Turn 4 (VIII 28-37)
Feathered wings beat the air with great, quick, strong and powerful strokes. Feathers blacker than sable and lightly oiled flow through the air like fish scales through the water, carrying you along and keeping the frosty touch of the cold wind this far up from your sensitive flesh. This high up the only thing you're worried about is an eagle deciding you'd make a fine meal but, the risk is worth it to your eyes: while a Raven's eyes are only mildly better than an elves', the sleek black body and small smize means you are very stealthy in this place, against both mundane predators and your true prey:
Druchii. The savages who have been poisoning the wild places may be dead, but who knows if that is all of them? If they had backup, or some other figures survived their lethal run in with the hidden Shrine of Asuryan in the mountains, they may well plotting something, up to some bleak, vile mischief no doubt, the traitors.
And so you fly overhead in this form looking for any sign of your depraved kin.
It helps that it is a
hell of a view from up here.
The forests, primordial and ancient and powerful, emerge like arrows stuck into the dirt by Asuryan's own bow, vigorous, pined evergreen piled with snow-flakes like gold and ice like deepest sapphire. Animals rest within, hibernating in the face of the ancient cold. Twinkling rivers flowing too fast for ice to form carve through the frigid white-blanketed dirt as though Vaul Himself took chisel and carved the most beautiful and intricate of lines into the black rock and filigreed it with blued-gold. Lakes are damascened onto the black iron of the dirt as well, sapphires fit snug and for the moment covered over with ice, good and thick and natural, and as you watch children and parents alike play: everything from simple games of catch to more complicated ones involving skating on the ice and trying to take control of a ball.
Did you and your parents ever enjoy anything so simple? Ever?
You leave melancholy thoughts behind to scan once more. Chimneys in the village puff out smoke, gray and white and black, as the inhabitants try and keep their homes warm in the cold of Ulthuan's Frost: not so terrible compared to the bleak colds of Elthin Arvan that can pluck a man's heart from his chest and show it to him, or especially those unlucky souls stuck at the south portion of the Gate of Calith. Gods that place is cursed enough as is, and then to be there in the cold months? There is a reason they try and cajole so many mages to it, and it certainly isn't because the Beastfiends produce more than adequate Bray Shamans of their own. That kind of cold insists on magic to endure it in anything even close to civilized circumstances, and even sent halfway across the world to protect the waystones, the need for civilization endures.
You flap your wings and head towards the ground.
Claws hard and sharp bite into mud as you lope through snow choked forests where the beasts all rest. All is as it should be. The beasts sleep waiting for noble Asuryan's sun to wake them from their slumber. This close you can see the fish swimming through the rivers or underneath the glass glaze of ice that rests atop the lakes like a mantle of sapphire. This close you can see things more clearly, more detailed, than you could under the mantle of the raven.
More importantly, you can smell them all better. Clad as you are in the shape of a wolf navigating the forest, even covered as it is by ice and frost, is no more difficult to you than breathing is to an elf, or murder is to the Haclad. A vital mist, a fog, of scents travels onto you and you examine each of them in turn, looking for even the slightest hint of the bright iron stench and sooty coal stink of the Druchii and their ill-works.
So far all you have seen, or rather smelled, is exactly what it should be. The wafting smell of the evergreens, the hidden stink of animals, the juicy pungence of berries. Each you catch. Much as you catch burning wood and perfumes when you travel too near to the cities, and then you catch the smell of the White Lions (the beasts, that is, of course) and hear their growling in the distance as well.
You must not hate. You must not hate. It is the edict of the Everqueen herself, beloved Ystrielle the Wise, protector of the Asur and avatar of Isha. Sage of counsel, skilled of magic, benevolent of purpose and beloved of her people. It is the edict of Asuryan, who can no more hate elves, any elves, than He can unbalance the world. It is the edict of the White Tower. To hate is to descend to the level of the Druchii, to become like that which wounded your family.
But they make it so easy with their deeds. Their acts, vile and abominable. Slaughter, slavery, conquest and genocide, all beneath the dignity of your people, of an elf. You were born to
save the world, to protect it and those who share it with you, not stride it as murderers and slayers and killers yourselves, no better than the creatures that slither and crawl their way from the north and south poles, than the goblins and the orcs, than the undead. They refuse this task, and cling to ancient glories even as they slather themselves in blood, justifying it all the while as their right for their sacrifices during the Incursion.
You must not hate them…but then what is this feeling in your chest? What is this feeling that blossoms every time you consider the bringers of darkness? What do you call the twitching fury that grows—
You sniff. There was an odd stink on the wind, mist meddled with…something. You can hardly know what, but it was like…wisteria, brewed with hydrangea and oleander.
You sniff some more, but nothing is forthcoming.
Curious.
And troubling.
The tree shakes under your weight as your claws dig into the bark and the supple evergreen wood underneath, smearing them with sap. Since that day you have not caught a whiff of that which you smelled so long ago but it lurks within your mind, and so you have hunted for it. For now in the shape of a bear, climbing the tall evergreens, the resting oak, the ash and pine. Flowers now wait to bloom once more even as the magic around you, flowing into the vortex, grows more and more perturbed.
The shape of a bear, perfectly suited for this work.
Adroit and skillful you go onward, looking and looking and thinking as you do.
You must not hate. So decrees the Everqueen. So decrees Asuryan. So decrees the White Tower.
But then what of the Shadowlanders, the Nagarythians of this age, those left behind, those loyal? They have never run from their hate, not in truth, not the Shadow Warriors certainly. If the blood betwixt you and Druchii is thickened with rivalry and treachery and slaughter, then how much worse for those that have battled with the Druchii from the beginning, and likely as not to the end? You do not know how much merit to place onto the stories flowing from those who visit their lands, who neighbor them, for what lies and half-truths and myths might spread? Would the Phoenix King truly allow children to be kidnapped? Would he truly allow in turn that an innocent soul should be brought up
by the Druchii and turned to their evil workings? In good conscience, could either option be allowed?
And then there is your family history burning, just as surely as the general causes all people have to hate those who would invade them, slay them, murder and enslave them. By the foolishness of your kin, your honor is impugned. By the foolishness of the Blackfangs what was right in this world is made just a little worse, and what was noble at heart is broken down, shattered and sent away. From the friends of beasts to their slayers and slavers, cruel hearted and empty of spirit—aye, Karond Kar must be broken, the Beastmasters must pay for their crimes, nature must be restored to harmony. It is the duty of your family, and as a child you drank it down with your mother's milk, and learned to read with such letters as your Great-Grandfather wrote trying to cohere a defense against the traitors.
Can you do that without hating? Can you restore your honor and the balance and all things without becoming that which you fight again? Should you? Is there no argument to be had that hating these people is only right and just, in its own way? No. Not if the Everqueen says otherwise. For through her speaks Isha; and through Isha, speaks wisdom. So then you cannot hate them; but they still must be fought, for the sake of those they enslave, mortal and beast alike. A difficult line to walk.
Not for the first time today you envy bears and wolves and ravens, who need not worry about the line but only seek to feed themselves.
No treachery of forms this time, no clever moves with magic. You simply walk about the forest idly and without much of a plan, trusting that fate will carry you where you need to be.
Anything to get away from home. Since your argument those twenty years past things have been…awkward between yourself and your parents and not without cause. It needed to be said. THe words would have burned in you like a brand otherwise. But did you say them adroitly, skillfully, with rhetoric and reason? Or were you simply like the beasts which you love, raging and raging against the injustice you feel done to you? Both? Neither?
It says something that thinking about your duty against the Druchii held less weight and was considerably more straightforward.
On instinct you kneel down and give a squirrel a handful of nuts from your pack, the creature looking dreadful thin from the Frost and drawn by the Hysh and Ghyran that flow around you as motes. Yes, yes, balance of nature, predator and prey, the Cycle, so on and so forth but what is the point of being adjacent to and capable of examining nature if you could not also, on occasion, supercede it? Nature is not inviolable in the first place, your entire profession is testament and mark of that. The Rules of the World should be abided of course, and you will certainly not be warping any beasts for fun; but is a handful of nuts to a singular creature truly such a violation of your ethos? To hear it told by the folk of the White Tower who study Ghur, to the Beastwalkers it is so; but then odds as not that they are simply bitter that so many of that group refused to accede to the tower's authority. You've hardly examined them enough to have an opinion on the matter anyway.
You continue to walk. Your boots dig trenches through the snow as you resume the streams of thought your walk had taken you on, one of the privileges of your beloved Ghur rather than odious Azyr.
Yes, you must confront the Druchii. Their empire in Naggaroth must be
broken, the evils they done confronted. But then what? Are you to slaughter the lot of them, women and children too? Absurd. Obscene. Vile. An aberration against nature; even predators will not seek to devour the prey of the young, lest there be no prey at all left to feast on. But what then? Are you to break them and then leave them, and run the risk that they will in time readhere, reform, and attack again except now with their grudge bloody-doubled, and weighty with that great defeat? Are you to stay and try and beat the evil from them as one beats iron into shape for a sword? It must be done, your ancestors insist on it. But how? What is the cost?
Unbidden you sit down under a tree, drying the soil with a spot of Aqshy, and pull out the sheaf with the story you have been reading. The Avelornian has just brought her Druchii captive some bread, honeyed and layered with cinnamon, if you aren't mistaken…
(5 AP available, Focus is currently soothed)
Requests and Commissions
[] Keeping Them Out: The Druchii have apparently been managing to sneak into Chrace and into Ulthuan. Magic, of course, is an excellent answer for how but that is only part of the story. While your parents and the rest of the Kingdom have been hard at work examining the entrance and the body you found, you could contribute in ensuring it does not happen again. (0/5 Progress, Procs Ancient Embers, soothes Focus, Standing, Favors from Chrace)
[] Arming the March: The Long March always, always,
always needs more weapons, more armor, more everything for its soldiers: not everyone can march to war armed with Wyraza Drengul, after all. It would please all of Chrace to show your wealth and power by sending yet more enchanted weapons out, though you lack the supplies for more advanced construction as yet. (Requires at least 1 AP, Chrace Standing, Favors)
[] Hometown Pride: Normally you would leave Tor Gard to sit and spin but their prince has been insulted by none other than a Khaine-loved
Ellyrion and that simply will not do for he is still of Chrace. Create a treasure to show the wealth of Chrace to the world. The Horse-Lords will be unenthused but, you quite simply cannot find it within yourself to care. (Requires at least 1 AP, Chrace Standing, Chrace favors, -To Ellyrion standing, Crafting Turn)
[] Bits and Bobs: There are treasures lurking within the forests of Chrace, oddities and rarities and so on. You doubt anything too special, short of things going very awry, but you could use whatever you find the next time you are called on to create something special. (Requires at least 1 AP, Gain Craft Materials)
[-] A Gift for the Prince: As the daughter of Prince Firemane, Tethia could help you present a gift to her father the Prince of Chrace though there are certain standards expected of who he will accept gifts from in turn. Your immediate family is of course supportive of the idea; however the broader House will need to be brought around. It will, however, certainly increase your standings with the higher levels of Chracian society at least. (Requires at least 1 AP, Chrace Favors and Standing, currently locked since magic is not developed enough)
Research & Development
[] Stellar Seeker: To be reduced to primal Elementalism like some…fumbling child! It is a disgrace and an embarrassment and you will tolerate it no longer! You will grow to understand the Heavens, to fully understand Azyr, even if you have to forge the damn telescope and grind the damn glass yourself! (2/3 Progress, may Overflow, unlocks Cardinal Magical Comprehension of Azyr, unlocks further developing comprehension for other winds, Activates Sky Seeker)
[] The Art of the Blade: To be a Loremaster, one must master the sword, at the least a bastard sword though truly mighty two-handed blades that require the grip of both are growing more and more popular. Furthermore you must forge your own blade. While it is a sign that one desires to become a Loremaster, it is hardly unknown for others to learn their art. (0/3, does not lock you into the path of the Loremaster, is however a step on it, -10 favors)
[] The Art of Two: To properly mingle together two Winds is an even more arduous task than merely to develop in such a way that you can wield any of the eight Winds. You can theoretically mingle together two neighboring Winds, such as Ghur and Hysh, for their mindsets are close enough; however two oppositional or orthogonal Winds evade you as yet. The Archmages know the secret, though so do many Loremasters for all they are more likely to study the Eight Winds separately. (0/3, Unlocked thanks to gaining standing and favors, does not lock you onto the path of the Archmage, is however a step on it, -10 Favors)
[] The Runestone: The Shadowlanders keep a tight grip on their Runestones but even they cannot fault you for examining what was taken from the Druchii. Strange, arcane stones bearing symbols of power in Eltharin, they are most notably used by Nagarythian mages, Shadow Weavers, to help them dispel the magic of the enemy and that is something you are not uninterested in. (0/3, Proce Ancient Embers, may overflow)
[-]
The Temple: In your efforts to hunt down the source of the monsters coming down from the Annuliis, you located something alright: an ancient temple to Asuryan, surrounded by the bodies of dead Druchii. It was protected by magic beyond your grasp, if not wholly your comprehension. (0/9-1(Overflow)=0/8, Locked until further personal development IE Loremaster or Archmage options)
[]
A Cure: Well, you will probably not ever be capable of fixing the most long term projects but you can certainly work on stopping the degradation process in its tracks from the beginning! The Druchii alchemy is not so advanced you cannot study it for now, though higher comprehension is likely to elude you for a time. (0/5, Procs Ancient Embers, Soothes Focus, gain capacity to cure up to mildly mutated creatures)
[-]
The Book of Blackfang: A sorcerous Tome dating back to the ages before the sundering, when Snowmane and Blackfang were one and the same. Ancient secrets are woven into every page, and magic seeps from every syllable. There are multiple sections, but most tie back to varyingly mundane forms of Beast Care, if you were to judge it so. Who knows what else lurks within, however? (0/4, Procs Ancient Embers, Soothes Focus, currently locked since it is as beyond you as magic is to the murderers trained under Dwarfen feet in the Old World)
Social
Independent of plan, and requiring no AP lest Vardanis should fully lose himself to his obsessions
[] You speak to Merel about home, since he has been there more often
[] You speak to Fhiron about the outside world, and the Long March
[] You speak to your parents, since you are, apparently, the one who has to be the mature one
Moratorium for ~24 hours.
V), and b) I just really want to do a crafting turn, especially with whatever materials we pick up from Bits and Bobs.
