Lost Realm

The Forest was a Better Choice.

2007-11-30T22:35:00.000-05:00

Reignang had seen snow before, but never ice. Tarcans of the snowlands thought the blue sheen he was standing on beneficial. He couldn’t see how loosing your footing every fourth step was beneficial. Snow and small pieces of ice that fell from the dark clouds made dull tapping sounds when they hit his scales. The small divots between his scales were slowly being filled with the ice pelting him. Reignang looked back towards Frahlsa, at the ice and wind border. He could still faintly see the downward-swirling snowflakes through the gloom as if the water created from the melting snow was beckoning to him.

Come home, Reignang. Run not into the frozen plains. Come home!

Reignang blew air from his snout and watched the swirling white mist dissipate into the sparse snowflakes. Some of the powdery snow stuck to his side crumbled to the knee-high drifts when he turned back to the ice and scratched at it. Besides a couple small furrows and flecks of ice beside them, there was no change. It just wasn’t water.

Few of the southern territories used the North road and Reignang grumbled under his breath as he trudged across the frozen stream through the snow. Already the membrane that made up the sails he swam with was becoming less flexible. He worried over the slight crackling sound his sails were making as the rippled in the snow-filled breeze. All Reignang could smell was the cold, crisp snowfall – that and something he couldn’t quite place. It was cold, like the white cloth strewn around the landscape, yet it was difficult to catch in the breeze. Reignang kept his sense sharp as he followed the path of the slightly more shallow snow that marked the road’s boundaries.

****************************************************

The snowstorm had stopped, black clouds breaking up and cracks of blue sky appearing between them. Reignang, having waded through progressively deeper snow, looked up at the widening blue spaces and a weight lifted from his chest. He wouldn’t eventually end up feeling more warmth drain from his body as he pushed through drifts taller than himself. The crisp scent had fallen from the air and the heady smell of evergreens was beginning to fill Reignang’s snout. Looking around, he saw the dark shapes of the pines standing stolidly to the west.

Reignang had lost the strange, cold scent during the worst part of the storm. The skirling white flakes and frequently gusting wind had kept him preoccupied with staying warm. Now that there was no storm to obstruct his snout’s abilities, he inhaled deeply to try and catch the cold smell again. Snow-scent was nearly overwhelming and he could still pick up the evergreens to the west, but there was now a hint of some sort of rabbit – at least, it reminded him of rabbit – and what he assumed was the rabbit’s dung. No sign of the cold scent. At the thought of cold, Reignang shivered and stamped his feet to get the blood moving again. The longer he stayed in the snowlands and the colder he became, the more he would begin imagining small pieces of ice in his blood, slowing it down and making him quake with chill. Reignang had never thought of ice as threatening before now. He cursed himself for going north. He could just as easily have gone south, slip through the mountain passes, and lose himself on the fringes of Charlindrini’s breathtaking rainbow plains until he made it to Terilinus. The Terils would never hand him over – that would mean giving Charlindrini something that it wanted. Surely, Charlindrini would have been informed of his current wanted status.

A small plume of snow caught Reignang’s eye. I was as if something had collapsed beneath the snow. With all of the ridiculous frozen water lying about, Reignang wasn’t surprised that sometimes it collapsed a bit and packed down more tightly. He was contemplating ice collapsing onto ice that created stronger ice when snow erupted a couple tails to his left – the opposite side from where the plume had appeared. As if the soft whoosh of snow flying into the air had been a signal, five other similar eruptions went off all around him – two more to the left and three to the right.

When the first gout of snow went skyward like mist dashed against the prow of a lake-bound ship, Reignang jumped away and was hit by something that had launched itself from one of the positions to his right. Claws bit deep into his right shoulder and the smell of blood joined that of evergreens and the strange cold smell he had lost earlier. Reignang’s head whipped around and he snapped his jaws at whatever had hit him. He heard what sounded like trees groaning and cracking in a great wind and realized it was coming from the creatures. The claws in his shoulder retreated when Reignang tasted blood and he whirled to his left to make sure the others didn’t get a free shot at his left flank. He caught sight of three of the long, sleek, and viciously clawed beasts and opened his jaws wide.

Crisp water surged forth and past Reignang’s teeth. He twisted his head and the torrent crashed over the three beasts. Reversing direction, he hit the others on his right. Reignang shut his jaws as he simultaneously cut the flow from his essence, frost forming around his jaws as the remnants of his attack began freezing. He glanced around at the slim shapes recovering from the blast and shaking freezing water from the pristine fur on their backs and paddle-shaped tails. Their growls cracked in the chill air as they closed in a semicircle facing Reignang. I suppose it was too much to ask that it be cold enough to freeze them in place.

The smell of pure, clean water filled Reignang’s snout as he summoned his essence from within in him once more, this time shaping it into a flowing shield that swiftly slid across his scales. No part of him was left uncovered and his vision wavered as he now witnessed the scene through a watery pane. Seen from a distance, Reignang looked a Tarcan-shaped mass of swirling water. The cracking sounds of their approach were dulled by the water rushing over his ears. Reignang hoped he could maintain the shield for long enough in such cold weather. Already he could feel the temperature attempting to mar the shield’s efficacy.

The far left and right creatures lunged first. Twin splashes marked where the shield deflected their attacks simultaneously. Reignang shifted to the left and lashed out with a fore claw, gripping the beast in the side when his claws sank deep. He pulled back and a ragged tear appeared in its side, gushing crimson. It reeled away, an immense groaning call accompanying it.

A cacophony. The creatures’ cries rising in pitch.

When Reignang turned to the left, the next creature on the right wing of the semicircle plunged toward him, jaws wide. Clever beasts.

Reignang ducked and surged upwards at an angle to the creature, opening his jaws wide, the swirling water sheathing his head parting in a white-frothed rush. He connected with the underside of the beast’s neck and streamers of red colored the water shield in swift patterns as the creature emitted a snapping cough and collapsed. The spasming body launched clouds of snow into the air, much of it landing on Reignang’s shield like a slush coat of armor. He cursed as he felt the shield’s temperature take a sudden dive and its speed slow. Bracken snow!

A groaning call from the smallest of the pack sent the two remaining from the original formation forward at once. The small one followed behind them. The creature to the right was swinging around for another pass.

Reignang considered fabricating a wave to knock the front three back, but was afraid his essence would give out in the cold – he was beginning to have to struggle to hold his shield as it was. Instead, he leapt backward.

The two leading creatures gained mouthfuls of snow and Reignang threw himself forward onto their heads in an attempt to break their necks. He felt one snap, but only succeeded in leaving a gouge on the other’s neck. It turned and snapped at Reignang’s forearm at the same time the smaller one launched into his side, claws trying to rip and tear through the shield.

Teeth clamped down around Reignang’s right forearm. He could feel dozens of small puncture wounds blossom as the beast continually attempted to bite through the shield. His second attacker came claws first and his shield was not enough to stop them. It hit his flank with all four paws, over a dozen long, sharp claws lancing past his scales. More teeth found purchase as the creature clinging to his side began trying to bite his neck, the thrusts of its head forcing gaping wounds to open where its claws pushed for purchase.

Puffing air between his teeth, struggling against the exhaustion born of refusing to acknowledge pain, Reignang swung his head to the right and bit down on the neck of the beast that held his arm. As it died, its jaws locked and did not free his arm. Reignang grimaced. The creature on his side was scoring more hits as the shield weakened and Reignang nearly passed out as the shield’s flowing protection slowed, then stopped, and the first solid bite connected with his neck. He thrashed, unbalancing the clinging pest and twisted to the left to bite down on the ridge of its back, getting a mouthful of fur and blood. Reignang yanked it off of his body and watched it roll into the snow, its back an eerier mix of white and red.

The remaining unbloodied creature made a series of calls and looked from one of its downed pack members to the next and then looked to the smaller one Reignang has just thrown off. It made another series of loud snaps and then rushed off, following the blood trail from the creature Reignang had nearly disemboweled. The rest followed.

Reignang watched them go, making certain they didn’t mean to flank him again, then laid down in the small clearing their fight made in the snow. He lied there, staring at the jaws still clamped around his arm, eyes unfocused. It was difficult to think. At least the pain overshadowed the cold. A spasm in his arm brought his brought his blurring senses into focus for a moment – long enough for him to pry the jaws from around his arm using his hind feet and teeth.

To the deep with the snowlands! The forest was a much better choice. And from the forest, across the plains and into Terilinus. Yes, he could find some remote corner of the Terils’ territory and be forgotten for a few years. Then he would return.

The snow was entering his body through the slick streams of red running along his arms – or so it felt. He blearily looked at the dozen or more ragged gashes in his left shoulder. Gusting snow from a rogue breeze landed there and slowly soaked through with red.

Away from cold. Must get away.

He made to stand up, but Reignang’s forelegs were not acting like they should. A few minutes more of struggling and he stood on all fours, swaying slowly from side to side and squinting in an attempt to make out his tracks that had led him to this place. The edges of his vision were blurry – that was odd – and he glanced down at the blood-pocked ground, looking like a crimson lakescape. There were so many lakes.

Suddenly, Reignang felt like he was soaring over the lakes, floating above the white, powdery clouds and flying home. His sails were catching the wind and lifting him. With a twist of his fins he swooped to the right and then back to the left – always passing over the clouds. Eventually the lakes became empty of any liquid; they existed as empty bowls. From this distance, the bowls looked like some sort of immense footprints of some lost creature, one here, the next crooked sideways with gouges nearby as if the beast had almost fallen.

It was strange that the lakes behind him were filled with red water. Reignang felt that he was the bringer of life, imbuing the parched ground with life’s blood. He wondered where he was getting it and who chose him to perform such a task. Perhaps he chose himself. Such a case would not be peculiar, he chose himself for tasks regularly. He recalled that being part of why he couldn’t go home. Why was he flying home, then? Reignang turned east into a sunrise that had appeared on the horizon. A burning corona projected from the sun, topping the mountains in an indigo illusion. He could not go home, could not go South.

The clouds below him floated away in his wake and looming ahead was hard-packed ground, a scatter of mountains here and there. Reignang kicked at them and they bounded away into a deep hole. He no longer felt like a bringer of life, but a purveyor of death. More mountains plunged. Was this what the gods felt like? Reignang shook his head of foolishness. There were no gods. They were gone, imprisoned ages ago. Nature was sovereign, now, and Reignang assumed it would be that way for ages to come.

Shapes rose before him and he quaked and shied away, falling to Rizer. The mountains shrank as he fell and the dark hole loomed as if it meant to consume him. The shapes pursued.

“He ran north, did he?” One said as great black clouds appeared to either side of it.

“Looks like the North ran him out.” said another, this one with violet bands around his black clouds.

“Does it matter?” said a third. “The Eldresses wanted him and now here he is. Grab him.”

Reignang quailed inside his head and willed his body to fly away again, yet it would not respond. The shapes appeared watery now and Reignang was confused. He wasn’t maintaining his shield anymore. His head bounced against mountains and he ground trembled. The dark forms of the shapes expanded to fill his entire view.

A shape said, “Think Feseera will take the bait?”

One answered, “The river flows uphill, doesn’t it?

Hurricane

2007-08-16T22:18:00.000-05:00

The Tarcans of Tamiran stopped. Plowing, hunting, playing—all activities stopped. They stared towards a mountain peak that rose above the town to the northwest. Its singularity made it an oddity. The range itself was miles more to the west of the peak. The locals called it Sular Peak while the Tribunal relegated it as a landmark for patrols.

Clouds, gradually shifting from cotton white to pitch black, began boiling towards the peak. Lorn looked around to gauge reactions. A few of the force, including Yeyter, hadn’t noticed anything. Typical. The others had seen the clouds as well and stared—as rapt as the locals. True, nothing like this had ever been seen before. The Storm itself behaved differently. The peak couldn’t possibly be one of their rest lairs. The Tribunal would have received word if it was. Two of the force had their attention focused on Gahrst. The brute himself wore a look of pure curiosity, head slightly tilted to the side, confirming Lorn’s belief that this was a new phenomenon. Gahrst had seen everything.

The messenger was perched on Lorn’s shoulders, the little flyer suddenly beginning to quake as it noticed the seething mass of clouds. Lorn still had no luck in getting rid of Dhire. He simply refused to leave. Lorn’s lips curved in the ghost of a grin, thinking that maybe Dhire would get too scared and fly away. Some of the locals were faring no better than Dhire. Lorn watched as a few Tarcans with faded scales crept towards their homes and elsewhere a Tarcan not much more than a hatchling drew its parents from their home to see. The elders pulled shutters closed.

Lorn stumbled and Dhire squawked when the world rocked on its foundation. The black clouds now resembled an immense hurricane, only where the calm eye should have been wasa funnel of clouds swirling towards the peak. When the darkness embraced the top of the peak, more clouds began racing down the funnel, yet none rolled further down the mountain—as if they were being absorbed into it, instead. The hurricane grew larger, now beginning to block the sun over Tamiran. Lorn heard crying somewhere distant in the town. The only sound among shocked silence. Every member of the force was paying attention, now. The world rumbled again. More Tarcans began moving towards their homes. Closing doors and a tinny voice broke the silence a second time.

“Mama, I want to see.” She nudged him towards the door. “Mama, no. Why can’t I watch?” She gently grabbed him by the back of the neck with her teeth and took him inside. Their door closed. Lorn looked back to Gahrst and saw the Leader’s angry resolve had returned. Gahrst turned to regard Lorn, his voice like two stones grinding past one another.

“Lorn, get the force together and follow. We’re checking it out.” He paced off. Lorn harried the others into order and followed.

They left the silence of Tamiran and headed north. At the town’s edge waited mates of those miners still at Sular. They watched the force pass and a few started to follow. A look from Gahrst made them stop and be content with watching the force continue. Tremors pulsed from the mountain at regular intervals now, like the world’s slow pulse. For most of the day they marched behind Gahrst toward the epicenter of the rumbling, the heart of darkness.

The mine’s entrance came into view at sunset; the squared timbers holding it open frayed like some ancient relic. A pallor of rainbow colors was cast over the peak—a torch thrust into an attic that clears away nothing and seems constrained by the dark. As they near Sular’s maw, a Tarcan burst from the darkness and sprinted away to the east. Gahrst turned to Lirel and Pheor.

“Go get her and find out what’s happening. Bring her and follow us.” They turned and sprinted after her. Lorn watched them go and slowly became aware of a new sound. The twisting funnel of clouds made a noise like a slow wind through a small canyon. Whistling. Dhire’s trembling grew worse and he worked his way up Lorn’s neck one spike at a time, until he could lower his head to Lorn’s ear. His voice squeaked, and trembled as badly as his body.

“Don’t go, Lorn. Don’t go in there.” Lorn nearly stopped in his tracks. The messengers only knew how to recite their names and mimic messages. No more. Or so Lorn had thought. He would have to tell Gahrst after the mission. Lorn kept his voice low.

“We go where the Leader tell us, messenger.”

Dhire took a quick glance at the mine before answering. “But … Don’t. Let Gahrst go in and take the others and leave,” and in a lower voice, “The clouds…so many.”

“What are you talking about?” Lorn hissed. “If you’re scared, fly home. You’ve done plenty enough.”

At the head of the group, Gahrst passed into darkness. Lorn could feel Dhire’s fidgeting intensify. As more of the force disappeared into the gloom, Dhire stammered out, “Y-you shouldn’t go. I-it c-can’t be hap-pen-ning,” and flew into the air. Lorn entered the mine.

The sound of the clouds whistling was muted within the confines of the mine, and Lorn’s nose was suddenly filled with the musty scent of stone, earth, and dust. There were faint sounds of fighting somewhere ahead. Gahrst took it upon himself to scout ahead—a sure sign of curiosity. Yeyter was following close at Gahrst’s orders and seemed to be checking the integrity of the support timbers. Deir was pacing behind Gahrst and Yeyter while the rest were still letting their darkvision focus, like Lorn. He resisted the urge to turn and see if Dhire was visible. Doing so would ruin his sight.

They continued down the tunnel, Lorn bringing up the rear, listening to the ever increasing volume of claws, teeth, and death screams. Each side tunnel the force passed was systematically checked to make sure nothing could sneak up on them. Every few paces Gahrst would slow and lower his snout as if he had picked up an important scent. As Lorn reached where Gahrst had started scenting, he picked up on what the Leader must have smelled. Blood.

Minutes later they reached what looked like a crude lobby. Two shafts, one to the left and one to the right, extended into darkness and a wide staircase was cut into the wall directly across from them. Gahrst signaled for them to split and search the shafts by wagging his tail from left to right. Lorn began to follow Illadan, Deir, and Uripel into the right shaft.

“Lorn, you stay.” Gahrst rumbled. Lorn loped over to stand before the Leader and shot a glance toward the staircase. The sounds of fighting were louder upu there. Gahrst noticed where Lorn’s attention was. “Go see what’s happening. Stay quiet and out of sight. It’s better if whatever is here doesn’t know we are.”

Lorn nodded. “Yes, Leader.” He walked to the stairs and started up. The stairs were wide, like most on Rizer, and held a slow curve to the right. Gahrst’s caution was in full swing and Lorn couldn’t figure out why. The strange clouds that could still be heard whistling, even over the sounds of fighting and dying, could be caused by any number of northwestern Mancers, and Charlindrini had long ago signed an agreement with Elegeer to stay out of one another’s business. Fighting of the sort Lorn was sneaking up on was also well known to Gahrst. He must have some knowledge of the essences that I don’t, Lorn decided as he caught sight of the last step around the bend.

A smashed cart, presumeably for hauling the common ores found in Sular, partially blocked the staircase—perfect cover for Lorn. He carefully slid up behind the wreckage and peeked around the broken slats. The sounds of battle he had listened to while climbing the stairs did the scene before his eyes little justice. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, some still slowly taking breath, yet losing the battle for life. Crimson stained most of the walls and pooled around the lifeless bodies. Across this new lobby stood a solid wooden building made from the same rough timbers as the support beams. There was where the battle still raged. Bloody Tarcans of a pallid shade of scales, almost 20 of them, some with dismembered limbs and others with throats ripped out, surrounded the structure, viciously pounding and tearing at the wood. Lorn fought the urge to return to Gahrst immediately. Those Tarcans could not be alive with such mortal wounds, yet there they were trying to break through the makeshift shutters and door of the building. Lorn could see a clawpick flash through a small opening in the shutters every so often.

Lorn withdrew and began his return trip down the stairs, attempting to steady his racing heart. Steeling his nerves came next. When he emerged into the lobby where he had left Gahrst he found the rest of the force back from their searches and assembled into order. Gahrst sat off to the left and looked at Lorn, waiting for the report.

“Leader, a band of Tarcankin, nearing 20 members, has some sort of station building surrounded and are trying to gain entry using tooth and claw. I’ve never seen kin like this before. They look like they shouldn’t be moving. Like they should be as dead as the bodies strewn about up there. I can’t understand it.” Lorn finished and sat down.

“There are kin trapped in the building?” Gahrst asked.

“I believe so. A paw holding a clawpick took a swipe at one of the strange kin.”

“How many?”

“I was only able to see the one attack. There are probably more holding the boards over the doorway and windows.”

Gahrst stood slowly and walked towards Lorn. “I’ll go first. The rest of you follow my lead. Lorn, you’re rearguard.” As the Leader passed he locked eyes with Lorn for a few moments before tensing his muscles and bolting onto the stairs, the others close behind. This was only the second battle Lorn would share with Gahrst and he had gotten that same loo right before the first one. He wondered what it meant as he leapt onto the wide steps and followed.

No times was wasted in engaging the pallid forms of the ravaged Tarcans. When Lorn rounded the last curve and passed the wrecked cart, he saw the mob had already turned to fight this new threat. A fresh body was twitching on the ground, its belly split open and internal organs spread around it. Gahrst was on the other side of the body, rearing up on his rear legs only to come crashing down, claws first, onto the head and neck of one of the Ravaged. It crumpled, its neck broken clean through. The rest of the force was getting into the fray now. Illadan, Yeyter, and Deir held their small line to the right of Gahrst while Uripel, Terrin, Aderan, and Rhetgin held the left. As rearguard it became Lorn’s job to air any failing points in the line.

Upon crushing the head of one Ravaged, Gahrst spun, whipping his tail around to thump into the side of another Ravaged’s head, snapping its neck around. Deir shrieked. Lorn turned and saw Deir’s jaws retreating from the base of a Ravaged’s tail. Not a drop of blood dripped from his jaws—it seemed the blood was being absorbed into Deir. He shrieked again—a feral scream—and suddenly launched himself at Yeyter’s right side. Lorn’s eyes widened and he lunged to intercept. He collided with Deir on mid-leap, knocking him back, and then slashed at Deir’s throat, ripping it open. Deir collapsed, clutching at his throat, making gurgling noises occasionally punctuated by a death scream. Lorn turned to Gahrst, who batted aside an attacking Ravaged and locked eyes with Lorn for a second. Garhst shouted, the sound a landslide over the sounds of killing.

“Claws and tails only!”

Lorn felt claws rake down his right flank and blood flow across his scales. He turned wide eyes to his attacker and lashed out. Flowing lines appeared over the Ravaged’s eyes once Lorn’s claws passed. He felt he could almost see the infection in its flesh. It reeled away.

“Claws and tails only!” Lorn shouted, snapping himself back to the moment. Getting lost during the moment of battle is a quick path to death.

The second shout following so quickly after the first cause a few of the force’s heads to turn. In that instant, the Ravaged pressed the line and blood sprayed. Uripel went down, a hole in his throat. Uripel’s rear legs spasmed and kicked a Ravaged’s legs out from under it, saving Terrin from a bite to the back of the head. The line began to fall back, pressed on all sides. Aderan took a blow to his left foreleg, hampering his ability to fall back. Two of the Ravaged jumped him. Terrin, without Aderan as a rightguard, began taking hits all over his body, the lacerations beginning to take their toll. Before his movements slowed from blood loss, Terrin launched himself into the remaining Ravaged. His lunge threw one against the wooden building, breaking its back. Two others fell to his claws and teeth before he, too, collapsed.

Gahrst rammed one and sent it crashing into the building beside Terrin’s victim. He spun, disemboweling another with his rear claws. When Gahrst’s back turned a Ravaged lunged, but Rhetgin jumped in between and had his belly torn open. Gahrst spun back to help him.

Lorn had watched Yeyter make his first kill and fell back under another assault. He ducked beneath a blow and moved to the side and spinning, slammed the Ravaged’s chest with his tail and then reversed the spin to hit it in the chest again, crushing its sternum. Two of the remaining Ravaged advanced towards. Lorn began a guarded retreat, keeping an eye on Yeyter to his left and making sure his two attackers didn’t change targets.

Further down what remained of their line, Gahrst gave Rhetgin mercy. A couple of the Ravaged took advantage and dove for Gahrst’s exposed flank. To Gahrst’s right, Illadan saw the attack and broke the line to cut one of the interlopers out of the air. He dug claws into its left leg and pulled it to the ground while being pulled to the ground himself. The other attacker scored a glancing hit on Gahrst, its teeth pulling a flap of flesh and scales from his body, then promptly felt Gahrst’s claws tear into its body, puncturing vital organs. It tried backing off, but Gahrst pressed the attack. Meanwhile, Illadan had been pounced upon by a second Ravaged while the one he grabbed turned to snap at him. Panicked, Illadan snapped back, nipping flesh from its snout and felt the other one bite into his side. He turned to snap at the second one and felt a wound open across his shoulder where he had turned from the first. Illadan went into a frenzy. He twisted, lightning quick, and clamped his jaws around the first one’s neck and pulled the entire Ravaged to the ground in front of him. The second Ravaged went to bite him again, but Illadan leaped from the ground, grabbed the lower jaw of the Ravaged within his own, and jerked the creature across its downed kin, tripping it. He let go and killed it with a bite to the throat, then turned to the slow-moving first Ravaged and finished it. No blood dripped from his jaws. Illadan, frenzied, bloodied, and possessed, launched himself at Gahrst, snapping rabidly at the Leader’s head. Gahrst reared back and caught Illadan, letting his claws sink in and get a good grip. Illadan’s back broke when Gahrst propelled him into the mine wall.

When Illadan had leapt to help Gahrst, Yeyter sacrificed his life by taking down a Ravaged that went for Illadan’s back and then becoming locked in a tussle with another Ravaged that attacked him. Each killed the other.

Lorn witnessed Yeyter’s fall and feinted back to finally draw on his attackers. When the Ravaged came forward, so did Lorn, and he surged between the two with claws out, drawing deep wounds down both of their sides while feeling patches of scales torn away from his tail as he passed. He stumbled under the pain. Recovering quickly, he spun around, knocking one into the other before they could fully turn around. They fell to the ground and never got a chance to get back up.

The fight was over. Sounds of wood falling to the dirt filled the air for a moment. The miners, eleven of them, were lowering their barricades and taking in the battlefield. Most had cuts of varying severity and all had mining claws handy. Gahrst’s breathing was heavy as he walked past Lorn to finish the Ravaged the former had blinded. The scars criss-crossing Gahrst’s chest seemed to stand out to Lorn. They stretched taut with each of the Leader’s breaths, testaments to other battles—other losses. Lorn received a cold look from the Leader when he returned.

As Gahrst passed he said, “Arrange the bodies.” Lorn almost thought he heard cracks in the stone of Gahrst’s voice.

Lorn arranged the bodies while Gahrst talked to the miners. Deir, Uripel, Aderan, Terrin, Rhetgin, Illadan, Yeyter. He laid them out in a line, each parallel with the others, tails straight behind them and heads lowered, resting on crossed forelegs. Lorn had been separate from the casualties after his other encounters. The Leaders had always arranged the bodies and oversaw the transportation of the dead to the godsyard. He didn’t know what to think—or feel, for that matter. He was never particularly close to any of them, probably due to his position as second-in-command—Subleader. He was not sure he liked the responsibility, anymore.

Gahrst came over with the miner following. It occurred to Lorn that he had never seen anyone walk with Gahrst. They always followed. Gahrst’s wounds had been patched and the loose flap of flesh was held to his body with bone needles to help the healing process. The Leader told two of the miners to fix Lorn and the others went straight to the bodies and began carrying them out, down the stairs. Gahrst avoided Lorn’s eyes. Lorn watched the makeshift death procession as he was being worked on. He ignored the twinges of pain.

Once the miners had Lorn’s cuts patched up as well as they could manage, he pushed thoughts of death from his mind and refocused on his current situation. He and Gahrst were the only ones left and they had no clue if Lirel and Pheor had caught that female and would be rejoining them. Another significant group of Ravaged would be more than enough to finish them. Lorn stood and began pacing around, inspecting the tracks of the Ravaged to see where they had come from. The exercise also helped keep his muscles from cramping.

Gahrst walked over and sat down near where Lorn was pacing. “They came from the northwest shaft,” he rumbled. “That’s where the next staircase up is located. The miners claim all other mineshafts are clear, that the undead kin we killed were the only ones.”

“Did they say where the Ravaged came from?” Lorn asked.

“Ravaged?”

“The undead kin.”

Gahrst nodded slightly to himself. “They say there was originally only one, and after watching the fighting they added that it must’ve been contact with their blood that possessed more.” He glanced at Lorn.

Lorn ceased pacing and looked to the staircase for a moment, then said, “So as long as we don’t bite them or lick our claws, we will be fine.”

“If we see any mire, yes.” Gahrst agreed.

Lorn turned to look at Gahrst. “Will we wait for Lirel and Pheor?” He would feel better knowing the two seasoned fighters were around.

“No, we shouldn’t encounter anything else until the higher chambers. We’ll see what happens, then.”

“What’s going on, Leader?”

Gahrst’s eyes took on a distant look, then quickly returned to the in-control gaze Lorn was familiar with. “I’ve told you more than enough, Subleader.” The Leader turned and went to stand in front of the remaining miners. Lorn tried to listen in but could discern nothing but the vague rumbling of Gahrst. It was when Lorn’s ears were primed for eavesdropping that he finally noticed the whistling of the clouds outside coule be faintly heard, even here. Odd. Even the sounds of fighting and dying had been greatly diminished just by the many twists of the mineshafts, let alone the entire mountain. Lorn shook his head and went to wait beside the northwest shaft for Gahrst.

The miners left, hurrying back to Tamircan and their mates and the edge of town, and Gahrst turned and walked past Lorn, into the shaft. “Let’s go.”

They went only a dozen or so tails until a stairwell opened to the right and more mineshafts extended to the left. The staircase was as curved as the first, yet the feeling of it seemed different. The scent of blood was finally fading—of which Lorn was glad to be rid of—and the musty smell of earth was returning. As they neared the top, though, Lorn’s darkvision began wavering at the edges. It was as if all the darkness that Lorn’s eyes dispelled was beginning to gather at the far range of his vision, further obscuring the passage ahead. As the darkness encroached, the slow whistling grew louder.

Just like the miners said, the thired floor held nothing but timbers, stone, and dust. Lorn tried to not think of the whistling and problem with his sight. They found the next stairwell and started up. The darkness got worse the higher they went. Lorn’s darkvision edged in towards him, the dark itself like a thick mist that boiled on the edge of sight. The mountain must really be absorbing the funnel clouds. He wondered where Dhire was.

Neither Gahrst nor lorn said a word for the entire trek across the third floor and up the staircase to the fourth. The tension was palpable. Gahrst broke the silence when the cloud mist pressed closer on the fourth level. Lorn suspected the Leader was as nervous as himself.

“I had to kill Illadan.” He said without turning around or slowing. His voice was hard as granite.

Lorn took a deep breath to steady his heart. “I killed Deir.”

Silence stretched for a few moments while Lorn stared at the ground in front of him. He thought he heard the wind picking up outside, the clouds’ whistling gaining speed. Gahrst spoke again.

“We all bear scars for our soldiers.”

Lorn brought his head up and stared at Gahrst’s back. Where are yours, Oh Great Leader? “Do they ever heal?”

“They don’t. Remember that before you remember anything else.” He paused, and then said, “Protect them to protect yourself.”

As little emotion as Gahrst showed, Lorn didn’t think the Leader needed protection from anything. He didn’t even hesitate in killing Illadan or surveying the slaughter afterwards. Lorn suppressed a sigh and lowered his gaze to the small holes Gahrst’s claws dug into the ground as he walked.

Lorn was snapped out of his reverie as the whistling suddenly intensified and the cloud mist began pulsing. Gahrst looked back urgently. “Hurry.” He took off down the corridor. Lorn followed close on his tail. They found another staircase and threw themselves up as fast as they could manage. The fifth floor wound up being a circular passage the wound around a central chamber with the mineshafts extending out from outward side of the shaft. The cloud mist’s pulsing grew faster and it rushed pass them—at times it seemed through them—and then into the wall on their left. It was a storm off a whistling scream and a pulsing beat that stopped as suddenly as it had started. There was quiet for the first time in hours. The mist was gone from the passage and Gahrst slowed his pace as they neared a larger archway on their left.

Gahrst stopped at the edge of the entrance. He looked back at Lorn and said, “If it returns, run. Don’t wait for me. Don’t fight it. Run. Get word to the Tribunal and Charlindrini.” He entered the chamber before Lorn could ask what he was talking about. What is it?

The quiet was absolute as they surveyed the room. Lorn was terrified. There was a Tarcan with its back to them, black mist steaming from its body. There was not just, just cold. The Tarcan was lying before an immense stone door with ancient symbols cut into it. Lorn recognized none of them. About four tails taller than Lorn, the door was limned with a black gleam that reminded him of obsidian—one of the rare stones from Firdan. When they came to a stop, the Tarcan turned to regard them with steaming eyes that had turned black, pupils red.

It spoke, voice leaving its maw after its jaws had already framed each word, as if there was a delay between it speaking and Lorn hearing. “Stay back, kin. The time of return has been long planned and the Sealing shall be undone. The Darkness would spare all Tarcans. Stay back.” Lorn was stunned. The Sealing Ware was what had done away with the gods and birthed the essences. How could the gods be Unsealed? As far as Lorn knew, there was no recorded text that even so much as mentioned a method of Unsealing. Or so he had been taught at the Tribune.

Gahrst took a step forward. “Rizer has achieved a balance, the gods cannot be Unsealed.”

The Tarcan grinned. “Not gods. God. The Darkness is returning.”

“The balance will be upset, Shaman, even you should see that,” Gahrst said.

“You misunderstand the three powers, kin.” With that, he turned his back to Gahrst and Lorn. Gahrst lunged forward. The steaming mist erupted from the Shaman and Gahrst was thrown backwards. His head collided with a rock and he didn’t move. Lorn kept his footing, but was pushed backwards a couple tails. His claws left deep furrows in the floor. Lorn couldn’t move, his eyes transfixed on the spectacle unfolding.

The mist formed into dozens of tendrils extending from the Shaman’s body and they all lanced towards the door, each making contact with one of the symbols etched there. Dust sifted from the ceiling as the room began to shake and rumble. The obsidian hue around the door grew brighter like the black glass was being heat white hot. Color was returning to the Shaman and as the mist left him, Lorn recognized the subtly different scale patterns of a Teril. Lorn growled deep in his throat and ran forward, stopping dead in his tracks as the door began swinging open and something slowly reached out.

A hand as black as pitch and vaguely reminiscent of a Tarcan’s grasped each of the doors as they swung out. A head soon followed, also Tarcanlike. The deity roared, the sound a thousand claws on bone and the deep reverberations of power confined for Ages combined. Darkness welled behind it, almost seething through the door. As the painfully bright gleam around the door vanished, the unsealed god roared again and regarded the Shaman. The Teril nodded and ran past Lorn and into the corridor, disappearing from sight.

Lorn glanced at Gahrst’s body and then back at the deity. He could’ve sworn it grinned. Lorn began backpedaling furiously and saw the god begin to move forward. It reached out and touched Lorn, then allowed itself to flow through Lorn’s body. He heard the sound of rock breaking and collapsing and thought he smelled crisp night air before falling to the ground, body and limbs twitching.

Meet Treaus

2007-02-21T20:36:00.001-05:00

Wind caroused through the crags and crevasses of the canyon, keening a tune that drew Treaus closer to the edge. The sun was still rising towards it’s zenith on his left forcing him to squint out of that eye. The canyon before him was half a league wide and many times as deep. The river at the bottom, always frothing white, was only a pale line, as if drawn with fine chalk, from this height. His teeth flashed in a grin as he turned back to face Tayun, Flystaff, and Aerol. Flystaff returned the grin then lifted his snout to the breeze and took in the amalgamation of crisp northern winds and warm canyon breezes that dominated the North Edge.

“Perfect day for this, Treaus.” He said as his gaze lowered to settle on the daredevil once again. The muscles in Flystaff’s haunches were beginning to twitch – a sure sign that he was getting anxious.

Aerol glanced at Flystaff then fixed his gaze on the canyon edge as he began walking toward it. “Just be careful this time, Treaus,” he said. “It took your leg months to heal last time because the Elders refused to heal you and while I know Trayun waited on you knees and tail…” he snuck a sly glance at the younger female as he trailed off.

“I did not, Aerol!” she squeaked, her shrill voice unveiling the lie.

“…but Flystaff and me – we were stuck in the ducts repairing a breach. Punishment for not being your common sense, I’m told.” Aerol was standing at the edge and was staring straight down the broke cliff-face.

“He’s right, Treaus,” Flystaff said, hesitating as he stepped forward to crane his neck higher so he could barely see over the rim of the canyon. He closed his eyes and took an easy step back. “You cannot mess up this time,” he said, opening his eyes again.

Treaus snorted and fully extended his wings, nodding when he felt the tendons stretching. “That was too easy last time,” he said. “This stunt will test my skills more, so it should be easier for me to focus. Besides,“ he continued, “that’s why Trayun’s here, this time. I knew sooner or later her training with the Elders would be useful.” Treaus lowered his head while he continued flexing his wings and risked a glance at Trayun.

Her eyes were wide and glistening in the sun’s warm rays. “That’s the reason you asked me to come? I thought…” She turned her head away, wings lowering, tips touching the hard-packed dirt, and started to walk towards the capestone where the canyon’s winds would lift her up and away and back towards Lhrisfan. Treaus sighed, watching her start to walk away. He looked to Aerol and Flystaff, the latter of which was still watching her go. Aerol jerked his head toward Treaus’ sister just as Flystaff looked back and stared at Treaus himself, his leg twitches subsiding.

Treaus rolled his eyes before pursuing. “Trayun…wait.” He jogged a few steps then flapped his broad wings to speed him along. Another wing-assisted boost and he was a tail ahead of his sister and turning broadside to block her path, folding his wings together against his back. “Look, I didn’t mean it that way, you know I didn’t.” he said, raising his head above hers to assert familial dominance. “If you were not here, I’d be stuck with those two,” Treaus gestured towards his friends a handful of tails away, “and you know how I’d be held up with Aerol’s constant suggestions and Flystaff’s overexcitement. Besides, how great would you feel if you got to save me after my newest stunt?” He grinned and lowered his head, evening the playing field.

Trayun turned her head to the side and pulled her wings up tight beside her body, all prim and proper. “Do not try to sweet talk me, Brother. The only reason you want me back is so Mother doesn’t get a chance to question where I have been.” She faced him again and arched her neck in what Treaus knew to be preparation for one of her trademark bobs. “You know,” the head bobbed towards him and back into the arch shape, “that she would come here and stop you.”

“Yeah, yeah, but if you’re here, we won’t have to worry about that, will we? You know that she wouldn’t like that you had intended on helping me before coming home. You leaving is lose-lose, Sister.”

She tilted her chin up and started walking around him. “I’m still going!” She huffed as she passed.

“Fine, what do you want?” He said, keeping pace with her on her left. Treaus knew his sister could rarely turn down getting something from him but he never liked giving her an inch. This worked best as a last resort.

“I want you to admit you’re scared,” she said without hesitation, opening an eye to peek at him. “Admit that you want me here in case you do get hurt, and I’ll come back.”

“Ha!, Me? Scared? I’ve done stunts before without you around. What makes you thi-“

“Treaus, admit it,” she said, cutting him off.

“I was only in that splint for two mon-“

“Treaus.”

“Yeah, fine. I’m scared. Not a lot, though,” he added, not meeting her eyes. “It’s better if you’re here, just in case.”

She turned around without saying a word, puffs of dust from her sudden turn flowing out into the canyon. Treaus paced her again, unfurling his wings and stretching them again in preparation. As they neared Flystaff and Aerol, Treaus called out, “My wings are ready! How’s the wind?”

A grin split Flystaff’s snout as he raised his nose to the breezes again and Aerol, looking down into the canyon once more, lifted his head to turn and look at the brother and sister. “It’s coming straight up the cliff wall. You should make sure you try to get at least four tails out on your jump before aiming down. Probably less of a chance of hitting the cliff that way.” He said, glancing at Flystaff and shaking his head after doing so.

Trayun giggled lightly and Treaus smirked, whispering, “Told you so,” to her so the other Tarcans wouldn’t hear. To Aerol, he said, “Good thing you’re my friend, Aerol, helps keep me in one piece. You should do it with me, though. More impressive with two. Hey, we could go one over the other while going down the cliff wall.”

“Hah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You would end up ahead and say I lagged. I’d rather watch, thank you.” Aerol paused for a moment, looked over the rift’s edge a final time. “You’re a crazy fool, you know that, right?” he said as he moved away from the edge and stood across from Flystaff, who was watching the edge warily. He made sure to leave a couple tails of space between Flystaff and himself to give Treaus a running start.

Treaus laughed. “Am I the only one in this canyon that wants to learn how to maneuver in it?”

“I’m sure you’re the only one doing it a couple tails from the cliffs,” Aerol said wryly. Treaus simply smiled back, his pointed, pale teeth contrasting with the darker scales on the upper part of his snout, and made his way to the end of the makeshift runway fashioned by the bodies of his friends and sister.

“Just make sure you guys get into the air as soon as soon as possible. Wouldn’t want to miss this!” Treaus spread his wings, stretching them one last time, and scraped his hind claws into the hard ground, bracing himself to make sure he got a quick start and was running top speed before jumping. He looked up and judged the distance to the edge to be about 14 tails, pulled his wings tight against his body to reduce resistance when he jumped into the canyon’s gusts, and began his sprint.

When Treaus blew past his watchers, they began running towards the edge, too, Flystaff bringing up the rear. Five full strides later, Treaus leapt from the rift’s rim at top speed, immediately feeling the rush of wind bursting from the canyon’s depths and taking in the dusty smell of the rock walls carried in those bursts. Without looking to see if his friends had followed, he steeled his resolve against just opening his wings now and coasting across the canyon, which was tempting now that he was actually doing the stunt, and looked down. The power of the wind blowing from deeper in the canyon was enough to push the rest of Treaus’ body behind him, lining up his body, head to tail, as straight as his muscles could hold in the onslaught. The sound of rushing wind was muted, Treaus blocking out the sound as he plummeted, straight as an arrow, towards the pale line far below. Once he was satisfied that he could hold himself straight in such a difficult dive, Treaus carefully opened his wings, allowing the wind to push him closer to rock wall beneath him. With his sharp vision, Treaus began picking out crags of rock that were in his path. He intended to play a game as he dived.

Suddenly, the light from the sun failed, the canyon’s edge blocking it. The lack of sun made it easier for Treaus to focus; squinting no longer being a part of the game. He picked his first rocky target and as he quickly rushed downward. The muddy colored rock rapidly grew larger as the daredevil pressed his luck. At the last moment he tipped the leading edges of his wings out and let the wind rip him out of the way of the rocky projection, his clawtips snapping off of the edge. Having felt his claws clip the stone, he quickly pushed down and launched himself away from the cliff wall beneath him, immediately tipping his wingtips down and letting the rushing force of wind push him back towards the cliff. He chose another crag and launched himself off of it, starting a dangerous game of launching himself from outcropping to outcropping, making it look as if he was a flat stone skipping across the rock face.

His friends spiraled down in his wake, Flystaff laughing in exhilaration, pretending he was in Treaus’ place, Aerol staring in disbelief, and Trayun tucking her wings closer, ending her spiral and beginning to dive. If she was to be there in case something happened, she wanted to actually be close enough to help. The other two followed her example, Flystaff still laughing.

Meanwhile, the river in the canyon’s bowels was more than just a barely visible white line, now. The sound of rushing water was faintly audible to Treaus and he could now make out the thrashing of water against stones. His tail flicked back and forth rapidly as he launched himself from another large stone, his legs beginning to tire of pushing off of a new rock every couple seconds. The rush of water was louder now, and Treaus’ nose could pick up the fresh tang of mist beginning to faintly cloud the air. He decided on one more launch before pulling out and stretched his neck down to heighten the final rush, his pounding heart screaming at how amazing the dive was.

As he came upon the last crag, he caught sight of one of his friends diving down and lost his focus for a short moment. In that moment, his front claws nicked the rock too hard and when Treaus mistakenly looked towards his feet in confusion the wind caught the back of his head and forced it down, throwing him into a forward roll. His wings thrown back by the rolls momentum and useless for the moment, all Treaus could do was continually try to get his bearings and throw his weight to try and balance himself enough to open his wings and stop his fall. The mist was thickening around him as he fell and the edges of panic crept into Treaus’ mind.

Aerol, Flystaff, and Trayun watched as Treaus shot downward towards the river, hoping he would soon pull out. Trayun was already steepening her dive, just in case. She watched as her brother suddenly began a forward roll, losing all control of his wings. She heard Flystaff cry out above her and saw Aerol blow past her right wing in a dive. Moments later, Flystaff passed on her left. Trayun was already in her steepest dive and could gain no more speed from the wind. She would have to hope Aerol and Flystaff could reach him in time.

While she watched Flystaff and Aerol converge on Treaus, her brother’s roll was ended when his back clipped an outcropping of rock, knocking him further from the cliffside but giving him the second of balance he needed to spread his wings and try to pull out of the dive.

Treaus could hear the tendons in his wings pulling as he fought to pull out of the dive, his wings filled with wind and the muscles in his shoulders straining to pull him upright. While he was struggling with the wind, Treaus saw Aerol come out of nowhere and tap him at the base of the tail. The force of Aerol’s passing was enough to tip the balance in favor of Treaus’ beleaguered wings and allowed the Tarcan to end his descent and now glide parallel to the loud, frothing river that was only 30 tails below. The mist was thick this far down and the airborne water helped soothe Treaus’ parched throat as he glided, exhilarated, downriver. He tipped his wings up and flew to where his friends glided, a few tails above him, sister included.

“You’re hurt!” His sister yelled over the sound of the roiling water below them. Treaus could only faintly feel the burning pain of the long cut that ran between his wings and partway down his back. The rush of his fall numbed him to anything but glee.

“Haha! We can worry about that later, Sister!” He shouted back. “I did it! Did you see? Aerol? Flystaff?”

Flystaff glided closer to Treaus, a wide grin on his face, teeth dripping water into the back of his throat from the mist condensing on them. “Oh, we saw, you snake-blighted fool! That was amazing!” Flystaff tipped his left wing down and right wing up, starting a spin. As his legs passed Treaus, Flystaff kicked out and knocked Treaus to the side, both of them laughing now. Aerol shook his head and grinned at the good-natured shove, a byproduct of the incredible rush imbued by the sheer amount of wind that ran over all of their bodies on the way down.

The four Tarcans sailed through the mist at the bottom of the rift, flapping occasionally, and grinning like idiots all the way back to Lhrisfan.

Rescue

2007-02-21T20:35:00.001-05:00

Dhire’s wings were aching. After three hours of incessant flapping, the Nacertas was ready to look for a comfortable rookery for the next few hours. The flight from Azhel wasn’t difficult, but as the land curved up towards the horizon, the temperature began to drop to a threatening level. The bulging sack hanging from a cord tied around his torso wasn’t helping, either. Dhire was forced to fly below the clouds and forsake the warm rays of the sun above them or else risk missing the cave entrance. The higher the land went, the darker the clouds got and the colder the air became. Another league of flight found Dhire struggling with the dying visibility of a snowstorm. His sharp eyes blinked rapidly to keep the snow from them as he flew lower yet and scanned the rough, white lined boulders below.

Maybe he waited, Dhire thought. Lorn’s not entirely devoid of sense. He stopped searching the ground for a moment and shook his head. Of course he’s devoid of sense! I asked him to wait while I checked out a lead on the Ice Tear, but of course he’d go into the temple before I get back. Dhire’s wings picked up their pace in a final boost of energy. He had to find Lorn.

Minutes later, Dhire found what he was looking for – a long scar in the side of an ice-crusted cliff a league or so south of the temple’s main entrance. Navigating the increasing winds, Dhire slipped through the crevasse and landed, beginning a mad half hopping, half flapping gait across the slick rocks to right and left. The passage curved straight down into the cliff side and eventually came out somewhere inside the temple. At least it won’t be hard finding Lorn once I’m in, he thought, with a wry twist to his lips. Just follow the trail of broken ice or bodies… possibly both in this place.

The deeper Dhire went, the more he appreciated the downy fur running down his neck and across his back. He had to slow down every so often to make sure the Tear he carried wasn’t dashed against any of the protrusions of rock lining the crevasse walls. The longer his trip took, the more Dhire began hoping this shaft did eventually come out inside the temple. If it didn’t, he would be forced to make his way back outside and go around the long way. “Hah, right, “ he laughed to himself, “the long way. Make sure I don’t take the long way.”

A sudden, dull grinding sound brought the little flyer to a halt to listen. The silence stretched interminably as he tilted his head from side to side trying to catch a repeat of the grinding noise. While his head was tilted to the right, convinced he heard the faint sound of thudding somewhere below, a blast of hot air threw Dhire back the way he came as the cave trembled and shook, small stones and dust trickling down the rocky walls. A moment of tense silence passed, and then an ear-shattering cry rolled through the Nacertas as quickly as the sickening crunch that came after cut it off. The shaking only lasted a moment more and the chilly air was already wafting back in to replace that sudden gout of heat. Shaking his head to get the dust off, Dhire peered through the gloom, his enhanced vision limning everything with a blue haze. The passage seemed lighter up ahead. Dhire clambered to his feet and hurried down the tunnel, his tiny claws leaving minute scratches in the rock.

When he rounded the next switch-back, the ever-increasing light flooded the cave. Dhire stood at the edge of a tails-wide crater in the ceiling of an immense chamber. Dozens of tails below him a mass of shattered stalactites had impaled some sort of giant creature on a field on glimmering ice. From his vantage point, it looked as if a rock was thrown through the ice of a frozen lake. All around the lake were thousands of ice stalagmites stretching in every direction. Dhire was suddenly glad he had wings. Char on the edges of the ceiling crater caught Dhire’s attention next, the crisp scent of the cave trying to hide the tang of burnt rock. Lorn! Where….?

Dhire scanned the lake again and this time saw the trail of broken ice that pointed the way to a figure, limbs, neck, and tail tip flickering weakly with flame, pinned to a wall comprised of the ice stalagmites. “Lorn!” Dhire cried out as he leapt into the air and frantically flapped down to his pinned friend. The closer he flew, the worse the situation became. His friend had spears of ice impaling him at the base of the tail and left shoulder and his head was hanging limping on his chest. When he got close enough to notice the pale blue hue of Lorn’s scales, the flames signaling Lorn’s fire essence blinked out and Dhire knew fear.

Landing on the spear through Lorn’s shoulder, Dhire started yelling. “Wake up, Lorn! Move!” He slid along the ice spear until he was close enough to Lorn’s body to reach his face. “Change back to fire, you fool! We need the heat!” Dhire pushed Lorn’s head and watched as it simply slide back to rest an inch or two from it started. “Move an arm, Lorn! Blink! Gods!” Trembling, Dhire hopped onto Lorn’s shoulder and dug his claws under the scales of Lorn’s neck and pulled, trying to get him to lift his head. “Open your eyes, stubborn fool!”

He managed to pull Lorn’s neck up far enough to wrap his little arms around it and grab for another scale-hold when the Ice Tear pulsed against its sack, thoroughly startling the already tense flyer. Dhire held on to Lorn’s neck for dear life while he watched the sack’s tan color fade as vibrant blue bled through the fabric. The Tear pulsed again, then again moments later, and Dhire felt his arms lock position as his eyes closed involuntarily due to an overwhelming feel of comfort and ease that washed through his body. The brilliant blue light grew in intensity until Dhire and his unconscious companion could not be seen through the pulsing color of the Tear.

As quickly as the halo expanded, it now began to contract as finger-thin wisps of light struck Lorn’s body and disappeared inside. The ice spears in Lorn’s shoulder and tail looked as if they were being drawn into his body as well and the blue tint to his scales was receding towards the puckered wounds the ice spears left. At the same time, icicles were sprouting from Lorn’s head, back and tail. They seemed to flow up from Lorn’s scales; water running up to then solidify at the tip of the point. When the ice spears holding Lorn to the wall lost their grip, Lorn’s transforming body, Dhire attached at the neck, dropped to the slick floor in a heap, the growing ice on his back nearly propping him up on his side.

The transformation complete and the blue halo gone, Dhire’s claws slipped from their hold and he opened his eyes, the world swirling before them. He went to hop down to the floor but tripped over his own feet and tumbled down instead, smacking his head off of the cold ice. Dazed yet again, Dhire stayed on all fours and stared at his reflection in the floor until the world stopped spinning. His world stable again, Dhire went to push back onto his feet but was again knocked forward. He scrabbled on the ice for a moment before catching himself and turning his head, a glare firmly fixed on his face. There was Lorn, puncture wounds now tender scars, eyes closed, finishing the tilt onto his belly and curling his head and tail towards his stomach on his left side. Lorn’s eyes were flashing back and forth beneath his eyelids and Dhire could see the forest of ice on his back expand and clatter together with every breath Lorn took.

Smiling to himself, Dhire pulled the Tear’s sack against him and walked towards Lorn. He managed to avoid sticking himself with Lorn’s new attire and found a comfortable nook between Lorn’s neck and body where he, too, curled up and closed his eyes, the Tear’s sack shielding him from the frigid air. No harm in letting him get a little strength back before we leave.

Ice Shrine

2007-02-21T20:33:00.000-05:00

Lorn was cold. His tail swayed stiffly from side to side, not gently bending to the left and right as it normally did in warmer climates, as he trotted down the slick corridor. More than once Lorn found he was unable to find a claw hold in the hard, icy floor and skidded into a wall, jarring a few small stalactites from the ceiling, and steadfastly refusing the look up. Rubbing a fresh gash on his snout, Lorn cursed at the frigid caverns, “Lizard-biting ice, falling from the damnable ceiling, making me warier than a prisoner in the arena,” he muttered as he stood up from where his last slide deposited him beside another ice-slicked rock wall, the ice seeming to flow in waves down the rough surface as it navigated the various contours of the rock.

This place would be interesting to look at if it wasn’t for this ridiculous cold, he thought to himself as he started slowly down a joining hallway, determined to keep his footing this time. Every so often the monotony of the cavern’s icy trappings was broken by odd doors carved entirely from ice. Once he even saw an archway blocked by what looked to be rough sheets of interlocking ice, overlapping and sheering into one another, forming a solid barrier that Lorn had no urge to figure out now. The strange doors and formidable barriers aside, Lorn was amazed that he was still able to see this far into the Shrine. After he had walked far enough in that he knew it couldn’t still be sunlit reflecting off the many glaring surfaces, he noticed that it seemed that the icefalls on the walls, the dangerous icicles above, and even the sheets of ice beneath his feet gave of a blue-white glow. When he looked down at his feet, it seemed as if he were being frozen from the outside in; the soft glow painted his scales in the off-white shine of the ice.

For what seemed like the thousandth time since he entered the Shrine, Lorn attempted to shiver and for the thousandth time, failed. Back when he was crossing the ice warrens, he had seen the small, furry animals that lived there doing it and decided that it must be useful to fend off the cold. Why else would anything live in such a horrid place if they didn’t have some way to keep warm? Clamping his jaws even more tightly together to mask his frustration, Lorn began his stumbling trot again. Constant movement seemed to be the only thing that even came close to keeping him remotely warm. Even his belly cloth was useless here. It was only a few more hurried strides until he lost his footing again and found himself sliding down the now gently downward sloping corridor, claws scrabbling for any kind of hold, but only scratching furrows into the ice and spraying cold shavings into his face.

Finally fed up with the caverns making a fool out of him, Lorn focused on his newest essence and felt himself slow down immediately. His claws widened and his body grew heavier by the second as he focused the part of his mind that he had been training to deal with the essences on the rocks that lay beneath the many layers of ice around him. His scales, cast in the off-white glow of the cavern began pushing outward all over his body. Slowly, rocks that could have passed for a common roadside sight in the mountains formed, weighing him down more with every new appearance. Stones covered his back like armor plating and ran down the length of his tail to end in a somewhat larger stone that Lorn found could be used in battle as a club of sorts. More rocks grew out of his legs, neck and head so that only his gravel-coated belly lacked a formidable defense, but more importantly, his wild slide was slowing to a crawl and after a few more moments of waiting, stopped entirely.

Lorn looked back up the corridor and grinned to himself. Wish I would have thought of this sooner, he chided himself as he unconsciously poked a now-blunt claw at where the gash on his snout should have been. Not quite used to this particular essence, yet, Lorn was slightly surprised to feel only hard stone where he expected to feel a slight twinge of pain. Filing his surprise away as another pleasant aspect of this form, Lorn turned ponderously toward the chamber he barely stopped himself from hurtling into.

Big was an understatement. Immense seemed a better word to describe what he saw before him. Stretching away from him as far as his stone-lidded eyes could see was a forest of jagged stalagmites lancing upwards in every possible angle all glowing with that disturbingly pale light. Here and there amidst the jumble, shining floor was visible, forming meadows of sorts among the stalagmites. It was as if he was looking down at the world’s largest balding hedgehog. The difference being that hedgehogs gave off at least a little warmth when you held them. Curse this cold! Lorn grated. His heavy layering of rocky armor did nothing to help him maintain body heat and the rocks all over his body were already as cold as the protrusions sticking through the ice on the walls.

Sighing regretfully – and immediately angry at himself for losing even that small puff of warmth to the freezing air – Lorn slowly made his way down a series of small ledges and rocky platforms that worked their way around the perimeter of the room, eventually reaching the forest of ice. The rock layer over his scales made moving quickly difficult, if not impossible, but also seemed to keep his legs from jarring under the weight as he dropped from ledge to ledge on his way around the room – the interweaving of the rocks made sure they hit each other before Lorn’s bones had a chance to smash into one another.

As he stepped from the last ledge into a small clearing at the edge of the ice spires, he felt a small wave of heat rush up his legs and through his body. Not enough to make staying here longer than necessary a good idea, but enough to make sure he didn’t join the ice spires as a frozen adornment of their stark paths. Just as the warmth subsided and another pulse of it began to rush through him, the pale glow flashed with a blue intensity from the stalagmites nearest him and quickly began moving from one spire to the next, deeper into the chamber - ripples flowing outward from a stone tossed into a pond.

No sooner had the spires nearest him lit up than the light faded and left them with the off-white glow that passed for normal in these caverns. The extinguishing effect continued to douse the spires further away from him, too, making another wave pass through the forest of ice. Try as he might, though, Lorn could not summon one ounce of awe for the spectacular light show before him. It was just another aspect of the cave, nothing to gawk at.

Why can’t I feel amazed? Lorn idly wondered, These lights passing through the ice should be amazing, but it’s so distant in my head it may as well not be there. As Lorn worriedly probed his own emotions for a moment, he failed to notice the faint tinkling of delicate ice breaking and crashing further into the ice forest.

Lorn blinked away the introspective glaze in his eyes and shook his head as the sound of crashing ice finally pierced his worried thoughts. The rocks covering his body ground against each other lightly as Lorn sway his body quickly back and forth in another failed attempt to shiver and grumbled, “That had damn well better be the Ice Tear shaking itself loose and becoming simple to find!”

Another refreshing wave of warmth rushed through Lorn’s body as he moved into the midst of the spires, coldly examining what could have made so many. Glancing up, he noticed that the ceiling was no where near as cluttered with stalactites as the ground was with their opposites. Only a dozen or so giant, frozen stalactites hanged from the roof of the cavern. They reminded him of the teeth of the flame beast that he had killed for the Fire Tear and hoped that a repeat of that battle was not going to be found here. He was here to find the Ice Tear, though, and to see if the rumors of the Golem returning were true.

The Tear is too important for it to not be guarded, he thought bitterly. Every Tear he had recovered so far had been guarded by some dangerous beast that tried to kill him. When he had told Dhire as much, before his winged accomplice – friend was too strong of a word– left for Azhel, Dhire had told him of a legend of his people that told of what would happen after the Darkness’ Seal was broken. The legend had said, ‘that once the Darkness was free in the world once again, it would send agents forth to secure its rule.’

Lorn had no idea of what ‘secure its rule’ meant, but Dhire had and set off without much of an explanation except for the, “I’ll find you when I’m done in Azhel!” that he yelled as he flapped his way out of the mountains, wings beating furiously as he fought the still air for height. Lorn didn’t know why Dhire insisted on staying near him, anyway. As long as he was a help, Lorn didn’t care.

Before moving too far into the eerie lighting of the ice, Lorn let his rock-laden tail drop as far as it could to the ground and let the rocks that formed the club at the end of his tail carve a few small furrows into the floor. He was determined to get out of here and find someplace warm as soon as he found what he was looking for. After taking a few steps, Lorn looked back over his shoulder to take in the bright white line his tail club carved into the ice while he was walking and nodded to himself. At least I won’t get lost, he thought wryly before continuing on.

The path Lorn took through the shards of ice meandered lazily back and forth across the cavern floor, sometimes running parallel to the wall for a time and every so often broken by another clear meadow. Here and there, other paths broke away from Lorn’s, seemingly criss-crossing the entire cavern and making him think of the spider webs that he had sometimes found in the corners of his home in Charlindrini; when he could show his face there, at least.

The further he moved into the jumble of spires the louder the sounds of ice breaking became and the more Lorn grew worried. At one point he stopped and made sure of his footing before forcing his hips to the left and swinging his tail around to smash into the side of one of the spires. His tail club connected with a loud crack and jarred the bones in his tail as a small fracture appeared in the surface of the ice. Looking from the crack to the direction the sounds of cracking ice were coming from, Lorn grimaced and continued plodding deeper into the mess of ice, his rocky form heavy enough to keep him from slipping unless he moved too quickly.

After walking a few tails from where he damaged the ice spire, Lorn came upon another of the glossy clearings, only this one was right up against the wall of the cavern and a huge hole had been carved into the wall. Moving towards it, Lorn tuned out the insistent sounds from whatever was breaking ice in order to concentrate on what he had found. The hole itself was nearly perfectly round, maybe 6 or 7 tails in diameter, but the top edge of the hole seemed to have been chiseled away at or broken as if something sharp had forced its way into the tunnel, cutting tooth shaped furrows into the tunnel that curved up and away in the distance. As tempting as it was to see if the tunnel led to the surface, Lorn tore his gaze from the anomaly in the cavern wall and turned to head towards the sounds again.

Lorn paused in mid turn, straining his ears. The sounds had stopped. Suddenly taking the option of running into the tunnel didn’t seem like such a bad idea. The tinkling of ice in the cavern had at least provided him with some direction of where to go, but now Lorn would be wandering blindly, hoping that he was still moving in the right direction. Baring his teeth slightly, Lorn grumbled a bit as he tromped off in the direction he remembered the sounds coming from, “May as well keep walking through the damn cold. Not like I have anywhere else to be.”

After what seemed like hours of walking and turning around and walking some more each time he came to a dead end, Lorn cleared the last spires of ice as he entered the largest meadow he had seen yet. The shining surface of ice beneath Lorn’s feet stretched about 70 tails from where he stood to the unbroken rim of ice spires on the other side. A dozen tails off-center from the middle of the meadow, a mound of earth rose above the ice sheet, covered in more of the jagged spires ranging from as long as Lorn’s tail to half again his length in height. Above the field were the huge stalactites that Lorn saw from the far edge of the forest, but neither the stalactites nor the out of place mound of earth were what really drew his eyes. To the left of the mound was an expanse of what looked like smashed shards of ice; the stumps of a few of the spires could still be seen among all of the broken pieces. Feeling as if he were crossing a frozen pond, Lorn walked heavily over to the mess and surveyed the jumble of ice.

Looking down on the destruction, it almost felt as if he were looking over the remains of a shattered city, spire stumps marking the greatest ruins the civilization had to offer. He lowered his face closer to the ice and carefully picked up a broken shard, trying not to cut himself on the sharp edges.

What could have done this? He wondered. My tail club could barely crack it and my tail still throbs from the hit.

As he stared at the imagined ruins of the city of ice, the shards began to twinkle as if they formed one large wind chime that had just been disturbed by a gentle breeze. The longer he watched, the more violently the ice jumped about and off to his right Lorn noticed the spire covered mound beginning to move! Lorn’s eyes widened in shock as he watched the mound rise up on tree trunk thick, short legs, broken bits of ice falling around them and turned as quickly as he could to face them. Resting on top of the sturdy legs was what looked like a huge turtle shell. It was hard to tell, since the entirely of the shell was riddled with hundreds of the ragged-edged ice spires, jutting out in every direction, all glowing in time with strange patterns that marched their way across the beast’s shell. Its head was shaped like a box, top covered with more of the spires and blue, glowing eyes peered out from underneath the cap of ice. As it turned to gaze at Lorn, its mouth opened to reveal too many teeth to count and a white fog that billowed out from between them.

The fog flowed towards Lorn more quickly than he thought it should be able to and he heaved himself to the right as the fog blew past his feet, leaving them numb. Lorn gasped at the frigidity of the monster’s breath as it let loose a sound that Lorn figured an avalanche would make as it roared downhill snapping trees and tearing rocks from their resting places. Hurriedly, Lorn struggled to get his lifeless feet beneath him so he could stand and make some sort of attempt at fighting back. As his numb feet continually slid back out from underneath him – Curse this ice! Lorn screamed in his head – the beast began to turn its head away from him and now had its left side facing him. Before Lorn had a chance to wonder what it was doing and just as he managed to get all four feet beneath him, a tail that he had not seen before - amidst the jumble of the rest of the ice covering the creature’s body - swung into him, sending him skidding across the meadow and into the side of an ice spire. Breath knocked out of him, Lorn had to stifle a cry of pain at the small ice spire jammed between two stones of the rock-armor at the base of his tail – the beast’s tail was covered with them, as well, it seemed.

Blood from the wound dripped onto the ice, hardening instantly, crimson amid a sea of pale blue. Surprisingly, another fresh wave of heat came from the floor and helped bring feeling back to Lorn’s cold-singed feet. Glad for the cavern’s strange qualities, Lorn got to his feet and tried to ignore the stabbing pain radiating from his tail. It almost felt like the spire was trying to freeze him, waves of cold emanating from the entrenched spire combated the continued waves of heat from the floor.

Determination replacing surprise, Lorn watched the beast as it slowly turned back to face him, its mouth hanging slightly open and each of its steps sending shattered pieces of ice sliding across the meadow’s surface. Again it roared, the smaller spires around the edge of the meadow bursting from the intensity of the sound and Lorn trying to shield his ears with his hands.

Now that Lorn had a second when it couldn’t reach him directly, he let his thoughts run wild, How can I possibly hurt it? The shell and the ice covering it will keep me from landing an significant blows and its legs’ scales looked too tough to scratch. I could use the fire essence, but I doubt I’d be able to keep my footing very well. At least I can move without sliding in this form. Forest is useless altogether. Oh well…

Cautiously, Lorn began slowly side-stepping around the meadow’s perimeter, forcing the creature to constantly shift itself to stay facing him. It didn’t seem to be able to move very quickly and its head was slowly waving side to side, as if looking for some way to reach Lorn. With a rumble deep in its throat, the beast gave a great lunge with its back legs, cracking the ice in the floor from the pressure, and launching itself across the ice on its belly towards Lorn with surprising speed, mouth open wide.

Lorn, determined to leave some kind of mark on the creature, waited until the last moment before flinging himself out of the way as he swung his tail in the other direction, clubbing the beast beneath the left eye. The monster crashed into the wall of ice spires that surrounded the meadow, sending pieces of broken ice flying in every direction, while Lorn slid a short distance and came to a stop a tail’s length from the beast’s left shoulder. Wondering if the stone beneath the floor’s ice sheet was very far away and hoping it wasn’t, Lorn reared onto his back legs, and as an earthen hue appeared around his forelegs he smashed his front feet onto the ice with incredible force, the rocks all over his body shuddering at the impact. From the tips of his claws, explosions of ice rippled towards the creature’s shoulder, heaving shards before it and slamming into the rough scales of its legs. The force of the tremor was enough to have embedded shards of ice deeply into its leg and the beast cried out in pain, thrashing its head amongst the spires in an attempt to crush Lorn.

Already a few body lengths away, Lorn was already focusing on his next move, embracing the small flare of heat inside of him that bloomed into flame bursting from his ankles, neck, and tail. The ice spire that had been lodged between the rocks on his body slowly melted and the waves of cold coming from it as well. Feeling warm for the first time in ages, Lorn immediately readied his flame breath, holding the onslaught between his teeth until he knew it was strong enough to reach the creature lying tails away. Not hesitating, Lorn unleashed the torrent of flame and held onto it as the fire collided with the monster’s back leg, making it stomp and thrash more vigorously the longer he held the gout of fire focused on its scales.

Satisfied with the burn he inflicted and suddenly conscious of how the cold around him seemed to keep his fire from flaring as brightly as it used to, Lorn cut the stream of fire off and tried to backpedal on the ice while watching the creature finally extricate itself from what was left of the spire wall. The monster’s throaty roar rumbled the ice around them again when it turned to face Lorn once more. The scorch on its back leg gave off the faint smell of char and Lorn could see a darker smear beneath the beast’s neck, probably from the blood running down its front leg, though it looked blue in the pale light. As Lorn scanned the creature’s head for any sign of a weaker area, it opened its mouth wider than it ever had before, a slight creaking noise coming from its jaws as they reached their maximum width. Lorn watched in amazement as a blue circle of light – the same pale blue that was still emitted from the ice spires on occasion – formed between the top and bottom row of teeth and other lances of blue light arced into the circle as if they were arrows finding their mark. Lorn crouched down to stabilize himself as the middle of the circle filled with smaller concentric rings of light with the inner rings moving in and out – towards Lorn and then back into its mouth – as if a stone was being thrown in the middle of the circle to cause a single ripple. Faster the rings moved until a shaft of intense blue light flew from between the beast’s teeth towards Lorn, stopping in a flash just above Lorn’s head and moving from side to side as the creature waved its massive jaws to and fro. Trying to dig his back claws into the ice, Lorn managed to pull himself out from under whatever the creature was doing as layers of ice shards as big as Lorn was long lanced down into meadow floor, cracking the ice there and tilting it up around where the invading ice was landing.

Lorn used the small wall as leverage and scrambled to his feet in order to push off from the wall and slide until he caught himself on an ice spire even further down the meadow from the attacking monster. The blue flashes stopped and Lorn couldn’t decide if he was happy or not that he could no longer see what the monster was doing. Probably moving up to the wall, he decided.

Using the time he was just given, Lorn scanned the area again for anything that he could use to help him against whatever this thing was. His eyes ran over the hundreds, if not thousands, of spires around the meadow as well as the scattered shards of ice that were now everywhere throughout the meadow, and even the stalactites above before suddenly swinging his gaze back to the ceiling.

That’s it! If I can find some way to make those fall on it, there’s no way it’ll get back up, he thought as he turned his attention back towards the small ice wall. Just as he expected, the creature had walked up to the wall and had just now seen Lorn standing a distance away on the other side. Glancing towards the ceiling to better set the stalactites’ positions in his mind; Lorn shoved himself away from the spire he was beside, flames whooshing with the quick movement, and slid out directly beneath one of the stalactites to wait.

The creature advanced on Lorn slowly, heavy steps making the small pieces of ice on the ground jump into the air slightly. Every time the pieces landed it sounded like the ice was breaking beneath Lorn’s feet, inch by inexorable inch. When the monster was within six tails of Lorn, it gave another burst of power to its legs as if to launch itself across the floor again, but instead launched its back-end sideways, whipping its tail out towards Lorn. Cursing at the unexpected action, Lorn tried to dive out of the way or backpedal, or anything, but could only scrabble at the cold floor in vain. The fire fluttering around his ankles, slightly melting the icy floor made finding a firm step even more difficult. Razor sharp spires of ice launched from the beast’s tail as it let out a sound of trees cracking and tons of snow rushing downhill. Half dozen razor sharp spires launched from the beast’s tail, the pale glowing of the spires leaving a faint, blurry trail behind each projectile. Scrabbling for purchase, Lorn had nowhere to go and was hit, the force of the impacts carrying him through the air until the spires struck more of their own and hung there, pinning Lorn to an icy surface a foot above the slick ground.

His flames flickering upwards across the spire he was pinned to, Lorn writhed in agony, a tail long spire through his left shoulder and another, slightly smaller one, impaling the base of his tail. Lorn’s vision blurred as cold from the spires began throbbing through him, trying to quench his fires and warm blood ran down the surface of the ice he was hanging against, freezing in runnels of red and never reaching the floor. Vision swirling, Lorn could see the hulking shape of the beast moving slowly forward, mouth agape and glowing azure eyes fixed on its quarry. His left arm limp at his side and tail useless, Lorn ceased struggling and instead tried to focus on the ceiling and the remaining power left to him.

The number of stalactites wavered in Lorn’s watery sight – now a dozen, now two – until Lorn no longer cared how many there were, as long as they fell. Idly Lorn wondered if the creature had a name, if any of them did. The cold was spreading into his chest, trying to dim the heat of the essence that now suffused his body with what little warmth it could. The Tears must be very important, or it wouldn’t be this vicious. Struggling to maintain consciousness, Lorn tried to gather all the heat within him in his chest, mentally batting away the cold that threatened to extinguish his life. He pulled the fire from his dangling tail, dimming it so that even the pale blue aura around emitted from the ice could drown out the red of the fire, and urged the flames from his ankles and neck to join the now brightly glowing force in his breast. Where is the Tear? I was supposed to…to…what? Why did I need the Tear? The stalactites were barely in focus as Lorn looked wearily towards the ceiling again, able to hear the paced footfalls of the beast still coming on, and knew he only had to make them fall to be alright. Everything would be alright if he could make them fall. Why? I must kill it. The creature of ice.

Vaguely, Lorn was aware that the monster had stopped moving and its mouth was glowing blue. Why is it glowing? Must make them fall. Lorn pulled all of the heat he had gathered within in towards his mouth, weak jaws straining to keep his teeth shut as the roiling inferno in his maw tried to pry its way out. With his remaining strength, he pointed his snout towards the stalactites, hoping he was still pointing at the stalactites. He couldn’t tell anymore. A low rushing sound escaped Lorn throat as he opened his mouth and let loose a massive ball of fire, flames dancing in circles across its surface like leaves caught in a whirlwind on a breezy day. When Lorn released the burst, the rest of the flames on his body dimmed mutely, the same as his tail.

Lorn blinked. The ball of fire collided with the ceiling, exploding in a bright flare of light, bathing the cavern in white brilliance and temporarily blocking the pale shine of the ice. Blink. The stalactites shudder with the blow and many began to fall, messengers from the Gods bringing justice. Lorn smiled. Blink. He heard a terrible sound, rocks crushing trees, ice falling from a mountain, and a blue light lanced across Lorn’s grey sight. A shooting star…? Blink. The falling spears began falling all around the beast, shattering the floor of ice and exploding into smaller pieces as they connected with the solid rock beneath it. Blink. The monster cried out again as a spire of ice left a deep gouge down the side of its head, breaking the jagged ice on its scalp and another lanced directly into its shell. Blink. There was a loud crack and sounds of more ice shattering into glistening pieces, the sounds of the grand wind chime lulling Lorn into sleep. The meadow became quiet except for a few pieces of ice skittering across the broken floor and the click and clack of small pieces of stone still falling from the ceiling. The pale glow from the ice had stopped fluctuating and now maintained a steady shine. The flames adorning Lorn’s extremities flickered weakly.

Meeting Dhire

2007-02-20T23:48:00.000-05:00

After a long week of westward travel, the long, tapered stalks of grass that surrounded the Grand City Charlindrini for leagues began to give way to smaller grasses and a few trees. The trees were nothing more than a few gnarled branches with crimson veined red leaves interspersed among them. Ahead of the small group of soldiers, all that could be seen of the sun was its rays piercing the low-lying grey clouds like lantern light behind a wooden plank door. Looking back over his shoulder, Lorn focused his gaze on the eastern horizon where the trademark grasses of Charlindrini could still be seen to dance in the ever-present wind on the plains. Lorn closed his eyes to make tearing them away from his homeland easier.

His force had been sent out of the city to take their turn at patrolling the west rim of Charlindrini's territory. At its widest point, as close as Lorn could figure, the territory itself must be around 200 leagues from western border to eastern and little more than half that at its widest point north to south. Despite the size of the land the city held, forces were still sent out on a weekly basis to patrol the border in an attempt to keep the borders where they were. Only a dozen years had passed since the Terils' last attempt at stealing land and tempers still flared in the city at the mention of the invasion. The battles, skirmishes really - Lorn had his doubts about the size of the armies but refused to believe they could have rivaled the armies that fought during the Ancient Border Wars - had taken place up and down the eastern rim of the territory and a few of the border towns were still unpopulated. The people feared to live so close to the Terils despite every effort of the city to reassure them.
Lorn had no fear about running into Terils on the west rim, their port city lay 100 leagues behind them, but thoughts always soured in his head when he imagined encountering them. Of course, Terils were accustomed to the breezes that swirled in off of their bay and not the forested hills and winds littered with puffstalk seeds and green smells that populated the west rim. Why they even contemplated taking Charlindrini’s plainland baffled Lorn.

Lifting his nose to take in the breezes coming from the direction of home, Lorn glanced at the other tarcans in his force. The others were spread out in a loose formation off to Lorn’s right and the Leader was ten paces ahead of the force itself. The others were young, like him, but were fresh recruits in comparison. He took in how Illadan kept his eyes focused on the ground before him, nipping his teeth at any plants that dared to reach too far towards the sun and Deir, who was watching the Leader as if the older tarcan may leap into the sky and fly circles around him at any moment. The others were no better. Both Uripel and Rhetgin were looking at the sun-stained clouds, Yeyter was fussing with his belly-cloth, Terrin’s head shot left and right as he devoutly tried to snap a fly in two, and Aderan seemed to be trying to lop the heads off of the tallest flowers with his tail. Lirel and Pheor were the only two whose eyes were constantly roving the countryside. At least two of them know what we’re about, Lorn thought.

When Lorn rolled his eyes back to Leader Gahrst, he almost stumbled as he abruptly stopped beside their statuesque Leader. I should have been paying attention not inspecting the fresh meat, Lorn scolded himself.

“What do you see, Leader?” Deir asked. The sudden speech snapped the others out of their private worlds and all of their eyes focused on Gahrst. All except Lirel and Pheor whose heads were weaving slowly back and forth, Lirel scanning the sky and Pheor glancing from tree to tree across the horizon, sullen looks on their faces.

“Quiet, Scale.” Gahrst replied tersely as he aimed a cutting glance Deir’s way before turning to stare northward, his eyes compelled to squint in the sun’s setting rays. “Something coming from the north sky, Scales.” Lorn could almost hear the implied, and you should have seen it coming. Gahrst always seemed to expect more than they could give and his voice dripped disappointment every time they failed at a task.

Just as the heads of every tarcan in the force turned northward to see what was coming they unconsciously stretched their necks out to try and get a better look at the black speck moving towards them. As it flew close enough to tell that it was brown and not black, Gahrst muttered under his breath. Lorn only caught the curses and the word ‘nacertas’ before the brown messenger came in fast to collide with Yeyter’s right flank and tumble in a ball of wings and tail over Illadan and Terrin before sliding to a disgraceful stop at Aderan’s feet.

While Yeyter turned frantically in circles trying to get a better look at his side, the little nacertas was using Aderan’s foreleg as a crutch to pull itself to its feet. Nacertas were strange creatures that were singularly used as messengers between cities, towns, and individual tarcans, though only the wealthiest tarcans could afford a rookery. Not much was known about them beyond the fact that they were capable of reciting word-for-word the longest parchment ever written without faltering. The nacertas, as far as Lorn knew, had always been around but Lorn couldn’t remember ever learning how they were found or how tarcans figured out their talent for mimicry.

Gahrst padded over to the messenger just as it regained its feet and almost fell again when Aderan took a step back to give it room. “Nacertas. Name.” Gahrst commanded.

Lorn watched as the rest of the force gathered around to hear what the little flyer had to recite then realized that he was suddenly alone outside of the circle surrounding the nacertas. Grimacing slightly, Lorn picked his way around the circle, looking for any holes he could slip into. At least the minute messenger had a voice that carries.

“Dhire. Dhirond.” It squeaked in a voice that sounded like some sort of cross between a songbird and a greatwhale as Lorn finally noticed a small hole between Yeyter and Illadan.

“Which is it?” Gahrst rumbled. Lorn could hear Illadan and Uripel chuckle.

“Dhirond.”

Lorn was slowly shoving his way into the ring when he heard Gahrst exhale in a rush of frustration at having to deal with such an incompetent messenger. The nacertas never waited to be addressed, they simply recited once they landed. “And your message …” Gahrst prompted as his eyes flicked to the west. He’s probably wishing we could get on with the patrol.

Dhirond jerked his pointed head around in a semicircle to take in all of the watching tarcans before he started. “Force Leader must go west. Dhirond must accompany.” Many of the spectators began to lightly laugh and Gahrst seemed ready to blow a few scales from his neck.

“Is that all?” Gahrst slowly asked, his neck heaving with his heavy breaths.

Dhirond nodded just as Lorn heard Yeyter laugh, “This one’s brood must’ve brained it with a rock when it hatched. I’ve never heard of a nacertas being so excitable. It could’ve been the runt, though –“ Yeyter didn’t have the breath to finish his taunts after Lorn shoved him to the ground.

Lorn glared at Yeyter as he stared back at Lorn, eyes wide. “I assume the School still teaches basic manners, Yeyter. Use them.” As Task Leader, it was Lorn’s place to keep the force in line and within the teachings of the School. Soldiers who forgot what they learned died. Lorn didn’t care much for manners either, but Yeyter needed chastised.

Once Dhirond confirmed the end of the message, Gahrst moved away, letting his claws rake furrows in the ground while the circle began to disperse back into their loose formation, leaving the messenger to fly back to its rookery since Gahrst had no reply. Lorn turned west with the others and only went a tail or two before he felt a light weight land on his right shoulder. He felt tiny claw points pick up the edges of his scales and in response Lorn shook his shoulders right and left, trying to dislodge the claws. Angrily, he turned his head to see if the nacertas had really decided to perch on him. There on his shoulder, claws clipped under the edges of his scales in order to hold on, was Dhirond.

Lorn stared blandly at the flyer. “Go ride one of the others.”

Dhirond didn’t move except for a shake of his head.

“I don’t want you on my back. Get off, or I’ll make you get off.”

Lorn frowned as he began to feel the others’ eyes on him and Dhirond made no move to fly. “Fine then.” With that, Lorn rocked his shoulders violently back and forth, but Dhirond’s claws had found excellent grips in Lorn’s scales and would not be thrown off. The nacertas flared his wings in order to stay balanced and only forced his claws a little deeper under Lorn’s scales. Growling slightly, Lorn ceased shaking. “Fine then.” His passenger chirped as Lorn stomped after Gahrst, leaving furrows in the ground.

Mountain Attack

2007-02-20T23:47:00.000-05:00

Lorn carefully picked his way up the mountainside, sidestepping small stones that could tumble downhill and give him away. Behind him, the trail was indisinguishable from the rest of the boulder-strewn landscape, slanting back down the mountain toward Icebreak Pass, where Lorn had first entered this God's forsaken mountain chain over a week ago. The hiding place of the Stone Tear, what the locals called Gruenist's Tooth, had to be around here somewhere.

Keeping his eyes open for any small lizards or mice - hunting had been scarce this deep into the mountains - Lorn continued his trek into the forboding range. The sounds of small birds and the faint hum of Stindoon miners had finally been left behind in the last valley and Lorn was more than happy to realize that only the occasional scream of a crag hawk broke the tense silence, now. The people of Stindoon were a hardy bunch, living this deep in the mountains, but considering how much noise they produced, with their digging and brawling and carving, Lorn wouldn't be surprised if the only reason they lived in the mountains was because the other species couldn't stand them being around and sent them to live here.

I wouldn't be surprised if that's what did happen, Lorn thought. Little surprised him anymore.
As he rounded the jutting boulder formation that he had been edging around as he thought, Lorn took in the view again. He doubted that he'd ever see another as grand, and he had stood on the roof of Tarcanhall and watched as the sun slid into the hills to the west of Charlindrini, painting the waving grasses surrounding the city for miles in a million shades of crimson and gold. Here, it looked as if he was standing in the largest of all caverns, bright blue lichen shining in an azure sea above and an immense forest of stalagmites reaching to pierce that perfection from below.

A tiny stone, no more then a claw length long skittered down the slope, knocked loose while Lorn was staring at the grand view. His breath froze in his chest as the rock skipped from one boulder to another, before coming to rest 40 tails* below on a small plateau. Tail held rigid above the rocks, Lorn ran his eyes slowly over the folded rocks of the mountainside, not daring to move his head, hoping the browns and greys of his belly clothe blended well enough into the rocky landscape.

Worry over keeping his frayed nerves intact was not the only reason Lorn had been glad to leave behind the good-naturedly loud Stindoonin folk. Something new roamed the mountains now, he had been told; a perversion of the tarcans, if not in physique but in essence had been loosed. The one who told him of the not-quite tarcans had said that they seemed to flow through shadows as if the shadow itself had pulled them through, reaching to embrace an old friend. They supposedly only showed themselves at dawn or dusk, but he had also heard rumors of other Stindoonin controlled mountain towns being overrun in the night.

Maybe the mountain-kin have a reason for being so loud, he quickly pondered, maybe they think it'll keep them away.

Not seeing any movement among the rocks, Lorn slowly let out the breath he had been holding and warily hurried on, making sure to leave no claw holes in the dirt or any other sign of his passing for that matter.
Hours passed, and the sun reached its zenith and slowly began to move toward the west as Lorn worked his way around the western slope of another craggy mountain peak. He glanced into the sky as he rounded the bend, squinting, and watched as the peak itself hid the sun from view. With the baking sun off of his back, Lorn decided to cool his scales for a time and rest on the shady side of the mountain for once. He lay down with his head resting on his hands at the edge of the path, looking out over the range and wondering where the Shrine was.
Who had Gruenist been? Lorn thought as he yawned, pointed teeth snapping together as he slowly closed his rounded snout. The mountain-kin talk of him as if he had been some great hero. The children even spoke as if they looked up to him as a father, despite having fathers of their own. Lorn pulled the water bag from his shoulder and took a drink as he thought. He must've had something to do with the Tear, though.

Slinging the water bag back onto his shoulder, Lorn froze again, ears straining. Yes, there it was again. The sound of stone sliding down the mountainside brought him back to the present and he concluded that the Stindoonin were just strange folk and could be mulled over later. When he was safe. Lorn thought to himself as he looked to the sky and sun obscured by the mountain itself. He said that they don't come out during the day! This is the last time I worry about being hot, Lorn vowed as he stood and tried to move on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. If I can get around the peak, maybe I can shake them off my trail before sunset.

Lorn moved down the trail he picked for himself, muscles tensed, waiting for something to show itself. Around his neck, he felt the crystal beginning to grow warmer against his scales as he readied himself for the possible eventuality of a fight. Another small, skittering trail of stones rushed by his feet down the mountain. Lorn's sure footing made him certain that he had not shaken those rocks loose. The warmth from the crystal seemed to have glided into him, filling him with a fire that he needed - wanted - to release. Control, Lorn. Control. Master it, or it masters you.

As the first black shape hurtled down the peak at him, a blaze bloomed in Lorn's being.

He spun to face his attackers as the inferno inside of him took form on the outside. Fire bloomed around the last foot or so of his tail, crackling streamers of red and yellow flame disappearing into the air as his tail whipped out behind him, now pointing down the mountainside. Flames crackled up Lorn's legs from his ankles and from just behind were his eyes were position on his head, a mane of fire flowed down his neck, licking the small spikes lining the ridge of his back. Taking as firm a stance as he could manage on such loose, unstable terrain, Lorn finally got his first good look at the perversions of tarcankind; a fiery beast waiting for fuel to feed its flames.

The old one was right, they look just like any other tarcans...in form, at least.

The first shape haphazardly leaping from stone to stone down the mountain towards Lorn was as a night with no moon, twin crimson orbs - their eyes - resting amid a sea of dimly shining black scales. It had the same small ridge spikes down its back as well as the four clawed front and back feet that Lorn himself possessed. As he watched, it opened its mouth and gnashed its pointed teeth, flecks of spittle sliding back the dark cheek of the creature's head.
Lorn dug his hindfeet into the loose stones and drove himself upward towards the onrushing beast, his fiery details making him seem a comet streaking up the side of the peak. Anger at being attacked as well as fear at what may happen if they bested him warred for his attention as he felt himself willing the fire raging inside of him to come out. He could feel a roiling lump or heat rising up his throat as if he had not been able to keep his lunch down. Lorn knew what he was doing and had done it before.

As the creature pounced from its last perch atop a boulder two tails uphill from Lorn, he released the fire from inside himself that had been pushing between his teeth, fighting to be used. A deep red pillar of flame erupted from Lorn's throat as he opened his maw wide, facing the leaping perversion. His forward momentum ended abruptly as the rolling gout of fire hit the creature's chest in mid-leap. The creature's momentum fared no better against such an onslaught and its head and tail snapped forward eliciting a sharp crack from its whipping tail and disturbing snap when its neck broke from the force of the blow.

The limp body fell to the mountainside in a heap, charred chest and legs giving off a sickly smell of burnt flesh, as Lorn released the flow of fire from his mouth and slowly closed his jaws, the air around him waving to and fro in the heat. He cautiously turned to the right, looking for any more of the creatures. There were too many stones rolling past me earlier for there to be just one, Lorn thought as he whipped his head in the other direction, the fire wreathing his face whooshing as he did so. Not seeing any dark shapes moving amongst the jumble of boulders and sparse shrubs, he began slowly backpedalling down to where he had first noticed the skittering stones that alerted him of the attack. His own now careless steps knocked loose their own volley of rocks and they tumbled downward until disappearing from sight over a small cliff not far away.

Lorn barely had enough warning as the slight noise of stones being scraped across on another anounced the prescence of the second dark shape he knew would be around. Fires flaring in surprise, Lorn tried to turn to face his attacker but wasn't fast enough as the beast plowed into his side using the top, flat part of its head. The small spikes protruding from its scales along the crest of its nose pierced Lorn's scales and it was only sheer luck that he collided with a well-placed boulder instead of rolling down the mountainside in a fiery ball.

I've been keeping my fires burning too strongly for too long, he thought as he tried to collect his senses, it's beginning to wane. They're not responding to the heat! Lorn propped himself up from the boulder and looked around, readying a final gout of fire to finish this beast. The other didn't fare too well against it, maybe this one won't either. He looked in the direction he was hit from, but saw only rolling trails of stones and so followed them to their source. The dark creature had circled around him so that it was looking downhill at Lorn who, for a split second, seemed unsure of his predicament. When he saw the creature begin to run toward him again, he released the pillar of fire again, but as soon as the flicking flames passed his snout they withered and he felt his internal furnace diminish. The heat was still there, but there would be no more attempts at fire-breathing until he found some way to regain his power.

The charging creature of darkness seemed to be passing behind a screen to Lorn's eyes. Deepening shadows on this side of the peak were playing across the scales of the creature in fits and starts, beginning to blur where he thought it was. His weakened blast of flame barely slowed it down and Lorn scrambled to all four feet and tried another tactic. When the beast was within a tail of him, Lorn gathered what roiling heat he had left inside him and released it from his body in every direction at once; a wall of heat meant to turn the flickering creature to the side. As the heat left his body, Lorn felt the last significant surges of heat die down in his chest. Only the barest flicker of warmth inside him kept the fires covering his head, feet, and tail burning feebly.

A wall of heat strong enough to melt most ice in the blink of an eye only forced the creature to turn its head away as it let out a deep cry from its throat. While its eyes were closed and its steps faltered, the beast failed to wrap a clawed foot around a foothold and instead jammed its claws into the ground, dropping the beast like a blow to the head. Lorn's eyes widened when he realized what was going to happen and began churning his legs in the loose stones, clawing for a foothold.

Now even further disoriented, the creature tumbled into the frantic Lorn and took both of them down the mountainside, Lorn scrambling for any kind of clawhold to stop his sliding. Opening its eyes again, the creature tried to lunge at Lorn again from mid-tumble. It collided with Lorn, speeding up their fall dramatically. Boulders were flashing by, looking like ragged-edged cylinders flying past on either side of them. Lorn was all too aware of the small cliff he had seen not moments before. They would be reaching it soon.

Jerking his head to the left, Lorn avoided having the beast's teeth plunge into his neck and curled back a lip before he struck back at the violent creature. His teeth raked across the left side of its face, making the beast cry out again - this time in a piercing squeal - and close an eye now dribbling blood from beneath the lid. The creature pulled back its head and their tumbling slowed enough to start them sliding down the incline, inky darkness atop flickering fire. Lashing out blindly, the creature's deadly front claws bit into Lorn's shoulder and chest, cutting ragged red lines into his scales and forcing the frightened tarcan to stifle his own cry of pain.

Just as Lorn saw the beast begin to wildly shake its head as if to clear the blood from its eye and rear back for another strike, something hard slammed into Lorn's back and forcing the breath and remaining heat from his chest, extinguishing his fires. The impact sent his opponents head and neck hurtling over Lorn's shoulder as his head crashed back and darkness overtook him.

Some time later, Lorn slowly and painstakingly opened his eyes, growling quietly as he did so. At first, he didn’t know where he was. The sky seemed to have turned into a grey, pebbled surface and the ground beneath him was as blue as the sky used to be! For a moment he felt his insides lurch as if he were falling towards the ground, but stopped their unease when he brought his forelegs up beneath him and felt the dried crust of blood over his claw wounds break open and fresh blood start running down his scales towards his back.

My back? He thought groggily as he brought a clawed hand up to his head and rubbed his dust-covered snout, trying to organize his thoughts. He lifted his head – it felt like he was lifting it toward the ground, which confused him even more – and slowly came to the realization that he was lying on his back, covered in small pebbles and dust. His head throbbed and Lorn was glad for the mountain peak blocking the lowering sun’s rays. Looking back up the incline, Lorn could see the clear path he and the dark tarcan had made as they slid down the slope. A swathe of freshly churned dirt from where he was ambushed to where he lay announced his presence for anything smart enough to pay attention to the ground. Small stones littered the flat rock he was laying on, arranged haphazardly around his body as if they had fallen on him after he hit the rock and rolled to the ground from his stomach.

Still holding his head, Lorn rolled onto his stomach and waited as his equilibrium returned. Where did that…thing go? He wondered as he bunched the muscles in his haunches and slowly pushed himself towards the edge of the ledge he was on and looked over.

Quite a way down the slope Lorn could see a black spot sprawled over the top of another one of the numerous boulders scattered about the mountains. Nodding his head slightly, Lorn struggled to his feet, grimacing again as more bloody crust broke apart on his chest. As best he could, Lorn twisted his head down and licked the wounds. During his days in the Charlindrini Peace Militia, he would have been reprimanded for such behavior.

“A soldier does not lick his wounds after battle! They are tended by a medic – it’s what they’re there for!” Lorn mumbled to himself as he finished his ministrations, chuckling softly as he finished. If the method works, why go to a medic? I guess the CPM never did make much sense.

After tending to his wounds as best he could, Lorn found that his legs had regained strength enough to try and continue down the mountain. He wanted to check on that dark body. “Always make sure that what you intended to kill is dead, or you may find its teeth in your back,” Lorn muttered. Even if the Peace Militia made no sense, at least it was useful.

With a sigh, Lorn stumbled exhaustedly from his ledge and carefully worked his way downhill making sure of each foothold before putting his weight down. He was in no hurry to take another plunge down the mountain. A faint wrinkle in his lip was the only sign that Lorn gave of his annoyance at not being strong enough to walk quietly without sending small rocks careening away from his tired feet.

Upon reaching the dark tarcan’s final perch, Lorn immediately noticed that he would not have to fear this creature’s teeth in his back. It was on its back on top of the boulder, back bent at an impossible angle and head twisted in an impossible direction. The impact on the ledge above must have twisted its head that way while landing on this boulder must be what broke its back, Lorn decided.

This close, Lorn was even more disgusted by the similarities between himself and this abomination. Apart from their coloring and demeanor, these tarcans could have passed for any other normal tarcan. He found it hard to believe that any tarcan could be so twisted inside to have served the Great Darkness in the past or even now. The reminder of what he had seen back in the Sular Mines forced an involuntary shudder to course through his body and he glanced around, suddenly feeling vulnerable so out in the open and injured. It was also getting closer to dusk, and he had no urge to face a larger group of the perversions, especially not in their own element. The way the creatures he had killed seemed to blur in the shade of the mountain made him shudder again as he thought of it. In full dark, they’d be near invisible but for their eyes.

Lorn finished inspecting the body and moved on, eventually reaching the bottom of the valley he had been trying to reach when attacked. Here a greater number of trees grew; a few sparse oaks and stands of tall hemlocks kept the small stream supplied with water year round. Decades of hemlock needles absorbed the stream’s water and kept it from ever running dry, even in the worst of summer’s heat. Boulders were still abound in every direction, some looking to have crashed into the sides of trees after rolling down off of the mountains. To his left, a landslide had forced the stream into a u-shaped bend around a jumble of dirt, stone, and fallen trees.

Relaxing a bit now that he was under the trees and out of plain sight, Lorn knelt to get a drink of water, submerging his nose in the cool stream and enjoying the feel of the liquid on his parched throat. The fire transformation always left him feeling dry and thirsty. At least it had after the only other three times he had used the essence before. He didn’t know whether or not the after-effects began to go away the longer you used the essence, but he hoped so.

After finishing his drink, Lorn sat back on his haunches and looked around, tail curling away from him on the ground. He had to find a cave, or some kind of shelter, to stay out of site during the night. Hopefully any other dark tarcans that find their dead kin will only think they slipped and fell, though the charred remains of the one might confuse them. All the better, to Lorn’s thinking. Either way, he wanted to be out of sight. He needed to heal.

Finally, Lorn decided that he’d move down the streambed and hope a winter avalanche or another landslide had made any convenient hiding holes that he could use. Hiding holes that were unoccupied, of course. His first night in the mountains he had been chased from a small cave by a family of pebble tossers. The small, bipedal lizards weren’t a major threat, but the tiny stones they pick up and throw with their tails pack quite a sting and an entire family of them pitching stones at him had been enough to set him running.

In an effort to make his trail harder to follow, Lorn waded into the stream and followed its course for a time before exiting on the other bank. He had only an hour or so of sunlight left, so he began trotting down the valley beside the streambed, keeping his eyes open for any other landfalls. The only scenery he came across was more of the same; pine trees and scattered oaks making a small forest with boulders intermittently tossed in the mix. At one point he even came across a small pond form by a mass of fallen hemlocks where he thought he saw a splash and a finned tail disappear beneath the glossy surface.

Not far beyond the pond, Lorn found what he had been looking for. Another landslide had toppled a handful of trees and brought tons of boulders crashing down the mountain. When everything had stopped moving, the trees formed a natural roof beside one of the boulders while the other debris went over the trees, effectively forming a small cave. Seeing that this was a recent slide, some of the dirt was still dark with moisture, Lorn figured that nothing had the chance to have made its home here, yet and so went to investigate closer.

What he found was pretty much what he expected. The trees and interwoven pine branches made a fine ceiling and would have been more or less waterproof even had there not been a ton or more of rubble on top of it. With a little work, Lorn managed to break off some of the heftier pine branches from inside and used them to make a curtain over the entrance to his temporary home. Any dark tarcans that pass by in the night would only see a pile of rubble and broken branches.

By now, the sun was beginning to cast the red-gold light of sunset as it lowered itself into the embrace of the mountains to the west, playing on the oak leaves and pine needles so that Lorn had to continually blink as he looked towards the source of the beautiful colors. Before going inside his shelter for the night, Lorn walked down to the stream and topped off his water bag and grabbed another drink. His throat was finally feeling back to normal. He surveyed the area one last time, taking in the deepening shadows beneath the trees and the soft gurgling of the stream over the fallen hemlocks that had formed the dam. All he could see was stillness. The only movement was the wind through the needles and leaves on the trees and the occasion leaf that was lifted from the ground, twirling through the air, only to fall to earth a few feet away from where it started. Satisfied that nothing was around, Lorn returned to his cave and put his makeshift curtain in place behind him.

He gently set his water bag on the ground, leaning against the boulder, and unfastened his belly clothe from his back ridge spikes. The cloth had definitely seen better days – the trip down the mountainside earlier had torn two of the spike straps and it would have to be washed the next time he found himself in civilization. Lorn was just glad that the cloth was made from sturdy fabric and did not rip during his fall. After tallying up the damages to his belly cloth and poking at his wounds again and grimacing, he tossed the cloth on the ground where he would be sleeping. Very few tarcans’ bellies were tough enough to withstand a night rubbing against the hard ground. Lorn had one last task before going to sleep, though.

Concentrating, Lorn felt what seemed like his being extending to all of the natural things around him. He knew just how long ago the trees above his head and been knocked down and how old they were. He could feel just how tough and unyielding the boulders near him were yet could not even begin to guess at how long they had been around. As his senses seemed to extend to all things natural, green protrusions began to grow from Lorn’s tail as well as the sides of his snout and what looked and felt like tree bark seemed to bubble to the surface from under his skin to take up residence on the top of his head, shoulders and back. As the transformation subsided, the glow of the green crystal around his neck faded until it emitted only a dim shine. Already he thought he could feel his wounds being purified.

With a pleasant sigh, Lorn lay down on his belly cloth and rest his tail against the ground, long green vines splayed in a semicircle behind him, already beginning to burrow into the ground with Lorn’s urging. Once he was satisfied with their depth, Lorn concentrated again and felt what little life that the mountainous trees imbued the land with seep into his body. Now he really could feel his wounds being purified as well as starting to close. After a short period of time, Lorn ran a claw across where the gashes had been on his chest and shoulder but felt only smooth, unbroken scales. Lorn let out a pleased grunt and released his concentration on the essence, the vines extending from his tail and snout sucked back into his body like wet noodles and the bark melted back into his scales leaving only Lorn as he had been before being attacked on the mountainside.

Still feeling exhausted, for the transformation healed only physical hurts – at least as far as Lorn knew – not physical exhaustion, the tired tarcan rested his head on the dirty belly cloth and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he would try harder to find the Shrine. And the Tear. I do wonder why they call it Gruenist’s tooth, was his last wavering thought before drifting off to sleep.