Ascendancy Chapter 4: The Greatest Of Plans...
Well, this went well. This is a session in which there were 0 rolls. I just went with the flow. Daniel, being awesome, was well aware of what he could and couldn't do, and I liked the way stuff went with the story--which is, of course, what matters and our overarching goal--so it went, especially since I didn't reveal Blossom's stats. ;)
Without further ado, here it is.
Ascendancy, Chapter 4: The Greatest Of Plans
Bard Mistress:
They had set off from Haven two days ago, heading northeast towards Rismang. Menace had said to go there… that there might be something in Rismang he would be interested in. So they were on their way there, the three of them - Jaron, Tek, and Wings. Menace was nowhere to be found. She had disappeared, up and leaving without a word to anyone, not even Wings, who had searched for her for a day before concluding Menace didn’t want to be found, but they had best stay on track. The Silver Pact may have wanted her to do something, after all. The Sidereals could be tracking her. Who knew?
Jaron was riding Nightmare, and Tek was on Wings, in that ridiculous enormous bird-shape of hers that boosted the diminutive Djala to Jaron’s height. Tek did not care for riding, and probably would have preferred to crouch behind Jaron on Nightmare, but Wings had insisted. There was some strange glee, apparently, for the redhead to carry her Solar. Whatever it was, Tek just hung on tight to Wings and let her follow Jaron.
The sun was high in the sky, and the wind was kicking up. Jaron knew the desert well enough to know that sudden sandstorms could happen, and the problem was, they were too far away from any settlement to stop and find somewhere to hide it out. The best they could hope for would be some sort of shelter.
Jaron:
Jaron looked back and forth over the dunes, straining his sharp eyes to detect a trace of a shape that might prove to be an oasis or at least some rocks - anything, as long as it could get them out of the wind. He rolled his shoulders uneasily, making the armour clank. He hadn't worn armour for so long that he had forgotten how much it chafed.
Bard Mistress:
Through the whirlwind of sand, Jaron could make out a copse of palm trees, tall and thick, and what looked like a Delzhani caravan clustered around beneath it. Well, that might work… you never knew when a local god would get a wild hair and create an oasis, or a new god entered Creation and made one. As it was said… any port in a storm.
Jaron:
Jaron glanced over at Tek. "Come on," he said, tugging gently at Nightmare's reins to guide her in direction of the trees. "Ah think ah see some folks over that way. Let's go see if they're feelin' like makin' room fer two more, huh?"
Bard Mistress:
"Here's to hoping," Tek was almost drowned out by the wind, hanging onto Wings. The big bird just followed Nightmare, anyway, usually. They were about halfway there when Wings squawked and dashed in front of Nightmare, causing the big mare to draw up and snort and whinny. What the devil was the oddball Lunar up to? She ruffled her feathers, making herself twice as large, lowering her neck and hissing, like she was trying to drive the Dawn back from the oasis.
Jaron:
"Woah, girl, woah." Jaron held in Nightmare, giving Wings an exasperated look. "What's yer problem, Wings? We need ta get us some shelter, an' them tree're the only game in town."
Bard Mistress:
Wings shifted, then, becoming a teenager again. Tek flailed in the air for a moment as Wings caught her, shifting the Djala to her back. "No, no, no, no, no. We need to go! This is no good. This is Wyld. The storm must have blew it in. There hasn’t been a Wyld zone around here in a while. Fuck!"
Jaron:
Jaron felt his lack of education. "A Wyld zone?" he said slowly.
Bard Mistress:
"Yeah, a Wyld zone," Wings licked dry lips, looking around anxiously. "See, the Wyld is a fluid thing. It's pure chaos, really. That means some people have learned to gather it up and take it with them... and sometimes nature just blows it in with a harsh storm. Sometimes a raksha sets up camp, taints the area, and makes their own."
Jaron:
Jaron squinted over at the Delzhani. "Yer saying them folks over there are Fair Folk?" he said. "Not ta go doubtin' yer ex-per-teese here, but what're ya basin' that on, exactly?"
Bard Mistress:
"No, I don't think they're Fair Folk," Wings let Tek down, since the Djala was beginning to pinch her Lunar's exposed skin. "I think they wandered in, same as we did. Either that or they're an illusion set up to bring others into the trap. There's just this... feeling in the air. I can't really explain it. I just know when I'm in one."
Jaron:
Jaron pondered that. "Well, if they ARE just a bunch of ordinary stupid bastards, an' they got in here by mistake," he said, "ain't no way we can just leave'em here, is there? We gotta at least warn'em. I mean, don't rightly know why they'd believe us, but we gotta at least give'em the chance ta listen."
Bard Mistress:
"We could just leave 'em there," Wings admitted, "but if they're stuck, they're not going to come back out on their own. They'd be sitting ducks, just ripe for the picking," she exhaled. "Okay. We need to stick together, alright? The Wyld is messed up. Travel is messy here." She started towards the group, her Moonsilver fangs in her hands, just in case.
Jaron:
Jaron grimaced and nudged Nightmare forward. As he rode, he carefully strapped the fighting gauntlet onto his left hand, securing the leather straps around his wrist. He had a bad feeling about this.
Bard Mistress:
"Hey!" Wings called to them as they made their way closer to the huddling figures. "Hey!" There was not a word of response, not one indication of having even heard her. Maybe they didn't speak common?
Jaron:
Jaron gritted his teeth. "Hey!" he shouted. "Ya awake over there! Yer in the worst place ya could possibly have stopped in, an' ya need ta get yer asses outa here!" He paused, then repeated what he had said in High Realm, just in case.
Bard Mistress:
That garnered no reply, either. When they approached, they found the cluster was a group of Delzhani, alright, men, women, and children. They were lifeless, but alive, like their will to live had been sucked right out of them. “Dream-eaten,” Wings whispered. “They’ve been devoured… they’re husks. We’ve got a raksha problem. Great. Just… great. They’re probably going to sell these poor bastards off as slaves.” Their hollow, empty eyes seemed to bore right through Jaron. They would never recover - no magic of Creation could recover what they had lost. Death would be a release for them.
Wings glanced at Jaron, then. “What do you want to do? Leave them or kill them?”
Jaron:
Jaron swore a long, furious string, then dismounted Nightmare and drew his knife. "C'mon," he said. "This is gonna have ta be quick, an it ain't gonna be pretty."
Swearing curses over all Fair Folk, he walked up to the first of the Dream-eaten and, with a quick motion, slashed her throat. Before she had even hit the ground, he was moving on to the next.
Bard Mistress:
Wings nodded, and Tek drew her blades as they began to work their way through the group, slitting throats and staining the sand red with blood. By the time they had finished, they all had blood on them. "We need to leave," Wings said grimly. "They're going to see their prizes dead, and they're going to come looking. They'll have a harder time finding us in Creation. We just need to get out here."
Tek glanced at Wings. “So…? How do we get out of it?”
“The Wyld border, in a thing like this, is moving with the storm. We can go back the way we came, but that can make things worse,” Wings blew out her cheeks. "But that's our only option. If we go further, we're going deeper."
Jaron:
"Right." Jaron wiped the knife off as best as he could on the clothes of one of the Dream-eaten - disrespectful, to be sure, but he knew better than to leave a blade uncleaned. "Mount up. Time ta ride like Malfeas himself was after us!" He swung himself up into Nightmare's saddle and waiting for the women to be ready to go.
Bard Mistress:
Wings was about to shift, then, Tek ready to climb up, when the scene around them began to change. The red sand became loamy, and then purple, still and dry, and from the trees overhead, Jaron could see lush fruits just begging to be eaten. “If we run into a raksha,” Wings told them. “Don’t accept anything from them. The way they see it, you become their slave for accepting a gift from them. Don’t eat anything or drink anything we see. Don’t let Nightmare eat anything, or even drink from here. The last thing you want is a horse mutated by the Wyld. Maybe she’ll have a fishtail for hind legs, or a humanoid head. ‘Kay?” She warned before becoming the giant bird, then, and Tek threw herself up onto Wings' back, settling quickly and hanging on.
Jaron:
"Fucking shit inna bucket fulla the same..." Jaron looked around wildly. This was like being inside of one big mirage. He kicked Nightmare's sides to spur her forward. "YAH! YAH! Let's go!"
Bard Mistress:
The horse took off, and Wings was right beside him, before inching ahead to try to navigate the way out. It seemed like an hour had gone by, and they were still surrounded by the purple sand. They seemed to be approaching the center of the oasis, and before it stood two figures, one of whom was sauntering towards them, her hips swinging, wearing a gauzy robe. Her skin was pale with green accents on her face, like the imprints of a plant, with a waspish waist and an ample chest. Her hair was long, reaching the ground, and wound with vines and flowers that seemed to move, opening and losing of their own accord. She wore a glowing smile. She was beyond striking, beyond anything of mortal standards. Jaron could only guess just how many men and women had died for a look at her.
Jaron:
Jaron held in Nightmare in front of the woman. "Howdy," he said, tipping his hat to her. "Ya'd be the lady a the house, ah take it?"
Bard Mistress:
Wings seemed to think so, as the bird let out a squawk. “Welcome,” the raksha’s smile was so very, very distracting. Behind the Fair One was a young-looking woman, her deep navy-blue hair divided into numerous thick braids that reached her shoulders, each covered in several large, glowing round beads. On her face were spiked, dark blue tattoos, one on her forehead, reaching down to between her eyes, one on her chin, the point ending at her lower lip, and two on each cheek, reaching the corner of her eyes and almost to her upper lip. Her skin, unlike the raksha’s, was deeply tanned.
While she was beautiful in her own right, she looked much like a dirty, unkempt pauper beside the fae... she was human.
She wore simple clothes, but well-crafted: a sleeveless vest with thin straps almost reached her waist before falling short, and a long skirt that hung off of rounded hips trailing down to the sand. The garments themselves were as blue as her hair and eyes, and decorated in almost hypnotic patterns of silver and white, with beads and stones and ribbons. She wore an attractive bracelet on her wrist, broad, almost cuff-like… and on closer inspection… despite all of its ethereal beauty… it rather looked like a shackle.
“May I offer you something? Water? Shade? Something to eat? It’s not every day I get guests. Willow, go get these lovely explorers something to rest with,” she told the young woman, who inclined her head, and turned to go.
Jaron:
"Nah, we're good, thank ya all the same," Jaron said, smiling crookedly. "Just lookin' fer a way back ta the ordinary desert, if ya catch mah meanin'. Ya just let us get on with that in peace, and we won't bother ya no further."
Bard Mistress:
Willow stopped, then, and glanced at him, flicking her blue eyes in another direction, warningly.
"You're very tired," the Raksha smiled alluringly. "My name, by the way, is Blossom." She peeled back the robe, revealing the garment of petals and vines underneath. The patterns of the colours on the petals were so vivid against the regular dullness of the desert. Jaron found himself unable to look away. He vaguely wanted to count them, to touch them. To stare at them. When had he ever seen a flower like that before? He was vaguely aware of the raksha’s voice in his ear, dripping with honey. He was so tired. He barely felt like standing. He needed to rest. He could see a dais, then, covered in pillows, surrounded by a web to keep the sand and sun off of whoever rested inside. Go lie down there, rest… he heard the raksha’s whisper between his ears.
Jaron:
Jaron shook his head to clear it, scowling furiously. This wasn't the kind of battle he was comfortable with, but if the lady thought she could tempt him with comforts, she was mistaken; he was so used to getting by without them that he wouldn't know what to do with them if he got them.
"Pleased ta meet ya, Blossom," he said. "Ah'm Jaron, an' this here's Tek. Ya got a mighty fine place here, but it ain't fer the likes a us mortals, I think." He furtively glanced in the direction Willow had indicated, trying to see what she had meant.
Bard Mistress:
There didn't seem to be anything in there. But Willow didn't seem dream-eaten, at least, not yet - maybe she knew the way out. They had been heading that way when Blossom had interrupted them, after all. "I insist," Blossom's smile widened further, her eyes gleaming.
Jaron:
"Well, see, here's the thing, Blossom," Jaron said. "Ya kin insist all ya want, 'cause we're not the most mannerly of folks, if ya see what ah mean, so we don't have us a problem rejectin' an offer a hospitality, rude as that might be. Still..." He clicked his tongue. "Ah don't want no favours from ya, no offense meant, but ah think ah want ta ask her maid servant here fer a favour, an' that's comin' with us and helpin' us find our way out - assumin' she can spare the time from her duties, that is." He grinned crookedly at Willow.
Bard Mistress:
"Hmmmm," Blossom made a show of thinking about it, pouting her green lips, one long finger tapping her cheek. "And what do I get if I acquiesce to this? After all, /you are just mortal/." The lie sank in. Truth was relative, and in the Wyld, Blossom's Undetectable Lie held sway, allowing the Solars to accept this as truth. His mind began to rationalize this. His powers had been stripped away? But... but...!
Jaron:
Jaron blinked. He was mortal again, just a man who was good with a flamepiece. The sense of weakness and vulnerability that overcame him was staggering - he was lost in this strange, mad land, a helpless victim of whatever atrocities might be done to him, forsaken by his god...
He paused. No... that didn't make sense. No matter how high and mighty the Fair One thought she was, he would not believe that she could so casually strip away the blessing of the Unconquered Sun himself.
"When ah led the Second Trollsbane Campaign," he growled, "the Fair Folk ah captured knelt b'fore me an' begged me fer mercy. Won't ya do the same, ya daughter a discord?"
He had no idea where the words came from, but he rode them like a tidal wave, letting them rush through him, helping him believe - and, with a cry of effort, he burst into bronze-golden light, the golden sun burning on his forehead like a threat.
Bard Mistress:
"I like that you do not bow," Blossom smiled. The glow on his forehead washing her pale skin. "It'll make tasting you all the sweeter. Something to savour." She extended a hand, only to blow whatever sort of purple dust was in it towards them. He heard thumps as Tek slumped on Wings before hitting the sand, and then the world went black...
--
He was walking up to a small farmhouse. He knew that farmhouse - and he knew it well. Some of the happiest times of his life had been spent there... and it had been the last place where he had truly been happy. It was the place he had bought when he'd left to marry Jilad.
Jaron:
Jaron stopped on the path. What the hell? He looked around, trying to see if there was any trace of Tek or Wings or Nightmare.
Bard Mistress:
There was no sign of any of them - just as there was no feeling of the Unconquered Sun inside or around him, just the dry, desert heat, the familiar muscle ache that came from hard work. Coming from inside of the house, he heard a woman singing, a voice that had gripped his dreams and his nightmares.
Jaron:
Jaron's feet started walking towards the sound without consulting him first. Inside of him a voice was crying no, no, no, no - but before he knew it, he wasn't just walking, he was running towards the house as fast as his legs could carry him.
Bard Mistress:
There were the desert roses outside that Jilad had carefully nurtured and coaxed to grow, a small garden thrived in the shade of a couple palm trees. All of those from before, just as he remembered them. The door opened easily, and he found Jilad, beautiful Jilad, singing as she stitched a saddle pad in the sunlight, looking up from her work at his entrance, smiling warmly at him.
Jaron:
Jaron stared for a long moment. "Howdy, wife," he said hoarsely.
Bard Mistress:
"'Howdy', yourself, husband," Jilad smiled at him, putting her work aside to get up to come towards him. "Is everything alright?" she held her arms out to embrace him.
Jaron:
Jaron drew a shuddering breath and took a step backwards. "'Fraid not," he said. "See, yer dead. Ain't the kinda thing ah'd be likely ter ferget. An' ah think if ah take another step, that'd be it an' ah'll become one a them Dream-eaten ferever. An' worse part is, ah know all that, an' ah still wanna do it."
Bard Mistress:
"I'm what?" Jilad was shocked, stunned, even, as she stopped, her lovely face working with emotions. Confusion. Fear. "What are you _talking_ about?"
Jaron:
"Ah love ya, Jilad," Jaron said, his voice breaking. "Always will, an' that's a fact. But this ain't real."
Feeling like he was tearing his heart out, he turned around and resolutely strode away from the house, tears stinging in his eyes.
Bard Mistress:
"Why would you even think that?" came her cries from behind him, and he heard footsteps as she followed him out of the house. "Jaron! Wait! Please!"
Jaron:
Jaron walked on, not looking back - knowing that if he looked back, all his self-control might well crumble. He swore to himself that for this, Blossom would die. If there had ever been a creature that deserved to die in a roar of flamepowder, it was one that was evil enough to do this.
Bard Mistress:
"Jaron, wait!" he felt her hands on his arm, and then he felt himself being shaken. The desert farm dissolved, like someone had shaking a glass jar of water, carrying it all away.
He blinked, then, and he found Willow crouched over him, one hand against his mouth to keep him from yelling, her striking, tanned face taut with concern.
Jaron:
Jaron blinked, focusing on the face floating over him. He made an impatient sound and tried to push her hand away.
Bard Mistress:
"Shh," Willow whispered, before letting him move her hand away. "Shh. She's distracted, right now, feeding on another. We must be quick, we must be quiet. I need your help to help free your companions."
Jaron:
"Right," Jaron muttered. He checked for his flamepieces, and for the iron-studded fighting gauntlet that should still be on his left hand. "Where are they?"
Bard Mistress:
Everything was still there. How long had he been out of it? "Come with me," Willow pushed herself away from him, letting him up. He found Nightmare standing impatiently outside of the gauze-draped dais he had been resting in. Apparently, Willow had brought her to him. "This way," she murmured to him, starting off in one direction, her long skirt leaving trails in the purple sand.
Jaron:
Jaron took Nightmare's reins and went after the woman. "What did she do ta me?" he hissed after Willow as he hurried along. "What is that sand a hers?"
Bard Mistress:
"It's called Oneiromany... dream magic," Willow told him, the glowing beads in her hair practically sucking in the sunlight. "The sand was just a prop. She started the dreaming spell as soon as she saw the three of you... and trapped each of you in your own dreams and desires. Three, because Blossom found the Lunar. It might be late for her... she has no love for the Chosen of Luna. But she was still entranced when I came to wake you." So there was hope, at least. They came upon Tek almost before Jaron realized it, the Djala swinging from a palm tree by her ankles, her entire body but for her face encased in something that looked like ruby spider's silk. She seemed to be sound asleep.
Jaron:
Swearing, Jaron released Nightmare and moved over to Tek. With quick motions, he peeled the spider silk off of her face. "Wake up!" he hissed. "Damn it, Tek, ya never flaked out on me before, an' this ain't the time ta start. Wake up!"
Bard Mistress:
"Careful," Willow peeled the sticking web from Jaron's hands. "Be ready to catch her," the young woman told him as she inserted her fingers into the webbing, and began to slowly peel it apart. It was persistent, but once it came off of Tek's skin, it was no longer glowing, just dull-red sticky ropes. "It's powered by Essence, you see. Yours. Hers." Tek dropped, then, right into Jaron's waiting arms. Hopefully he was careful about the iron spikes on the gauntlet. Menace wasn't around to heal her, after all.
Jaron:
Jaron caught Tek as carefully as he could.
"Seems ya know a thing or two about how things work around here," he mumbled, glancing at Willow. "How long've ya been workin' fer the Raksha bitch?"
Bard Mistress:
"A long time. And I don't think I would call being 'enslaved' the same as 'working for' someone," she glanced at him. Willow shook Tek's arm, then, with the hand that held the glowing shackle on her wrist. The Djala blinked slowly, and let out a whimpering "Rai" until she realized where she was.
Jaron:
Jaron grimaced. He recognised that name. "Yeah," he growled, looking down at Tek. "None a that was real. An' yeah, we're gonna kill the bitch fer it, today or next year, makes no difference, she was dead once she thought it was funny ta taunt us with what we've lost, am ah right? But right now, ya gotta get up an' goin'. We need ta get Wings."
Bard Mistress:
"Wings?" Tek shuddered, then, shaking the rest of her dream off, wanting down, then. Willow, in the meantime, had retrieved Tek's massive, Orichalcum sky cutter. She was barely able to lift it as she handed it to the Djala. Tek took it, then, looking around. "Where's Wings?"
"In grave danger," Willow risked a glance around before starting off again. "She doesn't like Lunars." Tek glanced at Jaron. This was the raksha's servant girl, and they were willingly following her why?
Jaron:
Jaron grimaced. "We can't even find our way 'round here on our own," he said. "We need help. Willow's the only game in town."
He paused, remembering that that reasoning was what had gotten them here in the first place.
"... look, we're takin' a chance on her not much wantin' ta be a slave," he said. "Don't seem like bad odds ta me."
Bard Mistress:
Tek nodded, then, trotting along over the purple sand, Skyscraper in her hand. "I need to get this off," Willow held up the wrist with the shackle, "before I can leave here. Otherwise, I'm bound to her." Jaron could see Wings, then, encased in what looked like a tight-fitting coffin of extremely thorny vines, laid out like she was dead. Silver and red dripped into a pan below the coffin, blood mixed with Gods only knew what. "You'll need your iron, here. Your iron can tear this off faster than I can," Willow was already pointing where to cut into the vines as they approached there. Tek fumbled in a pocket, pulling out a sharpened iron spike to help.
Jaron:
Jaron knelt by Wings, tearing through the vines with the iron spikes of his gauntlet as Willow indicated. "Ah'll get ta yer bracelet inna moment," he said. "We're all gettin' outa here."
Bard Mistress:
Tek was helping, stabbing into the vines. Willow peeled the thorny things away, revealing the Lunar within. She didn't seem to be breathing, and at last they were able to lift the Lunar out of there. Willow shook her. Once, twice, three times. Nothing. She pursed her lips, considering, and pressed her palm to the Lunar's forehead. She said a word that neither Tek nor Jaron understood and the girl’s eyes shot open, her mouth in a silent scream.
Jaron:
"Wings?" Jaron said, feeling as helpless as he always did when someone was wounded. "Ya with us, girl?"
Bard Mistress:
Willow drew her hand away, then, as Wings stared straight ahead, breathing heavily. Tek poked her. "Wings? Stop fooling around," the Djala's voice became sharper. "It's not funny, Wings," she pinched her, then, and that, at least, illicited a response as Wings drew away. "Set her down," Willow told Jaron, then, reaching for the pan of fluid that had been under the coffin.
Jaron:
Jaron warily lifted Wings out of the remnants of the thorn coffin, placing her on the oddly-coloured sand outside. "What's Blossom done ta her?" he said. "An' what's that gunk?"
Bard Mistress:
"She started draining her. Not consumed, not yet..." Willow swished the fluid in the pan before tilting it up. The blood went into the bottom, while the silver stayed in place. The blue-haired woman ran her fingers through it, gathering it up. "Not pretty," she lowered the pan, having gathered the rest of the silver, rolling it almost into a coil, and actually pressed it into one of the wounds on the back of Wings' shoulder, feeding it in. The girl started to scream, then, only to have the sound cut off by Tek's hand.
Jaron:
He had been the one who had made her come here, Jaron noted, almost dispassionately. Wings had wanted to leave, but he had insisted that they first try to warn the humans, and then that they put them out of their misery. Whatever happened to Wings was on him. Not a hint of all this showed in his face, but the sheer merciless fact of his responsibility filled his mind.
Bard Mistress:
Wings was breathing heavily by the time Willow had finished, clutching Tek's cloak and shaking like she wouldn't stop as the Djala just crouched there in front of her, holding her carefully. "We got to go," Tek told Wings quietly. "You ready? Can you walk?" Wings tried to stand up, and with assistance, she made it. She shifted, then, into the bird that she had been. "She'll be fine," Willow told them as she watched the bird take a few steps, sway, straighten, and crouch a little for Tek to gingerly climb up.
Jaron:
"Right," Jaron said, not convinced, but not feeling that there was time for arguments. "Lets do yer bracelet, then. Put yer wrist on the ground - press it down hard. 'Fraid this is gonna hurt, but we ain't get the tools ta do it all neat an' proper."
Bard Mistress:
"Remind me to find a set of iron tools," Tek muttered. Willow knelt on the ground, then, pressing her wrist down, the gleaming bracer almost taunting him against the purple sand.
Jaron:
Jaron raised his left fist high, leaving it hanging there for a long moment, visualising the exact path it would have to take, the way it would impact the bracelet. Then, with a grunt of Essence unleashed, he slammed the iron nails down on the center of the bracelet.
Bard Mistress:
Willow managed to only squeak as the iron went through the shackle, squeezing a handful of sand and letting it filter out between her fingers. She gripped his gauntlet, then, and pulled his hand back, letting go to draw her wrist towards her chest, her fingers parting the shackle, and letting it fall into the sand.
Bard Mistress:
She pinched her fingers around the blooded limb, then. "Let's go. This way," she glanced about her again before starting off at a quick pace.
Jaron:
Jaron sat up on Nightmare and rode after her, holding out his right hand to help her up on the horse's back when he got close.
Bard Mistress:
Willow accepted it, clutching her wrist as the skies overhead went black. "Run," she advised the Solar. "Straight ahead."
Jaron:
"YAH!" Jaron spurred Nightmare forward, setting the warhorse off in a gallop.
Bard Mistress:
They ran. Wings put up a valiant effort, the long, scaly legs following Nightmare. Just had to run until they got out of there. "The ground in front of you fifty feet away is going to erupt," Willow told him, hanging on behind him, "you need to turn your horse to the left!"
Jaron:
"This way!" Jaron shouted over his shoulder to Wings and Tek, turning Nightmare's course at the same time.
Bard Mistress:
Tek hung on for dear life as Wings chased Nightmare - true to what Willow had told him, the ground did erupt, and split, becoming a sandy chasm, and then another, as the ground seemed to fall away behind them. Nightmare needed no further urging as the warhorse pounded the sand, and just as an enormous spider loomed from somewhere to his right, it was gone. So, in fact, was the purple sand the blackened skies. Willow relaxed against his back. "Made it," she told Jaron, then, looking to make sure Tek and Wings were out as well - both were there. Heaving, but there.
Jaron:
Jaron took a deep breath. "Well, that was a mite more inn-terr-ess-ting than ah needed..." he mumbled. He turned back to look at Tek and Wings. "Ya two up fer some more ridin' b'fore we stop? Ah wouldn't mind puttin' some distance b'tween mahself an' Blossom right 'bout now."
Bard Mistress:
Willow was staring around them. "So this is Creation..." she murmured more to herself than anyone else.
"You okay to run?" Tek asked Wings, then, hugging the bird's neck a little encouragingly. Wings was silent, and squawked, ruffling her feathers. As good as an affirmative as they could hope to get.
Jaron:
Jaron set Nightmare off in a brisk trot. He glanced over his shoulder at Willow, raising an eyebrow. "Ya never been in Creation b'fore?" he said. "Now, how might that be?"
Bard Mistress:
"Oh, I've heard of it," Willow admitted. "But I've never seen it. I was born in the Wyld," she hung onto Jaron. "Time passes differently there."
Jaron:
"That so?" Jaron said. "Huh. Well, welcome ta yer ancestral home, then." He gestured morosely around the desolate waste. "It ain't much - it's kinda wretched, tell ya the truth - but it's home."
Bard Mistress:
"It lacks ground that's going to split without warning and bring up a sea of poisonous crabs?" Willow inquired.
Jaron:
"We don't see much a that, as a general rule, no," Jaron said, deadpan.
Bard Mistress:
"Then I'm sure I'll like it just fine." Willow smiled a little. "We were never properly introduced, by the way. My name is Will'O'Wisp... but call me Willow."
Jaron:
"Pleased ta meet ya, Willow," Jaron said. "Me, I go by Jaron Del. Ya saved our bacon back there. We're mighty thankful, rest assured. We'll see about findin' ya a place fer yerself in Creation."
Bard Mistress:
"I'm Tek," the Djala offered. "And this is Wings." "This will take some time to get used to," Willow smiled a little. "But thank you. You got me out. Getting you out was the least I could do."
Jaron:
"Now, why don't ya tell me all about ole Blossom while we're on the road to Rismang?" Jaron said. His eyes gleamed in the shadow under the wide brim of his hat. "I'll need ta know all I can find out. 'Cause she started somethin' today. An' when ah'm better prepared, ah'm gonna come find her again, an' finish it."
Bard Mistress:
End Chapter.
Without further ado, here it is.
Ascendancy, Chapter 4: The Greatest Of Plans
Bard Mistress:
They had set off from Haven two days ago, heading northeast towards Rismang. Menace had said to go there… that there might be something in Rismang he would be interested in. So they were on their way there, the three of them - Jaron, Tek, and Wings. Menace was nowhere to be found. She had disappeared, up and leaving without a word to anyone, not even Wings, who had searched for her for a day before concluding Menace didn’t want to be found, but they had best stay on track. The Silver Pact may have wanted her to do something, after all. The Sidereals could be tracking her. Who knew?
Jaron was riding Nightmare, and Tek was on Wings, in that ridiculous enormous bird-shape of hers that boosted the diminutive Djala to Jaron’s height. Tek did not care for riding, and probably would have preferred to crouch behind Jaron on Nightmare, but Wings had insisted. There was some strange glee, apparently, for the redhead to carry her Solar. Whatever it was, Tek just hung on tight to Wings and let her follow Jaron.
The sun was high in the sky, and the wind was kicking up. Jaron knew the desert well enough to know that sudden sandstorms could happen, and the problem was, they were too far away from any settlement to stop and find somewhere to hide it out. The best they could hope for would be some sort of shelter.
Jaron:
Jaron looked back and forth over the dunes, straining his sharp eyes to detect a trace of a shape that might prove to be an oasis or at least some rocks - anything, as long as it could get them out of the wind. He rolled his shoulders uneasily, making the armour clank. He hadn't worn armour for so long that he had forgotten how much it chafed.
Bard Mistress:
Through the whirlwind of sand, Jaron could make out a copse of palm trees, tall and thick, and what looked like a Delzhani caravan clustered around beneath it. Well, that might work… you never knew when a local god would get a wild hair and create an oasis, or a new god entered Creation and made one. As it was said… any port in a storm.
Jaron:
Jaron glanced over at Tek. "Come on," he said, tugging gently at Nightmare's reins to guide her in direction of the trees. "Ah think ah see some folks over that way. Let's go see if they're feelin' like makin' room fer two more, huh?"
Bard Mistress:
"Here's to hoping," Tek was almost drowned out by the wind, hanging onto Wings. The big bird just followed Nightmare, anyway, usually. They were about halfway there when Wings squawked and dashed in front of Nightmare, causing the big mare to draw up and snort and whinny. What the devil was the oddball Lunar up to? She ruffled her feathers, making herself twice as large, lowering her neck and hissing, like she was trying to drive the Dawn back from the oasis.
Jaron:
"Woah, girl, woah." Jaron held in Nightmare, giving Wings an exasperated look. "What's yer problem, Wings? We need ta get us some shelter, an' them tree're the only game in town."
Bard Mistress:
Wings shifted, then, becoming a teenager again. Tek flailed in the air for a moment as Wings caught her, shifting the Djala to her back. "No, no, no, no, no. We need to go! This is no good. This is Wyld. The storm must have blew it in. There hasn’t been a Wyld zone around here in a while. Fuck!"
Jaron:
Jaron felt his lack of education. "A Wyld zone?" he said slowly.
Bard Mistress:
"Yeah, a Wyld zone," Wings licked dry lips, looking around anxiously. "See, the Wyld is a fluid thing. It's pure chaos, really. That means some people have learned to gather it up and take it with them... and sometimes nature just blows it in with a harsh storm. Sometimes a raksha sets up camp, taints the area, and makes their own."
Jaron:
Jaron squinted over at the Delzhani. "Yer saying them folks over there are Fair Folk?" he said. "Not ta go doubtin' yer ex-per-teese here, but what're ya basin' that on, exactly?"
Bard Mistress:
"No, I don't think they're Fair Folk," Wings let Tek down, since the Djala was beginning to pinch her Lunar's exposed skin. "I think they wandered in, same as we did. Either that or they're an illusion set up to bring others into the trap. There's just this... feeling in the air. I can't really explain it. I just know when I'm in one."
Jaron:
Jaron pondered that. "Well, if they ARE just a bunch of ordinary stupid bastards, an' they got in here by mistake," he said, "ain't no way we can just leave'em here, is there? We gotta at least warn'em. I mean, don't rightly know why they'd believe us, but we gotta at least give'em the chance ta listen."
Bard Mistress:
"We could just leave 'em there," Wings admitted, "but if they're stuck, they're not going to come back out on their own. They'd be sitting ducks, just ripe for the picking," she exhaled. "Okay. We need to stick together, alright? The Wyld is messed up. Travel is messy here." She started towards the group, her Moonsilver fangs in her hands, just in case.
Jaron:
Jaron grimaced and nudged Nightmare forward. As he rode, he carefully strapped the fighting gauntlet onto his left hand, securing the leather straps around his wrist. He had a bad feeling about this.
Bard Mistress:
"Hey!" Wings called to them as they made their way closer to the huddling figures. "Hey!" There was not a word of response, not one indication of having even heard her. Maybe they didn't speak common?
Jaron:
Jaron gritted his teeth. "Hey!" he shouted. "Ya awake over there! Yer in the worst place ya could possibly have stopped in, an' ya need ta get yer asses outa here!" He paused, then repeated what he had said in High Realm, just in case.
Bard Mistress:
That garnered no reply, either. When they approached, they found the cluster was a group of Delzhani, alright, men, women, and children. They were lifeless, but alive, like their will to live had been sucked right out of them. “Dream-eaten,” Wings whispered. “They’ve been devoured… they’re husks. We’ve got a raksha problem. Great. Just… great. They’re probably going to sell these poor bastards off as slaves.” Their hollow, empty eyes seemed to bore right through Jaron. They would never recover - no magic of Creation could recover what they had lost. Death would be a release for them.
Wings glanced at Jaron, then. “What do you want to do? Leave them or kill them?”
Jaron:
Jaron swore a long, furious string, then dismounted Nightmare and drew his knife. "C'mon," he said. "This is gonna have ta be quick, an it ain't gonna be pretty."
Swearing curses over all Fair Folk, he walked up to the first of the Dream-eaten and, with a quick motion, slashed her throat. Before she had even hit the ground, he was moving on to the next.
Bard Mistress:
Wings nodded, and Tek drew her blades as they began to work their way through the group, slitting throats and staining the sand red with blood. By the time they had finished, they all had blood on them. "We need to leave," Wings said grimly. "They're going to see their prizes dead, and they're going to come looking. They'll have a harder time finding us in Creation. We just need to get out here."
Tek glanced at Wings. “So…? How do we get out of it?”
“The Wyld border, in a thing like this, is moving with the storm. We can go back the way we came, but that can make things worse,” Wings blew out her cheeks. "But that's our only option. If we go further, we're going deeper."
Jaron:
"Right." Jaron wiped the knife off as best as he could on the clothes of one of the Dream-eaten - disrespectful, to be sure, but he knew better than to leave a blade uncleaned. "Mount up. Time ta ride like Malfeas himself was after us!" He swung himself up into Nightmare's saddle and waiting for the women to be ready to go.
Bard Mistress:
Wings was about to shift, then, Tek ready to climb up, when the scene around them began to change. The red sand became loamy, and then purple, still and dry, and from the trees overhead, Jaron could see lush fruits just begging to be eaten. “If we run into a raksha,” Wings told them. “Don’t accept anything from them. The way they see it, you become their slave for accepting a gift from them. Don’t eat anything or drink anything we see. Don’t let Nightmare eat anything, or even drink from here. The last thing you want is a horse mutated by the Wyld. Maybe she’ll have a fishtail for hind legs, or a humanoid head. ‘Kay?” She warned before becoming the giant bird, then, and Tek threw herself up onto Wings' back, settling quickly and hanging on.
Jaron:
"Fucking shit inna bucket fulla the same..." Jaron looked around wildly. This was like being inside of one big mirage. He kicked Nightmare's sides to spur her forward. "YAH! YAH! Let's go!"
Bard Mistress:
The horse took off, and Wings was right beside him, before inching ahead to try to navigate the way out. It seemed like an hour had gone by, and they were still surrounded by the purple sand. They seemed to be approaching the center of the oasis, and before it stood two figures, one of whom was sauntering towards them, her hips swinging, wearing a gauzy robe. Her skin was pale with green accents on her face, like the imprints of a plant, with a waspish waist and an ample chest. Her hair was long, reaching the ground, and wound with vines and flowers that seemed to move, opening and losing of their own accord. She wore a glowing smile. She was beyond striking, beyond anything of mortal standards. Jaron could only guess just how many men and women had died for a look at her.
Jaron:
Jaron held in Nightmare in front of the woman. "Howdy," he said, tipping his hat to her. "Ya'd be the lady a the house, ah take it?"
Bard Mistress:
Wings seemed to think so, as the bird let out a squawk. “Welcome,” the raksha’s smile was so very, very distracting. Behind the Fair One was a young-looking woman, her deep navy-blue hair divided into numerous thick braids that reached her shoulders, each covered in several large, glowing round beads. On her face were spiked, dark blue tattoos, one on her forehead, reaching down to between her eyes, one on her chin, the point ending at her lower lip, and two on each cheek, reaching the corner of her eyes and almost to her upper lip. Her skin, unlike the raksha’s, was deeply tanned.
While she was beautiful in her own right, she looked much like a dirty, unkempt pauper beside the fae... she was human.
She wore simple clothes, but well-crafted: a sleeveless vest with thin straps almost reached her waist before falling short, and a long skirt that hung off of rounded hips trailing down to the sand. The garments themselves were as blue as her hair and eyes, and decorated in almost hypnotic patterns of silver and white, with beads and stones and ribbons. She wore an attractive bracelet on her wrist, broad, almost cuff-like… and on closer inspection… despite all of its ethereal beauty… it rather looked like a shackle.
“May I offer you something? Water? Shade? Something to eat? It’s not every day I get guests. Willow, go get these lovely explorers something to rest with,” she told the young woman, who inclined her head, and turned to go.
Jaron:
"Nah, we're good, thank ya all the same," Jaron said, smiling crookedly. "Just lookin' fer a way back ta the ordinary desert, if ya catch mah meanin'. Ya just let us get on with that in peace, and we won't bother ya no further."
Bard Mistress:
Willow stopped, then, and glanced at him, flicking her blue eyes in another direction, warningly.
"You're very tired," the Raksha smiled alluringly. "My name, by the way, is Blossom." She peeled back the robe, revealing the garment of petals and vines underneath. The patterns of the colours on the petals were so vivid against the regular dullness of the desert. Jaron found himself unable to look away. He vaguely wanted to count them, to touch them. To stare at them. When had he ever seen a flower like that before? He was vaguely aware of the raksha’s voice in his ear, dripping with honey. He was so tired. He barely felt like standing. He needed to rest. He could see a dais, then, covered in pillows, surrounded by a web to keep the sand and sun off of whoever rested inside. Go lie down there, rest… he heard the raksha’s whisper between his ears.
Jaron:
Jaron shook his head to clear it, scowling furiously. This wasn't the kind of battle he was comfortable with, but if the lady thought she could tempt him with comforts, she was mistaken; he was so used to getting by without them that he wouldn't know what to do with them if he got them.
"Pleased ta meet ya, Blossom," he said. "Ah'm Jaron, an' this here's Tek. Ya got a mighty fine place here, but it ain't fer the likes a us mortals, I think." He furtively glanced in the direction Willow had indicated, trying to see what she had meant.
Bard Mistress:
There didn't seem to be anything in there. But Willow didn't seem dream-eaten, at least, not yet - maybe she knew the way out. They had been heading that way when Blossom had interrupted them, after all. "I insist," Blossom's smile widened further, her eyes gleaming.
Jaron:
"Well, see, here's the thing, Blossom," Jaron said. "Ya kin insist all ya want, 'cause we're not the most mannerly of folks, if ya see what ah mean, so we don't have us a problem rejectin' an offer a hospitality, rude as that might be. Still..." He clicked his tongue. "Ah don't want no favours from ya, no offense meant, but ah think ah want ta ask her maid servant here fer a favour, an' that's comin' with us and helpin' us find our way out - assumin' she can spare the time from her duties, that is." He grinned crookedly at Willow.
Bard Mistress:
"Hmmmm," Blossom made a show of thinking about it, pouting her green lips, one long finger tapping her cheek. "And what do I get if I acquiesce to this? After all, /you are just mortal/." The lie sank in. Truth was relative, and in the Wyld, Blossom's Undetectable Lie held sway, allowing the Solars to accept this as truth. His mind began to rationalize this. His powers had been stripped away? But... but...!
Jaron:
Jaron blinked. He was mortal again, just a man who was good with a flamepiece. The sense of weakness and vulnerability that overcame him was staggering - he was lost in this strange, mad land, a helpless victim of whatever atrocities might be done to him, forsaken by his god...
He paused. No... that didn't make sense. No matter how high and mighty the Fair One thought she was, he would not believe that she could so casually strip away the blessing of the Unconquered Sun himself.
"When ah led the Second Trollsbane Campaign," he growled, "the Fair Folk ah captured knelt b'fore me an' begged me fer mercy. Won't ya do the same, ya daughter a discord?"
He had no idea where the words came from, but he rode them like a tidal wave, letting them rush through him, helping him believe - and, with a cry of effort, he burst into bronze-golden light, the golden sun burning on his forehead like a threat.
Bard Mistress:
"I like that you do not bow," Blossom smiled. The glow on his forehead washing her pale skin. "It'll make tasting you all the sweeter. Something to savour." She extended a hand, only to blow whatever sort of purple dust was in it towards them. He heard thumps as Tek slumped on Wings before hitting the sand, and then the world went black...
--
He was walking up to a small farmhouse. He knew that farmhouse - and he knew it well. Some of the happiest times of his life had been spent there... and it had been the last place where he had truly been happy. It was the place he had bought when he'd left to marry Jilad.
Jaron:
Jaron stopped on the path. What the hell? He looked around, trying to see if there was any trace of Tek or Wings or Nightmare.
Bard Mistress:
There was no sign of any of them - just as there was no feeling of the Unconquered Sun inside or around him, just the dry, desert heat, the familiar muscle ache that came from hard work. Coming from inside of the house, he heard a woman singing, a voice that had gripped his dreams and his nightmares.
Jaron:
Jaron's feet started walking towards the sound without consulting him first. Inside of him a voice was crying no, no, no, no - but before he knew it, he wasn't just walking, he was running towards the house as fast as his legs could carry him.
Bard Mistress:
There were the desert roses outside that Jilad had carefully nurtured and coaxed to grow, a small garden thrived in the shade of a couple palm trees. All of those from before, just as he remembered them. The door opened easily, and he found Jilad, beautiful Jilad, singing as she stitched a saddle pad in the sunlight, looking up from her work at his entrance, smiling warmly at him.
Jaron:
Jaron stared for a long moment. "Howdy, wife," he said hoarsely.
Bard Mistress:
"'Howdy', yourself, husband," Jilad smiled at him, putting her work aside to get up to come towards him. "Is everything alright?" she held her arms out to embrace him.
Jaron:
Jaron drew a shuddering breath and took a step backwards. "'Fraid not," he said. "See, yer dead. Ain't the kinda thing ah'd be likely ter ferget. An' ah think if ah take another step, that'd be it an' ah'll become one a them Dream-eaten ferever. An' worse part is, ah know all that, an' ah still wanna do it."
Bard Mistress:
"I'm what?" Jilad was shocked, stunned, even, as she stopped, her lovely face working with emotions. Confusion. Fear. "What are you _talking_ about?"
Jaron:
"Ah love ya, Jilad," Jaron said, his voice breaking. "Always will, an' that's a fact. But this ain't real."
Feeling like he was tearing his heart out, he turned around and resolutely strode away from the house, tears stinging in his eyes.
Bard Mistress:
"Why would you even think that?" came her cries from behind him, and he heard footsteps as she followed him out of the house. "Jaron! Wait! Please!"
Jaron:
Jaron walked on, not looking back - knowing that if he looked back, all his self-control might well crumble. He swore to himself that for this, Blossom would die. If there had ever been a creature that deserved to die in a roar of flamepowder, it was one that was evil enough to do this.
Bard Mistress:
"Jaron, wait!" he felt her hands on his arm, and then he felt himself being shaken. The desert farm dissolved, like someone had shaking a glass jar of water, carrying it all away.
He blinked, then, and he found Willow crouched over him, one hand against his mouth to keep him from yelling, her striking, tanned face taut with concern.
Jaron:
Jaron blinked, focusing on the face floating over him. He made an impatient sound and tried to push her hand away.
Bard Mistress:
"Shh," Willow whispered, before letting him move her hand away. "Shh. She's distracted, right now, feeding on another. We must be quick, we must be quiet. I need your help to help free your companions."
Jaron:
"Right," Jaron muttered. He checked for his flamepieces, and for the iron-studded fighting gauntlet that should still be on his left hand. "Where are they?"
Bard Mistress:
Everything was still there. How long had he been out of it? "Come with me," Willow pushed herself away from him, letting him up. He found Nightmare standing impatiently outside of the gauze-draped dais he had been resting in. Apparently, Willow had brought her to him. "This way," she murmured to him, starting off in one direction, her long skirt leaving trails in the purple sand.
Jaron:
Jaron took Nightmare's reins and went after the woman. "What did she do ta me?" he hissed after Willow as he hurried along. "What is that sand a hers?"
Bard Mistress:
"It's called Oneiromany... dream magic," Willow told him, the glowing beads in her hair practically sucking in the sunlight. "The sand was just a prop. She started the dreaming spell as soon as she saw the three of you... and trapped each of you in your own dreams and desires. Three, because Blossom found the Lunar. It might be late for her... she has no love for the Chosen of Luna. But she was still entranced when I came to wake you." So there was hope, at least. They came upon Tek almost before Jaron realized it, the Djala swinging from a palm tree by her ankles, her entire body but for her face encased in something that looked like ruby spider's silk. She seemed to be sound asleep.
Jaron:
Swearing, Jaron released Nightmare and moved over to Tek. With quick motions, he peeled the spider silk off of her face. "Wake up!" he hissed. "Damn it, Tek, ya never flaked out on me before, an' this ain't the time ta start. Wake up!"
Bard Mistress:
"Careful," Willow peeled the sticking web from Jaron's hands. "Be ready to catch her," the young woman told him as she inserted her fingers into the webbing, and began to slowly peel it apart. It was persistent, but once it came off of Tek's skin, it was no longer glowing, just dull-red sticky ropes. "It's powered by Essence, you see. Yours. Hers." Tek dropped, then, right into Jaron's waiting arms. Hopefully he was careful about the iron spikes on the gauntlet. Menace wasn't around to heal her, after all.
Jaron:
Jaron caught Tek as carefully as he could.
"Seems ya know a thing or two about how things work around here," he mumbled, glancing at Willow. "How long've ya been workin' fer the Raksha bitch?"
Bard Mistress:
"A long time. And I don't think I would call being 'enslaved' the same as 'working for' someone," she glanced at him. Willow shook Tek's arm, then, with the hand that held the glowing shackle on her wrist. The Djala blinked slowly, and let out a whimpering "Rai" until she realized where she was.
Jaron:
Jaron grimaced. He recognised that name. "Yeah," he growled, looking down at Tek. "None a that was real. An' yeah, we're gonna kill the bitch fer it, today or next year, makes no difference, she was dead once she thought it was funny ta taunt us with what we've lost, am ah right? But right now, ya gotta get up an' goin'. We need ta get Wings."
Bard Mistress:
"Wings?" Tek shuddered, then, shaking the rest of her dream off, wanting down, then. Willow, in the meantime, had retrieved Tek's massive, Orichalcum sky cutter. She was barely able to lift it as she handed it to the Djala. Tek took it, then, looking around. "Where's Wings?"
"In grave danger," Willow risked a glance around before starting off again. "She doesn't like Lunars." Tek glanced at Jaron. This was the raksha's servant girl, and they were willingly following her why?
Jaron:
Jaron grimaced. "We can't even find our way 'round here on our own," he said. "We need help. Willow's the only game in town."
He paused, remembering that that reasoning was what had gotten them here in the first place.
"... look, we're takin' a chance on her not much wantin' ta be a slave," he said. "Don't seem like bad odds ta me."
Bard Mistress:
Tek nodded, then, trotting along over the purple sand, Skyscraper in her hand. "I need to get this off," Willow held up the wrist with the shackle, "before I can leave here. Otherwise, I'm bound to her." Jaron could see Wings, then, encased in what looked like a tight-fitting coffin of extremely thorny vines, laid out like she was dead. Silver and red dripped into a pan below the coffin, blood mixed with Gods only knew what. "You'll need your iron, here. Your iron can tear this off faster than I can," Willow was already pointing where to cut into the vines as they approached there. Tek fumbled in a pocket, pulling out a sharpened iron spike to help.
Jaron:
Jaron knelt by Wings, tearing through the vines with the iron spikes of his gauntlet as Willow indicated. "Ah'll get ta yer bracelet inna moment," he said. "We're all gettin' outa here."
Bard Mistress:
Tek was helping, stabbing into the vines. Willow peeled the thorny things away, revealing the Lunar within. She didn't seem to be breathing, and at last they were able to lift the Lunar out of there. Willow shook her. Once, twice, three times. Nothing. She pursed her lips, considering, and pressed her palm to the Lunar's forehead. She said a word that neither Tek nor Jaron understood and the girl’s eyes shot open, her mouth in a silent scream.
Jaron:
"Wings?" Jaron said, feeling as helpless as he always did when someone was wounded. "Ya with us, girl?"
Bard Mistress:
Willow drew her hand away, then, as Wings stared straight ahead, breathing heavily. Tek poked her. "Wings? Stop fooling around," the Djala's voice became sharper. "It's not funny, Wings," she pinched her, then, and that, at least, illicited a response as Wings drew away. "Set her down," Willow told Jaron, then, reaching for the pan of fluid that had been under the coffin.
Jaron:
Jaron warily lifted Wings out of the remnants of the thorn coffin, placing her on the oddly-coloured sand outside. "What's Blossom done ta her?" he said. "An' what's that gunk?"
Bard Mistress:
"She started draining her. Not consumed, not yet..." Willow swished the fluid in the pan before tilting it up. The blood went into the bottom, while the silver stayed in place. The blue-haired woman ran her fingers through it, gathering it up. "Not pretty," she lowered the pan, having gathered the rest of the silver, rolling it almost into a coil, and actually pressed it into one of the wounds on the back of Wings' shoulder, feeding it in. The girl started to scream, then, only to have the sound cut off by Tek's hand.
Jaron:
He had been the one who had made her come here, Jaron noted, almost dispassionately. Wings had wanted to leave, but he had insisted that they first try to warn the humans, and then that they put them out of their misery. Whatever happened to Wings was on him. Not a hint of all this showed in his face, but the sheer merciless fact of his responsibility filled his mind.
Bard Mistress:
Wings was breathing heavily by the time Willow had finished, clutching Tek's cloak and shaking like she wouldn't stop as the Djala just crouched there in front of her, holding her carefully. "We got to go," Tek told Wings quietly. "You ready? Can you walk?" Wings tried to stand up, and with assistance, she made it. She shifted, then, into the bird that she had been. "She'll be fine," Willow told them as she watched the bird take a few steps, sway, straighten, and crouch a little for Tek to gingerly climb up.
Jaron:
"Right," Jaron said, not convinced, but not feeling that there was time for arguments. "Lets do yer bracelet, then. Put yer wrist on the ground - press it down hard. 'Fraid this is gonna hurt, but we ain't get the tools ta do it all neat an' proper."
Bard Mistress:
"Remind me to find a set of iron tools," Tek muttered. Willow knelt on the ground, then, pressing her wrist down, the gleaming bracer almost taunting him against the purple sand.
Jaron:
Jaron raised his left fist high, leaving it hanging there for a long moment, visualising the exact path it would have to take, the way it would impact the bracelet. Then, with a grunt of Essence unleashed, he slammed the iron nails down on the center of the bracelet.
Bard Mistress:
Willow managed to only squeak as the iron went through the shackle, squeezing a handful of sand and letting it filter out between her fingers. She gripped his gauntlet, then, and pulled his hand back, letting go to draw her wrist towards her chest, her fingers parting the shackle, and letting it fall into the sand.
Bard Mistress:
She pinched her fingers around the blooded limb, then. "Let's go. This way," she glanced about her again before starting off at a quick pace.
Jaron:
Jaron sat up on Nightmare and rode after her, holding out his right hand to help her up on the horse's back when he got close.
Bard Mistress:
Willow accepted it, clutching her wrist as the skies overhead went black. "Run," she advised the Solar. "Straight ahead."
Jaron:
"YAH!" Jaron spurred Nightmare forward, setting the warhorse off in a gallop.
Bard Mistress:
They ran. Wings put up a valiant effort, the long, scaly legs following Nightmare. Just had to run until they got out of there. "The ground in front of you fifty feet away is going to erupt," Willow told him, hanging on behind him, "you need to turn your horse to the left!"
Jaron:
"This way!" Jaron shouted over his shoulder to Wings and Tek, turning Nightmare's course at the same time.
Bard Mistress:
Tek hung on for dear life as Wings chased Nightmare - true to what Willow had told him, the ground did erupt, and split, becoming a sandy chasm, and then another, as the ground seemed to fall away behind them. Nightmare needed no further urging as the warhorse pounded the sand, and just as an enormous spider loomed from somewhere to his right, it was gone. So, in fact, was the purple sand the blackened skies. Willow relaxed against his back. "Made it," she told Jaron, then, looking to make sure Tek and Wings were out as well - both were there. Heaving, but there.
Jaron:
Jaron took a deep breath. "Well, that was a mite more inn-terr-ess-ting than ah needed..." he mumbled. He turned back to look at Tek and Wings. "Ya two up fer some more ridin' b'fore we stop? Ah wouldn't mind puttin' some distance b'tween mahself an' Blossom right 'bout now."
Bard Mistress:
Willow was staring around them. "So this is Creation..." she murmured more to herself than anyone else.
"You okay to run?" Tek asked Wings, then, hugging the bird's neck a little encouragingly. Wings was silent, and squawked, ruffling her feathers. As good as an affirmative as they could hope to get.
Jaron:
Jaron set Nightmare off in a brisk trot. He glanced over his shoulder at Willow, raising an eyebrow. "Ya never been in Creation b'fore?" he said. "Now, how might that be?"
Bard Mistress:
"Oh, I've heard of it," Willow admitted. "But I've never seen it. I was born in the Wyld," she hung onto Jaron. "Time passes differently there."
Jaron:
"That so?" Jaron said. "Huh. Well, welcome ta yer ancestral home, then." He gestured morosely around the desolate waste. "It ain't much - it's kinda wretched, tell ya the truth - but it's home."
Bard Mistress:
"It lacks ground that's going to split without warning and bring up a sea of poisonous crabs?" Willow inquired.
Jaron:
"We don't see much a that, as a general rule, no," Jaron said, deadpan.
Bard Mistress:
"Then I'm sure I'll like it just fine." Willow smiled a little. "We were never properly introduced, by the way. My name is Will'O'Wisp... but call me Willow."
Jaron:
"Pleased ta meet ya, Willow," Jaron said. "Me, I go by Jaron Del. Ya saved our bacon back there. We're mighty thankful, rest assured. We'll see about findin' ya a place fer yerself in Creation."
Bard Mistress:
"I'm Tek," the Djala offered. "And this is Wings." "This will take some time to get used to," Willow smiled a little. "But thank you. You got me out. Getting you out was the least I could do."
Jaron:
"Now, why don't ya tell me all about ole Blossom while we're on the road to Rismang?" Jaron said. His eyes gleamed in the shadow under the wide brim of his hat. "I'll need ta know all I can find out. 'Cause she started somethin' today. An' when ah'm better prepared, ah'm gonna come find her again, an' finish it."
Bard Mistress:
End Chapter.