Pyra
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Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Mar 26, 2007 21:38:06 GMT -5
Chapter the Thirteenth: Awake Again
I regained consciousness, confused, as there are no caves in the Judgment Fields. Then Grandmother Anath'laurh moved into my field of vision. She twitted me for getting myself into such a situation. Well, really, she chewed me out at length for even attempting such a thing when I had to know how frail I am. Not that I particularly wanted reminded of that fact. I am too used to seeing myself as hardy in comparison to many of my magic wielding friends, I know.
<Two spells it took! Just two to repair the damage done! Your sister would require five times that were she in the same shape as you were and she is two centuries your junior! What were you thinking! No, you were not thinking. You were proving you could do anything your cousins could!>
And so on and so forth. For an hour. Finally, she sent me to fly back to the home lair after one last admonition to not do anything that foolish again. I do love my grandmother, but she really tears the hide off of you after a healing. I suppose it’s because she is only needed when one of us gets badly mauled.
I didn’t realize that Grandfather was already there when I arrived at the home lair. The sun was just pinking the sky, so I’d been unconscious for half the night. I could hear snatches of conversation carried on the breeze from within the lair. <…do with her then? If she stays…>
<…experiment in the Uplands…>
<…no one you would trust to act as guard...>
<…not the wit to know when to run...>
<…flee a battle and not ensure Ssur fled first?>
I knew they were talking about me, but I had no idea what my sister or an experiment had to do with anything. I also didn’t want to walk in on this conversation, so I climbed past the door to a ledge and took a nap there.
The sun was westering when I got rudely awakened by a blue imp. Who is now inches taller than me, drat it. She started to say something, looked at me carefully, then said, <Funny, you don’t look half dead.> I rolled over and stood up.
<Grandmother put me back together. Then chewed me out.> Ssur snickered for a while, then brought up what she was practically dancing around waiting to tell me.
<Did you hear? They’re going to let me do a proper go at domesticating the local bison! Grandfather kept saying there wasn’t anyone of the proper age he’d trust to help out, but you’re back and you can! He said you would.>
I’d a notion I was in for it after pulling such a fool stunt yesterday, but I underestimated exactly what I’d let myself in for. Ssur proceeded cheerfully to chatter on about how there was this mesa relatively near the inner cliffs in the Uplands, close enough to be inside the usual Guardian patrols, and how she was going to go about ‘domesticating’ these mammals so that parents could keep a ‘herd’ to feed their hatchling with, instead of hunting so much extra. I have no idea how she’s going to do this. Most prey animals are smart enough to know that we eat them and flee if they scent us.
She also told me, after I’d asked her why she couldn’t do this experiment someplace in the Lowlands where it’s safer, that she had been, but too many hatchlings kept wandering by and panicking the animals. And then she’d lose all the work she’d done. Which still doesn’t really explain what I have to do with anything, but I suppose I’ll be finding out shortly.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Apr 2, 2007 20:23:59 GMT -5
Break Strain:
A long time ago
Down by the shore of a large, large lake, two hatchlings were playing. Or rather one was playing, dabbling in the water and watching the colorful fish swimming through the plants in the deep water below the ledge he was perched on. The other was halfway between the water and the jungle, concentrating fiercely. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, then began her dance anew. Gesturing widely, she reached out with her physical limbs to give her mind a pattern for reaching out to the surrounding elements. Focusing in on the feeling of the air around her, the water beside her, the ground beneath her, and the burning fire of the sun above, she carefully made the proper sequence of gestures, twinned to the manipulation of the elements made by her mind. As the pattern began to coalesce, she muttered, <Please, please work this time!>, then commanded the keying phrase as the pattern solidified, “Myssstic Ssshield, pleassse appear!” The elements reacted, charging with magical energy from her body and changing with it into a glowing green shield.
The hatchling squealed in glee, then turned towards the lake shouting, <I did it! I made the spell work like Daddy said it would. Look, brother! I made a shield!> She stopped abruptly. The ledge was bare.
She ran, using her wings to speed her through the deep sand to the ledge where her brother had been playing. She hopped a little ways into the air to get to the ledge. The water was rippling, through it was a windless day. She looked down into the water, clear to the bottom. Nothing was there. Nothing but plants. She looked at the ledge more closely. Two small scales, colorless like her own, but smaller lay there, glinting starkly in the morning light. Eyes widening in shock, she exploded into the air shrieking, <Dad, Dad, Dad, Dadeeeee!> Above the water, but below a small overhang, unseen from above, a smear of blood oozed slowly into the water, leaving a swiftly vanishing vermilion streak when it plinked into the water. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Huddled beneath warm silvery-white wings, the hatchling shivered. Father had scooped her out of the air and powered them both to the Grandparents’ lair. Grandfather, mountain huge, smelled horribly angry. She couldn’t even squeak out her story again. Father relayed what she had said, and Grandfather had taken of in a hurricane of wingbeats. He returned shortly, clad in armor that sparkled brightly with magic. Strange metal armor, not like any she had seen before. He had come with other Clan warriors, wielding strange weapons, wearing more odd armors that shown with magic. They left, Father too, but she was not alone. Grandmother, large and gentle, held her, and let her climb up and under her wings. She felt safe there, until she thought about what was happening, and the fear returned. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nothing was found. No one heard or saw anything. Father had been in sight distance and had seen nothing, until the hatchling had started screaming. But she had been right there. She was older, and she hadn’t protected her brother. She should have. The older guard the younger from the dangers. Sometimes even the Guardians miss a small predator. That is why even through Father was hunting, he stayed close enough to hear and see if anything crossed the sands towards the lake. But she had been closer.
No one watched as the hatchling slipped out of the lair. The lake and the rock were only a short flight away. Her parents were still in mourning, and she was old enough that they did not need to watch her as closely. Down at the beach, tracks were everywhere. And all of them were like her own, but larger. The hatchling landed on the rock and peered down into the water. Nothing was there either. Just fish, plants, and sand.
A flash of purple attracted her eye, then darkness abruptly fell. The last sound in her ears was a squeak that sounded rather like her sister. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The hatchling was floating. She could feel nothing, no breathe of air on her face, no sun on her back, no earth beneath her feet. She felt no need to breathe. This must be what death feels like.
“Indeed.” The voice was everywhere and nowhere.
“Who are you?” At least her voice still worked, but the sound was odd.
“I am Zaraklyn, young Gifted One.”
“I am Pir’rahl of Clan Skahr'l-Muhd. I know nothing of ‘Gifted One’.”
“You will. Your soul has been bound to the Retroverse until the Gods succeed in destroying all that is. Your guide will tell you more. They always do.”
The hatchling was very confused. She asked tentatively, “What are you?”
“I am Lord of Neutrality and Death. I ferry the souls of your kind quite often, between the waking world and the Fields of Judgment. You may amuse me. Ask, and I will return you to your body.”
“Please, then, Sir. I want to go home.”
The voice chuckled. “Polite as well, I see. I think you will be very amusing.”
The sensation of movement became overwhelming. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She was on the beach again. Everything felt different. She had been going to this beach, then she had been somewhere else, but the memory of where was blurred, unfocused. That was not the oddest thing. In the back of her mind, voices spoke, each with the sense of a name attached. She tried to figure out how this speaking was done.
‘Pardon me. What is this?’
A swirl of speech materialized, almost too quickly to follow. One word stood out, as if she had heard it before.
‘Guide?’
Thinking this word summoned one to her. It looked like a relative, except that is was seemingly fully adult and smaller than a baby.
The “guide” roared, ‘To learn more about me, asssk me about world guide.’
The hatchling did so, and many other questions followed. She could hear the rustling of something off in the nearby bushes, but that memory slipped from her consciousness.
The watcher abruptly withdrew lest her shock and consternation at this new data leak over across the mind-link.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Apr 23, 2007 18:10:55 GMT -5
Chapter the Fourteenth: Settling In In Exile
Three days later At least I got a few nights of solid sleep before coming out here, with just me and Ssur, alone in the Uplands. There’s something I never thought I’d say. Admittedly, we aren’t entirely alone. Grandfather rearranged the patrol areas to include this mesa, since it really isn’t that far from the Lowlands’ rim. I’ve seen both my cousins helping patrol under the eyes of their respective masters. It seems all three of us were exiled, sort of. I’m stuck here until Ssur’lau finishes with her project, which is going to be a while.
I remember now that Ssur had talked her earlier attempts at ‘domesticating’ food animals. I’d forgotten that. But this time, she’s starting from the egg, so to speak. New environment, different type of animal, and different tactics. Or so she says. My responsibility is to stop any predators from interfering with her experimenting, and to make sure we both flee if something particularly nasty climbs up here. I have a notion that is not the only task I will be responsible for, but time will tell.
Some months later
I believe we have finally cleared the larger predators off of here, or rather, I have. The native ones, at least. The sides of this mesa are not magically sheared, and are scalable, if one were so inclined, and wingless. Ssur had been constructing thorn-brush enclosures to keep the bison she will be catching in, while I hunted, until we figured out that most of my kills were climbing up from below. Burning back the vegetation from the edges of the mesa took a month and still did not solve the problem. Then my sister had the notion to grow thorn brush around the outer edge to discourage the smaller predators. Especially after she convinced the bushes to grow partly down the sides of the mesa and grab at things that are climbing. Of course, this enterprise requires her to use druidic magic to make the plants grow, and that magic requires water. I swear she waits for me to be in range before casting geyser. I’d stay away except, as she has so nicely pointed out, that since she is doing all this work so that I will have less killing to do, the least I could do is bring her meals. And she actually likes eating soaked carcasses. My scales are going to mildew before this phase is finished.
A few years later
I think I am not going to be asking Ssur’lau any more questions about her project. One two-day lecture was enough, and most of it was incomprehensible. The differing interplays of the elements on each world, I understand. The best methods for expending the magic at my command wisely, I am conversant with. What culling the most fractious bison my sister already took pains to catch has to do with ensuring the rest have more easily tamed offspring, I cannot fathom. To each guild its own mysteries. I am simply going to enjoy the taste of roasted bison and let Ssur worry about the wherefores and whatsoevers.
Months later
Ssur asked me to help her with the newest generation of the bison this morning. All I am going to say is that I am grateful that I hatched from an egg. The method furry food animals use is beyond words to describe.
I wonder what my cousins are up to. I haven’t seen them on patrol in months now.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on May 3, 2007 22:54:46 GMT -5
Chapter the Fifteenth: Sister Talk and Historical Matters Many years later. Last evening began like most others. Ssur’lau was engaged in what she called <desensitizing> the herd, which seems to entail her going and patting every animal in the herd until they stop panicking at the sight of her. Not that many do, any more, and those that do settle down once they recognize her scent. I had been about, catching some snacks, and after we had fed I was ready to go make a sweep around the rim, as is my practice, until Ssur walked over to me pensively.
<You were dead, weren’t you?> Not exactly a topic I want to hear brought up generally. My expression must have been enough of an answer, because she continued, <I thought you had been, because you were gone, and then you were back. The cloaked black one brought you back.>
<Why wait to ask until now? I’ve been home for decades. For that matter, we’ve been out here for decades. You could have asked earlier.>
After a bit of stalking around center, it came out that she was afraid that I would leave again if she asked, if I found out she had seen me that day. As if that had been the reason I had left in the first place. So we spent the night talking and I told her as much as I could about why dying doesn’t bother me. Much. Probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but she’s my sister, and the only sibling I have left. She shouldn’t have to worry about losing me too. In any fashion. I won’t stay here forever. I can’t, but I’m not feeling the need to return to my doings Outside just yet. I can stay for a time still.
I also made Ssur promise not to mention this conversation ever. The last thing I need is any of the Elders thinking I’m a threat, or worse, alarming my parents. Some time after
It was another fine evening yesterday. The diurnal bison had bedded down for the dark hours. I still have not seen Sehfio or Darj in some time on patrol. Neither Ssur nor I were much inclined to sleep, so we talked. Since I had provided most of the material last time, it was her turn to answer questions.
<Why are we different?> She didn’t know what I meant at first , so I had to expand on that. <Every other clan of Dragons I have seen share a single color. Even most Dragonian clans tend to wear the same color. I cannot say for sure if that is true of the lesser bloods, those of the gem and of metal, but I suspect it is so. But us? We are all colors. We’re full siblings, but I’m Gules, you’re Azure, Father’s Vert, and Mother’s Brunatre. Why are we different?>
Ssur eyed me and asked, <Do you know /any/ of the histories? Any at all?>
<I remember the story of the Elder that died in the early days. I was told some stories about Grandfather, especially about the full day’s battle he fought with the largest carnosaur ever hatched. And I’ve heard some the early histories, the founding histories. All I remember is that the Elders were forced to flee their old lands ‘lest they die at the claws of their fear-maddened relatives’, but nothing more specific.>
<There are more histories written about the time before the Clan even existed. Aunt Fiar is teaching me them.>
<So what do they say?.>
<There was a harrowing, but it was for no crime, no wrong-doing. It was to ‘purify’ the Bloods. Grandmother was pursued because she was a hatching from a Dragon-Dragonian pairing. She and her children and her children’s children were hunted for no other reason. You never knew?>
I shook my head, then spent some time thinking about this. It should not be that much of a surprise. I know Dragonians can wear different colors at different times. And I know they inherit their ability in Spiritual magic from their humanoid parent. That explains why there are those like my sister, my kin who can use channeled magic more easily than blood magic. Throwback. Their ability hearkens back to those ancestors’ ability. That’s what that term really means. It also means there’s a chance I am related by blood to some branch of a humanoid race. Now there is a peculiar thought. I think I will get Ssur to tell me more of those histories, the ones I missed learning by being away. There must be some interesting stories there.
A few months later
Ssur’lau believes that her project is ready to be judged worthy or no. The current herd of bison is so phlegmatic that they don’t spook even if I go stand right among them, and I am the one who does the killing when Ssur decides which needs culling. She is making last-minute rounds to check that her thorn-brush barriers are growing well. Once evening falls, we’ll fly back to the Lairs so she can let the Eldest know of her progress.
End Part 2: In which there was more doing, but still some talking.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on May 8, 2007 20:01:02 GMT -5
Chapter the Sixteenth: Trouble by the Lake
Sunrise, the next day
Ssur’lau and I departed from the mesa before moonset, to fly back to our family lair and thence to the Lairs. We were nearing the lake when the sound of muted roars shattered the still air. We altered the path of our flight to see what was causing the commotion. A number of my relatives, Guardians, and those that lair in the Lowlands, were scattering from tight knots on the shore into the jungle. All but the four, Sehfio’giskar and Darj’teord among them. Kri’otanae, the newest full Mage besides me, and Parth’aeram, the youngest Bard were the other two.
We landed on the jungle side of them to find out what was going on. Ssur’lau started with the obvious. <What attacked?!>
<If you know of an attack, you know more than we do.> Sehfio sounded cranky.
<If there was no attack, why was half the clan here and gone just now?>
<The youngest hatchlings are missing. Parth here found colorless scales scattered on the shoreline where they had been seen last and went straight to Skir'tarn.> I knew that had to be Chir’lal and the hatchling I had seen stalking Aer’thian some time ago, Eldrin‘rahlm, that they were referring to.
Ssur paled to a sky-blue. <That is all that was found when out brother disappeared.>
<No panicking yet, youngling. They may have merely been play-fighting and scared each other enough to flee into the trees. Both mothers were hunting when they heard a commotion, but Parth was hunting above the lake and arrived first.>
<And you four are waiting here in case they come back?> <Skir'tarn told us to stay here and watch, yes.>
Parth’aeram said laconically, <We are playing bait you know. If there is something dangerous out here, it seems to only attack hatchlings.>
</We/ are not hatchlings!> Darj’teord interjected grumpily.
<No, we are not.> Parth smiled nastily and drew a soft hungry sound from his lute. <But we are closer in size than, say, Skir’tarn, is. Perhaps we will get a chance to demonstrate that fact to whatever this predator is. If something is killing hatchlings, I want it dead, and to strike the killing blow myself will be a memory to treasure forever.> The lute hummed in the breeze as if it agreed.
Kri’otanae, who had remained silent until now, commented, <The hatchlings could have just been playing too roughly, and are hiding for fear their mothers will be upset with them.> She looked at Ssur and me, continuing, < Most everyone is sure it was just a pterosaur that carried your brother off. There had been no deaths for so long that some laxness in the sky watch was inevitable.> <Do you three also think this?> I wanted to know how things stood. Parth spoke up. <I am not so old that I do not remember mock battles as a nestling. A few scattered scales maybe, but there were too many for it to have been that.>
Ssur had been listening carefully and thinking. <Darj, you’re ‘prenticed to Ranger Hall...>
<Not apprenticed any more!>, Darj interrupted.
<You can track yes?>, Ssur continued. Darj nodded. She finished, <Why can’t you track the hatchlings, then?!>
<We were told to stay here and watch. Ruhr’kuhn has been sent for, anyway. >
A thought occurred to me. <Grandfather set four to watch yes? And we are six now. Ssur can stay here to play bait, while Darj tracks. I’ll go with him.>
Sehfio raised an eyebrow. <You do not know how to track. Why do you need to go?>
<I’m the smallest one here. If I was a frightened hatchling, I’d hide someplace small. And Chir’lal knows me very well. If they are just hiding from the wrath of their mothers for getting too rough in play, she at least will come out of hiding for me.>
<You are sure?> <Quite. My tail is probably going to regret this, but if she is unhurt, I do not care.>
Sehfio chuckled grimly. Ssur was not amused at being left out of the hunt, but Parth pointed out that the alternative was for her to go to the Lairs with the rest of the younglings and hatchlings. Anyone who was not searching was there to guard the youngsters, and technically Ssur should have gone there as soon as we knew that the Guardians had called for a bunkering. That settled, Darj started casting about for tracks, then began moving into the jungle. I followed at a distance so as to not mar any signs.
There was only one obvious trail to follow, that hadn’t been left by one of the searchers. It led up through to the mid canopy level and terminated by a particularly large tree. We both could smell there was another dragon nearby, but finding where was less than simple. Darj finally realized the tree was in fact hollow, and I located the opening on the underside of a branch. It was too small for me to fit in entirely, but I could get my head and neck inside. All I could see was a tail dangling down the trunk. I nudged it with my nose and Chir’lal started shrieking.
When she heard me speaking, she quieted down somewhat and wiggled out of the tree. Then she tried to burrow through my ribcage, cheeping frantically. I wrapped her in a wing and held her while Darj went airborne to find her mother. She was too hysterical to be coherent and we needed to find out where Eldrin‘rahlm was. Or how he was to be avenged. I kept a shelter up until Darj got back with Enihl’shrin and some of the other searchers.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on May 30, 2007 22:16:27 GMT -5
Chapter the Seventeenth: For Clan Honor
Darj and I went back to the beach, leaving Chir’lal to be soothed by her mother, so I did not hear her story until later. Mother came to the beach to make sure Ssur and I were undamaged and to tell all of us that we were to go to the Lairs. That there was danger from the lake had been confirmed, and the adult warriors would prefer us to be out from underfoot. In other words, the decoy attempt was being called off. At the Lairs, Mother told us all what Chir’lal had finally been able to articulate, and the news was ill.
Chir and Eldrin had been playing on the beach, staying out of trouble while their mothers caught a meal, when Chir decided she wanted to play in the water. She was splashing around in the shallows when something had grabbed her. Chir’lal couldn’t describe what it was, because it had pulled her completely underwater to drown, and she would have except Eldrin, barely into his training in Ranger Hall, went under the water after her and bit whatever it was until it let her go to attack him. She escaped out of the water and across the beach into the tree line. She heard Eldrin come out of the water and turned back in time to see him being dragged back under water. That’s where the scales on the beach came from. Chir fled then and hid where Darj’teord and I found her.
There is an enemy in our home, something I believe Grandfather has suspected since my brother disappeared. And since he is in charge of the Guardians that protect the clan in general and the children of the clan in particular, ending this threat is a matter of his honor. At least the close-kin of the slain hatchlings will be granted a place to view the resolution of this situation, if possible, so Mother says. This will be the first time since the Elders fled here that a blood price will be extracted from true enemies. I hope it will be the last, but for this I will stand witness gladly. I doubt Grandfather will leave anything for anyone else to kill, but there may be enough enemies for the pleasure to be spread between a few more people.
Three days later
Two days ago, I was standing on the beach near the tree-line with my close-kin, parents, parent-sibs, grandparents and Ssur’lau, to stand witness of the blood vengeance. The weapons masters had finished arming and armoring themselves to stand guard around the lake’s perimeter, all of the clan who follow a weapons path, not just those who look to Guardian Hall. Grandfather Skir’tarn was standing near where both attacks had occurred, clad in leather armor and armed with a pair of nasty looking ancients. Aer’thian was nearby, warming up. Everyone knew now that whatever creature had been killing hatchlings was coming out from the water, so Grandfather was going in after it or them. Aer’thian was going along to maintain water breathing spells, among others. It was starting like a scouting mission but if Grandfather found the predators of hatchlings, he was going to kill them, and anything that fled him would hit the perimeter guard.
They entered the lake, and a sunrise later, they returned. Grandfather was livid, to the point of spitting drops of acid when he spoke. The Eldest had come to wait as well, and they spoke inaudibly for a short time. Then the Eldest herself went into the water, changed into a barracuda, and swam down into the water. A few hours later, she came back, in her proper form. We all knew something was infuriating Grandfather, because he began describing the unknown stealers of children with a breadth of invective that I have never heard before or since. You could almost see the vegetation wilting and the water of the lake curdling.
The full scope of the situation percolated around the lake then, while Grandfather alternatively raged in frustration and discussed strategies with the Eldest, other Guardians, and some of the Elders. We heard that they had discovered a reasonably distinct trail of broken scales leading near the center of the lake’s bottom, and down an outflow only twenty feet across at its opening. And worse, it narrows to fifteen feet in width further in. Grandfather had scoured the lakebed and found nothing else. The Eldest had penetrated down the passage and found no end before she had to turn back, lest her transformation spell end and crush her.
The dilemma was simple: the only known access to finding the murderers of our kin was too small for any but a youngling to enter. Even a mature Dragon would be too large to maneuver in the passage. Not to mention the fact that no crafter had ever managed to create any kind of device that granted the ability to breathe water. Only Bards and Druids can cast a spell for that, and my relatives that follow either of those paths number less than twenty.
The debate over what could be done raged along the beach, over this simple problem, with an obvious, simple, untenable answer. If only a youngling could fit down the tunnel to find out what by the Bright Lord was going on, then a youngling or two would have to go down that passage, and of any, Ssur and I are the logical choices. I am near mature for all my small size and a full Mage besides while Ssur’lau happens to be the only person in the entire clan that is both small enough to fit in the passage and has studied a spell to grant water breathing.
There was no way in Hell I could convince my parents of the necessity of my going. But Grandfather, he I could and have persuaded of the necessity, because of one day when he escorted me from Mage Hall to the Lairs afoot, not for safety’s sake, but to hear the news of the Outside. News which involved much speech of the battles I have seen and the places I have been, including the time I scouted out an underwater tomb. I had used a spell of invisibility to hide my presence from the guards, because few denizens comfortable in water have eyes that can see through such a spell. And this was the tale I reminded him of.
Grandfather initially near bit my head off when I tried to explain my reasoning of why Ssur and I had the best chance of success. He was adamant that someone of my known frailty had no business walking into what could be a trap. Reminding him that I have scouted safely in hostile territory helped my position, but when the Eldest intervened on my behalf, agreeing that there was no other way to gather intelligence on the situation, he relented because there were no other viable plans. The upshot is that they are going to let us scout out the passage under the lake, but Ssur and I are honor sworn to observe only, no matter what we see, or how strong the foe or foes we find are. And at the first whiff of danger, we are to haul our tails home with all speed. I think my point that either Ssur or I could protect our backtrail in the passage by throwing up a shelter or cromlechs if we had to run for it also helped convince Grandfather that I knew what I was getting into. Tomorrow, the preparations for this expedition will begin, and the lake will be guarded until the threat to the clan is ended.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Jun 10, 2007 20:40:31 GMT -5
Chapter the Eighteenth: Into The Water
Days later
For what has been seen and for what has been done this day, there will be a reckoning. Blood for blood, deaths for deaths, and captured souls to freedom, for honor of self, for honor of family, and for honor of clan, so say I, Pir'rahl t' Krial-dien of Clan Skahr'l-Muhd! I lay on this paper this vow to bind me and mine to its fulfillment.
Putting the events of these past days on this sheet should set them clearly in my mind so that when I return to my kin, I am able to set everything in its proper sequence, and in fullest detail. And if I become too pissed to think straight when we do get back, I can hand this sheet over to the Eldest and let her peruse it instead of my verbal report.
After it was agreed that Ssur’lau and I had the best qualifications to scout out the tunnel under the lake where the murderer or murderers of Eldrin’rahlm had fled, preparations were made for our departure. The armor stores were raided, though few items were of a size to fit a hatchling. I ended up with a cloak that Mother had made, cut down to my size, and a set of leather armors that Darj’teord had outgrown. An amulet that would grant me a quicker recovery from physical and magical exhaustion was also dug out of the Lairs’ armory. Ssur’lau already had a set of leathers and her staff, but Mother gave her a pair of wristbands with elemental resistances worked into the fabric. They might even be one of the sets I had helped with.
I didn’t expect to take a weapon along, but Grandfather had other ideas. At that point, Ssur was being given a skills test by the Eldest, and being taught some refinements to skills and spells Aunt Fiar’ylem had already shown her, so I was alone. He was holding something, small enough that it was completely lost to view until he opened his hand. It was a pile of white cloth, bundled about what would be a full sized broadsword on a human or elf. A decently long dagger in other words, but peculiarly not of Drakhen forging. Grandfather mentioned that in his younger days, a champion of Sikkar had gone looking to smite evil and ran into him instead. Paladins have trouble keeping weapons when being dangled upside down by the ankle. He couldn’t use it, because the blade was rather picky about who could wield it, but, given that I have a penchant for setting undead on fire, it did not try to scorch my hand when I picked it up. Actually, it seemed to hum happily for a minute before quieting down, which was why Grandfather wanted me to carry it instead of a Clan-made dagger. The Screaming Sword, he called it. Sounds carry very well in water.
The final preparations were fairly simple. Once Ssur and I were armed and armored appropriately, we were showered with every protection spell known to the Clan. Once we were in the water, we were on our own, but between the two of us we already had the Druid and Mage spells, and druids have the most protection spells. No Abjurers here. The final spells were of water breathing from the Eldest and invisibility from Rurh’okre as the longest lasting versions of the spells in Clan knowledge. Mother was on guard over the children at the Lairs, so Father about squashed us in a proper hug, then we followed Grandfather into the water so he could show us where the opening was.
After a few hours, the passage widened slightly, but there was neither sight nor scent of anything. No fish, no plants, no prey, no enemies, just frigid water and bare stone. I had to keep reminding myself to scout when our invisibility spells wore off, to be safe, the first day, because there seemed to be absolutely nothing to see, barring the occasional scale, at great intervals, caught in crevices in the walls. We were probably halfway to the outer ring of mountains, by the end of the first day. By the end of the second, we were under the mountains, and it was only then that we saw the enemy.
There was a cavern, entirely underwater, fifty feet high at its highest. And it was full to its roof with vile egg-eating s($@-licking ambushing honorless f*$%ing bloodworms. I have known some Gifteds of that race. I have no particular quarrel with them. I have killed the ordinary variety many times in my travels on Crypt. I have seen the labyrinth the being known as Mother Worm inhabits. I burnt her spawn from my skin after that exploration. I have never seen so many worms crammed into so little space. Our saving grace, Ssur and I, was that they shunned the area where the current ran through the cavern. We withdrew back into the passage with difficulty, practically climbing the walls to go back against the current to put up every applicable spell at our command. It would take us a week to fight our way back up the passage against the weight of water coming down. It would take half a day to reach the watery daylight we could see at the caverns far end, besides the opportunity to see into the heart of our now known enemies stronghold. Dragons will never be great swimmers, but we had to try to make it. Even my casting of invisibility should have lasted long enough for us to escape with the knowledge of the true magnitude of this threat. It did not, but there were complications.
We pushed off and let the current carry us downstream, so as to save our strength in case we needed to make an aerial escape once out of the water. Halfway across the cavern, we could see that there was an alcove set off from the main cavern. It would be a gigantic cavern in its own right, if not for being dwarfed by the gargantuan cavern we were in. The swarms of bloodworms were thicker around that alcove, and composed of truly massive specimens not visible anywhere else. Ssur and I left the main current to get a better look, and I wish she had let me go alone, because I can hear her whimpering in her sleep now. Like I probably was before I woke up. Inside that alcove was the biggest damn bloodworm in the history of the Six Worlds. Only on Sosel, planet of life that it is, could such a thing exist. Good thing most of the race lives on Crypt, or we all would be inundated under a mass of squirming flesh. As it is, the fiend was two hundreds of feet long at a conservative estimate, for I could not see all of her tail, and at least a thirty vertically. I wish that was the worst of it, a monster that outmasses Grandfather.
They were Cultists to a worm. The signs were there to see. I have walked within the Guild on the planet. I would know. But I saw what they had been taking hatchlings for and it was a sight to make bards weep. The very front of the brood’s mother was stretching on a carved stone couch, with three polished skulls surmounting its four posts. Three. One of them was mine. One of them was very fresh and only a week dead, and the third was my brother’s. The fourth post would have been graced by Chir’lal’s, if Eldrin had not sacrificed himself to guard her. I wish that was the worst of it. Most of the worms were armored in some fashion, but three of the larger ones had armor fashioned from colorless scales. I don’t know which one was wearing my old hide, and I do not care to know. Many of them were also wearing bone ornaments. I don’t have to guess where the bone came from.
The worst sight in the entire room was the portal in the back. It was a heptagon, inverted, and not fully empowered. Two of the seven points had a glass globe set into them. Inside the globes were hearts, still beating. There were only two because my soul is still where it is supposed to be. I hope the k’tu worms got the worst shock in their lives when they failed to trap mine. I suspect that is why they delayed for so long in continuing to power this portal, to Hell probably, to let their masters come into the physical plane. I hope they wasted the last two thousand years, leaving my kin to live in peace, trying to figure out why their magic went awry. I hope that I get to see the water of this cavern become opaque with their black blood.
Ssur did not recognize everything she saw, but the skulls and the skins were enough. I was rigid from the shock, but her distress penetrated to me finally. I had to focus on her pain and on getting her out to the light of day to resist the urge to suicidally attack the defilers of my clan. We had lingered too long, and lost our invisibility a hundred lengths from the exit. Ssur’s dropped first, because I had to put hers up first. I made her run while I distracted the little bastards. There were only small worms at the far end, merely a few tens of them. I dropped my own invisibility with a very flamboyant casting of Killing Cloud. There was no reason to conceal that spellcasting. It was times like that, that I studied for so long for. I only had to cast once for the bloody lot of them to burst open like piles of wet paper. The blood in the water hid my exit.
Neither of us were able for a long flight back to the Lairs after our escape. Ssur put up some cromlechs for safety, then convinced her chalice to cough up some food. She practically glued herself to my side, and I did not much mind. If Mother had been there, I’d have done the same to her. We talked for hours until she could sleep. I waited until her spell ran its course, then put up a shelter to sleep in. This is the second one I’ve put up, and it is nearly finished. Ssur should wake up soon, and we will go tell our Clan what desecration has been done to the bodies her children.
I think I will keep this sheet with my journal and make a second, edited, version for the Elders’ perusal. And then these k'tu worms will become the t'ku worms, after my kin and I get through with them. (Editor’s note: The Drakhen word k'tu can be taken to represent every invective known to intelligent races as a rough approximation, and it is not used lightly. T'ku represents destroyed, or utterly obliterated. The reader should observe the similarity of these two words to understand that the second condition generally follows anything labeled with the first, in Drakhen culture.)
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Jun 19, 2007 17:59:14 GMT -5
Interlude Part One: Through the eyes of Ssur’lau
She awoke painfully as the shelter overhead dissolved away. The shocks of the previous day and the dreams of the night had been enough to unman any mortal. But she was a Dragon, able to set aside what could not be safely contemplated until a later time. Looking around, she saw her sister crouching nearby, tail wrapped around her feet, staring at the water of the river, with sparks splattering the ground from each near inaudible exhaled snarl. She winced internally. Their mother had a near infamous temper and, though in them it was tempered by their father’s patient demeanor, Pir’Rahl in particular was slow to cool off once she worked up a belly of fire.
When she reached over to get her sister’s attention, Pir noticed the movement and startled. Glaring at nothing in particular, Pir indicated that they needed to get back as quickly as they could. Ssur’lau forbore noting the obviousness of that statement and followed her sister on a climb to reach the top level of the jungle, so they could sight the fastest path back home. It was rather unfortunate that they ran into a small fangy dinosaur in the middle level whose size belied its nastiness. Pir attacked out of hand, tackling it with a dagger in hand, forgetting to attack magically. She did manage to kill it, after it broke both her wings and ripped most of the scales off of her tail. Ssur was not amused and chewed her sister out, along the lines of ‘What were you thinking? You were the one who said we needed to hurry! We’ll be lucky to get back next week if we have to walk the entire way and no I can’t make you a flight hide that thing is too small to have enough hide for a cloak and what by the Bright Lord did you think you were going to accomplish?! We could have gone around…’, and so on and so forth, mostly repeating diatribes their parents had directed at both of them at one point or another.
She had enough water to brew a few healing drinks, but they were only sufficient to repair the damage to Pir’s tail. The wings would require more time or their grandmother. They resumed the trek on foot, Pir muttering darkly under her breath and Ssur grumbling about hot-headed battle-mad siblings. She couldn’t understand why Pir was so fired up. What they had seen was horrible, strange being invading their home, killing their family and using the remains for trophies, but dead is dead. A corpse is not the person who had worn it. Once you were dead, you couldn’t be harmed no matter what happened to your leftovers. Everyone in the Clan knew that. Ruminating, she put the sights of yesterday into perspective and let the horror wash away. Besides, once the adults heard what the situation was, they would fix it. When the Clan decided on something, it happened.
Half a day later a faint noise impelled both sisters to look up, then let out a full bodied shriek. One of their forth cousins once removed of Ranger Hall heard them yell and came bombing out of the sky, along with Darj’Teord. Their cousins had spotted the campsite along the river, from the tell-tale ground disturbance due to invoking cromlechs. Their older cousin had but one overriding question, <How the HELL did you two make a corpse glow?!> A short explanation later she was flying back to the Lairs escorted by Darj. The younger adults were paired up with older relatives to run messages and other errands. She was somehow amused to be considered an errand. Pir was walking back with their cousin, who didn’t want to try carrying her. He could, but not for any distance. She and Darj would tell the first adult they ran across where Pir was so either a larger cousin could go get her, or Grandmother.
Even flying, it was some time before they reached a pass, and another day before they crossed the Uplands and reached the Lairs. Messages had been passed to Anath’laurh, and she was going to go get her grandchild. Also, a conclave had been called, and Ssur was hurried to the main cavern to give her report.
Interlude Part Two: Through the eyes of Rahl’Ylem
The meeting cavern in the Lairs was full to bursting. All of the Elders, Guardians, and assorted other clan members were crammed in there wing to tail, with other younger members stretched out in the connecting tunnels, close enough to listen in and comment on the general debate if required. The children of the clan were being guarded deeper in the complexity of tunnels. Alchemist Hall had worked with Fighter Hall to carry in enough minerals for food for the children and their guards for two months. Ranger Hall and the few Druids had gone and brought the bison herd young Ssur’lau had domesticated down from the Uplands mesa and into another portion of the lairs. Fiar’ylem was maintaining that cavern with vegetation and sunmotes. There would be meat for the younglings even if the situation was so dire as to preclude hunting by the adults warding them.
The watcher closed her eyes and ears to the cacophony, trying to relax in spite of the worries wending through her mind. It had been a week since she had sent younglings of the Clan into peril, risking the least trained Druid and the changeling child to scout out the escape route of the child-killers. Skir’tarn was still annoyed with her for overruling him on the wisdom of the expedition, but then she had not told him that one of his grandchildren could never die, well, permanently. Some day, she would begin preparations for dealing with these other ‘Gifted Ones’ if they ever found her Clan, and he would be the first she consulted in that planning, but the time for that project would not come until the current threat was dealt with.
A change in pitch of the ambient clamor alerted the watcher in time to see the youngest Druid creep in shyly. The youngling had never seen so many Clan members in one place before, so the watcher decided to talk to her privately, in less intimidating surroundings. The watcher moved three Mages out of the tunnel to a smaller cavern so she could pass, wryly amused as the trio did not skip a beat in their private debate when they moved. Ssur’lau followed her carefully.
The watcher established a light link with the youngling, to see the images associated with her report. Two hours later, the watcher was nearly in shock. Aside from the outrage of knowing the remains of three clan hatchlings were being used as trophies, the sheer number of the enemy was unthinkable. Also incomprehensible was the gap between the attacks. If these bloodworms wanted to drive out the Clan, they would have been attacking more frequently. The watcher tentatively assigned a reason of ritual killing for this phenomenon. Dragons did not engage in this behavior, but inferior races were known to perform such oddities, Vipyrs, for one.
The sanest course of action the watcher could see was to abandon this valley and find a new home. They were not even a full thousand strong as a Clan against tens of thousands of foes. Individually, these ‘bloodworms’ were weak, but attacking in swarms, they could pull down any lone dragon. Even if they attacked in force and the battle was won in the end, how many of her children would die? The watcher had sworn to her self <Never Again!> after she had escaped the purges with only her grandchildren. Another slaughter of her children was unthinkable. The two, three, she corrected herself mentally, even though that one was not permanent, deaths already were too many. She sighed, then noticed the youngling Druid was clearly wobbling from weariness. She left her to sleep in this quieter cavern while the watcher returned to the cacophonous main cavern to pass on the expedition’s report and her conclusions. The Elders supported her contention that leaving their home and finding new Clan lands was the only supportable course of action. The Guardians were most vocal in their argument that even a hundred thousand foes could be dealt with, with the proper tactics. Skir’tarn wanted to lead an expedition right then to test the mettle of these ‘Bloodworms’. Unspoken was his plea that his honor required him to end any threat to the Clan, regardless of its magnitude. The younger generations were mixed in opinion, debating among themselves. Krial’kwa, father of the first slain hatchling, was conspicuous in his silence. The debate raged overnight through the next day.
The watcher had persuaded most of the conclave that they needed to leave before any more deaths occurred. It was not as though they could not pack up and leave. What could not be carried could be sent through a telemantic portal, once a new homeland was located. Even some of the Guardians were grudgingly beginning to accept this course of action when the changeling child made her presence known and shattered all of the watcher’s plans. No one had noticed her come in. The watcher did not know how long she had been listening. And with sixteen words, the world of the Clan turned upside-down.
<We cannot leave. My brother and Eldrin are still held captive. We have to rescue them.>
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Jul 6, 2007 13:27:55 GMT -5
Chapter the Nineteenth: No More Secrets
Three days later
They truly meant to leave, to depart with deaths unavenged and flee from our home of six generations, since the Age of Wanderings. I do not know what to think. I lack the knowledge for such understanding, to grasp the reasoning behind that decision. They were willing to flee.
It was my own fault that I arrived late, but what is done is done. I needed to expend my fury on something. The bare casualties I did inflict earlier were not enough. To fight tooth and claw, well, tooth and dagger, helped, and the pain finished clearing rage’s fog from my mind. I flew to the Lairs after Grandmother repaired my wings, and ripped a few new strips out of my hide. I know she speaks sharply because she worries.
Ssur had gone on ahead, while I was grounded, and so told all that she had understood of what we had seen underground to the Eldest. Perhaps the sheer numbers of foes was disconcerting, or their relative inaccessibility. Guessing is futile. I simply know that I arrived in the middle of a discussion on how best to abandon our lands of near ten ages, held through all other disasters. The pterosaur invasion. The carnosaur migration. The unending forays by the deinonychosaurs. Life here is generally peaceful, but it has never been exactly safe. Or even the time Alchemist Hall had to be moved to a new cave complex because the original site had an accident. Cousin Enihl must have told me that tale a hundred times when we were younger.
I listened to the on-going discussions for a long time, trying to decide what to do. Everyone was ignoring me for the most part, except for absentminded care not to step on me. Shrieking like a hurt hatchling to get my family’s attention was an option I considered, but decided it was more of a final resort, once I knew what to say. I noticed that the Elders and my older relatives were discussing the logistics of a move, while the younger generations were more ambivalent. The Guardians were the least open to the possibility of leaving, and the Eldest was concentrating on convincing them that it was better to go than stay.
It was the way she was going about her persuading that struck me as odd. Points and the best counterpoints were used before objections were fully voiced. Taken alone, that could be attributed to her knowing everyone in the Clan very well. She’s known us long enough. But I remembered something I had heard, walking around a city, “Be wary upon feeling a sudden pain in your head. A Psioniscist is reading your mind.” I remember such a pain from when I had met the Eldest the first time. And the fact that she had agreed to let Ssur and I scout was uncharacteristic. Pragmatic and logical, granted, but odd, if she did not know death was an old friend of mine. Ssur had not had time to tell her otherwise, and I had not, not verbally.
I trusted my reasoning and acted on it, holding the memory of what I had seen and the knowledge backing my assessment of the situation in the front of my mind while I sought out our matriarch. I did not have to try to get her attention when I found her, and her silence caused a lull in the ambient clamor. I spoke then, saying why we could not leave, at least not yet. The look of sheer horror spreading across the Eldest’s face told me that she had finally realized the complete ramifications of the attacks. She also knew I had recognized that she was not just the most experienced Druid in the Clan, but the only Psioniscist. Honestly, I think that was not a secret exactly, just something not spoken of. Oh. Psi’s have the ability to see a person’s aura. That is how she can know the truest name for a new hatchling. I can’t believe it took me this long to figure that out.
Grandfather made it known to me that I had better explain everything in fullest detail right now. The Eldest took a deep breath, sighed, and added that everything meant everything. I took her hint and let the shards fall where they willed. I started with Ssur and I had seen upon entering the great cavern, the swarms of ‘worms, the alcoves off the main cavern, and the thick swarm of exceptionally large bloodworms around the largest alcove. Then I described what we had seen there, the brood mother, the way they had used parts of three hatchling corpses for armor, among other things, the portal, and how it was powered. I ended with explaining how there were three sets of bodies for them to use, why they only had two captive souls, and my speculation as to why the attacks had been so widely spaced. Chaos followed.
I went back to where Ssur’lau was sleeping so I could get catch a nap, and get out from underfoot while the adults had it out. The stone of the Lairs was vibrating from the volume of the argument underway. After waking, I wandered back into the main cavern and found a vantage point to watch from. I managed to gather that we were going to do something about the bloodworms, but there was no consensus on how or what. The variety of ideas flying around was impressive, though. Grandfather lost patience with the talking, fairly quickly. He then wound around the cavern, tapping a kinsman here, a relative there, and gesturing at the exit. He nodded at the Eldest, then finally came over and got me. I spent the flight to Guardian Hall clinging to his neck, because I would need to stop and rest on the way, and we were not stopping.
Grandfather is out recruiting a few more people at the moment. When he gets back, we will see what happens. He brought me to pick my brain of everything I know about bloodworm and cultist abilities in particular, and anything I remember about combat with them in general. I do not know what anyone else is going to be doing, but I expect the end result is going to be entertaining, for us anyway. And filling. I hope the entire clan is going to be well fed for a week when the screaming is over.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Jul 22, 2007 21:24:25 GMT -5
Chapter the Twentieth: Final Preparations Two days later
The plans have been made. The Clan is assembling. The entrance to the underwater cavern is being watched, and all this readied a full week before it would have been possible, thanks to my mother-sister, Uncle Tleth’ting, Aer’thian, Rhur’khun, and Rhur’okre. Grandfather had begun to lay in his plans with the assumption a third of the Clan’s warriors would be needed to watch the lake, to deal with any attacks in the rear while the rest would carry the offensive in the bloodworms’ main cavern.
However, Tleth’ting thought he could construct a grating to block the tunnel under the lake without interfering with the outflow, but sturdy enough to withstand an attack. He mentioned this to my aunt, who decided that was a good start, but setting up stone golems inside the tunnel to attack anything that tried to break the grate would be better. Since she looks to Alchemist Hall, she decided to handle that part. They convinced Aer’thian to come along so they could work underwater without drowning, and he thought Rhur’okre, since he leads the Mage Hall, might have some further refinements. The three of them stopped by Guardian Hall to get Rhur’okre, and, of course, since there was a chance that they could be attacked while working underwater, he convinced his twin Rhur’khun to come and shred any ‘worms or other annoyances that might show up, letting the other four of them concentrate on booby-trapping the passage but good.
Grandfather seemed less testy after he heard what was being planned. And he was quite pleased upon hearing the results. In the end, not only did they embed a steel grating in the bedrock across the passageway and set golems that would activate upon any intrusion, Rhur’okre worked out a warding rune to off a light-show over the lake any time the grate was damaged. Aer’thian did him one better with a variation of the Magic Mouth spell. Now, the next time something tries to break through into Clan Lands via the lake, the warding spell will also set off a voice yelling above the lake and one yelling in the Lairs. I’ve heard that my aunt and Aer’thian are going to try to link another Magic Mouth spell to the golems, so that they will report what is attacking the grate, but that will take some peculiar modifications to the spell and to the golems. I think they will make it work, someday. With that defense enacted, the guards around the lake were pulled off for the assault on the main cavern, which will come as soon as everyone else arrives.
The first night, I thought Grandfather just wanted me to go over what I had seen underwater, and he did want the specific dimension of the cavern and its offshoots, as best as I could tell. It did not change the fact those dimensions were too small for him to squeeze into the cavern, let alone be able to fight effectively once inside. My store of ancient Drakhen profanity has increased a great deal since I’ve been home. The youngest of the second generation can fit inside, but even they would be too cramped for proper combat. Weaponed combat, that is. Magic wielders would have enough room to use spells, but defending themselves physically would be problematic.
What Grandfather wanted to ask me in particular was about the tactics I was familiar with, having a warrior of some sort to stand off the foe while the others in the group pounded it from a distance with ranged weaponry and spells. Afterwards, I found an out of the way nook to stay out from underfoot and watch what was going on. I heard about the lake’s newest defenses first-hand, and I got to watch Grandfather and Elder Tiam’atani hammer out the most effective battle tactics. She leads Fighter Hall, and I’ve heard that she spends most of her time seeking further refinements to her skills with axes. I had never seen her until the Conclave at the Lairs, but I now know who the second best battle strategist in the Clan is.
A day and a half of discussion later, involving what seemed like half the Clan at times, there is a plan, and it is elegantly simple. Complex plans fall apart easily, Grandfather says. The children and those guarding them are to stay in the Lairs until the dust settles. Everyone else is needed for the confrontation, either in support or in combat. The Elders and anyone that cannot fit easily into the field of battle will be either throwing up protective spells, or training the younger generations in between bouts. Primarily, Aer’thian will be putting up the water breathing spells, but the other bards might help if they are not in the queue to attack. Grandmother, Druid Hall, and anyone who knows cure light wounds will patch up damage. Ssur’lau is here instead of in the Lairs only because she is trained for that work. Those whose tastes run to weapons work will be working in groups of three with a group of three casters, tasked to keep the swarms of bloodworms away from the casters, so they won’t be interrupted continually. Rhur’okre is making sure all magic users have mastered the knack of excepting others from area spells, since he sussed out how I do that. And the group on the offensive will be rotated often. There is no point wearing anyone out, and everyone wants a chance to fight.
I believe we are ready for any contingency, especially the ones peculiar to combating cultists. Every group will have someone who looks to Mage Hall or Bard Hall along, in case a Teufal’s Trap is created. The solution to the other danger, mental derangement from curses, requires that the Eldest stay nearby with Elder Khar’solae, the telemancer. The Eldest will mindlink whichever relative is leading the current group, and if they send that one of their group has been afflicted thus, or if she senses they have been, she can tell Elder Khar’solae to open a portal to let them withdraw or yank the cursed one out to be cured while the others retreat out of the cavern. Grandfather decided that he will be waiting there, because he hopes foolish bloodworms will come through any open portal. Unlikely, but since he cannot go in after the ‘worms, he will wait for them to come to him.
The last task that needs doing, and it has fallen to the youngest adults, including me, is policing the net that has been strung across the river. With the strength of the current, all the corpses will simply float downriver, and there is no point wasting fresh meat. I think we will not need to hunt other prey for some time.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Aug 12, 2007 21:16:54 GMT -5
Chapter the Twenty-first: The Best Laid Plans….
Two weeks later
Complex plans fall apart too easily. That is truth. All plans no matter how simple disintegrate once battle has been joined. That is also truth. The first sally went splendidly. The weaponed combatants came back nearly unscathed and the casters entirely unhurt. Even as fast as the ‘worms came at them, the casters had synced their spells so that each wave was shattered, leaving a few hardier survivors for the fighters to mop up. Fighting underwater is awkward at best, but ‘worms have no natural armaments, and the initial waves were if anything less skilled in magic than in weapons work. The second, third, and even fourth raids were equally effective, with no opposition at the entrance and only disorganized sallies to deal with once within. Not that they penetrated too deeply, only a hundred of feet into the cavern, enough room to spread out slightly so not to foul another’s blows.
The fifth sortie was caught by a teufal’s trap and had a very bad time of it before one of the mages brought it down so they could withdraw and let Grandmother patch them up. Haldre’detrin was fortunate he lost only two claws at the knuckle and not his entire hand. The next run stopped outside the entrance and scouted, finding another trap in place manned by a battalion of ‘worms. Attempts to take the trap down and keep it down were foiled by constant recasts.
Grandfather and the other strategists conferred and decided against a larger group charging knowingly into the trap in an attempt to pick off the guarding force. The force in question had some peculiar caster types that even I did not recognize in addition to some of the larger Cultist types. One right eye and one left hand missing was the description, and no guild I have ever heard of requires that sort of uniform ritualistic mutilation. The calluses on the fingertips of Bards do not count.
A variation of the suicidal charge plan was put into action. The next group, with the Eldest mindlinked to the leader, snuck into the teufal’s trap while invisible, and Rurh’okre, being the most experienced Mage, chain-cast destroy field out in the river to allow them to slip deeper into the cavern. Once they found a place suitable for a stand, they broke cover and attacked. And, when the protection spells began to wear off, the leader alerted the Eldest, who directed Khar’solae to open a portal to their location. The next group dove into the portal as soon as the first withdrew to continue the fight. Grandfather was rather disappointed that no bloodworms assayed the portal. This tactic worked for another sortie, but the cultists began chaining trap spells which disrupted all telemantic spells. One of the mages threw up a shelter spell across the mouth of the shallow cave, which allowed them just enough room to duck out behind the shelter, kill the last few bloodworms right there, and get the message passed for a portal out. No shortened fingers this time, but another of my cousins will have interesting scars on her wing membrane. That was in addition to the three cases of mental derangement from curses the Eldest healed. I do not know what we would have done if she did not have Psioniscist training.
The tactics for the next attack have been worked out in the last few hours, being an expansion upon the previous ploy. Instead of one invisible group sneaking in while the teufal’s trap at the entrance was being disrupted, Grandfather is sending in five, at specific intervals. The first group will break cover when the spells have nearly run their course, signaling the other groups to attack from their positions. Tiam’atani is not happy with this plan because it invites <defeat in detail>. I am still trying to figure out what that means, but I think it is something along the lines of <small problems can cause a large disaster>. The Eldest is also not happy because, since she can only mindlink one person at a time, if they become deranged, communication with the forces in the cavern will be severed. Elder Khar’solae may be able to open multiple portals to all five groups, but she can only open one at a time. So things stand now, and now I need to get back to work. It’s my turn to help man the nets again. At least we get first choice of snacks.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Aug 19, 2007 21:47:36 GMT -5
Chapter the Twenty-second: A Stalemate Broken
Three months later
The stalemate holds still. The last successful penetration of the ‘worms lair was three months ago, Grandfather’s five-pronged assault. And even that was less than satisfactory. No one died, but the injuries accrued taxed even Grandmother’s skills of healing. She is still working out methods of surgery to repair the last of the unhealed damage, one a corneal rupture, the other severe muscular damage to the tail. At least those are the terms Ssur used when she passed the news on to me. She actually enjoys watching Grandmother work, trying to pick up new techniques to use with animal healing.
Now, not only is the entrance to the cavern blocked by an oft renewed teufals trap, the areas directly behind the entrance have been trapped as well. The number of guards stationed inside the traps are sufficient to shred any groups of us attempting to enter. The limit of seven on the number of people one can except from the effects of area spells puts a limit of eight on any attacking force we can send, because trying to kill a few hundred ‘worms individually before they overwhelmed us is simply not possible. On that, the Elders are adamant. We will dare injury to end this threat but we are few enough as it is. Better to wait than risk deaths, for we have millennia and we have the patience. The ‘worms are trapped in the cavern. Eventually attrition will thin their numbers if starvation does not do so first. How they can feed their numbers now is a mystery still. And if desperation forces them to come out after us, so much the better. They have seen how the third, fourth, even fifth generations can fight. They have no conception of how dangerous the older generations are.
Because this is taking far longer than anyone thought, while some of the Clan are working on a new approach for the next attack, most of the rest are going to lay in a store of preserved meat for the Lairs, as well as a fresh stock of minerals for snacks. The last report I’ve heard about the Lairs is that the tame herd of bison is being eaten down too quickly. The remnant left is going to be preserved so Ssur’lau’s work will not need to be repeated. Periodic hunts during other lulls in the fighting should be sufficient to keep the children and their mothers supplied.
One year later
We’ve broken through into the cavern at long last and established a foothold in one of their own side tunnels. It took more than a year, but one of the Artisans finally worked out how to set a permanent water breathing spell onto a brooch. Kri’otanae was chosen for the penetration because, as it was mentioned pointedly, I wouldn’t live long enough for the necessary spell-casting once inside. The grate under the lake was opened long enough for him to squeeze into the passage, and it was a tight fit. The passage widens gradually after the first mile, but I’ve heard that it was one of the less pleasant experiences he’s had. After he discovered the outlet into the main cavern, he withdrew back far enough to where the guards could not hear anything, and let the Eldest know he was ready. Elder Khar’solae opened a portal to let him through quickly and while it remained open, he was hit with every protection spell the Clan knows, including invisibility.
Afterwards, he snuck back into the passage, then into the cavern. He then found an appropriately large and reasonably undefended tunnel, set up a shelter inside it’s mouth, then retreated inside to allow another portal to be opened, while chain casting his favorite area spell to keep the ‘worms he had sealed inside the tunnel with him from killing him. As soon as the portal opened, he dove through, a battle group went in and Khar’solae followed after a few moments to carve a Zodiac sign on the tunnel floor. Now, we can return to that point at any time. Also, as the tunnel was being cleared, and before the ‘worms casters could start trapping the area, a few more invisible groups went in to find relatively clear parts of the cavern and hold a position long enough for a portal to be opened, Khar’solae to enter and set a sign on the floor, and then all retreat back to the riverside. There are now nine different points around the cavern so marked.
As long as we hold the side tunnel, we have a staging ground for further attacks. From there we can see which of the Zodiac sites are clear and send in raids. Also, the mystery of why the ‘worms have not starved to death has been solved. Most of the ‘worms that were killed in the tunnel were the oddly mutilated ones. The spells they attacked with were equally odd, almost as if they were perversions of Druid spells, causing putrefaction and rot. At the end of the tunnel was a largish chamber with a sunmote. Algae were growing profusely on the walls, feeding the schools of fish pent by nets around the circumference of the room. It is odd to think of these ‘worms as farmers in their own right, but the evidence is plain. These peculiar casters must have Druidic knowledge, but I have heard of no guild of their ilk that teaches specifically spells of decay. The situation becomes more disconcerting with each new foray. I hope we can end this soon.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Sept 9, 2007 21:29:59 GMT -5
Chapter the Twenty-third: The Final Battle
Some months later
It is slightly less boring out here than being stuck back at the Lairs with the other children, if only because I get to hear the latest news a day sooner than they do. The main cavern is cleansed, all but one tunnel are mostly cleared, and the mopping up of any bloodworms outside of the Mother Worm’s Grotto is well underway. A few groups are keeping the Grotto’s occupants pinned down, and we’d as soon starve them out if there was any hope it would work. They must have a fish farm in there somewhere because, unless they are eating each other, there are no other comestibles for them.
Sehfio’giskar, Darj’teord, Kri’otanae, Parth’Aeram, basically the same group of my cousins that were on guard by lake the day the ‘worms attacked, and two of my other cousins got to help with the mopping up. Father threatened to send me back to the Lairs if I didn’t quit asking to go too. Even net duty is boring now that there are few corpses floating out. Which means no snacks. At any rate, there are some smaller ‘worms hiding in the tunnels, which have been reasonably successful at dodging the patrols by the adults, so Parth had the bright idea that a group of mature not-quite-adults might be able to draw out attacks. To his credit his idea worked. There aren’t enough ‘worms left outside their last strongpoint to do much harm to six dragons, even young ones, but they will try and die. With Parth along to keep their water-breathing and free action spells current, they’ve been trolling through the different tunnels for days at a time, snacking on any kills they can make, and double-checking all the odd nooks and crannies for any stragglers. The Eldest is keeping an ‘ear’ on them in case they bump into too large a group, but that seems less and less likely as time passes. They’re getting to have all the fun and I’m stuck out here. I can’t even go hunting because there is nothing small enough for me to tackle on this side of the mountains. Carrying piles of minerals through portals to the Lairs is so dull, but it’s better than being stuck in the Lairs.
One month later
Will this never end? I thought the difficult fights would be over once the teeming hordes were thinned down. One on one, the dragon wins every time. Only the sheer numbers they had made this fight anywhere near even. The last of the ‘worms are still in the Grotto, and they seem to be making holding out a fine art. And this time there is no back door to sneak in through. They have stopped using teufal’s traps and switched over to cromlechs, proving that some of them must have druidic training. Why, I have no idea and if anyone else does, it hasn’t percolated through the Clan yet. Guesses range from ‘we’ve killed off all those with cultist training’ to ‘the cultist are preparing something nasty’, but guesses is all those are. Except for the sorties by what must be excess mouths to feed from the Grotto, given all they do is die, we are effectively in another Bright Lord cursed stalemate.
It looks like the Elders are conferring again. I hope some workable tactics come of it. I don’t want to leave until I know my family is safe, but I don’t want to be hauling rocks for another year. I miss my lair. As some bard would say, my feet are getting itchy again.
An indeterminate period of time later
He should not still be alive. I cannot see how he is surviving. Even with Grandmother healing him as fast as she can, the damage mounts steadily. Oh, his scales are rent free, all of them. The river bed is black with scales, where it can be seen at all through the blood. And still they fight. The Mother Worm, Grandmother Worm truly, it is so much larger than the one I have beheld on Crypt, is damaged badly, but how badly I cannot tell. I have not the learning to know and Grandmother is far too busy to look.
K’tu, no one can even get close to the battle, the tail of that thing is whipping around too violently for anyone else to attack with blade or bludgeon. Arrows do no good, they are both writhing around so violently that an archer would have an even chance of hitting Grandfather if they tried. And to complete the disaster, the Worm sheds spells like it sheds water. All magical attacks have failed utterly. The Eldest attempted a mental attack and was rebuffed in kind, and knocked completely unconscious. Fiar’ylem was able to revive her, but she is shaken and disoriented. Grandfather fights alone. All anyone can do as cast healing and protective spells at him, and implore the Bright Lord for aid.
K’tuae’rahl! It’s mangled his hand! He has lost his blade to the water, has not enough hand left to hold another. He retains his trident only. This cannot end well.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Sept 16, 2007 21:37:07 GMT -5
Chapter the Twenty-fourth: Aftermath
Two days later
It’s over, finally and entirely. The Clan lands have been cleared of all ‘worms, preparations for booby-trapping the underwater complex are underway, and that news has been sent through to the Lairs. They had some news for us as well, adding insult to injury. A fully grown carnosaur penetrated the Lairs complex last night, then ran into my mother and a few other of the guards. I heard she shot through two bundles of arrows before they brought it down, but its presence means the Guardians are going to have their hands full for the next few years. The only way they’ve kept the Lowlands free of large predators so far is constant patrols and aid from the stonecrafters to keep the inner cliffs as sheer and unscaleable as possible. If one carnosaur made it to the Lairs, there are probably more of them down in the Lowlands now. That project is going to be in Ruhr’kuhn’s purview, until Grandfather recuperates, if he is ever whole enough to fight again.
The second stalemate was broken so abruptly that no one was truly prepared for it, and I only have vague knowledge of what occured. I know that Elder Khar’solae opened a portal between the riverbank and the entrance to the Grandmother Worm’s Grotto. I know that Rhur’okre put his front half through the portal, which was all of him that he could fit through there. I did not know one could enter a portal only partway. I know that that is something no Gifted can do, and something I have never seen done anywhere else in the six worlds. I am guessing he must have used one of the ancient combat spells, but how he managed to make it work with his physicality split between two locations, besides the inherent peril of playing with those nasty spells in the first place, is something I’ll never learn. I have seen an alchemical explosion that would kill not only anyone in the room but anyone in surrounding rooms. That spell must have had similar properties, because when one of my fifth cousins twice removed led a group in to sweep the Grotto, there was nothing in there but the dead. This of course was after the Grandmother Worm came through the portal Ruhr’kuhn had just vacated and started doing her damndest to kill us all.
I was far enough away to be out of the initial scramble, but there were people everywhere fleeing into the air if their wings were intact enough for flight, or running into the jungle if they were not. The Elders took the brunt of the initial blasts, and Tiam’atani was having little success in counter-attacking when Grandfather dropped out of the sky like a boulder and knocked it and himself into the river. Grandmother came pounding up and started to try to heal anyone with visible injuries, until Grandfather resurfaces, streaming blood, entangled in the ‘Worm’s tail, and doing his level best to deal as much damage as he was taking. Grandmother spent the rest of the battle trying to keep her mate alive while anyone with any healing skills worked on the other casualties.
It was not a good fight. Grandmother almost tapped out. I never seen anyone in my family do that before. And no one else could help in the battle. The weapons wielders were at their closest a full forty feet shorter than Grandfather, lacking the size to grapple with the monster. Battle spells rolled off it like water off of a tortle’s shell. Near the end, the ‘Worm had been injured badly, but Grandfather was in worse shape. The constrictions tore off all of his scales, and when he lost his hand, I knew he was going to die, and there was no way to stop it. He might have softened the thing up enough for one of the Elders to tackle now, but we had no way of extracting him from the constricting coils.
Then, I found out who my family inherited that nasty streak from. He dropped his trident out of his good hand, locked his claws and jaws in the flesh of the ‘Worm, and started raking the hell out of it with his hind claws like he was kin to the Catfolk race. Then he started chewing, swinging his head side to side to open up a gaping hole in the ‘Worm’s side. As a distraction, that worked admirably to disrupt the ‘Worm’s spellcasting most of the time, but it was still getting its licks in. Grandmother started having hysterics about then because she did tap out, when the Eldest came to her aid. She couldn’t heal Grandfather, but she could whoosh Grandmother.
The battle ended in a near draw. Grandfather ripped a deep enough hole in the body of the beast to finally close his jaws on its heart, ending it bare seconds before he finally passed out from blood loss. Grandmother got him stabilized, eventually. That took hours, almost as long as it took to figure out how to pull him out of the river and onto the bank, where he could be warmed by a fire. We managed, eventually.
For now, I’m running errands and staying out from under foot. Since my grandparents are still recuperating by the river, and the Lowlands are not safe at the moment, I’m more useful out here. There is still some cleaning up to do in the caverns, though. The bones of the hatchlings are being recovered for burial, but no one knows what to do about the inactive gateway, or the soul-trap crystals. I think we’re going to try breaking them, but my aunt wants to examine them first to make sure that won’t cause an explosion and kill whoever breaks them. Better safe than sorry. Figuring out how to dismantle the gateway itself is also on the list.
I hope Grandmother can finish patching Grandfather up properly. He looks extremely peculiar right now with no scales.
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Pyra
Storyteller
Time to find a snack!
Posts: 46
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Post by Pyra on Sept 30, 2007 21:31:45 GMT -5
Chapter the Twenty-fifth: Final Notes
Some months later
Grandfather and Grandmother finally flew back to their lair last evening. She always glows silver in the moonlight, easily recognizable, but I mistook Grandfather for Ruhr’kuhn at first. No one had mentioned that his scales had grown back Cendree instead of Sable. Ssur’lau has a theory that since we all need quantities of gold as a bed for a deepest sleep to gain ones adult color, that perhaps that when one has only lost a few scales, there is sufficient residue of that gold to ensure they are the proper color, but when one has lost a significant number, the residue is too dilute and would cause the new scales to be a paler shade. And in Grandfather’s case, since he lost essentially every scale on his skin, ash grey is as close to his former color as he will get. I can see she is just itching to discuss this speculation with Aunt Fiar’ylem or Grandmother.
As for Grandfather’s hand, that couldn’t be regenerated, but it might be replaceable. Tleth’ting has been working to craft a <properly sized fully articulating prosthesis>, or a metal hand in plain speech. I’ve heard the Eldest believes that she can psychically attune gems to Grandfather’s aura, whatever that means, so that he can control the metal hand as he would one of flesh. I hope that works. Grandfather can fight left-handed, but he’s primarily right-handed. He is rather annoyed by his maiming.
During the long stalemate, during the fighting, the Bards took to taking turns reciting the sagas of our history, as a reminder, I think, that the current crisis was no where near as bad as the first days. I’ve heard bits and pieces over the years, the parts that were suitable for hatchling ears, and eavesdropped on enough other bits for a reasonably complete picture, but that was the first time I heard the full story about the outcasting, the kinslaying, and the year of flight through the dead lands. Odd to think that our Clan lands were barren and lifeless rock back then. I think that the reason that the Eldest hid her Psionicist training for the last hundred thousand years, using nothing overtly, is because she thinks it is why she and her children were attacked first. She wasn’t the only Dragon of ‘tainted’ blood when the elders ran mad in the Age of Wanderings, but Druids originated from Sosel, our homeland. The Psionicist Guild lies on Raji, and anyone possessing skills of that learning would have been doubly ‘tainted’ by off-planet contact. I can’t imagine what those days were like, but making the effort puts the last few years in perspective. Things could have been much worse. I think I am also groping towards what honor entails. Grandfather was bound by his honor to almost get himself killed because he hadn’t realized exactly what the threat was after the first deaths. The protection of his adopted clan outweighed his probable death. The Eldest refused to use any obvious Psi skills because she believed that knowledge had drawn death to her family, but she couldn’t not use them to protect her clan. The good of her children outweighed personal shame. And now that she has used her skills without further harm, she seems to be willing to continue making use of her knowledge. Mother told me yesterday that her sister is going to work with the Eldest to create a telepathic warning system using golems set with gemstones around the perimeter of our lands and in the underwater tunnel’s entrance and exit. The golems are already in place underwater, they just require the gemstone modification, actually.
I think honor means aiding your family regardless of harm or benefit to yourself, because no one can do everything alone. And when those within the clan are strengthened, the clan is stronger. We live by that belief, and so survive and prosper. I believe I see a form of that honor among Gifted Ones as well. Not as strongly perhaps, but still present. And those that will not abide by that honor or actively harm others eventually learn better, or disappear as if they had never been.
A few years later
There are still some unhealed injuries that Grandmother has not the skill to repair, so she is going to depart for a time to Welstar for study at the Biomantic College. I have seen Biomancers repair eye injuries and muscle damage. She will be able to find someone to trainer her in those techniques, I am sure, and after the war, she also finally found an apprentice. He’s one of my third cousins once removed, and already has the basic healing spells learned. I’m sure he can handle the minor scrapes and slashes the Guardians pick up cleansing the Lowlands of dangerous predators. Elder Tiam’atani has taken over the leadership of the Guardians for now. Grandfather needs the break, but he says it’s because he needs to fully remaster his fighting skills with his new hand.
Some time later
Mother can’t stop smirking. My Mother-Sister is being courted, and by an apprentice to boot. The fact he has more years than she does causes some of the amusement, but the rest is due to the perception that he had been a confirmed bachelor. Grandfather has remarked tartly that he spent most of his life obsessed with stone-smithing, most of the rest with esoteric manipulations of fundamentals, and only now has realized that females exist after having one under his snout for half an age. Cousin Enhil is amused as the rest of us, but she has asked me to keep an eye out for her mate when I leave, just in case. I will look. There’s always the chance that he had intended to return and was impeded by external forces.
Years later After all this time, Chir’lal has maternal uncles, and they are younger than she is! And twins. She is excited at having close relatives to play with and has informed me that she’s going to teach them <Chase Pir’s tail> when they are old enough. I think it is about time for me to leave. Things have calmed down, my Clan is safe, Ssur is off working on refining her skills at domesticating food animals, and Chir can about yank my tail out by the roots when she latches on. Three of them will tax Grandmother’s skill at reattaching detached appendages. And, as a certain Bard would say, I’m getting itchy feet. It’s time.
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