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The Reconquest 2 - Stories from a War-Torn Land



Year 29AA, in the fortified fishing village of Scawick, situated on shore northeast of Ha-Dûna...

It had been hard to get Scawick to join the Dûnan forces, - even harder, perhaps, had it been to have the village function as the second headquarters for the resistance against the Sigeran influence. The Scawicks were Dûnans once, among the first to emigrate from the settlement proper only five years after its founding. Led by the Old Elk Scawick, this small band of eight or so families ventured out east to the shores north of Ha-Dûna, where they lived in peace and quiet reaping the fruits of the land and sea.

That was until the Conquests, anyway. The druids weren’t always so clear on the fact that many of the tribes slaughtered during the conquests two years ago had, in fact, been Dûnan descendants - barely even one generation apart. Many had recognised each other, even in the heat of battle, but the mentality of the raging mob can sway even the strongest hearts. Those few who insisted on laying down their arms so they would not strike another Dûnan were themselves struck down. Before every assault, there would always be those who snuck over to the villages to warn them of the impending attacks - many of these were caught and executed for treason; sometimes, though, they got away with it scot-free.

Boudicca had, and she was remembered for it. The assault on Scawick hadn’t been as destructive as others exactly because the townsfolk had escaped before the break of dawn and avoided most of the raiders. Many houses had been burned to the ground, but the lack of opposition had meant the assault itself had spared much of what would normally have been used for barricades, improvised safehouses and walls. Only a quarter of Scawick had fallen to the torch - not a single inhabitant had been killed. The following winter had been harsh, as the larders had all been emptied, and many had starved or been forced to cannibalise their dead. The wounds still ran deep, and the Dûnans who had participated in the Conquests felt the Scawicks’ eyes burn at their skin with every turn.

Only Boudicca was accepted amongst them, though her role as the mediator between the tribes put her in a precarious position. Frequently, she had to pull apart Scawicks and Dûnans who were at each other's’ throats over the pettiest things - a Dûnan had an extra ladle of herbal gruel; a Scawick got a little too cheeky with their tone; even something so insignificant as exchanging the wrong looks could ignite a street brawl with many casualties.

A month had passed since they had heard anything from the west - the Sigerans were tired, broken. Boudicca and the rest knew they only really had to wait and their victory would be within their grasp. However, even the raids for supplies had grown scarcer. They were planning something…




Meanwhile in Ha-Dûna...

Ragnar sat on the steps of what had once been a prominent glassworks - only ghosts lived in its dusty halls now. It sat a mere hundred paces from the palisade gates to the inner city, though “city” was hardly a term for it anymore: Ha-Dûna was barely inhabited these days; most of the Sigerans had, in fact, deserted or passed away. Ragnar the Black Hog and his Stone Boars were the only real soldiers left in the ruins; staying around was a death sentence, after all - unfit for anyone but warriors fighting for…

For what, really? Ragnar asked himself.

The Dûnans had every advantage, even more than they knew about: Their chain of command had been shattered weeks ago - Teagan laid weak in bed, starvation finally catching up to her, too; the need to raid to sustain themselves had left their forces scattered and unorganised; they had no way of replenishing lost warriors, as they had no allies anywhere.

Ragnar plucked a straw from the ground and placed it between his teeth. giving it a pensive chew. Maybe he should just take his men and leave? Their talents were too good to be wasted dying for some fanatical cause, anyway - they’d find work somewhere else.

He heard footsteps approaching from around the corner. Ragnar’s shadowed eyes rolled rightwards, homing in on the corner. He gave the straw another chew and spat it out. “Karstein, did you bring some gruel for me, too? I’m starvin’.”

“No, afraid not - little to cook gruel off of in these ravaged lands,” came an unfamiliar voice like satin. Ragnar quickened to his feet and reached for the worn copper axe on his belt. His hands grew weak when he saw the voice’s owner turn the corner. It was humanoid, no doubt about it, but it was tall - enormous, even. Boudicca and Frode both had no chance to even compare to this size. Its skin was pale, bleak, even, as though it belonged to a corpse, with hair blacker than coal running down to its bear chest. Most notably, however, was its grand wings - spanning a greater length than it itself was tall - sprouting out its back. The creature looked similar to a man in every respect save for those, and it offered Ragnar a sly smirk. “Why, you look positively shook, humani - paler than me, almost.”

“W-what--...” Ragnar, who had barely ever known the sensation of fear, replied in a quivering voice.

What am I, I reckon you’re asking? Quite rude, as far as opening questions go - I am very much a person, you know, so the correct thing to ask first would be ‘who are you’. But fine, I will answer the question to put your simple humani mind to rest. I am aiviri, a son of Neiya and Oraelia - though I suppose my lighter siblings would call me neiyari…” He huffed somewhat.

“Wh-wha?” Ragnar offered again, but was interrupted by a ‘ssh!’

“Again with the rudeness, by the Goddess!” The neiyari exhaled some hot air and rubbed his right temple. “I can see you are only more confused, so I will introduce myself to you, as well, as a bonus before… Well, we’ll get there.”

The warrior began to back away slowly. Others had caught the black angel in their sights and were hunkering down in wary preparation for a fight. The neiyari cleared his throat. “I am Annihilari, eternal servant of the Goddess and consort of her holy child, Aveira, my heart and soul.” He posed triumphantly with a fist in the air and his wings spread out. “I was sent away on a quest to bring more servants until her glorious heel, and that was when I stumbled upon this… Humble village.”

“Don’t make light of our plight, demon!” came a sharp exclamation from the back. Annihilari turned to smirk.

“Wo-ho, a rebel, I see. Well, nothing quite like putting down the uprisers on the first day.” He reached down to his hip, around which was tied a skin belt holding aloft his linen pants. A mighty flash blinded the nearest Sigerans and those in the back joined in as the angel unfurled a terrifying whip of light and cracked it against the ground. The dry grass growing on the dirt road was immediately singed to a crisp. “Now, who was it that called me a demon?”

“Wait!” shouted Ragnar and lifted his hands up in the air. Annihilari rolled his eyes.

“Would a ‘please’ kill you?”

“Please! Don’t- don’t kill us! We, we barely have enough to scavenge for food without letting those, those… The others come and take our, our…” He looked away, unable to meet the smirking aiviri’s eyes.

“My, my,” mumbled the angel and hid his inferno of a whip behind a wing. “Is your home under threat from an outside force, hmm?”

“You’re here to enslave us, yes?” Ragnar continued. Annihilari’s smirk turned to a furious snarl for a second and he spread his wings in a mighty challenge.

“Do not belittle my motivation as some simple prisoner run, you measly worm, you unwashed ape!” He then shrunk back together again and cleared his throat. “But that about sums it up, yes.”

Ragnar and the others, on the other hand, tried their best to grow back into something resembling an upright position. “W-well… I-if you help us against our enemies, then, then we will come with you freely. No, no need to kill anyone and, well, me and my men, specifically, can probably offer you some support in battle if you--”

“I don’t think so, insect,” he muttered. Ragnar shrunk a little and the others around began to say their prayers. Annihilari rolled his eyes again. “Although, I suppose Aveira would prefer her servants to be alive and well - she has such a good heart, my love.” He sighed dreamily. “So be it, you hapless parasite. Me and my followers will spare you and aid you in your troubles in exchange for your cooperation.”

“Wait, followers?!” came a shout. Annihilari put his smirk back on.

“Why, of course! These are dangerous lands - one should never travel alone.” As he finished his sentence, there came fourteen more like him, both males and females, descending from the sky. The Sigerans quivered behind cover and Ragnar swallowed. How much more would they suffer?




The northern border of Ha-Dûna was scarcely protected at this point - with the limited manpower and shattered morale, the Sigerans were forced to keep their warriors fixed on the fronts most likely to be attacked - those being the south and east. The north was offered a single guard, one who often needed a companion to make sure they wouldn’t defect as soon as their shift began. A lone spearman sat atop the large rock designated as the watch spot, scouting the vast, hilly highlands which were beginning to whiten with the first autumn snow. Not a soul would wander these plains nowadays, save maybe for elk herds and wild goats.

However, today, the spearman spotted something vastly different.

At first, he thought it was an elk, its head was elk-like that's for sure, minus the skin, but the rest sure as all Dûna wasn’t. It walked upright, merely strolling without a care in the world, but its legs were hooved. The being wore haggard clothing, a long cloak, tunic, and pants that looked sewn together from various clothes and he could see the image of a pack on their back. The most concerning portions were the head, which looked like an elk-skull put onto a human body, with wicked sharp teeth sitting within its mouth instead and dried blood caked upon it, and the rusted and bloodied scythe that was held in their left hand.

In essence, he saw what he could only assume was an utter demonic entity.

The spearman ran - or at least that’s what his brain told him to do. His feet had frozen completely to the ground, and his quivering hands could barely keep a proper grip around the shaft of his weapon. He only stood there, watching as the monster came closer and closer.

Soon enough, it stood a few scant feet from him, its breath was heavy and haggard and the small dim eyes he could see within its empty sockets stared at him with hunger and fury.

”Ha...Dûna...” A voice rang out, its voice he believed, it was deep and harsh, and further scared him to his spot.

The spearman lifted a quivering finger pointing southwards, gesturing to a thin, rocky path leading up into the hills.

”Thank...you…” Its voice rang out once more, as it continued its trudging walk, going past the guard with little care, its scythe carving its own small ditch behind them. As they continued up the path, stone and grass started sprouting the ruins of abandoned farms and broken huts. Scavenging wolverines stealthed between the buildings with bones in their mouths; animal skeletons stripped bare down to the marrow littered the corners of the path; fields that would have been at the end of their ripeness cycle at this time, though still quite plump, had been picked down to the straw by rabid locusts. The land was, by all means, alive - but it was a desert to anything living off of it. The ruins formed a small hamlet, and further along the path, the monster could see the broken houses grow numerous, until its eyes set upon the peak of the hill, where the edge of the ghost town Ha-Dûna truly came into view. The creature cared not for the destruction around it, it had called them yes, but the city was its focus.

As it advanced into the city, the houses became better maintained, though the general condition bordered heavily on close to collapse. Around it, starved people dared to look upon it before ducking back into hiding. It wasn’t until the creature had reached the city centre, there in front of the palisades to the core district, that people actively stared at it. Here, the density of people was great enough that, while none felt safe, they could at least rely on each other for a smidge of protection - or so they believed, anyway. A winged humanoid landed on the ground before the gate, a radiant whip held readily in his right hand.

“Halt, creature - what business have you here?”

”Called...forth...why you, here?” The creature looked around as it spoke, staring down the starved people, the hunger called inside them, but these people were worth nothing to them, this winged being though called its attention. The master was ever curious in their quest here.

The black angel pursed his lips. “I am here on royal decree by my love Aveira - I am Annihilari, her consort - sent to claim more land for the Goddess. Who called you?”

”The Master...lord of tragedy and ruin…” the beast once more looked around, and chuckled ”You...claim this land?...not worth...it…” they spoke, looking straight at Annihilari. The neiyari frowned.

“Alright, maybe not the land, but the people inhabiting it will become servants of Aveira once the southern threat has been dealt with.” He twirled his whip around slowly. “Now, why were you called here? If you serve the Lord of Ruin, then we do not wish to fight you - however, if you are out for blood, we will not hesitate to strike you down.” From inside the city core, fourteen more angels took to the skies.

The creature laughed at the angel’s display ”Winged flesh does...not scare me..the Master...has called me here...don’t know why...I...do not care...I hunger for feast...and feast alone...but...these...people...lack in feast…” The beast stared once more at the starving people, his hunger was slowly growing, the elk he had eaten before coming here were not filling enough, but he knew these people wouldn’t be either.

The Sigerans cowered away from the two. “Please! We just want to live in peace! We’ve suffered enough for our sins - we just want to be left alone!” Annihilari rolled his eyes and sighed.

“They’re so broken that it’s hardly fun anymore. If you’re going to go on a rampage, take it southwards - the prey there’s much more fun to play with, I reckon.”

”South...wards” The beast looked vaguely in that direction ”What...is...southwards?” knowing there was, tastier, prey made him consider this ‘quest’ less of a lost cause.

Annihilari shrugged. “From what these people have told me over the last two days we’ve been here, ‘the believers in the false gods’ live to the south, readying themselves to attack at any point. They are vastly more numerous than these people here, and much better armed - and better fed. Really, it’s a wonder that these people haven’t surrenderyet.” The Sigerans around shrunk together. Some began to cry. “Oh, shut up,” Annihilari muttered.

The beast scoffed, then slowly shook his head "Large...Armed...dangerous hunt...could not...damage in ways that mattered." He slowly drew his scythe upwards, resting it upon his left shoulder "Better...to stay here...or hunt...surrounding area...lack of food...could be...solved…"

“Food?! Do you know where there’s food?!” came desperate pleas from the humans, all of whom instantly grew much friendlier towards the monster.

He chuckled "Yes...but...must...broaden term...food" He gazed at the frightened villagers, then slowly looked up at the angels "If...provide help...could assist...winged flesh...and these...people"

The Sigerans fell to their knees. “Anything! Anything! We’re starving!”

"Are...there...any villages...or small groups...nearby?"

The humans immediately lost some vigour and exchanged anxious looks. One of them stood a little taller. “No, not many left… Closest would… Would be Fianneck, but that’ll take us too close to Scawick.”

“The infidels have a strong presence there,” added another.

”I see….” He looked back up towards the angels, and directed the lead one ”How….quiet...are winged flesh?”

“Quiet enough,” muttered Annihilari in response. “Don’t doubt our ability to ambush our foes.”

The beast nodded ”Very...good...two...or three...winged flesh with me....if quick and quiet enough...could get some food...might not be much...but it could be enough to satiate...for time until i gather...info for better hunts.”

The neiyari exchanged looks. “What, do you expect us to carry grain and cattle through the sky like some birds?”

“Oh, please, please - help us! We’ll die otherwise!” pleaded the humans. The neiyari got busy shoving away the most desperate, who were busily reaching for and aiming to kiss their feet.

“Ugh! Yuck, fine! Fine, we’ll do it. Just - get off!” Annihilari kicked a boney girl off of his leg and dusted himself off with an eyeroll. “Destrura, Pathora, come with me. Lead the way, monster.”

The beast chuckled at the neiyari, but focused himself upon the humans ”Which direction...is Fianneck?”

“Due east! Due east!”

“Due east, apparently,” came a mumble from the one either named Destrura or Pathora, who balanced her hands atop a pommel of a sheathed greatsword of sunlight. Annihilari sighed.

“Well, let’s get going, then - wouldn’t want the peasantry to starve.”

”Yes...let's...come winged flesh” The beast turned eastward, heading off, merely just expecting the neiyari to follow behind. The neiyari reluctantly followed along, though one could practically taste the bitterness in the air trailing them.




Further south, at Kirin’s Rest...

Within the stone walls, the city was overflowing with people and activity. Workers milled about, constantly needing to retrofit and repair houses and build upwards adding new stories connected by a hole in a cellar and a ladder loosely bound to the wall. Poles and other rudimentary support was used to hold up much of the town from collapsing in on itself, with was not an all too uncommon occurrence, however those who started making their life in the city knew to avoid buildings marked with red paint by the Midnight Watchers.

The market district is a clutter of stalls and baskets, mostly run by the third or fourth son of a farmer or craftsman selling their families goods. Rudimentary copper and silver coins were eagerly exchanged. The concept travelling along with the ever-shifting pilgrimage of the guiding lights to this remote corner of the highlands.

Kaer Pier eyed sourly a rack of elk jerky while scratching his stubbed jaw in annoyance. “Can you believe this, Valix? They want copper clumps in exchange for meat! Why, what manner of self-respecting druid carries metals in their pockets? Stones, I can understand - Boris can appreciate the odd spreading of gravel - but metal?”

“Yes, father,” responded the warrior Valix politely. They had been travelling to Kirin’s Rest by the long way, passing through as many villages on the way to garner support for the Dûnan cause. Now that they were finally here, though, they had hit a dead end: The leader of the ally they had hoped the most to recruit, the druids of the Guiding Lights circle, had yet to show themselves. This had Kaer Pier at the tip of his toes in frustration.

“Yes, that one - no, no, yea-- That one! Yes, thank you. One copper p--... I don’t--... Valix, do you carry any on you?” The druid’s palm flexed and unflexed its finger beckoningly like flower petals on the wind. The warrior suppressed a sigh and produced a bone carving - it was a figurine of an animal, a boar; it was masterfully carven, a product of weeks of work. Kaer Pier, as well as the merchant, both gave it a frown. “What’s this?”

“A boar, father. I carved it myself.”

“Is it copper, Valix?”

The warrior couldn’t suppress this sigh. “No, father. It’s bone.”

“The merchant didn’t ask for bone, though, did he?”

“Now, hold on,” mumbled the merchant behind them and snapped his fingers at the figurine. Kaer Pier handed it to him and he gave it a close look. “You said you wanted one piece of jerky for this?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did. Does nobody listen in this town?” Heads around began to turn and frown. Valix sighed yet again. The merchant seemed unfazed.

“Well, I’m willing to take this if that’s all you want. Here you go.” The merchant handed Kaer Pier a slab of rockhard meat. “Have a good day, and may hope never leave you!”

The archdruid seemed to calm down and nodded his polite farewells before walking off, followed closely by Valix. “What was -that- all about? If he was willing to take other things, why not just say so from the beginning?”

“I believe my figurine could’ve fetched a higher price if we had sold it first,” added Valix matter-of-factly. Kaer Pier rolled his eyes.

“Southerners…”

The pair continued to peruse the town in search of temples or prayer houses to Seeros. Their search wasn’t very long, however, for as soon as they turned the corner of the jerky peddler’s shoppe, they were greeted by a sight that stole the breath from them both. It was a tower - the tallest structure any of them had seen - standing at least twelve men tall (no, fifteen!) and being built entirely out of stone. Kaer Pier staggered backwards at the sight and Valix tightened his grip about his spear shaft as though it calmed his nerves.

“By the gods,” whispered the archdruid, “is… Is that a tower?”

“That must’ve been what we saw from the outskirts. I thought my eyes were being cheated by weariness.” Valix gestured at it. “If their leader is here, I cannot think of any other place they would be.”

The druid whispered a small prayer. “A s-sensible assumption.” He swallowed. “You mean we have to climb that thing?”

“If heights make you uncomfortable--...”

“I have never been able to stare over the edge of the Cléanclippe, you know… Do you know what that’s like when we offer sacrifices over there?”

“I can only imagine,” mumbled the warrior and walked on ahead. The archdruid followed reluctantly.

The tower had no door, but standing in front of it, two men crossed their spears to prevent anyone from stumbling into it. Glaring into it, it appeared as the first room had small shrines to each of the gods with a staircase wrapping around the floor leading to the next.

“Blessings of the gods upon you both,” greeted the archdruid and bowed curtly - not so much as to not compromise his station, however. Valix hammered his chest and bowed deeper. “We have travelled far with the humble intent to meet with the great leader of your Circle. Ha-Dûna is in peril, and we pray we may establish the old bonds our two sects shared before the betrayal of the Sigerans. Pray tell, is the archdruid at home?”

One of the guards, a younger man, almost shuttered out, “Archdruid at” before the other guard deathly glared at him and spoke up, “Please, step inside.” looking the younger soldier harshly again, “The attendants of the Nightward Tower will be with you shortly.” He said, lowering his spear before deeply bowing and walking inside, while his companion started the climb upwards.

The two nodded their thanks and, as they were left to wait, Kaer Pier offered a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods, they are coming to us!”

“Yes, father.”

After the wait, the young spearman, slightly patting, announced “Constellar Cionn and Watcher Gal are descending.” following him down to the ground floor was Cionn, wearing her constellar robes, Gal who wore black robes with a white crescent moon emblem on his left shoulder and various white dots throughout, and another soldier who wore more impressive armor than the other two guards and carried a bronze spear.

As she stepped down from the final step, she bowed every so slightly, “Hello, welcome to the Nightward Tower of Kirin’s Rest. Why did the stars bring you on this journey?”

Kaer Pier returned the bow, and Valix repeated the hammering of the chest and bent a knee. “Constellar, it is an honour,” greeted the archdruid. “May the Eight grant their warmest blessings on yourself, your family and all the wonderful villagers of Kirin’s Rest. I am Kaer Pier, archdruid of Ha-Dûna and officer of the Reconquest Army. I am joined by my trusty companion, Valix of Leothe, and together, we have come to reforge those broken bonds of old in an alliance against the Sigeran menace.”

“I am sorry. I do not have the authority required to help you in this manner.” Her eyes glanced away slightly and her voice became the slightest bit uneasy, “I was granted the greatest honor to attend to this holy place.”

“But, I have no greater power than any other Constellar. To claim otherwise would be transgressing the law of thirds. You are free to attempt to rally the citizens or other Constellars to your cause, however it may be more difficult than you seem to think. The Sigeran’s are withering while we are building and growing. Few here want to throw away their future for the memories of the past.”

The archdruid’s polite smile faltered immediately. “Do you mean to say that there is no chain of command here? Who do we talk to to bring Kirin’s Rest back into the fold, into the great family of Ha-Dûna?”

Cionn paused, “We are not without law, but it is not the Constellars who impose it. You can speak with the Queen, however, she is a native of this land and she did not think well of Ha-Dûna before the invasions.”

The archdruid’s face immediately excreted a layer of cold sweat. “Oh, a native…” He drew a deep breath. “I suppose we will have to try. It truly is a shame, though - we were so hoping for your assistance in this matter; the Constellar’s assistance.”

The ever-quiet Gal broke the silence, his voice was only barely above a whisper but still clearly audible, “Do not despair in this place of hope. The stars will move with you to battle, but that is where my sight ends.”

Kaer Pier raised a brow. “You must have good favour with great Seeros if you have such a sight, my son.”

He replied without an ounce of irony or malice, “I do.”

To this, the archdruid nodded politely. “Well, if there is nothing we can do, then, we will try our luck with the queen. I-...” He pursed his lips. “If the great kirin is asleep somewhere up there, present it an offering from me, please. I would have died had it not been for its rescue, so I am eternally indebted to it, and to Seeros.”

Cionn nodded affirmatively.

Gal took a cloth that was stashed within his sleeve and wrapped it around his eyes as a blindfold, “Please, follow me. I will take you to the Queen.” The Dûnans did as they were asked and followed along.

The watcher guided them through the narrow streets and tight corners of the city, easily navigating through it, avoiding uneven patches of ground and even some loose debris with ease. The streets were rather crowded, but they seemed to try to do their best to walk around him in equal parts respect and apprehension.

As they moved through the city, they reached a part of the city where there hardly any of the multi-story buildings common to the rest of it. Gal guided them to the largest of these single story buildings and rested his hand on the door before waiting a few moments, “You may enter.”

Kaer Pier took a deep breath. Valix’s stone face hardened further. “I’m not looking forward to this,” the archdruid muttered as they stepped inside.

“Right behind you, father,” the guard whispered politely.

Stepping forward was an uneasy feeling, as the ground was sloped downward slightly, with at the far back a woman sat on a throne of stones, beside her another much younger watcher by her side whispering something quietly to her. Above her painted on the wall was the visage of a boar. As they entered, she boisterously shouted, “And so the mighty Ha-Dûnans come to us for aid? The gods tell us to wipe out the festering wound that is the Sigerians, but why shouldn’t we salt the earth as we leave and be done with it.”

The archdruid frowned. “Great queen, we are honoured to be allowed into your house - under the rules of hospitality as dictated by the gods.” Valix sucked quietly on a tooth in disapproval.

“You don’t have to worry about me killing you.” she said, casually looking over to her crudely made but battle-tested club, “I won’t want to have your blood soaked over my nice floors. But tell me, why should we help you rebuild Ha-Dûna. When has Ha-Dûna ever been anything other than a blight on the highlands?”

The archdruid raised a brow. “I wouldn’t be so quick to anger if I remembered all the good brought to this land by Ha-Dûna, as well. Keep in mind that, before the arrival of my people, this place was nothing but stone and moss, spotted with small camps--” He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Valix gave him a sharp look and the druid swallowed. “... Please, think of all the good our people has brought! We have brought trade, growth, knowledge and religion - much of which your people, too, have benefited greatly from.”

The queen scoffed, “The people of these stones and moss remember well who brought them those things, and it was most certainly not the Kiers and their rest houses.”

The archdruid rolled his eyes. “The resthouses supply hundreds of druids, many of whom have brought your compatriots great safety and prosperity, with the food and shelter necessary to live lives devoted entirely to the gods. Druids before it were forced to work the land alongside their studies - this puts too much pressure on god-fearing folk who have been tasked with keeping the peace in the land. You, too, must see that, that a civilisation such as ours must have such systems in place to keep our well-educated priesthood in good condition. It -is-, after all, the core of our people.”

:And those who wandered to our land performed the labor of the divine, and were provided the right hospitality, but tell me, what did you do to deserve to eat the fruits of the community?” the queen retorted.

The archdruid sighed. “Come now, great queen - you are the leader of your people; I am leader of mine. We both know that, if left to their own devices, the people will gather in no greater masses than small villages. To keep united, we must have a strong governmental model, and a government must be supplied with taxes - the resthouse system. Your town keeps only growing and growing - surely, you cannot expect that your companions in rulership will rule without compensation, can you?”

The queen glanced back at her weapon, “Do you know why I am the queen? Because the last person who carried that club fell dutifully in battle, and he gave me the privilege to carry it back and I was crowned in respect to the gods’ will. When I receive a feast, it is not only because I live for this city, but because I will die for it as well.”

The archdruid sighed. Valix remained steadfastly stone-faced. “I can see that we’re getting nowhere here. We are sorry for wasting your time…” He turned around halfway, but then stopped. “If I may offer a word of advice, however, from one ruler to another…”

The queen simply glared at him, not even trying to hide her contempt. The archdruid cracked a half-smirk. “Surround yourself with loyal, capable administrators and pay them well. With this many newcomers arriving at your gates every day, fewer and fewer are going to know about your deeds - the deeds of your forebears. You will need allies by your side when the unrest begins to grow.”

“Your rule is the reason that they are at my gates. We will meet the Sigerans in battle, we will generously allow you to reclaim what is left, but do not expect us to aid you any further. Now, my boundless patience is growing thin.” the queen replied.

“Generous, indeed,” thanked the archdruid and bowed. Valix followed suit. “We will bid our farewell, then. May the gods smile upon your efforts.” With that, they exited the hut.




East again of Ha-Dûna, outside the ruins of a village known as Ha-Saune...

Kelly gave the air a whiff, sighing somberly at the thick stench of char and death. They stood on the outskirts of the small village, a victim of the Conquest’s crusade across the central Dûnan plain. It had never been a wealthy settlement, necessarily, mostly on account of rocky soil that offered little to work with for the farmers, and not strategic enough a placement to draw traders and pilgrims. Still, it had been someone’s home, and now it wasn’t anymore. Kelly hated that she had grown numb to that initial sting of horror and sorrow upon seeing such destruction - she had spent the last two years, maybe longer, travelling these ravaged lands to do her duty as a Mother, but in all her time, she had never imagined she would grow used to the worst of it.

“Mother Kelly?”

She blinked and looked down into the face of Kaer Cwenn, a druid who was part of her rescue party. Kelly acknowledged her with a nod and turned to her group of ten - three druids, five warriors equipped with an assortment of different weapons, and another mother, Lon. “We’ll do this as we always do - me and Lon will be the eyes in the sky while Kaer Cwenn, Kaer Myvon and Kaer Semble tend to whatever wounded we may find. Zelda, you and your warriors, keep them safe.”

“As you wish, Mother Kelly,” confirmed the warrior. The plan then spun into motion as the Mothers took to the sky and fluttered in over the village. The ground troops advanced cautiously. From the sky, the village somehow seemed even more deserted, crumbled huts and broken roofs witnessed from an angle they hadn’t been built for. The mothborn drifted slowly to capture as many details as they could, but their hope hung by a thread - the last three villages had offered nothing but charred remains and starving hounds.

“Kelly! Below!”

Kelly spun her head in the direction of Lon’s finger. There, thankfully quite visible amongst the black sooted buildings - a blonde head, hiding from the warriors and druids. The closer she looked, the more heads Kelly saw - chestnut, bronze, copper, amber. She looked to Lon. “With me!” Then they both turned sharply and descended.

The two of them landed with two hard thumps on the stony ground, Lon rolling once to absorb the excess momentum. The crowd of heads turned to them and paled. A chorus of children all squealed in fear, and many began to cry and run. Lon and Kelly looked at one another quickly and waved their hands around. “No, wait! We’re not here to hurt you!”

“FOR HA-SAUNE!” came a shout behind them, followed by two more cries like it as Lon and Kelly turned to see three young boys, no older than thirteen, all run at them with copper axes much too large for them to wield. One of them wore a pouch with two holes in it for a helmet. Their swings went wide and then not wide enough, and Lon and Kelly gestured wildly for them to stop.

“Now hold on and listen, please!”

“YAGH!” came a cry from behind and Lon groaned sharply as she jumped back. Her moonsilver armour luckily managed to ricochet what would’ve been a fatal blow to the leg by a fourth combatant, a fifteen year old girl. A boy like her was hot on her heels, bringing his spear up for a stab at Lon’s chest. Lon inhaled sharply and fluttered her wings mightily, unleashing a column of moth dust over the attackers. All five of them fell asleep on the ground.

“Tansa!” came a weak squeal from the group of children as the rest joined the already crying ones.

Kelly groaned and approached slowly. “Please, would you just--!”

“Get away from them!” another voice ordered, and Lon and Kelly both readied another volley of dust. However, the owner of the voice ran straight past them and knelt down before the children, holding a spear of her own in the Mothers’ direction. “Don’t take one more step,” she snarled.

“Fionaaaa!” the children cried and embraced her from behind like a wave. The girl named Fiona, barely even sixteen, one could guess, offered the children a reassuring smile and softly pushed them back. “Don’t worry about me. Just head to the safehouse and wait there--!”

“Please, will you just LISTEN?!” Kelly shouted in a fit of frustration, one outraged enough to shake Fiona’s motherly determination. Lon, too, seemed uncharacteristically done with the whole shebang.

“To what? Your demands?” It was evident that Fiona had practiced her posture for just such an occasion.

“We are here to -help-! Heeelp! Is that so hard to understand? Ugh, where’s Kaer Cwenn to say the greetings?”

“Right here, Mother Kelly,” came a voice behind her and the mothkin jumped.

“How long have you been here?!”

“A short while.” The warriors all exchanged amused smirks while the druids Myvon and Semble both went to tend to the sleeping defenders.

“Don’t touch them!” shouted Fiona and brandished her spear menacingly, but Kaer Cwenn approached slowly and put down her tree branch staff on the way.

“Be calm, my daughter, we come in the gods’ peace. I am Kaer Cwenn, and these are the Mothers Kelly and Lon, champions of Gibbou and Artafax. We have come to rally support against the Sigeran onslaught, and to bring any refugees to safety back in Scawick. Please, are there any adults we can talk to?”

Fiona’s expression hardened. “Speaking.” Kaer Cwenn blinked.

“Are you the oldest one here?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no! It’s just that…” The Dûnans looked at the villagers’ small faces, aged everywhere between three and fourteen, the majority being younger than ten. “... Where are all your parents?”

Many of the children resumed their sobs, and the older ones tried to soothe them while suppressing their own sorrow. They failed miserably. Fiona glared daggers at Kaer Cwenn, who backed away slowly behind Kelly. “Where do you think?” She rose to her feet and patted a small boy clutching her thigh on the head. “It happened a month ago. A band of bandits came and took everything. All those who resisted, were killed without mercy. We, the youngest, were hidden away inside a safehouse until the raiders disappeared. When we came out, we--...” It looked like it demanded her every fibre not to break down. The Dûnans looked on in admiration as she held her ground without shedding so much as a tear, although she was shaking. “... We were all that’s left.”

“That’s…” Kelly and Lon felt like they had to cry for her. “That’s so awful,” sobbed Lon. Kelly nodded and wiped her own tears. Fiona looked somewhat more at ease upon seeing their reaction, before eyeing the sleeping five.

“I hope for your sakes that they will wake up again…” she threatened bitterly. Both Lon and Kelly waved in surrender.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah! We just needed them to stop for a bit! They’ll be back up soon, don’t worry.”

Fiona scowled, but untensed herself. “... Alright. You said you’re here to help us escape?”

Kelly nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that’s why we’re here. Is this all of you? We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Fiona shook her head. “No, there’s more of us.” She eyed Kaer Cwenn, who ducked a little further behind Kelly’s wing. “You, you’re a druid, right?”

Kaer Cwenn immediately jumped out of cover, and was quickly flanked by both Myvon and Semble. “Oh! Yes! Kaer Cwenn, at your service, my daughter.”

“Kaer Myvon.”

“Kaer Semble.”

Fiona bowed politely at the three of them. Kelly nodded approvingly at her manners. “I choose to trust you all, even though you are outsiders. The safehouse is just over here. That’s where we have our youngest and… And the sick.”

The druids’ optimism faded. “Understood. Take us there.” The Dûnans assisted the villagers in carrying the sleeping defenders and shepherding the children through the ruins until they reached a door in the mountain. Fiona gave the door a cryptic knock - three bangs followed by four taps, and a scrape of wood hinted that a great object was being moved. The door swung open to reveal a fourteen year old boy, hair blonde as wheat and one eye scarred blind by some old cut. He immediately froze upon seeing Fiona’s escort, but the girl knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Kyartan, they’re here to help us.”

The boy gaped slightly, upon which movement one could see that he had lost his tongue, too. The Dûnans cringed with anger - the Sigerans would pay for this. The young boy gestured for them to enter, and the group continued into a dark room lit only by the light of the doorway and a small crack in the cave ceiling. Lon gasped quietly.

“Do you sit here in complete darkness all day?”

“What choice to we have? If we light a fire, the smoke will reveal that there are people in here.” There came a series of weak coughs from the other end of the cave and Fiona hurried over, followed by the druids. With the light of the sun, Kaer Myvon conjured forth a smokeless flame in his palm with which he lit up the cave. It was small - much too small for the Dûnan party to stay here; however, for children, it was just the right size. Now, however, it was quite crowded. Fiona and the druids knelt down over a group of three babies, all of them wrapped cozily into animal pelts. One of them coughed weakly into Fiona’s face as she lifted her up motherly. “This is Dina, my cousin. She was my father’s sister’s daughter, before the raids… We have tried to care for her since, but it’s been hard to find food for her, for any of them. And now that winter’s coming…” She sniffed a little louder than she had expected to.

Kaer Cwenn nodded slowly. “I understand. Kaer Semble, if you would.”

Kaer Semble nodded slowly and started untying the knots around the neck of her robe. Kaer Cwenn gestured for Fiona to hand her Dina. “Kaer Semble had a daughter of her own not too many moons ago. She should still be able to feed the little ones.”

Fiona blinked and did as she was told. “You, you mean your child is at home without its mother?”

Kaer Semble scoffed. “You’re making it sound like it’s the end of the world. Don’t worry, her father’s at home - as are her brother and sister.”

“Then, then who’s feeding her?”

“Oh, my cousin takes care of that,” smiled the druid. “My duty comes first, after all. It’s the will of the gods. Ow! Don’t bite now!” She patted Dina softly on the head. Fiona blinked again, her frown hardening.

“As for the coughing…” mumbled Kaer Myvon and rummaged through his pouches. He eventually extracted a root and put it in his mouth, chewing it to paste while he cringed at the flavour.

“Lungweed,” explained Kaer Cwenn. “It helps with the coughing around this time of year. It’s incredibly bitter, though, so Dina better offer Myvon her thanks when she grows up.”

“This, ugh, this isn’t worthy of anything, Cwenn,” muttered her companion as he spat the paste into a wooden bowl and mixed it with some water from a skin, stirring it with his finger until it took on a soupy consistency. He then took a moment while the baby rested between eating to feed it to her. The flavour made her cry, and there came groans from the older children.

“There… We’ll have to keep feeding her on the way, but this should stave off the worst of it. Anyone else?”

“Here,” Fiona spoke softly, having shuffled over to a young boy who had been wrapped in several animal pelts. He looked to be sweating and his breathing was incredibly weak, barely noticeable. The druids’ expressions grimmed and Fiona’s paled as she saw them. “Is, is something wrong?”

Kaer Cwenn knelt down next to the boy and cupped her hand on his forehead. It burned, and the skin appeared almost scaly. She eyed Fiona and whispered, “Has he been acting strangely lately? Any sudden movements or tossing in his sleep?”

Fiona swallowed. “H-he, he was kicking and convulsing this morning… When he stopped, he seemed calmer.”

“Too calm, perhaps?”

Fiona held her breath and then nodded slowly. Kaer Cwenn nodded somberly. “I see. What’s his name?”

“Hama, son of Hasu and Kaer Fryd.”

“A druid’s son? Was his mother the village’s only druid?”

“Yes, Kaer Cwenn… She was part of the Circle of the Tall Stone. My cousin was her apprentice.”

The druid nodded. “Fiona, I’m… I’m sorry to say this, but…” She eyed Hama again. “... This young boy will not last the night.” Fiona drew a hacking breath, but her stone-hard demeanour kept her from breaking into tears.

“I…” She sniffed quitely. “... I understand.”

“If only we can come earlier, we--...”

“No, no… It’s not your fault. None of this would have happened if not for, for…” The girl grit her teeth and stood up, turning to Kelly. “Did you say you need warriors to fight the Sigerans?”

“That, we do,” nodded the Mother. “Do you wish to join us?”

“Yes. What they did to my people is unforgiveable - I hate them.”

“Now, now, Fiona, you mustn’t--”

“Then you’re welcome to come with us, newblood!” came a salute from the warriors in the back. Fiona nodded harshly and then returned to guiding the druids around to aid the sick. By nightfall, they had packed up and left the ruined village, carrying between them stretchers and pulling sleds and carts topped with babies, children and what supplies they had left. Ha-Saune’s chapter had ended, but its children would grow up to become warriors of Ha-Dûna.







The Misadventures of Twilight - The Escape



The shoreline of the Kubrajzar desert existed in this odd limbo where water meets earth and nothing happens in terms of life. Sure, there were reefs a swim off the coast and one or two oases further inland, but right here, at the border between the two realms of sea and sand, there was nothing but, well, sea and sand. Twilight approached, and Twilight was grateful. His eyes had been burning all day and could really use a few hours of moonlight. He sucked in a deep breath, smelling that fresh stink of beached seaweed and bird droppings, keeping his joyous gait with one hand on the pommel of Tsukigami-no-Kokoro and the other resting nearly on the inside of his robe fold. He may have had an appearance of freedom; however, inside, he couldn’t help but feel trapped. The annoying menace behind him kept sternly reminding him of that funny, little word: “mission”. He had hope, though - she seemed the type who would eventually crack if convinced. He exaggerated a yawn, stretching his arms high above his head.

”Say, Kesha… What’s dommy Tekret like, actually?” he mumbled and gave one of his teeth a suck.

“Not my name,” She glared at Twilight for a moment before relenting, “But, fine. Tekret is uhm, well she doesn’t stop working. Except she’s never working? Honestly it’s a little confusing, but I guess Gods don’t have to move to like, do things?”

Kesheret looked over to the ocean, and a disfigured mass that had to have been a whale two or three months ago. She pinched her nose cautiously and went on, nasally, “Anyway she was usually just lounging on a beach. Which was a lot nicer than this one, just saying.”

”’Course it would be. They never gotta do anything to get what they want. It literally just takes a-” Snap! ”... And it’s there. I’m honestly surprised she can think of other things to do than just lounge, smoke and drink. Speaking of…” He pulled out his pipe and started scraping algal remains out of the bowl.

“What? Speaking of what? Have you noticed you trail off a lot?”

”That so?” Twilight managed to squeeze inbetween huffs and drags through the now-smoking pipe. He held it in for a few paces and then expelled a rapidly expanding gray plume that blew further inland. ”Ah, that soothes the nerves. Hey, you wanna try?” he asked and offered her the pipe mouthpiece first.

"Hm? Oh, sure," Kesheret grabbed the pipe and did her best to imitate Twilight. Halfway through her third puff she abruptly coughed and sent smoke out through both her nostrils before gasping for air, only to get more of the smoke shed just expelled.

It was enough for her throw the pipe at Twilight and, wheezing a bit, blame him, "What, ack, what the fuck? That's horrible. Soothes the nerves? What the hell are you- Oh. Oh. Oh ok I see it."

Twilight brushed some smouldering embers off his robe and refilled the now-empty pipe with a meagre smirk. ”Mm-hm. Told ya. Best thing about these powers? This grass is but a snap of a finger away.” He snapped his fingers to illustrate, and in his palm appeared a fistful of pipeweed. ”Toraan’s got buckets of it naturally. This real nice thumbling named Oscar showed me. Ever met a thumbling?”

“Neat,” Kesheret’s eyes widened as Twilight displayed his powers, before turning her gaze onto her own thumb in confusion, “And, uhm, uh no. Is that like a talking thumb or?”

”Nah, more like a human shrunk down to size of a thumb. You following, kehd? They are the best.” There came a wash of water, this one different than all the other waves that struck the seaside so lazily. Twilight blinked and listened in. ”Did you hear that?”

“Yeah.” Kesheret looked dreamily at the waves, and the sand, and the desert, and the sky. She exhaled contentedly, “You can really hear everything out here can’t you. The world’s so... Big.”

”Yeah… Real, real big. Almost a shame that we aren’t able to explore it uninhibited.” He shrugged weakly and gave his pipe another suck. ”Life just ain’t fair sometimes.”

“Mhm…” Kesheret offered in fleeting response. Twilight sighed two smoke plumes through his nostrils and gave the sky a pensive look. He looked back at the ocean again - maybe he could use some sort of magic to track this… Drighina. He tried sampling the air for any smells, only to realise he had no idea what they smelled like. He shifted another glance at Kesheret - her eyes were still fixed to the deserts further inland. He thought to the sound he had heard earlier; he hadn’t been mistaken. Something definitely came ashore. If he could just get her to leave…

”Pheeeeew! Feels like we’ve been walking for months, doesn’t it?”

”You do make time pass slowly.”

”That hurts, Kesha.”

”Again - not my name. It’s Kesheret - kesh-eh-ret.” The woman tensed in annoyance. Twilight rolled his eyes.

”Whatever. You’re just bitchy over the fact that you got sent to rein me in, aren’t you?”

”You’re making it hard not to be, you know that, right?”

”Wouldn’t it be awesome if you didn’t have to?”

Kesheret groaned. ”And again, you are not walking free just like that, got it? By dad-mom, it’s like I’m talking to a wall!”

Twilight hung his head. ”Pfft, ain’t that just a load of-- IS THAT A COOKIE-CUTTER SHARK?!” he shouted and pointed at the desert.

”A what?” Kesheret mumbled, rubbing at her ears, and turned her gaze for an instant to where he was pointing. When she looked back, Twilight was twenty metres ahead of her, sprinting as though his life depended on it. ”Really?”

”I WILL NOT BE SHACKLED! I AM FREEEE!”

Kesheret growled in annoyance and took flight, casually floating above her colleague with studying his panicking strides. ”Y’know, I’m kinda curious, actually. Do you have some kind of… Dislike for you powers or something?”

”I-- uhuh-uhuh -- I don’t!” he forced ought between his panting breaths. Kesheret offered a slow nod and an unconvinced mm-hm.

”You could’ve literally teleported away at any point - are you sure you’re an avatar?”

Twilight stopped so suddenly Kesheret nearly fell out of the sky trying to readjust her flight path. The vagabond offered his hands a look, then gave one to Kesheret before cracking a face-wide smirk. Kesheret blinked. ”Twiliiiight… Don’t.”

The vagabond slowly lifted his hands. ”No! Don’t! Bad Twilight!”

Twilight drew a circle in the empty air, his palms leaving behind a moon-blue trace. Even as Kesheret kicked off to stop him, she couldn’t reach him in time. The man vanished into the rift in space and it closed as Kesheret reached his position. She stood there and stared blankly at the air.

”ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”




Twilight had no idea how long he had been travelling through space and time. His portal spell had been hasty and crude - it flung him between dimensions like rubbish down a rocky hill. Years seemed to fade into nothingness, blowing on the cosmic wind like fine sand. It felt as though the trip took less than a minute, all the while lasting for aeons. Before Twilight truly managed to grasp the nature of the spell, he was gripped by a powerful force and pulled into a black crevice. Cosmic energy turned to moisture; void became hard, hard, oh, so very hard ground; and Twilight rolled all over it and crashed into a thick, firm tree trunk. It took him a moment to recover, his fingers caked in blood from a hundred cuts and bruises from all over his body, all of which were rapidly healing even as he inspected them. Thank the gods he was immortal. He hauled himself to his feet and looked around - he appeared to be in some kind of forest; a very wet and inhospitable forest, at that. The air was closer than the space between grains of sand at the beach, and the canopy hung over his head with oppressive density. Almost as thick as the moisture was the presence of all manner of insects - both aflight and acrawl. His sandals filled with all sorts of beetles and ants, all of which began inspecting the legs of his raggedy pants for snacks; his exposed hands and face were swiftly assaulted by fliers curious to see what divine skin and blood would taste like. The avatar took a deep breath. This was fine.

”This is fine,” he repeated like a mantra before taking his first step. The hard soil turned to deep mud after a few steps, soaking into the fabric of his pants.

”This is fine.”

A thick, almost stonehard clump of something smelly struck him in the scalp and slowly slid down the side of his face. The avatar brought a quivering hand to his soiled cheek and sampled the substance between his fingers. It was sticky. Reluctantly, he held the fingers up before his eyes. It was a greenish brown. Lastly, with a stone of anxiety in his stomach, he gave it a sniff.

It stank to high heavens.

With a squeal, the avatar started slapping and wiping himself all over with panicking hands, scraping off filth and smacking bugs. His legs danced through the mud and his messy ponytail whipped at the swarms around him. ”GETOFFGETOFFGETOFF!”

“Halt!” came a nearby voice and Twilight froze. His eyes fixed on a woman standing amidst the trees. She had bark-brown skin, black hair, and a long, animalistic tattoo that snaked its way from her cheeks to her stomach. She wore a wary frown and held an obsidian spear at the ready as she approached. The more Twilight looked, the more woman he saw pop out of the surroundings as though they had been there all along. Ignoring the bug bites and the fact that he was slowly sinking into the mud for a moment, he slowly brought his hand towards the hilt of his sword. The mere movement caused everyone around him to heft their spears higher.

“One move and you’re dead, outsider,” snarled the first woman. Twilight snickered, his hips sinking into the mud as well.

”Brave of you to carry that tone with me, lady… I see that I may have to reveal my true power level to gain some respect around here. Hehehe.” He was up to his chest in mud. The women all seemed to lower their spears in confusion and disbelief for the avatar’s calmness in the situation.

“... You… You do realise you’re sinking, do you, outsider?” Calmness wasn’t the right word, perhaps. Twilight’s smirk broadened.

”A temporary setback, love.” The mud settled neatly around the root of his neck. ”Behold - I will be free in the mere blink of an eye! Yes! That’s right - you have the pleasure of meeting no one else but ME! Twilight! Vagabond of the Moon and-- why isn’t my spell working?” Under the mud, his fingers were having a hard time snapping - the mud made his fingers slip. ”You’re kidding me.”

The women adopted states of sighing or laughing. The first one rested the bridge of her nose on her index and her thumb. “Alright, that’s about the extent to which I will be patient with your games, outsider… Sisters, pull him up.”

”No, wait!” Twilight pleaded. ”I can still prove my divinity! Wait!”

“Gag him, please.”

”No, wait, I-- erhmph! Hmmph! Ehveveve!” It took two of them gag him with a sweaty vine. The avatar growled and fought back as they tried to pull him up. The ones holding him found themselves struggling immensely against his strength, and it took the whole band of them and twenty metres of vines to bind him. Oh, and they had to knock him out, too. In the end, Twilight was dragged face-down along the jungle floor, for miles and miles. He was asleep for most of it, but towards the end, he woke up to realise he had acquired a series of new scars all over from his very being being sanded away by the ground. He was sat up, his eyes still recovering, and given just enough time to take in the sights of a small village at the border of the jungle, situated on a rise overlooking a distant growing city centered around a pyramid in the middle of construction.

“Welcome to Zetanze, tributary of the great Zuanwa, outsider.”

Twilight blinked. Where in the world had he ended up now?!







&

Gibbou





The trickle of water rushed down over a bed of nightshades. Above it was suspended a watering can, wooshing to every thirsty plant with a fresh drink at the whim of its master. Its master, on the other hand, sat comfortably on a fat bean bag, making hard eyes at a sloppy vine sticking out of a flower pot. Gibbou balanced her chin on her fist.

“I see bell peppers don’t really grow in complete darkness, huh… Darn, what’s that? Me: Ten; Orey… Uh…” She looked at her fingers. “... Damn it, life, you’re hard to love sometimes. It’s not like I can make another Neverday Island! I mean, I could, but… Ugh…” She let herself be swallowed by the bean bag. “Effoooort…” She wrinkled her nose with a sniff. The ceiling of her glass dome offered a damp view of steam with a faint hint of the eternal expanse of space behind it. After a while, she looked back at the plant. She pittered through her lips.

”Yo, Orey! Wanna hang?” she asked the void.

There was a burst of laughter, some muttering about a chick or two and several more seconds passed before Oraelia exclaimed, "Gibbouuuuuuuuuuu! My little sister, my Gibs, my first love- Oh how I've missed your voice! It seems so long ago I gave you a big hug. The kind that makes the heart warm and melt- Oh oh oh! Don't eat that little Bun." her voice faded.

The moon goddess offered a series of blinks. ”Woah, someone’s happy! What’s up? Did something sweet happen?”

Oraelia gasped. "Gibbou! Have you ever baked pie? Tell me tell me tell me." Her sister said quickly, words almost slurring together.

Gibbou squinted - these was something familiar about her articulation. ”Nnnnooo…” she offered with a hint of suspicious. ”Only muffins. Say, Orey, did I… Have I visited and given you something? Recently? While, uh, under influence?”

"Nope! I haven't seen anyone in soooooo long." she then giggled and half whispered, "Okay I saw that Qael guy and I've helped some mortals." Followed by more laughing. "Muffins! Muffins muffins muffins! What is a muffin?"

”Okay, what’s going on? You’re always giddy, sure, but this is a lot - even for you. Be honest - have you been drinking?” There was a pause. ”Actually, hold that thought - I’m coming over.” Gibbou shot up out of her bean bag, put on her space-black summer dress, sandals and sunglasses, and skipped out the doors of her glass dome. She jumped across the lunar surface until she reached the sunny side. The fiery light burned at her skin, but she was undeterred. ”Hold on, Orey! I’m coming!” She then squatted down and kicked off, launching herself into space like a blue comet. As she travelled closer to the sun, the space around her began to twist and warp. Before long, instead of crashing into the solar surface like physics suggested she should have, she instead broke through the edges of space and crashed straight into a fluffy bed of grasses and flowers in her sister’s garden. She pushed herself up from her belly and looked around, spitting out dirt and petals. ”Orey? Orey?!”

A streak of green erupted into the sky on the distant horizon and made a beeline to Gibbou, humming all the way. When it reached her, the Orb tackled into Gibbou and Oraelia changed forms into her sunny bright one. She wrapped her arms around Gibbou and squeezed as she kissed her sister's cheek repeatedly. "Gibbou's here! Gibbou's here!" she exclaimed.

”Eeep!” squealed the moon goddess and momentarily let her protection instincts kick in. Arms that pushed her sister away were quickly rerouted to hugging her back, however, though her face tried its best to dodge Oraelia’s incessant pecks. ”Woah, hey, hey, hey! Yeah, Gibbou’s here! Gibbou’s here.” She tried to tighten her hug so Oraelia wouldn’t squirm as much. ”What on Galbar happened to you?”

Oraelia seemed to relax slightly in her grip and stopped pecking her. She then gushed, "Nothing! I'm just baking a pie! It's going to be delicious and and and i'm going to take it to Neiya and that way she can feel better too!" She grinned with childlike excitement at Gibbou.

Gibbou caught something in her throat - most likely a clump of ‘what did you just say?’, for she immediately followed up by saying, ”Wait, what? You’re hanging out with…” She took a deep breath. ”Did she make you like this? Did she?!”

Oraelia tilted her head. Then laughed. "Psshht no. Don't be silly. I haven't seen Neiya innnnnn uh, the day she hurt me!" Oraelia's smile then seemed to break for a moment, her eyes flashing awareness. She then released her grip from Gibbou and brought a hand up to her face. Vividly crimson berries appeared and she smirked. "Try one, try one! You'll feeeel so much better Gibs! You won't have to worry!" she said, holding out her hand.

Gibbou forced a smile and guided her hand away from her mouth. ”Maybe later, sis. First, let’s… Let’s just talk, alright? Tell you what, how about I set the kettle to boil and we can, y’know, catch up a bit - I’ll even make muffins, how about that? You -need- to try them, after all.”

”Okay!” Oraelia said, wrapping Gibbou into another hug. ”That’d be soooo wonderful sis!”

Gibbou nodded slowly and snapped her fingers, a small kettle appearing out of nowhere to settle on a fireplace that had arranged itself neatly on the ground. The kettle filled to a little under the brim with water and started cooking. Gibbou then conjured forth a stone over using a nearby heap of mud and started cracking eggs, pouring in milk and adding sugar into a bowl - all of which materialised out of nowhere. While she was mixing, she offered Oraelia another glance, pursing her lips curiously. ”Sssso… What’ve you been up to - except making pies?”

”Oh! I’ve been helping lots of people! I made your druids happy and their lands really fertile, then I helped an Iskrill because he seemed nice and was scared of everyone, so I gave him a deterrent! Then I helped a Neiyari that Neiya and Yamat bullied! Uh, uh, yeah! Aren’t you proud of me Gibs! It feels really good to help people and not feel so useless!” Oraelia clapped her hands together.

Gibbou stared at her blankly. She brought her palms together, rested her fingers under her nose and took a deep breath. ”Orey, sweety?”

”Yeah?” She bobbed up and down.

The moon goddess held in another breath, then slowly removed the kettle from the fire and added some tea leaves. She then let out a sigh that could’ve caused earthquakes in less stable worlds. ”Y’know what, nevermind. I’ll feel like such a hypocrite if I comment… Just… If you get asked to help Iskrill, Neiyari or…” She made a face. ”No, that’s not right, either… Look, you -can- help them all you want. Just… You oughta understand the consequences and, and…” Her head collapsed forward and left her staring at the ground, sapped of hope. ”I can’t really say anything at all in this, huh.”

Oraelia poked Gibbou. ”Watcha mean sis?” Her voice then grew quiet. ”Consequences… Did I…” She whispered to herself. ”Hey! You’re sad aren’t you? Have a berry!”

Gibbou pushed her hand away, more firmly than last time. ”Sis, I’m good. I don’t want any berries right now.”

”Areeee you suuure?” She chided. ”Evandra showed me her version a long time ago, and they make you so full of passion, so I tweaked these a bit.” She giggled.

Gibbou frowned. ”Yeah, I’m sure, I’m sure! Sheesh, what’s with you? You’re so…” She pushed Oraelia away slightly and pulled her knees to her chest. ”You’re being really weird. I think you should take a break from eating those berries.”

Oraelia blinked rapidly and seemed taken aback for a moment. ”W-Why would I want to do that?” she asked, raising her voice. ”I can’t do that. I can’t do that! I thought you would understand! I don’t want to feel like that anymore!”

Gibbou frowned. ”Okay, that settles it - no more berries!” With a lightning quick move, she flicked away the one Oraelia had in her hand. ”Rule number one about addictions - if you can’t stop, it’s an addiction - which ain’t good.”

Oraelia stiffened. ”I-I-I’m not addicted! They make me feel better!” Oraelia stammered, summoning more into her hands. Gibbou tossed herself at her to slap them away.

”So does wine for me, but you remember what I mess I become when I drink too much!” She tried to wrestle her to the ground.

Oraelia fell over and Gibbou fell on top of her as the sister’s fought over the berries. Oraelia kept them out of Gibbou’s hands for a while but then Gibbou slapped them to the floor again. ”Why are you being like this!” Oraelia cried out, no longer able to summon berries as they wrestled in the grass.

”When I was at my lowest, you were there for me! I won’t let you waste away in a stupid high if you’re feeling sad - and I know you are, because I haven’t seen Genesis anywhere!”

Oraelia froze. ”S-S-She’s j-just sleeping! Sleeping!” But her tears gave her away. ”No no no! I need a berry, I need a berry!” she cried, struggling to free herself again. Gibbou’s grip only tightened.

”Don’t let yourself become a slave to drugs, Orey! They didn’t do me any good - they certainly won’t help you!” Gibbou focused, the shadows on her face and body growing outwards into a circle around them. The edges of the circle grew taller and taller until they were both imprisoned in a cylinder of darkness. Gibbou let go and quickened to her feet. ”Now you and I will talk about this - we will cry; we will hate the world; we will call each other names like we never have! But I won’t let you just sit here to grieve!”

”Let me out Gibbou!” Oraelia said, banging on the darkness. ”Please let me out! I can’t bear to be sad anymore! I hate it, I hate the feeling!” she yelled, growing frustrated.

”Sadness is the worst emotion - trust me, I know it so, so well! But we must take it in - know that it’s there, and not escape from it! How could I protect anything if the sadness of loss broke me down at the first instant?” She paused. ”How can you bring your love and warmth to the world if there’s no sadness and cold to wipe away?”

Oraelia turned to Gibbou, her body growing brighter as she clutched her fists tight. ”No! You don’t get it, Gibbou! I exist to make others happy! To bring others warmth! That doesn’t mean I deserve it! I am undeserving! I am a terrible god, a terrible sister, and a terrible mother! I hate myself, I hate myself! And the only thing that makes me happy are those berries, so you’re going to let me go!” She said, trying to sound fierce.

Gibbou blinked in disbelief. ”What’s gotten into you? Who said those things?”

Oraelia gritted her teeth. ”What’s gotten into me? I-I-I… Gibbou…” Her light began to fade and she grabbed her head. ”No that’s not… What’s…” She looked up again and broke down. ”She’s dead. She’s dead. Genesis is dead. I failed her. I-I wasn’t there. I ignored her. She’s dead. Oh why is she dead?” She fell against the wall and slid down slowly, her form’s light shattering in an instant, to reveal a disheveled Oraelia.

Gibbou lowered her head. She sat down on her knees and dragged herself to kneel opposite of Oraelia. She pressed her fists tensely down on her thighs and nodded slowly. ”... So she’s gone, then. I thought for a moment she had locked her portal shut, but as it was completely gone, it felt kinda… Off.” She made a knowing look. ”It was not your fault, Orey. You may think it is, but it isn’t.”

”She didn’t say goodbye…” Oraelia whispered. ”How is it not my fault? She lived in my realm and I didn’t even notice she was gone until it was too late. The lifeblood came and snatched her away and I did nothing.”

”Exactly! You did nothing - you are not at fault here!” Gibbou grit her teeth and glared at the ground. ”It’s the lifeblood that did this, but neither you nor I can change what the lifeblood does. The lifeblood is, well, the lifeblood, and not even we can change how it works.”

”Gibbou… Because I did nothing I am at fault. I could have tried to do something… Anything. But it was too late. I lost her.” she lamented.

”It’s easy to think of these things in hindsight. None of us have been able to defy the lifeblood’s barrier to reach Galbar; do you think anyone of us could’ve reversed death if it was the lifeblood’s will?”

”No…” she sighed. ”I just wish it wasn’t so.” Her eyes began to water. Gibbou nodded slowly and shuffled closer to embrace her sister.

”It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt for a long time. Maybe it’ll never pass - loss rarely does. We shouldn’t try to forget it - suppressing such emotions does no good at all - but we cannot dwell on it forever, either - it’ll consume us. We must acknowledge it, accept all its horror and despair, and make it a part of ourselves. Only then can we begin to move past it.” Her embrace tightened. ”... And if you need anyone to hold you and open their heart to your worries, I will always be here for you.”

Oraelia returned the embrace, sobbing into her sister’s shoulder. After some time had passed she said in a hoarse voice, ”Look at you sis… I’m so, so proud of you.” She paused, ”I don’t… I don’t trust myself here all alone. What do I do?”

”How about you stay at my place for a time? You can get those berries out of your system and we can level with each other as much as we want. Also, you can help me make peppers than grow in the dark!” Gibbou pulled away and smiled. ”How’s that?”

Oraelia gave a small smile. ”I’d like that.” Then she looked around her realm and sighed. ”Perhaps I shouldn’t leave it all alone. I think I need someone to answer my prayers for a time, make sure my realm is safe, don’t you think?” she turned back to Gibbou.

”Suppose so, huh. What did you have in mind?”

”Well… Let’s see.” Oraelia raised her hand and from a nearby yellow sunflower, something shimmered and grew. A lithe body began to form, with long skinny legs and arms. Golden hair ran down a button face, all the way to her feet. For indeed, the form took shape into a woman’s and the light around her formed into shimmering colors of the rainbow, faint but there. Set upon her torso, the light came together and formed flowers of gold that covered her chest, while leaving little to the imagination. Golden eyes, soft and sweet, looked down at Oraelia and Gibbou with a spark of intelligence as jewels wrapped through her air, weaved together by golden chains. When her form was complete, she bowed before them.
“Lady Oraelia, Lady Gibbou,” She said in a modulated tone. Her voice sounding pleasant to the ears. ”It’s so nice to meet you and to be of service to you, Lady Oraelia. I promise I will do my very best to uphold, and fix, your divine mandate.” she said, clasping her hands together as she looked round the realm. ”What a lovely place!” she exclaimed.

”Gibbou, this is Rhiona, the Caretaker. Another avatar of mine. She’ll do better than me.”

”Lady Oraelia, please, do not belittle yourself.” Rhiona crouched down in front of the two. ”It takes great strength to realize when you can’t do something alone.”

Gibbou let out a squeal and cupped her cheeks in her hands. ”Oh, she looks just like you! Hey-o, Rhio! You’ll do great!” She turned to Oraelia with a raised brow. ”So you intend for her to stay here, right?”

Oraelia nodded. ”Yeah. I shouldn’t leave her alone though, I’ve learned how hard it is.”

Gibbou looked around. ”Yeah, I could see this place getting some more life. Like horses or day bats.” She shrugged. ”I dunno, what you think?”

"She needs some companions I think. Ones who can be cherished and love in return. Would you like that Rhiona?" Oraelia asked with a small smile.

She nodded in return. "Oh would I! But don't fret my Lady. I shall create them in my own time after I explore this place some. For now I would advise you go with Lady Gibbou and heal. I shall visit you frequently. Please please don't exert yourself, you have made me quite capable." She said standing straighter but a sheepish look did cross her face and she coughed. "Horses might be nice though."

Oraelia giggled, and with a snap of her fingers horses of pure white erupted from the grass in herds like moving snow. Rhiona went wide eyed and squealed with glee before composing herself and bowing before the two gods. "I shall take my leave. Lady Gibbou, Lady Oraelia. I will see you soon." and with that, Rhiona flew off after the herd.

Oraelia couldn't help but laugh. "Oh I love her already."

”Your realm’s in good hands, I reckon,” Gibbou said sagely. ”Now, then, shall we bounce? We’ll put on some cocoa and play board games! There is this one called ‘shezz’ that I wanna try out. You game?”

"I wouldn't want anything else." Oraelia smiled.





The Reconquest 1 - Gathering Allies



Year 29AA, outside the small hamlet of Ha-Leothe, east of Ha-Dûna...

The four-five huts that had once made up the pastoral community of Ha-Leothe laid in smouldering ruins. Barns and smokehouses that had housed their keep and supplies stood instead ablaze, though not before having been stripped down to the skeleton for anything that could be salvaged. The supplies were heaped up in the hamlet centre, surrounded by raggedy, meagre-boned, yet dreadfully vicious warriors of Ha-Dûna. Behind the heap stood a quickly-assembled altar to Sigeran: it consisted of three poles, each topped with the bleeding head of a villager, surrounding their piled-up corpses. The rest of the folk of Ha-Leothe wept with rope about their hands, forming a line of enslaved prisoners of war. The largest of the warriors offered the last hut still on fire a sharp scowl before she spat.

“That’s the last of it?”

“That’s the last of it,” confirmed one of her fellow brigands.

“Good. Let’s move. These people look slower than the last catch. Come on!” She yanked at the rope, the ten or so people tied to it staggering forward a pace, more so due to each others’ imbalance and trance of disbelief. “Frasa, take Huin to lead the cattle back. Samuin, you’ll--”

She quieted herself. The other warriors saw her and immediately reached for their weapons. The ground trembled and the nearby woods screamed with snapping twigs and rustling leaves. The warriors quickened their breathing in knowing fright. The largest among them grit her teeth.

“Shit, they’re coming! Quickly, take as much as you can, and--!” An arrow nailed her in the arm and she fell over. The rest of the band ducked for cover and pulled their weapons out. From the woods came another band of soldiers, led by Boudicca hefting a great axe above her head.

“FOR HA-DÛNA!” the warrioress roared.

“FOR HA-DÛNA!” her companions echoed. The brigands managed to avoid another volley of arrows, as they saw the archers lower their bows for fear of killing the civilians. The brigands met the charge - their numbers were almost equal, but the followers of Sigeran were tired and underfed. Boudicca and her warriors hammered into first few brigands with spears, axe and club, breaking them quickly. Some of them ran at the civilians, but they were immediately stopped by a Mother descending from the sky to trap them in silk or slay them with terrible fury.

“H-HOLD THE LINE!” The greatest among the brigands rose to quivering feet, clutching her bloody arm. “We cannot lose these supplies! Our people are starving! FIGHT ON!” She grabbed her own spear, but it was knocked out of her hand. She looked up just in time to stare Boudicca in the face, the other woman towering over her. Before the brigand could speak, Boudicca swung her axe, taking her head and raising it to the sky. The sight shattered what remained of enemy morale, and the brigands ran for the hills in an instant, hounded by arrows all the way. Meanwhile, Boudicca approached the altar to Sigeran. She glared at it and raised the head of the brigand leader up to meet the eyes of the spiked heads of the villagers.

“Know this, you cruel god! This is what happens to those who follow you, and we will not stop until Ha-Dûna and her lands are free of your ilk!” With that, she cast the head to the ground, where it bruised and rolled up to her foot. She panted and looked back up, her eyes filling with sorrow as she studied the tortured faces of the villager heads. “They are growing more desperate by the day.

The accompanying Mother, busily untying the ropes holding the villagers and tending to their wounds, offered a quiet hum of acknowledgement. “What else can we expect? With locusts eating at their fields and starving their livestock, how else would they eat? Nothing is more dangerous than a cornered beast...” She wrapped a young girl’s bruised leg with silk and went to tend to an old man clutching his bleeding left eye.

“Here, let me help,” said Boudicca to the villagers attempting to carefully topple the poles holding up their molested friends and family, and other warriors came to help them. As the villagers gathered around the corpses to mourn and weep, the warriors helped them regather the supplies and salvage what prized belongings remained in the ruins. Boudicca oversaw the work while the Mother continued to perform first aid next to her on the villagers that needed it. Some of the warriors had, too, been wounded in the battle, and more than one needed their wounds bandaged and their bones set. When the pressure died down slightly, the Mother wiped her hands clean of blood on a silk rag and stepped over to Boudicca with her arms crossed. The giant offered her a nod and set her eyes back on the villagers huddling around three corpse pyres symbolically built inside the charcoal skeleton of the largest hamlet hut.

“Do you sympathise with them, Kelly?” Boudicca asked openly. The Mother offered her a sideways glance.

“Of course, I do. Their lives were ruined; their homes, burnt to the ground - all at the whims of a crazed priestess back in the city that used to rule these lands.”

“No, I mean - do you sympathise with the Sigerans? The way you spoke about them earlier seemed as though-...”

“I don’t. Well… That’s not really true…” She lowered her gaze as Boudicca raised her a brow. “I guess it’s innate in my psyche as a Mother to feel sympathy for all things - no matter how evil. The Sigerans, though…” The two of them watched the villagers set their dead aflame, supported by the Dûnan warriors who offered them sympathies and poems for the dead. Kelly furrowed her brow. “The Sigerans make it really hard.”

Boudicca sucked pensively on a tooth. “I can’t pretend like I understand much of your philosophy, but… If that’s who you are, then as long as it doesn’t hinder your ability as a soldier, I will respect it. We’re killing our brothers and sisters, after all - our families, people we saw every day.” She glanced over at one of the Sigeran corpses. “I remember her face, that one - used to sell carrot bread and baked potatoes from a small stall by the eastern resthouse. Now she’s dead - slain for little more than being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” She put a hand on Kelly’s shoulder and the Mother shrunk. “Maybe we could all use a little heart in these times.”

“Yeah… Maybe.”

After the pyres had begun to die down and the tears of the villagers had begun to dry up, they all gathered in the centre by the three holes in the bloodied soil where the altar once had stood. The villagers still looked shaken, and many burst into tears again when surveying the remains of their home a second time. Their emotions seemed to sober down, however, as Kelly spread her wings wide and wafted forth a small cloud of pollen-like dust, which swept over the villagers like a tranquil puff of wind. The youngest among them fell asleep in their parents’ arms, and the most exhausted struggled to stand upright. The weakest were supported by Dûnan soldiers, quick reflexes saving them from a visit to the ground. The Mother smiled appreciatively at the helpers and spoke,

“This is the worst of times, people of Ha-Leothe. Your homes and loved ones were taken by those you once called friends, brothers, sisters… Truly, no punishment is worse than this.” The crowd collectively lowered their heads.

“The Sigerans will pay for this!” snarled one of the men. He was instantly supported by tearful cries of rage. Kelly offered them another wave of calming pollen and nodded slowly.

“The Sigerans will pay, yes - however, as Gibbou says: ‘First, we must ensure those we hold dear are safe; only then can we turn to face those who threaten them.’ We cannot allow ourselves to be consumed by vengeance and throw caution and love to the wind. We must, as Artafax would say, ‘come together to form a foundation’. This foundation will support the tower which is our reconquest of Ha-Dûna.” She studied the expressions of the crowd and scrunched her nose. “In other words, we cannot go out on our own. We must come together as one and strike back as one.” She gestured to the building skeletons. “Your homes were taken from you - they cannot be given back; nor can the lives of those they slayed. The true sons and daughters of Ha-Dûna can offer you new housing and friendship, however, either at Kirin’s Rest or Scawick. They won’t replace the old, but it’s all we can do.”

The villagers exchanged weary glances. Kelly sighed. “It’s your own choice. We will not force you either way.” Boudicca, meanwhile, kept close watch of the hills to which the enemy had escaped. Suddenly, a shadow appeared over one of them - humanoid and, from the looks of their hands, armed with a spear. The shadow became multiple, and they were approaching fast. The giant grit her teeth and spun to look at her companion, a huntress named Gro.

“Run back and tell Kelly to evacuate the villagers! Everyone, to arms!” As Gro ran back, Boudicca formed a line with her seven other companions, leaving those who had been wounded earlier to stay with the villagers. The incoming force seemed undeterred by their resilience, despite their inferior numbers. In fact, their charge seemed completely fearless - so much so that it struck fear in herself. Boudicca’s eyes went wide with terror as she recognised the soldiers - especially the one in the lead.

“Ragnar…” breathed one of her companions through quivering teeth. Boudicca looked around in horror. Her companions were visibly wavering.

“... The Black Hog…” whispered another.

It was the Stone Boars.

A scream sounded from Boudicca’s left - one of her companions ran away screaming, throwing her weapon behind her. Instantly, as though of one mind, the other seven followed suit, their morale shattered to pieces by the terror of the impending enemy.

“NO! Stand your ground!” commanded Boudicca, but it was no use. She saw the Dûnan warriors run past Kelly, who was still helping the civilians escape, and into the forest. If the Stone Boars broke past her, they would slay the rest of the villagers and finish what the brigands had started. The giant felt the gall of fear in her throat nearly choke her - she had no reason to stand her ground. She was one warrior - against six trained paladins, no less. Even if she could delay them, it would be no more than a second. Her sacrifice would have been for nothing and the people she had vowed to save would be stacked atop one another in an even greater altar to Sigeran.

And yet…

She brandished her axe and roared her challenge at Ragnar, who slowed down slightly upon seeing the fervour of the giant. His panting face twisted into a grin and he reassumed his charge, followed by his five companions. Boudicca reached down to the ground, coated her hand in some soot and ash from the building debris and dragged it across her face. She cast one last glance over her shoulder. Kelly was looking back at her, shouting for her to retreat with them. Boudicca shook her head.

“Keep them safe! I’ll stall them!” Then she raised her hand high in the air, bellowed another roar and sprinted forth to meet the enemy charge. In her sprint, she felt her life flash before her eyes, and it settled on a particular memory - the Helgensblot that had given rise to all this chaos. She remembered the joy she had felt when she had finally beaten Frode the Enduring in Caden’s test of strength.

Strength… Yes, would that she could be stronger in this moment - strong enough to hold off this impending foe for long enough that her friends could escape. Strength so, so she could survive to fight another day. She was afraid - deathly afraid - but with strength of body and spirit, she could endure.

“Caden,” she whispered, “give me strength.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then a voice spoke within her mind. You have strength enough. But a shoddy weapon like that? That won’t do. Then, to her horror, the axe in her hand crumbled into dust. She had only a moment to process this before a new weapon materialized; it was a shining silvery blade, nearly three feet in length, with a small gilded crossguard, and a hilt wrapped in a fabric that felt luxuriously soft in her hand. That should suffice, I think, the voice added rather smugly.

“W-what?” Boudicca whispered. The miracle was seen by everyone, and the Stone Boars came to a halt a mere ten feet away. Both friend and foe watched in awe as Boudicca turned the weapon around in her hand. Even the fearstruck Dûnans came back out to behold the sight. The edge caught the sun, its light winking flirtily at Boudicca’s eyes.

“... It’s a miracle,” came a whisper. Boudicca looked up and saw that all the Stone Boars had turned to look at one of their members, a veteran of Grimholt like her named Parix. “She’s been blessed by the gods…” Behind her, the others inched ever closer to behold the sword. Boudicca turned and raised a palm.

“Stay back! Don’t be-- woah!”

The sound of quick paces had brought her attention back to the front in the nick of time. A spearman named Gerad had made an attempt to impale her with a swift, silent strike, but she managed to dodge to the side and grab the spear shaft. Behind Gerad, the remaining Stone Boars looked to waver uncertainly, too.

“Gerad, you fool! She’s got the attention of the gods - we must retrea--!”

“There is only ONE GOD - I fight for the glory of SIGERAN! HAHAHAHAHA!” The spearman laughed maniacally as he wrested free his spear and jabbed at her again. Boudicca was prepared, though, and dodged out of the way. Gerad snarled and stabbed again - but the giant kept sidestepping his strikes. Oddly enough, she didn’t feel her body tire - even as their dance lasted several incessant minutes. This served only to break the Stone Boar morale down further and further as Gerad’s determination only had him sinking more and more power into his strikes, until he could barely move anymore. Boudicca, on the other hand, barely felt sweaty - and part of her considered the very real possibility that that was older sweat.

“Who-... Who are you to-... To disrespect me this way, Boudicca, huh?!” Gerad spat through his heavy breathing. Boudicca scowled as the spearman hefted his weapon again for another strike. “Use what your false god has given you, now… FIGHT ME LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”

Then, as Gerad’s strike once more missed, Boudicca used the momentum of her sidestep to lift her arm across her head and bring her sword straight down on his head. Gerad saw the strike and closed his eyes in evident prayer that his copper helmet would take the brunt of the blow. However, to everyone’s horror and astonishment, the sword went clean through the metal as though it was paper, and continued through skin, bone and organs as though it was butter. The strike was so clean that the sword carved deeply into the soil once through, the amount of power used in the strike having overshot the necessary amount by several magnitudes. Boudicca even struggled to pull the sword back up as the two halves of Gerad collapsed against one another and buckled down over her. Boudicca should, by all the laws of nature, have been caked in blood from top to toe; however, as the giant dragged the corpse parts off of her back with wet squelches, the blood on her body seemed only to pool in spots that brought out her muscled and womanly features, adding artificial shadow to her hips, breasts and face. Upon reviewing herself, Boudicca looked flustered, confused and uncomfortable.

The onlookers blinked to confirm what they saw. The Stone Boars shifted between her and their butchered comrade. Ragnar the Black Hog shook his head slowly. “... That, that was copper - he was wearing a copper helmet.”

“... Ragnar… This isn’t worth it,” Parix pleaded. Boudicca looked up from her only slightly bloodied hands and pointed her sword at the remaining five.

“You will be given one chance to retreat, Ragnar.” Around her, her companions reformed the line, joined by Kelly and even some villagers armed with sticks and stones. The Black Hog grit his teeth.

“This isn’t over, Boudicca. We will have our fight yet.” With that, the Stone Boars started jogging back up the hill. Boudicca lowered her sword and let out a groan of relief.

“You’re letting them go?” asked the huntress Gro, an arrow nocked ready on her bow. Boudicca placed her hand on hers.

“The Stone Boars are our brothers and sisters, just like everyone else in Ha-Dûna. We will take no pleasure in killing them, for killing family is nothing short of a sin.” She sighed again as the shadows topped the hill and disappeared. “They are broken, weakened. The gods have cursed them terribly for the acts of a few individuals. The last thing they need is to lay awake in the night in fear that we will butcher every last one of them.” She gave Kelly a nod, who nodded smilingly back. “Now come on - I know Kelly said you have a choice to stay, but given how exposed you are here, I encourage you to come with us.”

“No need to tell us twice. If you’ll help us retake our home in the future, then you have strength we can give,” said the man from earlier. Boudicca nodded.

“Good. Ha-Dûna will be freed yet.”




That evening, when the Dûnans and refugees had made camp, Boudicca stepped away from the campfires and into the woods. A thought had tickled at the edge of her mind: What had made her deserving of Caden’s aid? Had it all been the result of a simply coincidence? What were the implications of this - a lesser god offering aid in a moment of crisis? The parallels to Sigeran cast a shadow over her thoughts: Could Caden’s aid simply be another attempt by a single god to take control of Ha-Dûna?

She wouldn’t stand for it. Had he spoken with her once, she would speak to him again. She found herself a clearing, descended to her knees and folded her hands. “Caden, our saviour, are you there?”

There were several long seconds of silence, and then a voice answered. I am indeed. What is it?

Boudicca blinked in brief surprise before biting her teeth together. “You, you rescued us - rescued me - from death’s jaws earlier by offering your aid when you did… Why?”

There was another pause before the god answered again. Because a warrior who stands her ground against hopeless odds for a noble cause, even when everyone else has fled, is worthy of aid.

Boudicca frowned. “Is… Is that the only reason?” She paused. “Forgive me if I seem blunt, but the last year or so haven’t given me the best impression of gods coming out of virtually nowhere to help us. Is, is there anything else to this?”

You think I’m expecting something in return?

“I couldn’t say, your holiness. None of us know much of anything these days. We have been tricked before, though - forgive us for our skepticism.”

Tell me, Boudicca, what do you intend to do after Ha-Dûna is free?

Boudicca frowned. “That’s… We will make the Sigerans pay for what they did and, and try to get the city back on its feet. Ha-Dûna is the pearl of the west - I won’t let it collapse in on itself at the hands of some crazed fanatics.” She hammered her chest. “I will see to its restoration myself, if I have to.”

And after that?

“W-well… We will return to our lives, I suppose. My husband and I, we, we had a pasture, up in Blikkentind, a day or so away from the city. Our daughter, Hega, would run between the cows and hide in the tall grass…” She sighed. “That’s what I want to return to, anyway.”

Not the times when your people were running around, merrily slaughtering their neighbours? the god asked, a hint of distaste in his voice.

“I never condoned the slaughter, your holiness, but we did what we needed to to survive. Our people would be starving if we hadn’t taken that land. The way my people treated the enemy notwithstanding, we have only ever done what we had to for the good of Ha-Dûna.” She frowned. “We cannot be faulted for that.”

Yet your people can be faulted for how far they went, Cadien pointed out. I am more than just a God of Strength and Teeth, you know. I am a God of Beauty, a God of Endurance, and most relevantly I am also a God of War. But war must have rules. Not everyone your people killed needed to die. Even if you did not condone it, you did not stop it, and the division of your people right now is a consequence of that unchecked slaughter and fanaticism.

“What should I, one woman, have done, then? The Dûnans are a proud people, but we’re also four different tribes with only half a century or so of history together - not even that, I think. We acknowledge our mistakes now, but the past is in the past - hindsight will only break what little morale we have left!” She paused to breathe sharply. “It’s horrible enough that we have to kill our brothers and sisters.”

’I am just one woman’, or ‘I am just one man’, are things I hear quite often. Sometimes, the people who say it to themselves stand right next to each other, without ever once realizing they are of the same mind. Sometimes, the dissenters are greater than the ones they oppose, but they all think they stand alone, and so they go along with it. Yet if one had the courage to step up… the God’s voice trailed off.

But you are right, he picked the conversation back up after a few moments. We cannot change the past. Not even Gods. What I am trying to change is the future. I do not wish to see the slaughters of the past years repeated. I’ll not begrudge your people for waging war, for sometimes war is necessary, but I’ll expect them to do so honourably and sensibly.

Boudicca scrunched her nose. “I cannot speak on behalf of my people, I’m afraid. Our tribes are many, and our people, diverse. But I hope, pray, that after this is all over, my people will have learned from their mistakes and the viciousness of the Sigerans. That is all I can vow for now.”

That is all anyone in your position can vow, I suppose. But you underestimate your influence. Your people now see you as a leader, and I suspect they will continue to do so even after this dispute is over. For why wouldn’t they listen to the champion of their creator?

“Creator? I’m no champion of Reiya.”

Hm? Why is that- oh. For a moment the god fell silent once again. Then, he sighed. It truly amazes me how much mortals forget with the passage of time. But I suppose your people have more pressing issues than the truth about who created them, and introducing another religious conflict now is the last thing you need. Anyhow, know that I give you permission to call yourself my champion, and I offer you one more gift.

Boudicca stood up in a hurry. “W-wait, I’m confused - what’s happening?”

An object materialized on the ground in front of her. It was a warhorn, but unlike any other horn it was purple in colour. The men you call Stone Boars. The fear you feel when they face you on the battlefield. It is not natural, it is not your own; it is the work of some other god. You cannot fight them without some means to counter it, so this horn will banish that fear from the minds of those who follow you.

Boudicca looked at the horn suspiciously, then slowly knelt down to pick it up. “... The work of a god - of course! Must’ve been the work of Sigeran, too, I’d wager. Nothing is too low for him.” She thought for a moment. “... But the Stone Boars appeared over a decade ago, though… Has Sigeran been with us for that long?” She looked to the heavens. “Do you know?”

There is no god named Sigeran, as far as I know, Caden told her. It’s possible that a new god has come into existence, but that is a rare occurrence. More likely, he is an older god who has given your people a false name, or one of your people invented one for him, but I will have to look into the matter further to be sure.

Boudicca frowned. “... Now… Now that you mention it, the druid Gene - she’s the one who proclaimed the existence of Sigeran - back in Grimholt three years ago.” She clutched her head. “... But then… Who gave us eternal life for the battle? If not Sigeran, then who?”

I do not know, Cadien said. Gods go by different names in different regions. My own true name isn’t even Caden - though that is rather close to it.

“This… This is a lot.”

Hm. I suppose it is. Just focus on retaking your home, for now. The machinations of the gods may be beyond you, but you still have power over your immediate surroundings, and your people look to you for leadership.

“If, if you say so, your holiness.” She paused to study the horn in her hands - she would be a champion of Caden now, chosen to lead the Dûnans back into their city. She had been a leader before - this, she knew - but divine mandate added a whole nother layer. She nodded to herself. “I will do my best.”







The Merchant Kings 1 - A Grand Republic




Rach Rose sat upon a baqualo-skinned pillow in his garden, admiring the moonlight shine upon his roses. They took on his violet hue that was simply impossible to replicate with any other flavour, especially when taking the fragrance into account. In his hand, he held a cup of hot flower tea, wagging it thoughtfully around as he took in the surroundings. To think, the young king had so easily and foolishly abandoned his house’s claim to the throne. He had expected far too much from him - Turmerick was even more naive than anyone could have imagined. Oh, sure, the queen and princess had both come to plead for him to forget all about the young king’s words, but they both knew it had been for naught. A groundbreaking reform in the Fragrancian leadership was about time, too - monarchy was a much-too-archaic form of government; they would learn from the Akuans, instead - have a government ruled by the people.

Rach Rose pursed his lips. The right people, of course.

Still, for such reform to take place, they would need guidance - it would be no simple task to unite the rachsas to form a government. With a king, at least, one had someone to mediate when negotiations went sour between them - now, he would have to rule alongside the other rachsas to govern Fragrance. He could at least take solace in the fact that none of the rachsas were strong enough to single-handedly overpower all the others; his, which was the strongest, would need the support of at least two other major houses.

His thoughts brought sweat to his forehead - he had had such plans, but he had not expected the prince to mess everything up -this- fast. Many of his ideas could not be hastened anymore than they already had been. He would have to focus first on suppressing the inevitable public outrage whenever the news of the king’s decision would leak. He thought of his future colleagues in government - he would have to send couriers to all of them soon. He had sent couriers already to his closest allies, asking them to come to his mansion. He needed as many friends as he could get in these times of change.

Approaching footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts. The soles were soft sandals, worn with a gentle, yet firm gait - a sudden clash of lavender to challenge his roses heralded the approach of his heart. Rach Rose found himself grinning giddily and rose from his pillow to greet the guest.

“Lavender, my heart - I knew you would come,” rach Rose breathed affectionately. Approaching him came a lean, well-groomed man with skin like the night sky, hair like coal and eyes like stars - pahrk Lavender, one of the rach’s most prized soldiers.

“Of course, I would come - what would I not do for you, my Rose?” Lavender responded and the two met in a long, passionate kiss. Their hands massaged at each other’s necks and fingers dragged softly through their hair. Rose brought one of his hands to Lavender’s chest and gently broke away from the kiss, leaning his forehead against his.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you of late…” whispered the rach. Lavender tittered.

“Yeah, judging from your kwaxl, you’ve been through quite a lot.” He planted a kiss on his forehead. “Did you think about me during the battle of Monsax?”

Rach Rose pulled away slightly. “You know I could’ve died there, right?”

“But you did think about me in those times of danger, yes?”

The rach turned away and his dark blue cheeks darkened further in a blush. “... Yes…” Lavender tittered smugly and flicked his right wrist towards the left. A woosh of wind caught a pillow sitting by a nearby saloon table and brought it over next to the rach’s. The warrior then proceeded to sit down. Rach Rose clicked his tongue in approval.

“Wow, your x’ao-kaom really -has- improved, huh,” he mumbled softly as Lavender crossed his arms over his chest.

“What, did you doubt me?”

“Well, when you write ‘I feel like I can move heaven and earth’, I’d still say you might’ve exaggerated a liiiittle bit - but it’s clear you’ve made progress.” Lavender rolled his eyes and chuckled; the rach joined in. “By the way, are you thirsty? Hungry? Can I get you anything?”

“A meal and some tea would be wonderful, my heart.” Rach Rose nodded and clapped his hands. The bead-curtain door to the main house was gently pushed aside and out peeked the head of the rachfi. Rach Rose turned his torso to face her. Lavender offered her a greeting click, which the rachfi echoed in response.

Oio’j is thirsty and hungry. Bring us some more tea and… Would you like something sweet or salty, Lav?”

“Ooh, the sage says I eat too much sun and noise - something sweet and quiet would be lovely.”

Rach Rose clicked approvingly. “My, you read my thoughts. Rachfi, bring us two servings of maokl, and go easy on the cinnamon. Oh, and another pot of tea, my love - let’s keep it to jasmine.”

The rachfi clicked in acknowledgement and ducked back inside. Lavender smirked and leaned back on his large pillow. “I should find myself a woman soon. Must be nice to have someone to take care of the house.”

“Oh, certainly,” rach Rose agreed and slurped quietly at the rim of his still-half-full teacup. “She’s given me quite the flock, too. Five sons and three daughters - can you imagine?”

Lavender looked up at the night sky. “No, I really can’t… A fertile and obedient lady such as her is a rare gift, my heart - your legacy is secure. Speaking of…” He offered Rose a knowing click. “Congratulations on inheriting the kingdom of Fragrance!”

Rose chuckled politely. “Now, now, it’s not like I’m the sole regent. Not that I would want to be, either.” He sighed and balanced his chin on his fist. Lavender offered him a look and placed his head on his shoulder softly.

“You work hard, my heart - no one sees just how much you do for Fragrance.” Rach scoffed playfully, but Lavender touched his cheek gently. “No, I mean it! King Safron was, well, not a very good king - we both know that. He was quick to temper, had no idea how to control his heir Cinna, and when he banished that brat, he got himself killed before he could even teach his youngest the basics of rulership. Trust me - you have saved Fragrance -a lot- of trouble.” His whisper became even fainter. “Besides, you know what would’ve happened if the boy had become king - the Nilla rachsa would’ve gobbled him up in an instant; we would never have seen him again. Now, the Nillas have just as much control of the situation as we do - probably even less.” He planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

Rach Rose blinked. “I’m… Surprised you’ve been paying this much attention to politics. Have you been around different crowds since you went to Scenta?” Lavender chuckled, then offered a half-hearted groan.

“Ugh, I wish. It’s my master, Hyasynth, constantly pushing news down my throat from all around the country. I just want to learn how to cast spells - I don’t, i don’t need all this.” He made a ‘prrt’ with the lips. “Although, it does help me stay up to date with what you’ve been up to when you don’t write to me.”

“Would you like me to write more often?”

“Pfft, please don’t - I can only handle so much of the city drama before I go mad. Although, I do think you should get back into poetry - you have a gift, I tell you!”

Rose blushed. “N-no, that was just, just a phase.”

“Come ooon, Rosey - do it for me, man!”

“Oh, you’re such a cliché romantic…” Rose muttered to the sound of Lavender flexing his arms.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not just romantic - I -am- romance itself. Have I not the physique of the heroes of old? Come on, praise me, heart, praise me.”

Rose scoffed and took his hand, bringing it to his lips. “You’re such an idiot…”

“You used to write poetry, my love?” came a feminine voice behind them. Rachfi Belladonna Rose knelt down beside the rach with a tray in her hands, upon which was a fresh clay pot steaming tea, two clay plates, each topped with a portion of round, mushy cake, and a cup for Lavender. Rach Rose offered Belladonna a polite click.

“I did, yes… For a time.” The rachfi gave him a hopeful look and gasped softly in anticipation, but the rach looked away from her and sucked thoughtfully on a tooth. “It’s a very private matter, though. I’ve made no promises to start again.”

Lavender raised his brows at Rose and forced a soft chuckle. “Don’t mind him, Bella - he’s tired from work today.”

The rachfi’s hope dissipated and she offered a solemn click of acknowledgement. “I… I understand.” She rose to her feet. “Please, enjoy your meal, you two,” she said with a bow and walked back towards the house.

“Belladonna, my love?” The rachfi spun around with clapped her hands softly to indicate anticipation and attention. The rach frowned slightly. “Please keep your xuakla close in case we require entertainment. We will likely be sitting for a while.”

The rachfi scrunched her nose and clicked in acknowledgement before bowing again and stepping into the main house. The rach and pahrk both grabbed their plates and gave the cake a taste. Lavender offered a soft sigh. “I think you should treat her a little better, actually.”

Rose smacked his lips in surprise. “Are you saying I treat her poorly?”

Lavender swallowed his bite. “No, no - you’re good and polite to her, but, well… She’s given you, as you said, quite the flock, and she is obviously quite faithful to you. Don’t you think that warrants some additional reward of sorts?”

Rose sipped his teacup with a frown. “Well, I provide for her and our family and allow her to stay at my property - in return, she serves me as any good fiya’j would. I even go out of my way to celebrate her birthday and to honour her fidelity and worth every X’ao-x’ei. What, are you saying she should have a wage, as well?”

“Hey, hey, no need to get upset, my heart,” Lavender whispered calmly. Rose looked away, and his husband cupped his chin in his hand and turned his face to his own. “Look, if you feel like you are doing your duty to her as her oia’ssi, then I won’t question it. It’s just… I think you could be happier with her if you opened up a little more - saw her as more than just fiya’choi, then maybe…?”

Rose sucked disapprovingly on his teeth. “It’s just… I don’t want you to think I’m not faithful to you.” Lavender scoffed.

“What, you think I’d be jealous of your wife? Wow, if you want -that- sort of relationship with a woman, hooo-kay!”

“Ugh! I’m being serious here, Lav!”

“So am I, my heart!” The pahrk placed his hand on Rose’s chest and cocked his head playfully to the side. “I know what kind of love we have for one another. You treating fiya’choi as a nelven being instead of a slave won’t change any of that.”

Rose shrunk a little. “You realise what kind of looks I’ll get from the other rachs, right? Their rachsas?” Lavender scoffed again.

“Looks-scmooks - look at the Nillas. They’re strong because they work together as friends, maybe even lovers - not as master and servant. You said it yourself in your message: You need friends more than ever. Maybe you should start at home, hmm?”

The rach sighed. “Is that why I’ve felt the Nillas are so… Queer?”

“Yup. There’s power in relationships, my heart - even between a man and his wife.”

The rach sucked in a slow breath. “Ugh, I hate it when you make sense.”

“Hey, just because I am a mountain of muscle does not mean I am without brains. The moon has blessed me with wisdom to rival a sage.”

“Alright, easy there, shadowtiger…” Rose looked over his shoulder. “Belladonna, my love?” In a heartbeat, the rachfi peeked out of the curtain door once more. Rose looked visibly uncomfortable, but an encouraging kiss from Lavender empowered him once more. “Would… Would you like to join us for some tea?”

The rachfi gasped as quietly as she could, which wasn’t very quietly at all, and popped back inside. Rose sucked in a breath through the teeth. “Maybe it was too much all at once?”

Lavender shook his head as there came a ruckus from inside the hut, followed by Belladonna hurrying over to sit beside her husband, xuakla faithfully in hand and a white-toothed smile on her dark purple face. “No, I think it was just right,” the warrior offered and took another sip of tea. The three of them spent the rest of the night giggling over stories, and Belladonna even told some herself in between her gentle music. Rose had to confess eventually - she did make him happy.




Aboard the ARS Suleiman, flagship of the Second Fleet...

The ARS Suleiman, despite being the flagship of Her Majesty the Archduchess’ Second Fleet, often found itself delegated mainly to patrol duty in Jovian space. It wasn’t as though Europa was engaged in a multitude of conflicts, but to see such a magnificent ship delegated to coast guard duty didn’t always sit well with the admiralty. One such grumpy admiral was none other than the ship captain himself: Admiral Hercules Muhammed Wellsley.

Admiral Hercules Muhammed Wellsley, as one would note quite quickly upon seeing him, was a chimpanzee, specifically an uplifted one - a simmie, as his kind was called. He was in his graying years, with large ashen bushes growing on his brow, and his once dark brown scalp, neck and back growing ever lighter. He wore a scowl, one aimed sharply at the ray-shield monitor before him. The bridge of the Suleiman was propped full of cadets, technicians, knights and engineers, competing with the beeping and rumbling of the machinery around them for who could be the loudest. The admiral offered a growl and tapped around on the display, the screen switching to show the near-space radar scans from the last few minutes. A blinking dot on the screen caused his eyes to narrow.

“Ms. Senai? Remind me - has Overwatch received any transmissions of inflights in this sector?”

A dark skinned woman in her late thirties overlooking a monitor beside him pursed her lips and switched around the displays, pulling up a log. “One minute, admiral. Search: Augustus Sector, Jupiter’s orbit above gas drill station Ivan.” A brief beep signalled the computer’s confirmation of the order and the list turned to a blur as it scrolled through the logged reports of flights through Europan space. After thirty seconds or so, the blur became intelligible again. Natsinet Senai swiped the list to the left, sending it to the admiral’s display. “At 23:31, a small freighter by the name of ‘Theogony’ sent in a notice of passage, which was cleared by Overwatch.”

The admiral looked at the time and sighed: 04:59. “Acknowledged. Performing standard verification procedures and all that... What was the registration code on the Theogony?”

“IPF20BAA-9.”

“Very good. Mr. Lavigne, run close image scans - verify that the ship code matches the one in the register. Mr. Brun, bring me a cuppa.”

“Yes, admiral!” shouted Mr. Brun over the noise of the bridge and jogged to the water boiler. The admiral flecked his lower set of fingers and rolled his head around his neck. For fifty years, he had been an admiral of the Royal Navy - this sort of work was beneath him. He gave his temple a slow rub.

“Uh, admiral?” The ape raised a brow.

“Yes, Mr. Lavigne?”

The radar operative enlargened his own display so the whole bridge could see. “Take a look at this.” He enhanced the image. “The code doesn’t match. This one’s VL2991.”

“That’s not a freighter at all, actually,” Ms. Senai added. “That’s a corvette. A shabby one, too.”

The admiral felt a small rush. Finally - some action. He sat himself properly in his chair and copied a live feed of the the imaging display onto his own monitor. “A gas runner, huh? Probably thought Ivan would be a quick in-and-out. I would not be buying lottery tickets if I was them.” Those around him snickered. The admiral smirked. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let’s not allow them to sully Her Majesty’s industrial parks any longer. Lt. Yung, sound the alarm; Ms. Keaton, open up a communication’s channel; Cpt. Schmidt, have the cannons manned and missiles locked. Aim for thrusters with intention to clip their wings - the gas runners will hang from the gallows in Aaland, as all who defy Her Majesty’s laws will.”

“Affirmative, admiral,” the three of them shouted in response and the alarms blared swiftly thereafter. A Europan ship-of-the-line like the ARS Suleiman had what some considered to be unnecessarily large crews, as though the modernisation of their fleet had thrown advanced AI to the winds. While that was certainly the case, it also stemmed from a wish among the admiralty for a return to the glorious past - a manned navy, free of the terrors of the cold AI that so tortured their system.

There sounded mechanical thunder as the broadside cannons exited their hatches. Above, the woosh of air blasting out of open missile pods sent shivers through the ship. Companies of spacers on the floors beneath the bridge ran back and forth between the armoury and the cannon controls.

“They’re responding to our communications request, admiral. Bringing them up on the screen now.”

Ms. Keaton flicked the display over to a large, central hub screen on the wall. The channel opened, revealing four filthy faces, two humans, one diwa and what looked like a skimpy jarian. They appeared frozen with fear. The admiral put on a face like stone and collected his hands behind his back. “Good evening, scoundrels. This is admiral Hercules Muhammed Wellsley of Her Majesty Archduchess Aurora Saint-Mary Rosenkrantz-Monsoiller’s royal navy. Per the rules of Port Europa and the laws of the Panhuman Empire to whom we swear loyalty, your ship is trespassing on royal property. Remove yourselves from the premises or expect to be treated like the pirates you are.”

“S-shit, Donnie, it’s the… Oh, God, shit, shit, SHIT!” came a whimper from the jarian. One of the humans and the serengeti exchanged looks of terror.

“W-we d-didn’t--! W-we’ll get out of here!” The human scrambled to reach the other side of the cockpit which they were in and started mashing buttons desperately.

“Admiral,” said Mr. Lavigne. “We can confirm that the target has maxed its thruster output in a direction away from gas station Ivan.”

Admiral Wellsley spat dryly. The communication channel closed. “What do you think are the chances that they took something?”

“Uh, small, sir. They were still on their way to the station by the time we intercepted,” Mr. Lavigne added. Heads were turning to face the admiral. Wellsley pursed his lips.

“Small is still a chance. This could’ve been their tenth run tonight, for that matter. I do not play with chances.” He hopped back onto into his chair and pressed a button. “Cpt. Schmidt, disable their thruster capabilities.”

There came a few gasps. Mr. Lavigne rose out of his seat. “Admiral, they retreated. Is this really necessary?”

“They’re pirates, Mr. Lavigne, destined to hang from the neck until dead. A running pirate is nothing more than a running criminal. Lt. Yung, have boarding fire up the tractor beam.”

Mr. Lavigne furrowed his brow and sat back down. There came a thunder from below deck and the radar display showed three gray dots travelling towards the targeted ship with a mighty speed. Infrared imaging of the target showed three brief flashes of white before the hot white which had been the thrusters began to cool. “Confirmed hits on all three thrusters, admiral,” shouted Lt. Yung.

“Good. How’s that tractor beam coming along?”

“Already active, sir. The corvette is getting closer as we speak.”

“Very good. Have the romsoldats bring them in once they’re close enough. Tell them to employ stun weapons; if they resist, switch to lethal.”

“Understood, admiral.” As orders were repeated into speakers, Wellsley leaned back into his chair to observe. He cast occasional glances over at Mr. Lavigne, who sometimes looked judgingly back at him. Radar operators… They never had the gall to do what was necessary, he felt.

No matter. He would learn as all his men and women had. Besides, nothing broke the monotony of this job like a good hanging at dawn.

@MonkeyBusiness Welcome to the neighbourhood!

- Sincerely, the Port Europa.

A King’s Duty 4 - To Keep One’s Allies Close




Termurick sat blushing on his mattress, hands rubbing sweatily against each other in his lap. Across the room from him sat the druid Laurel with a bowl of liquid. The young king swallowed as the druid dipped her finger into the liquid and put it in her mouth, dragging her tongue around her mouth to taste it thoroughly. The druid hummed and put the bowl back down, fixing an earnest, professional gaze on the king.

“As suspected, your body has an imbalance of elements - too much sun and stone, from what I can gather. I will discuss changes in your diet with the rachfi to see if we can restore the equilibrium. From what I sampled, though, it seems that your scent and flesh are in balance, though, so we will take that into account, too. Expect a lot of chlach.”

Termurick grimaced. “... Is there no other way?”

Laurel scraped some characters into a length of thick bark. “If you are to regain your health, you need to replenish your moon and water elements. If you absolutely don’t want to eat chlach, I suppose we could--”

“No, it’s… It’s fine,” the prince muttered. Laurel clicked in acknowledgement and rose up, walking over to the doorway to empty the rest of the bowl into the dry grass outside before stepping back inside to sit back down.

“There is also… Another matter that we should discuss, my king.”

Termurick laid back down on his mattress and the druid placed a wet cloth on his forehead. “Do all druids drink pee to check the king’s health?”

Laurel sighed. “It is a completely necessary part of diagnosis, great son of the moon. Now, I was about to say…”

“Do you have to do other gross stuff?”

Another sigh. “Sampling bodily excretions to gauge the health of the aristocracy is an essential duty of the sages, my king. Now if you’d--”

“Do you eat poo, too?”

Laurel scoffed uncomfortably. “No, we-... If needed, we will sample the smell. It is not a joyous experience, but again, it’s necessary.” She reached out and squeezed his hand sternly. “Now… Anymore questions?”

Turmerick made a sad “prrt” and waved. “No… Sorry, it was just… I was curious. Now, what did you wish to talk about?”

“It’s fine, great son of the moon. It’s… Natural to be curious as to what your subjects do, exactly. Now, as for what I was going to say…” She shuffled a little closer and placed her hand on his forehead. “I was going to talk to you about this ten years from now, but with your father’s passing, I need to discuss this with you, as your court sage.”

Turmerick blinked and recoiled up against the cool wall. “Laurel, you are being awfully serious.”

“I am,” she confirmed and clicked. “Now, have you caught yourself wetting the bed lately?”

Turmerick shrunk. “... N-no…”

Laurel hummed and smacked together pursed lips. “Are you certain?”

While he was not comfortable thinking about it, Turmerick permitted himself a minute or so to look back through his stressed memories of the last few weeks. “... No, I-... I haven’t been wetting the bed.”

Laurel raised a black brow and scraped down some more characters on the bark in her hands. “Duly noted.”

Unable to contain his curiosity, the young king turned to face her again. “... Why do you ask?”

Laurel gave him a stone-faced look. “Only the king can further the royal line, great son of the moon - it is important that he be fertile early so we will have time to ensure another son is born.” As she packed her things together, Turmerick took a moment to process this.

“W-wait, but… I’m twenty five.”

Laurel shrugged. “Some nelflings show potency at an age as young as twenty. The sooner we can make certain the line is safe, the better.”

The king clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Even if I… I was, who would--”

“The rach and rachfi have graciously offered the hand of the khamfi to be your future wife. I assume you were informed earlier?”

Turmerick gasped. “Kh-khamfi, you mean--... I wasn’t--...” His breathing quickened and Laurel slowly waved a hand over his head, a purple dust flaking off her skin and drizzling down on the king’s face. He drew two more gasps before he magically calmed down and laid his head on the linen pillow. “... Buz she’z so old…” he slurred.

“Nonsense. She’s thirty-five. A decade is nothing to worry about,” soothed the druid and wiped the remainder of the dust off her hand with a cloth. “I think the two of you would look cute together.”

“Doez mozzer know?”

“The queen? Yes, I believe she is aware. As is the princess - they reacted cordially to the arrangement.”

Turmerick felt tears well up in his eyes. “Why wasn’ I told?”

Laurel kept her manner-of-factly speech. “Forgive me. I thought you had been.”

“What else has the rach and rachfi been arranshing?” The druid offered him a somewhat sympathetic click as she turned to the door.

“I could summon them if you’d like.”

“What other arranshements, Laurel?” Despite being delirious with moon dust and sickness, the prince pressed himself to his elbows and offered the druid a threatened growl. Laurel’s expression hardened.

“Get some rest, my king,” she said and left. Turmerick snarled and rolled back onto his back, his fevered body sloppily kicking at the air to get more comfortable on the mattress. It was happening - the rach and rachfi had engaged their plan to divide them up and seize them for themselves. If he already had promised his own daughter to him, then he had no doubt given his sister and mother’s hands to his cousins in Scenta. He recalled his father’s warning and cringed in shame - how could he have gotten sick at a time like this? When his family needed him?

He coughed weakly and eyed the ceiling. There had to be a way out of this… He couldn’t afford to lose his family, his only remaining allies. He gnawed desperately on the nail of his thumb, deep in thought. How, how, how could be escape this?!

Then a plan struck him - a foolish, outrageous and terrible one fermented in a soup of panic, but still the only plan he could devise. He eyed the sword on its mount. For a moment, he considered asking his father for advice. He stopped himself - his father would be abhorred by the idea and ask him to think of something else. Issue was, he couldn’t - his mind was utterly blank, and any day now, his mother and sister would be sitting atop each their baqualo, heading out of his life forever. He would enact his plan tomorrow - he hadn’t a second to lose.




The next morning, the nelfling king had his family and the rachsa come to his chambers, joined by the druid Laurel and the mage Crocus, an aristocrat with claws deep in the tea plantations of Fragrance. The king was nursed intimately by his mother and sister, both doting on him for a good twenty minutes while the others patiently waited around.

“Oh, my baby, you look so pale,” whispered his mother and kissed his forehead. “... You need to eat more meat!”

“... The sage has forbidden me from eating any - it contains too much sun and stone,” the king responded with a smile and clicked at Laurel, who clicked back.

“The king speaks true, my queen. Hot, hard foods would only worsen the imbalance in his body. Once he’s healed, we’ll be sure to return him to a balanced diet.”

“You better,” princess Clove whispered half-bitterly and caressed her little brother’s cheek. “If something were to happen to little Turmey, I would--” A stern click from her mother silenced her. “... That would be bad,” she corrected herself. The king laughed softly. He felt loved again, and it only tormented him more to think about what he was about to suggest. The rach chuckled politely and bowed to take the king’s hand in a well-mannered greeting.

“Great son of the moon - the night truly is darker and safer with you to protect us. It is nothing short of a joy for you to have gathered us here. Pray tell, what is the occasion? Should I have my rachfi bring tea?”

Turmerick sat himself up with some help from his family and cleared his throat quietly. “That, that won’t be necessary, rach Rose. I just have a quick announcement… It’s regarding the engagement with the khamfi.” He smelled the air - she was here, a nelven girl ten years his senior with coal-black cheeks and hair, with eyes like the starry sky. He saw her step forward from the rachsa gathering, wearing a small smile and the rosey perfume so common among her kinsmen. Turmerick swallowed - she was beautiful, but…

Rach Rose grinned from ear to ear and clicked his tongue applaudingly. The princess and queen offered the king forced grins. “Ah, yes - forgive me for not telling you myself. It was meant to be a surprise for later, but alas, such events do have a tendency to leak out into public perception, do they not? Truly, it is an honour that you would--”

“I don’t accept it!”

“-- consider marrying my…” The room went quiet in a second. The rachsa’s gazes all darted to one another; rach Rose stood dumbfounded and stuttering; his daughter the khamfi covered her gasp with her hand; the queen and princess both looked about to enter a panic. The rach eventually collected himself and asked, “I, uh… I’m sorry, my king, but… Is there something barring the union of our two houses?”

Turmerick swallowed. “There is! I… I am marrying someone else.”

The rach looked at Laurel, who shrugged in confusion. Struggling to keep his demeanour, the rach offered another bow. “Of course, of course. If such is the case, we cannot stand in the way of our king’s promised. This is understandable. Forgive me for asking, though - to whom does the king plan to be wed?”

Turmerick drew a deep breath. This would either end in victory or disaster. He looked at his mother and his sister, both of whom were at a loss as to what he was doing. The king tasted the words he was about to say and found them distasteful, but necessary. In an unbroken sentence, he spoke, “Queen Clove and princess Clove.”

The room was silent again, this time without as much as a twitch of movement. Turmerick closed his eyes and drew a quivering breath. He could feel his mother and sister slowly letting go of his hands, both letting out quiet scoffs. The rach offered a single quiet snicker before placing a hand on the king’s shoulder. Turmerick opened his eyes and gazed into the rach twisted face, looking as though he was suppressing a grin into a polite smile.

“Un… Unorthodox,” he offered as generously as he could, and Turmerick instantly knew he had lost. The rach straightened himself up and turned to his family. “But! Who are we to stand in the way of true love? The tradition of multiple wives harks back to your great-grandfather, in fact, my king - it is good that you wish to revere your forebears by following their examples.” He paused. “... While the records don’t offer much in terms of marriage to one’s closest kin, well… Someone would… Have to be the first, I suppose.” There came quiet snickers from the nelves around him. The queen turned to him and lowered her forehead to the floor.

“Great rach Rose - he’s, he’s delirious from the fever. Please, offer him a chance to rephrase himself.”

The rach clicked a ‘no’. “I’m certain the king is more than healthy enough to make his own decisions. The great son of the moon is, after all, the blessed champion of the gods - they would never abandon him when making a decision such as that.” The queen drew quivering breaths. The princess glared in disbelief at her brother. “No, I wish to congratulate you three,” the rach continued, “as a show of good faith, we will arrange for the wedding to take place at this venue. Sure, it may take some time to explain the situation to the guests, but I’m certain they will eagerly support the will of the king.” He turned to the door and the rest of his family followed. “Please, do recover as quickly as possible, my king - we have a wedding to plan!” Then they left. Laurel and Crocus both stood staring and one another uncomfortably.

“I… Had not expected -that-, my king… I pray you will permit me to take a few additional samples from both you and your… Brides… I wish you all the happiness of a good night.”

“Good night,” Crocus echoed. Then they, too, left.

The king, queen and princess sat in silence. Then, with furious strength, queen Clove slapped Turmerick across the face. The king slumped against the wall behind him and sank down, almost passing out. “W-wha--”

“Why, Turmerick…” she whispered as bright tears ran across the charcoal skin. “... Why, by the moon, did you do something so, so foolish?” The princess was already sobbing sharply into her hands. The king’s breathing accelerated.

“I-... I don’t understand, I… I thought this would help--”

“HOW does this help us?!” the queen snarled. “You just gave-...” She shot a glare like daggers at the doorway and lowered her voice. “... You just gave the rach everything he could want.”

Turmerick gasped. “... But… But how? He doesn’t, he doesn’t get to take you two from me and--”

“Is -that- what you were afraid of?!” his sister snarled at him and Turmerick cowered. “He wasn’t sending us away! He had said nothing of the sort! Who’s been telling you this?!”

Turmerick felt the world around him evaporate into fleeting gas. “... W-what do you--”

“We were keeping him in check on that front - we were reaching out to our friends in Xiang and Lukt, trying to see if we could have some of them move here to make arrangements. As long as you are king, you could deny the rach’s wishes to marry us off.”

“B-but the sword said--” How had he not caught this? Had his father forgotten to mention that to him? Had… Had he intentionally left it out? Had it even been his father talking to him through the sword? Had he gone mad?

“... But this… No one will help us now. The people won’t recognise a child born of incest as an heir, and any child born outside of marriage is considered a bastard.” The queen’s face dropped into her hands. The princess dragged herself over to the wall and embraced herself shiveringly. “Our line… Has ended.”

Turmerick shot back up. “B-but, I can go back on it! I can go back on my word!” He eyed the two of them. “Can’t I?”

“You called in every witness the rach needed. He will buy up anyone else.” The queen looked up at the ceiling. “... We have no choice now but to escape.”

“Escape?!”

“... Otherwise, we’ll be kept here as the rach’s pets.” The queen swallowed. “... The rulership of the town is lost now. There is nothing for us here.”

Turmerick’s head slowly fell forwards. “B-but… Fragrance is our home.”

“Not anymore,” the princess whispered as though her words were meant to stab. Turmerick collapsed completely onto his bed.

“I… I just wanted to keep us together…”

“Well… Congratulations, bro - now we won’t be separated even if we want to be.” She stood up and left. Turmerick couldn’t even force himself to cry. His whole body was in pain - it felt as though his heart was about to break asunder under this pressure. He reached out to his mother’s shoulder, but she shrugged his hand off.

“Who, Turmerick… Who planted these thoughts in your head?”

“The…” he could barely formulate worlds. “... Father told me he would take you away…”

The queen looked at him and shook her head. “The gods have cursed me with sons sick in the mind…” With that, she rose and left, too. Turmerick had no idea how long he laid in his blank trance after that. He stared emptily at the doorway, his mind incapable of formulating anything beyond a single sentence, repeating for hours on hours on end.

“I have killed my dynasty.”



&

Helgensblot - the Festival of the Gods



28 years after Antiquity...

Autumn was at its peak, with hot-red leaves dancing in the wind on every branch. The fields were all only plains of sliced grain stalks similar to unshaven stubble, and the vegetable acres were all messes of potholes and ditches as eager hands scooped carrots, beets, onions and kohlrabi out of the ground. Skin sleds of goods stacked taller than the people pulling them flooded in and out of Ha-Dûna like the tides on the beaches below. Even the occasional cart, imported from far off lands and dragged by highland cattle, brought in the autumn mutton for the great feast of Reiya. From the beach below, nets upon nets of fjord salmon and herring were dragged aboard Dûnan rafts in preparation for the feast of Claroon. From the woods came the children giddily with baskets of pears, apples and currants red and black to honour Jennesis. Odes to the gods rang out from every building corner, and people sat on stools in the streets between shifts of lifting and loading, smoking pipeweed and sharing in the excitement of the upcoming festivities. The Celite Iontráil was polished and cleaned thoroughly in preparation for the sermon of Fìrinn; adequately sized boulders were prepared for the Boris Games; the Constellars had, despite religious schisms, been cordially invited to prepare the rites in honour of Seeros, as with every year during these times; an enclave of druids knelt before Gibbou’s altar and fervently prayed for permission for the whole of Ha-Dûna to stay up past curfew; Caden’s test of strength was set up next to the Boris Games’ course; a monument to all those who had fallen during the Conquests was erected in honour of the dead and the sorrow they felt for them through Naya’s grace - confusingly, bards all around also sang of Naya’s beauty in ways that did not match her solemn portrayal; marriage proposals and ceremonies were conducted by the dozens as Taeg Eit would have wanted it. It was beautiful, harmonic chaos.

After all, it was the first day of Helgensblot.

Helgensblot was a week-long celebration in honour of the gods - nor just the druidic gods, but all the gods precious to the Dûnans. It was a holiday of harvesting, games, feasting, music and offerings to the gods, all as thanks for the gifts given to them. The first day marked the day when all would prepare for the following days - the grain fields would be shaven clean of their produce, which would be rolled into the mills and processed into flour for bread and porridge. The old rams and ewes and dams were slaughtered for their mutton, which would be grilled over fires with wild herbs and sea salt. Ceramic pots of butter, yogurt and kefir which had sat under the ground to keep cold through the warm late summer were unearthed and unlidded. After the way the Helgensblot had gone the year before, the archdruids had picked and seized as many joybells as they could find, preserving them as fruit kompots in a cellar under the House of the Weary. There, they were kept under guard, though some of the festival attendees showed clear signs that the archdruids had missed a few. Apart from that, though, all the festivities were as old as tradition itself.

This year, however, a new game would be introduced alongside others - one in honour of their newest addition to the pantheon: Sigeran’s tournament. It would fall on the second-to-final day, and all were curious as to what the archdruids had thought up this time.

The first day passed quickly as everyone was too busy with work to realise that time flew by. Before long, all the preparations for the week had been completed, and the feasting had begun. Various bards took to the improvised stages and performed songs about the gods: the Ballad of Macsal and Lucia was particularly popular - as was the Epic of Gaard Goldhair. The first feast always served mutton stew. The goat and the sheep were the animals of survival, and to celebrate having survived another year thanks to the gods, the Dûnans knew of no better meat to eat. It was eaten with yogurt and sour cream, and for desert they had wild fruit kompot. The feasting continued deep into the night, for the druids were confident that they had gotten Gibbou’s permission. Those who lasted until past midnight got to see the Constellars put on a ceremony in honour of Seeros, their familiars dancing about with their masters.

The second day was dedicated entirely to the Boris Games. Here, men and women competed for the favour of the stone god by running a mountain race for thirty kilometres, all while carrying a sizeable rock in their hands. Many participated - most made it back. The route could be treacherous, and to lose the rock meant instant disqualification. Those most unfortunate never made it back at all, and served ever as reminders to respect the mountains and the king of stone, Boris. All knew the risks, however, and many who participated had sharp arguments with their families about the dangers of the race. Deaths were always a tragedy, but they were simultaneously honoured as martyrs who gave their lives so the others would not have to - a sacrifice to the mountain god, almost. The race went on for most of the day, and many ran out to the fringes of the route to cheer on the participants. Druids were posted all around with pots of water and fermented milk to help the racers recuperate after long strides. After the games, the winner, who this year was a herjegalling named Frode the Enduring, was raised atop a pedestal and given a calf, a ram and a ewe for his efforts - an incredible gift to a family without ties to the resthouse system. The night once again followed with more feasting, music and games.

The third day was reserved for prayer, and the festival came almost to a halt. All participants went on a minor pilgrimage down to the lowlands to see the sun rise in the east over Tordentind, the mountain at which foot laid Grimholt, all in honour of Reiya. They then followed the sun’s rise to the sea and the surface reefs, where they tossed leftovers to the gulls, barnacle fliers and the fish to thank Claroon; by midday, they reached the forest, where they buried acorns, seeds and pinecones to thank Jennesis; by the afternoon, they had reached the foot of the mountains under Ha-Dûna, and they gave thanks to Boris by rubbing the stones with their hands and building small cairns; at sunset, they were back in Ha-Dûna in time to see twilight reflect against the Celite Iontráil, and all offered their thanks to Fìrinn by bowing to it. As the stars came out, they thanked Seeros by swearing to remain hopeful and to inspire their peers to do the same; as the moon rose, they thanked Gibbou by going to sleep; and as they did, all the mothers sang the songs of Macsal to lull their children into the world of dreams.

The fourth day was once again a day of games, this time Caden’s test of strength, with activities to remember the fallen planned for the afternoon in honour of Naya. The test of strength challenged its participants first to squat with the added weight of tree trunks, stones and, mostly for the laughs, other people - particularly their spouses. Those without proper technique and arrogance in choosing their load could be damaged for life, and this year, like every year, there were two or three who pulled a muscle, snapped sinews or broke their backs due from sheer pride. Thereafter came a test of pull-ups. Finally, there was a test of pushups. At the end of the day, the winner was the magnificent gaardskarl Boudicca, a mountain of muscle and one of the survivors of the Battle of Grimholt. The competition had been fierce between her and Frode the Enduring, but having spent all his vigour in the race two days prior, Frode simply couldn’t compete with his rival Boudicca. Her price was two goats and a wooden permit that allowed her family access to the resthouses for the whole winter. However, as she already was married to a druid, she declined and offered the permit instead to her sister, who took it happily. She was subsequently further hailed as a true daughter of Ha-Dûna. After the games, the participants all gathered to mourn their lost ones at the altar to Naya. The sorrow once more stopped the celebrations dead, but towards the end, the archdruids put a spin of martyrdom on the narrative, reigniting the party fervour once again. An afterparty continued at the Bard’s College into the depth of night.

The fifth day was dedicated entirely to Taeg Eit’s marriages, and the druids would go to bed exhausted and sick and tired of saying and hearing the vows over and over for a whole day. This day, the feasts all became quite a bit more family-oriented, and wedding gifts were exchanged between the families of the couples. Those offering druids for marriage always had to pay much more than the peasants, but those funds were, after all, drawn from the resthouses, so in reality, marriages didn’t cost them as much as it cost the commoners. The Statue of Prolificacy was also eagerly visited in the evening.

Then came the sixth day, the day of Sigeran’s Tournament. The archdruids had gotten up early and approached the altar-in-progress to the Victory God. They knelt down and offered the tribute of fruits and meat. Kaer Teagan spoke, “O mighty Sigeran, victorious lord over all and champion of war - we ask you humbly for your blessing to play games of battle in your honour today to conclude our festival!”

At first there was silence for a long moment after the request was made. Then came once again the voice that was a million, each a whisper but together much more.

“You may have my sanction but not my blessing, such is reserved for those who more faithfully follow the righteous path.”

The five archdruids recoiled and looked at one another. Kaer Togen, the oldest among them by now and most senior archdruid, raised a quivering hand. “What could he mean by that?”

“I told you, Kaer Teagan - he’s sees the animalistic ways of our warriors and declared that our victories are without honour!” Kaer Pier accused. Kaer Teagan snarled back at him and tossed herself to the ground once more.

“Forgive us, great god - we are bit ignorant specks compared to your infinite wisdom in the righteous paths of war. What is the path we ought to take instead to please you the best?”

“You have misunderstood the purpose one must take in war. Your warriors seem to have a curious idea that their duty is to fight your enemies, you archdruids have a worse idea that in war you take only that which your people need. The greatest curse you have brought upon yourself is that of the idea of honor. Does it shield your warriors from arrows? If driven off your land can you eat honor? Would honor save your children from the lash of your foes when you did not do enough to destroy them because it would not be honorable?

“Your objective in war is to ensure the survival of your people over your enemy, your warriors need to destroy the enemy, not fight them. Only give them a chance to defend themselves if there is no other option to defeat them. You take not only what you need, but what you must to ensure that none will challenge and threaten your own people in times yet seen. You squander your victories with a too quick peace, you give your enemies time to work against you. You squander your warriors’ lives in fighting anything that resembles an honorable fight, honor has nothing to do with a righteous war. To be on the righteous path you must ensure your people triumph over your foes.

“Prepare to walk this path and you shall have my blessing.”


The druids were speechless. Kaer Pier’s libs quivered while the mouth was agape with disbelief. The two elders Kaer Togen and Kaer Saner eyed the ground in great discomfort, looking almost ready to vomit. Kaer Oleg and Kaer Teagan, however, both shuffled even closer to the altar and lifted their arms to the sky in praise. “Oh, your wisdom is too great for our humble minds to comprehend, magnificent Sigeran - forgive us that we could not see!” Kaer Oleg bowed his head and whispered praise to the victory god.

“What are you doing?!” Kaer Pier snapped quietly behind them.

“Are you deaf? It is clear that we have been too kind to those who oppose the supremacy of the Dûnans. None other than the mighty Sigeran - the cornerstone in our prosperity as it is now - has decreed so!”

“One of the cornerstones, Teagan! I--...” He looked nervously at the altar. It stood in stark contrast with the other altars in that it was not ordained with figurines, crystalline stones, bowls of fruit, nuts and vegetables, or flowers; the altar of Sigeran was decorated with skulls and bone. A flash of realisation washed over Kaer Pier’s face. “... I… I do not know if Sigeran is who we think he is.”

The other archdruids recoiled. Kaer Teagen first showed surprise, then a knowing frown that made Kaer Pier realise he had made a terrible mistake. “... Blasphemy… On the day of Sigeran himself.” She turned to the altar again. “Great god - what say you in response to this abhorrent behaviour?”

“The duty of protection falls upon you present to prove yourselves still faithful.” As the voices spoken in unison they grew ever harsher in tone. “One of your most holy number blaspheme, blaspheme at the altar and on this most holy day! It begets reckless apostasy or malevolent conspiracy, to have an Archdruid so harshly seek to imperil your entire community, their thoughts and guiding hand turning the faithful down dark and unholy paths as shown through their quick and easy slip to blaspheme. Show your faith- root out the corruption and evils wrought in Ha-Dûna, save the faithful from the corrupting ideas and ideals of such a dark teacher. There is still time yet to prove yourselves before all gods, before we are forced to action.”

Chalk looked black in comparison to the colour of Kaer Pier’s skin as they heard this. Both Kaer Togen and Kaer Saner began slowly walking backwards. Kaer Teagen and Kaer Oleg both cast themselves to the ground. “We are still worthy, your greatness! Your will be done!” With that, Kaer Oleg cast his arm out, roots shooting out of the ground to envelop his colleague. Pier reacted in time, swiping outwards with his arm to blast the roots away with a momentary wall of sunfire. Teagan turned around and hammered her fist at the ground, a pillar of stone shooting up from the ground and casting Pier backwards. The man crashed to the ground with the sound of a snap and a pained squeal. His right arm, which he had landed on, pointed in an unnatural angle. Oleg charged up another spell, but in a last minute effort, Pier shot his palm out towards him, a purple cloud forming around Oleg’s face and immediately knocking him into a deep sleep, falling onto Teagan on the way down.

“Bah!” she snarled, rolled him off of her and uncorked her waterskin, pulling out a lance of water which flew to pierce Pier. It would have, too, but he had once again, in the span of a reaction, altered the truth of his position slightly to her perceptions, making her miss by mere inches. As she tried to manipulate the water lance again, Pier pleaded the invisible stars above for aid.

In an instant, all light and color drained from the morning sky, except for bright lights forming a constellation resembling a shepherd looking down at them. In the confusion, a kirin appeared beside Pier and then the sky returned to normal. Both Teagan and Pier screamed in fright, and Kaer Togen and Saner who both were watching from behind the cover of a nearby altar, cowered before the creature. None of them reacted before Pier, though, and before the others could understand what had befallen them, the kirin set off into a sprint out of the city. Around the city, too, there were screams, confusion and terror over what had happened to the sky.

“S-stop them!” shouted Teagan, but from what she could see, the kirin instead parted every crowd and had every gate opened for it. The archdruid got to smacking Kaer Oleg awake again, though it took some well-placed slaps. Stalking back up to them like a pair of walking corpses, the old Kaer Togen and Kaer Saner eyed Teagan with reluctance and shame. As Oleg came back to his senses, Teagan eyed the senior archdruids with contempt.

“Why didn’t you stop him?!”

“W-we--” Togen began, but Teagan waved him quiet.

“Ugh, you’re useless! Of course, this is what we get for allowing you old clowns to remain in our circle for this long…”

“Old clowns?!” Kaer Sanner opened, but was cut off again.

“It is clear that we have been foolish to trust in peace… Sigeran is right! Blasphemers surround us everywhere - even in our innermost circle! I’ve tried again and again to tell that buffoon Pier, but he couldn’t see - he couldn’t see that Ha-Dûna allowing our neighbours to coexist - to thrive even - will kill us. We are the chosen people - the Dûnans are the people of the gods! Sigeran has realised this - Sigeran supports us in this!”

Kaer Togen raised a concerned finger. “But Kaer Teagan, see reason - Sigeran is not one of the Eight! He is but a lesser god that--”

“LESSER god?!” Kaer Teagan stormed at the elderly man, who fell back with such haste that he lost his footing and fell to the ground with a weak whimper. It was just barely that he could raise an arm to defend himself. Teagan glared down at him. “I’m beginning to think we have been lied to all this time - Hir granted us power in exchange for a lifestyle as sheep; we were grazers who bit at the lowest form of life - grass - and never dared journey beyond the edges of the meadow. Then we tasted blood and became the wolves, Togen - we are survivors and have always been; like the hounds in the night, we bare our fangs to carve out our place in this world. Such was the way of our ancestors who battled the Ketrefans, and such is our way still.”

Kaer Saner had knelt down by Kaer Togen and begun to heal him, holding his hand gently to pump the life of Reiya into him. Teagan knelt down and took the other hand, bringing it to her cheek. Togen and Saner both eyed her warily. Teagan cracked a smile. “Don’t you agree, you two?”

They remained voiceless, their eyes pleading the other for help they both knew neither could give. Finally, Kaer Togen, hints of tears in his eyes, nodded slowly. “Wholeheartedly, Kaer Teagan…”

Teagan’s smile broadened. “How wonderful that we see eye to eye. And you, Kaer Saner?”

The other archdruid looked back at her, then down at Togen with a glare of betrayal starkly visible across his poorly-aged face. However, the more he looked back at Teagan, the weaker the glare grew, until finally, he too nodded weakly. “We are, indeed, the chosen people… Sigeran… Said so him… Self…”

Teagan grinned and squeezed Togen’s hand before standing up. “Loyalty to the gods and your leaders comes so rare these days. Thus was demonstrated by Pier, after all. Still…” She frowned at them. “... None of you made attempts at capturing what was clearly an enemy of the gods. You are stripped of your ranks as archdruid.”

Saner and Togen gasped. “You cannot do that outside a moot!” Saner snapped and straightened himself in challenge. A flare in her eyes kept him from continuing. She reached down to her belt and brandished a great copper scythe, unholstering it and bringing it down to Saner’s throat.

“I can, and I did.”

Saner swallowed, but his face remained stern. “The others won’t accept this - I won’t accept this.”

Teagan’s scowl deepened. Slowly, she withdrew her blade from his throat and Saner breathed out in relief. Teagan than stepped around him, hooked the blade around his neck and sawed, parting the skin and opening the veins in the throat to spill litres of blood all over Kaer Togen’s face. The old man spat, squirmed and squeaked. Kaer Oleg took the barely breathing man and dragged him to the altar of Sigeran while Teagan held Togen’s head by the hair.

“I do not care whether you accept or not. It is not our decision, but the gods’, and the gods have made theirs.”

Togen breathed quiveringly. “God, you mean.”

Teagan looked over to the altar, where Kaer Oleg was busily mounting the corpse on a saltire. “Yes…” she whispered. “Our god has made his decision.”

Crowds still panicked from before blackout earlier came running to the archdruids for help. They saw the massacre and gasped and squealed, the warriors immediately moving to the front line brandishing whatever they had on them that could be used for a weapon. At the front came Boudicca and Frode the Enduring, both horrified at the archdruid whose robe was drenched crimson, standing over a blood-covered man and in front of a mutilated display of the butchered Kaer Saner. Many keeled over to vomit or burst into tears at the display.

“What… Is this?” Boudicca barely breathed. Frode, too, had to vomit and supported himself on two others as he did.

“This is the will of Sigeran! We have been led astray by the Eight, my children - peace was never an option! Our people belong on the battlefield, and none among us should rest until the entire world rests underneath Dûnan heel! Great Sigeran - shout your holy decree!”

The whispering cries of a million voices called out to the crowded masses so assembled. “Holy Kaer Teagan speaks truth of divine will! You, the people of Ha-Dûna are the chosen people! Fated to rule and to conquer as divinely guided under the righteous path of Kaer Teagan!”

“Arise children of Ha-Dûna, the unrighteous are culled from your number, dead or fleeing from their true punishment, and your path becomes clear! Your enemies abound around you, the unrighteous guide and seek to destroy good Dûnans from outside what your virtues did not allow them to do from within! Go forth and conquer! Go forth as the chosen, the rightly guided people!”

Boudicca and Frode both watched in disbelief as great swathes of people fell to their knees in awe of the voices, shouting praises to Sigeran and lifting their arms to the sky in worship. Others slowly, but surely, started backing away towards the wall gates, but then, someone shouted, “HEY! Kneel before the great Sigeran!”

“No, this is wrong!” came a weak-voiced, but strong-willed response, and they all knew who it was. Kaer Pier’s sister, Kaer Logan, who had stood up to Teagan at the beginning of the conquests, was shepherding those who followed her sentiment towards the gate. Boudicca and Frode had begun making their ways over, but Boudicca suddenly stopped and struggled to continue. A number of hands had wrapped themselves around her leg, all of them belonging to the kowtowing remainers.

“If you leave, Sigeran will think us unfaithful and punish us all!” shouted one of them. Boudicca wrested herself free.

“This isn’t right! Reiya wouldn’t want this - Gibbou wouldn’t want this - and Seeros absolutely wouldn’t want this! What is wrong with you all?!”

“Silence! You’ll get us all killed,” came another sharp whisper. Boudicca kept walking over the kneeling masses.

“What’re you doing, you fools?!” came insults from the front, followed by Teagan’s own, “Why are you letting them leave?!”

“Ha-Dûna is more than your power fantasies, Teagan!” boomed Boudicca and drummed her powerful chest in challenge. “The people know this - they are loyal to the true gods: the gods of Hir!”

“Oh, are they, now?” Teagan snapped back. She pointed at one of those who had whispered earlier. It was a man, a skinny man, barely old enough to be called a man. He rose slowly and approached her. “What is your name?”

“G-Graham,” he whimpered back. Teagan put her hand reassuringly on his shoulder and gestured to the Eight altars, all twinkling in the morning sun still.

“Tell me, Graham, do you believe that the Eight are greater than Sigeran? Would you trust your life with them over the god that gave us all eternal life?”

Graham squeaked and wheezed, shifting between the altars to the Eight and the altar to Sigeran, particularly the dripping corpse of Saner. After a moment, he whispered something. Teagen smirked. “You’ll have to speak louder than that. Come on, so they all hear you.”

“THE EIGHT ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO SIGERAN!” he shouted from the top of his lungs and collapsed forward with a long cry. The yell blasted outwards like a shockwave, shaking every Dûnan to the core. One by one, they rose up, reached for what weapons they had and began to chant: “Sigeran, Sigeran, Sigeran…”

Boudicca and Frode stood at the gate, the population of those disgusted by this already hurrying away in a panic. Quickly, they began to close the gate and bar it up from the outside, reinforced further with Mother silk and roots summoned forth by rebelling druids. The barricade and midday-made silk would not be strong enough, however, and hardly four minutes after they had gotten started, the gate quaked with the fury of fanatics on the other side. Both Frode and Boudicca resolved to help the others escape rather than stay and hold the gate. A minute later, the improvised blockade broke, and the streets flooded with Dûnans hunting for blasphemers.

“Kill them - kill them all - the unfaithful must not be allowed another breath!” Teagan shouted after them and turned to the altar. “We pray we may yet be worthy of your blessing, great god.”

“You have it, drive them from Holy Ha-Dûna.” The voices seemed much calmer at this point.

“It will be done, great Sigeran.”

Men, women and children all screamed as the tide of bloodthirsty fanatics rolled towards them with great fury. The Mothers set up barriers of silk again, but like last time, they knew that the sunlit did no favours for the silk’s strength. Druids whispered their final prayers as they readied themselves for one last defense against the darkness. Warriors of the refugees went to the front with what weapons they had. The clash was imminent, now, and they knew only a fraction of them would escape Ha-Dûna alive.

Except that would not be the case. Like earlier when the sky had turned back, the sky flickered once more, and momentarily, the moon outshone the sun. The first row of fanatics fell over, then the second one did. In mere seconds, the avalanche of flesh and weapons that had been hurtling towards them with war cries and roars, piled over itself into mounds of snoring bodies. The escapees were dumbfounded, but those quick to action among them hastened to shepherd them out of the city before the enemy woke up.

Running after them, Teagan stomped on the ground in a wild rage. “Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT! Give chase after them! Come on, wake up!” she yelled and kicked at one of the sleepers. He only rolled over grumpily. Teagan kicked him until he bruised and then, a sudden sensation dazed her and she fell over with a snore of her own. Meanwhile, the escapees made it out of Ha-Dûna without suffering casualties beyond their lost belongings. They were heartbroken, however - their compatriots had come at them with the sole intention to slay them all. Not a tribe among them, either - these had been people of every tribe, of every clan. Boudicca stood atop a hill overlooking the great, empty city below. Behind her came Kaer Pier, his broken arm bandaged with Mother silk. Boudicca bowed her respect, but Kaer Pier bowed deeper.

“Please, don’t greet me as such. I deserve none of your respect,” Pier sighed.

“A servant of the true gods such as yourself deserves nothing but respect, Kaer Pier,” Boudicca replied and drummed her chest in salute. The archdruid groaned.

“I caused this… If only I had spoken up against Teagan before… Put an end to the ever-growing sympathies for Sigeran earlier, then maybe I--”

“Stop.” Boudicca squeezed his shoulder supportively. The archdruid met her eyes with a shattered frown. “You have done no wrong, archdruid. You stood up against a woman of great power - as well as her closest lackey - and escaped with your life. In your own words, it would seem that the gods still have plans for you.” She punched him amiably in the chest and smiled before facing the city again with a grim scowl. “We cannot delay for long. Gibbou and Seeros may have been our saviours today, but we know not when the enemy will rise again. We must travel south, gather reinforcements with the hamlets. We need to outpace the servants of Sigeran and make certain they cannot garner more support for their malicious cause.”

Kaer Pier wiped his tears and nodded. “I will seek out the constellars. They might be able to help us send a message to the other druids in the lowlands and in the east at Grimholt. I doubt any of us would have chosen to remain with Teagan, and if they did, surely the gods must see by now that they have gone astray.”

“My thoughts exactly. Go there and beseech them for aid. I will bring our people to safety.” The two pressed their foreheads together in fraternity and parted ways. Ha-Dûna had suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of its greatest enemy - itself - and now it would have to be taken back.








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