Gibbou’s slippers made soft slaps against the cobblestones of Antiquity. Having her sister over was a lot of fun, but occasionally, she needed to get some distance to vent out all that negativity her stories of recent events filled her with - all this mess with Neiya, the berries, the loss of Genesis… It sometimes just got a little too much, even for her. A thought popped into her head - aeons back, she would have given everything to stay with her sister for every second of every hour; now, she at least an hour’s walk to think for herself and just… Well, be alone.
She hoped nothing was wrong with her - why didn’t she worship her sister like she had all those years ago? Was it because Oraelia had appeared so emotional before her? Or had Gibbou herself changed?
While it was likely a bit of both, she decided not to dwell on it much further. She found herself a small bench next to the road and glanced off into the skydome above. How much had she changed since the days of old, huh? Would… Would Adrian recognise her if she woke him up? Dark thoughts returned to memories of that dark vault - the dormitory on the moon in which specimen of all life laid sleeping, doomed forever to dream about all the things that could have been. Gibbou comforted herself through force to think that, if the world ever faced a terrible threat, then maybe those species could be used to reseed the planet with life.
The comfort evaporated as her eyes fixed on a stray bone on the cobbles. She knelt down with a grimace and picked it up.
Thaa…
Really, she should have expected it. Guardian of the dead? God of the afterlife? Someone who spends their days looking after the dead were bound to be cynical. He needed a beanbag and some hot cocoa, she reasoned. He woulda been given it, too, had it not been for, well, his attitude. She pushed aside the circulatory nature of her argument and kept shuffling down the road. ”Dumb-dumb…”
The pressure of dirt pushing between toes with each step was the slightest distraction from her unfiltered anger. Neiya marched with haste through the dizzying yet sparse layout of Antiquity, flexing the white talons of her War Form restlessly as she pushed over the mostly barren roads. She had chosen not to hover for once, intent on saving every bit of her divine power in the righteous vengeance she was to enact on that conniving, hypocritical Life Goddess.
She'd hesitated in the past, worried she'd gone too far. Tried to let her take her lesson and leave her alone. Now she knew the emotions had been a ploy. She'd bided her time and struck at Neiya's pride all at once. Nallan and the Luminant - nothing was sacred. Neiya felt her blood boil as she stormed across portals at a quick pace, manically eyeing each as she searched for the realm of the Life Goddess. She'd arrive unannounced and knock that pleased, smug smirk the goddess was certain to have off of her pretty face.
Yet something felt wrong. With each step, Neiya's courageous rage and fervor filtered through niggling doubts and second-guessing. What if she didn't know the full story? What if she was playing right into her hands? What if Oraelia expected her to arrive, and sat ready to pay her back in kind for hurting her the last time they met? That thought - which Neiya refused to consider a nugget of guilt - grew like an acorn in her belly, a stone of her own making weighing her fury down
When the Goddess of Love, War and Sin finally stood a stone's throw from the portal she understood to be Oraelia's, it was without the anger with which she had travelled there. She stared at the portal intently, feeling the itch and drive to pay her back with force. Put her in her place. Uncertainty ruled for a few moments, before Neiya cut through her own tension with a scoff and turned on the balls of her feet. She wouldn't play into Oraelia's schemes so easily. Yes, that was it. Neiya was too good, too smart, to fall for such simple provocations. Stiffly she wandered away from the portal, staring into the ground.
Neiya walked aimlessly through Antiquity, trying to make sense of her own thoughts. A frustration boiled inside her, yet she certainly couldn't go back now. The moment was gone. Sullenly, she kicked a rock across the road with her bare feet, stumbling ahead with a sharp sigh.
There came a sharp gasp. A shuffle of fabric against stone halted behind her, and there came a voice like a growl in the darkness. ”You!”
Neiya stopped dead in her tracks, suffering the soft crunch of dirt under her feet as she narrowed her eyes. She knew that voice, didn't she? Neiya spun around to lay eyes on the source of the voice, flexing her white talons.
There, on the opposite end of the cobblestone road, stood Gibbou, her breaths deep and quivering with rage. Her lunar white eyes fiercely contrasted her skin as it darkened deeper and deeper, furious tears of shadow welling up atop her cheeks. Her fists tightened together as though the fingers sought to pierce her palms. ”Why are -you- here?”
Neiya's pearl-white skin flushed with a furious burn as her eyes narrowed further. Her gaze slid around the area, paranoia nipping at the back of her mind, but ultimately being silenced when she regarded the moon goddess properly. "Hello, Gibbou." she crooned with a venomous voice. "I have a lot to thank you for."
”Don’t give me that!” thundered the moon goddess back, moon light warping and twisting in a halo behind her. ”Had this been a normal meeting, I would already have had a bone to pick with you for your outright bitchy behaviour last time… But when I heard you hurt my sister?” The moon light intensified like a supernova. ”You’ve long since crossed the line - it’s time to kick you back to the other side.”
Neiya offered a full on smirk; a vicious and unpleasant expression full of frustrated excitement. Hands falling open, talons curling up in ready motion. "Oh, honey, you picked the greatest time," she rolled out with a sultry, condescending tone. Metallic shards and edges around her form came alive, floating and twisting angrily in the air right around her skin. "I was going to finish the job, but I'll settle for pulling the Moon out of orbit."
The white-hot moonlight spun itself into thread, twisting out of its halo to bind around Gibbou’s skin. As it settled, it hardened into silvery steel, covering her from head to toe. Her shoulders sprouted great pauldrons from which draped a long cloak covering her whole body below the neck like a curtain. The ceremonial blades on the shoulderpads glistened sharply in the dim light of Antiquity, and the moon goddess scowled through the thick visor of her plumed helmet. ”Try me, bitch.”
That was all the coaxing the alleged love goddess needed, and Neiya burst from her spot with uncharacteristically swift speed, sending dirt and gravel spraying from sudden force. "You think a few accessories will help you, Gibbou?" She growled in her charge, a talon lifted in preparation as she flew over the unassuming dirt path in Antiquity. Around her, jagged edges of metal twisted and aligned around her wrist, like a tangle of metal snakes ready to bite. "Let me show you what I've learned since last time!" the goddess cried with a strange mixture of venom and delight, and slashed towards the Moon Goddess as she closed the distance, talons and sharp metal both swept against Gibbou.
Upon impact, however, the talons snapped, splintering into shards that flew across the battlefield and dug reflective debris into the dirt as they landed. Neiya roared with a ferocity that suggested the impact hurt her more than it did the Moon Goddess. Despite her initial assault being an abject failure, Neiya did not relent. The collar of her dress around her head arced upwards to free itself and swung like a blade against Gibbou. That too shattered in a spray of metal. Gibbou snickered.
”What, is that the best you can do? I didn’t even feel that!” She retracted her left fist, her gauntlet growing spikes on the knuckles, and then sent it torpedoing forward towards her abdomen. Neiya gasped in surprise as she realized the opening in her own defenses. However, where a painful sensation of a fist should have been felt, there was instead a rush of air as Gibbou’s fist missed - by several centimetres. The moon goddess’ footing appeared unstable, and the momentum invested into the strike tossed her forward at least a metre, if not more.
Silence struck for a moment, as only the crunch of dirt under Gibbou's boots filled the air. Then Neiya cracked into a haunting chuckle surprisingly full of mirth - and mockery. "Oh, my sweet moon. Will you be ever distant?" she crooned with a mocking tone, before skipping through the air soundlessly to swipe a quick grip on Gibbou's shoulder. Her other fist clenched, and swung hard straight for the goddess head. Her white struck the helmet with a loud clang, and Neiya immediately recoiled; her face locked in a face of relentless pain as she nursed her hand.
”Sh-shut up!” came a fierce retort as the moon goddess enlarged her gauntlet to the size of a cannon ball. She wound it back and propelled it forward again, hoping to take advantage of Neiya’s pained lapse in focus. However, her fist’s added weight once again challenged her ability to balance herself, and her straight punch quickly became a downward hammer, only that it had been aimed too low for that. Her fist dunked against the ground and the moon goddess needed a moment to pick it back up. ”Oh, come oooon!”
Neiya recovered from her own lapse in both tactics and opportunity with all the speed of a particularly tired tortoise, seeming to be at first more interested in maintaining both balance and the poise that made her haughty veneer possible during a brawl. As such, she wasted almost the entirety of Gibbou's recovery on preening a broken talon. When the moon goddess rose in shape before her, the duplicitous Neiya launched back into her offensive with a rancorous frown, diving towards Gibbou once more to grab onto the sturdy frame with a fierce grip. "Oh, let me help you -- up!" Feet dug into the ground for the first time since the start of the fight, and with all her divine strength she tried to hurl the Moon Goddess in the direction of the nearest wall. But Gibbou didn't move much, if at all. Gibbou frantically waved at her with her free hand, slapping wetly at Neiya’s face.
”G-get your hands off me! Stop!” In a shift of divine power, she shrunk her fist and was immediately tossed into the wall. The wall tumbled together like a pile of rocks, the building it supported crashing down with it. However, Gibbou was undeterred and undamaged, grabbing at Neiya’s arms holding her and trying to toss her over her own shoulder. That went about as well as her previous attacks, and all she managed to do was hug Neiya close and lift her slightly, before her cumbersome armour caused her to fall backwards onto her back, dragging Neiya with her.
The love goddess went from an angered snarl to a sudden gasp as her footing was stolen, and crashed down softly with Gibbou, safe from danger and injury in her snug hold. A brief awkward pause followed as both of the two fighters tried to process what just occurred. Being quick to adapt, Neiya adopted a conspiratorial smirk and wriggled theatrically in Gibbou's grip. Her pale and sleek war form grew more and more pink with each passing moment, black horns raising from her head and her features twisting into the inviting and decidedly more curvaceous silhouette that was her corruptive sin form. "Oh, Moon Above," she crooned as her form pushed against armor. "You should have told me this is what you wanted."
Frustration bleached her voice as Gibbou whined and squirmed loose. ”No! Get off me!” Her armour blasted off of her like shrapnel and her small form morphed into the shadows, which all were growing at an alarming rate as though the light of Antiquity had decided it was night time. Two bloodshot eyes was all that indicated Gibbou’s presence, and they were glaring down at the demoness a pace or so away. ”You’re unbelievable - I don’t want anything like that, especially not from you! The only thing I want from you is your cry for mercy!” A spike of shadow shot out of the darkness and pierced the ground next to Neiya. There came a frustrated groan. ”Fuck! Why is this so hard?!”
Neiya sat still for a moment, processing what had just happened as she lounged on the ground where Gibbou had been. Moments later, she burst into a dramatic gasp, raising her nails to touch at her chest as though she were clutching at her heart. "Augh! You got me! You found my weakness, oh goddess of the moon; being slightly surprised!" She panned the back of her hand up to lay flat against her horned forehead. "Mercy, please!" She cried with insidious, and needlessly sweet tone.
Another bolt of darkness blasted out of the shadows, shooting past her once again like an amateurishly thrown rock. ”Shut up! This isn’t funny! This isn’t supposed to -be- funny! Just, just leave me and my sister alone, or I’ll--!” The darkness faltered, dimished, even, as the blood-shot eyes took on their softer, chalky colour and eventually grew a blue-skinned face around them with midnight hair, attached to a body that couldn’t seem to carry itself with joy and pride anymore. ”Why can’t I do anything right?”
A single beat of leathery wings brought Neiya up off the dirt path upon which their alleged battle had taken place, and back to her confident hover above the ground. She regarded Gibbou with a mixture of fascination and contemptuous pleasure, much like a feline toying with prey. Almost as if pulled towards the wavering goddess, Neiya drifted toward Gibbou, fingers flexing but still not as offensive as before. "War and sin are as inevitable as sorrow. Don't take it personally, my sweet. You can still apologize." she crooned haughtily from the air.
”Apologise for what? I’m just trying to protect my sister and, and… And why is that so hard for me? Why can’t I hit you?” She wound up a right hook and sent it forward. It struck air, for Neiya was nowhere close. ”I didn’t even try…” Her knees softened to the point where they could no longer support her, and the small moon goddess slumped down, sniffing weakly.
The 'Love' Goddess released a soft scoff, watching Gibbou sink to the ground. Her own expression seemed to fall back to frustration at her own apparent victory, but that didn't stop her from hovering closer. Her hand stretched out slowly, seeking to place a ginger touch on the moon goddess shoulder as she dared herself closer. "So much potential… So much wasted." she breathed, golden eyes flitting greedily between watching Gibbou's reaction and their surroundings. "All for someone else. Who ever cares for the Moon, hm?"
Gibbou looked up with white-hot eyes of hate, then softly placed her hand on Neiya’s. The grip tightened, and Gibbou cracked a small smile. ”Got you.” Then she pulled Neiya towards herself, gloved her opposite hand in spiked metal and rammed it into her abdomen in a strike that would be downright impossible to miss.
Neiya gasped in surprise, her arm instantly straining against Gibbou's hold. It was too late. The moon goddess fist connected with the sleek form of the corrupting love goddess, who could neither move away nor absorb the hit with that metallic coating she had had previously to changing her form. The air seemed to leave her and she whirled violently in Gibbou's grip, flung backwards in her airborne and vulnerable state. All that left her was a timid whimper, wholly uncharacteristic. Gibbou didn’t waste her chance - she put her whole might into grabbing the love goddess by her arm and, switching her momentum around, tossed her over her shoulder and into the ground, shattering the stone flooring. She pulled back, panting heavily. ”I may not be fast enough to, to catch you, but…” She heaved for breath. ”... But if you do that job for me, I’m stronger!”
The love goddess lay splayed on the cracked ground, a deep indent splitting flagstones in half where stone had met divine flesh. Golden eyes stared upwards frantically, her chest heaving to pull ragged breaths. She wheezed a few sounds that eventually formed words. "H--... H… How.. da-dare… you…" Another sharp breath as the goddess collected herself, her voice rising several hundred decibels. "How dare you!? You disgusting degenerate failure! Indignant thankless worm!" she screamed at full volume, her eyes filling with a dark swirl that seemed to dim their dubious golden glow. Her hands smacked against stone in a furious tantrum, and wisps of black energy shot out against the stone in erratic patterns. "How dare you touch me?!" she roared, and lifted herself up off the ground slowly to resume what she imagined was an imposing hover.
Gibbou entombed herself in armour plates to deflect the blasts, and pained screams rang out from within the unbreakable metal. She was evidently reaching the limit of her stamina. As her metal chrysalis broke, she stood in her full body armour, visor up, but had nothing left of the proud, powerful stance she had opened with. She hissed through her panting and hammered one metallic fist into an iron palm. ”That… That the best you’ve got?”
Neiya screamed in frustration at the sight of the cocoon of metal that was Gibbou. Wild and without the original poise and grace with which she had conducted herself. "S-Shut up! Just shut up! You and your sister can both just- just die!" she wailed, and raised her hands towards the armoured goddess. A torrent of black matter streamed from her hands and arms, like a swift moving fog twisting and coiling to spray forwards with the force of a tidal wave. With it came a cacophony; wailing, crying, screaming, pleading - the many emotions of the world beyond weaponized.
The moon goddess collapsed to her knees, the sound only intensified throughout the armour. Her own screaming was deafened completely by the storm of noise, and she ended up pulling her helmet off, lobbing it at Neiya without really looking where she was throwing, her black hair rolling down over her shoulders in a mess of stressed strands. She grit her teeth together and bumped her forehead to the ground, hoping some physical pain to the skull would alleviate the agonising storm in her head.
The storm twisted away from her in a violent jerk, the energies scoring deep marks in the stone and dirt alike. Soon after the energies dissolved into the air, the intense sounds of the beyond vanishing into nothingness. Neiya had been destabilized, nursing her head with both hands. Looking somewhere between ready to burst into tears and in pain herself, the goddess struggled in the air for a few moments before her wings began beating, carrying her further up into the air. The helmet lay directly beneath her, innocently rolled to a stop on the cracked stone.
With the rustle of chainmail and plate, the moon goddess below her slumped onto her belly, broken to the point of exhaustion by the attack. Her eyes were closed fiercely as though she was suffering a headache, and her heavy breathing had weakened into short, pleading gasps for air. She hardly moved, her armour looking as much like a prison as protection.
Though the moon goddess exhausted form appeared to be the perfect target, it seemed Neiya's taste for violence had abated. The bruised love goddess ascended higher in antiquity until she broke away entirely, wavering in flight as she made a straight beeline towards her own distant portal. For better or worse, Neiya was gone.
It took Gibbou hours to regain consciousness. When she did, she could barely haul herself to her feet. She had defeated Neiya and-... No, no, she hadn’t even been close. She had survived Neiya, more like. Gibbou punched the ground weakly in anger and regret, aimed mainly at herself. Why… Why was she so utterly useless? She had only gotten her opening because Neiya got careless - she had just barely been able to conceal her surprise by looking cool and in control in the moment. She had had no idea what she was doing for that whole fight. She had just tried to mimic the way she had seen mortals fight and she had failed - extraordinarily.
Eventually, she reached her portal, which she fell through rather than stepped. Once she laid safely on the moon’s surface, she felt her eyes well up. ”I’m such useless trash…” she whispered to herself. With a weak hand movement, she conjured forth a bottle with a strong smell. She gave it a swig and cringed.
”I’m hopeless,” she continued and drank some more.
Gibbou and Neiya fight. Neiya cannot pierce Gibbou’s ultimate shield, but Gibbou cannot fight for shit, so Neiya isn’t actually hit once. That is until she gets hubristic and goes to console Gibs like a bitch when Gibs gets depressed at her own uselessness. Gibs uses this to slam Neiya into the ground, but then Neiya super-blasts her and knocks her out. By that point, though, fighting isn’t fun anymore, so Neiya goes home. Gibs wakes up hours later and goes home to sulk and drink.
Neiya: 2/3
1 DP - Unleashed a torrent of sad girl energy and bad vibes. End: 2/2
The goat pen shed had a certain air of dread emanating from it. Farah had never noticed it before, but back then it had never housed anything but goats, either, save for the occasional boy or girl exiled from the dormitory for a night. Now that it hosted a whole crew of violent thugs, and four slaves under their thrall, it seemed to radiate a certain malice, encroaching on the peace of nearby sheds and the rest of the community with its mere presence. She could see movement between the spaces of the planks. Heard gruff voices in the distance. Farah reached for support as she waited, and looked to her right as a calloused hand gripped hers.
Adnan’s eyes met hers, and he smiled as much as his injured face could muster. It was enough to steady her nerves, and Farah felt her own lips crease into an unbidden smile. Despite his nose having buckled under the pressure of confrontation, and his skin around the breakage being red and angry, he was as handsome as ever. If anything, the damage made him look rugged, although she’d never say such a silly thing. Adnan stared at her as well, content to forget the scene and shed they had both been watching from afar. His lips parted as if to speak, when a sudden force pushed against Farah’s back. The heat and weight of another. Arms wrapping over her shoulders. A brief shock, alleviated as she heard Aisha’s voice. “Farah, this is so exciting! What do you think they’re talking about in there?”
Farah exhaled sharply, her smile growing. Adnan chuckled as well, but released her hand to let her struggle with Aisha on her own, using his hand to gingerly touch at his nose instead. She tried to throw off her excited friend, but it was no use; Aisha clung on tight, as usual. ”Well,” Farah surrendered at last, drawing her gaze away from Adnan to glance back at the shed properly. ”If anyone can make them see reason, it’s Matron Nasira. I’ve never seen anyone win an argument with her.”
“True, true.” Aisha said, and Farah felt her lay her head against Farah’s. “Hi, Adnan! How’s the nose? You should know better than to swing at outsiders.”
”Aisha-...” Farah protested, though could not stop herself from smirking just a little. She glanced back to Adnan, and he seemed to be taking it in stride, a big smile playing on his lips.
“You’re right, Aisha. I got myself in trouble. Patron Abbas gave me a real earful for it, too.” Adnan explained with considerable calm, his gaze fixed on the shed in the distance. Aisha, meanwhile, bobbed a straw of sungrass in front of his face. Farah felt compelled to do her part, and batted her hand down. “I can’t help it. What they are doing to those people. That’s how I ended up in Karay, in the first place. I don’t want to imagine what they’ve gone through.” he continued, and his smile vanished into the ether, replaced with a wistful sorrow. Farah frowned to herself, and gazed back at the shed. Those men had said all manner of wicked things, and had done worse. Farah could barely imagine what Adnan saw in his mind, beyond her own memories of youth. Even those were vague at best. Whatever Karay was like, it didn’t sound like anything like what she knew. That much she had gathered from asking others over the years.
“Don’t worry, Adnan,” Aisha intoned quickly, and reached a hand up to tussle Farah’s hair gently, eliciting a quiet chuckle from her. “You saw Oraliyah’s light. They did too. No chance they will try anything after that. If they do, Farah will call on Oraliyah and the sun will teach them a proper lesson.”
Adnan offered a hum of agreement and smiled still, and Farah snickered quietly. Within, she felt a strange stone in her gut. She didn’t know why Oraliyah had chosen her. Could she call on her? What if all this was some kind of test? What if it was a trick? Yazmina had all kinds of stories about witches and their trickery. But the feeling she had felt, in that moment. That had felt real. Different. Unlike anything on Galbar that she knew. She still felt it somewhere deep within. Oraliyah still graced her with her presence. Perhaps she never left? Farah glanced up at the sky, trying her best to look at the sun without actually looking at it. Everyone knew Oraliyah was too beautiful to look at without being blinded, even children.
Her thoughts were broken by the sound of beads rattling against each other, as the Matron ducked out of the shed, finished with her talks. The old woman barreled out of the pen with determined steps, her face locked in an angry frown. She never looked particularly happy, but it was easy to tell that something was bothering her. Farah felt Aisha slowly let go and ease away, and within moments she had filed in between Farah and Adnan. Two of the others who had lounged nearby quickly scuttled away when they caught sight of the matron. Farah too felt her legs itch with an urge to walk away, but it was too late. Matron Nasira had seen the three of them the moment she stepped outside.
She was in front of them in an instant, her face enough to call on the sky to shield the sun behind dark clouds. She gave Farah a look that evaporated all joy, and replaced it with a feeling of disquiet. “They demand to speak with you, Farah,” the matron spoke through gritted teeth. “These brutes will not leave until we show them the miracle child.”
Farah tried her best to breathe, but the knot in her stomach seemed to make it hard to get a steady breath of air. They wanted to see her? Why?
Before she could ask, Adnan stepped in with his own question. “Matron Nasira? What about those people they are holding captive? They have been in there for a full day now.”
The matron glanced towards Adnan, and her demeanour almost immediately shifted. Her wrinkled features softened, a small, empathetic smile playing on her lips. She extended a hand to gently pat Adnan on the cheek as she spoke. “Oh, my dear. We cannot be saviors for everyone. These barbarians will not see reason, I’m afraid. Not all men are as virtuous as those on our farm.”
Adnan protested, but Farah could not hear it. In her mind whirled a tumultuous flurry of thoughts, drowning out much of the world around her. She felt a growing dread build around her heart, and the shed seemed to grow in the distance, the movement between the boards an eldritch, predatory hint of what dangers lurked on the other side. Barbarians. Slavers. Killers. Thieves. What if they tried something? She had been told her entire life to stay away from outsiders, and now they wanted her to go in there? It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t natural. ”Why me?” she questioned meekly, feeling the shame in her own words. ”I don’t think there’s anything I can do that you can’t, Matron.”
Matron Nasira was back on her in seconds, and her hand lashed out to clap Farah on the cheek in the same way she’d lectured her since she was a child. It burned the same way as then, and Farah sunk her eyes to the ground, her shame growing. “Stupid child. Oraliyah comes down from above to bathe you in her light, and you are still trying to escape your duties? Does your laziness know no bounds?” the matron growled with the same venom she’d had when she found them playing in the field when they were twelve. Aisha tried to protest, but the matron cut her off with a simple shush before continuing. “These men are invaders, and fortunately for us, even barbarians respect the sun goddess. They have asked for your presence to appease their spiritual needs. If that is what it takes for them to finally leave, then so be it.”
Everything was wrong. The very words the matron said disgusted her. Filled her head with strange, unpleasant worries about what the men with weapons would say and do. She had heard her share of horror stories from others about what outsiders were like. Only now did she begin to believe them. She wanted to argue, to tell the Matron that she would not do it. But Oraliyah had shone her light on her for a reason. Right?
“Go now, do not make us wait. Do not worry, child, we are right here.” the matron intoned with a hastened voice. Farah breathed a shaky breath, and felt Aisha touch her shoulder and drift down along her arm as Farah stepped away, head held low. She watched the goat pen shed loom closer with each step, and gently took a step over the low fence. A few more steps, and she heard voices coming from inside. It was enough to give her pause, as the roil in her gut seemed to make itself known again. The Matron said it would be fine. That had to count for something. Right? Farah took another few steps, and stepped through the rattling barrier of string and beads.
The view inside was unpleasant at best. The band of ruffians had assembled on the far side of a bit of fencing, and had pushed their captives into the corner amidst a few distressed goats bleating uncertainly but all the same refusing to skip outside. The stink of goat and old grass was overpowered by the smell of sweat, alcohol and refuse. In mere hours, they had made the shed theirs in every way, and it sent a ripple of disgust down Farah's spine. Their eyes locked on her the moment she stepped inside, and Farah fought the urge to just stop and run back out. Their gazes wandered over her simple dress in strange ways, and their eyes were hard and unpleasant. These were wild men, she reminded herself. Different from those who lived here. Her own gaze fell on one of the corners, where the slaves they had brought with them sat huddled. They looked dirty, scared and weak. A wrenching feeling in her gut followed. How mistreated they were. Like poorly cared for animals. It made her sick inside.
"Done starin'?" a gravelly voice rumbled at her, jolting Farah out of her thoughts. The old man that had hurt and threatened them not many hours ago stared at her from the middle of the shed, and Farah averted her eyes with equal dread and disgust.
"You wished to see me," Farah breathed, trying her best to sound fierce and strong, and ignore the weakness in her limbs. "I am here, now look quickly and go."
The old man broke into a chuckle, which caused a ripple of snickers among his traveling troupe of troublemakers. "I'd expect nothin' but fire from Oraliyah's champion, eh. Tha's fair." He concluded, scratching at his chin as his gaze roamed over Farah. "Now, see, yer old crone won't hear reason, so I suppose we'll leave all ye to the wolves. All we want is a blessin' afore we go. From Oraliyah's champion."
Leave them to the wolves? Farah ruminated as best she could under the circumstances until his request clicked in her head, and her head spiralled with what strange ideas they may demand with such a vague request. A stone filled her gut once more. Why had the Matron sent her in here? Did she hate her so much? She cleared her throat and glanced at the old, disheveled man. "...Bless you? In what… in what world would I bless you?" she asked with a little too much fire, and saw the frown building on their faces. She drew a long breath, finding the huddled slaves in the corner looking at her. Before the old man got any new ideas, Farah steeled herself and stepped forwards to continue, gesturing towards the slaves. "Even if I had the power to bless any woman or man, what possessed you to think, even in jest, that you are worthy of such? You who keep fellow people as animals on a leash, terrified and cowed? Oraliyah's light shines on the kind, the warm of heart, and the weak." she reprimanded swiftly. The man began a reply but Farah felt her fire return. She continued, raising her voice to cut him off. "Yet all of you come here with grins and malice and expect the goddess to smile on you. After what you have done, to us here, to Adnan outside, to these chained people. Have you no shame?"
A strange feeling rippled through her as she finished speaking. Silence reigned in the shed as the men seemed stunned by her angered response. Then it was as though a dam burst. One of the men broke into sobs, falling to his knees and clutching his head. Another stared at one of the slaves with guilt in his eyes before it became too much for him and he vomited onto the hay-covered dirt below. The old man gripped a nearby wooden panel shakily, breathing heavy and unsteady breaths as his companions all burst into tears, sobs, and anguished cries. Farah stepped back in shock. Had she cursed them somehow? She'd never seen men act anything like this.
"Yer… yer right. I-... I've done so much," the man began with a wavering voice, intoned by a chorus of sobs from his companions. "It was tae survive.. always tae survive… tha's what I told meself... Oraliyah… Forgive me.." His gaze rose, and he looked up at Farah with pained, guilt-ridden eyes. In that moment, Farah felt as though he would have leapt from a cliff if he could. His look of abject defeat touched her deep inside, and she realized the other men appeared to be as deeply disturbed as he. This wasn't normal. Was Oraliyah with her right now?
Farah breathed an unsteady breath of her own, and took a two steps forwards to close the gap between her and the old man in the shed. Cautiously she extended a hand, and laid it gently on his shoulder as solemn comfort. He seemed to melt into it, gently leaning against her hand lightly. Then he too burst into tears. Farah stepped closer yet, pulling the much older man against her into a comforting embrace. Her own anger had washed away, and before these humbled men she felt almost maternal. The man cried into her hug as others sobbed, fell together, or quietly recovered in the case of one man. He who recovered looked at the gathered slaves with a growing distaste on his features, then simply wandered over to undo their bonds. One of the captives ran out immediately, while the others remained together. "I'm so sorry…" the man murmured, and Farah shushed him quietly.
"It's never too late to improve. Never too late to be an honest man. If you know what you have done is wrong, then you also know how you must change." she murmured quietly, echoing the words of her bed- and field mates rather than the Matron. Nasira would say a person never changes, but this was surely proof of the opposite. He nodded slowly, and she continued to nurse him for a while before stepping away to allow the man to recover. "You said you would leave us to the wolves. What did you mean?"
The man sighed quietly, and even that admission seemed to hit him with a pang of guilt. "Karay is leaderless. The richest are about tae war with each other for power. Yer farm had a deal with Karay. Food for protection, and new blood. Tha's all gone now. More-... more slavers will be coming this way."
A chill ran down her spine, the implications of his words settling in quite neatly. Suddenly what she had overheard before began to make sense as well. It all led to what she had feared when she had first spotted these men walking on the horizon; the farm was no longer safe.
"But-... there'll be a new leader. A new.. a new deal can be made." she pressed. Even in his humbled state her question provoked only a simple shrug, tired and weary.
"Maybe," he conceded quietly. "I guess all that' depends on findin' someone as sly as the last feller. He was keepin' the market together with nothin' but willpower and brute force."
"Then we must act swiftly," Farah concluded. The Matron would surely agree. "Someone will see reason. Our farm provides food for many mouths. It is a valuable thing to protect." Somewhere deep inside she resented her own words. She knew what she was proposing.
"...Ye mean to go?"
"If the Matron won't, I… I will."
"Please, champion-.." the old man began anew, capturing her attention. He reached for her, before thinking better of himself. Instead he sank to the dirty ground in the shed, prostrating himself before her on both knees in a deep bow. He was promptly joined by his comrades who filed up alongside him in an awkward line in the tiny space. "Let me… let us serve and protect Oraliyah's champion. As penance for me worthless life. I… ye have shown me the blackness of me soul. I know nae wha' else tae do."
Farah breathed a deep breath, watching the men. To her surprise, two of the remaining slaves had joined them, apparently begging her mercy. It made her feel like a fool, and she felt her cheeks burn. "My name is Farah. What you do… what you do is your own choice." she offered and nodded firmly.
They too nodded, and looked up at her as though she had affirmed their service. Farah lifted a hand to scratch at her neck, but stopped halfway when the crowd interpreted her motion as a gesture to rise. She breathed uncertainly.
"...You all must be hungry. Come. We should all eat." she said after a moment of hesitation and offered a small smile. That smile too, spread like wildfire.
Farah worries about what the dangerous men that came to the farm are like, and ruminates over what transpired. The matron returns from a negotiation, and demands Farah take over because of Oraelia's blessing. Farah reluctantly complies, and once more meets the traveling crooks from the last post. She learns about Karay and the Farm being in danger, and decides to go to Karay with the men, who pledge themselves to Oraelia's "champion".
“PEOPLE OF NALLAN! MY PEOPLE! MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY! HEAR ME NOW!” Nalla shouted from the town center, under the cover of a blood red cloth, surrounded by guards. All wore grim faces, looking out at the gathered crowd of sorry looking faces. Terror had been the only thing any of them had known for the last few days, but now there was eerie calm as they listened to their Queen.
The Queen stood erect upon the platform, nothing more than gathered wreckage from the Shattering. She wore confining clothing even as the heat sweltered about her, sticking heavily to her skin. It was a necessary precaution, for the sun here was deadly.
“WE have endured much! The shattering has sent us to doom, by false deities who are not worthy of our worship! THEY DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOU! PERHAPS THEY NEVER DID!” She shouted, arms hanging in the air.
“This is not a test, not a hardship, but cruelty! The druids of the Highlands are traitorous snakes, led here by the Sorceress Witch! For it was SHE, AURIELLE, WHO CAUSED THE SHATTERING!” A lie of course, but the people never did need to know the truth and it was always better to have someone take the fall. Yet, from the crowd, there were angry shouts and veiled whispers. Nalla almost grimaced, but she retained her expression of rage.
“I know she did much for this great kingdom, but her greed and cruelty offended the very gods and for that, they punished us! Not her! But US! WE TOOK THE FALL!” Many shook their heads, many decried her.
“AND I SAY, NEVER AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN SHALL WE LET OUTSIDERS BETRAY US! NEVER AGAIN SHALL WE LET THEM LEAD OUR PEOPLE! NEVER AGAIN! THIS I SWEAR!” Roars of approval now, and Nalla raised her arms higher.
“We will survive! We will endure! FOR WE ARE THE PEOPLE OF NALLAN! YOU ARE MY PEOPLE! AND I WILL NEVER BETRAY YOU!”
WE WILL GROW STRONGER! WE WILL GROW MIGHTY! FOR I DO NOT SEE ANY OTHER WAY!” She paused, letting the crowd build momentum under the sun. “AND WE WILL RECLAIM WHAT WE LOST! WE WILL FIND THE DRUIDS! WE WILL FIND THE SORCERESS WITCH AND HER FOLLOWERS! AND WE WILL KILL THEM ALL!” Mighty bellows of approval, a fervor of pride growing stronger in those gathered. It was delightful to see.
“WE WILL BUILD AN EMPIRE UNDER THIS CRUEL SUN! I SWEAR IT!” The crowd exploded in a chorus of noise. “WE WILL RISE ABOVE THIS! FOR WE ARE THE PEOPLE OF NALLAN AND THIS WORLD IS OURS!” Nalla dropped her hands and let the energy of the crowd wash over her. She looked upon their faces and she knew many would die. Supplies were running low, water was becoming scarce and no one could find any, not that her scouts had come back.
As she exited the stand, the guards picked up the great red cloth and began to walk with her. Nalla knew what she had to do. IF they were to survive, there was only one option.
She needed Godly aid.
Back at her palace, Nalla readied herself. The idea had been growing her head for sometime. She had always received help in one form or another. Whether it be from Avatars or Gods. This time however, she would contact the one who had sent her own path so long ago. The one she loved, the only God who truly mattered.
"Neiya." She breathed, sat upon her throne, hands clenched together and eyes shut. "Neiya, Goddess of Love and of my Heart, I need your help. I ask you this not easily. But please Goddess, whisper to me like you did so long ago. I will do anything to please you." She said lovingly and full of hope.
At first, silence triumphed in the hall. A morbid echo of her own words carried on the stale wind, reverberating back from the far end of her throne room, even though her voice was not so loud. It grew, words and breaths whipping around her ears in a cacophony of building sound. The very air seemed to pick up and twist, as gusts of air washed against her legs and arms. A pressure grew in the back of her mind and the air grew thick. Then came a voice, sultry and rich. Unforgettable. "How beautifully the longing lover sings for me. I come to you, my beloved, to please and be pleased in our union. Speak to me, my darling."
A shiver of excitement went up her spine at the sound of that voice. Oh how she loved that voice. She had forgotten how much she yearned for it and even now, it did not leave her mind but there were other things to discuss. "Oh Neiya, how I've missed your voice." She began, "I'm sorry this is not a chat of good tidings but I need your help, Goddess. I was betrayed, Nallan was ripped from its home in the Highlands and now I am lost in a blazing sea of heat. Put here by the Sun Goddess to suffer for crimes not my own. What do I do Neiya?"
A flash of heat burned within her forehead, the pressure intensifying. Images of events of the past rushed past her eyes, sensations and emotions returning unbidden at break-neck pace. As quickly as it had begun, the pressure lightened and the sensation ended, bringing Nalla back to the present. Another moment passed, an awkward eternity with a deity lingering in your presence. Finally the voice returned, distant and wavering. "You have suffered a grave injustice, my love. A degenerate being has blindly sullied your legacy out of spite. It is not just an assault upon you, but upon me. I am heartbroken this happened, and I share in your pain. If she saw fit to exile you here however, what better way to spite her than thrive in this new locale?"
"Live here? In this barren land? My goddess… What do you suggest?" Nalla asked, rubbing her temple. That was the second time now a God went snooping in her head, but at least Neiya was on her side. She hoped.
"You see a barren land, my sweet; I see a canvas. You are a ruler, are you not? The land shall serve, as any subject. Go outside, my sweet." the voice beckoned.
She obeyed without words and walked with a fast pace until she arrived at her balcony on the top floor. The room's pillars were cracked but had not relented in the Shattering. There was however, a problem. "My Goddess, the sun… I must go change or I will only last minutes in its gaze." No sooner had she spoken than a shimmer rose around her, small spirits if blue and black fluttering in front of her face. They danced in intricate patterns, leaving behind a thin black weave, a silken shawl slowly materialized and came to rest gently against her head and skin.
"You shall see the beauty of the day once more, to behold my mercy and splendor." the goddess crooned softly.
Nalla caressed the fabric with gentle fingers as a smile broke out on her face. Exodus gift had been helpful in a pinch but this would be useful. She looked to where the sunlight touched the shadow and in one graceful step, plunged into the light. Normally she would have felt a slight discomfort but now she felt fine if a little hot but it would very much do.
"Thank you my Goddess, your mercy knows no bounds and your generosity is endless." She cooed, walking over to the balconies edge. There she could see what remained of Nallan and like before, the same red sea.
"You were given a desolate waste. They failed to understand our bond, my beloved. They could never understand." the voice professed conspiratorially. "If your love for me is as strong as mine is, you will survive any ordeal, even what comes next. Do you want me, Nalla? Will you do anything, as you sang to me?"
The Queen did not hesitate. "Yes… I want you my Goddess. I crave your touch for your love keeps me sane when so many hope to drive me mad." She took a soft breath, "And I will do anything for you, for you are the one who saved me from my pain."
"Then feel me, my love. Be my vessel as I elevate your world beyond mortal limitations." the goddess proffered, and almost immediately after her words came an intense burning from within. It was an itch, a flame, a strange yearning and endless energy that threatened to consume Nalla from within. She felt her feet lift from the ground, no longer bound by simple concepts like gravity. Shimmers of blue and black skittered across her form as the pressure in the back of her mind grew. It was painful, pleasurable, and elevating, all at once. It was more than a mortal could take.
She wanted to scream out, to become lost in the ocean of ecstasy she found herself adrift in but Nalla was no mere mortal. It took all her might but she managed to hold on and stay aware. Though she did not know for how long. A strange song of whispers and screams hurtled past her ears, entrancing despite its lack of melody. The world seemed to drain of color and warmth, only to return with twice the vibrance of before. Something inside felt as though it was about to burst, a whirling force that consumed and tugged at her, while fulfilling her every thought before she thought of it.
She saw her own hand lift, outstretched towards the faraway mountains to the south. Though she could not see that far, she saw a rippling energy flash from her arm and run along the ground out of the city, shearing the ground as it went until it lashed into the distant mountain. A rumble followed, and the ground began to split open. She lifted higher into the air, and felt the exultant breath of another on her skin. Hands that were not there ran along her form and enjoyed her presence. Then the ground rumbled again, and all around the city flew splinters of rocks, a grand crater carved around her palatial grounds. Aided along by the divine, clear water came rushing like a torrent from the distant crack in the mountain, sinking into the long wound in the land and rushing to fill the crater around the city. Her other hand lifted through no will of her own, and on the far side of her demesne she heard the ground crack and rumble once more.
"Never forget, Nalla, my beloved," the voice of the goddess echoed, until Nalla realized she was saying it herself. The earth outside the palace cracked and groaned, and from the earth rose a grand obsidian pillar, atop which was her own likeness embraced from behind by a tall, horned woman. It was foreign, alien in architecture, and entirely captivating. "You are mine, as I am yours. This land shall bloom as our love, fertile and rich." The waters flooded up over the crater and crevasse, drenching the desert at the behest of the goddess. The rust-brown sand gave way to softer ground, and already durable sprawling trees sprouted from the ground. Life was growing in the desert. As the pressure increased, her vision began to give out, and the strain threatened to break her mind. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pressure fell away, and a whirlpool within drained her swiftly of energy, both her own and the foreign touch of the goddess. The balcony returned under weak feet, her limbs aching and her body exhausted.
Nalla collapsed, sweating profusely and with heavy breaths. Her mind was ablaze with this newest ecstasy and weak as she was, she could not help but wrap herself in a hug, smiling ear to ear.
"Thank you Goddess… My love of loves… My Neiya…" She whispered, enamored with her experience. She did not wish it had ended but knew it would have consumed her until she was but a mindless pup, writhing in ecstasy forever and ever. It would not be so bad but still, it was good to be back, even if she would be hard pressed to be satisfied again.
She perked up at the sound of rushing footsteps and before long a retinue had gathered, hovering over her like some lost dove. They told her of the water and the trees and the life and that salvation was at hand but Nalla found herself wanting only two things. One she could not have but the other…
"Bring me blood."
They were unlike any she had seen before, but this did not surprise her. She, who had tamed the Sylphi, struck deals with Iskrill- These newest additions were most welcome. Though, their defiant look in their eyes would have to be dealt with. Those eyes… So large, so full of curiosity and brimming with hate. It was not their eyes, nor their child-like faces, nor their skin color, nor even their feather crests that had Nalla intrigued but the ornate and exotic skin patterns, glowing within her dim throne room, that truly delighted her.
They spoke no language she knew, but in time they would learn from each other, for Nalla was not one to let unique creations go unchecked in her realm. For this was her home now, whether they had wanted or needed her arrival. They were stuck with her and Nallan, and she would make use out of them yet.
These… Cave dwellers, these savages, these mongrels.
She had no name for them.
They had found them after Neiya’s Gift near the rivers edge, looking miserable and lost, scared and afraid. They had that in common at least. Her guards, and dependable townsfolk managed to capture several dozen, but no more than a hundred individuals.
Now several of them, ones that had seemed to hold some sort of authority, were on their knees in her throne room. One in particular caught her eye. A male by the looks of it, his eyes in particular were pointed with rage at her. It was amusing to say the least. Around his neck however, there hung a necklace of crimson. Not unlike her own, but smaller.
She would have it.
She pointed at him and smiled with glee. “Bring me that around his neck my darlings.”
Several guards obliged, but none were as fast as the one who reached the prisoner. Though their hands were tied, as soon as the guard reached for the pendant the savage sneered, headbutted the guard and grabbed onto his hands. The man yelled, and began to pull away but he seemed to… Grow weaker?
Other guards began to rush forward but Nalla raised her hand, eyes fixated on the spectacle. The others obeyed and the guard slumped to the ground. Nalla tilted her head, listening as his heart beat grew small and faint and then… Silence… He had killed him.
Nalla laughed, clapping her hands with a joyous smile.
“This one has some fire in his eyes. I like that but we’ve seen what a bit of fire can do, have we not?” Her smile changed to a frown in an instant. “Never again.”
Nalla sat upright, and within a flash she was next to him. Before he could react, Nalla whispered the fabled words of her Lover from her lips and the man went limp with a smile on his face. Then shadow began to leak from the crown. In blinding speed they shot off as vicious claws, ripping apart the savage before any could register what had transpired. The shadows then recoiled and there was quiet in the room before his kinsmen began to scream.
Nalla picked up the pendant from the man’s bloody pile. With her other hand, she ran a finger through his blood and brought it to her mouth. The flavor was a bit dry, almost smoky. Delicious all the same. She licked her lips and brought the pendant to eye level.
“Remove these from my presence and clean up this mess.”
“What should we do with them, your Grace?”
“Put them with the others and double the guards.”
“Yes your grace.”
Nalla is feeling a little angry after having her city ripped from the ground and moved into a desolate, warm waste. She channels this anger into delivering a kickass speech to her citizens, and decides to not accept her situation. She calls up Neiya to ask for help, and Neiya is legit angry someone rekt her homegirl. Neiya gives Nalla a fashionable anti-sun shawl, then uses her body as a conduit to direct divine action in the area. Neiya creates a new river running from the mountains and passing Nallan, with a cool lake as well. Further, she creates a new ecosystem around the river that can live through the heat. Finally, she gropes Nalla and creates a dope statue that depicts them both, creating hundreds of Neiya/Nalla shippers in the city.
Some time later, Nalla meets the alminaki species for the first time, after Neiyas remodeling flooded their homes beneath the surface. She has her fun and gets a cool pendant which isn't ominous at all or anything oh god help us all.
Neiya Starting MP/DP: 5/5
Consecrated: The Lover and the Queen - Holy Site
Promise of Power II: (The statue imbues residents of the city with a growing lust for power and status. People take risks to secure their own legacy they wouldn't have before, and see opportunities in the smallest things.) - 2 DP (3/5 Lust)
Memory of Divinity II: (The monument is an eternal reminder of the city's journey and salvation. It instills a fierce pride in those who spend more than a year in the city, and through it, a shared kinship.) - 2 DP (5/5 Pride)
Night Shawl - Artifact
Veil of the Night I: (The wearer of the shawl is protected from sunlight. The shawl must be draped over the head, and gradually loses its protection after extended periods in the sun.) - 1 MP
2 MP - Created a new river running from the southern Blood Basin mountains through Nallan (with a cool lake around it) and out of the desert.
2 MP - Created a new ecosystem durable in the sun around the riverbanks of the new riverbanks.
1 DP - Hijacked Nalla to give her an experience she’ll never forget.
The old wagon had been on the verge of needing replacement, held together only by the willpower of its previous owner and the raw nature of wood. Now that Ava was pulling it by herself, the journey was both slow going and exhausting. The blonde bandit had spent an inordinate amount of time questioning just what had occurred back there, and what madness possessed her to stay with the horned girl in the hours following the death of their respective friends. Every bone in her body said to ditch the bundle of trouble in a ditch and hightail it back to the Ketrefa slums outside the wall. The girl wanted away from there, though, and she felt compelled to see her to safety. Slowing down further thanks to the rough road and shortness of breath, Ava finally broke the silence between the two.
"Hey, Horns. You wanna get in on this cart-pulling? It's killing my back," she breathed with ragged breaths.
It was enough to break the girl out of her catatonic state, and judging by her voice, she wasn't happy. "My name isn't 'Horns'. Please refrain from calling me such. My name-"
"Alright, whatever you say. You gonna pull the cart or not?" Ava interjected quickly, eyes focused on the stony path leading through the woods.
"I think not. There's no way I could manage that heavy duty labor," the girl posited with a tone that shot deep into Ava's core. Should've just let her be back there. But no, she had to play righteous defender for the first time in her life. Ava sighed sharply and let the wagon roll to a stop. She released the wooden beams and nursed her hands with a deep sigh. Immediately the girl piped up again. "What? Why are we stopping?"
"Well, missy," Ava began as she cricked her neck back and forth. Every muscle in her upper body felt sore. "You said you ain't pulling the cart, and I'm spent. We're gonna have to sit tight until one of us starts dragging it again." She glanced over her shoulder and spotted the horned girl sitting at the very front of the wagon, bunched up in a variety of silks and quilts. Her scrunched up face made her displeasure clear, but also made her look like an indignant child.
"I told you we can't stop! It's imperative I reach my destination quickly," she huffed, and slung a lock of hair behind her ear.
Ava scoffed at her and leant against the cart's handle, crossing her arms soon after. "I don't even know where we're going. You wanna fill me in?"
"Teperia," affirmed the girl. "and uhm, from there, to the mountain pass southwards to uhh, Alsaaden and Karay."
Ava peered at the horned woman for a time before shrugging. "Never heard of it. You know the way?"
"No…" she admitted, and glanced down into the bunched up cloth as Ava sighed. "J-Justus… he has… had.. friends in Teperia. He knew the route. Before you killed him."
Ava grunted at that, tugging idly at her ratty tunic and readjusting the leather strap bearing her knife collection. "I didn't kill your friend, Horns. We both lost folk back there," she reprimanded solemnly. The girl frowned and nodded, but she didn't seem all that keen to equate the deaths with each other. "The fact remains we need to know where we're going. We've passed three turns and you've not said anything, so I figured you had it figured."
"I said I don't know!" the girl cried back with as much vitriol as she could muster and bunched up further in the cloth, wrapping her head up as if to hide.
"What are you, five?" Ava sighed. Everything she'd ever learned suggested getting rid of her, dropping the dead weight. Maybe she wasn't as scummy as she'd thought. Some kernel of morality compelled her to stay and figure it out. "...I guess we'll have to find a village and ask our way forwards. I'll take you to Teperia and your ex-friend's goons, unless you can find better transport before that. Then you pay me, and we part ways. Deal?"
No response. Ava queried her twice more to no avail. The blonde bandit huffed quietly and gripped the wagon's handles once more. "By all means, your majesty, let me take care of everything. No, no, no need to acknowledge your lowly servant," she muttered quietly before pulling the cart into motion again with a groan.
Another few hours of laborious exercise had passed, as Ava dutifully pulled the cart along the road, even as the sun slowly began to touch at the tops of the trees in the distance. "...Hey, A… A-Ava?" A voice piped up from the back of the cart, breaking the silence for the first time in hours.
"Oh, look who's talking again." Ava mustered as haughtily as she could, which she had to admit wasn't much. She had no idea how ordinary folk did labor like this all day, every day. It'd be the death of anyone.
"...I'm sorry for ignoring you. Stop the wagon?" the girl pleaded from her mountain of blankets.
"Ahh, no can do, Horns. Gotta make haste to Tepyria. Teferia? Onwards- to adventure." huffed Ava tiredly.
"Stop the wagon. I need to visit nature," the horned girl murmured a little louder over the creaking wheels.
Ava smirked. "No, got a good pace now. You've got a good view of the trees from there, I'm sure." In truth, she had nothing against stopping, but if she had to survive this brat she could at least have some fun.
"Stop the wagon, you vicious knave!" the horned girl cried out with surprising vigour and contempt, though it mostly made Ava ever more smug. Ava rolled the wagon to a merciful stop, and glanced back to see the girl cast off two of her blanket-layers to hurry down the back of the wagon and towards the edge of the forest.
A brief pang of worry set in. What if she'd led her out here only to run away? It was a fleeting doubt at best, and Ava comforted herself after making sure what little supplies they had were still in the wagon.
Ava barely had time to relax, however, before her ears picked up the rustle of branches and leaves, and the easily recognizable buzz of conversation. From the opposite direction. A branch broke somewhere off the right side of the road, and Ava felt a stone form in her gut. On a whim, she hurriedly scrambled for the food in the wagon, piling it into a bundle with an abandoned blanket. Slinging her care package over her shoulder, Ava vaulted the wooden handle and quickly skirted into the tree line, straight towards where the girl had gone off to.
She stumbled through a bush and around two trees when she almost bumped into the horned girl situated behind the last tree. A flash of skin under the messy layers, before the girl hurriedly tugged her blankets together. Her eyes went wide and her face burned with a fiery pink.
"What in the world do you think yo-mmmfhh!" she began as loudly as she could before Ava silenced her with a quick hand over the mouth, and then verbally shushed her as well. Not trusting the girl to listen to an explanation, Ava dragged her along as she made an effort to round the tree, and sink down behind the foliage and underbrush on the edge of the road. Only moments later, four people broke out of the forest's edge on the other side of the road - two men down a ways along the road, and another man and a woman straight beside the cart. Ava lowered herself to press down into the ground, and dragged the girl with her; the woman seemed less inspired to struggle when she saw the new arrivals, as the blonde bandit had suspected, though she wrested free from Ava's grip all the same after they'd both laid down.
The four new arrivals were all human, dressed in gear that immediately told Ava they were more than travelers; leather, weapons, heavy tunics. One of the men wore pieces of shiny silver metal from his shoulders and down along his upper arms, and had two plates on his thighs as well. Ava had never seen anything like it before, but it looked expensive. Only soldiers and nobles wore expensive things, and they didn't look much like nobles. Internally she cursed her luck. She hadn't put much stock in the talks of war, but it seemed the countryside wasn't as safe as she had thought.
The alleged soldiers gathered around the cart, with the armored one staying away to keep an eye on the forest. She couldn't hear much, but what little she did spoke of movement and sound. So they'd seen her escape into the forest. They knew she was here.
"What's going on?" the girl piped up beside her, tugging at the innermost of her layers - a bedsheet by the looks of it. She had enough wherewithal to whisper.
"Soldiers, I think. With any luck they won't go looking." Ava whispered back, carefully moving her arms to lay down properly while not breaking any branches or rustling leaves.
"Soldiers? Can't they help us get to Teperia? Or give us directions? We can reason with them," the girl persisted from Ava's side.
Ava considered the folly of the suggestion, and with it all her past run-ins with the brave soldiers of Ketrefa. They only ever came her way to spit, steal and ravage. With past experiences bitterly in mind, Ava sighed. "If you want to spend the rest of your days as a camp girl, by all means. You can't reason your way out of danger."
"I reasoned with you, didn't I?" the girl gave back a little too loud, and Ava quickly shushed her. That seemed to be the last straw, as the girl began to rise with an irritated sigh. Ava frowned and tried to stop her, but she slapped her hand away quickly before taking a few solid steps forward. The bushes rustled and the four alleged soldiers were immediately alerted to her presence. That didn't seem to dissuade the horned girl, and she steeled herself before wandering out onto the road with her layers wrapped tightly around her. Ava remained low. Maybe the girl was right. Maybe they'd just take her and leave Ava alone. Was she okay with that? She frowned, but decided that whatever happened was the girl's own damn fault.
The three closest rapidly closed the distance and the fourth moved closer as Ava's travelling companion struck up conversation. Ava could only make out bits and pieces, especially that of the loud-mouth girl who put way too much emphasis on imagined camaraderie and what was 'right', as she explained much of what had occurred, but did not appear to mention Ava. She couldn't hear the soldiers all that well, but she saw their eyes, and their movement. They glanced at each other, and at the horned girl. They had the same look in their eyes that Meren had had; they weren't listening to her, they were captivated by what could be. She had seen it before. People with power always took those opportunities. No exceptions.
The stone in Ava's gut grew but she remained still, watching the men and woman encircle the girl. The woman laid a hand on her arm, which seemed to jolt the girl back to reality, and stop her speech about helping her to Teperia dead in its tracks. A little more conversation, and the girl ripped her arm free and scolded them all. It didn’t exactly seem to dissuade them. If they thought she was alone, she might not survive the encounter at all. At best they’d bring her to their camp. Memories of Ketrefan soldiers flashed before her eyes, nights of alleged safety turned to terrifying horror in minutes. She tried to shake her head loose from the past to keep an eye on the situation. The soldiers were trying to convince her of something. Acting friendly but firm. Taking steps to touch her again. They spoke for a time, it felt like an eternity.
"Don't t-touch me! Get away from me!" The horned girl shouted as one of the men gripped her arm again. Ava frowned deeply, frozen in her hiding spot. She knew better than trying to outsmart or deal with those in power. It never worked. It always ended with pain. The three helped each other 'escorting' her towards the wagon. The girl struggled and shrieked. Ava's fists clenched, and she gritted her teeth until they hurt. Why couldn't she just have listened? "Ava! D-Do something! Av-" came a scream before being muffled by a hand. It was enough to make two of them look around.
Ava felt the same surreal sensation as before. For a few moments, her arms felt like they were floating on water, the world around her lost its scents and sounds. She felt her own heartbeat, and with it, a pounding need to help. It was more than help, it was her purpose. Her one goal. Feeling a cold sweat run over her forehead, Ava clambered up from her hideout and wrestled her way through branch and leaf to get to the road. Her direct approach full of sound and broken branches was enough to break the soldiers' focus on the girl, all eyes on Ava as she stepped out onto the road.
"What's this?" One of the men spoke up, a few-toothed older man that looked like he would fit right into the slums back in Ketrefa. "The more the merrier. We were about to return to camp. Don't worry," he said, and smiled in the same way nobles smiled at their slaves. "You're safe now. Lucky we found you."
"Take your hands off of the girl," Ava growled. She took a few steps forwards, reaching for the leather straps protecting her torso - and hiding her collection. The armored man gripped the girl and hoisted her into the wagon against her will, and stood there like he was guarding a treasure, while the other three turned towards Ava. Her hand found the hilt of her newest blade, seeking safety as she took another step forward. "If you leave now and leave us alone, no one has to get hurt."
The older man burst into a laugh, then subtly motioned to his two comrades. Ava wasn't a soldier, but she could tell a signal from a mile away. The soldier woman was the first to approach, one hand reached up towards Ava and the other on her side. The younger man very clearly had his hand on a blade, ready to draw. "There needn't be a lesson taught here, love. Let us take care of you both." The older man offered, and with it came a sharp nod. The two on his side burst forwards, both reaching for Ava in a quick attempt to tackle and grab her. Ready for trouble, Ava drew her newest blade to defend herself.
A spray of warm blood hit her in the face. A pained gasp reached her ears. In front of her, the two soldiers had flinched halfway through their charge, and the woman was already falling to the ground, limp. The man clutched at his throat with fear in his eyes. He stared at Ava as he too dropped to the ground, gurgling helplessly. The older man swore angrily behind them, drawing his own weapon before charging straight past his dying friends to close the distance between him and Ava.
Ava raised the long knife, ready to lunge at him in a quick strike. She knew she'd never outlast or outskill a soldier. Yet again the surreal sensation returned, washing over her other senses. As he barreled forward, her attention drew to his side, entirely open as his arm drew up in an attack. Time felt like it slowed as she moved her long knife straight towards the man's side. It connected before he ever had time to read her intent, and sheared deep into his side, stopping him mid-run as he collided with her. His weapon clattered to the ground as he gasped for air. Only then did Ava realize she had neatly missed every rib and punctured at least a lung from under his armpit. She drew the blade free in both shock and bitter fury, and the man tumbled to the ground with disbelief in his stare, joining his comrades.
"You damn bitch!" a voice roared from her side. She spun to see the last of the four, the man with shiny armor, careening towards her at a furious pace. Ava raised her knife again, feeling the strange ripple run along the hairs on her neck as she watched him move. Saw his every weakness. She jabbed the blade forward to sink it into his gut, feeling almost like she was in trance. Something guided her hand towards where it should go. But it was not enough. In an instant, a firm grip wrapped around her wrist, immediately breaking her out of her spellbound state.
The man had stopped the blade. His face was one of unyielding fury, and his hand on her arm felt like it would snap her bones. He screamed at her and the pain in her arm grew unbearable. Ava cried out in pain and felt the knife slip from her fingers. She swung with her other hand, and the man quickly brought up cold metal on his wrist to intercept it. It felt like striking a wall. He roared something incomprehensible at her and swung with fist straight at her face. A hot flash of pain spread through her face, blinding her. For a moment, the world was gone, and her head felt like it would split apart. She fell through an abyss; it felt as though she'd float in limbo forever. Then the ground smacked hard into her back, and the air left her lungs. She gasped for air, opening blurry eyes to see the man loom over her. He leaned down over her, his metal-sheathed knee weighing down hard on her thigh. Long fingers reached for her face before she could react, and she felt his coarse hands grip around her throat. A crushing pain burned over her shoulders, choking air and life alike out of her. White spots flared in her vision, and Ava struggled helplessly, grabbing at his hands to try and pry them open. She watched the hatred in his eyes, and felt fear and panic rise in her own body. She was going to die. She pawed at him weakly, chipping for air as best she could.
Almost like a miracle, his hands relented and his angered face turned to shock. Air surged back into her lungs in a brief reprieve, and Ava struggled out a few choked breaths. The man straightened out over her, arching his back and groaning loudly. Ava wasted no time. Weak fingers searched for the collection in her straps, and she slid out a bone knife and her first flint shiv. Fueled by fear and fury both, she stabbed forwards into his gut. And again. And again. The man swung a hand at her but it was too late. She stabbed until he stopped moving. When he fell aside, she caught sight of the long knife sticking out of the back of his shoulder. Ava breathed a rattling sigh of relief, feeling the pain in her wind pipe burn still.
The innocent face of the horned girl popped into view above her as silence returned around the wagon. Her eyes were big with fear, shame and shock. "A-Ava?"
"We need to get off the road," she replied as well as she could, each word a struggle. "Get the supplies in the woods. I'll take whatever they had."
"What? No, you should rest." the girl argued, even as she leaned down to start helping Ava up off the ground.
"I'll rest when we get there. We can't stay here, Horns." Ava breathed back and shrugged off the girl's hold. Tiredly she mosied over to the dead strangler, staring at the blade in his back. The only explanation was that the girl had waddled over in her blankets and picked it up to help. Ava chose not to remark on it, girl probably had enough thoughts to deal with.
"...It's Estrid." the girl admitted softly from behind her. "...Thank you. I don't know w-"
"Estrid," Ava interjected, glancing up at the horned girl from a squat beside the dead armored man, prying her long knife free. "Listen to me next time."
Ava and her charge travel along the road after their respective friends have been killed. They don’t really get along, but they can coexist. Ava teases the horned girl, and fails to learn her name, before they stop for a pee break!
But oh no! A group of traveling soldiers heard them! One of them wears shiny metal on his legs and arms, maybe the only part of the armor that fits him…
The horned girl does not think this is as spooky as Ava does, and attempts a charisma roll, but her (super)natural charisma snares them into being a little too interested. Ava intervenes, and pronto, a ton more people are dead and no one is happy. This seems to be a theme for Ava, who curses her existence.
Sawing. Hewing. Scraping. A cacophony of woodworking noise filled the air in and around the workshop; a large lumber yard comprised of two work huts, a storage shed for the important and expensive crafts, and two outdoor shelters for worked and unworked wood respectively. The source of many a complaint even from other loudworks in the modest district outside of Fragrance proper, and tonight was no different.
Despite proper precautions and years of experience with woodworking, each laborer felt the discomfort of their loud environment - each motion of their pristine new two-man copper saw was like a ripple of unease shooting through their bodies after forcing its way through their meager ear protection. That was before one considered things like the ever present film of sawdust on all surfaces, splinters and the musky smell of wood that truly needed no effort to overpower other smells. No sane nelf chose carpentry willingly, let alone a lumber yard. It was guaranteed to be sweaty, loud and smelly.
Tonight was different. A gentle rumble of wood and planks offered an early warning, though only one of the working men noticed anything. With the rumble came an innocuous scent; peach trees and fresh meadows lingered in the air, inviting each in turn to avert their mind from work. As a collective, the laborers slowly paused in their work as more and more of them confusedly moved to identify the source of this new fragrant smell.
They gathered in a group and discussed what they smelt in low voices, barely audible thanks to their ear-wear. That's when the second rumble struck, and the entire shelter full of processed wood rattled angrily. With the rattle came a new waft of scents, more intense than the first and entirely enticing to these men who had been ruined by sawdust and muck. The planks began to shake and rattle with increased fervor, yet a strange combination of fear, curiosity and allure seemed to hold enough sway over the gathered nelves that none found the courage to leave. This second rumble did not seem not to dissipate, rather the very ground beneath the shelter rapidly tore open as they stood silent in awe. One by one, pieces of wood fell away from the bottom, vanishing down into an ever greater rift stretching itself in every direction. Finally, the entire heap of wood toppled into the hole, leaving nothing but a view into the otherworldly rift that had torn itself open over the ground. Beyond it lay the source of the scents; blooming pink trees and colourful strange plants in a grandiose forest. It was brighter than the Fragrancian night, yet it didn’t hurt their eyes nor strain their sight.
The fallen planks and logs seized in the air beneath the rift, arranging themselves like a steep staircase. A few of the nelves grew wary, ushering their comrades to move away. It was no use; already a few among them were daring enough to take a few steps forwards to glean a better view into the rift. They did not have to wait long. Solid, heavy steps slapped against the floating staircase, and a shape grew into view as it ascended the makeshift stairs. It was a nelf, though it only truly looked like one at a second glance, drowned in ratty vestments and a travelling cloak that appeared to have seen it’s fair bit of use. Its skin was a little too light to be attractive, and the clothes masked any defining features, making it difficult to identify even their gender. Only their face was visible, and even then a hood masked most of their features from being illuminated by the vague moonlight and being more than basic shapes to the darksighted nelves.
The visitor from another land stepped up on the last plank before stopping to stare at the assembled crowd in silence. For a few moments, stares were exchanged in silence, before the hooded visitor took another step and walked into the world properly. Their hands lifted slowly, crooked and worn fingers not unlike an aged crone’s withered fingers or the talons of a bird, pointing towards the spiralling rift in the ground with a floating staircase to the blooming land beyond. Lips parted, and though the words were barely spoken out loud, their sound pierced through ear-wear and distance alike, burrowing into the laborers’ ears. It was a strange and unpleasant language entirely foreign to the land, yet they each understood what was said. It called to them, and imparted a beckoning demand that could not be refused.
A new life awaits with the Goddess. Go to her.
No arguments or protests arose among the gathered. After a few seconds of hesitation, the eldest among the men took the first step towards the portal, silently moving past the newly arrived visitor to descend the steps into another land. Bolstered by his action, other laborers began to follow suit. One by one, they descended the steps dutifully, transfixed by the strange words and the world below. As the head of the last laborer dipped below the edge, the rift began to ripple and shift, and within moments it faded from view gradually until only earth and dirt remained, wiped in a crisp circle that hinted at its alien presence. The visitor stared at the portal until it had closed in its entirety, then simply began to walk away from the site and towards the rest of the loudwork district.
With no one left to work the yard or observe what had occurred, the lumber yard fell silent.
Not many were willing to pay the unnamed drifter idling through the city any heed. They didn't smell right, looked run-down, and didn't seem particularly worthy of a second glance from the few that took brief interest. As such, few noticed the idle vandalism - weather-worn fingers painting small symbols on each structure it passed, hidden from view or in the strangest of places. Old, ancient runes of no real meaning beyond basic words and concepts of love and sin. Symbols given power not by their inherent worth, but by the figure of divinity now drawing them into creation.
People would discover them with time. Not many would care, fewer still would dare to touch them save to wash them away. The few that traced the lines or spoke the words - though how they would accomplish such did not occur to the drifter - would be its disciples. The simple knowledge imparted by each symbol would be enlightenment enough to push them down a path of self-discovery by pushing them to indulge in their vices. Whatever meager bit of divinity they received would help them on their quest.
For hours and days, it seemed to be all the drifter did, walking during day and night alike to paint the structures of Fragrance. When the nelven populace began to take note, the streets were bereft of the traveling vandal once more.
Upon a field outside the city proper the drifter found itself face to face with it's most uncanny opponent yet. It was a crude wooden effigy dressed with hay and ragged clothes. The drifter examined its own clothes for comparison and realized what a cheapskate its creator was. Given the blazing sun above, no nelves were present to watch the duel of wits take place, and gave the drifter ample chance to undress and swap the clothes on the effigy with its own.
Having sated it's own need for fashion, it set to work doing its creator's bidding. The goddess cared not how the mortals below were coaxed out of their moral and traditionalist shells, only that it happened without apparent involvement from her. So the drifter, joined on its journey only by a voiceless wooden effigy stuck in the ground, glanced around to cook up it's own master plan. It gathered all it had learned from viewing the township, its people, and listening to those who'd clicked their tongues in earshot. It didn't take an avatar to figure out where the base of their society was quite literally rooted. So the drifter lifted its hands in the air, flexing talon-like fingers as it focused the goddess' essence.
The morning air grew heavy and hot, no doubt troubling a few easily stirred sleepers. With a single moment of intense focus, a small whirlpool of energy grew in the creatures' hands, and then dispersed into the air to be carried away on the wind. The crops would grow plentiful and rich. Those that already had the most would see the greatest boon, while those who struggled would see no benefit at all. If any of what the goddess had imparted on the drifter was correct, the nelves would take care of the rest themselves.
Content with itself, the traveler wandered onwards, leaving the effigy behind with a new set of clothes.
A portal to Neiya's realm opens in a lumber yard in Fragrance. From it comes a hooded traveler that assumes the form of an elf. This is Neiya's new avatar, a shapeshifter of sin and vice. It convinces the witnesses to enter the portal and visit Neiya, and the portal closes behind them. The avatar walks off to other adventures.
It resurfaces in Fragrance proper, where it paints divine glyphs on the walls of buildings. Those who 'activate' the glyphs will become empowered into a new order of sinners.
Finally, the avatar visits the fields outside Fragrance, where it trades clothes with a pre-modern scarecrow and blesses Fragrance's fields with an odd blessing; those who already own and grow a lot will see even greater returns. This, it hopes, will rattle the region into action.
Neiya start: 4/4
-3 MP - Created an avatar: The Drifter -1 MP - Opened a portal to Fragrance -0 MP - Commanded loyalty from a small group of workers. (reduced with Devotion) -2 DP - Created Holy Order;
Unseen Council
Clandestine Affinities II: (Members of the Council are initiated in the skills required to keep themselves in the shadows, and excel at disguise work, sneaking, and camouflage. They are able to hide in plain sight in crowded areas, and are excellent at pulling vanishing tricks. ) Free with Cunning Portfolio
Black-hearted Knaves II: (The symbols of power have imparted each member with a weak divine capability related to their strongest vices. This could take the shape of attractive pheromones, increased strength while angry, or whipping a crowd into a fervor with proud and spiteful rhetoric. These powers are varied and are on average no more than tricks, though skilled members are more dangerous. )
-2 DP - Blessed Fragrance with a "blessing" of Greed: All fields provide more produce and harvests proportional to the size of the owners crops: more land = more bountiful harvests, already struggling = no extra harvest. ( 3/5 Greed )
“Imra, look out!” She gasped before falling to the floor, three arrows having pierced her bronze chains. She wriggled in agony and began to cry out. Radinri cursed, and dove towards her out in the open. He could hear solar arrows whiz past him, planting themselves into stone and dirt with dull thuds, but he managed to drag her back behind the low wall. He cradled her in his arms, pulling out each arrow with a sizzle. He used the arrowhead to stop her bleeding and she groaned again.
“I told you girl. I told you. This is no place for white-wings.” he chastised, making sure the bleeding was stopped. He placed his hand over each wound and poured some of his strength into healing the flesh. She gritted her teeth and with exasperated breath she said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Shh Shh, just rest Imra.” He brushed her golden locks out from her face with his free hand and she gave a small smirk.
“Save your s-strength old man, I’ll be f-fine.” She shivered, eyes closed.
“Nonsense, I’m not going to lose another one of you.” He gritted his teeth.
Imra drifted off as he placed his hand over the final wound. He checked her breathing, it was getting stronger. Good. He placed her over his shoulder and in a crouch, began to move with the wall, until he came to the collapsed part of the building. He looked around, making sure it was safe and spotted another three Oraeliari just landing down to tend to one of their wounded.
He made his way over to them, wary of the skies. For beings with wings, it was amazing how fearful one could be about an ambush and impalement from up above. He had lost friends that way.
He arrived at their landing spot, another collapsed building, providing over from the front and partial from the skies. He set down Imra and went over to help them heal their friends.
“Radinri, that you?” Came a familiar voice with an equally familiar face. The blond haired man in front of him was bloodied but his blue eyes and cheery disposition were a dead give away.
“Olgari!” They clasped hands. “Surprised to see you down here.”
The man shook his head. “The Neiyari are many today, and up there we’re losing. And bad.”
“We aren’t doing so hot down here either.”
The man laying on the ground groaned, a large cut across his chest had split the chain that protected him in half. Radinri poured his strength with the others and the wound began to heal.
“This is Rori, Handari and this poor guy is Vicari, a white-wings.” Olgari said.
“Another one? By the Goddess, how many more will they send in without the proper training!” He lamented.
“She one too?”
“Imra, yeah. Got her yesterday and out of five, she was the only one standing today. These White-wings… Too reckless. Always trying to prove themselves.”
As the wound sealed shut, all of the men took sighs of relief and fell back, zapped of strength for a moment. Outside, the sounds of battle were muffled, but ever present.
“That’s true. They grow up on tales of battle, and exploits, what can you expect? They only learn what it’s actually like when they see it face to face.” Olgari sighed.
“Whose fault is it then? We, who glorify it?” Rori asked, peaking out to look up at the sky.
“Blame us all. Blame us all.” Handari shook his head. “It will always be like this, for too much blood has been shed. Parents slain, friends gone. They’re born into a world of war. Who’s to blame them? You? Me? The Cardinals? If we don’t stop the Betrayers… We will not be the only ones who suffer. That is why we fight, that is why they fight and will continue to fight. Not until either of us yield.”
Radinri furrowed his brow and clutched his chest, not able to feel the pendant his wife made for him but taking solace in the fact it was there. His own children would learn soon enough the horrors, but he could at least tell them, and teach them how to endure. He just had to get back to them.
“Thank you for that.” Olgari rolled his eyes. “Now, let’s get a move on, shall we?” He clasped hands with Radinri again. “What do you say we get these two back to safety and regroup?”
“I’d like that.”
“Alright, listen up men. I’ll grab Vicari, Radinri will grab Imra. Handari, you and Rori will provide us support and be lookouts. We just have to get to the forest and our healers can make sure these two are alright. Now, come on!”
They made a dash for it, Handari and Rori looked to the skies, bucklers at the ready as the two jogged with their unconscious companions.
In the sky far above were tell-tale signs of battle, small silhouettes high in the distance flitting around and clashing. From the ground, it was like a storm of birds diving and colliding with each other. A single silhouette broke from the chaos to focus on the escaping Oraeliari on the ground, growing from a mere dot in the sky to a wide-winged warrior in seconds. The hairs rose on the backs of Handari and Rori's necks even before they got a clear look at the approaching flier, subtly warning of the imminent danger of the Neiyari. A moment later a roughly hewn arrow of still luminescent wood smacked down on the ground a foot from Rori's leg.
The Neiyari came into full view, a lithe and tan woman with light brown wings. Her equipment was no more than tribal scraps, and a crude bow - like many of the Neiyari, yet that equipment typically came with a malice and drive that made them dangerous. Another arrow loosed from her bow, bouncing off of a buckler with a solid thunk.
Olgari let out a sigh. “They never leave us alone!” he shouted, turning to Handari. “You and Rori will have to keep her off us. May the Goddess Protect you.”
“And may the Goddess protect you!” Handari said, leaping into the sky. He and Rori brandished their swords and held their bucklers defensively as they made a beeline for the Neiyari woman.
Radinri and Olgari continued on, running quicker now to get to those trees. The lone enemy took aim again, but decided at the last second to fire at the two flying her way. Another arrow slammed into a buckler, and then flew out out the way from the force of massive wingbeats. The Neiyari quickly turned in the air and shot upwards. The arduous battle of the sky would continue.
Under the shade of luminant trees, Olgari and Radinri came upon their allies. They were quick to settle in Imra and Vicari with those who could look after them and before the two were ready to depart again to find their airborne comrades, Handari and Rori came walking through the tree’s dragging with them the same light-brown winged Neiyari.
Rori had an arrow in his right shoulder, but that did not deter him from helping drag their prisoner. They set her down as Olgari went to inspect his wound. Radinri looked her over. She was cut bad by a blade across her chest and her breathing was shallow. Without looking over her again, Radinri fell to his knees and placed his hands over her wound. He was weaker now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.
“Radinri, what are you doing? Leave her for the healers, you’re weak as it is.” Handari said, watching him intently.
He simply shook his head. “She won’t make it to the healers.”
“She’s just a Neiyari, one that shot me no doubt.” Rori chimed in as Olgari healed up his shoulder.
“That may be so, but the Goddess cares for all things, even the betrayers. Who am I to leave one to suffer when I can help?” he whispered, gritting his teeth as the wound began to seal. “She looks no older than Imra… Just another white-wings…”
He felt a touch upon his shoulder, and he looked up to see Olgari nodding. He then fell upon his knees and helped. The wound began to seal and before long, her breathing stabilized. “Tie her up.” Radinri breathed, falling back onto his hands.
It wasn't long before the captives' hands and wings were tied roughly but effectively. Slumped against a tree, she appeared to be no different from them - were it not for her brown wings and darker hair. The small assembly had enough time to look after their own and catch their breaths before the prisoner stirred. Panic had flashed across her face for an instant, but swiftly replaced itself with a smug and proud smirk as she weakly struggled against her restraints. It was no use; Handari had tied up too many Neiyari to count in the last two decades, and the technique he used to tie their wings was as effective as it was demeaning.
That didn't stop her from trying. When her situation began to sink in, she laughed haughtily. They'd heard and seen soldiers trying to downplay their terror, but her voice had an edge and conviction that continued to unnerve. Or perhaps that was simply the curse of fear inherent within all Neiyari. A skittish white-wing told her to be quiet and she simply smirked before taunting him with a line they did not expect; "None of this matters - the Saints are coming, and with them, the War Mother's emissary. Have you met Aveira, traitor?"
All faces spun to her. Radinri felt his throat grow tight. “W-What did you say?” Rori stammered, standing up.
Olgari did as well. They knew of that name. The one who scarred Soluri, the great betrayer.
“Do not speak lies just to save yourself, Neiyari.” It was Handari who brought him back to reality. Aveira had not been seen since their births, why would she come back now?
The woman's grin only grew. "It is no lie. The Eternal Ruler comes down from her tower, tired of your petty resistance," she spat out, looking at each of them in the grove. "The saints have sung of her arrival for days. But take heart, perhaps one of you will be able to trade my life for yours. Which one of you is most eager to live?"
Rori sprung forth, but Radinri tackled him to the floor. “Get off me!” he shouted, “I’m tired of these Neiyari games! Always lying, always trying to be superior. Look at her! Just look! She wears nothing but rags. This is the army we have to be so afraid of?”
He shook his head. “Rori, you must contain yourself. This is not the way. We are better than this.” he said firmly.
“Rori, control yourself.” Olgari said as he looked at her. “If what she says is true Handari, we must tell Cardinal Tevuri.” His expression turned grim. “It’s the only way.”
“Even lies have a bit of truth to them.” Radinri said, releasing Rori, who grumbled as he walked away.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
The radiant healing lake had become a fortified no aiviri's land. Pointed stakes, nets, tilted barricades. It was a mess of trying to impair falling combatants or dunk their wings in the lake. Given that neither side could uproot the other, debris and forgotten equipment lay between old fence work and regrowing underbrush. A popular game among the young was to brave the endless battle site for old treasures, or as the most heinous rumours alleged - consort with the enemy on the far side of the lake.
The massive tower loomed in the distance, just far enough away to be hinted at beyond the treeline. Small shapes flitted through the sky around it, like an angry nest of wasps gathering in a bigger swarm. Not long after their return to the lakeside and the domed domicile, most of the Neiyari had broken off from the conflict around the lake. Opinions were split among the veterans - many feared a reinforced assault, while some were already celebrating today's victory with the white-wings.
They found the Cardinal where he most always was, walking among the Humani village that had blossomed under the shade of the Bastion. Tevuri had been one of the first to find the Great Lake and the Humani that called it home. He was most versed in their language now, but a newer one was quickly growing among the younger generations. It was a sight to behold for sure, Oraeliari children running, laughing and playing with friends. Humani and kin alike. It was almost as if there wasn’t a war going on.
Tevuri was walking with a humani elder when they came upon him, Neiyari in tow. The children stopped their playing and began to walk after them, curious expressions upon their faces as they gazed upon the Betrayer.
“Cardinal Tevuri.” Olgari said, bowing in respect. The rest followed before rising. Tevuri’s hair was long and golden, matching his wings. He wore white robes today and had a smile upon his face.
“Olgari, Radinri, Handari. Welcome back. Have you rested yet? There is victory today and you all look tiresome.”
“We have news, Cardinal. This Neiyari prisoner speaks words you might want to listen too.”
Tevuri’s eyes came upon the Neiyari and they softened. “And I will gladly hear them from our sister.”
“Perhaps not here, Cardinal?” Radinri said, looking at all the faces.
“Why of course. Come, let us walk.”
A short while later, they came before the Bastion but did not enter. “Will this suffice?” Tevuri asked.
“Yes. Go on then, betrayer. Tell the Cardinal what you told us.” Olgari said.
The woman flexed against her restraints, frowning deeply at the few people gathered - apparently not as many as she had hoped. Her eyes skidded across the village in the distance before she focused on the interrogation properly. "The Eternal Conduit comes for you all," she asserted as loudly as she could. "The War Mother's patience grows thin, and Aveira will bring those few worthy among you back into the fold. Prostrate yourselves now, and I will consider speaking on your behalf!"
Tevuri said nothing at first, but then seemed to avoid her words entirely as he looked her over. “Might I know your name?” he asked.
That seemed to catch her off-guard, and she stared at him with a reluctant defiance. Unnerved by his demeanour, she eventually pressed out a simple “Navera”.
“Navera.” He smiled. “Nice to meet you, Navera. Now I’m afraid I have another question, might I ask, when were you born?”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything,” she responded quickly, frowning deeply. Her eyes skirted between the lot of them, and the previously haughty angel grew anxious. “Nineteen summers ago.” she eventually confessed.
“Why it has to do with everything.” He said. “You were born after she had left, so all you know of her is stories. All grand tales, I’m sure.” He said softly before sighing. “So young. Dressed in simple wear. You were an archer no doubt, told to stay high, shoot at us from up above. How on this good earth did you get captured?”
Handari piped up, “She came low when we were carrying wounded. Rori and I were able to overwhelm her, but not after she got a lucky shot into Rori’s shoulder.”
“Ah, thought to earn a bit of glory then.” Tevuri slowly reached out and moved a strand of hair from her face, his smile softer now. “I will ask this only once, what do you wish for in this life, Navera?”
Navera's face was a mixture of confusion and anger, that same indignant rage all Neiyari had drilled into them. "Victory!" She proclaimed dutifully, lifting her chin in pride of how easily her words came. When that brought her eyes on the same level as Tevuri's, she flushed with a flustered frown and glanced away.
He dipped his head and sighed. “Even now, the minds of youth are poisoned. A shame. A true shame. But do not worry, Navera. Your victory is at hand.”
Tevuri raised his head and with both hands, gripped Navera by the arms. He shut his eyes tight and she struggled in his firm grasp. Slowly she began to grow still, eyes going wide. A light began to emulate from the Cardinal’s hands, growing stronger and brighter with each passing moment. Navera began to cry, and the others shielded their eyes as the glow reached its peak.
The glow dissipated, dying down to reveal Tevuri huddled on his knees, holding Navera within his arms. Her hair was golden, and her wings were white. She gripped him tightly as she cried into his chest. He rose and faced the others, a sense of awe could be seen upon their faces.
“Navera?” He asked, stroking her head. “Navera, is it true? Has Aveira returned?” Tevuri asked with a gentle tone.
The turned woman sobbed quietly, staring at her hands and the ground in equal measure. Her eyes were taken with deep hurt, disbelief, and a certain relief all at once. She hummed softly at first, battling welled up emotions. "I- I don't know…" she sputtered out slowly. "They keep saying so, but no one has… no one has seen anything. I-... so many lies… so much cruelty." she groaned quietly and raised her tied hands to her head.
“A small knife appeared in his hands, and he cut her bondage. “You are safe now, Navera.” He said, the knife disappearing. Tevuri then stood, cradling her in his arms and he turned to the others.
“You have saved this lost soul today, good work men. Go now and rest up. If Aveira has returned, we will need everyone at their best. I will go and tell the others. Be well, for now.”
The trio gave slight bows and watched as he walked off. They then wandered off to go get some grub.
Two full days followed. The first, the neiyari enacted a few hit and run skirmishes but seemed more reluctant to commit to an assault than they had in a long time. That concerned many of the original war's survivors who had remained to defend the lake, while white-wings and a fair few veterans were all too quick to dismiss the duplicity and ferocity of the neiyari; instead this relative peace was lauded as cowardice and lack of strength on the enemy's behalf.
The second day was even more alien to the Neiyari's regular tactics. Archers filled the sky, and skirmishers swarmed on the far side of the lake, but beyond a false charge towards a group of white-wings that got too close there was little activity beyond token efforts to pelt the lakeside with arrows. A consensus was now forming between the older Oraeliari; the Neiyari were up to something. Some argued their attention had been diverted, others claimed it was an attempt to bait an attack. What everyone but the most inexperienced appeared to agree on was that something was amiss.
On the dawn of the third day, when the shimmer of the luminous lake and forest had yet to grow to it's most vibrant, and most scouts were drowsy after a night of watch, it happened. A procession of Neiyari broke out of the early morning mists over the trees on the far side of the lake. Several silhouettes flew over the lake, reaching the midway point before the first scout cried out from above. Four pale Neiyari made up the centre, their skin white as snow in contrast to black hair and wings. Between flew a regal silhouette, tall for an aiviri and with warmer skin than the others. Though hard to make out in the dawning light, it was still clear amidst the beating black wings, a woman with wings of blue and gold. Even at a distance, the black horns curling on her head were visible. Behind them massed a sizable skirmish force of Neiyari, lifting into the sky like a swarm of locusts.
The older Oraeliari knew the betrayer when they saw her. Whispers ran through the ranks, moments of doubt welled up inside them. Even the Cardinals held reservations but they remained standing firm and resolute. Like a golden wall amidst the tide of black. It would not be an easy fight but fight they would. Still, runners were sent back to the bastion, warning of the impending force and of pleas to evacuate. Such a battle it would be.
Between the intense dread radiating from the Saints - rare sight on the battlefield - and the Betrayer's presence, the wavering Oraeliari were at a grave disadvantage. The Neiyari knew the same, and wasted no time in advancing above and around the slow-flying procession hovering over the lake. War cries, arrows and wingbeats filled the lakefront as skirmishers rushed forwards. Most were lightly armored in furs and scraps of leather; armor, even their wooden kind, had always been a luxury reserved for their higher ranking aiviri.
A war cry was shouted and Oraeliari took to the skies, facing destruction all the same. With the bravery and courage of the Cardinals by their side, there was always a chance at victory. A few yielded to the fear of the Saints and fled but those that remained stuck tight to their Cardinals. And in return, a volley of arrows were loosed and both sides fell, plummeting into the lake. As they neared each other, spears were thrown and at long last their blades met and the sky exploded into war.
Then the lake exploded into fiery glow and a voice emanated from it.
"Cease!" It commanded and most Oraeliari and (with much hesitation), Neiyari obeyed.
"This false avatar displeases me." the voice said, and a beam of light shot up and surrounded the Betrayer, stripping her of her luster and revealing the Neiyari pretender beneath. Yazira's return to the lake had taken more than two decades, and had seen her ascension to Saint, yet when the color of her painted wings washed away in the sharp and revealing light, the ruse of Tevuri's one-time aggressor was clear. Aveira was not here. Those Neiyari nearby the procession that were not Saints themselves were stricken with confusion at the revelation - the rank and file of both sides appearing to have been misled by the ruse.
"Hear me and hear me well. I am Rhiora, Caretaker of the Sun and I speak on behalf of Oraeliara." She said in a strong voice. "Do not be persuaded by such tricks employed by the Betrayers, my Oraeliari. Your hearts are strong and your minds stout. Remember, you are not alone in this fight."
When she spoke again, her voice turned cold. "To you, Betrayers, Her spawn and ilk, I say this; Never again shall you be a threat to our faithful. Never again will you be so cruel. I give you what is rightfully deserved. You will learn the error of your ways or succumb forever more to them till you are dust. This fight is over and the war will be lost to you. This I promise." the voice faded, and the lake faded back to it's normal color.
But something stirred in its depths and shot up in a shimmering explosion that erupted like a silent shockwave, rusting feathers and hair alike. Almost immediately, the closest Neiyari began to choke up and clutch their hearts.
The Cardinals watched this, and a voice fluttered into their heads. It was Rhiora. She spoke of what was happening to the Betrayers to them directly. A portion of them here and now would feel remorse for their actions and thus change willingly. All others throughout the entirety of the Luminant had been stripped of their fertility, turned sterile. Some of the Cardinals were alarmed at this but Rhiora said that it was necessary. The war would be won with minimal losses as the only way to break the curse was to become Oraeliari. She then departed and the Cardinals watched as the Neiyari ranks broke almost all at once, at least among those that could.
A massive rout began as panicked Neiyari fled and surrendered in equal measure, others gripped with pains or panic enough to be incapacitated. The Saints, the purest form of Neiyara's corruption, seemed to be retreating already, abandoning the front line to their collective doom. Pockets of resistance flared up, but the battle was won in moments. Reinvigorated Oraeliari swept over the crumbling battle lines of the corrupted betrayers, capturing escaping fliers and striking down those who seemed intent to fight to the end. It was over. Not only had Aveira never returned, but her alleged presence had provoked a true response from beyond.
The day was won.
Later in that week, Soluri arrived. His presence was like a beacon for the Oraeliari and a celebration would have been had, but the giant was pressed for time. In his own way, he spoke of a brewing war between humani who had cast aside the teachings of Oraeliara for war. Much like the Neiyari. They needed to be corrected, and their gifts from the goddess stripped. There was much talk of how and why but in the end it boiled down to those that thought it was their duty to help and by those wary of another war while the current one waned.
In the end, preparations were made by those that wanted to go. It was a choice after all, and many saw it as a righteous cause. Most who had decided to go were the white-wings, but many veterans of the Eternal conflict also decided to go. A handful of Cardinals also volunteered and when everything was ready, Soluri opened a portal to a land known as Ha-Dûna.
Okay so basically we start with a scene out of a movie and it’s war. Like real bad war between the Aiviri races. We meet some Oraeliari, great guys, and they get some wounded out of battle and get back to base where they find Cardinal Tevuri.
But before they did that they captured a Neiyari gal named Navera and then Tevuri talks to her and then changes her into an Oraeliari (Because he learned it from Soluri and uses prestige) and Navera breaks down and tells them Aveira is coming and everyone gets a surprised pikachu face.
Fast forward to the battle and Aveira shows up and a massive battle begins but then Rhiona gets angry and shows them all that it isn’t Aveira but just a Saint dressed up like her and then she curses the Neiyari with punishments and the Oraeliari win the day.
Later Solus shows up and then takes some Oraeliari with him to Ha-Duna to fight another war.
Oraelia 2MP&5DP -1DP Sunlight shenanigans by Rhiona. Pool glowing, Light bath on Yazira, etc. -1DP A temporary curse of compassion. Some Neiyari became inflicted by remorse for their actions. It breaks the soul, it does. Opens the eyes to horrors inflicted by the self. Basically a nudge to repent and become Oraeliari. -3DP (Enhanced) To curse the entire population of the Neiyari in the Luminant with sterility. Those Neiyari that currently exist, will no longer be able to reproduce. To break the curse, one must become Oraeliari.
-1MP to open a portal in the Luminant to Ha-Duna.
1MP&0DP
Saints of the Maelstrom; Start = 13 Post 10k+ = 5
13 + 5 = 18
Cardinals of Tranquility; Start = 5 Renewed Navera into an Oraeliari = -1 Post 10k+ = 5
Birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind gave the small campsite a homely feel. They had set up by a precarious old river crossing south of Ketrefa, where trade roads briefly dwindled into forest paths and wilderness. Ava scraped at the grotty old leather strapped over her tunic with one of her bone knives, humming an old ballad contentedly to herself between mouthfuls of the last of their botched attempt at grilled snake. The knife came down to cleave another slice of snake, and she peered up to find both her compatriots staring at her as she brought the blade to her mouth.
”What?” she pressed out between heavy chews.
The older of the two men, Erius, produced a gruff scoff and scratched relentlessly at the uneven sore patch on his cheek. “You really use those knives for everything, huh. Ain’t that the same knife what stabbed a man last week?” he rumbled.
”Well,” Ava mustered between hearty chews. ”Whassepointf-”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full. We’re not savages.” Erius grunted quickly. Ava relented begrudgingly with a few quick attempts at chewing - a surprisingly difficult endeavour.
“Don’t we kill people, chief?” the third among them, a young man named Meren, piped up in interjection before she could speak again, rubbing at the back of his head. Both Ava and Erius shot him a glance. Ava had known him only for a few days, but he had swiftly proven to be as smart as he was handsome. That was to say, not very.
“...If we have to. That don’t mean we’re savages. Sometimes people don’t leave you no choice. Common folk get stupid around weapons and danger, see. Start putting value on trinkets and forget what’s important.” Erius replied.
Meren peered at him briefly. “What’s that, then?”
“What?”
“The important thing. You know, chief, that they forget.”
Erius sighed deeply. “Your life, Meren.”
“Oh! Right. Makes sense to me.” Meren concluded, shrugging ever so slightly before looking back towards the road to fulfill his basic task as a lookout. There was a solemn return to silence, with Ava having helped herself to another slice of food and now struggling to chew that as well. For a while, they sat in silence, listening to the birds.
”So as I were saying,” Ava began, swallowing the last of her meal. ”What’s the point of carrying knives if I ain’t gonna-”
“We got movement down the road!” Meren interrupted with renewed gusto, shooting up from his seat. Erius dusted himself off and pushed up from the log, stepping forward to stamp out the last cinders of their old fireplace. Ava cleared her throat and picked at her canine with her knife, dislodging a particularly annoying bit of snake. “Looks like a cart. We’ve hit the good stuff!” Meren continued, but was quickly shushed by Erius.
“It’s too early to celebrate, kid. Follow my lead like we practiced. Meren, you take the back, Ava backs me up.” Erius retorted. Both Meren and Ava sighed, almost in unison. As the young man vanished into the bushes, Ava stowed the knife into her leather straps with it’s many comrades and used her hands to push herself up from her seat in the dirt, then quickly brushed her hands off on her tunic. It was time to work.
Slowly a lone figure came rolling down the road, dragging a small cart behind him on the rough forest road. His heated and tired breath was audible from a distance, and the creak of wheels accompanied him at a speedy pace. Whoever they were, they were making quite the hasty escape from the walled city. When the figure drew closer, Erius stepped out onto the dirt road to block the path, and Ava calmly followed suit. She grabbed her leather straps with both hands, fingers needily touching at her collection of sharp things.
The traveller - a man with brushes of grey in otherwise neatly groomed brown hair - inevitably drew closer, his gaze at first fixed on the ground ahead of him. His clothes were baggy and covered in sweat, but to Ava they still looked like a rich man’s clothes. Something a man of means would think a peasant wore, while never having seen one. As his gaze fell on the poorly dressed duo of Erius and Ava, she imagined at least part of his shock was finding out how the rabble really dressed. The cart rolled to a stop, and the man slowly let go of the two beams he’d been lifting.
“Evening, friend!” Erius called out as politely as the gruff old man could muster. “Travelling the roads is dangerous work these days, it’s a good thing we found you when we did.” The man did not reply. His gaze shifted backwards over his shoulder, where Meren was just stepping out to block the path. Erius continued jovially. “We’re honest citizens of the walled city keeping the forest safe, you see. This here crossing in particular has been rife with robberies and the like. We’ll be happy to see you pass safely thanks to our vigil, yeah? We just need a little donation to keep our efforts going.”
The man frowned at the both of them deeply, raising a hand to touch a medallion of a heart strung around his neck. It was a surreptitious motion to tuck it away under his tunic before touching at his chin, but it wasn’t fast enough for Ava to miss it. “W-.. I have nothing to give, I’m sorry. Only enough to survive.”
“Now I don’t find that fair, good mister,” Erius interjected with a gruff sigh, scratching at his own beard. “Surely you can fast for a day to help the valiant workers of the forest. Meren, would you mind taking a look back there?”
Meren shuffled his way towards the back of the cart, and a moment of panic seemed to overcome the man by the cart, who immediately shifted his attention backwards. Ava sighed quietly, reflecting back on Erius wisdom. Dropping a hand from her leathers, she stepped forwards to snap her fingers at him, and garner his attention.
”Look, mister. Don’t be thinking of doing nothing foolish now. All we want is a bit of what you got, and you get to go on your way. Just think of it as trade. You’re big on the love goddess, right?” she offered and gestured towards him. His eyes shot back to look at her, confused and scared. ”Well, how about this. You help us get a little something-something, and I swear on Neiya herself that that’ll be the end of it. I ain’t never gonna back down from a deal that helps both of us. I’ll cut down all threats to you myself, in a single swing. Yeah?” she half-bragged, to the man’s apparent consternation.
Suddenly, the air grew warm around her. She felt her cheeks flush with a heat far beyond that of summer, and the voice of Erius warbling in the background as sound began to fade out. A strange heat burrowed itself deep into the back of her mind, dizzying her thoughts and making her sight fuzzy. It was hard to stay in the moment. Meren yelled something at the back of the cart and pointed at it. That prompted the man to jump one of the beams and rush towards the back himself. Ava, who was closest, tried to move to intercept, but her body wasn’t responding. It was like overdosing on Evening Bells; her body had no mind to listen properly. Erius shoved her aside and she went tumbling into the bushes.
"You’d say anything to get what you want, wouldn’t you?” a soothing voice rang out in her head, overpowering everything else. "I want you to have everything you wish for, my dearest. How will you make good on your words in a ditch, with tools of bone and stone? With a mind that cannot help but break every bond you make?”
Something rippled through her body, an unease that made her feel like the rustling bush was swallowing her into some void. Ava battled against her own body, trying to stagger back onto the road, onto her feet. When the voice faded, some normalcy began to come back to her. She had just about stood up when a scream cut through the noise, ripping her attention up to the cart. A pale young woman sat curled up under a roughspun blanket, oaken hair with small horns jutting from her forehead. She was a beauty to behold, enough to make Ava’s fuzzy mind feel an all new array of dizziness. Ava followed the gaze of the beauty instead, and found herself staring at the scene that produced the scream in the first place; Meren stood over the man from the cart, blood on his blade. Erius thundered forwards around the cart to smack Meren over the head. Ava herself stumbled towards the scene with uncertain steps, breathing heavily.
“Idiot!” Erius yelled at a confused-looking Meren. “He’s protecting someone, of course he’s jumpy! Well, Meren, you’re a killer now. Welcome to the group.”
Meren stammered a quiet defence to Erius as Ava peered around, eyes fixating on the girl again. She was sobbing, screaming things at them, and huddling in her blanket. Running did not seem to have come across as an option to her. Even when she looked absolutely devastated, she was fascinating. Ava summoned her remaining strength to climb the side of the cart and make space beside the girl. Her sheer presence was enough to pacify the terrified woman, who cringed into a corner to make herself small. Ava narrowed her eyes, trying to think through the fuzz. ”What about the girl?” she mustered.
Erius paced towards the cart, glancing at her briefly. Like Ava, he seemed to appreciate her for a long time. She hadn’t known him to be that kind of old coot, but there was a day for everything. “Pretty thing like that; probably do her a service if we sell her. I have a contact by the swamplands.” he offered quickly, before glancing back to Meren to continue their talk. Ava hummed quietly and gave her a last look before beginning to shift away.
“...Please help me.” the girl spoke from her hideout in the cart. “I-..I heard what you said. I c-can.. I can pay you anything you want. Don’t let them take me. Pr--..Protect me.” Her hand clutched Ava’s tunic, halting her in her steps.
"A deal offered, and a deal taken. That is what you wished for, is it not?” the voice from before rang out once more, blurring the pleas of the woman and stowing the world back for a few moments. Her leathers grew heavier with weight, and her searching hands found a longer blade added to the collection she carried. A long knife, sheathed in what looked like hardened leather and silver. "With this blessing comes a warning, Ava, daughter of Urven and Kala. You swore on my name, and I have held you to the letter of that word. The next time you disrespect my name, you will wish the guards had killed you instead of cast you out.” With that, the voice was gone, and with it, the pressure on her mind. Reality spiraled back into focus with surprising speed and clarity, enough to shock her system. Ava tore herself away from the cart. She wanted to leave, but something inside her tugged at her heartstrings, buried itself deep in the back of her mind. A niggling need to do right by the girl.
”Fine.” she offered quickly, before stepping off the cart, just in time to intercept Meren heading straight for the woman. ”Can’t let you do that, friend.” she said, a twinge of venom bubbling up unbidden. She found a strange resolve when thinking of it; she had a purpose now. Whether she liked it or not.
“What? Come on, Ava, don’t be a bitch. I’m just gonna say hello.” Meren growled at her, and shoved her firmly. Ava stumbled a few steps, but quickly moved back to block his way. The exchange was enough to draw Erius attention away from looting the dead man, and he moved to join them.
”This woman is under my pr-...protection.” she spat out, tasting the words as they surprised even her.
“The hell are you saying? Stop fooling around, Ava. I f-fucking killed a guy!” Meren burst out, and again tried to push past her onto the cart. Ava booted him away with her foot, glancing at them both. That only seemed to enrage Meren more, and he reached for his blade, holding it up threateningly towards her.
“Ava, get down from there before I take you down myself.” Elrius shot in, but it was too little too late. Meren came towards the cart once more, hoisting his blade high. Ava reached instinctively towards her leather straps, grasping the first weapon that her fingers found. She clenched her hand around the hilt of the sheathed long knife and drew it. The knife had barely left an inch of its sheath when a spray of blood shot into the sky, spattering over both Ava and Elrius. Meren fell to the ground, clutching at his throat in a few panicked moments before life left him. Ava widened her eyes, staring at the scene. She glanced to Elrius in disbelief, only to see him topple backwards onto the ground, his tunic quickly staining with red all of its own. She pushed the blade back into its sheath, uncertain of what had just occurred. Silence reigned for a long time, as Ava just stared at the grisly scene.
“Thank you..” piped a voice from the back of the cart.
”...You’d better be worth the payment.” Ava eventually produced, pushing her emotions down and fighting the bitter sting in her eyes away. The old man had joked about Meren being his death not a week earlier, yet here she stood. Two years of cooperation, for what? Did she really speak to a goddess? Or a vengeful spirit? Ava slowly climbed off of the wagon, deep in thought.
“Wh-.. Where are you going?”
”Well, the old man won’t be needing that coin he liberated from your friend anymore.”
Ava is an eager and bright young student of Ketrefa bandit school. Together with her two friends she goes on camping trips in the forest, eats exotic dinners, and meets lots of new people to talk about her knife addiction with!
As a traveller rolls his cart down the road, the three of them intercept him to kindly ask him for a donation of all of his stuff. He initially declines, and seeing he has a cult medallion, Ava tries to get him by swearing to Neiya that she’s a real do-gooder. Neiya does not like this, and spitefully gives Ava a blessing to the letter of her promise. This includes the inability to turn down deals.
As they realize there’s a beautiful merelli woman in the cart, she begs Ava for help and promises payment. Neiya’s “blessing” kicks in, and Ava finds herself unable to say no. She valiantly defends the girl and accidentally kills her two friends with her new cool weapon.
Fighting back some unspoken emotions, she loots the bodies like any good bandit would.
Neiya Start: 4/1
Rainfall - Artifact
Final Cut Pro IV: (This weapon immediately strikes up to five people within a 10-foot radius when drawn from its sheath. It must first be sheathed for several minutes for this effect to apply.) - 4 MP
Ava - Hero
Critical Hitter II: (After studying their opponent for a full ten minutes, the next attack they make will hit a vital organ, a defenseless area, or another similar weak spot.) ( 2 free with cunning)
For Hire I: ( This hero cannot turn down an offer of employment so long as they are promised a reward - it does not apply to obvious duplicity or extremely unfavorable terms. ) - 1 DP (1/5 Greed)
Talons rapped restlessly against the opulent armrests of the throne Neiya found herself languidly sat back in. The impatient clicking of nails against stone were joined only by the sound of the cold river snaking through the glen. The occasional butterfly and the eternal wilting and regrowth of the trees could no longer capture her attention, even though she appreciated their beauty. Likewise, the prayers of mortals had lost much, if not all of their appeal. She found herself responding only to the most novel of prayers; the most devout, the most impassioned, and the most outlandish. Furthermore, she felt as though many of her prayers had shifted - there truly was nothing more banal than yet another mortal asking for her blessing in a battle without even knowing her name.
The maelstrom of emotions that had given her so much bitterness was much more manageable now, quieted by experience, control, and shifting the burden onto Aveira. Now she found herself missing the potency with which it had coursed through her mind in the past. It had dominated her every breath, demanded attention and threatened to distract her. Now that she found herself squaring it away into a constant but unimportant sensation, there was nothing to fill the void left by the absence of it’s chaotic roar. Neiya came upon a simple, inescapable truth; she was bored.
For a time she busied herself with the simplest of pleasures; responding to those few prayers that interested her most, and pushing the people asking for her aid to do as they wished rather than what was necessary. A human man pushed to break a few rules to be with the woman he desired, a lapite noble convinced to listen to his own interests rather than the wisdom of his advisors. Through coaxing, manipulation, sweet words and bullying, they all walked straight towards what they innerly wished for. It led to a few distinct and cathartic moments, but more than anything else it made her feel fulfilled. For a time.
She had made an active decision to not visit Cadien in Meliorem for a while, lest he begin to take her for granted. Yamat's realm was even less enticing than her own, and the God of Tragedy was always smugly entertained - something she resented deeply in her own dearth of entertainment. She didn't particularly want to brave Antiquity either; it was inevitably lifeless and uninteresting. No, whatever enjoyment she would glean, she would find from her throne. If Yamat and Cadien could do it, so could she.
Something needed to change. Her purpose was clearer now. The torrent of emotion had felt like a curse, a bitter blend of pain and occasional happiness. But now that it was quieter, it was easier to separate and experience. To immerse herself in without being overpowered by a flurry of unbidden emotions. From this fresh, distant perspective, she could find new appreciation in sampling even the most desperate, sorrowful pains. Each pang of guilt, fury, sadness. All of it had a story, a tale of mortals caught up in their own struggles. These emotions, tied up within each other, were a tangled mess, an uncomfortable torrent of needs and wants. She couldn't find the right moments that caused such stark feelings herself, nor did she have any intention to sit tight and spectate mortals in their dreadfully slow and dense pace. But she could create an approximation to be enjoyed.
Willing a return to her clear connection with the maelstrom of emotion, Neiya immersed herself fully in the experience, as she had the peaceful tranquility of the ocean - and the endless expanse of Aicheil's realm. Allowed herself to feel and, knowing the experience was now entirely voluntary, enjoy each twist and churn of mortal expression. Hate, sorrow, anguish, despair, desire, happiness. Each had their own distinct feeling, their particular reason for existence. In a way, each was exciting to feel when sorted from the mess.
Neiya extended her talons out towards her realm, and the entire area began to warp and twist as the maelstrom left her mind to affect the landscape. She had tried to imitate Galbar, and made a desolate waste - no more. She would do what she wanted. Unfettered by the tedious laws of the world beyond. The ashen landscape and river twisted and broke apart, divided into a dizzying array of islands, valleys, and oceans with no true arrangement. Without divine power or flight, moving between the areas would be all but impossible - and even then they each had their own direction. Each themed after a touch of emotion as Neiya experienced it. It was an endless landscape of new experiences. But it was not enough. She wanted more.
Neiya deepened her connection to the desires of mortals, diving deep into the wellspring of sensations to dig up the most rare, depraved and strange emotions. All mortal desire would have a place. The most powerful and primal needs, the feelings that ruled all mortals, beyond their pathetic contexts. Pride. Greed. Lust. Wrath. Envy. She felt herself change under her new purpose, a greater power allowing her to finally smooth out the jagged chaos she had suffered in the past. Bring her shape some warmth, accentuate herself according to mortal desires. This was her true purpose - doing what she wanted; and allowing mortals to embrace themselves in the same way. They called it sin, she knew it was more than that - it was mortality being true to themselves - and it was exciting.
As the realm began to settle, Neiya reclined in her throne once more. She regarded her now black nails, long still but less openly violent. Her skin was a warm shade of pink, soft and curvaceous as opposed to her other forms. A single set of horns ran from her forehead. The metallic edges and shoulder horns were gone, in their place a majestic set of leathery dark wings.
Neiya smiled gingerly to herself. She was complete, and ready to make her mark on Galbar once and for all. To start, she needed to settle some old scores.
Neiya is bored! She tries to answer some prayers, but it's not that fun. Unwilling to leave her realm, she decides to experiment with the maelstrom of emotions she feels connected to. While immersed in it, she begins to reconstruct her realm, and allows herself to delve deeper in the mortal psyche and emotions. She feels her purpose is to coach mortals to listen to their inner desires, and sculpts her realm after the chaotic maelstrom. Her form changes as she shoulders the domain of sin.
The land below Eesis steadily changed as they neared the Prairie. Rocky terrain and forests gave way to long stretches of grasslands, golden and green, pocketed with forests and lakes. They even passed over a herd of Auroran Deer, their majestic halos a beacon in the grasses. With each flap of her wings, Eesis was fast approaching the golden sea beyond. The blue sky above began to beat down on them as it sank on the horizon, it was late day, and soon evening. But even from their height, the heat became uncomfortable and Lucia was forced to strip her long brown cloak in favor of her garments that she wore underneath. The wind felt divine upon her arms and she out stretched them in earnest letting the air cool her off.
She looked back at Sanya, who still held onto her like a pup. An adorable pup at that and said, "We're getting closer, won't be long before we enter the Prairie proper and then arrive at the Temple!"
The dark-haired warrior nodded at first, gazing out towards the east in the growing twilight. She'd had a good amount of time to grow used to flight, but still reacted to every shift from Lucia with silent distress. She also, Lucia had learned, preferred to lean forward rather than raise her voice too much. Brought out of her daze, Sanya looked at Lucia and slowly pushed her face forward in that same way, lips brought to her ear. "How long has it been for you?" she asked as peacefully as possible against the wind.
Sanya's voice sent a small shiver up her spine at first before she thought on what she asked. It made Lucia pause. How long had it been? Five years? Ten years? She knew druids traveled there to see her, she had even been happy to welcome them but surely they didn't think she'd always stay there? "Uh…" she began, "It's been a bit but not long enough where people I knew would all be dead. I hope. Well at least the ones I knew last time I was there."
That seemed to make Sanya smile, as guarded and faint as the crease in her lips might be. "You're a hard woman to forget, Lucia," she retorted with another close lean. "I think you're in for another heroes' welcome."
Lucia giggled at that. "Was it my tattoos that gave it away?" she mused before frowning slightly. "That might be true at first, but unlike the druids, the people of the Sunland have always treated me with respect and they don't snoop through my stuff either." she said, rolling her eyes. Still, there was part of her that was nervous. She really didn't want to deal with that again.
Sanya shifted her grip slowly to wrap her arms further around Lucia's stomach, shuffling up against Lucia's back firmly to half-rest her head against her shoulder and head. "I feel as if they acted anything like those druids, the Sunlands would've stopped existing long ago." she offered with some of her deadpan sass. "Could have built yourself an empire."
Lucia's heart beat a little faster at Sanya's touch. Even now she wasn't entirely used to it and it gave her stomach butterflies. To hide her flustered embarrassment she spoke quickly, "Me? A ruler?" she forced a laugh before coughing and saying, "I'd make a terrible ruler. As you know, I'm not very stern. And not really cut out for such a life, as you also saw." Besides the last time she held a position of authority… Well… The city fell. She pushed that thought from her mind and spun it back at Sanya. "Now you on the other hand, I could see it. Queen Sanya, Ruler of the Highlands. That could be fun."
There was a soft hum at first, Sanya musing over the words. "I'd be lying if I said I've never considered it, she eventually replied, a mellow levity to her tone. "I was a poor chieftess. Very poor. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be better with all I've learned. Usually when someone with authority bothers me. Me and the Highlands though - I don't know if we're good for each other."
"Hmm. I feel you are too harsh on yourself Sanya. Wisdom comes with age so they say. Soooooo we should probably be really wise now huh?" Lucia laughed again, leaning her head on Sanya's as she took a deep breath. "This is nice, all the same." she sighed happily. She felt the gentle vibration as Sanya hummed another agreement.
"I'm not sure I'll get used to flying, but the view is gorgeous," Sanya replied and chuckled calmly.
"It sure is." Lucia agreed. "I wouldn't want to share it with anyone else." she followed, murmuring softly.
They had flown for long enough for the sun to begin dipping, a peaceful warmth cast over the landscape as more and more of the horizon crested with golden prairie in the distance beyond cliff and crag. Sanya had long since accepted the helplessness of her position, and found herself gently leaning into Lucia for support as she languidly watched the landscape shift under them. It was the best way to feel safe - even with the brief unsteadiness Eesis was prone to, Lucia was like a rock, and her breathing was calming. At this height, few emotions seemed to reach from below, and beside the occasional twinge of uncertainty, it was still, even in her head. If they hadn’t been able to fall to their death at the whim of a winged beast, Sanya could have stayed like this for a long time.
Not everything was meant to last, however. A black shape on the landscape below caught Sanya’s attention, and she shook out of her idle daze to focus on it further. It was smoke, a plume of it rising high into the sky from the ground below, and what looked like houses and fields. A village? "Lucia? Do you see that?” she muttered after a few moments, and lifted a hand from it’s wrap around Lucia’s stomach to point down towards the distant ground, and the plume of smoke.
Lucia turned her head, following Sanya's hand to where she pointed. "Yeah, I see it. Should we check it out?"
Sanya frowned to herself, eyeing the plume with building distaste. She’d seen enough fires in her life to know this was beyond the norm. "I think so. Could be trouble,” she intoned in turn, sighing quietly.
She felt a slight squeeze on her hand that was still wrapped around Lucia's waist. Lucia then yelled, "Eesis! Change of plans girl, take us to that plume of smoke please!" the Leoness moved her head in that direction and with a slight turn they were headed closer. The situation rapidly became clearer as the plume grew larger and larger. Soon they could see figures milling about from buildings - panic and disarray visible even from the air as Eesis rapidly closed the distance.
Sanya felt a growing twinge, confirming the suspicion. Anger, fear, panic, a dangerous mingle began to grow in the back of her head, like a ball of despair attaching itself like a warning. That mixture of feelings was one she had felt many times. She gripped her arm tighter around Lucia to hold on, and her other hand reached back over her shoulder to feel for her spear. "I’m dragging you into more conflict. But if there are innocents down there-... There’s enough suffering around.” Sanya proffered with a crisp voice, cutting herself off as she stared down at the growing village.
"It's alright Sanya. Innocents come first, we both know that. I'm going to put Eesis down and tell her to get to safety. Get ready." Lucia said to her, voice strong. "Eesis, take us down girl!" and their rapid descent began with the howling of the wind in their ears. Sanya nodded firmly behind Lucia, and freed Sorrowsting from it’s prison between her back and packing with a firm grip unfazed by the wind.
The plume of black smoke quickly became the main feature of the landscape, growing in size until the reason for its existence became apparent; a large longhouse of wood, hay and straw was alight in the midst of a sizable village, and the fire was spreading along both the ground and catching on a nearby shed, threatening to consume all if left unstopped. All about the village, silhouettes ran about in a panic. Some rushed to wells, others in and out of buildings. It was like watching ants from their vantage point of zooming down from above. The roar of fire replaced much of the howl of wind as they drew closer, and intermingled with the discordant cries from the ground. Panic, anger, despair. Sanya felt it clutch at her heart like a dagger plunged clean through her chest, and the sounds followed suit to make it clear how widespread it was. Only as the ground became a tangible presence rather than a painted landscape did it become apparent that the silhouettes were fighting amongst each other. Ragged men and women with sharp weapons chased others; women, children, men. A few were fighting back, but it was a battle to prolong the inevitable, by the looks of it. People were dragged screaming from their houses, or had their hiding place torn open to be assaulted. Chaos.
Eesis roared as they landed with a tremendous thud. Those who had not seen her descent amidst the smoke, now fell over backwards at her sheer size and majesty. Yet her sizeable presence only lasted seconds, before a scream sounded and the village erupted into chaos again. Lucia cursed under her breath. "I was hoping that would have worked!" she shouted, quickly sliding off of her fur and onto the ground. She turned back to Eesis and said, "Alright girl! Get out of here. Fly fly!" she raised her hands, trying to get the Leoness to leave. She let out a low growl, her eyes blinking slow before in a few beats of her wings, she flew off.
"We should evacuate the village centre and see if we can stop the spread of fire. Let’s tidy up these aggressors as we go.” Sanya offered crisply, drawing on a knowledge that felt innate by now, and tore two tied straps by her side, letting their packing fall to the ground. With Sorrowsting in hand, she moved towards the immediate conflict, and the smoke.
"Sanya!" Lucia shouted after her.
Sanya hesitated for a moment, about to peer over her shoulder to find Lucia, but a scream caught her attention instead. A terrified older woman burst out from a smaller hut clutching at her clothes, and out behind her chased a ragged-looking man with a crude axehead affixed to an equally crude club. It matched a repeating pattern that had been going on for centuries. Sanya knew it by heart, at this point. Acting on instinct was enough. She ran forward, spear hefted into a proper position. Let the roil of anguish and fear take over, and settle like a toxic growth to fuel her. The man turned to see her coming, and foolishly lifted his axe to swing at her. Sorrowsting sang as metal careened through the air, and the sharp twin blades at it’s tip slashed deep into the ragged attacker. He fell to the ground, and Sanya swiftly looked for the next cluster of trouble.
She caught sight of a trio barrelling their way up a small path to a larger hut, one of them carrying a crude torch, no more than twenty paces away. She had practiced for this. The Acadian Thrust would be of use after all. She hefted Sorrowsting in one hand, took a solid centering breath, and threw her arm forward with considerable force. The black spear hurled through the air with merciless speed. A mere moment later, the back of the one with the torch arched in surprise and pain, as the spear sank deep into their body. The other two found Sanya staring at them in the chaos, and turned on their path to come rushing back down towards her. One man, one woman. No armor. The man hesitated to put weight on his left leg as he ran. That was enough. Sanya flexed her fingers swiftly and aptly, listening to the droning buzz of hatred, fear and pain that stormed through her mind. Felt her body itch for combat, push for survival. They’d regret the day they assaulted innocent villagers.
A brown-haired, angry woman in crude warpaint came first, rushing straight at her with an axe held high. Too high. Sanya launched forwards with as much speed as she could, driving her elbow forward to smash into the woman’s upper torso. Just as she expected, it knocked the wind out of her. Unexpected however, was how much Sanya had underestimated her own strength, and she watched with brief bemusement as the ragged woman toppled back several feet and rolled wheezing onto the ground. It didn’t seem to dissuade her friend, who came hobbling at a quick pace with a simple wooden spear. Sanya narrowed her eyes and waited for him to make his move. No technique. No grace. No thought in his movements. When the spear came in for a frontal jab, it was simple to step aside and lay a hand on his roughly hewn weapon. She pulled with force, and jerked the man forwards against his will, before quickly sending a foot crashing towards the side of his left knee. His leg bent like a twig under pressure, and his scream and the snap told Sanya all she needed to know. She released his spear and let him fall to the ground, taking quick steps across the paths to recover Sorrowsting from the downed torchbearer.
From her new position, she surveyed the village as it burned. Screaming, smoke, flashes of fire, it intermingled with deep-seated anger, whirling panic, mania, and sorrow. It was always the same. Pain. Suffering. Death. Endless torment and self-destruction; that was humanity’s great destiny. It made her sick. Made it hard to keep the memories out. Teeth. Claws. Knives. Blood. Fire flashed in front of her face, and she cringed away from it, but just as soon it was gone, replaced by the ambient heat of the nearby longhouse laid ablaze. She looked at the bodies strewn about, innocent men and women cut down. Cut down like they were nothing. The droning of emotions blocked her thoughts, made it hard to think. She took a few quick steps to rush down the hill, eyeing the destruction. If she had come sooner, they would be alive. Someone always had to die. A curtain was pulled aside, and a man came running out. A stocky warrior, black soot in his face, with teeth strung around his neck. A surge of panic rippled through her, and she swung Sorrowsting violently, beheading the man before he had a chance to come any closer. What were Vaaku warriors doing here? She looked down at her defeated foe, but his features seemed to have changed. The soot was replaced by a murky beard. When were the Vaaku last seen, again? When was this? Was this a dream? Sanya had no more time to think as another set of warriors came rushing around a corner, chasing three villagers.
So she intervened, as she always had. Let the whine of her spear and the crashing waves of emotions guide her. It was rote, now. So many faces over the years. So many lives taken. They melded together. Images on images of faces, all twisted with rage and panic. Sorrowsting whirled through the air as she moved on her new targets. It was difficult to focus. Impossible to think. Just react. Let the emotions roil. She felt her eyes well up as she cut through one man’s staff, and blinked several times to see him topple back frightened on the ground. His comrade came at her from the side with a jagged club, and she blocked it easily with the center of her spear’s handle. The grinning Ketrefan captain leered at her, dragging his copper-embellished weapon against the handle, cornering her. She swept her spear down at his legs to ground him, and then quickly stepped forwards to stomp on his throat. He gurgled and wheezed, and with another blink the dying man turned ragged and unimportant. Where did the captain go? There was movement at her side, and she swept Sorrowsting swiftly, cutting the man down before he could stand back up.
Another scream cut through the haze, and Sanya redirected her gaze towards another hut in the distance. Angles of the buildings aligned in a strange way, and she remembered the village of Ansrache, images of slaughter and chaos forcing themselves back in haphazard flashes. Screaming. Fire. Blood. Dozens of dead, stacked in piles. Stakes, decorated with those she could not save. The images flickered in and out of reality, forcing themselves onto her eyes again and again. She gasped, clutching her spear and groaned. That was before. It was over. This was different. Wasn’t it? A yawning abyss grew in the back of her head, an endless rush of anger, sorrow, and fear.
Sanya struggled forwards all the same, following the bloodied dirt path towards the roaring flame at the center of the village, the direction of the scream - she was sure. The heat swiftly became unpleasant, and she released a hand to wipe sweat from her face. It came away drenched in crimson. Was she hurt? When did that happen? A crash of wood and a rustle from a smaller hovel on her right caught her attention, and she moved towards it with renewed suspicion. In the spaces between the roughshod boards, she saw movement. The curtain to the doorway had been turned down, and even from afar she saw the bodies of at least two unfortunate villagers.
The silhouette inside seemed to have noticed the movement outside, brisk movement flickered past the boards and then came to a sharp halt by the archway inside, poorly illuminated by the flames. She wouldn’t be snuck up on. Never again. Sanya watched the shape remain still for a few moments, before picking up her pace into a quick lunge towards the shoddy wall, driven by instinct. She swung her arm hard against the planks, and they snapped like sticks and twigs. A gasp from inside as her fingers found purchase around a collar. Sanya pulled, and tore the shape out through the broken wall, listening to the pulse of fury and fear in her head. The shape tumbled to the ground outside with a loud thump, raised its arms in defense. It was too late. Sorrowsting came down to end the threat before it became one. Only now did she see - it was a man. Well, no longer.
“Over here!” a voice belted at the top of their lungs somewhere behind her, and Sanya turned to face the sound - the brown-haired woman in warpaint from before. Sanya watched her with brief bewilderment. Did the dead rise? Did she forget her? It didn’t matter now. She hefted her spear up with both hands to face the woman, who took her time standing on the same hill that Sanya had climbed before. Two men came rushing along the side of the small incline, raising clubs and knives. A third man appeared beside the painted woman, clutching a spear shakily. Together, the four of them descended towards Sanya, weapons held defensively in front of them. Sanya lifted her own guard, staring at the center of mass of the woman. As long as she kept them in front of her, she would do fine. Taking a deep breath, Sanya took a few steps to the side to clear her space, lifting Sorrowsting in preparation. She thought of nothing. There was nothing to think about. Just a haze. Adrenaline. Survival. Death.
The four broke formation and rushed at her with a chorus of yells. Sanya raised her weapon, and danced two steps forwards to meet them head-on.
”Sanya! Sanya!” A concerned voice rang out. With it came a surge of reality.
Sanya drew a shaky breath, blinking several times as the world and the burning village filled back in around her. Her arm strained under light pressure - at the end hung a woman in warpaint; bruised, bloodied, and helplessly kicking the air as she struggled against Sanya's vice grip around her throat. She seemed to have lost hold of Sorrowsting, and with it, her sense of time and place. She felt dull, tired. Worn. Empty. Much of the haze seemed to have lifted, the whirl of hate and pain moving on, or quieted. She stared at the woman fighting against her grip and frowned deeply. Sanya tightened her grip and lifted the warrior higher to the melody of her choking.
A hand fell upon her shoulder, another plea. ”Sanya! She’s beaten, stop! Please! Stop!” The voice cried out.
Her body stiffened under the touch, a reflexive urge to spin around and strike bubbling beneath the surface. Familiarity began to settle in, and memories returned from their exile. "L-... Lucia?" she offered quietly, then stared at the struggling warrior again. What was she doing? She lessened her grip and let the woman fall to the ground with a crash; she collapsed from exhaustion, clutching at her throat and breathing in a panic. Only then did the scene set in. Three warriors strewn about, lifeless among the rest of the carnage. Her spear was still stuck in one of them. Sanya clutched at the side of her head, fighting a resurging headache.
She felt Lucia wrap her arms around her in a comforting embrace. ”I’m here. I’m here.” she cooed. ”It’s over, no more fighting. You won.”
The words alone were enough to drain her of energy, replaced by a hollow fatigue. She wanted to simply stand there, melt into the arms of another and forget. With the end of battle came the same bitterness she'd fought for centuries. She kicked out towards the grounded warrior to focus her energy. "You. Take your life and leave." she murmured with a frown. The woman did not seem to need further coaxing, battling to stand on unsteady feet before starting limp away. Sanya in turn gingerly wrestled out of Lucia's embrace, and like clockwork moved to retrieve Sorrowsting, like a loyal dog fetching her stick. She eyed the destruction around them, the dead, and memories of the battle came to her in flashes, emotions. Hate. "The villagers…" she began in an unfinished question.
Lucia came up beside her. Her hair was a mess, her tattoo’s pulsed quickly, and her clothes were scratched and torn, caked in dry blood. ”Most are safe now. It was an attack from raiders, who have been run off.” she paused, gazing upon her. ”Are you okay, Sanya?” she asked.
Sanya drew a long and shaky breath. She hesitated to answer, her mind beset with guilt and despair. "It's… always like this. Wherever I go. Death. War. Humans are like a poison to each other, Lucia. We kill, hurt and defile each other. An endless cycle of pain." she replied with a bitter, unsteady tone. "This is all we are. What she wanted me to see. Fickle, petty ants who can't wait to kill each other."
"That's… That's not true." Lucia began. "There is good still, there always has been. You and I know this more than any one person. Sure, they can be bad and hurt one another, but they also have the capacity to help, to grow, to learn. Together and for each other. Please Sanya, you must see there is more to the death and pain. You have to." Her voice fell quiet.
Sanya gripped the handle of her weapon tightly with one hand, slowly turning her head to glance back at Lucia out of the corner of her eye. "Why?" she murmured sullenly. "Look around you. This is-... this is what they did to my home. Endless days, months and years, and there are still trolls. Still raiders. The only thing that's changed is that the weapons are sharper." she continued, turning to face her properly. She watched Lucia, frowning as she saw her expression. She knew how she sounded. Felt how her bitterness rose back to the surface. "Why did I think I could make a difference this time?"
"Because you're a good person Sanya!" Lucia exclaimed, stepping forward. "You want to help those who can't help themselves. You want to save people from cruelty and death. You want a better world, where people can live in peace and happiness. That's why you fight, that's why you've always fought." She breathed.
She felt the sting of anxious thought rise in the emptiness. Was it her own? Lucia's? Sanya exhaled sharply, and drew her gaze away from the tattooed woman. "A good person." she repeated quietly, gaze flitting across the battlefield. Slowly she lowered to a crouch, gripping the hair of one of the fallen with her free hand and lifting him up in grim display. "Do you think this man would agree? I had the power of a god in my hands, and I used it for murder. I still do. What if that was why I was punished? Because I'm a killer."
Lucia flinched at the sight but stood straighter. Her tattoos expanded in size and began to pulse quicker. "That man did not know you." she said, her hands balling into fists. "He was a person that preyed upon innocent lives and you killed him, yes. You killed him but that does not make you a murderer. You killed him, them, everyone before, in the name of protection. In the name of peace." Her hands relaxed and she looked around before gazing upon Sanya again, her expression one of sadness. "A murderer does not regret killing, Sanya. Do you?" She asked.
Sanya loosened her grip, letting the body fall back into the dirt with a thud. She stared at the ground, asking herself the question over and over in her head. "I… I don't know. How am I supposed to know, Lucia?" she asked with building distress. She stood back up and gestured to the carnage. "Maybe once, but these people mean nothing to me. I… they're just memories. Movements. Predictable patterns and scenes of gore that stopped s-scaring me a long time ago. People that look like people I know are dead. People I will never know. Half… half the time I don't even know where I am. When I am. It's-..." Sanya trailed off, unsure of what to say. Her hand moved to drag over her face, still caked with smears of blood. She took a long, shaky breath, her eyes raw as though she were on the verge of tears. A look long forgotten, welling up from the past. "Wherever I go. It's death. It's always death."
There came no reply from Lucia but within seconds two warm arms embraced Sanya. "It's okay. It's okay, Sanya. I know where you are. Right here, in my arms. It'll be okay." Lucia cooed.
Sanya stared off to the side at first, a shaky and uneasy breath rippling from her lips. She leaned into the embrace after a few seconds, head laid against Lucia. Silence reigned for a time, Sanya stuck deep in her own thoughts. Eventually, she came back up to the surface. "I'm so tired, Lucia. Everyone fades away. Like butterflies, gone after a season or two. Constant new faces. New names. New languages. I don't… I don't belong anymore."
Lucia's embrace tightened. "Then let's … Then let's run away." she said, tattoos pulsing faster.
"...Run away?" Sanya questioned quietly, watching the village beyond from her vantage point, captured in Lucia's embrace. She scoffed softly. "I've tried. How would this time be any different?"
"Because you didn't have me by your side." Lucia retorted with a small giggle. "I'm not going to leave you again, not unless you want me too." she paused, her heartbeat racing in Sanya's ears. Tattoos matching the rhythm. "Sanya… I love you." she let the words linger in the air before she exploded, "I've been such a fool for so long! You were always there by my side when I needed you and I never saw what was before me. I was too caught up with the past and what might be, to see what could be. I don't even know if you feel the same way but it's eating me up inside everytime I look at you. I-I-I just needed to get it off my chest. I don't even know if this is the right moment or if it's what you want to hear but I- I love you Sanya. So let's run away, just the two of us. Somewhere far from prying eyes and just live in peace and quiet. Away from violence and war. Please." she took a deep breath, hardly able to contain herself.
Sanya allowed silence to reign after Lucia’s confession, continuing to stare out over the village and the desolation around them from her sanctuary between tattooed arms. She listened to Lucia’s heart, pounding away in her ear. Felt a conspiring fear rising out of anxiety sting at the back of her mind. Sanya closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, leaning in against the dark-skinned woman a little more.
"Alright.”
Lucia and Sanya are back, and they’re in flight above the Highlands! Now that Sanya is no longer constantly scared of falling to her death, they share a pleasant moment watching the land below as the Prairie draws close. All is not well however, and they catch sight of a plume of smoke in the highlands below. They dive to investigate and find a village under attack. Oh no!
Sanya is in hero mode, and rushes off to defend the village. We follow her side as she falls further and further into her own world of violence, memories and death. She obliterates much of the attacking force, before succumbing to the haze of battle. Lucia - who has been having adventures of her own in the village - breaks her out of it as she’s about to execute a raider. Sanya realizes the extent of her little parade of carnage and dips into a ptsd-fueled depressive episode. All is lost, and life is not worth living.
Until Lucia comes to comfort her. She tells her something very important, and asks her to run away. Sanya agrees.
A single bead of sweat rolled down over Eòghan’s forehead, the blazing midday sun bearing down on him with relentless fury as he worked. He gripped the last of his roughly hewn stakes and slotted it neatly into the grooved support posts. With a solid bit of applied pressure, the wood gave way just enough to allow the intrusion, and clapped back neatly around the stake to complete the fence, with his custom carved joints and rails enough to keep it solidly in place. A confident smile built on his features as he scraped up from the dirt to observe his work properly. His father would be proud to see his innovation and craftsmanship no doubt.
“Brie, I think I’m done, wanna take a look?” he said loudly, eyes fixed on his work, the neatly arranged stakes shielding the entire house. Simple, effective, and good-looking. He heard the idle rustle from inside the house as she made her move outside, and felt his pride swell when he heard her gasp. The blonde housewife wandered out into her little yard, a hand stretched out to gingerly touch at the new fence, and then grip it to test the durability. Eòghan smirked to himself, confident it would hold, and instead watched the Dûnan woman as she leaned and moved about. Her simple dress did little to mask her curvaceous form as she waddled around. Through his time in Ha-Dûna, Eòghan had come to find a natural appreciation for the natural beauty of women with a belly full of life. She caught him looking as she stood half-bent to inspect his fencework, and a self-conscious, shy smile built on her features. She toyed with a lock of her hair as she stood up, halted in hesitation before she approached. Every motion made Eòghan tense with a smug anticipation, watching her torment herself in thought.
“Oh, Eòghan, it’s wonderful! Ever since Gwyn told me what you’d done for her, I’ve been hoping we could finally put an end to our escaping goats and keep the children safe. Thank you!” Brie recounted with a warm smile. He watched her with a brimming smile, steadfast and roving over her features. He could see her battle with her thoughts. After another bout of hesitation, she grazed his arm with a flighty set of fingers, exhaling unsteadily to break her shy smile. The sensation sent a torrent of butterflies rippling through him, and only served to build his smile up further. This was paradise. “I’m-.. perhaps you’d allow me the courtesy of-... well, if you want to come in.. I could… make something. I feel like I should.. thank you.”
Eòghan gripped her hand into both of his own, and raised it to his lips. Keeping his gaze firmly on her eyes and face, he kissed it gently, and watched her face burst into new hues of red and pink. “The summer season has barely begun, Brie. I would hate for you to have forgotten me by autumn’s first breath,” he offered with a husky, confident tone. He’d practiced his voice for perfection, and it was a delight to see her so captivated. “And I’m afraid I’m promised elsewhere. But I’d love to come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” She offered, and her face grew redder as reason began to intermingle with shame. “I-.. well, it’s-..”
“Wouldn’t want to leave you without a fence gate to match, after all.” he offered with a smile, and gently laid her hand against her own chest, patting it briefly as he smiled.
The wash of relief, confusion, and anticipation that followed on Brie’s face was worth it. She exhaled deeply, unsteadily, and looked over towards the gate before snickering sheepishly. “Oh. Oh, right. Yes. Hah.” She locked eyes with him of her own volition, clearing her throat. “Tomorrow, then.”
“I’m already looking forward to it.” Eòghan mused calmly.
“Me too-.. I mean. Yes. Thank you again, Eòghan. I’ll.. I should start on dinner, I think.” Brie offered with flushed cheeks that were once more flaring up with shame. She bowed her head to him twice and then turned to waddle back towards the house, touching her cheeks. Eòghan followed her with his gaze, and she twisted around to thank him a last time before dipping back inside her little cottage.
Eòghan chuckled to himself, flexing his fingers thoughtfully as he watched the little drape cover the entrance to Brie’s home. He wasn’t sure how much Gwyn had told her, but it certainly wasn’t bad. Shaking his head, he wandered out of the yard, closing the soon-to-be-replaced gate behind him. The dirt paths of Ha-Dûna stretched out before him, and it was like stepping back out into another world. Without Brie to steal his attention, he heard the bleating of animals, the everpresent cries and yelling of children that really had become its signature melody, and the sights of folk going about their day.
He caught sight of Zelda watching him from two houses away, and smirked to himself. He still remembered the feel of her lips, and her soft skin against his. He lifted a hand to offer her a casual wave in recognition, and even from afar he could see her struck with embarrassment, shrinking together behind her gardening tool - but not enough not to return the wave shyly. He’d have to pay her a visit sometime soon, reassure her he hadn’t forgotten her. But first - he’d promised Gwyn to give her what her husband couldn’t. Ha-Dûna was a well-oiled machine, and Eòghan had found his place in it. He smirked to himself, considering his coming evening as he strolled down along the paths, learned feet carrying him towards Gwyn’s homestead by rote.
In the span of a second, however, two white-cloaked shadows appeared before him as though they had skipped out from behind a nearby bush. Their arms were crossed over their chests sternly, and one had a face with a fuzzy shrub while the other looked to have a bit of a back problem. They each offered Eòghan a scowl as the shorter of them, the one with the back, muttered, “Big plans today, Eòghan?” in a nasal, female voice.
Eòghan froze in his tracks, eyeing them both with confusion. ”Ah. Kaer… Rana, isn’t it?” he offered back at her with a quick smile, before looking at the fuzzy man. ”...And I want to say-... Hm, Garm? Jarn? Just enjoying the summer, myself. How about you two? He tried to look happy, but their stern posture made it difficult. Druids in general were difficult to deal with, that had never changed. Even Aoife had become demanding and aloof, always droning on about responsibilities.
“Gorm, and that’s -Kaer- Gorm to you, man,” the fuzzy druid responded and gave his temple a scratch. Kaer Rana followed Eòghan’s eyes back over to Zelda, who by now was hurrying back indoors. The old druid scoffed quietly to herself and looked back at the young man with her toad-like frown.
“Who’s turn was it -this- afternoon, then? Hers?” She nodded in the direction of Zelda’s house. “Anni’s? Perhaps it was Lubas? We’ve noticed you’re quite fond of her after all.”
“Well, I--”
“No, you know what? Following -this- route, it’s more like you were heading for the Shepherds’ home. Tell me, Eòghan, are you aware that Gwyn’s been married to Skallar, respected son of the Shepherds and proud member of the herjegalling tribe, for almost three years by now?”
”Oh. Uh. Three years, already?” he remarked with as much of a polite smile as he could muster, but felt a pit begin to form deep in his gut. An unpleasant, nagging worry. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and shrugged his shoulders. ”Time sure does… uh, fly, around here. Now, whatever this is I’m sure there’s some misunderstanding.”
Both of them shook their heads. “Nuh-uh, not getting away that easily,” said Kaer Rana and looked over his shoulder back towards Brie’s home. “Eòghan, when was the last time you were home? With your wife where you belong? Aoife keeps telling us she’s worried sick about your behaviour, you know. The gods see all, my son.”
“The gods see all,” echoed Kaer Gorm.
“Sins like these are hard to wash away.”
His face washed free of his expression, a momentary lapse as worry gripped him tight. ”Aoife? Why-.. I mean, what did she say?” he shook his head, trying to ward away the spite they were so clearly trying to sow into his mind, and frowned at them both. ”No, you know what. Keep my wife out of this. I don’t like what you’re implying, and you’d better not be poisoning her mind with any of these… implications. I know what the gods see, I’ve spoken to Naya.” Eòghan continued with a little more fervor, grasping at what he could to muster a defence. He’d seen Aoife cry. He’d assured her nothing was wrong. Why was he like this? He shook his head, and pushed his thoughts down. The shame. He stared at them both with some conviction left in his body.
“Naya’s not the goddess you should be worried about, my son,” Kaer Rana mumbled with a sigh and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Taeg Eit, on the other hand, is devastated that you’d disregard the sacred oath of marriage like this - and lead so many other fine, young women astray to do the same. But there’s still time to do right, Eòghan - Reiya teaches love of all things, and Taeg Eit listens to the great Reiya if wrongdoers right their mistakes. Go home to her, my son, she misses you so dearly.”
“So dearly,” echoed Kaer Gorm.
Eòghan clenched his fist slowly, watching them both with a knot of frustration wrapped like a defensive shell around the storm of shame their words wrought. He’d been so careful. She didn’t know. Did she know? What would he say? How could he ever say something like this to her? It would ruin her to know. He loved her, after all, he wouldn’t hurt her like that. ”I-... I was headed there anyway.” he lied, feeling the stone lodged in his throat. ”Your rumour-.. rumour mongering isn’t helping anyone.” Eòghan decreed with the last of his confidence, shaking his shoulder as he frowned at them both. With that, he put a foot forward to continue - and then swivelled on his heel as he realized his home was in the other direction.
“Remember - Reiya forgives all!” Kaer Rana shouted encouragingly after him before they faded away behind a house.
His feet carried him at a sedate pace back towards his own home, and he let his frustrations out on every poor rock unfortunate enough to be in his path. Someone called a greeting, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore. Despite the clear weather, it felt as though a rainstorm was building, just over him, to sour everything. The stone in his chest and throat only grew as the path began to lead properly towards his own home. She’d asked what he’d been doing, and he’d always talked about his carpentry. Made sure to do work around the village. Did she know? Why didn’t she say? They didn’t talk a lot these days, though that had been squarely on her - somewhere along the way she seemed not to appreciate life as she had before. That was part of the problem, that much Eòghan was certain of.
Before he knew it, his hand fixed on the small wooden latch on the first fence he’d built in Ha-Dûna, and he lifted the small gate aside. The groan of the latch brought a pair of heads out from around the corner of the house, and two copper-haired girls came running over, shouting, “Mommy! Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!”
Following them around the corner came none other than Aoife, her form fuller and tested by labour since the day they married. She offered him a tired frown and wiped her hands free of dirt on a linen apron over her white robes. She didn’t wear her tartan cloak due to the weather, which was uncommon even for her. She didn’t say anything, but crossed her arms over her bosom and watched their children grab at him eagerly. The door to the house also swung open, revealing another girl, this one copying her mother’s frown, but still going over to hug her father. From inside the house sounded a duet of baby screams.
”You bet he is! He-Heey!” Eòghan offered happily, accepting the initial tackle of hugs with jovial empathy. His children had a way of wiping away the worries. Such fearless, lovable scamps. He embraced them back, tussled their hair as he always had, and smiled warmly, eventually extending a hand to embrace the late arrival as he knelt down to hug his three girls. From his crouch, he smiled to himself, letting his thoughts stay in the moment. He glanced up to Aoife, a lingering smile sent her way. Just looking at her was enough to drain some of his confidence. ”What mischief are you all up to, hm?” he offered to his children, but kept his gaze on his wife.
“Tabby ate a fistful of dirt earlier!” shouted the second eldest of them, Juniper.
“We were making mudcakes,” gurgled the four year old and brandished her dirty hands. Juniper, a year her senior, started picking at grass stuck in Tabby’s hair, but then Tabby started touching her all over her face, causing Juniper to squeal.
“Nooo! Stop it!” The two of them fell to the ground as Juniper tried to pull Tabby off of her like a wild animal. The eldest daughter groaned and put her hands on her hips.
“Don’t do that in front of daddy! Behave yourselves!” she shouted. Vina had hair a shade darker than copper, like Aoife, and her voice shared the same notes, too, albeit lighter. Aoife crouched down next to the wrestlers and pulled them apart.
“Vina, take them inside and, please, try to calm your brothers down.”
“Yes, mother,” said the seven year old and grabbed both Juniper and Tabby by the hands, dragging them before they could properly stand up. “Come on!” she snarled and the two younger sisters both began to whimper.
“But daddy!”
“Later, sweety,” said Aoife. Finally, after much struggle, the three of them went inside and closed the door behind them. Now only Aoife and Eòghan were standing in the courtyard, Eòghan hardly being within its perimetre at all. Aoife almost stood like a barrier for further entry, arms ever crossed defensively over her bosom. She gave him a knowing look as if waiting for him to speak first.
Eòghan watched her in silence, feeling the feelings of shame return to his body like nervous jitters rippling through his muscles, and his fingers. After a few moments of awkward silence, he turned around to close the gate properly, and busied himself a little too long with the wooden latch. Anything to think. Finally, he swung back around, and mustered a soft, dampened smile. ”They’re as cute as ever.” he proffered calmly. On the inside, he wanted to hold her tight, kiss her, and go inside. He knew that wouldn’t work. Or at least, he wouldn’t want to see if it didn’t.
“Where have you been?”
He breathed a shaky sigh, taking a step forward to try and bridge the gap between him and his forlorn wife. He still remembered when he won her over with but a song and a smile. The days they spent together. She just needed to remember, too. ”You know, helping out. Building things. Fixing things. Working on my music.” he said with what he felt was an adequate amount of conviction. It was the truth, after all. Some of the truth.
Aoife’s frown deepened and anger sparked in her eyes. “Mhm? At the same five girls’ homes? Every day? From dawn ‘til dusk?”
The stone was back in full force, and it seemed to wrench his gut something fierce. He breathed out slowly, and took another step towards her. Arm reaching out to touch hers. ”No, my rose. It isn’t anything like that. I’ve-... I’ve been around a few houses, sure. Building fences, mending tools,” he began, eyes shifting to the side as he considered his words. ”Is someone spreading rumours about us? Is it Gillie you’ve been talking to again? I’ve said-.. I’ve said she’s never liked me.”
“No one’s spreading rumours, Eòghan!” she snarled a little louder than she looked to have intended. Her following words were almost so quiet that they couldn’t be heard: “I’ve seen you… I didn’t want to believe it, but I saw you a week ago, when you were just getting started on that fence for the Shepherd’s family. The way you held her, caressed her, looked at her… Is it me? Am I not pretty enough anymore?”
He thought back to his time with Gwyn a week ago, the frown clear on his face. After this long. They’d been too careless. He’d been careless. All these years together, undone by a fence Gwyn had insisted on. He knew it’d been a bad idea, and he’d done it anyway. Internally swearing, and some measure of defeat clear on his face, he looked at her properly and squeezed her arm. ”Is it-.. No! Aoife, you are my everything. I-... I know I have… that I have not given you the attention you deserve. But I'm here now." he offered with a shaky determination. Another step closer, and he tried to embrace his wife. "I'm here to stay."
Aoife stepped back reluctantly, but her steps grew smaller every time. Eventually, she stopped and let her husband embrace her warmly. Eòghan could hear her whimper into his chest as her small, yet work-tested hands tugged at his overshirt. “Do you promise?”
"I promise," he voiced with more warmth, the wrenching feeling in his gut slowly dissolving in the embrace. In the moment, none of the other women mattered. A distant memory, replaced with all the nights of passion he'd shared with his wife. "I love you more than anything, Aoife."
The following morning, the family had gathered for breakfast as usual. The resthouse system was kind to them all, and their household received bread and grain at the warehouse, along with milk, cheese, butter, potatoes, carrots, kohlrabi and onions. Aoife also kept a small herbal patch in their yard next to the wash tub and clothing line. They all had oatmeal cooked on goat’s milk.
“OW! AAAAAAAAAAAAH!” screamed Juniper after receiving a spoonful of hot porridge in her face at the hands of the gruesome Tabby-made spoon catapult. The four-year-old cackled maniacally, and the shouting taunted the two boys in their shared crib to join in with her on squeals. Aoife groaned from the bottom of her throat and pulled out a cloth from her apron’s pocket.
“Tabby, don’t throw porridge at your sister! Eòghan, honey, would you try to calm the boys down, please? No, Tabby, put down the spoon!” Aoife seized her hand and squeezed it until Tabby’s grip weakened about the spoon and her giggle turned to a whimper. Meanwhile, she wiped the porridge off of Juniper’s chest and stopped her from taking her revenge with claws and teeth. Vina, meanwhile, stared hopelessly into her bowl, covering her ears with her hands.
Eòghan rubbed at his eyes with a weary breath. He hadn’t slept this poorly in a while, and the chaos did nothing to soothe his yearning for peace and quiet. Still, he pushed up from his place, and steadily moved to the squealing duo of boys. He still felt awkward around them when they were this small. Aoife couldn’t stop telling him all the ways he was doing wrong holding, feeding, or playing with them back when they’d only had Vina. ”There, there,” he began with as much calm and charisma as he could summon in the morning, though it was quickly drowned out by the table. Instead, he resolved to scoop them both up, and gently nurse them to a quiet peace. He tried to shut out the chaos behind him, and focused on his boys. Beautiful - no, handsome, like their father. He was looking forward to teaching them all sorts of tricks. Things his father had never taught him. It quickly became clear to him however that his strategy was doing him no favours in calming them. Resolving to do what he knew best, Eòghan instead took to a calm song he’d written for Vina, as he laid them back gingerly and crouched down beside them.
”The spider climbs, in a quiet and calm nook. The worm crawls, on the fisherman’s hook. The snake prowls, in grass and under rock. The goat bleats, frolicking in his flock. Over forest and field, the animals’ rule extends. But to a Dûnan, all of them are friends.”
The boys stopped crying little by little, looking at Eòghan with big, curious eyes. The oldest of them, Brégo, reached out with his small hands to grab at Eòghan’s thumb, cooing quietly as he tried to shake it. His brother, Hama, had not yet mastered rolling over, so he laid on his back grunting enviously at what he couldn’t participate in.
Eòghan considered himself a generous father, and extended his unassailed hand as he stood up, to offer Hama a chance at contact as well. Humming the melody through a jovial smile, he watched his sons for a long moment, taking in the majesty of young life. Brégo had his mother's eyes, a trait he was sure would stun many women as Aoife's had stunned him. For a fleeting moment of peace in the household, at least in Eòghans mind, he glanced at his wife without worry or shame.
Aoife was still busily wrestling Tabby and Juniper apart while Vina had left the table and headed outside, leaving the curtain door halfway pulled aside. Finally, Aoife just sent Tabby and Juniper out of the house, too, and started cleaning the table, which by now had become a mess of spilled porridge and milk. “Uuuugh, those two, little--...” She took a deep breath. “Remember, Aoife, Reiya teaches you to love your children… Loooove your children…” She then breathed out again with a little more relief and walked over to rest her head against Eòghan’s chest. “... They never tell you about this part of motherhood. I wonder why.”
Eòghan exhaled a quiet chuckle, lifting a hand from his sons’ sanctuary to lay on her back instead. ”I suppose we should not fault them for having the spirit of life in them. Part of it is my fault; they take after their father. I always got in trouble when I was little.” he offered up with newfound tranquility, gazing down at his sons with a smile. He stroked Aoife’s back gently, musing to himself. ”Perhaps if we even out the number of boys and girls, the gods will be so pleased they instill them with some calm.”
Aoife sighed. “I know Reiya teaches otherwise, but… Honestly, five is fine by me. I also feel like it should be my decision to make, considering…” She trailed off, pushing herself away gently and returning to the dishes.
Eòghan frowned ever so slightly, a twinge of that unpleasant feeling deep down bubbling up to make certain it was never forgotten. What did she mean by that? Why couldn’t she let it go? Perhaps she was simply talking about her being a woman. How could he know what to say? He knew if he said nothing, she’d sigh for the rest of the day. ”If you want to wait, that’s fine.” he eventually managed, watching her back as he moved to lean against the table.
“It’s not that, Eòghan. Most women have someone who helps around the house… It makes raising the children easier.” She sighed and refused to face him. “I’ve slept on what you said yesterday… About your promise. Would you commit to me - to us - if we had a sixth child?”
”Of course! he promised with a swiftness that surprised even himself. Could he make such a promise? Of course he could. Aoife was his to love, and the thought of her leaving him brought on a sour taste on his tongue. It had to work. He would be better. Eòghan nodded, mostly to himself, and stepped away from the table to walk across the room. Back towards his wife. ”I love you, Aoife. With all my heart.”
“You keep saying that,” she replied with a sad frown. “Over and over, you keep telling me that you love me, but then you go away, sometimes for several days, and you leave me behind with five children and a whole house and nothing to do but be the housewife like some, some peasant.” She dragged her finger along the corners of her eyes. “I am a druid, Eòghan, and I can’t even do my duties because I’m too busy with our family.”
He took another few steps forward, daring to extend his arms in an attempted embrace of her, unassuming and low, though thoroughly a move to trap her in place. ”I know, I know. I’ll-.. I’ll do better, Aoife. Be the man you need me to be.”
“You always say that, too!” she shouted louder than expected, faced him and pulled away from him. “You always just ‘say’ you’ll do this and that, and then you never do it! You instead leave to go work on, on fences and houses, or to gather inspiration for your music. Tell me, Eòghan, have you even made any new music in these past seven years? Have you?”
A bitter sting flowed through his body, a flash of anger he tried to keep down. ”Oh, you know I have. Don’t-... Or-.. have you forgotten the uh, the celebration of Reiya I played at Cewyn’s ceremony? I’ve made plenty of music. It’s just-.. just hard to, well, work with all-... all this!” he bit back with a little too much fervor, and watched her with a sullen mixture of regret and frustration.
“What’s ‘all this’, Eòghan?! You’re never here! It’s just me - it’s always been just me! Your daughter Vina, your oldest daughter, looks at you like a stranger, and Tabby and Juniper are only happy to see you because I keep telling them that you will be back eventually!” Her cheeks were awash with tears and she had to look away. “Cewyn’s ceremony was five years ago, Eòghan… Are you telling me you… Are you telling me you’ve spent five years…” She couldn’t finish her sentence, but instead dragged herself over to the table, collapsed onto a stood and let her sorrow drip all over the table top with loud sobs.
A cold chill ran along his body, first up his spine and then out over his arms, and into his fingertips. ”No,” he protested weakly, a tame rebuttal to the sobs of his red-haired wife. He had to do something. Anything. He dove deep into his mind, trying to conjure up any memory, any song that he had made. Only the one he’d written for Gwyn came to mind. There was nothing. Nothing except lying. ”I’ve-.. I’ve been working on an epic-.. My masterpiece. I-.. I was… I was gonna play it at the festival. An ode-.. to, uhm, love, and us.”
“Stop…” whimpered Aoife in response. “Please… Just…” The sobs choked out the rest of her sentence.
Eòghan stared at her for a long time, unable to speak. Somewhere deep inside, he felt the dam burst, his last hope crashing and falling away. There was only shame. Shame and resentment. He didn’t choose any of this. He had been perfectly happy in his village. Where there wasn’t anyone to ground his accomplishments to dust. Then she gets pregnant, and everything has to change? It wasn’t fair. The world was never fair. Eòghan burst into a sharp exhale, shaking out of his daze with a frown. He moved over towards the wall to unhook his lyre, and briefly inspected it with unsteady eyes. ”I-.. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. We’ll, uh, talk more after dinner. I need to-... I...” he offered, trailing off himself as he found no suitable words. Still, he moved for the door. Aoife glanced his way and her arms buckled under the weight of her sorrows, laying themselves down on the table to cushion her head as her weeping loudened.
The searing sun had risen to its highest point, yet even from such a perch it could not find Eòghan, stowed away in the shade under the lone oak tree, plinking away languidly on his lyre. He’d gone to his usual spot, but there were too many people to greet, too many questions. He felt like something had changed in the very wind. The smiles people gave him were not as genuine, their eyes were judgemental. Just like his old village, he had to claw and bite to get any sort of respect. What did they know? Dùnans. Self-righteous zealots. He’d spoken to a goddess. Curried her favor. Where was his respect? They should come to him for wisdom. Not tattle on him to his wife, or stick their nose in matters that had nothing to do with them. Aoife too. If only she’d listen, there wouldn’t be any problem at all.
Eòghan sighed sharply to himself, and shifted his seat in the grass. It wasn’t fair. He was just as valuable a member of Ha-Dûna as any other man - more so, in fact! Who if not he would entertain those abandoned, do what needed doing? If he’d done anything wrong, it was on the husbands’ that didn’t satisfy their wives. Not him. No, no one - not even Aoife - understood his worth. Only the Love Goddess had ever given him trust and affection without demands. Truly understood who he was and what he wanted, without question. She was a goddess, though, and perhaps it was her knowledge to have.
He toyed with that idea, strumming on his lyre distantly. What did a goddess look like? He had been told of his village’s view, and that of Ha-Dûna, a mourning woman with small horns. He scoffed quietly, and dreamed an image of what a true love goddess would look like. Borrowed the best features of each of the women he knew, and found in his mind the perfect woman. A picture fit for a goddess. Eòghan smiled to himself, stuck in a simple fantasy of lascivious beauty and comely smiles. He strummed a few more notes on his lyre, and paused as he strummed something he enjoyed. Slowly, an idea came to him, and he began his writing process in earnest, repeating and murmuring words to himself, half-singing to a few more notes of his lyre. He reconstituted an old section he’d dreamt up but never used. It would bridge his words with a little adjustment.
The sun slid over the heavens slowly, cautiously treading closer towards the horizon, watching Eòghan spend the day consumed in his songwriting. Finally, when bells and shouts could be heard from Ha-Dûna as parents began to call their children home for dinner, Eòghan put his fingers on his lyre properly, breathed a gentle breath, and sang his first new composition in years.
”My goddess Naya, hear my song, it is for your heart I do so long,
You are the one, the one I need, the only woman I would ever heed.
I like the way you love, as gentle as a dove. I like the way you speak, make my knees weak.
You are the one, the one I need, the only woman I would ever heed.
I love the way you embrace, gentle, caring and with grace. I love the way you wear your hair, framing a face with no compare.
You are the one, the one I need, the only woman I would ever heed.
You are the perfect goddess for my heart, every bit of you a work of art. No one brings me joy like you can, let me be your one true man.
Fragrant, beautiful, and slender, Fair and gorgeous too, Are the qualities of you.”
With a final breathed sigh to cap his song, Eòghan let his fingers slide along the strings of his lyre softly, allowing the melody to play out into the ether and vanish into thin air and silence. A rustle of leaves from the tree followed in the silence, a singular caw from a particularly bothered bird. Eòghan was about to rise when a strange but familiar feeling came over him. A rush of wind pushed through the oaken leaves, sending the bird flying away swiftly. A gentle gust tousled his hair and whined past his ear like a sultry breath cut short. He felt the air grow warm, a soft pressure on his mind, and his body. He was no longer alone.
"Oh, how sweetly you sing, Eòghan, son of Baltair and Muire,” a voice that he had not heard in a very long time crooned. His astonished expression shifted to a small smile, which grew when he felt a gentle pressure against his chest, as though someone pushed against him with their hands. "In all the love songs of the world, few take the time to remember me. Your voice carried through stars and void to soothe my spirit and fill me with fire. And-.. Oh, my.”
Eòghan made an effort to speak, but a firm, invisible force gripped his chin, tugging upwards slowly and compelling him to crawl to a stand, pushed back against the tree. Other sensations rushed across his body, like a dozen hands feeling and squeezing his form. "You imagine my form in such a base way, my dearest. Flattering. Riveting, even. Do they know you hold another in your heart? That they are but yours to use to build a form for me? A sinful, debased form, for your pleasure?” the voice continued with a conspiring tone.
He made another attempt to argue her words, but before sound left his lips, his mind flashed with the body he had dreamed up for his version of Naya, posed against him, breathing heavily, flitting across his eyes in vulnerable poses. It was exhilarating, shameful, and captivating, all at once. Almost real. "Is this what you’d like to see, my love? What you’d do? the voice questioned with a breathy whisper. She gave him no time to answer, still. "Perhaps you’d like to see my real form? To think of me when you linger with other men’s women?”
That made him frown, and he did his best to shake his mind free of the unbidden - but not unwanted - images. ”Will you mock me as well, Goddess?” he grunted with bubbling irritation, thinking back to his confrontation with his wife, and the druids. ”They think I’m just a liar and a layabout. No one here appreciates good music, good spirit, and helping your neighbour. So what if I’ve seen a few women when my wife turns me away? You don’t see Aoife bending over for another man. If the men in this town were good for anything beyond brutish labour, the women wouldn’t come to me.” Eòghan almost yelled towards nothing in particular, feeling his pent-up frustration bubble to the surface.
"You have it all figured out, my love, except for how to proceed. A house of twigs and leaves blown away by the slightest wind,” the voice retorted, almost sounding amused. "What have you done to fight these accusations, my dear? Argued? Lied? Mortals spend their lives proving their worth to each other. Life, love, desire. Nothing is free in life, my one and only. You took my gift, went to war, and put your weapon down after one battle. How can you expect a war to be won with no fighting, Eòghan?”
He scoffed at first, but frowned as the imagery set in, and mingled with his experiences. What had he done besides empty promises? Lying? Was this truly how it would be? ”I-... I can’t lose my family. Aoife. But I-.. I don’t think there’s a way back after today. I’m not strong like the others, I’m not a dumb farmer or even that skilled a carpenter. These backwards folk don’t appreciate my music like… like you do, Goddess. I have no way to prove myself. To win the war, like you said.”
"Dear, sweet Eòghan. They do not appreciate it because you do not share it with them as you do with me. Your songs, your music, it steals the heart just as a spear steals a life. If they will not listen, then you must make them.” the voice crooned back at him calmly, and he felt another brisk touch rustle through his hair. "Worry not, my sweet love. You’ve captured my affection, and I will treasure your words forever. For that, I will give you what you need, so that you will treasure me the same. Simply say what it is you wish, and it shall be my delight to equip you for your war of hearts, and minds.”
Eòghan's mind reeled with the possibilities of her offer. He had to be sure not to squander it. To gain back what he risked losing, in a way that suited him. Slowly, a thought began to take root in his mind, and he felt a smile return to his lips alongside his confidence. "Well,” he asserted with a firm tone. ”What Ha-Dûna lacks is a place for me. There should be a space for me to work and create, just like the farmer and the druids, and be appreciated for it. Something that makes people proud to share a roof with me. And, uh, a war, it needs warriors, right? I want others to take up the arts, who will love to learn from me, and laugh with me, and respect me! And, and, together we’ll be loved and respected like never before!” Eòghan declared with a heavy set of breaths. He blinked a few times, and hesitated. Perhaps he demanded too much. He was about to speak again when the voice cut him off once more.
"So be it, my sweet. You shall be a general in the war of hearts and minds. A conqueror. A king. And a king needs a fort. Behold your fortress, Eòghan, as others shall. Teach your army in the ways of your war, and you will build a legacy of song and dance that will carry far beyond your own lifetime.” the voice whispered into his ear, and the cloying feeling intensified. Leaves snapped from the tree and whirled around him in a furious vortex, and he felt himself lift from the ground.
In the distance, the ground rumbled and quaked with growing intensity, sending the poor village into an uneasy stir. Entire blocks of a nearby cliff toppled and cracked into fine dust, revealing smooth sanded brown stone walls rising from the ground beneath. With it came buildings unlike anything Eòghan had ever seen before, red roofs and windows decorating the smooth, angular stone structures. It jutted out of the ground like the crowning glory of Ha-Dûna, and simply looking at it instilled a calming sense of purpose in him. It was unique, reached for the sky, and commanded an instant respect. It was glorious.
When the quakes subsided and the massive building stilled, having completed its ascent, so too did the vortex around Eòghan. He touched down on the ground gently, lyre still clutched tightly in one hand. "If your war of hearts and minds falters, my dearest, sing for me, and I shall give you my heart once more.” the voice whispered quietly, and drifted into silence. At once, the air grew lighter, and his mind cleared of the subtle pressure he had felt.
Eòghan grinned with all his might, staring up at the grand structure in the distance. When he was done, Ha-Dûna would be a place of song, mirth, and pleasures. Surely now, no one would ever doubt him again. The man who seduced a goddess with song.
Years later, after Eòghan’s untimely death at the young age of twenty-nine, Vina stalked through the halls of the College of the Bards, flute resting snugly in the pocket of her baggy pantaloons. She caught herself all-to-often stopping in the courtyard, where outsiders came to be wooed by handsome bards and sexy bardesses, or to get a good laugh by seeing plays or hearing mealhouse songs. There stood a statue of her father, the founder of the college institution and revered servant of Naya, to whom the building was dedicated - how could they not have, after all? From top to bottom, inside and out, the Horned Goddess’ busts, statues and carvings filled every room, hall and wall. The monks, nuns and druids had been arguing over the clerical implications of this for ages, and what parts of ancient mythology would have to be rewritten to fit this new, unexpected face of the Mourning Goddess. Vina’s years in education were approaching their finale - the last thirteen years had been a mess of making curriculums and adjusting to this new appearance of musicians, playwrights and storytellers that seemingly just popped out of nowhere.
There was something else, too. Ever since the college had appeared, Vina and many others had felt a heightened tension in the air, as though it was charged with an invisible thunderstorm. Foreign merchants and pilgrims were gradually being segregated first to the fringes of the city centre, then outside the city centre. Nowadays, foreign merchants were often segregated to the outskirts of the city, where they set up faires in desperate hopes to draw in customers; foreign pilgrims were shown to leftover resthouses after the Dûnan druids had received their reservations. The sensations had culminated in the Conquests two years ago, and ever since those days, it seemed to Vina as though the Dûnans had lost much of the romanticised simplicity preached by the Clennon Fen factions. Their taste for war and rulership had driven them to professionalise those who had survived the campaigns, forming them into units of soldiers supported by the resthouse system. One regiment among these had shown immense promise, Vina had heard the visiting generals discuss earlier: These were the Stone Boars, the elite of the elite. Numbering a humble fifteen currently, they nonetheless put down outskirts bandits almost before blades were crossed on the battlefield, their charge alone terrorising the enemy into surrendering half the time; the other half, they luckily had support from the untrained levies that Dûna had started employing in a more and more organised manner.
Vina shook her head. You heard so much just stalking around between the guests to the college, casually spitting notes into your flute as to not rouse suspicion. The mood in the city had been oppressive, but it could hopefully be allowed to die down for a little bit soon.
Helgensblot was right around the corner, after all.
Eòghan’s back and he’s cheating hard on Aoife! This is actually the talk of the town, which he doesn’t realise, so he’s met by druids telling him to go home and be with his wife. His wife Aoife isn’t too happy to see him, and his kids mostly don’t know him. The next day, Aoife breaks down after she realises Eòghan’s been lying to her about work for the last five years. Eòghan goes on an egotrip afterwards and plays a melody to woo Neiya. Neiya is wooed and gives him a castle, the Bard’s College.
Fast forward to current HD times, long after Eòghan’s death, we meet Vina, Eòghan’s oldest daughter, taking an education at the Bard’s College. She’s noticed that Dûnans have gotten pretty proud of themselves since the college came to be, and that pride had a pretty large role in the Dûnan conquests and the formation of professional soldier groups. The post ends with a foreshadowing note which’ll become clear in the next Dûna post - the Helgensblot.
Neiya: 5/5.
Holy Order - Dûnan Bards Totally Not Plagiarism II: (Members of the Bard's college are masters of musical subterfuge, and can produce other people's works as though they were their own without anybody noticing! They get a bonus to praise and popularity, too.) - 2 DP (2/5 Cunning)
Bardic Planning II: (No matter where bards are, they somehow always manage to find the best spots to perform to garner the most praise and biggest crowds. Legends say this takes years of strategic foresight.) - 2 DP (4/5 Cunning)
Persuasive Poetry I: (Maybe it's the looks; maybe it's the voice; maybe it's the diploma from the Bard's College of Ha-Dûna - either way, something about these bards seems almost intentionally alluring, as though their every word has intent disguised as honeyed flattery.) - 1 DP (5/5 Cunning)
Holy Order - Stone Boars Fearsome Charge II: (The Stone Boar paladins' charge alone can shake the morale of those who already question their reasons to be on the front lines, letting them break formations easier. Affects mostly levies and has reduced effect on professional armies.) - Free with Terror.
Holy Site - Bard College of Ha-Dûna. Dûnan Supremacy II: (The presence of this beautiful building and it's alien design is enough to serve as a constant reminder of both Dûnan musical prowess and their heritage as favored by the gods. It instills a deep-rooted pride in those that call themselves Dûnan, to the point that they consider themselves better.) - 2 MP (2/5 Pride)
Neiya unlocks the Cunning portfolio while making Eòghan think he’s the greatest. - 3 MP
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