Ayre ran. Free from further distractions. Free from any burdens. Her apron’s strings trailed in the wind she left as she descended down the long flight of steps, twirling and twirling down into the depths of the tree. She knew the types that lived there. Deep folk, short and stout and the goblins who had always reigned supreme. Seldom did elfkind venture there but she had never heard of any terrible going ons. That in itself was a small comfort at least but she still could not shake the feeling that something was amiss.
Despite her heart threatening to pound out of her chest and her lungs gasping for air, Ayre descended further. She came to an abrupt stop and nearly fell when she reached the bottom and a long hallway. She placed a hand onto the wall and caught her breath for a moment. Then a smell wafted her way, sulfur tinged with blood. She nearly gagged and looked down the hall to see… Dark blotches on the floor, lumps in the distance. She walked nearer, throwing caution to the wind.
She had never seen blood before. What struck her was how dark the color was. How it dried darker. How, across a wall and ceiling, it was a sight out of some macabre nightmare. When you dreamt of something you knew existed but have never seen. She felt sick and then a crushing wave of panic overwhelmed her.
“Ida…” She murmured, eyes going wide as she scanned the corpses. Deep folk guards. One had a… “Ida!” she shouted, looking away from the severed and crushed head. She ran now, through the doorway and found the carnage had not traveled far. Guards had fought something that gashed their leather armor, that tore limbs off in grisly fashion. The town before her was burning, thick blotches of smoke wafted up into the endless heights of the roots of the Great Tree. Ayre felt like she couldn’t breath and her world began to spin.
“IDA!” she screamed.
Someone screamed back.
“Help…!” The voice shouted, coming from the town. She ran towards the voice, unsteady on her feet. Maybe it was Ida? She had to have hope, but that panic laced her core with fear. She could feel the heat as she came nearer, the roaring inferno of a blazing fire… How it called out to her. She shook her head and covered her face with her apron as she entered the streets.
“Help me!” Came the voice again, down a nearby alleyway, just above the din of the fire.
She rounded the corner and… It wasn’t Ida. “Heeeelpppp…” A cat-like creature mimicked, before it took another bite of a goblin. Blood gushed from its maw as it bit and chew and chew. The crack of bones breaking in its mouth, so audible in her ears. It was like she was hearing sound for the first time. It paused to look up at her, rippling muscle along its back flexing. It seemed to smile with glee as it opened its mouth to unleash some dying scream of someone once alive. Ayre stumbled backwards, sheer horror gripping her tight. Seeing this, with a flick of its boney tail, it began to approach her one step after another and Ayre could no longer move. She couldn’t breathe. It's dark mane was caked with drying blood. Its crimson eyes were unlike anything she had ever seen and she knew they would haunt her in those fleeting moments before it... It had killed. Murdered. It had gone against the Goddesses teachings. Life was sacred. Life was… Living.
Not dead. Not butchered and eaten. Not slain like she was about to.
Her knees began to wobble. Ayre felt her heart threaten to burst out of her chest. She felt herself take a quick breath and she had to force herself to exhale as the thing began to lower itself, getting into a crouch. It watched her with such hungry eyes. Unknowable depths of pure malice in those eyes, made Ayre realize that it was perfectly capable of thinking. Of knowing its actions. It wanted to kill her. It wanted to eat her and yet, she found it so hard to grasp the same. Even if she could move, would she break everything she had ever known? What would it make her?
Flames licked at her memory. A burning so bright she had immolated. She had died, only to be born anew. Right? Didn’t that mean…
The thing pounced with silent glee and Ayre’s hand rose to shield herself. She thought of Ida in that moment, of a time they played in the mud as kids. Father said they looked like two goblins who had had a rough day. She smiled as the thing slammed into a spear of fire. Her smile faded as the thing let out a terrible scream, landing just before her in a burning heap. The flames, her flames, so bright and warm wrapped around the monster. Burnt hair and flesh came forth and she cringed back, the flame winking out in a response. The monster was left blackened and spasming, with its black blood pooling underneath in acrid smoke.
Ayre watched in silence as its spasming slowed, along with its labored breath. It grew still and she fell to her knees. Grief, pain, hate, regret- it all hit her at once and she gripped her head as hot tears streamed down her face. How could anyone go on like this? How could they deal with what they’d done? It felt like she would be consumed by her emotions and burn up all over again into roaring cinders. Worst of all, she knew she deserved it.
“Ayre…?” Came a voice that cut through the air. She looked up and then twisted her body around to see…
“Ida…?” She gasped, a burst of joy cutting through her like a knife. She rose and made to the sister she once knew but after a few steps she paused. Ida looked much the same and yet not. What struck her immediately were her blue eyes, so vivid underneath her frost colored horn. The more glaring observation was that Ida was covered in splotches of dried black blood. Like small voids on her too pale skin and her too pale fur and her too pale hair.
“Ayre,” Ida began, her voice hitched as she took a step towards her. “It’s you. It’s really you.”
“Is it you?” Ayre asked, joy turning to concern as they walked to each other.
“Of course it is.” Ida said, her arms outstretched to wrap tight around Ayre. Ayre returned the gesture and felt as if she was beginning to sob again. Two things occurred to her at that moment. Ida was freezing and her sister was already retreating from her grip. She let go as Ida stumbled back as if stung by something. Ayre went to grab her but Ida exclaimed, “N-No!” and waved her off. Ayre felt as if she had been struck across the face, her hand paused in midair as she watched Ida steady herself.
“No…” Ida said, her face failing to hide some hidden pain. “Please. Don’t touch me just yet.”
“Why!” Ayre blurted, letting her hand drop to her side. She couldn’t believe this.
Ida blinked and in one second, composed herself. “Ayre. I am not the same. It may be difficult to accept but I was given a gift by a Goddess. I am of the Frost now and heat… It won't do me good, sister.” Ayre heard the regret in her voice. Some deep guilt over losing the right of touch. Ayre only wanted to scream.
She gritted her teeth in response. “You were given a gift by a goddess? And now you can’t touch people?” she asked, anger in her voice.
“Yes.” Ida said with a simple shrug.
Ayre realized then, that a great irony had occurred. It was almost unbelievable. No one would believe it, not until they saw and were made to understand. What would their father think? Ayre began to chuckle and then she burst out into laughter. It was some great jest by the Gods. It had to be.
“What’s so funny?” Ida asked, taking a step forward again.
Ayre rubbed the bridge of her nose and said, “You are of Frost and I am of the Pyre, Ida.”
She flicked her hand forth and from the sadness blooming in her heart, she wove a small flame into being.
Ida stared and then her own tears came, shattering as ice as they hit the blood soaked stone beneath.
Ayre races to find Ida in a now burning town in the dark of Arbor’s roots. She faces an outer beast spawn and reckons with her emotions. Ida arrives and the two meet once again, coming to a difficult revelation.
Ida stumbled down the steps of the dark cave. Her hooves clacking upon the stone, slipping here and there. She wasn’t too steady on stone. There were so many other people below and above her that for once, no one really stared at her legs. She told herself, when they did stare, that she didn’t care. But maybe, maybe deep down she cared enough to notice when they didn’t. She would have been thankful, if not for the pressing circumstances that were making her and the others descend. It had happened so suddenly, she realized. She didn’t even know where Ayre went. One moment she was there, cheering her on and the next, as cries for the Goddess shattered her world, Ayre wasn’t there and she was being sent into the caves for her own protection.
The syllianth man had been kind but she had barely been able to talk to him before he and the other protectors were called away. She didn’t even catch his name. He just sent her down with the Little folk, those goblins and bearded ones who called the depths home. There were even rumors that a different clan of goblins lived deeper. Ida couldn’t imagine going any deeper. Down into the cold of the earth, that darkness that seemed to gobble up all light. In fact, the darkness here was so different from outside, where even with the stars overhead the world was illuminated by the tree. Here the only light to go on was luminescent, grown or woven into the very rock and plants. And of course the yellow light of a torch. Sometimes it made her spine tingle.
“How much further must we go?” Someone muttered behind her.
“You know these kin of ours, always delving for riches and such. Could go on for a while until we reach a settlement.” Came a gruff reply.
There was a huff, “And I suppose by the time we reach it, whatever's going on up top will have concluded and we will have missed it!”
“There will always be stories, Garl.” the gruff voice tried to sound assuring but it came out more like a statement. Ida furrowed her own brow. Perhaps it was a statement.
Without looking behind her, she could tell they were goblins. Seldom did elflings like herself venture far from the tree, and even more seldom did they go underground voluntarily. She doubted any had been around when the Syllianth sprang to action, telling the denizens of Arbor in earshot where to go. Maybe she should have gone back to the tree?
The winding staircase abruptly cut into a long hallway and Ida, being a bit taller than most of those in front of her, could see that a door was carved into the far end and beyond it- A breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it a strange warmth and the smell of musk. Not a bad scent but it felt strangely… Welcoming?
As she neared the doorway, she could see what awaited them, a large cavern and when she crossed that threshold, guarded by a few of the beardedfolk, she felt the breath catch in her throat.
She had been wrong in thinking that what awaited her would be some damp hole. A thought that almost brought some color to her pale cheeks. In shame. The cavern was just as complex as the tree. Carved from the stone, still being worked on if her ears did not deceive her. The sounds of work ever flowing throughout, mixing with the crowds that wandered to and fro from little shops and yellow-lit buildings. There was laughter amidst the glowing roots and the great archways of veined marble. Plants were being tended to, with great gardens of mushrooms and glowing things. She was prodded forward by the growing crowd and Ida walked in that open place. There was some sort of roaring, what sounded like a waterfall, far away and she found herself wanting to see it. This place, it wasn’t some hole, nor did she feel cramped. It was alive and had beauty. A different sort from the surface.
And the Little Folk watched the newcomers with not weariness but welcoming. Someone, an older stout woman, chided her for looking too thin before plopping in her hand a great pulsing thing. Not wishing to be rude, and wanting to hide her embarrassment as she walked along(the crowds were still pushing her along), she took a bite as the stout woman called out a goblinlass for the lack of ‘meat on her bones’. The juices of the fruit gushed down the sides of Ida’s mouth as the flavor made her blink. It was sweet and somehow savory. She took a few more bites before wiping her mouth with her linens. This went on for some time, she would wander around and be carried by crowds. Listening to the gossip and talk of the day. Losing herself in a place that didn’t really so much as stare her down. Sure there were glances but most of the Little Folk didn’t seem to mind her presence.
She found herself near a roaring forge, the heat radiating from it, warming her bones. It was almost too hot actually. But before she could meander away, another merchant or just some good natured oldbeard came up to her and began to talk.
“What’s going on up there, lass? Don’t get this many newcomers down here. Not in a rush.”
Ida gulped and said, “I’m not so sure. The Syllianth went off towards Arbor proper, and told those of us around to get underground. So we did. That was a while ago?” she said more to herself.
His bushy eyebrows rose and he ran a hand through his great gray beard. “Hmmm. Strange tidings. Well, we shall find out soon enough I suppose. Make yourself welcome here, girl. Plenty of places to stay up for awhile. Though,” he looked her up and down, “Not quite sure how your kind get along. Say, what are you anyway? Tall as an elf but…”
“I am somewhat an elf and somewhat something else.” Ida said, crossing her arms.
He stroked his beard some more and nodded. “Heard rumors of those who are something else. Some sort beast but more. First one I ever seen, seems to be you.”
Ida nodded slowly. She knew of them, though there weren’t many at the tree. And there certainly weren’t any others like her amongst the elves except for… Ayre.
Ida blinked and a jolt of lightning ran down her spine. She murmured something inaudible and began to walk away.
“Meant no offense now”’ The oldbeard shouted as she left, his voice now fading into the crowd.
Ayre. She needed to find Ayre because there was no way her sister wasn’t currently looking for her. It had been foolish to venture so deep below without it even crossing her mind that something could truly be amiss. And Ayre was back up top. Oh she was stupid. So stupid for losing track of the time!
After a brief jog, and Ida lamenting just how far she had walked, she neared the doorway again. No one was really around it and the thinning crowd seemed as content as could be.
She was stopped before she could even cross the threshold.
“Sorry there. Can’t let anyone pass till we get the all clear from up top.”
“B-But-” Ida began but the beard held up a hand.
“No buts miss. The dangers are unknown and the Syllianth told us to keep those of you who came down here until they are certain everything is alright. Again, quite sor-” his words were cut off by a terrible scream from back inside the tunnel. The guard whipped around and cursed.
“Forward positions! Tamiel, go and get the others!” he shouted, “Briss! With me! Everyone else, get these folks out of here!”
He ran off into the tunnel, Ida could see now. Even as the other guards began to pull her away. She could see the thing lurking down the tunnel, ripping apart a beard with two hands. A dark shape that blended in, that sucked the light. Her body went rigid, even as they pulled her. One guard made the mistake of following her gaze and likewise became frozen.
A roar like grating metal rang free from the tunnel, and many dropped to their knees to cover their ears. Ida let it deafen her. Let the ringing in her ears overcome everything else. As the thing tore into the guard who had just told her she couldn’t leave. The one who had just saved her life. The one whose head became pulp in the demon’s gaping maw. She felt it in her stomach then, that pit of truest fear and she vomited as the shadow came ever nearer.
A tang of sour fruit across her lips and the pure revulsion in her heart, sent Ida at last into flight. The other guardsmen, their souls braver than her own, ran to meet the thing that burst through the doorway, trailing blood and viscera. That was the last look she had of it before Ida’s feet went out from under her and she toppled head first down, down, down.
—
Yet, as she fell something soft and warm caught her and a soothing azure glow overtook her form. “Calm, child,” said the presence as that same luminescence lifted Ida away from the hard surface and onto her feet. As the girl regained her wits–if not her composure–she would realize that stood before her was the ethereal, otherworldly figure of some unknown being. Eyes filled with a blue glow and possessed of iridescent white irises were aimed back towards the city’s entrance from which Ida had fled. There was a look of serene calm on the woman’s azure features. After a brief moment, she turned and regarded Ida before smiling, the expression oozing a soothing sort of motherly calm.
“You are safe now,” she said, and there was simply no possibility of denying her, as if her words were law.
Ida blinked and she had to be sure and she turned her head to see… She did not know what she saw. It was as if motion had stopped or slowed. She moved her hand in front of her own face and she saw it normally. Yet everything else had some sort of strange mist or shimmer around them or maybe it was just her and she was looking through some sort of curtain?
She turned back to the figure and truly, she marveled at her. The woman was unlike anything Ida had ever seen and held about her strangeness but still radiated calm.
“Who are you?” Ida felt herself ask.
Eyes shimmering faintly in response, Mae-Alari’s smile grew slightly before she cast her gaze outside the gentle haze that surrounded them. “My name is Mae-Alari, little one,” she replied. Beyond the scope of the goddesses’ arcana the world had seemed to slow, but the reality was quite the opposite, it was they who were experiencing time differently, as the mistresses’ very presence warped the weave and weft of time. Such was the side effect of such potency left unharnessed and untouched.
Turning back to her ward, the goddess regarded her for a long moment, taking in every detail of her form and spirit both. “In your fear you forgot yourself. Forgive yourself, it is only natural that you seek to survive in such dire circumstances.” The words came unbidden, likely before the girl had even a chance to consider the true shame of her flight. Nonetheless, the goddess pressed on, her expression serious, yet gentle.
“What is important is how you act now knowing you may make a difference.”
As those words left her lips, so too did arcana join them, flooding the air around them in a great forceless wave. At first it would merely tickle the skin and tease at the senses. Hot and cold, smooth, yet sharp. Mae-Alari raised her hand above her head and with a single finger—now a claw—she tore through the world in a graceful downwards slash.
A perforation in existence, the tapestry of time and space which the Khodex had woven, formed in the wake of her actions and in an instant it was filled to brimming with arcana. It spilled forth, flowed across the ground, and shot upwards in a spire of blinding light. Around them it swirled, slowly crystallizing as structures formed. “Come child, walk through the beacon and be reborn. Take on the mantle such that you may never need run again, so that others can stand at your back and know you have theirs.”
At the edges of Ida’s perception swirls of frost-like patterns formed and vanished and formed again. Further out, the impressions of vines curling upwards from the deep earth and around the structure of the forming tower could be seen. Flames played across those vines, burning them until smoke became steam and steam became rain. Before her, the blinding beacon shone, the first of many, and though its intensity was blinding, it beckoned to her like a warm hearth in winter, like a lover long missed but now returned. It sang. It called and within it was a promise. A promise not to be looked at like she had been, but perhaps to be revered. For the eyes upon her to hold awe, perhaps respect, and in times to come…perhaps even admiration.
Mae-Alari, for her part, simply watched the mortal, exhilarated, yet utterly calm at once. What would Ida do? Who would she become?
Soon, perhaps both would know.
Ida’s hoofed foot fell forward, hesitant as a newborn fawn. She knew not who or what was before her, but only that it reminded her of a voice she once heard. Now more dreamlike in its entirety. She took another step towards that mystical beacon. That thing that warped the air and brought about the smallest bit of creation. Another step. She did not feel like she was being deceived, no, she felt as if she were on the cusp of waking. She didn’t want to run or hide or be coddled anymore. She didn’t want those kind souls to be hurt, to die. How selfish would it be to deny the possibility of aid. She thought of Ayre and how, if she was being attacked by such creatures, she knew her sister would have stood in front of her to block the blow.
No. Never again.
Perhaps she was a fool. Perhaps this was some underworld devil come to snatch her soul with the promise of temptation. She would just have to find out herself. With a calming breath, Ida closed her eyes and walked through.
It was like swimming in a glacial lake, utterly exhilarating, yet with a sense of danger that the cold might kill. Then a wave of electrifying power, followed by a resonation that touched every part of her, starting at her bones. It vibrated outwards and through her, seeming becoming part of her. The cold became something else, something familiar somehow. There was a tingling that ran over her skin, through every muscle fiber and while it happened the goddess watched. Smiling, she watched as flecks of frost integrated themselves with Ida’s flesh, becoming intricate patterns of white on flesh. Her skin would pale as well as the fur of her lower half, the latter appearing like thousands of brittle spikes of frost, though they’d be soft and warm to the touch. Her hair would be much the same, though smoother somehow, as if it were a single mass of ice, that nonetheless would move more like fluid than anything else. The single horn upon her brow shifted and changed, becoming translucent and refractive, light being captured within and then glimmering outwards and waves of brilliance.
Then, all at once she was through the spire of power, stepping out the other side, like stumbling and uncertain after the great metamorphosis of her form. Mae-Alari caught her shoulder, stabilizing her with a hand even as she smiled down at the mortal girl. “How does it feel?” she asked.
All around them the tower had nearly grown still as it finished forming and though the spire of light remained, it had seemingly been contained by the structure’s arcane makeup and no longer shone with blinding radiance.
Ida held out her arms and flexed her fingers like a newborn babe. With some reluctance on her part, Ida at last looked up at the strange being. One she could only guess was something divine in origin but different than the Goddess she knew. “I feel…” She whispered, breath catching in her throat. “I feel different but much the same. I can’t quite describe it.” She glanced back at her hand to see translucent frost dancing at her fingertips. “What’s become of me?” She asked.
“You have been rewritten by arcana, from the depths of your soul up through your flesh and bones you are made anew.” Mae-Alari said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “The Beacon takes what is held within and finds the element most well attuned to the self, and remakes you in that image. You are no longer just Ida, my child, but Ida of the Frost. Ida, first of Remade.”
The goddess cast her gaze beyond the sanctuary of the great tower. It was chaos outside and, bizarrely, it almost appeared as if no one could see the great tower that had risen within their city. For the moment it was held within the Veins of the Cosmos, held apart from the world. It was a protective measure of sorts, it was why Mae-Alari had opened a rift in the world rather than create in a more conventional fashion. Of course, unknown to Ida, this tower was not the only one of its kind….
For the moment it did not matter. “If you reach within yourself, you will find that Frost is at your beck and call. This is part of you now, but know this, you have all the failings of ice. Fire is your bane. Be wary of its dance.” She gave Ida a grave look, ensuring she understood the gravity of her warning.
Ida came to the conclusion that this was no dream. She took in the warning and looked at her fingers once more. She felt the frost, steady and ever in her veins. She shut her eyes and delved into it, that coalescing cold, that bitter chill, the frost that bid winter to come… Her eyes snapped open and she looked at the divine once more. “I understand.” She said with quiet reprieve. She blew out a sigh, a plume of vapor escaping her lips. She did not feel cold but quite content in her skin. “Is it wrong…” She began but paused, uncertain of the question as she looked out at the panic and carnage. Everything she knew. Everything she had been taught. It all felt so restricting in the face of such reckless violence. She knew the answer but asked anyway, “To take life?”
Mae-Alari regarded her a moment as she considered the question, before eventually she turned away. “I may be a goddess, but that is not for me to decide. That is up to the whims of mortal morality. After all, right and wrong are a creation of your own making,” she replied, her words not quite dismissive, but it was clear that this subject was not one that held her interest. Walking towards the edge of the tower’s lower floor to stand in the gateway that led back into the world at large, the goddess reconsidered.
“Though…I believe that in defense of others it can be made right. Murder for its own sake is simply wasteful,” she clarified, glancing back to Ida briefly. “Come, it is time for you to return to the fold. For you to stretch your wings and show the demons the embrace of winter.”
The Mistress smiled then, as she gazed out upon the carnage, knowing that soon much would change. Ida gave a brief nod, pondering the answer as she heeded the beckons of the goddess. When she came to stand beside the woman, Ida asked, “When others ask how this frost came to be, how do I answer?”
Mae-Alari met her gaze then, the glowing azure of her eyes filled with the unknowable potency only a divine could possess. “You are a child of the Beacon now, little one you may tell them whatever you wish. If you wish to tell the truth however, the Spire will be revealed to them upon our departure and it was the catalyst for your transformation.” For a moment she paused, then, with an almost impish grin, she clarified, “Of course, you may say that it was a gift from the cosmos as well, or even a boon from Mae-Alari, Goddess of Arcana.”
That said, she gently placed a hand upon Ida’s back and guided her beyond the threshold. However, as they stepped from the Spire the goddess would vanish without a trace, leaving Ida to decide what came next.
Like a sudden jolt, reality came crashing back down all around her and Ida was suddenly right back where she had been mere moments ago. This time however, she was not frightened. She was not weak at the knees. She was ready and as she watched the demon lunge upon a guard, Ida of the Frost lurched forth to forever stain herself in the eyes of her Goddess.
*Note this post takes place a ways back in the timeline of Arbor and the ever disjointing conflux of time* Ida is whisked away from the Forge and down into the depths of the tree, not so deep to enter into the Dominion territory, but where some dwarves who were left at the tree and some other goblins have made a small city. She is brought there for her safety but slowly realizes she sorta just left her sister up there without leaving any note and knowing Ayre, she would be looking for Ida. So Ida endeavors to leave but it stopped when an outerbeast spawn attacks and kills several guards before her. Ida is saved from a grisly fate by Mae-Alari and after a fruitful conversation she is gifted with Frost arcana from Mae’s newest creations, the Primal Beacons. Mae then bids Ida to take her own destiny in hand and leaves her back to face the threat.
Starting: 36MP.
-7MP —— Tied to the Creation of the Primal Beacons(Create Holy site/Megastructure) The Primal Beacons are a series of nine towers dotted across the map (Exact locations pending) each of which contains a spatial rift through which the Veins of the Cosmos spill into the world. The Towers holding these beacons stabilize and contain the rifts within and further serve to focus the power and allow a the specific blessings of the Beacons to occur.
Simply put, by entering one of the Primal Beacons within a Tower, mortals will be suffused and remade by arcana. This causes a sort of metamorphosis during which they are physically and magically altered. The nature of this transformation depends on their personality and/or natural elemental attunement, which depends on the individual. Hotheaded, angry, and spitfire personalities tend to become Fire elementals or something similar such as plasma or magma, people with a distance/detached or chilly personality will become ice or frost elementals. Such individuals retain their sapience and personality, but their bodies will change to reflect their elemental attunement, and they will gain physical and magical strengths/weaknesses relative to their attunement.
-1MP —— Ordain a Hero(Ada of the Frost) As the first to bathe in the transformative light of a Primal Beacon under the direct watch and within the presence of Mae-Alari, Ada gains the properties of a hero in addition to the boons of the Primal Beacon. Ada has thus gained dominion over the magics of Ice and Frost as well as being suffused with their essence. This renders her unnaturally vulnerable to heat, but immune to ice and its byproducts such as cold. Her need for sustenance is also drastically reduced, though she will always require more water than the average person. While she cannot natively suffer the Maedari Transformation, any additional arcana infused into her being would make her susceptible to the process–though it would occur slower than with others due to the altered structure of her being.
-3MP —— Create a Persistent Phenomena(Primal Veil) This barrier manifests around the Primal Beacons and takes the form of a haze of slowly swirling energy. This haze dilutes the intense luminescence coming from the Towers at any given time and shields it from those with negative intent, requiring them to expend might (or other points) to bypass it. This Veil does not however stop the holy site from decaying without upkeep.
She stood before a fresh grave atop a lonely hill. Wildflowers with their rich aromas ran wild, fluttering as if gently touched, through the blowing breeze. The wind swept up, ruffling her hair and then down over the hill, off to distant fields and the far away wall. Where the breeze went next was anyone's guess, not even she knew. It was silent otherwise, on that hill in the growing twilight. The sunlight,just beginning to enter its nightly slumber. A respectful atmosphere for honored dead.
The gravestone, carved from the Atelier’s white marble, was a singular slab with a simple but elegant lily draped across the top. The craftsmen had taken every care. She could not help but know it would be a fleeting replica. In time, even with the utmost care and consideration, someone would forget one day to maintain it. That day would bring more forgotten days, until it was overgrown and at last crumbling into rubble. She clutched her fist at the certainty of it. Toil’s work forevermore marring what was created.
Below the lily and engraved into the stone with silver, the grave held an epitaph; ‘Here lies Vaesna, a savior of Sylann. Beloved, may she find peace.’
What would fade first? The words written or those of whom remembered her? Would the flowers remember, at least? She did not like the answer.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the lily. Unable to understand why it had happened. She was no stranger to death, she had slain with impunity but this… One of her own creations? Sylia could not fathom what had transpired in Vaesna’s mind to push her to drown herself. It shouldn't have happened. The Syllianth were better than the other races, for she had used her own hands to shape them. None could say so save the Formed and compared to the Syllianth, they were but tools created for war. To be used. Not the Syllianth, they were supposed to be like her, creators, crafters, protectors, innovators… Not prone to self destruction like the other races.
For that was what it boiled down to. She knew of Althea. How the girl had secluded herself from the outside world. She had shut everyone out. Had stopped working. Had left her spear at the Atelier. It seemed Vaesna handled her problems much differently and somehow not at all. Sylann knew of the tragedy, the Syllianth mourned and it made Sylia wonder if there were others who were unable to move past the battle. If they were incapable of separating their emotions from logic.
The battle occurred. People died. Mortals died everyday. There was no sense in dwelling on that fact. Was there?
She could bring Vaesna back, it was in her power to do so. She could ask her what had happened. Why she had done it? If she would do it again? But there was no point now. It was better to let the dead rest and learn from such terrible tragedy. Oh yes, she would take many lessons from this but first, she had some crafting to do.
So Sylia walked away from Vaesna’s grave, down that hill colored in flowers, past her honored dead.
The Divinium Rod, transformed into a blade, cut in twain the outer beast spawn. There was no sound as its body split apart, the cut too clean. More rushed her, their Warden, and she let the sword do its work. She let those lucky enough to reach her in their rage, to attack an insurmountable block. The plate of their once chieftain, now fashioned into armor. It enticed them so that they did not care who or what she was and how they would die.
The sword cleaved through three more, guts and viscera adding to the growing pile around her. Black blood ran like a river through the dark sands, yet more came and more died. The dull gray plate of Egrioth was impenetrable by mortal means, perhaps even those of the divine. In her elated state of crafting, she had spent the most time upon it. Molded like a statue of old, of metal, stone and of Egrioth. She did not make it ornate or beautiful but of pure practical design. It was armor, it would protect its wearer. There were also the other godly parts she had been gifted. Not knowing where the process would take her, Sylia had descended into true compulsion. From the gift of Lareus she fletched into being a dream. It took the shape of a great horn of ivory and bound with sleeping eyes. It now hung at her side, ready to be used.
She melted down most of the soul gift until it was a clear liquid. Next the Goddess has taken that liquid and shaped it into that of a large circle. When it cooled, she dared not look at it and changed her own shape so that she no longer had eyes. Using her other senses to act, Sylia silvered the glass and in doing so, knew with certainty she had created a mirror. For the frame she used her own divine metal, sylium and let her fingers wander as they etched and carved reliefs and images few would ever see more than once. From the last bit of the soul she was gifted, Sylia wove from its thread an ethereal cloth, large enough to cover the mirror. When that was done, she turned it over and reinforced the back with more sylium before fastening a sleek handle. When the shield was complete, Sylia changed her form so that she had eyes once more and marveled at her work.
With the cloth only obscuring the full extent of the mirror’s gaze, she could look upon it without worry. She saw her own muffled reflection blazing with light underneath the cloth. She had looked away and did not wish to see what else it would reveal.
She had the mirror now in that bloody field and revealed it to the spawns who swarmed her. Without removing the cloth, any who’s gaze pierced the mirror fell silent and still as stone. Then, their faces twisted in some unknowable horror, and the life from them was leeched as they died.
Sylia laughed, removing the cloth for the mirror’s final test. Those spawn who looked at the Mirror of Souls, lost their own and Sylia bore witness to the godbanes might, as it pulled them into it with quiet screams, leaving empty bodies behind. It seemed that the spawn did indeed have souls after all.
She no longer laughed and instead brought the horn to her lips and blew. A whimsical note exploded forth and those outer beasts in earshot all fell down. Asleep, as they would be forevermore, until they succumbed to exposure or their own nightmares. She had heard the note but sleep did not come to Sylia for she was the note giver.
The Goddess observed the field of battle and then plucked from person the real aim of this excursion. She had gone to her prison for one reason- a slaughter. But the small bit of Divinium in her hand, her last pure reserve, still glowed white. She frowned. She had failed in producing Misrite. But this did not wholly bring her dissatisfaction. Perhaps… Just perhaps there was another way to get it and she knew one way or another, her two favorite prisoners would find this place and maybe, just maybe, they would make for her what she sought.
Sylia erected a plinth of black stone and placed upon it the shard of Divinium.
She whispered upon the prison winds, “Come and find it, boys.”
Sylia ruminates upon Vaesna’s suicide and comes to the conclusion that emotion is a problem. She then slaughters some outer beast spawn, testing out her new godbanes artifacts in the attempt to create Misrite. She fails but knows there might be two in the prison who could succeed…
Starting 4MP
-4MP (Enhanced with Metal and Earth for x2) To create the Godsbane armor, Plate of Egrioth. This dull gray armor is unique in Sylia’s catalog of crafting as not being very remarkable. She went for a more practical and functioning design and thus it looks nothing more than a nice suit of armor, perhaps a little bulky and how the coloring doesn’t seem to shine. (-4 from metals, combined with the plates highly durable qualities, metals has enhanced the armor to be nigh impenetrable. Mortal attacks bounce of uselessly, while even another godsbane might find itself having trouble breaking or even causing it damage or the wearer underneath. -4 from earth, due to the curse like nature of the being Egrioth and combined with earth, the plate is unnaturally heavy. None but the strongest mortal (who would probably end up being crushed by the armor) and the gods could even attempt to wear it successfully. The plate calls to the earth despite once being able to fly and acts as more of a bulwark of protection now.)
-Free, By the gift of the outergods, Sylia creates the Horn of Dreams, fashioned from parts of Lareus. Once blown and depending upon the note, the horn can put any who hear into different lengths of sleep. One could dream of beautiful things forevermore or one could find themselves dying at the hands of their nightmares. Those who hear the horn are tied to the horn and enter a different plane of dreaming than what one might otherwise. Perhaps those caught in its thrall could be woken similarly…
-Free, By the gift of the outergods, Sylia creates the Mirror of Souls, fashioned from parts of Voi. A large circular mirror framed with Sylium and covered in an ethereal cloth that prevents the full might of the mirror from being shown. The mirror has two functions. One being that for those that look into the mirror while the cloth muffles its true potency, will see the quality of their soul. They will either succumb by the horror they witness or be able to look away. The other function is that when the cloth is removed and its truest power is unleashed, those who gaze within will lose something precious- their very soul. The Mirror will devour it and leave the husk of the person to its own devices. For a God to look into the Mirror… Sylia would advise against it.
Sylia looked over the plate of Egrioth that Galaxor had owed her, the debt now settled. Her mind was abuzz with potential within her chamber of the Atelier. The matrix of the plate was unlike any she had seen before. Dense, durable and otherworldly. The interweaving plates were made up of layer upon layer of intricate scales, almost akin to a reptile’s but not. The difference was there was no reptile that walked upon the earth that had such unmoving skin. If this was the actual skin of the monster. A part of her almost wished she had asked for more samples but alas. What she really wanted to know was what had prompted the creature to produce such thick armor, wherever it had come from. What existed beyond the stars that it would need protection from?
Some answers she would never receive but at least she now had a material she could use to craft her own protection.
II
Busy roads. Buildings made of the purest marble, the brightest granite, or the smoothest sandstone, all reaching for the skies.
Minutes passed. Whispers everywhere. Strangely, given how busy it was, she had no trouble shuffling through the main roads.
Oh, she thought as she stumbled on a slightly raised stone brick, it must be because of her. She smiled. It was a shaky smile, and it quickly turned upside down. She bit her lip and hugged the package she was carrying as tight as she could against her body. It was killing her, but it was either her or-
Warmth. Not just from the sun, but of something crumbly and delicious. A pressure on her cheek. She couldn’t see well, but after a turn of her head and a flick of her disheveled hair, she saw a chubby man next to her, offering her a loaf of bread. Freshly baked… It smelled so divine that for a second, she nearly let go of the package. Instead, she steeled herself.
She could only afford a miniscule nod before carrying on.
III
Step after step. Her whole body shook with each one. Her legs were like jelly, her lungs burned, her stomach had long since stopped rumbling, and her clothes were soiled beyond recognition. The staircase at the entrance to the Atelier was, at that moment and to that person, a harder climb than Mount Nari.
It came out of nowhere as she reached for the last step. A flash. A warm grin on a small face, missing a tooth. She smiled back, and as she started to laugh, her footing slipped and her heart dropped.
Next thing she knew, she was on the floor, right at the entrance of the Atelier, and a couple feet in front of her was the package she’d been carrying. Almost as long as she was tall, she noticed, and covered in a dozen layers of cloth and leather. It took her a couple seconds to realize that it was there, and not in her hands.
It didn’t take longer than that for her every nerve to light up. It was a jolt, a pulse, but it was enough for every muscle in her body to tense up as hard as they could. Several bones cracked. She screamed, and lost consciousness.
Next thing she knew, she was waking up with both hands on the package. She must’ve dragged herself to safety, she thought. She failed to register the crowd around her, pointing and whispering at her prone, wheezing, broken form. She barely registered the imposing metal figure that approached.
“Stay back.” A cold but lovely voice spoke, before coming to a stop in front of her. The figure crouched and placed a hand underneath her chin, lifting with practiced care. The cold touch brought lucidity and she found herself staring into molten eyes bright as silver. “What is it you carry that keeps your heart beating, girl?” The metallic woman asked.
She basked in the feeling, the support, but only for a second. “It is… cursed… it makes you walk… if you take your hands off it, it kills… and if you touch it, you're next… ” The girl explained, the exertion was almost too much for her. “It took everyone… everyone. Maha’s mate… Maha’s friends… M-Maha is so…” she sniffled.
“Maha has to give it to you… it tells Maha… but, if Maha does, Maha will die… Maha doesn't want to die!” she exclaimed, expending whatever energy she didn't have to grasp the package tighter, trying her best despite her screeching bones and muscles to drag it closer.
The woman’s impassive eyes seemed to bore into her soul. “Who or what gave you it to carry, Maha?”
Her strength gave out, and she let her hands rest on top of the package. “Maha’s mate’s retainer… retainer said a Shade gave it to retainer… told retainer it was the Sleeping Presence… Maha thinks. Far west, in the sacred lands…”
“Metal-kin is not like Maha’s… Maha thinks. Maha… must give…” she whimpered, once more instinctively grasping onto the cloth covering the package. “Maha will fade… will die… no future, no past. All gone. Scared. Don't want that… but if Maha doesn't give the metal-kin the package, Shade will make Shah give it.”
She let go and in that moment, with the Metal-kin still touching her, Maha felt something bend and then shatter completely inside of her. She was aware of nothing and everything, all at once. She was old and young. Infinite and finite. An ocean and a rock. Breath and void. Then she was back and it was as if her body threatened to collapse into dust. She felt like a dried and crumbling animal hide, held together by the faintest thread. One strong breeze and Maha would be no more. Then something hot and tinged with metal flooded her mouth, running down her throat and binding herself back together like thick glue. It was too much and blackness swarmed at the edge of her vision. The last thing she saw were those molten silver eyes watching her. A voice flooded her mind whilst it slipped into unconsciousness, and it was the Metal-kin’s, “You will not die this day, Maha. I’ve use for you yet.”
Sylia placed the once dying beastfolk girl’s head on the floor. She was stable, the curse on her soul was faint, just potent enough to cause death but easier to break. She then looked at the package before reaching out to pluck it up with ginger hands. The weight of the thing became apparent as she stood and she was more than impressed that Maha, in her state and size, had been able to carry it. Ever so carefully, she began to remove the leather and cloth that bound it.
She had not been expecting it. Hadn’t wanted to believe the moment she saw the pale metal. The rest of the leather and cloth disintegrated in a thought and Sylia with her crowd of craftsmen gathered, fell into shocked silence. The warm metal hummed softly, as if it was glad to be seen by the world at last. A rod of pure Divinium, truly forged Divinium. How it had ended up in the hands of mortals, who had given it to them and for what purpose, the Metal-kin did not know. It left far more questions than answers.
The warmth of the thing seemed to sear itself into her skin, for with a subtle expression, Sylia flexed her fingers and faced the clear skies of Sylann.
“Heal, wash and clothe her while she sleeps. Take her to my chambers and keep a watch until I return.” Was Sylia’s only farewell as she took off.
Maha’s words had intrigued the Goddess. The Far West. Sacred lands. What could be so sacred there? It turned out, after a search that took her far from Sylann, that the Divinium Rod's energies were laced through piles of scattered dust. Some lay intact, others were scattered by the wind and rains, reclaimed by the earth. It would have been the same fate Maha endured. Each of the trace amounts led Sylia back to a worn down and battered wagon, half decayed, with wheels crumbling.
She settled down next to it and approached. Immediately she became aware of the energy lacing the air, originating from a large trunk in the back. It was a stark contrast from the rest of the wagon, for it sat pristine and seemingly untouched by the elements. With a touch, the wagon turned to ash and a loud thud followed, as the chest fell to the floor.
With a flick of her wrist, the chest opened and Sylia was met with a stench of death, intertwined with two distinct energies, though she could only place one- Lareus. She cringed at the thought of that creature wishing for it to meet its master. Sylia peered down into the chest and saw two black bags. She plucked the one she was sure was Lareus, or whatever was left of him, and opened it slightly. She was met with a vision, like a million eyes watching the death of the world. A sharp pain before a friend. She closed the bag and looked at the other. The implications of the two bags weighed heavy on her mind. They had died.
Sylia picked up the other bag and peered inside. There came no vision this time, just a sad blackness. The emptiness of a once proud soul. She knew not the name of the deity but grasped the domain it had once lorded over. That of the soul. She closed the bag and looked back inside the chest. Beneath a few scattered flies, there lay something bound in cloth. She conjured a belt around her waist and tied the bags there, then grabbed the thing and lifted. The leather fell away to reveal a dark metal shield, of average size. It twinkled softly, almost as if it needed the night to show its depths. It was made of… The thought popped into her head- Ir-Vaerilite. And Sylia knew who it belonged to.
One final check of the chest revealed nothing more of note. So Sylia took her prizes and returned to the Atelier. A smile crested her lips, for there was a great deal of crafting to do.
Sylia marvels at the plate of ergiothththt, and then we cust scenes to see a lone plainstalker cat girl walking through Sylann carrying a package. She avoids contact with anyone and walks up the steps of the Atelier, where she trips and drops the package. This results in a great deal of pain and she blacks out, only to wake up holding the package again. Sylia arrives and asks some questions and we find out that Maha, delivery catgirl, had a lot of friends and family die trying to get the package to Sylia. Maha didn’t want to die but lets go, compelled to and she about dies, if not for Sylia breaking the weak curse. She instructs some folks to heal, wash and clothe Maha before she takes to the sky. Oh and that package turned out to be a Pure Divinium rod, capable of changing to be anything Sylia wants at any given time. So Sylia eventually finds a broken down wagon with a lot of dust piles along the way, and finds a chest. Inside she finds bags full of a few remains of our dear boys, Larues and Voi. She even finds a shield for Althea. The end.
The knock came at the door. Again. Althea listened, staring blankly up at her dark ceiling.
She told herself she was comfortable in her bed. Under cold sheets that never seemed to warm. She didn't feel like getting up or maybe it was because she didn't know if she could at that moment. So she remained silent and listened to the knocking. They became louder and louder until her walls quaked, threatening to come down before the door would give in. She didn't really care if they did. Maybe they would crush her. Then blessed silence came and she shut her eyes out of mere exhaustion. Yet, she really didn't want to sleep. She knew what waited in unconsciousness. Nothing was ever restful anymore.
Vaesna’s slurred speech broke the silence, “Altheaaaa,” she called, her voice muffled through the door and the emptiness between them. “I knowww you're inthere. Come,” a quick pause, “Come on out pleaseeee.” Her friend cooed. How long had it been since this routine of theirs had started? In the early days she would open the door, they would talk, even go out to a few taverns. But as time went on, Vaesna indulged in too much drink and Althea…
Althea stopped caring.
Now Vaesna would visit at least once a night, sometimes more, sometimes every other day. She wasn’t sure anymore. She had lost the notion of the days passing in that dark, cold room. Her talks with Vaesna had become terse- brief and when her friend started showing up drunk, Althea began to ignore her. For no other reason then she couldn’t be bothered to deal with it and she knew that was wrong of her. She knew and yet Vaesna still came. She was stubborn. They both were.
Althea knew why she came. She knew it wasn't out of annoyance but out of some sort of misguided love. But the Syllianth also knew she was quite unlovable. Still she came and Althea knew she was terrible for just laying there. Not even making the effort. But what was the point? Drink didn't comfort her. She wasn't worthy of companionship. If she had given any sort of a damn, she'd get up and tell Vaesna to her face that she was better off without her. She could go drown herself in drink and Althea could just be left alone. It would be better that way. She wrapped her sheets tighter around her thin frame.
“Come on Althy… You can’t,” another pause, “We can’t- Can’t go on liek this.” Althea heard a soft slump against her door. “I miss you. Let’s just talk? Please?” The words washed over Althea and she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling again. If there was but one person she could blame for all of this, it would be herself. She knew she had to get up. She knew it deep down. She began to move with sluggish intent. No sunlight and hardly any food would do that to any Syllianth.
She had just gotten to a sitting position on the bed when Vaesna’s voice began again, “Fine. Don’t Answher me!” She shouted, “Why do you- doyou hate me?” Vaesna cried.
“I don’t…” Althea said in a hoarse, quiet voice as Vaesna’s footsteps carried off. Away. Yes. She only hated herself as she laid back down on her bed.
Vaesna didn’t return the next day. Or the day after that. When her friend hadn’t come back to her door on the fourth day, Althea knew something was wrong. It was her fault of course, she should have gotten up. Should have tried harder. Projected her voice. She had just let her walk away when the only thing Vaesna had ever done was try.
So on that fifth day, Althea had gotten out of bed. Had found some clean clothes. Had even opened her curtains just a tad, for the sunlight- When there came a knock at the door. She found in herself the strength to walk over and fling it open before the knocks could even stop.
“Vaesna, I-” She began but stopped as soon as she saw who it was. Ophelia, hand poised to knock and mouth open as if she was going to say something. Her nimble and rather regal looking friend lowered her hand and put it over her other hand down at her waist. She wore a cream colored dress with green ribbons. Her green hair was held in a bun, with several strands streaming down her neck and cheeks. Her small face held such sadness and her bright green eyes were red ringed, as if she had been crying.
“What’s… What’s wrong?” Althea asked. In truth she had barely seen Ophelia since the siege and a part of her felt regret at that. She had just been so busy and then, that slow spiral into the dark.
Ophelia cleared her throat. “I’ve been trying to find you, Althea. I didn’t know where to look. You didn’t tell anyone where you were moving too and you moved so far away.’ She blurted all at once, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. ‘And then I began to look around these parts and some small gobbo told me he saw- he saw- he knew some Syllianth lived here and should try this building and-”
Althea cut her off, “Ophelia. What’s wrong?”
Ophelia looked away from her, large tears brimming her eyes. “Vaesna has departed this life.”
“W-What?”
“I’m so sorry, Althea.” Ophelia moved closer to her but she took a step back, shaking her head.
“No. No. That’s not possible. We don’t- She was just here. Just the other day. She’s alive.”
“Althea…”
She pushed past Ophelia and into the dim hall. “Vaesna!” She called. “Vaesna, come out now. I-I’m here! I don’t hate you!” She felt her knees buckle as the world grew so dark. “Please.” she said, as the tears came. Two warm arms wrapped around her.
“It’s okay. It’s alright.” Ophelia said, moving a hand to stroke her hair.
“It’s not okay. It’s not alright.” her voice broke as she cried. “I should have tried. I should have-” she choked out. Why didn’t she try?
Ophelia just held her, stroking her hair with gentle fingers. She was so undeserving of it. But that selfish part of her, it craved that touch. It needed it. So she leaned into it, pressing herself tight against Ophelia’s chest.
After some time, she asked, “Do you think, when we die, Allianthé forgives us?”
“Do you seek her forgiveness?” Ophelia asked in return.
“I don’t know. She instilled within us that life is precious. That we should not take it. That we needed to protect it. But, how could we have protected life during that… time, without taking it? I have felt like my heart was being cloven in two and now Vaesna is gone, and I fear it has shattered irreversibly.” she breathed, waiting for the reprimand. Waiting for Ophelia to cast her away. Sometimes you couldn't fix a broken thing.
Ophelia did not say anything for a moment and then she said, “Althea, those were monsters. You saved lives by fighting them. If the Goddess deems you a sinner for that, then she is not worthy of our worship. You must not blame yourself. For any of it. Now come. I am going to make you a meal and you will come live with me and my family. No arguments.”
Althea did not disagree, even if she felt like she should. Like she should protest and tell Ophelia she was the monster. That Manda might be alive if she had acted differently. That she should have died and Vaesna. Oh gods, Vaesna was dead. When Ophelia at last grabbed her hand and pulled, she almost resisted. Almost but she let herself be led away from the dark. She knew there would be more to say, even if what was said threatened to have her join Vaesna, wherever she had gone. She didn’t know what she was going to do but when she took that first step out into the sunshine, perhaps a small part of her wanted to heal.
Perhaps.
Wherein we see our heroes of Sylann’s siege in the throes of depression. Mainly from Althea’s PoV.
Ayre’s breath became tight and sharp as she beat her legs ever forward. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as the crowds around the tree began to dissipate. She ignored her body. A few short moments ago, many turned and gawked at her as she streamed by. A few shouted her name. A few more tried to stop her. But Ayre would not be stopped. Not for them. Not for anyone. She could feel it in her bones that something was wrong with her twin, her flesh and blood. She knew not where exactly but she knew where to start looking.
So she ran. She ran so fast she felt like she was soaring. The Divinium Forge at last came into view but her heart sank as she took in the empty sight. No people had gathered there. No Syllianth remained to guard it. When she finally came to a stop, more out of an imminent collapse of her beating chest, she held her arms high above her head and just breathed. Her sides ached and each breath sent a sharp pain into her lungs but still she looked. For any sign of her sister’s whereabouts.
When it became increasingly apparent that there were no signs of her sister, Ayre forgot about her labored breathing as she grabbed onto a small workbench and lifted. With a loud crack, the workbench hit the stone floor and every tool on it scattered. With the final blunt clang of iron over stone coming to silence, Ayre’s shoulders drooped and she rubbed her temple with her thumb and index finger. She sighed and heat escaped her mouth. Anger would get her nowhere, she knew that and yet- and yet she didn’t stop herself. What would Ida think?
Ayre’s cheeks flushed a deep red as shame cooled her heat. It was the only answer she needed and she bent down, righting the table and retrieving the tools to place them back on it. Only when she allowed herself to back away from the table, her work being finished, did a cold breeze nip at her and she looked down at her bare skin. Her cheeks flushed with crimson as she looked around, finding an old and worn smithing apron. It covered the front of her but in the loosest terms, as she had to tie it tight around her back and neck. For her back, she managed to find another apron and tied it in reverse.
She was almost happy that Ida wasn’t here to witness. She swore both she and her sister would have died from sheer embarrassment. She dipped her head and used the palm of her hands to rub either side of her head.
“Think Ayre, think.” She muttered to herself. Where would Ida have gone? Well, she knew sister and was certain she would have tried to come back for her and their father. Seeing as she hadn’t, or she had and Ayre had missed her, but that seemed unlikely. Ayre still felt off, not the calm she normally had in Ida’s presence. No, she hadn’t come back or hadn’t been able to and if that was the case, where would the Syllianth have sent her? Would they have known the danger at the tree? Seeing as there wasn’t anyone at the Forge, that meant they had gone somewhere and they wouldn’t have sent people back to the tree if there was some sort of threat. No, they would have sent them… Underground!
Ayre snapped her head back up and twirled. The entrance to the caverns beneath the tree, where the Little Folk and their kin delved and called home. Of course, of course! She began to jog in that direction. The entrance drew closer, and closer, and closer. It kept coming closer, she had already been jogging for a few minutes at least. Surely she would have been there by now?
“Lost my dear?” A voice suddenly pierced the air. From seemingly nowhere, a figure appeared in her vision. It was an elf, dressed in the gaudiest fashion she had ever seen. Their long coat was a mishmash of colours and designs and laid upon their shoulders. Their shirt and pants were equally gaudy and mismatched, with their boots curling at the toe. Finally, a wide brimmed hat covered their head, only barely hiding their wide smiling face. “You seem like you’re running from a fire there.” They leaned against a cane in their hands.
She came to a stop, holding her arm across her midsection as her eyes lit with confusion. “There was…” She began but her voice faded as she looked at the elf. Really looked and the confusion on her face deepened, growing with weariness. She cleared her throat and began to walk past him, towards the entrance. “No, not lost. Just looking for someone.”
A soft chuckle came from the elf, picking up the cane and beginning to walk alongside her. “Looking for someone? In a good way or a bad way?” The smile upon his face had remained. “That fire within you says it could be either. Quite the conundrum I imagine?”
She glanced at the elf but kept walking. The entrance to the cave was so close but with each step it felt like she wasn’t getting any closer. A strange sort of feeling crept into her chest as she glanced at the man again and picked up her pace. Maybe he’d take the hint? Maybe he’d go away?
The elf did not in fact, take the hint. Instead he kept walking alongside her, the clack of the cane sounding alongside both of their steps. “Not the talkative type are you? So focused on your destination. Are you even sure they will be there?” Another chuckle came from the elf, this time it sounded far more discordant, like an off tune lyre being plucked. “That fire within is driving you somewhere, have you wondered where yet?”
She made the mistake of listening to what he said and doubt crept in beside that feeling of growing unease. It was as if she needed to run from this elf but to do so would be certain death. She stared ahead, watching the cave entrance grow no closer. She knew not if it would be another mistake but she couldn’t contain herself any longer and blurted, “I know where I’m going, so back off.”
This time, it was a full laugh from the elf, discordant and chaotic, with notes changing at every step. “Feisty! No wonder the dear flame has taken to you.” He picked up his cane again, gesturing towards the entrance that still sat so close, yet so far. “Yet there it sits, for one so confident, your destination is still so far off. Are you certain it's the correct choice? If it's wrong, that's just less time to find her.” He lowered the cane. “The fire may know, but do you?”
She had been so close to breaking into another full sprint. To escape this crazed elf man who spouted nonsense. But what he said stopped Ayre in her tracks. She spun on him and grabbed his long coat at his chest with both hands. “What did you just say?” she demanded. The uncertainty in her voice from earlier had faded into indignation. She scowled at this gaudy looking elf with his stupid cane. “What have you done with my sister?”
“I have done nothing my dear.” The elf only continued to smile even as she grabbed him. “Your sister is not in my hands. I would never dare to split such loving siblings apart.” Another chuckle, it was beginning to grate upon the air. “I suppose you could say I’m merely…curious, especially about you and your flame.” He made no move to actually leave her grip, instead he just stood there, smiling at her, his face seemingly contorting to contain it.
Her grip tightened on the fabric and she pulled at it ever so slightly. “I don’t believe you.” she snapped. “You act like you know me but I’ve never met you. Then you show up out of the blue, while the Tree is in a panic? The Forge abandoned! My sister…” Ayre grit her teeth. Her face tightened as that feeling of dread tried to blossom, only to be smothered by something else entirely. Her eyes narrowed. “You keep mentioning my flame.” she hissed. “Should I show it to you, old man or are you going to tell me where my sister is?”
“Like I said my dear. I do not know where your sister is.” The elf looked beyond her, towards the rest of the tree. “As for the tree? I suppose I just enjoy it when Chaos is unfurling.” He returned his gaze to her, a glint in his eyes. “I suppose my words will not stop you. Go on then, how about we see that flame of yours? I have been eager to see what my dear flame has been up to.”
She felt the heat rising in her. At this infuriating elf and at this infuriating predicament she found herself in. Her grip on his cloak began to smolder and she wondered, truly wondered, what it would be like to touch flame with flesh. And then like a wave, guilt washed over her and she let go, stumbling backwards. She couldn’t harm a person like that. She couldn’t, not ever and the fact she even had such a thought was damning. But hadn’t she hit those elflings who made fun of Ida? Hadn’t she harmed others? She blinked and realized what she had been about to do, would have been so much worse. She sucked in a ragged breath. “I can’t.”
A soft ‘tsk’ came from the elf, still completely unbothered by her attempt to light him aflame. They took a step closer, letting their cane clack against the ground. Their smile had faded, but only a little bit. “I suppose it's to be expected, you mortals and your moralities.” His gaze went elsewhere once more, up towards the tree that covered the world above them. “Never understood why the others would build a place like this, then just lock it all up. But a matter for another time!” He returned to focus on her, his smile growing once more. “Regardless, a test has been passed, I suppose. Was it a test though? I suppose regardless of what you would have done would’ve been passing. Maybe it was all just a fun little game, or a trick! Anyway, You have passed, and rewards are to be given!” The elf began to dig in their cloak and pockets, searching for something while muttering random words to himself.
Ayre suddenly felt the anger drain from her, replaced by a wave of nausea at his words and she knew without a doubt what that feeling dread was trying to warn her. “You… You are a Divine?” she murmured, more to herself.
“Perhaps I am! Perhaps I’m not! I am Chaos that is all.” The elf mused out loud, continuing to search their pockets, over and over again. “To be divine, such a silly thing, so focused on the god hoods and the ceremonies, though isn’t this a ceremony? I guess so.” Another laugh, if one could even call it that anymore. “But that is no matter to you, what worth would be anything but your dear sister? Ah ha!” Finally, the elf-god pulled out something from a pocket on their coat. In their hand was a necklace, built of a beautiful shimmering cord, strung together with a prismatic gem placed at the end. The gem glowed and shifted colours with every look, almost looking like it would change its shape if it wanted to. “There it is!”
Her eyes snapped to the gem of the necklace. “I… I don’t understand.” She let out after a moment, unable to take her eyes off the thing. Had he said reward earlier?
The elf-god stepped forward, showing off the necklace even more. “You see my dear, I happened to be in the area and noticed the touch of my Dearest Flame upon you. I felt the pain you were seeking to relieve, and I figured I’d help out!” Their head cocked in a strange direction, their wide smile returning. “But I had to test you first of course! Test that flame that has sparked within you. And you passed!” Their hand shot forward, necklace being offered. “But of course you were always going to pass. There was never any doubt in that!”
She managed to look away from the gem and to the God, with a mix of suspicion and intrigue. She didn’t know what to do. Would not accepting the gift be seen as an insult? Did she want something from this strange deity of chaos? Unsure of herself, she tentatively reached out, “I… Thank you, Lord.”
The god only smiled, letting the necklace drop into her hands. “Always A Pleasure.” They spoke, their voice now turning into a discordant tune. Their gaze shifted from the phoenix back towards the tree itself. “I suppose it's a turn of luck that I was here. But That Is No Matter! Your Necklace There Will Be Of Great Help! Your Powers Will Grow With Its Aid, Hopefully It Will Aid You Finding Your Sister.” The god took off their hat, taking a bow towards her. “Alas, This Is Where I Must Leave You.”
Ayre blinked, closing her hand over the gem. “Wait!” She said, taking a step forward. The sudden urge to ask, that curiosity welled inside her. “Do you know exactly where she is? My sister?”
“Alas, I Do Not.” The god shook their head, their gaze now shifting rapidly around in every direction. “She Is Alive, That I Know. But It Will Be Up To You To Find Her, My Sight Can Only Go So Far.” For a brief moment their gaze returned to her, their smile unwavering, before shifting away again. “That Fire Of Yours Will Take You Far. That Is Certain.” Their focus finally focused elsewhere, a spark caught in their eye. “That's My Cue Then. Off I Go!” Suddenly, in a flash of prismatic flame, the elf was gone.
Ayre cursed under her breath and turned back to the cave entrance. She didn't know whether to be shocked or appalled that she had met a god in the flesh or that he knew about her gift from her mother. She was almost certain her attitude would have gotten her killed but it didn't. Instead she looked at the prismatic gem in her hand and then she slipped it over her head, pulling her hair back to tuck it around her neck. The metal was strangely warm upon her skin as she took the first step forward.
Her sense of urgency doubled as she entered the dark of the cave. She had to find her sister.
Ayre runs to the Forge, the last place she saw her sister. There she finds it deserted and loses her temper a bit. Afterwards, she gets a bit ashamed and fixes her mess, then thinks hard about what might have happened and comes to the conclusion Ida was probably sent under the tree. She then jogs towards the entrance but stops when a strange elf wearing gaudy clothing greets her. She tries to ignore him and run past but he keeps pace and the cave entrance never gets closer. He insinuates he knows about Ida and this makes Ayre jump to conclusions. She threatens him in a fit of anger but doesn’t go through with it, once more feeling ashamed at her lack of control. This elf reveals themselves to be none other than Chaos and rewards her for a test she maybe or didn’t pass. Then leaves, and Ayre puts on the necklace gifted to her as she goes off to find Ida once more.
Yumash Start-20 2MP-Create the Artifact: The Fervor Necklace, a prismatic gem amongst a rope of rainbow colours. When worn, the Necklace enhances the emotions of the wearer to a far larger degree than normal. They will feel more intense highs and lows, and it will expand the power of any emotional based powers used. The necklace has consequences though, as the emotional strength will wear upon the wearer, and the more it is used, the more a sense of madness will begin to creep in, further driving their emotions to wild levels.
There comes a time in one’s life where the catalyst of change marks a heavy toll. That was what he kept telling himself. What he was trying so desperately to believe in. To force that truth into his broken soul. If he was capable, he would have torn out his own heart just to brand it. Then he would have sown his flesh tight, beat his chest to the drums of battle and move on. But it was difficult. So difficult.
A scent caught on the breeze and he let out a low growl as an all too familiar presence came to a stop next to him in the fading twilight.
“What do you want?” His barely contained despair spilled out, lacing his words with anger but he did not care.
“What do I want?” That preening voice had the gaw to sound offended. With a snap of his head he looked and saw Of Lapis Wings giving him a bestial smile. It was enough to send his blood into a rage and he burst forth at her. No words were exchanged as he took a swipe at her with his claws, only for her to dodge and strike him in his abdomen, a gleeful smile plastered on her face. He bit through the explosive pain and took another swing but she was faster and managed to trip him up.
His body hit the earth and she was already on top of him. Her gleaming blue eyes ripe with triumph. She struck him across his face, once, twice, thrice and he tasted blood, before others were grabbing her off of him. She flared her massive gray wings in response, dipped with the sky’s color and his packmates backed off.
She leered over him now, her muddy furs billowing in the winds. With a free hand she touched her chest, right over her heart. Her voice grated on his ears as she spoke, “Now is that anyway to greet someone who wishes to offer her condolences?”
He sputtered, turning his head to the side and spitting out a glob of blood. His snout ached and he flexed his jaw before saying, “You don’t care. Don’t pretend like you do. Now what do you want, mutt?”
The smile faded from her lips and her ears pressed down flat to her head. It was her turn to growl now, his words finding their mark. She flashed sharp teeth, her pupils dilating as her nose flared. If there was one thing Lapis hated, it was being reminded of the pale skin that marked her as different. The unblooded nature of her birth. The disgrace it brought her family. Her only saving grace was that she could fly.
“Shall I teach you another lesson?” She asked in a low voice, “Maybe if I had your mate and pup would still be alive?”
He felt his own eyes widen and she saw it. When you played the game, you had to be good and he was not. “Do not speak of them!” he yelled, getting to his feet.
Lapis’s expression turned back into one of glee as she took a step back. She thought she had won. “Ohhhh, is that a bit of a sore spot, Umbar?” She said in her sweetest mocking tone. She had won a battle but he wouldn’t let her have victory.
He took a step forward but Dusk Trekker and Howling at the Stars laid hands on his chest. He looked at them both and found Dusk shaking his head, yellow eyes full of mourning.
“You aren’t the only one who lost loved ones today.” Lapis spat. “Or did you forget this is a pack and you aren’t a loner. Yet.” A smirk formed on her lips.
He snapped back, “You were supposed to give us warning! You were supposed to keep this from happening! What good are wings if the person they are attached to doesn’t care about anyone but herself!” Dusk and Howling winced at his words but said nothing. Umbar felt his blood boiling in return and more so when Lapis put her hands on her hips and inclined her head.
“How convenient of you to put the blame on me. Maybe you forgot, Umbar, but I was fighting down there because you rushed ahead! You broke our ranks in pursuit of glory! So when Mountain Winds gave the command, I filled your hole with my own body. Maybe if you hadn’t left, the demons wouldn’t have snuck up and sacked the village!” She fumed, shaking with anger. She ran a hand through her raven black hair. Flakes of dried blood breaking off as she shook her hand free.
“He wants to see you,” she hissed, “but I’ll spare you the trip. You’re banished Umbar Climber. For your disobedience. Be happy it isn’t death. Or maybe you’d prefer that?” She produced a pale white dagger and he stared at it in disbelief.
“You wouldn’t dare.” he gasped. “I can’t be banished by you. You’re just some mutt with a vendetta!”
“Am I?” She asked. The question but a soft whisper on the wind. A moment of silence passed, he tried to wrench himself free but he was grasped firmly.
He looked at the two, his brothers, eyes pleading. “Come on…” he began, “Surely you don’t think I am to blame?”
When Dusk looked away and Howling held his gaze with anger in his eyes, Umbar felt the dread slide into his heart.
He began to shake his head. “No… She’s lying. I was… I was…” The words caught up in his throat. Where had he gone in that fight? The rage and the anger, gods he had been so angry. He left the line, chased down and butchered those who fled. Then they surged and he fought and fought and fought. When it was done, he had almost killed Fields of Tallgrass. His knees buckled and he fell onto them. Both Dusk and Howling took a step away from him.
“Now you see.” Lapis cooed. “Now you remember with that brute’s mind of yours. So what will it be?” She walked forward. The bone knife gripped with leisure in her hands. That bone knife whittled from a fallen Wildblood. One she had slain herself.
Lapis crouched in front of him. “Banishment or a warrior’s death? I can give it to you. It’d be easy and quick. Come on… You’ll get to see them again.”
A lone wolf was a dead wolf, that was what he had always been taught. Between the demons and their terrible cousins, chances were slim. A prolonged existence when it could be ended without much fuss. Umbar had always envisioned himself dying to an ax or an arrow. What was the difference when it all ended in death? He had failed the people who thought he cared for them. Least he could do was apologize in the next life. He looked into those cold blue eyes and nodded his head.
A terrible stillness came over them in that moment before action.
Lapis lifted the knife with a slow nod of her own.
And then the darkening world exploded into firelight as some great thing rushed past overhead. A great fireball raged in the heart of the village and the four of them looked with shocked expressions. Then another rush of wingbeats and Umbar looked to the sky. A dark blot sank low, just over the treeline and a great torrent of orange and yellow fire streamed down, bathing the world in agony. It was the screams that broke him from his trance, screams of those that he still cared for, even if all had given up on him. So Umbar sprang to his feet and ran.
It was Lapis that ran beside him a moment later, her face lacking all sort of mocking glee from before. It was her village too, despite all it had put her through. Dusk and Howling followed, unsheathing their weapons. It was their sworn duty, as warriors, to protect their hearth and home. Death was but a simple asking price in exchange for the next generation. A generation he would have no stake in anymore.
The great beast above, buffeted the flames, creating a whirlwind of fire as they approached. All were scattering from the burning village, from the terror in the skies. Women and pups, running past them now.
Lapis barked, “Dusk, take Howling and make sure they reach safety! Get everyone you can out, don’t let them panic into the wilds!”
The two reared off without a word and Umbar glanced at Lapis, her expression wholly dark as her wings tucked in close to her body. She couldn’t fly, he realized, not with that thing up there.
“Is it a demon?” she asked, as they entered the chaos of the village.
He shook his head, “I’ve never seen one breath fire.” Screams of the burned and dying wrang out despite the inferno sweeping the village. He cursed as they entered the square proper. A stoat band of fighters with bows had taken up behind a short wall, firing arrows up into the darkness. Whoever had told them to group up like that was a fool and Umbar paused in his step and waved his hands in the air.
But it was too late. Another bright burst lit up directly at that wall and the explosion of heat rippled over him. Umbar coughed and he growled. Lapis had run ahead, to the burning lodge that marked the chieftains home. She would walk her own path. He would…
A large mass descended in the smoke and fire before him and his first thought had been that he was weaponless, save for a knife. The next was the same sort of dread he had felt when witnessing the demons for the first time. How wholly unnatural such creatures were. His mind, he had to master the fear. He would do so now but this thing… a creature of the underworld. Black scaled and towering above collapsing rooftops, he saw two scarlet eyes looking down at him. Umbar tensed and then the thing unfurled its massive wings. Ten times the size of Lapis’ own and that it opened his mouth and he saw the furnace within. Umbar ran.
Not backwards but towards it. The monster had to backstep as it unleashed a fire that singed the back of his clothes as he dove forward and underneath it. He plucked out his knife and slammed it down into the creature's foot and Umbar watched as the knife glanced off. The next thing he knew he was flying, flying straight into a burning building. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was the monster and then he heard a very loud smack.
A fullblood wolf man named Umbar is upset his wife and pup died. Lapis, an elven halfblood mixed with thunderbird and wolf shows up to goad him. It works and they fight but she is faster than him. They argue some more after being separated and we find out that Umbar decided to abandon his post to fight ahead, thus causing their eyes and ears in the sky to come down and plug his hole, Lapis, which then caused a group of Demons to flank past them and attack their village. She basically says he is going to be exiled and might as well just be killed instead, you know, an honorable death. But before this can happen, the village is attacked again but not by demons.
She had not expected her task to be so… Lackadaisical. Ayre hurried about, packing cloth and food away into knapsacks. Her father had instructed her, in case the tree was attacked, that they should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Her father in the meantime, had gone off to help the other Firsts. A few babies were being carried off and their cries tore at her. There was so much chaos. At least she had thought so. Then the Goddess returned.
She had never seen Allianthé up close and she still didn’t but when the trickle of word came that the Goddess was wounded- Ayre felt as if she herself had been physically struck. She clutched at her chest and instantly longed for Ida as her thoughts swirled into despair.
It was her father who brought her back. With a firm hand, he grabbed her shoulders and held her in place. “Ayre. Ayre.” he said, “You are trembling.” He began to stroke her arms in a comforting way and she was able to focus just enough to look at him.
“It will be alright.” Her father said, “She will be alright.”
For once, she didn’t know whether to believe her father or if he was saying that to reassure himself.
Then the tree began to shudder and spiders clambered from every nook and corner.
“We must go.” her father said, taking hold of her hand.
“B-But our things…!” her own voice betrayed her, breaking with fear.
“What you have will do, now run!” Her father shouted and shoved her in front of himself. There came a mad dash down the woven stairs and spiders, coated every wall in an uncountable amount of legs. The black so deep she thought she was running from the abyss. Down they went, followed by panicked voices and a caravan of people to follow. Her father’s guiding hand never left her shoulder as they landed upon the great chamber that would lead them out. She could hear and see the spiders beginning to weave, the blackness now broken by a growing white.
The outside was so close. So very close!
Then she was pushed from behind and went through a crowd of people, promptly falling upon the bark floor of the tree and down a few steps. Ayre was instantly stampeded over and she tried her best to cover herself but felt as her back, sides and legs were run over. Each sending a bark of pain from her mouth. When it was over, having lasted only a few moments, Ayre’s head was spinning as she sat up.
“Father?” She gasped, the question muffled to her ringing ears. Holding her ribs as she stood, Ayre looked around and found that despite the roaring crowds somewhere off, this little stairway that led up into the tree was silent. Now woven shut with a multitude of spiderwebs so thick, it was like looking at a white wall.
She repeated her question but saw no one. Her father… He had pushed her to safety. He was still in the tree. The realization struck her more fiercely than any stampeding mob running her over.
“No no no!” She yelled, a stab of pain flowing up her leg as she began to jog up to that white wall.
“Father! Father please!” She screamed, touching the sticky webs, clawing at them to break back inside the tree. Spiders began to crawl forth, repairing the damage and avoiding her.
“Why would you do this!” She said to no one. For there was no one. And it hit her again. If their father was stuck behind there… Where was Ida?
Once more panic struck the young elf. Torn between helping the father that saved her or finding her sister. It became an easy choice as she watched the spiders weave.
Arbor was in an uproar when Ayre finally got an inkling of her senses back. She had to find Ida. That was her only priority right now. Find Ida. Make sure she was safe. Then they would both figure out what to do next. What she knew as fact was that the tree was sealed shut by the spider webs and that their Goddess was inside. If the frantic rumors she heard were true. She tried to find any of the Firsts or even Aenos, but the glimpses she saw of them were quickly swallowed up just by the sheer number who had become displaced by the tree’s exodus.
So Ayre began her trek to the Forge. The last place she saw Ida. Perhaps that Syllianth might know, if he wasn’t with her. Oh what she would do if she found him alone. She took a breath, or tried to, as the crowds pushed in and the heat of the place bubbled. She felt herself slipping with frustration at the slow progress she was making. People just wouldn’t move!
After almost being dragged by a crowd in the opposite direction of where she needed to go, Ayre’s anger finally burst.
“Move out of the way!” She shouted, shoving anyone who came too close, who stopped in front of her. As she began to shove through, the crowd reacted in the worst way possible- a panic induced stampede. It seemed someone had been shoved into another and another, and the effect was poisonous as much was lost in translation and then finally, someone just began to scream. And then others screamed and shouted and more panic ensued. Ayre cursed under her breath and began to shove people even more and the crowd began to move. Bodies collided with one another and the very walls of the tree felt as if they began to close in. Someone was shouting that they were all going to die. Sweat and fear became palpable in the clogged air. Not clogged air but with so many bodies beginning to press into each other, Ayre realized it was just becoming harder to breath. Her small frame couldn’t work properly if she didn’t have enough room to even gulp air.
True panic set in then. Somehow that corridor had become a death trap as people became animals that were too stupid to run, to get somewhere open. Around her people began to drop only for their spots to be filled. She couldn’t even look away as she found herself slammed into a wall. A goblin man and another elfling, one she didn’t know, pressed into her so tight she felt she would be smothered. She was burning so hot now. So so hot. It was so hard to breathe too. No space, just, no space. She shut her eyes, for it was the only way she could claim anywhere to herself.
This was it. This would be how she died. In the one place where life was supposed to be eternal. The worst part was, she had done this. Darkness began to creep into her vision as someone began to shout some sort of words. She began to slump, as if a weight had been thrown off her but her vision darkened further and her last thought was of her white haired sister.
The fading essence of a phoenix, a creature so touched by fire, was no simple thing. In these last moments, whether Ayre knew it or not, her very essence resounded like a prayer to a far distant ear. So it was that in the darkness another took notice, turning a burning gaze to look upon the soul in this final moment. Through the gloom of the end it drifted like a gentle stream of embers dancing in the air. It swirled around Ayre before settling directly in her vision collecting into the form of a burning fox. Its searing eyes simply watched in the space between moments before the sound of a laugh that crackled like a well fed fire resounded in the emptiness. After which a voice, not dissimilar to the timbre of the laugh, roared into Ayre’s ears “Oh little phoenix, such a predicament you have found here. I should not be surprised you mortals have such a clumsiness about you. I wonder what caused it, we were so graceful in that dance, but look at all of you now! Stacked up like this! So sweet little flame, what should I call this dear soul before me?”
Perhaps it was a dream. Perhaps that dream kept the darkness at bay or perhaps her mind had already drifted far far away. It was just a final moment before she was completely lost in the flow of life itself. Ayre felt herself smile at the strangeness of it, of the small burning fox and the dancing embers. It was so profoundly beautiful. She found her voice in answer, or she thought she spoke it, like the small kindling before a fire took root, “Ayre. That is my name.”
“Ayre… Ayre…” The fox’s voice rolled the name around its vulpine mouth as if it was tasting each letter. As it did it began to walk around the crush, inspecting the mass of tangled bodies like one would a fallen bird's nest. It huffed in disappointment more than anything and returned to Ayre, this time bending its head so its snout was only inches from her face. The flickering colors that constituted its being flaring as it gazed into her eyes, its toothy smile only broadening.
“I like that name. It's a very good name, Ayre.” This time when it spoke the voice of the fox brought with it a comforting warmth, like that of a hearth on a cold winter's day or an oven baking well loved bread. “So tell me little Ayre, how did you come to be stuck like this? Hardly seems a good place for you.”
“The Goddess…” Ayre began, taking in the lovely warmth with a crinkling smile, “Or the tree… She’s hurt and spiders…” She murmured, the thoughts hazy in her mind. “Had to run outside. Father is trapped. But Ida…” She blinked a bit, the ever present smile faltering on her lips. “Could you help her?” Ayre asked, “I can’t… My eyes are so heavy and you are so warm.”
The fox’s head rolled sideways as it listened to Ayre, its gaze never leaving her. Only after Ayre’s own smile faltered did its own seem to crack with the plea for her sister. The vibrant colors dimmed as it answered “I could, in truth it would be a simple thing. But little ember that would mean letting your fire go out, smothered here and cold. And I hate the cold. So Tell me sweet Ayre, if I leave where would you find warmth?”
Time seemed to dull and all thoughts escaped her own mind, except for one. She focused on it and followed where it led. She knew she had felt such warmth once before. A long time ago. When the world in her eyes was but something she could not fully comprehend. There had been a steady beat. A loving voice within her ear, despite all the pain, and that warmth. It banished the cold air on her skin. Oh, how she missed it, even if it had been so brief, like trying to catch an ember. Fleeting through her grasp. Yet, she wanted it still and a smile crossed Ayre’s lips again. Her eyes were glossy as she looked at the fox and saw- A soft whisper escaped her lips. “Momma…”
The fox smiled as its form flickered, becoming the smiling form of Anat’aa. Reaching her hands out she gently touched the sides of Ayre’s face. As she did the Goddess’ own smile broadened as Ayre’s returned. She stayed like this for a while, letting the memory wash over Ayre. Soon Anat’aa spoke, “That is a good warmth sweet Ayre. It will keep you warm when all else has fled, there is strength in that warmth. Hold it, cradle it, nurture it. It is a good spark and good fuel. Remember it is all you need and answer me this one last thing.”
Moving her hands under Ayre’s chin to support her head, the warmth of her hands grew steadily. Yet no pain would come to Ayre, only the sensation like she had stepped too close to an open flame, “Would you use this warmth to save your sister and keep others from the hated cold?”
Ayre’s gaze held with her mother. For who else could it be? Such warm and tender hands, a mother’s hands. She sighed with contentness and when silence fell between them- the question in the air, she murmured, “Yes, mother. I would do,” She couldn’t help but give a weak smile at the thought of her sister, “Anything, for Ida and father and the others…” She said, her voice growing sleepy. “For Ida…” She yawned.
A crackling chuckle escaped Anat’aa as Ayre gave her answer. “Then before you sleep, oh sweet child, I must ask two favors of you. First, I must ask that you hold that warmth and give it your breath, so it may grow, so it may burn. Know that it will not leave you, fire only changes it does not take.”
Moving her hands once more to either side of Ayres face, Anat’aa leaned in to gently kiss her forehead. As she pulled back a smoldering mark was left where her lips had touched, a sign of the connection Anat’aa felt forming between her and Ayre’s fire. She let her power flow through it towards the nascent pyromancer. Yet her smile fell slightly as she continued, “The second- I feel like I should ask more from those of you I touch. But it is simply this, forgive me if you can. Now sweet Ayre, burn. Burn so bright that you light the dark and banish the cold. Know I will not leave you all the while.”
That warmth enveloped the entirety of Ayre’s being. Beginning in her face and swirling down into her core, wherein, it at last blossomed. Her eyes snapped open and she opened her mouth as if to speak but only a trickle of flame escaped it. She drew breath and found that it scorched her throat and lungs. How quickly the dream had become a nightmare. She wanted to scream as that warmth became a blaze of fire, as it burned her insides, as people all around began to scream and shout for aid. She thrashed on the ground, pleading for it to stop. For her mother’s aid. For Ida’s coolness, and then- and then she understood. She stopped her thrashing and sat up as her flesh crackled and flaked. As her fiery heart beat until it was ash. As she herself did indeed burn so bright she became a pyre- Fire was change and she would not be afraid of it.
In one flash to the rest of the world, Ayre was immolated from within and reduced to naught but ash and embers. Women and children screamed within that small crook of the great tree, thinned as it was. Many stood dumbstruck at what occurred and many others still helped those who had trouble breathing. And to any who still looked at that pile of Ayre, they would see another flash and then- as if the Great Mother herself had brought life to her- Ayre was there.
Naked as the day she was born, hair like embers banishing the shadows of the tree with warm light. Upon her forehead, black upon her skin, were two lips ringed with flame. Ayre’s eyes snapped open to reveal orange blazes, fierce and determined. Before any could even speak she was moving, running from the tree, flames dancing at her feet.
For she had a sister to find.
Kellam (who is Ayre and Ida’s dad) and Ayre are busy moving stuff up in the tree in case they are attacked. Low and behold, Alli comes back wounded and then shuts the tree down. So they all have to flee their perfectly fine stronghold >.>, and so anyways, Ayre’s pa gets trapped inside after pushing her to safety and then Ayre realizes she needs to go find Ida. She tries to at least but there is a lot of traffic in the tree and she ends up making a panic and gets the air knocked from her lungs long enough in a ‘crowd crush’ and ends up basically dying. Where in Anat’aa finds her and they have a chat, where in Ayre thinks she’s talking with her mom. Ana then gives Ayre the gift of pyromancy and asks two things of her. Ayre then self immolates because that’s what Phoenix's do bb and then comes back, changed, and on a mission to find Ida.
There was only the hot breeze, dry as bone on that sunless day. A great storm was pouring forth from the endless sands that no one ever returned from. Where they sent those that had wronged them, that had broken the sacred vows that bound them all together. But that was before the end times. Before the demons slithered back. The souls they had all damned instead of saved. The elders had decreed it their punishment. The young had ceded power into madness, fighting back only to be killed. The stupid followed. The brave followed. The cowards survived. And that was what he was. A coward. The bundle in his arms mewled as the path into the desiccated village narrowed between two rocks. He pulled back the cloth with a thin hand and was greeted by the smile that kept him going. One that he would always gladly return.
“Pyla,” he cooed, “What have you found to be so funny today?” he asked, beaming down at his small daughter. She was much too small and too lean for one not yet two winters, but such was what they could do when the world was dying. Life had to go on.
Pyla cooed back, squirming her hands out of the tight fold of his wrap. Two grubby hands held out towards him. He smiled again.
“We are almost home, Pyla. We must get this water to your mother you know? Before the sands come in. Bear with me, my child. Just a little longer.” he made his way in between the two rocks. On the other side sat abandoned and desecrated mud huts. Or what he once knew to be homes. How long had it been since the others had gone?
Pyla began to whine in frustration, her half words and baby talk a gurgle of what sounded like anger. For a goblin babe, she would surely half a loud voice. Just like her mother. Even thinking about Kala sent his heart into a spiral. She was very sick and without her, he knew not what he would d-
A steady rumble began, followed by the scurrying of clacking feet across stone. It sent shivers down his spine and he froze. Pyla also quieted, especially when he put his free hand over her mouth. He felt the struggle there within her but he pleaded to his dead gods for aid. Keep the child quiet, just for now and he would do anything.
The clacking feet spurned itself closer as the rumble grew into a steady thrum and he bounded behind a mud wall and in those precious seconds, he felt as if his heart would explode, that he would be caught and Pyla- He looked down to see those giant blue eyes wide with fright. It was a sight that threatened to break him completely but he knew he could not. Her life depended upon his focus. So he peered out behind his wall. That old village had been constructed in a sort of hide away, in a cut underneath a sheer cliff. The other side was a drop off and an overlook, far and wide of the surrounding area. There were only two ways in and out, on opposite sides of the village. His ancestors had used it for generations and now, only his own small family remained. He peered in the opposite way he had come from, the way that was littered with old bones and burnt out huts. The source of the sounds.
The entire cliff face felt like it was vibrating now. Sand and dust began to clog the air. Then came the sounds of thrashing and fighting, the clattering of teeth and great roars. He also sent a prayer for the love of his life to stay where she was, deeper under the cliff. With any luck she would be alright.
He spotted something and ducked, fearing he would be spotted. The noise of running- no, rampaging feet came closer and closer. He clutched Pyla tight to his chest and prayed. Oh, did he pray. Let it pass. Let it go by. Let the earth and the wind be free of all troubles. Let this thing pass. And to his surprise, the things didn’t even stop to sniff the air. To scent his fear. They ran past, followed by more and more feet. He dared a look and wished he hadn’t- Demons of every shape and size, every color and deformity- the stuff of truest nightmares. He looked away and sighed.
They were running past.
Then came a new sound, as the rumbling from the earth grew loudest. The sound of screams. He covered Pyla’s ears, having dropped his bucket. Terrible sounds they were and his daughter trembled, for she and he could feel it in their bones. There came a quick shuffling of feet and a terrible slicing sound as something thudded next to his brick wall.
Then a voice, as clear as day and fierce as sandstorm, broke through the rumbling like an arrow, “Send this infestation into the storm!”
He dared to look again and could hardly believe his eyes when he bore witness to the being of liquid silver, foot upon the corpse of a demon as she pointed at the storm to the giants that now glided past as if they were riding the very earth like some wave. The source of the rumbling?
“You there, goblin man.” the voice said, and he looked to see the imperious gaze of a divine looking back at him. For this was a God, a God of his prayers. He knew it as he knew the very air he breathed and the water he drank.
“You are safe from these fiends, now and forever. You and all mortals have lost much, for my part, we shall never face this threat unprepared ever again. Now live.” And she waved her hand upon him before vanishing. The goblin man blinked hard, finally removing his hands from Pyla’, who he found, was fast asleep.
Not really thinking, perhaps too stunned to even think, he wandered over to the overlook, avoiding the corpses of the creatures. They would have to be burned, he noted. But he almost stumbled when the air in his throat caught. Stretched out before him, across his home, the demons were fleeing, chased by those that rode the earth like a wave. Who fought the creatures that had taken everything from them. Who pushed them back into the desert for their sins. He did not notice the footsteps approaching before someone tackled him. He almost fell over, tears blurring his vision at the sight of his love, mother of his child, looking healthier than ever.
Perhaps the world wasn’t ending after all. Perhaps it was just beginning again.
At the breaking of Sylann's siege, it had been a sight to behold and all those on the wall who bore witness to their Divine marching forth- It was enough to make any weep. The invaders fled under the heel of metal as the hunters became the hunted. What shrieked and destroyed with impudence was now in turn annihilated. On land, in the sky and under the waters. Holes were sealed, gates were enforced, and the enemy fled.
Sylia still led her host, the might of her legions like a great flood washing away filth. Yet, despite it all, even she could not fix what had already been broken, not right away, not instantaneously. The damage had been done to her people. Many had died. Many would be haunted by what the siege cost them. Such wounds ran deep and could not be healed. It would be another task to remedy when the war was over.
For this was war. War between those that called Galbar home and those who sought to defile it. Sylia would not let such foul creatures win. So she barreled forward, cold bloodlust raging in her metal heart.
Her Formed, those beings of metal and power, were her great and terrible swords. The invaders had difficulty adapting any sort of fighting style to combat them. When the very earth turned against you, there became few options. Running away was the greatest of them. Who could stand and fight against a hail of boulders? Great ravines that opened up to swallow those unfortunate enough to fall into crushing depths? Waterways, lakes and even the great ocean became as mud when the Formed passed, choking away anything that could not swim fast enough. Even the skies became choked with dust and rock spikes, launched with precision and cold efficiency. For the Formed were not a host of protectors or shields, they were the hammer that drove the nail in. They would not stop, they could not stop when she led them. And for every Formed that fell, the invaders lost multitudes more. So they chased and fought and chased and fought, pushing the incursion past the great river and skirting the western side of the great basin before spreading out like a great wall that constantly moved south.
The tree was ever shining. A beacon for the defender’s world. Even at their backs.
Eventually they reached the great desert that encompassed the sea of blood, where Sylia knew the incursion had begun. For a vast stretch of land even her own eyes could not see the entirety of, they had swept the land free of the invaders. Now there was only the great push to truly end it. But sand… Sand was a different beast. Until she remembered what Asheel had done once. But unlike Asheel, Sylia went a step further.
From the desert came vast wyrm-like creatures of living metal. Of flowing golds, rusty irons, shining silvers, dull coppers- all the mundane metals of the world. They would thrive upon the desert denizens , forming an equilibrium when their great task was completed. They bowed before her, these troop transports, these steads of terrible wrath. Upon them the Formed went, gliding through the desert and destroying those unlucky few who could not escape until the very air became tinged with crimson. The bite of rust clung in the air as the sand turned to earth once more. At least, what could be considered earth.
What Sylia found there at the bottom of the world, disgusted her. Not some invasion to conquer the world, but a fully fledged settlement stretching all along that bloody ocean. Black was the invader’s structures. Twisted and deformed but with purpose. Chambers to multiply in, to form a new horde in an endless game of invasion. They had built their own wall around these settlements, as if they suspected they would be driven back. It was then that Sylia knew, even as her Formed gathered for their final push, that these things were there to stay. Even if she wiped them out, even if she spent all her time and energy upon it, they would survive like a disease. She would not allow it. Thus, Sylia halted her siege before it even began.
The Goddess of Craft and Metal, knew what she had to do. She already had the blueprint, afterall.
With her newfound grasp upon the nature of earth, Sylia tore the land asunder around the entirety of the blood ocean. Vast swathes of sand and the invader’s filth tumbled into the abyss as the very world quaked with her might. The ocean swirled in giant waves and tsunamis as her greatest work yet came to fruition. Then it came, from the very foundations of Galbar itself. An immense black wall, unlike any that would ever come forth in creation. Rising above mountains and as dense as the very core of the planet. Unbreakable, unshatterable- Nothing and no one would ever be able to get through it. Not by any means other than divine and even then, it would be a feat. One she dared any invader to make. Those great Outer Beasts were just that- beasts. Who were they to stand against her? Sylia willed it so.
Those that could fly would find no purchase for safety against the lack of air, the biting cold and winds. Those that dug deep and tunneled into the roots of the world would find it stretched beyond them, into the very heat of the planet. Natural caves and tunnels formed by Hummus in the beginning were blocked by the wall. To even attempt to climb upon the metallic stone would take months, without rest. Inconceivable. When Galbar at last began to settle, Sylia, drained now for the first time since creation began, placed into the wall a holy site. The only entrance and the only exit, her Watchpoint. Made of silver metal, it sat at the halfway point of the wall’s height and could only be accessed by those that could fly. She would have to come up with a better solution later. For now, she placed half the Formed within to man the installation and keep a watch on the enemy. For they would be the guards of that prison.
And Sylia, the Warden Eternal.
We see the effects of the invasion upon a goblin dad and his kid. Sylia and her legions march forth and have been liberating the south of the greater infestations, successfully pushing back the invaders to the desert. Wherein the pursuit, Sylia creates her troop transports, great Mettallicum Wyrms, made of pure metals and devourers of the rolly polly. They slaughter their way across the desert until they reach the Blood Ocean, finding permanent structures the invaders have been building. Realizing that, try as she might to wipe them all away, they could somehow find a way to build back up and then invade, Sylia decides to create a continent sized wall around the blood ocean as containment. She places half of the Formed in her newest Holy Site, called the Watchpoint, to monitor and deal with any attempted escape. (though this is basically impossible without divine aid). Drained now, Sylia takes the monitor of Warden.
Sylia 14 -4MP to claim the Earth Domain
-3MP (boosted with Metal and Earth to 9MP) to create the Mettalicum Wyrms - Vast creatures of living metal (can be any metal but but divinium and it’s alloys), they inhabit the great wastelands of Galbar, feeding upon the great Rolly Polly and anything unfortunate enough to not escape their maws.
*6mp towards their metallic hides, incredibly durable but if one managed to kill one, they would have a very lucrative venture. *3mp towards their innate abilities to travel through sand and even a little bit of earth, but far rarer. They hunt by sensing vibrations.
-6MP Transcendental Action (Boosted with Metal and Earth Domains to 12MP) - To create the Black Wall around the blood ocean. A wall so immense it makes mountains look like hills. Created from the earth and infused with the strongest of her metals, the Black Wall is a containment facility to keep the vast hosts of invaders away from the world proper. It is basically impossible to break through it, fly over it or dig under it without some sort of divine aid. There is only one entrance, being Sylia’s holy site, that can’t even be accessed by the otherside without being able to fly.
-1MP to create a Holy Site, the Watchpoint. A holy Site designed to be the first signal in any further invasions and a general location to oversee the invaders and the blood ocean.
The dark sky rumbled on that black night. A sweltering, suffocating air that hovered in one place. Lightning flashed, illuminating the world for a few precious moments at a time. It was not yet raining but the air smelt of it. The storm would simply swallow up the stars and navigation would have to wait.
At least for those on the ground.
So it was that a group of beastfolk were fleeing north. Away from the great calamity of their time. Yet even those with the keenest of night vision could hardly see once the storm caught up with them. Children whined, cooed by parents to be quiet. Others whispered, talking of the end times. That the Gods had abandoned them. That the fates had been cruel indeed to leave them so alone.
They huddled down next to an outcropping of rock, sheltered on one side from the rain that poured down in great thick droplets. The elders recounted a time when the rain was that of blood and spoke cryptically of those who still dwelt in those forsaken lands. The children, after some time, were able to sleep, nestled close to parents and warm bodies. Even some of the reptilian folk were allowed to pile up next to those mammals that allowed it. For one of the few tenets of that band was to look out for one another. No one would be left out, no one would be forgotten.
Because of that, they were far behind those that had left with quicker feet and hurried wings. Perhaps it was a shared sense of duty, a beastfolk sense of pride and the inner flame that commanded them all. Hope would keep them going, it had too. So they endured and they would go on despite it all.
So it came as little surprise when the sentries raised the alarm and an orderly panic overcame them. A raiding party had come after them. Otherworldly beings who sought only to kill and glut themselves. Daggers of stone and copper unsheathed in the night as the warriors hurried everyone along.
The night air began to unleash a drizzle of cold rain as the lightning flashed. Then came a scream but not from behind. Thick bowed bovine and lion men ran for the front only to find certain doom awaiting them.
They had never seen a creature like it but they knew it all too well. The legends had gone far and wide. Lightning illuminated its wild eyes, a mouth of sharp teeth, a few missing, while its elongated body ran with a silver streak along its back. A mongoose of living legend. He stood in the path, blocking their advance. Children cowered, women and men shielded them as the Maw watched with careful eyes.
Elders came forth but before any could speak the Maw proclaimed, “You… Hunted… All sides but… Mine.” He padded a few steps closer. “Go… Run… I will… Buy time for… Small kin.”
Thunder rumbled overhead as the rain continued pouring down. No one moved, they did not understand. Then the Maw snapped forth his teeth and growled low, “GO!” he said, and jumped over the first few to where the sounds of battle rushed forth.
On that night of flashing lights, a new legend was born, not of a killer who took the chance to prey upon those already being preyed upon- but of one who cast aside all differences to protect. The Maw Who Slew in Salvation, perhaps not entirely redeemed but for one fleeting moment in such a long life, did something that any could deem as good.
So that beastfolk clan lived to survive another day and the Maw, without having even been asked why or thanked, was not heard from again by those people. Perhaps it was better that way.
A beastfolk clan are fleeing north but they are slow. A warband of demonic invaders nearly catches up to them but they are saved by the most unlikely of sources- The Maw, who’s fate is not known.
Member
Tim the Yeti
Fetzen
Crusader Lord
Enzayne
Timemaster
King of Rats
Jamesyco
Dark Cloud
Eviledd1984
