you, suunei. Thank you." She squeezed tightly and could feel the older girl tense up in pain. "That's the super strength," she grated, and Miret quickly released her. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I love you." Tyrel hugged weakly back. "I love you too."

Then, unbidden, she simply picked her cousin up, because she knew that she could. It was easy. She probably could've lifted and carried twice her weight, to be honest. "Miret, you don't have to -"

"You gave me so much. Lemme give you something back." She set Tyrel down on the bed and brought her crutches over as she tucked herself in. They smiled tiredly at each other. "Thank you again."

The older one nodded, snuggling in under the blankets. "Now," she yawned, "Sleep."

It was Miret's turn to nod, but she added an addendum. "I will, but first, I have to do something."

Tyrel was too exhausted to answer. She was out within a minute or two. Quietly, Miret made her way back to the balcony. Focusing on the rain with her magic, she hit it, pulled it, bent it - whatever - towards her and the spot where she'd been kneeling while she'd drunk her cousin's blood. It was sloppy and sophomoric, but she managed and cleaned up after herself. Magic was hers: a different magic than she'd ever expected or wanted, but magic nonetheless. She looked out at the rainy landscape as the sun began to crest the distant hills, hidden behind a veil of grey clouds. She was Miret'dichora. She was a sanguinaire.

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The Hourglass Order

Early consensus seems to be for more forum activity so, on that note, I'm going to ask people to please get their posts from this most recent cycle up on the forum before I post the next update. I'll be looking to restore a proper forum back-and-forth.

The Hourglass Order

So, I'm noticing that we've been doing a lot on discord lately and not too much on the forum aside from updates. I'd like to know how people feel about this: should we keep going this route in the future mostly with GM and Co-GM posts, or try to move more things back to the forum?

The Hourglass Order

@PirouettePending a quick fix of the few small typo quibbles that I mentioned on discord, Pan is approved!

The Hourglass Order

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E N E M Y A T T H E G A T E S || ♫

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Present: Ayla Arslan @Ti, Evander Fino Synesti @RezonanceV, Tku Pictor @dragonpiece, Fiske Flachstrauch @jasbraq, and Zarina Al-Nader @YummyYummy, Desmond Catulus @Th3King0fChaos

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It was cooler in the wake of the sandstorm but, as morning had swelled to midday, midday was now fading towards evening. Tku was out in the wastes, tending to the folded-up dewsails with Zox. For the most part, all that was needed was ample cleaning and some careful resetting of a few of the spouts on the cacti. A handful of snapped spars were easily dealt with, and repairs to the sails themselves minimal. “Thank you for the assistance,” the big construct rumbled. “It’s usually Samaxi who does the elevated things, being so small and light…” He trailed off. “But town’s taking longer than usual, I guess.” His rocky shoulders shrugged.

In the distance lurked the kite tusker that Tku had encountered earlier, not attempting much in the way of flight anymore as thermals fell in the late afternoon. It had been sneaking about the fringes of the sweetwater farm the entire day and been shooed off of a sail once earlier. “Away!” shouted Zox now, rising to his full height and squaring up towards it. “INTRUDER! INTRUDER!” His entire demeanour seemed to change and he charged towards the alarmed creature.

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For a moment, the clearing before the wall went utterly still. Distant sounds could be heard. The slow and muddy river still flowed. Insects hummed in the air and a second hum - that of magic - was in evidence as well. Eyes turned to the king. Some foreign guest who would not acknowledge his rule: this was something spicy, for the cazenax were not stupid. They knew a challenge when they saw one, no matter the pretty words it was wrapped in. This… human was publicly demanding that Stazen justify his rule before he would bow, not that these people viewed the act of doing so in the same light.

The pause stretched like lengthening shadows in the afternoon heat. Eyes flicked about to accompany it and hands to swat at the ever-present flies. Sneakily, the boy known as Potés-Palix squeezed through a sea of legs and waists until he was near the very front, a mere handful of feet from the king. Then… “Hah!” The silence broke. “Aha! Haha!” It was Stazen himself laughing. He released Fiske’s hand and bowed his head and shoulders quickly in the direction of Desmond and Marceline, arms flourishing out to his sides. “And you believe the job of educating you, making up for your self-professed ignorance is one fit for a king?” He arched a brow as he straightened and seemed to be holding back some further degree of mirth. “Especially at this moment? Do you not see that I am currently in the midst of reassuring my beloved people following the calamity of a sandstorm?” He turned on the spot, gesturing to take them in, and Potés-Palix gazed up at him with reverence in his eyes. “Your party is now both late and rude.” He tilted his head and grinned almost… wickedly, eyes flicking over to Cazelui, who had still not budged from her spot atop the trapdoor. “I shall forgive one.”

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Old man Jascuan leaned back, seeming to consider Ayla’s and Zarina’s words. He took a sip of his drink, hand trembling slightly as he did so, and let out a low, rueful chuckle. “Oh, there is a cost, alright.” He set it back on the end table. “But it is a very human thing, I think, to assume that one must exchange a concrete thing for another.” He shook his head. “The cost of the Vozas is unpredictability.” At quizzical looks from Classa and his guests, he continued, though he had - of course - not seen them in the literal sense.

“The Vozas manifests that which you desire, bringing it forth from the darkness beyond reality and into the light. It is free, it asks nothing, and it is bountiful, but it is not… easy.” He shook his head. “One must control his mind with absolute purpose and precision. One mistake, and what is produced is often useless.” He pursed his lips and then licked them briefly. “Our people abhor waste or, at least, we used to.” He shook his head again, and Naxos hopped nervously from one foot to the other. Classa sat on the ground and hugged herself, large brown eyes searching the faces of the others present. “But the waste is something that we can live with, and we often find uses for the seemingly useless. No, lapses can be more than inconveniences. Sometimes, one who allows his heart to be coloured by dark feelings can bring forth the physical manifestations of these from the Vozas. It does not judge. It only produces.” He tilted his wizened head to the side and knit his fingers. “Even beings that may seem useful or ones not meant to be alive that know life nonetheless may become dangerous. They may turn on you.” He gestured towards Naxos, as the imp translated. “This one, for example, derives pleasure from the work that I give him and feels only loyalty and regard for me so long as I am not cruel.”

The eyes of both young women flicked over to Naxos, then, studying his face carefully, and he seemed… pensive for a moment. “But had there been a flaw in his creation, he might’ve known suffering and dissatisfaction with his existence. It would not have been good for him or I. He’d have fled or turned on me at some juncture.” Jascuan reached out blindly to rest a fond hand on his… slave’s shoulder. “Some demons try to run, Classa added solemnly. “Others even try to hurt their masters,” She shook her head. “They’re bad demons.”

The old man pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “There are bad masters too, though.”

“But not you!” Classa insisted, scrambling to her feet, “And I’d never run away!

“Come here, little one.” He waved her over and she settled onto the couch beside him. He reached out blindly with one arm and hugged the child.She leaned into him and returned the embrace. “Make no mistake. There are vile things that come from the Vozas, just as there are wondrous ones, but they are so often the product of vile people, or at least careless ones who have no business calling upon such powers.”

“There’s a whole big system of traps!” Classa cut in. “And a maze that every cazenax learns when they’re small.” She regarded Jascuan hopefully, then, for just a moment, before sliding off the couch and clattering across the floor with excess noise and restless energy, or perhaps it was something more. She shot a concerned look back his way, and Naxos followed suit.

The old man sighed, heaving himself from the sofa. “But sometimes, there are accidents.” His face closed up and he grabbed his cane and began shuffling away. “I think our dessert should be very near finished. I shall go check on it, and Maxi should be home soon anyhow.”

Classa and Naxos glanced at each other, but the girl excused herself outside awkwardly, galloping away with the sort of energy one would only expect from a child of her age. It was the imp who spoke up, once both she and Jascuan were gone. “He used to have another son: Zanomo-Cazan, Maxi’s twin, but…” He grimaced. “They were playing a stupid game and a demon went rogue and they tried losing it in the traps and…” He trailed off for a moment. “I wasn’t there, and neither was Zox. Maxi tried to save him, but she, um…” He hung his head. “Good, stupid, brave girl.”

The imp looked up, opening his mouth to continue, but then a ringing interrupted him: a loud, persistent ringing. His eyes widened almost comically. “They’re coming!” he shouted, dashing for the kitchen. “That’s the perimeter alarm!” They were bells on little strings and it was unclear as to exactly how they functioned. “Master Jascuan! Are you alright!? We need to lock down!”

The old man shouted back in his native tongue and neither Zarina or Ayla could understand him, but there was one word that they recognized: “Classa!” The girl was still outside, along with Zox and Tku.

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Zox was on the warpath, barreling towards the Kite Tusker, brimming with energy and fury, and the animal scrambled to make its escape. It seemed to Tku a fool’s errand to try talking such a mighty creation down from what appeared to be the singular purpose of its existence, much as he did not want to see the adorable little pest come to any harm. That, however, was when he noticed a small dust trail coming from the direction of the ranch house and, straining his eyes, he deduced that it was none other than Classa, excitedly making her way over. Her tiny voice began to echo faintly as she closed in on his sensing range. “Zox!” she shouted. “Zox, you big dummy! Stop! It’s cute!”

To both the centaur’s and Tku’s surprise, he did stop, grinding to a very sudden halt, his crudely-featured ‘face’ pointed in a very specific direction. When Tku inquired as to what he was so focused on, and Classa echoed his questions, drawing nearer, the huge construct held up a hand for silence. In the distance, on the horizon, there was a glimmer. Then, there were a few. “Zox, what is it?” the child inquired with soft wonder, as dust trails began to form. The rapidly cooling air was whipping up winds, once again, and the Kite Tusker had taken off and begun to drift away. Square and triangular shapes began cutting holes out of the sky on the horizon, and they were quickly growing larger.

“Raiders!” Zox roared, drawing copious amounts of energy from his surroundings - enough to start inducing a queasiness in the stomachs of the other two. He grew not only in energy, but in size as well, as stones hidden beneath the sands shot up towards him and became part of his increasingly massive body. For all of his unassuming nature, Zox was built for war and appeared able to call upon titanic strength. “RUN!!!”

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It was at that very moment, as this situation was just about ready to devolve into a disaster, that Fiske noticed it: Cazelui and the boy with no legs made eye contact. It was for the briefest moment but it was a meaningful one. The sirrahi seemed to nod with her eyes and the boy was bumped from behind. He sprawled out loudly and dramatically at the king’s feet, impossible to ignore. “Owww!” he yelped, casting about suspiciously. “Who kicked me!? Someone…” He trailed off as he noticed just how close he was to Stazen, swallowing and shuffling back on his hands. “Y-your majesty…” He bowed deeply, and the king bowed in return, though less deeply. The boy swallowed. He reached into his satchel and three plain-clothed guards started forward, revealing themselves. “Please, take some sweetwater, compliments of the Shimmering Sails Sweetwater Stead, or 4S.” Thrusting it out before him with both hands, he kept his head bowed and expression even, as the guards relaxed and faded back into the crowd. He could all but physically feel the king’s eyes boring into him.

Stazen snorted. “Well then, it seems today is to be a day full of surprises.” Accepting the offering, he was about to hand it to one of his guards to test, now that they’d been outed anyhow. Instead, his eyes found Cazelui once again. “You, stuzé, forgive me, for I do not know your name.” The young woman visibly paled. “Uh, umm.. Cazelui, your majesty.” She bowed deeply again as he held the bottle out in her direction. “You honour this humble servant.” The people in the crowd seemed riveted, and murmurs rose excitedly. “Here, Cazelui. It looks like you’ve been working long and hard. Have this drink and do tell me how it tastes.”

His smiling eyes flicked back to Potés-Palix for a split second and the sirrahi was frozen on the spot. To move would be to betray the location of the trap door, which was normally covered in sand and only attended to by the stuzéts anyhow. She was not one of the rebels, in truth. She was a loyal subject who believed in the king’s vision. She was also a stuzé-upé, and it was no simple thing to turn upon her people, even the misguided ones. She had also willingly placed herself on the door and was well aware of how it would look should she move and reveal it. Hence, Cazelui could not budge. A stillness built. A silence built. The eyes of a finely-attired older woman who stood beside the king narrowed and he tilted his head inquisitively. “Is something wrong, Cazelui?” asked the woman. Her gaze settled upon the four humans as well. Quietly, below everyone’s eye level, Potés-Palix shuffled back into the crowd.