A Lore Guardian's Love

[Breaker]

Near the frosted peaks of the Shirayama Mountains a quaint village sat wreathed in winter. Smoke billowed from stone chimneys and snow weighed down wooden rooftops. Banks of snow lined the dozen or so criss-crossing roadways, cleared aside by diligent villagers with wide-mouthed shovels. Winter visited the mountaintop village each year, and each year the hardy Akashiman inhabitants adapted to the chilly temperatures and piling precipitation. But this winter had brought another new element to the village, whose residents called it simply Yutori. An element with broad shoulders and twin Y-shaped scars on his cheeks, and limitless hazel eyes.

Joshua "Breaker" Cronen stood at the center of his dojo, watching his students work all around him. They sparred and grappled in pairs, exchanging punches and kicks, tossing one another to the ground, and rolling over and over in the struggle for victory. Breaker had come to Yutori to teach after his last dojo, which had been little more than a rented out basement of a bar in Radasanth, had become overrun with potential students. Breaker's notoriety as an instructor of martial arts and magic had grown exponentially following his participation in Sei Orlouge's Cell, and while the demigod had enjoyed the popularity for a time, before long he found himself seeking a quieter, simpler life. He'd journeyed east over the Comb Mountains, called the Shirayama Mountains in Akashima, and discovered the small town by accident.

The dojo's walls were paper thin, its ornate ceilings barely strong enough to hold up the snow, and braziers flickering in the corners did little to provide warmth. Even so the students sweated, their bodies heating the single-roomed building more than the flames in the braziers could hope to. They were all youths of Akashiman lineage, young men and women who had heard of Breaker's presence and journeyed to Yutori to seek his instruction. Most had come with some prior training in martial arts, and the wide variety of fighting styles had led to some of the most interesting classes Breaker had ever taught.

"Good throw, Saza," he called as he watched a female student toss her male sparring partner like a shovel full of snow, "next time, follow his hips to the floor with yours, and he won't escape so swiftly!" Breaker smiled broadly, his twin scars dimpling, hazel eyes twinkling as they scanned the room. When he was busy teaching he could almost forget how long it had been since he last heard from Am'aleh, the Goddess of the Sea. She had been his lover and his patron for some time, and habitually made use of his talents in shaping the world to her whims. But she had been silent for months now, leaving Breaker to find his own path through Corone's harsh winter.

"Stop," he commanded. Although he had spoken in a normal voice, every student in the room heard and obeyed swiftly. "Line up," he instructed, and the youths did so, aligning themselves from youngest to eldest. He had long since given up attempting to order them by rank; they all came from different instructors, who rewarded progress in different ways. Best to keep them arranged by something that would not change, in any case, and they all aged at the same rate.

"You are all doing well," Josh said proudly. He strolled up and down the line like a commander addressing troops. His black metal boots ticked on the wooden floor, his traditional white Akashiman gi swished with each step, and the ends of his knotted red belt bounced off alternating legs. "Very well," he added after a dramatic pause, and a sigh passed through his students like a breeze through the trees. They always waited with bated breath at these moments, eager to discover what new technique or wisdom Breaker would care to share. "So well, in fact, that I have decided to skip ahead in your instruction. I would trust each of you with my life, and so I feel comfortable teaching you... the touch of death."

A gasp ran down the line, and when Breaker clapped his hands forcefully, most of the students jumped.

"Who would like to volunteer for demonstration?" He asked with a wolfish grin.

[Fez_The_Kid]

The mid-morning wind was a breath that wafted over endless swaths of snow, blowing hoar frost in faint puffs into the chill air. Barren slopes lead to a looming mountaintop, the summit a snow-sheathed, ragged crest below the thick clouds. Smooth, otherwise jagged, boulders dotted the rutted path, the old passage of wagons betraying the existence of remote civilization in the alp’s cold embrace. There would be, for a time, no sunlight to thaw the snow that covered the winter-kissed land, and from where the snow would descend, the sun itself lurked overhead as a faint pewter blotch in the clouds.

There was a fresh, more recent trail of a half-dozen individuals over the old caravan tracks. And in its wake four warriors marched on in single, albeit haphazard, file. The footing had proven treacherous, purchase disguising as a potentially fatal trap awaiting a hapless, fur-clad mocassin. Regret had soon manifested in the mind of Azaranth Ubissad. Who had, much to his regret - during the course of detailed, precursory groundwork - elected not to bring horses along on this hunt. He’d feared that they would have proven a liability more than they would an asset. Renting them was not particularly cheap either.

The endeavor, none the less, was ravaged with hazards, and there was no doubt horse traders preferred their animals returned in one piece. Indeed, he had long contemplated both options, and while he had considered his companions’ blunt verdicts on the issue, the final choice had been his alone.

The stench of rotting ice rode the air, the wind meeting his body with a sudden chill of the bones. Azaranth began to question if he had underestimated Akashima’s winter, the effects of which seemed to have conditioned his jaded entourage as well. While Azaranth himself hailed from the frozen, northerly reaches of Salvar, the weather had proven nothing short of his homeland’s uncharitable winters.

His breath leaving him in white plumes, the Salvarian wrapped his fur-coat tighter around him, eyeing the hunters that flanked him as they labored on through the ankle-high snow underfoot. Framing their slightly pallid expressions was a shared look that hinted at their doubt. While he would normally mull over such minute matters, the monster hunter elected to think nothing of it as his gaze flicked to the first of the three warriors.

Kean Burl, a young mercenary whom Azaranth had found and hired within the inner quarters of the nearby city and capital. The lad, for he was yet to meet his twentieth winter, had on him the look of threat, armed with a pair of steel short-swords and blessed with a huge, sinewy body. Azaranth saw cold fire in his eyes, and thus he was now in tow. The man would prove, Azaranth reckoned, invaluable to this hunting party.

Alongside Burl loped a slender, face-scarred woman, about Azarath’s age, beaming with buoyancy and possessing an air of mighty confidence. Kyra Tyde was an exquisite sorceress, a student of the somewhat arcane arts, former member of a small mage guild in Corone. Azaranth intuited that she had dabbled in magic to alter her looks, but the green-eyed damsel remained captivating enough to him all the same. And save for a single, magic-potent dagger, the woman was virtually weaponless, and had come alongside Burl as his companion and friend. There was obviously a past connection linking the two. Of its kind, however, Azaranth knew near to nothing.

And then there was Verith, an older monster hunter and Akashiman native. Jittery motions betrayed the stern veteran’s restlessness as he battled the slope on Azaranth’s left. The man was clothed in a leather armor and dark, silvery vest, seemingly indifferent to the raw gusts that troubled the rest of the company. Strapped to his back was a silver longsword, sheathed in its wooden scabbard. The weapon was flanked by a timber-crafted crossbow, primed and ready to fire. Azaranth had chosen the man for his acquaintance with the Comb Mountains they now trod, and so was their guide and usher.

None of the armed threesome had uttered a word since they had set out on this protracted and long-overdue hike. They took slow, yet purposeful steps. Azaranth would cut down Myra, a shape-shifting Saberlioness and Guardian of the Beasts. While often he hunted his monsters to conform to an official contract, this independent quest was but an answer to dire financial situations. And so this monster-hunting party gathered in want of the beast-woman's invaluable fangs.

Tyde paused, then whispered, "Hear that?"

[FennWenn]

A frail boy mounted atop a black-furred direwolf trod through a lonely mountainous village, garnering a few curious stares from the residents they passed by. It was a simple town, a congregation of houses cobbled together from mountain stone and pine wood. Though both the boy and the wolf had traveled over many miles of snowy crags to arrive in Akashima, neither of them felt the keen bite of the cold winds howling past them. For Daugi, this was thanks to her thick fur coat. For Fenn, it was because of his unfreezing blood and his innate affinity for icy magics.

Fenn needed some help with this magic, and he needed it now.

Lately, the little Fae had found himself quarreling with his powers. There was no better way to describe it. It was stronger than it had ever been before, and it was getting out of control. A series of recent incidents were weighing heavily on his mind - of giving frostbite to those who touched him, of accidentally pulling an icicle out of thin air, of causing small hail storms when there should have only been snowflakes.

As it turned out, other Frost Fae were very hard to find, and none of the magic users he knew had any idea how to work with his particular brand of iciness - even Vincent didn’t understand what was wrong with his tiny friend.

So, Fenn had sought out someone who could help him learn how to better use his magics before they ending up using him.

In searching for a capable teacher, he had heard hushed rumors about a man of great power (perhaps more god than man) who could work wonders with the elements. What had caused Fenn to seek this man out was a whisper that one of the elements this man supposedly held control over was ice. The boy's solid green gaze narrowed and unconvinced as he surveyed the quaint settlement. This cute little town clinging to the mountainside was home to the ice master’s dojo? Could’ve fooled him. As it was, Fenn had never been one to get lost, but this out-of-ways village was a place he hadn’t ventured into before. He bit at a hangnail as Daugi trod over snowy streets, sighing at the thought that he might have to spend a lot of time wandering around to find it.

Speaking of his mount; she was in one of her moods. Once or twice an hour, she’d give him a put-out glare over her shoulder, bright red eyes twitching in irritation. Fenn understood why. Upon her most recent glare, the boy dismounted her in one fluid movement and nodded back at the forest knowingly. Now’s as good a time as any. Sorry I kept you waiting -- we had a long ways to travel. Dismissed, good steed! he thought with a silent giggle that shook his shoulders. Leaving with nothing more than a grateful “Wuff!”, his hungry friend bounded off through the town and into the icicle-laden pine woods outside. Good hunting to you.

Left on his own in the foreign town, Fenn strolled through with his hands in his pockets and his cowl pulled over his head. He wondered, peering shyly around each corner, if he should attempt to ask one of the locals where the this dojo was.

Suddenly, there was calamity amid the houses to Fenn’s left. An alien music on the breeze wafted past him like an intoxicating perfume. Though he knew he was really needed to find that dojo -- and the sooner, the better -- he stopped and savored the sounds that serenaded his ears. Spicy, fast; it was composed of a medley of feral voices and wind instruments. In a sense, the upbeat song felt almost familiar to Fenn as it guided the little Fae’s feet towards it, calling to him with a voice he couldn’t ignore. Was it merely his curiosity dragging him through the streets? Or was it related to those dreams he kept having, of dancing and whirling endlessly with other fey beings?

The ice master could wait a little while. This, he had to find out now.

Fenn flew towards the source of the music on eager, stumbling feet. What he was greeted with was a gathering of people in an empty patch of land just inside the village, a sort of bare town square. The source of the music was a band of dancers and musicians garbed in colorful attire that seemed a little… thin for the weather, as if the cold meant nothing to them. Villagers were gathered around the merry band in celebration. Couples spun around with their hands clasped together, children laughed and shrieked above the din, and even the elderly stood in at the threshold of their houses to watch the festivities.

Fenn found himself bouncing a little in tune with the music. At first, he ventured into the crowd shyly, his hands still stuffed firmly into his pockets. As time went on though, he loosened up. His head bobbled with the beat, and he found himself moving in the same smooth way he did in his dreams of faerie festivities. Skipping, twirling, leaping, spinning underfoot. It was a miracle that he didn’t smack into anyone. His hood fell from his head as his cavorting intensified, his cloak flapping behind him, a pair of wings giving his dance flight. How easy, oh so easy, was it to get lost in the joyous song! There was something off about these glittering, gyrating dancers at the center of the celebrations. When they brushed past him, they radiated a warmth that tickled anyone who understood the feel of magic. It only set Fenn’s heart beating faster as he spun about with them. Possibly, he thought with a new brightness in his eyes, these might be more Frost Fae, cloaking themselves in some sort of illusion. But he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t ask what manner of being they were. The music moved too fast to allow him to slow down and discuss it. He was tangled and snared in the rhythm like a butterfly in a spider’s web.

A lithe woman in vivid red robes wove her way through the throng of people toward Fenn, her gleaming golden gaze easily keeping track of his swooping movements. Messy crimson curls flew about her in a frizzy halo as she spun up to his side. He got the creeping feeling that she had been watching him for a bit. “My, aren’t you quick on your feet?” she commented above the music, flashing him a toothy grin. Her voice was a sultry, deep-throated purr. “May I have this dance?”

Fenn beamed back and took her hand with a quick twirl, flattered by the attention. Yet at the same time, his heart skipped a few anxious beats. This particular situation was uncannily akin to the addled dreams of dancing that often came to him at night.

And when someone beautiful approached him in those dreams, well, it never ended well.

[Breaker]

Only Saza stepped forward. The Akashiman girl breathed evenly, dark eyes never breaking her instructor's hazel gaze. She pushed strands of long dark hair that had come out of her bun behind her ears and squared off opposite Breaker. She trembled like a statue, her heartbeat fleeting yet her body refusing to budge. She waited.

"In order to master the touch of death, you must first master its three components." Breaker lectured. He seized the lapels of Saza's gi and turned her forcefully so the left side of her body displayed to the class. "Power, precision, and-" he broke off and listened intently, cocking one ear toward the west wall like a hare sensing danger.

Bards told stories of Breaker's strength and speed. Many knew of his prowess in martial arts, and his affinity for magic. Only a savvy few ever discerned that the demigod had extraordinary perception. He could hear music. Voices singing, and instruments... outside in the cold. Josh released Saza and took a few steps to the north, turning his head to get a different perspective. The sound seemed to emanate from the town square.

"That will be all for today," Breaker announced suddenly. A sound of collective disappointment passed between his students, but he thought he saw relief flash through Saza's hard eyes. He had to chuckle as he strode toward the door, still listening. Of course he would not have killed a student, but he did like to have fun with them once in a while.

The students paused in the corner, piling wool and hide layers over their cotton martial arts kimonos, but Breaker strode straight outside and turned toward the town square. The cold did not touch him in the same way it did most people; it was a tickle not a sting, a reminder of the weather rather than an assertion of it. He moved at an ordinary pace along the road, greeting folk here and there as they passed. In the few months he'd lived in Yutori he'd gained a certain reputation around town. Bandits on the horizon? Better call for Breaker. Need a big stone moved out of your back yard? Ask Breaker. Anyone willing to shovel all the snow in town? That would be Breaker, along with his students on certain days. Some folk had favors to ask, but Breaker made excuses and continued along his way. The music pulled at him like nothing since last he heard from Am'aleh.

The rhythm livened his step, and the tune drew a beaming smile to his face. Finally Josh could resist no longer and he ran the rest of the way to the square, weaving in and out of villagers with snowflakes swirling in his slipstream. He joined the crowd surrounding the musicians and dancers, experienced eyes seeing what most could not. Powerful illusion magic flickered among the dancers, but they moved too swiftly for him to see through the enchantments.

Josh blinked as he cast his gaze over the musicians. They were animals. Beneath the deception he could see wolves, mountain lions, and snow owls. And yet their voices sounded strangely human as they sang along with the instruments they impossibly plucked and blew. For how could beasts with neither fingers nor lips play such instruments? Again Breaker searched among the dancers, and near the middle of the group he spotted a lively red-haired woman. The Scarlet Dancer laughed as she swung a small Fae about, crimson locks swaying wildly. The illusions emanated from her, and Josh could not penetrate her disguise. But he had heard the stories.

What an honor to have Myra the Lore Guardian among us. Josh thought. He raised his hands with fingers splayed and called upon the Eternal Tap, the tide of magical energy that flowed through him at all times.

Snow rose from banks at the edge of the square to do his bidding. It swirled over top of the festivities and melted into water, and then froze into clear, clean molten ice. The ice morphed and molded, taking on an ornate shape. Although the sun shone weakly through the clouds its rays caught in the folds of the ice and cascaded down in a thousand different shapes. Like a chandelier the frozen work of art rotated above the dancers, casting Breaker's good mood among the revelers below.

[Fez_The_Kid]

All bunnying accepted as necessary.

“Hear what?” Burl questioned, standing tall above his flanking comrades. The twin double-edged steel swords were like horns jutting from his sides. Burly, thick arms with fisted hands dangled from huge shoulders. His voice ended with a rumble in Azaranth's ears. “Whatever it is you're talkin' about, I didn't hear nothin', Kyra."

There was an overlong, awkward pause, nothing but winter's bitter whispers as they passed them toward the uneven mountain line ahead. They had all halted in their tracks, none uttering a word as they stood in wait, and listened.

“It ain’t there now...” Tyde tsked, frowning as she visibly searched for whatever she had just heard. She lowered herself into a crouch, planting one gloved hand on the snow underfoot. Whatever happened afterward, Azaranth reckoned it was only magic at play. “I know I heard somethin’, though.”

“I’m sure I’ve good ears,” Verith said, scratching at the stubble covering his firm chin. The look that lurked in his eyes slightly irked Azaranth, if only for how lifeless they seemed. A look outwardly simple, yet with a meaning far deeper than one would expect. It was suspected that untoward thoughts stirred in the elder's mind. Azaranth then considered, then shrugged to himself. He then swung his gaze to the wounding trail's, where, he guessed, lay the originator of that sound. The Akashiman native spoke again. “But I'm with Burl on this one. Must've been your imagination, lass.”

I’d check again. “She’s not wrong,” Azaranth interrupted as he edged forward, his feet stamping more than stepping as he progressed forth through the snow. He could barely feel his extremities. “I heard it, too.” He then paused, turning to fix his gaze on the sorceress. “Was it like a song?”

Tyde nodded distractedly. “T’is a song. I can hear it, now.” She was silent for a moment, then rose as recognition flared in her cerulean eyes. “Could it be…?”

“Perhaps the legends are right,” Burl shrugged. “I read that she always showed up with that ‘joyous’ tune of hers, along with a couple or so followers. Not surprising, considering that Myra and her followers are just a band of performers.”

“I don’t think ‘just’ serves them right,” Verith said, eyeing the taller warrior. The manner in which he spoke betrayed that his words were intended for Azaranth to hear. “Myra is a formidable fighter, as is her entourage. We’d do well so as not to underestimate the Guardian.”

“The Guardian,” Tyde sneered. “It's almost as if you’re on her side, Verith.” A smirk played at her lips, leaning in toward the stationary monster hunter. “C'mon, old man. Out with it. You like the woman.”

Brows furrowed. “Who said that? I simply mentioned her by her title, if anything, out of respect to this nation and its citizens.” He turned, looking in the general direction of, Azaranth deduced, the Capital City. “Be it young as it is. Myra brings joy to the Akashimans, after all.”

“Enough,” Azaranth growled. “We’re not going to waste more time. Myra isn’t going to wait for us all day. So, if you have anything to say, say it now.” Silence answered his command, for no-one uttered a word. “Say nothing unless it’s important. Let's go, got a saberlioness to kill. We’ll lay down a plan once we’re there.”

The town was not as it had been expected, that is, at least, to Azaranth. Standard Akashiman design mingled with a hint of Radasanthian style, neatly paved cobblestones outlying the stone village's overcrowded streets. Despite the sun’s efforts to break through the cloud barrier, elaborate snow descended above the streetside pageant, as if the sky had reached down to hover few armspans overhead. Azaranth clearly sensed the magic that was underway here.

And not because of the snow. Azaranth's lips pursed, amber eyes studying the scene like a lion observing prey from within the stalks. He waited for an opening to send his plan into action, standing from a distance behind the crowd. He too was completely unmindful of the upbeat tune that played from the center. Where the Saberlioness and her followers dance. Just like the history books read.

Gauntleted hands at his sides, the Salvarian flicked his gaze to the others, ensuring that they were all in position. At the opposite side waited Verith, standing in wait. Azaranth wanted him in his sights if only to ascertain his willingness to hunt. Or, rather, fight. Burl waited unseen, acting as surprise back-up when the time was right. And finally, Kyra Tyde blended within the scene. Dancing in the circle, among her own quarry.

And based on the sorceress’s thesis, Myra shared one thing with all her followers, her kin. They were all shape-shifters, animals in human form. They numbered nearly a dozen. Azaranth's group would be outnumbered, but that was fine. Numbers don't decide the survivor. The scene, however, would soon be a bloodbath, and Azaranth struggled to decide whose would be spilled more. The hunter shifted restlessly, a coalition of emotions blossoming in him as he awaited an opening to cue the signal. It was only a matter of time.

Then the wind shuddered unnaturally, and lightning strings cackled. And from within the circle, sorcery exploded - thrumming the snow at his feet, flinging bodies into the air.

Tyde! Shit!— Azaranth broke into a sprint, his silver sword hissing as it left his scabbard. The dune of a confused crowd erupted, devouring the festive melody as he neared. People stampeded in all directions. Tyde stood, her hands crackling with magic, and before her stood Myra's followers in a single rank.

And from that rank sprung a figure - so fast that his eye couldn’t keep up - that whizzed past and met Tyde. Flinging both back. Back, till they crashed into a streetside wagon. Disbelieving, he watched the figure’s shape mutate even as it stood beneath a sluice of shattered wood and snow.

A guttural snarl.

Damn! Azaranth spat, edging forward, grip tightening on the suddenly sweaty hilt in his hand. The closest shape-shifter noticed his approach, her eyes glittering with recognition.

Immediately, the woman hunched as her face seemed to fold into itself, ingrown fur sprouting out from every pore as new skin sprung to cover abnormal bone growth. A moment later a huge bear was standing before the warrior. Teeth rowed those huge jaws, and a roar rattled Azaranth's ears.

Who halted a few short paces from where it stood. He found an opening through the still-dispersing crowd. Azaranth dashed forward, stepped into the creature's shadow as he ran it through. As his momentum died, the bear’s massive weight came upon him.

Azaranth stumbled back as he drove in the weapon further still, wading through fat, then flesh. He snarled, twisting the pommel as steel grated against bone, tearing ligaments as bone parted muscle. Screams, almost human in nature, left the monstrosity above him, and blood gushed from the bear’s split belly, spattering his coat—

An outward glance caught Burl. The man was surrounded, a half-dozen beasts preparing to rip him to shreds—

Then with a final, heavy stagger, the shape-shifter above Azaranth toppled.

Burying him underneath.

[FennWenn]

The crowd seemed to know well enough to make way for the crimson-haired lady. Happy snowflakes fell around the two like confetti, which was Fenn’s fault; frankly, he was just glad that his touch wasn’t giving her frostbite. Just like the other dancers, her hands were warm and bright with the feel of magic. She twirled him and dipped him and swung him about. Her boundless enthusiasm more than made up for Fenn’s slightly-flagging energy. He admitted that he had far more skill than he did stamina. Yet still, he didn’t want to stop.

Fenn’s eyes rose to the skies as a chandelier of ice burst into existence, hovering, above the celebrations. Villagers cheered eagerly at the rainbow of colors that rained down on them. The very air was stained with vivid hues.

There’s only one person here that should be able to do that, Fenn thought gleefully, glancing around the area. The ice master? But the boy couldn’t spot him. All this whirling had made him cross-eyed with dizziness, and it was a bit of an effort to stay on his feet at this point. All he could hear was the rhythm and the red lady’s deep laughter as he was swung around.

Until, suddenly, no-one was laughing anymore.

An explosion of magic cascaded throughout the crowd, cutting the music short and shattering the brilliant chandelier above, shards of ice hurtling into the crowd below. Screams ripped through the air. Village folk raced away, terrified and bloodied, from the center of the dance. The celebration of the dance troupe had been transformed from a scene of joy into into one of violence with one earth-shattering interruption. Fenn’s hands were ripped free from the grip of of the crimson lady in the calamity, and he found himself splayed out on the cobblestone, fighting against the lingering dizziness of his dancing. When he tried to get up, someone bowled him right over again in their haste to escape.

If only this was just another one of his dreams.

Was that blood on his cheek? One of those falling ice shards must have cut him. He clasped his hands to his twitchy ears to drown out the awful cacophony of screaming, fighting, and… animals?

Fenn rolled out of the way as a screeching dancer hurtled past him, the man's skin melting away into steel-grey feathers as he transformed into a sharp-clawed snow owl. The little Fae stared aghast as the other dancers that surrounded him morphed into animals and charged their mysterious assailants.

Skin melted into fur, faces contorted into snapping muzzles and beaks, entire bodies melting and folding inward to display their true selves.

Not Frost Fae, the boy noted woozily.

Several times, Fenn was nearly trampled amid the chaos as he struggled back to his feet. The confusion that had broken out around him frightened the Fae. Licks of frost curled around the street stones under his feet and crept over his clothes, his breath quickening. A few stray hailstones plinked out of the air around him and crashed to the ground.

“Have no worries, lively one.” A growl of a voice caressed Fenn’s ear. He looked over his shoulder to see the redheaded woman standing over him with an uncharacteristic snarl on her face, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Myra will protect you.”

As she said this, her own appearance shimmered and melted into a new shape. Like the rest of her entourage, she was not as she seemed to be. A proud lioness replaced her, thick tusks jutting from her lip and russet fur gleaming in the sun. Feral gold eyes narrowed in on an older man in leather armor. His crossbow had caught the Saberlioness in his crosshairs, and in turn she had the man in hers as she sprang towards him.

It was rare for Fenn to fight instead of flee, but he wasn't sure if any direction in the chaos was safe. All he could manage was to summon two fist-sized hunks of ice in his hands and make to throw them at Myra’s readied assailant (and possible victim). His hands were pale, small, trembling.

That would have to do. Fenn didn't know who these people were, but he understood that they were dangerous. He had no damn plans to die today.

[Breaker]

People screamed, beasts roared, and the ice chandelier burst into hundreds of pieces. Breaker did his best to steer the shards safely away but many still fell among the village folk. The explosion had taken him by surprise, and he searched among the changelings for the woman responsible as he fought the swell of the crowd. Panicked villagers raced by him on both sides. He bladed his body and pressed through the throng, hazel eyes vigilant.

The beasts reverted to their true forms and attacked the aggressors. A snarling wolf seized the throat of the sorceress who caused the explosion. She let out a bloodcurdling scream, killing the wolf with a lick of magefire even as two of its brethren swarmed to finish her off. A young warrior with twin short swords fell to the claws of a mountain lion, his blades carving furrows in the beast's flanks. An older man sighted along the ridge of his crossbow, only to have the small Fae who had danced with Myra fling a pair of ice chunks at his head. The mercenary ducked out of the way, but the moment's distraction was all the saberlioness needed. She struck like lightening, long fangs piercing the man's narrow chest as he cried out in surprise.

Too much death, Josh thought as he broke free of the panicked masses and summoned more snow from the banks bordering the square. I would do away with all this killing. Tightly packed snowballs whizzed at the remaining animals, with enough sting to send them running. Josh came face to face with Myra herself as he dispatched of her followers. The saberlioness' fangs dripped crimson, her great golden eyes bulging with ferocity.

"You are no longer welcome here," Josh told her, "leave now, or one of us will die today."

The saberlioness reared up on her hind legs and changed. Her fur molted and vanished, leaving the body of the Scarlet Dancer, but the head and face of the great beast remained.

"As you wish," she said in a guttural voice, "but this lively one comes with me." She seized the little Fae in her arms and, giving Breaker a final growl, fled after her companions.

Breaker breathed in and out. Blood and singed fur spoiled the air. All around him people moaned and sobbed as they tended to injuries caused by the blast and the feral beasts. His students mingled among the townsfolk, helping the wounded and calming the worried.

"What happened here?" Asked Saza as she bandaged the neck of a man who'd been attacked by a snow owl.

"I hesitate to hazard a guess," Breaker replied, and yet he had some idea. He strode to the center of the square, where bodies of people and animals alike littered the cobblestones, and checked the sorceress' pulse. She was long dead. A cursory look confirmed that her two male companions had joined her in the afterlife. Wasn't there a fourth? Josh wondered, I could have sworn I saw a young man with a silver sword attacking...

A groan emanated from beneath the bulk of the dead bear.

Josh grabbed two handfuls of fur and muscle and heaved the great beast sideways. Beneath it lay a pale faced youth with amber eyes, his silver sword still clutched in one hand. Alive.

"What," Breaker asked, offering a hand to help the man up, "did you hope to accomplish here?"

[Fez_The_Kid]

Ragged breath surged into his lungs, and light stabbed through the weighty darkness that nearly presaged his death. Blinded, Azaranth took the extended hand and rose. His knees felt weak, threatened to buckle under his weight. He had no clue how long he'd been trapped. Confusion wrought his thoughts, and even as he looked into the hazel eyes of his savior, he gave no overt sign of his gratitude. Albeit the intent was there, he simply could not.

For chaos had seethed across the village like a terminal plague, as wails and sobs rang in the foul air. Sharp slivers of frost littered the cobblestones, the results of sorcerous intricacies he'd missed in his struggle to escape the bear’s fatal caress. A glance at the repercussions of his own doing confirmed what he had dreaded underneath the cadaver. Tyde lay, her form motionless next to her attacker, who lay beside her in his beast form. He too, it seemed, had fallen.

On the opposite side of what had been the center of the jollification, Burl’s bloodied body was alone amidst the snow. Lifeless, the mercenary’s hands had not left the grasp of his twin swords. Azaranth found no signs of his slayer, however.

And somewhere - he turned, his breath catching - sprawled Verith. Twin holes had been bored into his chest, deep and almost black in color, the weapon denting the armor before mortally meeting flesh.

They all now watched him with ethereal eyes.

Azaranth felt a sudden weight unleash on his shoulders, the pressure growing, ever growing, as he slumped. He wished, oh, he so wished a blade would part the snow underneath and pierce his heart, right where he sat. Anguish's hard bludgeon struck unending blows over his body. The blood on his hands was too much to bear. It was his own fault. Mine, and mine alone.

His breath left him in a heaving sigh. I am… sorry, everyone. Burl, we never really saw eye-to-eye during the short time we knew each other, but you had your own ambitions, and I can only respect you for that. Kyra, I intended to express my… feelings for you. You were an intellectual sorceress - and most importantly a charming woman. My heart will always beat undying for you. And… Verith…You were a true monster-hunter and I a bastard for ever doubting you. You’ll be paid tribute. Soon. But first… you, all of you, must be avenged.

Forgive me.

He glanced up at the stranger. Twin, bifurcated scars marked the man’s cheeks. “Got no time to talk,” Azaranth finally came with his long-overdue answer. The man had a look of experience on him. He had… power, Azaranth somehow knew, even after his judgments had been nullified. “Listen… I know I’m responsible. Prepared to bear the consequences of my actions. But I need to avenge my friends. Help me, and you’ll be appropriately compensated.”

Even Azaranth was stunned at what he did next.

He fell to his knees. “Please.”

[FennWenn]

If there was one thing Fenn had not expected out of this mess, it was to be swept away from town in the arms of the Saberlioness.

He had been close, so close, to meeting the ice master he had heard about. For a brief moment, the man had even stood before him. Unfortunately, blank-eyed boy had still been stricken by the aftermath of the brutal battle just moments before. Hands clasped to his mouth, eyes wide as he stared at the bodies and debris littering the square. Apparently, the lady who doled out the cards of fate thought it hilarious to keep shoving dead people in his face. A little senseless, Fenn thought vacantly. Why were we attacked?

If he wasn't so preoccupied with holding himself together against the sad scenery around him, he might have reached out to the godly man and asked for the teaching he’d come here for in the first place. Instead, as Fenn was lost in his horror and thoughts, the ice master had commanded Myra to leave -- and she had decided that Fenn was coming with.

“As you wish,” came Myra's resigned growl, breaking into Fenn’s thoughts, “but this lively one comes with me.”

Her strong arms scooped him up off the bloody streets and slung him over her shoulder as if he were no more than a sack of flour. That snapped Fenn to alertness. Wait! Waaaiiit! Dinky arms waved with all of the urgency Fenn could muster. But the ice master didn't seem to catch his frantic gestures. And thus, he was whisked away without a chance to do what he can come here for in the first place.

Myra was lost in a mix of endearment (towards the tiny Fae) and simmering anger (at the attack? Or at her banishment?), and she didn't pay any heed to Fenn’s resistance either. Perhaps she didn't even notice. Her grip was strong and smothering, and the frail Fae couldn't seem to loosen it no matter how he struggled. He considered forcibly breaking her grip with a concentrated burst of frost, but for the life of him, he couldn't quite bring himself to harm her. They had fought and danced together, after all. The guardian dancer left the damaged village without a glance back, swift on the heels of her scattered entourage. A few minutes out of galloping through thickets of twisting firs and gracefully nipping over roots hidden by snow passed as Fenn mulled over his precarious present predicament.

Daugi’s not gonna be happy that I vanished on her, he realized with a wide-eyed pang of trepidation. What does Myra even want me for? They had a dance it had been great, and now… what? He couldn't think of a good reason as to why she had stolen him so. More dancing? Dammit. For one reason or another, Fenn had been kidnapped once or twice before; at least this time it was being done by someone who wasn’t inclined towards causing him harm.

And it would be better to keep it that way. Perhaps he could mount an escape later, but for now, he was caged within her arms.

Fenn frowned and placed a hand on his chin, his eyelids fluttering a bit. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was just being hauled around by Daugi. The familiar rocking motion of the bounding Myra’s bounding reminded him of how worn he was from all his earlier exertion. It wasn’t very long before he drifted off into a troubled slumber. For once, his sleep was blessedly devoid of dreams, a respite from all the chaos and carnage he had been witness to today.

[Breaker]

"Get up," Breaker whispered to the groveling swordsman. He grasped the fellow's collar and hauled him to his feet. "I admire your sense of duty," he continued in a hushed tone, "but now is not the time to be claiming responsibility, unless you want to be the next corpse in the street." Breaker straightened the man's collar and clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly manner as a middle-aged man approached.

"Caught one of them, have you Breaker?" The man said, the bald top of his head shining above a ring of salt and pepper hair. A ruddy shading enlivened his cheeks. He seemed ready to run and fetch a pitchfork.

"No no, no Gregor," Josh said. He put one arm around the amber eyed swordsman and the other around the middle of the large farmer's back. "This is... Charles. One of my students.

The farmer's brow furrowed, as did the top of his head.

"He don't exactly look like one of your students," Gregor said.

"That's because he's in an advanced program," Josh explained, lighting on an idea, "he tried to stop the attack on the village. Unfortunately, he was just a moment too late." Josh surveyed the sullen swordsman. "Look at how disappointed in himself he is," he pointed out.

"Er, right." Gregor said, taking a step away. "Thank you both for trying I suppose."

"In fact, we're going to seek retribution for this attack. But Charles here will need a horse," Breaker said. He clapped the swordsman on the back and squinted as if thinking. "Now, who around here has the swiftest horses-"

"I do!" Gregor interrupted. "I suppose you could borrow one of my mares. But what if I never see her again?"

"If anything happens to your horse," Breaker promised, "I'll compensate you at twice her market value." He smiled as Gregor hurried away.

"So you'll help me avenge my friends?" Whispered the amber-eyed swordsman. He clenched the pommel of his silver blade.

"I'll track down Myra with you," Josh amended, "I have no intention of killing anything, but I am concerned for that little Fae Myra grabbed." His eyes wandered as he looked back on that moment. At first he'd thought the Fae was a part of Myra's party. This lively one comes with me. Her words echoed in his mind. I should have stopped her the moment she said that. But she'd been leaving, and peacefully...

"You think you'll get anything from a Lore Guardian without a fight?" The swordsman demanded, shaking his head.

"She backed down once," Breaker recalled, "it's likely she will again, if confronted the right way."

"So what do you need me for?" The young man asked, eyes falling to the forms of his friends.

"Bait. I mean, a distraction," the demigod grinned as Gregor returned leading a dappled white mare. The long legged horse nearly blended in with the snowy backdrop. She whinnied as the farmer passed the swordsman the reigns, and shook out her long mane.

"Her name's Dandelion," Gregor explained, "she's just been fed and saddled so she should be lively till around dark. You will have her back before dark, right?" He asked, a worried frown creasing his ruddy face.

"Of course we will," Breaker assured him, "thank you Gregor." The farmer nodded and trudged away.

"Why do I need a horse if you don't have one?" The swordsman demanded.

"So you can keep up," Breaker replied, "come on now, we're wasting daylight." He crossed his arms while the swordsman sheathed his weapon, picked up his fallen comrade's crossbow, and hauled himself into the saddle. He wheeled Dandelion about, showing a comfortable familiarity astride the mare. Good, Breaker thought, he knows how to ride.

"What's your name?" Josh asked as the swordsman settled himself in the saddle, "I can't keep calling you 'Charles'."

"Azaranth Ubissad," came the answer, "but you may call me Anubis."

"Fair play," Josh commented, "my name is Joshua Cronen, but you may call me Breaker." He didn't wait to see if Azaranth recognized his name. Instead he took off like an arrow from a bow, following the clear prints left in the snow by Myra and her brethren.