Dawn Through Darkness

[Karuka]

If Karu couldn't fight on Seth's level, he couldn't swear on hers. What he'd figured would be a few vehement expletives in her funny not-quite Dheath tongue became long minutes of blistering abuse - abuse that always started fresh when he jerked the chain to keep her hanging upside down and away from his face. As long and hard as she went on, the ghoul figured even he would have needed a breath.

Eventually, she calmed down enough to remember that he didn't speak Dheath, so her swearing transitioned seamlessly into Tradespeak. The positive part of that was that she finally stopped trying to climb the chain. "Damn you to every damned horrible afterlife that anyone ever dreamed up, you maggot-infested, worm-riddled, twisted, murderous walking corpse! You can take these chains, shove 'em up your arse and pull 'em out your throat, you jackal-sucking son of a one-eyed vulture!"

It went on for several more minutes, each insult more stunningly abrasive and perplexing than the last. The ghoul hung across from the girl with an eyebrow raised, unsure whether he should laugh or be offended. Probably both. He'd been cussed out more times than he could count during his life, but never as long, creatively, or by someone he was hanging upside down. That she had yet to pass out from the blood all rushing to her head was nearly impressive as her tirade.

At long last, she tapered off, the steady stream of enraged and bewildering profanity replaced by panting breaths that expanded the redhead's belly and ribs nearly to bursting. When her breathing slowed and the verbal barrage didn't resume, Seth tried his question again. "Are you done?"

"Yeah. I'm done. Bastard."

The ghoul chuckled, climbing to the branch and starting to haul his exhausted charge up behind him. "Don't yell at me for making you cool off."

For a second after he set her down and released her chafed and swollen ankle from his magically-wrought chain, he thought she was about to lunge for him again. Weak and woozy calls from inside her bag demanded her attention, so instead she fished her phoenix out to tend to him. For once, fire-death bird worked in Seth's favor.

"What was the blind rage about, Karuka?"

"I'm exhausted and Fiorair is angry. Can't you hear it?"

Seth raised an eyebrow. This must be a primal thing related to the irrational rage that had turned her on him in earnest. He had seen it before, long ago, when an emaciated teenager had refused to be shackled and enslaved. When she had mouthed off to - and then bitten - a man more than twice her size. When she had mouthed off to him when he was the Lavinian Demon again, under the influence of Gift of the Magi.

The girl never lost her fire, he realized at last. She just got lost. Corone, even the forests of Concordia, had been too tame to find that burning primality. Out here, where she had senses that he didn't - senses that let the bog drum its thunderous song of wrath into her head - she was grumpy, but nearly herself.

They spent an hour in silence, an exhausted mortal grabbing at bugs to feed her bird and a hex ghoul tending to the stab wounds he'd let the girl give him. She'd laid back, Taodoine on her belly and her head on her pack; they weren't going anywhere else for the night. He hurt, she hurt, and she didn't have enough steps left in her feet to get them even to the trunk of the tree they were crossing, much less any significant distance. She was only a breath or two from sleep when her eyes snapped open and she rolled to a crouch, peering into the foggy dimness of Fiorair and setting Taodoine aside. Sky blue eyes went pale blue and a low growl sounded from her throat.

"He's here."

[Karuka]

Seth stood at Karuka’s quiet announcement, peering futilely into the thick gray murk. Silence fell heavily on Fiorair, drowning the region in the stillness that could only precede hell. Even the ever-present cloud of biting bugs pulled back, abandoning them to the decision of who would perish and who would survive.

“Good,” slipped from the ghoul’s lips. “I’m getting hungry.”

The redhead beside him said nothing for once, face set in a stony scowl, hand gripping the shaft of her spear in spite of the hours of dagger-work the Lavinian had invested in her over the course of the day. Her eyes focused on something he couldn’t see, with all the intensity of a tiger watching its prey.

“Gavan dar Eamon dar Mahon!” Her voice shattered the stifling stillness, creating a cacophony of agitated and angry calls that boomed through the branches. “Come forward. I can see you.”

A low chuckle rippled through the branches and the fog receded, revealing a winged Draconian whose yellow eyes gazed upon the bedraggled travelers with disdainful amusement. His scales gleamed sickly blackish-green in the hazy light of dusk and he was clad with only a hide loincloth and a collection of huge claws hung from a cord about his shoulders.

He walked toward them, branches bending to find his feet and sagging under his weight, but never daring to drop him. “The spirits told me that my death was coming, in the form of an immortal warrior from an indomitable line and an unstoppable seer who can peer into the depths of my sins. Instead I find a wretched dog on a leash and a weapon of great consequence held by an insignificant child.”

Seth growled, but didn’t say anything, and Karuka planted her spear on the branch with an authoritative thunk, standing to her full height. The Draconian shaman stood more than head and shoulders taller than she. “I don’t need Truesight to see your sins. Not when you revel in them. Not when all of Fiorair SCREAMS them!”

Gavan smirked condescendingly at her, stopping at a branch just across from them and maybe ten feet away. “Such sweet temper, even after that tantrum. Silence, girl. The men are talking.” He let his eyes travel dismissively from the girl to the ghoul. "A man who destroys everything he holds dear. What about that girl, there? How dear do you hold her?"

"That won't be your concern when you're feeding the trees you've terrorized." Karuka bristled and her muscles tensed, legs ready to propel her to the next branch and her spear through dar Eamon’s throat. Seth raised his hand, distracting and deflecting her. The longer they could keep their enemy talking, the better chance they had of coming up with a working plan.

“I would think you of all people could see telling that girl to shut up is a quick journey to becoming a eunuch…” Seth began, letting his eyes journey back to the Shaman before them. “Now, I’m willing to bet that you aren’t just here to see who’s going to kill you. So why don’t we skip the pleasantries and get down to business?”

“Why did I not kill you while you hung helplessly, you mean? Why would I, when you were doing my work for me?” A flicker of flame flitted across the Gavan’s fingers, drawing a hiss from the highly-flammable ghoul. “You see, dog, you are of no consequence to me. The girl, however...much more annoying. As you just witnessed.”

“Careful there, friend. I might start getting the feeling you are trying to insult me, and I have a good record of hurting those that make that mistake,” Seth snarled.

“Why would I care about the opinion of a miserable beast who allowed others to form it for him before he died?” Gavan spat. “You spent most your life living up to your heritage, and then the last few years of it cowering in terror of what you had wrought.”

Seth took a step forward, his posture straightening up, bringing him to his full height. Gavan didn’t so much as flinch at the obvious show of temper; the ghoul wasn’t so big compared to most of his own race. Seth glowered at him from under the hat, eyes narrowed to slits, looking down upon the Draconian. It took him a few moments to realize no more words had passed between them, despite every profanity that coursed through the ghoul’s mind. “Give me a reason not to water the trees with your blood…”

“Listen, dog. You can bark all you want, but don’t be thinking you can bite,” The Draconian said as another spark erupted from his hand, surprising Seth and eliciting a visible flinch from him. Gavan’s mouth opened into a dark leer at the blatant startle, letting the flame fly. The ghoul hopped back, instinctively protecting himself from the lethal tongue of flame. “Beasts are creatures of instinct,” Gavan rumbled, summoning up another fireball and winding it around his hand like a toy. “They grow up relying on instincts to hunt, thrive, and reproduce. Those instincts are all they are, boy, they are all they ever needed and have no concept of throwing away the things that kept them alive…”

Seth, to his credit, was trying to cover up the unease that had entered his soul, even as his knees bent slightly to allow for faster movement. While he had lost some height, it only seemed to underline the fight with the fear coursing through the Lavinian Demon. The fact he hadn’t already bolted was a testament to his willpower. He seemed prepared to move in some direction when Gavan began his speech once more.

“Men are not beasts. They refuse to submit to their base instincts and become all the stronger for it. Have you ever wondered why you are an undead abomination, feasting on the flesh of the living to keep your more civil behaviors, dog?” Gavan challenged Seth, that leer widening into a grin.

“You got a point you’re making?” Seth retorted.

“Have you ever thought, Seth Dahlios, that you are a beast in death, because thats all you were in life?” Warning sirens went off in Seth’s head and his body moved, no longer trying to close the gap. He was no longer in control of himself as the bolt of fire streaked at him. Soon he found himself crouching on a tree branch overlooking the area. The shaman laughed at the obvious fear before he began to pepper the flaming bolts at the ghoul in rapid succession, forcing him to leap from branch to branch. His laughter followed the pathetic undead creation in his flight. Soon the ghoul was gone, not wishing to risk it anymore.

Gavan sneered, addressing Karuka without looking at her, preferring the drama of treating her like a stray kitten whose protective wolf had run away without her. “And then there was o-” Yellow eyes finally reached the spot where the girl he’d written off as insignificant had been standing. Had been.

“The one that bites.” Her voice sounded from directly behind him. She had used his distraction with the ghoul to stalk her target, to be invisible to him until she was ready to strike. Pain pricked between dar Eamon’s wings before he could turn to face her, a stab from her spear that barely punctured his hard scales. But that tiny puncture was all the weapon needed to send electricity exploding through his body, making it writhe and convulse out of his control.

She danced around him while he twitched, prone, taking advantage of his weakness to drive the crackling prevalida spearhead into the muscle of his right wing, scorching and crippling it. Each of his barely-controlled thrashes to drive her away from him or knock her from the broad branch she dodged with grace, speed and a vicious blow from the blunt end of her weapon.

Infuriated and in agony, the shaman called out to the bog. While it hadn’t warned him of the first impending attack, it didn’t dare disobey his command directly. Vines, some thick and rigid, some young and pliable, unwound from the trees by the dozen. They lashed and wrapped around the girl, attacking her with the fury of a thousand damned souls.

They forced her back and away, often sacrificing themselves to her counter attacks, giving him a welcome opportunity to shake off the jerky spasms and get his feet back under him. His first mistake: letting her catch her breath.

His second mistake: disregarding her in favor of the ghoul. If he’d taken her out first, just after she’d wound down from her rage, there would have been only victory for him, instead of victory and pain.

She was an unusual thing, he mused as he watched her through yellow eyes. She had nearly tracked him down with no indication of where he might be. She moved through a bog she’d never seen before like it was home, because it told her about itself. Even though he was native to Fiorair, it didn’t simply chat with him. Now she batted and charged through the vines, still coming at him despite what had to be crushing exhaustion.

He had misjudged her. She wasn’t insignificant, just young. Her spirit was absolutely magnificent, nearly Draconic in the force of its will. He could use her.

The shaman took renewed control of his environs, attacking with purpose. Too many vines came for Karuka for her to dodge them all, wrapping around her and yanking her back, hitting her head on the tree’s trunk with a nasty crack.

Gavan dar Eamon’s yellow leer was the last thing Karuka saw.

[Dissinger]

The beast ran. It knew only fear, as the source of its destruction had come so close to consuming its life. It ignored logic and reason in favor of its survival. What good was rescuing a girl if the second a flame caressed him would be his last? There were so few forces able to destroy the beast, and it had an unnatural fear of those that carried the weight of his life or death. It continued to sprint, trying to put as much distance between itself and the shaman, even as the mocking laughter of Gavan dar Eamon rang in the ghoul’s ear.

The figure flitted from tree to tree without a second glance, each step sure and swift. There was no doubt, no confusion in the monster’s eyes; this was what it was supposed to do. That was, until he stepped on a branch, and despite the old tree being more than enough to support the ghoul’s weight, it snapped like a twig. The weight of the chains dragged his hands to below as he plummeted head first towards the ground.

A ghastly howl erupted before a loud [/i]crash[/i] filtered through the trees and the ghoul landed into the filmy murk below. The force of the creature’s impact sent the water spraying up in a cascade and left a deep indent in the mud at the bottom. The meteor that was the ghoul lay unable to move despite fighting with all his strength, the chains sinking deeper and deeper into the ground until he could barely move. His legs kicked off the ground to no avail, the mud giving no purchase and the chains giving no slack.

It growled and gnashed and wailed until the fog of fear dissipated. The monster, realizing it was safe despite its imprisonment, let logic and reason take hold once more.

Other than the occasional twitch of residual fear the ghoul remained still in the crater it had formed. Water dripped off the body even as it looked upon the chains. They seemed to symbolize so much of who he was. It was odd that they had saved him from a far more ignoble fate than mere death. The ever lurking fear of cowardice was a plague upon the Ghoul who had suffered too much from such a malady in life. Looking over the chains that had protected him he saw each individual link, almost for the first time, a glyph glowing and receding back into the wrought metal here and there.

“I never thought I’d be thankful these damn things are on me…” He muttered wryly. The clarity those words brought was soothing to the heady rush the adrenaline that had coursed through his body had created. He shook his head as he looked upon the chains and gave a soft sigh of frustration. Jerking his hand he saw he could maybe get a link out of the dirt, before they would hold fast and remain where they were.

“I’m getting tired of this shit.” He finally said after his moment’s reflection. He turned to face where he had fought against Gavan and jerked upon the chains, feeling them slip effortlessly from their muddy sheath. The thought of the shaman caused the ghoul to punch a nearby tree a residual crack echoing through the area. He left his knuckles resting against the splintered wood before he opened his hand and looked upon the damage he had done. His frustration was not in the loss, but the mere ease at how he had lost. It was then his thoguhts turned to the tawny girl he had left before the Shaman.

...you killed her… The girl didn’t have the sense to run, even when she was outmatched. She would have stayed to fight the shaman. Even if Karuka had run, Seth’s speed was far greater than her own and dar Eamon would have caught her and destroyed her. You killed her.

Fire kindled in his chest as those words wound through his head. He punched the tree before him again and again as he felt his frustrations mount with every act of overt violence. He had sat upon his rage, and shackled it was as impotent as a caged rat. He had no outlet to see it freed other than the occasional feeding, even then it didn’t diminish it. All he accomplished was reminding himself why he was angry. Finally the force of his blows had wrought enough harm and the poor tree that had served as his punching bag collapsed, bringing the ancient plant down.

He looked upon the freshly destroyed tree, before he finally spoke, giving voice to that impotent rage, “I’m tired of people shackling me to my past. I’m tired of being punished for crimes I tried to atone for relentlessly. I’m tired of being judged by people who have no concept of what happened. I’m more than gods be damned tired of being forced to be a beast when I know I could have kicked that son of a bitch’s ass!”

Silence, as profound as when he awoke to his dead parents greeted him. It seemed only to ask what he was going to do about it.

“I may have killed a girl with this stupid curse, but I’ll be damned if I don’t drag that smug asshole to hell with me…” He finally said.

The first to go was the fear of what he could do. He was a murdering monster, and it had gotten him this far. People didn’t mess with him because they knew the consequences. It had protected friends who used his name. He was their shield against other monsters who feared the wrath of the Lavinian Demon. To be anything less than who he was, would only serve to hinder his actions. He was tired of living like he was going to break everything about him because of what he was capable of.

Next went the guilt of his actions. He was dead, the hole in his chest proved this. There could be no debate; he had paid penance for his sins. His debts for crimes committed was repaid the moment the Homunculi Kycoo punched through Seth’s chest to the heart of the Lavinian Demon. Execution of sentence was carried out when his heart hit the dirt, the final wound that the Lavinian could not ignore. He had died a warriors death, on his feet and fighting. There could be no more noble a death.

He rose to his full height as he face the sky for the first time he could remember. His eyes closed even as he felt the moisture from landing in the bog trickle down his body. He was drenched, but free. A baptism of sorts had finally shed the guilt of his old life, giving him back the freedom to act, that very freedom that had driven him to become a thief in the first place. The few errant rays of sunlight filtered down on him, blessing the ghoul’s skin with its scorching heat. He basked in it for a moment before his eyes opened.

Seth Dahlios, Thief Extraordinaire in defiance of the laws of his home.

Seth Dahlios, Lavinian Demon for the death of his parents by his hand.

Seth Dahlios, Scourge of Scara Brae for the brazen theft of their arena.

Seth Dahlios, Hex Magi for the power that sang in his very blood.

Seth Dahlios, Poster Child of Lavinya, showing the world the problems of absolute power.

You killed her…

“Shut up, I’m going to set it right,” Seth responded. Without another word, he was off climbing the trees about him. His gait saw him leap from tree to tree before a chain snaked out and caught a low lying branch. With little effort he swung forward and hooked another chain, brachiating through the forest until with enough momentum, he landed amongst the thickened tree branches. Seth Dahlios, moved towards another fight. This time however, he pulled up his gauntlets as he stalked towards his targets.

Gavan dar Eamon may have sucker punched him with his fear of fire, but Seth would never give him that opening twice.

[Karuka]

“Degraded, defiled and broken, but a powerful Tenalach. She will be useful to us.� The voices - this one female, most male - filtered in and out of her awareness, but were not what had called her back.

Pain pervaded Karuka’s world, starting at an angry throbbing in the back of her skull and traveling down her body. Deep rends tore carefully-carved patterns up and down her arms and legs and across her belly and back. Her vlince was gone, replaced with a crude lizardskin wrapping around her chest and hips. What little skin on her wasn’t red with blood was livid purple and black with bruises. Every fiber of every muscle groaned in misery.

But that hadn’t called her back to consciousness, either.

Taodoine chirped nearby, anxiously crying out for her to come help him. She struggled to rise, shunting her own injuries to the side, but she was lashed to a rough wooden platform by her wrists and ankles, unable to move.

“She stirs,� a raspy male voice piped up from her left side. “Why did we not kill her before now?�

Blue eyes cracked open as far as they could to regard the speaker, a red Draconian male whose eyes locked onto the elder shaman. Standing with him were three other apprentices; a black, a blue, and a green. The green was a winged female, likely dar Eamon’s own daughter. Her eyes, a paler yellow than Gavan’s, looked upon her prisoner with a mix of pity and revulsion.

“All we’ve broken for sure is her body.� Gavan dar Eamon stepped forward, heavy feet silent on the thick moss that padded the clearing. Something sharp and warm - likely a bone knife; certain traditions preferred them for ritual sacrifice - ran down the redhead’s belly, not quite slicing into her already abused skin. “To use her, that is not nearly enough.�

Karuka gathered up the thick, stale blood that had pooled in her mouth, letting the red glob fly for her captor’s eye. Gavan roared in fury, slamming the back of his hand across her face with enough force to send darkness and spiralling lights dancing through her vision. A scream of agony and anger tore free from her throat, echoing out of the small, circular ritual grove and through the trees beyond. Wind stirred the leaves, swirling the scents of human blood with fetid swamp water and the sharp, bitter herbs of a binding ritual that had yet to truly begin. A snarl escaped the bloodied redhead; these bastards intended to add her spirit to the thousands of tortured souls trapped within the bog.

Criing. Chlang.

There it was, the out-of-place sound that had called her back through the black fog: the jangle of chains and the bog’s murmured warning of death descending.

The Draconians worked around her, rubbing their claws with poisonous plants to torture her as painfully as possible. Were they deaf? Or…

Swollen lips pulled back from bloodied teeth. “Duilaithe,� she sneered. Five pairs of reptilian eyes focused on the lone human. Rejected? From what?

Chains burst from the edge of the clearing in answer to the unspoken question, slamming through the chest of the red acolyte and the head of the blue. Blood and bone shards showered down on Karuka, gore that at long last was not her own. Undead arms yanked back, dropping the headless corpse and dragging the heartless a few yards, until it caught on a rock and the chain ripped free. Three living Draconian jaws dropped; the Hex Ghoul should have been long gone, never to return to Fiorair for fear of its cremation.

Malice flew in their moment of stunned inaction, the obsidian blade tumbling end over end, whistling toward its target. Seth could have aimed for any of the Draconians and perhaps killed one, but their retaliation would have been immediate and fatal. Instead, without even the slimmest margin for error, the ghoul’s aim was for the ropes binding Karuka’s right hand. The angle was terrible, the blade poorly balanced to throw.

The throw itself was flawless. Malice sheared neatly through the ropes and dug its tip into the table without so much as scratching the girl’s skin. Freed, her hand moved of its own accord, grabbing the dagger’s hilt and slashing at the ropes that held her other hand.

Three Draconians moved at once, the two acolytes going for the sacrifice and the shaman launching himself forward to deal with the ghoul. Fire burst forth from his hand, but a tiny, tumbling ball of red and gold intercepted it, taking the blast and landing on the ground unchanged save for a few pinfeathers that had emerged from his fluff.

If Karuka’s bird was here… Seth’s eyes traveled up to where it had fallen from. There were her things - her satchel, her spear... and her knife belt. A bloodied chain flicked up, sweeping the lot down, where Taodoine immediately scuttled to reclaim his safe hiding space in the bag.

A pained snarl came from the altar, and the female Draconian stumbled back, shaking her head to clear blood from her eyes. Karuka - only recognizable now for her dark red hair and the fact she was sawing herself free instead of playing dead - lashed out at the black acolyte the instant the last rope snapped, plunging through clawed hands to drive Malice through the soft flesh at the base of his throat, dropping him before he had a chance to attack her further.

A wry chuckle left the ghoul’s throat. Karu was half dead and still fighting. Sounded about right. “And then there were two,� he addressed dar Eamon, chucking one of the girl’s throwing knives at the shaman’s face before he could build up another fireball, forcing him to retreat. “Catch!�

He sent the spear flying for the girl he was bound to, redwood and prevalida gleaming in the dim light. The ghoul turned his attention to the shaman when her hand closed around it; Karuka could handle herself for a couple of minutes at least. “Who’s the beast now?�

Across the clearing, a bloodied human faced off against a winged Draconian, blue eyes glowering into pale yellow ones. Karuka could hear the screams of Fiorair’s spirits, could feel its rage beating in her blood. All she could see in the other woman was a bewildered trepidation.

“What…?�

“What?� Karuka spat more blood onto the moss. “A weapon of great consequence, in the hands of a master.�

[Dissinger]

The dance began.

Blades began to join it in a lazy arc as the juggling of blades slowly pulled every last knife from her belt. While Seth had thrown Malice with utmost skill, he knew that just as much luck had been responsible for his success. Not that the Ghoul would ever admit it. Still Gavan stalked over to him as the last knife joined the swirling mesh of metal, each twist, turn and toss keeping the blades spinning about Seth. Dar Eamon looked at the haughty display before him and cocked his head in confusion the now empty leather belt falling to the moist soil of the bog.

He relished that look even as the Shaman spoke. “What in the hells brought you back to your death?”

A dark chuckle escaped Seth. “You think you can kill me. That’s cute.”

“I can send you running in fear with a single flick of the wrist, beast. You have no power here; this is my domain. There is nothing you can do that will stop me, no ruse you can play that won’t end in you cremated and sent back to the hell in which you belong,” Gavan challenged taking a firmer grip on the bone blade in his hand.

“Enough talk, Gavan. If you are going to attack, do it,” Seth responded in kind. The Shaman grinned as he called forth the vines again, certain to trap the once great man and drag him down into the bog. Though he had freed the girl, and though that was an inconvenience, he could make the Ghoul watch her bleed, break and die. The beast had come back to challenge the Lord of the Swamp for the sake of his master, and for that insolence he would suffer.

What shocked him was how fast the Ghoul was. One second he was in front of the Draconian, the next he was behind the Shaman, kicking Gavan forwards. As he stumbled a step he realized the vines were now going past him, slowing his own feet as he had to pull them from the writhing mass he had called forth. So, he went to the only way he could quickly end the fight, summoning fire to his hand, only to find a knife sailing through the air at him, lodging into a bicep with the force of a crossbow bolt.

He stumbled from the force, dropping to a knee momentarily. The vines continued their movement, snaking their way over his leg, openly defying him while simultaneously obeying him.“I am your master,” he screeched. “Get off me!”

The vines recoiled with a speed they had not shown in attacking the Ghoul. It was then Seth’s taunting laughter filtered to his ears. He looked up at the Ghoul as another knife fired out, sticking into his other bicep. With an enraged roar, the shaman gripped the blades, ripping them out of his arms. Seth’s mocking words echoed in his head. “You aren’t the master of anything, but being a colossal dick. Is it any wonder the bog purposefully corrupts your orders with the shit you pulled? Tell me, how did you force it to listen to you when you decided to use it as a weapon, rather than protect it as a warden?”

“You know the answer Ghoul, you can certainly feel it.” Gavan challenged as he pulled to his feet, the ground beneath him firming to support the effort. Seth’s eyes narrowed slightly, then widened when he realized what the Draconian meant. It had taken a while for him to register it, so vibrant was Fiorair’s web of life, but dar Eamon barely registered in his sense of life. It worked well in protecting him from Seth’s senses; where Gavan was a flickering candle flame, Karuka had been a bonfire that had drawn him as a ship to a lighthouse. Her light had brought him here, but it also greatly eclipsed that of his opponent.

“You’re sick,” Seth finally managed as Gavan laughed heartily, bringing the bone blade out to the side. He charged the Ghoul and brought his knife into Seth’s juggling act, only to find it wasn’t just for show. The Lavinian finally went on the offensive when the Shaman challenged his blade barrier. The second he switched from defense to attack daggers came from everywhere, stabbing and slashing at the defiler before him. Blood sang through the air until Gavan collapsed under more pain. He shook his head to clear it before he spoke.

“I was told you lost those daggers to Sarah, your sister. How did you get them back?”

“Easy, I asked for them back. How many fragments did you make, Gavan?”

“All in good time, my dear tinderbox,” Gavan snarled as he charged back into the Ghoul. Seth let daggers drop from the weave as he went down to a particular two. Two that seemed to react more quickly, more intuitively to his maneuvers. Ebony and Ivory easily parried the single dagger the man wielded before the Ghoul grabbed Gavan by the throat and hoisted him up, holding him impassively aloft though the shaman was nearly as massive as he was. The waters of the bog dripped free from Gavan’s claws, rushing free of him as quickly as they could. He flapped his wings, fighting to unbalance the Ghoul, but the cold grip was iron, the dead face impassive.

“How many did you make, Gavan?” Seth growled.

“Enough,” Gavan retorted, trying to maintain his superiority despite failing to affect Seth at all. He held his hands out to the side, causing Seth to tighten his grip on the man’s throat to bruising force. Reptilian hands reached up to claw at Seth’s hand, sacrificing the spark they were trying to summon in the fight to survive. “Twelve.”

“You shred your soul twelve times to force Fiorair to obey you?” Seth asked. For once the Ghoul could not contain his surprise. He himself had done something similar, shredding his soul once. To do so twelve times…

“I needed the Tenalach; she can give me the control to make the sacrifice worthwhile! A weapon that the outsiders could never fathom, creating impenetrable protection around Dheathain! You would never understand Ghoul, you destroyed everything precious to you for nothing more than a sick and twisted powerplay!”

Seth threw the shaman, skipping him across the muddy ground as a stone across water. A resounding crack thundered through the forest as a tree helpfully stopped his momentum. The Shaman hunched beneath the branches, slow to rise. Each breath was a separate piece of agony.

He looked upon Gavan with a look of utter revulsion before he spoke. “Do you know what the punishment for shredding your soul like that is? You aren’t a whole soul, Gavan dar Eamon. There is no judgment for ones like you-”

“Then all the better, without judgment I shall go to the afterlife I deserve for protect-”

“You deluded fool." Seth responded. Gavan tried to fling a flame at the Ghoul, only to find it went wildly off course when the Ghoul simply disappeared from his sight, only to reappear with his right hand around the shaman’s neck, slamming him against the tree with another resounding crack. Seth’s explanation continued. “You aren’t even close to the truth. There will be no glory of heaven, no punishment of hell for us. We are the dead that walk the Immaterium for eternity. We watch every last accomplishment die. We will get no respite from our vigil. We shall never see our loved ones. We will simply exist, cursed to watch everything we hold dear crumble to dust. We will watch our loved ones try and fail. We will think we can save them, but they will follow us into damnation, and there will be nothing we can do to stop it.”

Gavan’s eyes seemed to focus elsewhere. His brow furrowed at the message he received before he looked at Seth, “You haven’t killed me, have you more righteous blathering to offend my sense of smell with?”

The Lavinian Demon had to give the man credit for staying the course with false bravado. Seth merely slammed Gavan into the trunk of the tree once more before the knife fell from the shaman’s grip. The blade sunk into the mud before he felt the call. The sirens wail of a child crying for its father. Seth glowered at the Shaman as he sneered, “You had it all this time and you hid it from me…”

Gavan smiled, teeth covered in blood before he croaked, “You are supposed to be a master of daggers that saw his blades as family, how could you not recognize your own Spite?”

[Karuka]

As Hex Ghoul and Honorless Guardian faced off on the other side of the clearing, the Scion and the Sacrifice glared at each other. The moss on which they stood reeked with human blood and oozed with slime. Corpses littered the sacred soil, ripped from their lives by one dead and one dying.

Maidreach ar Gavan had done everything her father had asked of her. She had set up the ritual table exactly to his specifications, everything was in readiness for the Tenalach he had sensed coming to be bound to the swamp, a spectral slave. She had watched him lay the girl down, strip her of her foreign clothing and garb her in the lizard hide that would let their magic flow through her more easily. She had watched him give the prisoner over to her fellow students to break, had watched the human slip in and out of consciousness during their rough treatment. She had watched her father carve the ritual glyphs into the soft golden flesh.

Blood still flowed from the girl at every heartbeat, washing over her like death’s baptism. Karuka o Faylinn could hardly stand, and yet those blue eyes still met the Draconian shaman’s yellow ones defiantly, a force of will stronger than fire.

It was ridiculous; the young shaman was strong and healthy, the human at least half dead. And yet something in the way she held herself despite her injuries, something about the fury simmering in her eyes, something about the fire that burned so hot in her soul nothing four acolytes had done could extinguish… It was Maidreach who flinched, taking a step back. And it was Karuka who took advantage of it, leveling her spear and charging forward, intending murder with every ounce of strength she had left to her.

The Tenalach had no strength left, she had no chance, didn’t she see that? Lack of blood dragged her steps and robbed her arms of strength. She had nothing. She had nothing and her charge had to be a bluff.

Maidreach straightened up, spreading her wings and showing her formidable fangs to the human in a threat display of her own. There was no way this broken human could possibly -

A roar became a howl as metal punctured a leathery membrane. The howl became a scream as lightning exploded from the metal, leaving the wing spasming uncontrollably though the reptilian woman pulled away. The human’s charge had been no bluff.

Both women gasped in the aftermath of Karuka’s attack. The redhead, though ferocious, was weak. The green-scaled, though strong, had been caught off guard and injured. Yellow eyes glanced to the men. Her father was struggling against the dead man. The living female would die from her injuries or by Maidreach’s hand soon enough.

If she died unbound to the swamp, there was no point in any of their family’s trials or the sacrifice’s suffering. The junior shaman had no time to break the Tenalach’s spirit and she disagreed with her father that that was the best course of action. Surely the soul would be a better control for the soul fragments and the swamp itself if it still had its fight. Gavan already had control of Fiorair and his reach extended into Luthmor. What would there be for Karuka after she was a bound soul but to fall into line under his claws?

The redhead charged again, whirling her spear fro a battering strike to her captor’s skull. Maidreach ducked from it, only to take a sharp jab to the other wing. With a furious screech, she slammed a scaled hand into an already-crushed cheekbone, sending the smaller creature flying into the soft moss.

With the human struggling to rise and her wings dragging uselessly behind her, Maidreach rushed to the offering table, still slick with rapidly-drying blood. In it she could make out some of the patterns carved into Karuka’s back - glyphs of sealing. The glyphs representing Fiorair and Luthmor - the truly wild parts of Dheathain - marked her belly, from just below her ribs to her navel.

A sacred incantation and a touch of flame began the ritual. Herbs selected for their connections to the spirit world, to the earth, and for their ability to channel magic burned along with the blood already spilt. It filled the glade with a noxious, reeking fume, and Karuka, already almost to her feet, braced herself on her staff, fighting down an agonized cry.

Every single cut on her began to burn, bubbling the skin and sealing the flesh. She could feel Fiorair roar in frustration, calling her to it but begging her stand. Screaming at her to fight. Her world was red and pain and blood and fire and fear, and not all of it her own. She grabbed desperately for the life she felt burning out of her, because she would be damned if she stopped fighting now.

Swollen lips pulled back from teeth; another chanted phrase built the agony to new heights. A growl ripped from her throat, then a scream. A scream that made the Draconian female pause and look up…

A scream as much rage as pain.

Somehow, despite her injuries, the human picked up her weapon once more, charging forward with all the fury of the swamp’s lost souls. She slashed and stabbed, attacking the young shaman with expert ferocity. Her strikes were weak and slow, but blocking them delayed Maidreach in completing the incantation, and as often as not one attack served as a distraction for another.

Finally, with a shove that knocked Karuka once more to the ground, Maidreach shouted the final incantation. “Go dtÃ* deireadh an ama!â€�

Every nerve in the Celt’s body exploded at the same time. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t cry. Her flesh begged her to slip into the merciful blackness of oblivion and flee the white-hot agony that jolted up and down her limbs and through her organs. Her body bowed backward in a rictus of agony, bony shoulders digging into the peat.

It lasted forever, and she collapsed limply when the spell had run its course, sucking in ragged breaths of fetid, humid air. She could feel the swamp, all of it, from border to border. She could feel where Gavan had placed the shards of his soul. She could feel the people within it, the ancient buildings, the even more ancient trees.

The squish of a heavy foot on damp ground brought her back to her senses; with her bound, the shamans needed her dead.

“Duilaithe," she spat, though it was more rasp than whisper. “Can’t you hear it?�

A purple, blue and amber hand gripped the blood-stained earth beneath it, calling. In response, vines shot up from the ground, encircling and ensnaring the Draconian who had botched her ritual. With every instant they climbed higher, grabbing more insistently with every panicked tug. Finally, mercilessly, they pulled back into the ground, sucking down Maidreach with the dreadful sounds of snapping bones and rending flesh. She managed a scream before she died, an alien sound that echoed for more than a mile despite the heavy air and dense vegetation.

Exhausted and woozy, but no longer bleeding, Karuka rolled to her stomach, shoving herself first to all fours, then to her knees. Finally, with the help of her spear - freshly dubbed Consequence - she stood, lumbering to Seth and his toy.

“Do you hear it, Gavan? Fiorair is angry.�

Shock covered the Shaman’s face; the ritual had not only completed, the human lived and had her own will. But he was still the swamp’s master, even if the Tenalach was fighting for that title now. With a gesture, he called on the vines and the trees one more time, because the dim existence of the ghoul was rapidly turning hot and bright. He couldn’t take them both at once… not like this.

With an alacrity Fiorair hadn’t shown in days, the bog obeyed, lashing onto the girl and sucking her into a tree, which pulled her in and encased her. With her dealt with until he could take care of her properly, he turned once more to the ghoul.

[Dissinger]

Time seemed to still in the clearing as the Shaman turned back to the ghoul. Each glowered at the other, the tension in the area rising to the point one would need a machete to traverse the bog. The two circled the clearing, seeking openings in their opponent’s defenses. Both knew the score at this moment, Seth had inflicted superficial wounds, and Gavan was a mere spark away from roasting the ghoul. They stopped sizing each other up and looked across the clearing at each other. Seth knelt down, carefully gripping the hilt of his long-lost dagger, Gavan pointing distastefully at the blade. “It spoke to me, of your sins and your death in the hopes of atonement,” he spat.

“Where I come from, we have an old saying,” Seth rumbled.

Gavan felt the weight of the ghoul’s words and cocked his head to the side and challenged, “And just what is that?”

“Do not wield another’s blades, you cannot fathom the choices they have made,” Seth replied firmly. Blades tucked safely into dagger belt he cracked the knuckles in his hands as he looked upon Gavan dar Eamon. The shaman seemed to drink it in, before for one moment, everything changed. Gavan visibly flinched as Seth’s soul burst forth from every pore of his skin, radiating outwards in a searing heat that the swamp seemed to back off from.

“Oh but I can, Zek’smaug’ok’s spirit resides in that blade, bound forever in service to you. It whispered to me your secrets, thinking I could put an end to his torment. When I have disposed of you, beast, I shall have the animus of a dragon added to my impressive collection of spirits-”

“Enough talk!” Seth’s voice boomed through the clearing. Gavan tried to stand firm before the ghoul only to find his opponent had disappeared only to reappear behind him. A savage punch to the back of dar Eamon’s head sent his thoughts askew. He stumbled a step, only for a second punch, then a third to slam brutally into his skull. He finally spun to face his attacker only to start finding he was more than capable of punching him in the face. He staggered under the blows, bringing his arms in close and waited. The Draconian shoved the next punch wide, sending it flying past the Shaman’s face. Before he could send a punch of his own at the ghoul, a cold hand viciously gripped the scales on the back of his skull.

The ghoul yanked dar Eamon forward, smashing a knee into his stomach. A choking gasp filtered into the clearing as the shaman fell to the muddy ground, unable to find respite from the ghoul’s assault. He hunched over, catching his breath before his hand burst into flame. Bringing his hand up he tried a sucker punch into the centermass of the ghoul, only to find he was no longer there. His punch carried him up off his feet, the flames dying as his elation at the easy win turned to confusion. Where had the ghoul gone?

A chain snared around his neck each link inscribed with a rune that glowed and faded. His hands clawed at the metal, trying to get some grip only to feel a savage kick force his knee to bend. He was brought to his knees even as the boot planted firmly between the shaman’s damaged wings. The only sound he could make was a gasping wheeze.

“I should rip your head off right now, but that’s too good a death for you, Gavan dar Eamon,” Seth hissed.

The chain uncoiled, giving him much-needed air. The ghoul only gave him a brief respite, picking up the Shaman and throwing him towards the nearest tree. The Shaman, in a brief moment of lucidity, flapped his wings and halted his backward momentum. Hovering just off the ground he struggled towards the sky, hopefully to rain fire down on the man. He had underestimated the ghoul, who despite encountering flame twice had evaded every attempt to be lit ablaze. He began to gain altitude before he hear the clanking of chains.

When he had fought the ghoul the first time he had seen the ghoul use the chain to grab the girl by the foot. It had shown he was rather skilled with the things, but he had never expected the speed and accuracy to catch a Draconian midflight. He tried to gain more height, and was sadly disabused by the notion when his flight turned into a meteoric descent. He slammed deep into the ground with a wet slap. Try as he might, he couldn’t gain any traction against the ghoul who, with a jerk of the chain, began to bring Gavan into motion again.

“Your wings, you won’t be needing those anymore, right?”

A shiver crawled up Gavan’s spine as the ghoul in a rotating motion began to lift the Draconian off the ground. With the wet dirt offering little resistance he began to spin wildly, arms flailing to catch anything to hold onto. His wild journey ended abruptly with his back slapping harshly against one of the trees. A cry of pain erupted from the Shaman when he felt something give in his wings. He knew if he survived today it would be months before he could fly. His back was alight with pain, even as he felt the tug of the chain. In a blind panic he reached for his ankle, only to find himself sent sailing through the air again. He clawed for anything to hold. He begged and pleaded to whatever merciful god that existed he could stop the motion, but his prayers went unanswered. Once more the wings slammed against unyielding wood.

This time he knew they were shattered. He would never fly again.

The chain mercifully uncoiled from about his ankle, the pain there eclipsed by the burning agony that had engulfed his back. He reached for the wings to find them as pliant as his skin in places they should have been rigid and firm. Nothing short of magic or a miracle would see them to even half the functionality they once served. He whimpered in pain, trying to assess the damage before a boot slammed into his back, giving him a new definition of the word.

Everything hurt. Gavan dar Eamon had lost everything to the brutal onslaught of the ghoul, who seemed all too eager to stop the game he had been playing. He tried to stand up only to be forced back into the dirt, the wave of agony created by the boot pressing on his back too much for him to overcome. He let out another strangled cry, knowing Seth had him. He didn’t even want to summon fire anymore. He was genuinely afraid of what would happen if he dared again.

The ghoul grabbed Gavan by the back of his neck and dragged him to the middle of the clearing. He circled his prey before he sneered, “You don’t deserve wings. You’re a weak pissant that deserves nothing good, nothing special.”

Gavan shivered at the cold tone before his eyes widened, hearing the sound of bone upon metal. He attempted to scramble only to feel a chain wrap about his ankle, dragging him closer. A boot snapped his leg at the shin with ease, sending a new wave of agony. It was finally too much for the shaman who vomited at the trauma his body was put into. His eyes were glazed over at the act, and he seemed oblivious to the sounds of meat peeling back. He wasn’t sure what was going on, until before him, lay the tattered remnants of his wings. It was then he heard Seth growl in his ear, “There…”

Gavan moaned in pain only the see the demon walk into his vision. He grabbed Gavan by his snout and forced the Draconian to look at into the soulless gray eyes.

“Oh no, I’m not going to kill you,” Seth sneered into his face. “You get to live this tortured agonized existence. That would be too easy a fate for you, to die by my hand. Now, undo whatever the hell you did to my friend, or I will introduce you to levels of agony I’ve only dreamt of trying.”

Ebony slid from its sheath with the hungry rasp of metal on leather. The flat of the blade tapped ever so gently against the tip of the Draconian’s snout, sending agony rippling afresh through every wound on his body.

“I cannot.” Dar Eamon’s head didn’t fight the ghoul’s grip; it was over. The ghoul could only torture him anymore; there was nothing he could do to rescue the redhead. “Fiorair is harsh, it does not heed the broken and the beaten. I have lost, beast. But so have you, and so has she. Take comfort, though. Her tomb is better than yours will ever be.”

[Karuka]

All was quiet, dark and warm. Smooth wood gently cradled her battered body. Soothing sap spread over her burns, cuts and bruises, easing her agony. With Gavan’s control slipping away, the swamp had stopped screaming. Instead it sang and hummed to her. She was welcome here in Fiorair. She was wanted. She was loved.

Bound to Dheathain, whether through evil purpose or love of the land, she could feel its strength and vitality. Every leaf, every vine, every twist of every root - it was part of her, and she of it. Gavan’s soul shards, scattered around the swamp, were not welcome or wanted.

No more.

~*~*~

Seth glared at the wingless Draconian, then looked at the tree where Karuka was entombed. He could take the tree down in a matter of minutes and pull her out, but if she hadn’t suffocated in the time he’d spent torturing dar Eamon, she certainly would be dead by the time he managed to effect a rescue. Gavan was right about one thing: if Karu had to be buried anywhere, this was probably a place that suited her.

He opened himself, feeling for her life force. He expected that roaring bonfire to be down to a flickering ember or a cold cinder. What he felt instead made him gasp. Her life force filled the grove, a wildfire beating without hesitation or limit. She permeated the air and water, the trees burned with her light. The ancient one that had swallowed her unfurled like a flower, and what emerged from its embrace was no human girl. “I should have known not to listen to you,” he growled at the Shaman. “You’ve been wrong about everything so far, why is this any different?”

Karuka emanated light, shining like the sun and driving out the gloom of the bog. Where Gavan had carved into her flesh was covered with what looked like molten gold, so that she was clad in glory. Shining red hair flew every direction, though there was no wind, and when she came to the end of her slow descent, the moss steamed and scorched beneath her feet.

Blazing blue eyes regarded both disgraced men, but settled on the one whose heart still beat. Sure steps drew her nearer, and the ghoul took his opportunity to slink away to the edge of the clearing, lest she turn her rage on him instead.

“Gavan, son of Eamon.” Karuka’s mouth didn’t move, but her voice boomed from all around the grove. ”You offered me slavery in death. But the bog rejects you, and so do I. Instead of dominion, we give you oblivion.”

Gavan started screaming again, this time in soul-deep agony as her force of will, bound with the bog’s, sought out and destroyed his soul fragments with the same relentless fury as wasps hunted their prey. With each step, another one shattered, dispersing his life force into nothingness. By the time she reached him, he was a drooling, panting husk of a man, glazed over eyes incapable of processing any sight, ears unable to process any sound, body, mind and spirit unable to process any more pain.

The ground beneath him lifted him to a kneeling position, and a golden hand clamped down on the top of his skull. There was no scream, no whimper, no sigh of resignation. He simply flaked away at her touch until there was nothing left to mark that the defiling Shaman had ever existed.

Karuka turned to Seth, regarding him with her burning blue eyes, looking at him, into him, through him.

Before he could speak, the light faded from her and she collapsed where she stood, clad only in the lizardskin the shamans had provided her. Her skin was clear of blood and bruises, but two scars remained right below her rib cage - a pair of symbols representing the bond she now shared with the land of Dheathain.

[Dissinger]

Everything changed.

Seth had been intending to draw out Gavan’s defeat; he wanted the man to suffer for killing a friend. Said friend had other things in mind as she emerged, healed and glowing bright as the mid day sun. He watched the summary execution of the shaman without batting an eye. The destruction of the annoying foe serving a purpose of also cutting his earthly ties to this plane. Seth wished he could have kept a totem intact, to ensure that if Gavan’s soul somehow survived, he’d be stuck in the afterlife watching the firmament for a long, long while.

Even still Seth felt Gavan had taken quite a beating from the redhead.

He moved to the girl when he heard the sounds of twigs snapping from the far end of the clearing. A knife appeared in his hand, his eyes going to the source of the noise where another draconian approached. The ghoul let out a throaty growl. “Why shouldn’t I kill you where you stand?” he muttered.

“I am of the druidic order meant to care for and protect this region.” The response was measured and even. It was not the response of a prey or predator, but of a man that understood such relationships. It was a neutrality that didn’t immediately set Seth on edge to defend the fallen girl. Still, the Lavinian moved between the new arrival and his unconscious charge and hunched, preparing to strike fast if he wished it.

“Your use of the fear response was quite inspiring,” the Druid continued impassively. “Proof that even those succumbing to fear can use it to their advantage.”

“Why are you here?” Seth was having no part in the druid’s banter.

“Gavan Dar Eamon had sealed us out of Fiorar. We could tend to small patches of the bog, but in reality we had no ability to soothe its pain, until a certain undead monstrosity beat Gavan in a fair fight. Though anything that involves you could hardly be called such. Once we felt the connection reopen, we rushed to aid the swamp in all the problems Gavan purposefully inflicted to turn the bog into a hostile land. He was using his control to push the bog into becoming a weapon.”

“He said as much,” Seth replied looking at the singed dirt that had once been the shaman.

“We were warned you’d approach. The bog made it clear to let you pass, to let Gavan think he had easy pickings of you. We kept out all other trespassers so you had a wide playing field.” The man was far closer to a reptile than human, though he could see the features that marked the more human aspects. His neck was pencil thin and seemed to be nothing more than one long, elaborate windpipe. Scales covered his arms and shoulders. They seemed to form where hair would appear on a normal human and ran along his spine where Seth could see. It was an oddity to the half-human half-homunculus.

“Thanks, I guess? What is the point of talking to me, if you’re in the process of retaking the bog?”

The man tilted his head curiously as it considered its answer before he pointed at the girl. “The Tenalach. We’re ensuring she remains alive. The bog told us what had happened, and we need to ensure its warden is still amongst the living.”

“Don’t you worry about her. She’s like a ragweed in a field,” Seth grumbled.

The man let out a wry chuckle. “Those are not your words, are they? They are the words of a comrade in arms. A friend you have not thought of since your death…”

Letho Ravenheart had muttered those words more than once when he had been forced to watch Seth endure wounds that would have eventually killed a lesser man. He often chided whoever worried about the thief by explaining if something killed Seth, they were all doomed, because Seth dying wasn’t possible. Except here I am…

“I think I’ve about had it with freaky dragon people telling me shit I already know like it holds some importance,” Seth muttered as the knife slipped back into a sheath. He pointed at the bodies. “I need their meat, if you want the bones for burial or something fine-”

“No, it’s fitting they are desecrated by your need for flesh. Devour them and I will take the bones. We shall etch glyphs that will ensure they not enjoy rest in the afterlife, and be punished for what they had wrought.”

“And people call me a monster,” Seth muttered.

The draconian bristled at the words. “Do not mistake us for allies Seth Dahlios, Lavinian Demon,” he spat. “Had I my wish, the bog would devour you for sustenance, but you are the Tenalach’s ward and she is Fiorar’s. The bog recognizes the bond between you, even if you do not. It wishes to protect you both.”

Teeth spread in a predatory grin before the ghoul spoke calmly. “Finally you say something that makes some gods be damned sense around here.”

“Go, eat, give me the bones and I shall take my leave. The girl may leave the bog, but tell her it will expect her to return occasionally in order to have her help correct its path. She will know what this means.” The man waved a hand impatiently before the ghoul moved to the bodies and began to strip them in front of the Draconian. If the druid was at all concerned or mortified he didn’t show it, instead looking at the girl as the chains worked their way around the ghoul’s arms once more. There was little else he could tell the ghoul for her that Fiorair wouldn’t tell her; what he had told Seth was more so the ghoul knew he was no enemy. Finally he spoke. “The bog wishes you to know one thing.”

Seth stopped and looked upon the Draconian with a look of confusion.

“You pave a path of bodies in an effort to seek the atonement for your parents. You and I both know the truth, you already had it.” The man then stood up and went over the the altar and began to move about clearing Gavan dar Eamon’s taint from the runic flagstones. He paused in his work when Taodoine emerged from Karuka’s satchel, bending down to stroke the fluffy little bird and offer him some pieces of raw meat that he’d brought specifically in case the Tenalach’s familiar required food. He and his order were no allies of Seth, but they owed Karuka some allegiance, after all she’d been through and become.

Seth merely shook his head and muttered about creepy shamanistic pricks and began to feast, feeling the animalistic instincts recede in the residual feeding frenzy. Bones were tossed in a pile near where Gavan died, and when the last one was added the Druid walked up and nodded, collecting a few choice ones in a satchel and rushing off to begin their eternal torment.

Seth picked up the girl after he had cleaned himself of the blood and carefully cradled her against his chest. It was then he heard the chirping of the baby phoenix who hobbled towards him. The fear sent an electric jolt through so powerful it almost caused his heart to beat in concern that if the bird truly hated him, he’d be a flaming pile of ghoul. Carefully setting her down again, he opened her bag and was grateful when the little ball of down feathers crawled into the pack on its own and began to nestle into an extra shirt she had. Shouldering her gear once more he cradled the girl and began his journey.

The druid called out one last time. “Veyet'toon, wer marfedelom di ithquenti.”

Seth stopped and looked back over his shoulder and shouted out, “Goodbye creepy!” He then continued, and never looked back, as he continued for the port. He’d had enough of the bog full of bugs trying to eat him alive.

[Karuka]

A warm wind brushed over Karuka’s face, stirring her hair and calling her back from the darkness. It brought with it the scents of grass and brush; things that didn’t grow in the bog. The warm embrace and sense of belonging she felt in her spirit told her she was still within Fiorair’s boundaries, though.

A hungry avian cry pierced though the haze in her barely-conscious mind, and a grumbled curse answered it. Blue eyes opened to the sight of a gigantic ghoul perched gingerly in a branch above a tiny baby bird. He reached down gingerly with a stick, offering a bite-sized meaty sacrifice to the avatar of fire. Taodoine greedily snatched the food, bobbing his head while he swallowed it down.

Karu sat up in the leafy bough where Seth had secured her, whistling to call her familiar back to her side. A joyful cry met her call, and the little phoenix waddled down the branch as quickly as he could to reach her. He eagerly hopped into her outstretched hand, letting her pet him and feel his full little crop. “Seeing how much he’d feed you before you let him out of the tree, wee bit?”

Seth stepped down from the safety of his perch, looking the tousled redhead over. “Good nap?”

“Don’t know if it was so much a nap as the after effect of that ritual.” Karu looked at her arms and legs and their conspicuous lack of open injuries, then down at the scars on her upper abdomen. She would bear the marks of Dheathain for the rest of her life, but she supposed it was little enough of a price to pay to have a homeland on Althanas.

"Speaking of, what was that light show when the tree spat you out?"

Karuka looked at Seth. Her memory of anything that had happened after the ritual's completion was hazy, and it took her a few moments to consider what it might have been. "Fiorair was angry, and I was part of it. I am part of it. So it was angry through me. The same thing happened in Fallien once."

There was a brief silence, as though Seth wasn't sure he believed her, but that wasn't really a concern. She'd put it as well as she could understand it. “How long was I out?”

“A whole day. I had to feed the little firestarter twice,” Seth grouched.

“I’m sure he appreciates it.” And how funny was it to have a baby who could tree a ghoul?

Karuka reached into her satchel and grabbed her vlince traveling outfit, shoving Taodoine back inside. “Let me put on some real clothes and we can be out of here. We’ve a long journey ahead of us, none easier for having to stop here and there to feed you.”

Seth leaned against the tree she stepped behind, letting her have the privacy to change. “Where are we going next?”

“I promised to help you get to rest, didn’t I? We’ll find your other weapons and get you settled in peacefully.”

“Peace…” Like his soul could ever know peace. “I don’t even know where the lung poppers might be, Karu.”

“But y’ do know someone who can help you find them.”

Seth blinked. Her slip had been momentary, but unmistakable. Hopefully she wouldn’t descend back into the gibberish she’d used on a boat long ago, but if she could regain everything she once was, then maybe he wouldn’t do completely wrong by her, after all. Maybe he wouldn’t completely destroy every life he touched.

Karuka emerged back onto the branch, gathering her belongings. She paused for a moment when she hefted her spear. "A weapon of great consequence... I guess it is about time this weapon had a name. Consequence... I think it's fitting."

With that, she started the long climb back to solid ground. Fiorair knew she had a path of her own she needed to travel, and she knew that it would always welcome her back to its confines. For now, though, she finally wasn’t wandering aimlessly anymore. And though there were no gods to guide her, it was good to finally have a direction and a goal.

Karuka is now Bound to Dheathain: While in the wilds of Dheathain, she is highly attuned to the life around her and the mood of the land. In extreme circumstances, she can bend the land to her will.