Marine Misadventures of a Magicless Kind
- Thread starter Lithos Alto
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
Dusk 2.9 - Seadogs and Windbirds
Lithos Alto
Herald of Red Herrings
- Location
- Inside my head
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Dusk 2.9 - Seadogs and Windbirds
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You are… relieved. Coming clean to the captain about your guilt, admitting your part in causing Lisen's injury, removed a weight from your heart; and you can tell that Arond understood your reasons, perhaps on a deeper level than you know.
You'll apologize to Lisen when he wakes, and Crow after he cools off, as Arond advised.
In his words, "I know almost nothing about Crow except that he has access to the winds like few others do, and shows me a level of trust that I have not earned. But I do know the wind; we children of wind do not easily forget… but time tempers all temperaments. Let him be for now."
Waiting is an old friend. Waiting and watching for the time to strike is a beaconmaster's duty in a handful.
You've become a little more at ease about Arond, so you'll put some serious thought into whether or not you'll enter the night shift. Though you're more familiar with members of the day shift, and you appreciate Rakky's friendly approach, you didn't enjoy deckswabbing or Eis' tidal reactions towards you, and it was first in the line that led to the mess with Lisen, so…
Yeah, you made a mess, but you won't run away from fixing it. Lisen, then Crow, then… Eis? No, he doesn't need an apology, right? He kind of jumped into the fray himself.
...Better not bother him. If Crow's incensed at you, Eis will be steaming at everyone, and you don't need to slip further up his bad side.
Anyway, you'll be telling whichever shift-master some of what you can do, so as to avoid a terrible job matchup. What'll you give that might be useful? Pick two.
[]Your proficient climbing ability
[]Your ability to keep a bonfire going under any weather condition
[]Your ability to use a stick to hit flying objects in the dark, one-eyed
[]Your ability to navigate by the stars
[]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
You'll decide; then, you'll start filling that echo shell for Rakky.
-
-
You blink up at the hooded and covered face peering over the top of your cozy, cloak-lined barrel—your little hideaway when you don't want to be disturbed.
You are a friskeryish young seadog of the northern speckled variety (and quite an attractive specimen at that), storykeeper by trade and Royal Historian by title, and wasn't it the grandest adventure getting there?
Born near the beginning of the Winter, with all the gray hair of a Winter child, you didn't join a side in the war till after your first Dive at seventeen. You'd been a fresh-outta-watter pup, but that didn't stop you from swishing right up to Miragua (O Lady of the Deep, may she live forever) and demanding a position at her side as a royal archivist—good thing she's easily amused. Present-you would smack past-you for not saying "please" at the end.
Ah, but your years as a war historian were worth the decade of dusting and organizing and book-carrying it took to get the position of your dreams.
Sitting around got boring after the Winter, so with the great Lady's blessing, you took to wandering for stories. Now, you're smack in the middle of a doozy of a record; for all the Morning Sky's legendary strength and will, no one expected the elder dragon to break from out of the mouth of the Labyrinth Deep so soon, let alone in possession of his full power.
You're salivating at the thought of hearing Vitarrow's story firsthand; his account of the final battle of the First War was breathtaking, and his storytelling voice is mellow and warm, rich with time and experience.
With his more powerful friends and allies scattered to the blues, he has few left who can stand at his side—well, he'd have Miragua in a bubble's pop (and you by extension 'cause of loyalties), if only he'd stay put for a bit—but he's raking the distance like a drunken cliff-swallow: traveling so fast and so randomly that no one can get a lock on him. Considering he's traveling by water, this evasion perplexes your Lady's scouts.
Val's call for crewmembers was the perfect opportunity to get in on the action—not that you're supposed to know the mission isn't a standard bounty hunt, but Eis could never keep a secret from you.
Heh. The rest of the crew sans a few would drown themselves in terror if they knew.
Observation is more your style, but these wind mooks lose too much time navigating the water corridors, sooo… yeah, Val made you a navigator for the day shift despite knowing your loyalties, purely because of his confidence in your steering.
But for him, Eis, and a few other Winter veterans like Lis, this crew of swabbies would find their way straight into the Kraken's lair. But without you, they'd be lost to the sea, what with cuzzy Efric's tendency to skip and switch water corridors on a whim. You're off-map, after all.
Where were you? Oh, yes. At the bottom of a barrel.
You'd just finished the shell you're exchanging with your new buddy Jet and kinda wanted to take a nap, but Crow-kiddo's message is… well, it means you'll be out of the barrel for a while.
"Ah, little Eis," you sigh, "wish I could help, but healin' isn't much my thing, so I s'pose I'll keep yore duties nice and shiny till ye can take 'em back," you mumble, sticking your head up to meet Crow's eyes. "Thank ye, bird-boy. Good luck on the watch—yore the best we got with Lis out of it. Take it easy up there, yeah?"
The blackbird nods sharply and blows away like a mini dervish.
A mysterious little guy, that Crow, flighty as a feather around strangers, earnest as a killing blow, and more willful than a hogtied hagfish—erm, no, more or a moray with a mouthful, maybe?
Shame about his chopped-up voice—he probably has a ton of amazing stories under that hood. Not just anyone will stow away on a dragon's ship, have the audacity to demand a spot, and swear loyalty at the start. Kind of reminds you of you with Miragua. Heh. Might have to see if he'll take up writing instead of drawing. Anyway…
You slouch down into your barrel and groan. "Lis, why'd ye have t' go do that? My scramblin' our water trail won't help a whit with all a' yore racket."
The southern seas aren't your swimming grounds, nor did your studies take you there much. You're playing it all by whisker.
With a huff and a leap, you're out in the cold, cruel air. Well, cold is relative and doesn't really mean cold as in temperature but cold as in air. Not wind air, and not Wind air either—pardon the thought, great Esser—but… ah, whatever.
You take the helm again with no ceremony. Eis has it lashed in position, but the water corridor's shifting with the turn of the moon. You'll have to change it soon, no thanks to the resident Torchhead.
"Hm, but troublemakers do make life interestin'. Shame Lis messed with Eis' plan, though."
Aye, Eis' plan. The "convince Val to cooperate with Tarrow" plan, aka the "keep Val alive" plan. Simple in idea, terrible in execution. Now, you like Val, and he wasn't a bad person to stand by in the Winter, but he has no fair chance against his uncle—and he knows it. But as Eis tells it, only Tarrow's bloodless human corpse will save Val's life from his father.
Your interests align with Eis' as long as he doesn't stray from convincing Val to join his uncle. If he tries to get Tarrow killed, well… The blood of your oath is thicker than the blood in your veins. Miragua would bring the storm if one of her oldest friends died, no matter the low probability.
"For all a' their bravado, males 're so fish-headed," you complain. "Must they jump into fights? Just as well that m'lady's the Patient One. How she can wait for Tarrow's next move after so long instead of chasin' after him is beyond me."
Maybe patience comes with age?
Eh, but now that you're in charge, you'll have none of Eis' stalling for time nonsense. Full speed ahead!
A turn of the wheel will point the High Revenge a touch to the west, skimming the border of the water corridor like a minnow over a shark's teeth. Somewhere just past the horizon, dead ahead, you know the Red Herald's helmsman is performing the same motion. He'd taught you the sails, after all.
Ah, Efric, cousin mine. Y' must be having a whirl, piloting for your oathkeeper again.
Your freckles squinch with a grin. "M'lady will have caught the traces of Lis' flame, and so will Effy. He knows where we are now for sure, and he's gonna change course again, I know it. That'll be fun t' puzzle out with our farseer down."
Now if you were cousin Efric, you'd break out of this boring water corridor and jump to the fun fizzy one coming off that weird patch a touch to starboard, feels like an island, maybe two? Nah, not even a proper landing. Huge rocks, probably.
If he knows you're steering this tub, he might keep the course 'cause he actually likes you. But then if he knows, then he'll know you know what you think he'll do and not do it 'cause of his wicked "Where a seal can't swim, he'll sail!" ways.
Yep. Efric and challenges. Tell him he can't do something, and he'll try to prove you wrong.
...Ah. That must be how Tarrow convinced him to navigate in the Winter. His story always did sound fishy. "He was exceedingly eloquent in his argument," indeed. You'll have to pop Efric a good one for knowingly tainting a precious shell with lies.
"Ah well, I'll have t' catch him first," you sigh. "They don't call him 'Eel-fric' f'r nothin'..."
-
-
You are a feathered warrior filled with despondency and murder, your eyes as burning suns of withheld justice as you stand in dignified vigil with your wings tucked in the proper "ward evil" position, wishing the female human would shut her beakless mouth flap and let you sleep.
Noon is for the insane and hotheaded, both of which this human is, even more so than that pineapple-loving fire-guardian. You could not contain your joy when you heard of his demise—your tribe culls the insane for a reason. Insanity spreads.
And they shall have to kill you too, yes, even you, the chick of Krukakka, for insanity is dawning upon you like a cinnamon-haired sun who will not stop talking about next sunrise. Who needs to talk about a day that is still a moon away?
"Food? Check. Water? Check. Extra rope? Check. Nightgull?"
[Kruaw.] "Leave me out of this," you say calmly with a magnanimous sweep of one wing.
"What was that, Fuffles? You want to come with me and Uncle tomorrow?"
[Kruaaw!] "I am Kruakkk! I did not say that! Acquire a dictionary, human tree!" How perplexing that this creature cannot understand common screech like any civilized being.
"Oh, fine. I'll sneak you aboard before Uncle comes. I don't blame you—he says he'll teach me something cool."
[Kruawww.] "Why do I even bother?" Indeed, why should you care? She is the one who dares intrude upon your space!
The human's body and face contort hideously in an apelike, evil expression. "Would it kill you to say something else? Parrots can talk, and nightgulls're supposed to be smarter. Jet picked you up, so you can't be stupid. Hm, that's an idea. Start with something simple. How about 'pineapple'?"
[What occurrs in response is a litany of 'gullish curses that are too fowl to be written.] And so you turn your tail feathers in a gesture of uttermost contempt.
She taps an appendage on her featherless cheek. "You're right, it doesn't sound at all like 'Kruaw.' Hm, something close… How about 'crow'?"
[Kruaw.] "I refuse to play along with this humiliation."
For some reason, your short response causes her to bare her teeth further. What a savage expression!
"Almost perfect. Tone down the accent next time, will you?"
Such insolence! You have never performed less than perfectly in anything!
And so you spread your wings and point your glorious beak to the sun-cursed sky and vent your oath to the night!
[Kru-awk! Kruaaaw! Kruakakka-kruaaaw!] "...I cannot abide this any longer. The name, my humiliation, the pride of my people, my pride—! I shall suffer this no more! Thus shall I swear on the name of the one who filled my family's blood with wind, he who rules the night! Viperilon, great bestower, maker of my kin, hear me!"
[]I will never speak to this human ever again! I shall be silent in her presence forever!
[]I will scream whenever this human tries to sleep! The peace of night shall evade her and her companions in my presence!
[]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
Her bump of a flesh nostril nears your prison. "Wow, Fuffles. You almost sounded intimidating there."
Leave me, human tree! You think loudly.
Unfortunate are you, Kruakkk, for she does not obey.
Dusk 2.9 - Seadogs and Windbirds
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You are… relieved. Coming clean to the captain about your guilt, admitting your part in causing Lisen's injury, removed a weight from your heart; and you can tell that Arond understood your reasons, perhaps on a deeper level than you know.
You'll apologize to Lisen when he wakes, and Crow after he cools off, as Arond advised.
In his words, "I know almost nothing about Crow except that he has access to the winds like few others do, and shows me a level of trust that I have not earned. But I do know the wind; we children of wind do not easily forget… but time tempers all temperaments. Let him be for now."
Waiting is an old friend. Waiting and watching for the time to strike is a beaconmaster's duty in a handful.
You've become a little more at ease about Arond, so you'll put some serious thought into whether or not you'll enter the night shift. Though you're more familiar with members of the day shift, and you appreciate Rakky's friendly approach, you didn't enjoy deckswabbing or Eis' tidal reactions towards you, and it was first in the line that led to the mess with Lisen, so…
Yeah, you made a mess, but you won't run away from fixing it. Lisen, then Crow, then… Eis? No, he doesn't need an apology, right? He kind of jumped into the fray himself.
...Better not bother him. If Crow's incensed at you, Eis will be steaming at everyone, and you don't need to slip further up his bad side.
Anyway, you'll be telling whichever shift-master some of what you can do, so as to avoid a terrible job matchup. What'll you give that might be useful? Pick two.
[]Your proficient climbing ability
[]Your ability to keep a bonfire going under any weather condition
[]Your ability to use a stick to hit flying objects in the dark, one-eyed
[]Your ability to navigate by the stars
[]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
You'll decide; then, you'll start filling that echo shell for Rakky.
-
-
You blink up at the hooded and covered face peering over the top of your cozy, cloak-lined barrel—your little hideaway when you don't want to be disturbed.
You are a friskeryish young seadog of the northern speckled variety (and quite an attractive specimen at that), storykeeper by trade and Royal Historian by title, and wasn't it the grandest adventure getting there?
Born near the beginning of the Winter, with all the gray hair of a Winter child, you didn't join a side in the war till after your first Dive at seventeen. You'd been a fresh-outta-watter pup, but that didn't stop you from swishing right up to Miragua (O Lady of the Deep, may she live forever) and demanding a position at her side as a royal archivist—good thing she's easily amused. Present-you would smack past-you for not saying "please" at the end.
Ah, but your years as a war historian were worth the decade of dusting and organizing and book-carrying it took to get the position of your dreams.
Sitting around got boring after the Winter, so with the great Lady's blessing, you took to wandering for stories. Now, you're smack in the middle of a doozy of a record; for all the Morning Sky's legendary strength and will, no one expected the elder dragon to break from out of the mouth of the Labyrinth Deep so soon, let alone in possession of his full power.
You're salivating at the thought of hearing Vitarrow's story firsthand; his account of the final battle of the First War was breathtaking, and his storytelling voice is mellow and warm, rich with time and experience.
With his more powerful friends and allies scattered to the blues, he has few left who can stand at his side—well, he'd have Miragua in a bubble's pop (and you by extension 'cause of loyalties), if only he'd stay put for a bit—but he's raking the distance like a drunken cliff-swallow: traveling so fast and so randomly that no one can get a lock on him. Considering he's traveling by water, this evasion perplexes your Lady's scouts.
Val's call for crewmembers was the perfect opportunity to get in on the action—not that you're supposed to know the mission isn't a standard bounty hunt, but Eis could never keep a secret from you.
Heh. The rest of the crew sans a few would drown themselves in terror if they knew.
Observation is more your style, but these wind mooks lose too much time navigating the water corridors, sooo… yeah, Val made you a navigator for the day shift despite knowing your loyalties, purely because of his confidence in your steering.
But for him, Eis, and a few other Winter veterans like Lis, this crew of swabbies would find their way straight into the Kraken's lair. But without you, they'd be lost to the sea, what with cuzzy Efric's tendency to skip and switch water corridors on a whim. You're off-map, after all.
Where were you? Oh, yes. At the bottom of a barrel.
You'd just finished the shell you're exchanging with your new buddy Jet and kinda wanted to take a nap, but Crow-kiddo's message is… well, it means you'll be out of the barrel for a while.
"Ah, little Eis," you sigh, "wish I could help, but healin' isn't much my thing, so I s'pose I'll keep yore duties nice and shiny till ye can take 'em back," you mumble, sticking your head up to meet Crow's eyes. "Thank ye, bird-boy. Good luck on the watch—yore the best we got with Lis out of it. Take it easy up there, yeah?"
The blackbird nods sharply and blows away like a mini dervish.
A mysterious little guy, that Crow, flighty as a feather around strangers, earnest as a killing blow, and more willful than a hogtied hagfish—erm, no, more or a moray with a mouthful, maybe?
Shame about his chopped-up voice—he probably has a ton of amazing stories under that hood. Not just anyone will stow away on a dragon's ship, have the audacity to demand a spot, and swear loyalty at the start. Kind of reminds you of you with Miragua. Heh. Might have to see if he'll take up writing instead of drawing. Anyway…
You slouch down into your barrel and groan. "Lis, why'd ye have t' go do that? My scramblin' our water trail won't help a whit with all a' yore racket."
The southern seas aren't your swimming grounds, nor did your studies take you there much. You're playing it all by whisker.
With a huff and a leap, you're out in the cold, cruel air. Well, cold is relative and doesn't really mean cold as in temperature but cold as in air. Not wind air, and not Wind air either—pardon the thought, great Esser—but… ah, whatever.
You take the helm again with no ceremony. Eis has it lashed in position, but the water corridor's shifting with the turn of the moon. You'll have to change it soon, no thanks to the resident Torchhead.
"Hm, but troublemakers do make life interestin'. Shame Lis messed with Eis' plan, though."
Aye, Eis' plan. The "convince Val to cooperate with Tarrow" plan, aka the "keep Val alive" plan. Simple in idea, terrible in execution. Now, you like Val, and he wasn't a bad person to stand by in the Winter, but he has no fair chance against his uncle—and he knows it. But as Eis tells it, only Tarrow's bloodless human corpse will save Val's life from his father.
Your interests align with Eis' as long as he doesn't stray from convincing Val to join his uncle. If he tries to get Tarrow killed, well… The blood of your oath is thicker than the blood in your veins. Miragua would bring the storm if one of her oldest friends died, no matter the low probability.
"For all a' their bravado, males 're so fish-headed," you complain. "Must they jump into fights? Just as well that m'lady's the Patient One. How she can wait for Tarrow's next move after so long instead of chasin' after him is beyond me."
Maybe patience comes with age?
Eh, but now that you're in charge, you'll have none of Eis' stalling for time nonsense. Full speed ahead!
A turn of the wheel will point the High Revenge a touch to the west, skimming the border of the water corridor like a minnow over a shark's teeth. Somewhere just past the horizon, dead ahead, you know the Red Herald's helmsman is performing the same motion. He'd taught you the sails, after all.
Ah, Efric, cousin mine. Y' must be having a whirl, piloting for your oathkeeper again.
Your freckles squinch with a grin. "M'lady will have caught the traces of Lis' flame, and so will Effy. He knows where we are now for sure, and he's gonna change course again, I know it. That'll be fun t' puzzle out with our farseer down."
Now if you were cousin Efric, you'd break out of this boring water corridor and jump to the fun fizzy one coming off that weird patch a touch to starboard, feels like an island, maybe two? Nah, not even a proper landing. Huge rocks, probably.
If he knows you're steering this tub, he might keep the course 'cause he actually likes you. But then if he knows, then he'll know you know what you think he'll do and not do it 'cause of his wicked "Where a seal can't swim, he'll sail!" ways.
Yep. Efric and challenges. Tell him he can't do something, and he'll try to prove you wrong.
...Ah. That must be how Tarrow convinced him to navigate in the Winter. His story always did sound fishy. "He was exceedingly eloquent in his argument," indeed. You'll have to pop Efric a good one for knowingly tainting a precious shell with lies.
"Ah well, I'll have t' catch him first," you sigh. "They don't call him 'Eel-fric' f'r nothin'..."
-
-
You are a feathered warrior filled with despondency and murder, your eyes as burning suns of withheld justice as you stand in dignified vigil with your wings tucked in the proper "ward evil" position, wishing the female human would shut her beakless mouth flap and let you sleep.
Noon is for the insane and hotheaded, both of which this human is, even more so than that pineapple-loving fire-guardian. You could not contain your joy when you heard of his demise—your tribe culls the insane for a reason. Insanity spreads.
And they shall have to kill you too, yes, even you, the chick of Krukakka, for insanity is dawning upon you like a cinnamon-haired sun who will not stop talking about next sunrise. Who needs to talk about a day that is still a moon away?
"Food? Check. Water? Check. Extra rope? Check. Nightgull?"
[Kruaw.] "Leave me out of this," you say calmly with a magnanimous sweep of one wing.
"What was that, Fuffles? You want to come with me and Uncle tomorrow?"
[Kruaaw!] "I am Kruakkk! I did not say that! Acquire a dictionary, human tree!" How perplexing that this creature cannot understand common screech like any civilized being.
"Oh, fine. I'll sneak you aboard before Uncle comes. I don't blame you—he says he'll teach me something cool."
[Kruawww.] "Why do I even bother?" Indeed, why should you care? She is the one who dares intrude upon your space!
The human's body and face contort hideously in an apelike, evil expression. "Would it kill you to say something else? Parrots can talk, and nightgulls're supposed to be smarter. Jet picked you up, so you can't be stupid. Hm, that's an idea. Start with something simple. How about 'pineapple'?"
[What occurrs in response is a litany of 'gullish curses that are too fowl to be written.] And so you turn your tail feathers in a gesture of uttermost contempt.
She taps an appendage on her featherless cheek. "You're right, it doesn't sound at all like 'Kruaw.' Hm, something close… How about 'crow'?"
[Kruaw.] "I refuse to play along with this humiliation."
For some reason, your short response causes her to bare her teeth further. What a savage expression!
"Almost perfect. Tone down the accent next time, will you?"
Such insolence! You have never performed less than perfectly in anything!
And so you spread your wings and point your glorious beak to the sun-cursed sky and vent your oath to the night!
[Kru-awk! Kruaaaw! Kruakakka-kruaaaw!] "...I cannot abide this any longer. The name, my humiliation, the pride of my people, my pride—! I shall suffer this no more! Thus shall I swear on the name of the one who filled my family's blood with wind, he who rules the night! Viperilon, great bestower, maker of my kin, hear me!"
[]I will never speak to this human ever again! I shall be silent in her presence forever!
[]I will scream whenever this human tries to sleep! The peace of night shall evade her and her companions in my presence!
[]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
Her bump of a flesh nostril nears your prison. "Wow, Fuffles. You almost sounded intimidating there."
Leave me, human tree! You think loudly.
Unfortunate are you, Kruakkk, for she does not obey.
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Lithos Alto
Herald of Red Herrings
- Location
- Inside my head
Information section 1.1 to follow soon.
Fun fact: Kruakkk's speech should all be in gray, but the controls for text editing aren't at all phone-friendly.
Also, I didn't pass my interview.
Fun fact: Kruakkk's speech should all be in gray, but the controls for text editing aren't at all phone-friendly.
Also, I didn't pass my interview.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
[x]Your ability to use a stick to hit flying objects in the dark, one-eyed
[x]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
[X]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
[x]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
[X]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
Kelirapc
The Bright in your Night
- Location
- Kali-Forni
[X]Your ability to use a stick to hit flying objects in the dark, one-eyed
[X]Your proficient climbing ability
[X]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
I always prefer the more physical things.
[X]Your proficient climbing ability
[X]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
I always prefer the more physical things.
- Location
- Under the sea
[x]Your ability to use a stick to hit flying objects in the dark, one-eyed
[x]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
[X]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
[x]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
[X]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
So, wait, so most of the crew doesn't know they're tracking down a Firstborn for the Black Dragon? Huh. That's probably going to turn out pretty interesting when/if we finally catch up to the Morning Sky.
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- Location
- St. Petersburg
Question time!
Lost of interesting information this chapter.
Alright, so Vitarrow, aka Tarrow Mylston... is an ancient dragon? I always thought of him as a younger progeny of one, similarly to how Arond Windor is Valarond, son of Viperilon. But I guess it makes some kind of sense, with Firstborn being able to assume human form... after all, that's how Arond chooses to appear as well. But then he was referred to as the Son of the Morning Sky... what are the Skies then? The very first dragons to which all others trace their lineage?
Actually, how come the 'Val' in Val-arond is a reference to his father Vi-perilon (so much so that Arond hates being called Val), but Vi-tarrow isn't? It isn't because now I remember that Viperilon was married (?) to Alacria of the Morning Sky, and it is her that Tarrow is a brother to. What happened to her, anyway? Rakky told us in passing that she misses her. Did she die? How? Is it related to Arond's hatred for Viperilon? Perhaps a story that we might want to find out some day.
I kinda placed Miragua with the 'bad guys' initially, based on the comment that we don't want to find her (and all the talk about flames of undeath sealed behind her waves), but seeing how she is Rakky's mistress and Tarrow's ally, I see now that it was a mistake. When the Black Dragon used her element to stop the spread of undeath, he was not yet corrupted. Now he is an undead himself. Hm, did he get tainted by fighting the phoenix? Was this contagious or something?
So we are pursuing The Red Herald, on water, with cousins (are they real cousins, or do they just have common FIrstborn ancestors?) navigating their respective ships knowing each other full well, and both trying to avoid detection by Miragua. While I understand why High Revenge wants to dodge that bullet - Miragua would likely sink the ship if she ever finds them - I am puzzled as to Tarrow's motives. Is he trying to keep it a private family business?
Is Rakky trying to force a confrontation because their anti-Miragua cover may have been blown during the fight, or does she just not have the patience for it? Who was the farseer that is now down?
The 'water corridors' sailing mechanics sound curious. I'd like Jet to see how it works. Is it how Nyla is going to be travelling?
What exactly does this option imply? 'Know location of some things' - what things? 'Heavenly bodies' - isn't that still astronomy? How much is that different from navigating by stars?
Lost of interesting information this chapter.
Alright, so Vitarrow, aka Tarrow Mylston... is an ancient dragon? I always thought of him as a younger progeny of one, similarly to how Arond Windor is Valarond, son of Viperilon. But I guess it makes some kind of sense, with Firstborn being able to assume human form... after all, that's how Arond chooses to appear as well. But then he was referred to as the Son of the Morning Sky... what are the Skies then? The very first dragons to which all others trace their lineage?
Actually, how come the 'Val' in Val-arond is a reference to his father Vi-perilon (so much so that Arond hates being called Val), but Vi-tarrow isn't? It isn't because now I remember that Viperilon was married (?) to Alacria of the Morning Sky, and it is her that Tarrow is a brother to. What happened to her, anyway? Rakky told us in passing that she misses her. Did she die? How? Is it related to Arond's hatred for Viperilon? Perhaps a story that we might want to find out some day.
I kinda placed Miragua with the 'bad guys' initially, based on the comment that we don't want to find her (and all the talk about flames of undeath sealed behind her waves), but seeing how she is Rakky's mistress and Tarrow's ally, I see now that it was a mistake. When the Black Dragon used her element to stop the spread of undeath, he was not yet corrupted. Now he is an undead himself. Hm, did he get tainted by fighting the phoenix? Was this contagious or something?
So we are pursuing The Red Herald, on water, with cousins (are they real cousins, or do they just have common FIrstborn ancestors?) navigating their respective ships knowing each other full well, and both trying to avoid detection by Miragua. While I understand why High Revenge wants to dodge that bullet - Miragua would likely sink the ship if she ever finds them - I am puzzled as to Tarrow's motives. Is he trying to keep it a private family business?
Is Rakky trying to force a confrontation because their anti-Miragua cover may have been blown during the fight, or does she just not have the patience for it? Who was the farseer that is now down?
The 'water corridors' sailing mechanics sound curious. I'd like Jet to see how it works. Is it how Nyla is going to be travelling?
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I don't think the "Skies" are beings/people/entities, and I'm pretty sure the Dragons were all created by the Esser of Wind, actually. As far as I understand it currently, all Dragons are just named X, (son/daughter) of the Y sky, where X is the dragon's name, Y is something that has do to with either the dragon's appearance and/or personality (so the black dragon is of the midnight sky) and son/daughter can be omitted at will. Vitarrow can be called both Vitarrow, son of the Morning Sky and Vitarrow of the Morning Sky, for instance.
I'd guess the farseer is Lisen? I mean, if it's someone who's down.
Also, Vitarrow is Viperilon's brother (or, well, Eis at last said he was in the story he told us), which is probably why they have a similar naming theme. Not sure whether all Firstborn of the same type (Dragons, Phoenixes, whatever Water firstborn are) are counted as siblings since they were created by the same Esser or if Viperilon and Vitarrow have/had a special relationship (that they both have "vi" in their names might suggest the latter).
Also, just found out I was kinda wrong about the Skies, actually, actually. The "Skies" aren't entities, but I think "the Sky" is the Esser of the wind. The whatever that comes in front of son/daughter of the whatever Sky likely still just has something to do with the traits of the Dragon, though.
Other Firstborn (or at least phoenixes) also seem to have a similar naming theme, just with Sun (and probably Sea in the case of water Firstborn) instead of Sky. The corrupted Phoenix Eis mentioned in the story was "the daughter of the Morning Sun", for instance.
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- Location
- ?
[x]Your ability to use a stick to hit flying objects in the dark, one-eyed
[x]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
[X]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
[x]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
[X]I will attack anyone who comes near me! They shall force this human to break this prison and free this Kruakkk!
Lithos Alto
Herald of Red Herrings
- Location
- Inside my head
Funny thing about this "quirk." While it's a bit of an offshoot of star navigation, it's referenced maybe... three times in the quest but never really got explored because of the votes. Heavenly bodies is 'cause I didn't want to use "stars" too many times.
If you want to get technical, it involves everything shiny in the sky that isn't inside the atmosphere.It's actually "Valarond" he hates. He... kinda tolerates "Val" because it's less trouble trying to stop Rakky than go along with it.
Yep. It's Rakky being Rakky, so since she likes her job, she knows quite a bit about the ancient family trees.
We'll see if you all bite during Dusk 3, hey? I'm enjoying how the setup has been going. Misadventures are wonderful things.
Naming convention will be explained soon, but you're getting it. "Sky" etc. refers to the domain (not certain, but I may have mentioned that in Arond's intro to Jet), and you're right about the interchanging/substitution of son/daughter. I'll definitely have to read back myself to keep it consistent. Rather not retcon anything.
Indeed, you're correct. He's a seafarer who can see farther.
Thanks all for your insight. It warms the cockles of my freezing cold heart. <3
0.3 - Rakky's Records
Lithos Alto
Herald of Red Herrings
- Location
- Inside my head
These are the records of Mirakela Northsea, Royal Historian and storykeeper of the Azure Court of Miragua of the Midnight Sea. Henceforth, they shall be called "Rakky's Records from a Barrel at Sea", or "Rakky's Records". Written by her hand. Begun in spring, 20 AW (After Winter).
What, do you think I write with an accent? What kind of record-keeper would I be then? A pretty poor one, that's what. I'll be writing nice and pretty after this intro, so don't expect all those north-sea shenanigans from me, got it?
Anyway, this will be a condensed compilation of information and history stuff that everyone in the world knows (or should), cross-referenced for accuracy when I can unless otherwise noted, and wasn't that an adventure? Finding live citations is the bread and butter of a proper historian like yours truly, and remembering them off the top of my skull is even harder. I'll add to these as I remember the information (you try remembering everything while skimming around the seas). This isn't the definitive version yet, you know. That'll come after this wild adventure's over and I can get these notes to the archives for proper cross-referencing.
0.3 - The Esser
0.4 - The Domains
0.8 - The Corruption
0.9 - Cloaks of Earth? Maybe... It's doubtful any Firstborn would part with theirs for long.
Notes: Hm, not sure where these go yet.
Essenflay. Names, by blood!
The Sheer Winter? Might need an entire new book for that... know what? Forget it.
Random miscellaneous customs? Maybe later—it's a big, splintery world.
Geography? I'm rubbish at drawing.Maybe I can recruit the little blackbird for that job.
Anything I'm forgetting? Eh. It'll come to me eventually.
What, do you think I write with an accent? What kind of record-keeper would I be then? A pretty poor one, that's what. I'll be writing nice and pretty after this intro, so don't expect all those north-sea shenanigans from me, got it?
Anyway, this will be a condensed compilation of information and history stuff that everyone in the world knows (or should), cross-referenced for accuracy when I can unless otherwise noted, and wasn't that an adventure? Finding live citations is the bread and butter of a proper historian like yours truly, and remembering them off the top of my skull is even harder. I'll add to these as I remember the information (you try remembering everything while skimming around the seas). This isn't the definitive version yet, you know. That'll come after this wild adventure's over and I can get these notes to the archives for proper cross-referencing.
May Fire burn the false away
And Wind aid me to find
The words that Water flows through pen
As Earth gives form to mind.
And Wind aid me to find
The words that Water flows through pen
As Earth gives form to mind.
I will begin with what we all have in common: essence, which is commonly called "the Gift".
Essence gives a living being access to a domain's power—fire, wind, or water—and therefore the ability to shift and move parts of a domain at will. Only the living have this privilege.
Essence resides in the core, which is the metaphysical area found around the heart of a being whose bloodline has been blessed by the Esseran—that is, the eldest three Esser and the Firstborn. According to Renu Wonold Redtail's theory on the Elemental Soul, the core may correlate with or be one with the soul. (Note: in common speech, the core is considered interchangeable with "heart," "soul," and sometimes "spirit." This is, perhaps, an incorrect association born of the convenience of vocabulary.)
According to Iseek Wonold Ferralong's studies on training the core, three main factors influence the strength of one's essence: will, access, and control.
Will is the mental resistance against the domains. For humans, this is the most crucial factor in using essence and is the only one that may be influenced before one's Awakening. The power desires to be used, and its pull is seductive; giving in commonly results in insanity or death, for no physical being can comprehend the full force of a domain. However, a strong will and a calm mind more easily resist the temptation. The Firstborn in their original forms do not share this danger, as they are beings of pure essence. However, will is not useless to them, for it plays a part in access and control.
I. W. Ferralong furthermore observes that will is not limitless, since the mind may grow weary through physical or emotional stress. He also postulates that two basic functions of will exist: passive and active. Passive assists with smaller control, while active combats a domain's influence at higher limits of access. [analogous to Int]
Access refers to the amount of a domain one can shift without succumbing to the power. The strength of bloodlines appears to influence the initial level of access; however, inbreeding seems to damage the offspring's physical or mental health and is considered taboo by the Esseran. The natural boundaries of access appear to increase as one gains familiarity with one's blood-domain. A strong will allows one to push the boundaries of access, though at a higher risk of the user losing their sanity or life. [analogous to Str]
Control may be thought of as the totality of one's command over the essence. The majority of one's control comes from practice and concentration, which is partially influenced by will. Typically, complex or precise actions are more difficult to perform, because the domains tend to resist actions unnatural to them. The difficulty tends to increase toward the lowest and highest limits of an individual's access, the latter notably because of the pressure on will. [analogous to Agi/Dex]
On the difficulties of control in quantity, I find that "a thread of water > a stream of water < a river of water".
Going back to I. W. Ferralong, a thread relies on "passive will", thus relying on inner concentration, while a river relies on "active will", requiring more focus on combating the domain's pull.
On form difficulties, "cube of water > sphere of water > formless".
The closer the action is to the domain's natural tendency, the less will or control is generally needed.
Essence gives a living being access to a domain's power—fire, wind, or water—and therefore the ability to shift and move parts of a domain at will. Only the living have this privilege.
Essence resides in the core, which is the metaphysical area found around the heart of a being whose bloodline has been blessed by the Esseran—that is, the eldest three Esser and the Firstborn. According to Renu Wonold Redtail's theory on the Elemental Soul, the core may correlate with or be one with the soul. (Note: in common speech, the core is considered interchangeable with "heart," "soul," and sometimes "spirit." This is, perhaps, an incorrect association born of the convenience of vocabulary.)
According to Iseek Wonold Ferralong's studies on training the core, three main factors influence the strength of one's essence: will, access, and control.
Will is the mental resistance against the domains. For humans, this is the most crucial factor in using essence and is the only one that may be influenced before one's Awakening. The power desires to be used, and its pull is seductive; giving in commonly results in insanity or death, for no physical being can comprehend the full force of a domain. However, a strong will and a calm mind more easily resist the temptation. The Firstborn in their original forms do not share this danger, as they are beings of pure essence. However, will is not useless to them, for it plays a part in access and control.
I. W. Ferralong furthermore observes that will is not limitless, since the mind may grow weary through physical or emotional stress. He also postulates that two basic functions of will exist: passive and active. Passive assists with smaller control, while active combats a domain's influence at higher limits of access. [analogous to Int]
Access refers to the amount of a domain one can shift without succumbing to the power. The strength of bloodlines appears to influence the initial level of access; however, inbreeding seems to damage the offspring's physical or mental health and is considered taboo by the Esseran. The natural boundaries of access appear to increase as one gains familiarity with one's blood-domain. A strong will allows one to push the boundaries of access, though at a higher risk of the user losing their sanity or life. [analogous to Str]
Control may be thought of as the totality of one's command over the essence. The majority of one's control comes from practice and concentration, which is partially influenced by will. Typically, complex or precise actions are more difficult to perform, because the domains tend to resist actions unnatural to them. The difficulty tends to increase toward the lowest and highest limits of an individual's access, the latter notably because of the pressure on will. [analogous to Agi/Dex]
On the difficulties of control in quantity, I find that "a thread of water > a stream of water < a river of water".
Going back to I. W. Ferralong, a thread relies on "passive will", thus relying on inner concentration, while a river relies on "active will", requiring more focus on combating the domain's pull.
On form difficulties, "cube of water > sphere of water > formless".
The closer the action is to the domain's natural tendency, the less will or control is generally needed.
Awakening, also known as Gifting, is the act of using the essence (though the term "Gifting" most often refers to the initial activation).
Awakening as we know it today came in the aftermath of the First War, when the Firstborn (the Elder Ones) showed compassion towards the newly powerless children of earth by intervening in the judgement of the Esser and restoring to humanity permission to access the domains—the history of which shall be discussed in a later section.
Awakening is the bloodright of all who can trace any part of their origin to Earth. They cannot alone activate their essence, but require a close blood relation of a previous generation to Awaken them—a parent or a parent's sibling. The elder, being more potent in blood (closer to the origin), acts as a key to unlock the younger's power. Since the essence's element is defined within each individual (though the mechanic that chooses the blood-domain is currently unknown), the elder and younger do not need to share a blood-domain for the initial Awakening to work.
The individual may receive the Gift at any time of his life, but the age of Gifting, or Awakening, is traditionally between the ages of 17-22. This is around when a young person is judged able to mentally handle the call of power.
According to the records of Chief Mind-Healer Keyn Ainsworth of the Inferno Guild of Healers and supplemented by personal observation in the wartime conditions of the Sheer Winter, Awakening anyone before they have reached the age of mental maturity is dangerous to the child, for the power of the domains does not differentiate between the wills of adults and children. The early-Awakened, should they survive, are at a higher risk of developing mental problems in adolescence and adulthood, including but not limited to various forms of aggression, obsession, paranoia, psychosis, and schizophrenia.
Sons of earth (not to be confused with sons of Earth) are those who have not received their Awakening at their age of majority and are unlikely to or unable to obtain it in the future. Most are orphans or children who have been separated from their families.
Awakening as we know it today came in the aftermath of the First War, when the Firstborn (the Elder Ones) showed compassion towards the newly powerless children of earth by intervening in the judgement of the Esser and restoring to humanity permission to access the domains—the history of which shall be discussed in a later section.
Awakening is the bloodright of all who can trace any part of their origin to Earth. They cannot alone activate their essence, but require a close blood relation of a previous generation to Awaken them—a parent or a parent's sibling. The elder, being more potent in blood (closer to the origin), acts as a key to unlock the younger's power. Since the essence's element is defined within each individual (though the mechanic that chooses the blood-domain is currently unknown), the elder and younger do not need to share a blood-domain for the initial Awakening to work.
The individual may receive the Gift at any time of his life, but the age of Gifting, or Awakening, is traditionally between the ages of 17-22. This is around when a young person is judged able to mentally handle the call of power.
According to the records of Chief Mind-Healer Keyn Ainsworth of the Inferno Guild of Healers and supplemented by personal observation in the wartime conditions of the Sheer Winter, Awakening anyone before they have reached the age of mental maturity is dangerous to the child, for the power of the domains does not differentiate between the wills of adults and children. The early-Awakened, should they survive, are at a higher risk of developing mental problems in adolescence and adulthood, including but not limited to various forms of aggression, obsession, paranoia, psychosis, and schizophrenia.
Sons of earth (not to be confused with sons of Earth) are those who have not received their Awakening at their age of majority and are unlikely to or unable to obtain it in the future. Most are orphans or children who have been separated from their families.
Everyone with the Gift has a perimeter or range. Skilled ones can sense others of the same blood-domain within their space, and exceptional ones can learn to sense (to varying extent) other living things within it. Those who practice may be able to alter or expand their perimeter in different ways.
Power affects the interaction of individuals' perimeters. For example, two waterbloods whose waves overlap can choose to cooperate, or they could battle for wave dominance, wresting complete control over the water in their shared area. In these cases, a fight would turn towards weapons and hand-to-hand combat. Spaces of different blood-domains do not encounter a control conflict.
[Some say it is possible to identify a loved one just by the feel of their space. Circumstantial evidence supports this, though the majority of the formal testing records from Lindenleaf College were lost in the destruction of the institution.]
Power affects the interaction of individuals' perimeters. For example, two waterbloods whose waves overlap can choose to cooperate, or they could battle for wave dominance, wresting complete control over the water in their shared area. In these cases, a fight would turn towards weapons and hand-to-hand combat. Spaces of different blood-domains do not encounter a control conflict.
[Some say it is possible to identify a loved one just by the feel of their space. Circumstantial evidence supports this, though the majority of the formal testing records from Lindenleaf College were lost in the destruction of the institution.]
0.4 - The Domains
The Firstborn, grouped with the Esser as the Esseran, are the first sentient beings created by the Esser. From fire, the phoenixes; from wind, the dragons; and from water, the seal kin (dialect var: selkies). They are beings of pure essence who do not fear being consumed by their birth element, for they are dearly beloved by the Esser.
Before they bonded themselves to Earth's domain, the Firstborn were unable to interact with humans as they do now, for how can a maelstrom speak? What inferno can embrace a friend? What tempest can record its thoughts? The Esser gave them a Choice: to retain their limitless power and omnipresence, or to share in the fate and fortune of Earth by gaining an earthen form.
It is unknown if the Firstborn took their Esseran forms (phoenix, dragon, seal kin) before or after they Chose to take up a cloak of Earth and walk with humanity. I. W. Ferralong hypothesizes that the Firstborn have no true form without the touch of Earth. Extensive study of windstone and waterstone tools generally supports the core idea.
[Let us never forget why we call them Sun, Sky, and Sea. In their natural forms, they are the domains: sublime, unending, indestructible.]
[I believe they fear going back to their original forms.]
-
There are always eight Firstborn alive from each of the Three—twenty-four in total, two born at each phase of light—a brother and sister each for Morning, Midday, Evening, and Midnight. The number is constant, for they cannot reproduce in their natural forms.
-
This is a list of all twenty-four Firstborn by birth name and (given name), sorted by traditional element order and by birth phase, ordered by brother-sister.
Of the Sun
Morning: Remoriam (Amortalis -> ?*), Lamiferry (Sorsca -> Sanslock)
Midday: Reyzan (Redwill -> Redtail), Leita (Mimore)
Evening: Rekavok (Ferralong), Lisenna (Spyrene -> Piresong)
Midnight: Recola (Willtip), Latherel (Ainsworth -> Andryns)
*Death recently recorded
Of the Sky
Morning: Vitarrow (Mylstrydr/Mylston), Alacria (Windor)
Midday: Vortis (Vinstrom), Abigale (Stillwind)
Evening: Vengefall (Graysmith -> Bledform), Acordielle (Dansteppe)
Midnight: Viperilon (Kellinan -> Peniron/Sheerfall*), Annacondra (Naskyn)
*Current name uncertain
Of the Sea*
Morning (Midnight): Edom (Northsea), Miragua (Forstreme)
Midday (Sunlit): Eranious (Wonold -> Endinfall), Merrino (Swifthand)
Evening (Twilit): Eithanael (Waterstone), Mishara (Gensom -> Bluefinn)
Midnight (Abyssal): Ederye (Tudivin -> Tugodeep), Malariel (Deepheart)
*Firstborn of Water have alternate phase names, as they are also named for the level of ocean they chose as their territory.
Before they bonded themselves to Earth's domain, the Firstborn were unable to interact with humans as they do now, for how can a maelstrom speak? What inferno can embrace a friend? What tempest can record its thoughts? The Esser gave them a Choice: to retain their limitless power and omnipresence, or to share in the fate and fortune of Earth by gaining an earthen form.
It is unknown if the Firstborn took their Esseran forms (phoenix, dragon, seal kin) before or after they Chose to take up a cloak of Earth and walk with humanity. I. W. Ferralong hypothesizes that the Firstborn have no true form without the touch of Earth. Extensive study of windstone and waterstone tools generally supports the core idea.
[Let us never forget why we call them Sun, Sky, and Sea. In their natural forms, they are the domains: sublime, unending, indestructible.]
[I believe they fear going back to their original forms.]
-
There are always eight Firstborn alive from each of the Three—twenty-four in total, two born at each phase of light—a brother and sister each for Morning, Midday, Evening, and Midnight. The number is constant, for they cannot reproduce in their natural forms.
-
This is a list of all twenty-four Firstborn by birth name and (given name), sorted by traditional element order and by birth phase, ordered by brother-sister.
Of the Sun
Morning: Remoriam (Amortalis -> ?*), Lamiferry (Sorsca -> Sanslock)
Midday: Reyzan (Redwill -> Redtail), Leita (Mimore)
Evening: Rekavok (Ferralong), Lisenna (Spyrene -> Piresong)
Midnight: Recola (Willtip), Latherel (Ainsworth -> Andryns)
*Death recently recorded
Of the Sky
Morning: Vitarrow (Mylstrydr/Mylston), Alacria (Windor)
Midday: Vortis (Vinstrom), Abigale (Stillwind)
Evening: Vengefall (Graysmith -> Bledform), Acordielle (Dansteppe)
Midnight: Viperilon (Kellinan -> Peniron/Sheerfall*), Annacondra (Naskyn)
*Current name uncertain
Of the Sea*
Morning (Midnight): Edom (Northsea), Miragua (Forstreme)
Midday (Sunlit): Eranious (Wonold -> Endinfall), Merrino (Swifthand)
Evening (Twilit): Eithanael (Waterstone), Mishara (Gensom -> Bluefinn)
Midnight (Abyssal): Ederye (Tudivin -> Tugodeep), Malariel (Deepheart)
*Firstborn of Water have alternate phase names, as they are also named for the level of ocean they chose as their territory.
Bloodline traits are abilities or colors attributed to individual Firstborn and passed down to their descendants. This is an incomplete list of bloodline traits, for some of the Firstborn abilities remain a mystery, as not all have chosen to produce offspring or possess enough descendants to observe.
Bloodline dominance often results in a single ability manifesting in an individual, though rare instances of dual or merged abilities are on record.
Fire
Redwills appear to have a more destructive fire, which burns hotter and faster than others. Like Reyzan, striking auburn hair is their defining appearance.
Redtails possess a form of heightened empathy. Many choose the path of medicine or mind-study. Like Reyzan, striking auburn hair is their defining appearance.
Ferralongs commonly have physical farsight, which allows them to perceive distant objects with total clarity. They are often employed as watchmen or guards. Bright green eyes are their defining trait. Some are also blessed or cursed with their Firstfather's true Farsight. These latter tend to hide away as hermits or seek Rekavok to stay with him.
Wind
Viperilon's descendants (Kellinan, Peniron, Sheerfall?) are, without exception, black of hair. [Their abilities... I must study Val more closely, though he might take after his mother more.]
Alacria's descendants are, without exception, gray of eye [Parsing which traits are hers or Peril's is difficult, as they have never taken other mates or lovers.]
Annacondra's children have a high aptitude for stealth and often possess invisibility or camouflage abilities.
Vengefall's children are well suited to be craftsmen (Graysmith) or warriors (Bledform). [Needs more specific information]
Water
Waterstone dominants tend to exhibit exceptional control of their bloodright, like their ancestor, Eithanael, who gained the name for his prowess in waterstone smithing. The bloodline produces many craftsmen and healers and is best known for producing the only clan to manufacture and trade high-grade water-imbued steel.
Northsea descendants have great vitality and an exceptional resistance to water-based poisons and toxins. The majority of Northsea scions are female.
There are two branches of Northseas due to Edom taking a second wife after the death of his first.
Bloodline dominance often results in a single ability manifesting in an individual, though rare instances of dual or merged abilities are on record.
Fire
Redwills appear to have a more destructive fire, which burns hotter and faster than others. Like Reyzan, striking auburn hair is their defining appearance.
Redtails possess a form of heightened empathy. Many choose the path of medicine or mind-study. Like Reyzan, striking auburn hair is their defining appearance.
Ferralongs commonly have physical farsight, which allows them to perceive distant objects with total clarity. They are often employed as watchmen or guards. Bright green eyes are their defining trait. Some are also blessed or cursed with their Firstfather's true Farsight. These latter tend to hide away as hermits or seek Rekavok to stay with him.
Wind
Viperilon's descendants (Kellinan, Peniron, Sheerfall?) are, without exception, black of hair. [Their abilities... I must study Val more closely, though he might take after his mother more.]
Alacria's descendants are, without exception, gray of eye [Parsing which traits are hers or Peril's is difficult, as they have never taken other mates or lovers.]
Annacondra's children have a high aptitude for stealth and often possess invisibility or camouflage abilities.
Vengefall's children are well suited to be craftsmen (Graysmith) or warriors (Bledform). [Needs more specific information]
Water
Waterstone dominants tend to exhibit exceptional control of their bloodright, like their ancestor, Eithanael, who gained the name for his prowess in waterstone smithing. The bloodline produces many craftsmen and healers and is best known for producing the only clan to manufacture and trade high-grade water-imbued steel.
Northsea descendants have great vitality and an exceptional resistance to water-based poisons and toxins. The majority of Northsea scions are female.
There are two branches of Northseas due to Edom taking a second wife after the death of his first.
Scions are direct descendants of the Firstborn who were born with the ability to shift into an Esseran form.
Although descendants of two paired Firstborn are always scions, no one knows exactly what makes one descendant a scion and another a plain human.
It must be noted that first-generation scions, having one or more of the Firstborn as a direct parent, seem to always inherit a notable birth ability. The surfacing of such abilities becomes more and more scarce in successive generations.
Although descendants of two paired Firstborn are always scions, no one knows exactly what makes one descendant a scion and another a plain human.
It must be noted that first-generation scions, having one or more of the Firstborn as a direct parent, seem to always inherit a notable birth ability. The surfacing of such abilities becomes more and more scarce in successive generations.
0.9 - Cloaks of Earth? Maybe... It's doubtful any Firstborn would part with theirs for long.
Oaths have influenced society, trade, and interaction since the beginning.
To make an oath in the essence is to write it into the domains, which ever seek truth and balance.
A broken oath of sufficient strength, especially when made on the Esser, can kill the oathbreaker instantly. They cannot escape their fate.
In certain cases, such as with a lighter oath when all involved parties are in agreement, an oath may be rescinded.
To make an oath in the essence is to write it into the domains, which ever seek truth and balance.
A broken oath of sufficient strength, especially when made on the Esser, can kill the oathbreaker instantly. They cannot escape their fate.
In certain cases, such as with a lighter oath when all involved parties are in agreement, an oath may be rescinded.
Names have always held great importance in our world, for when Soloth Tali (translated from the First Tongue: Maker of Worlds) wrote the Esser into existence, they were given names of power. Theirs are names we do not use lightly. Names were the First Gift, and they affect the course of the universe even now. First Blood naming tradition, used mostly by the Firstborn and scions, is especially reflective of this belief; by that tradition, the descendants of the Firstborn have three names: one given by a parent, one granted by their bloodline, and one chosen for oneself. Birth name, given name, chosen name.
[Name traditions have a deeper effect than I realized. I have witnessed how an essence-related ability, tracking targets through name-image-star relations, can negatively affect or backfire upon the one who uses it. It also appears that those named in the essence may, perhaps, be able to track back on such an ability, which implies a true link between names and the essence. I will have to study this in further detail when I return to Kalmeri.]
Given names, as granted by peers, mark the life of the Firstborn who bears it. On rare instances, for varied reasons, one's given name may be replaced. However, this new name is not guaranteed to become widespread in use. [Example: The confusion of Viperilon's current given name, due to his actions before versus during and after the Sheer Winter.]
Birth names are most often used in common speech. Given names, which are often passed down the bloodline from Firstfather or Firstmother as a surname, are used more formally. A chosen name tends to be derived from one or both and may or may not be revealed by the chooser except to close friends or family, though there are instances when, for personal reasons, the individual desire to be identified only by their chosen name.
A descendant takes the given name of the parent with whom they share an element. If both parents share the same element, the descendant takes the name with which he or she shares the most traits. In rare cases where they display two bloodline talents, they may inherit both names, ending with the name most associated with their appearance. More commonly, a descendant with the talent of one bloodline and the appearance of another might choose to take both. For instance, one Ferralong Redtail displays the physical farsight of a Ferralong while possessing the colors of a Redtail, though outwardly displays little to none of their empathetic ability.
Scions traditionally take the given name of the parent with whom they share their birth phase. A rare exception is Arond Windor, who chose to take his dam's name despite hatching at midnight, his sire's birth phase. [Although, perhaps, there is another reason? He used to be Peniron. What is the significance of the change?]
[Name traditions have a deeper effect than I realized. I have witnessed how an essence-related ability, tracking targets through name-image-star relations, can negatively affect or backfire upon the one who uses it. It also appears that those named in the essence may, perhaps, be able to track back on such an ability, which implies a true link between names and the essence. I will have to study this in further detail when I return to Kalmeri.]
Given names, as granted by peers, mark the life of the Firstborn who bears it. On rare instances, for varied reasons, one's given name may be replaced. However, this new name is not guaranteed to become widespread in use. [Example: The confusion of Viperilon's current given name, due to his actions before versus during and after the Sheer Winter.]
Birth names are most often used in common speech. Given names, which are often passed down the bloodline from Firstfather or Firstmother as a surname, are used more formally. A chosen name tends to be derived from one or both and may or may not be revealed by the chooser except to close friends or family, though there are instances when, for personal reasons, the individual desire to be identified only by their chosen name.
A descendant takes the given name of the parent with whom they share an element. If both parents share the same element, the descendant takes the name with which he or she shares the most traits. In rare cases where they display two bloodline talents, they may inherit both names, ending with the name most associated with their appearance. More commonly, a descendant with the talent of one bloodline and the appearance of another might choose to take both. For instance, one Ferralong Redtail displays the physical farsight of a Ferralong while possessing the colors of a Redtail, though outwardly displays little to none of their empathetic ability.
Scions traditionally take the given name of the parent with whom they share their birth phase. A rare exception is Arond Windor, who chose to take his dam's name despite hatching at midnight, his sire's birth phase. [Although, perhaps, there is another reason? He used to be Peniron. What is the significance of the change?]
Sundering Sea(s) / The Sundering
[The most wonderful place in all the blues! Home of the corridors of awesome.]
The Sundering Seas are the waters that sever the Uncharted Seas from the Charted Seas. The power of Mylstrydr and his wind strikes so damaged the domain that water cannot permanently fill in the places he cut- thus, the waters are always shifting within their furrows. However, recent travel shows that this area is healing. [Perhaps this is a sign that Earth is rising once more?]
There may be a connection between the Sundering and the Labyrinth Deep.
The Uncharted Seas
These seas contain the former territory of Vitarrow of the Morning Sky. [Accounts say he cut it off to give the humans within it more freedom.]
The Labyrinth Deep
The Labyrinth Deep is thought to be a realm-past-domains. Records point to it as the place that Earth sunk to after the First War, and Water covers his slumber. However, there are known locations where temporary openings into the Deep can occur. If one is unlucky enough to get caught inside when an opening closes, they are lost, never to return.
In a notable case, Viperilon Sheerfall threw Vitarrow Mylston into the opening at the Midnight/Blue crossing. Mylston has since become the first and only being known to have escaped the Labyrinth Deep.
The Frozen Firefields
[Ferry turned bad, earth guy got toasted, Tarrow-Mira-Peril took Ferry down, and there you go—forever frozen frosted flames.]
[The most wonderful place in all the blues! Home of the corridors of awesome.]
The Sundering Seas are the waters that sever the Uncharted Seas from the Charted Seas. The power of Mylstrydr and his wind strikes so damaged the domain that water cannot permanently fill in the places he cut- thus, the waters are always shifting within their furrows. However, recent travel shows that this area is healing. [Perhaps this is a sign that Earth is rising once more?]
There may be a connection between the Sundering and the Labyrinth Deep.
The Uncharted Seas
These seas contain the former territory of Vitarrow of the Morning Sky. [Accounts say he cut it off to give the humans within it more freedom.]
The Labyrinth Deep
The Labyrinth Deep is thought to be a realm-past-domains. Records point to it as the place that Earth sunk to after the First War, and Water covers his slumber. However, there are known locations where temporary openings into the Deep can occur. If one is unlucky enough to get caught inside when an opening closes, they are lost, never to return.
In a notable case, Viperilon Sheerfall threw Vitarrow Mylston into the opening at the Midnight/Blue crossing. Mylston has since become the first and only being known to have escaped the Labyrinth Deep.
The Frozen Firefields
[Ferry turned bad, earth guy got toasted, Tarrow-Mira-Peril took Ferry down, and there you go—forever frozen frosted flames.]
The Azure Court is held by the Firstborn of Water. Four sit at council at a time: one from each phase of light. Who sits is decided by the shift of the seasons and by the needs of the oceans. The current members are Miragua (Edom sits while she is unable), Eranious, Eithanael, and Malariel.
The Whirlwind Throne is the center of Viperilon's power. It is located on the Whirlwind Isles, where Greater Obsidian is its capital. As he is the only Sky who does not travel regularly, he is the only one to sit there with any permanence. Vengefall often takes Viperilon's place when the latter is absent. The command of the Cold Navy resides here with Vengefall's brood of Bledforms and Graysmiths.
The Vermilion Council is the gathering of the Firstborn of Fire.
At the formation of the council, they swore an oath to the Esser that they would act as one mind in all decisions made there, on pain of death. They decide how to act based on a majority vote comprised of each of the Firstborn of Fire and a representative from each bloodline.
Rising Alliance / New Dawn Alliance / Rising Three
The Rising Alliance was an ancient pact between three of the Firstborn, and the first independent alliance between the three domains. Miragua Forstreme, Vitarrow Mylstrydr, and Reyzan Redwill formed the first Rising Three.
The New Dawn Alliance formed shortly after the previous ended. Miragua and Vitarrow remained allied, and Remoriam Amortalis became the fire of the new Rising Three.
The Whirlwind Throne is the center of Viperilon's power. It is located on the Whirlwind Isles, where Greater Obsidian is its capital. As he is the only Sky who does not travel regularly, he is the only one to sit there with any permanence. Vengefall often takes Viperilon's place when the latter is absent. The command of the Cold Navy resides here with Vengefall's brood of Bledforms and Graysmiths.
The Vermilion Council is the gathering of the Firstborn of Fire.
At the formation of the council, they swore an oath to the Esser that they would act as one mind in all decisions made there, on pain of death. They decide how to act based on a majority vote comprised of each of the Firstborn of Fire and a representative from each bloodline.
Rising Alliance / New Dawn Alliance / Rising Three
The Rising Alliance was an ancient pact between three of the Firstborn, and the first independent alliance between the three domains. Miragua Forstreme, Vitarrow Mylstrydr, and Reyzan Redwill formed the first Rising Three.
The New Dawn Alliance formed shortly after the previous ended. Miragua and Vitarrow remained allied, and Remoriam Amortalis became the fire of the new Rising Three.
Notes: Hm, not sure where these go yet.
The Sheer Winter? Might need an entire new book for that... know what? Forget it.
Random miscellaneous customs? Maybe later—it's a big, splintery world.
Geography? I'm rubbish at drawing.
Anything I'm forgetting? Eh. It'll come to me eventually.
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- Location
- St. Petersburg
So Crow definitely fits. I wonder about Eis and Lisen, then. It could help explain some things.
Edit: and there it is.
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Lithos Alto
Herald of Red Herrings
- Location
- Inside my head
I would go insane if I had to type out all those "um's" and repetitions. Writing a person's exact speaking voice is extremely disillusioning about the glamor of total realism.You wouldn't believe how many quest writers fall for that. Not the accent, specifically, but making characters write down things that only occur during talking.
Edit: maybe "ain't" or similar would be semi-acceptable because I can reason out why a character would use it, but for our local storykeeper, writing in the speaking voice would be embarrassing.
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Crawkid
Lover of quests and community
- Location
- holed up in my room
[X]Your proficient climbing ability
[X]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
[X]I will scream whenever this human tries to sleep! The peace of night shall evade her and her companions in my presence!
Woo, my first voting ever on this site. I know that last one isn't the most popular, but personally feel it's more wrathful ^.~
[X]Your quirk of knowing the location of some things based on the position of the heavenly bodies
[X]I will scream whenever this human tries to sleep! The peace of night shall evade her and her companions in my presence!
Woo, my first voting ever on this site. I know that last one isn't the most popular, but personally feel it's more wrathful ^.~
- Location
- St. Petersburg
I am always hungry for new updates of this quest myself, but this was written the day before yesterday:
So I guess we'll have to wait for a bit.Lithos Alto said:
Lithos Alto
Herald of Red Herrings
- Location
- Inside my head
Hey all, sorry for the wait—I have a lot less time to write these days. Expect 3.1 later today, and as requested, it's Moram's. It's rather longer than I'd like (and that's with a ton of revision) and breaks my personal rule on perspective... but you'll be getting it anyway.
If you haven't clued in by now, I play the long game. Lol
If you haven't clued in by now, I play the long game. Lol
Dusk 3.1 - Morningfall
Lithos Alto
Herald of Red Herrings
- Location
- Inside my head
-
Dusk 3.1- Morningfall
-
"Hey, Jet-matey, ye look like ye've seen better days. What's eatin' ye?"
You look up from your position at the rail and shrug. "Nothing is. It's just… you're in charge of the day shift now, right?"
Rakky leans out near you with a dismissive wave. "Yeah, sure. No reason t' treat me other, though. Speak yore mind. I don't bite curious cadets."
You shrug again with an apologetic smile. "I'm not staying in the day shift. I've caused you all a bunch of trouble—it'll be good for everyone if I switch over."
She scoffs. "Nonsense! Ye get more a' reaction from Eissy than most do, an' not many get t' see Crow-boy outta his nest. Stuff like that's like rare treasure. Ye make things interestin' around here."
"That… would be the problem. I don't want to make trouble; trouble finds me. I'm comfortable with nighttime, so that might change. I'll be here the rest of today. Not after sundown. I mean, I'll be here, just not awake when you are."
"Yore choice, cully, but I do wish ye'd spend more time in daylight—gotta roast that pale flesh, ye know. Anyway, I've got yore info shell here and ready. Deal's still on, right? Info for a grand tale?"
"Yeah. About that—" You shift awkwardly and withdraw the echo shell from your clothes—"I thought it'd be better if you heard the story from me. I felt… weird practicing talking to a shell."
Rakky claps her hands excitedly. "Ah, a live tellin'! Ye're spoilin' me, don't ye know? Above and beyond, matey. Above and beyond. Now's the perfect time. Give that here—I'll hold it for ye whilst ye speak."
You freeze even as she plucks the conical spire from your hands. "Now? Wait, I… don't need to do anything special, do I?"
"'S long as ye keep it flowin' while ye speak, boyo, it's just like talkin'. Go on. I'm listenin'."
No time like the present, you guess. She's already uncorking the shell.
"...Alright. Before I start, you should know a bit about my mentor." You take a breath. "Moram was a man strong in both fire and loyalty. He was beaconmaster of Florialis' most dangerous cliff, beating back both wind and wings in the dark of night. A warrior. No, a commander. You couldn't mistake him for anything else."
"A commander, huh? What armies need commandin' on the Uncharted Seas?"
"He didn't come from Florialis. He fought in the Sheer Winter, if that helps."
Her brows wrinkle in thought. "Commander… Moram… That rolls real familiar off the tongue. 'S his bloodline a secret? I notice ye didn't give his surname."
You rub the back of your neck in embarrasment. "No, I just don't know it. Mentor was a private man. If he mentioned it to me, it was when I wasn't listening. I… never enjoyed his talks about ancient bloodlines."
"Ah. Shame that—ye can learn lots from history. Go on."
Your mouth feels dry, and it takes a moment to regain your voice. This story isn't one you enjoy remembering. Rakky watches with a kind of sympathy. You don't need it—even if you can't produce fireballs or create waves, you're ready enough for this.
"These events happened three years ago during Florialis' dry season. I was at the beacon that night. It was a black sky, so it needed to be especially bright. Mentor was off on one of his nighttime trips—he used to go out a lot when I was strong enough to take his place… Anyway, I was alone at the cliffs when the island shook, followed by a sound like thunder striking the ground. That was Florialis' peak breaking. The next thing we knew, the mountain was on fire…"
-
-
The children of Wind have a saying; everyone has three names that affect their lives. One from their parents, one from their peers, and one they choose for themselves.
When my great father formed my sister and me from the inferno under the rays of morning, he called me Remoriam: the ever-free ember of dawn. I hold this name dear to me; no one keeps me bound unless I allow it.
My brethren named me Amortalis—a name more reflective of my younger self, when I possessed a wilder temperament and a swifter blade. By right, this name should pass down my bloodline, but I refuse to bind my descendants to bloodshed.
On the Uncharted Seas, I chose a name for myself in the tradition of my people. Here, I am merely Moram, a son of fire. Here, aside my family and the few who joined me in the Winter, none should remember I was called anything else. Good. I will remain the ember's shadow for as long as I must.
I gird my cloak of Earth more tightly around my shoulders. This name, this garment… both are constant reminders that I am in hiding. No hunter could locate my flame underneath such a powerful artefact, but old precautions die hard.
And so do I.
I return my mind to the task at hand. In the blackwater, a maelstrom churns around the keel of my smallcraft, and the moonless sky waits for me to surrender to despair. I refuse.
With a breath, my flame pulses from my body in a circle that burns the darkness from the water's surface. Where once the Firebloom—the traditional fireblood opening for many a battle—destroyed and defended, it merely guides.
The expanding ring illuminates a swirl in the surface, a tiny vortex of an arm's length in diameter surrounded by a boiling sea. Relief bolsters my core. This is the only opening to the Labyrinth Deep close to Florialis, and I have taken great pains to obscure the true nature of the whirlpool, lest anyone attempts to widen the crack.
I cast multiple threads of light into the pinhole, the amber lines glimmering in the depths, and call the name of my brother-in-arms as I have for near seven years.
Tarrow Mylston—Vitarrow, you insufferable morning-lizard! Answer me, you scale-shedding coilsnake!
The chances of my voice reaching my old friend are abysmally low, but with Mira still immersed in a deep healing sleep (and probably snoring up a tsunami, heh), I am our greatest resource.
"It has been nearly a full score of years, old friend," I mutter aloud. "Have you not found a way out?"
He hasn't, and because of his foolish protective streak, he won't use the pinion I'd given him during the war.
My temper rises with a snarl. "Do you think I would let the Labyrinth hold us if you called me? Burn my waypoint, you stubborn silverfish!"
My pinions are beacons to my senses, especially when destroyed; when I was in the flush of my power, I could locate mine from any distance. But now I am weak.
I touch the crimson band around my forehead solemnly. The people we saved from the Winter, scion and human alike, will never know the price the original "Torchheads" paid for their lives.
We never should have formed the Vermilion Council, for by the blood of our oath, it has destroyed the best of us.
I am—
My core ignites without warning and relief and joy are my companions as my dear wife smiles. "Hurry in and meet your daughters, featherhead."
I clutch at my chest as if stabbed, the bittersweet memory engraving itself into my heart.
But sorrow swiftly mixes with alarm.
Someone else has cast one of my waypoints into the hearth of the Light of Dawn: the only blaze powerful enough to reach me at this distance. I reabsorb my flame to concentrate on the source and—
...Merry?
She stands by Florialis' beacon, arm extended at the end of a throw. Only an emergency would bolster my daughter to call me, for when I last saw her face-to-face, she had made one thing very clear:
"I never want to see you again."
I shrug off my coat and bundle it under one arm, releasing my essence from human limits, and call upon my true form for the first time in years. I have no time to relish the moment as my broken oath immediately sucks away my essence. But my fire is already blitzing down the invisible thread to my waypoint.
Connection.
I trailblaze, wraithlike, past sea and stone. On landing, I immediately reign in my power and once more restrain myself to a fragile earthen form.
Cold sweat beads on the back of my neck. This is how I have cheated death for all these years, for I gave my oath as Remoriam of the Morning Sun, not as Moram, a human.
Today may be the day it catches up to me.
The mountain that towers above Lenolia Village has woken. Already, rivulets of molten earth crown its peak, and it belches a darkness that thickens the sky.
Something has stirred it. No peak rises in anger without provocation, and I have a guess as to the source; a familiar taint, somewhere between rust and burning tar, lingers in the air. It smells of the Corruption—Dorian's Folly, Earth's Curse—which has been a plague on the world since the First Age. I hope with all my heart this is merely residue and not the herald of something more malevolent.
In contrast to the nightmare before me, the beacon's clean blaze, purified by the Jewel of Sunrise (long have I guarded it), soothes away the feeling of doom, and I lean into it, gradually restoring my core. My ward crouches by, poking at the embers. He looks up at my appearance.
"That was fast, mentor." His expression is one of astonishment but not disbelief at my rare ability.
"Jet." I nod in greeting.
Honestly, that boy. He and young Nyla would believe I hung the sun in the sky if someone told them (a ridiculous notion—that was my father's work).
I am in his debt. Had I been stronger in the Winter, his parents would be here in my place. I wonder if he would forgive me for all but denying him his bloodright.
At Jet's side, my daughter stands wreathed by the orange and scarlet embrace of the Light of Dawn. With her hair grown and blowing about in the cliff winds, glimmering reddish in the glow, she resembles her mother in a way that leaves me breathless.
"Dad!"
Merry flings her arms around me like she hasn't since before I joined the war. I hesitate, then relish the moment with a pang of sorrow as I return her embrace.
"Merry. What is happening?" I ask when she pulls away.
The fear in her eyes flickers in the light. "Firefall. First sign of danger was when all the birds flew away. Even the gulls… Then after sundown, the ground shook like thunder, and the mountain—the mountain started erupting, straight for the village. We can't stop it alone!"
A normal eruption is containable by a team of ten waters, maybe seven if they are competent. If they are having trouble... My suspicions rise.
"Where's Jard and young Nyla?" I ask.
"Jard's gathering waterbloods at the foot to put out the fires. We left Nyla at the docks with his mother. I-I remembered what you said before. About how to call you if the need was dire."
"Indeed. And what do you wish me to do?"
The expression on her face is pleading. "Would—can you save the village?" she asks meekly. As if I would refuse my remaining daughter.
"I can," I respond.
"Then please, father, help us protect our homes." Ha, I suppose she possesses a gentler steel like her mother—not like me, a man whose spine resembles a blazing sword.
With a wry smile, I place my right hand over my heart.
"I would do many a thing if you asked, my daughter. If that is your wish, I will help you."
Her face is uncertain, even though I have given my word. Ah… perhaps she knows that, had my family not possessed love for this island (and for the threat of the Corruption), I would let it burn for the villagers' cold attitude towards my young ward. They fear what they do not know.
The smoke in the distance thickens even as we stand, a whisper of Earth's curse tingling across my skin. I am running out of time.
"Ease your heart, daughter," I say. "If you hesitate because of what you said in anger those years ago, know that I bear you no grudge. I deserved it. By name and core and blood I swear, by Fire, my father who hears my oath; until morning's light, all that you treasure is mine to protect. They shall come to no harm until my last breath."
"Father! You don't need to go that far!" Her face is horrified. My daughter knows the weight of a blood oath made to the Esser; few live to tell the tale if they break their vows. I know better than most.
"No child should feel they must doubt their father's love," I reply.
With my word sealed, I turn to Jet and scowl at the grin on his face. He looks like a demented baboon.
"What're y' doing just squatting and staring? Gather more wood and bring the inferno, big as you can control! With neither sun nor moon in the sky, we fires will need all the energy we can get."
He shoots up with an enthusiastic, "Yes, mentor!"
I huff in fond exasperation. "Stay up here and you'll be safe until it's over. If not—"
"Go jump off a cliff, mentor?"
I smack him lightly atop his mess of white hair. Cheeky brat. "Use common sense. Keep the light shining until then. Your task carries more responsibility than most others."
With that said, I fling my cloak of Earth around Jet's shoulders and watch as he pulls the corner of garment up with an expression of hero worship that makes my brow twitch.
"You're giving this to me?" he questions.
I nod.
"But it's your favorite coat!"
I roll my eyes. "You'll be needing this more than I will, y'hear? Take it, fool boy!"
After I calm the mountain, I shall have to depart from this island. My unhidden presence is too distinct to remain near him for long. Unfortunate. I dearly wish to witness what Jet will grow to be, for though he is as turbulent as the wind, he does not easily give up when he finds determination.
"Now get to woodgathering, or I'll shove you off the cliff myself!" I take a threatening step closer, and with a yelp, a blur of white shoots into the woods, rustles once, and is gone, leaving me to stand in uncomfortable silence next to little Merry.
I extend my hands into the heart of Dawn and breathe in its warmth, allowing it to seep into my muscles and veins, into my core. I am aware how vulnerable this human form is. I'll need every bit of strength for what lies ahead.
"Time to go," I mutter. "Jet will not be long, and I can hear the village's panic from—"
I'm cut off by my daughter's embrace. The top of her head brushes my nose, bringing with it the scent of herbs and soot. She's all grown up. If only you could see her now, Lani, my beloved.
"Dad? When I told I didn't want to see you again, I… I didn't mean it," she whispers.
I shake my head. "No, Merry. I should never have become only a memory to you. I should have been there for your Gifting Day… for your wedding… for your mother… for your sister—"
"No, Dad. That wasn't… Mom always said you would come back after the war, but when she died, I… I wrongly blamed you for my helplessness. I thought you didn't care about us—that the 'war' was just you joining your friends on one of your crazy adventures."
"I did abandon you, though I did not wish it," I reply. "And for what? My comrades were crushed by our foes, and even when I finally stood at their side, I could not help them. We all lost things in the Winter that the tides of time cannot restore."
Merry pulls back to look me in the eye. "If you'd really failed, we would all be withering in frost and cold. No, your fight saved us, if only for a little longer. I forgive you… if you'll have it."
Her words free something in my heart, and I feel lighter than I'd been in years. I hold her close for the first time in sixteen years and regret we have no time to talk properly.
Anything I say would be inadequate, but I speak anyway. "Thank you, Merry. Your mother would be proud of who you have become. And so am I."
"She'd call us both fools for not making up sooner."
"Indeed." I let my daughter go reluctantly and dash the rain from my face before it can fall. "Here." I reach above my headband, pluck the reddest pinion I can find amongst the dead grays, and infuse it with a spark. "You will need a new one, just so you do not return to pulling them out in my sleep!"
"Dad, we were six." But she accepts my new waypoint without argument.
I send her a warm pat on the back. "Time flows, Merry. Go, join my granddaughter, and start calling the mothers and children to the boats!"
-
Lenolia Village holds no semblance of its morning peacefulness. Crying and wailing, feet stamping marks into dirt and wood and stone, all washed in pandemonium. An image of war.
I snag the collar of a man running past and neatly clothesline another with my free arm.
"What're y' all doing, running away?" I snarl into their faces. "If you care about your homes and your families, stand up and fight!"
"We can't do anything against that!" spits Dumb Idiot, waving an arm at the looming summit. "Not even Banter's waterspout could put out a fire mountain!"
"Banter's all talk," says Smarter Idiot. "Now Jard, he knows his stuff. I hear he's got a bunch of wetheads setting up canals 'round the base of the mountain."
I roll my eyes in contempt. I don't have time for this.
"If either of you are windy, make yourselves useful and project my voice, or I'll roast you over the mountain myself!"
Dumb Idiot proves he has a healthy survival instinct and boosts my volume adequately.
"Lenolia!" I shout, "You are the center of trade in this archipelago. Are you cowards, to abandon your livelihood to the flames without once moving to defend? Did you not inherit the spirit of your fathers who joined me in the teeth of Winter? Stand up and remember your pride!"
Some are listening, which is more than I'd hoped. And since they're paying attention— "Get the mothers and young ones to the boats! Yearlings, that includes you!"
"My Gifting Day was nearly a year ago, I can help!" shouts one overgrown child.
"No exceptions!" I bark. "The mothers will need all the help they can get with all their danger-seeking midgets! Everyone else, defend the village! Waters, join Jard and do whatever he says! You there, tall windmill man, take all the winds and keep the ash from spreading—circle in some fresh air for the waters if you can. Fires, with me!"
For a moment, all that could be heard was the crackling of wood and the cry of a single baby.
"Well?" I shout. "Get moving if y' want to live!"
The little crowd scatters, still afraid, but with purpose and direction. Satisfactory.
"Fires, here and ready, sir!" calls a young man thronged by a gathering of about fifteen others. His hair shines auburn in the light of his raised hand. A Redtail? I hope he is more levelheaded than a certain fool boy of that bloodline.
I nod. "Good. We're heading straight for the firefields, ladies and gentlemen. We can't waste time on your nervous breakdowns, so anyone who can't take the heat, stay back and build some controlled fires for us to leech, big as you can. Remember, we're fighting for your families. Your homes. Decide."
After a few fearful glances, I am down to seven recruits—including Redtail and Smarter Idiot—and me. More than expected. Ha. Fires afraid of fire? I'd sooner be afraid of my own shadow!
I send the remainder a sharp, approving grin. "Heh, it seems there are spines among you." I gesture forward, the peak in my sights, and crouch to run. "Time's flowing. Let's go!"
We take off down Lenolia's road, toward the outskirts, and young Redtail manages to keep pace while the others trail behind.
"What is our job, sir?" he asks, hopping a fallen bucket.
"Leeching heat out of the firestone flows, mostly," I answer. "Venting the mountain if y' don't run at first glance."
"I thought the power to cool temperatures belonged to wind… sir?"
"That's what the enemy wants you to think. You all know how to take heat from a sealed pot, don't you? Same idea, but don't try freezing anything unless you're already dying."
"Ah."
I sharpen my tone to its most serious. "If you need more power, do not draw it from the mountain. You'll burn up like a dry leaf. Draw from the bonfires—it's better than nothing. And I hope I don't need to warn against losing control. Aside that… any other questions?" I call behind me.
Silence.
I huff in annoyance. "If you nodded, you're idiots. Do I have eyes on the back of my head?"
"No, sir!" they chorus sheepishly.
"Then run faster, 'cause if this mountain catches up, you're dead!"
With a nervous shared laugh, we make good time to the foot of Florialis' sole peak.
At this distance, only our bloodright allows us respite from the heat. Jard and his team of waters are there, providing a break to curb the eruption so it creates a natural barrier as it cools. I see him directing the crews as they shift a whirling stream. Their combined abilities bore trenches to redirect and contain the firefalls.
I nod in greeting. Jard is a good man and a worthy son-in-law. It was he who took care of my daughter after my Lani passed… before I returned from the Winter. He is efficient. With a natural eruption, Jard's people would be enough. But with the scent of the Corruption rising, I am even more convinced the eruption is the mountain's triggered defense.
I will not leave it to chance.
I've directed half of my group to assist the waters in speeding up the cooling process. The remaining four of us head past Jard's barrier into the firefields. Here, the very ground is scorching underfoot, and the air is mired with foul gas and ashes. With every other step, we wipe the sweat from our faces and find it dark with grime as we edge around slow-running streams of natural firestone, a bloodlight against the night.
"What now, sir?" asks Redtail, shading his eyes to peer at the raging summit.
Now, we find the reason for the eruption. Then, I suppress it.
Out loud, "We'll pair up to find some vents. The flows are firestone, not pure fire—it'll take too much power to redirect heat from the mountain's inner chamber without a direct link. When you find an opening, concentrate on releasing pressure—not too fast! And find me immediately if you encounter something too strong or… especially strange. Stay alert, and may Fire light your steps."
"And yours," they chorus.
Smarter Idiot and his partner head west while Redtail and I stay the east course.
We find a vent before long, and I show Redtail how to weave his fire into threads to forge deep connections between heat sources. I'm impressed when he accomplishes it, binding the vent's heat to an empty rock. The task requires a combination of will and control most fires do not acquire.
(Heh. The first Redtail, Reyzan of the Midday Sun, always was my favorite brother. Lisen's worst traits must've come from that moonlit lunatic, Ferralong.)
An hour passes without incident, and I dare hope this eruption is natural; then, a tremor like a wind strike shatters the air, and a drastic spike in Corruption shears our threads apart. Reeling from the blow, we barely keep our footing.
My heart sinks.
"What was that?" Redtail whispers. He'd felt it too: the sandpaper-grate of Earth's curse across his senses.
I know what it means. The border between fire and earth is flexing, tearing where it should cleave. If it does, Earth's domain will release its tainted brood to renew the days of terror from the dawn of the Second Age.
Unlike humans of old, warriors and heroes tried and tested, no one on this island is trained to fight this breed of enemy. Even I in my weakened state am far less prepared than I'd wish.
Smarter Idiot and his partner find me as they leap and skitter from the east slope, as pale as my ward's hair. "It's bursting out the other side!" he gasps. "A monster—curse-spawn!"
Curse-spawn? No wonder the mountain is erupting!
I immediately begin drawing what strength I can from the distant bonfires. The Light of Dawn shines golden and steady atop the cliff in comparison to the paltry flickers in the village. Jet's learned his lessons well.
"Take me there," I command.
We follow Smarter Idiot at a sprint, and he earns a modicum of my respect for not fleeing when he could have.
We halt at his signal and peer over a rugged outcrop to set eyes on the monstrous instigator of the eruption.
"What is it?" says Redtail, barely above a whisper.
A thrill tugs my lips from my teeth. "A salamander. Full grown, by the color of its eyes."
From the sheer rock face protrudes an immense head, reptilian, a monolith of tarnished obsidian veined with glowing orange, its eyes two carnelian pools of power, shining in the dark. Its maw could snap up a cow in one bite; it is a fully grown specimen, though not an Ancient one, thank Fire. The rest of its body remains encased in the wall, but by the buckling of the rock, that will not hold true much longer.
A tragedy, that such a mighty being has fallen to the Curse… and a reminder that no one is immune, bar the Esser themselves. Well, except Earth. Earth is an exception to many things.
To my relief, I sense this is not an outbreak but an isolated enemy. The mountain will not stop raging until the creature dies, but after, it will repair itself and seal the rift. The village can take care of the rest.
My goal is set.
I exhale and reach for the hilt of the knife at my side. "All of you, leave the mountain and tell everyone to get away. This enemy is beyond you."
Almost before I finish speaking, Smarter Idiot and his partner are gone, leaving Redtail with me, hesitant and worried.
"What about you, sir?" he asks.
"This counts as 'something too strong.'"
"Are you sure you can take it alone, sir?"
I smile grimly. "Heh, this isn't my first tussle with a lizard. It will all be over before you can rally any help." One way or another. This should be a roughly even match with my diminished power.
He salutes, teeth flashing. "May Fire light your way, sir. It was an honor standing at your side."
"The honor was mine. Now, listen; if you ever find yourself in the Vermilion Lands, ask for Ferry Sanslock. Tell her you were sent by her older brother Remoriam to learn the ways of fire. Got it? Your talent is wasted on this island."
"I'll be sure to do that, Remoriam, sir!"
Then he takes off like a shot.
"That's Moram to you… Redtail," I mutter, turning to the task ahead.
The salamander lies before me, unaware of my presence. Can I drop from above? No, by the time I scale the cliff, it will be free. Side? Potentially. Its eyes are focused at its front; I may hide in the shadow of the wall if it does not catch my scent.
I reach up and tighten the band about my head, unsheathe my knife, and pull the heat of my fire inward. Salamanders' temperature senses are noteworthy. As for my senses, my night vision may be lesser as a human, but I am still Fire's son. Distinguishing shapes is enough to keep me from misstepping.
I circle around widely and press to the wall downwind as the salamander's head thrashes and wriggles, its body heat melting stone for easier passage. Its shoulders are visible now, capped by vicious backwards spikes that could skewer three men if raised in aggression. I've seen it happen.
By some evil sixth sense, the creature spies me and, with a nimble twist, sprays liquid flames from its jaws as I leap to the side. Where it touches, the rock melts and corrodes. What frightening range.
"You missed, spawn of the Folly!" I taunt as I find cover.
It snarls in answer, revealing teeth like individual millstones, the caging rock bulging dangerously. I dart closer while it is occupied and dodge behind a boulder as its nose snaps up, maw ready. Heat blasts on either side as my shelter melts under its incendiary saliva.
I change position quickly. A swipe of my arm sends a me-sized pillar of fire one direction—the lizard takes the bait! I sprint for an outcrop near the wall.
The cursed reptile's neck snakes to its full length and cranes in an arc, searching for me, its clashing teeth pulverizing a boulder around my height. With a breath, still moving, never still, I crouch low and creep closer to the great head, a span at a time, more if it faces away.
Close… closer… barely ten armslengths away, its molten eye turns on me, and I hurl a condensed burst of fire into its face, eliciting a screech of anger as my blow fails to do more than dazzle it. Its following lunge nearly smashes me against the wall.
I find refuge in the blind spot below its right eye and pause.
That burst would have melted that armor… had I my full strength. Ha, I suppose it was too much to hope. And I know from experience those rugged denticles are too tough to shatter with most weapons, let alone with anything I carry.
I again curse my idealistic younger self for making that foolish loyalty oath to our Council. For making me choose between my life and power or death and freedom.
My options run thin.
I could bring a rockslide to slow the creature's emergence, or an inferno to disorient it, but the only reliable ways of killing a corrupted one are by total disintegration, decapitation, or by overwhelming its essence.
The last option ignores the armor, my biggest obstacle. But both attacker and defender are at their most vulnerable in a battle of cores. I wouldn't even consider it if the beast wasn't restrained.
Time flows away from us all. I'll have to chance it.
The creature noses around, trying to trace me, and in doing so lowers its head. I do not let the opportunity pass. I launch my body toward the salamander's cheek ridge and clamp down with the tips of my fingers, the razor-sharp edges of its scales scraping across my palms, only my fire protecting me from blistering on the hot surface.
The head lists at my weight, and for a moment, my feet are on the ground and I am facing the salamander's right eye. I brace, chin up, and ram my short blade into the glowing orb, poisonous fluids bursting over my arm, but I cannot pause to heal it. I flood the wound with flame, using it as a bridge into the salamander's essence, seeking for its core to extinguish its cursed life.
Connection.
To my senses, the lizard's core is a boiling star shot through with black—the Corruption—and I spear my threads straight for the center.
The defenses snap shut, rejecting me even as the creature's body convulses for its eye wound, and it lashes back in retaliation. I curl to deflect, but—
Rage at the pure fire! Pain all will burn you shall die to my teeth son of Fire!
—its hate-filled will melts through my defense like water poured over salt, and only my honed instincts keep it from killing me.
"Agh!"
My free hand claws at my chest at the wave of honed fury. How is it so strong? My will is no small matter, and though weakened, I am no stranger to this mode of combat.
I rally and delve deeper, using my resolve as a knife to cut the salamander's core defenses, and am repelled once more.
The corrupted flame rears up—
Your core is full of weakness the earth is strong in my blood! Your will is mine to consume!
—and strikes my mirage!
Close. Too close.
My body groans under the strain. It's heating up to dangerous levels; I'll combust if I push farther. Heh. No, I'm already scorching.
I need more power, but I refuse to release my true form for that result. Not here. Not when I would risk leading the enemy to my family. To Jet.
There is another way, but in this form, it may well incinerate me.
I don't want to die!
My resolve strengthens my assault, and for a moment, the salamander's defense falters. An opening! My threads snake through the gap and shoot for the core.
Sssshhaaah!
Then the blackness spreads until the fiery sphere is more burgundy than crimson, and something… shifts.
A wave of dark aura crashes into my defenses. To my horror, the latticework of golden threads bends, buckles—
No!
—and holds.
I pant, glaring in defiance as the Corruption recedes. That… was not the lizard's doing.
IT is here. Even if it's just a shadow of the Curse.
So, you show yourself through beasts now, filth? I spit.
IT only laughs.
I incinerate a tendril of darkness that comes too close, encircle myself with flame, and bare my teeth.
Do not test me. I will not be caged! I roar.
You will let your guard down soon enough. What makes you think you can resist when even your sister fell?
Because I know who I am, and I know who you are. I am Remoriam, First Son of Fire, Keeper of the Light of Dawn. You are nothing but a stain under my sandals. Go back to the Darkness!
The presence lifts, and with it, the shadow.
IT is gone. The victory is mine.
Our encounters are always this short and unpleasant. I hope I will always have the awareness and strength to resist IT, for should we ever fight in earnest, IT may yet find a crack in me.
I huff, rage cooling, and I am promptly thrown back. The salamander's fire has taken its rightful place and struck back in my lapse.
But before I am expelled, I see my doom: a fiery bond of gold stretching from the beast's core to the mountain.
Of course. The lizard was formed and Awoken by the mountain before being corrupted. The mountain recognizes the salamander is infected, but the parent is unable to destroy its child. And so it erupts.
The salamander's body has not lain idle while our wills are deadlocked. I've nearly been thrown off but for my vicegrip on my knife; its left foreclaw is free and scrabbling at its face, seeking to rend my flesh. I can sense its right is following suit, and if it does, I will not live to see the creature destroy the island.
The combined might of mountain and beast will overpower me the moment the lizard realizes how to properly attack.
I could retreat right now. I could take my family and my ward and leave this island to its fate. After all, salamanders cannot swim speedily or well.
To die a coward and oathbreaker, or to die fighting.
Ha, why am I thinking about this? I am not like IT's servants. I gave my word to my daughter with all my heart, and here shall I stand: between my family and the offspring of Earth's curse.
I've known I would die ever since the day I tore my freedom from the Council. I just didn't think the day would come so soon.
I steel myself, lace my threads into the golden bond and bind my core to the mountain.
Connection.
The salamander's answering shriek nearly throws my body away, but I barely notice.
I am burning.
My true form is of pure essence, but this is not my fire. The parent bond protects the salamander, but I am an intruder; only my sharp will keeps me from succumbing to the mountain's fury.
My core is being crushed under the weight of stone. The agony… is indescribable.
But the flow of essence between lizard and mountain has changed, and my foe's defense has weakened. I do not waste the opening.
As if plunging into a pool of scalding razors, every movement a mortal wound, I reach forth, my threads blinding white with borrowed flames, and slice through the corrupted existence like a firestone knife through wax.
As I pull back from our duel, victorious, the salamander's death throes shake the mountain. It spits forth a cloud of embers and acid, and its great head crashes to the ground, eyes dulled forever.
The impact dislodges my knife; I collapse to the rubble by my foe. And then I cannot move.
The mountain is still bonded to me. I am overflowing with more power than I've had since before the Winter, but my body will not…
Rest would do wonders. It would be so easy to close my eyes and—no, I must not. I can stop its eruption… No, it will stop itself once I cut myself free.
I sever the connection, leaving my body curled up in pain, drowning in the traces of the mountain's power.
I know what will happen next. The core treats impure essence like the body does sickness, and I was immersed—however briefly—in earth-mixed wildfire. My own pure flames will recognize earth as a disease… and so they will burn my body to ashes.
I am dying. But I have not been this capable, this strong in essence, since before the Winter.
My network of waypoints is spread out before my mind's eye like a constellation, pulsing with the beat of my human heart. I quickly focus on four and let the others fade back.
Jet. He's kept the beacon roaring and strong through the night, allowing the pinion Merry used to remain in my sights. He'll have a harder time of it when my power dies.
Lisen, that troublemaker, lying in Viperilon's cells. Troublemaker, but he knows how to survive. A scrappy fighter if I ever knew one. I'll never tell him how proud I am of his undying spirit.
Mira, curled up in a deep cavern, submerged in a healing sleep. She'll wake soon, especially if I bid her, and the ocean will rally to her side.
And finally, Tarrow, up near the surface of the Labyrinth Deep. He's alive and fighting, fierce and determined and compassionate. Heh, I never doubted it once.
I've said all I must to everyone else. The last three are a sea apart from me, but I have the chance to send one of them one last message—not for myself, but for one who's still finding his way.
Ha, like I'll leave my ward without a lifeline. My family will live on without me, but Jet is alone… though he won't be for long, if it's in my power. And in this moment, I have more than enough.
I reach, using Jet's beacon as an anchor, and cast a single thrumming line of fire into the distance.
Connection.
I grin, my joy near overriding the pain as I speak to a long-missed comrade.
[]Lisen
[]Mira
[]Tarrow
With my message sent, I let the borrowed power go and bask, utterly spent, in the glow of the beacon. In the warmth of the Light of Dawn.
"Moram!"
What? Jet? Why is he—fool boy, did he follow me to the mountain? Ah. No. I'm… at the cliff again. How did I…? Oh. I anchored to it, huh? Never tried a trailblaze in this body. Might've saved me some trouble… back then.
Jet runs over as if to raise me to my feet, but I throw a hand out to ward the fool boy away.
"Stay back!" I snarl.
"But you're hurt!"
"No. Don't you… dare approach. I'm still burning."
I must look like I'm… ha. Half dead. No human was ever meant to wield that power. Even I couldn't… can't endure it, but I dared not release the energy aimlessly.
Aimlessly… ah, there is one last act I can perform before I turn to ash.
The knife in my hand—the tool that has served me for a full score—begins to glow as I dive deep into my core, pouring my fire, my essence, into its empty shell until it shines like a red star. All of me. Every drop of will, my hopes and dreams, my joy and sorrow, my love and rage.
The steel begins to warp under the heat.
By the fire of my core, do not break.
It holds. For a mere shell of earth, it contains what this body cannot. This simple knife has served me well; so will it serve my ward.
Never betray your new master.
I fill it with all that I am. All I could have been. All of my life. It will leak, for I have not the time to properly seal it. My coat will have to be enough to hide both boy and weapon. An inelegant risk, but one worth taking.
And not the only risk I pour into it.
I extend my other hand to the beacon and call the Light of Dawn to me, but before the jewel can fully crystallize, I gently, gently push its essence towards the blade. The crystals sink into the metal, leaving no mark.
Remember my fire.
With the dregs of my strength, I fling the reforged firestone weapon to the ground at Jet's feet.
"Do not lose that coat or knife, boy, and if you stay on this island, you will live a long and safe life—barring death by foolishness."
Jet grasps the hilt cautiously, the weapon still glowing with my life's energy. It won't burn him. Oh, but that confused expression on his face—he hasn't realized what is happening.
"Now go," I say, barely over a whisper. "Tell them it's over. I… have won."
A spark of knowing. "I-I don't want to leave you!"
That boy. That foolish, wonderful boy. I am past worry.
"Jet… go."
"I…" He hesitates for a painful moment. "I'll get Merry. Don't go anywhere, alright?"
I smirk tiredly. Heh. I couldn't move if I wanted to.
Finally, mercifully, he leaves. Good. He does not need to witness my fate.
In the end, I couldn't apologize. Jet will have to meet his family himself. He will have his chance soon enough.
Forgive me.
I am at the end of my wick, a pale flicker in the vastness of night. The rays of sunrise, my rising hour, whisper over my skin, my father's domain seeking to heal me. It's too late. I can feel my fire consuming what's left of me. I think—I think I should be feeling pain, but there's none. Just the chill of ice, spreading from my fingers and toes, to my limbs, toward my heart. And somehow, that's far more terrifying.
My fire has never once gone dark in all my long years. Still, this is not a bad way to go. I had a good life. A great life, with adventure and comrades and… family.
And they are all alive and well.
Fight on, my friends, and live.
-
-
Rakky had fallen silent when you began, and she is no less somber as you close.
"The cliff was where I last saw him." You pause to blink rapidly. "The mountain went still soon after. Everyone went back to their homes. It took me a bit to find a healer, but when we got back, he was…" You swallow dryly. "He was gone."
"Gone… dead?" Rakky whispers.
You nod, unwilling to voice it. His body had burned to ashes, and Merry had confirmed his death. Something about feeling his passing.
"My mentor saved all of us that night," you continue. "Everyone knows, but no one talks about it. Even I only know this much thirdhand." (From Jard, who heard the report from the men who accompanied Moram.) "I don't know. He should've been their hero! Instead, it's like they're trying to forget he existed." The last word leaves you in a hiss of anger.
The storykeeper places a comforting hand on your shoulder. When she speaks, her voice thick with emotion. "Well, here's one who's not gonna let that happen, matey. Don't worry. Yore mentor'll get his story told from the heights a' the vaulted skies t' the depths a' the abyssal seas. 'Specially if he is who I'm guessin'… Ye've given me somethin' special, Jet. I hope ye know that."
"I know." You let the air whistle from your teeth. "And thanks. For listening, I mean. This story… This was the first time." You haven't let go, but you feel better, lighter, more at peace with the memory.
"Pleasure's mine. Here—have my side of the bargain." Rakky holds out a second echo shell. Information in exchange for your story.
"Thanks." You take the proffered item eagerly but try not to seem desperate. You have some pride.
"No prob. Now, ye don't happen t' still have that coat, do ye?" The storykeeper asks with a curious glint in her eyes.
It'll be back on the island. Someone would've found it by now, and it'll have made its way to your mentor's family.
You shrug. "Wherever it is, it's in the hands of someone who knows its worth."
Rakky's answering look reminds you of a puppy whose food was stolen from under its nose. You don't know why—though it is a pretty awesome coat, you don't see how it'd be of any importance to her.
You'll stay in the day shift until nightfall. What will you do now? Pick two.
[]Stick with Rakky a while. It's good to have a maybe-friend with authority.
[]Mend things with Crow. He's had a night to cool off.
[]See how Lisen's doing. He might appreciate a visitor.
[]Listen to Rakky's shell now. Information is your ally.
-
-
-
Gained: Echo shell
Lost: Echo shell
Dusk 3.1- Morningfall
-
"Hey, Jet-matey, ye look like ye've seen better days. What's eatin' ye?"
You look up from your position at the rail and shrug. "Nothing is. It's just… you're in charge of the day shift now, right?"
Rakky leans out near you with a dismissive wave. "Yeah, sure. No reason t' treat me other, though. Speak yore mind. I don't bite curious cadets."
You shrug again with an apologetic smile. "I'm not staying in the day shift. I've caused you all a bunch of trouble—it'll be good for everyone if I switch over."
She scoffs. "Nonsense! Ye get more a' reaction from Eissy than most do, an' not many get t' see Crow-boy outta his nest. Stuff like that's like rare treasure. Ye make things interestin' around here."
"That… would be the problem. I don't want to make trouble; trouble finds me. I'm comfortable with nighttime, so that might change. I'll be here the rest of today. Not after sundown. I mean, I'll be here, just not awake when you are."
"Yore choice, cully, but I do wish ye'd spend more time in daylight—gotta roast that pale flesh, ye know. Anyway, I've got yore info shell here and ready. Deal's still on, right? Info for a grand tale?"
"Yeah. About that—" You shift awkwardly and withdraw the echo shell from your clothes—"I thought it'd be better if you heard the story from me. I felt… weird practicing talking to a shell."
Rakky claps her hands excitedly. "Ah, a live tellin'! Ye're spoilin' me, don't ye know? Above and beyond, matey. Above and beyond. Now's the perfect time. Give that here—I'll hold it for ye whilst ye speak."
You freeze even as she plucks the conical spire from your hands. "Now? Wait, I… don't need to do anything special, do I?"
"'S long as ye keep it flowin' while ye speak, boyo, it's just like talkin'. Go on. I'm listenin'."
No time like the present, you guess. She's already uncorking the shell.
"...Alright. Before I start, you should know a bit about my mentor." You take a breath. "Moram was a man strong in both fire and loyalty. He was beaconmaster of Florialis' most dangerous cliff, beating back both wind and wings in the dark of night. A warrior. No, a commander. You couldn't mistake him for anything else."
"A commander, huh? What armies need commandin' on the Uncharted Seas?"
"He didn't come from Florialis. He fought in the Sheer Winter, if that helps."
Her brows wrinkle in thought. "Commander… Moram… That rolls real familiar off the tongue. 'S his bloodline a secret? I notice ye didn't give his surname."
You rub the back of your neck in embarrasment. "No, I just don't know it. Mentor was a private man. If he mentioned it to me, it was when I wasn't listening. I… never enjoyed his talks about ancient bloodlines."
"Ah. Shame that—ye can learn lots from history. Go on."
Your mouth feels dry, and it takes a moment to regain your voice. This story isn't one you enjoy remembering. Rakky watches with a kind of sympathy. You don't need it—even if you can't produce fireballs or create waves, you're ready enough for this.
"These events happened three years ago during Florialis' dry season. I was at the beacon that night. It was a black sky, so it needed to be especially bright. Mentor was off on one of his nighttime trips—he used to go out a lot when I was strong enough to take his place… Anyway, I was alone at the cliffs when the island shook, followed by a sound like thunder striking the ground. That was Florialis' peak breaking. The next thing we knew, the mountain was on fire…"
-
-
The children of Wind have a saying; everyone has three names that affect their lives. One from their parents, one from their peers, and one they choose for themselves.
When my great father formed my sister and me from the inferno under the rays of morning, he called me Remoriam: the ever-free ember of dawn. I hold this name dear to me; no one keeps me bound unless I allow it.
My brethren named me Amortalis—a name more reflective of my younger self, when I possessed a wilder temperament and a swifter blade. By right, this name should pass down my bloodline, but I refuse to bind my descendants to bloodshed.
On the Uncharted Seas, I chose a name for myself in the tradition of my people. Here, I am merely Moram, a son of fire. Here, aside my family and the few who joined me in the Winter, none should remember I was called anything else. Good. I will remain the ember's shadow for as long as I must.
I gird my cloak of Earth more tightly around my shoulders. This name, this garment… both are constant reminders that I am in hiding. No hunter could locate my flame underneath such a powerful artefact, but old precautions die hard.
And so do I.
I return my mind to the task at hand. In the blackwater, a maelstrom churns around the keel of my smallcraft, and the moonless sky waits for me to surrender to despair. I refuse.
With a breath, my flame pulses from my body in a circle that burns the darkness from the water's surface. Where once the Firebloom—the traditional fireblood opening for many a battle—destroyed and defended, it merely guides.
The expanding ring illuminates a swirl in the surface, a tiny vortex of an arm's length in diameter surrounded by a boiling sea. Relief bolsters my core. This is the only opening to the Labyrinth Deep close to Florialis, and I have taken great pains to obscure the true nature of the whirlpool, lest anyone attempts to widen the crack.
I cast multiple threads of light into the pinhole, the amber lines glimmering in the depths, and call the name of my brother-in-arms as I have for near seven years.
Tarrow Mylston—Vitarrow, you insufferable morning-lizard! Answer me, you scale-shedding coilsnake!
The chances of my voice reaching my old friend are abysmally low, but with Mira still immersed in a deep healing sleep (and probably snoring up a tsunami, heh), I am our greatest resource.
"It has been nearly a full score of years, old friend," I mutter aloud. "Have you not found a way out?"
He hasn't, and because of his foolish protective streak, he won't use the pinion I'd given him during the war.
My temper rises with a snarl. "Do you think I would let the Labyrinth hold us if you called me? Burn my waypoint, you stubborn silverfish!"
My pinions are beacons to my senses, especially when destroyed; when I was in the flush of my power, I could locate mine from any distance. But now I am weak.
I touch the crimson band around my forehead solemnly. The people we saved from the Winter, scion and human alike, will never know the price the original "Torchheads" paid for their lives.
We never should have formed the Vermilion Council, for by the blood of our oath, it has destroyed the best of us.
I am—
My core ignites without warning and relief and joy are my companions as my dear wife smiles. "Hurry in and meet your daughters, featherhead."
I clutch at my chest as if stabbed, the bittersweet memory engraving itself into my heart.
But sorrow swiftly mixes with alarm.
Someone else has cast one of my waypoints into the hearth of the Light of Dawn: the only blaze powerful enough to reach me at this distance. I reabsorb my flame to concentrate on the source and—
...Merry?
She stands by Florialis' beacon, arm extended at the end of a throw. Only an emergency would bolster my daughter to call me, for when I last saw her face-to-face, she had made one thing very clear:
"I never want to see you again."
I shrug off my coat and bundle it under one arm, releasing my essence from human limits, and call upon my true form for the first time in years. I have no time to relish the moment as my broken oath immediately sucks away my essence. But my fire is already blitzing down the invisible thread to my waypoint.
Connection.
I trailblaze, wraithlike, past sea and stone. On landing, I immediately reign in my power and once more restrain myself to a fragile earthen form.
Cold sweat beads on the back of my neck. This is how I have cheated death for all these years, for I gave my oath as Remoriam of the Morning Sun, not as Moram, a human.
Today may be the day it catches up to me.
The mountain that towers above Lenolia Village has woken. Already, rivulets of molten earth crown its peak, and it belches a darkness that thickens the sky.
Something has stirred it. No peak rises in anger without provocation, and I have a guess as to the source; a familiar taint, somewhere between rust and burning tar, lingers in the air. It smells of the Corruption—Dorian's Folly, Earth's Curse—which has been a plague on the world since the First Age. I hope with all my heart this is merely residue and not the herald of something more malevolent.
In contrast to the nightmare before me, the beacon's clean blaze, purified by the Jewel of Sunrise (long have I guarded it), soothes away the feeling of doom, and I lean into it, gradually restoring my core. My ward crouches by, poking at the embers. He looks up at my appearance.
"That was fast, mentor." His expression is one of astonishment but not disbelief at my rare ability.
"Jet." I nod in greeting.
Honestly, that boy. He and young Nyla would believe I hung the sun in the sky if someone told them (a ridiculous notion—that was my father's work).
I am in his debt. Had I been stronger in the Winter, his parents would be here in my place. I wonder if he would forgive me for all but denying him his bloodright.
At Jet's side, my daughter stands wreathed by the orange and scarlet embrace of the Light of Dawn. With her hair grown and blowing about in the cliff winds, glimmering reddish in the glow, she resembles her mother in a way that leaves me breathless.
"Dad!"
Merry flings her arms around me like she hasn't since before I joined the war. I hesitate, then relish the moment with a pang of sorrow as I return her embrace.
"Merry. What is happening?" I ask when she pulls away.
The fear in her eyes flickers in the light. "Firefall. First sign of danger was when all the birds flew away. Even the gulls… Then after sundown, the ground shook like thunder, and the mountain—the mountain started erupting, straight for the village. We can't stop it alone!"
A normal eruption is containable by a team of ten waters, maybe seven if they are competent. If they are having trouble... My suspicions rise.
"Where's Jard and young Nyla?" I ask.
"Jard's gathering waterbloods at the foot to put out the fires. We left Nyla at the docks with his mother. I-I remembered what you said before. About how to call you if the need was dire."
"Indeed. And what do you wish me to do?"
The expression on her face is pleading. "Would—can you save the village?" she asks meekly. As if I would refuse my remaining daughter.
"I can," I respond.
"Then please, father, help us protect our homes." Ha, I suppose she possesses a gentler steel like her mother—not like me, a man whose spine resembles a blazing sword.
With a wry smile, I place my right hand over my heart.
"I would do many a thing if you asked, my daughter. If that is your wish, I will help you."
Her face is uncertain, even though I have given my word. Ah… perhaps she knows that, had my family not possessed love for this island (and for the threat of the Corruption), I would let it burn for the villagers' cold attitude towards my young ward. They fear what they do not know.
The smoke in the distance thickens even as we stand, a whisper of Earth's curse tingling across my skin. I am running out of time.
"Ease your heart, daughter," I say. "If you hesitate because of what you said in anger those years ago, know that I bear you no grudge. I deserved it. By name and core and blood I swear, by Fire, my father who hears my oath; until morning's light, all that you treasure is mine to protect. They shall come to no harm until my last breath."
"Father! You don't need to go that far!" Her face is horrified. My daughter knows the weight of a blood oath made to the Esser; few live to tell the tale if they break their vows. I know better than most.
"No child should feel they must doubt their father's love," I reply.
With my word sealed, I turn to Jet and scowl at the grin on his face. He looks like a demented baboon.
"What're y' doing just squatting and staring? Gather more wood and bring the inferno, big as you can control! With neither sun nor moon in the sky, we fires will need all the energy we can get."
He shoots up with an enthusiastic, "Yes, mentor!"
I huff in fond exasperation. "Stay up here and you'll be safe until it's over. If not—"
"Go jump off a cliff, mentor?"
I smack him lightly atop his mess of white hair. Cheeky brat. "Use common sense. Keep the light shining until then. Your task carries more responsibility than most others."
With that said, I fling my cloak of Earth around Jet's shoulders and watch as he pulls the corner of garment up with an expression of hero worship that makes my brow twitch.
"You're giving this to me?" he questions.
I nod.
"But it's your favorite coat!"
I roll my eyes. "You'll be needing this more than I will, y'hear? Take it, fool boy!"
After I calm the mountain, I shall have to depart from this island. My unhidden presence is too distinct to remain near him for long. Unfortunate. I dearly wish to witness what Jet will grow to be, for though he is as turbulent as the wind, he does not easily give up when he finds determination.
"Now get to woodgathering, or I'll shove you off the cliff myself!" I take a threatening step closer, and with a yelp, a blur of white shoots into the woods, rustles once, and is gone, leaving me to stand in uncomfortable silence next to little Merry.
I extend my hands into the heart of Dawn and breathe in its warmth, allowing it to seep into my muscles and veins, into my core. I am aware how vulnerable this human form is. I'll need every bit of strength for what lies ahead.
"Time to go," I mutter. "Jet will not be long, and I can hear the village's panic from—"
I'm cut off by my daughter's embrace. The top of her head brushes my nose, bringing with it the scent of herbs and soot. She's all grown up. If only you could see her now, Lani, my beloved.
"Dad? When I told I didn't want to see you again, I… I didn't mean it," she whispers.
I shake my head. "No, Merry. I should never have become only a memory to you. I should have been there for your Gifting Day… for your wedding… for your mother… for your sister—"
"No, Dad. That wasn't… Mom always said you would come back after the war, but when she died, I… I wrongly blamed you for my helplessness. I thought you didn't care about us—that the 'war' was just you joining your friends on one of your crazy adventures."
"I did abandon you, though I did not wish it," I reply. "And for what? My comrades were crushed by our foes, and even when I finally stood at their side, I could not help them. We all lost things in the Winter that the tides of time cannot restore."
Merry pulls back to look me in the eye. "If you'd really failed, we would all be withering in frost and cold. No, your fight saved us, if only for a little longer. I forgive you… if you'll have it."
Her words free something in my heart, and I feel lighter than I'd been in years. I hold her close for the first time in sixteen years and regret we have no time to talk properly.
Anything I say would be inadequate, but I speak anyway. "Thank you, Merry. Your mother would be proud of who you have become. And so am I."
"She'd call us both fools for not making up sooner."
"Indeed." I let my daughter go reluctantly and dash the rain from my face before it can fall. "Here." I reach above my headband, pluck the reddest pinion I can find amongst the dead grays, and infuse it with a spark. "You will need a new one, just so you do not return to pulling them out in my sleep!"
"Dad, we were six." But she accepts my new waypoint without argument.
I send her a warm pat on the back. "Time flows, Merry. Go, join my granddaughter, and start calling the mothers and children to the boats!"
-
Lenolia Village holds no semblance of its morning peacefulness. Crying and wailing, feet stamping marks into dirt and wood and stone, all washed in pandemonium. An image of war.
I snag the collar of a man running past and neatly clothesline another with my free arm.
"What're y' all doing, running away?" I snarl into their faces. "If you care about your homes and your families, stand up and fight!"
"We can't do anything against that!" spits Dumb Idiot, waving an arm at the looming summit. "Not even Banter's waterspout could put out a fire mountain!"
"Banter's all talk," says Smarter Idiot. "Now Jard, he knows his stuff. I hear he's got a bunch of wetheads setting up canals 'round the base of the mountain."
I roll my eyes in contempt. I don't have time for this.
"If either of you are windy, make yourselves useful and project my voice, or I'll roast you over the mountain myself!"
Dumb Idiot proves he has a healthy survival instinct and boosts my volume adequately.
"Lenolia!" I shout, "You are the center of trade in this archipelago. Are you cowards, to abandon your livelihood to the flames without once moving to defend? Did you not inherit the spirit of your fathers who joined me in the teeth of Winter? Stand up and remember your pride!"
Some are listening, which is more than I'd hoped. And since they're paying attention— "Get the mothers and young ones to the boats! Yearlings, that includes you!"
"My Gifting Day was nearly a year ago, I can help!" shouts one overgrown child.
"No exceptions!" I bark. "The mothers will need all the help they can get with all their danger-seeking midgets! Everyone else, defend the village! Waters, join Jard and do whatever he says! You there, tall windmill man, take all the winds and keep the ash from spreading—circle in some fresh air for the waters if you can. Fires, with me!"
For a moment, all that could be heard was the crackling of wood and the cry of a single baby.
"Well?" I shout. "Get moving if y' want to live!"
The little crowd scatters, still afraid, but with purpose and direction. Satisfactory.
"Fires, here and ready, sir!" calls a young man thronged by a gathering of about fifteen others. His hair shines auburn in the light of his raised hand. A Redtail? I hope he is more levelheaded than a certain fool boy of that bloodline.
I nod. "Good. We're heading straight for the firefields, ladies and gentlemen. We can't waste time on your nervous breakdowns, so anyone who can't take the heat, stay back and build some controlled fires for us to leech, big as you can. Remember, we're fighting for your families. Your homes. Decide."
After a few fearful glances, I am down to seven recruits—including Redtail and Smarter Idiot—and me. More than expected. Ha. Fires afraid of fire? I'd sooner be afraid of my own shadow!
I send the remainder a sharp, approving grin. "Heh, it seems there are spines among you." I gesture forward, the peak in my sights, and crouch to run. "Time's flowing. Let's go!"
We take off down Lenolia's road, toward the outskirts, and young Redtail manages to keep pace while the others trail behind.
"What is our job, sir?" he asks, hopping a fallen bucket.
"Leeching heat out of the firestone flows, mostly," I answer. "Venting the mountain if y' don't run at first glance."
"I thought the power to cool temperatures belonged to wind… sir?"
"That's what the enemy wants you to think. You all know how to take heat from a sealed pot, don't you? Same idea, but don't try freezing anything unless you're already dying."
"Ah."
I sharpen my tone to its most serious. "If you need more power, do not draw it from the mountain. You'll burn up like a dry leaf. Draw from the bonfires—it's better than nothing. And I hope I don't need to warn against losing control. Aside that… any other questions?" I call behind me.
Silence.
I huff in annoyance. "If you nodded, you're idiots. Do I have eyes on the back of my head?"
"No, sir!" they chorus sheepishly.
"Then run faster, 'cause if this mountain catches up, you're dead!"
With a nervous shared laugh, we make good time to the foot of Florialis' sole peak.
At this distance, only our bloodright allows us respite from the heat. Jard and his team of waters are there, providing a break to curb the eruption so it creates a natural barrier as it cools. I see him directing the crews as they shift a whirling stream. Their combined abilities bore trenches to redirect and contain the firefalls.
I nod in greeting. Jard is a good man and a worthy son-in-law. It was he who took care of my daughter after my Lani passed… before I returned from the Winter. He is efficient. With a natural eruption, Jard's people would be enough. But with the scent of the Corruption rising, I am even more convinced the eruption is the mountain's triggered defense.
I will not leave it to chance.
I've directed half of my group to assist the waters in speeding up the cooling process. The remaining four of us head past Jard's barrier into the firefields. Here, the very ground is scorching underfoot, and the air is mired with foul gas and ashes. With every other step, we wipe the sweat from our faces and find it dark with grime as we edge around slow-running streams of natural firestone, a bloodlight against the night.
"What now, sir?" asks Redtail, shading his eyes to peer at the raging summit.
Now, we find the reason for the eruption. Then, I suppress it.
Out loud, "We'll pair up to find some vents. The flows are firestone, not pure fire—it'll take too much power to redirect heat from the mountain's inner chamber without a direct link. When you find an opening, concentrate on releasing pressure—not too fast! And find me immediately if you encounter something too strong or… especially strange. Stay alert, and may Fire light your steps."
"And yours," they chorus.
Smarter Idiot and his partner head west while Redtail and I stay the east course.
We find a vent before long, and I show Redtail how to weave his fire into threads to forge deep connections between heat sources. I'm impressed when he accomplishes it, binding the vent's heat to an empty rock. The task requires a combination of will and control most fires do not acquire.
(Heh. The first Redtail, Reyzan of the Midday Sun, always was my favorite brother. Lisen's worst traits must've come from that moonlit lunatic, Ferralong.)
An hour passes without incident, and I dare hope this eruption is natural; then, a tremor like a wind strike shatters the air, and a drastic spike in Corruption shears our threads apart. Reeling from the blow, we barely keep our footing.
My heart sinks.
"What was that?" Redtail whispers. He'd felt it too: the sandpaper-grate of Earth's curse across his senses.
I know what it means. The border between fire and earth is flexing, tearing where it should cleave. If it does, Earth's domain will release its tainted brood to renew the days of terror from the dawn of the Second Age.
Unlike humans of old, warriors and heroes tried and tested, no one on this island is trained to fight this breed of enemy. Even I in my weakened state am far less prepared than I'd wish.
Smarter Idiot and his partner find me as they leap and skitter from the east slope, as pale as my ward's hair. "It's bursting out the other side!" he gasps. "A monster—curse-spawn!"
Curse-spawn? No wonder the mountain is erupting!
I immediately begin drawing what strength I can from the distant bonfires. The Light of Dawn shines golden and steady atop the cliff in comparison to the paltry flickers in the village. Jet's learned his lessons well.
"Take me there," I command.
We follow Smarter Idiot at a sprint, and he earns a modicum of my respect for not fleeing when he could have.
We halt at his signal and peer over a rugged outcrop to set eyes on the monstrous instigator of the eruption.
"What is it?" says Redtail, barely above a whisper.
A thrill tugs my lips from my teeth. "A salamander. Full grown, by the color of its eyes."
From the sheer rock face protrudes an immense head, reptilian, a monolith of tarnished obsidian veined with glowing orange, its eyes two carnelian pools of power, shining in the dark. Its maw could snap up a cow in one bite; it is a fully grown specimen, though not an Ancient one, thank Fire. The rest of its body remains encased in the wall, but by the buckling of the rock, that will not hold true much longer.
A tragedy, that such a mighty being has fallen to the Curse… and a reminder that no one is immune, bar the Esser themselves. Well, except Earth. Earth is an exception to many things.
To my relief, I sense this is not an outbreak but an isolated enemy. The mountain will not stop raging until the creature dies, but after, it will repair itself and seal the rift. The village can take care of the rest.
My goal is set.
I exhale and reach for the hilt of the knife at my side. "All of you, leave the mountain and tell everyone to get away. This enemy is beyond you."
Almost before I finish speaking, Smarter Idiot and his partner are gone, leaving Redtail with me, hesitant and worried.
"What about you, sir?" he asks.
"This counts as 'something too strong.'"
"Are you sure you can take it alone, sir?"
I smile grimly. "Heh, this isn't my first tussle with a lizard. It will all be over before you can rally any help." One way or another. This should be a roughly even match with my diminished power.
He salutes, teeth flashing. "May Fire light your way, sir. It was an honor standing at your side."
"The honor was mine. Now, listen; if you ever find yourself in the Vermilion Lands, ask for Ferry Sanslock. Tell her you were sent by her older brother Remoriam to learn the ways of fire. Got it? Your talent is wasted on this island."
"I'll be sure to do that, Remoriam, sir!"
Then he takes off like a shot.
"That's Moram to you… Redtail," I mutter, turning to the task ahead.
The salamander lies before me, unaware of my presence. Can I drop from above? No, by the time I scale the cliff, it will be free. Side? Potentially. Its eyes are focused at its front; I may hide in the shadow of the wall if it does not catch my scent.
I reach up and tighten the band about my head, unsheathe my knife, and pull the heat of my fire inward. Salamanders' temperature senses are noteworthy. As for my senses, my night vision may be lesser as a human, but I am still Fire's son. Distinguishing shapes is enough to keep me from misstepping.
I circle around widely and press to the wall downwind as the salamander's head thrashes and wriggles, its body heat melting stone for easier passage. Its shoulders are visible now, capped by vicious backwards spikes that could skewer three men if raised in aggression. I've seen it happen.
By some evil sixth sense, the creature spies me and, with a nimble twist, sprays liquid flames from its jaws as I leap to the side. Where it touches, the rock melts and corrodes. What frightening range.
"You missed, spawn of the Folly!" I taunt as I find cover.
It snarls in answer, revealing teeth like individual millstones, the caging rock bulging dangerously. I dart closer while it is occupied and dodge behind a boulder as its nose snaps up, maw ready. Heat blasts on either side as my shelter melts under its incendiary saliva.
I change position quickly. A swipe of my arm sends a me-sized pillar of fire one direction—the lizard takes the bait! I sprint for an outcrop near the wall.
The cursed reptile's neck snakes to its full length and cranes in an arc, searching for me, its clashing teeth pulverizing a boulder around my height. With a breath, still moving, never still, I crouch low and creep closer to the great head, a span at a time, more if it faces away.
Close… closer… barely ten armslengths away, its molten eye turns on me, and I hurl a condensed burst of fire into its face, eliciting a screech of anger as my blow fails to do more than dazzle it. Its following lunge nearly smashes me against the wall.
I find refuge in the blind spot below its right eye and pause.
That burst would have melted that armor… had I my full strength. Ha, I suppose it was too much to hope. And I know from experience those rugged denticles are too tough to shatter with most weapons, let alone with anything I carry.
I again curse my idealistic younger self for making that foolish loyalty oath to our Council. For making me choose between my life and power or death and freedom.
My options run thin.
I could bring a rockslide to slow the creature's emergence, or an inferno to disorient it, but the only reliable ways of killing a corrupted one are by total disintegration, decapitation, or by overwhelming its essence.
The last option ignores the armor, my biggest obstacle. But both attacker and defender are at their most vulnerable in a battle of cores. I wouldn't even consider it if the beast wasn't restrained.
Time flows away from us all. I'll have to chance it.
The creature noses around, trying to trace me, and in doing so lowers its head. I do not let the opportunity pass. I launch my body toward the salamander's cheek ridge and clamp down with the tips of my fingers, the razor-sharp edges of its scales scraping across my palms, only my fire protecting me from blistering on the hot surface.
The head lists at my weight, and for a moment, my feet are on the ground and I am facing the salamander's right eye. I brace, chin up, and ram my short blade into the glowing orb, poisonous fluids bursting over my arm, but I cannot pause to heal it. I flood the wound with flame, using it as a bridge into the salamander's essence, seeking for its core to extinguish its cursed life.
Connection.
To my senses, the lizard's core is a boiling star shot through with black—the Corruption—and I spear my threads straight for the center.
The defenses snap shut, rejecting me even as the creature's body convulses for its eye wound, and it lashes back in retaliation. I curl to deflect, but—
Rage at the pure fire! Pain all will burn you shall die to my teeth son of Fire!
—its hate-filled will melts through my defense like water poured over salt, and only my honed instincts keep it from killing me.
"Agh!"
My free hand claws at my chest at the wave of honed fury. How is it so strong? My will is no small matter, and though weakened, I am no stranger to this mode of combat.
I rally and delve deeper, using my resolve as a knife to cut the salamander's core defenses, and am repelled once more.
The corrupted flame rears up—
Your core is full of weakness the earth is strong in my blood! Your will is mine to consume!
—and strikes my mirage!
Close. Too close.
My body groans under the strain. It's heating up to dangerous levels; I'll combust if I push farther. Heh. No, I'm already scorching.
I need more power, but I refuse to release my true form for that result. Not here. Not when I would risk leading the enemy to my family. To Jet.
There is another way, but in this form, it may well incinerate me.
I don't want to die!
My resolve strengthens my assault, and for a moment, the salamander's defense falters. An opening! My threads snake through the gap and shoot for the core.
Sssshhaaah!
Then the blackness spreads until the fiery sphere is more burgundy than crimson, and something… shifts.
A wave of dark aura crashes into my defenses. To my horror, the latticework of golden threads bends, buckles—
No!
—and holds.
I pant, glaring in defiance as the Corruption recedes. That… was not the lizard's doing.
IT is here. Even if it's just a shadow of the Curse.
So, you show yourself through beasts now, filth? I spit.
IT only laughs.
I incinerate a tendril of darkness that comes too close, encircle myself with flame, and bare my teeth.
Do not test me. I will not be caged! I roar.
You will let your guard down soon enough. What makes you think you can resist when even your sister fell?
Because I know who I am, and I know who you are. I am Remoriam, First Son of Fire, Keeper of the Light of Dawn. You are nothing but a stain under my sandals. Go back to the Darkness!
The presence lifts, and with it, the shadow.
IT is gone. The victory is mine.
Our encounters are always this short and unpleasant. I hope I will always have the awareness and strength to resist IT, for should we ever fight in earnest, IT may yet find a crack in me.
I huff, rage cooling, and I am promptly thrown back. The salamander's fire has taken its rightful place and struck back in my lapse.
But before I am expelled, I see my doom: a fiery bond of gold stretching from the beast's core to the mountain.
Of course. The lizard was formed and Awoken by the mountain before being corrupted. The mountain recognizes the salamander is infected, but the parent is unable to destroy its child. And so it erupts.
The salamander's body has not lain idle while our wills are deadlocked. I've nearly been thrown off but for my vicegrip on my knife; its left foreclaw is free and scrabbling at its face, seeking to rend my flesh. I can sense its right is following suit, and if it does, I will not live to see the creature destroy the island.
The combined might of mountain and beast will overpower me the moment the lizard realizes how to properly attack.
I could retreat right now. I could take my family and my ward and leave this island to its fate. After all, salamanders cannot swim speedily or well.
To die a coward and oathbreaker, or to die fighting.
Ha, why am I thinking about this? I am not like IT's servants. I gave my word to my daughter with all my heart, and here shall I stand: between my family and the offspring of Earth's curse.
I've known I would die ever since the day I tore my freedom from the Council. I just didn't think the day would come so soon.
I steel myself, lace my threads into the golden bond and bind my core to the mountain.
Connection.
The salamander's answering shriek nearly throws my body away, but I barely notice.
I am burning.
My true form is of pure essence, but this is not my fire. The parent bond protects the salamander, but I am an intruder; only my sharp will keeps me from succumbing to the mountain's fury.
My core is being crushed under the weight of stone. The agony… is indescribable.
But the flow of essence between lizard and mountain has changed, and my foe's defense has weakened. I do not waste the opening.
As if plunging into a pool of scalding razors, every movement a mortal wound, I reach forth, my threads blinding white with borrowed flames, and slice through the corrupted existence like a firestone knife through wax.
As I pull back from our duel, victorious, the salamander's death throes shake the mountain. It spits forth a cloud of embers and acid, and its great head crashes to the ground, eyes dulled forever.
The impact dislodges my knife; I collapse to the rubble by my foe. And then I cannot move.
The mountain is still bonded to me. I am overflowing with more power than I've had since before the Winter, but my body will not…
Rest would do wonders. It would be so easy to close my eyes and—no, I must not. I can stop its eruption… No, it will stop itself once I cut myself free.
I sever the connection, leaving my body curled up in pain, drowning in the traces of the mountain's power.
I know what will happen next. The core treats impure essence like the body does sickness, and I was immersed—however briefly—in earth-mixed wildfire. My own pure flames will recognize earth as a disease… and so they will burn my body to ashes.
I am dying. But I have not been this capable, this strong in essence, since before the Winter.
My network of waypoints is spread out before my mind's eye like a constellation, pulsing with the beat of my human heart. I quickly focus on four and let the others fade back.
Jet. He's kept the beacon roaring and strong through the night, allowing the pinion Merry used to remain in my sights. He'll have a harder time of it when my power dies.
Lisen, that troublemaker, lying in Viperilon's cells. Troublemaker, but he knows how to survive. A scrappy fighter if I ever knew one. I'll never tell him how proud I am of his undying spirit.
Mira, curled up in a deep cavern, submerged in a healing sleep. She'll wake soon, especially if I bid her, and the ocean will rally to her side.
And finally, Tarrow, up near the surface of the Labyrinth Deep. He's alive and fighting, fierce and determined and compassionate. Heh, I never doubted it once.
I've said all I must to everyone else. The last three are a sea apart from me, but I have the chance to send one of them one last message—not for myself, but for one who's still finding his way.
Ha, like I'll leave my ward without a lifeline. My family will live on without me, but Jet is alone… though he won't be for long, if it's in my power. And in this moment, I have more than enough.
I reach, using Jet's beacon as an anchor, and cast a single thrumming line of fire into the distance.
Connection.
I grin, my joy near overriding the pain as I speak to a long-missed comrade.
[]Lisen
[]Mira
[]Tarrow
With my message sent, I let the borrowed power go and bask, utterly spent, in the glow of the beacon. In the warmth of the Light of Dawn.
"Moram!"
What? Jet? Why is he—fool boy, did he follow me to the mountain? Ah. No. I'm… at the cliff again. How did I…? Oh. I anchored to it, huh? Never tried a trailblaze in this body. Might've saved me some trouble… back then.
Jet runs over as if to raise me to my feet, but I throw a hand out to ward the fool boy away.
"Stay back!" I snarl.
"But you're hurt!"
"No. Don't you… dare approach. I'm still burning."
I must look like I'm… ha. Half dead. No human was ever meant to wield that power. Even I couldn't… can't endure it, but I dared not release the energy aimlessly.
Aimlessly… ah, there is one last act I can perform before I turn to ash.
The knife in my hand—the tool that has served me for a full score—begins to glow as I dive deep into my core, pouring my fire, my essence, into its empty shell until it shines like a red star. All of me. Every drop of will, my hopes and dreams, my joy and sorrow, my love and rage.
The steel begins to warp under the heat.
By the fire of my core, do not break.
It holds. For a mere shell of earth, it contains what this body cannot. This simple knife has served me well; so will it serve my ward.
Never betray your new master.
I fill it with all that I am. All I could have been. All of my life. It will leak, for I have not the time to properly seal it. My coat will have to be enough to hide both boy and weapon. An inelegant risk, but one worth taking.
And not the only risk I pour into it.
I extend my other hand to the beacon and call the Light of Dawn to me, but before the jewel can fully crystallize, I gently, gently push its essence towards the blade. The crystals sink into the metal, leaving no mark.
Remember my fire.
With the dregs of my strength, I fling the reforged firestone weapon to the ground at Jet's feet.
"Do not lose that coat or knife, boy, and if you stay on this island, you will live a long and safe life—barring death by foolishness."
Jet grasps the hilt cautiously, the weapon still glowing with my life's energy. It won't burn him. Oh, but that confused expression on his face—he hasn't realized what is happening.
"Now go," I say, barely over a whisper. "Tell them it's over. I… have won."
A spark of knowing. "I-I don't want to leave you!"
That boy. That foolish, wonderful boy. I am past worry.
"Jet… go."
"I…" He hesitates for a painful moment. "I'll get Merry. Don't go anywhere, alright?"
I smirk tiredly. Heh. I couldn't move if I wanted to.
Finally, mercifully, he leaves. Good. He does not need to witness my fate.
In the end, I couldn't apologize. Jet will have to meet his family himself. He will have his chance soon enough.
Forgive me.
I am at the end of my wick, a pale flicker in the vastness of night. The rays of sunrise, my rising hour, whisper over my skin, my father's domain seeking to heal me. It's too late. I can feel my fire consuming what's left of me. I think—I think I should be feeling pain, but there's none. Just the chill of ice, spreading from my fingers and toes, to my limbs, toward my heart. And somehow, that's far more terrifying.
My fire has never once gone dark in all my long years. Still, this is not a bad way to go. I had a good life. A great life, with adventure and comrades and… family.
And they are all alive and well.
Fight on, my friends, and live.
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Rakky had fallen silent when you began, and she is no less somber as you close.
"The cliff was where I last saw him." You pause to blink rapidly. "The mountain went still soon after. Everyone went back to their homes. It took me a bit to find a healer, but when we got back, he was…" You swallow dryly. "He was gone."
"Gone… dead?" Rakky whispers.
You nod, unwilling to voice it. His body had burned to ashes, and Merry had confirmed his death. Something about feeling his passing.
"My mentor saved all of us that night," you continue. "Everyone knows, but no one talks about it. Even I only know this much thirdhand." (From Jard, who heard the report from the men who accompanied Moram.) "I don't know. He should've been their hero! Instead, it's like they're trying to forget he existed." The last word leaves you in a hiss of anger.
The storykeeper places a comforting hand on your shoulder. When she speaks, her voice thick with emotion. "Well, here's one who's not gonna let that happen, matey. Don't worry. Yore mentor'll get his story told from the heights a' the vaulted skies t' the depths a' the abyssal seas. 'Specially if he is who I'm guessin'… Ye've given me somethin' special, Jet. I hope ye know that."
"I know." You let the air whistle from your teeth. "And thanks. For listening, I mean. This story… This was the first time." You haven't let go, but you feel better, lighter, more at peace with the memory.
"Pleasure's mine. Here—have my side of the bargain." Rakky holds out a second echo shell. Information in exchange for your story.
"Thanks." You take the proffered item eagerly but try not to seem desperate. You have some pride.
"No prob. Now, ye don't happen t' still have that coat, do ye?" The storykeeper asks with a curious glint in her eyes.
It'll be back on the island. Someone would've found it by now, and it'll have made its way to your mentor's family.
You shrug. "Wherever it is, it's in the hands of someone who knows its worth."
Rakky's answering look reminds you of a puppy whose food was stolen from under its nose. You don't know why—though it is a pretty awesome coat, you don't see how it'd be of any importance to her.
You'll stay in the day shift until nightfall. What will you do now? Pick two.
[]Stick with Rakky a while. It's good to have a maybe-friend with authority.
[]Mend things with Crow. He's had a night to cool off.
[]See how Lisen's doing. He might appreciate a visitor.
[]Listen to Rakky's shell now. Information is your ally.
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Gained: Echo shell
Lost: Echo shell
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