[centre][h2]The Day of Death[/h2][/centre]

Eamhair kept her head low in the shrubberies. She had been jogging for hours now, chasing the beast. She heard its panting a shallow distance away, the rustling in the grass as it laid down to rest. She did her best to steady her own breathing - she was far from equally fast, but her endurance outshone this beast hundredfold. Still, she couldn’t be too careful - the beast no doubt had some energy left, and her aching belly told her that she couldn’t very well afford to spend her own reserves so frivolously. With a swift, silent hand, she took a fist-sized rock in her hand and cupped it into her sling. One well-placed hit should do it - a surprising daze to knock it out cold while she cuts into its heart with her stone knife. She assumed her stance and began winding up the sling.

“YAAAAAARGH!” came a scream from the opposite side of the beast and out the bushes burst her sister Caitir with an enormous wooden trunk in her hand. The beast squealed and scrambled to its feet. Eamhair drew a surprised breath and, thinking quickly, sent the rock flying. However, due to her sister’s distraction, the stone clapped against the beast’s thigh and accomplished little more than a pained roar before it huddled off. Caitir chased it away from the clearing before throwing the stick to the ground in frustration.

“Oh, wolf doo! It got away--ow!” Caitir looked over her shoulder to frown at the glare of Eamhair, who smacked her over the head again.

“You dumb, useless idiot! I was -just- about to knock it out! Why did you just run at it, huh? Where’s your sling?!”

Caitir blocked a third incoming blow. “I lost it, okay?! You were running so fast and I fell and, and then I dropped it, and I called out, but you just kept running, and--”

“Okay, shut up!” Eamhair pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ugh… Now what… Did you see where it went?”

“How could I have seen where it went with you nagging me all like--”

“Caitir, focus! Did it leave any tracks?” The two stared down at the ground. A trail of kicked-up dirt and half-recognisable tracks led into some nearby bushes - the very same bushes were ripped and broken.

“Looks like it went that way,” Caitir proposed and hefted the stock back onto her shoulder. Eamhair hung her sling from her loincloth and made a wry expression.

“You don’t say…” She groaned. “Come on, let’s go.” She set off into a quick gait. Behind her, she heard the distant calls of her sister shouting ‘h-hey! Wait up!” Eamhair rolled her eyes and ignored them. Along her path the tracks zig-zagged between trees, over roots and under branches. Eamhair plucked a tuft of grey hair from a thorny bush. She gave it a sniff and pursued the tracks moving forward from the bush. The tracks were becoming deeper and sluggish, feet often crossing over one another and the occasional rut where the beast must’ve fallen. Soon, she heard that familiar panting. She crept down behind the bushes and stole a glance above them. By the roots of an old oak, she saw the beast lie gasping for air. She wouldn’t even have to knock it out like this. Immediately, she grabbed her knife, pounced out of the bush and drove it into its heart.

The beast had no chance to react. Hands caked in blood, Eamhair triumphantly pulled the stone blade out and reveled as the beast drew its final breaths. Then, there was silence. Eamhair snickered to herself and put her lips to the wound. She was incredibly thirsty after all this running, and blood was both nutritious and drinkable. The rich flavour filled her mouth and she made sure to spill as little as possible - it was a sin to waste the animal’s bounty, after all. 

As she began to skin and butcher the beast, the silence grew terribly heavy. She allowed herself a number of peeks around the area, her keen eyes spotting nothing. Another moment passed before she called out: “Caitir?”

There was no response. Eamhair groaned to herself, sliced off a small chunk of the beast’s dripping heart and put it in her mouth. She was slow, sure, but not -this- slow. She had probably lost her. She rose to her feet, packed the meat she had managed to cut loose so far into the beast’s hide. She got to her feet and turned to the carcass with a suspicious scowl. “You’re going nowhere, you hear?” she mumbled to herself before she began to retrace her steps backwards.

“Caitir? Caaaaaiiitir?” Eamhair called. By Kalmar, how far had she ran? She couldn’t very well have outrun her sister -this- badly. At least, not unless her sister had been halted in her steps. Cold sweat cooled her forehead and she picked up her pace. 

“Caitir! Caitir!” she called with command and unease and began sprinting through the woods. Branches whipped against her skin and thorns bit at her calves. The adrenaline ignored all of it, however - if her sister was in danger, she couldn’t afford to feel pain. 

There came a weak whimper from a clearing behind a tree, followed by desperate gasps. Eamhair nearly fell forward as she turned mid-sprint. In an instant, she gazed upon her sister’s body flat on the forest soil, patches of her usual healthy, bronze skin blackening and paling like mouldy meat. Her eyes looked like old nan’s, white as milk and empty of sensation. Her breathing was irregular at best and she appeared unable to move, yet involuntarily twisted and turned as if her skin was filled with insects.

“Caitir, what’s wrong?!” Eamhair called out and laid a hand on her sister’s shoulder. In an instant, Caitir’s empty eyes locked with hers and she unleashed a deafening scream before first reaching out to choke her, then retracting her hands, then choking herself, then tossing her arms around. Eamhair skipped back, desperation and instinct overtaking reason.

“Caitir! Stop! I’ll-- I’ll bring you to old nan, just--”

“IT HUUUUURTS!” Caitir wailed before rolling over and drumming her forehead against a stone on the ground. She managed to cut herself a wound before Eamhair restrained her. Caitir tried wildly to pull herself lose, then immediately stopped and attempted to embrace her sister before then suddenly battling for her freedom like a caged beast. Eamhair, seeing no other option, wound up a hook and knocked her sister out cold. Luckily, her delusions and the agony of her affliction had already worn her out - Eamhair had only needed to punch once. 

Now, however, Eamhair was horrified. What manner of plant or venom had done this to her?! That was when she noticed the trees around her, nearly every single one, suddenly releasing their leaves like they always did around autumn. The issue was, though, that autumn was far, far off. The bark paled into fragile ash and the roots began to smell of rot. Eamhair remained no longer. She left behind the sack of meat, scooped her sister into her arms and ran for home. Around her, the forest blackened and whitened into a monochrome nightmare, a terror which only spurred her to sprint faster. After a while, her lungs and heart could barely keep up with her panic and she was forced to slow down. Fewer and fewer of the trees around her now had suffered similar fates, but the dead woods behind her were already enough. Her village was not far now. Her heart calming down a little, she permitted herself to look down at her sister again. The corruption had spread, her every extremity now black as soot and each limb pocked with black and white spots.

“H-hey, Caitir,” Eamhair whimpered. There came no response. Eamhair prayed she was still just unconscious and spurred on. “Please hold on,” she whispered.

In a half an hour, she had reached their village, but what met her there was everything beyond what she had expected. Laid between the tents were a number of sick elves like her sister, but these were not from her own tribe. They were Wolfhearts, from further north - a village that they had no amiable relations to, and in truth, had been in a rivalry with. Now, though, the flutes played a different tune, and friend had become foe as this mysterious plague had overtaken them. Eamhair hurried over to their grandmother’s tent and pushed aside the curtain.

“Old nan! Caitir is very sick!”

The old Mir, the one among them who had been created old by the gods, looked up from the one she already was treating, exhaustion nearly pouring out of her eyes like tears. Eamhair pushed herself past everyone else, Caitir limp in her arms. Her sight locked onto the one Old nan was treating: It was the Wolfheart chieftain, a hunter by the name of Labhruinn. He was restrained with vines and sinew, squirming around as best he could while screaming through the sling wrapped over his mouth like a gag. Old nan had wrapped his black spots in sootheleaves, but he seemed rabid. Around him a crowd stood staring, a member of which, Eamhair had become. 

“Well, don’t just stand there! Let me see her!” Old nan commanded and Eamhair snapped back into reality. It was clear from the way the old Mir inspected the wounds that she was at a loss for what to do. She would likely attempt the same procedure - sootheleaves really cured most ailments that affected the Everblooms; why could it not cure this one, too? However, with Caitir still unconscious, they had no way of verifying whether she was cured. As a precaution, Eamhair reluctantly bound her sister’s hands and feet; if she still was as rabid as before, she could not be allowed to walk free in the village.

All of a sudden, though, there came panicked cries and screams from the outside. The curtain was pulled aside in a haste and Eamhair saw it was Aodhàn, their greatest hunter.

“Elder Seonag! Elder Seonag! The sky is raining fire!”

“What?” came an empty question from old nan and everyone inside the tent ran out to see. Not much later did their screams add to the cacophony. Eamhair exchanged frightened looks with old nan before sprinting out to see. Indeed, it had been as Aodhàn had described it: Up the sky, which at this time of day would begin to near twillight, there was no Heliopolis, for it was obstructed by a much closer, much more terrifying ball of flame. Eamhair felt her blood freeze. She had lived a short life - much too short, and already it was ending? A million thoughts banged at her skull from the inside, all battling over the place atop the priority list. Should she go in and tell Caitir how much she loves her? Should she find that sweet boy she barely even knew the name of and tell him what she felt for him? Should she place some flowers by the river into which her parents’ ashes had been scattered? 

“Eamhair!” Aodhàn shouted and she turned around to face him. The hunter grabbed her by the hand and pulled her along. “What are you doing?! Run!”

Eamhair gasped. “B-but what about Caitir?! And old nan?!”

“It’s too late for them, they’ll only slow us down! Come on!” The hunter let her go and ran for the woods, but Eamhair still remained in the camp, her eyes shifting between the trees and old nan’s tent. She looked back up at the boulder of flame. No way was she outrunning that - not even her. Aodhàn had courage - courage and hope - but the orb was nearly the size of their village already, its shade obscuring the sky. 

Suddenly, another shape appeared below it, one smaller in comparison, but still enormous to the elves. It sped down to the village with incredible speed and sat itself neatly upon the soil in the village centre. From the object’s top came a booming voice: “Quickly! Come aboard if you want to live!” Then, along the sides of the object formed weird toothed slopes. At first, nobody dared approach, many still running for the woods. The voice boomed again: “Climb the stairs and come inside, or else you -will- perish!” 

Twice was all Eamhair needed to hear it and she immediately ran into the tent, gathered those who were sane, as well as her unconscious sister, and began shepherding them up the weird, liquid slopes. Others turned to face the thing, as well, running towards it as they had ran for the woods. Once they reached the top of the slope, strangers that looked much like them began leading them towards a very odd, yet incredibly glistening mountain. The mountain revealed a slowly-opening cave at its bottom, into which the elves were rushed. When the last of them had come in, the cave was sealed with wooden tent flaps larger than any Eamhair had ever seen. The strangers spoke to some of the elves in a musical tone, offering them woven furs to keep warm.
Then came a shock, one that tossed every Mir and stranger off their feet. The room immediately grew incredibly hot, then cooled as time went on. Then there was silence. The strangers offered Eamhair and her kin some hot water with a very odd aftertaste, and Eamhair took the opportunity to ask the one who offered it to her a question:

“Please, would you tell us where we are?”

The stranger formed what Eamhair supposed was a smile and curtesied without really responding. Eamhair reasoned she hadn’t been understood and dipped her lips back into the hot water with a slurp.

“You are aboard Jiangzhou - my home,” came a deep, oily voice and every Mir turned to face its source. It had long ears like them, and a face that could’ve belonged to a particularly fearsome and animalistic individual, but the similarities ended there: Its skin ended at the borders of its torso, being overtaken by crimson scales; above its ears, it grew great, dull-tipped horns; it stood about two feet taller than them, and its posture portrayed a profound sense of might and composure.

This creature was evidently one of the Gods.

“Who are you?” asked Eamhair curiously. The others listened intently. The creature turned to face her and formed a small smile.

“I am Shengshi, dear one - lord of the rivers; king of the harvests--” A number of the Vallamir placed their fists on their chest and bowed their heads in awed salute, “-- and I have come to aid Kalgrun against the end of the world.”

“Is the world ending?!” came a number of panicked screams. The snake smirked.

“Not if we can help it. Worry not - you are safe now.”

“B-but… The fire… In the sky?” Eamhair asked in confusion. The snake’s smile waned. 

“Yes. It has struck the earth. My ship is impervious to its damage, but… Your village.” He shook his head. The elves drew gasping breaths and tears began to roll. Shengshi sighed and slithered over to place a hand on Eamhair’s shoulder. “... It is always a tragic loss - especially when it is caused by something so destructive. However, worry not, for I will find you a new home. One where all…” He scanned the crowd. “... Two hundred of you can live in peace in much the same way as you did here.”

Old nan, who had been brought to her knees during the quake, stood up and asked, “Will this home be far from our ancestral lands? We have hunted these woods for ten years, and we know no other way of life.”

The snake sighed. “Yes. It will be far from your old home; however, that is because your old home is…” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “... Fire has enormous potential for destruction. I am afraid what remains of your lands is…”

“May we see it?!” Eamhair pleaded. The snake’s reptilian gaze shifted to her.

“It will be a painful sight, dear one,” the snake cautioned.

“M-may we see it still?!”

The snake lowered his gaze and eventually nodded. “If you are not faint of heart, then my gates shall open for you to witness the result of Heaven’s wrath. Beware, though - the sight of death is one few can stomach.” Behind him, the gates of the palace slowly opened. “We will seek out more than may need our aid. Once Kalgrun is safe, you will be brought to your new home.”

“W-where will that be?” Old nan asked.

“The Dragon’s Foot, dear one - west of here,” said the snake and slithered off. Eamhair stood staring out the open gates. She slowly exited the palace and crossed over to the edge of the deck, her eyes boiling with tears.

Everywhere around them, as far as her eyes could see, there was ash and flame. Beside the vessel laid the cracked, sooted remains of a large rock, still radiating heat. Every tree she had known and climbed throughout her life here was either gone or reduced to charcoal. A little further beyond, the small walls of a crater crawled out of the ground to surround the great stone. As she peered even closer, Eamhair saw traces of blood, bone and charred skin among the dunes of ash. Slowly, though, the vessel she was on began to float upwards. She lost her balance a moment, and her legs were made weaker as she noticed the full scale of the damage. She couldn’t even begin to formulate thoughts anymore - her mind was wiped empty like the wasteland below. She sat down against the railing, her head resting on her knees, and wondered what she or her people had ever done to deserve this apocalypse.


[hider=Snake rescues some Elves!]
Eamhair’s hunting in the woods and she gets the opportunity to land a killing blow on a beast. The KB is interrupted when Eamhair’s sister Caitir ruins everything by scaring the beast away and Eamhair gives chase. She catches up, kills it and drinks it blood and eats its meat, but Caitir’s taking a long ass time. Eamhair searches for her and finds that she’s been mar-moted (or very sick in Eammy’s eyes). She carries her back to the village to find that lotsa people have been mar-moted, including a previously rival tribe that’s come to seek help. As Eamhair tries to get their grandma to help Caitir, a meteor heads of the village. They panic, but snake comes in and takes all the Mirs onto his ship, where they are impervious to damage. Snake says hi and tells the Valla that their village has been destroyed and that he’ll take them to DF where it’s soooooo much safer. Some of the Mirs go outside to see the destruction of the meteor and Eamhair contemplate why the gods are so mean.
[/hider]