"Bloom 30, 1469
For better or worse, this closing day of Bloom has had no surprises or unforeseen events for us in store, just like the previous one. Given our circumstances and the general situation at hand, it might be a blessing of respite before matters may or may not escalate. Since I did omit to catalog yesterday's even less eventful day's summary, catching it up in this particular entry would only be right.
We are two days into the march toward another Kheree hunters' outpost far southwest of Tevon-Talab. From Inga's words, it stands at the border of what can be considered the Tevon region, bordering with the domain of river confluence hinterland clans — the very heart of Blugd-Tur valley. The confluence hinterland is one of the oldest populated regions of Blugd-Tur, thanks to the bustling river trade routes heading westward to Ertanghal and further to the Ivory Coast.
The outpost was erected to overlook the road from the rivers' crossroad villages to Tevon-Talab, stationing rangers to curb banditry and aid travelers. However, with the escalation of raiding between Baatorians and Ertanghalians and the emergence of the ruinous blighted beast that the Baatorian great clan Tchonun bountied, commerce was cut considerably, rendering the outpost more trouble than it was worth.
This notion apparently puzzled Inga. She wondered why a senior fellowship member would be sent there with only a modest entourage. Especially now, of all times, when the in-group trust of the Kheree militia is rapidly deteriorating, reports of hostilities between the Ertanghalians and Baathorian clans coalition are inbound, and that gargantuan abomination keeps on adding even more chaos to the region."
Like a predator that sensed the sudden faint hints of blood carried by the wind, you paused the cataloging to survey the immediate surroundings. It was not a heavy feeling like the premonition before your group's search for missing Jorgen and Isaac, but something way more subtle. Something closer to the elation you felt before the Gaian storms, but still not quite the same.
It was late evening. Your party camped for the night, gathering around the fire and attending whatever routines they deemed fit before the much-needed rest after the day spent on a hasty march. Inga - your not-so-gentle guide through the Blug-Tur's realm, rested her feet by the bonfire's warmth and slowly sipped whatever she had in her water pouch, throwing curious glances at Karl, whom he met for the first time today. The latter seemed to sense Inga's inquisitiveness and quietly entertained the shy onlooker with little tricks like igniting the content of his smoking pipe from a finger or occasionally rejuvenating the camp's bonfire by tossing a tiny conjured blaze bead into it. As for your final co-traveler on this particular trip, Ulren was sitting somewhat distanced from Inga and Karl, clashing together the detached pieces of his armor, perhaps hoping to find a new way of reassembling it that mitigates the sustained wear and tear.
The evening was pleasant, with your party members finding token tranquility after the exhaustive day, the weather being gentler and warmer than yesterday, and even the wildlife instilling a sense of peace with the springtime nocturnal lullaby. The atmosphere nearly displaced the memory of an odd vibe that put you on alert in the first place, and you eagerly resumed the recording of the last day's events. Eagerly, because it offered you a distraction from the overwhelming senses of stiffness and encumbrance caused by wearing both your new armor set and the much-hated "backpack" slipover for your wings. Oh, how you unspeakably, unimaginably despised it... but such was the price of traveling with out-group guests.
"In any case, we took Karl with us on this trip. This decision was dictated mainly by Inga's warnings that there were even higher chances of matters turning violent than before. This came at the heels of me cheering Sephie by agreeing to her offer of coaching me in perspective, only to delay this prospect by us leaving her at home the next day. Knowing her, I'm almost sure she'd come up with some hijinks to demonstrate her displeasure upon our return. Here's hope Ren won't be in a poor mood when it happens.
It's worth mentioning that Inga was in a borderline downcast state of spirit when she brought news to us at Hjorn's yard, barely holding together under all the stress. Yet, after we made a hefty distance from Tevon on the trip's first day, she seemingly began to stabilize. In stark contrast with yesterday's aloofness, she initiated small talks here and then, tried to banter a little, and grew curious about Karl, whom we introduced to her a day before. This aligns with my earlier observation of her fascination with either mages or magic as a concept and those who wield it as derivatives.
Credit be where credit is due; I was initially worried that Karl might... annoy or wound Inga with a misplaced remark or comment, given her emotionally vulnerable state, but none of such happened. If nothing else, he appeared more subtly mannerly toward her than Ren. It might sound debatable, but I feel like he treats her with the sort of neutrality I could only describe as emotionally tepid. Which is weird: I thought people are more predisposed to solidarize with their kinsmen. But then again - Ren is reluctant to accept anyone he perceives as "untested." I just wish he would've been a smidge friendlier to her and that Inga herself had been less restrained in accepting our sympathy.
And as for my ow"
Your thought was shot mid-flight by Inga's urgent "Take out the fire and cover down!" like a bird with an arrow. A sole but sharp shudder accompanied your ejection from the peaceful state of mind, then reinforced by the dissonance of how the suppressed and overlooked vibe of weirdness grew into the state of full alarm, with your supernatural senses beating in all the bells like a church of a yet-to-be besieged city.
A moment of hesitation followed as you trailed Inga, lit with purple and green lights from up the skies, haphazardly reaching for a water pouch. After a momentary tilt, you began to gather the thaumaturgist blast in your palm to extinguish the conflagration aspect that was the campfire. Yet, you and Inga were too slow: the tendrils of gentle amber red, which were dancing on top of the timber just a minute ago, got bent down, compressed, and then, after a single yet bright and seizable flash, dissipated into the coolness of the night; the nimbleness of Karl's pyromancy sharply contrasted with the image or "rustiness" and weariness through which he typically advertises himself. But there was no time to reflect on this.
"Now, get down under anything you can find, and whatever you do, do not look into the skies!" Inga commanded with an urgency that suggested a life-or-death situation at hand. And as the tone of this instruction wasn't enough to consider complying, the hastily growing sensation of light-headedness, weakening knees, and the inklings of mild and ill-timed unnatural euphoria not dissimilar to that prior approaching Gaian storm caused you to throw yourself in a tent and cover your head.
You didn't see what others did, but you heard a short bout of scurrying, including a heavy thump of Inga's frame right against you, along with the clank of Ren's legplates and the shuffling of Karl's coat to the sides. After that, not a single word of question or distress left anyone's lips, including yours, ceding the stage to the unnatural cacophony coming down from the distant night skies and happening around your humble night stop.
That ungodly sound was a mix of a choir of at least a dozen manticores in a state of fever roaring at each other, mixed with a loud thunderstorm punctuated by unspeakably distorted sounds of cracking lightning and howling winds. And if this maddening symphony coming down from the far night skies wasn't enough, the wildlife on the ground contributed to it through the sounds of sudden rampage. All the soul sparks around you that belonged to the birds and animals, nocturnal and daytime, suddenly fell into the state of rapture and ill-timed activity. It was as if everyone from a mere hare and nightbirds to steppe felines and deers fell into utter rapture, finding no better time to chase, hunt, fight, sing, roar, and mate than in this exact minutes of nature itself seemingly throwing a wild feat.
All this chaos and tremor wasn't just happening around you: your own senses acted up like a particularly intoxicated town fool at midnight. The pressure of the immediate outside irritators, coupled with the overbearing traces of arcane aspects coming from the night skies, among which the presence of chaotic aethers was unmistakenly abundant, caused you to duck and cover like a little animal hiding from the storm. Although, deep inside, a part of you was drawn by this unveiling mystery. It begged you to look up, to open up, and to comprehend. But, thankfully, you restrained yourself, permitting only as much as to peek through the gaps between your fingers and witness the surrounding fresh spring foliage reflect the green, red, orange, and purple lights, like from those fabled northern auroras.
Then, you closed your eyes and focused on the newly emerged sounds of scarce raindrops rustling the flora, seeking escape from the unfolding madness. You could not tell precisely how long this unnatural debauchery lasted; for all you know, there's a chance you might've blacked out for a minute or two, but eventually, the surrounding chaos began to subside, gradually returning to your typical spring night ambiance.
You sighed in relief when all became quiet again, and Inga's "seem like we're clear. Skyglades be blessed..." caused you to sigh loudly in relief. Then, you scrambled up, fighting the armor and wings slipcover-caused soreness of your body, and scanned the surroundings. Ren seemed fine, if mildly rattled, and Karl, from the spectrum of all the emotions one would expect after such an experience, harbored an amused or, perhaps, energized grin. Inga, however, reflected your state of relief like a fine mirror.
"It was one of the lingering Blugd-Tur's great curses," she said, her face lighting up by the campfire Karl rekindled, "they call it the wild chase. Usually, they take place in the skies above the Ertanghalian shore. Even though this one was quite remote, it's odd to see it happening near the river valley. " As she began to answer the unvoiced question, you also attempted to regain the composure from before the disruption. Fortunately, the ink didn't spill from the vial behind all the commotion, yet the journal page opposing the fresh entry stub got somewhat stained with undried ink. Bummer.
"What... what was that exactly?" You inquired while trying to rediscover that previous pose in which you didn't feel as constrained in vain.
Inga sighed, flopped down on her bedroll, and sucked a long sip from the water pouch, training her eyes at the campfire. "After the last big war thirty years ago, Blugd-Tur experienced a surge of settlers fleeing their ravaged lands. Some of them were even alvizians from the north outskirts of Cullanor. Elora - an adolescent girl from one of such groups at the time - ended up among us around fifteen years ago. From what she told us, one night, her entire clan was gone in minutes on the camp stop when the sky cracked open, and what she described as hosts of malicious ghosts riding uncanny monsters surged down on them, tormenting and spiriting away everyone they could find, be it people or even animals. She was terrified and hid under the cart, trembling yet not making a sound or even breathing, and when it was all over, only she remained from the three good dozens of people and half as many animals."
Inga looked down at the water pouch, took another sip, and continued. "I remember that evening: she was on the verge of collapse, starving, trembling, and with barely any intact clothes on herself in the doorway of our longhouse. After spending three days and nights near the campsite where all her parents and friends vanished, waiting for their return in vain, she undertook a desperate dash to Tevon-Talab, guided by the feeble recollection of an offhand mention of Kherees and our recruiting practices. And we took her in."
You caught Inga's softer stare transfixed on something in the campfire's smoothly dancing tendrils. "She was a fair person — a good one, even, if not exactly outgoing. Albeit not talented with a bow or a spear, she was very responsible and diligent at daily duties, never complained, and generally preferred to stick to the longhouse. After what she'd been through, I think she had grown to hate Blugd-Tur, avoiding venturing into the plains if possible. I wasn't exactly friends with her - she never truly opened up to any of us to be called her friend - but we were still on pretty amicable terms. Sufficient enough for her to disclose how she wished to live among the city-dwellers to the kingdoms to the East. And just like that, once she properly came of age, we found her chamber empty and lacking her possessions. We didn't talk much about it back then; we all felt to some degree that her heart wasn't at home with us, so her eventually leaving was perhaps the least surprising turn of events." Inga's eyes slowly strayed from the campfire to the dark horizon, "...I hope she found her happiness or at the very least solace wherever she is now. She deserved it."
"She sounds like someone our dearest ex-chambermaid would've been utterly thrilled to make acquaintance with," Karl interjected, huffing a ring of smoke after a hefty pipe puff. "Yet, it seems like these celestial wildling spirits didn't find us worthwhile company to even bother kidnapping."
"It's not like that..." Inga cracked an awkward grin in response, "For me, this is the fourth time experiencing this haunting. The first time was around twenty years ago when I, as a youngling, accompanied our caravan to the ocean-bound villages for their salt for the first time. Then, there were two events when we hunted in groups in the northern plains. Ever since the first time, I was taught how to act in this event, and, suffice to say, this time, the root of the haunting was the most distanced compared to my previous run-ins. So far away that, maybe, we were out of harm's way. But when facing anything of this type, it's better to be safe than sorry, as they say."
"The younger version of myself would've cordially disagreed with this statement. This shakeup, coupled with quite a vivid illumination, brought back to mind the recollection of when I, along with the rest of the spoiled Rabenian brats' clique I was a part of, were hiding in the dark alleys after setting a tavern ablaze when one of us perceived its owners' refusal to serve us for free as an insult to his status and lineage," Karl mused aloud.
"Set... a tavern ablaze?!" Inga, seemingly no longer bothered about the "wild chase" phenomenon, shifted the fullness of her attention toward the pyromancer, "Weren't you afraid of the punishment? Sweet Tengur's grace! And they call us savages!"
"We were young, stupid, and reckless. And in a way, each of us got their own comeuppance." Karl huffed out another cloud of smoke.
"Oh really? And what has changed since then?" Ren told you before about how commonplace the scattered attention was among gvuroths, but you were seeing it from an example now.
"Well, you can attest that I'm no longer a spring chicken. And, I'm still debating if venturing out with this group can be attributed to the residual recklessness." Knowing Karl, he purposefully omitted specifying the third part of the answer.
Inga's newly formed lopsided grin initially looked somewhat confused, but then it turned mildly amused. "I... don't believe you!" her voice jingled. It sounds like one of em' townies' half-drunken tall tales spun in hopes of impressing naive maidens."
"Oh, why do you have to hurt me like that? None of us had a mere sniff of vintages on this trip!" Karl playfully retorted, usurping the fullness of your guide's attention. Inga's mood also seemed to improve whenever she wasn't thinking about kherees, so... in a weird and novel way, whatever he was doing was helpful.
As for you, the unforeseen opportunity to coax Ren for another massage of your wings and slink away, leaving Inga to Karl, was just too seductive not to hop on. And so, after properly drying the journal entry and stashing away your precious travel log, you, as quietly as possible, tip-toed toward Ren's seating, where he resumed the odd bashing of his armor chunks. You stood before him, casting shade from the bonfire behind you, summoned a tiny light orb, and darted your stare at your side at first and then somewhere behind Ulren, grinning mischievously all the way there.
"Isn't it a little too late for this?" He mumbled quietly after staring at your antics, to which you briefly frowned and grinned even broader, not saying a word.
Then, Ulren shifted his hefty torso's weight to the side, stealing a glimpse from behind you of Karl and Inga engaging in a lively banter with no seeming care in the world. As he straightened back, he gave you a sarcastic gaze and slowly blinked in the conceding manner.
The mischievously coquettish grin that you previously employed immediately turned into the triumphant one as you grabbed your companion's massive palm, turned around to throw a jolly "We'll be right back!" at Inga, who carelessly waved you off, and then began to drag Ulren into to the thicket, just far enough behind the bushes and trees so the conjured light won't compromise your wings as well as the chatter you had in mind won't get overheard.
Not even five minutes later, you had your frame released from the torturous restraints of the "backpack" slipсover, the armor's georgette, the thin rear plate, the belts, and the cuirass altogether. Just you in a blouse, the moonlight supplemented by a couple of tiny conjured light orbs, your wings straightening with simultaneously accumulated soreness and relief, and your closest companion about to rub them back in shape. Aaah~ Marvelous! A tiny squeal betrayed your composure.
"Hey, Ren. What are your thoughts on Inga?" you asked as Ulren's large, soft, and warm palms once again rubbed the soreness out of the spot where your humerus bone connects to the wing shoulder, sending shivers down your spine and weakening knees.
"What do you mean by that?" The voice behind you replied as the motions continued, "In general, or..."
"I meant in the last two days if to be pedantic. Compared to the crestfallen spirit in which she arrived at our shed after doing her share of the intel mining, tonight, the airs around her are anything but as somber."
"You'd call me a cynic, but perhaps the further she's from her group and Tevon at large, the livelier she is. Perhaps it's a sign that, deep inside, she has already lost hope in fixing things and unknowingly yearns to get over it." Ulren's voice mumbled in a pondering manner.
"That's mean, Ren!" You chimed back.
"Just talking from experience as I've been in a similar-ish place as she is now. Not saying what she should or shouldn't do, but the temptation to just leave it all behind is likely there, whether she recognizes it or not yet." Ren's voice remained nonchalant, and you might've had difficulty prickling into his attitude toward her from this angle.
"Hey Ren, what do you think of her in general?" You attempted the direct approach, "I mean, is it just my imagination, or are you having a hard time trusting or even accepting her? I thought you'd have a better initial view of her as representative of the same race group..."
"I've spent too much time outside Nyth-Rhathon to adhere to the principles of the Kin's Chain," he refuted half-heartedly, "As for her... she is occasionally helpful and has not caused us many problems so far. Aside from that, she's a typical "do first, think later" gvuroth." As he continued, the strength and speed of his squeezes grew up a tiny bit, yet not unnoticeably so.
"Are you grumpy at her after how she acted toward those fortpost squatters?" As you voiced this, the tempo of his hands revitalizing your wing limbs and back slowed down, followed by a pause and a sigh.
"... Just a little." he finally conceded, leading the conversation to a dead end for a few long moments. "But, why do you trust her so much?" he broke the awkward silence, following up before you could even reply: "I do not doubt you - quite the opposite, rather, as you are better at discerning people than I am."
"Well, there are few reasons," you began, more surprised by his admission regarding prioritizing your judgment on this matter. "We haven't met a single Turanian denizen so far who'd ask or offer help easily. This land doesn't seem to encourage a high degree of out-group trust. Yet, she opened up, exposed her and her group's vulnerabilities, spilled everything out, and put a gamble on us - the complete strangers. Her will to set things right outweighed the potential risks she must've faced living here. This alone must've taken considerable courage and shows what sort of a person she is without even factoring in her conduct toward us and what I managed to read from her soul traces."
Ulren voiced no answer or comment to your input, but the actions of his hands persisted unchanged. It felt like he found significant merit in your reasoning, which he was silently evaluating and digesting.
"Ren, there's something more." You decided to take it one step further and ask for something that's been on your mind for quite a while now. "She trusts us a lot, so it feels wrong that we don't return the favor. Can we... can I show her my wings? And at least disclose our real names and where we are heading?"
"Lu, I'm sorry you have to bear with this masquerade. I really do. But little has changed since the last time we touched on this topic." He sounded somewhat apologetic and... a little uncertain?
"With how much we depend on each other, I'm more than sure she won't sell us out to whoever uprooted us and may be on our trails. And so, won't it be easier for all of us if we drop the pretenses at least with her?" Despite voicing your disposition, no answer came from behind the curtain of your half-unfolded wings, only vague сhuffing.
"Even beyond our current situation," you persisted, the sound of tight-strung emotion creeping into your voice. "One day, we will be back home, and I will have to walk among people, counting on their judgment of me so I can build my life amidst them. What worth would it have if I were to be kept as a living curiosity locked in Rosaline's study?!" You barely restrained the pitch from infiltrating your last words, timely interrupted by the gentle touch of your shoulders by Ren's warm palms, supplemented by a heavy, concerned exhale.
"Fine," the giant behind you finally spoke in a hushed, soft voice. You covertly pinched yourself just to be sure it wasn't your imagination. "I neither want nor will argue with you on that. And keeping her close might also safeguard us to a degree if, for whatever reason, we won't be able to rely on kherees as a group." Hearing that, you failed to repress a tiny victorious squeal from leaving you.
"But make no mistake — I can't say she has my complete trust, but you and your judgment do. So, while I would watch from behind and intervene if necessary, all the explanations and allaying her potential shock rest on your shoulders." Whatever additional conditions Ulren was setting, they bothered you only tangentially due to the excitement of pending to present yourself - the true self - on your own for the first time. Evidently, Ren noticed it and abandoned any attempts he might've thought would be equal to rain on your parade.
As he quietly retraced his hands, you put them back on your sides, stretched your hands upwards to further your point, and playfully vocalized a peculiar sound, not unlike the grumpily indignant "mrow!?" that Mia does when she demands something. A chuckle came from behind before your wish for the massage extension was granted. He sure isn't concerned enough about spoiling you rotten.
"Been thinking a lot about what to do when back in Lyf, have ye?"
"Mhm," you nodded cheerily, "If there's anything good from this journey, it's figuring out how and where I can apply myself. The thematic literature we took with us doesn't fully describe the entities and phenomena we've encountered, so perhaps I can contribute to Lyf academia in such a manner? Or provide training services for major arcana practitioners and write guidebooks about mastering thaumaturgy." You paused momentarily, slightly less confident after brushing the recollections of your town turn for Rene's gigs, "Or in spare time - and after more practice - provide exorcism or spirit pacification services, perhaps? It might not be as bountiful as Rosaline's research and exotic flora cultivation. Yet, it may be enough for a respectful living, maybe even enough to have a city house of my own!"
A couple of long, wide brushes on your wings indicated Ren's quiet amusement with you. "Rosie really became your role model, didn't she?"
"Of course, she did!" you barely suppressed a silly snort. "Intelligent, elegant, respectable, and very compassionate. She's a benchmark lady, and I still can't comprehend why Amalia overlooks her and gushes so much more about her grandma!" However, no reaction from Ulren followed your little idolizing rant, perhaps due to it leaning heavily into the girly gossip side.
Yet, you did not want this conversation to die out like this, not after it turned so personal and touched upon the topic of hopefully a better future. "Say, Ren," you picked up the initiative and shoved your no-longer-sore wings back into Ulren's hands for even more (blatant) pampering, "What is your dream? I don't recall you ever describing what you'd like your life to become. It feels fair to inquire about this, given how much you are interested in my daydreams and aspirations."
But just as those words flew off your lips, the motions of Ulren's hands abruptly slowed almost to a halt. "Did I... rattle something that was better left untouched?" The confidence all but evaporated from your voice in an instant.
"No," Ren's voice - a bit confused but not at all troubled - rang back from behind you, "I'm just a smidge puzzled and trying to clobber together a crammed answer as I don't recall ever needing to tell that to anyone... Or ever being asked about it."
This time, it was your turn to have an awkward, unspoken "oh..." stuck in your throat. Given Ren's relatively long lifespan, the implication of you being the one most interested in his long-term well-being and happiness somehow felt bittersweet.
He exhaled deeply as if before exercising and spoke out: "We bhiroths don't typically dream or fancy lives or that much at all, as we're usually shaped by our society's flows and needs, making ourselves useful in the "now" and settle for that. This was my case, too: from early on, I dreamt of nothing more than a proper smithy with a forge, a constant inflow of orders, and a steady supply of materials, maintaining a humble but respectful place in the kin's hierarchy."
Oddly enough, as he spoke of it, the motions of his hands became more elaborate, pinching and squeezing numbness and idleness from your back and limbs with professional precision as he continued: "But that changed once my father - a long-serving member of the soldiers' caste - returned from the north-eastern border tour. Just so you have the necessary context: bhiroth families are often colder and somewhat less involved than landers' ones, as younglings' ultimate shaping and casting falls on the mentors' caste during the initiation decade. However, on that particular leave, dad was the opposite of this norm; even mother found it difficult to reconcile his behavior with how she had seen him before."
As he proceeded with this stream of recollections, you found his voice carrying unfamiliar, novel vibes; he sounded more... animated in a way, with the interference of his usual stoic facade nowhere to be seen. "He praised me for being dutiful and stressed the importance of caring for Mom and little sister first and foremost, and then the community. He taught me everything I asked of him and took me wherever. It felt like he, in a way, was almost desperate to compensate for the years of profession-caused absence into this stretch of time, as if he would never have another chance to exercise his fatherhood."
By this point, it was you who struggled to reconcile Ren in this sincere state with his usual demeanor; he sounded way more alive, open, and probably even vulnerable. "He planted many ideas into my mind, some of which would've likely clashed with the Mentorum's teachings of our kin's central philosophy, but the most important one, which he hammered back repeatedly, was "it doesn't matter what you take from life, but how greater or less the realm is after it passes." It's needless to stress how that year and a half we spent together caused me to reevaluate life in general and my own in particular."
And then, while his hand motions continued, his voice paused. "If he indeed had that sense of urgency, then in hindsight, it would be justified, as some years later, when I was halfway into my initiation decade, the First Star war came and claimed him. Even though I never learned what changed him so much before that final visit, the outlook he gave me stuck with me evermore, even if it wasn't as trivial yet solid compared to bhiroths' common life expectations."
You heard him sigh heavily before proceeding, his voice having a faint tremble you never heard before. "And I, quite frankly, had a real hard time with his lesson. I struggled to live up to it during my military service, particularly with my decision at Strasford, which I still don't know if it was the right or wrong call to make. I abandoned it in shame and desperation after failing to safeguard Lilian. And then, after spending years living pointlessly adrift, I returned to it when I found you, as it was the chance to make up for myself by safeguarding your future and reconciling with those who accepted me after my own kin had written me off."
After yet another - this time shorter - pause, his voice lost this extremely rare hint of open vulnerability. "Even though things did not go the best way, and we are now on this journey, far away from Rosie and home, lacking certainty when or if we'd return, it's still incomparably better than those years when I lost my way. A simple roughneck I may be, of which there are millions in this realm, but I'll be damned if I won't set you and Rosie to give as much to this world as both of you are capable of. So, when renovating your future fancy townhouse, don't forget to make the doorways higher for when I come by to check up on you."
It wasn't the first time you had this complex feeling washing over you: a mixture of the reassuring flavor of happiness, a sense of engagement and recognition, a connection, and many other hints that you struggled to put into words that Rosaline had never taught you about. It was a warm and pleasant emotion; seeing it resurface again felt like crossing paths with a familiar traveler. And just like it would be proper to hail this metaphorical traveler, you feel a compulsion to hail it, which you did by suddenly and unannouncedly folding your wings, playfully burying Ren's warm palms under your ivory plumage.
You grinned impishly. He snorted amusedly. And in the next moment, you've learned of your mistake as your warmed-up, sensitive, and softened back was in the tickling range of his palms resting beneath your wings. A bout of silly tomfoolery ensued, during which he tickled you senseless, chiseling out your wriggles and giggles with the ticklish torture.
However, he stopped just in time before your escalating shrieks and yelps could rattle the surrounding fauna for the second time this night or reach the campsite, with no guarantee that Karl would be chatty enough to divert Inga's ears from these embarrassing noises.
"That'll do it," he said, fixing your wings and straightening your posture with a hug-like squeeze, "let's see how smooth you can debut without 'em capes and slipovers and me doing all the explaining." Sure enough, just hearing these words excited you, not to mention the amendment of the need to undergo another torturous concealment of your wings. Clutching to one of his massive palms, you strode with a springy gait back to the camp.
In the warm lights of the re-ignited bonfire, Karl was busy spinning tales for Inga. When he noticed your expression and body language, he instantly understood what would transpire, smoothly relinquishing the stage to you. As for yourself, little seemed to be smooth or subtle about your disposition as you energetically sat against Inga, barely withholding from unwrapping your wings there and now.
"Inga, we had a little talk and, considering how much trust you had put into us, decided to let you in the know, too." You could barely restrain the excitement while Inga's sapphire-ish pair slowly trained at you, her expression neutral if slightly bemused.
"You see," you began, trying to restrain shivering, "There is a reason why we are on this journey and why we are careful with whom we have dealings. In truth, what we told you earlier aren't even our real names." As you spoke, Inga's expression became visibly confused, yet she refrained from the comments, opting to see where it all went.
Taking it as a neutral-if-mildly-positive sign, you continued: "This is Ulren, or Ren in short." You nodded to the side where Ren sat and intently stared at Inga. "And this is Karl. I'm unsure if he presented himself properly to you while we were away." The pyromancer nodded his head weakly, albeit in a rather acknowledging instead of an affirming manner.
"And I..." your grin breached its containment and spread almost ear to ear. "My name's not "Sunny" but Lucifina, or Lucy, in short, and, ah..." Your body hesitated momentarily as the last-ditch struggle to decide whether to expose your wings emerged. Yet, the excitement prevailed. Slowly, almost with the theatrical smoothness, you parted your ivory wings to the sides. And as your alulas and primary feathers strayed further from your back, Inga's eyes widened in peculiar synchrony, debunking Amalia's earlier assumption that she might've already figured out what's in your "backpack."
"I'm... not exactly a lander," you finished, almost muttering and staring into Inga's profoundly shocked, hastily decoloring face. It's... a natural reaction, right? Right? You thought. The gvuroth against you emitted not a single sound.
"Yes, that's a typical reaction," you said, trying to downplay the situation and reassure yourself. "It's not often people have to see winged persons, so... uhm... That's why I prefer not to expose them much. Or at all among strangers." Alas, your efforts to chat her up led nowhere: the only indicators of Inga still being in her mind were the swift darts of her eyes all over you and the slow, speechless partition of her mouth.
"You see, I... don't even know myself why I have them, as I have no recollections of my people nor where I came from — or, for that matter, any recollections before Ulren found me in the wilderness one night." With that, you looked at Ren, whose Inga-staring face didn't harbor much optimism. The latter's intense silence did not contribute toward unwinding the situation either, and you noticed your heart beating like a caged bird.
"A part of the reason we are traveling right now is that our previous host directed us toward someone they knew and believed could help me understand my origins." You delved deeper into the reason behind this journey to give her more context, but all you achieved was setting off nervous, ripple-like twitches on her face. This wasn't good at all, and seeing Karl and Ren trading concerned looks didn't make it any better.
"S-so... That's why you were so vague and dodgy," Finally, Inga gave her voice, but all her looks still indicated the fight-or-flight-type decision brewing in her mind. Almost on the brink of panic, you looked to the side and gave her a half-hearted nod, with the memory of her "What are you" inquiry at the haunted keep immediately surfacing.
"C-can I..." The huntress's meek stub of a plea drew your gaze when your mind (and most likely your entourage, too) was half-panicking and half-preoccupied with how to undo this situation. Frankly, you were starting to shake uncontrollably.
"Can I..." she hesitated, tormenting you with prolonged suspense. "Can I touch them?"
Never before had you felt like a mountain had slipped your shoulders so abruptly. "Sure," you barely squeezed out of yourself, wobbling closer and shoving the left wing into Inga's grasp. Even though you were still a little jumpy from the lapse of tension, you knew all well where this was going.
By then, you already developed a particular tactile perception that allows you to understand a person's attitude toward you from how they touch your wings. For example, Sephie treated them like a fancy toy, while Amalia's way with them felt dutiful, doting even, yet carefully dosed. Meanwhile, Ren's touches, even if a lot like Amalia's, carried the proprietor's confidence with a hint of affectionate playfulness. As for Inga's interactions with your plumage, her kneading felt very meek and careful, as if she were afraid to pluck even the tiny flufflings at the base of your wings' shoulders. She acted almost like a chambermaid tasked with dusting heirloom porcelain.
And then, when her motions gained at least a trifle of confidence (or, perhaps, lost the edge of anxiety), a short, high-pitched squeal escaped Inga, causing dissonance with the impression of her adult gvuroth's frame.
"A regular seamstress would give up a finger or two just to get a pouch of these! So smooth, so soft, so... aahhh~"
"Aye, we're trying to feed her well," Ren injected, no longer tense, unlike just a few moments ago, "She's quite an eater compared to an average lander, and you should've seen her near chocolate cakes."
"Hey! I'm not voracious!" You sharply protested this unabashed slander.
"Cho... what?" Inga inquired, apparently ignoring your outrage.
"Ah, our fair mage lady has a tooth for expensive and exotic pastries," Karl also jumped into this galore. "And with the lack of those, it manifests through quite a sweet tooth. It does suit her, however, don't you agree?"
Perhaps fortunately, Inga did not make a comment, instead refocusing on you: "Can you... can you actually fly?"
"Indeed I can," you replied with a smug grin, savoring the vindication after spending hours and days fumbling in an attempt to fly for the first time.
"At least most of the time." Ren's uninvited, low-key follow-up knocked you down a peg and earned him your glare.
"It was just one time! How else would I've learned about my marginal lift capability if not for that accident?!" You ranted back, not even noticing the self-sabotage of your stance.
But regardless of subtle hijinks and, at times, overt tomfoolery, the reveal dispersed the melancholy for the remainder of the night. Karl and Ulren usurped the bridle of conversation, sharing some previous mishaps and adventures with Inga (although also evading any mentions of Rosaline and the enigmatic group that smoked you out of her manor and may still be after you). And as for yourself, you spent the last waking minutes half-listening to the group and half-fantasizing about those numerous introductions and meetings you'll have with the people of Lyf. Even if tonight's action occurred in a reasonably controlled and biased environment, it gave you solid proof that your uniqueness may not be so adversarial to the active social life you so covet.
_________________________
But just like all the good things, the night of curiosity and spontaneous merriment ended with doubts and heavy thoughts regarding the situation at Tevon resurging with the next day's sun. Remarkably, the nighttime banter outstretched well into the otherwise resting hours, postponing everyone's awakening and the group's march until almost noon, restarting Inga's growing moodiness.
Regardless of how disgruntled, Inga pressed forth, with the sparse and tiny bosks and grooves along the way becoming noticeably and frequent, punctuated by the ever larger count of small streams and rivulets - the sign you were approaching the northern border of the Tzuh-Aran river valley. The decision was made to steer clear from the valley roads to avoid the risk of running into Baathorian or Ertanghalian groups that were sighted in the region. Because of this, the traverse had to be made through the rugged terrain.
However, whether due to sheer luck or Inga's scouting skills and familiarity with the layout, no violent encounters took place. By early evening, the group finally witnessed the dark outlines of the wooden fort's watch tower, casting a shadow over the small clearing on the hill, surrounded by succulent springtime grasses and wild blue flowers. Down in the valley, at the horizon, you could even see Tzuh-Aran's waters playing with the shimmering gold of the sunset.
Uncharacteristically meekly, Inga told the group to wait for her to perform the code whistles to signal the arrival of friendlies to the garrison, leaving you to Ulren's thorough hands, ensuring your wings were adequately concealed before going any further. Your caprice-bound freedom was over for now, and you frowned.
"Elevation, control over the main and the auxiliary road, a river nearby, and enough space for at least two barracks and three towers. To think Kherees would consider leaving such a spot tells a lot about their capacity since their last split." Ulren said while fixing your slipcoat's belts. "Hm? You look tense, Lu. Is it the wings again?"
"No. It's not the wings," you threw a sideway glance at him as he was fiddling behind your back, "It's just... I have this uneasy feeling again. Like something's bound to happen. And not something good, to be precise."
"Did you sense something foul?" His large paws landed on your shoulders protectively as he said that.
"That too: ever since last night's phenomenon, the atmosphere was saturated with the trails of the chaotic aethers like trails of blood in the water. But here..." you inhale and close your eyes, letting your senses do a quick scan, "The density of the chaotic ester is substantial here, to the point I'd presume a recent passing of a matured demonic entity through this hill."
"Do you think it could've been that Wild Chase, which Inga mentioned, manifesting yesterday around this outpost?"
"That is unlikely..." you mumbled, eyes glued to returning Inga and her dismayed face.
The tell-tale signs behind her trepidation began to cascade the closer you approached the fortification. The hole in the wall, which two scared-looking men were patching with salvaged planks and wooden debris, had cut-out marks on it the size of an adult lander's torso. The sporadic "footprints" you saw in the grass while approaching the keep were clearly not humanoid in shape; they were large and had ashen "halos" around them, reeking of void-born residual energy. The forward-looking archer tower had splatters of dried blood on its railings, and the watchman who stood behind them had the eyes of someone balancing between the states of extreme terror, exhaustion, and unbridled, animalistic panic.
The outlook didn't get any brighter once you crossed the heavy wooden gates. A small group of two kheree hunters and one huntress pillaged a half-ruined wooden shed whose thatch roof collapsed inwards; their eyes trailed you wearily. A hound was pitifully whining from under a wooden cart without a wheel instead of barking at your intrusion. As you trod through the bailey and quietly counted the entities in the area, the hint of two particular souls behind the logged walls of a barrack drew your attention: one mightily stirred and in turmoil while the other was on the verge of its shell's collapse; another soul was attending them.
As you withdrew your eyes, seeking Inga, you found her a bit ahead, engaging in conversation with an older hunter clad in worn leather armor with a few distinguishing features like a few fragments of unknown creatures' skeletal jaws attached to the belt and a peculiar braid-like black rope arcing below one of the chestguard's hardened leather plates. The man appears to be on the doorstep of his senior years, indicative via the patches of graying hair on his otherwise dark scalp. His face carried signs of not just advancing age, rough and wrinkled from the harsh life in Blugd-Tur and the plains' winds, but the same exhaustion that settled seemingly in everyone here. His dark eyes did not spare your group that much of a glance as he engaged in what appeared like a questionnaire on Turanese with increasingly anxious Inga.
This rather one-sided exchange did not last for long, though, and you noticed a speckle of comprehension in Karl's otherwise passionless eyes by the time the older hunter faced you. Meanwhile, Inga darted away, giving you a quiet, almost pleading look before disappearing into the barrack with the injured. When she did so, the older hunter shuffled closer to your trio, studying all of you with a tired, mirthless gaze.
"That is a formidable jog to make here from Tevon only to yap with someone, especially in these cursed times," The man spoke in an accented new Pherinian.
"Naran, I believe?" You replied, feeling the encouraging grip of Ren's fingers on your shoulder.
"Yes, I'm still alive and breathing," he said with an air of irony. "I don't have much time, so cut the chase."
You tried to suppress your frown. His intonation didn't suggest he felt particularly obliging today, which, seeing the destruction in the outpost, wasn't surprising.
"We're investigating the string of murders and assaults on kheree hunters..."
"So I heard," he interrupted you, perhaps vying to get rid of you as fast as possible.
You just blinked calmly, refusing to get flipped like that. "Right, and our search for who or what might be behind it had given us a clue that you were the last to talk to Eljdei before he left..."
An odd look flashed through his sleep-deprived face when you said this, and the moment before he gave his next reply was far too long to suggest your words didn't pull on any strings. As he briefly looked down and cursed under his breath on turanese, his body language and tone grew even more detached: "I remember nothing of the like, and neither I have time to sift through dust and ashes: one patrol had gone missing, and from a pair that was sent to recover them, only one mangled man returned, unlikely to see the next sunrise. Something vile had been preying on us for three nights, cunning enough to kill our pack horses and a hound, harassing us nightly, and mighty enough to take these walls and towers for nothing more than a nuisance."
"I... don't suppose you refer to the wild chase or the fiend that ravages the river crossing valleys?"
"The wild chase doesn't persist like this, and if it was the Tzuh-Aran spawn, this whole place would've been razed right now. If this is all you made your way here for, then I'm sorry. I can only ask you to return to Tevon with Inga just as fast, carrying the news of what had happened here."
"We..." you say, holding the man's heavy gaze, your mind recalling Inga's expression. "Please give us a moment to decide our further actions."
Naran turned around and carelessly threw his hands in the air, distancing himself from you with the unspoken "suit yourself" hanging in the evening air. You looked up at Ren and Karl, darting your eyes to the keep's gate, suggesting where to have the team's "council."
"Boys, what are your opinions on the situation at hand?" You began, finding privacy for your group by the keeps' wall stretching between the gate lookout and the inner tower.
"Where's Inga?" Ren replied, "It feels awkward to discuss this without her."
"Inga is in the barrack. When we entered the keep, I made a little sweep for the soul signatures of its inhabitants, and... from three presences inside it, one was in dire straights, while the other one in deathly throes or close to it." Your voice got quieter, the memories of a man dying in your hands soon after arrival to Tevon Talab resurfacing, causing your hair and feathers to stand on edge.
"Oh, then we may as well already presume our dear guide's unwillingness to return to the town as is." Karl chimed in, seemingly not wrong if you interpreted Inga's last gaze correctly.
"Lucy, how many presences did you sense?" Ulren also injected.
"Uhh... Three in the barrack, three in the yard, Naran himself, a sentry, two more by the opposite side of the wall, and another pair in what appears to be the main keep's building," you recalled all the signatures, adding haphazardly: "oh, and one hound, too."
"So, two immovables and ten others in varying degrees of exhaustion out of the original fourteen, with only one hound left out of the service animals." Ren smirked, unamused, "That's less than half what's needed to run a place this size and fix it within a reasonable time..."
"Do you think it would be better if we try to convince them to leave with us for the town?"
"No - that's unfeasible. At least not today: a group of this size without any pack animals to transport the wounded won't make it far before the thing that reportedly prowls the area at night returns. Not to mention their captain digging in heels. So, it's either us leaving right this instant with or without the information we've come here for or us staying until the morning and potentially facing whatever it may be."
"The marks on the wall, the... ahh... the thrashed lookout nest, the way Naran described it, and the trails of chaotic aether in the surroundings. I'm almost certain we're dealing with yet another demonic aberration, and from what it looks, a fairly matured one." You mused out loud, noticing Karl's pensive expression and adding a little "hmm?" to prod him.
"Oh, there's one more peculiar detail I happened to overhear: what was the name of that other chap with whom you raided the haunted ranch? Edgar? Elgar?" the mage chimed casually.
"Yes, that's Elgar. Why?"
"As Naran and our kindly guide had a little chat, I overheard this name featuring in the context of visiting this fort five days ago with their group. It may or may not be related to the events of the last three nights, but it can still be a peculiar detail in its own right." After saying that, Karl reached into his pocket for another smoke wrap nonchalantly as if he got into such events daily.
You nodded, deciding not to make hasty conclusions about whether these events were connected. "I don't recall you telling us you knew Turanese, Karl..."
"Ah..." He exhausted a ring of smoke after the first huff, pretending to be unfazed by your observation, "Back in my youth in Rabenia, learning languages was one of the ways to convince my parents I wasn't just trouble. And Yrsk is very similar to Turanese, which meant it wasn't worth the time to learn one without branching into the other one as well."
With a faint smirk, you glanced at Ren - he also had something dancing on his tongue. To incite him to share his thoughts, you shifted your pose and tilted your head while looking into his face, reminding him that he was still with you.
"Right... if not for a different approach this entity had picked, there seem to be similarities in targeting and some properties with our "Tevonian butcher." As he paused, so did everyone else, processing the chance that this assumption may be valid and this garrison faces the most discussed plight of Tevon-Talab. "What do your books tell about the intelligence of these things? Can they change tactics depending on the situation?"
You shake your head, "No, I don't recall a word about their cognition limits. But I remember reading that both demonic and diabolic subvariations of voidlings act and function around their kernel idea. If the "Tevonian butcher's" idea is a deliberate beheading or some sort of vendetta against kherees as a group, there's no way of knowing how deliberate it may get in achieving its existential function."
Ren's cold gray-blue eyes stared down at you for a moment; you could see your words did little to encourage him, so he tried to shake the uneasy feeling away, along with the shake of his head. "Regardless, it matters less than the other thing."
"That being?" you asked softly.
"Have you noticed that he didn't explicitly ask for our help, even though it was Inga who brought us here? Ten years ago or so, back at Strasford, I was in the same-ish situation, losing men while an incomprehensible threat whom we could only resist for so long encircled us. Back then, I would've been happy for any reinforcements brought to us by our forces, even if they were haphazardly hired mercenaries. Not to mention that kherees, in general, are rather favorable toward us, unlike him. So, he's either this downhearted, resigned to the idea it would be the end of him and his men, or there are thoughts or knowledge about Inga or kheerees at large that he keeps to himself... In either case, it doesn't look like he'd budge on anything, including us offering our help without some convincing..."
"What do you think about us offering our medicine potions to treat their injured?" You muttered the thought that's been with you ever since you sensed a person in a critical condition within the walls.
"That we may," Ren's expression appeared conflicted - he sure knew where you were coming from, but... "If that won't loosen this Naran guy to us a little, nothing would. However, should we stay with them overnight, we'd have to be extra cautious if the beast does come as we won't have emergency medicine."
A heavy, uncomfortable silence hung in the evening air as your long shadows began to creep up the fortress's palisade wall.
"None of us is more qualified to do the talking than you, so... I'd rather you decide on this as well," Ren concluded.
____________________________________________________
[] Potions dispensing (may yield benefits such as easing of persuasion checks and other consequences):
-[] Don't offer any
-[] Offer only the painkiller/stimulant one for the critically injured to die in peace.
-[] Offer only a weaker regeneration one so the less wounded might survive.
-[] Offer only a painkiller/stimulant and a potent regeneration one for the gravely wounded so they might survive
-[] Offer both regeneration potions and the painkiller/stimulant one to give both wounded the best odds of survival.
[] Plan of action:
-[] Just leave with Inga as Naran suggested, without asking him anything (Lucy's hard (24) persuasion skill check to convince Inga to return, luck roll)
-[] Press Naran for the answers and then leave (Lucy's epic (32) persuasion skill check to convince Naran to spill out. Lucy's normal (20) persuasion skill check to convince Inga to return, luck roll)
-[] Offer to stick with them through the coming night in return for answers tomorrow.
(Lucy's easy (17) persuasion check, luck roll)
-[] Bargain for at least some basic answers in exchange for staying with them through the night and hearing out the rest the next day.
(Lucy's hard (24) persuasion check, luck roll)
