Eli, Ormoc, and Liassus (III)

Ormoc studied Aessur’s body: it was clean in half, ravaged apart by sheer force. His eyes shifted to Eli, who was still in a standing, catatonic state. “Liassus.”

In a second, Eli jumped back into action, the colour back into his eyes. He fell to his knees, his upper body deep red and brown. He saw and smelled Aessur’s body. He vomited at the sight. Only blood came out.

“What’d I do?” He looked at Liassus. “What’s going on?”

“I had to intervene, Eli. I’m sorry.” Liassus shot him a sad, furtive look. She knelt to his pathetic form, her cold hand running through his hair. “I had to. You’d learn sooner or later.” She whispered, patting his back.

He wanted to throw her off, to send her flying, but he couldn’t - his body disagreed. Something voiceless had the final say; even the thought of pushing her away vanished in a near moment, and his hands stayed heavy and stuck to the ground. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Liassus paced around. Her steps took her from body to body, her eyes darting at the scene like it was an image to compose.

“We don’t have much time, but I want you to trust me. Nothing I said is false; I need your help, and you need to find your fiancee." She knelt again, and her forehead kissed his. Though her hands were cold, at least this part felt warm, soft. "We work together, and I’ll help you get what you want.”

“What if I say no?” Eli shot a wild glare at her. None of it flinched her.

She sighed, but was it a sigh of resignation or something deeper? “Then I’ll have to do it by force.”

She rested her fingers on the back of his neck. There it was - a blind spot, a place where he felt nothing, a numb site on the back of his neck.

But it wasn’t that, not at all. Liassus took one of his hands and guided it there. He felt a cold, small marble, a glassy thing that throbbed with a heartbeat of its own, an alien, tumorous beast wedged at the base of his neck.

“Everything you do, every word you hear, speak, it’s all through me.” Ormoc and Liassus had already taken a few strides and checked on the other man, one whose neck had been pierced clean by what looked like a bullet. “I promised you, Eli, that I’ll reunite you two. And I won’t break that promise. But I want to be clear here: I don’t need your trust, and I don’t need to fulfill my promise.”

Ira and the Medicalers (I)

The river took Ira downstream, most of her supplies having been lost in the waters. But she hadn’t woken up by herself - the warm and comforting embrace of healing magic rustled her awake. Then, she was face to face with a giant man of wrapped finery, sunlight and gold shining in her eyes. He tapped an insignia: two leaf-like flames surrounded by a solid circle. He smiled. She gulped.

Medicalers, the only group that Aessur warned her and Tal to avoid. Ardalian soldiers of fire and flesh, fire mages with healing skills. They were no mere travellers seeking knowledge or treasure, as they tended to stick around cities and towns. If they were in the forest, they were here for a reason.

“S-ser Medicaler!” She shuffled to attention, feet slipping as she slid up, but this Medicaler’s arms were as thick as tree trunks and as strong as an ox. “Please, ser, I have - ”

“Take it easy.” He laid her back down on the furs, near a small fire. “Captain, we’ve a dog-woman, almost drowned, but she’s come to.” Surrounding them was a small cluster of tents with pots, flasks, and codices. From one of them emerged a strikingly handsome man, a sharply featured individual of piercing golden eyes and wavy, ruby-red hair. He was wearing a wool coat that went up to the top of his neck, hugging his barrel chest. He walked with a strange deliberation as if he was thinking with every step. He also bore the leaf-circle.

“My girl, how are you?” He asked Ira, his face getting so close she turned away in hushed embarrassment. “It’s a shame we found you in such a state, a beautiful woman such as you.” His firm and gentle hands ran down her body and then stopped at the cut on her side.

He refused to take his eyes off her and her body. "What is your name?"

"Ira, Ser Medicaler."

"Ira. A pretty name for a pretty girl." There was something dull in his voice, like he was reading a script, but he spoke with a calm and softness she had never experienced.

“I will heal you, but this.” He gingerly touched the wound. It didn’t hurt much now. In fact, it didn’t hurt at all. Ira felt nothing. Was it the healing magic?

“Ser…”

“Quiet.” He buried her head in his chest, his arms wrapped around her as he swayed. A warm green light surrounded her. “I’m Captain Liarus, and these are my men. We are on the move to investigate something,” he looked her up and down and then pressed his fingers into her wound. Again, nothing. No wince, no sharp pain. “Can you help us?”

"I-I-I can," Ira said. But how could she? How could she have already answered him like that? Was it the magnetic, hypnotic force that seemed to surround him? Or was something more that made her flush at the sight of this prim and proper man, so eager to touch her so gingerly?

"We found you by the river with this cut. We've healed much of it, but please tell me, my dear, who did this to you?"

"It was an old man, and a woman, and a boy."

"What did they look like?"

"The old man had large glasses, round, circular, foggy. The woman had long red hair - ack!" She felt a sharp pain in her side. Liarus again pressed his fingers into her stomach, but while the wound didn't hurt, her skin began to sear.

"Go on."

"But the boy, he looked like an elf? No stick-ears, but he was strong. Went into a rage and killed my...adventurers."

"I see. You must be tired, rest." He loosened his grip. "We have a long way to go, and I need another favour from you."

"Yes, ser Medicaler?"

"Bring me there."

Eli, Ormoc, and Liassus (IV)

“What the hell?!” Eli asked, trying to put some distance between the two. “What the hell, what the hell?” He held his fists up in an awkward, makeshift pose, sweat running down his face. He had a feverish shake. “What’s going on…I thought you were….”

“I don’t want to tell you how to think; I don’t want to force you, Eli.” Liassus approached him a step at a time.

He didn’t know if she had the body language of an adult trying to console a child or a predator keeping its eyes on its prey. Nothing made sense anymore, though it was obvious she was trying to hide her delight. “You have a gift, Eli. A real, honest-to-god gift. A real damn piece of Elder power inside of your veins, and with your help, we can help so many people!”

Ormoc was much less excited. He only stood there, surveying Eli through his glasses. “General,” he cleared his throat. “It might be good, at least, for him to come to grips with it himself. Besides, we’re short on time. We might not reach Ilma until tomorrow. And,” he paused to look at the bodies on the grass, “that scout getting away…I have a bad feeling about it.”

Liassus placed her hand back on the pommel of her sword. “I can’t sense her anymore, but, I can taste her blood. It’s still there, somewhere. Chasing her is a low priority; let’s get to Ilma, rendezvous with the men, and get Eli trained.”

“Trained? For more killing?” Eli shot an upward, scared glance at her. He was tall himself, so he never noticed Liassus’ height, but now that he was sitting sullenly on blood-soaked grass, he did. He never felt so small, that even as the sun was getting higher, and rays had already begun to pierce through the leaves of the dark canopy, this woman was still blotting it all out. It was in her shadow he was complaining.

“Yes.” She replied. How genuine was that softness? He couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter anyway; he was a panther in a cage, a wraith of queer power and muscle but with no way to control it, even if he wished. It was hers! He lost his mind in the grip of this invisible force, linked to the commands of this strange woman he only knew as Liassus.

“I made a promise, and I keep them.” She said.

“Do I have a choice?”

Liassus shook her head. “I already told you - you’re doing this whether you like it or not.”

She buried his head in her chest, her arms wrapped around him as she swayed. “I won’t let anything happen to you," She whispered, "but you best get to liking it soon.”

Mira and Leanne (I)

Fort Aura was less of a fortress and more of a hub, one of the few places that defended the land route between the northernmost edge of West Siral and the southwestern lines of Ardal. It maintained a stout vigilance against all manner of movement; the elves from the black forests or the stray, impetuous dragon flying down from the Owmslauch. And yet, despite its prestige, it was still a fort, nothing more. Not a castle, not a citadel; a fort. A ring of weathered palisades and wooden homes. Unpaved with no great highways. Walls that barely held its men and turrets for watching, not firing.

Instead, there was a single plateau, and just as how it watched for threats, so too did it watch its denizens. Flanked on both ends by endless forests, the road into Aura, beaten down by decades of wagons and hooves, was always busy. The gates were always open, the watchmen always complacent. It was a fat patch of blacksmiths, whores, merchants, priests, all choking under clouds of soot.

At an unassuming manor, no larger than anything around it, a messenger received a pigeon with a note. Though he was a messenger, in her presence, he deigned to give her rights. He slid them to hands with a gilded knife, which slit the thread with ease. “It's from the scouts. The hunt for the beast continues, but there’s been no success.”

“Is it not just a bird? We’re not dealing with a wyvern, are we?” Aura’s commander spoke from across the room. She was a tired woman with smoke-grey hair and gnarled, callused hands, a coat of silk finery with a blade wrapped tight around her arm. “I didn’t think we’d have such difficulties with fowl.”

“That’s all the message says, commander. The hunting party has already lost a man in the skirmish, with the rest retreating. We’ve lost three dogs already. This makes it our first.”

The commander buried her face in her hands, a strand of hair sliding down upon her fingers. A loud and shaken sigh escaped her lips. “What happens if we pull back?”

“We lose the Burrows.” The recipient closed the letter. It was a young, soft-featured woman, her cross-legged pose emitting a comfortable regality; her back straight, her gaze piercing, she kept her eyes on the commander without a blink, even as threads of her beautiful golden hair tickled her lashes. “That’s the result, isn’t it?”

“But Lady Leanne - “ a raised hand stopped the commander’s tepid response. “I’m sorry. Seneschal Leanne, we wouldn’t lose the Burrows, but….” Aura’s commander trailed off.

The Burrows were a long line of farmlands running right up to the edge of Mount Ilma’s forest. Named after the rodents that had made their homes there, clear-cutting had flattened most of the earth, with each farm running along thin strips, all connected to the River Rol. An old place, the Burrows was now the fief of landed manors and farmstead empires, clustered together into an alliance of farmers with their own interests and power. At these farmers’ insistence, Aura’s commander had sent a small cadre of soldiers to investigate.

Whatever was harassing them, it had been a nuisance for far too long.

Something had been hunting their animals. First, it was dogs, who’d run into the woods or the marshes at the sight of fowl, but they’d never come back. Farmers had tried to stop it to no avail, and any attempt always led to it fluttering away. Its strange cawing suggested it was a bird, but nobody knew how such a thing could have become so vicious or strong. What sort of beast, in any manner, could befall or outwit the farmers whose lands had been theirs for generations?

Or was it something else? Tales of witches turning into black-feathered fiends were rife in these parts of the world, where the long and pious arm of the Ordox Canticula could scarcely reach. Was it one of these monsters? A witch or devil turning into mindless animals, only to butcher those that hunted them? The forests at the edge of the Burrows were still deep, wild, deeply wild and wildly deep. It wouldn't be a surprise to see that something foul still lurked in Ilma.

She looked at Leanne, the go-to between General Liassus and the rest of the rebellion. The young woman was far more stern than her age suggested, and her grip upon her soldiers - none of whom gave her any backhand - was a sight to behold. “Can you do something about this?”

“The General will be meeting us shortly with the Emlot. She’ll know what to do with this strange monster.” Leanne frowned at her own words. “I’m sorry. Let me rephrase this; I cannot help you.” She leaned over a bit more, her eyes downcast.

The commander rubbed her temples. “Tell them that I’ll send a few more scouts and a healer.” The messenger scribbled down the words, ready to send off to another pigeon. “The priority is keeping the healer alive, at all costs, but I’m not going to let some foul demon take our lands away from us.”

The Swift Suns

Irwin held up the Aura medallion with a glint in his eyes. A coin stamped with an interlocked nest of thorns around a single, eight-petalled rose, no one would have thought that a border fortress’ sigil gleamed with such brilliance and warmth. And yet, at the same time, nobody would have questioned it after realizing Aura's wealth.

At Aura and the behest of its government, an ersatz party formed, attracted by good pay to ignore terrible rumours. Something had ravaged the farmlands known as the Burrows, and to these adventurers, the problem of back-broken farmers hunting an elusive beast was simply another story to tell.

At the town square, their meeting place, the first to arrive was a healer, a young man sitting bow-legged on the fountain ledge. His hands gripped his ornate pine staff, crowned with a pale jewel of modest fetch. A small emerald poked out from the folds of his coat, the refracted light bouncing off his shaggy hair. Someone pelted him in the back; he jumped a bit.

“You’re a lot stronger than you look.” It was a massive man with slick white hair and sallow eyes. Every move he made came with a loud and hollow clang. He sat down beside him, the ill-fitting armour jostling about. At moments, he fumbled around to tighten the leather straps, worn and rank. “Good body on you.” He pulled out an identical medallion. “You’re the healer, right?” Hand outstretched, and he cast a bright smile. “Kadan, I’m the vanguard for this group. And you are…?”

“Irwin.” The boy responded. “I’m a - ”

“Woah, Woah.” The man stopped him with a palm of his hand. “Save that for the introductions when the others come…speaking of.” He noticed two more walking towards them. One of them was a tall and rugged man, a mage like Irwin, but his staff was much larger, thick like a log and wrapped with a white sheet. It ended in a barbed blade, the crystal at its crown a long chalky shard bristling with teeth-like edges.

Beside him was a woman, almost as tall as he, whose eyes darted from Irwin to Kadan. Her black hair was tied up into a bun, revealing a pair of stick-ears.

An elf, a prim and proper woman of the woods, with a crossbow slung over her shoulder and a bolt quiver of hemp and hide. At her waist was a slender wooden pipe, wrapped firm and unmoved, even as she jostled around.

“My God, I didn’t think we’d get an elf.” Kadan whispered.

She frowned. “What do you mean, ‘get’?” Her voice was deep and incisive, smooth and ethereal, without a fraction of a skip, break, or any imperfection to her utterance. Irwin found it hard to close his jaws. Elves were rare in these parts.

“Nothing, nothing!” Kadan raised his hands, chuckling nervously. “I’m saying, this isn’t something I’m used to. Haven’t spent much time with the woods-folk. What are you, on pilgrimage?”

"No, and if I was, why? Why are you curious about that?"

"Ah, yes, yes, you're right," Kadan seemed like he was responding in kind, but it felt off as if he was suppressing something, "well, been a while since I've seen Salah."

The other man cleared his throat. “Let’s put that aside and get to the bottom of this.” He looked at the group. “I’m Alan, I think you all were told that I’d be in charge of this group, and this is my wife and companion, Nara. We’ve done beast-hunting before, though from what I’ve seen, it might be a scouting mission.”

Kadan’s face went into a scowl. “Is it that worrisome? Us four, for scouting?”

“What’s that mean?” Irwin asked. “I’m Irwin, by the way.”

“Oh, yes, Kadan.” He tapped his massive chest with his gauntlets, the clang making such a loud ding that Nara winced. “If we’re doing scouting then, well, does she think we can’t kill it?”

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Alan replied, “Seneschal Leanne composed our group, and I don’t believe she’d be so careless, making such a small hunting team.”

Kadan whistled at the name. "Leanne's the one? Guild just told me it was from the office, didn't know our Lady Seneschal is paying for this." He dropped his arms and his laidback expression. “I was told it’d be a hunting team.”

“Kadan, was it? If it’s not a big threat, we become a hunting team. But for now, we keep an eye on things and then move back and report. That’s it, understood?” Nara snarled through gritted teeth.

Kadan wasn't smiling.

The Swift Suns. That was the name of the makeshift party, consisting of a crossbower, two mages, and a vanguard. Though it wasn’t a far trip, they left Aura without delay - Alan wanted to make good time during daylight and keep a strong vigil during nights. Kadan, while he was a bit reticent at the beginning, softened and relented by the evening.

However, he didn't make it any easier. The plates of his armour fell with loud thuds when they made camp, and the smell of sweat was so strong and putrid that Nara refused to be anywhere near him, even at dinner.

Little of note happened en route to the Burrows. The straight roads from Aura, in every direction, were flat and featureless. Milk maidens joked about these roads, how they'd see their sons run away from home days after they left.

Alan was insistent they made camp every night, and the moans escaping the thin sheets of their tents bothered Kadan without fail. Irwin would excuse himself to go to the woods.

After a week of clear skies, beautiful starlight, and hot winds and flatlands, they arrive at the great black line, the division between the Burrows and the forest of Ilma. The mountain, a craggy mistress off the southern reach, stood with a proud lonesome deep in the forest.

They stopped at a river before the farmlands, scooping it up by the handful in pouches after a bath. “We have to look presentable!” Kadan urged.

This was River Rol, known as The Long Way, stretching across the ends of the farmlands in the Burrows, feeding farmers and their flock alike. Closer to the Burrows and the roads became much thicker, harder, pounded by the heavy footsteps of beasts of burden into cracked lines of clay. Hay bales sat fat and stuck on sheets of marigold leaves and neatly trimmed stalks. Four-storied farmhouses loomed like wooden castles, watching imperiously over flocks of still-pecking fowl. And the fences. Everywhere they went: fences, going from one juncture to another, weathered and proud, each pole crowned with splinters and cobwebs, tall with criss-crossing beams stretched right to the horizon.

"You keep going past, and you get to the southern fort." Kadan told Irwin. He pointed to a road that melted into a fissure in the forest.

Irwin's eyes twinkled at the thought. "Ardalvsil?"

"The very one." He looked at Irwin's staff and his soft hands. "You know, I was once under the employ of the Marshall of Ardalvsil. Haron, he's a big man. A Vermite, almost as tall as you, Irwin."

"Do Vermites like being called 'men'?" Alan asked.

"Well, this one didn't mind," Kadan laughed, "I came out of the Elder hunts with both my arms thanks to his kindness. Good man, he is."

"Well, let's reminisce later. We've got a beast to find." Nara said, already ahead. Homesteads of thatched roofs and the sound of swinging wooden gates in a hot morning suggested there might be a storm, which worried her.

“How long are we going to be here?” She asked, to which Alan shook his head. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“Elf-intuition?” Kadan asked, to which Alan cast a dirty look. “Sorry, sorry! I’ve never met a bog-bird before - ”

“Sir Kadan!” Irwin stopped him. “That’s offensive, sir!” He stumbled a little bit on his words.

“Oh, is it? I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Kadan smiled. “Not trying to - ”

“Let’s just move on.” The sound of Alan’s staff seemed to hit the ground just a bit more loudly.

“Swift Suns? Who decided that name?” Though the Burrows wasn’t a place with a clear hierarchy, it had a face riddled with acne scars and flayed by sunburns.

Thora sat across them with mead, fish, and sauce on wooden plates he made himself. A lone man, he kept vigil over much of what was going on in the Burrows, keeping the rowdiness at May Sorrel’s tavern down to manageable shouts, when rumbling and brawling would sometimes lead to a bit more than a bruising. Thora was big enough to handle the bigger men of the Burrows. Even Kadan, when he first met him, flushed a bit at his height.

“It’s a temporary name, master Thora,” Alan shot back, “We came swiftly, didn’t we?” He pulled out the medallion. Nara followed suit. She shot a glance at Kadan and Irwin. They obliged. “You must have received a message from Commander Mira of Aura. We’re here to investigate, so please.”

Thora looked at the insignia, but he seemed unimpressed. “I know I’m supposed to be impressed that folks like you behind the three palisades would come here, but don’t get ahead of yourselves. You’d best be gone, and I can talk to Mira. This isn’t a job, even for mages within your lot.” He looked at Irwin’s staff. “Go home, be well.”

“I don’t understand, master - ”

“Don’t sound like a professional to me, whelp.” At first, Thora gave off the feeling of a gentle giant, but now, he hardly seemed calm. “Do you think you’re going to solve this? Do better? We’ve no mages, but we know this forest and its wild edges.” He rolled up his sleeves, revealing a strange and bulbous wound, a fester as large as a child’s knuckle, a strange sound emanating from it. “A scratch, only a scratch. Some of my men came out with worst, a few buried in the patches.”

“Some? I had heard - ”

“A few nights ago, it returned, but there’s a strange miasma. Nobody wants to go into the forest now, but the air around here has become quiet and sick like a demon in our homes.”

Alan pulled his medallion back. “What’s been going on?”

Thora smiled at the pull, but his eyes were hardly smiling. “The forest fetters with strange, foreign beasts, things I’ve never seen before. And they’re all aggressive and territorial. We can’t get near the edge of the wilds without seeing those eyes staring back at us, talons and teeth ready.” He rubbed his forehead with his hands, sweat running down his brow. “Since the first message, we've already families rotting away with this devil’s air. Our homes are cursed and falling. Whatever she did made it go all wrong.”

“She? Who?” The air grew quiet, still, stifling. They could scarce hear the rustle of the leaves in the vicious winds.

“Leave,” Thora demanded. “Go back to where you came before the air takes you as well. There is very little for the people here. I've sent them off.”

“Who made it all go wrong? I need to know.” Alan pressed on.

“A ‘gift,’ she calls it, tells us. I can’t believe I was such a fool. That blood-mage harlot made sacrifices of us all. There’s nothing at Ilma but rot.” Thora took deep breaths, his eyes closed. After what seemed like forever, he opened them again. The Swift Sun had kept an uneasy vigil.

"Sir Thora, we need to know - "

“What are you still here for? Go back!”