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.

[Fez_The_Kid]

A beacon of life showed in Azaranth’s sullen face, and accompanying that beacon was his undying gratitude to the man called Joshua Cronen. Breaker. From the very beginning, the man seemed ready to help the hapless monster-hunter and was even kind enough to fend off the potential threat that was the dubious farmer. He owed him so much that even he, Azaranth, did not know how he was going to repay the warrior.

Nevertheless, although a minute detail, something about Breaker had piqued Azaranth’s interest. Something about the man was… different.I'm guessing this guy is not normal. Well, not that I am either, but I’d say he’s a different kind of ‘not normal.’ Exactly what kind, though, I’ll never know by just guessing. And did he say ‘so you could keep up?’ Interesting. Most warriors I've known're pretty quick for their race, but never could someone match any horse for its speed.

Azaranth shifted in his saddle, getting a feel for his provisional mount. The bone-white animal was motionless beneath him, its leg muscles twitching under mottled skin. Without a word, he set his horse into motion, guiding it up the ruined, snow-covered road and out of the village. Even though he could not see Breaker in his swiftness, Azaranth knew his new acquaintance was not far behind. Or, rather, ahead, if he’s quick enough. Regardless, he knew that the warrior would hear him if he was loud enough. “Hey!” he called out. “Got a minute?”

The space directly next to Dandelion shuddered, and a swift blur of shadow emerged. The mare cantering and indifferent to his sudden appearance, Breaker’s face now leveled Azaranth an eager stare. “What is it?”

Although he wished to learn more about the man’s unnatural speed, the Salvarian opted to make nothing of the subject. “About my being a distraction - tell me more. You’ll get the Fae. What happens then?”

Breaker seemed to thoroughly calculate his words, for, it seemed, he too knew their weight. “I’ll leave Myra and her followers for you to deal with. Avenging your friends is not my business.”

Azaranth studied Breaker for a moment, then turned his gaze to the road. They had traveled some distance from the village, before them a trail leading to a mountainside wood. “You’re right. Make sure that this one survives if I don’t make it, though.” He gestured toward the mare, his gaze wrought with pathos. “Kind of that farmer to give me it.”

Breaker merely nodded, then added, “I’ll wait for you ahead when I find Myra and her group. Just keep your eyes peeled if you don’t want to accidentally stumble onto them.” He suddenly vanished, though hear him Azaranth still could. “There isn’t much planning to this, in any case.”

True, the Salvarian responded in thought, feeling another wrench in his stomach as the image of his fallen comrades rose once more before his mind’s eye. Just you wait, everyone. I’m going to avenge you all.

He exhaled, the air painful as it left his lungs.

Or die trying.

[FennWenn]

A while passed before the Fae woke up.

Fenn was laying on something soft and fluffy; musty fur tickled at his nose. He swatted at it. Let me sleep, you dumb dog. It didn't shift, nor lick his face, nor bark insistently at him. Cracking open his eye just a bit, he wondered why Daugi wasn't being her usual boisterous self.

It seemed that the fur he had been feeling had merely been a multihued pile of pelts cast across a stone floor for him to sleep on. He ran a hand through it, leaving a trail of frost and frowning. Memories of the village and the conflict trickled back in.

Oh. Right.

Now where was he? Fenn sat up stiffly and ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth to get rid of the sticky taste of sleep. He took in his new surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity and a dash of suspicion, clutching his satchel to chest for comfort.

It seemed that he had been laid to rest within a very strange sort of cave. His pelt bed was heaped up in front of a simple fireplace shaped directly from stone, bathing him in a warm yellow glow. The entire room felt carved out rather than a natural structure; there were no natural features, no stalagmites or bumps. Nothing more than rough reddish rock encased him. The furnishings of the chamber were sparse and simple, stools and boxes elegantly carved out of a dark wood. Pine needles, fur, and feathers littered the floor. This place was, he supposed, quite like the dance troupe whom had spirited him away in the first place. A little civilization, a little wildness.

There were only two exits to the room. Both lead into other chambers, rather than directly to the outside world.

A sharp intake of breath from behind caused him to throw a look over his shoulders. Lying in the shadow he cast was Myra in her true form. She peered into him with wide eyes, much in the way that a cat might stare at a mouse. The Saberlioness’ form twisted and melted, back into the guise of the jovial woman he danced with from before, crouching just a foot away.

Red locks fell over Fenn as she as she leaned towards him. He shyly wrinkled his nose, uncertain about how very, very close she was to him. Myra smelled much like his wolf buddy; blood and fur, mud and sweat.

“Did you sleep well?” she whispered into his ear with a feline grin.

[Breaker]

Breaker moved through the trees like a wraith through shadows. Myra's distinct footprints led him up a steep embankment that ended near the bottom of a rocky cliff face. He bellied down and crawled the last few yards to the top of the hill. Snow melted beneath the heat of his body and soaked into his white gi, but he remained absolutely still, hazel gaze sweeping the the area between the treeline and the cliff.

The mouth of a cave yawned mightily from the bottom of the cliff. A trio of wolves patrolled the entrance, sniffing the breeze at regular intervals. Blood still shone on their snouts from the recent battle. Fortunately Breaker had thought to position himself downwind. He could smell the wolves, their bloody saliva and their matted fur. He listened for a time, but heard no other animals nearby. It seemed Myra's entourage had largely disbanded following the unfortunate end to their festivities.

Breaker pushed off from the top of the hill and slid downward a few yards in the wet snow. He rose, dusting the frigid powder out of his jacket, and retraced his footsteps until he met with Azaranth.

"I tracked Myra to a cave a ways ahead," Josh said as the swordsman halted his mount, "three wolves guard the cavern. Gallop past them at top speed and they should give chase." He lifted a hand as Azaranth opened his mouth to protest. "The wolves are the ones who killed your witch friend. Her blood still shines on their snouts. Surely you wish to avenge her?"

The swordsman's amber eyes shone, and he cocked a quarrel in his crossbow and shouldered the heavy weapon. "Lead on then," he said in a tense voice, barely more than a whisper.

They circled to the south and approached the cave at an angle, moving almost parallel to the cliff face. As they neared the cavern Breaker slipped back into the treeline, pointing first at Azaranth and then toward the opening where the wolves paced.

The swordsman nodded, his throat bobbing as he eased his blade in its scabbard and then gathered the reins firmly in one hand. He hesitated for a long moment and then heeled Dandelion into a headlong gallop.

Josh moved through the trees alongside him, silent as a tumbling snowflake, watching for his chance to enter the cave.

[Fez_The_Kid]

Hooves plowed through snow as Dandelion surged forth across the glade, each heavy stride a fierce kick of snow. The mare grunted and neighed, nearing the three wolves with such boldness that it impressed Azaranth. With one hand the monster-hunter snapped the reins, readying the crossbow in the grasp of the other.

The crossbow string shuddered and the quarrel disappeared. Canine ears perked as it ricocheted off the cave’s ragged wall. Satisfied, Azaranth limbered the weapon and took hold of the reins with both hands. Dandelion warped to the left as he jerked the strap, scourging a curved course in her passage by the weary predators.

Growls, then gnashing, throaty barks. The wolves broke into a dash, their footfalls a growing tick next to the storm that was Dandelion’s own. Azaranth flanked the cliff’s wall as he made back for the forest, where he would face his chasers. The diversion, he hoped, would buy enough time for Breaker to retrieve the Fae and escape. He came before the first trees and braced, rider and horse both plunging into the underwood canopy.

“Go! Go!”

They cleared of the shrubbery, fast in their swiftness through the boles. As planned, the wolves would not let up till they caught him; for they well recognized who he was. A slayer of their comrades— “Hya!—” and an assailant on their leader. No doubt they wished to tear out his organs. Baring his teeth, he grunted in riposte, As I would them.

They came to a small, sudden descent. Dandelion leaped the space, gliding for a heartbeat before landing once more. Azaranth could still hear the wolves, their gasps nothing more than a whisper in his ear. He sensed one approach a foot too close and felt Dandelion’s alarm, waving her head in warning. Even a horse, it seemed, was no match for a wolf’s endurance - the ability to run bells on end.

It wouldn’t be long before the small pack had caught up. Cursing, Azaranth rose in the stirrups, hesitant as he checked the ground for a soft spot. He spared a glance at Dandelion then, “Don’t die on me!”

Azaranth jumped off, meeting the ground with a backroll that sent the world around him into a maelstrom. Once settled, he quickly rose to a crouch, then wobbled to his feet - even as Dandelion still ran further and further on. All three wolves had halted, their hairs rising as they stood abreast.

The Salvarian dusted his leathers, eyes unwavering on the animals, then finally unsheathed his sword. The steel-colored damascus glinted in the mid-morning light, whizzing through the air as it seemed to swing in his grasp on its own accord. He could sense - no, hear - its plea to draw beast blood.

Azaranth snarled, “Come to me, bastards.”

[FennWenn]

Fenn had experienced plenty of awkward situations in his thirty years of life. “Being seduced” was not one such situation, not until now that was.

“Do you have a name, my lovely one?” Myra crooned as she situated herself snugly into the heap of furs alongside Fenn, watching him with a coy flutter of her lashes as he hesitated to answer her. Her hands brushed against his cheek and traveled down to his chin, lifting his gaze to meet hers. Behind the gentle touch was an iron strength. Fenn felt highly, highly uncomfortable with these advances, anxiety twisting in his gut. Never before had anyone attempted to woo him -- and he could hazard a guess as to why. He felt a bit embarrassed on Myra’s behalf, as well as his own.

His head shook at her question; the stuffy cave air and her proximity to him, a bare half a foot away, made his mind move sluggishly.

“How can you not have a name?” she asked of him between the throes of a throaty laugh. “All things have one. Am I to keep refering to you in silly ways? I could name you Verdant for your eyes, or perhaps Verglas.”

He shrugged bashfully, drawing his knees into his chest, and stared into the crackling fire. He wondered if he should try to spell out his name, or leave her guessing. When he turned his attention back to Myra, he found that she had taken his hands in hers. A grey flush tinged his extremities as she brought her face closer to his. Hot breath hit his cold cheeks, smelling faintly of meat and herbs. A fit of panic hit Fenn, and he ducked away before the kiss was planted on his face. The Fae tugged his hand out of hers -- and scooted out of the furs and a few feet away from her, his back against the side of the fireplace, breathing hard. He shouldn't have been able to break her grip that easily. She must have let him, she must have been teasing him.

This line of thought seemed to be correct, for Myra’s smile bit into her words, sharp as a tooth. “You are just as entertaining in courtship as you are in dance, I see. This will be a most interesting hunt.”

A tentative smile was on Fenn’s face, one more a result of stark realization than glee. If she wants to make this a hunt, then how long can a run before getting caught?

Myra watched him for a moment, picking up on his uncertainty. “Is there anything you need?” she asked coyly, moving closer again, her gaze soft. “You act as if you are uncomfortable. There is no need to be shy under my roof. I can give you whatever you wish for, if only you ask.”

Some space? Daugi? Can I have that? He bit his lip, stuck as to how to answer her.

Both of their heads swivel to one of the chambers exits as an abrupt tumult echoed down into the cave. Baying, whining, the thundering of hooves pawsteps away from the cave -- a fight brewed, and wolves were involved. Having Daugi for a companion allowed him to recognize the sounds even as distorted as they were. Fenn flinched and huddled against the wall, praying that his direwolf buddy wasn't somehow involved in the fight. It was be just like her to discover him missing and decide to mount an attack on those holding him captive.

Enthusiasm shifted over to anger as Myra glanced towards the source of the calamity that seemed to fade away into the distance. “More company,” she murmured, her brow furrowed. She ran her hands through her flyaway hair, smoothing it down, mulling over something grave. There was genuine concern in her eyes as she turned back to Fenn, which took him by surprise. “Our hunt must wait.” He breathed a shaky sigh of relief as Myra busied herself in hiding him. As bare as the room was, there was really only one place she could keep unseen. Warm hands swaddled and hide him in a mound of furs without a warning, burying him beneath a mound of fur and fluff. When they brushed up against his nose, he couldn’t help but sneeze. Fenn poked his head out of the pile curiously only for her to push him back under the stuffy pelts. “Stay where they will not find you. I will take care of this.”

So long as he wasn't going to get hurt. Fenn sighed and stayed obediently underneath the pelts. He shivered in silence as she strode through one of the corridors out of the chamber, ready to face who or what was intruding on her haunt so.

[Breaker]

As Dandelion's whinnies and the wolves' growls faded Josh ducked out of the treeline and paced quickly to the mouth of the cave. It led into a long corridor that stretched back toward the mountain's heart. The smell of clean smoke lingered there, alongside the fading scent of the lore guardian and the Fae she had kidnapped. Breaker had barely taken two steps into the tunnel when Myra appeared at the other end.

Still in the form of the Scarlet Dancer, she flowed toward him on light feet that barely seemed to touch the stony floor. Her long red locks swirled around her face, shrouding all but her glowing eyes as she spoke.

"It is so kind of you to visit me here in my home," she said in a simpering tone. She spread her arms as if welcoming him. "Why don't you come and sit by my fire, and tell me some of the tales that make the Breaker so famous?" She beckoned with one elegant hand, but beneath the illusion Breaker knew her vicious claws lurked.

"I am not here to visit," he said bluntly, "I have come to retrieve the Fae you took from Yutori. I would never have allowed you to take him if I had realized at the time he was not one of your followers."

"But you did allow me to take him," Myra growled, "and we are getting along so well. My little lively one loves his new home."

"I should like to hear that from the Fae's own lips," Breaker said, advancing another few paces. Myra moved as if to stop him, but then stood aside with a toothy smile.

"Of course," she said as he moved past, "I would be a fool to challenge the Breakerrrrrr-" the word turned into a guttural growl as her head grew into that of the saberlioness. Her long fangs extended from her upper jaw like twin swords and she leaped at Breaker's exposed back, biting at his unprotected neck.

Josh ducked and reached up with both hands, seizing the saberlioness by her long fangs. He bent forward and threw the lore guardian over his shoulder as she completed her transformation. Her heavy body thudded to the ground and she lay still for a moment, temporarily stunned. Breaker spread his hands with fingers splayed and summoned water from the air. It formed around her in the shape of a cage and then froze solid. Two hundred pounds of ice as strong as steel surrounded the lore guardian on all sides. She roared and snapped and bit at the bars, but it would take her some time to work her way free.

The room at the end of the corridor was mostly bare, save for a blazing fire in the hearth and a large pile of hides and blankets. Breaker could smell Myra's musk emanating powerfully from the pile of furs. The Fae's scent lingered there as well, but it was weak... perhaps the small creature had merely passed through the room. Breaker paced toward the doorway set in the far wall, when a small sneeze interrupted his progress. He smiled. The sneeze had come from beneath the pile of furs.

"I don't want to alarm you," he said as he approached, "I'm here to help. I've caged the beast that kidnapped you, and I can bring you back to the village she took you from." Crouching comfortably with heat from the flames licking at his right shoulder, Josh reached out a callused hand and lifted up the blankets. "My name is Joshua Cronen."

[Fez_The_Kid]

“Kills our comrades, yet has the audacity to call us bastards.”

The center wolf’s movement of jaws as it spoke was an odd sight to witness, seeing such behavior in animals able to succinctly and clearly declare their intents. Azaranth grunted. If only I could talk with every monster I slay. Reckon that’d make things that much easier. But these guys aren’t completely monsters, realistically speaking.

A frown marred Azaranth's brows. With them, it’s either kill or die.

“We’ll teach the f’cker—” the one on the left gnashed its teeth, the timber of its voice somewhere between man and beast. An unpleasant, madness-betraying chuckle left the shapeshifter. “Eat ‘im alive…” Hackles raising, the three predators curled their lips to expose rows of fangs, pale-red tongues lolling out of their maws, their approach was carried with certainty and purpose.

Azaranth rolled his shoulders, readied himself as he lowered into a wider stance. Steadying his breath, the monster-hunter sneered. “Any last words?”

A pause, then a multitude of growls. “I’ll bite your balls off, you hunter fuck!”

As if they were a single entity, the wolves broke into a dash, a puff of snow climbing in their wake. Within a half-dozen heartbeats, he was among the beasts, the nearest one’s jaws parting as Azaranth saw its inner gums. He dropped into a crouch, momentarily saw the wolf’s underbelly, and before he could thrust his sword, another wolf’s face surged and filled his field of vision. Shielding himself, Azaranth fell and hit his back as the beast’s weight threw him off balance.

A third face showed, this time its bite actually connecting as teeth locked onto vambraced forearms, its mouth odor wafting strongly as Azaranth pushed back against its bite force. Straining, he caught a glimpse of a recent wound on the animal’s thigh, swung his leg inwards.

The blow connected, the beast wincing and staggering back even as Azaranth’s blade pierced its side, severing the muscle just beyond the shoulder joint.

A yelp, then the wolf buckled under the weight, blood already pooling underneath. Looking up, Azaranth saw that only a single wolf was standing, its demeanor that of an onlooker than an aggressor.

He grinned. “Sly.”

[FennWenn]

Thumpthump. Thumpthump. Fenn could barely hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat. More hunters like the ones that had attacked in the square were here now, he assumed, and there were two possible outcomes mapped out in his head. Either Myra would swiftly dispatch them as she did before (and there would be more dead bodies, ick), or else they would kill her and then him if he was discovered. What he did hear of the scuffle did not sound favorable. Distressed caterwauls echoed down into the chamber, and the boy tensed up, pulling the furs more tightly around him despite how they tickled and itched his sinuses. He held his breath as footsteps mingled with the sound of his strained heart, passing through the chamber with agonizing sluggishness.

It was too hot in the furs, even if Fenn radiated frost. It was too fuzzy. Without his permission, Fenn’s nose began to twitch.

No! No! No itching! Terrified, the boy slapped his hands over his nose with all haste, but it didn’t muffle the squeaky sneeze well enough. He had been caught. As it turned out, when the blankets had been lifted up off of Fenn, that wasn’t entirely a bad thing.

"I'm here to help. I've caged the beast that kidnapped you, and I can bring you back to the village she took you from. My name is Joshua Cronen." Still about as quivery as a blob of jelly, the not-quite-boy stared up at the not-quite-god with the most dumbfounded shock. Then he pumped his fists in the air, gleeful. Maybe Fate didn't hate his guts after all! Not only was he being rescued, but it was by just the man he needed to see! Fenn bobbed to his feet with a grateful grin, his fear effectively converted to excitement, even with the muted yowling in the background.

Seconds of digging in his bag allowed Fenn to procure a little note. It was a wrinkled, frost-smudged scrap of parchment, scribbled on in smooth green ink. He added in a few lines with a chalky charcoal pencil before showing it to his savior. Cronen took it with blink of surprise.

The note read thus;
Hello! I don’t have voice. You are the ice master Breaker, and I’m Fennik Glennwey. I came to your village because I need help figuring out ice magic. Mine is finicky at best. Please?

My dog is waiting at your village, probably, so we should return before Myra wants me again. Are there still scary attacker-people around? I like being not-dead.

Yes, it was possible for Fenn to write (more or less) as if he weren't a simpleton. He had to re-scribe the note a few times to get it right. Even in a premeditated letter, the boy had a habit of writing with a certain bluntness and brevity in mind. It took some effort to deviate from his old habit. In fact, his first draft had looked more like; GREETINGS. YOU ARE ICE MASTER BREAKER? AM FENNIK. NEED YOUR HELP. YOU TEACH THINGS. TEACH ME HOW TO MAGIC. MINE SUCKS.

But that was besides the point.

[Breaker]

A deep chuckle rumbled up from Breaker's chest and resounded off the stone walls of the chamber, cutting through the fire's crackle. He could not help but smile at the mute's quirky mannerisms. Beneath the Y-shaped scars on his cheeks, dimples deepened in the flickering light.

"No one's ever called me an ice master before," he said, "but I suppose I could teach you a thing or two." His use of ice magic in the Cell was often spoken of, especially the nasty flachette darts he'd used to carve a swathe through the other competitors. "First, let's focus on getting you out of here, Fennik Glennwey." Myra's irritated roars emanated from the mouth of the tunnel, and Fennik flinched away. "Not to worry. I've ensnared the guardian." Josh outstretched a broad hand and took the Fae's tiny trembling one. They moved through the doorway and around the bend in the tunnel, coming upon the great cage.

Myra screamed and gnashed at the bars, her mighty saberfangs carving off chips of the steel-strength ice. Her muscles rippled beneath her tan coat and her tail lashed displeasure.

"Watch closely," Josh instructed Fenn, "this can be your first lesson." He drew on the limitless well of the Eternal Tap and conjured more molten ice, repairing the damaged bars before freezing it solid. An eldritch glow connected him to the cage for a moment, fading swiftly. He wondered if Fennik could see it. If the Fae was not attuned to the Tap, it would make teaching him much more difficult.

The demigod and the diminutive fellow walked towards the glow of sunlight side by side. Behind them Myra morphed into the form of the Scarlet Dancer, throwing her long red locks angrily behind her shoulders.

"No! My darling little one! My joyous dancer! Come back! Do not leave me alone here. I will follow you, wherever you may roam-"

Breaker turned sharply and strode back to the cage. "You will not." He declared. "This Fae is under my care. He wishes to become my student. If I catch you lurking around Yutori, I will craft you a permanent cage. This one will melt in time, but if we meet again, I will not be so kind."

Myra growled throatily, but did not respond. Instead she shrank back against the far bars and sat, resigned to wait.

"I love you, my sweet little small." Her voice echoed after them.

The sun traipsed down toward the western horizon as they exited the cave. A low wind moaned in the trees and rustled their hair. Even at a normal walking pace, Fenn could not come close to keeping up with Breaker. The Fae's little legs churned through the deep snow, stumbling on odd steps but continuing on determinedly.

"Here," Josh said, taking the little one's hand again. He grasped the Fae's collar and lifted him effortlessly astride his broad shoulders. "I should warn you, I came here with one of the men who attacked the town. He is no threat, but we must find him before returning. If he still lives." Breaker took a few careful steps. "Are you comfortable?" He got two pats on the top of his head in reply. Something told him that the Fae was used to being carried.

"Here we go," Josh said, and then raced off, following the prints of a horse and wolves, the path of Azaranth and his pursuers.

[Fez_The_Kid]

The next attack was delivered with a swiftness that Azaranth - a swordsman supposed to go toe-to-toe with fast, deadly creatures - could not account for. Or, rather, the detailed punctuality of that attack, even as the attacker had just seen its comrade fall to his blade, was what surprised him most. Strong jaws made quick work of finding the exposed flesh of his shoulders, ignoring his leather armor as teeth were shoved through flesh.

Wincing, Azaranth reached back, frantically approaching all angles with his free arm but found little purchase - the wolf had him under its control. Pinned down, he feared, he was easy prey for the other wolf, which he saw approaching, a look akin to a smirk gripping its wolven features.

“Three on one…” he strained through groans, managing a grin in the frown that marred his features, “you wouldn’t call that fair, would you?”

“Silence!” it barked, tail shooting skyward as if suddenly tugged by an invisible rope. “I couldn’t wait for this moment. Our friends - dying to your party of wretched hunters… murderers. I’ll make sure you suffer the slowest, miserable death. I swear it.”

Azaranth was anything but affected by the beast’s words. The same could not be said for what occurred afterward, however; a shapeless figure, a blur, appeared next to the wolf; it had no time to react, no time for thought itself, as the blow that met its head downed it with a force that shifted the ground underfoot, fracturing its skull immediately.

And the wolf holding down Azaranth, after much hesitation, could but release him, its yelps ringing in the air as it turned and fled through the frost-rimmed brush. Covering the redness on his shoulder, Azaranth looked up and saw Breaker standing - next to him was a blonde-haired boy. Nine, perhaps ten winters old, he reckoned.

It was the Fae. Managed to save him after all. This man… scares me.

Azaranth drew breath. “Myra?”

[FennWenn]

Being away from Myra’s stuffy cave was an immense weight off the tiny Fae’s shoulders. He could breathe freely now, and he did, enjoying the crisp winter air.

Fenn relaxed as his tall savior plowed swiftly through the snow, smugly reaching up to knock icicles off of the trees they passed under, the wind whipping his hair back from his face. Quite a bit of time was spent marveling at how queer the world looked from so high up. At first, the boy had been rather surprised to find himself lifted off of his feet and into a piggyback ride. Yet he was a bit grateful for the ride in spite of himself; snow was the best stuff ever right until it rose up to his knees. Breaker’s broad shoulders reminded Fenn a bit of John. He sometimes let the little sprite ride atop him, joking that he was Fenn’s new wolf.

If there was any advantage to be had from Fenn’s childish form, it was that people let him get away with stuff like this. Wheeeee!

It made him miss Daugi though. She was probably waiting outside Yutori right now, a sight Fenn could easily picture; sulky, growling at any who approached her, ears and eyes on guard for her boy-pup to finally appear before her. He hoped she’d forgive him quickly for being late.

Not having to struggle through the snow gave him some time to think.

Earlier, Fenn had felt something warmly ethereal emanate from Breaker as he had repaired the cage. Magic’s glow was unmistakable, a brilliance that radiated from the ice master out to the target. Still, Fenn hadn’t quite… “gotten” it. It seemed so effortless to the eye. Was it something you had to think through? Was that it? The boy typically just sort of did it, the way one might kick and toss in their sleep. Any time he tried to concentrate his way into controlling his magicstuff, it got away from him. He’s get annoyed, or stressed, or panicked, and it’d spiral away from him entirely. Fenn rested his chin on the top of Breaker’s head with a squeak of a sigh. Perhaps this was all more complicated than he had first hoped.

He was also more than a little curious about this town-attacking man they were meeting. Fenn huffed quietly, inclined to give this guy a piece of his mind for interrupting the festivities and prompting his abrupt kidnapping. Speaking of which… From somewhere up ahead, snarls and shouts shook the frozen canopy. Fenn’s ears twitched in the direction of the commotion. Leaning towards it, Fenn glanced down quizzically at Breaker.

“Sounds like we’d better hurry,” the godly man rumbled at him with a determined glint in his eye.

[Breaker]

After Breaker dispatched the first wolf, the second tucked tail and ran. Azaranth was slow to get to his feet, weary and clearly sore form the battle.

Josh lifted Fenn down from his shoulders and placed the Fae on the snowy ground.

"Myra will no longer be a problem," he glanced at Fenn, "for any of us."

"You mean she's dead?" The hunter gripped his long blade with both hands, knuckles white as snow.

"No," Josh admonished, "to kill a Lore Guardian would be a terrible thing. You would live to regret it in more ways than one."

"Perhaps I can live with regrets..." Anubis mused, swinging his sword down to plant the tip in the frozen earth, "but I owe Myra a debt of vengeance. And I still must make a living."

"I won't let you slay a caged beast." Breaker said. He stepped in front of Anubis, tall and broad shouldered, seeming to radiate might. The few winter-hardy birds stopped chirping in the trees. Squirrels did not skitter, and hares did not leap. Even the breeze stopped teasing the frosted treetops.

Azaranth's eyes blazed. Anger, hatred, greed, pain. Breaker had felt them all before. He empathized with the man more than anyone could understand, and yet he stood against him.

"Stand aside," Anubis warned, drawing his blade back for a great cleave, "stand aside, or-"

He raised his blade as he spoke, menacing the demigod.

Breaker slid forward like an eel shedding its skin. He turned and thrust out a straight side kick. The hard edge of his boot stopped a mere inch from the younger man's chin.

"This is a fight you cannot win," he said, leg still extended, "come with us. Return to the village."

For a moment the hunter wavered, and then he sheathed his sword and trudged around Breaker and Fenn, giving them a wide berth.

"I came here to take those fangs," he said, "you'll have to kill me to stop me."

Breaker considered. The sun had already dipped below the treeline, and Dandelion's hoofprints were beginning to fade in the soft snow. He needed to hurry, if he meant to return by sundown with the steed as promised. Doing so with an unconscious Anubis over his shoulders would prove much more difficult.

"You're bound for death," Breaker warned, catching the hunter's eye one last time. "Myra will make dried meat of the likes of you."

"Let her try," was the only response as Anubis disappeared into the trees.

Josh took a deep, calming breath. Part of being Breaker meant he needed to realize he couldn't save everyone, but it still stung from time to time when he lost a good warrior.

"Well Master Fennik," Josh said, "will you help me find that horse and return it to old Gregor?"

The Fae nodded, and Breaker swept him up, racing through churned up snow again with Fenn atop his shoulders. They followed the hoofprints, scanning in both directions at once. After all, four eyes did better than two.

[Fez_The_Kid]

The path back to the cave where Myra had been caged was fraught with emotions. Hollow contentment proved a bitter sentiment, soured still by acute rancor and grief. The trio had all joined to conjure a single, powerful demon. A vain entity that would ever taunt him, that had taken up permenant abode in his mind’s eye. And the poison burgeoned with each stride he took, threatening to inflict him with eternal madness. Self-doubt would follow him into the upcoming fight, and, presumably, all the ones to follow in the course of his life.

It spoke of naught but tragedy. A hunt for precious canines quickly twisted into a confused massacre, where too much death happened on both sides. The situation had gotten messy, ran out of anyone’s control. Azaranth’s haplessness at the time lingered with him like a bitter aftertaste.

Would that he could sever his own tongue to stop them, those thoughts of poison. A lack of confidence meant a lack of finesse - perhaps that was partly the cause of his party’s unexpectedly sudden death - and to attack a monster without that overtly distinct quality no doubt invited a similar fate.

They had not grown all that familiar with him - but somehow, the remnant details filled by his imagination, their faces would ever remain a sour memory in his mind. Especially yours, Kyra.

He would avenge them all.

Verith, however, would not accept the act of merely killing the Saberlioness. To honor the late monster-hunter was to slay the monster. One on one. A tradition not uncommon among the numbered practitioners of the trade in the world. Meaning I’ll have to get her out of Breaker’s cage somehow. Put her down as Veirth and I had intended.

Retracing the maelstrom of footprints back into the wood, Azaranth came within view of the entrance.

Then halted.

“Didn’t expect you’d be able to free yourself," he mused. "At least not so soon.”

Still in her beast form, Myra’s huge head rose to regard him. Slit eyes narrowed in recognition. “You...”

“Yes, Myra. Me. Azaranth,” he introduced himself, not out of formality, but as to evoke the name of the one to finally put her down. “The hand behind the slaying of your entourage. I’ve come for you.”

A deep, reverberating snarl breached through rows of teeth. “The sight of you sickens me, hunter. Before I tear you apart - tell me one thing.” A step forward, eyes glittering with malice. “You want my skin, yes? Why, then, have you slain my followers? What value their deaths to you if you solely targeted my own?”

Azaranth’s answer came quickly, that even he was surprised by its readiness. “The same reason you slew my own, Myra.”

“Bastard! It was naught but self-defense—”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m a hunter, not an assassin. If I were to attack only you, your entire party would respond accordingly.” Azaranth paused. “Couldn’t risk that. Yet…”

“Your comrades all fell to their deaths anyway. Tragic. And idiotic. For now, you shall meet the same fate. Prepare to meet the afterlife.” Myra lowered her head, legs gathering behind her as she readied herself to charge.

A few heartbeats later and Myra's jaws were closing in on him, his silver sword raised to catch that savage bite.

And Azaranth would then remember nothing but those fierce, amber eyes that held him with an almost-primal intent. Even as the life left them.