A Reunion Amidst the Mire (closed to Karuka)

Taische had huddled close to the grate, trying to ignore the cold, slimy water she crouched in and pretend that those were definitely cute little fish nibbling on her toes. Her breath came in sharp gasps and hot tears streamed down her face. There were people dying, Tao was dead, and the bad guys wanted to kill everyone else for no reason.

Part of her wanted to hide in the farthest back corner, where it was safe. The larger part was morbidly curious. She’d never seen battle up close before, other than her admittedly foolhardy venture into the Citadel. She’d only ever seen her mom use staves in training, and had never watched her attack uninhibited. She danced around the big dumb lizard man like she was a bird and he was a snail. The primal fury was hypnotizing, and the lightning that arced across the battlefield left gruesome paths through men and smoke alike.

She was so busy watching the fight that she failed to notice the figure approaching. A rough hand lunged into her hiding place, grabbing hold of her and hauling her out. She shrieked, kicking reflexively, but only found herself restrained with something sharp to her neck.

When the dirty man yelled, everything stopped, and Taische saw an expression on her mother’s face she’d never expected: helpless horror. There was nothing Karuka could do that would be quick enough to take out the pig man without also hurting or killing her child.

Taische’s fingers dug into the grimy arm around her neck. He was going to chop her head off, everything would go fuzzy black, but she wouldn’t wake up like she had last time. Her eyes squeezed shut, trying and failing to keep back terrified tears. Could she do anything?

If she tried to suffocate him, he’d have lots of time to kill her. Same if she tried to punch him with some water. If she burned him, he’d curl in. That left one thing, but she hadn’t had more than a little bit of a spark all day.

If yer gonna die on th’ field, fight wi’ yer last breath.

Her mother had said that to her soldiers before they went out to war. This was her last breath.

So she breathed, filling her lungs with air that reeked of blood and ozone. She dug deep, finding the spark and the pathways. She felt where her fingers met skin. And she let loose.

The man screamed, more startled than hurt, but his grip loosened enough that Taische could shove herself free. He swung at her as she scrambled away, opening a nasty gash on the back of her leg, but she was already bolting for her mother.

The lizard man was starting to rise between them, and Karuka’s fear turned to rage. Consequence plunged down into the scaly head, leaving a twitching corpse.

The loud greeting Storm had offered the group reared itself as a moment of silence and opportunity. Karuka had seized the moment perfectly, teeing up the oncoming enemies with a splash of water that left them incredibly vulnerable. Moving forward quickly and decisively, Storm suddenly planted both heels in the ground. Quickly sheathing his daggers, the mighty wizard called upon the remainder of his magical essence. His body shook as he fired a mighty blast; white-hot electric light spreading from his outstretched arms in few tendrils that hit the group as one.

Come for THOSE ladies? Friends of MINE!? Burn, you sorry sons of bitches. BURN!!

The water did most of the work for him; white light and current hopped back and forth across the spray of water in a tangled, buzzing web across the six men. The lightning was magnified by his fury and the conductive medium, allowing him to fell the group. The two central men felt the foremost brunt, dying instantly. Lowering his hands, Veritas witnessed the other four fall in heaps of either shock or seizure. Live or die, they were incapacitated, which gave him all the window he would need.

One more charge. For Karuka, for Taische.

Storm soldiered forward, and watched as Karuka killed the lizard man, and Taische sparked her way out of the giant man-boar-pig’s grasp. She was a fast learner, and he gleamed with pride. Moving into a slow jog, his legs ached and begged for mercy; the hop in his step was completely gone.

“Fat boy!! Over here!”

The large pig creature turned to the mage, rearing a massive machete as our thin anti-hero approached. With a quiet, certain confidence, Storm continued to move forward.

That blade is too big, too clumsy. It’s already over, fat-ass. You f*cked with the wrong bull today.

The machete came down in a fast but predictable path. The machete was precise enough, but also a quick dodge as Veritas hopped off his right foot to the left. Fatigued, the Pig-Man couldn’t pull back in time for Storm to close in off his right shoulder. In a flash, the wiry mage hopped up, the gleaming titanium blade again at the ready. It cut quickly, cleanly, and deep; the blade cleaved a smooth path through thick and gristly flesh and what would be the carotid artery and jugular vein on a human. A hot knife through butter, and he was done.

Storm leapt backwards off the chest of the heaping pig, somersaulting gracefully back over himself and landing in a tidy crouch. The dagger dripped a thick puddle of oily black-red blood upon the cobblestones beneath him, as secondary evidence his strike had been true.

The huge porcine soldier reflexively grabbed at his throat, as if the rapid slash was somehow reversible. He pressed hard, his eyes wide with a wild rage and confused anger as blood spurted wildly through desperate fingers. Sad, helpless, fearful… they were all the marks of a doomed man. The mighty pig had been reduced to a child state; ignorant to his own previous sins as he tried to plead a final request for mercy.

The group stood and watched as the leader of the militia forces fell, his body looking skyward as his skin grew pale and a pool of blood emptied from his deep neck wound. In the end, the monstrous creature was no more dangerous than a baby lamb, and likely signaled the end of this pointless battle.

Any lingering combatants recoiled under the glares of the redheaded warrior and the black-clad lightning mage. Any capable of standing prudently turned and fled; with both the Warlord and his Lieutenant slain, there was no more order amongst the attackers. Distant, dim sounds of fighting still reached their ears, but for the moment they were safe.

Karuka crouched to tend to Taische's wound, and the little girl pressed her face into her mother's shoulder, trying to banish the sights of blood and death and the scents of burned flesh and entrails from her mind. Her body shook from the close call. Karuka leaned back, not granting her the comfort, but keeping a hand on her arm to give her support.

"This is what combat looks like, Taische. This is its cost. Don't turn from it. Some of these men had families, jus' as I have you. They'll never see 'em again. Some that live'll be crippled fer life. None who walk away will be th' same. It might be yer firs' battlefield, wee bit, but it won't be yer last, an' I'm ay sorry fer that. But y' need t' be able t' look at it, accept it, an' learn that life goes on."

"I want it to be the last one. I don't like this." The little girl flinched as her mother finished tying off the bandage and cast the spell that would mend it over the next few hours, instead of the next several weeks.

"I know." Karu rubbed her daughter's shoulder, looking over at her old friend.

Taische wandered over to Storm, carefully picking her way over the least bloody patches and favoring her injured leg. When she reached the tall man, she tugged on his sleeve, drawing him down to be more on her level. When he knelt, she threw her arms around his shoulders, ignoring that he reeked of sweat and blood. "Maybe you're a bad man, Uncle Storm, but you can be the hero sometimes, too."

Karuka put a hand on her daughter's head. "I'm glad y' came, Storm."

The quiet lasted only a moment, then a dark growl and some deep cracking sounded from the crumbled center of the keep.

"Taische, go wake up Taodoine."

The little face turned upward, confused. "But Ta-"

"He didn't die so badly that he shouldn't be fine right now. Get 'im up, Taische." Karuka's eyes focused squarely on the ruined keep, ignoring her daughter's perplexed expression. "An' then get t' th' safest place y' can find."

Obediently, the child limped off for the pile of ash that had been Taodoine, and Karuka held out her hand to help her weary friend to his feet. "This isn't over yet. Worse is comin'."

She glanced at the sky; in a contrast to the clear morning, it was overcast. It was enough. "Tell me... d' y' believe that turnabout is fair play, Storm?" She raised her left hand to the sky, which rumbled in response. He'd shocked her to death once in the Citadel. It hadn't really been his fault, and she'd never held him accountable.

This wasn't nearly the same, either. Lightning was his domain, and what she was about to unleash on him would help instead of harm. She was really just warning him to brace himself. Her hand cut the air in a brutal, jagged slash. The sky spat its fury, launching a white strike at its target.

Weary from battle, relieved at the safety of the entire group, Storm found himself completely bewildered by Karuka. He had hurt her in the Citadel, but it was lifetimes ago. Water under the bridge, time heals all wounds, a stitch in time…

No, seriously what the fu..

”BOOOOM!!!!

A thundercrack screamed with raw power as Karuka summoned a bolt from the skies. Small, yet mighty, the staggered stepping lightning seemed to follow her command, traveling from the heavens above directly into the wizard. The sheer power of the thing knocked him awry, disorienting him. His entire body felt like a bruise against the blood-stained cobblestones, spraying wildly across the ground like discarded trash.

Holy shit… who taught her that!?

Standing, Veritas felt a bit overwhelmed. If Karuka, once a delicate lady he had protected, could also summon lightning, it rendered him somewhat useless. He was nothing more than overlap, a walking redundancy. Was there still a place for him here?

No sooner did he begin to soak in the sulking morass of self-pity than he realized the hair on his arms was standing on end. His fingertips buzzed, eyesight sharpened, and heart pumped with a steady, strong thump. The lactic acid which had accumulated in his legs even receded, leaving him fresh (if very sore) as he stood. The feeling was unmistakable.

The feeling was POWER.

“Hell of a trick, honey, not sure where the hell you picked that one up.” He looked at her with a bizarre mix of emotions. He felt some elements of pride, self-confidence, and fear as he looked at what a mighty warrior she had become. She looked the same, but O’Sheean had grown in ability and power like a flower sprouting from spring earth.

He reached upwards, stretching and indulging himself in the surge of power that pulsed through his veins. He felt supercharged, (if that was even a thing); with hands over his daggers he could feel his belt sagging, his newfound ferocity repelling the metal with a touch of terrifying autonomy.

“Next time, feel free to give me that goddamned turbo-shot before a fight… I feel like I could take down an elephant right now!”

He smiled as he stepped to make contact with her; a first direct signal of affection since hell had broken loose. No sooner had he stepped forward than the skies were shattered with a second deafening roar.

“CrrrrrrAAAWWW”

There was only one creature upon all of Althanas that could make such a thunderous roar. Despite his resurgent power, Storm wished against his own better judgment that the unmistakable shriek came from something other than a dragon.

A giant black claw grasped the ivy-covered wall at the other end of the courtyard. The thick green tapestry shriveled at its touch, and Karuka, hand raised to cast another spell, went pale. Here at the crux of Fiorair and Luthmor, her strongest magic was that which weaponized the plants themselves. But with them rotting away on contact with the dragon, that was less than useless.

"Right...so... y' take an elephant sized chunk of 'im, an' I'll get th' rest, then?" Karu's mind raced. Without a raging thunderstorm, her own lightning wasn't nearly as powerful or versatile as Storm's. Her fire was weak in the oppressive Dheath humidity. Water? Perhaps, but dragons were hard to drown and even mixing in all the power her specialist friend could muster, it wasn't likely to do very much. Wind?

Wind, maybe. Rad and Jara were a combination that made a mess of everything in the spell's path, but it could be notoriously hard to control. If her damned phoenix would just rise...

CRACK!

"Malchadan!"

The wall collapsed with a mighty push from the massive beast, sending waves of dust and rubble billowing out into the courtyard. Its rough scales devoured all light that touched it, and it regarded the open courtyard with disdainful intelligence, with avarice and hunger. It was a predator, and they were barely worthy to be its prey.

"He," Karuka mentally corrected herself. The bony protrusions on the beast's face marked him as a male, and his size marked him as a young adult. His kind were sacred to the native Dheath races, and if she didn't miss her guess, he'd come of age, gathered followers, and tried to grab himself a territory. That he'd snagged the son of Gavan dar Eamon let him warp the Drakari's mind into getting him a lair, likely by promising sweet revenge. His presence had also been what had shielded Banagher from her Sight; dragons and their machinations were nigh-exempt from the gazes of mortal diviners.

The brute opened his maw, unleashing a grating, rumbling roar that shook Karuka's organs and bones. She clenched her teeth to stop them from rattling in her skull. Under foot and all around, the stones started shifting as solid earth turned to sludge beneath them.

When the dragon's roar died down, Karuka roared back. It was as much reflex as plan; every instinct told her that when faced with a predator, she had to stand her ground and challenge back. It was a larger sound than her body should have been able to contain. It was absolutely feral, an animal sound, not a human cry.

Dust and smoke swirled and curled around and above her, and within a minute, a giant cat took form. His fur was pale blue, his rosettes were almost purple, and he smelled of the sweet, cool rain from the sea off Scara Brae. He stood taller than three men. His fangs could have passed cleanly through a deer. His roar joined the human's beneath him, challenging the dragon. He looked down at her, yellow eyes looking for instruction. At a tilt of her head, he pounced, meeting draconic snap with a vicious swipe of his claws.

"Taische!" Her voice cut through the clash of monstrous beasts to the pile of ash and soot her daughter was still prodding at. "Fháil amach as na ballaÃ*!" If the beast got a chance to change much more of the earth beneath the foundations, the walls would come down. She needed her daughter away from them, preferably well out of the keep. "Storm, we've only got th' cat a short while. Get t' where y' need t' be t' get this thing down."

The dragon was smaller than Moxxilus had been, but probably even more dangerous. He probably stood a “mere” twenty feet tall, but had wings that would block the sun, and had deceptively long limbs flexed beneath him, and a tail that could offer a devastating whip-like effect. A dragon has no clear weakness, they are just huge, daunting piles of strengths.

The cat which emerged opposed him was nearly as tall and plenty ferocious, despite wielding the appearance of a monstrously overgrown spotted housecat.

Perfect. We’re taking on a dragon with a f*cking glorified kitten.

He was being unfair, of course; the cat was ferocious and howled a deep roar which would be blood-curdling if not for its absurdly imposing opponent. The two big beasts snapped at each other; it was a fine distraction.

Storm scanned the behemoth rapidly, looking for something… anything he could use to incapacitate the thing. This was no short order.

Back covered in scales. Head covered with… teeth. Tail… no. Belly is soft, but too low to the ground. How do we get this big bastard on his back?

His teeth clenched… a second or two burned away as an eternity. His eyes spotted a small hope; a few thick tendons which tethered the wing, hidden silently about the massive slate scales that comprised the shoulder.

He sprinted about the right side of the dragon, jumping wildly in the air as he assaulted the flank. As a reflex, the dragon turned a moment, lifting a wing in hopes of flipping the warrior away like the bothersome fly he was. Still riding the sail of his lightning charge, Storm sailed cleanly over the tip of the wing, his feet nearly six feet from the ground. The wing still batted him, but with his momentum it just served to bounce him toward the thing’s sweeping back.

With no time to waste, Storm planted both feet upon the lower spine and leapt once more. Both of his daggers were at the ready, and he slashed with all his might in a hard scissoring action at the tendon holding the gigantic lizard’s left wing.

Yessssss…..

The blades sawed through sinew with a clean dueling cleave, spreading with it a bundle of tendrils, and a pulsing fountain of thick, black blood and viscera. Storm could only relish this satisfying cut for a fleeting moment, as the mighty brown beast reared with the force of one hundred horses. His floor now vertical, Veritas scrambled with his blades to stab the great dragon in the back, desperate to create a new handhold. When his daggers found no purchase, Storm slid, banged, twisted and fell to the ground beneath the goliath.

What he saw generated more wild action, but not without his intelligent articulation of the situation.

“Ow, f*ck! Shit! Oh, no, shit, no!”

Another thunderous roar, but the wing was horribly damaged, and swung limp behind the great dragon, rendering him hopelessly off balance. Discombobulated, down fell the great beast, in an awkward, ungainly tumble atop the fast-rolling body of Storm Veritas.

The titanic monster was belly up and vulnerable, if only for a few moments. Beneath him, somewhere, Storm Veritas was completely obscured from sight.

The ground shook at the dragon's roar, sending once-stable stones sinking into muck. Portions of wall that had stood for almost a thousand years cracked and crumbled, lacking the support they'd had for centuries. Ancient dust billowed into the air around the dragon and its carnage, joining the smoke and ash of battle.

The great cat, guardian of the Liviol Sanctum and Karuka's old friend, wasted no time in taking advantage of its gigantic foe's vulnerability. It pounced, fangs grasping the thick neck to cut off circulation and sharp rear claws tearing into the soft belly. Rivers of black blood rushed from new wounds, but no viscerae spilled; the creature's abdominal muscles were too thick and strong.

Karuka's breath stilled in her lungs while her eyes probed the broken ground around the titans. Storm had hit the ground alive and conscious; she'd heard him swearing. But had he been out of the way when the dragon fell? She could see the ancient pulse of the cat and the churn of the dragon, but she couldn't see Storm's crackle. What had he been thinking?!

And what was Taische thinking, still at Taodoine's ashes?

The wall beside the child cracked and started to crumble, but before the redheaded warrior could run to pull her child to safety, a blazing bird erupted from the ground in front of her, grabbing each arm in a mighty talon and exploding skyward. The cloud of dust barely brushed his tailfeathers, and he set his little featherless sister down beside her mother, gleaming with pride.

"Th' hell took y' so long?!"

Taodoine hissed. He'd come back from death just in time to rescue Taische, and that was the greeting he got?

Karuka pointed toward the battle, where the dragon had forced the cat off its belly and was gouging at his eyes, while the gigantic feline bit down on the reptile's throat for dear life. The magic that had brought him was fading; soon he would be gone.

Taodoine took Karuka's meaning, launching from Taische's shoulders and lighting himself ablaze, sweeping a swirling path for the downed dragon. Karuka's hands made a pair of swift symbols - a stylized R and a pair of interlocking wedges. Then she spun Consequence in front of her, faster and faster. Screaming winds spun out from the spear, catching the phoenix's fire and slamming into the bloody belly as a fiery horizontal tornado.

The cat vanished.

The dragon screamed and writhed, lifted up and launched backward a few yards by the fury of the combined assault.

When the spell had run its course, Karuka planted the butt of her spear in the ground. The beast, still alive, looked around. Its mortal servants and worshippers were scattered to the winds. Its intended lair was in ruins. It was badly injured.

But the fight was nearly over.

Slowly, it rolled back to its feet, snapping at the flaming gnat that attacked its eyes. Its head lowered. Its mouth opened. And it gathered up for a final, devastating roar.

Usually, a long and violent fall such as followed closely by silence. Dust clears, and then Storm would typically push himself up, dust himself off, and slowly, painfully, drag himself away. There would be the formality of assessing injuries, being ridiculed for clumsiness or heralded for heroics, and then there would be a deep, welcome breath.

Today there was no such luxury available for the veteran. The big beast’s contortion brought it right back upon Storm. For all of its size, it was a mercifully rolling fall, it’s body weight being spread upon the floor in a thunderous crash. Cobblestones and earth moved below and around him, offering plenty of incremental pain. The body itself still felt like a swift-moving steamroller bearing down on him, however had it fallen in a flat heap, the story of Storm Veritas would certainly have ended here.

“Grrnn… mmmheerrr…”

The attempt to speak failed with thanks to Storm’s broken ribs and partially collapsed lung. He couldn’t identify which ribs had broken under the pressure of the great scaled beast; it certainly felt as though it must be all of them. Above him, a flurry of activity forced his attention.

Feel the pain later. Save your own ass NOW.

There was a booming sound, and a shrieking, all the while dark above Storm whom was shielded by the enormous size of the dragon. Another shriek, and the great lizard turned, rolling off him and pressing away. The pain was incredible, white-hot and his first move was to spit out a full mouthful of bright red blood. He turned, but just to press his hand to the ground forced a wild scream of pain. Any upper body movement was fiery pain. Previously unregistered pain checked in from his right leg.

Storm did what he could, which was to push his body forward hard off his left leg. He pressed his foot to find a stone, and toed it wildly as he kicked hard. He managed to propel himself a foot, perhaps two. Another kick and slide, another foot. He was frantic, like a dying cat limping meekly off a horse-track. He kicked furiously, pulling himself away in spite of a blanket of agony that wrapped herself tight.

Ahead of him, he eyed Karuka and the girl; they appeared none the worse for wear. Aside him, two more tremendous booms resounded as the dragon brought its great front feet down again. The lightning mage rolled to his back, again kicking mostly with his strong leg. Although heavily wounded, he still felt a power from his hands, and he began to charge for a return blast.

"Storm!"

Surprise, disbelief, triumph, joy and concern all crowded for space in a single, grateful syllable. How he'd survived the fall and the crush was beyond Karuka, but it was a miracle she would gladly accept. However badly injured he was, if he was alive, she could fight to keep him that way.

Her attention snapped back to the dragon, whose labored inhale preceded another roar. If she let it go off, it would be devastating. Her hand raised to cast a spell, but before she could unleash it, a bolt of white, burning fury flew from Storm's hands. It bounced between the beast's stalactite-like teeth, then shot up into its skull, turning its brain into a useless collection of goo.

It reared up again, body thrashing uncontrollably in its sudden, seizing death. Then it fell, collapsing one of the last walls. Its gigantic tail spasmed, on a collision course for its killer, going too fast for his devastated body to dodge it.

He flinched, eyes closing involuntarily, but the final blow never landed. When he looked, Karuka was standing over him, spear held in front of her like a ward and a shining dome of force blocking the dragon's last attempt at vengeance. She must have moved like lightning herself, to have covered the distance in such a short blink.

After a few seconds of the redhead straining to keep her barrier up, the body settled, the great tail slid harmlessly to the ground, and deafening silence descended on the ruins.

Karuka breathed out a deep sigh. Her own muscles burned with weariness and her heart thundered in her chest, but she wasn't nearly done yet. There was a life she couldn't let go.

"Taische!" That was the only thing said to her daughter, because the girl hurried over to grab her mother's bag and everything she'd need out of it.

She knelt in the muddy rubble by Storm, scribing the healing rune onto his white and purple forehead with her thumb while cradling his face between her hands. She needed to keep him stable so she could actually treat his injuries; this wasn't some simple gash. "Y' beautiful idiot. I thought we'd lost you."

She smiled, relieved and worried, and gently opened his shirt so she could inspect the damage. The lung would need the most of her magic. The leg was dislocated and broken; she could handle that. The ribs could wait a minute. She wasted no time in offering him the shaft of her spear to bite down on and getting to work.

"This'll hurt like nothin' else, Storm. But don't y' dare die on me now."

His blast had found a home within the awful thing’s mouth, and the direct nature of the strike was both pure and horrendous. Dragons were unquestionably magnificent beasts; for all of their illogical hatred of any perceived intruders, the death of one would always make Althanas a less magnificent place.

Karuka had saved him, as there was no doubt that his life had laid in her hands. Had the tail fallen clearly, he had absolutely no energy left for dodging the massive sledgehammer of scale and meat. She whispered a sweet and peaceful warning that went unheeded; the ringing in his ears reduced her words to a hum beneath the buzz.

“It’s okay, babe. Do your worst. After all that bullshit, I think I’ll be able to survive.”

His words were full of the typical blend of braggadocio and ignorance that she knew him for, but the look on her face gave him the real warning. What this would do was going to Hurt. He bit the wooden spear she offered; it didn’t have much give for him.

Oh shit. At least this one won’t kill me. His optimism was remarkable.

Her mouth seemed to mouth the word BORK, which didn’t make much more sense to him later when she would explain it as Beork. Her accent was always cute, but this treatment was a long walk from adorable. Her hands lay on his chest and glowed pink, a heat like fire passed through his chest.

Reflexively, Storm’s back arched and teeth dug deeper into the shaft of the spear. Perhaps one day Karuka would find some charm in the teeth marks left permanently embedded in the handle area; right now there was nothing about the process that was in any way appealing, endearing, or likable.

“Grrnnnggh! HGHHGHGHHH!!”

His words were less than tremendously effective as he plead for mercy through the heft of the stave. A sweat broke on his forehead, his heart rate elevating quickly as he writhed in agony. The BORK as it were felt like a pulsing stream of hot acid passing through his chest, flexing the broken bones and straining the injured lung. It was a sustained hell.

At first, he presumed his heart was failing. Fortunately, it was the body’s natural reaction to shock and stress. The body relaxed, he breathed deeply through his nose, and his heart rate fell again like a stone. His skin quickly grew cold and clammy, sweat on his brow now feeling like rain on a summer day.

Next, the ever-heroic Storm Veritas passed out upon the cobblestones, unable to cope with the pain.