QUEEN OF FEASTS | SUMMER-SPIRIT ZENI | BLITHE BALLADIER
Aspect
Revelry
Celebration and ceremony spring up in all typical mortal cultures. It is inevitable. Even the most battle-hardened veteran will find cause for cheer eventually, when victory against the enemy finally comes, or when the newest child in the family is born. Societies come together to celebrate grand events and holidays. Families and villages revel in the abundance of harvest or the fortunate outcome of hard labor. Individuals find cheer in all manner of things. Sometimes a group of mortals just want to forget the dark and grit that looms over the coming days and immerse themselves in a communal feeling of living in the now and living their best lives.
These ceremonies of joy and expressions of happiness fall under the aspect of Revelry. No matter the size, social or societal value, or formality. A party, a ball, and a festival all follow the same notes of spreading good feeling and inspiring people to open up to one another, shape new bonds and experience fresh things. This bubbling flare of emotion is central to Revelry, which centers on allowing those weighed down by stress, anxiety and responsibility to loosen up and appreciate what’s in front of them, or look upon the positive parts of their existence. The lowest form of revelry is the simple appreciation of a thing or a moment – a shared laugh or a guilty pleasure. On the most extreme end of revelry lies truly debauched hedonism and dereliction of duty to pursue personal pleasure.
With control of this aspect, Zenia directs crowds to ease their tensions and celebrate what they have in common. She can create from next to nothing the urge to liven up and forget about the past – and the future – even if just for a time. This could stall an army that decides to have a hearty feast before marching on, create the perfect harvest festival for a village that will live on in memory in many new ways, or help someone literally become the life of the party to elevate their social standing to new heights. The reverse is true as well of course, and upsetting the goddess of revelry is a quick path to a cheerless existence.
Persona
Zenia is easy to write off as something of a simple-minded goddess. She doesn’t particularly care for grand plots be they mortal or divine, nor does she seem to have the head for even mortal concepts of knowledge. Some would therefore conclude that she’s a little dense or airheaded; Zenia would say that she doesn’t have time to consider big-picture things like that. Someone else will figure it out, and she can focus on the truly important stuff like what to wear, or the lyrics to a bard’s particularly raunchy song.
Despite this, one would be remiss to write the goddess off as one-note. Her displeasure for rational thought and responsibility coupled with an apparently inborn love of festivities makes her as much of a boon to others as a constant disruption, happy to throw off schemes and well-laid plans of mortals and deities alike to arrange a kicking get-together.
Something troubling lies behind the behavior however, as Zenia seems more comfortable amidst a party and tends to drift onwards to her next target when the booze, food and fraternizing starts drying up. The same shirking of duties that she consistently tries to foist on others is how she approaches her own existence as a deity as well and seems to loathe being called on to do anything deific in an official capacity. She prefers to spread cheer and move on, taking life one day at a time, conflicted about her own role in any grand design and chafing at the thought of having to take responsibility for just about anything.
Form
In her unbound, mind-warping form, Zenia is no more a physical entity than a splash of colour in the eye of the beholder or a tune hummed from right behind the listener. She is energy given form, an unbridled light and frequency that tries to overpower all it passes into exuding the same bristling joy that she normally espouses. Survivors will remember frenzied and jumbled melodies, burning pains in their legs and arms as all adrenaline drains, and so much need to appreciate life that they might not appreciate anything ever again.
Given the danger and fragility of such a state, Zenia is most typically shaped as an athletic young woman with long blonde hair, clad in regalia that either adheres to local customs, or baubles and regal elegance that doesn’t seem to originate anywhere in the world. She has a penchant for appearing as an unimportant woman of the local species happy to participate in some revelry, but the knowledgeable will probably suspect something.
QUEEN OF FEASTS | SUMMER-SPIRIT ZENI | BLITHE BALLADIER
Aspect
Revelry
Celebration and ceremony spring up in all typical mortal cultures. It is inevitable. Even the most battle-hardened veteran will find cause for cheer eventually, when victory against the enemy finally comes, or when the newest child in the family is born. Societies come together to celebrate grand events and holidays. Families and villages revel in the abundance of harvest or the fortunate outcome of hard labor. Individuals find cheer in all manner of things. Sometimes a group of mortals just want to forget the dark and grit that looms over the coming days and immerse themselves in a communal feeling of living in the now and living their best lives.
These ceremonies of joy and expressions of happiness fall under the aspect of Revelry. No matter the size, social or societal value, or formality. A party, a ball, and a festival all follow the same notes of spreading good feeling and inspiring people to open up to one another, shape new bonds and experience fresh things. This bubbling flare of emotion is central to Revelry, which centers on allowing those weighed down by stress, anxiety and responsibility to loosen up and appreciate what’s in front of them, or look upon the positive parts of their existence. The lowest form of revelry is the simple appreciation of a thing or a moment – a shared laugh or a guilty pleasure. On the most extreme end of revelry lies truly debauched hedonism and dereliction of duty to pursue personal pleasure.
With control of this aspect, Zenia directs crowds to ease their tensions and celebrate what they have in common. She can create from next to nothing the urge to liven up and forget about the past – and the future – even if just for a time. This could stall an army that decides to have a hearty feast before marching on, create the perfect harvest festival for a village that will live on in memory in many new ways, or help someone literally become the life of the party to elevate their social standing to new heights. The reverse is true as well of course, and upsetting the goddess of revelry is a quick path to a cheerless existence.
Persona
Zenia is easy to write off as something of a simple-minded goddess. She doesn’t particularly care for grand plots be they mortal or divine, nor does she seem to have the head for even mortal concepts of knowledge. Some would therefore conclude that she’s a little dense or airheaded; Zenia would say that she doesn’t have time to consider big-picture things like that. Someone else will figure it out, and she can focus on the truly important stuff like what to wear, or the lyrics to a bard’s particularly raunchy song.
Despite this, one would be remiss to write the goddess off as one-note. Her displeasure for rational thought and responsibility coupled with an apparently inborn love of festivities makes her as much of a boon to others as a constant disruption, happy to throw off schemes and well-laid plans of mortals and deities alike to arrange a kicking get-together.
Something troubling lies behind the behavior however, as Zenia seems more comfortable amidst a party and tends to drift onwards to her next target when the booze, food and fraternizing starts drying up. The same shirking of duties that she consistently tries to foist on others is how she approaches her own existence as a deity as well and seems to loathe being called on to do anything deific in an official capacity. She prefers to spread cheer and move on, taking life one day at a time, conflicted about her own role in any grand design and chafing at the thought of having to take responsibility for just about anything.
Form
In her unbound, mind-warping form, Zenia is no more a physical entity than a splash of colour in the eye of the beholder or a tune hummed from right behind the listener. She is energy given form, an unbridled light and frequency that tries to overpower all it passes into exuding the same bristling joy that she normally espouses. Survivors will remember frenzied and jumbled melodies, burning pains in their legs and arms as all adrenaline drains, and so much need to appreciate life that they might not appreciate anything ever again.
Given the danger and fragility of such a state, Zenia is most typically shaped as an athletic young woman with long blonde hair, clad in regalia that either adheres to local customs, or baubles and regal elegance that doesn’t seem to originate anywhere in the world. She has a penchant for appearing as an unimportant woman of the local species happy to participate in some revelry, but the knowledgeable will probably suspect something.
”Climb Eesis, climb!” Lucia shouted, panic in her voice. She was chasing after the two furious avatars, whose battle rocked the heavens. The force waves from their blows were causing the wind to scream but Eesis, the giant Leon, was resolute in her charge. These were her winds, after all. Even now, as she climbed the winds grew less and less but they were nowhere near close to the two. They had shot off towards the distant mountains and Lucia was determined to reach them.
She knew not how long it had been now, but the red glow on the horizon was a tell tale sign they would not reach their destination before the sun set but she had to try. She had to-
The horizon erupted beyond the mountains. Lucia shielded her eyes and felt Eesis give a rare mewl as she turned her head, veering to the left. Her heart began to beat fast and Lucia looked out on the horizon as the glow resided. She felt only horror now. Something had happened, something terribly wrong.
She instinctively reached out to her mother. "Mother! Did you see that!"
Lucia expected a reply but none came for a long time. She began to worry again before she was assaulted by intense emotions. Those of anger, pain and regret. It was enough to make her audibly gasps and clutch Eesis tighter. As quickly as the emotions came, they were gone.
"Mother!" she screamed raw, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to send positive energy to Oraelia, not knowing if it would reach her. She felt useless.
It was in that moment however, that Lucia began to put things together. The two avatars were fighting. The bright flash had to be a giant explosion. Could they kill one another? Was it even possible? And then her mother would not reply to her, in fact, all she received were negative emotions. Lucia shivered as her heart dropped.
Solus had been killed, hadn't he?
It was Sanya and Tevuri who met her in the courtyard as Eesis landed. Nisin also sprang towards his mate as Lucia slid off and to the ground. Sanya was by her side in an instant, wrapping her arms around her in a bear hug. She melted in that embrace, returning it in kind even when she knew what would be said next.
"Don't ever do that again." Sanya growled with brimming anger in her voice.
Lucia could have protested, could have said it was to protect her but in this case, she would admit defeat. "Okay, I'm sorry my love. I was caught up in the moment. It won't happen again." she nuzzled her face into Sanya's neck. She heard her warrior sigh, grip loosening but still tight.
Sanya leaned her own head on Lucia's and moved her arm up to caress the back of her head. Lucia shut her eyes and let the rhythm of Sanya's fingers relax her. "Good." she said in a quiet voice.
Tevuri cleared his throat and then said, "Forgive me Lucia, Sanya, for disrupting your moment but we have a problem." Lucia reluctantly pulled back from Sanya, still be held tight by her partner, and looked up at Tevuri. "What's wrong?"
The Cardinal frowned, a rare sight from even him. "When the flash subsided, several of the Oraeliari heard cracks. Upon further investigation we found, in several places, that there were cracks in the stone of the Castiel, and the light… It is fading. What… What happened?" He asked.
Lucia took a breath, looked to Sanya and then back to Tevuri. "The flash of light, I think it was Solus. I believe he was killed."
Tevuri seemed to deflate, going pale. "By Oraeliara… No…"
"Worse, I tried contacting my mother and the only thing I felt in return was pain, sorrow and anger. Solus has died and it has hurt my mother." her voice broke and she felt Sanya pull her closer. Lucia did not resist.
"What do we… What will we do now?" Tevuri asked, looking to the ground.
"I… If the Castiel is fading then we will have to leave. We should go east, towards the mountains to make sure the land is safe. There is no telling what other damage they wrought." Lucia said in a sullen voice.
Tevuri looked at them. "What of the Dunan conflict?"
Sanya's grip tightened in a brief squeeze, enough to signal her affection and decision to butt in before Lucia spoke. With a sharp sigh, the typically quiet warrioress spoke. "Humans will always war, Cardinal. It is what they do when the tribe grows large enough. Helping the people left behind by the conflict is the best we can do unless we are keen to choose a side. As for the Dunans.. they were blind three decades ago. Nothing has changed." As customary lately she looked the taller Oraeliari straight in the eyes as she talked to give some dauntless weight to her words. Lucia knew she was a divisive figure - a few winged allies found her abrasive. Just like every other place, Sanya made herself the outsider in time. "Going east will mean walking into the heartlands of the dunans' enemy. Wherever we go, I doubt we can rely on rulers."
"We still have to try. Solus is… He was part of my mother and so am I, so are the Oraeliari. We have to make sure his demise did not spawn any other unfortunate events." she leaned her head against Sanya's neck again. "Please?" she whispered to her warrior.
Sanya exhaled sharply and raised her hand to hold Lucia's head close to her in an attempt to offer some meager comfort. "No doubt people are going to be fleeing raiders, bandits, forgotten beasts even before we take this new event into account. The people will need help. Just because we leave does not mean we need to turn the disaffected away. Do you agree, Cardinal?"
Tevuri nodded. "Of course. We should strive to help any in need, regardless of their circumstances. We shall need to find a new place to call home though. To Shepard this lost flock."
"He is right." Lucia murmured. "We will have to find some new place to go. But for now, we should depart at once." she squeezed Sanya again and then pulled away but not before planting a kiss on her cheek. She then looked to the Cardinal, hands on her waist. "Cardinal Tevuri, we need to take what we can from the Castiel. If you could instruct your Oraeliari to do this, I would be grateful. Only what we can carry for a long journey. Sanya and I will see to the artifacts, the pilgrams and the Joyfs."
The Cardinal nodded once more and departed at once with a flap of his wings. Lucia then looked back at Sanya and outstretched her hand. "Shall we get started my love?" she said with a smirk and wink. Sanya scoffed quietly and offered a mere twitch of her lips. It was enough, when one knew how to read the ancient fighter. Without a word, she moved to take Lucia's hand and squeeze it.
It took a day to get things in order. The Oraeliari worked quickly and with efficiency, gathering everything that could be taken and storing it large rucksacks. Much of what was being built at the Castiel would have to be left behind as try as they might, they could not take everything. Sanya and Lucia had the much harder task of persuading the pilgrims to leave. Much of them were distraught at the fact the Statuette was going to be taken. Most called it a betrayal of the deal and try as they might to show reason, the hearts of men and the hopes of women were not so easily dissuaded. Most left the Castiel proclaiming that the Dunalands and Westfold and everything in between would hear of this. A few chose to follow them wherever they might go.
Sanya assured Lucia that if anything came of it, they would deal with it then and there. Their next task was gathering the Joyfs who had not left with their queen and giving them owners so they could be looked after. There were many happy people despite the looming dread.
That morning the two donned their armor, had their belongings on their backs and the artifacts in hiding on their persons, they were ready to see what the east had in store. As Eesis and Nisin flew up above, Lucia had decided to walk, much to the relief of Sanya. It was also good news for the few non-Oraeliari among them, who also needed to walk. As a procession formed, it became clear that many winged mortals chose the same venture in support of the Sun’s Daughter, while others followed from the sky, acting as scouts and guides.
With the Casteil mainly picked clean, the long caravan of pilgrims, Oraeliari and supplies set forth towards the east. A solemn and uncertain affair, kept together by the stern determination of the Cardinals, and the unflappable readiness to face the known openly displayed by Lucia and supported by Sanya, The once grand keep was left quiet and hollow, with cracked and faded stones where Solus once mighty influence had now faded - a mournful monument to the vanquished giant - and was left to be used by those in need of shelter, both human and beast, eventually to be reclaimed by nature.
The path east followed the natural outcroppings and cliffs of the dense dunan landscape, where cleared valleys of beautiful meadows interchanged freely with difficult terrain - thorny bushes, sharp rocks and steep cliffs. The same terrain that had made the Casteil a strategic centrepiece now worked against the caravan travelling by foot, the path forward not always clear. The Oraeliari were superior in this regard, and between their capability to trace a path from above, and help bypass particularly dangerous areas, they still managed to keep a good pace. Few hints of predators like hydras and wolves were seen as well - even those animals who had been reported to be more ferocious and bloodthirsty of late made themselves scarce when Eesis and Nisin patrolled the sky above.
Even with a clear sky, flying scouts and a steady pace, it took just under a day to negotiate the landscape and reach Conmeadh, the nearest peasant community on their journey east. For them, sightings and interactions with Oraeliari had become a part of daily life, and both Lucia and Sanya had personally visited the village before. When they learned that the entire host was travelling east, never to return, the approximately four dozen villagers and farmers packed up their households and joined the caravan. There was no option - they made it clear they desired to follow Lucia, and those few wary among them quickly closed ranks when they realized the birth idol was still in their possession. So the whole caravan settled for the night, helping scavenge the supplies and tools of Conmeadh to make place for them among the travellers. Humans and Oraeliari working together with a unified purpose.
It was then in the quiet of camp, a chill breeze coming down from the north that Sanya found herself wrapped in a blanket with Lucia besides their fire. Sat in the middle of their growing procession day by day. Lucia was quiet, staring into the flame. Sanya knew that look of hers, it was one of deep contemplation. Of thoughts that she wrestled with. Sanya would not press it yet, for Lucia would confide in her eventually, as she always did. Still…
Lucia yawned and stretched her limbs as she got up, kissing Sanya on the cheek. She wandered off to bed, leaving Sanya next to the fire. The warrioress watched her slide off silently, before resolving to watch the fire. She wondered how many nights like this it would take.
A full week passed in their journey towards the mountains. Though they did their best to navigate and contact villages as they passed, sending Oraeliari scouts to speak with those they did not pass close to, fewer and fewer country folk were willing to pack up and leave. Between deeprooted druidic belief, old animosities, and promises of protection from the eastern tsardom, only a scattered few joined ranks, more akin to luck-seeking stragglers than villages keen to escape the natural disasters and war. The only guarantee was Lucia. Interacting with the daughter of Oraelia was a sure way to convince all but the most stubborn westfolder, and even a few whitecloak druids managed to slink into the growing caravan. There was a growing rank of violence-seekers as well, people wronged by Dunan grudges, or trampled by passing warriors, that pledged their service in transparent hope of conflict down the line. These scant few troublemakers found themselves under Sanya's command in all but name, as her stern promises to keep people safe at any cost seemed to both frighten and appeal to them.
Even with fliers in the air, news of their travels seemed to precede their presence, and a mere nine days after setting out the first advance scouts came from the northeast; two figures on boarback lined up on the horizon and followed them for nearly a full day before vanishing behind a hill. Still, the procession pushed eastward.
On the twelfth day, Oraeliari scouts began reporting a strange taste in the air, and ash clinging to their wings as they flew across the countryside. Indeed, the next village said the same. The eruption of the mountain in the far east had not affected them much, but it was noticeable even here. They learned of a great shockwave that had set trees ablaze and knocked down buildings. The villagers told them to turn back around. Yet Lucia was resolute in her decision. Stubborn even, and they pressed on still despite the warnings.
Beyond that ominous warning lay the grounds for doomsayers and panic. Animals grew increasingly wary, to the point that the following farmers started complaining when their pack beasts infrequently required several minutes of cajoling to keep going - it was a dark sign of what awaited closer to the devastating monument in the east, and the dark cloud that continued to grow around it like a festering wound in the sky. Its' dominion over the landscape soon became clear; oraeliari scouts reported a strange whitening of the ground, and flecks of grey and white gripping their wings.
The next village was empty. Structures were toppled or burnt down, and the homesteads had been ransacked of all worth. Whomever had once lived here had fled, been taken, or otherwise abandoned their homes. Soon after, the ground shifted from its green and brown untamed beauty to a pale sheen. A grey and white coat that silently fell from the sky to paint the land in hues without color. At first Sanya thought it looked like snow, a sentiment echoed by others in the procession - but she had seen ash before, just not in such an overpowering quantity. It covered everything, like an invasive and inescapable layer of dust. A blanket of death, heralding with it a growing difficulty of doing even mundane tasks to keep the procession going. Scouts could not fly for long before their wings were weighed down, grass and bushes were covered with flecks of ash, and even the paths once trampled for safety were becoming hidden beneath a layer of grey.
It turned to fateful evening when the dark became blackness before them that two scouts returned to the camp with news, a great band of lights was heading in their direction, like pinpricks in the dark. They would arrive by morning at their current pace. Lucia thanked them for the news and bid them eat something to keep their strength up. She said little else but returned to the confines of their tent where, with a few soft words, they went to bed awaiting the morning.
It turned out all those lights were people. Refugees leaving their dying lands, the fiery mountain sealing their fate the moment it had erupted. There were thousands of them, all lost and afraid. It broke Lucia’s heart to know what had befell them and she could not shake the feeling that she was in some way at fault. Perhaps if she had gotten to Solus faster or prevented him from leaving… Regardless, she now felt responsible for them. Here were people that had lost everything and they needed help.
Near midday Lucia called a meeting with all of those who retained some sort of leadership. Elders, wise men, matriarchs, and those who others believed in to do the right thing. Many came and many listened to Lucia with only a few outright refusing to acknowledge her. She told them of the calamity of the mountain and she heard their testament. As the ash piled ever on Lucia knew what she had to do. Get these people to safety in a new land. One that could be good to them and they to it. There were shouts and angry voices, many not wanting to leave their lands but the reality of the situation settled in. No one was safe anymore. Not here. Not in the Dunalands or even in the Westfold at large. It was time to return to a place Lucia knew in her heart as her first home. For home now was wherever she was with Sanya, who stood by her side constantly. By that night it was decided by the majority, while a few slinked off in great anguish never to return with their people, the time to move further west was at hand.
It was time to return to the Sunlit Temple.
Later that evening Lucia returned to the tent with Sanya and it was there she faltered.
She sat down on their bed and sighed, rubbing her chest. She stared off into the distance but spoke all the same. "I don't know if this is smart Sanya. I don't know… I… I feel as if there is a weight on my shoulders and in my chest. Like someone is pressing down and in. I feel so…" her voice faded to quiet as tears began to wet her face. "I'm scared." she looked at Sanya, eyes wide and trembling.
Sanya came to sit beside her then, arms wrapping around her trembling form with swift but respectful grace. "I do not claim to be smart, either, but I know what these people need. They need hope, a new chance at life, and someone who will lift them when they cannot. Wherever this path takes us, it will be better than here. To give them a perfect life is not your burden, but we can save them from damnation." Sanya sighed, and leaned sideways to place a soft kiss on Lucia's forehead as she pulled her in. "Wherever the road takes us, we will face the challenges together. Wherever we can, we will do right by the land. I am with you, my beloved Lucia."
Lucia melted into that embrace as silent tears fell down her cheeks. Sanya's warmth was like a beacon to her, a pillar of strength against uncertainty. With it she felt as if she could fly. "I love you, you know? More than anything else in this world, Sanya. You give me strength in times of doubt. You support me when I'm falling and keep me up. So thank you, my Sanya. My greatest and true love. I love you." Lucia whispered into her, before pulling away and kissing those lips that still made her heart beat fast. She could stay with them forever if she could but she knew better. "I'm glad you're here with me, I know I don't say it enough. It will be a daunting task before us but my worry fades, I have you to lean on after all." she smiled and went in for another kiss.
The journey took months with so many hungry mouths to feed and as word spread of a final pilgrimage to the Temple, led by Helgen Lucia herself, more and more joined them. Where once was a small band became thousands as they trekked across the dunalands, avoiding the war and only fighting when necessary. And when it did come to a fight, with the Oraeliari's help, many could be healed of sickness and injury. They took from the land when they had to and gave back in return, planting seeds from the Luminant and beckoning them to grow.
Lucia and Sanya leaned on one another as the daunting task of creating a nation lay before them, but together, they could accomplish anything. And they would.
When the trees and rock at last gave way to fields of tall grass populated by blazing stags and humble Leon's, anticipation began to well up in the host of followers. They were at last nearing their destination, where the golden grasses of the Prairie kissed the Highlands proper, merging and living in harmony. The Sunlit Temple was spotted at last by the Oraeliari scouts, who said it was sparsely populated, with a few villages here and there. The temple itself only had a small following still as many saw the place as sacred and it was left mostly untouched. Mostly.
By nightfall they arrived before her old home and Lucia felt a sense of calm wash over her. It was good to see it again, still as splendorous as it was the day upon her birth. Indeed, it remained intact and whole, only chipped here and there and in some places there were cracks, but the power invested into it by her mother lasted. A small band of elders and a couple cardinals approached the winding path that led up. Clothed in druidic white with golden tattoos on their faces was a small band of three men and two women. Their skin tones were darker then the average highlander and one was of prairie descent in entirety.
"Greetings travelers, what brings you to the sun kissed temple?" A man with a grey beard stepped forward, in the setting light she had a hard time seeing his details but she knew he was older.
Lucia stepped forward, having long cast aside her armor for simple garments and a traveling cloak. She put down her hood and the caretakers murmured. "I am Lucia, daughter of the sun and I have returned to my home, seeking a place for my people to settle down and live in peace from the horrors of war to the north."
They knew who she was, for with great awe in their eyes did they bow. The old man spoke quickly now, his regal voice full of warmth. “Lucia! Oh great Lucia! Welcome home!”
”Please, there is no need to bow. I insist you treat me as any other if you can. We have much to discuss and I need sound minds for the days to come.” Lucia said, standing a little straighter. Sanya walked up next to her and stood by her side.
The druids straightened themselves out and looked at her expectantly. It was the old man who spoke up first. “Humble Lucia, I am Tinero and behind me are Dalf, Katarina, Ugo, Ia and Mump. We have taken care of this temple for as long as anyone of us can remember, hoping that one day you would return again. And here you are.” Tinero smiled, “Come, come let us talk and eat. You must be hungry.”
Without further words, the group began their ascent. Lucia took Sanya’s hand as they walked side by side, waves of old feelings began to stir up inside her, as they usually did. It was so long ago that she arrived there, where she was born in a world so different then it was now. There were no great conflicts or people to worry about or wars to deal with… Just peace, happiness and love. Perhaps they could return to that, in time.
As they reached the temple proper another wave of nostalgia hit her and she squeezed Sanya’s hand, feeling it returned as Sanya briefly leaned into her. The interior was much the same, stark white with a pool of sparkling water. It was clean and smelled of citrus and fruits. Rooms had been constructed out of clothes and furs, where those that took care of the place dwelled. More furniture had been brought in, along with tables and things that brought comfort. The druids brought them to a quiet area and they all settled in for a long talk. With Sanya at her side, Lucia told their tale and her plans for the future. Elders and druids spoke alike about their concerns and ideas and it was well after the sun had come up that their moot was finished.
Lucia and Sanya found themselves overlooking the prairie from the temple. A warm breeze ruffled their hair and brought with it the smell of rain. Lucia turned to Sanya and she turned to her. ”Are you ready for our greatest adventure yet?” Lucia asked.
Sanya pulled her in for an embrace and settled her forehead against hers. ”Of course my beloved. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
There was silence as they gazed into each other's eyes and those old familiar feelings of peace and happiness returned to Lucia, as they always did when she was with Sanya. Her comfort and home. It was anywhere with her.
”Perfect.”
We uhhhhhh… We witness Solus’ death through Lucia and her camp. They want to go investigate and find out that the Castiel is falling apart so everyone packs up to leave. They journey towards the explosion over a few weeks or months or something idk. The landscape begins to change and they begin to meet more and more refugees as the volcano begins to snuff the land out. Eventually, with a large host of people now following them, Lucia and Sanys decide to abandon their quest and journey to her homeland at the Temple. More months pass and Lucia is at last overcome with a strong sense of nostalgia as she views the Temple at last. She meets the caretakers and realizes that the next thing to do, with Sanya by her side, is to build a better future.
Yaerna was bored. It wasn’t that she didn’t have things to do; the black sludge covering the landscape after her and Algrim’s battle with the extra-dimensional abomination still needed cleaning up, the realm could use a real push towards proper growth, she could create any number of species to seed new life and a full ecosystem. Furthermore, she needed to learn the ins and outs of her new perch at the top of the Pillar of Vines, the full maze of twisting vines that each led to their own outlooks and artificial branches. There was a lot of exploration and planning and hard work to do. Well, hard for a mortal, but it’d require some effort at least. The problem then, was that the restless flutter in her arms and legs didn’t make her jump at any of those. They all sounded boring. Like work. Like something that needed figuring out and adjusting and fine-tuning. No, the mere thought of it made her loathe the idea of getting to work fixing the world. It went against her nature, or at least her fickle interest in having fun.
The world should sort itself out, she had planted vines and seeds and roots, and they were spreading. She just had to wait for them to spread and for the forest to grow. That couldn’t take more than two-three decades. Four, maybe? Then it’d spread over the next.. several centuries.. and animals would migrate, eventually, when it was liveable and sustainable. Probably only a few dozen decades…
Yaerna groaned with frustration, kicking the air as she dangled her legs off of the side of the massive tree. Waiting sucked. Doing these things sucked. She wanted to see the fruits of labour now. Preferably without having to work for it. She sighed, leaning back to cast a forlorn gaze across the landscape. Once more, something shone in the north, stealing her vision towards the horizon. At once, Yaerna remembered her pledge to explore the world beyond her own bleak landscape, and drew a long breath. She waited for someone to bring up how she should probably finish what she was doing before heading off to see new sights, but since she was alone there was no one to offer such rational insight. Content with her freshly made choice to abandon Algrim’s specially constructed pillar, she pushed off from the massive ‘tree’ and into free-fall. Effortlessly her body shifted to that of a large bird of prey, and she flew north without a thought to her prior engagements.
From the air, such a journey took no more than a handful of hours, a pointless measurement for an immortal being, especially given her predilection for observing new things. Soon enough, the goddess touched down in a crystalline land where large gems and beautiful yet imposing crystals jutting out of the ground in incomprehensible patterns. Yaerna turned herself back to her humanoid form and walked the shining landscape for long enough to lose track of time, watching the strange and captivating crystals in their endlessly varied and chaotic patterns. It was so foreign to anything she had experienced before that it took her breath away, yet filled her with wonder. Not only that, but the land was unmarred by the folly of builders and homesteaders - the sign of a truly great place. When the wanderlust again began to grow too great in the goddess again, she resolved to bless this empty land with a touch of life. She did not know or care whether sentient life could ever manage to make such a curious place their home, but it remained a wild place no matter how inhospitable. As such, Yaerna scooped up a selection of small crystals, dirt and salt. Consumed by the fickle urge to create, she shaped a set of crystals into small canines with long, crystalline tails and a reflective fur that would pick up salt and gem alike. She threw clusters of salt into the air and they took the shape of long eels that navigated the mystical properties thick in the air from the crystals to remain afloat. She made broad-pawed big cats, with thick claws to leap and burrow and a crystalline body that shifted colour to suit the landscape. Finally, she made scuttling crystalline shrimp that fed off of the salt and gemstones, and in turn would be hunted by others.
Satisfied with her first foray into creating something entirely fresh, the Queen of Thorns once more turned into a bird of prey and abandoned her creations to see more of the world.
She flew east, eager to take in the expressions of the world; she was not disappointed. It turned out much of the shard was already a marvel of creations, with spreading life and wonder taking root. She spied many a creature, countless new plants, and even some things that she made a mental note to hunt in the future. All in all, Yaerna took it upon herself to fly and explore, and let such a fulfilment of her curiosity take as much time as it required.
Eventually, on the far eastern side of the shard, she found herself hovering over a bleak patch of land amidst a green on each side (and red on one). When she lowered herself to the ground, she found it inhabited mainly by the resistant weed that seemed to be infecting most of the world, ripping up soil and digging itself into the ground, but even that seemed to struggle here, in a forgotten corner of the new world. Yaerna took it upon herself to adopt this struggling bit of land, deciding on her own authority that it needed her creative help and passion. Inspired by all that she had seen, and her own experience as ruler of the wilds, she planned a future for a place for the first time. Her hands rose as she gripped the cordgrass with her mind, and all around her the plant began to grow. She shaped it into massive vines and liana, the smallest of which was as thick as her arm and coiled far away in a chaotic mingle with its kin. The largest vines grew firm and hard as tree-trunks, as they erratically lifted and snaked over the landscape at such a size that a man would be able to walk on them. It was a literal jumble of vines, liana and underbrush, with no seeming rhyme or reason to a lesser creature, beyond the natural difficulties it would present for wildlife. Almost satisfied, Yaerna opened her fist quickly, and all at once the woodland grew spikes, thorns and prickly blades, all sized appropriate to their placement. The thorns on the largest of trunks were almost as big as Yaerna, the smallest no larger than a needle. Everything had them, though, from the smallest fruit plant to the largest walkable vine. They were sharp as well, specifically made to grievously harm the unprepared and the reckless. Content with this dangerous landscape, Yaerna filled it with animals. Fruit bats, climbing marsupials, snakes, mammals that scurried between the large thorns to hunt the other creatures. The only rule she followed was that all the wildlife was smaller than the largest blade of a plant. These creatures navigated the deadly wood unhindered by the large thorns, and those foolish enough to injure themselves on the smaller would be easy prey for others.
Content with her creation, Yaerna walked her new landscape for a time to watch her wildlife adapt to the new setting, a ‘forest’ she would come to call the Razorwood. She caught her cloak on thorns numerous times, adding to the tattered rips in her clothes. Eventually deciding the landscape was more or less perfect as it was, she once more turned towards the sky.
She did not know how long she had been away from the west, but maybe it was time to go back. The dread she felt about fixing the place up did not creep up on her this time. She had had her fun. It was time to get to work.
Yaerna struggles with her self-assigned duties of restoring the lands, and runs away to explore the creations of others. She finds Wyn’s crystal biome and puts animals in it because why not. She then flies across the landscape to look at all the cool biomes. Finding an untouched patch between other places in the east, she creates a new place of her own; the Razorwood: a forest made of thick vines and liana, all covered in prickly and sharp blade-like thorns large enough to impale someone. Satisfied, she flies back towards her pillar, reinvigorated to work on the land.
The Falcon promised safety. Community, survival, order. Once, there were many sanctuaries, dedicated to one day returning the Falcon to its former glory. The legends say that each of these sanctuaries were hidden like this one, but that they cooperated and spake with one another across vast distances. Then the world began to tremble and crack, and the Falcon’s nests were lost. Only this nest was known to remain; the learned said the Canon of the Ancestors described their own nest as impenetrable, built to withstand an eternal and constant revival of the Falcon’s strength. It was the heart of the once powerful Falcon, a stone vault nestled deep into the world’s earth, with thousands of eggs from The Land that Was - countless people biding their time in returning the Falcon to its glory. So the stories went. The knowledge to interact with the shells had been lost long ago, and from the outside they appeared all but impenetrable. Over many generations, attempts had been made to open them both by force and by cleverness, but the Falcon’s eggs were unassailable.
Eventually, the shaking of the earth doused the lights and killed the crops. Though the land above was no better, it was enough to open the nest to keep the eternal watch going, and feed the wardens. Generations passed like this, struggling through cold, heat, upheaval and despair. When the dark times called for rationing and starvation, the gospel of Dr'Anya counseled who would live on, and whom to pair with whom. When there were disagreements, the commandments of the original watchers dictated all actions, to interpret and put into reality by the learned who still could read the ancient symbols. Most of the Canon had been lost when the lights died, but much of what had been lost was retold eternally between the learned.
Ezza was not one of the learned. His life was simple but hard. As one of the most physically able, he was limited to the upper levels, only brought down amidst the great Kollnel's sanctuary when the strange and terrifying creatures from below slipped through the cracks in the foundation and threatened the nest. His eyes were not fit for the holy texts, nor for reading. No, his life was to hunt, scavenge and scrounge whatever meagre gains could be found out in the waste-plains of the broken world. That was why he could never live below. The learned feared the vile blackness of the broken world would cling to Ezza's skin, and follow him into the nest and poison the others. It was a lonesome life, marred by despair. The only salvation were the others, equally banished to the surface to care for the colony. It would all be worth it one day, when the falcon's eggs hatched countless of his kin, and they restored the Falcon to its former glory. He kept that thought close in his mind; it was the only thing that kept him going after seeing the absolute chaos and derelict state of the world.
"Isn't this Kati's knife?" the voice of Mawk, his current hunting partner broke Ezza out of his daze. He glanced over to the blonde and dirty man to see a well-worn half-rusted blade. It looked like one of their makeshift combat blades, crafted by the learned after the Canon's instructions. It had the deep notches of Kati's approximation of her name. Sure enough, it was hers. Ezza looked around further.
"Tracks. Going towards the Great Beast site. Three days, I think," he noted, squatting down to touch at what were clearly human tracks. Preserved by the vast nothing and unpleasant chill.
"If she's gone past the Great Beast then chances are she froze to death," Mawk grunted, sealing the knife away.
"Think the beast bones would be enough to make shelter?"
"For this long? She'd be out of water by now, even if she could stay warm."
Ezra rubbed at his cheek before pulling old fabric back up over his face. "Still, it's what, half a day to the Great Beast. Cutting it close. We owe her to look, right?"
Mawk's face was covered with the rags of a falconet uniform, but even then his grimace was easy to tell. "...Yeah. To hell with Kollnel and his cynicism. He doesn't know what it's like up here."
The two men nodded at each other, and set off towards the bones of the Great Beast in the distance. The land was dark, hostile and prone to violent upheaval, but theirs was a life attuned to such. Each life lost was another life condemned to the surface. They were like a family. Ezza and Mawk wandered through the darkness for hours, spears kept close as they listened for cracking ground, rampant creatures, or falling stone. About halfway to the Great Beast, a mirage seemed to play for the two on the horizon. A splash of green in the midst of the bleak hellscape. Neither of them could make heads nor tails of it, and the two scavengers proceeded towards the strange sight with caution. Tall wooden beams rose from the ground, with vegetation spread around them like bubbles and shields. Thick green ropes twisted around each of the thick wood logs, and slowly crawled along the wasteland in a circle around the green glen, spreading vegetation at a slow but steady pace. Ezza had never seen anything like it. He had seen plants, mushrooms, but nothing on this level. Something took hold of him. A fascinated curiosity, and he hurried deep into the green wonderland to the distant objections of Mawk. To Ezza, it made sense to push deeper into this marvelous new place; surely Kati would have done the same if she had seen it from a distance. It was only logical that they look properly. Bramble, branch and root crumbled and snapped underfoot as he noisily made his way into the dense green land. Around him, he heard the rustle of life and saw hints of animals dancing away from his loud advance into the safety of the trees.
Then, all at once, the brambles and branches ended, and his foot hit soft moss that squished under his hunter garb. The centre of the green mirage was a large clearing, where a bubbling brook of brown transparent water poured away into unknown parts of the forest. Something moved, and Ezza stared straight ahead. A shape clad in a cape of moss, vines and tattered fabric shifted in place, raising pale arms towards their head - upon which was a skull not unlike that of the creatures they'd hunt, with great antlers stretching the sky. The skull shifted, proving to be naught more than a mask, and the humanoid lowered it off their head slowly. Blonde, stripy hair cascaded freely, and as the pale figure turned to glance at him, Ezza felt confusion bubble up inside him. Her pale face was familiar, but her eyes followed him with an expectant, almost predatory glance.
A rapid crack of branches followed as Mawk pushed through the green, and appeared beside Ezza, short of breath. He took one look at the pale woman in overgrown rags and burst out in disbelief. "Kati? What has happened to you? Where have you been?"
The woman looked at him instead, and moved her lips briefly. As if mimicking his method, practicing speech. Then, she responded. "I'm unfamiliar with that name. Are you looking for someone?"
Mawk began to protest, but Ezza raised his hand to his comrade's chest. There was a distinct likeness, but something was wrong. She was too tall, her features were slightly different - more regal. And she was more athletic, judging by her arms. Ezza took the opportunity to interject instead. "Who are you?"
The woman put the stagskull helmet aside on a rock beside her, and instead lifted a gnarled wooden circlet with brambles and small vines twisting around it. Neatly and with faux elegance she nestled it upon her hair, allowing them both a curt, thin smile. "My name is Yaerna. I am the Queen of Thorns."
"The queen of thorns?" Ezza replied, wracking his brain. It was some manner of title, but he didn't know any title like that. Only the titles of the holy came to him, like Sarjent and Majer. "What does that… entail? How long have you been here?" He chanced eventually.
The woman gently righted her wooden crown before extending a hand out towards the green. "I rule over my demesne, as any queen would. I have always been here. Ruling my territory."
"That's a lie," Mawk interjected swiftly, holding up his spear. "I come this way often, and this is new. You are on Falcon land. Your 'rule' threatens the nest."
"Falcon land? Curious," the woman professed in turn, and extended her arms. With but a feather taken from her tattered clothes, a bird winked into existence, flapping and spreading its wings as it settled on her arm. Though they had never seen one live before, there was no mistaking it, it was a falcon. "You misunderstand my words, noble protectors. My demesne is not limited to this patch. It extends beyond what your eyes could ever see. Deals in notions beyond your understanding. I rule the falcon, and the falcon rules the skies."
Ezza stood amazed, but Mawk seemed to take the act of miracle as a threat and launched into the clearing towards the mystical woman, his weapon raised. She waved her hand, and his hardwood spear twisted and turned slack, before releasing a sharp hiss that caused him to drop it. His spear slithered away, now a six-foot long snake with a speartip shape for a head. Ezza dropped his own spear before the same fate befell him.
"Young man, you are in the court of your better. You can kneel and introduce yourself properly, or you can suffer the consequences." the woman professed with curt tone, never quite losing her temper but appearing displeased all the same. Mawk looked dumbfounded, so Ezza took the chance to step in beside and kneel down properly. He waved for Mawk to do the same, and the man relented eventually, though kept his eyes on the alleged queen.
"I am Ezza of the Falcon," Ezza offered briefly.
"Mawk of the Falcon," his companion intoned gruffly.
"We are hunters for the nest. The others rely on us for food and safety. We watch, and wait for the day of return. We do not mean you harm, Queen of Thorns, but ah, you bear a likeness to one of our own.." Ezza explained further, hoping this meagre explanation would avoid more of whatever witchcraft she held power over.
"Hm. Protecting the roost, then? An admirable but defeatist goal. A bird of prey that sits idle waits only for death. Spread your wings. If you pledge yourself true hunters like your namesake, I shall teach you what it means to truly live as a hunter."
Possibilities rang through Ezza's mind, as he tried to decipher what she meant. "We… we cannot do such without the word from our leader, Kollnel. We do not make the rules."
The woman scoffed. "Disappointing. Very well," she pressed out between thin lips before reaching out with an arm towards them, holding out the large bird of prey for them. Mawk stared in disbelief, but eventually lifted his own arm and the live falcon scooted over to his arm. "Give my regards to your leader, then. Do not return unless you wish to join the hunt, and lead a life truly free."
Ezza stood up, just in time to feel something constricting his feet. Mawk cried out beside him, and Ezza looked down to see the moss and vines below rising to swallow them both whole, encircling them and the bird alike with breakneck speed. Ezza barely had time to struggle before it covered his chest, his eyes, his mouth. It was dark. Misty. Cold. Like a forced, unpleasant dream where nothing would ever change. And just as swiftly, he found himself on the hard dirt of the wasteland. He gasped for air and stumbled to his feet, and quickly turned to see Mawk do the same. His companion flailed his arm to brush himself down, and as soon as he lifted it, the brown and white falcon descended elegantly from above to sit back down on Mawk's arm. Ezza looked around and saw the green snarl of forest grow behind them. The vines on the ground just about reached them, as they continued to slowly tunnel forward. Still, the forest of green seemed larger than before.
The two men stared at each other for a long while, and the bird, before silently moving back towards their nest in the mountain. Confused, tired, and a little battered, they looked anxiously back towards the green oasis of tree and vine, and it seemed to follow them ever so slightly as it expanded behind them.
A group of mountain dwelling humans have established a crude society based on their last task as government employees prior to the apocalypse - guarding a vault of countless citizens put into stasis to weather the storm. Over time, their mission has degraded into a crude culture, but they're still trying, the cuties.
We meet Ezza and Mawk, two cool no-nonsense video game protagonists out on a hunt. They find traces of another lost colonist, and go to find her. What they find instead is Yaerna! Suspicious if you ask me. She is like putting forest and stuff into the wasteland, and does some silly tricks to awe the dumb humans. When they tell her they can't immediately join her cool gang, she gives them the bird (literally) and kicks them out of her treehouse. They go back to their mountain bunker to tattle about the new goddess on the block.
Wilderness – With the absence of civilization comes the wild. The untamed, dangerous, and bestial lies beyond the border of known places, in the blank spots on the map, and the deepest heart of the forest. The wilderness is the unclaimed swathes of land, where reason and logic begin to take a backseat to the unknown, the dark, and the wild. Tangles of endless thorns, dark forests, desolate wastes. The shadow in the corner of the civilized world, that refuses to be understood even as society progresses around it. Here there is no place for societal norms, the laziness of sedentary life, or reflection of the mortal condition. The wilds are a place of instinct, hunger, and brazen competition. Communities form, but your die-hard packmate one day is your enemy the next. You can trust only yourself, and your will to survive.
Yaerna claims dominion over the primal and forgotten, the unexplored and untamed. She calls out the most primal of natures in beings, demanding all forsake their civilized false realities and return to the true, brutal way of life. She spreads mist, vine, and underbrush, turning safe paths back into thick, dense vegetation. Simple woods twist to dense forest, where each footstep alerts great new predators. The open prairie turns to hostile and empty steppe, where food is scarce and vultures circle. People are beholden to simpler ties, and the needs of a village seem less important than that of one’s family, and ultimately oneself. She hosts hunting parties and grand tournaments, where beasts and heroes alike compete in savage and blood-fueled rampages for glory, power, and survival.
Myth
A young man came from the valley yonder, to our celebratory summer flame. He came in search of glory; he came in search of fame. He searched far and wide for challenge before taking himself a wife. He cut wood, he toiled the fields, he brought a child to life. Still, he was not satisfied; village life made him go berserk. His legacy was menial tasks, old rites and harvest work. He decried our tools as ancient, our effigies as foul. “How can anyone live like this?” he uttered with a scowl.
When nightfall came his bride so fair stole into the forest brush. Her child had been a son and so to the glen she'd rush. Her husband from another land saw his lover’s locks of auburn hair, and swiftly followed suit. He witnessed how his newborn child cried like an ill-toned lute. She had left him there upon a rock, a crown of flowers ‘pon his head. The man stole the child and hurried back, leaving nothing in its stead.
The child did scream and the man as well; he shamed us for our ways. Nothing we could have said would have brought him from his haze. Least of all his wife begging to return the child. The mere thought of it made his eyes go wild. We warned him of the forest's clarion call. Those same horns that sound each fall. The child needed to face the wild, or forever live locked inside. Fervently, the man defended his child, until he heard the tears of his bride. He learned then of the forest queen. Her pact promised safety against all things green.
He heard her words but not her pleas; finally, a challenge for him to seize. Life resumed as the man began to plan, his child and bride kept in his home. The queen became his obsession, each night the forest he did roam. ‘til one fateful eve the horns called out, and the woodlands came to life. “The Forest Queen hunts, this night is not safe,” warned his dutiful wife. The man gave no word and went on his way; so determined was he to capture his prey.
Mist took the village and hid the forest from sight, as the man vanished into the brush for his quest. Howls of wolves and cawing birds warned the entire woods of this foreign guest. We held his wife in her crying fit as she waited for her man; amidst the sound of drums and howling, for him she did yet yearn. Yet as the forest quieted, a mocking silence to bated breath; all knew he would never return. True enough, soon after came a scream most foul; it twisted and warped ‘til it sounded like a howl. For the man’s soul we can only pray; he left his glory and his woman all alone. His child pays for his folly to this day; for a slight against the queen he will forever atone.
Now each year when the horns in the forest blare, we lock our doors, bar our windows, and beware. A manic beast wanders through the mists, scratching at our doors. It howls and growls and barks and yowls and roars. It leaves deep marks on the woman’s home, searching for the child. Who can tell if the queen still desires the ritual that was defiled? With the break of dawn the beast is gone, and all returns to peace. Though the young son’s fate is done, from his father’s curse he may never find release.
Personality
Yaerna is not unlike the animals she lords over. Like a cat she enjoys toying with those she perceives as weaker than her, and between taunts and impromptu challenges she can be downright oppressive to an unwilling subject. A firm believer in might-makes-right, she has a love for pushing others to embrace their more primal behaviors.
She is acutely aware of her own divine capabilities and enjoys executing her authority over others through pacts, demands of tribute and bizarre acts of fealty. When up against an equal, she is considerably more cautious and calculating, sizing up the opposition. Despite that, she maintains a proud and regal air over her position as a goddess. She is rarely rude or outright unpleasant, rather than brazenly honest about being in it for her own ends.
Base Form
Yaerna is a being of many forms, commonly appearing as a sizeable wolf, a great stag, or a bear. Her most common form and that in which she most commonly interacts with her peers is that of a pale humanoid woman. Her clothes are a mixture of tattered rags, leaves and feathers, and on her head of stripy blonde hair rests a gnarled wooden crown of branches and roots.
True Form
Yaerna's true form, a great canine-shaped entity of shadow and ichor, is the ultimate predator. Her presence strikes wild panic into creatures of a lesser mind, her howl sends a death knell into the minds of all who hear it. Rational thoughts vanish and all in her presence realize they are but prey gathered for the hunt. Their hearts bang loudly in their ears, and the world slowly stops making sense – all paths seemingly just a nestled maze impossible to navigate.
It had been weeks of travel through the jungle but the unlikely pair were nearly before the great city of Zuanwa and their future. This was evident as more and more people passed them and the worn road widened. The thought sent a shiver of excitement down Kia’s spine and the beating of her heart with anticipation was ever evident in her step and smile. Kia had learned much on the journey from Oruna and expanded skills she had already known to greater heights with the woman’s help. She had learned how to derive paints from the jungle, which plants were poisonous and which were edible, or which animals were safe to eat. There was a lot that could kill a person out here if they didn’t know what to look for. She even got to hunt a bit but they never took anything that couldn’t be eaten in a day. All the while she felt… Happy. A rare feeling to the girl, foriegn as this place was to her. But Oruna… Oruna was a great help and she often found herself listening intently to what she had to say. She admired the woman and thought her smart. Smarter then herself, anyways. Her plan was perfect, if they could execute it right.
Oruna was unstoppable in her bright mood. She was convinced that the plan would work perfectly, that it would work itself out. She hailed passing people with a benign boisterousness that made them look kindly not just on her, but on Kia as well. It was as though being part of her little retinue with the markings - even though Oruna had guaranteed in private she would never force Kia to be anything she didn't want to be, nor saw her as anything but an equal - brought whatever good things came her way to Kia as well. Was this what having a real family was like? Oruna was happy to delay their journey to teach Kia anything she wanted along the way, to point out the differences in coloured snakes and what those colors meant to the spirits of the earth; red and mottled snakes were poisonous, as they were the guardians of the earthen vaults where the dead went, and the earth didn't want it's guardians hurt. The speckled green snake however, had large fangs as a test for the hunter, but was a very delicious prize for the brave.
Tidbits like these had come thick during their travel. Questions were met with good-natured lessons, tips and tricks of survival, and general half-games as Oruna challenged her to complete various tasks. Nothing was ever really wasted out in the jungle, but despite the dangerous world around them, safety had never truly been a concern. Now that the city loomed in the distance, the consistent presence of other travelers rapidly returned the feeling of being part of something greater, and the end result of getting to meet Uraka, Daughter of the Water; the only goddess in Zuanwa according to Oruna.
"Come on, Keeah. You are not tired already?" the older huntress mocked with jovial tone from further down the path, and skipped a few steps sideways to pull away the leaves of a large frond. Beyond Kia could sight a massive sandstone ziggurat raising far above any structure she had seen before in her life. It shot up out of the ground to point towards the sky, and around it were smaller stone and clay houses in many styles, like little toys next to the massive behemoth. "We are here. The jewel by the water, Zuanwa."
Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped in wonder. It was taller then the trees, how could it be taller than trees! There were so many people as well! Ten villages, maybe even more could be here! She shot up to Oruna and grabbed the woman’s arm without thinking, as she looked over the scene. “Oruna! Oruna! How is it so tall? And big? How many people are here?” Her questions came without a breath in between, so excited as she was.
Oruna chuckled before tutting quietly, and clicking her tongue to behold the city herself. "More people than live anywhere else I have ever seen. It lifts into the sky because that is where the Daughter of the Water lives. It is said the building grew taller than it had been for her father when she first looked at the sun." Oruna slung her own arm closer to Kia's to trap her in the hold and then took a few steps towards the city proper to lead them both to civilization.
Rows of houses unlike any Kia had seen littered the ground, and long stone rivers ran from further away like snakes through the ground, carrying water that eventually pooled in a man-made lake next to the coast. Hundreds of men and women milled about like they had never been busier, and though Oruna was ornately painted, each of these peoples were painted like the chieftess in the village they had left. They had more paint than clothes, with elaborate and luxurious patterns and strings of jewelry hanging from their necks, hips, arms and hair. Others yet were working, carting stone, goods or carrying things for another person. They too were briefly painted, and Kia recognized a few patterns that she herself had been painted with. Despite that - these alleged owned servants looked as lavishly painted as Oruna. Zuanwa was a busy land of luxury, that much was clear.
It made her feel small. Everything about this place, Kia felt out of sorts. She was pale, she was tall and these people looked important. She clung a little tighter to Oruna as her nerves began to get the best of her. “Where will we go now Oruna?” She asked, her voice still full of awe, but tempered by her own expectations.
"We must see Rakat the Many in the marketplace. He will arrange for us to take our words and your gifts to his Za'wal friends. Through them, we are only a single step from the Daughter of the Water." She murmured back as she pressed forward, dragging Kia with her as they stepped onto the path leading into the open city proper. Though the ziggurat lay on the far end of Zuanwa, it grew ever larger, until it was so tall it nearly touched the sky when they stepped in among the busy people. "Remember not to speak to anyone unless spoken to. The dangers here are as plentiful as the snakes, but camouflaged."
“Yes Oruna, I will try.” Kia nodded as she took in the sights up close. She was still amazed at how these people could walk around wearing barely nothing, protected by only paints. Her eyes fell upon both men and women, as it was hard not to stare and be stared at. She felt her face flush at a particularly attractive couple and she stared at the ground, letting Oruna guide her as her thoughts buzzed with embarrassment and many other things.
The huntress was undeterred by such trivial matters as decency and embarrassment, and led Kia through a dizzying buzz of roads paved with houses and stalls and tents and huts. A veritable army of people brushed past them, not all of them so keen on keeping to themselves. Here it quickly became clear that people had no time for the pleasantries of the jungle and roads. Shouting, laughing, crying, arguing. Every single sound blended like a great mass that played in the back of the head. A few bypassers bumped into Kia when the crowds grew to their thickest, and they simply put their hands on her body to move her aside with no thought to her feelings or reaction. Even Oruna seemed to have issues getting respect unless she verbally told people she was a huntress. That seemed to hold a lot of power among these city folk. Eventually Oruna declared they had reached the market, but to Kia it looked much the same as the other places in the city. Perhaps with more tents and goods, but not by much.
She scanned the area and then whispered to Oruna, "What does he look like?"
Oruna leaned in to respond, but did not have time to speak before a fit man with a hawkish smile stepped out in front of both of them.
"Oruna, my eastern jungle huntress! Is it truly you? The wick of my heart burned bright this morning, I should have known." He exclaimed with a confident tone. His body was toned and weathered by the elements, but was clearly the lesser of the jungle tribes when it came to physical prowess. He made up for that with jewelry and paint, his entire chest painted in hues of yellow and red. Above his skin dangled countless jingling trinkets, catching attention each time he moved.
"Hello, Rakat. I promised I would return, didn't I?" Oruna returned with a stoic smile, straightening herself out.
The man nodded several times and smiled warmly, then stroked his chin and his geometrically trimmed beard. His gaze fell on the tall Kia, and his eyes lit up with wonder. She could feel his gaze removing the paint in his mind to imagine everything. "And who is this? You have a beautiful woman with you to humble your own radiance? Hello, you crystalline jewel, you spellbind me with your coral-brushed skin. And.. and so tall. I want to nestle myself against you as you feed me roasted takka." He produced with a dramatic breath, and reached, grabbing Kia's hand with both of his.
Kia froze at the touch and shifted uncomfortably as she stammered. “I-I-I!” Oruna’s words about showing some confidence reflected in her mind and she took a shallow breath. “T-Thank you.” Was all she managed to say, averting her gaze again. Baby steps right?
Her hesitation appeared to go unnoticed by Rakat, who lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it firmly with painted lips, leaving a yellow stain on the back of her hand. Kia felt her heartbeat quicken and her face flushed again. "So well-mannered too!" He exclaimed before finally releasing her hand before turning back to Oruna. "Tell me you have come to marry me and share your beautiful woman between us, you'll be richer than the jungle could ever provide."
Oruna snickered simply and put a hand on his chest, giving him a brief feel before pushing him away. "You want to marry a huntress, you must do more than compliment my unpainted to impress me. Besides, no amount of riches will settle my spirit, Rakat. You know why I am here."
He chuckled at first, but her last words made him frown instead. Again he stroked his chin. "It's time, then? I hoped it would not come to this but nothing will slake your thirst for vengeance, Oruna."
"Vengeance or no, it's time for a change in leadership. I need Zuanwan support." Oruna affirmed. Rakat stepped to the side and parted the small curtain into the nearby clay and mud hovel. It was decorated with all kinds of trinkets and cheap jewelry, broadcasting a sort of basic extravagance. Without word, Oruna stepped inside, leaving Kia stood briefly alone in the street, eyes of Rakat on her.
She quickly blinked and followed after Oruna, unable to glance at Rakat. She had been well versed on the plan but Oruna had failed to mention it might be because of a personal vendetta. She didn’t just see her as a weapon right? A way to power? Kia stepped into the hovel, and Rakat closed the curtain behind her.
Rakat the Many turned out to be a generous host. When night fell on the Zuanwan coast, he threw a feast in Oruna's honor. This was considerably more informal than the feasts and small festival celebrations from her village growing up, but also on another scale of opulence. Five women with painted symbols not unlike those on Kia herself carried platters of fruits, steamed vegetables, meats and fish. A young handsome man with identical paint as the women sat in the corner and added a soothing ambience by smattering his fingers against a small drum and humming a soothing melody.
Kia was a guest as much as Oruna, that much was clear, but she was still mostly invisible. Oruna herself eagerly engaged and listened to what she wanted to ask or say, but Rakat seemed only to speak with her if directly talked to first. The other six people did not speak unless spoken to, beyond adding a few laughs to Rakat's raunchiest jokes. Because of that, as Oruna appeared to get more intoxicated and rowdy alongside her old friend, Kia's chances at interaction began to wane. Despite that, whenever she managed to catch the huntress eyes, she got a warm, content smile in return.
For all her time in Oruna's village, Kia could now easily intuit more about the jungle ways. Rakat had taken her hand without a thought outside earlier, and seemed to be very grabby with the five women who populated the feast as quiet attendants, but never tried to touch Oruna. In fact, the one time he brushed her by accident, he apologized. Oruna on the other hand, did not seem to have a problem touching Rakat as she spoke animatedly, nor did she fear touching the women or swiping them out of the way. There was some taboo or hierarchy at play. The two of them talked quite a lot, and Oruna happily retold the story of how she met Kia, though excluded the fact that two others found her in favour of making herself more of a hero.
If nothing else, the food was quite good. In fact, she thought it was quite delicious. All sorts of things she had never once thought to ever taste or known to be edible. Her belly grew full but she stuck with a softer drink that tasted tangy, another new sensation. It was quite sweet in fact and she found herself going back to it a lot. If this was the life Oruna wanted for the two of them, then Kia could definitely get behind it. Anything was better than being a slave or being hated and here, she finally began to feel that she could fit in. She smiled to herself, it would be nice.
And indeed the party continued into the night with a pleasant plethora of food and drink. Rakat tried his hand at romantic and powerful singing. It was awful, but his confidence and willingness to make a fool of himself kept it an engaging show. In a brief lull, Oruna told him the same plan as she had to Kia, and Rakat seemed forlorn but ultimately accepting of what had to be done. He promised to arrange a meeting with Za'wal Kurul first thing in the morning. Through him, they would have a good chance of getting an audience with Uraka herself, and support from Zuanwa to return, and establish a life of leisure.
The feast winded down late in the night. Rakat made a very formal invitation for Oruna to continue the party behind another curtain, and she simply scoffed at him in response. The man took it in stride, but pushed himself up all the same. "Well, my future beloved, and her honored guest, I shall take myself to my chambers. I must rise with the sun to speak to the Za'wal, and I'd like a few delights before I do. Please enjoy yourselves at my cost. Baran," he gestured to the man in the corner briefly, before running his hands to touch the shoulder of one of the five women. "... and Eresa will serve any needs you require." He made a flourishing bow before swiping the jug of strong juice off of the assembled platters and mosying in behind the curtain leading to what was likely one of few other rooms in the home. Four of the women followed with quick step, each bowing their head politely to Kia and Oruna both. The man and woman Rakat had pointed out remained, and the music gently resumed with his exit.
Kia, by this point, felt strange. Her senses felt dull and she was sluggish but full of joy? How could that be? She gave a big yawn and looked to Oruna. "I'm… Tired O-runa." Her words were slurred. "Why is my… voice… funny?" She asked, slightly panicked. She began to get to her feet but felt light headed and sat back down. In the smallest voice she could muster she said, "Help."
Oruna however seemed positively delighted, almost mocking in that worldly way she had treated Kia before as well. Her grin was deep, and she celebrated Kia's panic with another hearty swig of her own drink. "Have you never felt the touch of fire before, Keeah? The spirits are wishing you well, heating up your body. The berry drinks will make you find the spirits quickly."
Oruna pushed from her seat, grabbing the servant woman - Eresa - by the wrist when she moved to fill her mug again. She smiled over towards Kia instead. "We should also rest. We must be alert and presentable for the Za'wal tomorrow. The fire in your belly will be a good bed mate." She said, acting as if she wasn't slurring a few words of her own. She muttered something to the Unpainted woman and Eresa gestured to a colorful arrangement of throws and furs in the corner.
Kia stared at Oruna for a bit with a frown before getting up with a grunt, using the table as support. She steadied herself, then very slowly made her way over to the throw pillow corner and settled in. As she got comfortable, she watched Oruna, eyes beginning to blink as she tried to keep them open. Was she that tired? When had she gotten that… Tired…? Oruna downed the last of her own drink and rubbed at her nose, glancing between Kia, Eresa and Baran with a warm blush on her face deepened by the few candles still lit. "You have the right idea, Keeah. But you shouldn't spread out so much, it's rude, no?"
She moved towards the bedding herself and lifted her arms. Baran, the fit and painted young man was quick to stop the music, and moved forward to remove Oruna's tooth and claw jewelry and prepare her for laying down, leaving nary more than paint to mask her body. "Which one do you want to warm your body like your spirit?"
It took a minute for Kia to realize what Oruna meant and when it clicked she became alert. Her cheeks flushed the deepest red yet and her eyes grew wide. "W-W-What?" She breathed. "I-I've n-never… I…" her breathing quickened and she placed her hands over her eyes out of embarrassment. "I'mjustgoingtosleep." She let out, turning over to avoid Oruna.
There was a brief silence in the room before Oruna broke out into a deep and conniving snicker full of mirth and laced with a lascivious intent her initial question hadn't had. "You'll be cold. And it is rude to reject a gift. Eresa, was it?" She offered calmly, the last words catching the attention of the other woman.
"Yes, Ta'zesh." A soft voice replied. The first time the Unpainted had allowed herself to speak all night. Kia heard Oruna click with her tongue that same way she did when disapproving of something or thinking. There was a brief silence beyond a shuffle of movement, before the Unpainted girl replied to something Kia had not seen. "My body is hers, Ta'zesh."
There was an idle shuffle of movement across the room, before a shape stepped in front of Kia and slowly laid down beside her in her field of vision. She watched Kia with soft eyes, though dared not look at her eyes. Before Kia had much time to react, a second body bumped her back briskly and rubbed painted skin on skin. "You are too tall, Keeah, you take up too much space." Oruna quipped from right behind her and brushed up closer yet. "Not much fur left for me."
She grumbled under her breath and looked at Eresa's soft features. Had she thought differently? Had her mind wandered to a place where it should not have gone? Was it acceptable? She could ask Oruna but… No, she would make fun of her in that state. Knowing that Eresa wouldn't do anything she wasn't told, Kia shuffled closer to her to give Oruna more space. Skin touched skin and her heart beat quickly. In an innocent whisper Kia spoke to her, "I get… Cold easily. Thank you, for your warmth." She felt ashamed.
Behind her, Oruna brushed up against her greedily again as more weight fell towards Kia and a man's voice offered a quiet but amused apology, followed by Oruna's snickering. Eresa was a beautiful young woman - it wasn't difficult to imagine Rakat's reasoning behind keeping her in his household. She smiled with tender lips painted with black and red lines at Kia's words, and nodded with averted eyes. She interpreted her words in her own way, clearly reverent of her embarrassment but fully unwilling to leave her alone. The painted woman slowly turned her body over, and then shuffled herself up against Kia with methodical care to line her body's heat up against her, much to the alarm of Kia. No one had ever been so close to her before and her heartbeat wouldn't slow.
Eventually Oruna bumped her back again with a tired giggle, and Kia found herself sandwiched on the furs between painted bodies. She let out a soft sigh, thankful she was at least warm and before long, nestled in that warmth, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.
The table had been reset with new goodies for the mid day's feast. As Oruna's 'servant' Kia wasn't expected to do anything, giving her ample time after breakfast to watch Rakat's five Unpainted household women mill about to set everything in order. Oruna spent the entire morning asleep on luxurious bedding and most of the early day grouchily eating breakfast like a thundercloud rested in her head, but even she was caught up in it now, reapplying her paints with Rakat's supply. Rakat had vanished early in the morning to go plead with the Za'wal and invite him to his home, something Kia learned would cost him almost a full year of his proceeds in goods - or Unpainted. Sitting there with not much to do but watch the hive work and munching on a few tasty dishes, Kia caught the eye of Eresa during her preparation more than once; each time the dark-skinned beauty gave her a soft and welcoming smile.
For some reason, it made her heart flutter and she didn’t know why. Was this what love was? What her mother felt for Rorik? What made Rorik… So angry? She shuddered at the thought of love turning one so bitter all the time. She didn’t want that. She hardly even knew the feeling. Perhaps she was just being friendly? Regardless, Kia had offered small smiles in return, the best she could. She felt restless as they continued to wait but stuck to herself as Oruna was still grouchy and when she was grouchy, Kia knew to leave her be.
Eventually Oruna joined her at the table, and the unpainted servants brought out food in preparation for the event. Rakat returned soon after. He wore a bright, confident smile and brought good news; the Za’wal had accepted his plea and was on his way at that very moment with his retinue to hear them out. All at once, the air in the home became tense and hectic - servants now milled like ants trying to set everything in order, and Rakat had a thousand things to complain about as he visibly worried the arriving guests would not appreciate his home. Oruna had briefly explained the position of a Za'wal, but it mostly went over her head. The only important thing was that this man had direct access to the ruler of Zuanwa, and that made him very powerful.
Soon the craze of preparation came to an end, and the three of them sat by the table to humbly await a man that may take hours to arrive. Oruna was tense, tapping fingers on the table and quietly repeating different parts of her pitch and plan to herself. Rakat sat silent, briefly glancing at both Kia and Oruna ever so often before trying to center himself and relax. The one time he caught Kia looking at him, he provided a quick but charming smile.
She offered a small smile and nod in return then went back to looking at the table in front of her. Her nerves were getting the best of her and she felt sick as they waited. Many questions began to bubble in her mind. What if it didn’t work? What if the Za’wal didn’t like them? What if Uraka didn’t want to see nobodies? She began to fidget with herself, trying to remain calm and focused on that task at hand.
Soon enough the bustle of the outside street seemed to pierce the curtain a little louder, and Rakat shot up from his cushioned seat and gestured for his unpainted to move to the entrance of his small estate. Eresa swayed over with shifting hips, and slowly drew the curtain aside to welcome whomever was outside. What followed was a full retinue of other men and women entering Rakat's home, painted in many varieties and some wearing clubs and knives. Kia saw two women wearing long knives, painted over their chest with the same general markings as Oruna - a set of patterns Kia now knew meant they were Ta'zesh; warriors and hunters. Others were wearing almost nothing but paint and jewelry, a parade of attractive men and women carrying jugs of drink and platters of food. Behind them all followed an older man with a thick but well-oiled beard, split in two at the end and tied together with metal rings. His paint seemed to be permanent, a mixture of decorative patterns and dark markings that looked like they were part of his skin. He wore golden rings on his arms and a full set of necklaces and ear rings, his mildly rotund belly hinting at a good life as it hung out on full display, given he wore only a velvety set of purple cloth whipping around his legs. Even in a room full of paint and luxury, he stood out as a cut above. It was easy to pin him as the guest of honor.
Kia looked at the man, he was very short and all of his servants were fairly tall. She was a bit overwhelmed by all of the new people but kept to herself for the most part. Her job, as always, was to speak when spoken too and to be polite. “Be confident’ as Oruna always reminded her. Still, it was hard to feel confident with so many people. Her eyes scanned them until she found the familiar face of Eresa, who was busy working. She watched her and her problems didn’t seem so bad if she just focused on one thing.
"Welcome to my humble hovel, my esteemed radiance. The magnificence of your crystalline knowledge and spirit-speaking illuminates our paltry lives." Rakat said with a welcoming tone, seeming a changed man from the previously tense and fussy merchant. He bowed his head deeply, and when he gestured towards Oruna, she did the same. "You have traveled far, I will not presume to waste your time. This is Ta'zesh Oruna, and her Unpainted gift for the Daughter of the Water." Kia realized eyes were drawn to her in turn, their gazes the same as those in the village - her pale skin made her a curiosity; her height a fascination. As such there were several moments of silence as countless gazes rested on Kia - and Oruna - before the bearded Za'wal grunted gruffly and moved to sit by the table. A fit and attractive man rushed forward to lay down beneath him, cushioning his place while elevating him ever so slightly.
"Your gift to me was barely adequate. I came to see this gift of yours. I see now you plan to be much kinder to our divine ruler than to me." The bearded man professed with an irritable and raspy voice, and his big brown eyes settled and roamed over Kia unabashedly. Try as she might to stay calm, it was no use. Coupled with all the stares, Kia used her hands to rub her thighs as she avoided the old man's eyes. Her own face turned red.
Rakat released a tense but charitable chuckle, exchanging brief glances with Oruna across the table. After a few moments of hesitation, he extended his arm to grab one of his passing servants. Eresa, caught in the midst of carrying a bowl of fruits, stilled herself as she was grabbed and bowed her head. "I am afraid the rarity meant for the Daughter of the Water cannot be matched, but please, if you will allow me to mend my insolence; I offer you one of my own. An obedient and dutiful servant. Eresa of the Village of a Hundred Lakes. She will love and serve with loyalty." Rakat mused politely.
Eyes fell on Eresa instead, and the Unpainted servant bowed her head deeply, as accepting of this fate as any other. Kia, who had seen her smile up close, noted that there was no warmth in her expression. Just quiet acceptance. Silence reigned for a time, before the bearded man nodded firmly and rubbed his chest thoughtfully. He lifted a hand to beckon Eresa over, and made her sit on her knees next to him demurely as his hand examined her hair, chin and face. He grunted and murmured, then glanced at Rakat and Oruna. "Very well. As thanks for your gracious gifts and invitation, I have brought real food and drink from Uraka's court. Revel in true luxury, as we shall from now on." He eventually boomed out loud, and gestured for his other servants, who quickly set down the gifts of food and drink they had been carrying. It seemed to be more of the same, only with a lot more meats - and spice-scented drinks.
She hardly knew Eresa but seeing her given away so carelessly tugged at her heart. It didn't seem right, but Kia knew it was not her place to say anything. Such was how things went on here. As others began to nest Kia turned her attention back to the table and tentatively picked at the food, not feeling at all hungry but not wanting to seem rude either. She forced herself to eat and drink, finding that she did not enjoy all the spices and seasonings. It overpowered the food. Rakat answered the Za'wal's questions, as did Oruna who spoke her turn between bouts of feasting on the spicy and opulent food. It was all rather lost on Kia, and she found herself focusing on Eresa more and more. The servant girl fidgeted where she sat, fixed in place next to the rich Za'wal and daring not to speak or really move. Even so, even sat still and silent, she was captivating.
But eventually something did catch Kia's attention. A servant brought forth a small platter for the Za'wal. It carried two small cups and he drank it without a word before the other was given to Rakat. The Za'wal's armed servants seemed to step forward or was that a trick of her eyes? Why were things looking so fuzzy? The Za'wal's raspy voice cut through the air, "Did you know that the sap of the Cossa plant is known as an antidote for many poisons?" All eyes fell upon the Za'wal and the air grew tense as all sound in the room seemed to halt. It only took a moment for realization to spring across Oruna's face. She tried to stand but her legs gave out as a look of rage etched itself onto her face.
"You… You…" her speech became slurred and she tried to lunge at Rakat who was across from her but ended up planting her face into the table. Rakat stood up, his face no longer quite cheerful.
"I am truly sorry, Oruna, light of my life. It was either this or I lose everything." He said in a sullen tone and touching at his chest. At first a heartfelt gesture, he simply adjusted one of his many necklaces.
"Oruna…" Kia slurred. She felt her body begin to slump as she lost control of her limbs. The Za'wal snapped his fingers and two servants grabbed Oruna and dragged her to her knees before him. She was barely conscious even before the big man slapped her. It made Kia angry but even her anger felt dull. She was helpless and could only watch and listen as her eyes faded. The last thing she saw was Rakat stepping closer to them but halting as the Za'wal gazed upon him.
Kia then listened, wrestling herself from sleep. "I have no love for Uraka." The Za'wal said in a cold voice. "She is no Goddess. She is a false idol who inherited all she is. But if there is one thing I hate more, it's an upstart. A person like this paltry Ta'zesh, who dreams of a destiny she has no right to. Strip her of her paints and sully her I say. Let it be a lesson." He commanded and though Kia could no longer see, she could hear Oruna being dragged away.
"That was not the deal!" Rakat shouted. "She was to be mine to deal with!"
She heard a grunt and someone landing on the ground. Rakat's breath gave off the same nasal whimpering as when he bragged.
"Do not be so insolent, merchant. What would you do with her from which she could not escape and take revenge? You are a fool and should be thankful I do not take your life as well for being a conspirator." The old man grumbled.
"Yes… Your esteemed excellency. But what will you do with her?" Rakat murmured.
"The pale skinned? Truth be told I would like her for my own but her blood would run hot with revenge as well. Sell her as a slave, far, far from here."
Her heart began to sink and their voices began to fade as Rakat discussed Eresa. She heard a mocking laugh and then nothing.
Kia did not dream. Instead she awoke in pitch blackness and for a second she thought herself blind or still asleep but as her eyes adjusted she could make small flickering lights. Fires? They were small, how far away was she? Kia tried to get up but hit her head on something. She then used her hands to feel the wood above her and then panic set in as she felt wooden bars, encasing her in a box. There was quiet murmuring somewhere and hushed voices.
Tears streamed down her face and she hugged herself. Her memories of the day began to flood back to her. Rakat had betrayed them, Oruna was taken by that foul man and she was to be sold into slavery. Oruna! She had to go find Oruna! The mere thought of what that man said made her blood boil. An old familiarity returning, begging to be let unleashed. Should she?
The pain of the day made her so, so angry.
It was just too much to bear.
As three men rounded a corner with torches, illuminating the tall rows of people in cages, Kia lost herself in her rage.
They began to make their way to her when one elbowed the other, pointing in her direction. Their paints were not familiar to her but it coated their bodies in a mud yellow.
It did not matter in the end what they looked like or what their tattoos reflected about their status, for they died swiftly as Kia exploded with a scream of ice. Her power splintered the wood, and sent spikes outward, piercing any unfortunate enough to be in the radiance. One man screamed as his two companions were impaled in the abdomen and throat. He was struck in the shoulder and fell over. Kia loomed over him, her face twisted into a mask of pain and rage. He outstretched his arms to defend himself and that was the depiction of his statue as he became entombed in ice.
Noticing the commotion, shouts of alarm were being called out and torches were struck alight through the rows of cowering slaves. She had given those that died or dying, a mercy. The only thing she felt was a cold rage, there was no time for guilt or lesser emotions. The slaves themselves cowered in fear or prayed but most screamed for help.
Arrows whizzed past her, prompting Kia to take a defensive stance, eyes on the corridor ahead. Those brave men that carried spears came running to meet their death.
She raised a hand and shot a barrage of spikes at her would be attackers. Most died before they hit the floor but a few screamed out in pain and fear as they tried to escape. Kia began to move closer but felt a flash of pain in her shoulder. She looked to see an arrow protruding with her blood trickling out and then scanned the area before making a wall of ice appear in front of her for protection. In the dark she could not see the archer.
She knew what a huntress was capable of. She had to be careful or… she would become the prey. But first, she broke the arrow in half and then touched the wound, icing it over. It wouldn't last long but perhaps it would stop the bleeding. Hopefully it wasn't poisoned either. She could hear more shouting now and they were coming from behind her as well. She made another wall of ice in that direction to buy herself time.
She dipped her head as she thought up a plan and was surprised to see that the floor was made of wood and through the gaps she could see the flow of water. Was she on water? Floating? It was a thought for another time when an idea came to mind.
Ice was simply water in another state. She touched her hands to the floor and then turned the water to ice. It happened quickly, freezing the wood in place as it spread out. Then the ice began to crack and moan as Kia used it to unleash giant spikes that pierced the floating wood with explosive force. She heard screaming, the sound of rushing water and the cracking of wood. Next, Kia thought inward and realized she would be exposed in the dark, preyed upon by those that knew how to use it to their advantage. She could not afford to be riddled with arrows or worse. Thus, ice began to encase her but unlike all previous times she had used such a death sentence, this would be a barrier and not a tomb.
It formed over her with delicate precision and then added layers upon layers, growing spikes and horns until Kia was armored and fearsome to behold. There was a narrow slit so she could see and three vertical lines across the mouth that allowed her to draw breath. Though she was cold, it was awfully comforting.
Kia then shattered the barriers that kept her protected and scanned the broken surroundings. The raft was a ruin with icy spikes protruding everywhere, having impaled several unlucky victims. Only those lucky enough to survive crawled about trying to get to safety. She looked for the shore, wanting off that which would sink in the warm waters. She saw that the raft she was in wasn'tmuch of a raft but a large platform that was in line with several others, all tied off to a long stone bridge that reached from the shore to where she was, at the very end. Fires were lit, a horn had sounded somewhere in the distance and the stone walkway was going to be quickly populated.
But there was another way. Kia took a step forward, feeling the bulk of her ice make the wood creak. At the platform's edge, she stepped off into the water, freezing it at an angle so she could slide down, using her momentum to carry her towards the unguarded shore. She froze the water as she went, sliding across the ice. As she approached she could see that men and women who were running towards the stone walk, had stopped instead to meet her. Aiming arrows, hefting spears and carrying nets.
It was a small force, and one that was unprepared…
When she neared the sandy shores, she bid the ice to rise and then explode, raining down upon her foes. Many fell from the initial onslaught, and those who were smart found cover before it was too late. When Kia touched down upon the shore, the barrage subsided and she began at a brisk jog, as fast as the armor would let her go. When they came from their hiding places, bearing howls of rage and anger, Kia froze them in place. Leaving them to suffocate in their final positions.
The very air began to turn colder, though she could not see them, she felt clouds arriving. Bringing with them the first flakes of snow that part of the world had ever seen. The wind began to come from the north as Kia made her way further into Zuanwa, bringing death and destruction with her as the jungle turned frigid.
She carved a swathe of destruction as she searched for the market that they had found Rakat. He would be the key that she needed to find the Za’wal, but she was having little luck. She could only vaguely remember seeing a river up on the hill that overlooked Zuanwa and then it felt like Oruna had led them through a maze. Yet, there was another landmark, one that loomed above her at all times. The temple of the false Goddess, Uraka. She paused as the world around her dipped in temperature, as people screamed and soldiers died. She knew where to go.
The market was empty, save for those who sought to defeat her. She, who was all powerful and strong. She slew them with little care for the surroundings and at last, when she was truly alone, she let her arrow riddled, broken armor fall to the wayside and she entered Rakat’s abode. She held her head high, eyes ever forward and arms slightly outstretched. She found the one warm space, touched with an emptiness. The pleasant smells washed away. Rakat had wasted no time in cleaning the place up and doing away with all that he had sullied his hands with. Kia walked over to his room and pulled back the flap to find the man cowering behind his servants, who trembled with wide eyes, as they held knives and daggers pointed at her.
“Leave us.” She commanded, stepping in and to the side.
The servants gave each other looks before they scrambled out, leaving Rakat grasping in the air, yelling at them as they went.
“No, don't leave me!” he screamed, hefting his own sword towards her, his hair disheveled and his knees wobbling. “Stay back demon! You cannot harm me! I-I-I am protected!” He stood his ground at least.
Within a blink of an eye, a spike of clear ice shot up from the ground and severed his hand from his arm, letting the blade drop with a thud. There was a spray of blood that coated Kia in warmth as Rakat fell backwards screaming again as he clutched his hand. Kia loomed over him and then crouched. “You will bleed out soon. Tell me where Oruna is and I might help you.” Her voice cut through the air.
“Ah-ha, s-so you wish to know where the Za’wal lives? It is easy…” He scooted back with his good arm, pain shooting across his face. “Help me help you.” He breathed a plea. “I could die and say nothing and you will be at a loss.”
“I don’t think you understand.” Kia said, as ice began to encase Rakat’s legs and torso. The man began to fidget and squirm. “Your death will be long and slow. I will make sure of it. You have no room to negotiate. There will be no trades. You will tell me where they are, or you will die and this city will die.”
As the ice began to creep up his neck and chest, Rakat’s breathing quickened. A mad look came in his eye. “The Za’wal, h-his h-home…” He grunted, “H-he lives on the outskirts of Zuanwa in the east… Past the… The temple… It’s w-where all the wealthy l-live. H-His paint… T-The symbol… Where his house will be. Please! I told you, don’t let me die! I’m sorry Keeah! I’m sorry!”
Kia stood. “Oruna trusted you and you betrayed her for your own skin. Where I come from, that would be exile into the wastes but here… No… I will make it quick.”
Rakat screamed again, begging and pleading for his life. Kia tilted her head and watched as a razor thin wall of ice cut off Rakat’s head. There was the sickly smell of something metallic and the haunting expression of the man who thought he could get away with what he had done.
Kia left his house without a word and slipped off into the raging storm that had enveloped Zuanwa.
She found his symbol at the start of dawn. The sun’s light filtering through the clouds and snow, painting the jungle paradise bleak but beautiful. Kia had had to go go upon the outskirts of the city, as she did not want to get close to the Temple, where she feared there would be a higher presence of guards. She was getting weary and tired, her arrow wound taking its toll. But she still had enough fight left in her to see her revenge through, even if it killed her.
The Za’wal’s home was more of a compound of lavish design that contrasted the other homes and even the jungle itself. That man lived in so much excess, what did he even do with it all? From where she stood, underneath a tall tree next to a canal, she could see many guards. It seemed news of her coming did not go unheard, even here.
It was of little consequence, in the end.
Kia donned her armor once more, this time it was nimbler but less protective. It would stop a few blows but not much else. She then made a mad dash towards the gates. Guards shouted, arrows were fired, spears were thrown, rocks were chucked- All being frozen by the walls of ice that she summoned to meet them. And when Kia was close enough, she sent out ice spikes that blitzed the tops of the walls, sending stone and guards flying. She then arrived at the gate and ripped it apart with her ice, blowing it backwards. More guards awaited her and by that time, her patience had grown thin.
In a feat that surprised even her, she let out a scream and a wave of ice shot out from her feet and froze anything it touched from head to toe, before colliding with the walls of the compound proper.
Her helmet broke apart and Kia caught her breath as she eyed the area to make sure no one moved, and not a soul did. Holding her head ever high, she walked to the doors and shattered them with another touch. The interior of the home was even more lavish and decorative. Fine cloth hung about, painted with symbols and stories. Jewels adorned every cup and plate that were displayed upon pillars of exquisite detail. Yet there was no one to greet her. No more guards or servants.
She walked further in and found room after room empty. Had they fled? She neared the back of the house, or was it the middle? She did not know and she found a large room. A great feasting chamber, with long empty tables and a great chair that sat at its head. Behind that there was another room and there she saw…
Her heart dropped.
On the far side of that room, arms nailed to a wooden post, naked skin red and chafed by excessive rubbing and caked with dried blood from multiple cuts- was the unmistakable body of Oruna. Her head was dipped forward, hair obscuring her face. Kia could only stare as she entered the room.
She was nearly blind sighted by the Za’wal who tried to beat her with a metal rod. Her arm was grazed but she managed to fall backwards out of the way. With a mad look in his eye he came at her again but that was his mistake. Kia froze him, but not completely. She left his neck and head exposed and the old man struggled. She stood up as he raged incoherently at her. Kia punched him in the face and he fell silent.
She then rushed over to Oruna and cut her down with ice, catching her as she fell.
“Oruna! Wake up!” She shook her, moving the air away from her bruised face but she did not stir. “Oruna? ORUNA!” Kia began to cry into her chest. She was too late! Oruna was gone. Just like Rorik! Just like her village! Just like her mom! Why? Why did she have to suffer so? Why was fate so cruel? A cold numbness began to spread from her chest and into her limbs as her armor broke apart. She did not want to exist anymore. Not like this. Not alone. “Keeah?” the voice made her jump. She looked up to see Eresa, shivering with cold breath. She had been bound but her rope was cut. Hesitantly she reached out to Kia, who quite literally froze. “Keeah… Za’watem…Keeah…” She breathed, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She fell to her knees as she looked to Oruna. “I am so sorry.” She said, before wrapping her in a hug. Suddenly, the world didn’t seem so bad anymore.
However, the moment was interrupted by a cruel laugh.
Behind her, the rotund Za'wal wriggled as best he could in his icy restraints. "A brilliant display! So much effort for nothing. A willing and eager pet desperately searching for its master. Such an owner, such a servant, I suppose," he crowed with a deep and malicious delight. "She didn't even beg for her life, or swear herself into a life of service. I might have spared her as a trophy for my personal enjoyment. But no. She just kept calling for her lost pet. Spitting in my face with no mind to her betters." He scoffed sharply and writhed in his cold shackles.
"You should thank me for freeing you from such a weak owner. Duplicitous and with a head full of crazy dreams. You will be much more at home at my side. Not even the wretched bitch Uraka will fight me with such a cold beauty in my collection." The Za'wal continued with a hearty croon, his robust frame managing to rock the ice enough that his prison began to crumble.
Something snapped in Kia and she sprang up with a fearsome roar. The girl would make him suffer. Make him scream for what he had done! She ran over and began to viciously beat him, the force of the blows rocking him free from his entrapment. As he fell to the ground, Kia's fists became hardened with ice. She fell upon him like a tree falls upon the earth, without regard or care for who it trampled. And so she beat him, over and over and over again until her body was caked in his blood and then she beat him again. It was only when her strength failed and Eresa came to shake her out of it, did she finally realize the horror of her actions. She could hardly look upon the mess that she made.
She dry heaved as the weight of her actions plummeted like a stone in her stomach. She had killed so many people, she had destroyed so much. She was a monster. She was a demon! Oruna was dead and she had lost a other home and and… A mother…
"Keeah." Eresa said as she cradled the shivering girl. "We cannot stay here. They will come to… Kill you."
"We…? Eresa, you can't stay with me. I'm dangerous. You'll die." Kia whimpered.
"You are Za'watem. I go where you go, Keeah. You… You need someone." She murmered. Kia could tell there would be no persuading her, not that she wanted too.
"But where do we go… Who would help us?" She asked.
"I do not know, my Za'watem." Eresa stroked her hair.
Kia thought long and hard and realized the last time she was in such a situation she received help from the goddess… Though she was reluctant to ask her for she had put her in this situation to begin with, it was her only choice.
"Please… Someone…. Goddess. Help us." She said with sorrow in her heart.
After an uneasy dread in which Kia felt like her words went unanswered, the pressure in her head began to increase. The experience was intensified as the inside of the dead man's home seemed to pick up a wind, an uneven howl that Eresa also seemed to pick up on. A soft sigh broke the tension, as though someone breathed in Kia's ear. "Such a troubled soul, with nary a glimmer left to grant you happiness. Worry not, my sweet, you are not alone." a voice unlike the old goddess spoke, comforting and warm. Eresa did not seem to hear it, for her attention was still firmly on Kia, unchanged.
"W-Who are you?" Kia asked.
"Za'watem…?" Eresa said confused.
[color=8493cae]"I am the goddess of love and loss. I understand your pain, my love. You have been abandoned and cast aside. Life was stolen from you. Now here you are, a stranger to all and lost, all over. A truly bitter experience, but it need not be the end,"[/color] the voice crooned. "You called for me, and I came for you, my beloved. Let me help you, let me ease your trial."
Though hesitation was in her heart, Kia did not object. "Help us, please." She said.
There came a strange sensation in the room. Like fabric ripping and across from them, a portal. She was familiar with them. From the portal she could smell food and feel hot air as well as the hushed whispers of people. "Where will it take us?" She asked the goddess.
The goddess was quiet for a moment, letting the ambience from the portal naturally spill over into the room. When she spoke, it drowned out all other sensations, sapping the worst shock of what had transpired, a gentle and soothing mental embrace. "To the mortal who carries me closest in her heart. You will be safe there, and cared for until your heart has mended."
"We will be safe...?" She asked to no one in particular. She straightened herself out and made eye contact with Eresa. "Come, Eresa. Let us be free from this place." She said, and though Eresa looked hesitant and bewildered, she nodded her head.
As for Oruna, Kia bent down and kissed her brow. Not wanting to leave her like that, she quickly straightened her out, and then encased her in ice that would last for eternity. It was the least she could do. Kia then took Eresa's hand and they walked over to the portal. She sent Eresa in first and took one last look before pouring the last bit of her strength into the floor. Giant ice spikes erupted from the ground. Kia stepped into the portal, confident they would leave the resting place of Oruna alone, as it collapsed under ice.
The portal shut behind them with a woosh. It took Kia moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room and when they did she found herself the center of attention. Eresa's hands grabbed her left arm, holding tight and Kia put her own hand over hers to give some comfort.
At the center of the room, they were surrounded by men and women who wore linen clothes with goblets in their hands. Their faces reminded her of her own people from back home. Holding platters of food and drinks with Silver collars around their necks were dark skinned, painted beings who looked like the jungle folk except their eyes were far too large and they had a bridge of feathers on their foreheads.
And then Kia found her, sitting a top a throne with a formidable crown and a necklace that had such a large ruby… She found herself wanting to get closer to the woman, who wore a dark red dress that left little to the imagination of her pale skin and unblemished features.
She stood all at once and called her hands. This startled the two of them but they were surprised to see the room begin to empty of people. Until all that remained was the red headed woman and… How had she not noticed the black clothed guards whose faces she could not see?
"Neiya, Our Goddess of Love has guaranteed your safety here. By my own hand I will see nothing less then your absolute satisfaction. For she is my Goddess and I, her devoted." The woman spoke, her voice rich and carrying with it a commanding tone. "I am Nalla, Queen of Nallan and all the red seas. Welcome to my home. Do you speak my tongue? What is your names?" She asked, stepping forward.
"Our names…" she said softly. "I speak your tongue, Nalla. This is Eresa, she does not. I am…" she thought a moment about her name. What she had been called so many times. What Oruna had called her. "My name is Keeah and we come from a long way." She said in a tired voice. She felt her legacy began to give out, as exhaustion took hold.
"Za'watem!' Eresa cried out, cradling her as she fell.
The last thing Keeah saw was Nalla stepping before her and tilting her head. "Oh you poor things… We shall fix you right up…"
Then the world faded to black.
Oruna and Kia go to Zuanwa after forming a motherly/daughter to bond on the road. They meet up with a merchant named rakat and they feast that night. Oruna gets drunk and they go to bed with servants that warm them up. Kia's servant is Eresa who is very purdy. The next day rakat goes to find a Za'wal who can get an audience with Uraka the goddess of Zuawna. He is a fat old man who end sof betraying them with Rakats help. Kia is sold to slavery and Oruna gets taken away as they got drugged at the meeting.
Kia then goes on a rampage and murders a lot of people until she finds Rakat to figure out where oruna is. After he squeals like a pig she decapitates him and goes on her merry way. She finds the Za'wals lavish compound and practically annihilated it before she finds Oruna inside. Oruna is dead and the Za'wal gets beaten to death. Eresa is alive however and seeing Kia's power declares her Za'watem and they get saved by Neiya and whisked away to her favorite gurl, Nalla.
Neiya 5/5
-1MP - Made a portal between Zuanwa and Nallan
-0MP(discounted) - soothed the worst of Kia's sorrows.
4/5
Old total Kia; Start = 18 +5 (10k+)
-15 Prestige. Glacial Skin I - This hero can use their powers of ice to form protective armor over their being. This glacial skin can be molded to form and in various levels of thickness. The thicker the layers of ice are the more protected one is but they are less maneuverable as a trade off.
-3 prestige to make an eternal icy tomb for Oruna.
The swell of the sea and steady winds battering them from the side was enough to send a spray of water onto the deck of their vessel. The black sail was rolled up and wound tight, lest the current would catch it and risk stealing away both balance and direction. At the fore of the ship, nestled in under the dragon-head arch sat old Hýlva, droning a loud throat-borne song and beating her weathered reindeer-skin drum. Her voice and music mingled with the wind, reverberating through each wave that hit the ship. Ronja felt the world's turmoil around them abate and ebb away as the deep song lifted the worries of the nature spirits just enough for the sea not to claim their craft. The cold waters beneath washed and sprayed against the dark wood with uneasy tension, but nevertheless carried them forward without quarrel, each heave of oars catapulting them forward on the rocking waves.
In the darkness of night, they could just barely make out the contours of the nearest ship, and had to trust that the others had sight of the last. When day broke, they'd hopefully find they'd never left each other's side. Ronja didn't know if Hýlva's song extended the same protection to the others, if the sea would take offense at their bold walk across the water and swallow another ship. Both of them full of villagers. Her friends. Perhaps this journey was a mistake after all. She gripped the mast tighter and stared at the distant contour of the other ship. She wondered how Hakon was doing. If either of them fell overboard, her last words to him would be to shut up. She frowned to herself, leaning against the post. No, she resolved. They were chosen. Neither wind nor sea would keep them. Aveira had entrusted the future of not just Reginsvik, but the entire merelli race to them - even if she didn't fully understand yet how such a thing could be achieved. Only one thing was certain. Darkness and swelling water would be the least of their worries. Her gaze fell down to the ram-horned dark metal helmet in her hand, and then the many spiral horned helmets among her rowing comrades. For a fleeting moment she worried, but the embrace of her overcoat burned with a gentle heat that filled her body and swelled her spirits, and she pulled it tighter around her to protect against the mild rains. Slowly Ronja's expression shifted to a smirk, and she viewed her rowing friends with pride. They were pioneers of a new era. Just like her.
"Take heart," she voiced with renewed fervor, letting go of the mast to walk among her rowing friends. "Wind, water and darkness cannot stop us. We are the promised people!"
A few of them chimed in to acknowledge her words, and Ronja took to a louder tone. "What are we?!"
"Chosen!" The crowd shouted back, and Ronja tightened her grip on her helmet.
"What belongs to us?!" She followed up.
"Everything!"
She repeated the chant until they all joined in and expected it, drowning the howl of the wind with exultant cries. As she cried herself hoarse, she could hear voices in the dark; people on the other ships calling out to respond as well.
They barely noticed how their loud ways disrupted old Hýlva's careful song, and how the waves grew in protest.
"Careful with those, or you'll feed the dog before us." Eàmon remarked with a big grin almost as bright as his golden hair, eliciting a tired grunt from Mionn, who could only heft the net higher to try and get it free of the small wooden stumps on the side of their short jetty. Each pull threatened to both rip the net and unleash the handful of fish still violently wriggling within, eager to escape.
"You could just help me untangle it," she groaned and cast him a bothered glance from under her unkempt red locks. Her best attempt at tugging the net free only served to tangle and bunch it up further.
"No, no. You pointedly said you didn't want my hands nowhere near you. I got to oblige that, it's my honor at stake." He lectured with great amusement, waving a hand before placing it on his chest.
Another grunt from Mionn set him straight, and Eàmon finally moved to help. "I saw you making eyes at that new white-coat. You can't very well go touching me up if you're dreaming about sowing seeds in some big town hussy. Pappy will beat me and kill you." She admonished with consternation, though accepted his help in untangling the net with clear relief.
Eàmon gave her a good-natured glance as he leant down to pull the net free. "You think so poorly of me, Mionn. I'm just curious. Ain't often we get visitors, right? Don't you ever dream about the bigger world?"
That elicited a sigh from Mionn, who reflexively tugged her net upwards as soon as it was free, and made her way down the jetty as she spoke. "The dûnans are all talk, putting their problems on other people and dragging kind-hearted folk into their weird cult. Like Dugh, remember?"
"Not this ag--"
"Not a word for near three years, then he comes in all wild-eyed raving about his new god. Sigeran this, Sigeran that. Not a care for his family. Even his Pa didn't want him around no more." Mionn concluded with a firm and lecturing tone, bunching up the net of wriggling fish to stow in a large clay bowl.
"Dugh always was that kinda way. He'll come around. Shepherding will do him good." Eàmon replied with a shrug, moving over to help untangle the net and dump out their prize.
Mionn sighed and glanced up at him, "He's my cousin, Eàmon, but I don't feel like I recogni-..." she began, pausing as her gaze fixed on the ocean. Her brows furrowed slowly, and that was enough for Eàmon to stop his work and follow her gaze.
On the horizon, the silhouettes of three large ships bobbed closer over the water. Black sails and dark wood was enough to make them foreign, but the design was nothing like either of them had seen. Eàmon narrowed his eyes and watched the approaching ships with deep thought and scrutiny. For a brief slice of silence, both of them just stood there, watching the silhouettes until it was clear the ships were coming straight for them.
"Go and get my pappy, Mionn. He knows all the boats what come through here." Eàmon murmured.
Within minutes, the entire village was abuzz with the gnawing sensation that something was wrong.
"No movement, far as I can see." Arvid mumbled from the fore of the ship, turning back to face the crouching mass of warriors holding their equipment. Only a few were rowing now, slowing the advance of the ship to a crawl. On each side was another ship, filled to the brim with eager youth looking ahead or staring over to Ronja's ship for the go ahead.
"Why would it be abandoned?" Ronja mused idly, stroking a lock of white hair away from her face. In truth, she doubted it was, but Aveira had always said to consider every possibility.
"I saw someone, I swear it." The younger Jari piped up, only to be shushed by Arvid, and quickly looking back down at the deck at the behest of his elder.
"The promised land was supposed to be unsettled," Arvid argued in turn, rubbing at his face before facing the faraway shore again. "Did we sail off course?"
"Hýlva says the spirits carried us straight. The stars have said the same. This is where the gutakvínn wished us to go." Soini spoke up from among the waiting warriors, wearing a grim look in his face. He exchanged a brief glance with Ronja, and she couldn't help but reflect over how different he looked. In the ramhorn helmet and black wear, even the baker's son looked imposing. Grown up. Like a real warrior. She nodded to him, and he gave a firm nod in return.
"This isn't the promised land?" One of the younger men spoke up amidst the crowd. A few mutterings spread among the youthful warriors, followed by short debates and calls to shut up.
Ronja frowned deeply, and gripped the axe handle in her hand firmly. It was now or never. "We are the chosen! These people have tried to steal what is rightfully ours! Soini, Arvid. Lead our people on the ground. Let us show these trespassers what the rightful settlers are worth." The two boys nodded in turn, and gestured firmly to the assembled warriors. The rowing commenced in full force, and soon the other two ships followed suit. On Hakon's ship, someone banged a drum in rhythmic tension. Jari followed suit, and soon the final ship joined in as well. Among the soldiers, Soini led the initiative to hammer his axe handle into the deck, in rhythm with the drums. A loud, imposing melody followed them ashore. Ronja stared ahead, feeling a strange grip on her gut.
Destiny was in reach.
After she'd gotten the village's attention, everything had gone so fast. Mionn pressed herself together underneath the sheepskin pelt, huddled in the corner of her family's little hovel. Her mother wasn't far away, pulling young Calidigh into a comforting embrace and shushing his questions. None of the men wanted to answer what it meant, but Mionn knew what the looks on their faces had meant - she'd seen the same look each time refugees, preachers or warriors came from the west, taking the Dûnan war with them each time.
Outside she could hear her father's gravelly voice - muffled as it was through the walls. A few moments later the leather drapes blocking the door swept open, and another shape stepped into the musty old house. Long light brown hair and the white apparel gave it away instantly; the dûnan woman. She looked at the three of them sheepishly before clearing her throat. "Murtàgh said to come in here…"
Mionn's mother nodded and gestured at the free space left. Before long, the white-coat sidled over to slide down awkwardly next to Mionn, and almost immediately started fiddling with her hands. Mionn looked at her for longer than she'd allowed herself to in the past - she couldn't be much older than Mionn herself. Nineteen, maybe. The woman caught her looking and sent her a sheepish, faint smile. "...Mionn, right? I'm Teagan."
Mionn exhaled and looked away. "You dûnans always bring trouble," she muttered, earning her an instant reprimand from her mother. Mionn shot her a sour glance and pulled her legs up against her body.
"Y-... You mean the ships? That has nothing to do with me," Teagan eventually cut in, glancing between all assembled. "I'm sure it's nothing. This is a pious place, the gods won't allo-"
"Just be quiet," Mionn bit back sharply and pre-empted her mother's next admonishment with another sour glance. Teagan looked crestfallen, but followed her new instructions and simply looked down.
The next few minutes were carried out in silence, with only the occasional muffled sound of talking from outside. Calidigh seemed not to understand why they were just sitting there, and tried to break the tension by moving away. Mother quickly set him right and shushed him once more.
It didn't last long. The muffled voices were replaced by stamping feet, shouting, and the clatter of broken pottery. Something inside her froze up, and Mionn felt her entire back go stiff as the world outside took a new turn. Voices she'd never heard before shouted and hollered from outside; she couldn't make out what they were saying - it didn't even sound like anything she'd heard before. Deep and angry voices echoing and jeering from all sides of their little hovel.
Mionn felt her breath catch in her throat and heard her heart pounding in her ears. Fear began to grip the four of them as they listened to the growing shouting outside, and the crash and clatter of broken pottery and wood.
The flimsy door to their little hiding place swung open with enough force to rip from its top hinge, and two tall figures with giant horned helmets rushed inside. Mionn heard her mother scream in fear and surprise, and felt her whole body freeze. Her eyes locked on the axes in their hands. They barked at them in some awful language, and moved to pull them from their hiding spot one by one. Teagan panicked beside her and threw herself up at the invader, begging for mercy. Mionn heard the crack of skin against skin as they struck her, and saw her tumble to the ground with a whimper. She tried to move from her crouch but her legs wouldn't listen, even as her mother screamed for her, escorted out of the hovel with a crying Calidigh in her arms, under threat of axe.
Someone shouted at her, a long dark coat and a weapon dangled in front of her threateningly. Mionn didn't have time to do anything - before she could truly react she felt a painful and firm grip of her hair, and the invader pulled hard to drag her out towards the exit. The pain was intense, shooting through her head until her eyes were welling up with tears and her breath was gone. It felt like he was pulling her skull from her body, and each scrape and cut along the ground only made it worse.
The cold breeze from the sea washed over her face and bare arms as she was dragged outside. The horror from inside was replaced by foreign chatter and the cries of others captured in the same way. A last burning pain rocked through Mionn's hairline as the invader pulled harder to throw her, and the dirt and gravel below scraped angrily against her skin and flax tunic. Her arm and knee burned with fresh scrapes, and even as the figure finally let go of her, her scalp felt like it had been permanently set ablaze with pain. Mionn pushed tear-welled eyes open and saw the carnage for herself.
Several dozen… maybe almost a hundred... black-clad pale invaders littered every nook and cranny of their little village, and more scurried around three large dragon headed ships at the stony beach. Most were wearing dark helmets with thick rounded horns, but a few wore no such headgear. She could see men and women alike, youthful and imposing with a fragile and fascinating beauty that made them both a wonder to behold, and a fright, as the strange fixation taking root in her mind contrasted starkly to their hard, angry faces and the weapons. Black and grey horns poked between the hair of those few without helmets - Mionn had seen merelli before, but never like this. They were never more than a few in a single place, never so angry.
Around her was almost everyone else in the village, assembled and dragged out into little communal area where their houses intersected. A cry of pain and protest came from behind, and Mionn looked over her shoulder in time to see the whitecloak Teagan get dragged and shoved her way as well. There wasn't enough time, and the young druid crashed into Mionn - just another bout of pain in the frenzied panic going on.
One of the dark clad invaders removed his helmet to reveal a young and statuesque face, it too adorned by short black horns. He barked at them angrily, pointing at the house to his right. There were no words that Mionn could even begin to make out. Even if she had tried, the freezing dread in her body refused to let her head work as it should. The invader paced in front of them, gesturing wildly at both them and their houses as he shouted. Teagan crawled up off the ground and earned a pull on her braid for her insolence, dragging her back to what Mionn was only now realizing was a lineup. Were their fates sealed already?
Eàmon seemed to think so, the young man burst from his anxious seat in the line to stand up beside the pacing invader. His hands nestled in the black coat, and an incoherent stream of pleading and demands left the boy's mouth. It was too fast for Mionn to catch, but it included sparing the women. He stared down at the invader as he kept him in place and for a moment Mionn watched him with renewed hope in the midst of her fears. The invader grabbed both sides of Eàmon's tunic and swept a firm leg to kick the human boy's legs out from under him. Eàmon fell hard to the ground, aided by a half-throw as the invader shoved his hands free of him. A dark boot came down on him, and within moments two more merelli burst forwards to assist in beating him down with firm, quick stomps all over his body to the tune of panicked and angry screaming from his captive family. Mionn was quiet, staring at the battery with a cold grip freezing her spine all the way through her form.
Eventually the beating stopped, and Eàmon wheezed out a weak sign of life through pain and bruising. The horned man did not care. He began shouting again, pointing down at Eàmon before sweeping his hand in a gesture towards all of them. Each motion of his hand made Mionn cringe with fright, and by the chorus of cries it elicited the same in others. A tap on the invader's shoulder made him pause. Another merelli - a youthful pale woman with almost shimmering white hair and black horns murmured something to him in their foreign tongue, and he seemed to calm down. She gestured at Eàmon, and the violent invader and a comrade moved forwards to drag him back into line. When they moved aside, the woman stepped forward. Her coat was longer and stiffer, black as night. It almost looked like armour. She scanned the line briefly before settling her gaze beside Mionn. She flicked her hand in a gesture, and her mother - still carrying Calidigh - was pulled to a stand. She sobbed quietly but dared not speak. Instead the merelli woman spoke. "Er ther sjalfraett ta ganga fri."
She repeated the words slowly, and gestured towards the grazing fields beyond the village. Mionn murmured for her mother, and others looked confused. Eventually the woman grabbed her mother by the arm and dragged her two feet while pointing at the fields. The other invaders moved out of their way. Confused and sobbing, Mionn's mother carried Calidigh away from the village. Mionn called for her, feeling her fear build selfishly inside her. A boot came down on her back, silencing her and pushing her into the dirt firmly. She watched helplessly from the ground as her mother and little brother were made to abandon them, and wander out of the village.
Then the woman squatted down in front of Mionn, and the pressure of the boot lessened to allow her to look up at her. "Ef er gett aet hvert naste manna-vist ydr, er ther sjalfraett ta ganga fri." The woman spoke - gibberish to Mionn beyond that strange pull the words seemed to have on her. They felt surreal and otherworldly. The pale woman repeated the same words and gestured out towards the fields.
Mionn stared at her in panic. What did she want? Was she taunting her? Was she gonna kill her? She didn't want to die. She'd do whatever, beg and plead - yet her lips refused to move? Words came in a murmur from her father no more than two feet away. "I think she wants us to give up more villages…"
"Maybe we'll get to go free if we comply…." Teagan whispered from her other side. Mionn sent her an incredulous stare. This woman was barely her senior, yet so willing to doom others. Even now, the distaste she had for dunans seemed to bubble and overtake her fear.
Mionn parted her lips to push out sound at last. "Ha-... Ha-Dûna…" she managed quietly, and saw the captive whitecloak beside her widen her eyes in realization and sudden panic. The white haired woman leaned in closer to Mionn, forcing forwards a thin, polite smile as she listened. "To the west… there is a rich place called Ha-Dûna. It will have an-..."
Teagan shot up beside her to a stand, surprising both invaders and captives. Her arm flailed to point east as a man stepped forward to wrestle her down. Panicked and spiteful the druid screamed to overpower Mionn's voice. "Scawick! It's right beyond the hills! Not more than three days! They have food and wealth and all you could ever want! You should go east! Scawick is ripe for your conquest, mighty peo-... Hnngh.."
Teagan was silenced as she was struck from behind, and then forcibly sat down again. "You bitch, we have family by Scawick!" Edragr the Woodsman roared from down the line, earning himself a swift bash on the head.
The merelli woman looked at Teagan, and then back to Mionn, who felt tears welling up in her eyes. She was tired, scared, and she'd wasted her words wishing misfortune on someone else. The pale woman tapped a finger to her lips in thought, before murmuring to herself. "Skaevik," before standing up and raising her voice to address the other invaders. "Wi ganga fra at Skaevik!" She gestured quickly at the line, and several invaders rushed forwards to grab everyone. Mionn felt hands grab her arms and lift her painfully from the ground. She saw the woman staring at her as she was dragged past, and she met her gaze exhausted by pain and fear.
Behind her, crying and shouting resumed. Chief among them Teagan the Whitecloak demanded to be released, but judging by her screaming protests, no one listened. One by one they were dragged to the beach, and the dark dragon-head ships.
Within the hour, the village was quiet. Empty of people, goods, and small livestock. Only two people - one of which was barely three - had witnessed the vanishing of a village.
Merelli Vikings arrive at a peaceful coastal village, take captives, force them to tell them about other places, then move on with the loot and people. They learn of Scawick and Ha-Dûna. One mother and her child are free to tell the tale.
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