The sky above was a terrible grey, cracked with busts of violent lightning and shaken with thunder. Sheets of rain flooded from the heavens, dowsing Ketrefa endlessly. The hideous storm had forced most into what comfort they could find from their homes, while others huddled under whatever they could -- all for one person.
Under the veils of rain, Illyd Dyll walked without a care in the world. The howling wind and icy water didn’t deter his smile, and through squinting eyes he plucked at his banjo aimlessly. Only the odd glare of wonder paid him any mind as he continued his walk down the streets of Ketrefa -- his white robes as gray as the skies above and just as soaked.
He hummed to himself as he plucked and plucked -- finding the right cord. The sky rocked, he plucked. The evening air was fuzzy with electricity, he plucked. People were doing all they could to keep the water out of their homes, he plucked. He plucked, and he plucked -- wait!
Illyd Dyll stopped suddenly in the middle of two crossing roads, surrounded by buildings and people hiding in alleyways. He plucked the same note he had just found again -- yes! His smile deeped and he hit the note a third time, transitioning to a great followup. He giggled past the rain and let his fingers dance across the banjo. Curious heads were starting to turn as he began to send out a flood of notes as unstoppable as the rain.
“What is this!?” Illyd laughed to himself, fingers screeching up the length of his banjo and blasting out energetic notes. His fingers quickened to a blur -- the notes screaming as his crowd began to grow.
“What is thhiiiiiiiisss!?” Illyd Dyll grinned madly as he rocked his banjo -- the sky opening up. A blast of lightning cracked from the heavens and erupted over Illyd Dyll and his banjo- electrifying the sound as the god continued to shred out chords.
The crowd was in speechless awe as the thunder began to match the song -- as if it were a set of unholy drums. Illyd’s fingers were moving at a divine pace, lightning pillaring down over him at the end of each note. The god closed his eyes, falling into his music. The banjo shrieked and waned, calling more and more to witness the scene.
Cheers began to erupt around the city -- be they excitement or fear. Either way, Illyd didn’t seem to notice, falling to his knees and raising his banjo to the sky. His fingers split across the surface of his instrument -- the thunder quickening -- and then all at once, Illyd let out a loud scream of joy and one final chord that sent waves through the crowd, blasting the very rain back up towards the sky.
“WOO!” Illyd shook with energy, slamming his banjo into the ground and shattering it into pieces, the clouds above breaking and moving away at seemingly the same time. Blue began to peak above and the rain was slowing. Illyd wiped sweat from his forehead and held out a hand to the rain, barely collecting anything at all.
He smiled and looked over the crowd, “Hey thanks for listening.”
An old man stepped forward, but before he could croak a word -- Illyd Dyll had leapt onto a cloud and was already surfing away through the sky.
Illyd Dyll shreds the storm away then fucks off on a cloud.
2dp spent on making a rideable cloud, I guess the titles would be speed and idk.. Flying? 3dp spent on ending the divine storm
Illyd Dyll walked out onto the stones of antiquity. Behind him lightning flashed and curtains of rain poured veils. He himself was sopping wet, a big goofy grin on his face and his robes sticking to him gray.
A peal of thunder rocked behind him as he made his way across the floors of antiquity. His sandals mucked and slapped as he made his silent journey, leaving a soaked trail behind him as he strolled straight into Cadien's realm.
The realm had changed since its last visit. Although the pathway and the fortress remained the same, the platform upon which everything stood was now an island rather than a cloud; in the midst of a sea rather than an empty void. As he was taking in this new sight, a voice could be heard. “Illyd Dyll? Is that you?”
Just then, Cadien’s bare-chested figure emerged from the gatehouse. Upon seeing that he had been correct, the God of Perfection leapt through the air and landed mere feet away from the God of Agriculture. “Welcome back!” he smiled. “What brings you here this day?”
"I was jus' walking forward and now I'm here!" Illyd matched the energy with his own," What's going on, good buddy?"
“The usual,” Cadien said with a wave of his hand, as he turned and began walking back toward the castle - no doubt assuming Illyd would follow. “Listening to prayers, planning my next creation. How is your avatar doing?”
"Good!... Ye get a lot of prayers do ye?" Illyd Dyll was aimlessly looking around as he followed, still dripping.
“I do indeed,” Cadien nodded. “I have helped create a number of species, which has made my name quite memorable.”
"Like what?" Illyd pulled a harp out of seemingly nowhere.
“The Humans, the Merelli, and the Goblins,” said Cadien as they walked. “I didn’t do it alone, of course. Evandra helped with the humans, and Artifex aided me in creating the Goblins. I helped Neiya create the Merelli, who are perhaps the most beautiful of the three.”
“Ah well, who are we to judge something so... what’s the word? Subjective?” Illyd Dyll strummed a small tune, occasionally whisking his wet bangs out of his eyes, “But they all sound just lovely. Good job, Cadien!”
“Hm. So, have you created anything?”
“I like to think I create fond memories with all my friends,” Illyd Dyll plucked at a particular string over and over as he thought, “Oh, and I did make a cup.”
“A cup?”
“Yeah, it’s like a bowl but smaller,” Illyd explained, “Good to drink out of.”
“I know what a cup is,” Cadien sighed, as they began to ascend the stairs. “Anyhow, what else is new?”
A sad crook formed in Illyd’s smile as he slowly shook his head, “Same old thing, the usual, the common corn, the boring barley.” He sighed and shook his head with a little more vigor, sending out droplets of rain water, “That’s not true... barley is pretty exciting.”
“Hm. I see,” Cadien said, suddenly bored as they reached the top of the stairs. “And what did you say you were the god of, again?”
Illyd bit his finger in thought, “I don’t think I ever actually did say, now that I think ‘bout it.” He shrugged, “But for what it is worth, I figure I’m the God of Agriculture. You know it?”
“I’m aware of the concept,” the God of Perfection said as they crossed the threshold of the gatehouse. “So, this is just a friendly visit, then?”
“I s’pose it is, I was jus’ out for a walk’n’all,' ' Illyd tuned his harp, “Why, were ye looking for somethin’ else? We could do somethin’ fun if ye want.”
“Well…” Cadien came to a stop in the middle of the courtyard, and he turned to face the farmer. “It’s just that, I already have another guest here.”
“The more the merrier, I bet we could rascal up somethin’ great.” Illyd gave a smile.
Almost as if summoned, a third shape slipped through the large double doors in the distance, a horned and pale goddess hovering out into the courtyard, toes only a few inches over the ground. ”Cadien, I can’t find these bells you were talking about,” she offered with a dispassionate tone, eyes sweeping a last measure over her shoulder before she spotted the two stood in the courtyard and froze in the air. ”...Oh. Hello.”
Cadien’s smile suddenly returned as the goddess made her appearance. “This is Illyd Dyll, the God of Agriculture,” he said, introducing the farm god. “Illyd, this is Neiya, Goddess of Love.” He turned to Neiya with an apologetic look. “Sorry. His arrival was as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”
Neiya’s light frown creased further as her brow quirked, an ice-blue gaze twisting to settle solely on Illyd Dyll. Slowly the pale goddess resumed her drifting across the courtyard, closing the distance between the three. She was unrelenting in her examination, eyeing the humble god with a critical and regal sneer as she drew close. Still, she managed some basic pleasantry, extending her hand languidly as if offering Illyd the rare chance to kiss it. ”...A pleasure. What is agriculture?”
"Heya!" Illyd gave Neiya a firm handshake before returning to his hands to his harp, "It's nothin' really. Nice to meet ye!" Illyd plucked a note, and smiled warmly at the two -- eyes big and brown, "You guy's wanna do somethin'?"
Neiya gave the smiling god a bewildered look, slowly flexing her hand and fingers as he retreated back to his harp. Her hand slowly rose as she watched him, fingers stretching out once more in a brief, thoughtless attempt to reach for his face. Seeming to snap out of it just as quickly, she retracted her own hand and glanced away with a sullen frown. She found Cadien to gaze at instead, and the frown evened out just slightly. ”Perhaps I shall go to visit the ocean.”
"Oo! I like that idea," Illyd Dyll's smile widened, "Salty breezes and little turtles. Let's do it; you in Cadien!?"
Cadien’s frown soon matched Neiya’s. He gave the goddess an apologetic look, then turned back to Illyd. “I think it would be best if we allowed her some privacy, for now.”
"Oh," Illyd's smile didn't seem to change too much, but shifted to face his instrument instead. A pluck or two went by and he craned his neck, "Don't s'pose... You want a lil privacy too, Cadien?"
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Cadien said, shaking his head. “Come, we will talk more inside.” He turned back to Neiya. “I will rejoin you when we’re finished.”
Neiya frowned at Cadien, but still managed a nod. She glanced back to the kindly god of agriculture with no change in disposition, sizing up the visitor a last time (swearing she saw a slight wink) before looking ahead with a determined and thoughtful gaze instead. ”I will wait there. Enjoy yourselves.” she squeezed out with a disappointed tone, and then simply lifted higher off of the ground to pass over the two, and drift towards the gatehouse from whence they came.
Regret flashed across Cadien’s face for a brief moment, and then without another word he turned and carried on toward his main hall, gesturing for Illyd to follow, who did without seemingly a second thought.
“So,” Cadien said as they stood at the table in his main hall. A series of scratch marks were on the far end, which Cadien had elected not to comment on. “How much do you know about Galbar’s current state?”
Illyd plucked a stray string and then looked up at Cadien, "I s'pose just nicks and knacks. Everything okay?"
The God of Perfection nodded. “I am just wondering if there was something you could help me with.” He snapped his fingers, and a map of Toraan’s Highlands appeared before them. He pointed to an area in the northeastern corner. “Are you familiar with a city known as Acadia?”
Illyd nodded slowly, "No, what is it?"
“A city in this region,” Cadien explained. “Settled by Humans and some Merelli.” He then gestured to two forested regions on either side of the area - one to the east and one to the west. “These areas are inhabited by Iskrill.” He spoke the word with disgust. “Abominations. Humans that were warped against their original purpose, and began to hunt and kill indiscriminately. Little better than savage animals, now.” He sighed. “Anyhow, Acadia was built to keep them at bay. To keep their numbers down with raids, and to serve as a line of defense which prevented them from spilling into the rest of the Highlands. It is named after myself, of course, and since I had a hand in creating humans as we know them today… I’m sure you can imagine the city is quite important to me.”
"It certainly sounds very special to ye," Illyd agreed with a strum of a sudden banjo, sleeves still dripping.
“So, this city of mine is in something of a predicament,” Cadien’s hand went lower on the map, to the south side of a nearby mountain on the west side of the river. “There was another city here, dedicated to… Oraelia, I think. The iskrill destroyed it some time ago, I’m not sure exactly when. But apparently Acadia relied quite heavily on them for trade, and they’ve had to go without that for a few decades now.” Then his expression flickered into one of annoyance. “It doesn’t help that there’s a massive rainstorm ravaging all of northern Toraan right now. I suspect the involvement of another god, but I’m not sure who. Anyhow, I’m sure you can imagine this has all been terrible for the city’s food supply.”
Illyd looked up from the puddle forming by his sandals, "Yeah, I can only imagine. Whatcha thinkin'?"
“Well, the obvious course of action would be to stop this storm. Either that, or give the humans of the Highlands the means to produce food despite it. I imagine that simply stopping the storm would be easier. Afterward, Acadia’s fields could be salvaged and their yields improved. Enough to not only help them recover, but make it so they no longer depend on trade. Since you are the god of agriculture, I was thinking you could be of some help with that.”
“Oh yeah for sure!” Illyd smiled, “Changing the weather is real easy too, I do it all the time--” He grimaced slightly, “Though I can’t exactly change it right now.”
Cadien frowned. “Why not?”
Illyd’s smile faltered before failing completely, “Oh you know...” His voice dropped to a whisper, “There is a really unpleasant lady taking up residence in my abode.”
Cadien furrowed his brow. “Your abode? You mean your realm?”
“That’s the one!”
“But… it’s your realm…” he narrowed his eyes further. “Which goddess is it?”
Illyd’s face turned a shade of pink and he stuffed it down with a small grin, “Ye know, I’m even better at making food than changing the weather. Maybe I could talk to your city, see what they need help with? And after, I can skip on over and do a little weather changing.”
Cadien’s expression did not change, however. “Forgive me, but your crisis is more urgent. If there is a goddess who has the power to eject others from their own realms, that cannot be allowed to stand, for it means none of us are safe. So please, tell me more about your problem.”
“Ah psh,” Illyd waved a hand, “I can go back I left on my own accord, ye see. I just didn’t have the wherewithal at the moment to... er what’s the word?” Illyd pondered a moment, “I know there is a word for it. Ye know the one... mediate? Is that it?”
“Mediate?” Cadien seemed confused. “You mentioned only one person. If this dispute was solely between she and you, then wouldn’t a third party be required to mediate?”
“Argh yer right,” Illyd tapped his chin, “Ye got a thesaurus in here, somewhere?”
“I don’t know what that is,” Cadien admitted. “Some form of lizard?”
“Kinda, but more like a collection of synonyms.” Illyd explained.
“Hmm. I’m not sure I understand. But we have digressed. If this lady is no true threat to you or anyone else, then she is unworthy of further conversation. So, you are willing to improve Acadia’s food production and then put a stop to this storm as soon as you are able?”
“Yeah,” Illyd Dyll agreed, “I’ll go shut down the storm right after this -- but uh -- but what or how did ye want to do the whole food thing?”
“Hmm. To be truthful, I assumed you might have an idea. Surely you must know more about such matters than I.” He stroked his chin. “Then again, I do know the area better. Hmm. Mayhaps-”
“Ye know what,” Illyd Dyll suddenly spoke up, “I could just go down and scope it out myself - er well other me could head on down I mean.”
“That would work too,” Cadien nodded. “How long do you suppose it will take?”
“The getting there or the fixing?” Illyd Dyll knitted his brow.
The Lord of Perfection shrugged. “Both.”
“Not very long, I’ll just hitch a ride on a cloud and stop by,” Illyd smiled, “N’ from there it’s just zip zap zoop, enough veggies for a soup.”
“Very good,” Cadien said, breaking out into a smile as he clapped Illyd on the shoulder. “I appreciate the help. Now uh… not to be ungrateful, but I did tell Neiya I would rejoin her, and it simply wouldn’t be fair to keep her waiting. I know it’s poor form to ask a guest to leave so soon after he offered to aid me, but… well, you’d be welcome to come back another time. Mayhaps I can even help you with this uh… lady-problem, of yours.”
“That would be nice, I don’t get a lot of visitors,” Illyd Dyll’s smile seemed to shimmer, “But yeah, I’ll be heading out now.” He raised his banjo in salute, “Toodle-doo, good buddy!”
So basically Illyd decides fuck this bitch I’m out and goes for a walk, right into Cadiens place. The two meet up and are like WOAH but the conversation is really boring as Illyd is hiding his depression and Cadien isn’t much the wiser for it but then Neiya shows up and acts all princessy and distance but Illyd gruffly shakes her hand and she decides fuck this bitch I’m out in spite of all the wholesome comments of Illyd.
Then Cadien and Illyd discuss Arcadia, thesaurus’s, lizards, synonyms, digression, and aid for Arcadia. Cadien also finds out about Diana. Anyways in the end Illyd agrees to shut off the storm and provide aid to Arcadia for his good buddy. Peace.
Illyd Dyll’s fingers played across his harp, the sweet notes whispering in the corners of antiquity as the other gods went about their days and businesses. The plight of mortals was weak in his mind, and the struggle of the gods was even weaker. His fingers just knew to play and his mind just knew to smile. A freckle of darkness seemed to itch past this golden paradise, weak though it was, it was noticeable.
He tucked his smile into his cheek, leaking a certain doubt, his finger missing a note. He furrowed his brow at the sour spot and sighed, perhaps it was time for another nap. He wriggled out of his hammock and began to untie it, eager to bring it back to his valley. It wasn’t that he wanted to be alone, he just didn’t know what else to do or where else to go.
Throwing his bundle over his shoulder, he walked back through the messy rip in reality that led to his realm. His happiness couldn’t help but feel damp under an inexplicable rain of sadness. He had no reason to be said -- and because of this doubt he felt a vibration in his chest that lead out to his voice.
“I don’t like this,” He said out loud, tucking his cheek again as if awaiting the wind’s response. There was nothing and he sighed, shifting his way through the golden wheat fields on the path to his trees.
“I am happy,” He reiterated to no one as he hopped over the gentle brooke that cleaved his realm in half.
“Right-” Illyd cut himself short, his eyes noticing a hammock swinging in his usual spot. A fuzzy warmth reinvigorated his heart and he beamed a smile, he had a visitor. With a small skip in his step he bounded over, eager to peak into the hammock.
With a bright smile he leaned over, “Hi! I’m-” Once again he froze. A cheshire grin smiled up at him from the rough looking hammock. It had crooked teeth set between two chapped lips which in turn were set between two cheeks with a sickly blush. The owner of it all was a pale woman with dark curly hair and bloodshot eyes. She wore a long collared dress the same color as her hair.
“Well you don’t have to act so shocked,” Diana trilled, “It was only a matter of time.”
“How?”
“Oh foo, you didn’t think you were rid of me that easy were you? I had to show up sooner or later.” She sat up, as if the hammock was a swing and motioned to the spot next to her. Reluctantly, with his harp and banjo protectively huddled against his chest, Illyd Dyll sat down next to Diana. He immediately felt uncomfortable, causing him to tighten his grip on his instruments.
“The figure of meekness,” Diana rolled her eyes, “As if that’s fooling anyone.”
“I have no idea what yer talkin’ about,” Illyd protested.
“Of course ‘ye’ do,” Diana mocked his baritone, “You can’t lie to me, you know.”
“What do ye want?” Illyd Dyll faced her.
“Oh huff, I just missed a dear friend is all,” Diana smiled wide, “Did you miss me too?”
“Absolutely not,” Illyd Dyll shook his head, Diana erupting into a cackle.
“Oh how I missed your jokes,” She put a hand on his arm, a burning itch forming where she had touched. “So what are you planning this time?” Her eyes turned wicked.
“I don’t know what ye mean,” Illyd Dyll shuffled away.
“Come on now,” Diana tapped her chin, “A mastermind like yourself must have something.”
“I’m no mastermind, lady,” Illyd Dyll gave her a silly look.
“And all of your previous machinations were just goofy accidents then?”
“I have no memory of any previous ‘machinations’,” Illyd Dyll defended.
Diana flicked his nose and he made a short scowl, “That’s a lame excuse.” Diana’s grin was fading, “As if a god could forget. You have a divine memory, and I am no fool, Illyd. You know everything you did, don’t you?”
“I don’t really need to listen to this madness,” Illyd Dyll hopped to his feet, the blue sky darkening above him.
“And wha-”
A massive boom of thunder interrupted Diana.
“Oh foo-”
Another raging boom drowned her out. Illyd Dyll had a soft smile on his face, his eyes watching he mouth move but all his ears could hear was the storm above.
A great storm was rolling across the highlands and beyond. Tremendous winds and flooding rains, all for one area centered around nine haggard men and a single wooden cup. They stood in the ruins of Yalin. Orchards of stone spires rose among the piles of debris. Children wailed alongside the survivors of the previous onslaught and the creaking of wheels carried away the countless dead.
The nine men who stood around the cup were dressed in dented armor and wore broken weapons, blood smeared on their faces. Hal was there, his hands still gripping the cup tightly -- his grandmaster Talun looking between him and the others.
“So it is decided then,” Talun cleared his throat.
“I beg that you come with us,” one of the knights, Gerome, insisted.
“Nay,” Talun shook his head, “I am of more use in the view of the people.”
“And our enemies,” Hal reminded him.
Talun gave a grim smile, putting a hand on Hal, “A leader cannot hide, Hal. I will stay in Yalin." He looked at the other knights, "You five will go to the catacombs of Saint Bartholomew and Saint Oyticon with the Holy Grail. Hal, Timothy, and Persius will split up and make contact with our other brothers.”
There was a long pause before Persius, the largest of the nine solemnly bowed his head, “Then let us pray to the Golden Light that we are correct in our decisions, and that all will be safe.”
“All will be as the Golden Light decides it will be,” Talun nodded, “Let us pray...”
Illyd Dyll gets a little lonely sad and in his realm that manifests into an old imaginary(?) rival who goads him until he creates a massive storm to block out her words. Unfortunately this storm is so massive that it leaks into Galbar, particularly in the highlands.
The only safe spot from the storm seems to be areas around the Grail, where we find the nine remaining knights of the order deciding on what to do with everything. In the end they send five to keep the grail safe, one to keep yalin in order, and three to find other memebers of the order.
A whipping crack vibrated off his vision. His enemies fist slammed into his nose, popping it in a burst of pain and sending a shockwave that blurred his mind and vision. He felt the pain black out his mind for a spare moment, only to flicker back on for him to see another fist coming for his teary eyes.
A resounding slam dug into his face. He felt his head rip backwards, his brian sloshing to the back of his skull and flipping his consciousness upside down. FIngers went numb and a stabbing fizzle radiated across the skin of his body. Dirt clogged his nostrils, the cobbled floor shredding his back. A flash of metal.
A terrible clang bounced off his forehead. He felt his mind snap away from his body with the blow, leaking in an inky blackness. Another clang and he felt his presence rip away from his pained body for a moment again. A third clang but the pain gripped him tight this time, only blinking out when his mind refused to work.
“Renny!” A voice bellowed out over the battlefield. Soil churned to a reddened mud. Buildings reduced to cobble and splinters. A once outstanding town and small stronghold of the Order of the Golden Light, smashed to bits by their many enemies. Bronze clad enemies had torn the walls asunder and had flooded the streets. The sky had cloaked the sun from the scene with storm clouds. Swarms of soldiers pushed against each other, shield to shield, through the narrow streets of Yalin. The air was choking, flaked with dirt and hazes of blood and sweat.
“Renny!” Hal’s voice ripped through battle screams again. The soldier was being jostled in the front lines of the battle, his shield screeching against an enemy’s in a push. His eyes peered past a restricting helmet at the lifeless body of Ren, an enemy soldier straddling the corpse and planting the end of his shield repeatedly into the boy’s malformed face.
“Open!” The familiar voice of Talun croaked over the nasal helmets and swinging blades. A hand behind Hal pushed him forward, creating a divet in the line of the Order’s soldiers and allowing the enemy to spill in to meet their spears.
“Close!”
Hal wrenched himself back into the line, nearly tripping on a fresh body. Only a good handful of the soldiers of the Order found themselves in Talun’s formation. It was quickly made and wedged between two buildings with the front taking the brunt of the enemy assault and the back bare and open for the enemy to pinch them off -- which was only a matter of time. Outside of the formation the Order’s soldiers were being ruthlessly slaughtered alongside the citizens of Yalin. Women were gutted, men were nailed to the buildings. The only mercy was the quick death of the children. Hal couldn’t help but wonder where the Golden Light had gone.
“Open!”
Hal was pushed out of place, and the enemy spilled in. Strong spears thrusted forward and skewered them quickly.
“Close!”
A thick hammer slammed into Hal’s ribs, launching him from his position. He landed on the ground, a sharp, sticky pain pounding in his side. His breathing was quickened as he looked down to see a spear of white bone sticking out of his broken chain shirt. His breaths turned shallow and he tried to peel his vision from it. Looking up all he saw was the enemy take advantage of his now empty spot, his brothers forced into open combat with the enemy.
A spray of blood painted his face as Brother Jermand’s neck was cut. Hal clenched his teeth, attempting to wiggle away from the scene, a gushing slosh dribbling from his rib and soaking his pants. He felt weak. He felt defeated. He felt his mind slipping from his body. He felt his lids slipping over his eyes.
Brother Talun’s throat was caked with dust and pain. It was hoarse and yet he still felt his commands roaring as he swung his blade. The enemy had broken his ranks and have swarmed him. Renny was gone. Hal was gone. Jermand was gone. The Light was gone.
He gnashed his teeth as he put his reserve energy into a might swing, his blade catching the chain of an enemy and pushing them to the ground. He felt the squish under his boots as he kicked down repeatedly. An elbow hit the back of his head and he tried to turn, the enemy had flanked them -- his own soldiers were being pushed into him from the front and back.
All was lost. He felt his spirit leak out of his chest, only to be replaced with despair. All was lost. Then a sudden roar threw him from his doubt. The clouds had parted. Rays of light beamed down -- they were brighter than the sun!
The enemies reeled at the sudden shift in light -- nearly being blinded by the beam that collected over the remaining soldiers of the Order. Talun felt it in his stomach and he lifted his sword, “THE LIGHT IS WITH US!”
What few brothers remained let out a whooping call, forcing what energy they had left in their bones to push their advantage. They were distracted by the fight, a confusion flooding the enemy, but Talun saw it -- a figure descending alongside the light. He pointed his sword in the direction of the shadow as it landed on the ruins of a building.
Slowly all but the most heated of the fighting stopped to witness this shadow -- the light engulfing its features. Frightened by the implications, the enemies slowly began to recede and when a godly voice boomed in an ancient and terrifying tongue -- they ran.
Talun fell to his knees, his brothers alongside him. His right eye was punished shut from the fighting and his ears were cauliflowered under his helmet. Most of his brothers were bloodied and mute with exhaustion -- and in this sudden silence, Talun could hear the gurgle of Hal. His reverence for the figure was pushed aside by his care for his brother and he scrambled over the gore to his fallen companion. He lifted Hal’s head and placed it on his lap, a bloody mouth gaping up at him like a fish.
“Hal...”
A hand gripped Talun’s shoulder and he froze in fear. The godly presence was behind him. In his peripherals all he could see were unsullen sandals that seemed to ignore the wash of blood and bile on the ground. The soldier did not dare to turn -- and he didn’t need to.
A gentle hand reached over to him, offering him a simple wooden cup filled with water. He took it, eyes looking down at Hal’s. Talun brought the cup to Hal’s lips and tipped it, the water pouring into the gaping mouth until the cup was empty. Hal sputtered in response and closed his eyes. A tear stung Talun’s own visage and he closed his own.
His eyes shot back open almost immediately, Hal’s head lifted off his lap. A brightness was in Hal’s eyes. Talun looked down at Hal’s torso, his skin uncut at the rib, his wound gone. The two looked behind them at the godly figure. He wore simple robes and a pleasant smile. His eyes were the color of the earth just like his hair.
“Keep the cup.” The figure said.
“Keep it, let it help you.”
We enter a battle between the Order of the Golden Light and an unnamed enemy at the stronghold of Yalin. The Order is losing, badly and when there is only a handful left standing -- Illyd Dyll shows up and ends the fighting. He gives the Order a cup that heals one of their mortally wounded brothers and then that’s the end.
The Grail of Illyd Dyll: If you fill it with water and drink from it, it will heal all physical wounds. On top of this, whatever nation is in possession of it will experience legendarily bountiful harvests and pristine weather across the land.
The House of Ambrosia had nothing to do with food, nor was it much of a house. In reality it was a cramped area of the old city where an open sky market used to be. Where stalls used to be crammed between the hefty stone buildings and dark alleys, now stood seductive men and women. Some were free, others stood on raised platforms to be sold indefinitely. A certain rot overtook this part of the old city -- it was in the rotting gutters of the buildings, the rotting platforms of the slavers, in the very soles of the inhabitants sandals. Whoever coined the name for this market of vice clearly had a sense of humor.
But it was here in the House of Ambrosia that a certain man of a certain type lingered. He never came to partake, yet his presence brought a smile to some of the prostitutes faces. He was a tall man with an ugly face, meaty arms and a scarred back. His nose was busted at an angle from a life of fighting, and a hefty bronze axe dragged on his belt. His name was Eriff, and he was a warrior.
One of the smiling prostitutes ran up to him. She had age written on the sides of her dark eyes and her aging dress of flowy greens hinted at a once prosperous career being snuffed by time. Recognition as well as a slight greed reflected in her eyes at the sight of Eriff. Her name was Pricilla, and she was a has-been.
“Eriff!” She linked an arm around one of his, the very action pushing back the thoughts of any of the other men and women of the House. Eriff gave a split-lipped smile.
“Pricilla.”
Pricilla’s smile faded and she nodded. Eriff’s shortly followed and he furrowed a thick brow, “Again?”
“Again,” Pricilla confirmed.
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name, but I can take you to his post.”
“A guard!?”
“What of it?”
“I’m not looking to get arrested.” Eriff crossed his arms over his chest, forcing Pricilla to let go.
“Eriff,” She placed a hand on his shoulder, “You can have all of it this time, I just can’t be humiliated like this again. Once word gets out-”
Eriff held up a hand, “He better be skinny.”
“And small,” Pricilla nodded.
“I don’t need to know about that, Priss,” Eriff groaned and Pricilla hardened her stare.
“I mean he is short, Eriff.”
“Oh,” Eriff made a face, “Of course.” The man looked around, other eyes digging into him -- awaiting their turn. He let out a sigh, “Bring me to the post, but this is going to be fast and quick -- understand?”
“Fast and quick,” Pricilla parrotted, then mumbled, “typical man.”
Hooking her arm back through Eriff's, the prostitute began to tug him away from the House of Ambrosia and through one of the many dark alleys that spiderwebbed through the old city. They stepped over puddles that never seemed to go away, through stale clouds of miasma that had the same permanence in the back city, and past crusty fragments of a life long lost that could have once been a person (another seemingly permanent fixture in this part of the city). The greedy dogs who took the form of men with knives and men with lust that often hunted in the alleys gave Eriff a wide berth, an angry recognition in their eyes -- forcing proud sneers from Pricilla as they passed by.
Now and again a prostitute on her or his way back to the House would greet them with a smile or a small “Hey Eriff!” but the business painted on Eriff’s visage often told them they wouldn’t get much more than a “hello,” or grunt depending on their friendship with the warrior. The rest of the walk was much of the same on a loop -- that was until they neared the Southern gates.
The Southern gates stood apart from the rest of this part of the city in the same way a diamond might shine out of a dungheap. It was well washed in the sun, often upkept, and adorned with shining guards. It was often hard to believe it actually existed and wasn’t just some strange reflection of the sun playing off of the muddy puddles that run between it and the border of the old city alleyways. But it did, and it was impressive.
A lot of the younger and newer Southern guards tried not to look Eriff’s way -- his reputation preceding him in some cases, while the older guards gave him a mix of gritted teeth and respected nods. Unfortunately for Eriff, the only guard he needed to talk to on his way out of the city was an older and angrier man.
“Where are you heading Eriff?” Lesser captain Tramian crossed two white haired arms across a wide if not aging chest of bronze mail. He wore a simple bronze cap, but his own dark skin and hardened scowl made it seem like the helmet extended down past his face and was simply decorated with the anger that he always wore on his flesh.
Eriff looked over at Pricilla, “Somewhere private.”
“Whole city not private enough for you?” Tramian pushed.
“I’m a noisy lover,” Eriff pushed back.
Pricilla stepped in between them, “Eriff is being silly as usual Captain Tramian, you know how he is -- he doesn’t partake.”
“Oh I know how he is -- which is why I’m a little skeptical that him leaving the city is for anything good.” Tramian prodded a finger into Eriff’s chest. Pricilla pinched the finger between her fore and thumb, pulling it away before Eriff’s scowl grew any deeper.
“My sister is staying outside the city,” Pricilla explained, her eyes flickering to Eriff -- who on command took a surprised face.
“Why so secretive about such a thing?” Tramian tilted his head, his skepticism replaced with the gossip loving curiosity he was so known for.
“Don’t tell him,” Eriff said beyond gritted teeth.
Tramian leered at Eriff, “Tell me.”
Pricilla frowned and leaned in close enough for Tramian to get a gagging mouthful of her perfume, “She was struck with leprosy.”
“By the gods!”
“I hired Eriff to see me safe from bandits so I can find her and take her final wills, see if she needs any supplies before her exile.”
Tramian eyed the two before nodding slowly, “You two cannot go unsupervised.”
“What?” Eriff grunted loudly, catching the attention of the other guards.
“If you contract her curse and bring it back into the city it will be on my head,” Tramian explained angrily, “I’ll go with you two -- ensure the city’s good will.”
“But Captain Tramian!” Pricilla protested, “The gates without you would be lost, no that will not do.”
“Are you telling me how to do my job?” Tramian crossed his arms and frowned.
“A suggestion, then?” Pricilla offered.
A receptive silence was her answer.
“How about you send someone in your stead? Like... um... him!” She pointed at a short man dressed in the guard uniform -- a look of surprised recognition overtaking the man’s face.
“Fine,” Tramian agreed, “Lefrin, escort this pair, would you?”
“But sir!”
“Gods braze my bottom, is everyone fixed on being difficult today!?” Tramian shouted, forcing the guard to attention. His stare turned sour and Lefrin motioned for Eriff to lead the way. Before long, the southern gates were behind the sudden trio, a proud fox’s grin hidden on Pricilla’s face.
With the forest ahead of the three -- this will mark the start of an interesting story.
We visit the House of Ambrosia -- an old open market place in the old city now gone red light district. Here we find Eriff -- a prostitute’s best friend, and Pricilla -- an aging prostitute. Pricilla hires Eriff to deal with a client of hers, a guard. They find the guard at the southern gate and use his commander officer to get him assigned to escort them out of the city to see Pricilla’s sick sister, who doesn’t exist. We end there.
Returning to the hammock he strung up in Antiquity, Illyd Dyll shifted the broken flute though his fingers. With the expert fall of a true sloth, he collapsed over the lip of his hammock and right into the pouch. The thick smell of grass poofed out of the fabric as he got comfy in his cocoon. He shuffled and shifted until his harp was in the crook of one arm, the flute resting in his lap.
He could hear the various conversations taking place in the area, the vast reunions, the splendid introductions. The many voices, paired with his first glimpse at Galbar and his own inability to access not only such a world but his own past lead a forlorn muse in his chest that then vibrated out to his arms and eventually to his fingers.
Slowly he began to pluck his harp, trying to match this feeling. It was like a cloud balled up into a fist, settling in his upper chest -- itching to get out. He cleared his throat, finding a voice in between the gentle strums of his instrument.
”Beyond bittersweet graves and fenny fens a harvest came early, Fields bygone slaves to the tree a single grain was planted sorely, Oh, what can two feet do when they wander upon a land too soon? Make haste and find the end of the start, sun replaced by moon.
No wheat will grow here, the light is gone. No happiness will sow here, the light is gone Join the harvest of the past, where a smile may last. “
Illyd took a long and sorrowful pull off the flute, letting it echo by his harp strings before continuing.
”Beyond bittersweet graves and fenny fens a harvest came early, A duo braves an end written before their start with guilt portly, Oh, what can two feet do when they wander upon a land too soon? Make haste and find the answer, so says the crow to the moon.
No wheat will grow here, the light is gone. No happiness will sow here, the light is gone Join the harvest of the past, where a smile may last.
“
The god dropped his harp and picked up his banjo, quickening the pace of his song.
”Beyond bittersweet graves and fenny fens a harvest came early, The end was in sight; a child of the unseen with eyes pearly, Oh, what can two feet do when they wander upon a land just in time? Make haste, figure of justice -- and undo the crime.
Water the fields, the winter is over, Shed your coat, the winter is over, Join the harvest in fervor, with a smile for and ever. “
Strumming fast, the song began to change completely.
”Pumpkins, apples and pears! New friends and awkward stares! Barley, hops and wheat! Oh so many people I want to meet! “
His strings furrowed he hit the wrong note, causing him to flinch. He giggled to himself, ”I’ll have to work on that one.”
Illyd Dyll returns to the hammack he set up in Antiquity and plays a little ditty to himself.
Deep in the canyons behind the town of Fragrance, gateway to the Land of Great Shade, a pair of night elven boys were hiking up the cliffside, one giddily defiant of their parents’ warnings not to fare these grounds, and the other in evermore evident disapproval of his brothers choice of daily adventure. He had arrived in his chambres in the morning, going on and on about this abandoned shadowtiger den the shroomer’s daughter told him about. He had then proposed the outrageous idea of scouting out the den, with great promises of riches in the form of ancient bones, broken fangs and bundles of old tiger hair.
“Are you crazy? Dad’ll have us watch Cayen’s goats in daytime if he catches us!” he had pleaded; prince Cinna, however, had just scoffed at his concerns.
“-If- he catches us, Turmerick. C’mon, it’s waaay far away from town; nobody’s patrolling there; and--”
“And that’s exactly the problem, Cinna - what if the den isn’t abandoned after all?”
“Well, then we better be quick, don’t we?” the older prince had replied and swung a small pouch over his shoulder as he moved towards the doorway of the room. He had stopped to turn and nod Turmerick along with his head before he had turned the corner. Turmerick had waited only a minute longer before eventually caving to peer pressure and running on after.
Now they were here - it was early evening, perhaps a little too early - the sun was still out and even squinting stinged harshly like citrus in the eyes. The cliffside they were scaling was rich in thick-trunked trees rooted firmly in the stone, growing tall as to drink up as much of the sun’s light as possible. Along the bark grew large, flat, juicy fungi known as tree ears - no wonder the shroomer’s daughter knew about this place. Some nesting birds frowned in bafflement at the two boys defying gravity’s pull as they climbed higher and higher, resting occasionally on one of the more horizontally growing wall trees. Once they had almost reached the top, they made themselves comfortable atop a tree trunk growing just underneath the clifftop itself - that way, they could wait until sunset before braving the scorching wastelands beyond the cliff edge.
Turmerick peered down and gulped. He then felt a gentle push and gasped, gripping onto the trunk with all his strength. Next to him, a loud, yet hushed cackle rang out. “Do you know how high up we are?!” Turmerick scolded. Cinna shook his head.
“What’re you, some wimp? Just try’na see if you’re cool club material.” He rested his back against the strong roots twisting into the mountain and unfurled the thread around the mouth of his sack. From inside, he extracted two leaf-wrapped packs and threw one to Turmerick. The younger brother caught it barely, nearly butter-fingering it as he brought it to his chest. He eyed his brother unpacking it to reveal a duxelle pastry. Turmerick unpacked his own to find the same. He blinked and then sighed at his brother.
“Cinna, where’d you get these?” The elder brother responded with a ‘hm?’ mid-bite before swallowing and scratching his chin.
“If I recall, they were cooling off outside of Panko’s bakery,” replied the elder brother with a skyward glance. Turmerick nearly dropped his pastry.
“You stole from baker Panko?! Again?!”
“What’s the big deal? He’s already got so many,” replied Cinna as he stuffed the last bit of pastry into his mouth.
“The ‘big deal’, Cinna, is that thieves break the Great Peace - and you’ve been caught several times before! Don’t think dad’ll cover for you think time! You’re on your last chance, and if you get caught red-handed again--”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah - I don’t need you to lecture me, too. Dad’s already being a pain in the ass about it. ‘Woo, princes of Fragrance don’t act like fools, wu-wu.’” He eyed Turmerick’s scowl with a smirk. “What, you gonna go tell dad that I’m being disobedient again? Oooh, I’m so scared.”
Turmerick bit sourly into his pastry and muttered. “Why did I even come along with you? You’re being so mean today…”
“Because you’re curious - like me! Can’t look a treasure like shadowtiger teeth in the eyes without at least getting interested.”
From the side of the tree came a tiny, yet serious voice in reply, “Stand and deliver!”
Turmerick nearly jumped off the tree while Cinna raised a curious eyebrow.
Turning around, they saw absolutely nothing, not until their eyes slowly drifted down. Standing on a gnarled root was a small figure no bigger than a rather large man’s thumb. She had tiny fierce eyes that seemed to narrow on the weapon she was pointing at the pair: a long and thin shard of metal. Her stance was well practiced and the fancy-plumed hat she wore alongside battle-scuffed yet decorative clothes only whispered that she had been successful in this many times over.
“N’aaw, look, Turmey - it’s a thumbling! Those are pretty rare around here.” Turmerick, meanwhile, was clambering to the trunk as though he was about to fall off, all while dragging himself closer to the wall-side of the trunk. Cinna snickered and gave the thumbling a wave. “Hi there, Thumby - out stealing gold dust and mushroom bits?”
“Playing wise, huh?” The Thumbling didn’t sound amused. Giving her sword a few swipes in the air, the Thumbling pointed it again at the two, “I’ll give you two a second chance, considering your nativity and ignorance. You see, I am Golden Gale of the Fennel Glen, no doubt you have heard of me.” She made motion at the bright yellow feather in her hat, a creamy color that seemed to match her long wavy locks. “Now put down the baked goods and take a few steps down this cliffside.”
Cinna and Turmerick switched places so that the younger was huddled up against the cliffside wall and Cinna was sitting firmly before the thumbling on the horizontal tree trunk, a smirk plastered across his face. “You know I could just swat you off this trunk and you’d fall, oh, I don’t know…” He peeked over the side to prove his point. “... I’d say about fifteen feet all in all. Must be tough on such a small body.”
“You better be accurate with your maths, son,” Gale took a step forward, “Because you might wanna figure how many of those feet your bones can take when you get flung off.” She dropped the point of her sword to the ground, “But I’m sporting, as much as a lady such as myself can be, I’ll give you the first shot.”
“Pfft, alright - someone’s got a death wish.” With that, Cinna extended his right arm outwards and brought it down to swat Gale off the trunk and into the abyss below. With feather feet, the thumbling juked out of the way, a flash of metal obscuring her face as she took a slice at the hand. The cut drew blood, leaving a small rift in Cinna’s palm. He retracted it with an ‘argh!’ and glared down at the thumbling, all remains of the smugness drowned in a lava of rage. “Oh, you’ve done it now.” He sent both hands down on her in a pincer attack, palms presented to clap her like some mosquito.
As if expecting the motion -- one a thumbing typically runs into -- Gale hopped forward, landing on Cinna’s left forearm. Then with careful yet quick agility, the little bandit ran up his arm and with a leap, planted a boot off the tip of his nose before clinging to his ear. Cinna waved his arms wildly around his head, and he would have fallen off the trunk had Turmerick not been there to stabilise him from behind. Cinna tried to bring his palm down to slap Gale off of his ear, but only ended up slapping his own cheek.
Gale let out a patronizing chortle and tapped Cinna’s defeated face with the flat of her blade, “Give up, hero?”
“You kidding me? You’re just a,” he slapped at her again, hitting his temple this time, “a tiny-- fly! -- with no right to strike a,” another failed slap, “a prince!”
“Cinna, maybe this time--”
“Shut up, Turmey!”
“Buzz bu-- wait a prince!?” A sudden seriousness came over Gale and her sword point hovered directly over Cinna’s pupil threateningly, “Don’t move, if you favor your vision. You never told me you were a prince.”
“By Tekret, I am!” confirmed the boy as though it was a truth of the universe. “Prince Cinna, son of King Safron! And will immediately stop your incessant nagging and cutting!” Behind him, Turmerick was drowning his face in his palm.
“Change of plans, Princy-poo. This robbery just turned into a kidnapping,” Gale ordered, “Don’t suppose you’d tie yourself up, eh?”
“What? Why, I will never… No! Turmey, help me out here!” Turmerick sighed, turned around and climbed over the ledge to arise to the top of the cliff. Cinna turned his head to the degree Gale allowed him to. “Turmerick?” Then, after a minute or so, he came back with a long bone, with which he tried to poke Gale off of Cinna’s head, hitting Cinna nine times out of ten. “H-hey! Turme-- ow! What in the gods’ names are you doing?!”
“Trying to get her off you, dumb-dumb!”
“Boys, boys!” Gale appeared on top of Cinna’s head, “Don’t you think this is getting a little ridiculous? Don’t let your pride be your better -- you’ve been bested. But fret not, you are but one of many to fall under my whims.” She pointed her blade downward, “Now Turmey you seem like the helpful type, yeah?”
“I like to think I am,” Turmerick responded and stopped wagging the bone as wildly.
“Don’t listen to her words, brother - be strong, be smart!” barked Cinna back, though he still couldn’t turn around properly out of fear of Gale dropping down to poke one of his eyes out.
“And strong and smart Turmey is for taking the advice of good old Golden Gale, yeah?” Gale gave what she thought was a pleasant smile -- but came across as more the gnash of a lioness that crinkled her eyes into that of a snakes’. “Now I want this entire scenario over and done with, don’t you? It’s bothersome and tiring and we only have so much time before it’s just plain dragged out, so I propose a sort of truce. Would you like to hear my truce, Turmey?”
After consulting the incessant yapping of his elder brother, Turmerick disregarded it all and nodded for the thumbling to continue.
“Right, this is rather easy and harmless, so this is really your best option.” Gale pointed her sword up at the cliffedge, “Now over this little lip is an old den, you’re going to march your older brother into the den and once you get there -- just wait a little! That’s it, a little walk, a little wait -- I’ll take care of the rest.” Swinging low, Gale pointed her blade back at Cinna’s eye, “Now whatcha think of that, Turmey? You two can leave right after, even.”
“Don’t listen to her, Turmerick! This-... This is a hostage situation! We are being--!”
“Cinna, shut up for just one second!” Turmerick whispered so loudly it was almost said, and he looked at Gale with a stern frown. “Alright, Gale… If you let my brother go, we’ll do as you say.”
“You coward! You absolute, maggot-like puss--!”
"Of course, once you two hop on over to that den," Gale nodded, "Until then..." Her grip tightened around her sword, "Let's get a move on, yeah?"
The three of them ascended onto the cliff ledge, Cinna scornfully accepting Turmerick’s help to get to the top before pushing him aside and thundering in the direction of the den. Turmerick followed after - it was moonrise by now, and twilight flared powerfully in the west as the sun set on another day. The darkness overtook the desert wastelands that made up the cliffs and wastes above the canyons, and the hot sand was quick to lose its heat. Thankfully, the abandoned den was up ahead - a black tunnel underneath a heap of stable stone plates. Cinna and Turmerick entered with the thumbling at their backs.
“Okay… So what now, then, ‘captor’” Cinna asked mockingly. His mocking words were met with a swift boot to the cheekbone.
"Now you press your noses against the stone wall over there," Gale nodded in the direction of the far side of the den. . The boys did as they were told, Cinna muttering furiously all the way.
“Now what?” asked Turmerick carefully.
Gale hopped off Cinna's head with a 'hup.' Her boots landed softly on the stone floor. "Put your hands behin- oh... What is..!? Uh oh."
“What now?” Cinna croaked angrily before Turmerick slapped his palm over his mouth. There had been a growl, and it hadn’t been Cinna. Their eyes saw nothing, but their ears clearly picked up approaching clicks as hard claws contacted stony ground. Before long, a pair of pearl-white, glowing eyes fixed on the three of them, complemented by a jawful of fangs and teeth that shone in the dim moonlight pouring into the cave mouth. There was no mistake. The tiger’s den wasn’t abandoned.
“Cinna, you said there was nothing here,” whispered Turmerick as he tried to make as few moves as possible. The shadowtiger’s enormous paws broke the moonlight - it was less than ten metres away from them.
“Well, I was going off of what the shroomer’s--”
“Duly noted! Gale, do we run?!”
Gale pointed her sword up at the tiger, "Go slowly... Go slowly.. Back away... Behind me..." With each command she slowly put herself between the two parties, her own footsteps backing up very carefully, "Don't run unless she pounces..." The boys followed suit, and the tiger played along, stalking on after as if it thought they hadn’t seen it. However, as they exited the cave, Turmerick tripped over a small ledge and fell backwards. The tiger pounced and the boy screamed. However, just before the tiger made contact, Turmerick was pulled out of the way by his brother, who sprinted around the corner of the cave, down towards the trees by the cliff edge. The shadowtiger’s momentum caused it to veer off course slightly, buying them some time.
Gale hopped onto Cinna's pant leg, gripping it tightly, "RUN! RUN! RUN!" The three of them quickly began climbing down the cliffside, ignoring the need for safety as the shadowtiger jumped down after them. As it almost bit into Turmerick’s neck, the boy lost his grip, falling all of two and a half metres onto the hard soil below with a resounding crack, followed by a howl.
“My leg!” he screamed as Cinna came to collect him. The shadowtiger grew careful on the lower tree trunks on account of their lacking girth, which luckily bought them some time to carry the wounded Turmerick towards the town. They were so close, but they knew it was far from over - the squealing had attracted the attention of the guards, who were approaching as a pair.
“Prince Cinna, prince Turmerick?! What are you doing out this early?!” asked one of them sternly.
“Tiger!” was all the response they received as the trio were followed by tiger, which proceeded to pounce over the children and onto one of the guards, biting his head asunder in a single bite. The other guard was so frightened that he tripped on his late colleague’s limp arm and slammed into the ground with a loud ‘oof!’ The tiger saw this and pinned him to the ground with a heavy paw. Cinna ran on with his arm under Turmericks, who was close to passing out from the pain. The two guards were left behind, the living one screaming and hollering for help so the whole town heard it and came.
"You should have grabbed the spear, you coward!" Gale chastised from her grip on Cinna. She was about to say more but a small leap in Cinna's sprint caused her to hit her belly against his hip with a poof of air. As the trio broke through the small backdoor the so generously named the ‘Back Gate’, they were surrounded by their kinsmen, all in various stages of fright and disbelief and what was going on outside the gates. Whispers zoomed between faces like bees between blooms - the majority of them were questioning the state of the princes and why they had come from the direction they had.
It didn’t take long for the crowd to split up upon the arrival of the king, a tall, powerful male the boys both knew as King Safron, their father. Behind him followed more hunters who all exited the gate to slay the tiger, as well as the town druid, Laurel. Turmerick was immediately brought over to the druid, who proceeded to examine the broken leg, while the crowd formed an impenetrable wall around Cinna, King Safron and, unbeknownst to the majority of them, Gale. The king scowled at the gates, from which the dying growl of the tiger could be heard, but only as a supplement to numerous other agonising cries.
“This is the last straw, Cinna…”
Cinna looked down, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. In an attempt at defiance, he turned his head upwards to glare at his father, but found his scowl impossible to match. He placed himself instead as defensively as he could and spoke, “We thought it was abandoned… Look, Flower said--”
“I care not for what has been said,” snarled King Safron back, “only what has been done.” The gate creaked open again and the hunters, of which there had been seven, returned as six, two of them wounded and one of them, joining the two guards’ corpses. “... And I cannot believe that which I am seeing. The actions… Of my own son…”
“Wait!” shouted Cinna suddenly, causing many to cover their ears. King Safron glared down and raised a hand to discipline the boy for another transgression, but Cinna held up Gale by the neck of her shirt, saying, “It was all her! This thumbling tricked me and my brother into following her to the cave!” The crowd exchanged glances.
"OH I SEE," Gale's voice was spiked with hurt, "Blame it all on the small creature of the wood." She plucked her hat from her head and held it close to her chest as she dangled, "I am but a Thumbling." Her eyes rounded at the king, and the king scowled back.
“A thumbling… You were tricked to walk into a shadowtiger’s lair… By a thumbling?” Cinna shrunk together and the king rolled his eyes.
"Worse yet," Gale croaked, her voice suddenly taken by a strange illness, "These lads found me in the forest, starved. Upon remembering the hospitality and care the Elves of the caves are known for handing out in respects to nature -- I approached for food, only to end up’n here. Starved, scared, and chased by a tiger." She patted her stomach, "Still empty, my king. By Saint Adrian, still empty."
The king snarled and turned his back to Cinna. “I have heard enough.”
“D-dad, she’s lying!” Cinna defended, but was silenced by the ever-judging glares of the king and crowd.
“Laurel, what is the punishment for manslaughter by the laws of the town of Fragrance?”
The druid, having taken care of Turmerick, approached through the crowd again, her white linen cloak shining in the early moonlight. With a regretful sigh, she tapped her twig staff, plucked from the Omnibloom’s tree, to the stone floor. “Prince Cinna may have been tricked by a thumbling - who speaks the truth may never be known except by the Gods; however, it is no denying that lives have been lost, and as we all know, the young prince is far from a sinless child.”
“Y-you can’t do this! Dad!” But the king ignored Cinna’s plea, and the boy looked back to the druid’s moonshadowed face.
“Three lives was the cost of your games, prince Cinna, and the Great Peace was broken for tenfolds more as a result of your actions. The combined punishment for these transgressions per the rules of Fragrance is… Lifelong exile.”
Cinna collapsed to his knees. With tearful eyes, he looked up at King Safron and pleaded, “Dad! Dad, please, don’t let them do this to me!”
The king shot him a sideways scowl. “You have no right to call me ‘dad’ anymore, for I have no son named Cinna.” With that, the king walked away, the druid and the crowd following him. Desperately, Cinna dangled Gale in the air before him.
“But, but what about the thumbling?! She tricked me!”
“I care not whether you lie or she does - if you are so desperate for a companion as you face the Sun Wastes, take her with you. Consider that my final mercy as your father, -Cinna-.” The night elves all returned to their duties further into town. Prince Turmerick was carried off by the druid’s apprentices back to the king’s hut. Cinna and Gale were left alone. The boy glared down at the thumbling in his hands.
“You…”
"...should have given me that baked good, now shouldn't have you?" Gale plopped her hat back in her head and crossed her arms, "Can't blame me for this one. Three people are dead." She drummed her fingers against her arms. "And now look... Neither of us have anything."hing.”
“... This… This is -all- your fault! If you hadn’t shown up, and, and, and thrown us off focus - captured us, even!-, then the tiger wouldn’t have been alerted!” He brought his other hand closer, ready with a claw-like grip. “I could crush your skull like I squash a grape - right now.”
"Then you'd be alone," Gale suggested, "And you really would be a murderer then."
“No one would give a damn if I snapped a thumbling’s little neck… I don’t need you - or anyone! They obviously don’t need me, after all.”
"Hey, thanks for reminding me." Gale wiggled out of his grasp and ontop of his hand, "So long, then?"
“H-hey! No, you’re not walking away from -me-!” Cinna snarled and tried to grab her again.
Gale slipped up his arm, "Well you seemed so eager to be rid of lil’ ol’ me just a second ago!"
“Yes, -I- get last say,” the former prince exclaimed, but a grumpy expression coated his face. “... Do you… Do you know what mushrooms are edible?”
"Sure do, but I also know a spoiled brat when I see one," Gale paced on his shoulders, gnawing on her knuckle in thought.
“Choose your words carefully, speckling! You are speaking to a prince!”
"Not anymore I don't," Gale replied and flicked his neck, "I speak to the lowest of the low. Say you know what? I'm feeling a little charitable." She snapped her fingers, "How would you like a job?"
“Lowest of the--... A peasant offers me a job? What kind?” The pair had now long since been escorted out of town by a new set of guards. Cinna had been almost dreadfully still in his resistance.
"Does it matter?" Gale offered, "You'll be hungry in a few hours and this job comes with a meal."
Cinna considered this for a moment. Finally, he spat his response: “What must I do?”
"You'll see." Gale sat on his shoulder, "Go back to where we first met.. I'll lead you from there."
Two elf princes named Turmey and Cinna leave fragrance and are robbed and kidnapped by a thumbling named Gale. They run into tigers and go back to the village, leading a tiger there and getting three people killed. Cinna is exiled for this but Gale hires him for a vague job.
Two stalwart and impressive snow capped mountains hugged a valley. Their distant blue walls kept out any oppressive heat, and allowed a summer breeze to waft down and below, trapped in a ring. This breeze carried a sweet note in its wind, and often found itself rustling through thick and vibrant grasses that stood on a deep brown soil, pungent with the scent of the earth. Over the gentle rolls of the valley and alongside the cool crystal waters of a babbling stream, this breeze would travel over endlessly, only to be split across the bark of a small group of trees that stood crooked in the center of the valley. The tiny copse was free of any grand canopy or impenetrable trunks, but rather sported a lazily hung hammock where a man by the name of Illyd Dyll found himself.
It was hard for Illyd Dyll to say when he arrived in this valley, or even how he got there -- but there he found himself. With one leg swung over the edge of his cocoon, he laid in plain woolen robes, his eyes and hair the same deep brown as the soil, and in his hands he held a wooden harp. He wasn’t sure when he made it, but he did -- evident by the scarred wooden frame and the various and dubitable fixes administered to it.
Still, he played it all the same. A knuckle moving, a finger plucking -- he couldn’t quite remember when he started playing, but he was enjoying himself. His notes were nothing that could be considered groundbreaking, and definitely not wild -- but rather captured a sort of relaxed tameness, each pluck following the uniform of the valley around him. Where the river would babble, he would pluck to match it, where the grass rustled, a pluck for each, where the wind whispered by -- he gave a small break so it could speak in between his notes. Now and again the cicadas would hum along, and now and again he would hum along with the cicadas.
This small show had been going on for as long as Illyd Dyll could remember, but he didn’t mind. He plucked and plucked, until finally he just decided not to pluck. It wasn’t a hard decision, and one he made lightly -- opting instead to roll onto his side, the sun hitting him and warming his body. He stretched out to the golden orb in the sky, letting it warm his arms and legs. He closed his eyes, witnessing the pink of his lids against the sunny sky and with a shallow breath, he let himself slip into a sort of afternoon nap.
~O~
It was hard to say how long he napped, but eventually his eyes creaked open. The sun was where he had left it, and the breeze was still playing with the grasses of the valley. He wasn’t too sure what woke him up, but there he was. He looked down at his stomach, a gentle rumble calling out to him -- that’ll do it.
“Hungry are ya?” He said to no one in particular, his voice very cool and relaxed, much like the babbling creek.
Of course there was no response, he wasn’t expecting one, but it was nice to hear a voice. With skill -- and several blundering attempts -- he managed to sit up in his hammock. He knew there was an easy way to get the food he desired, he had always known for as long as he could know: the earth would provide at his whim, he had always known that -- he just never had much reason to do something about it.
In fact, there was a lot he somehow knew and at the very same time, didn’t do much with. He never questioned it -- and he wasn’t about to start. Dismissing the complex thoughts, he reached up towards the tree, and it reached back down with a branch weighted by a plump apple. Doing what he does best, Illyd Dyll plucked it.
As he took a bite, there was a single thought that managed to creep in: “I wish I could share this.”
None used
Illyd Dyll is introduced alongside his realm, he plays a little song, takes a little nap, has a little bite. His only concern with the gentle day was that he wished he could share it with others.
Name: Illyd Dyll, or just Illyd or just Dyll Primordial or Conceptual: Conceptual?
Domain: Weather! The changing of clouds, the moving of wind and the bringing of rain and summer thunders. Hail, gusts, crisp autumns and long spring stillnesses. A small drought, a pleasant rain -- all matters between our feet and the atmosphere above.
Portfolio: Agriculture. The cultivation of domesticated plants. Planting, growing and harvesting along with the tools and knowledge to do so effectively. Illyd is the lazy master of it all and is more than willing to shed some of his godly power to see the crops grow.
Their Realm: A sea of golden wheat fields set between two snow capped mountains. A lazy brook swims through and a copse of crooked trees dot the center. A hammock can be found there strung between the oldest trees and inside an old harp and banjo are swaddled.
Persona: Illyd Dyll is relaxed, calm, and otherwise slightly lazy. He prefers a nice summer heat and isn’t much for harsh winters. Work is necessary but it is just the means to the end and not the end of the means. A light day where the rain does your watering and your fingers play your instrument is considered paradise, especially if followed with a nice sun breaking through the clouds while you chew on the latest harvest.
He is not without some care, of course, and would hate to see the natural world disturbed too much or the ways of growing and farming affected negatively. He isn’t much for conflict and loves a bit of peace.
Base Form: Illyd Dyll looks like a young man dressed in rather mundane cotton robes and dirty sandals. He has lazy eyes the color of the earth and shaggy hair to match, his grin is lopsided and content. With him he usually carries something to pluck and something to chew on.
Domain Form: Illyd Dyll’s domain form is a tired looking red fox, with nothing quite so special about it.
Avatar: Illyd Dyll’s avatar is a mirror image of himself and shares everything with himself. He likes to enjoy Galbar, you see.
The thumbling struggled to open his eyes past a waking yawn. He stretched his arms to the blinking night sky and sighed. Slowly he descended back to sleep - his body not yet rea-
"Adrian."
His eyes popped open. They immediately caught the moonlit eyes of a night-elf. Her skin was so similar to Gibbou's that for a few seconds the sleepy Adrian was convinced he was looking at the goddess. The elves lips were pursed and serious, matching the dire look on her face -- a large contrast to Gibbou.
"Adria-"
"I'm awake!" Adrian sat up and shook the grump out of his head, "What's up?"
"Do you remember me?" Despite her stern look, Adrian couldn't help but hear a silver line of comfort in her voice. The tone almost seemed familiar, but whatever it was, he liked it.
"Yeah," Adrian said as he studied her face, "You were the one declaring Joab-Ba-"
The lady put a finger to her lips as if telling Adrian to quiet. Adrian obliged and raised a brow.
"Don't say their name," She advised, "But yes, that was me. Call me Basil."
"Okay, Basil," Adrian rolled to his feet. He was standing on a small rock (with a bed of moss on the pinnacle) but even then, Basil was laying on her stomach to be face to face with the tiny being. Adrian cleared his throat, "What's wrong?"
"Well," Basil started, "We have to keep the night elves from... Them." She cocked her head to an empty space.
"What are you talking about?" Adrian squinted into the night.
"I can still feel the voice of... Them, in my head," Basil explained, "I feel a presence in my body and every inch is telling me that we have to keep the night elves away from the thing we aren't naming."
"Well that much is clear," Adrian agreed, "No one should be near that."
Basil frowned, "Yes but it is critical that out of all mortals, we keep the night elves from them."
"Why?"
"The prophecy," Basil nodded, "It mentioned the children of the night being brought to light, but if the children of night are already in the light... Then they can't be brought when the time comes and..."
"The Light will remain fractured," Adrian bit his knuckle in thought.
"Exactly."
"That's also assuming that these are the children of the night that the prophecy is referring to," Adrian clarified.
"There are others?" Basil tilted a brow.
"Unfortunately," Adrian made a face, "Gibbou had also made some nasty trolls."
Basil furrowed her brow, "Alright, so what's the plan then?"
Adrian leaned an elbow against Basil's nose and gave a pensive hum, forcing the elf cross eyed.
"Well, when my sister Carrie was trying to lose a lil weight, she replaced her favorite mushrooms with grass buds. So I guess what I'm saying is to keep someone from doing one thing..."
"Repla- Replace it with another," Basil said while stifling a sneeze. Adrian gulped and side stepped to avoid the "...chew!"
Basil wiggled her nose and sat up, "So perhaps we get a different god to fill the elves time. But who?"
"Gibbou?" Adrian suggested.
"Maybe... We can circle back to that one but I think something novel may hit the elves quicker than trying to convince them the scary lady with the nice-nice juice is the way to go."
A wicked grin overtook Adrian, "I think I have an idea, in that case."
Basil's eyes widened with worry, "What?"
"Behold!" Adrian shouted from a place unseen. The night elf crowd looked around confused, their eyes falling in their usual canyon surroundings. The moon was high, the mushrooms were glowing, and a sudden beat hit the air.
"Ignes, God of Dance!"
From behind two moss covered rocks, Basil came sliding out, covered head to toe in rags and skins to hide her identity. She began to walk backwards, moving her legs in a peculiar manner where it seemed as if she were stepping forward -- but wasn't.
"What is this divine power?" Adrian's voice popped up in the crowd. Tiny huffs were hidden under the clamoring as he ran to the other side of the crowd. "That a being can step forward but move backwards!?"
Basil spun in place, moonwalking back behind the rocks. The crowd seemed unmoved.
Back hidden in a secluded area, Basil was staring daggers at Adrian. "I cannot believe that was your plan."
"I can't believe you did it," Adrian replied with as much surprise as Basil had frustration. The two sat in silence for a while, Basil's stare unending.
"Gibbou?"
Basil sighed, "Beats Ignes."
"My only issue though," Adrian pinched his chin, "Is she isn't here."
Basil pinched her own chin, "Then another ploy it is."
Adrian fell into thought for a while before another wicked grin curled to his lips.
"No more dancing," Basil cut him off and he frowned, "In fact, I have an idea."
"What is it?" Adrian gave a quizzical look.
Basil shook her head, "Give me a few days to formulate it completely, then meet me back here."
"And until then?"
"We are going to have to be scarce," Basil instructed, "We've both been imprinted with the light and their presence, I fear our proximity to the others is only a danger to them."
"But Gibbou asked me to look after you all," Adrian protested.
"That's in my interest too, Adrian," Basil returned to her stern tone, "But unfortunately that means you and I have to care from a distance."
"Ugh you remind me of the elder," Adrian groaned.
Basil sighed and held out an offering palm. Adrian hopped onto it.
"I bet he didn't have my kinda moves though," Basil mentioned as she placed Adrian on her shoulder.
"HA!" Adrian chortled, "Who do you think first showed me that dance move?"
Basil's eyes widened.
Adrian meets Basil, the prophet.
They discuss Joab-Balaam and the future of the elves. They decide to remove Joab from the elves by replacing Joab with another god.
They devise a God of Dance and coin moonwalking but it fails.
Basil then decides to formulate a true plan, it ends there.... For now.
I'm not really a bird.
[center]-0-
Where did I play,
A land of twisted branches,
A kingdom of clay,
A swamp of memories,
A never-ending day,
Where did I run,
Across the dawn,
Through the sun,
Across the sky,
Through laughs and fun,
Where did I walk,
Pristine grass green,
White cliffs of chalk,
Pools of sky so blue,
Orchard stones that talk,
Where did I sit,
By the gates of silver,
Near endless pit,
By forever horizon,
You may remember it.[/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">I'm not really a bird.<br><br><div class="bb-center">-0-<br><br>Where did I play,<br>A land of twisted branches,<br>A kingdom of clay,<br>A swamp of memories,<br>A never-ending day,<br><br>Where did I run,<br>Across the dawn,<br>Through the sun,<br>Across the sky,<br>Through laughs and fun,<br><br>Where did I walk,<br>Pristine grass green,<br>White cliffs of chalk,<br>Pools of sky so blue,<br>Orchard stones that talk,<br><br>Where did I sit,<br>By the gates of silver,<br>Near endless pit,<br>By forever horizon,<br>You may remember it.</div></div>
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