Mole
ButtsnBalls
MurderVictim
Little Bird
AlteredTundra
Izurich
Carlyle
Kidd
ruler of spades
shylarahin collaboration with @Virgil
Oliver raised questioning brows, and for a moment he sat processing what this stranger was trying to say. "There's still a long night ahead before the moonrise," he informed Ifor gently, once he'd figured it out. "You have an unusual dialect -- I'm very familiar with the particular language differences among the four cardinals, but I've never heard anyone speak quite like you do. May I ask where you grew up?"
"Hmmm...Ih'm ohn wahlkahbouht..." Ifor grunted, breaking his neck out of its lengthy stagnation with a muffled crack - quite easily contented with the brevity of his reply; Still, noting the faintest traces of confusion bubbling to fruition upon his new 'friend's' face, he tacked on: "...Cohst ah'drihft - malihgnahnt seeh droove muh dohwn this'wuhy; Noh' vehrry pleahsahn' cohmp'ny, yoohr lahdy ohf teh wohtters..."
"Moonrise" - the concept stuck Ifor as odd, unnatural...though certainly not inconceivable. Nature was an odd beast, comforting and confounding, revolting and redeeming - ever patient, ever absolute; whatever new secrets she'd tucked away on this enigmatic stretch of wind-swept sand, the least anyone should be about them was mildly intrigued...and so Ifor would be too.
Meanwhile, in the spotless upper room of the ruined windmill, Golde knelt quietly beside the open chest; the contents of the glass jar cast a soft blue glow on her curious face as her fingers pried at the wide cork stopper --
With a soft pop the stopper released, cool night air rushed into the jar, and Golde was blinded by the bright flare of intense light like a small blue sun. The sprig of leaves and stems was no longer visible, so brilliant was the light it now emitted; the room around her had become luminous; Golde's figure cast a long shadow on the floor. The delicate smell of lilacs, laced with sharp cinnamon, drifted out of the jar.
Though the light was intense, the jar remained cool to the touch. Even replacing the stopper would not diminish its glow.
A flare of bright blue light high above them drew Oliver's attention back to the windmill. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes locked on the steady, bright blue light that illuminated the windmill from within, bursting from the hole in the roof, flooding the broken windows, like a beacon in the darkness.
"I'm sorry," he said to Ifor, distracted; he was already moving toward the sloping rocks, "but there's something I have to check."
Startlingly, the end of one conversation trumpeted the beginning of another...though more subtly understood than most; a shimmer of blue flashed into being within eye of the windmill, as if some ancient sentinel had arisen from an eternity's respite. It glowed curiously, yet unaware of the attention it'd garnered within the enlarged pupils of its night-cloaked stalkers. With silent siren's songs, it called out to them - begging to be unraveled, for the mystery of its presentation to be brought to light. Inspired by the sudden shift in atmosphere, and with surprisingly gentle footing, the camouflaged stranger tagged along after his soft-spoken 'companion'; the promise of new discovery awaited patiently as they approached...
With sure footing, Oliver traced a narrow and well-worn path up the rocky slope, with only a backward glance toward the stranger who now followed him. He adjusted the folded scythe on his back, grasped a weedy outcropping, and hopped over the last shelf to stand at the base of the windmill. The field of gently glowing mushrooms stretched in open contrast to the dark seclusion of the beach below -- the spires of Woondaly glimmered in the distance.
He cast another look back at Ifor, ready to offer assistance up the rocks -- but upon seeing that the stranger was just as nimble, Oliver only beckoned with a gesture and approached the illuminated doorway of the windmill.
He crept up the stairs with soft steps, a hand tracing the rotted wall, until he stopped and peeked over the edge of the floor above. Upon sight of Golde, his posture relaxed; she wasn't the Kith he'd been expecting. "Hello." Oliver climbed the last of the stairs, but he didn't approach, so not to alarm her. He noted the salt-ragged state of her hair, the sea-washed state of her clothes. He opened his palms peacefully. "It's okay --" He slowly took the scythe from his back and leaned it against the wall. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He glanced down the stairs at Ifor ... uncertain he could say the same for the brute he'd brought with him.
While Izzy wrung the saltwater from her hair and clothes, Gale hurriedly smacked the waterlogged scythe against the sand, until it relented to be collapsed and folded into a compact form. She slung the weighty broken thing over a strong shoulder, and with a running leap she caught herself upon the protruding rocks that bordered the beach. "Come on, hurry!" She stretched out a hand to help Izzy along behind her; it would be a short climb to the top, where the mushrooms glowed among the moss, and Woondaly shimmered in the distance.
Once she'd clambered over the edge of the rocks she scanned the wide field, spotting only a few goats and a curious blue burst of light off in the darkness of the distant shore. Wasn't there an old windmill in that direction?
"The Wind God is notorious for his ruthless disregard for life," Gale explained while she helped Izzy up over the last rocks and onto the field. She led the way, striding quickly over the moss and mushrooms. "During the Dragon War he decimated entire settlements in the name of defeating his enemy. Necessary sacrifices, he called them. He's been sleeping since then, vowed never to wake until the Light returned -- but somehow he's awake too soon. I can only think what anger remains in him, and what innocents lay in his path."
She rushed forward, still dripping saltwater; the folded scythe on her back poured trails of it behind her. "The Kith worship him, and they're just as heartless. We've tried peaceful negotiation, but they still set fire to our settlements, slaughter for our food and fresh water, and take our children to brainwash them for their own ranks." She stopped, and she cast an angry, horrified look to Izzy. "Do you have children, Izzy? Can you understand the despair of a mother knowing her child is alive but gone forever -- an enemy of her own people?" She set her jaw, and she continued toward the lights of Woondaly.
"How is it that you don't know the terrors of the Kith? Are there even now hidden settlements where they're not a blight on every honest existence?"
A big shadow moved across their path in the dark, and Gale reached out an arm to stop Izzy from moving farther. She dropped to one knee and pushed Izzy down to do the same -- to make themselves less conspicuous, there on the open plain.
A quarter-mile ahead of where Gale and Izzy had stopped, one of the griffins had clambered over the rocks and now padded silently across the field, its powerful wings folded against its back. It moved in a direction across their path, walking slowly westward, away from Woondaly. The Kith girl walked alongside it with a hand buried in the feathers of its neck. Neither seemed to have spotted them ... at least not yet.
Gale withdrew a curved knife from her belt, and she held it in stiff preparation to strike.
Fang, with surprising strength for his small stature, hauled Elliot up onto the griffin behind him. "Just hang on!" he shouted with a grin over the crash of waves.
The griffin spread its enormous wings, gave a powerful flap ... then took a running leap across the slick rocks and launched into the cool night air.
The wind whipped all around them, threatening to blow Elliot clean off the griffin's back and into the churning black water, if he didn't hang on as instructed. They soared northward, keeping over the water and far away from the spires and lights of Woondaly that gleamed and shimmered in the distance. So shrouded in darkness, the griffin caught the wind-currents over the ocean and glided high over the secluded beach.
"The lightborn are just a legend," Fang hollered over the wind, through a sharp grin. "People who were born in sunlight, who've seen a sky without darkness." He laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. A sky all lit up like a fire? How absurd! "Is that you? Are you from some mystical land where the sun still shines? Are you so full of that sunshine that you made even the Wind God think the Light returned?" He looked back at Elliot with narrowed eyes. "You're sure weird enough to actually be a lightborn. If so -- well, there are three other gods you could wake up for us. Turn the tide of war, y'know."
Up ahead, along the shoreline to their left, a brilliant blue light glowed out of the broken roof of a dilapidated windmill, shining like a beacon in the dark; the outline of its rotted sails shone in haunting silhouette.
"Hey, looks like the freak is home," Fang spat with a malicious grin. "Let's mess with 'im a little."
The griffin veered its course, flapped once, and glided like a missile toward the windmill -- with a hideous screech that echoed over the field.
SCREEEEE!
With another flap it slowed down, claws outstretched. The griffin ripped into the broken roof of the windmill with a crash and a clamoring destruction of shingles and wood before it flapped away again, content to have added to the demolition of Oliver's station.
Inside the windmill, splinters and dust rained down on Golde's head; a part of a rotted beam dropped beside her -- she'd narrowly avoided being seriously injured by the griffin's haphazard attack.
Oliver leaped to attention, dashed past Golde, and craned his neck to see the griffin gliding safely away through the dark.
"HA ha!" Fang shouted back with a snide sneer. "Crawl back to Pyre, freak!"
(the moon has gone down behind the mountain)
Oliver raised questioning brows, and for a moment he sat processing what this stranger was trying to say. "There's still a long night ahead before the moonrise," he informed Ifor gently, once he'd figured it out. "You have an unusual dialect -- I'm very familiar with the particular language differences among the four cardinals, but I've never heard anyone speak quite like you do. May I ask where you grew up?"
"Hmmm...Ih'm ohn wahlkahbouht..." Ifor grunted, breaking his neck out of its lengthy stagnation with a muffled crack - quite easily contented with the brevity of his reply; Still, noting the faintest traces of confusion bubbling to fruition upon his new 'friend's' face, he tacked on: "...Cohst ah'drihft - malihgnahnt seeh droove muh dohwn this'wuhy; Noh' vehrry pleahsahn' cohmp'ny, yoohr lahdy ohf teh wohtters..."
"Moonrise" - the concept stuck Ifor as odd, unnatural...though certainly not inconceivable. Nature was an odd beast, comforting and confounding, revolting and redeeming - ever patient, ever absolute; whatever new secrets she'd tucked away on this enigmatic stretch of wind-swept sand, the least anyone should be about them was mildly intrigued...and so Ifor would be too.
Meanwhile, in the spotless upper room of the ruined windmill, Golde knelt quietly beside the open chest; the contents of the glass jar cast a soft blue glow on her curious face as her fingers pried at the wide cork stopper --
With a soft pop the stopper released, cool night air rushed into the jar, and Golde was blinded by the bright flare of intense light like a small blue sun. The sprig of leaves and stems was no longer visible, so brilliant was the light it now emitted; the room around her had become luminous; Golde's figure cast a long shadow on the floor. The delicate smell of lilacs, laced with sharp cinnamon, drifted out of the jar.
Though the light was intense, the jar remained cool to the touch. Even replacing the stopper would not diminish its glow.
A flare of bright blue light high above them drew Oliver's attention back to the windmill. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes locked on the steady, bright blue light that illuminated the windmill from within, bursting from the hole in the roof, flooding the broken windows, like a beacon in the darkness.
"I'm sorry," he said to Ifor, distracted; he was already moving toward the sloping rocks, "but there's something I have to check."
Startlingly, the end of one conversation trumpeted the beginning of another...though more subtly understood than most; a shimmer of blue flashed into being within eye of the windmill, as if some ancient sentinel had arisen from an eternity's respite. It glowed curiously, yet unaware of the attention it'd garnered within the enlarged pupils of its night-cloaked stalkers. With silent siren's songs, it called out to them - begging to be unraveled, for the mystery of its presentation to be brought to light. Inspired by the sudden shift in atmosphere, and with surprisingly gentle footing, the camouflaged stranger tagged along after his soft-spoken 'companion'; the promise of new discovery awaited patiently as they approached...
With sure footing, Oliver traced a narrow and well-worn path up the rocky slope, with only a backward glance toward the stranger who now followed him. He adjusted the folded scythe on his back, grasped a weedy outcropping, and hopped over the last shelf to stand at the base of the windmill. The field of gently glowing mushrooms stretched in open contrast to the dark seclusion of the beach below -- the spires of Woondaly glimmered in the distance.
He cast another look back at Ifor, ready to offer assistance up the rocks -- but upon seeing that the stranger was just as nimble, Oliver only beckoned with a gesture and approached the illuminated doorway of the windmill.
He crept up the stairs with soft steps, a hand tracing the rotted wall, until he stopped and peeked over the edge of the floor above. Upon sight of Golde, his posture relaxed; she wasn't the Kith he'd been expecting. "Hello." Oliver climbed the last of the stairs, but he didn't approach, so not to alarm her. He noted the salt-ragged state of her hair, the sea-washed state of her clothes. He opened his palms peacefully. "It's okay --" He slowly took the scythe from his back and leaned it against the wall. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He glanced down the stairs at Ifor ... uncertain he could say the same for the brute he'd brought with him.
Meanwhile...
While Izzy wrung the saltwater from her hair and clothes, Gale hurriedly smacked the waterlogged scythe against the sand, until it relented to be collapsed and folded into a compact form. She slung the weighty broken thing over a strong shoulder, and with a running leap she caught herself upon the protruding rocks that bordered the beach. "Come on, hurry!" She stretched out a hand to help Izzy along behind her; it would be a short climb to the top, where the mushrooms glowed among the moss, and Woondaly shimmered in the distance.
Once she'd clambered over the edge of the rocks she scanned the wide field, spotting only a few goats and a curious blue burst of light off in the darkness of the distant shore. Wasn't there an old windmill in that direction?
"The Wind God is notorious for his ruthless disregard for life," Gale explained while she helped Izzy up over the last rocks and onto the field. She led the way, striding quickly over the moss and mushrooms. "During the Dragon War he decimated entire settlements in the name of defeating his enemy. Necessary sacrifices, he called them. He's been sleeping since then, vowed never to wake until the Light returned -- but somehow he's awake too soon. I can only think what anger remains in him, and what innocents lay in his path."
She rushed forward, still dripping saltwater; the folded scythe on her back poured trails of it behind her. "The Kith worship him, and they're just as heartless. We've tried peaceful negotiation, but they still set fire to our settlements, slaughter for our food and fresh water, and take our children to brainwash them for their own ranks." She stopped, and she cast an angry, horrified look to Izzy. "Do you have children, Izzy? Can you understand the despair of a mother knowing her child is alive but gone forever -- an enemy of her own people?" She set her jaw, and she continued toward the lights of Woondaly.
"How is it that you don't know the terrors of the Kith? Are there even now hidden settlements where they're not a blight on every honest existence?"
A big shadow moved across their path in the dark, and Gale reached out an arm to stop Izzy from moving farther. She dropped to one knee and pushed Izzy down to do the same -- to make themselves less conspicuous, there on the open plain.
A quarter-mile ahead of where Gale and Izzy had stopped, one of the griffins had clambered over the rocks and now padded silently across the field, its powerful wings folded against its back. It moved in a direction across their path, walking slowly westward, away from Woondaly. The Kith girl walked alongside it with a hand buried in the feathers of its neck. Neither seemed to have spotted them ... at least not yet.
Gale withdrew a curved knife from her belt, and she held it in stiff preparation to strike.
Meanwhile...
Fang, with surprising strength for his small stature, hauled Elliot up onto the griffin behind him. "Just hang on!" he shouted with a grin over the crash of waves.
The griffin spread its enormous wings, gave a powerful flap ... then took a running leap across the slick rocks and launched into the cool night air.
The wind whipped all around them, threatening to blow Elliot clean off the griffin's back and into the churning black water, if he didn't hang on as instructed. They soared northward, keeping over the water and far away from the spires and lights of Woondaly that gleamed and shimmered in the distance. So shrouded in darkness, the griffin caught the wind-currents over the ocean and glided high over the secluded beach.
"The lightborn are just a legend," Fang hollered over the wind, through a sharp grin. "People who were born in sunlight, who've seen a sky without darkness." He laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. A sky all lit up like a fire? How absurd! "Is that you? Are you from some mystical land where the sun still shines? Are you so full of that sunshine that you made even the Wind God think the Light returned?" He looked back at Elliot with narrowed eyes. "You're sure weird enough to actually be a lightborn. If so -- well, there are three other gods you could wake up for us. Turn the tide of war, y'know."
Up ahead, along the shoreline to their left, a brilliant blue light glowed out of the broken roof of a dilapidated windmill, shining like a beacon in the dark; the outline of its rotted sails shone in haunting silhouette.
"Hey, looks like the freak is home," Fang spat with a malicious grin. "Let's mess with 'im a little."
The griffin veered its course, flapped once, and glided like a missile toward the windmill -- with a hideous screech that echoed over the field.
SCREEEEE!
With another flap it slowed down, claws outstretched. The griffin ripped into the broken roof of the windmill with a crash and a clamoring destruction of shingles and wood before it flapped away again, content to have added to the demolition of Oliver's station.
Inside the windmill, splinters and dust rained down on Golde's head; a part of a rotted beam dropped beside her -- she'd narrowly avoided being seriously injured by the griffin's haphazard attack.
Oliver leaped to attention, dashed past Golde, and craned his neck to see the griffin gliding safely away through the dark.
"HA ha!" Fang shouted back with a snide sneer. "Crawl back to Pyre, freak!"